by Nancy Revell
‘You look the epitome of “all work and no play”.’ She screwed her eyes up as she scrutinised her daughter further. ‘And what’s going on with your hair? I think it’s time for a trip to the hairdressers, don’t you?’
Helen sighed and put her drink down on the coffee table.
‘If you’ve just come back to pull me to pieces, Mother, then you might as well get yourself back to the Grand, because to be honest, I can’t be bothered to stand here and be picked to shreds. I’d rather get myself upstairs and put my head down and get some rest.’
‘Well, you could certainly do with some beauty sleep, that’s for sure!’ Miriam knew she had hit below the belt and immediately apologised.
‘Sorry, darling!’ She walked over to where Helen was standing by the fireplace. The cast-iron grate had been stacked up with kindling and coal but had not been lit.
‘I’m just a little concerned about you, that’s all.’ She put a manicured hand gently on Helen’s shoulder. ‘You’ve just not been yourself since you ended things with that two-timing toerag.’
‘He ended things, Mother. Not me.’ Helen bent down to take a sip of her gin, but it tasted strange so she put it down again. ‘I might have felt a little better had I been the one to call it a day, but I wasn’t even given that minor victory.’
‘Darling, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you get your prince.’ Miriam tried to sound empathetic.
Helen looked at her mother. A part of her wanted to tell her that she had actually done a lot more than kiss this particular two-faced, two-timing frog, but she didn’t.
‘Oh, darling, I do feel for you.’ Miriam forced the words out, trying to sound sincere when really she just wanted to get back to Amelia, who was waiting for her at the Grand, and enjoy another evening of being fawned over and flirted with. ‘You know, I do know what it feels like.’
She paused and lowered her voice even though there was not a soul who could possibly hear her.
‘What your father did to me broke my heart.’ Miriam tried to make her eyes water but failed. She squeezed Helen’s shoulder before going back to retrieve her drink. ‘But, darling, you just have to put on a brave face, dust yourself down and carry on.’ Miriam took a big swig from her crystal tumbler.
‘And it’s not as if you promised yourself to him in any way, is it?’ The question was rhetorical, but if Miriam had been more concerned about her daughter than herself, she would have seen Helen tense.
‘Women of your standing,’ continued Miriam, ‘have to keep their standards. It’s fine to flirt. An unmarried woman is like a perfectly wrapped parcel. You can undo the bow, even take a little peek, but that is it. The present is not revealed until there is a thick twenty-four-carat gold band on your wedding-ring finger.’
Helen would have liked to have pointed out that this appeared to be another case of her mother’s ‘do as I say and not as I do’ advice as she had clearly let her father unwrap the parcel well before walking down the aisle. However, all Helen could wonder was why had her mother not chatted to her about these things before now?
A part of her wanted to confide in her mother, tell her that Theodore had unwrapped his parcel on more than a few occasions. To explain that was why she was so hurt. So down. She had given herself to a man she had thought was going to marry her and take her off to another part of the country, to another life.
She wanted to ask for a hug, for some comfort, for her mum to stop her from feeling as though she were falling from a great height, like in the dreams she was having. To cushion her when she did hit rock bottom.
Helen looked at her mother, but the words got stuck. She was so confused. One minute she believed one hundred per cent that Theodore had quite simply been a total ‘cad’, as he’d put it, using her while his sweetheart was down in Oxford. Other times, she replayed his words and believed what he’d said, that he thought Helen would tire of him and life down south. A few times she’d had to stop herself from running to the hospital to tell him that he was wrong – that she would love him for ever. That he was the one for her.
‘Right, darling, I better get myself off. Amelia will think I’ve deserted her. And besides,’ Miriam touched her daughter’s face tenderly, ‘I think you do need to have a good night’s rest.’ As Miriam finished off her drink, she headed towards the door and picked up from the console the handbag in which she had another letter to Helen from Jack.
‘Oh, I forgot to remind you,’ she said, poking her head back into the living room. ‘It’s your grandfather’s birthday tomorrow. He’s going to be seventy-eight and he wants us to go out with him for dinner to celebrate. He wants to go out early, like these old people always do, so I’ve arranged for his car to pick you up from work at five.’
‘But I don’t finish until half past,’ Helen objected.
‘Really, Helen!’ Miriam now had her coat on, her gas mask and handbag were over her shoulder and she was edging towards the front door. ‘I think when you tell Harold the reason for your early finish he will be more than accommodating. Your grandfather still does carry a lot of weight in this town, you know – even if he is well and truly over the hill.’
Helen watched her mother leave and it occurred to her that Miriam always had to make at least one barbed comment about her own father whenever he was the topic of conversation. Walking over to the sideboard and pulling out a Pall Mall from the packet she kept there, she thought of how much she loved, or rather had loved, her own father, and wondered why her mother had never seemed to care too much for hers.
Chapter Forty-Three
The following day
Tuesday 9 June
‘I’ve really had enough, Dor.’ Angie sounded totally disheartened and dejected as she and her best mate were pushed along in the early-morning drove of workers. They were becoming more squashed the nearer they got to the bottleneck that always formed at the timekeeper’s cabin.
‘Has your dad been kicking off again?’ Dorothy asked, automatically inspecting her friend’s face for any signs of a backhander.
‘It’s not just him—’ Angie’s sentence was cut short as she was pushed from behind, causing her to stumble forwards. Her head snapped round at the perpetrator.
‘Watch it, yer greet big clumsy clot!’ Her voice was loud and angry.
‘Ah, keep yer knickers on, pet,’ the man jeered from behind.
Dorothy saw Angie’s hand ball into a fist and thought for a moment she was going to lamp the poor bloke.
‘Come on,’ Dorothy tugged her friend’s arm, ‘it was an accident.’
After they spotted Alfie at the hatch and were given their time boards and released into the yard, Dorothy linked arms with her friend.
‘So, come on, who’s ruffled your feathers this morning? You’re not normally so ratty.’
‘I dunno, Dor. I just feel fed up. Fed up and knackered. Mam’s never about, so me and Liz are getting lumbered with the kids and are having to do all the cooking, cleaning and washing. It’s not fair. And now Liz is talking about packing in her job at the munitions factory and joining the bleedin’ lumberjacks – jills … whatever they’re called – and I’m sure it’s ’cos she’ll have to move out and go and live in the country … get shot of us lot.’
‘Where’s your mam, then?’ Dorothy dropped her voice. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’
Angie looked across at her friend. They had never really talked about Angie’s mam, although they had both spotted her one afternoon disappearing off with some bloke down one of the back lanes when she was meant to be at work.
‘She’s making out she’s working all hours at the ropery, but I dinnit believe her.’
‘And your dad, do you think he believes her?’
‘Clueless,’ Angie said simply
‘Well, let’s hope he stays that way. I wouldn’t want to see him if he ever found out.’
‘He’d go ape.’ Angie shivered even though it was a warm summer’s morning.
‘Dorothy! Angie!’
‘You two all right?’ Martha asked, although she was looking at Angie.
‘We saw a little – oh, what did you call it, Martha?’ Hannah asked.
‘A kerfuffle.’
‘Yes, that’s it. Great word. Kerfuffle. We saw there was a bit of a kerfuffle in the queue back there?’
For once Dorothy didn’t answer for her friend.
‘Ah, just some clumsy git nearly tripping us up with his greet big plates of meat,’ Angie explained.
‘Ah.’ Hannah nodded as though it made sense, even though she hadn’t understood a word of what Angie had just said.
‘Oooh!’ It was Gloria, who had just appeared from behind with Polly by her side. ‘Are they what I think they are?’ She was looking down at two square cardboard boxes, tied with some string, that were dangling from Hannah’s hands.
‘Cakes and pastries!’ Hannah chirped up. ‘A present from Aunty Rina and Vera.’
‘Ah, that’s really kind of them,’ Polly said.
‘So,’ Hannah stopped walking as they had now reached the entrance to the drawing office, ‘I’ll bring them round at lunchtime.’
‘Don’t be late!’ Martha joked as they left their little bird and made their way over to their own workstation.
‘Morning all!’ It was Rosie, standing by the hut they had commandeered just down from the platers’ shed, within a stone’s throw of the quayside. The hut was small but big enough to keep their coats, bags and some surplus welding equipment in it.
‘Hannah’s bringing cakes over at lunchtime, courtesy of her aunty Rina and Vera,’ Dorothy informed Rosie.
‘Lovely,’ Rosie said, casting her eyes across her squad. ‘That gives us something to aim for.’
‘And something to cheer us up,’ Dorothy said, making eyes at Angie, who was angrily rummaging around in the shed for some spare welding rods.
By the time the klaxon sounded they were all dripping with sweat due to the overhead welds they had all been doing, which after four and a half hours left even the strongest of men in need of a rest.
‘Eee, I’m knackered!’ Angie declared as they all switched off their machines and dumped their welding masks on the ground.
‘Here they come!’ Martha declared, looking across the yard as Hannah and Olly dodged the usual obstacles to get to them. The women were working on the lower hull of a ship that had what resembled a huge bullet hole through its mammoth metal flank. Rosie, Gloria and Martha pulled up a few wooden crates for them to sit on, while Polly waved over to the little tea boy. Dorothy and Angie dragged a workbench across in place of a table. Dorothy took the two boxes off Hannah and Olly and proceeded to open them, tearing up the boxes to make paper plates.
‘Cor, these look gorgeous!’ Angie said.
‘Glad to see something’s put a smile on your face!’ Dorothy nudged Angie as she took the first bite of her cake, smearing some of the icing on her face. Everyone chuckled.
‘So, come on then, Angie,’ Rosie said, taking a slice of Victoria sponge. ‘Why the gloomy face today? It’s not like you to be down in the dumps?’
There was a murmur of agreement.
‘Ah, it’s nowt, miss,’ Angie said. Everyone looked at Dorothy for an explanation.
‘Ange’s just fed up at home.’ Dorothy looked at her mate. ‘She’s being put on all the time by her mam, who’s never there, and her and Liz are having to do their own jobs as well as play nursemaid to the kids and do all the housework as well. I think she’s just sick and tired of it all. Aren’t you, Ange?’
‘And yer dad can be a bit handy as well, can’t he?’ Gloria added, breaking off a piece of her oatmeal pastry and popping it into her mouth.
Angie looked at Gloria and knew she understood. She nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘Thanks, Mikey,’ Polly said as the tea boy arrived, carefully balancing his seesawing pole of metal cans across his narrow shoulders. Rosie pressed some coins into the little lad’s dirty hand as he was leaving.
Rosie took a sip of her tea and looked at Dorothy and Angie. ‘Have you two thought about the possibility of getting your own place?’
‘Wot? Just me ’n ’er?’ Angie said.
‘What just the two of us?’ Dorothy echoed.
‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ Gloria chipped in. ‘It’s not as if yer bairns any more. How old are yer both now? Twenty? Twenty-one?’
‘Twenty,’ they said in unison.
‘Nearly twenty-one,’ Dorothy added.
All the women, and Olly, who was listening attentively, were looking at Dorothy and Angie and then back at Rosie and Gloria.
‘How would they find somewhere?’ Polly asked, genuinely curious.
‘The local paper?’ Olly suggested.
‘I could ask the rabbi if he knows of anywhere round our way,’ Hannah added.
‘I could ask George as well,’ Rosie volunteered. ‘He keeps going on about never being at his flat in town because he’s always with Lily and that he should rent it out.’
Dorothy clapped her hands in excitement, and Angie smiled for the first time all day.
‘Eee, you and me, living together! Having our own pad! Sounds like a brilliant idea, doesn’t it, Ange?’ Dorothy raised her eyebrows at her friend.
‘And I’ll bet you George’s place is dead swanky?’ Dorothy was now looking at Rosie.
‘Not too posh, though!’ Angie butted in, sounding a little panicked. ‘We don’t want to be somewhere that’s too la-di-da.’
Dorothy rolled her eyes. ‘The grander the better, that’s what I say. If we can afford it, who gives a toss!’
‘Did you see Helen leaving early today?’ Polly said to Rosie and Gloria as they headed down the embankment towards the ferry landing.
‘Harold told me it was because it’s Mr Havelock’s birthday. Some kind of family celebration,’ Rosie said.
‘Is it just me, or does Helen seem to be avoiding us all lately?’ Polly asked.
Gloria cast Rosie a quick glance.
‘She used to be on our backs all the time,’ Polly said, thinking back to when Helen had tried to split up the squad after unsuccessfully trying to break up Polly’s relationship with Tommy.
‘If she’s got a bloke, which Dor and Angie seem to think she has, that might be taking her mind off giving us hassle,’ Rosie said as she looked up at the seagulls, who seemed particularly verbose that day.
The three women were momentarily separated during the usual skirmish to get to the bobbing paddle steamer. Once they had reached the ferry landing, Gloria made a point of changing the subject.
‘Do you reckon George’ll rent our terrible two his flat?’ she asked.
‘Well, I don’t see why not. He’s met them both a few times now – he says he thinks they’re a “hoot”.’
‘I don’t think I know of anyone our age who’s got their own place,’ Polly said. ‘I think someone Bel used to work with on the buses rented a room, but that was with a landlady living there.’
‘It’s not exactly the norm,’ Rosie said, ‘but—’
‘—these aren’t normal times.’ Polly finished the sentence for her. Her voice sounded sad. She couldn’t help but think that if these had been normal times, she would probably be looking for a home to move into with Tommy. ‘Well, I think it’s a great idea,’ she perked up, trying to shake herself out of a maudlin mood. ‘Neither Dor nor Angie are happy at home. Dorothy was saying the other day that she hadn’t even seen her ma for nearly a week – even though they live under the same roof!’
‘And it would be good to get Angie out of harm’s way,’ Gloria added as they stepped onto the ferry and gave Stan their fare. The old man smiled at Polly but didn’t ask her about Tommy, something he had stopped doing a while ago. He knew Polly would tell him when she did hear something. Good or bad.
The three women looked out at the glistening waters of the Wear and at the ship they h
ad been working on that day, as well as all the other vessels lining the riverbanks, waiting to be either fixed or built, or to have their bellies filled with coal and other cargo.
‘It’s nice to see Hannah so happy,’ Polly mused as she watched one of the fishing trawlers offloading its catch by the quayside. ‘That was a piece of luck her aunty getting a job in that café you and Peter used to go to.’
Rosie felt her heart quicken at the mention of her lover’s name, but tried not to let it show.
‘I’d heard through Beryl,’ Polly continued, ‘that Hannah’s aunty Rina wasn’t doing at all well as a credit draper.’ Polly looked at Gloria and Rosie, who feigned surprise. ‘Quite the reverse in fact … So the job came just in the nick of time.’
‘And Martha was telling me today,’ Gloria added, ‘that Hannah’s aunty has heard from their rabbi that her mam and dad are still in that ghetto she told us about – the one none of us can pronounce. By the sounds of it, it’s an awful place to be, but it’s better they’re there than being shipped off to one of the labour camps, by all accounts.’
‘Poor Hannah,’ Polly said. ‘What a worry.’
As the three of them continued looking out at the river, their thoughts naturally drifted to the people they loved and about whom they, too, were worried sick. Gloria’s two boys were always at the forefront of her mind, and every night she asked a God she didn’t believe in to keep them safe. Tommy was constantly on Polly’s mind, day in, day out, although strangely enough she didn’t dream of him at night. For Rosie the opposite was the case: she somehow just about managed to keep her thoughts of Peter at bay during the day, but at night her dreams of him were constant and not always a comfort.
Chapter Forty-Four
Wanborough Manor, near Guildford, Surrey
‘Come in!’ Major Roger de Wesselow bellowed at the closed door of his office, which was jam-packed with overflowing boxes and stacks of books, maps and files.
When Conducting Officer Sergeant Searle entered the room, there was a blast of noise and activity as the F Section of the SOE had just taken on another half a dozen recruits. They had arrived much later than anticipated. It had now gone five thirty and everyone was piling into the old library, where their introductory talk was just about to take place.
