by Nancy Revell
But as much as a part of her enjoyed reminiscing about her and Tommy’s own courtship, another part of her felt desperately sad.
Would it always be just that?
A memory?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thursday 20 August
Helen heard a quick rat-a-tat-tat on her office door, which had been left open because of the humid weather. She looked up to see Dr Parker standing there. He had his jacket draped over his forearm and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He looked hot and a little sweaty.
‘Right,’ he commanded, ‘get your nose out of that ledger – we’re going for a quick bite to eat.’
‘Oh, John,’ Helen started to argue, ‘I’m really not that hungry.’
‘That’s not a problem.’ He stepped into the office, picked up Helen’s gas mask and handbag and put out his elbow. ‘You can watch me eat. I’m starving. Now come on, chop, chop!’
Helen smiled and stood up. Walking over to him, she batted away his elbow and took her handbag and boxed-up gas mask off him. ‘As long as I’m back in time for the afternoon shift,’ she said. ‘So, where are you taking me, Dr Parker?’
‘Well, you know me, nothing but the best,’ he laughed as they made their way down the stairs and out into the yard. ‘There’s a smashing little place just up the road. Wonderful views.’
‘Let me guess. The Bungalow Café?’ Helen said.
‘Beats the Grand any day,’ Dr Parker joked.
‘Well, I think I’d agree with you there,’ Helen said, her voice serious. ‘At least we don’t have to worry about seeing my dear mama.’ Dr Parker didn’t say anything. He, too, was glad they wouldn’t risk bumping into Miriam. Helen had told him what her mother had said when she’d learnt that Helen had not gone through with the termination.
Dr Parker looked at Helen as they walked out of the yard and along the road that led on to Harbour View. They chatted for a short while about the failed attempt to seize the German-occupied French port of Dieppe, and how, because of the huge number of casualties, the Allies had been forced to retreat.
After a little while the conversation steered back to events closer to home – and in particular, closer to Helen’s home.
‘Have you thought any more about when you’re going to tell your father?’ Dr Parker asked tentatively. Helen had rearranged her trip to see her father after she’d decided not to go ahead with the termination.
‘I’m going to go up to the Clyde next month,’ Helen said. ‘I want to tell him face-to-face.’
Dr Parker looked at Helen and thought she couldn’t leave it much longer than that as she’d be showing soon. As soon as people started to guess that she wasn’t simply putting on weight, the whispers would quickly find their way across the Scottish border.
‘I know you’re worried about telling your father, but I really believe he’ll be all right. Obviously, he’ll get a shock, but he’ll support you. I honestly do believe that.’
Dr Parker knew Jack thought the world of his daughter, and, more importantly, that the love he had for Helen was unconditional.
‘I know you do,’ Helen said, ‘and Gloria keeps saying exactly the same thing, but I’m still not so sure … We’ll see anyway, when the time comes.’
They walked for a few more minutes, both looking out at the harbour and enjoying the cool sea breeze on their faces. When they reached the café, they walked in just as another couple were getting up to leave.
‘Perfect timing,’ Dr Parker said. ‘Go and grab their table. I’ll get the scram.’
A few minutes later the pair were sitting opposite each other at a little table next to a window that, despite the brown anti-blast tape, had the most wonderful view out to the North Sea.
‘So,’ Dr Parker said, ‘how’ve you been feeling since I saw you last?’
‘All right,’ Helen said, pouring their tea and adding milk, ‘still a little nauseous, but otherwise no different really.’ Helen looked at Dr Parker and leant forward slightly to ensure no one could overhear their conversation. ‘You know, you don’t have to keep checking up on me and popping in to see me. I know how busy you are up at the hospital.’
It was just over three weeks since Dr Parker had gone to visit Helen at the Royal, only to find that she wasn’t there – that she’d had a sudden and quite dramatic change of mind. He’d immediately jumped on a bus and gone to see her. She had cried a lot and he’d silently resolved to see her as much as he could.
‘I do appreciate it.’ Helen paused. ‘But I don’t want you to feel like you’re obliged in any way to … you know … well … to look after me.’
Their faces were so near Dr Parker could smell the perfume she was wearing.
‘Helen,’ he said, ‘I by no means feel in any way obliged to look after you. I think you are more than capable of looking after yourself. I certainly don’t feel like I have to check up on you.’ He was lying, of course. He was concerned about her, especially as there didn’t appear to be anyone else who was – apart from Gloria, of course.
‘I like you, Helen,’ he said simply. ‘And because I like you, I can’t help but also care about you.’ He sighed as if struggling to get the right words out. ‘And more than anything, I enjoy being in your company.’
Helen leant back in her seat.
‘That’s nice, John. Thanks. I feel like you and Gloria are the only two people I can really be myself with. It sounds a bit childish, but I feel as though you two are my friends. My only friends.’
Dr Parker looked into Helen’s emerald eyes and smiled. ‘Well, as your friend, will you please help me eat these sandwiches?’ he said.
‘If I must,’ Helen sighed, although she was now quite hungry and happy to oblige.
They were both quiet as they ate and looked out at what really was a magnificent view.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve thought any more about the Theo problem?’ Dr Parker asked, as he poured them another cup of tea.
‘I have …’ Helen wiped her mouth with the paper servi-ette ‘… and I’ve actually come to a decision.’
‘Really?’ Dr Parker was intrigued.
‘I’ve decided I’m going to go and see him.’
Dr Parker looked surprised, but didn’t say anything. He still felt a rush of anger whenever he thought about Theo.
‘I’m going to tell him,’ Helen dropped her voice to barely a whisper, ‘that come the New Year he’s going to be a father for the fourth time.’ She paused. ‘Two babies in seven months. That’s no mean feat.’
Dr Parker leant forward.
‘Are you going to go there on your own?’ Helen let out a light laugh.
‘Who else would I take?’
‘I could take time off?’ Dr Parker suggested.
‘No, John.’ Helen’s face was serious. ‘This is something I’ve got to do on my own.’
Dr Parker nodded his understanding, before checking his watch.
Seeing that time was getting on, they left the café, which was now heaving, and walked back to Thompson’s, both chatting about their respective places of work.
After they said their farewells at the shipyard gates, it occurred to Helen that she had never really talked about work to anyone – other than her father. It felt good, and it certainly helped take her mind off her present situation – although, she had to admit, her trip to Oxford was something she didn’t mind thinking about.
Her carefully planned revenge was going to be sweet. Very sweet, indeed.
‘Guess who’s just been seen swanning off with some blond-haired bloke?’ Dorothy said as she arrived back from the canteen with a cold meat pie.
‘Let me guess,’ Gloria said. ‘Your favourite person, Helen?’
‘Your favourite person,’ Dorothy jabbed back.
‘Who do you reckon this blond fella was?’ Polly asked, trying to keep the animosity out of her voice. It was hard. As the weeks had worn on and she’d continued to live in a hellish limbo, not knowing if Tommy was alive or dead, her grief
and anger seemed to have latched themselves firmly on to Helen.
‘I reckon it’s her new bloke,’ Angie chipped in.
‘Could it not simply be a friend?’ Gloria asked. From what Helen had told her, this Dr Parker seemed like a decent chap, but there was clearly nothing between the pair.
‘Pah!’ Dorothy said. ‘Helen doesn’t have friends.’ She turned her attention to Bel.
‘What do you think? Friends or lovers?’
‘He’s popped round quite a few times lately,’ Bel mused, ‘but they didn’t look like they were courting to me. More like mates.’
Having noticed Polly’s face cloud over at the mere mention of Helen, Bel changed the subject.
‘So, Rosie, I haven’t had a chance to ask you – how did it go with Charlotte? It feels like you’ve been away for ages.’
Rosie let out a weary sigh.
‘Well, five days did feel like an age, if I’m honest. I really don’t know what I’m going to do with her.’
‘She sounds like she’s been a reet little madam,’ Angie said, slurping her tea back, then spilling some of it after receiving a nudge from Dorothy.
‘I think what Angie means,’ Dorothy said, ‘is that Charlotte is just at an awkward age and not really wanting to do what others tell her – particularly her older sister.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Well, I think you’re both right. She is being a bit of a madam. And she’s certainly not wanting to do what I tell her, that’s for sure.’
Angie gave Dorothy a triumphant smile.
‘So, she’s still wanting to come back here, I take it?’ Bel asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Rosie said wearily.
‘And did you tell her your news?’ Bel asked gingerly. ‘Oh, yes,’ Rosie repeated. ‘I told her that I’d got married, and that was why I’d moved house, but that Peter was away at war so unfortunately she wouldn’t get to meet him any time soon.’
‘And what was her reaction?’ Bel was intrigued. ‘Exactly what I thought it would be,’ Rosie said. ‘Her first reaction was surprise. Then I could almost see the cogs whirring around in her head as she sussed out how this latest turn of events could actually work in her favour.’
Everyone chuckled. They had quizzed Rosie about Charlotte yesterday on her return from Harrogate and had all agreed that Rosie was fighting a losing battle.
‘And?’ Bel asked.
‘Oh, well, that was it!’ Rosie said. ‘That just cemented her argument that she had to come back here to live. That it was imperative she be included and not be left out in the cold, banished to her boring boarding school in the outback – her words exactly.’
Bel hooted with laughter.
‘Talk about making you feel guilty!’
‘I know!’
‘So, how did you leave it?’
‘I told her that I would never leave her out in the cold, and that as soon as Peter came back we’d look at the situation again.’
‘Clever move,’ Bel said.
‘I thought so too, but I think it’s only won me a temporary reprieve.’
As they all made their way back to the dry basin, where they were to spend the rest of the day patching up a cargo vessel that had taken a blast from a floating landmine, Rosie found herself being ambushed.
‘Here, miss!’
Rosie jumped as Dorothy and Angie suddenly appeared on either side of her.
Dorothy pulled out a large handkerchief in which she had wrapped George’s medals.
‘We’ve polished them up as best we could,’ Angie said, keeping her voice low, as though they were handing over state secrets.
Rosie took the medals and slipped them into the side pocket of her haversack.
‘Thanks, you two. I really do appreciate this.’
‘What about the uniform?’ Dorothy asked.
The three women walked on.
‘Would you mind awfully getting it dry-cleaned?’ Rosie said. ‘I’ll give you the money, of course. But can you just keep it at the flat for the time being?’
‘Aye, course we will, miss. Mum’s the word,’ Angie said. Rosie smiled.
‘You two still happy in your new pad?’
Her question was met by two beaming faces.
‘Love it!’ they both said.
‘Not too posh then?’ Rosie raised an eyebrow at Angie. ‘Oh, aye, miss, far too posh, but I think I could get used to it.’ Angie let out a howl of laughter, causing a look of total despair to cross Dorothy’s face.
A look that Rosie couldn’t quite decide was meant to be comic – or not.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tuesday 25 August
When Helen woke up she had to think for a moment where she was.
Oxford.
The Randolph Hotel.
It had been a long journey down, made all the more arduous by having to change at Newcastle and then Birmingham. She had travelled first class, which took the edge off, and had only had to lug around a relatively light vanity case, so all in all it hadn’t been too bad. The train had been packed, full of soldiers, sailors and air force personnel, as well as your everyday common or garden travellers. Thankfully, though, the majority had been herded into the second- and third-class compartments.
She’d arrived in Oxford late and had taken a cab the short distance from the train station to the hotel, which was located right in the city centre. It was a magnificent Victorian Gothic-style building, the interior of which was equally impressive – full of huge oil paintings, plush velvet ceiling-to-floor curtains, polished parquet flooring, and oak-carved four-poster beds.
Helen should really have been in seventh heaven, revelling in the decadence of staying in a place that just about managed to blot out all reminders that the country was at war. Helen, though, had no interest in enjoying such a respite. She was staying at one of the most exclusive hotels in the country – in a city that had so far not been blighted by a single bomb blast – for revenge, nothing more.
Helen was here to detonate her own explosion – one that would wreak havoc and give her the retribution she had been craving.
It had surprised Helen that she had slept so solidly, as her mind had been working overtime on the journey down, not just going over and over her plan of action, but also in contemplation of the year’s events.
She still rued the evening she had met Theodore outside the Burton House hotel and deigned to give him the time of day. She had lost count of the times that she had berated herself for allowing him to wheedle his way into her life. She had to hand it to him, though, he had been good at getting what he wanted, especially as she hadn’t even been that attracted to him. Nor was he even that interesting. It hadn’t taken long for their conversations to end up focusing on his own good self.
But Helen had to concede that she was also responsible for what had happened, for she had so wanted – needed – him to be her knight in shining armour. Because of that desperation she had fooled herself – just as much as he had fooled her.
Helen sat up and looked at her bedside clock. It was seven o’clock – time to put her plan into practice. She reached over and dialled room service to tell them she would have breakfast in her room. She then got out of bed and drew herself a bath.
‘Theodore Harvey-Smith,’ Helen spoke the words aloud to the tiled bathroom walls, ‘I’m going to make sure that you are also going to suffer the consequences of your actions – and most of all, I’m going to make damn sure you continue to suffer those consequences for the rest of your miserable life.’
As Helen walked up the wide tree-lined street known as St Giles’, she marvelled at the incredible architecture and the palatial family homes, many of which were adorned with the most gorgeous Romeo and Juliet wrought-iron balconies. Looking across the busy road she saw the entrance to St John’s College, and as she walked on, she came to a little pub called the Eagle and Child, which, Theodore had told her, had once been the watering hole for such literary greats as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien.
Ju
st before she reached the entrance of the Royal Infirmary, she crossed over the road and walked through the cemetery of St Giles’ Church before turning left to continue up the Banbury Road.
Helen looked at her watch. It was ten minutes to nine. Carrying on for another hundred yards or so, she slowed her pace until she reached the very grandiose residence she knew to be the family home of the Harvey-Smiths. She had done her research, and providing there had been no upsets to the family’s usual weekday routine, Helen would soon be seeing Theodore’s wife for the first – and, after today, undoubtedly the last – time.
Crossing the road so she could watch the large Georgian house without arousing suspicion, Helen positioned herself next to a thick-trunked oak tree beside a bus stop. Helen glanced at her watch again. Five minutes to nine. For the first time she felt a fluttering of nerves and she subconsciously ran her hand across her stomach. To a casual observer, Helen’s figure would appear perfectly normal, if not a little voluptuous; they would not guess that she was expecting. However, if someone were to really inspect her from all angles, they would see a distinct bump. A small bump, but a bump all the same.
Two students on bicycles passed, followed by a single-decker bus; its brakes squealed as it slowed to a halt, letting off a grey-haired old man dressed in a tweed three-piece suit and smoking a pipe, and a young, harried-looking mother with twin boys, who looked about the same age as Hope.
As she took a step back to show she didn’t want to board, the bus accelerated away, just in time for Helen to see the black front door of the Harvey-Smith household swing open.
The flutter of nerves she had felt just a few minutes previously returned. Her heart started hammering and she felt short of breath, something she hadn’t experienced for a while.
