by Nancy Revell
Polly could hear the mix of emotions in Bel’s voice and asked, ‘What happened today?’
Bel looked at her with ice-cold eyes.
‘I met him – at the launch.’
Polly didn’t have to ask who. Bel had confided in her about who her real father was the night of the air raid. She’d been shocked that Bel had kept it from her for so long, but not as shocked as she had been to learn who Bel’s real father was and, moreover, what he’d done. She kept thinking about how it must have felt – to have a baby spawned by rape growing in your belly.
‘And did you talk to him?’ Polly asked.
‘He doesn’t really talk to people,’ Bel said. ‘He talks at them.’
They waited to cross the Borough Road, which was busy with trams and men on bikes heading home for their tea.
‘He shook my hand,’ Bel said, her voice a monotone.
Polly glanced at Bel as they crossed the road.
‘And?’ she asked.
‘And I felt like a coward,’ Bel said as they started walking down Tatham Street.
‘I don’t understand,’ Polly said. ‘Why would you feel like a coward? You’re probably the least cowardly person I know.’
‘I felt like Judas. Like I was betraying Ma.’
Polly looked at Bel. Her blue eyes were now shining with tears.
‘I should have spat in his face, not shook his hand.’
As they stopped outside their house, Polly could see a return of the anger from earlier.
‘Do you want to go somewhere to chat?’ Polly asked.
‘No, I’m fine, honestly,’ Bel said, taking a deep breath and squeezing Polly’s hand. ‘You need to get your feet up and look after that baby.’
They walked through the open doorway and Bel gave Polly a knowing look.
‘And then you can tell us all about your exciting day in the office. And why it is that office work is so much more interesting than being a timekeeper.’
Having popped in to see John, who was on the night shift, Dr Eris was making her way back to the asylum. She knew she was taking a bit of a risk by not passing on Helen’s message, but she had covered herself. She had purposely gone to check on one of the recently arrived soldiers who had suffered shrapnel injuries but was also exhibiting signs of shell shock – or rather ‘post-concussion syndrome’, as the government had told them to refer to it. If John found out that she’d been given the message, she could simply claim it had slipped her mind. After all, a traumatised soldier took precedence over something as trivial as passing on a note that a friend had called. It was hardly the end of the world, was it?
‘Good old Albert,’ Agnes muttered as she took some carrots and potatoes, still caked in mud, and put them in the sink.
‘He brought you the spoils of his allotment?’ Bel asked.
Agnes nodded.
‘I’ve asked him round for some tea tomorrow,’ Agnes said.
‘And I bet you he said, “Aggie, pet, yer dinnit need to feed me just ’cos I brought yer a few manky tats.”’
Agnes laughed. ‘More or less word-perfect.’
‘I think he misses Arthur,’ Bel said.
‘I think yer right. And he wouldn’t be the only one.’ Agnes dried her hands on her pinny. She looked at Bel, who was patting Pup, who, in turn, was giving Bel doleful eyes in the hope of a treat.
‘So, tell me, Bel, what is it yer want to talk about?’ Agnes said as she topped up the pot of tea and gave it a stir. The Irish in her voice was strong, showing she was tired.
‘What makes you think there’s something I want to talk to you about?’ Bel said as she fetched the milk jug.
Agnes sighed.
‘Bel, I’ve known yer since you were knee-high. Yer like one of my own. I can read yer like a book.’ She started pouring the tea into cups. ‘Which is more than I can say for Pol.’ She added milk and pushed Bel’s cup and saucer across the table. ‘I had no idea she had an ulterior motive for wanting to do office work. I stupidly thought being pregnant had changed her – got her hankering after a job “normal” women do.’
Bel let out a burst of laughter.
‘Don’t let Polly’s squad hear you say that. Or any of the other women working the yards, for that matter. They’ll have your guts for garters.’
‘Ah, yer know what I mean,’ Agnes said.
‘Well, they’re braver women than me, that’s for sure,’ Bel said. ‘There’s no way I’d want to do what they’re doing. Hard graft. Dirty work. Dangerous. Out in all weathers.’
‘Oh, I think you’d be brave enough ’n could stand the hard graft, ’n the cold – but not the dirt,’ Agnes said with a smile.
Bel laughed.
‘So, come on,’ Agnes said. ‘Spit it out. You’ve had that look on yer face since the moment yer stepped through the door ’n yer did that thing yer always do when yer trying to hide something.’
‘Which is?’ Bel asked.
‘Make everyone else the focus of attention.’ Agnes poured tea into her saucer and blew on it to cool it down. ‘I’m guessing it must be important if yer’ve stayed down here with me on one of the rare nights Joe’s not out doing his Home Guard duty.’
‘I know. I think Major Black and his unit see more of my husband than I do.’
Agnes smiled. She knew her daughter-in-law didn’t really mind; if anything, they were both grateful that the Major had signed Joe up shortly after he’d been medically discharged.
Bel looked at her mother-in-law. She looked tired, and for the first time Bel noticed that her hair was now more grey than brown.
‘I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t taken me in and looked after me,’ Bel said, her voice a little shaky.
Agnes put her saucer down and gave Bel a look she couldn’t quite read. It was as though she was going to tell her something but then decided against it.
‘Is this about yer not falling?’
‘No,’ Bel said wearily. ‘I’m actually tired of thinking about not getting pregnant, never mind talking about it.’
Agnes had stopped telling Bel to just ‘give it time’. Her daughter-in-law had given birth to Lucille exactly nine months after marrying Agnes’s other son, Teddy, who had been killed in North Africa at the start of the war. It was now a year and a half since Bel had tied the knot with Teddy’s twin, Joe, and still nothing. Something wasn’t right.
‘So, if it’s not that, what is it?’ Agnes asked.
Bel took a deep breath and finally told Agnes what she had told Polly on the night of the air raid. Unlike Polly, though, Agnes was not so much shocked by what had happened to Bel’s ma, but rather by who had done it. She also realised with a heavy heart that Bel had been stewing on this for a long time. Almost a year, which was not good. Not good at all.
‘When I saw him today,’ Bel said, ‘I just felt so angry. I kept looking at him acting like butter wouldn’t melt, being the centre of attention, having everyone fawning over him. I felt like pushing them all away and screaming at them, telling them what he’s really like.’
Agnes rested her hand on Bel’s. She knew there were no words she could say to assuage her fury. She could only listen.
‘And then I felt so angry with myself for being one of those people. For just standing there, letting him chat away. For shaking his hand.’
‘It must have been difficult for you at Arthur’s funeral as well.’
Bel let out a bark of mirthless laughter.
‘I just kept looking at them in the church – him and Miriam – and thinking, “That’s my father. That’s my sister” – well, half-sister.’
‘Which makes Helen your niece,’ Agnes said. ‘That must be strange too. What with you two working together?’
‘It is and it isn’t,’ Bel said, her anger ebbing. ‘I get on with her, which helps.’
‘And does she know?’
Bel nodded.
Agnes thought of Helen’s impromptu visit the day before the air raid. They’d all thought she
’d come to see Polly, but she hadn’t; it was Bel she’d wanted.
‘Last week. When she came here. She knew?’
‘She’d guessed,’ Bel said. ‘She thought it had been some kind of affair, but Ma put her right.’
Agnes sat back. ‘Must have been a blow. To find out that about your own grandfather.’
Bel nodded. ‘I think she’s been avoiding him. Today – at the launch – was the first time she’d seen him since then. We both couldn’t get away quick enough.’
Agnes let out a long sigh.
‘Dear me, this is a turn-up for the books.’
She looked at Bel.
‘And how are you feeling now?’
‘Angry,’ Bel said. ‘Angry and hurt. It hurts me to think of my ma being so young, just fifteen years old, and going through what she had to go through. Then she nearly died having me – and then couldn’t have any more. He ruined her life. And nearly mine too. Would have if it hadn’t been for you – and Pol.’
Bel looked at Agnes.
‘I feel like I’ve spent my whole life being angry at Ma, but I understand now – you know – why she was the way she was.’
Bel slumped in her chair, exhaustion beginning to replace the anger.
‘But most of all I’m angry that man’s gone through his entire life totally unpunished for what he’s done. And I keep feeling so frustrated because I want to do something about it, but I don’t know what.’
After finishing her shift at the pub, Pearl walked over the whitewashed front doorstep and straight into the hallway. Agnes tended to leave her door open, especially in the warm weather, but today it was because of the haddock stew she’d cooked and the live crabs she’d boiled up after a trip to the quayside. Leaning against the wall, Pearl took off her shoes and rubbed her feet. It had been a busy night and she’d not even had her usual ten-minute fag break.
‘So, come on. Spit it out.’
It was Agnes.
Pearl continued to listen.
And Bel.
Pearl didn’t move. It wasn’t in her nature to eavesdrop, but there was something about her daughter’s tone of voice that sounded serious. Leaning forward and straining to catch everything Bel was saying, her heart sank. That bloody man. It was bad enough he’d tainted her life; now he was contaminating her daughter’s.
When it sounded as if the conversation was coming to a natural end, Pearl quietly put her shoes back on; as she did so, thoughts of Henrietta sprang to mind. Not that thoughts of Charles’s wife were ever far from her mind these days, not since they’d been reacquainted at the asylum.
Pearl gave the front door a good push, making it sound as though she had just come in.
‘Eee, I dinnit knar,’ she said, clomping down the hallway, ‘any Tom, Dick or Harry can just come waltzing in here.’
Pearl walked through the kitchen doorway.
‘And I think they’d waltz straight back out as soon as they got a whiff of the place,’ Agnes batted back.
‘Aye, yer right there.’ Pearl acted surprised on seeing Bel. ‘Eee, yer up late. What’s up?’
‘Nothing, Ma,’ Bel said, getting up and giving Tramp and Pup a quick pat on the head each. They were curled up by the range. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Aye,’ Pearl said, heading towards the back door. ‘See yer in the morning.’
She looked at Agnes, who was taking off her pinny.
‘Last one of the day,’ she said, poking in her handbag and pulling out her cigarettes.
‘Night, Pearl,’ Agnes said as she walked out the kitchen and padded up the stairs to her room.
Opening the back door, Pearl felt one of the dogs brush past her and trot out into the backyard.
For the next few minutes while she smoked her fag, Pearl kept hearing her daughter’s words loop round in her head.
‘I want to do something about it, but I don’t know what.’
Agnes might have practically brought her daughter up, but Isabelle was still her flesh and blood and she knew that girl better than anyone. Better even than Agnes did. And what she’d heard this evening did not bode well. It wasn’t just Bel’s deep-seated anger and long-held resentments that were causing Pearl concern – but more what was bubbling underneath.
Bel wanted – needed – retribution.
And worse still, Pearl knew Bel would not rest until she’d got it.
Chapter Eleven
Sunday 23 May
‘Before we all start this morning,’ Rosie said to Gloria, Martha, Dorothy and Angie, who were all sitting on a large stack of wooden pallets within a stone’s throw of the edge of the river, ‘I want to say thank you for really pushing yourselves that extra mile this week. Denewood’s nearly there. I reckon we can get her finished today, which means tomorrow they can start getting her ready for her sea trials.’
‘So, she’s only a week behind schedule?’ Martha asked, taking out a packet of biscuits from her holdall.
‘If that – they’ve managed to do quite a bit of the fitting out while we’ve been patching her up,’ Rosie said, topping up her tin cup from her tea flask.
‘Well, it’s good to know the long hours have been worth it,’ Angie said, yawning.
‘And thanks for coming in today. I know how much you enjoy your Sunday lie-in,’ Rosie said. ‘Especially after a night at the Ritz.’
Rosie, Gloria and Martha looked at Dorothy and Angie, who still looked half-asleep.
‘I know this is the fourteenth day on the run you’ve had without a day off, so next week you’ve got the whole weekend off – boss’s orders,’ Rosie said, shaking her head when Martha offered her a biscuit.
‘Brilliant,’ Dorothy said, smiling at Martha and taking two biscuits, then handing one to Angie. ‘That means we can go out on Friday night as well, doesn’t it, Ange?’
Angie didn’t look so sure. ‘I think that might be when Quentin’s coming up. I said any night but Saturday.’ She took her biscuit from Dorothy and bit into it.
‘I’m sure Dorothy won’t mind,’ Gloria said, declining Martha’s offering and patting her belly; she’d struggled to get her waistline back after having Hope. ‘Will you?’ Gloria glared at her workmate.
‘Looks like I don’t have a choice,’ Dorothy said in a surly voice.
‘So,’ Rosie said, taking one last sip of tea and throwing the remnants onto the concrete, ‘we’ve just got the very top part of the hull to finish off today, which means scaffolding work and vertical welds.’
Angie groaned through a mouth full of oatmeal biscuit.
‘But not overhead,’ Rosie reassured, picking up her haversack.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Dorothy said. ‘We’re going to have arms like Popeye if we keep on like this.’
They all looked at Martha.
‘Not that there’s anything wrong with having arms like Popeye,’ Dorothy added, nudging her.
‘Come on, then, let’s get this done,’ Rosie said, putting the top back on her flask.
As they trooped over to the dry basin, Rosie waved up at the admin office window.
Gloria looked up to see Charlotte smiling down at them and waving back. ‘I would have thought she’d have been enjoying a lie-in and having the house to herself?’
Rosie sighed. ‘No such luck. In her words, “that’s what boarding school does to you.”’
‘What?’ Angie asked. ‘Makes you not wanna have a lie-in?’
They all navigated round a haphazardly stacked pile of sheet metal.
‘I think it’s more that it’s a hard habit to break,’ Rosie said.
Angie guffawed. ‘What? Getting up at the crack of dawn?’
‘It’s a different life,’ Dorothy tried to explain. ‘Going to boarding school.’
Angie resolved to quiz Quentin about his boarding school.
They stepped over a load of metal girders that had been laid out on the ground.
‘And I’m guessing because she was always with other people from dawn to dusk, s
he’s finding it hard to be on her own,’ Dorothy said. As a child she had often dreamed of going off to boarding school so she wouldn’t be on her own so much.
‘I think that could be part of the reason,’ Rosie said.
‘Is she all right?’ Gloria asked. All the women now knew that Charlie had recently found out the truth about Rosie’s ‘other life’.
‘I think so. She seems OK. She’s not been down or upset or angry, quite the reverse. But she doesn’t seem to want to be on her own at all. And I mean at all.’
‘Hence her being here on a Sunday morning?’ Gloria said, waving over to Jimmy, the head riveter, who was heading over to the platers’ shed.
‘Exactly,’ Rosie said. ‘I said she could come with me today if she stayed up in the office and did her homework – I even tried to put her off by saying that there was a good chance Helen would be in and that if she needed her to do any chores, she had to oblige – but even that didn’t work.’
‘And what about her little friend Marjorie?’
‘Thank goodness, she’s planning on going to see her next week, but she doesn’t want to stay over.’
‘She probably just needs time to adjust,’ Gloria said as they reached the dry basin.
‘I hope so,’ said Rosie.
Five hours later, they all downed tools.
‘We’ve done it!’ Dorothy declared.
‘We certainly have. Well done, everyone,’ Rosie said, looking at her workmates’ dirt-smeared faces. Everyone looked shattered.
‘I’m guessing everyone’s heading home – and then staying home?’ Rosie asked, looking over to see Charlotte appearing through the double doors at the bottom of the admin block.
Everyone mumbled that was exactly what they were going to do.
‘You too?’ Martha asked.
‘No such luck,’ said Rosie, with forced laughter.
Everyone looked round to follow her gaze.
‘Charlie has repeated several times over that it’s been a whole week since she saw Lily, so we’re popping in for a little while.’
‘Entrez! Entrez!’ Lily waved Charlotte and Rosie across the threshold of the West Lawn bordello in Ashbrooke.
