A Christmas Wish for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Hello, anyone home?’ Dorothy’s voice interrupted the dance of the demons.

  ‘Eee, Glor, yer look like yer in a trance,’ Angie joined in.

  ‘Time to go,’ Rosie said, eyeing Gloria and the rest of the women.

  ‘Back to the grind,’ Dorothy griped.

  ‘We’ve just had half the afternoon off, Dor, we can’t complain,’ said Martha.

  They all started to make their way out of the shipyard. They made slow progress as they had no choice but to go at a snail’s pace because of the crowds. People were still trying to catch one last glimpse of the princess.

  ‘Shame Jack couldn’t have been here today,’ Dorothy said, throwing Angie a look. Despite several discussions over the past month, they still hadn’t been able to work out why he’d not been back.

  ‘Aye, a real shame,’ Angie said. ‘He would have been hobnobbing with the princess – then he could have told us what she’s really like.’

  They all walked through the main gates and along Pallion New Road to the bus stop.

  ‘He’s still not been given any time off?’ Hannah asked.

  Gloria shook her head but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I think it’s cruel,’ Dorothy said. ‘Working him like that, not letting him come back home for a visit.’

  ‘Do you think we should ask Helen – see if she can get him back?’ Martha asked.

  ‘What a good idea!’ Hannah said. ‘Why haven’t we thought of that before now? Helen can chat to Harold.’

  Dorothy looked at Angie.

  ‘We also had an idea,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll buy yer a ticket to Glasgow,’ Angie said.

  The pair looked at Rosie.

  ‘And you could get Glor the time off, couldn’t you?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘That’s sounds like a brilliant idea,’ Martha said. ‘Especially now we don’t seem to be getting any air rai—’

  Everyone shouted her down.

  ‘Dinnit say it, Martha!’ Angie shouted.

  Gloria sighed. ‘That’s kind, but it’s too long a journey for Hope.’

  Rosie glanced across at Gloria. She looked flushed, tired and worn out. It can’t have been easy watching Miriam. If she had been in Gloria’s boots, she would have struggled not to clamber over the barrier and throttle Miriam within an inch of her life. Seeing the woman who had been the bane of her life flouncing around hobnobbing and looking like the cat that got the cream was the last thing Gloria needed.

  Rosie looked behind at Dorothy and Angie, who seemed to be chatting conspiratorially with Martha and Hannah.

  Perhaps the time had come for Gloria to tell the women the truth.

  ‘We’re gonna have to tell them, aren’t we?’ Gloria said.

  ‘You read my mind.’ Rosie looked at her friend. ‘I don’t think we have much choice.’

  ‘It’s gonna be hard. Really hard,’ Gloria said with a heavy sigh.

  ‘I know, but it sounds like they might take things into their own hands if we don’t,’ Rosie said, also sounding deflated.

  ‘I know. Did yer hear Hannah?’ Gloria said. ‘I guarantee she’ll be in Helen’s office first chance she gets, arguing the case like she’s at the Old Bailey.’

  They walked on. Rosie checked no one could hear what they were saying.

  ‘All right, let’s get everyone together.’

  It was on the tip of Gloria’s tongue to suggest they also invite Bel, but she stopped herself. Only Helen and Polly knew that Bel was Miriam’s sister. And that was a secret only Bel could disclose.

  God, so many secrets. So many lies.

  ‘We’ll go somewhere we can chat in private,’ Rosie said as she waved up at the young timekeeper. ‘No chance of being overheard.’

  As they waved goodbye to Hannah, who was heading over to the quietness of the office, Rosie looked at Gloria.

  ‘I’ve just thought of the perfect place.’

  ‘Rushing off without saying goodbye to your dear old grandpapa?’ Mr Havelock said, stabbing his walking stick into the ground as he made his way over to Helen and Bel.

  ‘Dear me,’ he puffed, finally reaching them, ‘seems like the only time I get to see my only grandchild is at a launch.’

  ‘That might be because I’m busy, Grandfather. No time for sitting around chatting and drinking cups of tea. I’m a working woman – there’s ships to be built, a war on,’ Helen said, forcing a smile.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Bel said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Elliot,’ Mr Havelock said. ‘A pleasure to see you again.’

  Bel stretched her lips into a line by way of a smile and left.

  ‘I’ll meet you back at the car,’ Helen called as Bel hurried off.

  Mr Havelock stared as Bel made her way through the crowds.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling your secretary doesn’t like me?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Helen said. ‘Old age is making you paranoid.’

  Mr Havelock laughed, pulling out his monogrammed handkerchief and wiping his brow.

  ‘Good to see Royce Junior in such good fettle,’ he said, then paused and eyed his granddaughter. ‘You could do worse, you know.’

  Helen looked at her grandfather with what she hoped was a look of disbelief.

  ‘Matchmaker now, are you?’

  ‘It would be a good union,’ Mr Havelock continued. ‘Two wealthy families joining forces. Especially now your doctor friend seems to be out of the equation. Sounds like he’s got himself quite a catch there with some psychologist over at the asylum.’ He tapped his head with a long, bony finger. ‘What’s the name?’

  His eyes lit up.

  ‘Eris. That’s it. Dr Claire Eris … Now there’s a perfect match. Both doctors. Both their fathers are doctors. Wealthy. Good lineage.’

  ‘Dear me, Grandfather, gossipmonger as well as matchmaker.’

  Helen looked down at her watch.

  ‘Gosh, is that the time? I’d better get a move on.’ She forced herself to give her grandfather a peck on the cheek and left.

  As she walked back to the car, making her way impatiently through the slow swell of spectators heading home, she wondered whether she was the one who was being paranoid. Had her grandfather known his words would hurt?

  Mr Havelock watched as Helen hurried away.

  His granddaughter had been a bit off with him of late. Not as warm as she used to be. It had started after she’d had her miscarriage. He should have tried to have appeared a little more empathetic. It would have benefited him in the long run.

  He turned to head back to the gaggle of sycophantic bigwigs all fawning over the Princess Royal. Seeing Miriam loitering about, desperate for another few words with the princess, irked him. Why were both Miriam and Margaret total washouts? Completely inept when it came to anything to do with business – or work of any kind, for that matter. Why the bloody hell hadn’t Henrietta been able to give him a boy? The one thing he had wanted from her – what most other women on the planet seemed able to do – and she couldn’t even do that.

  Good job he had a granddaughter who wasn’t work-shy and was pretty savvy into the bargain. She’d manipulated him into paying Dr Billingham’s fees, knowing he wanted to get back in her good books after his insensitivity over her miscarriage. She’d shown herself to be a chip off the old Havelock block. She would continue his legacy. Not that he had any intention of popping his clogs any time soon.

  ‘You all right?’ Bel asked.

  ‘Yes, just a bit browned off,’ Helen said, firing up the engine and slowly driving out of the car park.

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Helen waved her hand dismissively, ‘just something Grandfather said about John and Dr Eris.’ She changed up a gear as they drove out of the gates and turned onto the main road.

  ‘I’m guessing they’re still an item?’ Bel asked.

  ‘It would seem so,’ Helen said, ‘and as my dear Grandfather has just reminded m
e, they make a very suitable match – in all ways.’

  They drove in silence while they crossed the Queen Alexandra Bridge over to the north side of the Wear.

  ‘And Matthew?’ Bel asked tentatively. ‘He seems very keen on you.’

  ‘Keen on marrying money,’ Helen said. She knew the Royces weren’t as affluent as they liked to make out.

  Bel thought for a moment as they drove through South-wick, a suburb on the north bank of the river. She didn’t feel it her place to say that, in her opinion, Mr Royce Jnr’s keenness wasn’t driven by monetary gain. But what did she know? The middle and upper classes were a different breed.

  Helen glanced across at Bel. ‘I have to say, I think that’s a good way to deal with seeing my grandfather.’

  ‘What? Running away?’ Bel’s laugh was acrid.

  ‘I don’t see it as running away,’ Helen said. ‘I wish I could. No, I meant that you choose not to be in his company.’

  Bel nodded. She didn’t trust herself to say anything more.

  ‘I thought you might have used your escape as an opportunity to go and say hello to your sister?’ Helen asked.

  ‘No, I just went to the ladies,’ Bel said. Where she had stayed until she had been able to stop herself from shaking with frustration and anger. ‘Then I headed back to the car.’

  ‘She obviously got time off work,’ Helen probed, her curiosity about Maisie getting the better of her.

  ‘Yes, she must have,’ said Bel, not volunteering any more information.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lily sat down at the table by the window in what was becoming her regular haunt – the Holme Café, next door to Kate’s boutique on Holmeside.

  ‘Well, that was interesting,’ she said, getting out her fan and cooling herself. ‘Is it me or is it hot in here?’

  ‘It’s you,’ Maisie said automatically. ‘It’s always you.’ Lily asked the same question at least once a day without fail.

  They both looked up at the skinny blonde waitress. She had a big smile on her face as they were her favourite customers – and also her biggest tippers.

  ‘I need water, ma chère,’ Lily said dramatically to the young girl. ‘I feel like I’ve been stuck out in the Sahara all day and I have finally reached my oasis.’

  The young waitress chuckled. The strange woman with the orange hair and odd accent always brightened up her day.

  ‘And of course,’ Lily added, ‘a pot of tea for two.’ She looked at Maisie, who shook her head. ‘No other nourishment for the moment, though.’

  The waitress smiled at Maisie – she was the most beautiful coloured woman she had ever seen; actually, the only coloured woman she’d ever seen.

  ‘So come on, why did you really want to go to the launch?’ Maisie asked.

  Lily eyed her protégée but didn’t say anything.

  ‘And would I be right in saying that it might be connected to the “tricky” problem I came to discuss with you a little while ago?’ Maisie asked. She had not seen as much of Lily as she did normally due to her boss’s new routine. As a rule, they’d have a bit of a catch-up at the end of the evening, but since Charlotte had started to come for breakfast, Lily had been in bed by eleven at the latest.

  ‘Your deductions would be correct, my dear,’ Lily said.

  Maisie got out a slender black Sobranie from its packet and put it in her ebony cigarette-holder. ‘So, tell me, what did you do?’

  ‘I thought about it for a while,’ said Lily, ‘and obviously I discussed the problem with George.’

  Maisie nodded. George was not just Lily’s lover but her confidant and adviser.

  ‘George, of course,’ said Lily, ‘totally understood why you didn’t want to give the man a membership. Or be anywhere near him, for that matter.’

  ‘This afternoon was near enough for me,’ Maisie said, lighting her cigarette.

  They both fell silent as the waitress arrived at their table with their tea tray.

  ‘Merci,’ Lily said, noticing the young girl’s frayed cuffs.

  When she had gone, Lily continued.

  ‘So, I wrote a letter.’

  Maisie blew out smoke, her attention rapt.

  ‘In which I explained that, unfortunately, the club was presently oversubscribed, but to rest assured that I would inform him as soon as a vacancy arose,’ Lily said, keeping her voice low.

  ‘And?’ Maisie had a bad feeling in her gut. The sensible part of her knew she should have sanctioned his membership, that Bel and her ma need never have known – but she couldn’t. Every part of her being had rebelled against the very thought.

  ‘And,’ Lily said, putting down her teacup, ‘now we wait.’

  ‘So, you’ve not heard anything?’

  ‘No, but I only sent the letter a few days ago.’

  ‘But you don’t think this will be the end of it, do you?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘No,’ Lily said simply.

  ‘Is that why you wanted to see him today – in the flesh?’

  Lily nodded.

  ‘I wanted to get a sense of what we might be up against.’

  Maisie tapped her cigarette in the ashtray. She understood. Seeing Mr Havelock today, she had got a good take on him. She had known men like him before – unfortunately. They were men you tried to keep well away from; men you certainly didn’t cross unless it was absolutely necessary.

  ‘Port and lemon, please, Bill,’ Bel said, looking around the pub.

  Bill took a tall narrow glass off one of the shelves, gave it a polish and held it up to the light.

  ‘And don’t dare say it’s on the house,’ said Bel, getting her purse out. ‘’Cos I know my ma probably guzzles a good part of your profits.’

  Bill didn’t say anything; he could see there was no arguing with Bel today. He had known Bel for a few years now and it was only very occasionally that he saw her mother in her. Now was one of those occasions.

  ‘Is that my Isabelle I can hear?’ Pearl appeared from the snug; she was carrying a load of dirty glasses on a tin beer tray. ‘I’ve just had the auld grannies in there having their weekly grouse.’ She used her foot to push the door shut.

  ‘Thanks, Bill.’ Bel paid him the money for her drink.

  ‘Yer not givin’ her it on the house? Yer stingy auld git,’ Pearl said, setting the tray down on the bar.

  Bill laughed. ‘Enough of the “old”.’

  ‘I told him I was paying, Ma – seeing as you drink the place dry most nights.’

  Pearl whooped with laughter.

  ‘Not every night,’ she chuckled, winking at Bill. ‘Just every other.’

  Pearl pulled up the hatch and went behind the bar. She looked about the pub. ‘Yer husband not here? Pol? Yer new mate, Helen?’

  Bel narrowed her eyes at her mother.

  ‘No, I just wanted a minute to myself,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink.

  Just then the main door to the lounge bar opened and Ronald came in.

  Bel looked at Bill and pulled a face.

  ‘I’m going to have a sit-down,’ she said, walking away and pretending not to see her ma’s drinking buddy. She couldn’t stand the bloke.

  ‘Yer all right there, Pearl?’ Ronald always spoke loudly. As usual, he had his sleeves rolled up, showing off his sinewy arms covered in tattoos.

  ‘Aye, I’m good,’ Pearl said, turning around to the optics and pushing a shot of whisky into a glass for herself. ‘Yer keeping all right?’ She walked towards the hatch.

  ‘Good as gold … Good as gold,’ Ronald said, his eyes on Pearl. ‘Yer up for a game of poker later?’ He watched as she lifted the hatch and ducked under it to the other side.

  Pearl shook her head. Every time she saw him, it reminded her of getting blotto the night of the air raid.

  ‘Not tonight, Ronald. Need to catch up on my beauty sleep.’ Her laughter was forced.

  Walking over to where her daughter was, she scraped out a stool and plonked herself on it, making sure her
back was to the bar.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ she asked Bel. ‘Yer look all done up. Yer been somewhere?’

  Bel sighed. ‘You’re probably the only person in town not to know that we had a visit from royalty today.’

  Pearl chuckled. ‘I dinnit think they could have sent anyone lower down in the pecking order. What is she? Niece twice removed to the King, or summat like that?’

  ‘I think you’ll find she’s George V’s daughter and the great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria.’

  ‘Oh, who’s all la-di-da these days. Must be that new mate of yers.’

  Bel ignored her mother’s jibe.

  Pearl pulled out her packet of cigarettes and lit one. It took her a few moments before the light bulb pinged and she understood why Bel was in a bad mood. If there was royalty at some launch, he’d be there. Without a doubt.

  ‘So, come on,’ Pearl said, blowing out smoke. ‘Why yer here?’

  ‘The thing is, Ma, I’ve been thinking a lot lately—’

  ‘Aye, tell us about it,’ Pearl mumbled.

  Bel ignored her mother and continued. ‘And I remember you said something about there being another maid – a chambermaid – who left just before you got your job there.’

  ‘Mmm …’ Pearl took a drink of her Scotch.

  ‘That she had “got herself in the family way”?’

  ‘Aye.’ Pearl puffed on her cigarette, her eyes scrutinising her daughter through the smoke.

  ‘Well, I don’t think it would be a massive leap of faith to assume that what happened to you had happened to her?’ Bel asked.

  Pearl nodded.

  Bel gasped at her ma’s lack of outrage. ‘I’m guessing that means yes? That the same happened to that poor girl as happened to you?’

  ‘That’s what I think happened, but that’s not to say that it actually happened.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ma, we’re not in a court of law now. It’s pretty obvious that man was using young girls for what he wanted and then chucking them away like dirty rags when he was done with them.’

  Pearl took a sip of her drink and a long drag on her cigarette.

  ‘Isabelle,’ she said through a swirl of grey smoke, ‘that’s life, that’s what men like him do. They always have ’n always will.’

  ‘For as long as they can get away with it,’ Bel hissed.