by Nancy Revell
Stop it! Stop it! Helen reprimanded herself. You’re behaving like a child. She carefully wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape and was now running down her cheek. For God’s sake, this is just one night. It wouldn’t be long before they were together all the time. In some lovely Georgian townhouse in Oxford. She had heard that the city was a bomb-free zone as rumour had it that Hitler had earmarked it for his new headquarters. She could escape everything. Her life and this bloody awful war.
But there was this niggle in the back of her mind. Had Theo been telling the truth? She’d heard him mention David before, but not his girlfriend. As soon as the thought came to her, she dismissed it. How could she possibly think something so awful? Honestly, she was getting paranoid. She should be pleased that the man she was going to marry had such a lovely nature as to sacrifice a night out for the sake of his friend’s happiness.
As Helen walked back along Crowtree Road, she started thinking about her father. Just because he had rejected her didn’t mean that every man would ultimately toss her aside. But as she walked she could feel the anger and hurt rise again. She stopped herself thinking about her dad, something she was becoming quite proficient at. She had even distanced herself from Rosie and the women welders. If she had next to nothing to do with them, it would also be easier not to think about Gloria – and Hope.
Halfway down the road she heard the braying of horses. The heavy sound of their hooves on the cobbles told her they were the Vaux horses, pulling the brewer’s drays to deliver beer to the local public houses. As they trotted by she stood still and admired them. They never failed to take her breath away.
As Helen followed their journey down the main stretch of road, she saw others, like herself, staring at the two greys. There was one woman in particular with her baby on her hip, both watching the live early-evening street performance. The baby had a dark mop of hair and was waving a tubby little arm at the horse and squealing with excitement. When the woman’s head turned she instantly recognised the child’s mother.
Gloria!
Helen panicked. She should have turned then and there and carried on walking – away from the last two people on earth she wanted to see. But it was too late, Gloria had spotted her.
‘Helen! Helen!’ Gloria was shouting so loudly other pedestrians turned to look.
There was no escape.
After calling out Helen’s name, Gloria stuck her hand in the air and waved frantically, wanting to keep her attention, to show her that she wanted – needed – to talk to her.
‘Say goodbye to the horses!’ Gloria kept her voice light and cajoling as she put Hope back into the pram, crossing her fingers that her daughter would not object and start screaming the street down. She let out a sigh of relief as she started pushing the Silver Cross up the street and Hope nestled back down. A picture of contentedness.
‘Hi!’ Gloria was out of puff by the time she reached Helen, who had not moved an inch since hearing her name shouted out.
‘I’m so glad I’ve bumped into you.’ Gloria looked at Helen’s face and thought she looked sad. Her mascara also looked smudged. Had she been crying?
‘Are you all right?’ The words were out before she had time to stop them.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ Helen said, staring at Gloria and then down at the pram. The hood was up so that Hope was obscured from view.
‘It’s only that you look a bit upset?’ Gloria’s voice was soft and sincere. She hadn’t seen Helen up close for a long time. She was done up to the nines, but still looked drawn and rather jaded. She had to stop herself reaching out and giving her a cuddle.
Helen opened her mouth and for a split-second Gloria thought that she was going to talk to her. Really talk to her. That her guard was down and the true Helen was going to show herself. But then she saw the change, which was dramatic yet fleeting. Helen’s expression morphed as though another being had just stepped into her skin. Her back straightened, her eyes glowered with anger and her mouth went taut.
‘I’m fine, Gloria!’ The words were clipped and hard. If the real Helen had been about to come out, she had been knocked back and the door slammed shut.
Still, Gloria persevered.
‘I wanted to chat to you, Helen.’ Gloria took a deep breath. ‘About Jack. About yer dad.’ She tried to keep her voice kind. Unthreatening.
Helen glared at Gloria.
‘What? Do you want to plead his case to overturn his excommunication?’ Gloria had no idea what ‘excommunication’ meant, and did not have time to ask before Helen continued. ‘Did you want to beg that he be allowed to come back?’ Helen stopped for a moment as a young couple, both in army uniforms, hurried past. She cast them a quick look and felt yet more envy.
‘Do you want him to be allowed to come back to you – to the child you have had?’ As she spoke her eyes fell on the Silver Cross.
‘Helen—’ Gloria tried to speak, desperate to tell her that this was not why she had stopped her. This was not why she wanted to talk to her. This was not about her wanting Jack back home, but about her – Helen and her dad. She wanted to ask her why she was ignoring his letters. Tell her how much her father loved her and would always love her.
‘Well, let me tell you this, Gloria.’ Helen took a deep breath. Her voice was starting to tremble. ‘I don’t ever want to hear my father’s name ever again.’ Another scoop of air. ‘He is dead to me. Do you hear me? Dead! I no longer have a father. He can be sent to Outer Mongolia for all I care – as long as I never have to set eyes on him again. I only wish Mother had got shot of you two as well!’ She glared down at the pram.
‘So,’ Helen manoeuvred her way past Gloria and the Silver Cross, ‘if you can do me the courtesy …’ Gloria saw Helen looking into the pram as she spoke ‘… of just walking past me if we ever bump into each other again. I really don’t think we have anything more to say to each other. Ever.’
And with that Helen turned her back on Gloria and her baby sister, now happily snuggled up in the comfort of her pram.
Gloria watched as Helen marched down the road as fast as her high heels would allow her, before turning right into High Street West and out of sight.
Once Helen had made it around the corner she suddenly felt dizzy. Her vision was obscured by the sudden appearance of tiny glinting pieces of shiny metal. She felt the pavement shift under her and she staggered into the entrance of J.G. Scott’s on the corner of West Street. Putting her hand on the taped glass window of the popular milliners, Helen managed to steady herself. She felt her body trembling. The familiar tightness was once again squeezing her chest. She stood for a minute until the dancing stars had disappeared. She opened her handbag, pulling out her lighter and packet of cigarettes. A wave of nausea came over her, but thankfully she didn’t throw up. That would be her ultimate humiliation of the evening.
Helen stood and smoked her cigarette, looking out at the world from the confines of the shop porchway. Even though they were in the middle of a war, and one that they looked unlikely to win at this moment in time, people still had smiles on their faces and a spring in their step. She wished she was one of those people, instead of someone who simply wanted to go home, go to bed and forget everything and everyone.
Helen tossed the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and started walking, keeping her eye out for a bus that was headed over to the other side of the river. She’d only gone a hundred yards when she saw a green single-decker with SEABURN on the front. Putting her hand out, she was relieved to see the bus slowing down for her, even though she was nowhere near a bus stop. Public transport was still a novelty for her, but since there had been a ban on fuel for private cars she had been forced to use the Corporation’s trams and buses. She still hadn’t got used to waiting at a bus stop, but so far had found that if she smiled sweetly and waved a gloved hand out as though she were hailing a taxi, the driver would generally stop and let her on.
After she sat on the first spare seat she saw and paid her fare to t
he young clippie, Helen looked out the window as they chugged across the Wearmouth Bridge. She could see Thompson’s in all its grandeur on the riverside, and as always when she saw her place of work, she felt a swell of pride. The lift in her mood that seeing the shipyard gifted her soon dropped, though, when thoughts of Thompson’s led to thoughts of her father, which led back to her seeing Gloria.
She had told Gloria straight, hadn’t she? She should feel good about her little speech and how Gloria had simply stood there and taken it all, but she didn’t. She couldn’t pretend it had made her feel even a little good. Far from it. As she contemplated the whole sorry scene, she felt pretty wretched. There might have been a time when Helen would have revelled in putting Gloria down and giving her a good tongue-lashing, but all that had changed when she had seen Gloria being beaten. Now, every time she looked at her, she saw her bloodied face and felt sorry for her. Even seeing her kissing her father had not erased the memory of that afternoon and Gloria’s heartfelt gratitude. Something had happened that day between them and Helen could not shake it.
‘Side Cliff Road!’ The driver’s voice broke through her thoughts and Helen jumped off and walked the short stretch back home. She rang the bell, hoping that her mother would be at home to answer the door, usher her into the living room and ask what she had been up to. Helen waited, looking down at the little postbox that looked as though it had been there for ever now that the rosemary bush at the bottom of the stone steps had blossomed around it. After a short while, Helen gave up, got her key out and let herself into the main porch. She kicked off her heels, dumped her gas mask and handbag onto the tallboy and opened the inner door that led into the hallway.
‘I’m home!’ Helen’s voice echoed around the house. She called out again but it was now obvious that no one was home. More than likely her mother was out with her friend Amelia, probably at the Grand, and as it was past eight Mrs Westley would have been long gone, especially as there was rarely anyone at home to cook for these days and her stews and shepherd’s pies were no longer wanted.
And there it was again. Her father. There was no escaping him.
Helen walked into the lounge and over to the drinks cabinet. She knew she should probably have something to eat, a sandwich at least, but she just wasn’t hungry. Not after this evening’s fiasco. She’d have a gin and tonic and take it upstairs to her room. After she’d poured the tonic into the glass, she went over to the sideboard to retrieve the spare packet of Pall Malls she kept there. As she picked up a box of matches from the hearth, she saw that there were still a few embers glowing in the grate and what looked like the remnants of a couple of sheets of charred paper.
Her mother had obviously been having one of her clear-outs.
As Helen slowly made her way up the carpeted stairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom, she tried to cheer herself up with thoughts of Theodore and Oxford. Her heart lifted for a moment at the prospect of her new life, but by the time she reached the second floor and opened the door to her room, the little burst of joyful expectation had fizzled out.
Helen put her drink on her dressing table, unzipped her dress and sat down in front of the mirror to take off her make-up. She had been so pleased that he was finally taking her out on a proper date, just like other courting couples. It had become a bit of a bugbear of hers that they didn’t go anywhere even remotely nice. Going to a variety of tawdry drinking dens in town had been a bit of a lark at first; it had felt like a game and she had been fascinated to see how the other half lived, but after a while the novelty had worn off and Helen had hankered after going somewhere more acceptable for people like themselves. Theodore had seemed keen but was yet to wine and dine her at the Grand, Palatine or Empress. He had invariably cried off going anywhere special, saying he was exhausted after a twelve-hour shift, and he had always managed to persuade Helen to simply spend the evening at his flat. At first this had been exciting and the few times she had allowed him to make love to her had been nice, although, in all honesty, it had not matched up to her expectations. At least they had been careful, though, and Theo had reassured her that the ‘natural family-planning method’ they were following was ‘a hundred per cent foolproof.’
Helen stood up and took off her dress and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her body seemed to have changed since she had lost her innocence. She had become a woman in the truest sense of the word and she felt her body now reflected that. Pulling on her nightdress and climbing into bed, Helen tried to lose herself in a book, but her mind was too active. She gave up reading, switched off her light and lay surrounded by a swirl of gin-laced thoughts.
It wasn’t Theodore, however, or even her father and Gloria, that she fell asleep thinking about – but the happy little face she had glimpsed staring up from the folds of her crocheted blanket, smiling at her.
Her sister, Hope.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘She just went off on one, saying that she never wants to see or hear anything about her dad ever again.’ Gloria kept her voice low as she never liked to risk anyone hearing her talk about Helen or Jack.
‘She spelled it out in no uncertain terms that I am not even to speak to her if I ever bump into her again, so there’s not a lot more I can do.’ Gloria sounded defeated. ‘That girl’s troubled, though. I just know it.’
‘Oh dear.’ Rosie didn’t know what else to say. She hadn’t been surprised by what Gloria had told her. She still sided with the other women in their belief that Helen followed in her mother’s footsteps and could be incredibly hard, vindictive and totally self-centred.
‘She said he was “dead” to her!’ Gloria was still shocked by Helen’s declaration, especially as Jack had nearly died.
Rosie looked across at Gloria as they walked over to the ladders that led onto the upper deck. They had been down to the lower deck to have a chat with the platers’ foreman to see where he needed them next.
‘Well, you’ve done all that you can possibly do.’ Rosie let Gloria go up first. ‘Now it’s time to just concentrate on yourself,’ Rosie grabbed the sides of the wooden steps and climbed up to the top, ‘and Hope, of course.’
Gloria gave Rosie a hand as she reached the top step. They both stood for a moment, their hands shielding their eyes from the sun, admiring the bird’s-eye view of the town, before walking over to the very tip of the bow where her squad had decided to eat their lunch. Dorothy was regaling the women with her and Angie’s shenanigans from the previous night. Gloria and Rosie walked around a huge stack of metal piping and arrived at the women’s makeshift picnic, by which time Angie had taken centre stage and was reading from a recent edition of Woman magazine.
‘“I am serving in the Forces ’n find I’m going to have a baby.”’ Angie stopped and looked round at Dorothy, Polly and Martha, all sitting listening attentively, taking the occasional drink from their tin teacups. She smiled when she saw Rosie and Gloria approaching.
‘And listen to this!’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘“Two men could be responsible!’”
Her words were met with a loud tut from Martha.
‘“But I don’t know which!”’ Angie looked up again to see Rosie and Gloria pull up two wooden crates as pews.
‘Now, this is the part I can’t believe. “Both have offered to marry me, but I can’t decide which!”’
Dorothy let out a loud laugh. ‘Go and tell them what she says at the end!’
‘“Would it be better to throw them both over and make a fresh start?”’
Now they were all hooting with laughter.
‘I don’t believe that’s a real letter,’ Polly said, looking around at the women’s faces.
‘Nah, it’s a proper letter.’ Angie turned the magazine round to show them all, as if showing them the printed word was proof of its authenticity.
‘I think they make it all up,’ Polly said, refusing to believe a woman, and one serving her country at that, could be so wanton and have such loose morals.
‘What does
the agony aunt tell her to do?’ Martha asked before taking a big bite of her doorstep spam sandwiches.
‘Here, give it here!’ Dorothy stood up and Angie relinquished the magazine. Dorothy pointed to the front of the magazine to show her audience the illustration of an attractive blonde woman in a brown ATS uniform, who was raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at a handsome soldier with a chiselled face and a mop of brown hair cut into a short back and sides.
‘“You don’t love either of them.”’ Dorothy had one hand holding the dog-eared magazine, the other raised in the air as though she were giving a sermon. ‘“Whoever marries you will never feel sure of you.”’
She raised her voice dramatically.
‘“Get over this trouble … make up your mind to be morally stronger in the future!”’ She suppressed a laugh. ‘“And marry when you find a man you can really love. Moreover, a man who will respect you before marriage.”’
‘Well, if that’s meant to be real, I’ll eat my hat!’ Polly declared.
‘Well, safe to say,’ Dorothy said with a droll expression on her face, ‘if women are having that much fun in the armed forces, I think Angie and I might well be downing our welding rods and signing up – pronto!’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Rosie piped up. ‘You’re both needed here.’
‘Yeah, speak for yourself, Dor, I’m gannin’ nowhere. I’m quite happy here, thank yer very much.’
‘Well, if the letter is true, I think it’s shameful behaviour.’ Polly was still shocked that women could behave in such a way.
‘More like stupid behaviour!’ Angie said through a mouthful of cold corned beef and potato pie.
