A Christmas Wish for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Perhaps I should also take a room somewhere in the village.’ Dr Eris turned as the barmaid brought them their meal.

  ‘It mightn’t be a bad idea,’ Dr Parker said, smiling his thanks to the young girl, who didn’t look old enough to be working in a pub. ‘I can ask my landlady if she knows of anywhere suitable?’

  ‘Thanks, John, that’d be nice,’ Dr Eris said, although she had no intention of moving anywhere – not unless it was into her new marital home with her new husband.

  ‘So, come on, give me a résumé of what’s been happening,’ Dr Eris asked, a twinkle in her eye. She congratulated herself on seeing John most days – even if it was just snatching a quick cuppa in the canteen. ‘A lot can happen in a couple of days.’ Just as a lot can happen in a couple of months.

  She listened intently as Dr Parker told her about a particularly complex operation he’d had to perform, forcing herself to look ever so slightly tearful when he told her about the difficult conversation he’d had to have with the young man who had just had both legs amputated, as well as the talk he’d had with the poor man’s fiancée, who, judging by her reaction, wouldn’t be his fiancée for much longer.

  ‘How awful,’ Dr Eris said, apparently with the utmost sincerity, though what she was really thinking was sensible woman. ‘Whatever happened to true love – for better, for worse, in sickness and in health?’

  They chatted on, mainly about work, but by the time their puddings arrived, Dr Eris had managed to find out more about John’s background and, in particular, his family. Reading between the lines, his mother was a total cow. Claire knew the type. Rich, middle class, well educated, but had never worked in her life. Did well for herself by marrying John’s father, also a surgeon, who, unlike his wife, didn’t seem to care too much for money or status and spent as little time at home as possible. He would be a breeze to charm; the mother, however, would be more of a challenge. If everything went to plan, ‘meeting the parents’ would happen soon. She had already briefed her mother and father that they would be coming up to visit, possibly next month. They, of course, would love John. Who wouldn’t? He was every woman’s dream husband – as well as every parent’s ideal son-in-law.

  The path to married life wasn’t totally obstacle-free, though. Helen was still a potential fly in the ointment. Claire had decided the best way forward was to purposely avoid any mention of Helen, but if John brought her up in conversation, she had primed herself to appear interested. She had managed to do so – heaven knew how – when he had told her of the evening he’d spent with Helen back in May. Inwardly, she had screamed, although she’d been pretty sure John had no idea how incensed she’d felt, and she’d done a good job of feigning great excitement at hearing how Helen had bought herself a ‘smashing green sports car’, in which she had taken John for a spin up the coast.

  John hadn’t mentioned Helen of late, which she took to be a good sign. She hoped that any trace of the shipyard sex siren would soon be scrubbed out of his life, helped along by the arrangement she’d made with Denise that whenever Helen rang, she would tell Claire – not John.

  In return, Claire was to set Denise up with one of the eligible young doctors she knew both here and in town. Denise wasn’t a bad-looking woman, but she was going to have to get a move on if she didn’t want to be left on the shelf. It was something Claire related to. Not that she would ever admit it.

  ‘You haven’t mentioned your star patient this evening,’ Dr Parker asked as he paid the bill and they both got up to leave.

  ‘I know – doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun,’ Claire said, giving John a slightly mischievous look. The last time he had come back to her accommodation they had lost track of time and John had been forced to sneak out, for fear of being seen.

  ‘I’ve forgotten her name,’ Dr Parker said.

  ‘Miss Girling,’ Dr Eris said, touching Dr Parker gently as he held the door open for her.

  ‘That’s it, Miss Girling,’ Dr Parker said, following Claire out into the dark night. ‘I don’t know why I never seem to remember her name.’

  ‘She’s getting along very well,’ Dr Eris said. ‘Since her medication’s been reduced, she’s definitely becoming more lucid. And according to Nurse Pattinson, she’s sleeping less. But it’s a fine balance, and I’ve got to be careful that she doesn’t become hyperactive.’

  They walked in comfortable silence for a while.

  ‘Do you still think she’s been wrongly diagnosed?’ Dr Parker asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she mused. She slid her arm around John’s waist, and he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. ‘Even if she has been wrongly diagnosed, I wonder whether there’s much hope for the poor woman. I can’t see her ever leaving the asylum permanently. She’s been here too long. Now, there’s someone who is institutionalised.’

  As they walked the remaining distance back to the asylum, the talk turned to the latest war news – the invasion of Sicily, described as ‘the stepping stone to Hitler’s back door’, and the bombing of Rome, as well as the start of the German withdrawal from Kursk in western Russia.

  ‘Let’s not end the evening with talk of war,’ Dr Eris said when they reached her front door. She reached up to kiss him. ‘Why don’t you come in?’ She kissed him again, this time more passionately. ‘We can talk of frivolous things.’

  Dr Parker pulled her to him, feeling himself respond to the closeness of her body.

  ‘In fact,’ she said, ‘we don’t have to talk at all.’

  Dr Parker kissed her; he could feel the heat between them.

  ‘I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,’ he said, pulling back and gently putting his hand to her face and caressing her cheek.

  He could see the hurt.

  ‘Not because I don’t want to,’ he said. ‘I just think it mightn’t be wise.’

  Dr Eris kissed him once more.

  ‘I think you might be right,’ she lied.

  Closing her front door, Dr Eris cursed herself. She’d been too pushy. And if there was one thing guaranteed to cool a man’s ardour, it was appearing too keen – too available.

  She was going to have to take her foot off the pedal and slow down.

  She needed to make sure she got this right.

  If she was to make John her husband, she had to play it right and ensure that nothing she did would rock the boat. She wanted to sail down the aisle as effortlessly as possible – and not get shipwrecked just before she reached the altar. Like before.

  She had learnt her lesson the hard way – and she was damned if she was going to make the same mistake twice.

  Dr Parker stepped out into the cool night and was glad of the half-mile walk back to his digs. Why had he said that? It mightn’t be wise?

  He had hoped the inference was that he would find it hard to rein in his feelings – to hold back from making love. Which it probably would have been. But what had really stopped him was that he knew as soon as he stepped over that particular threshold, there would be no going back.

  In his books, making love to a woman was akin to asking her to marry him.

  Some might call him old-fashioned, but that was just the way he was.

  Coming out of the asylum’s main entrance, Dr Parker got out his torch. It was pitch-black. He started down the long pathway.

  If it had been Helen standing in the doorway, inviting him in, would he have acted the same way? Of course he wouldn’t have. There wouldn’t have been a second’s hesitation.

  Dr Parker looked up to the heavens and sighed, exasperated with himself.

  For God’s sake, man! Please don’t go down this road again.

  Helen doesn’t want you to carry her over the ruddy threshold!

  Whereas Claire does.

  And you like Claire – you find her interesting, funny, desirable.

  So, what’s the problem?

  Hearing a vehicle approaching, he moved over to the side of the road. Why couldn’t he just lea
ve his love for Helen behind – chuck it under this oncoming car? Was he not letting go because deep down he believed there was a crumb of hope that Helen might see him as more than just a friend?

  He let out another heavy sigh of pure exasperation. He was truly delusional.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Friday 23 July

  ‘You look nice.’ Agnes had to keep the surprise out of her voice and from her face on seeing Pearl as she bustled into the kitchen.

  Pearl stopped and looked down at the faded blue dress that Agnes had loaned her. Agnes had told her she could keep it for as long as she wanted and just to give it back when she had no more use for it.

  ‘I dinnit knar about that,’ she huffed. ‘Still, it does the job.’ She grabbed her handbag and boxed-up gas mask.

  Agnes dried her hands on her pinny. ‘I’ve got a really nice shawl that goes with the dress, if yer want? It’ll keep the chill off, if it gets a bit nippy.’

  Pearl hesitated. ‘Aye, go on then.’

  Agnes disappeared upstairs and returned with a cream-coloured crocheted shawl.

  Pearl looked at it. Normally, she would never have even considered wearing something so old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, but it was perfect for today.

  Agnes draped it over Pearl’s shoulders and stood back. There was no denying that Pearl had made a real effort to look smart and respectable. She’d kept her make-up simple and hadn’t plastered it on like she normally did, and her hair had been pulled back into a neat bun, only a few dyed-blonde strands managing to break free.

  ‘You and Bill going anywhere special?’ Agnes asked as Pearl put her cigarettes and lighter into her handbag.

  ‘Seaham,’ Pearl lied.

  ‘Well, have a lovely time,’ Agnes said as Pearl walked down the hallway.

  Turning around at the last moment, Pearl looked at Agnes.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘yer knar, for the lend of yer clothes.’

  For the second time that morning, Agnes tried to keep her surprise from showing.

  ‘Yer all set then?’ Pearl said to Bill as she reached the entrance to the Tatham.

  ‘I am indeed,’ Bill said, tipping his trilby and putting out his arm.

  Pearl batted it away. ‘We dinnit have to get into character until we’re there, yer daft bugger.’ She looked over Bill’s shoulder and saw that Geraldine was taking chairs off tables. ‘Yer sure yer can trust her?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Bill said, turning and giving Geraldine a mock salute. ‘We’re off now. Patricia will be in at midday to give yer a hand.’

  Geraldine’s mouth dropped open on seeing Pearl.

  Unlike Agnes, she didn’t try to hide her astonishment.

  As the train pulled out of Sunderland station, Bill felt ever so slightly nervous. A good, exciting nervous. A first-date kind of nervous, which was ridiculous for a man of his age, and even more ridiculous because this wasn’t even a date. Much as he would have wanted it to be. No, today’s trip had been Pearl’s call. She had been the one to ask him to accompany her on a day out to Ryhope, not Seaham as she had asked him to tell everyone.

  Suddenly remembering that he had brought something to aid today’s subterfuge, Bill started to fidget around in his pocket.

  ‘What yer looking for?’ Pearl asked, touching her bun self-consciously, then smoothing her dress out.

  ‘Here we are,’ Bill said, unfolding a white handkerchief to reveal a gleaming gold wedding band. ‘If we’re going to pretend to be married, then you’d best be wearing a ring.’

  Pearl eyed it suspiciously. ‘Where did yer get that from?’

  Bill laughed. ‘I didn’t nick it, if that’s what yer thinking.’

  ‘So, if yer didn’t nick it, where did yer get it from? It’s too small to be yers.’ Pearl picked up the ring from the folds of the starched white hanky.

  ‘It’s the ex-wife’s,’ Bill said, watching Pearl as she held up the ring and inspected it.

  Now it was Pearl’s turn to be shocked.

  ‘Yer ex-missus?’ she said, staring at Bill. ‘I didn’t knar yer’d been married.’

  Bill laughed, enjoying seeing Pearl’s disbelief.

  ‘There’s a lot yer don’t know about me, Pearl.’

  ‘She’s not dead, is she? I’m not wearing owt that’s been taken off a corpse.’

  Pearl’s lack of sensitivity made Bill laugh loudly, causing a few passengers to stop their own conversations and look at the couple sitting opposite each other in the rear of the carriage.

  ‘I didn’t have you down as superstitious,’ said Bill.

  ‘I’m not,’ Pearl said, still pinching the ring between her thumb and index finger. ‘It’s just bleedin’ ghoulish. Wearing something off a dead person.’

  Bill chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, the ex is very much alive and kicking. The ring was tossed back at me with quite some velocity when she walked out. I kept it. Knew it would come in handy one day.’

  ‘Aye, well, it has. Silly mare should have kept it, she’d have got a few bob for it,’ Pearl said, sliding it on her wedding-ring finger and holding her hand out to look at it.

  ‘Suits yer,’ Bill said with a smile.

  ‘Fares, please,’ the conductor boomed as he stepped through the connecting door and into their carriage.

  Pearl scrabbled round in her bag and fished out their tickets. The conductor smiled at Pearl and tipped the peak of his cap.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, clipping their tickets and handing them back.

  ‘You both have a good day,’ he said, nodding at Bill and moving on to the family of four in the seats further down the second-class carriage.

  Pearl leant forward and whispered, ‘So, this is how yer get treated if yer a respectable married woman?’

  Bill looked at her. He wanted to say it might have more to do with the fact that she looked lovely in her blue dress, which showed off her pale blue eyes, and that her hairdo and the lack of heavy make-up highlighted her naturally attractive face. But he didn’t.

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asked instead.

  Pearl sat back and took a deep breath.

  She wished there was a plan as such, but there wasn’t – other than to find out the truth: had Henrietta known about Charles, colluded with him in order to satiate his perverted needs? Underneath that veneer of eccentricity, was Henrietta as rotten to the core as her husband? And why was she now incarcerated – under a false name – in the local asylum when she was meant to be six feet under? Normally, Pearl would have left a situation like this well alone. She had spent her whole life running away from her past – away from everything to do with the Havelocks – but not now.

  Not now she could see her daughter’s need for retribution growing steadily day by day, week by week.

  She needed to find the truth – whatever that might be.

  When the train pulled into Ryhope station, Pearl and Bill got off. This time when Bill put out his arm, Pearl took it. A few minutes later, they’d walked to the bus stop just up from the Railway Inn.

  ‘We’ll pop in on the way back?’ Bill suggested.

  Pearl nodded. ‘Our reward, eh?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Bill said, looking at Pearl and thinking she had the look of a woman on her way to the gallows.

  Once they’d got on the bus and sat down, Pearl turned to Bill. ‘What if the auld cow in reception recognises me?’

  ‘She won’t,’ Bill said. ‘Remember, the last time she saw yer, you’d been scrabbling about bomb sites looking for me.’ Bill felt his chest puff up at the thought of Pearl charging all over town, from one bomb site to the next, trying to find out if he was alive or dead. ‘From what Bel told me, you looked like one of the inmates rather than a visitor.’ He looked at Pearl, but she wasn’t laughing. ‘Yer look totally different, Pearl. And yer didn’t even talk to the receptionist. Bel said you’d been that rude to the one at Monkwearmouth that she forbade you from doing any of the talking when you got to the asylum.’

 
This time Pearl did laugh.

  ‘She can be a reet bossyboots that daughter of mine.’

  Bill breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘You’ve not told me how Polly’s doing. How far along’s she now? I’m guessing the bab’s all right?’

  ‘Aye.’ Pearl knew Bill was trying to take her mind off what she was about to do. ‘She’s seven months gone – give or take – and looks every bit of it. Every day I see her I swear she’s got bigger. I’m betting it’s a boy ’n it’s going to be a bruiser.’ Pearl was quiet for a moment, suddenly thinking of when she had been expecting Bel. She’d bled on and off and hadn’t even realised she’d been with child until it was too late to do anything about it.

  ‘Sounds like she’s being well looked after,’ Bill said.

  ‘Aye, she’s got some posh doctor. Must be costing a fair whack.’

  ‘Who’s picking up the tab?’ Bill asked, knowing the Elliots, like most families, struggled to make ends meet.

  ‘The Havelock girl’s paying for it,’ Pearl said. Why did everything seem to lead back to the bloody Havelocks?

  Seeing their stop, Bill rang the bell and they both got up.

  Within minutes of getting off the bus, they were walking through the main gates of the Sunderland Borough Asylum.

  Bill took hold of Pearl’s hand.

  ‘For appearance’s sake,’ he explained.

  Pearl raised her free hand and looked at her watch.

  ‘We’re reet on time fer visiting hours.’

  ‘Remember,’ Bill said as they fell in behind another couple who were making their way to the main entrance, ‘we’re a respectable married couple, come to see your mother’s cousin who’s not been well for a while. We’ve visited dozens of times,’ he said, slowing down as they walked up the stone steps. ‘So there’s no need to ask directions or even acknowledge the receptionist.’

  Bill let go of Pearl’s hand to open the door. As soon as they were in the main foyer, he took hold of it again. They walked on, passing the receptionist, who was answering a call. They took the corridor to the left. Bill kept his fingers crossed that he was right. He’d got to know the layout of the asylum during his short stay after the air raid. From what Pearl had told him, he thought he knew where it was in the hospital she needed to go. He hoped so.