by Ellie Dean
Danuta collapsed against her pillows in a fit of giggles interspersed with little yelps of discomfort as her stitches pulled.
Queenie had no intention of being caught. She skidded past Matron, shot round the walls and then leapt onto the bed to hiss and growl at Matron, her tail fluffed to three times its normal size, her back arched before she buried herself beneath Danuta’s bedclothes.
Ron approached carefully. If he frightened Queenie she could do untold damage to Danuta with her sharp claws. ‘Keep still, wee girl,’ he warned her.
Danuta clamped her lips together to stifle her giggles, and Ron glared at Matron Billings. ‘Not a word,’ he rumbled. ‘And no loud noises, neither.’
Matron was about to answer when Ron held a grubby finger up to silence her. ‘You want the cat gone? Then do as I say.’
Much affronted, Matron pursed her lips and glared at him, but mercifully said nothing.
Ron approached the bed and sat at the end by Danuta’s feet. ‘Come on, Queenie,’ he coaxed softly, reaching tentatively beneath the blanket. He felt her whiskers tickle the back of his hand as she sniffed his fingers, and could hear the way she was panting – a sure sign that she was frightened.
‘It’s all right, girl. You’re safe now,’ he continued, daring to let his fingers slowly move over her head and down her back to stroke away the fear. He continued stroking her as he lifted the blanket and swiftly cradled her in his arms.
Queenie stiffened immediately she saw Matron, but Ron continued to stroke and talk softly to her as he edged past the woman and reached for the door handle. ‘Come on, Queenie, that’s enough excitement for the day. Let’s go home.’
He slipped through the door and into the silent, deserted sluice room. Queenie was calm and purring again, so he very gently tucked her away in his pocket and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.
Stepping back into the corridor, he could hear Matron Billings reading the riot act to Danuta, but knowing the girl was perfectly capable of withstanding anything that woman had to throw at her, he hurried away with an easy conscience.
‘Come on, ye heathen beast,’ he said to Harvey, who was gobbling down bacon, toast and eggs, much to the delight of a group of injured airmen. ‘Let’s get out of here before we’re both shot.’
Peggy was woken by the sunlight streaming through the window, and because it had been so long since she’d experienced such a thing, she lay there for a moment, delighting in the sense of freedom it gave her simply because the blackout curtains had not been drawn, and she could see the sky and the screeching gulls that were sitting on the roofs of the houses in the row behind Beach View. She felt lighter, too, the burden of her cares eased somewhat after sharing them with Dolly – and although those worries still lurked, they didn’t seem quite so daunting.
She eventually slipped out of the bedroom to go and make a pot of tea in celebration and to listen to the progress report of the invasion on the wireless. It was with surprise that she spotted some letters in the wire basket that hung beneath the letter box, for the postman wasn’t usually this early.
Retrieving them eagerly, she noted that Sarah had another air letter from Australia, and what looked like a letter from Delaney. Cordelia had several from her distant family members in Canada; there were two for Rita, two for Ivy, one from Jim to Ron, and four for Fran – which was hardly surprising, as she had a very large family over in Ireland, and they were all great letter writers.
Peggy sifted through them and, with a frown, plucked out the pale blue envelope which had clearly been hand-delivered. She recognised the writing as well as the expensive stationery, and wondered why Dolly had popped the letter in the box without calling in – but came to the conclusion that perhaps it was just a note to report on her visit to Danuta the previous evening, and it had been too late to disturb everyone.
She carried the pile of letters into the kitchen and placed them on the table. Setting the kettle on the hob, she tore open Dolly’s letter.
Dearest Peggy,
I know you really didn’t want to face Doris, so I’ve already been to see her. There is a faint hope that Rosie’s mysterious departure can be fully explained, but please don’t say anything to Ron until I’ve dealt with it. You’ll know if I’ve been successful.
Regretfully, I shall be on my way home by the time you read this. Pauline and Frank are better off alone to work things out between them, and although I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together, I have other commitments which I’ve ignored for too long.
I hope your girl Danuta recovers very soon. It was lovely to meet her this evening, and please don’t feel guilty about not visiting. She fully understands how very busy you are, and how difficult it must be for you to see her every day. She seems to be quite bright and on the mend, and tells me she was delighted to get a morning visit from Fran, and a telephone call in the afternoon from her ‘Babunia’ Cordelia – which I understand means grandmother in Polish.
The knowledge that Danuta has a warm and loving family to return to on her recovery fills me with great pleasure, for she seems in need of wonderful people like you and Ron to cherish and care for her.
I will write or ring whenever I can, and the next time I manage to get down to Cliffehaven, I’m taking you out on the razzle – a visit to a beauty parlour followed by drinks, dinner and maybe even a bit of dancing thrown in. Stay safe, my dearest friend,
Dolly
Peggy gave a sigh of disappointment that was tinged with relief that she wouldn’t have to see Doris today. Dolly had once again proved to be a steadfast and thoughtful friend, and although Peggy had hoped she would stay longer, she fully understood why it was probably best that she left Pauline and Frank to sort things out between themselves. Having heard Pauline’s hurtful and unforgiving diatribe against Dolly, Peggy could only imagine how uncomfortable things must have been for everyone at Tamarisk Bay.
She read through the two pages again, the decisive, fluent writing somehow epitomising the energetic woman who’d penned it. Peggy would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when Dolly confronted Doris, for although Doris thought Dolly was the bee’s knees, Dolly could barely stand to be in the same room with her. However, Peggy was intrigued to know what she’d learnt, and how the mystery of Rosie’s silent absence could be explained in such a way that wouldn’t bring untold hurt to Ron.
Realising it would do no good to waste time speculating on it, she made a pot of tea and sat down at the table someone had already set for breakfast. She eyed the stack of mail, her finger slowly shifting it back and forth until Jim’s letter to Ron sat before her.
She was sorely tempted to open it, for she’d suspected for quite a while that he told his father much more than he’d ever revealed to her – and although she really didn’t want to know too much, it was frustrating to think they didn’t trust her to cope with the unvarnished truth of Jim’s situation.
Peggy knew they only wanted to protect her, and she blessed them for it, but it really was irritating that they thought her incapable of dealing with the realities of the campaign in Burma when the BBC Home Service trumpeted the latest news into her kitchen with increasing regularity.
She shoved the letter back into the pile and her gaze fell on the one with the American Services’ franking which she suspected was from Delaney. It irked her that the man clearly had no compunction about writing to Sarah when he had a wife and children back in America and absolutely no right to be playing fast and loose with her girl’s feelings. The man had no morals, and if she’d dared, Peggy would have ripped up the letter and thrown it in the fire – along with any more that landed in her letter box. But that wasn’t Peggy’s way, and with a little grunt of disgust, she reluctantly pushed it to the bottom of the pile.
She sipped the tea and waited for the house to come to life. Fran would be home soon from her night shift at the hospital, and Ivy from hers at the factory. Rita was probably planning to spend another day at the fire station helping with th
e administration, and Cordelia would be up soon because Bertie Double-Barrelled was taking her out to lunch and then up to the Memorial to visit Danuta.
Sarah would be coming down, dressed and ready for her day up at Cliffe. Peggy found it a bit worrying that the WTC was about to move away from the area, for Sarah enjoyed her work and had made lots of lovely friends amongst the other girls. However, she was a competent secretary, and Peggy had few fears that she wouldn’t find another job in the town. In fact, she remembered, she had a friend who worked at the Council offices in the High Street, and they were always looking for typists. Perhaps she could put in a word for her?
She glanced up at the clock, surprised that Ron had yet to put in an appearance. He was definitely up and about, for there was a bowl of lovely eggs on the drainer, so she could only conclude that he’d gone with Harvey up into the hills.
The absence of Queenie was not unusual, for she liked to roam at night, and quite often followed Ron and Harvey on their early morning walks, even though Ron usually had to carry her home in his pocket, for although she was a game little thing, going all that way wasn’t easy on three legs.
Peggy decided that real scrambled eggs for breakfast would go down a treat, and so she wrapped Jim’s dressing gown more tightly about her, and went down the concrete steps into the garden to collect some tomatoes which she planned to slice and serve on the side with toast.
The planes were still noisy, and it seemed Adolf was trying to outdo them with his crowing. As she passed the coop he took off from the roof of the hen house and came at her with talons and spurs poised to attack.
She dodged away from the wire-netting fence, never quite sure if it was strong enough to contain him, and headed for Ron’s early fruiting tomato plants, glad she didn’t have to go into the coop every morning to collect the eggs.
‘Vicious brute,’ she muttered, selecting three of the largest and reddest fruit. ‘It’s no wonder Ron’s always threatening to put you in the pot.’
‘I wondered how soon you’d go off again,’ said Pauline sourly. ‘But you’ve really excelled yourself this time. You managed to stay for more than one day.’
Noting the sarcasm, Dolly finished loading her suitcase into the boot of her borrowed car. ‘I stayed because I thought you might need me,’ she said calmly. ‘But it’s clear you don’t, so it’s best if I go before things get more difficult.’
Pauline folded her arms tightly round her waist, her back to the churning sea that was hissing over the shingle, the wind blowing her hair over her face and flapping at the hem of her dressing gown. ‘That’s just typical. The minute things get awkward you’re off, leaving your usual mess behind for others to clear up.’
Dolly had had very little sleep and was in no mood for another set-to. ‘I have tried to put my house in order, Pauline,’ she said wearily, ‘now it’s time to see to yours. I’ve apologised until I’m blue in the face, but it seems you’re determined to be unforgiving, so there’s no point in me staying.’
‘You don’t care about me, or Carol,’ Pauline retorted. ‘Everything is always about you. Carol might see things differently, but I’m not willing to just accept all the lies you’ve told and pretend to be happy for you as you sail off to America for your new life without a thought for me.’
Dolly would not be drawn into another endless circle of unresolved argument. She glanced across at Frank who was leaning against the boat winch, looking as if he had all the cares of the world on his shoulders and hadn’t slept for a week.
‘Take care, Pauline,’ she warned quietly. ‘Frank is a good man – but even good men grow tired when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel and each day is a battle that never seems to have a hope of being won.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ snapped Pauline.
‘You’d know very well if you bothered to pay attention to your husband and consider his feelings in all this,’ Dolly said. ‘Have a care, Pauline, or you really will find yourself alone.’
She saw the fear flash in her daughter’s eyes, and wondered if perhaps she’d gone too far – and then decided she’d pussy-footed around her daughter long enough, and that Pauline needed to hear a few home truths.
‘Frank loves you, Pauline,’ she said, not attempting to reach for her hand, knowing any sign of affection would only be rejected. ‘As do I. But love wears thin when it’s constantly rejected and ignored, and if you keep up this sort of carry-on, you’ll only have yourself to blame if everything crumbles about you and you are truly left alone.’
Pauline’s jaw was working, her eyes sparking fury as she glared back. ‘Just go,’ she rasped. ‘Go and good riddance. You’re not welcome here – ever again.’
Dolly understood that Pauline’s attack was her way of defending herself, but she felt the stab of her words like a knife to the heart. She climbed into the car and drove away, but once out of sight of the row of cottages, she brought the car to a standstill in the lee of a sprawl of high gorse. In a great flood of tears she released the pent-up heartache and regrets she’d held behind the dam of resolve she’d built so carefully over the past few days.
She’d been harsh to her girl – some might say cruel – but Pauline had made it her mission to push and push and push from the moment she’d arrived. And the shaming thing was, her daughter’s accusations had struck home and she had every right to be angry.
Dolly fully accepted that she hadn’t been a good mother, and that she was now paying the price for that, and for keeping Carol’s relationship to Felix a secret by weaving a web of lies in the mistaken belief that she was protecting Carol.
She gave a tremulous sigh. Her whole life was a lie – necessarily so during the years of both wars, but a burden which was growing harder to bear as time had gone on. She hated lying to Carol, Pauline and Frank – who all thought she was living out a care-free retirement in Bournemouth – and loathed keeping secrets from sweet, trusting Peggy.
However, the fateful events in Devon had proved to her that all lies – no matter how well meant or nationally important they might be – could eventually be uncovered, usually with disastrous consequences. She’d been incredibly lucky that Felix was an honourable man and would never reveal her link with the SOE – but how much longer would that luck hold should fate intervene again?
Eventually managing to pull herself together, she dried her tears and repaired her make-up before lighting a cigarette and examining her options. Her work at Bletchley was important and so secret that she’d signed a lifetime pledge never to reveal what part she’d played in helping to prepare the agents before they were dropped into enemy territory. It was work she loved and which gave her great satisfaction – although sometimes there was the most awful heartache when things went wrong, as they had done with Danuta.
But even to think of giving it up was impossible – especially now the tide of war was turning. The agents and saboteurs trained at Bletchley would be in high demand as the battles grew in strength and the Allies pushed deeper into Europe, and she was an intrinsic part of the team who saw to it that they were fully prepared.
Then there was Danuta. The previous evening, the girl had told her the names of those who’d betrayed her. To walk away without seeing justice done would betray Danuta and all the men and women who risked their lives working secretly within enemy territory, and such a betrayal would haunt her for the rest of her life. And what would her resignation achieve?
‘Absolutely nothing,’ she muttered, turning the key in the ignition and setting off for Cliffehaven.
She parked the car at the end of Mafeking Terrace so she had a clear view of the factory gates. Checking her watch, she realised she’d only have a few minutes to wait until the shift was over.
The girls she’d spoken to last night in the Anchor had been only too eager to describe Olive, for it seemed most of them had suffered from her vicious gossip. But Olive wasn’t her target today, just as she hadn’t been the only reason for Dolly’s visit to the Anchor the p
revious night. She’d gone to see Ron, and to find out if Olive had spread her vitriol far enough for him to hear it – or was actually in the pub awaiting her chance. In which case, Dolly would have headed her off somehow. But it seemed Ron was none the wiser, and as there was no sign of the woman, Dolly had left satisfied that she could clear up this mess before it went any further.
She watched the women start to stream through the gates, giving cheeky lip to the guard, giggling and gossiping, glad to be free of work for a few hours before they had to start again tonight. She had a clear image of Ethel in her head from Stan’s photograph, but soon realised it wouldn’t be easy to spot her, for dressed in dungarees or trousers, their hair tucked away beneath knotted scarves, it was almost impossible to distinguish one woman from another.
She scanned the endless, noisy stream, quickly dismissing the young and the overweight, but homing in on the ones who clearly worked in the armament factory until she saw the sharp, foxy features she’d been searching for.
Dolly climbed out of the car and moved through the swirl towards the woman in the red headscarf. Small and skinny, with the yellow complexion of a ‘canary girl’ who handled explosives all day, Ethel had a face like a smacked haddock and a voice like a foghorn as she complained about her supervisor to another woman who clearly didn’t want to hang about listening.
Dolly kept watching her as she approached, aware that she too was being regarded with some curiosity by the other women as they hurried past.
‘Ethel Dawkins?
Ethel turned and eyed her up and down suspiciously, the fag drooping from the corner of her mouth as she swiftly tucked her large metal lunch box under her arm. ‘Yeah? Who wants ter know?’
‘I’m an old friend of your husband, Stan,’ Dolly replied pleasantly, moving in so Ethel had no choice but to step away from the other women who were swirling round them. ‘I popped in to see him yesterday and he said you’d be coming off shift, so I thought I’d come and introduce myself.’ Dolly stuck out her hand. ‘Dolly Cardew.’
