by Annie Groves
Violet wiped her hands on her pinafore, which bore traces of the victory garden all over it. ‘Well, we deliberately chose some late-cropping varieties. Old Mr James from the allotments told me how to do that. So they should keep going a bit longer yet, as long as we have enough sun to ripen them. I’ll make sure Rita has some to sell in the shop.’
‘What’s that?’ The door opened and Rita came in, catching her own name as she did so. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘Sell some of these,’ Dolly said, automatically reaching for the kettle so that her hard-working eldest daughter could have a welcome cup of tea. ‘You sit yourself down, love. Let me fetch you something to eat, you look as if you need feeding up.’ She regarded Rita critically, aware of how much weight she’d lost over the past few months. ‘You’ll be wasting away to nothing and we can’t have that.’
Wearily, Rita sank into a chair. She hadn’t got the energy to argue. She’d been run off her feet at the hospital yet again, even though there had been no major bombing incidents for weeks. That meant more patients were being transferred to them to recuperate, at the same time as emergency nurses were being sent to areas where they were most needed, leaving her ward short of staff. She knew in many ways it was sensible, and yet for her it made a difficult task nearly impossible.
Georgie ran towards her. ‘Reet!’ he shouted joyfully, and Rita bent over to pick him up. She kept to herself how much she missed the only other person to call her by that name. He hadn’t had any leave all summer, and from his letters she couldn’t work out where he was – which was only right, but it meant she worried at any news of convoys being struck, fearing that Jack might be among the injured. She buried her face in her nephew’s hair to hide her fears, and the action reminded her – as it always did – of how much she missed her own children.
‘Look what Auntie Violet has brought us,’ said Dolly, showing the little boy the tomato. ‘Shall I make you a sandwich?’ Georgie jumped off Rita’s lap and held on to his grandmother’s skirt, looking up at her with devotion. ‘Mmmmmm,’ he said.
Dolly turned to find the breadboard. ‘We could do with more butter,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any trips planned to the farm, Rita? Pop can take you next time if you like.’
Rita shrugged. ‘I’m not sure when I can go next. They’ll welcome us at any time so that’s not a problem, but we can’t spare anyone from the ward at the moment. I’d love nothing more but I’ll have to see.’ She picked at the frayed edge of her cardigan. ‘This is coming undone again. It seems like no time at all since I last sewed it up.’
Dolly considered the colour. ‘I’ve probably got something like that in my make-do-and-mend basket. Let me finish doing this for Georgie and I’ll fetch it.’
Rita sat back and for a moment closed her eyes, letting the comfort of being in her mother’s kitchen wash over her. How tempting it was just to stay here. Then another voice shook her out of her reverie. Nancy swung into the room, calling out to Georgie. ‘Oooh, what have you got there? Did Grannie make it for you? Why don’t you let Mummy have a bite?’
Typical, thought Rita, without rancour. Taking food from her own child’s mouth. That was enough to beat the band, but Nancy could get away with anything.
Dolly didn’t rise to it. ‘Sit down, Nancy, and leave the poor boy be. I’ll make you one of your own. There’s plenty of tomatoes to go round. Salt and pepper?’
Nancy nodded eagerly, her beautifully styled rolls of hair bobbing. ‘I missed lunch, I’d love one. Here, Georgie, have it back and finish it up like a good boy.’
‘Missed lunch?’ asked Violet. ‘Were you busy?’
‘I was! You’ll never guess,’ said Nancy. ‘I’m going to help with the WVS. They’ve got a canteen in the city centre doing refreshments for visiting servicemen. They need all the help they can get, you know, posted in a strange town and sometimes in a strange country. I’m going to be really doing my bit from now on, so you can’t tell me I’m not contributing any more.’ She gave Rita a glare before taking a huge bite of her sandwich.
‘Well, now, that is a surprise,’ said Dolly, who’d spent the past two years or thereabouts trying to get Nancy to join the local branch of which she herself was such a mainstay. ‘Are you sure you have to go all that way, pet? You could come along with me and then you wouldn’t be away from Georgie so much.’
Nancy nodded vigorously. ‘I appreciate your concern, Mam, but they said they were really short-handed and so I don’t mind making the sacrifice, I really don’t.’
Rita bit her lip. Trust Nancy to get the position where she’d be in the prime place to be chatted up by all the troops, and also right near the shops that remained open. She could spot her sister’s ulterior motives a mile off, though her mother often seemed to have a blind spot where Nancy was concerned.
‘That’s very good of you, Nancy,’ said Violet, knowing full well that it would be her and Dolly who’d be looking after Georgie in his mother’s place. But she didn’t mind in the slightest. It would be good practice for when she and Eddy had their own children – whenever that might be. He hadn’t been home for months, and often she went without a letter for weeks at a time – and then several would arrive at once. She knew she mustn’t grumble; there were so many worse off than herself.
Rita got to her feet, unable to put up with Nancy’s brazen behaviour a moment longer. ‘I’d better be off. Thanks for the tea, Mam.’
‘You know you don’t have to thank me,’ said Dolly, impulsively giving her eldest girl a hug. ‘You’re all skin and bones, Rita, my goodness me, whatever are you eating? Not enough to feed a bird. You want to take care of yourself, we don’t want Michael and Megan to have a skeleton for a mother.’
Rita tried to raise a smile. She was too tired to eat half of the time, even if she could grab a moment for a proper meal.
‘Wait, let me give you those tomatoes,’ said Violet, hurrying to separate some of them into a tin. ‘You take these. Shall I bring some more over tomorrow when I come to work?’
‘Only if you can spare them,’ said Rita. ‘I’d love to have them, they’re very popular.’ She took the tin and left, grimly thinking that there was less and less to sell in the shop, popular or not.
Ruby was waiting for her when she went through the door to the shop, which had been closed since teatime. This wasn’t unusual these days, but Rita was brought up short by the sight of all the account books spread over the counter. She set down the tin and stared at them.
‘What are you doing, Ruby?’ She couldn’t believe that the young woman would be able to make any sense of them. They were complicated, with figures all over the place; she’d struggled to understand the system herself when she’d first encountered it.
Ruby looked up, her expression solemn. ‘There you are, Rita.’ She paused, as if summoning her nerve to continue. ‘Rita – the shop isn’t making enough money, is it?’
Rita gasped in surprise. ‘Whatever makes you say that, Ruby? We’re fine, we’re absolutely fine,’ she hurried to reassure her.
Ruby shook her head. ‘We aren’t, Rita. Look at these sums. We’re losing money and it’s all draining away. You should have said something before.’
Rita stared at her in amazement. ‘But how can you tell, Ruby? Those sums are very difficult. I’ve been doing them for ages now and I still get confused. You shouldn’t worry, you’ve probably not understood, but I can’t say I blame you.’ She couldn’t bear to think that Ruby was worried. The young woman needed protecting from a world that had treated her cruelly and in which she struggled to cope – the last thing she needed was to face the reality of the business’s finances.
Ruby stood her ground. ‘You don’t have to pretend to me, Rita. I don’t want you to pretend any more. It’s making you worried, isn’t it? But I can help.’
‘Ruby, Ruby.’ Rita felt despair wash over her. It was so kind of the girl to offer, but she could have no idea of the complexities of running the place. It w
ould be far, far beyond her limited understanding of how the world worked. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s generous of you to say it. But really, don’t worry.’
Ruby came around the counter and put her hand on Rita’s arm. Her large pale eyes were steady and determined. ‘I told you ages ago, Rita. I can see patterns. It’s not a lie.’
‘No, no, I never thought you were a liar,’ Rita said hastily. ‘That’s not what I meant. But this isn’t like playing snap or something like that.’
‘It’s patterns in numbers,’ Ruby insisted. ‘I can see them, I don’t know how. I can see them in these books. I can help. You must trust me, Rita. Don’t you trust me?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘See here,’ said Ruby. ‘This is where you have paid extra all summer, isn’t it? You pay a bit more money to this person, and they are meant to put it towards the big sum you owe.’
Rita stared in astonishment. It was the only way she’d been able to keep supplies coming in, even though it was chipping away at what slender reserves she had. She’d had to include those figures in the overall totals, but how anyone other than herself could have noticed it was beyond her. ‘Well done,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, that is what those numbers mean.’
Ruby looked at her sadly. ‘But here is what you still owe,’ she said. ‘It isn’t changing like it should. If you meant to make the big sum smaller, it isn’t working.’
Rita stared even harder. That was a fact she hadn’t wanted to face. It had been eating away at her, but as she hadn’t known what else to do, she was carrying on as if all was going to plan. How come Ruby had spotted it?
‘What do you suggest, then?’ she asked, scarcely able to believe she was saying this to Ruby of all people. Jack, yes – he was clever with numbers. Or Danny; everyone knew that he’d got his new job because he was smarter than anyone realised. But she had far too much pride to ask them, even if Jack were here or Danny had the time. She would be too ashamed to admit she had failed to keep the shop in profit.
‘I think I should take these books and read them very carefully,’ said Ruby slowly. ‘I don’t want to talk to the people you owe, I don’t think that would do any good. But if I check all the sums, then I could tell you what you could manage to pay to make a proper difference. I could do that. That might help, mightn’t it?’
Rita gazed at the young woman almost as if she were a stranger. This unexpected new turn of events was unlike anything she could have predicted. Ruby certainly didn’t talk like an accountant, and her huge eyes made her look like a child as usual; but she might be on to something. Rita felt a little flutter of something she hadn’t known for a long time: hope. Well, why not give Ruby a chance? It couldn’t do any harm, and it might just help them all turn the corner.
‘Ruby, thank you,’ she said, giving the strange young woman a hug. ‘Thank you. I would love it if you could help.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Frank stood before his commanding officer, wondering what the problem was this time. It was what he loved about his job and what he dreaded – never knowing what was going to come next. The pressures they were all under not to make a single mistake in their vital job of co-ordinating the defence of the Western Approaches were draining; it was their collective responsibility to ensure the supply routes from North America stayed open, and to outwit the many U-boats whose job it was to sink those all-important cargo ships. The strategic value of the North Atlantic could not be overestimated; Britain completely relied on it for important supplies. Although Frank did his utmost to maintain the necessary highest standards, he could never be completely sure that one tiny error hadn’t crept through. Was this what the summons was about?
He gazed steadily straight ahead, noticing the rudimentary comforts that Commander Stephens had introduced to the small underground office, where every inch of space was precious: a small tapestry cushion on the back of the desk chair, a slim photo frame on the desk – although he couldn’t tell what was in it from where he stood. He liked his commanding officer – he was a fair man, even when demanding the seemingly impossible. These little human touches reminded Frank that Commander Stephens had a home life too; something he was fighting for, something that kept him going as well as his patriotic duty. He forced his own thoughts not to go down that path.
‘Well, Warrant Officer Feeny, I dare say you are wondering why I’ve called you in here.’ The commander looked at him with interest but gave nothing away.
‘Yes, sir.’ Frank thought there was no point in saying anything more. If he was in for a dressing down, he wasn’t going to give away any ammunition.
‘Let me reassure you, it is nothing to worry about. You may stand at ease,’ the commander went on. ‘It has come to the notice of the higher authorities that you have been performing above and beyond your current remit, Feeny. Your work leading to the detection of the location of the Bismarck back in May was exceptional, and I don’t have to tell you how vital that was to the overall war effort, or what effect its sinking had on morale. Well done, Feeny.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Frank struggled not to breathe out heavily in relief. He’d only done what he was asked to do, and many personnel had been involved in the sinking of the vast German battleship, pride of the fleet, which had been deployed to disrupt the Atlantic shipping routes so important to Britain’s survival. But it was satisfying to hear that his careful plotting and detailed documentation of the results had been recognised. He’d stayed up through the night on more than one occasion, even when on day shift, his eyes itching and his temples throbbing as he’d pored over the reams of information to spot the relevant figures. On a few occasions he’d even been known to loosen his false leg, as it wasn’t designed to be used for twenty-four hours at a stretch. He’d been prepared for sharp glances or offended looks but none had come. People simply accepted it as part and parcel of a dedicated serviceman who would go the extra mile to perform his duty. Yet anyone else in his position would have done the same – and plenty had.
‘You’ve also helped us to recruit one of our most successful new members of staff,’ the commander continued. ‘As you are probably aware, opinion was divided as to whether we should take on personnel from outside the service and bring them into such a sensitive operation. It is fair to say that opinion was even further divided when it came to your suggestion of Mr Daniel Callaghan. But he has surpassed all our hopes, and his being here is entirely down to you, Feeny.’
‘He’s a good man, sir.’ What else could he say? If Frank thought about it, it was very strange to be talking about his childhood friend in this way. But Danny had proved himself, against a fair weight of opposition from above. That was typical Danny – when it came down to it, he didn’t really care what other people thought of him. If he was interested in something, he would throw himself into it. Now all his deep frustration at being unable to fight for his country was being channelled into puzzle solving and pattern detecting for the unit, and everyone was astonished at the results. He was a natural. It was a long way from being a wide boy down at the docks.
‘He is indeed, Feeny. You have demonstrated that you have an eye for spotting particular talent even in unconventional circumstances.’ The man nodded sagely. ‘Which is why I have called you here today. We feel that in addition to your current role, you should take on more training of new recruits. Your manner towards your juniors is calm and encouraging and I have seen the effect for myself. I am convinced you would be an asset in this area. You will therefore be promoted to acting sublieutenant for the time being, and then we shall see how far you can progress beyond that.’
Frank almost gasped aloud. It was less than a year since he’d been made a warrant officer. Now he was being offered the chance to rise further in the ranks, and it was down to his own hard work. He had thought at first when his leg was amputated that his career would be over, that he’d be thrown on the scrapheap and his participation in the war would be finished. He’d loved his life in active serv
ice and fighting in the boxing ring, and hadn’t been able to imagine being of any use once all that was closed to him. His heart swelled in pride.
‘Thank you, sir. I would love to train more new recruits. It’s one of the aspects of this post that I enjoy the most,’ he managed to say, when he wanted to dance with joy on the spot.
‘I’m glad to hear it, Feeny,’ said the commander, although they both knew that the decision had been made and – like it or not – that was what Frank would be doing from now on. He had no doubt that this young man would be a credit to him and flourish in the new position. What had happened to him would have broken a lesser man, but Feeny had overcome his physical limitations and never let his disability affect his work. He was just the sort of young officer who needed to be entrusted with such a task. ‘I shall inform my superiors and the process will commence as of tomorrow. Well done. You are dismissed.’
‘Sir.’
Frank saluted sharply and turned to leave. His thoughts were whirring as he made his way down the dim corridor. What would this new position bring? Would he be up to the job? No point in wondering, he told himself firmly; if they didn’t think he could do it, then they wouldn’t have asked. There were many others who would have given their eyeteeth for such a chance. All right, it was still a desk job, and some would say it was a soft option, but it was as good as he was going to get. He’d be a sublieutenant, and that would mean extra money coming in too. He was so lost in his reverie that he almost crashed into a figure emerging from a side door – and saw it was Danny Callaghan.
‘Frank!’ Danny grinned and then forced his face to be more solemn. ‘Sir!’ He saluted his old mate with a cheeky smile. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. Do you have a minute, or are you on your way somewhere important?’
