by Nancy Revell
As they chatted through mouthfuls of crescent-shaped rolls of lightly sugared pastry filled with raisins, nuts and jam, a rare treat in these times of rationing, Hannah explained that there had been a bar mitzvah at the synagogue on the Ryhope Road and, as was always the case at such ceremonies, there had been a celebration afterwards. Hannah’s aunty Rina, who was well known within the Jewish community as a master baker, had been tasked with baking bread and making sandwiches and pastries, which Hannah told everyone were called ‘rugelach’.
‘I think these are the best cakes I’ve ever tasted!’ Martha said.
‘They’re pastries, Martha, not cakes,’ Dorothy corrected. ‘And I agree, they are simply scrumptious!’
For a moment they all sat quietly and devoured the delicious delicacy.
‘Perhaps we could have a – what did you call it, Hannah? A barmits—?’
‘A bar mitzvah,’ Hannah said before letting out a little chuckle. ‘I don’t think we could. For starters, you have to be twelve or thirteen years old, and secondly you have to be a boy.’
‘And thirdly,’ Martha added, ‘you have to be Jewish!’
They all laughed.
‘I never thought I would utter these words …’ Bel took a quick sip of tea ‘… but I do believe these surpass Mrs Milburn’s and that’s saying something.’
Rosie suddenly stopped drinking her tea and looked at Hannah before casting a glance over to Gloria, who returned her look in such a way as to show that she knew exactly what Rosie was thinking.
‘Here, let me take her.’ Gloria got up and took Hope off Bel. ‘Give you a chance to enjoy your tea.’
Bel looked at Hope with adoring eyes. ‘It’s going to be great having you both practically living on the doorstep,’ she said. She would never admit it to Gloria, but she often felt that Hope was half hers. She dreaded the day that, for whatever reason, Gloria stopped working.
‘It’s going to be so much easier,’ Gloria said, wiping some cream from the side of her mouth. ‘Just a few minutes’ walk to drop Hope off with you and then just another few minutes’ walk to the ferry. No more hiking to and from the Ford Estate every day. Yes,’ Gloria raised her teacup, ‘this is a fresh start, and I have to say, it really would not have been possible without you all. So, a really big thank-you!’
‘Ahh, you’re welcome,’ the women chorused.
‘And,’ Gloria added, ‘an even bigger thanks to Martha here, who, I don’t know if she told you all, did a swap with Jimmy – a week with his squad for the use of the truck today.’
They all nodded and looked at Martha, who was eyeing up the last pastry. They had all known about the swap. There had been a slight concern that Martha would be on her own, or rather, without the security blanket of her friends around her, but she had seemed genuine in her reassurances to them all that she would be just fine.
‘I think that means Martha deserves the last cake – I mean pastry,’ Gloria said, looking at Hannah, who nodded enthusiastically. Martha didn’t need telling twice. She was just taking her first bite when there was a knock on the front door. They all fell silent and looked at each other.
Rosie jumped up, having guessed who it might be. She opened the door to an old man who was standing there in a frayed brown cardigan with patches on the elbows, leaning heavily on a wooden stick.
‘Mr Brown, come in, meet your new neighbour!’ Rosie stepped aside as Mr Brown hobbled in and gave the women a toothless smile.
‘Hello, Mr Brown, so good to meet you!’ Gloria got up and went to shake his hand. ‘We can offer you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid the last pastry has just been devoured.’ She looked across at Martha, who was clearly in seventh heaven and knew she’d just managed to get her reward by the skin of her teeth.
After everyone introduced themselves, the chatter continued, and Gloria took her new neighbour into the kitchen to make another pot of tea.
‘So, Mr Brown, are you happy if I pay the rent on a weekly basis? I know some people pay monthly these days, but I prefer weekly if that suits you? Stops me spending it!’ Gloria chuckled, although she was actually very astute with her money and had even opened up her own bank account, something George had suggested she do with the money she had saved up for her divorce from Vinnie but hadn’t used after George had refused to let her pay.
‘Sorry, my dear, I’m not sure what you mean?’ Mr Brown looked puzzled. ‘Of course, if you want to give me some money, I wouldn’t object,’ he laughed, pulling out a large hankie and blowing his nose. ‘But I’m guessing your daughter needs it more than this old man.’
Now it was Gloria’s turn to look confused.
‘But I thought you owned this building? This flat?’
‘Ah,’ Mr Brown said, stuffing his hankie back into the pocket of his cardigan, ‘I did … I do … I mean, I own most of it, but dear Rosie – now, of course, Mrs Miller – well, she has bought your flat. So,’ his face brightened up at having made some sense, ‘she is your landlord.’ He dropped his voice. ‘And hopefully she might be buying the whole house as time goes on.’
Gloria nodded and didn’t say anything, but her mind was working overtime. It would explain why the rent was so bloomin’ cheap!
Wait till she had Rosie on her own.
Chapter Eighteen
‘And thank you!’ Gloria shouted out as Polly, Martha, Hannah, Dorothy and Angie all waved their goodbyes from the top of the stone steps. It was a little after four o’clock and darkness had just about covered the town.
Martha was off to do her fire-warden duties, for which, she had told them, she was being paid twelve shillings, Hannah was going to help her aunty with some door-to-door credit calls, Bel was headed back to Tatham Street to help Agnes with a stack of laundry she had taken in and needed to be ready for the morning, Polly was going to see Arthur at his friend Albert’s allotment to help him carry back whatever vegetables had survived the week’s plummeting temperatures, and Dorothy and Angie, of course, were going to get themselves ‘togged up’ to dance the evening away with their cockney merchant-navy sailors at the town’s main dance venue – the Rink.
‘A quick cuppa before you head back to your new home?’ Gloria asked Rosie as she shut her front door and walked back into the warmth.
‘Go on, then,’ Rosie said. ‘Actually, I’m dreading going back.’
‘Why?’ Gloria was immediately concerned.
Seeing the look of worry on her friend’s face, Rosie laughed. ‘Oh, I’m just being dramatic – it must be spending too much time around Dorothy.’ She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘It’s just that I agreed to go around to my new neighbour’s house. You know, Mrs Jenkins? The one I told you about?’
‘Ah,’ Gloria smiled. ‘Mrs Nebby-Nose.’
‘It’s the neighbourly thing to do,’ Rosie said. ‘And there’s a part of me feels a bit sorry for her. She’s obviously really lonely.’
‘She should get herself a job, or some kind of war work, that’ll sort her out,’ Gloria said. ‘She wouldn’t be twitching her curtains all day then, that’s for sure.’
Rosie put the fresh pot of tea on the table, sat down and poured out two cups while Gloria quickly tiptoed down the short hallway to check on Hope, now sound asleep after all the activity of the day. ‘Talking of neighbours,’ she said, coming back into the living room and sitting down, ‘I had a chat with my new neighbour, Mr Brown, when he came round earlier on.’
‘That’s good.’ Rosie looked up at Gloria, before pouring milk and adding sugar to their tea. ‘He’s a sweet old man, isn’t he? This house used to be his family home, you know? But he lost most of his family in the First War – he had five sons and lost every one, poor man – so he and his wife made it into a B & B, and when Mrs Brown passed away he divided the place up into flats.’
‘Yes, he told me a little about his life.’ Gloria’s heart had gone out to the poor man and his wife. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to suffer the loss of one of her boys, neve
r mind all of your children.
‘He also told me he wants to sell the whole building.’ Gloria looked directly at Rosie. ‘Wants to get himself a place out in the country.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Gloria … He told you I’ve bought the flat?’
Gloria nodded. ‘Didn’t you want me to know?’
‘Of course I want you to know. I should have mentioned something to you before now, but I guess I didn’t want to jinx it all. It’s been very last-minute and I wasn’t sure if it was going to go through. All the legal stuff that needed doing – it only just got sorted on Friday gone.’ Rosie paused. ‘It doesn’t bother you that I’m your landlord – or rather landlady – does it?’
‘Course not!’ Gloria said straight away. ‘I couldn’t want for a better landlady. And I think it’s great you’ve bought the flat. Bloody brilliant actually. I don’t know of another woman that even owns their own shed!’ Gloria stopped for a moment while she looked for the right words. ‘I am a little concerned, though, that you’ve set the rent so low. I don’t want you feeling like you have to because I’m a mate, or because you think I can’t afford any more. I’m not doing too badly moneywise, you know? Especially since I got shot of Vinnie. I get to keep all my own wages now. I’ve only got myself and Hope to feed, and all the housekeeping money isn’t being spent down the pub. Honestly, I feel rich!’
Rosie thought how much Gloria had changed since she had started working at Thompson’s. She had been a closed book then, rather like herself really, but for different reasons. Out of all her women welders it had surprised her that it was Gloria who was being knocked about by her bloke. Rosie knew that working at the yard, and everything that came with that – learning a new skill and forging such firm friendships – had given Gloria the strength to stand up for herself and change her situation.
‘I know you’re as far from a charity case as you can get,’ Rosie said. ‘And I’m also not the softie you might think I am. Buying this flat is the start of a possible new business venture and having you as my first tenant, someone I know and can trust, is perfect.’
‘Well, then, here’s to a perfect tenancy!’ Gloria raised her cup to clink china with her new landlady.
‘And a happy home for you and Hope!’ Rosie hesitated. ‘And perhaps for Jack too, some day in the not too distant future.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Gloria said.
Rosie put her cup back in its saucer before tentatively asking, ‘Do you think he’ll be able to come back and perhaps visit you on the sly?’
‘I don’t think so. His movements are being monitored, by the sound of things. If he didn’t turn up for work, Miriam would be one of the first to know.’
Rosie shook her head in disbelief at the power Jack’s wife wielded.
‘She can’t stop us writing to each other, though. So that’s some consolation. At least I can tell him all about Hope and what’s happening at the yard. And his memory has really improved. He reckons it’s just about back to normal. How did he put it … He said, well, wrote, that he feels “truly awake” … that he feels he’s been half asleep these past few months and only now is really conscious, really alive. He’s determined Miriam’s not going to win. Oh, I nearly forgot! He said to tell you how happy he is for you and to tell you “Congratulations!” I hope you didn’t mind me telling him?’
‘Of course not,’ Rosie said. ‘That’s one secret we don’t have to keep, thank God.’
‘Talking about secrets,’ Gloria said, ‘were you thinking what I was thinking earlier on when Hannah was telling us about her aunty’s pastry-making skills?’
Rosie was taking a sip of her tea and nodding at the same time. ‘Yes! That Hannah’s aunty ditches her dire attempts at being a credit draper and does something she’s good at – like baking cakes and making pastries—’
‘—for someone like Mrs Milburn! It could be the perfect solution. But does she need someone?’ Gloria pondered.
‘That’s just the thing,’ Rosie said. ‘Kate was telling me that Mrs Milburn was having a moan to her the other day that Michele, her baker, who everyone thought was French, is in fact Italian and has been taken off to the Isle of Wight as a prisoner of war.’
‘So, it could be a case of Mrs Milburn’s loss is Aunty Rina’s gain,’ Gloria mused. ‘But how do we go about it? It would be good if Hannah doesn’t know that we know about her aunt’s money worries – she’s so damned proud. I thought us northerners were bad, but it looks like the Czechs can give us a run for our money.’
‘It might be a case of roping in Kate,’ Rosie suggested. ‘And getting her to have a word with Mrs Milburn. The pair of them are pretty tight. Shop owners up against it in hard times and all of that.’
‘Good idea,’ Gloria said.
‘I’ll have a chat with Kate.’ Rosie finished off her tea. ‘Shame we couldn’t get our hands on one of those rugelach or whatever they’re called. Give it to Mrs Milburn, proof of the pudding and all that … Well, I’d better get going. Mrs Jenkins awaits.’ She looked down the hall and could just see the corner of Hope’s cot through the open doorway. ‘I won’t disturb the little one in case she wakes up.’
Gloria laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be clapped out and will only wake up when she senses I’m drifting off into a lovely, deep sleep.’
Rosie picked up her gas mask and her holdall and gave Gloria a hug.
‘Say hi to Jack when you write to him next.’
‘I’ll be writing to him tonight, telling him all about today.’ Gloria looked at Rosie and was going to say something about Peter but didn’t. What could she say? Rosie couldn’t write to him, nor Peter to her. And from what she had gathered from the little Rosie had said, she didn’t even know where Peter was.
‘You enjoy your first proper night in your new home too,’ Gloria said as Rosie walked up the stone steps. ‘And Rosie,’ she called out from the doorway. ‘I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.’
Rosie turned and looked as though she was about to say something, but didn’t, before disappearing into the darkness of the blackout.
What Rosie had wanted to say was that what she was doing for Gloria – and anything else she might do for her friends – would never match what they had done for her, for they had all saved her life the night her uncle Raymond had tried to take it.
Had they not gone looking for her that cold and foggy November evening just over a year ago when she hadn’t turned up at the pub, she would no longer be here. Rosie’s squad of women welders had prevented her suffering the most torturous death over a spitting weld; the scars on her face forever a reminder of that moment.
And not only would she have lost her own life, but the life of her little sister would also have been ripped apart. Charlotte would have been left totally on her own and, with no one to pay her fees, would have had to leave school. But worst of all, she would have become her sick and twisted uncle’s latest victim.
The women’s rescue, which had resulted in her uncle’s accidental death, had freed her from the man who had not only killed her parents in a hit-and-run accident, but had also raped her on the eve of their funeral.
Rosie would be forever thankful not just for the brave actions of her squad, but for their reaction when she had gone back to work after recovering from her injuries. She would never forget the joy on their faces when they’d welcomed her back. But what had meant more than anything to her was that she had not seen even a flicker of judgement on any of those faces – the women knew what she did for money, they knew about her ‘other life’ at Lily’s, yet it was clear they did not think any less of her. It was the first time in her life she had felt that she had real friends. The first time she hadn’t felt alone in this world since her parents had died.
As Rosie walked up Burdon Road she recalled the vow she had made to herself at that time. A promise to herself that she would always be there for each and every one of them. They would have her love and her loyalty for as long as she
drew breath.
And woe betide anyone who tried to do them harm.
Thinking about that awful day in November made Rosie realise just how much had changed since then. She would never have thought in a million years that she would go from being a working girl to managing and part-owning Lily’s and becoming a married woman whose husband was a detective sergeant at that – and all in such a short period of time.
And now she had made her first property investment and bought a flat!
It would always be a worry that the bordello could be exposed. It was a risky business; Rosie knew she’d been lucky that whoever it was that Miriam had employed to dig up dirt on them all had not found out about her involvement at Lily’s. Building up what George had referred to as a ‘property portfolio’ would be a very good safety net if they ever had to close the bordello. And when Charlotte came of age, she could transfer it all into her name.
As Rosie walked along Grange Terrace, her mind jumped from thoughts of her new venture as landlady, to Hannah’s aunty and Mrs Milburn, to Thompson’s, to Lily’s, and, of course, to Peter.
Rosie had accepted that Peter would always be there in her head, but she was thankful that life had been so hectic since her trip to Guildford that she hadn’t been able to stew too much on the ins and outs of what was happening in Peter’s life.
That might not be so easy, though, in a few weeks’ time, when she knew that it was unlikely Peter would still be on British soil.
Chapter Nineteen
When Gloria went back into the flat she saw that Rosie had left her grey woollen scarf on the coat peg on the back of the door. Grabbing it, she opened the door, put it on the latch and hurried up the stairs. Turning immediately right onto the main pavement of Borough Road, she walked slap bang into a couple coming towards her.
