by Nancy Revell
She could live a normal life.
Lily looked at Rosie and her face softened.
‘Oh, Rosie,’ she said, ‘for someone who has experienced some of life’s hardest knocks, you really are such a dreamer—’
‘Which is no bad thing – at all,’ George butted in. It was the first time he had spoken and Rosie and Lily both looked at him. ‘I think it’s wonderful to dream,’ he continued. ‘And I hope you never stop.’
Rosie looked at the man who was the nearest she would ever get to having a father again, and said, ‘So why do I sense there is a “but” coming?’
George’s smile was sad.
‘Yes, I’m afraid there is a rather large “but”.’ He paused. ‘You see, my dear, I don’t think Lily and I made it clear that day we were all talking about buying next door and starting up the Gentlemen’s Club. I remember we did mention going legit, but we were all so excited and it was a busy day, and we didn’t sit down and talk about it as perhaps we should have.’
George took a breath and straightened his back. ‘I think you may have got the wrong end of the stick, my dear. What we should have told you was that there is a way we can start to build up a more legitimate business infrastructure by siphoning money off Lily’s, as well as La Lumière Bleue, and using it to build up the Gentlemen’s Club, which, of course, is all above board, and perhaps also start to build up a property portfolio. Bricks and mortar, my friends in finance tell me, is the next big thing.
‘All of this, however, will take time – years, I’m afraid.’
Lily looked at Rosie and saw the look of desolation on her face. Her heart softened immediately.
‘Ma chère,’ she said, ‘there’s no way we can make the actual bordello a legitimate company. Not unless the government changes the law, which I doubt will happen in our lifetime.’
She made her way over to Rosie, wanting to give her some kind of comfort, to tell her that everything would turn out all right in the end. She wanted to say so much to Rosie, who she could tell was floundering around at sea at the moment, unsure which way to swim to shore. But most annoyingly of all, she knew the reason why their Rosie was floundering in unknown waters.
It was all down to that damned detective.
Seeing Rosie slump, defeated, in her chair, Lily went over and gently put her hands on her head and pulled her close.
Rosie could smell the mix of Chanel N° 5, cigarettes and brandy. It was strangely comforting.
‘We’ll sort something out,’ Lily promised, although, at that moment in time, she had no idea how – other than to string up that bloody detective.
Life had been just fine and dandy before he’d come along.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Everything all right at the yard?’ Bel asked, pouring herself a freshly brewed cup of tea from the pot she had just placed on the mat in the middle of the kitchen table.
Polly was back late, having done a few hours’ overtime, and was helping herself to some leftover panackelty that was keeping warm on the range. This was a part of the day they both enjoyed, when their work was done and the house was quiet. Agnes and Arthur had headed off to bed within half an hour of each other, Joe was out doing his duty with the Home Guard, and Pearl was working at the Tatham. It was the only time of day that the two women could sit down together and have a good chat.
‘Yeah,’ Polly said, putting her plate down on the table and going off to get some cutlery, ‘you know – the usual. So much to do and so little time to do it.’ She came back armed with her knife and fork. ‘Brutus is coming along nicely, though. Starting to look like she’s finally getting a bit of meat on her bones.’
Bel let out a little chuckle. Polly always talked about the ships they were working on as though they were real live beings. ‘Glad to hear it. We want her nice and strong, don’t we?’ she joked.
‘Did you see Gloria tonight when she came to pick up Hope?’ Polly asked as she started to tuck into her supper, which was barely warm.
‘I did,’ Bel said, taking a sup of her tea. ‘She actually stayed for a quick cuppa for a change. She seems so much more relaxed now that Vinnie’s out of the picture.’
‘Yeah, she is.’ Polly forked up a heap of fried onion, potato and bacon. She always came in from work ravenous. ‘One less thing for her to worry about,’ she added through a mouthful of food, ‘and let’s face it, she’s got a pretty long list on the go.’
‘From what Gloria said, I think Jack was a bit disappointed he didn’t get the chance to knock Vinnie from here to kingdom come. I was surprised when she said she’d only got to tell Jack the other day. Did you know she’s not seen him at all over the Christmas break?’
‘I know,’ Polly mumbled, washing her food down with a big glug of tea. ‘Gloria thought it’d be a good idea for Jack to give his undivided attention to Helen. You know, with it probably being the last one he has at home with her – as a family.’
‘Before they drop their bombshell,’ Bel mused.
Polly continued to eat, while Bel sat deep in thought.
‘It was all a bit pointless, by the sounds of it, though,’ Polly said, now starting to scrape her plate clean.
‘What was pointless?’ Bel asked.
‘The whole “Jack having a happy family Christmas with Helen” malarkey.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Bel leant forward so as to feel the heat of the fire on her face. ‘Gloria said Jack hardly got to speak two words to Helen. A load of fancy, hoity-toity guests over for Christmas dinner and then another right old knees-up on Boxing Day.’
‘Well,’ Polly said, ‘at least Gloria tried to do the right thing. I think she’s been feeling a bit guilty about Helen, to be honest.’
‘Really?’ Bel asked. ‘Why, I thought Helen was the devil incarnate. Or at the very least the Wicked Witch of the West. “Cold and calculating and devoid of all feeling”, I thought was the general consensus.’
‘I dunno,’ Polly said, ‘I guess Gloria’s just feeling bad because she knows how much Helen loves her dad, and that, whatever happens, it’s going to break up the family.’
‘But,’ Bel said, ‘she’ll still have her dad, won’t she? It’s not as if he won’t love her any more. And from what I know about Jack, you couldn’t get a more perfect father. She’s actually a very lucky girl.’
Polly took her plate and cutlery into the scullery, put them in the sink and came back and sat down.
‘That’s your way of looking at it, Bel,’ Polly said. ‘Somehow, though, I don’t think that’s going to be the way Helen does. Nor Miriam. God only knows what they’ll do when Jack and Gloria finally come clean.’
Bel stretched her legs and sat back, letting out a big yawn.
‘It’s Hope that’s going to be the biggest shocker, though, isn’t it? It won’t just be a case of, “I’m so sorry we’ve fallen in love and I’m leaving you, dear Miriam,” but, “And by the way, we’ve had a baby together!”’
‘Oh, don’t, Bel! When you put it like that it makes it sound awful!’ Polly reprimanded, before asking, ‘Did Gloria say anything to you about when they’re going to tell Miriam?’
‘Sometime in the New Year,’ Bel said, looking across at Polly and seeing how shattered she was. ‘She says she feels like she’s been caught up in a hurricane this past month, and they just need a few weeks to catch their breath. Especially after all this upset with Vinnie.’
‘At least Vinnie’s gone,’ Polly said, stifling a yawn, ‘and there’ll be no more shenanigans about Hope now he finally knows that he’s not the father.’
‘Mm,’ Bel agreed, then shuddered. ‘Just think, having someone like Vinnie as your father?’
Polly nodded. ‘Not a nice thought.’
As they’d been chatting, Polly’s tired mind had wandered a little and for the first time ever she imagined what Tommy would be like as a dad. Of course, he’d be the best da in the world.
Her thoughts, however, were accompanied by a now familiar, painful pull in her
chest. She missed him so much.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Gibraltar
Tuesday 30 December 1941
Tommy was sitting on his bunk bed with just an electric torch for light and a sheet of paper. He knew the other men he shared this small dormitory with weren’t all asleep, although there was the usual deep rumbling of Rodders’ snoring, which was a constant source of either complaint or comedy amongst them all.
When they had all arrived here, none of them could quite believe anyone could make such a racket when they were asleep and they had all expressed their deepest sympathies for Rodders’ missus. They’d joked that since he’d been sent overseas his wife was probably getting the best night’s kip she’d ever had; they all knew, though, that Mrs Rodders would probably give anything to have her man snoring away next to her all night long, safe in the knowledge that he was alive and well.
None of the specialist diving team Tommy was a part of had told their loved ones just how dangerous their job was, but they all knew their families were probably well aware of it. It didn’t take a genius to work out that pulling limpet mines off the bottoms of boats was not the safest job in the world.
Tommy let out a quiet sigh as he unscrewed the top off his pen. Polly had sent it to him when he was doing his fortnight’s training in Portsmouth. He’d got it the day he left for the Rock and every time he held it he felt that she was near him. He kept it in his bedside-cabinet drawer along with Polly’s letters, which, after a year of writing to each other, now made quite a pile.
In a strange way, they’d got to know each other more since he’d signed up and been shipped abroad. He’d realised fairly early on during their long-distance correspondence that it was easier to say how he was feeling on paper than to actually speak the words. They had even developed their own code and every letter or postcard was always signed off with a coded ‘I love you for ever’.
As Tommy looked out the small round window at the clear, star-speckled night sky, he couldn’t help but feel a little despondent. This war did not look like ending any time soon, and he wondered just how long ‘for ever’ might be.
When he’d first come out he’d often worried that Polly would tire of waiting for him, but the more they wrote to each other, the more his paranoid thoughts about her finding some other bloke were pushed aside. Her letters, just like the last one she had written to him, might be full of all the goings-on at the yard and at Tatham Street, but there was always an overriding sense of love in her words to him that could not be disguised and which left him in no doubt that her feelings for him were true and steadfast.
Dear Polly …
Tommy started to write slowly. He always tried to make his writing the best he could.
As always, I hope this letter finds you and everyone we know well.
This was the way Tommy always started his letters. He paused for a moment before starting to write again.
I just want you to know how proud I am of you. I haven’t wanted to tell you before in case you think I’m a right softie.
My mates are always pulling my leg about how much I go on about you – and how I’m always telling them that you are ‘building ships that are saving our backsides’. They keep ribbing me that I’m telling porkies and that ‘my Polly’ sounds too perfect and that you are really just ‘a figment of my imagination’.
But it doesn’t matter to me whether they believe me or not. I know you are real. And I know you are mine!
Anyway, there’s not much to report at this end. Nothing for you to worry about. I just need you to look after yourself and make sure you get to the nearest air raid shelter as soon as the sirens start up.
It’s good to hear that Arthur’s doing well and keeping Agnes well stocked up on fruit and veg – and fish, of course! I know I’ve said this a few times before but I am so eternally grateful to your mam for taking Arthur under her roof. She really is the best. Tell her I’m missing her gorgeous stews and dumplings!
Tommy had nearly reached the end of the page.
Talking of your ma, I know she will hate me for writing this and a part of me thinks I should tell you to do the complete opposite – but keep building them ships! And keep sending them out into that great North Sea.
I am so very proud of you and you must keep doing what you have always wanted to do (even before this war).
You are a shipbuilder! Just like your brothers, and your dad and his dad before him.
I can’t stress just how very proud I am of you.
After signing his name and putting a kiss next to it, he added, in capitals ILYFE. He then folded up the letter and put it carefully into an envelope and then under his pillow.
As he lay down on his bed, he hoped he had managed to say what he wanted to say in a way that wouldn’t sound at all ominous.
He knew Polly would be a little surprised to read what he had said about her working in the yards. He had often tried to put her off working at Thompson’s simply because it was dangerous work at the best of times, never mind when the country was at war.
But lately, and particularly since he had been told about his team’s next mission, he realised that Polly’s work would be invaluable should anything happen to him.
His squad commander had not minced his words about the next covert operation they were presently training for. He had not said anything directly to them, but had suggested they all send their loved ones letters. He didn’t need to say any more. They had all understood.
There was no way that Tommy was going to say anything that might in any way worry Polly, and he hoped his letter would come across as normal, but he also hoped that should anything happen to him, Polly would reread his words and she would put on her overalls, go to work, pick up her welding rod and carry on.
Tommy knew Polly and he knew that it would be Thompson’s, as well as her closely knit group of women welders, that would ultimately save her and keep her going if he was no longer there.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Brookside Gardens, Sunderland
New Year’s Eve 1941
‘God, it feels like I haven’t seen you for ever!’ Rosie put her arms around Peter as she stood on the threshold of his home.
Peter kissed her for a long time as they stood there, letting in the cold night air.
‘It’s been longer than that – seven days and ten hours exactly.’ Peter smiled down at Rosie’s face. It was a face he thought he would never get tired of looking at, talking to or, like now, kissing.
‘I’m so sorry about last night,’ Peter said as he drew Rosie into the hallway, shut the door and helped her out of her winter coat.
Rosie dismissed the apology with the shake of her head. ‘Was it awful?’ she asked, her face now deadly serious.
‘It was,’ Peter said honestly, ‘and just so terribly tragic.’
Rosie and Peter had meant to be meeting up the previous evening, but Peter had been called to an accident that had shocked the whole town. Two trainee pilots from the nearby RAF Usworth had collided mid-air directly over the Ford Estate. It had been carnage and the four crew members had been killed instantly.
Rosie gave Peter a big hug. She would not have wanted to deal with the aftermath of such an accident.
‘Gloria was telling us about it today at work. She said the whole estate was in shock. One of the planes landed in someone’s front garden. It was a miracle no one else was killed. I think it really shook Gloria up.’ Rosie followed Peter into the kitchen, where he had already set up a tea tray of cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits. He put the kettle on to boil.
‘Oh!’ Rosie jumped. ‘God, how could I forget.’ She took a dramatic intake of breath. ‘Gloria was completely overwhelmed by what you did for her. With Vinnie. She can’t thank you enough.’
Peter smiled. ‘How’s her head? Is she fully recovered now?’
‘Yes, yes, she’s fine, thank goodness, though I think she’s just so relieved Vinnie’s now out of the picture. She’s been so muc
h more relaxed. She took over the reins while I was away and did a great job by the sounds of it.’
Rosie pulled out one of the light iron-framed chairs from under the Formica kitchen table and sat down.
‘She also says that Jack seems to be getting his memory back – slowly but surely – which must be a massive relief. He went through a stage of being really tired. I think it was starting to worry her, but from what I’ve picked up it seems like he’s getting back to his old self.’
Rosie also knew that Gloria had been particularly relieved to hear that Jack was now back in the spare room and no longer sharing a bed with Miriam.
Rosie took a deep breath and smiled.
‘It’s lovely to be here. With you,’ she added quietly. ‘And, there’s so much to catch up on!’
‘I know,’ Peter agreed, trying his hardest to sound casual when really there was only one conversation he wanted – no, needed – to have with Rosie this evening. He knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.
The kettle came to the boil and Peter poured the steaming-hot water into the pot.
‘So, tell me about Charlotte and the Rainers. What was your Christmas Day like? Did you manage a trip into Harrogate?’
As Peter stirred the tea and let it brew for a short while, Rosie started to tell him all about Charlotte and her worries about her little sister, who had not seemed herself and who was adamant she wanted to come back home.
Peter forced himself to concentrate, but it was hard; he was feeling more nervous by the minute about what he had to tell Rosie.
‘So,’ Peter said, pouring out their cups of tea, ‘what do you think is really going on with Charlotte?’
Rosie paused for a moment. ‘I’m not sure. All I know is that she’s fixed on moving back to Sunderland.’ She took her cup, but didn’t make any signs that she wanted to go and sit in the lounge, so Peter sat down with her at the little kitchen table.
