by Nancy Revell
Rosie had wanted to hang back and chat to Gloria as she had seemed unusually quiet and a little down these past few days, but there wasn’t time. She had too much to do. She resolved to make time when she returned.
Leaving her squad amidst a chorus of ‘Good luck’ and ‘Hope everything’s all right’, Rosie hurried home to get changed, and then went to Lily’s. She spent an hour or so on the balance sheets, as well as on her own personal finances. She now had three incomes – her day job at Thompson’s, her share of the bordello’s profits, and the income from the flat Gloria rented, although that was minimal and was something Rosie viewed more as an investment.
She also wanted to think through her strategy for her meeting with Mrs Willoughby-Smith – to work out the best way to handle the situation, even though she had no idea just how serious Charlotte’s misdemeanours had been.
‘Rosie, can I come in?’ Kate’s quiet voice followed a timid knock on the door.
Rosie waved her in.
‘I’ve got your outfit,’ Kate said, sliding her thin frame around the door. ‘But I have to say, it pains me to have to give you something so brown and so boring to wear.’
Rosie laughed as she got up and walked around her desk to take the skirt and jacket from her friend.
‘This is perfect,’ Rosie said, holding the freshly pressed tweed ensemble out in front of her. ‘Brown and boring is just perfect.’
‘Ah, ma chérie.’ Lily swung open the office door and walked into the room, heading straight for the desk and pouring herself a glass of cognac that Rosie kept in a crystal decanter for clients. ‘The costume – or déguisements, as the French would say!’ she declared, before taking a sip of her brandy.
‘C’est répugnant,’ she added, looking at the offending suit, which Rosie had laid across the back of the armchair.
‘I’m guessing the French lessons are going well?’ Rosie said, deadpan, making Kate chuckle.
‘Mais oui,’ Lily agreed, equally deadpan.
Rosie and Kate exchanged amused looks.
‘I’ll be getting off … Loads to do,’ Kate said. ‘Alfie’s asked me to take in his grandmother’s skirt for her. He claims she’s shrinking.’
‘Ah, Alfie,’ Lily said, turning and narrowing her eyes. ‘That’s all I hear these days – Alfie, Alfie, Alfie.’
Kate looked at Lily with a genuinely perplexed look on her face.
‘The lad can’t help it if he’s not a dab hand at sewing.’ Rosie came to Kate’s aid. ‘And as Kate has already explained, Alfie lives with his grandmother. No parents to speak of, so he has to go somewhere to get his clothes mended and altered.’
Lily walked around Rosie’s desk, pulled out the top drawer and retrieved the packet of Gauloises she kept stashed away there.
‘Mmm, as long as it’s just Kate’s skills of seamstressing that the boy’s after – and nothing else.’
Kate tutted as though the very idea that Alfie’s interest was in anything other than her ability to sew was totally absurd.
‘Well,’ Kate said, leaving the room, ‘I hope it goes all right tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Kate,’ Rosie smiled, ‘and thanks for sorting me out with something to wear.’
After Kate had left, Rosie looked at Lily, who was lighting up her cigarette.
‘Why do I get the feeling that there’s something on your mind – and that I’m about to find out exactly what it is.’
‘You’re a mind-reader, ma chérie,’ Lily said, going over to the desk and tapping her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I do indeed have something on my mind. That something being Charlotte and your meeting tomorrow.’
Rosie walked back around her desk, shuffled the balance sheets into an orderly pile and put them in the bottom drawer.
‘Why do I now feel I might just be about to get a lecture?’ Rosie said, closing her personal accounts ledger and putting it in the middle drawer.
‘Ma chère, I’d never lecture you,’ Lily said, taking a draw on her cigarette.
Rosie let out a mocking laugh.
‘I would just like to offer you some advice,’ Lily added.
Her tone was unusually serious.
‘I’m not bringing Charlotte back home,’ Rosie said, as she went over to pick up her second-hand outfit.
‘I wasn’t going to suggest that,’ Lily said, watching Rosie as she got ready to leave.
‘All I wanted to say to you …’ she followed Rosie out of the office ‘… was that when you are in your meeting with Miss Deputy Head tomorrow, looking like some spinster matron from Tom Brown’s Schooldays, don’t get into the role-play so much that you forget who you are.’
Lily put her hand on the front door and opened it, but not enough for Rosie to leave.
‘And most of all, don’t forget that your little sister has no one to fight her corner – other than you.’
Rosie turned and looked at Lily.
‘So, whatever Charlotte may or may not have done, you make sure you have her back.’
Lily opened the door wide.
‘Because you are the only person that girl’s got.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Wednesday 16 September
The next morning, as the train pulled out of the station, Rosie looked at her watch, a delicate gold one, the only possession she had of her mother’s. Normally it brought her comfort and warm memories, but not today – today all she could think about was the tedious six-hour round trip to Harrogate, and how having nothing to do with either her hands or her head was going to be pure purgatory.
Since Peter’s fly-by-night visit, she had been working flat out to keep any worries about where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he was still alive, to a minimum. She was actually pleased Helen was driving them all so hard in her determination to hit the production target as it meant any angst-ridden thoughts were banished by the job at hand.
Today was the first time since Peter’s departure that she had been forced to sit and confront the many unwelcome thoughts and feelings she was doing such a good job of running away from.
Looking out of the window at the lush green country-side, Rosie also wondered how long she could shy away from the conundrum of what to do with Charlotte. She had to admit to herself that, practically speaking, it would be so much easier if her little sister was back home. The fees at the Sunderland Church High School would be cheaper. There would also be no more trooping to and from Harrogate. And, as much as Mr and Mrs Rainer loved Charlotte to bits, they were both getting on and neither was in the best of health.
But then, the other side of the argument was equally convincing. More so. For there was no getting away from the fact that if Charlotte came back, it was inevitable that Rosie would have to tell her about Lily’s – and that was something she really could not envisage doing.
Which brought Rosie’s mind back to the present day – and what exactly it was that her sister had done to require the deputy head to request this meeting.
‘Yeh!’ Dorothy had jumped onto a nearby cleat and had her arms raised in the air as though she was standing on a rostrum acknowledging a roaring crowd.
The end-of-day klaxon had just blared out, which was one reason for Dorothy’s jubilation – the other was that they were all going straight to the cinema from work.
Gloria arched her back and looked up at Dorothy. Seeing Jimmy, the head riveter, staring from across the deck, the two raised their eyes to the heavens above.
‘Enjoy yer night out at the flicks,’ Jimmy shouted over to Gloria with a playful grin on his face.
‘What we going to see again?’ Martha asked as Dorothy jumped down.
‘The Man Who Came to Dinner,’ Angie said.
‘Please don’t tell me it’s one of those sickly-sweet romantic films you two love so much,’ Gloria said as she went round checking all the machines were off.
‘Nah, it’s a comedy,’ Angie said, looking across at Polly, who was quietly packing up her haversack. Angie and Dorothy ha
d purposely chosen something funny to go and see in the hope of cheering up their workmate.
‘It’s got Bette Davis in it,’ Dorothy chipped in as she got out her treasured Elizabeth Arden lipstick.
‘We’ve not got time for that!’ Gloria scolded Dorothy. ‘You’re not on the pull tonight, so there’s no need to bother with the war paint.’
Dorothy defiantly put a smear of Victory Red on her lips and blew Gloria a kiss.
‘It’s bad enough we’re not going home to change, never mind being forbidden to wear any make-up!’ she pouted.
‘Yeh, we’re gonna look a right sight, gannin to the flicks in our dirty overalls, looking like chimney sweeps,’ Angie said.
‘Well, it’s either that or not going at all,’ Gloria said, cocking her head in the direction of the gates, showing Dorothy, Angie, Martha and Polly that it was time for the off. ‘Martha’s got to get back fer her ARP duties ’n I’ve got to pick up Hope by eight.’
As the women made their way over to the main gates, Gloria dropped back to speak to Polly.
‘You all right?’
Polly looked at Gloria and forced a smile.
‘I think so … I just feel so … I don’t know how to explain it.’ She thought for a moment. ‘So lifeless.’
They parted for a moment as they walked around a huge coil of thick metal chains.
‘Thank God I have to come to work every day as I swear I think I would struggle to get out of bed.’
Gloria thought of Tommy’s letter and how he had been wise to stress how proud he was that Polly was a shipyard worker.
‘Well,’ Gloria said, ‘there’s no shortage of work, that’s fer sure. When you’re having to get through what you’re going through, you’ve just gorra do whatever yer can to keep going.’ Polly squeezed Gloria’s arm.
‘Thank goodness I’ve got you lot.’ She looked ahead at the rest of the squad, all waving at Bel, Marie-Anne, Hannah and Olly, who were patiently waiting for them at the timekeeper’s cabin.
‘I think we all need each other,’ Gloria said. As she spoke she thought of Helen lying in her bed at home – alone. She wished more than anything that she could go and visit her, but that was never going to happen. She’d have to wait until Helen was well enough to come round to the flat.
‘Hey, Alfie!’ Dorothy shouted over the chatter of workers as they all handed in their clocking-off cards. ‘How’s Kate?’
Alfie blushed.
‘You better ask her out soon,’ Dorothy said.
‘Cos yer gonna run out of clothes for her to fix,’ Angie piped up.
‘Leave the poor lad alone,’ Marie-Anne reprimanded as they all chuckled.
‘Which cinema are we going to?’ Bel asked as they made their way up the embankment to the main road.
‘The Bromarsh,’ Angie said. ‘Near to where I used to live.’ ‘Before she moved up in the world,’ Martha guffawed. ‘So, have you two met any of your neighbours yet?’
Marie-Anne asked.
‘Just the auld lady below us,’ Angie said. ‘She’s dead posh, yer knar, stinks of lavender, ’n speaks ever so, but she’s always friendly.’
‘And better still,’ Dorothy added, ‘she’s deaf as a post.’ ‘Yeh,’ Angie butted in, ‘so me ’n Dor can make as much noise as we want.’
‘What about the bottom flat?’ Bel asked.
‘That belongs to some bloke, but me ’n Dor think he must be away at war ’cos he’s never there.’ When they all reached Dame Dorothy Street they turned left.
‘I wonder how Rosie’s got on?’ Hannah piped up.
‘I dinnit blame her little sister for playing up, mind you,’
Angie said. ‘I mean, who wants to be stuck in the middle of nowhere doing lessons all day long?’
‘As if living here with bombs being dropped on us willy-nilly and spending nine hours a day welding is such a great alternative?’ Dorothy jibed.
‘Well, I just hope she’s back tomorrow so I don’t have to play schoolmarm to you lot for another day,’ Gloria said, before adding casually, ‘Any idea when Helen’s going to be back, Marie-Anne?’
‘God, I’d be the last to know.’ Marie-Anne let out an exasperated laugh. ‘Soon, I hope. If you hear someone snoring in the cinema, it’ll be me. I’m knackered. I didn’t realise just how much Helen did, to be honest. When she does come back I’ll be coming out with you two,’ she looked across at Dorothy and Angie, ‘and painting the town red to celebrate.’
‘Careful what you say,’ Martha said in earnest, ‘them two will hold you to that.’
‘Too right we will,’ Dorothy said.
‘Yeh, we’d have a right laugh. The three musketeers!’
Angie said.
Everyone groaned, apart from Marie-Anne, who didn’t seem too deterred by the prospect.
When they finally reached the Bromarsh another chorus of groans sounded out when they saw the queue.
‘It’s always like this,’ Angie said.
‘Did you know this was actually the town’s first ever cinema?’ Olly piped up.
Everyone shook their head.
‘It was built in 1919 and was called Black’s Picture Palace. Then it was taken over by the Marshall Brothers, who renamed it Bromarsh – which is sort of an anagram of their name.’
‘What’s an anagram when it’s at home?’ Angie asked. They all shuffled forward as the queue started to go down.
As Marie-Anne explained what an anagram was, Gloria’s mind started worrying about Helen again. The poor girl had been so distraught when she had seen her in the hospital. Gloria had pleaded with her to let her tell Jack what had happened, but Helen had been adamant. She didn’t want her father to know anything.
How could she get it through Helen’s head that her father loved her unconditionally?
If only Jack knew what had gone on, he’d be here like a shot. He could have been with Helen now, instead of her being on her own. She’d even put off seeing him – again – making out she couldn’t take the time off work.
The chatter was momentarily put on hold while they all paid for their tickets and shuffled into the cinema, filing into a row that had enough empty seats to accommodate them all. They continued chattering away until the curtain went back and the screen flickered to life.
The movie was, as promised by Dorothy and Angie, a comedy, and the audience were soon chortling away. But when a romance developed between lovelorn secretary Bette Davis and a local reporter played by Richard Travis, Gloria thought she heard snuffles alongside the chuckles.
She was proved right when she looked down the row and saw Polly standing up and apologising as she made her way along the line. She was followed by Hannah, who had been sitting next to her.
‘I’m so sorry, Hannah.’ Polly was standing outside the main entrance, wiping tears away from her eyes with the cuff of her overalls. ‘Please, you go back in and enjoy the rest of the film.’
Hannah took Polly’s arm and started walking. ‘No way!
I should be thanking you. What a dreadful film!’
‘I know,’ Polly let out a half cry, half laugh, ‘and I end up crying over it.’
‘Which proves it was a bad film,’ Hannah said. ‘It was a comedy and it made you cry – and it bored me to tears!’
The pair chuckled and Polly wiped her wet cheeks.
‘I wish I could just buck myself up. It’s been nearly three months now – eleven weeks to be exact.’ She let out a sad laugh. ‘But I can’t.’
‘Perhaps you just need to feel like this for a while,’ Hannah mused, ‘before you can “buck yourself up”. Feeling is the hard part. If you try and avoid it, that’s when things go wrong – in your head and in your body … Well, that’s what my rabbi told me when I first came over here. I got terribly sick and was having the most awful headaches and he talked to me – a lot – and he made me talk to him – a lot. And he said I had to feel all the things I was feeling, you know, about leaving Czechoslovakia, my home, my family, my fri
ends. And gradually my headaches got less and less and I stopped feeling sick.’
Polly thought about Hannah’s words as they walked along North Bridge Street.
‘I feel so many things – all the time,’ Polly said. ‘I feel so angry about this war. Angry that Tommy signed up when he was reserved occupation – even though I understand why he did. I feel so sad every time I hear that someone else has been killed – or gone missing. Honestly, I feel like crying even though I don’t even know the person. I feel like I spend most of my time trying not to cry.’ Polly let out another bitter laugh. ‘I keep thinking about Teddy as well and then I’m angry and sad all over again.’ Polly was quiet for a moment as they passed a group of sailors coming across the bridge.
‘And then I feel so frustrated that I have no idea what has happened to Tommy. And the chances are I’ll never know.’
They were now halfway across the bridge, and they both automatically went over to the thick iron balustrade and stood and looked out at the River Wear – its watery surface barely visible due to the chaotic clutter of overhanging cranes, ships, steamers, colliers and cobblers. Even the air felt dense, with an early-evening fret seeping in from the North Sea.
‘You must feel that too?’ Polly looked at Hannah. ‘The anger. The not knowing. With your mam and dad?’
‘I do,’ she nodded. ‘But I guess I’m lucky in that I have my faith. I believe that the soul lives on even when the body dies. I believe that if my mother and father have died, their spirit will always be with me. That helps me. I talk to my rabbi. And, of course, Aunty Rina. And I have people around me who help me even though they probably don’t realise it.’
Polly knew Hannah meant the women welders.
As they carried on walking and talking, Polly found herself crying again, but this time she didn’t stop the tears, letting them drip down her face. When they started down High Street East, Polly’s tears came to a natural end and it was then she realised where Hannah had brought her.
