by Nancy Revell
‘If there’s any way I can get word to you, I will. I promise.’
The words had just slipped out and he had immediately chided himself. He had been determined not to give Rosie false hope. It was unfair. But it was too late, the words had been said.
When the stationmaster’s whistle pierced the air, Peter had opened the carriage door and helped his new wife into her compartment, placing her one piece of luggage by her feet and closing the door. Rosie had opened the sash window, leant out and grabbed Peter’s hand. She had smiled but Peter knew her too well – knew that she was trying so hard to keep back the tears.
The second blow of the whistle had filled the air, along with the hiss of the engine and a rising billow of steam. They had held hands as the train had edged its way out of the station, only relinquishing each other’s touch when they absolutely had to.
‘I love you, Mrs Miller!’ he had shouted out.
He clung on to the last image he had of Rosie – her face disappearing behind a veil of smoke as she blew him a kiss and mouthed back to him:
‘I love you too.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘So, just show me again, where is Malta exactly?’ Polly looked at Arthur. It was getting late and they were now the only two still up in the Elliot household. Even Tramp and Pup were gently snoring, curled up in their favourite spot by the warmth of the range.
Arthur’s long, bony finger circled the small island that was presently being subjected to a blitzkrieg of epic proportions.
‘And Malta is a British colony?’ Polly asked.
Arthur nodded.
‘Which is why it’s under attack now?’ Another question.
‘Well, pet, from my understanding, it’s where it is – geographically – that’s important.’ Arthur sat back in his chair and put his hands on his knees. ‘Have yer ever played chess, pet?’ he asked.
‘I tried, but it wasn’t one of my favourite games.’ Polly had never really liked games that required sitting for long stretches of time, preferring to run around playing tag and hide and seek.
‘But yer know the principle o’ the game, don’t ya? What the pawns dee – and the bishops ’n the queen? And that where they’re positioned on the board is important?’
Polly nodded.
‘Well, Malta is in an important position. The British air force ’n navy based there can attack enemy ships transporting supplies ’n troops. Obviously, life would be a lot easier fer Hitler if he had control of the island ’n that’s why he’s presently trying to bomb it into submission.’
‘So,’ Polly had a frown on her face as her tired mind tried to make sense of the strategies of war, ‘Malta is a bit like Gibraltar then?’
‘Aye,’ Arthur said, ‘where they are is important – especially when it comes to North Africa. The Germans ’n Italians are gonna struggle to win the Desert War if we keep control of Malta ’n Gibraltar. It’s like if you had yer bishop ’n yer knight protecting yer queen, the queen’s safe, providing yer opponent doesn’t take either or both of those other two pieces.’
Polly sighed.
‘Oh Arthur, it’s all very complicated.’
The old man looked at his grandson’s fiancée and felt her pain and frustration. She didn’t care about the complexities of warmongering – or chess. She just wanted to know about Tommy. Where he was. What he was doing. And, more importantly, if he was safe.
As Arthur looked at Polly studying the map, he felt his heart break a little at the thought of what might happen to this lovely young woman if Tommy did not return. She was strong and feisty, but she was also fiercely loyal. He’d seen enough of life and knew enough of people to see that Polly would never love another. Tommy would be her one and only love.
As if sensing his stare, Polly looked up.
‘He’s going to be all right? Isn’t he?’ Polly knew her words sounded desperate, that Arthur did not have a crystal ball and could not see what the future held, but she needed to just hear him say the words.
‘That lad’s a born survivor.’ Arthur forced his voice to sound strong and certain. ‘He’ll be back, pet. Yer mark my words.’ He looked at Polly and saw her eyes had started to glisten with tears. ‘I know that lad ’n I know nowt’s going to stop him making it back home to his sweetheart. He made a promise.’ Arthur looked down at Polly’s left hand and at the ruby engagement ring she wore of an evening. The ring that had once belonged to his own wife, Flo. ‘And he’s not one to break it. Jerry or no Jerry.’ Arthur put his gnarled, veiny hand on top of Polly’s and squeezed it.
Polly wiped under her eyes with her free hand; she would not cry, at least not in front of anyone.
‘I just don’t understand why we’re at war at all.’ Polly’s worry about Tommy had started to morph into anger, as it was wont to do. It was easier to deal with. ‘Why couldn’t Hitler just be happy with ruling over Germany? Why does he think he’s got the right to just stomp into another country and claim it as his own?’
Arthur sat back in his chair again and sighed. ‘That’s why we’re at war, Polly. Because it’s not right. And he hasn’t got the right to just do that. We’re fighting a wrong to keep everything right.’ Arthur paused for a moment, not sure whether to say what he wanted to say next.
‘And that’s why we must both keep telling ourselves that our Tommy is where he should be …’
‘Fighting a wrong to make it right.’ Polly repeated the old man’s words.
They both sat in quietness for a few moments, until they heard the creak of the wooden floorboards on the stairs.
‘You two still up?’ Bel’s head appeared around the kitchen door, which had been pulled ajar.
Arthur got to his feet as Bel padded into the kitchen, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her.
‘Come and sit down here.’ Arthur pulled the chair out. ‘The seat’s warm if nothing else. This old man’s talked enough for one night. Time for some shut-eye.’
Polly smiled up at the old man. She had always liked Arthur, since first meeting him when she and Tommy had started courting, but now she loved him like he was family. The granddad – perhaps even the da – that she had never had.
Arthur shut the door behind him and walked down the hallway to his bedroom at the front of the house; a room that had been a front parlour many moons ago, then more recently Joe’s, after he’d come back from war.
‘You all right?’ Bel asked, looking at Polly. It wasn’t often she caught her sister-in-law looking so subdued and also a little teary.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Polly said, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt.
Bel looked down at the map and thought that it had become a kind of comfort blanket for Polly; as though being able to look at the part of the world where she knew her fiancé to be somehow brought him closer to her.
‘Can’t you sleep?’ Polly asked, folding up the map, wanting to steer the conversation away from Tommy, knowing that if she didn’t her peak of anger might well dissolve back into tears.
‘No. Tossing and turning like I’m lying on a bed of coals,’ Bel said, looking round and spotting the kettle on the hob. ‘Thought I’d give up and at least allow Joe to get some sleep.’ Bel got up and felt the kettle’s pot belly to gauge how recently it had been used to make a brew. She picked it up and topped up the teapot on the table.
She looked at Polly.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
Polly nodded.
‘You know I’m here whenever you need me. Always got time to listen to my best mate.’
Polly could feel the tears starting to ease their way back.
‘Don’t be nice to me, Bel.’ She let out a little laugh that was anything but joyful. ‘I don’t want to start blubbering. Can’t be doing with it.’ Polly got up and fetched two cups from the sideboard. ‘Now pour us both a cup of watery, lukewarm tea and tell me what’s keeping you up. Something’s playing on your mind. I know you too well.’
They both took a sip of
tea.
‘Remember when we were little and we used to top and tail it in bed?’ Polly said. The two women chuckled at the remembrance. ‘I always knew if something was up with you because you’d be flinging yourself from side to side. I’m surprised I never got a black eye from those stubby toes of yours.’
Bel spluttered on her tea. ‘Eee, there’s nothing stubby about my toes!’
Polly looked at Bel.
‘So, come on. Out with it!’
Bel sighed.
‘It’s my ma.’
‘When isn’t it!’ Polly joked.
‘I just wish she’d be upfront and tell me about my da.’ Bel took another sip from her cup. ‘Then I argue with myself that it’s not important. Whoever he is, he has never been a part of my life, and never will be, so what’s the point? But I just can’t seem to let it go.’
Polly looked at her best friend, her sister-in-law twice over, and knew she wouldn’t be able to let it go. And nor did she want to.
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks later
Tuesday 27 January
‘Eee, thank goodness for that!’ Pearl exclaimed as she walked out of the Tatham with Bill, the two barmaids, and her neighbour Ronald. They had been cooped up in the basement of the pub for the past hour or so waiting for the all-clear to sound out. The cellar made a perfect air raid shelter. It’s only downfall was that it was small and could only just accommodate half a dozen people – enough for Bill and his staff and a couple of regulars.
Fortunately, the air raid had only been precautionary, and the skies had remained clear of Hitler’s harbingers of death. It had been over a week since the Luftwaffe had paid the town a visit, the earliest after-dark raid to date. Four bombs had been dropped, creating a 40-foot-deep crater in one of the main roads leading out of town, bursting a water main, and breaking just about every window in the town’s revered art school. But no one had been injured or killed, which during the usual clear-up the next day everyone had agreed was all that mattered.
‘See you all tomorrow.’ Bill looked down the street as he waved off his staff and Ronald, who might as well be an employee – he was always propping up the bar and would often swap sides and help out if they got really busy. Bill wasn’t a fool, though, and knew Ronald would not be such a constant presence in his pub if it wasn’t for Pearl.
‘See ya tomorrow,’ Pearl shouted back, puffing on a cigarette.
‘Ma!’ A voice sounded out from the darkness. Pearl looked around to see Bel hurrying towards her. Behind her she could see Joe, Agnes, Arthur and Polly, who was carrying a sleepy Lucille in her arms. Pearl noticed her granddaughter was still managing to clutch on to her new toy rabbit. She guessed they’d all been holed up in the shelter around the corner under Tavistock House.
‘You all right, pet?’ Pearl asked as Bel caught up with her and started walking by her side.
‘Mm,’ Bel said, ‘just tired. At least the house is still standing, eh?’
They’d reached their front door and Pearl nodded her farewells to Ronald.
‘Aye, there is that,’ Pearl said, eyeing Bel with suspicion. Her daughter wouldn’t normally have made an effort to come and talk to her. Not after being stuck for an age in the shelter at this time of night.
‘Eee, home sweet home!’ It was Polly’s voice coming through the front door behind them. ‘I’ll let this one sleep with me tonight. All right, Bel?’ she asked. Lucille’s head was buried in the crook of her aunty’s neck.
‘Yes, that’s great, thanks, Pol,’ Bel replied before quickly turning her attention to her mother, who was fidgeting about in her bag trying to find her packet of Winstons.
‘I can’t remember smoking them all,’ she muttered to herself.
‘Honestly, Ma, I don’t know why you don’t just hang them round your neck.’ Bel was hovering over her mother.
‘Night all!’ It was Joe, heading straight for the stairs. The sound of his walking stick on the wooden treads could be heard as he made his way up to the top of the house, where his and Bel’s new room was now fully furnished.
‘Aye, night all!’ It was Arthur, who was more than happy to have swapped bedrooms with Joe; his legs had been stiffening up of late and he had struggled to make it up and down the steep staircase.
The final goodnight came from Agnes as she trudged up to her bedroom on the first floor.
‘Found them!’ Pearl raised her cigarettes half-heartedly in the air and made her way to the back door.
‘Ma,’ Bel said, ‘I’m sure Agnes won’t mind if you have a smoke in here tonight.’
Pearl looked at her daughter, unable to keep the shock from showing on her face. Not once since she had arrived at the Elliots’ had she been allowed to have a fag indoors, and she knew it was Bel who had laid down the law, not Agnes.
‘You know what, pet, I feel like I’ve been stuck in that smelly cellar for ever. I feel like I need a bit o’ fresh air.’
Bel looked at her mother.
‘Anyone would think you were avoiding me, Ma,’ Bel said, her eyes scrutinising her mother. ‘I’ve hardly seen hide nor hair of you since you got back from London with Maisie.’
And it was true. Since Pearl had returned from the ‘mother-daughter bonding trip’ to London, when she and Maisie had gone to see Evelina and the place of Maisie’s birth, Pearl was rarely at home unless it was to sleep. Her time was spent either working at the Tatham or taking Lucille out, usually to the park or to see Wallace, the museum’s famous stuffed lion, which amazed Bel as her ma had not once taken her to any of the town’s parks, never mind into a museum, when she had been a little girl.
‘Eee, there’s no pleasing some,’ Pearl said. ‘You’d be moaning at me if I was indoors all the time, getting under your ‘n Agnes’s feet.’
Bel had to admit to herself that this was true. During the day the house was full to the brim with children and laundry. Aggie’s nursery was now attracting desperate mothers from beyond the immediate vicinity, all in need of someone to look after their offspring while they went out to work. Bel had commented a few times that even if they charged just a minimal amount, they would be a lot better off each week, but Agnes wouldn’t entertain the idea. She was adamant that this was her way of ‘doing my bit for the war effort’. As a result, they had continued taking in bags of laundry from some of the local small businesses in order to make ends meet, spending most of their days up to their elbows in soapy suds.
‘You’re probably right, Ma,’ Bel had to concede, ‘it just feels like you’ve been avoiding me?’
‘Dinnit talk daft,’ Pearl said, heading towards the back door.
But they both knew it was true. And they both knew why. It was the elephant in the room that Bel was desperate to point out, and which Pearl was equally desperate to ignore.
‘Shall I put a brew on? Have a cuppa after you’ve had your fag?’ Bel asked.
A look of slight panic crossed Pearl’s face.
‘Eee, Isabelle,’ Pearl said, ‘that’s sweet of ya, but yer auld ma’s knackered. I just wanna have this smoke ‘n hit the sack. I’ll be out for the count as soon as my head touches the pillow.’
Bel looked at her mother as she sloped off out the back door and into the yard. She knew her ma couldn’t keep running away from her for ever. The time was near when there would be no other choice but for them to talk openly – and, hopefully, honestly – about the man who was her father.
This wasn’t going to go away.
Chapter Sixteen
The Slums, Sunderland
1915
Pearl listened to the silence and panic shot through her exhausted, sweat-drenched body. The small back room she was in seemed so dark and gloomy. Was it night already? She was sure it had still been light when she had arrived here, knowing her time had come. She strained her head up. It shouldn’t be this quiet. Something was wrong.
And then she heard it.
It started off as a whimper and grew rapidly into a fully formed wai
l, and Pearl’s body sank back onto the thin mattress.
Her baby was alive.
It was then that she sensed movement and she turned her head to the side to see the vague outline of an old woman, dressed head to toe in black, moving around in the shadows. The baby’s cries died down, and the sound of the old woman’s coarse voice could be heard as she shuffled back towards Pearl.
‘Well then, pet, yer did well there,’ she cackled.
There wasn’t a trace of kindness or comfort in the words that had just been spoken, and for a moment Pearl thought of Evelina. Lovely Evelina. Who had spoken the same words, but with such gentleness and reassurance. Not like the old witch presently stooped over her.
‘Like you’ve done it all before.’ The old woman’s voice was croaky and this time it was full of mockery.
She knew. Knew, without Pearl having to say a word, that she had, in fact, done this all before.
Pearl turned her head, which felt like a lead weight, and glared at the old hag’s wrinkled face. She would never admit to this craggy, callous cow that she was right – that she had done this before. She had not told a soul about the baby she had been forced to give up, and never would. The old woman could think what she wanted.
‘My baby?’ Pearl’s words were little more than a mumble, her eyes scanning the darkness for sight of the child she had just given birth to.
There was a sudden flare of candlelight as the old woman opened a small window, and for a split second Pearl caught a glimpse of two tiny little arms reaching out for comfort but finding only air.
‘My baby!’ This time it was a demand.
‘Yer can’t have her!’ the witch hissed. ‘We’re not done yet!’
