Shipyard Girls in Love

by Nancy Revell

  Peter didn’t need telling twice. With his free hand he opened the tinkling shop door while Rosie gave Kate a big hug, thanking her over and over again for her dress.

  ‘Let’s ditch the café,’ Peter said, once they were back on the street. Thankfully the wind had now dropped, although so had the temperature. ‘Why don’t you come back to mine, change into your new dress, and we’ll go for a drink?’

  Rosie pulled her coat tight around her and nodded her agreement.

  ‘Bus?’ Peter asked.

  ‘No, let’s walk,’ Rosie said.

  Peter took her hand. He was glad they were walking, in spite of the bitter cold. It would give them time to talk.

  ‘I can’t believe how different Kate is,’ Peter said as they walked up Holmeside.

  Rosie had guessed Peter would probably know her friend from Kate’s days on the streets, but knew he would never have embarrassed her by making any kind of mention of it, unless Kate brought the subject up herself.

  ‘How much she’s changed,’ he added thoughtfully.

  The darkness of the enforced blackout created an intimacy between them that was partly the reason Rosie had not wanted to take public transport, despite the plummeting temperatures. Walking close together with only the light of the half-moon to guide their way made it feel as though they were in their own private world.

  ‘I know,’ Rosie agreed.

  ‘Even her voice sounds different,’ Peter added. He remembered how Kate would often be dragged off the streets into the station, kicking and screaming, out of her mind on cheap spirits. He recalled her having quite a strong local accent, but hearing her this evening, if he hadn’t known better he might well have thought she hailed from the south.

  Rosie laughed. ‘Well, that’s all due to Lily. As well as a new hairstyle and wardrobe, she also gave her elocution lessons, which is ironic as Lily is a pure-bred cockney!’

  Peter chuckled. The more he heard about this Lily, the more he was intrigued. He wasn’t stupid, though, and he knew that as a long-time madam, Lily probably would not be best pleased Rosie was courting a copper. ‘I bet you Lily was amazed when she discovered that Kate had such a natural talent,’ he mused.

  ‘I don’t think Lily could believe her luck. She was more than happy to have Kate as a live-in maid, but when she saw what Kate could do with a needle and thread, that was it. In the blink of an eye the duster got replaced with an old sewing machine.’

  As they turned into Stockton Road, a car, followed by a bus, passed by, both driving at a snail’s pace as the light was so limited they could just about make out the road. This was the first time Rosie had talked so freely and openly about Lily, or even really mentioned the bordello. Peter knew it was another sign that Rosie was truly starting to trust him.

  ‘I told you her mother was the village dressmaker, didn’t I?’ Rosie asked.

  Peter murmured that she had.

  ‘Kate obviously takes after her, but I think there’s more to it with Kate. That shop, her designs, her dressmaking – they’re all she thinks about. It’s her obsession – not that it’s a bad obsession to have. I mean, you’ve seen some of her creations, they’re incredible. You just need to look at Bel’s wedding dress.’

  Peter nodded his silent agreement. He could see that the Maison Nouvelle was just the start for Kate. If they won the war, she was going to go far. With or without Lily’s help.

  ‘Does she ever talk to you about her time on the streets? Or her time at Nazareth House?’ he asked.

  ‘No, never,’ Rosie said, sadly thinking of the occasion she had seen Kate as a child, about a year after she’d been taken into the so-called ‘care’ of the nuns. Rosie shuddered as she remembered how she had barely recognised her old school friend, how Kate had carried the look of a dog that was regularly thrashed – her once vibrant eyes dead, her skinny arms and legs covered in bruises and welts.

  ‘I do worry she keeps so much stored up inside her, one day it’s just all going to have to come out.’

  They were both quiet for a while.

  Peter knew about the nuns residing at Nazareth House and that there were more than a few bad apples among them. It was knowledge he could do nothing with, and those that could seemed happy to brush it under the carpet. It infuriated and angered him beyond belief, but he knew it was someone else’s battle.

  ‘You did a very kind thing, taking her in,’ Peter said, as he cast his eye across to Rosie.

  ‘Something she seems intent on repaying me back for tenfold,’ Rosie said, nodding at her new dress lying in its protective bag over Peter’s arm.

  As they crossed over the road and made their way down Grange Terrace, they walked past the front of the tenement where Rosie had lived back when they had met for the very first time, after her uncle Raymond’s body had been found at the bottom of the river. Neither of them said anything, but Peter squeezed Rosie’s hand as they passed. They didn’t want to bring up any kind of remembrance of the man who had caused Rosie such trauma and hurt.

  ‘I have to bring you up to date on Vinnie,’ Peter said, knowing that he had to tell Rosie about his visit to Vinnie’s cell yesterday. The sooner Gloria got to know, the better.

  Rosie looked at Peter, panic and concern on her face. ‘You haven’t done anything, have you?’

  Peter let go of Rosie’s hand and instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to him.

  ‘Not in the way you’re thinking,’ he laughed.

  As they turned down Belvedere Road, Peter asked Rosie if she had heard the news that they were widening the scope of conscription.

  ‘No,’ Rosie said, ‘I haven’t.’ She looked embarrassed by her lack of knowledge.

  ‘It’s only just happened,’ Peter explained. ‘Parliament’s just sanctioned the changes, so I’m not surprised you haven’t. It always takes these things a while to filter through.’ He took a breath and explained. ‘The long and short of it is that all men under the age of fifty-one now have to do some kind of military service.’

  For the briefest of moments Rosie panicked. Peter was forty-three. ‘That doesn’t mean you’re going to be called up?’ The words came out as soon as she thought them, but she reprimanded herself. ‘God, I really am being thick today. Obviously they can’t call you up, because you’re in a reserved occupation.’ Rosie snuggled into Peter’s chest as a car passed and sounded its horn at a couple across the road who waved back their greeting.

  Peter was just about to say something when Rosie perked up.

  ‘Sorry, you were saying? Vinnie?’

  Peter paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. ‘Yes, Vinnie. Well, when I heard this, it gave me an idea.’

  ‘Go on,’ Rosie said, knowing that what Peter was about to tell her was going to bring Gloria tidings of great joy.

  ‘Well, it was all quite straightforward,’ he said. ‘I merely pointed out that he had two alternatives.’

  Peter briefly explained the choices he had put to Vinnie, who had sensibly opted to take the free rail ticket down to Portsmouth. Peter’s somewhat sanitised telling of the time he had spent with Vinnie yesterday ended with the reassurance that Vinnie was now under the command of a very good friend of his, and should Gloria’s soon-to-be-ex-husband go AWOL, Peter would be the first to know.

  ‘Not that I think he would have a lot to come back for,’ Peter said, before explaining that Vinnie’s live-in girlfriend had also washed her hands of him after she had been shown the very detailed police statements.

  ‘I actually think,’ Peter reflected as they neared the turning to Tunstall Vale, ‘that there was a part of her that was relieved. She was certainly pretty adamant that I pass the message on to Vinnie that she no longer wanted anything to do with him.’

  Rosie stopped Peter, reached up and took his face in her hands, then kissed him full on the lips.

  ‘DS Miller,’ she said, ‘you are the best! And a genius strategist. And I love that Vera’s pastries were part of your c
unning plan!’

  Peter felt as proud as Punch. He had never been able to chat to anyone about his occasional forays into what he called his ‘alternative policing methods’.

  ‘This is the best Christmas present ever for Gloria.’ Rosie planted another kiss on his lips. ‘Thank you!’

  As they continued on their way, Peter’s feeling of worthiness soon diminished and was replaced by a slight nervousness. He should have said something when he’d told Rosie about the new legislation. It would have been the perfect opening to start the conversation he knew he could no longer avoid.

  Peter opened his mouth and was just about to speak when Rosie suddenly looked at him.

  ‘You’ll take care of yourself when I’m away, won’t you?’ All the talk about conscription and trips to Portsmouth had suddenly made her think how terrible it would be if Peter were to be taken away from her.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t say this,’ she hesitated, ‘and I know we haven’t been courting for all that long, but if anything ever happened to you, or you weren’t here for any reason, I think life would be unbearable.’

  They had just reached the gate that led onto Brookside Gardens and were now standing looking at each other.

  Peter saw that Rosie’s eyes were wet with emotion.

  ‘I love you,’ Rosie said simply. It was the first time she had said the words, although her actions had already told him what she felt many times. ‘And,’ she added, ‘I never want to be parted from you.’

  Peter looked down at the woman who had stolen his heart from the moment they’d first met.

  ‘And I love you too, Rosie. So very, very much.’

  As they kissed for a moment, Peter felt awash with a terrible guilt. Why did love always seem to come hand in hand with hurt?

  They walked in silence to Peter’s front door. Once they were in, Rosie turned to him.

  He switched on the hallway light and could see that her eyes were sparkling and her face was a picture of pure happiness.

  ‘You know what?’ she said with a half-smile.

  Peter traced the outline of her face with his finger. ‘What?’ he whispered into her ear whilst untying the belt on her grey mackintosh.

  ‘I think Kate is right,’ Rosie answered, her voice soft. ‘Let’s pretend this is Christmas Day.’

  Peter murmured his agreement as he slid his free arm inside her coat and around her waist.

  ‘So,’ Rosie said, her lips grazing Peter’s neck, ‘what would we do if it was just the two of us?’

  ‘Well,’ Peter answered without hesitation, ‘first of all, you’d have to put on your special Christmas dress.’

  His face was deadly serious as he handed her the clothes bag.

  Rosie’s eyes twinkled as she took the dress without saying anything and went upstairs to change.

  Peter took off his coat and went straight into the small but cosy living room with its well-worn armchair and sofa littered with cushions. He switched on the side light and quickly knelt down and grabbed the matches by the hearth to start up the fire that he had stacked up with kindling and coal before he’d left that morning.

  He then went back out into the hallway and shouted up the stairs.

  ‘How about a spam sandwich in lieu of a roasted chicken?’

  He could hear Rosie’s gentle laughter as she opened the bedroom door.

  ‘Give me spam over chicken any day!’ she shouted back down the stairs.

  Five minutes later the fire was blazing and Peter had quickly slapped together two spam sandwiches, which he had cut into triangles and put on a plate in an attempt to make them look more enticing.

  He was just pouring them both a glass of brandy when Rosie walked through the doorway in her new red dress.

  Peter stood and stared.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ Rosie said, as she walked across and took her drink.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Rosie,’ Peter said, kissing her gently on the lips.

  Peter knew then that what he had to tell Rosie would have to wait until she got back.

  This evening was just too perfect to spoil.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Christmas Eve 1941

  The next morning, as Peter walked into town and made his way to police headquarters, his mind kept swinging from untamed thoughts of Rosie, and the rather magical and very passionate night they had just spent together, and the letter now tucked neatly into his coat pocket.

  Images of Rosie practically flying out the front door, determined she was not going to be late for work, then rushing back up his short front pathway, swinging her boxed gas mask over her shoulder and kissing him one last time, suddenly sprang to mind. He had seen in her eyes the anguish she felt at leaving him, and he had also felt it in her farewell kisses.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ he had told her. And had meant it – so much more than she could realise.

  ‘Damn it!’ Peter said aloud, his words creating a mist as his breath merged with the icy cold air.

  He should have just spat it out last night. Told Rosie the truth. He really should have told her as soon as he’d had his conversation with Toby a week ago. It was only fair. He and Rosie had sworn to each other there would be no more secrets – no more lies.

  As he walked into the centre of town, he looked about him and felt a fresh wave of anger and frustration. The place was slowly being razed to the ground, brick by brick, by the constant drop of Hitler’s bombs. He noticed the shopkeepers’ valiant attempts to make their window displays as decorative as possible considering the scarcity of available goods, and how this contrasted with the increasing amount of black being worn by those grieving the menfolk who were never coming home.

  He knew this year there would be hundreds of people unable to spend Christmas in their own homes as those were now little more than heaps of bricks and rubble. And he also knew that thousands of children would be spending this special time separated from their families, having been evacuated to live with complete strangers.

  It was all of this that made Peter certain that what he was going to do was the right thing.

  If only he didn’t have Rosie in his life.

  But he did, and it was because she was in his life that doing what was right was making him feel so bloody awful.

  ‘Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!’ he said, as he posted his letter and strode to work.

  ‘Gloria! Gloria!’ Rosie couldn’t stop herself from shouting out above the hordes of flat-capped heads as she spotted Polly’s bottle-green headscarf bobbing next to Gloria’s thick brown curls, which had been heaped up into a bun.

  Rosie had practically flown back to her flat from Peter’s, changed clothes, and was back out her own front door in record-breaking time. Aided by the fact she was wearing lace-up boots and not heels, she’d managed to make it to the main gates of Thompson’s by twenty-past seven, thereby giving herself a few minutes’ breather as she scrutinised the first batch of workers disembarking from the ferry that was now bobbing about energetically on a frothing River Wear.

  On hearing Rosie’s distinctive voice, Polly and Gloria both looked up, worried at first until they saw Rosie’s smiling face and frantically waving hands straining to be seen above the influx of shipbuilders.

  ‘Looks like Rosie had a date last night,’ Gloria said with quiet humour. Polly chuckled. They all now knew when Rosie had been out with her detective as she always turned up at work with traces of make-up on her face.

  ‘Hi!’ Rosie couldn’t contain her excitement as both women reached her and the three of them were carried by the moving mass of workers to the timekeeper’s cabin.

  ‘Sorry, Polly, but do you mind if I grab Gloria for a moment and we catch you up?’ Rosie asked as they grabbed their timecards off Alfie, who had managed to find a little Christmas tree and put it in his cabin window. A metal star that one of the platers had cut out of some scrap metal adorned the top.

  ‘Course not,’ Polly said, throwing Gloria a curious look before becoming lost in the cr
owd spilling into the main yard.

  ‘What is it?’ Gloria asked as Rosie pulled her into one of the prefabs that was used as a storeroom but was currently empty, giving them a respite from the early-morning melee.

  ‘Vinnie’s gone!’ Rosie exclaimed, her face animated.

  ‘Gone?’ Gloria was confused. ‘Gone where? I thought they were still holding him?’

  ‘He’s gone for good!’ Rosie said. ‘Conscripted. Back into the navy.’

  Gloria stood and stared at her boss in disbelief.

  ‘I don’t understand. Vinnie would never do that,’ she said as Rosie hoicked herself up on to the wooden counter. ‘The number of times I had to listen to him mithering on about how he had “done his bit” and they could “bugger off if they tried to drag” him into this war.’

  Taking a deep breath, Rosie told Gloria what had passed between Vinnie and Peter in the police cell, although her version was even more sanitised than the one Peter had related to her.

  As Gloria sat and listened, her expression changed from confusion to surprise to jubilance, before it finally crumpled as she burst into tears.

  ‘Oh my God, Rosie,’ Gloria couldn’t hold her emotions or her sobs in, ‘this is fantastic news. I can’t believe it. So he’s in Portsmouth now?’

  ‘Yes, and if he takes one step off base and goes AWOL, he’ll be court-martialled and Peter will be informed straight away.’

  Rosie jumped down off the counter and went over to Gloria, bobbing down so that she was at eye level with her.

  ‘You’re free, Gloria!’ she said. ‘You’re finally free of that bastard!’

  Gloria looked at her friend and started laughing and crying at the same time.

  By three o’clock Rosie had completed a half-shift, handed over the reins to a very happy Gloria, hurried back to her flat, changed for the second time that day, and with weary limbs lugged herself and her overstuffed carryall the quarter-mile to the railway station just in time to catch her train to York, from where she would catch a connecting local service to Harrogate.

  Within minutes of leaving the station, Rosie’s eyes had become heavy as she enjoyed the comfort of the cushioned seat. Next to her was an old man who had fallen asleep within minutes of getting settled into his seat; the rest of the carriage appeared to be taken up mainly with army, navy and air force personnel.