by Nancy Revell
Toby stuck his hand in the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out an envelope.
‘Peter’s well,’ he said. ‘He knew I was going to be in the area and asked me to pop in and see his wife.’
He looked over at Rosie, who was now listening intently.
As were the two young women.
‘He asked me to give you this.’
He held out the envelope.
Lily snatched it off him and handed it to Rosie.
She looked at it, but didn’t open it.
‘I’ll read it later,’ she said, sliding it into the pocket of the cream slacks she was wearing.
‘I’m afraid you’ll see it’s not Peter’s handwriting. It’s mine. It came over the wires.’
That was all Toby could divulge.
‘Here we are!’ George came into the room with a tray of drinks.
‘I’m afraid it’s a choice of brandy or brandy.’
George looked over at Rosie, then to Lily, who gave him a tight nod that all was well.
‘Here, let me take that,’ Dorothy said, seeing that George was standing somewhat lopsidedly as he’d had to hook his walking stick over his arm in order to carry the tray.
Like an experienced hostess, she took the tray to Toby first.
‘Thank you,’ Toby said, taking a large bulbous glass containing an equally generous measure of Rémy.
‘You’re welcome,’ Dorothy said.
The pair smiled at each other.
Dorothy then took the tray to Lily, to George and finally to Angie, before taking her own drink and putting the tray down on the coffee table.
George raised his glass.
‘A toast.’ He looked at Rosie and gave her a wink.
She smiled back but still looked a little dazed.
‘To Peter!’ he said.
Rosie raised her glass.
‘To Peter,’ she mouthed.
‘And a very merry Christmas to all,’ George added.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was the best Christmas present Rosie could wish for.
Rosie had a sip of her brandy and stood up.
She felt a little steadier on her feet.
She felt for the letter in her pocket, reassuring herself it was safely tucked away.
‘Thank you, Toby, for coming here.’ She moved around the desk and shook his hand again. This time with more vigour. ‘Peter always talked about you fondly.’ She looked at him and smiled.
‘I’m guessing that you didn’t just drop by because you were in the area, though – you’ve probably had quite a journey to get here?’
Rosie knew that Toby was based mainly in Scotland when he wasn’t over enemy lines.
Toby chuckled. Peter was right. She was smart as well as a damn good-looking woman.
‘Some things are worth making the journey for,’ he said simply.
‘Well, if that’s the case,’ Lily chirped up, ‘why don’t you stay and enjoy yourself? Unless you’ve got to get back somewhere straight away?’
Toby caught Dorothy’s eye.
‘No, I’m here until Boxing Day,’ he said.
‘Well then,’ Lily said, forever the businesswoman. She had spotted the cut of his suit and it said in no uncertain terms that he was well heeled. Very well heeled. ‘You might want to enjoy the company of one of my girls to tide you over the Christmas festivities?’
Dorothy and Angie both took large gulps of their brandies. Never in a million years had they expected to see Lily in her role as madam. All they needed now was to have a peek in the back parlour where they could hear ‘the girls’.
‘Well, that might not be such a bad idea,’ Toby said.
He looked at Dorothy in her stunning red dress. It had taken all his concentration to stay focused on the job in hand.
‘Well,’ Lily said, turning to lead the way to the back parlour, ‘let me introduce you to the girls.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that,’ Toby said, smiling at Dorothy. ‘I’d be very happy if this young woman would be my companion during my short stay. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name?’
Everyone was now looking at Dorothy.
Angie had gone bright red and was desperately trying to stop herself from having the screaming heebie-jeebies. They were going to be in stitches when they left.
‘It’s Dorothy, but everyone calls me Dor.’
Dorothy was suppressing a smile.
Lily was just about to say something when Dorothy beat her to it.
‘I’m afraid, though, Toby,’ she allowed herself a half-smile, ‘that I don’t work here. I’m not one of Lily’s girls.’
Dorothy forced herself not to look at Angie, otherwise she knew she’d have a fit of the giggles.
‘Gosh, I’m so sorry.’ Toby looked mortified.
Everyone chuckled.
‘I can introduce you to some of the girls who do in fact work here, though,’ Lily said. She took a good slug of her brandy. This Christmas Eve was turning into one she would remember for a variety of reasons.
‘No … no thank you …’ Toby stammered. ‘I was only really interested in Dorothy here.’ He shook his head at his own stupidity. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He looked at Angie.
‘I’m guessing you two are friends?’
They both nodded.
‘We work with Rosie. At the yard,’ Dorothy explained.
‘Ahh, you’re welders,’ Toby said. ‘How fascinating. I’d love to know more.’
He paused.
‘Would it be rude of me to ask, having made such a huge faux pas, if you would go out for a drink with me?’
Everyone was now watching with interest.
‘Well – ’ Dorothy looked at Angie and knew she would hate her for what she was about to suggest ‘ – there’s a rather spectacular wedding happening tomorrow.’
Toby showed his surprise.
‘Yes, I know, on Christmas Day of all days,’ Dorothy said. ‘And as it happens, my “plus one” has just been called away on important business, which means there’s a vacancy there, if you’d like to take it.’
Dorothy saw Angie’s face change out of the corner of her eye.
‘I most certainly would like that,’ Toby said. ‘Very much indeed.’
After they all finished their drinks, Toby offered to drop Rosie off at Brookside Gardens and then Dorothy and Angie at Foyle Street, before heading back to his ‘digs’.
Pulling up outside the flat, it was agreed he should pick Dorothy and Angie up at half-past twelve in time for the wedding at one.
After Toby drove away, Angie rounded on Dorothy, but before she had a chance to get her words out, Dorothy jumped in.
‘You’re going to ask Quentin,’ she said simply. It wasn’t a suggestion or an order, just a basic statement of fact.
She looked at her watch.
‘It’s not too late and look, his light’s still on. Probably up reading Chaucer or something.’
‘But—’ Angie started to say.
‘This is not a time for “buts”, Angie dear. You heard the poor bloke. He’s going to be sat at home on his lonesome, eating chicken sandwiches and listening to the King’s speech. You’ll be doing him a massive favour, and in return he can teach you lots of things you’ve been wanting to learn about being posh.’
Angie opened her mouth to object but stopped.
She did want to learn more about being ‘posh’. More about everything, really.
‘He can show you which knives and forks to use,’ Dorothy said, now spurred on by Angie’s lack of objection. ‘He can even teach you how to waltz properly. All that kind of stuff.’
Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Dorothy quickly went down the steps to the basement flat, knocked on the door and hurried back up again.
‘Go on then,’ she said, gently pushing her friend into action. ‘Go and tell him he’s your plus one.’
Chapter Sixty-Seven
‘So, are you all se
t? Everything organised?’ Tommy pulled Polly towards him before she had time to take off her coat. He felt the need to have her next to him for every moment possible before he had to leave.
Polly kissed him.
‘Well, according to the best sister-in-law anyone could ever hope to have – yes, I am.’
Polly had spent the last couple of hours with Bel, going over everything she needed to know about her big day with military precision. If anyone had asked who was the most nervous, Polly would have told them Bel. Hands down.
‘I will thank her profusely tomorrow,’ Tommy said. ‘She’s given me the best wedding present ever – time with you.’
Tommy reluctantly let Polly free.
She shrugged off her coat.
‘Is that supper I can smell?’ she said.
‘It certainly is.’ Tommy followed Polly into the kitchen, where he had set the table and even found a candle in one of the cupboards that he’d already lit. ‘Courtesy of the fish shop.’
‘Perfect,’ Polly said, sitting down at the table while Tommy jokingly put a tea towel across his arm and took out two plates with a fish lot on each.
They both chatted away, telling each other about what had occurred during their few hours apart.
Polly told Tommy how excited Lucille was about Santa’s arrival and how it would seem that Father Christmas had a great helper in the form of Charlotte, who had managed to get everything Bel had asked for. Even confetti – a rarity in these times of rationing.
‘The house was in utter chaos,’ Polly said. ‘Oh, and you should have seen Lucille’s little face when Joe hauled the Christmas tree through the front door. God knows how he managed to do it. I’ll bet you he’s suffering now.’
Tommy felt for Joe. He had not heard him complain once about what he called his ‘gammy’ leg, but he knew from his time on the ward that shrapnel injuries could leave a man in lifelong pain.
‘And yer ma?’
‘She seems really happy,’ Polly said. ‘Actually, the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her at Christmas. She keeps going on about how strange it’s going to be not to have to cook.’
‘What? Like she’s going to miss it?’
‘No, quite the reverse. More like she’s over the moon that she’s not.’
Polly had a drink of water from her tumbler as they both ate their fish and chips.
‘Arthur said you’d had a nice time. He looked shattered, though,’ she said.
‘We did. Went down by the docks. Saw some old faces there, which was nice. Just chatted really. He seems happy. Tired, but happy.’
Tommy had also met up with the Major in town to make arrangements about leaving on Boxing Day. A car had been ordered to pick him up from the Grand at midday. This was something Polly didn’t need to know this evening. He’d also asked the Major how the big powwow was going at the Grand, but he’d seemed a little evasive and was instead keen to hear about the wedding and to sort out a time to come to the flat in the morning to put on what he called his ‘clobber’. It had been decided that all the military men going to the wedding would wear their uniforms. Joe had told them about George’s reluctance to wear his regalia and had suggested that they all do the same as a show of solidarity.
‘So,’ Tommy asked, ‘has the very-soon-to-be Mrs Watts decided on her whereabouts this evening?’
They had chatted about whether or not they should keep with tradition and spend the night apart, which would, of course, also keep Agnes happy. It had been a difficult call, though, as they both felt resentful about having to give up their second-from-last night together.
‘Mmm,’ Polly said. ‘Well, I was chatting to Bel and she suggested that I sort of do both.’
Tommy raised his eyebrows.
‘She suggested I spend most of the night here, but come back home in the early hours and have another couple of hours’ sleep before I get up and, in her words, “begin the most memorable day of my life”.’
‘That sounds like a perfect solution to the dilemma,’ Tommy said. That was something else he must remember to thank Bel for.
Rosie was sitting up in bed.
In her hand was Peter’s note.
She read it over and over again until finally her eyelids got too heavy and sleep claimed her.
She slept all night with her husband’s words of love pressed to her chest.
Kate was sitting in the back pew at St John’s Church in Ashbrooke.
She was well wrapped up, with a thick woollen coat on, hat, scarf and gloves, but even so she was still cold.
Tonight, though, it was worth it. She loved midnight Mass. Loved hearing the Nativity readings.
She listened as the vicar read the words from the Gospel of Luke:
‘And she brought forth her firstborn, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.’
But she knew she was going to enjoy the vicar’s sermon the most when he began with the words:
‘Hope. Faith. Peace. Joy. And Love.’ His voice loud and clear, but also soft and sincere. ‘These words,’ he said, ‘encapsulate the message of the Advent. They are the true meaning of Christmas. The story of the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ is really a story about these five wonders of the world.’
Kate nestled back in her pew, no longer feeling the cold.
At about one o’clock in the morning, when everyone was tucked up in bed fast asleep, or trying to stay awake for a sneak look at Santa, the first flurry of snow started to descend on the town.
It looked like Lucille’s and Bel’s wishes for a white Christmas and a white Christmas wedding were about to come true.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The Wedding Day
Christmas Day
Friday 25 December
When Polly woke up, she automatically felt for Tommy.
Of course, he wasn’t there.
She was back home in her room at Tatham Street.
Two feelings collided with one another as she sat up in bed.
This was her wedding day!
The rush of excitement mixed with adrenaline made her feel a little nauseous. This, she knew, was going to be a day like no other. The church, her amazing dress and the reception at the Grand …
But the other, conflicting feeling was one of panic.
This was her last day with Tommy.
Might even be her last ever.
Stop it!
She thought of Rina’s words. She had spoken about love and sacrifice, but Polly had also heard a story of bravery.
Like Hannah’s parents, she wanted to be brave.
She was going to be brave.
She was going to fight back any worries about Tommy and his imminent departure and instead enjoy every minute of this incredible day.
Getting out of bed, Polly pulled on her dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around her.
Quietly opening her bedroom door, she tiptoed down the cold tiled hallway. She wanted to greet the start of this special day on her own. To think her own thoughts undisturbed, if only for a few minutes.
Pulling on her boots, which she had left in the passageway just a few hours earlier, Polly slowly opened the front door.
As she did so, she let out a quiet gasp of disbelief.
It was as though she had opened the door into another world.
A beautiful, surreal world covered in a thick glistening pure white shroud.
The shock of ice-cold air, coupled with the surprise at seeing this idyllic winter wonderland, gave Polly another surge of adrenaline.
She walked out of the house and onto the road.
Slowly turning, she looked around at the empty street and the virgin snow, speckled with just a few trails of small paw prints from the neighbours’ cats.
Polly looked up to the still-dark sky, and she felt the tickle of snowflakes on her lips and eyelids.
She closed her eyes and stood silently in the snow.
This street had been her home h
er entire life.
She had been born here, grown up here with Teddy and Joe.
How she would have loved to have had Teddy here today.
‘Be with us today, won’t you?’ she said, a stream of cold air billowing out of her mouth.
Turning and looking down at the bomb site that now marked the start of Tatham Street, she realised just how much had changed.
Since the start of this war she had lost one brother and had had another return injured.
She had fallen in love, got engaged and waved her love off to war. Believed him dead, rejoiced in his return, and was now getting married on the day before he left her for the second time.
‘Aunty Polly! Aunty Polly! It’s snowing!’
Polly’s reverie was broken by the sound of her niece’s joyful exclamation.
‘LuLu!’ Polly put both her hands out.
Lucille, still dressed in her nightie, dressing gown and slippers, charged at her and allowed herself to be scooped up and swung in the air.
‘My, you’re getting too big to be hauled about!’ Polly laughed as Lucille looked up to the skies and stuck her tongue out to catch the snowflakes fluttering around them.
Polly put her niece down.
Lucille danced in a circle, then grabbed her aunty’s hand.
‘Santa’s been!’ she beamed, dragging Polly back indoors.
From the moment Polly and Lucille stepped back over the threshold, the madness brought on by it being both Christmas and her wedding day was soon under way.
Lucille showed Polly her presents from Santa. She had already tipped out the contents of her stocking and the prize orange that had been put in the bottom had rolled next to Tramp and Pup’s basket. They were sniffing it but seemed unimpressed. There was a handful of nuts by the range and an assortment of toys, most of which were second-hand or had been made by Joe, laying amidst scrunched-up wrapping paper, or rather newspaper.
Lucille’s most revered present had, not surprisingly, come from Maisie.
Polly smiled as Lucille raised her new dolly in the air as though it was a trophy.
It was the first coloured doll that Polly had ever seen. According to the box, which had been flung under the kitchen table, it had been made by a British doll-maker called Norah Wellings and was called ‘South Sea Islander’. The doll was made from dark brown velvet and was wearing a grass skirt and a smile.
