Shipyard Girls 10.The Shipyard Girls on the Home Front

by Nancy Revell

  When Helen went to bed that night, she tried to read another chapter of Persuasion, but just couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was her conversation with John. It was all she’d been able to think about since their talk at the Tatham. Every time she thought about John’s words, she felt a searing excitement. Why had they never discussed this before? Why had she just assumed he wanted a bride who was as pure as the driven snow? Helen gave up on reading and switched off the light. All she’d been able to hear since she’d fallen for John was her mother’s voice telling her she was ‘sullied’ and ‘spoiled goods’. And she had believed her. She’d been brainwashed. But today she had found out that John didn’t think like this at all! He clearly didn’t give two hoots whether the woman he married was ‘virtuous’ or not. For John it was all about love. He was a true romantic.

  If that was the case, and if he was attracted to her, as she suspected he was, an attraction she’d thought he had fought because he would never be able to make an honest woman of her, then …

  Helen’s heart started pounding as she considered the possibilities.

  But then her elation was felled by thoughts of Dr Eris.

  John was with Claire.

  They were serious.

  He was a romantic.

  Therefore, if John was with Claire, he must be in love with her. Mustn’t he?

  When John and Claire got back to Ryhope, they were caught by Genevieve as they came through the main entrance.

  ‘Dr Parker?’

  ‘Yes, Genevieve?’

  ‘Dr Jameson has just rung asking for your advice on something or other. He sounded a little fraught, I have to say. I asked him if it could wait until morning, but he insisted that as soon as I saw you return I had to “plead with you” to go and see him on the ward. His words, not mine.’

  Dr Eris had a shooting vision of snapping the junior doctor’s bloody neck. John had just treated her to a very romantic meal at the Palatine, which had gone some way to making up for having to endure spending their day off in a smoky east-end pub. Next she had planned a night of seduction.

  ‘That’s all right, Genevieve, don’t worry,’ Dr Parker said. ‘Call through to the ward and tell him I’ll be there in ten.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Dr Eris sighed, then smiled, doing a good job of hiding her anger and frustration. ‘I’ll see you off.’ She took his arm and they went out into the fresh night air and kissed each other goodnight.

  Heading back into the asylum and to her quarters in the West Wing, Claire realised the clock was ticking and she really needed to cement her relationship with John, especially having heard that he now knew Helen and Matthew were not an item. That really was a spanner in the works.

  She was pretty sure that Helen was still after John and that John was still blissfully ignorant of the fact – but for how long? Helen’s visits to the asylum meant she was seeing more of the man Claire fully intended to marry. Her misdirection of Helen’s calls courtesy of Denise had only worked for so long. Now Helen was back and seeing more of John than ever before, thanks to her mother’s great-aunty. Which begged the question: why hadn’t Helen visited before, especially as it provided the perfect excuse to meet up with John? It just didn’t make sense. Something smelled off. She’d get to the bottom of it. Get herself a bargaining chip before John’s friendship with Helen turned into anything more. She was determined she was not going to suffer the same fate twice and have the man she wanted to marry snatched from under her nose. Never again. She really did not want to have to resort to playing the oldest trick in the book in order to get a ring on her finger, especially as she had no burning desire to have a baby. That could only be a last resort. There had to be another way.

  She just needed to find it.

  Dr Parker hurried off into the darkness. He didn’t need a torch as he knew the way from the asylum to the Ryhope with a blindfold on if need be, although walking in the blackout was pretty much akin to that. Striding along the narrow country lane that provided a short cut back to the military hospital, Dr Parker berated himself every step of the way, telling himself to stop feeling happy – elated even – because Helen and Matthew Royce were not courting, as he had firmly believed.

  Thank goodness Dr Jameson had called. He’d have to stop himself giving him a slap on the back and thanking him for being an overly anxious, verging on the neurotic, newly qualified doctor and calling him away from his date this evening. He had been thinking of ways to cry off staying over at Claire’s tonight. Ever since Helen had told him that she wasn’t seeing Matthew, all he’d wanted was some time to think. He’d taken Claire to the Palatine and they’d had a perfectly lovely evening, but if he was honest with himself, what had led to his good humour was Helen’s revelation.

  Dr Parker climbed over a stile and into the grounds of the hospital. He realised with a sinking heart that here he was again, obsessing about Helen even though he had resolved to stop doing so after the madness of last September, when a flurry of dreams about her had compelled him to go and declare his feelings. He’d never got a chance to ask her if she loved him, as his dreams had made him believe, because Artie had decided to come into the world a little earlier than anticipated; then, afterwards, when he’d again been about to declare his undying love, Matthew had bumped and barged between them and kissed Helen right in front of him. No wonder he’d thought they were an item. But looking back, that kiss could just as easily be interpreted as a show of friendship as much as it could a lover’s exchange. He’d firmly believed Helen and Matthew were a couple, but he’d been wrong. God, if only he’d known that then.

  As he walked onto the gravel path that led to the hospital entrance, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Perhaps his dream really had been true?

  Dr Parker slapped himself on the head, as though to bring himself to his senses. What was he doing, running headlong towards the rabbit hole of insanity? He’d done this before; he could not do it again. Helen was a friend. A good friend. They had recognised their friendship and how special it was at Artie’s christening. And even if she wasn’t with Matthew, that did not automatically mean she wanted to be with him. He had to accept their relationship was platonic. He could not give over his whole life to moping after her. After the debacle of the dream, he had told himself to man up and have an adult relationship, not fritter his life away like some sad knight of old mourning for ever a love that never was.

  Besides which, he had a girlfriend already. Claire. Whom he adored. Found attractive. Was intimate with. Whom he loved. Didn’t he?

  Oh, dear God! Get a grip, man.

  Claire was the woman he was with. The one he would marry. Wasn’t she?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Easter Sunday

  9 April

  Dorothy watched from the top of the stone steps as Toby’s Austin 8 turned into Foyle Street and drove slowly up the cobbles, pulling into the side of the road outside the main entrance to the flats. As always, Toby was punctual, and for a change Dorothy was also ready on time; the pair had agreed that not only was it necessary for Toby to make a good impression, but they also didn’t want to waste a minute of the remaining time they had together afterwards.

  As soon as she saw the top of Toby’s head appear from the driver’s side of the car, she shouted out, ‘One year, four months and two weeks!’

  ‘How long?’ Toby slammed the car door and put his hand to his ear.

  ‘One year, four months and two weeks,’ Dorothy repeated. It was their little ritual. Every time they were together, Dorothy would tell Toby the exact time they’d been courting. Unfortunately, the number of times they had been out on actual dates could be counted on two hands.

  As soon as she knew she had Toby’s full attention, Dorothy struck a pose – one hand on her hip, the other holding her clutch bag, one leg slightly in front of the other, her body angled sideways. The black dress she had on revealed nothing but hinted at everything. Toby let out a long, slow whistle.

  ‘
Well, it has to be said, I’m one lucky man.’ He kept his eyes glued to her as he took the stone steps two at a time.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, pulling her towards him and kissing her, feeling the sun on his face and breathing in the smell of freshly soaped skin and the fragrance of her perfume.

  ‘That was a lovely night last night,’ he said, nuzzling her ear. And it would be lovelier still when they were married. Dorothy might well have an unconventional job for a woman, but when it came to her sexual mores, she was, surprisingly, very traditional – and even though she was no prude, she was adamant about saving herself for marriage.

  ‘So, are you all set?’ Dorothy asked as Toby put his elbow out. Dorothy grabbed her boxed gas mask, which she had put on the ground so as not to ruin her posturing, and the pair walked down the steps.

  ‘I am indeed!’ Toby said, opening the passenger door.

  Dorothy bent her knees slightly and slid her shapely derrière in first, keeping her knees pressed together as she lifted her legs into the footwell. Toby watched the whole process and wondered if Dorothy endeavoured to be as demure as possible in her free time in order to make up for the amount of hours she spent at work, in oil-ingrained overalls and covered in dirt.

  Dorothy turned and looked at the back seat, which was full of presents for her family.

  ‘Buying everyone’s affections?’ she smiled.

  ‘Of course,’ Toby laughed. ‘I managed to get dolls for the three eldest and a cuddly lion for the little one, as well as chocolate that I acquired from the officers’ mess.’

  ‘Well done! But this must have cost you a small fortune,’ Dorothy said.

  Toby chuckled. He wanted to say that it would be worth every penny, provided she said ‘Yes’ when he popped the question. The thought of it never failed to excite and also unnerve him a little. He was pretty sure Dorothy would say yes – but you never knew. Sometimes he could read Dorothy like a book, other times not. Or was that just her being a woman? The day of the proposal, though, was still a little while off. He had to get today out of the way, and then it would be back down south until they secured the second front – after that he’d be sprinting to the nearest jewellers and buying Dorothy the biggest diamond ring he could afford.

  ‘And I got a Simnel cake for your mother which I ordered from Vera’s, although she did warn me that it might be a little sparse on the dried fruit, for which, she pointed out, two people were to blame: Rina, who she said had raided her supply for her rugelach—’

  ‘Which, it has to be said, were well worth it.’

  ‘Agreed … And the second culprit,’ Toby continued, ‘was Jerry – so me and my men better get a move on and get shot of the lot of them so she could show off her cake-making skills to the full.’

  ‘Sounds like Vera,’ Dorothy laughed. ‘Not known for her gentility or her modesty.’

  Dorothy smoothed down her dress and then waved her hand to show it was time to get going.

  Toby leant across and kissed her before starting up the engine.

  ‘A heads-up,’ Dorothy said. ‘If Mum likes you, she’ll put her hand on your arm and insist you call her June.’

  ‘Good to know,’ Toby said, pulling away from the kerb.

  ‘And,’ Dorothy said, ‘when my mother asks, “Tell me, Toby, my dear, where did you meet my daughter?”, you will not tell her that we met in a bordello and you thought I was a call girl!’

  Toby laughed as he turned right into Borough Road.

  ‘And that I told Madam Lily, when she suggested that I might want to stay and enjoy the company of one of her girls to tide me over the Christmas festivities, that it was you and only you I wanted,’ Toby said, throwing Dorothy a look of love.

  They drove in silence for a moment, passing the museum and turning left up Burdon Road, where the bomb damage in the adjoining park was still visible. Seeing it subdued them both. Reaching Ryhope Road, Toby looked across at Dorothy, who was staring out of the window.

  ‘So, your real father’s definitely not about?’ he asked.

  Dorothy swung her head round to look at him.

  ‘No, definitely not,’ she snapped. Aware of her sharpness, she joked, ‘Isn’t one meeting of the parents enough? Surely you wouldn’t want to do it all over again?’

  Toby didn’t reply, but instead asked, ‘You’ve never had the urge to track him down?’

  ‘Nope,’ Dorothy said. ‘He can be dead for all I care. I’m quite happy never to set eyes on him ever again. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a case of good riddance to bad rubbish.’

  ‘Because?’ Toby pushed. This was the most Dorothy had ever said about her father.

  ‘Because …’ Dorothy hesitated ‘… because of what he did to Mum.’

  Taking his foot off the accelerator, Toby pulled up outside the town’s synagogue, admired for its colourful mix of Byzantine revival and art deco styles. He kept the engine idling and turned to Dorothy, who had dramatically splayed out her arms and raised her palms upwards, showing her confusion as to why they had stopped.

  On the few occasions the subject of her father had been broached, Dorothy had always changed the subject. Toby suspected her reticence to discuss him was because the man hadn’t been the nicest of chaps, but wasn’t sure. Dorothy had never given him any indication either way.

  ‘Would I be right in interpreting that as meaning your father was an unkind man?’

  Dorothy’s laugh was hard. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Yes, he was unkind – unkind, uncaring, unloving – but worst of all he was vile with his mouth, and violent with his hands.’

  Of course. Why hadn’t he realised it before?

  ‘That’s awful to hear,’ Toby said, taking hold of Dorothy’s hand. ‘Why haven’t you mentioned this before?’ He looked at the woman he loved and couldn’t imagine anyone being in any way cruel towards her – let alone harming her. ‘Did he hurt you – as well as your mother?’ he demanded, feeling untold anger towards the man who, until this moment, he had secretly been keen on meeting.

  Dorothy looked at Toby. His eyes shone with love and care. She wished she could soften her heart a little when it came to discussing her family, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Toby, I love that you care so much and are the complete antithesis of the man who raised me for the first part of my life, but honestly, it’s all in the past now. I consider myself lucky that he only took his temper out on my mum and not me. And I also consider myself doubly lucky that Mum had the gumption to leave him.’ She looked out of the window at the coloured-glass windows of the synagogue, which were glinting in the mid-morning sun.

  ‘It’s why I get so angry about Bobby,’ she said.

  Toby felt himself wilt a little, hearing the man’s name, which of late always seemed to weave its way into their time together.

  ‘I’m not sure how that situation relates to your own?’

  ‘Because his father was also violent to his mother and he should be thankful that Gloria’s not with him any more and doubly thankful she’s with a really lovely, decent bloke.’

  Toby had spent time chatting to Jack at the wedding reception yesterday and had to agree with Dorothy’s description of him.

  ‘But Bobby’s not thankful – not thankful at all,’ Dorothy complained. ‘And he bloody well should be.’ She could feel herself getting irate and took a deep breath. ‘Come on, or we’ll run out of time and you won’t be able to treat me to lunch at Meng’s.’ She was aware of the fact she was talking about Bobby again, and that it must be getting tiresome for Toby. She wouldn’t like it if the shoe was on the other foot.

  Toby put the car into first gear and pulled away. As they drove the rest of the way, Dorothy fought back the memories of her childhood she normally kept in check. Images of her mother’s bruised wrists, which she’d tried to hide with her long-sleeved blouses, snuck to the fore, as well as those of the purple contusions and welts she’d caught sight of when she’d occasionally see her mother in a nightie.

 
As Toby pulled up outside the family home, Dorothy’s mind wandered to Gloria and how shocked she had been to learn that her workmate, who seemed so strong and self-assured, was also the recipient of her husband’s anger and frustrations. It was why she had always felt close to Gloria – despite the differences in their age and class.

  Toby switched off the engine and they both got out of the car, leaning back in to retrieve the presents.

  Was that also why, fight it as she may, she felt a perverse closeness to Bobby – a strange kind of bond? Because they had both witnessed the suffering of their mothers?

  As they walked up the stone steps to the front door, Dorothy forced away all thoughts of her father and Gloria and Bobby and turned to the man she would marry, giving him her most dazzling smile.

  ‘What is it you say? Into the fray?’ She kissed Toby quickly on the lips and whispered, ‘Good luck. I think you’re going to need it.’

  When Dorothy wished him good luck, Toby had thought she was being her usual over-the-top self, but he was soon proved wrong. The moment they stepped over the threshold, he entered a world of chaos. He was greeted by four young girls all screaming with excitement as they were handed their presents, all demanding Toby’s attention and asking him question after question: What did the various colourful stripes on his uniform mean? Could they try his cap on? Had he killed anyone? It was a never-ending stream, and then there was Dorothy’s mother, who was a lovely woman but who seemed incapable of holding down a conversation. She would ask him a question or he would her, as she poured another cup of tea, and then one or other of the girls would tug her skirt or start fighting and by the time her attention was back on her guest they had both forgotten what it was they were talking about.

  Dorothy’s stepfather was affable enough. He liked to speak about himself, and Toby learnt that he was high up on the board of a company that owned a number of collieries in the north-east. His accent told Toby he had been privately educated, as did his innate confidence. They chatted about the government’s move to allow those who were eighteen years old and older to opt to do coal-mining work rather than go to war, and how the coal ration had been dropped to four hundredweight per month. Toby had not been able to stop his vision flickering towards the fireplace in the dining room, which was stacked up, with a full scuttle to the side.