by Annie Groves
‘But … but …’ Nancy’s tears poured down her cheeks. ‘I was going to tell him … I’ve been so sick, I thought I might …’
Gloria sat back a little. ‘What are you saying, Nancy? Spit it out.’
Nancy sobbed bitterly. ‘I wasn’t sure. You know, this wartime diet and everything, you can’t tell … it’s all different now. I lost count.’
‘Lost count? What are you on about, Nancy? You’re not making sense.’
‘My monthlies,’ Nancy confessed miserably. ‘I lost count of my monthlies. I don’t know when I had my last one. But I’ve lost so much weight. They went haywire anyway, so it might not mean anything. I thought he’d help me, he’d stand by me if I needed him …’
‘Nancy, come on, don’t upset yourself like this.’ Gloria hugged her, trying to calm Nancy’s shaking body. ‘He’s not worth it. Look, if you haven’t seen him since Christmas and you’ve still not put on weight, then you’re probably all right, aren’t you?’
Nancy screwed up the letter and threw it across the room. ‘I don’t know, I hope so, I don’t know what to think. Oh, Gloria, I’ve been such an idiot. I was kidding myself he loved me, he was so good-looking and everything, he treated me like I was special …’ She gulped again. ‘Where’s the bathroom? I’m going to be sick.’
‘Through there.’ Gloria pointed to a narrow door and Nancy hurriedly got up and dashed through it, slamming it behind her. Gloria paced around the bedroom, doing her best to ignore the noises coming from the bathroom, grimly hoping her friend hadn’t been caught out. She didn’t want to imagine the reception she’d get if the worst happened – Nancy pregnant but Sid still a prisoner of war and everyone knowing it couldn’t have been his child. He’d never even seen Georgie, let alone had a chance to father a little brother or sister for him. Nancy’s name would be dragged through the mud.
Gloria mixed herself another cocktail, figuring that one more wouldn’t hurt and that this was an emergency. She knew she’d been lucky herself – she was no stranger to men, and she’d taken a few risks before the war broke out, although she’d usually been very careful. That was one thing she had to say in favour of being brought up above the Sailor’s Rest – you heard everything. So she knew how to take care of herself. Of course, that one time with Giles, there hadn’t been a chance to … but nothing had come of it. In some ways that had saddened her; it would have been the one way of keeping him alive and with her for always. But it wasn’t meant to be. She shook herself. Maybe it was just as well. She couldn’t have gone on tour with a baby on her hip.
The retching noises had finally stopped and Gloria was just about to knock on the connecting door when there came a terrible groan from inside. Hastily she ran across and barged into the little bathroom. There on the white tiled floor lay Nancy, her hands pressed to her stomach. There was a bright red smear of blood on the thick white towel crumpled up beside her.
‘Nancy! Are you hurt? What’s …’ Then she realised where the blood had come from.
‘Sorry, Gloria.’ Nancy tried to get up but couldn’t. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s the shock … or the cocktail … or both. I didn’t mean to make such a mess.’
‘Never mind that.’ Gloria crouched beside her friend. ‘Don’t worry about that, they’ll have seen worse. No, listen, are you all right? How heavily are you bleeding?’
‘I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute or two.’ Nancy breathed deeply, rubbing her stomach. ‘I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks. It’s just cramps now. I don’t think it was … a you-know-what. It’s just bad cramps. It was all a bit sudden, that’s all it was. That’s all,’ she repeated, as if to convince herself. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ But she knew this was more than her monthlies coming late. She didn’t want to admit it, but deep down she’d recognised the symptoms from when she’d fallen with Georgie. Thank God it had happened here and nobody at home would see. If she was careful, nobody would be any the wiser, and she knew Gloria wouldn’t say anything.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Gloria said soothingly, stroking Nancy’s head where the victory roll had come undone, her red hair spilling across her shoulders. ‘Come on, then, let’s get you up. You can have my bed for the night, I’ll have that sofa. Nothing to worry about.’
Slowly, Nancy stood, and Gloria helped her across the expanse of deep-pile carpet back to the bed, carrying more towels with her to mop up any more blood. She wondered if they should call a doctor, but Nancy didn’t seem to be feverish or anything. Gloria knew several women from the stage who’d had similar experiences, and they’d said the best thing was to sleep it off and then carry on. Well, so much for a glamorous night of cocktails at the Adelphi, she thought. It wasn’t the reunion she’d planned. But then again, if Nancy was no longer pregnant by that good-for-nothing Stan Hathaway, maybe it was a good night after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘It’s good of you to give up your afternoon off like this.’ Violet paused to wipe the sweat from her forehead and pushed back the faded old scarf she’d tied around her hair to control it in the stiff breeze. ‘Honestly, you must be worn out. I know for a fact you are. Yet you still came.’
‘Said I would, didn’t I?’ Rita rested on the handle of her spade. ‘I’ve got to learn how to do this sort of thing. I never tried before, but who knows what we’ll have to get used to while this war continues?’
Violet smiled grimly and plunged her spade into the earth. ‘It hurts in muscles I didn’t even know I had. Still, can’t wait around for the men to come home, can we? My Eddy will want some feeding up when he gets back.’
‘Can’t say the same for Charlie. I bet he’s doing all right for himself wherever he is,’ Rita said bitterly. She didn’t usually even speak about him, she was so mortified at having a deserter for a husband. Somehow with Violet it was different, though; her sister-in-law hadn’t known Charlie, hadn’t seen what a dance he’d led them all in. It was a relief to be able to vent her frustration. ‘Not that we have a clue about that.’ Her thoughts flew to Jack, out in the Atlantic, eating who-knew-what rations, and unable to say either exactly what he was doing or when he’d next be home. He’d written that he’d try to give her some notice when he might come back, but realistically she knew that might not be possible.
‘We’re all having to manage without our men,’ Violet said stoically. ‘I miss Eddy so much it hurts, but moaning about it won’t make it any better. I’m just going to concentrate on learning new and useful things for when he’s back. For when we have a house of our own with a garden and I can grow healthy fruit and veg for our children.’ She paused. ‘Listen to me. Pie in the sky, isn’t it? But a girl can dream.’ Her face set in determination. ‘Here, Rita, pass me that hoe. These weeds between the rows of carrots are little blighters. After all that work of putting down extra protection against the spring frosts, nothing is going to stop these beauties from growing. We’ll have our home-grown carrot cake if it kills me.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Rita passed the hoe across. ‘Don’t even joke about it.’ She grinned to take the edge off her comment. ‘I don’t know how we’d manage without you, and that’s the truth.’ She wasn’t exaggerating. She’d come to rely on Violet in the shop. The customers loved her. Now that they’d got used to her strong Mancunian accent and abrasive laugh, they accepted her – of course it helped that she was married to Eddy, from the popular Feeny family, and everyone knew the risks he was taking every day. But people had warmed to her. She was very good with the older customers, never tutting when they took ages to find their change, or counted it all out in small, carefully hoarded piles of coins, or became confused with their ration books. Mrs Ashby in particular had come to rely on her, as it brightened her lonely day to have such a chatty soul around. Violet jollied them along and left them feeling better for their trip to the corner shop. Unfortunately she was terrible at working the till and often made mistakes – but Rita told herself nobody was good at everything and she couldn’t complain. Winn
ie had almost given up entirely and was a liability rather than an asset when she did help out. God only knows there was little margin for error in the shop’s profits – they were hanging on by a fingernail.
‘So what shall we take back this evening?’ Violet wondered, looking along the neat rows that were now practically weed-free. ‘More salad? Everyone likes a fresh lettuce. Gives anything a bit of a crunch.’
‘Winnie doesn’t,’ sighed Rita. ‘I don’t know why I bother. She looks at it as if I’m trying to poison her. Seriously, if I was going to do that, I’d be a bit more efficient than giving her a lettuce. How about those spring greens? I could use them in a stew. Put them with some barley to bulk it out.’
‘Good idea. Georgie will like that.’ Violet bent to pick some to put in her trug.
‘Have you got Georgie round again?’ asked Rita.
‘He never left,’ said Violet. ‘Nancy was taken ill on her night out with Gloria.’
Rita raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘That’s what she calls it nowadays, is it?’
‘No, she really was in a bad way.’ Violet had no illusions about her younger sister-in-law, but she’d been moved to pity by the girl’s white face when she’d eventually got back. ‘I felt sorry for her, really I did. She’d been looking forward to her friend coming home for ages and then their big night out never happened. She was lucky to get back; that raid hit the big ship down the docks last night.’
‘I know. I’m afraid after the past couple of days we might be in for another big one.’ Rita looked grim. ‘Come on, let’s get these back before it starts to get dark. I don’t want to get caught out here in the open.’
Violet began to pack away her tools. ‘Yes, and if you come back to ours, I’ll show you what I got down at Lewis’s. They had some lovely stuff going cheap for once. It fair made my day.’
Rita nodded eagerly. ‘You lucky thing. It’s ages since I had anything new. Maybe I’ll make time to slip down there tomorrow.’
Back in Dolly’s cosy kitchen, Rita admired the neat blouse and cardigan in a gorgeous shade of lilac that Violet had found on sale. ‘See, there’s a tiny bit of stitching gone wrong under the collar, that’s why they reduced it,’ Violet explained.
‘But you can put that right in two shakes,’ Dolly said. ‘That’s a real bargain, that is. Rita, will you stay for some stew? There’ll be plenty, thanks to you two and all your hard work today.’
‘I’d love to, but I need to get back,’ sighed Rita. ‘Winnie won’t have thought to cook anything and Ruby will need to eat, even if Winnie refuses again. She’ll waste away one of these days and I’m not going to stop her. Does that sound awful?’
Dolly shook her head. Winnie was one of the most exasperating women she knew and she wasn’t going to waste any sympathy on her. ‘No, love, you make sure you look after yourself and Ruby. What Winnie does is up to her; she’s old and ugly enough to make up her own mind. Finish your tea, though.’
Rita nodded and lifted her cup. She felt confused and guilty about her mother-in-law, but she was more concerned for Ruby, who didn’t seem to have been taught how to cook at all. What if she was delayed getting back from the hospital for any length of time? Winnie wouldn’t lift a finger to help Ruby who was, after all, her own unacknowledged daughter. Yet again it was all down to Rita. She didn’t even want to contemplate what might happen if Winnie’s sordid little secret was blown. People had begun to gossip – it was only natural, and the resemblance between mother and daughter was there for those who cared to look closely. Violet had mentioned more than once that some of the customers had started to speculate why the strange young woman was still there, or why she kept herself in the background so much. It was only a matter of time.
‘Thanks, Mam.’ She set the cup down again and was just about to reach for her coat when the siren sounded, pushing all other thoughts from her head. ‘Not again.’
‘Well, I’m not leaving this stew for Hitler to ruin,’ Dolly declared. ‘Good job we got those big flasks. Come on, Rita, we’ll pour as much of it in as we can.’
‘I’ll bring the biscuits,’ said Violet, automatically turning to Georgie and making sure he was safely in his siren suit, which was always at the ready. She caught Rita’s glance. They both knew this could be a big raid. It was what they had feared that very afternoon. Last night’s damage was still evident, with the big ship that had been hit on nearby Huskisson Dock burning away. Violet shrugged off the old jumper she had been wearing for gardening and pulled on her new cardigan. ‘At least I’m going to have some use of this,’ she said staunchly. ‘Ready, Georgie? Off we go, we’ll have singsongs down at the shelter and you’ll see everyone you know.’ Georgie beamed back up at her. He was used to this, and they all made sure they made it as much fun as possible for him so he wouldn’t fret too much.
Swiftly and efficiently, the women packed everything they needed, including the flasks of delicious stew, and made their way down Empire Street to the shelter at the end. Rita looked around anxiously for Ruby, wondering if the young woman could be trusted to find her own way, but there she was, her distinctive, strange hair visible in the gloom. ‘Come on, Ruby, walk with us,’ she called. Ruby hurried across, anxiety etched on her otherwise baby-smooth face.
‘Will we be all right?’ She was shaking.
‘We’ll be safe as houses down there,’ Dolly assured her, then realised that might not be of much consolation to the young woman. But she couldn’t worry about that. Once she’d got her family to safety, she was going to take up her position as fire-watcher for the street. Something told her she was going to be busy. She sent up a silent prayer for Sarah, on duty down at the docks. There was nothing she could do for her brave youngest child. Then there was Frank, whose digs were towards the centre of the city – although maybe he was safe in his top-secret job in the bunker. She’d wanted him to move home once he was posted back to Merseyside, but he’d protested that there was no room and she’d had to concede he was right. She had no way of knowing where he was right now, and worrying wouldn’t make it any better. ‘Oh, there’s Danny,’ she said in relief. ‘Danny, you go with them to the shelter and get them all settled.’ She handed him her big basket. ‘There’s plenty there, Rita will sort you out, but I have to go to my post.’
Rita barely had time to say goodbye to her mother when Danny swept them to the door of the shelter and through to comparative safety, escorting them to the back where there was more room. ‘There’s another letter for you,’ he whispered as he came close to her ear. ‘I got one too. He’s coming home on leave soon.’
‘Oh Danny, that’s wonderful.’ Rita had a burst of hope, even as the anxious crowd surged around her. ‘I just hope we survive this raid to see him.’
Sarah shuddered as the siren went on and on. If she was honest, she was exhausted. She’d been on duty last night when the big ship was hit and had worked through the day, helping tend the wounds of the dock workers who’d got too close. To think that until recently she’d only learnt about treating burns from a textbook. Well, she thought grimly, she had plenty of practice now. Trying not to think about her father, who was bound to be on ARP duty, or her mother doing her fire-watching, Sarah began to roll more bandages in readiness for the casualties that were certain to come.
‘Fancy a cuppa, young Sarah?’ It was one of the more experienced nurses, Jean, who’d worked full time before she married and gave up her job to have children. Now her skills were needed once more, and the children were being cared for by their grandmothers. She’d confided to Sarah on a quieter night that she felt she should have them evacuated but couldn’t bear the thought of separation. Sarah had understood that this was the dilemma so many women faced.
She didn’t really want a cup of tea, but then again she had no way of knowing when the next one would come along, so she agreed. Meanwhile she carried on rolling the bandages, ordering them by size and shape, careful to be exact so that no time would be lost when the station got busy. She
had little doubt it would. There wouldn’t be much sleep tonight. Sleep. She mustn’t even think about it. Every cell in her body longed for it but she knew she couldn’t give in to the temptation to snatch forty winks. The tea would revive her.
The drone of overhead aircraft filled her with dread.
‘Oh boy, now we’re for it,’ said Jean, looking upwards. ‘Sounds like they mean business tonight.’
‘Could mean anything,’ said Sarah, refusing to think the worst before it actually happened.
‘No, I feel it in my waters,’ Jean insisted. ‘You see if I’m right. They’ll be doing their damnedest to destroy Liverpool tonight.’
Sarah wanted to block out her colleague’s gloomy prediction – it did no good to assume disaster. ‘We might be lucky. You never know.’
‘Well, I’m just going to stick my head outside to see if there are many people heading our way,’ Jean said.
‘Wait, your tea will go cold,’ said Sarah, alarmed now. ‘Don’t go outside if the planes are so close. The wounded will find us soon enough.’
‘I’d rather know what we’re in for.’ There was no stopping Jean now. She put down her chipped old mug, drew her nurse’s cloak around her and hurried out of the door, leaving it ajar and letting the cold night air through.
Sarah turned to go to shut it, but she never got there. Suddenly an explosion far, far louder than anything she’d ever heard before in her life sounded from what felt like directly outside. The shock waves crashed into her and she fell, momentarily disorientated. Her ears rang and she couldn’t tell up from down, she was so dizzy. She held on to what some faint internal voice told her must be the leg of the table on which she’d been sorting her bandages and somehow she rolled underneath it. She could hear crashes but couldn’t tell if they came from inside the nurses’ station or not. There were screams, high and piercing, but she couldn’t do anything about them; she couldn’t stand, couldn’t think straight. The noise and confusion seemed to go on for ever. There was dust in the air and the horrible smell of burning – scorched wood, and something else more earthy.
