by Ellie Dean
Ethel eyed the outstretched hand and reluctantly shook it briefly. ‘Pleased ter meet yer, I’m sure,’ she said, her eyes still bright with suspicion as they took in the expensive clothes and shoes, her arm firmly anchoring the tin to her side. ‘I gotta get ’ome,’ she muttered. ‘Stan will be wanting ’is breakfast.’
‘There’s something I’d like to discuss with you first,’ said Dolly, continuing to advance so slowly that Ethel was almost backed up against the wall of the dairy before she realised it. She noted the way Ethel was gripping the lunch box, and wondered what was hidden inside it.
‘Oh yeah? And what would that be, then?’
‘I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you,’ said Dolly.
The arm tightened further on the box as her companion made her escape. ‘I ain’t got nothing that ain’t mine,’ she retorted, her eyes narrowing. ‘Who are you? What right you got coming ’ere with yer nasty accusations?’
Dolly had now manoeuvred Ethel into the corner between the wall and the fence. ‘If you have nothing to hide, Ethel, why are you being so defensive?’
‘I don’t like yer snotty tone,’ snapped Ethel, the long ash dropping from her fag down her front. ‘You ain’t the police, so I don’t ’ave to answer your questions.’
‘What’s in the tin, Ethel?’
‘Nothing. Just me lunch.’ Her gaze darted from side to side, looking for help or escape, but the other women had gone and the guard had shut the gate on the stragglers and was heading for the canteen. ‘What’s it to you anyway?’
‘It matters to me if there’s a letter in there,’ said Dolly, her calm tone belying her readiness to ward off any attack the woman might be planning. ‘A letter to Ron from Rosie, which you seem to have forgotten to deliver.’
‘I don’t know what yer talking about,’ Ethel barked. ‘Now sling yer ’ook before I lump yer one.’
Dolly saw the bunched fists and the light of battle in Ethel’s eyes. She grabbed her skinny wrist and swiftly twisted her arm up her back, forcing the woman’s face to be pressed against the wall, the tin to clatter to the pavement.
Dolly held her fast, keeping her legs splayed to avoid being kicked by Ethel’s heavy boots. ‘That’s an interesting lunch, Ethel,’ she said, regarding the two tins of butter, the packet of tea and tin of condensed milk which had spilled onto the pavement and were rolling into the gutter.
‘Let go of my arm,’ Ethel shouted, kicking and struggling.
Dolly gave an added twist to the wrist, forcing the arm higher until Ethel yelped in pain. ‘Tell me where the letter is and I’ll let go,’ she said quietly.
‘I ain’t bloody telling you nothing, you cow,’ yelled Ethel.
‘How about I call the guard?’ Dolly murmured close to her ear. ‘He’s only over there, and I’m sure he’d be very interested to see what you had in your tin. Nicked it from the canteen, did you? That’s theft, Ethel, and I’ll make sure you do time for it if you don’t tell me what I want to know.’
Ethel groaned and sagged against the wall. ‘It’s in me pocket. But you’ll pay fer this, you toffee-nosed slag.’
Dolly kept her grip on the skinny wrist with one hand and delved into the grubby pockets with the other to find yet more tins – as well as the letter, which had been opened.
‘I were going to deliver it,’ whined Ethel. ‘I just forgot, that’s all.’
‘Of course you were,’ said Dolly, shoving the letter into her jacket pocket before letting go of the wrist and taking a quick step back and to one side, to avoid the haymaker punch the woman was winding up to aim at her head.
Unbalanced, Ethel staggered, tripped over one of the tins and went sprawling into the gutter.
Dolly looked down at her in disgust. ‘That’s the best place for a liar and a thief,’ she said coldly. ‘I hope Stan never finds out what sort of low-life he’s married.’
Ethel rubbed her wrist and scowled as she scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ll tell my Stan what you done to me – you bitch,’ she spat.
‘No, you won’t,’ said Dolly. ‘Because then you’d have to explain why I’m a bitch – and I don’t think he’d be too happy to hear how you steal food and other people’s letters.’
She was about to return to her car when she stopped and looked back at Ethel, who was now on her hands and knees scrabbling about for her ill-gotten booty. ‘What did you stand to gain by not delivering it?’
‘That ain’t none of your flaming business,’ yelled a red-faced Ethel.
‘I could make it my business,’ Dolly said softly, her high heel stabbing down on the packet of tea and missing Ethel’s fingers by a whisker.
Ethel cowered. ‘That bitch what owns the Anchor was due for a payback,’ she gabbled, hastily getting to her feet. ‘Thinks she’s so bleeding clever with her fancy clothes and ’er hold over poor old Ron all the time she’s playing fast and loose with that posh major.’
Her face was ugly with jealousy and spite. ‘Well, I soon put a spike in ’er balloon, and that’s a fact,’ she said with a nasty sneer.
Dolly turned away and headed back to the car, unable to bear being in her presence a moment longer. ‘Poor Stan,’ she murmured, settling behind the wheel. ‘How on earth did you get so taken in by that hard-faced, jealous harridan?’
She glanced across at Ethel, who’d collected her booty and was now striding with righteous indignation down the hill. Dolly gave a shudder and switched on the engine. She had a fair idea of how Ethel had snared him. He’d been lonely, flattered by the attentions of a much younger woman, and so smitten he’d turned a blind eye to all the faults others must have seen in her. She knew from her letters that Peggy had had her doubts about the match – as had Ron. Dolly could only hope that her old friend would never have cause to lose those rose-tinted spectacles, for if he did, he would end up being very badly hurt.
It was with a heavy heart that she drove down the hill, over the bridge past a few stragglers from the factory and along the High Street before turning into Camden Road. She pulled up outside the Anchor, relieved to find that it was still too early for the shutters to be drawn back, which probably meant that Ron was on his morning walk to the Memorial with Harvey.
Dolly drew the envelope from her pocket. It was grubby from frequent handling, and torn carelessly open, which suggested that Ethel had never had any intention of delivering it.
Dolly was caught on the horns of a dilemma. She didn’t really want to read the letter, for it was none of her business and there had been prying enough, but what if it was Rosie’s final farewell to Ron? He was already hurting at the thought she might have left him, and Dolly couldn’t bear the thought of him going through the agony of having his suspicions confirmed in Rosie’s own hand.
And yet she couldn’t believe that of Rosie; sweet, vivacious Rosie who didn’t possess a cruel bone in her body. If she’d wanted to end things between them, she’d have respected Ron’s feelings and done it face to face, not by letter – especially not one carelessly left to another to deliver.
There was, of course, the possibility that the letter contained a reasonable explanation for her sudden departure, which would give Ron hope and clear up any lingering suspicions.
Dolly sat there for a long moment, turning the envelope over and over in her hand before coming to a decision. Climbing out of the car, she thrust it through the Anchor’s letter box, her curiosity unsatisfied but her conscience clear.
Driving back out of Cliffehaven, she stopped for a moment on top of the hill to open the window and bid a fond farewell to the town she’d loved since childhood.
It sprawled back from the horseshoe bay into the surrounding hills, the terraces and quiet streets looking peaceful in the early sun as the barrage balloons glinted above the factories and the calm sea lapped at the shore – but the smoke and flames were clearly visible on the other side of the Channel, and the combined Allied air forces were continuing their ceaseless flights.
Dolly gave a reg
retful sigh. How different it was from those far-off summer days when she’d spent hours on the beach and in the rock pools while a band played on the pier and there was the heavenly scent of toffee apples and candy floss in the air. But there was hope those days would return once peace was restored, the barbed wire removed and the holidaymakers coming once more, and that was what she would cling to.
She drank in the scene, relieved that although she and Pauline had parted on bad terms, her visit had not been a complete disaster. She had the names of the double agents; Danuta was on the road to a slow recovery with a loving home to go to when she was discharged from the hospital; and Dolly had high hopes that Ron and Rosie would find their way through this recent upset and be happy together again.
She blew a kiss towards the town, engaged the gears and roared away, the tyres screeching as they fought for purchase on the tarmac. Her mission completed, she could now return to London and the office building in Baker Street where some of the most closely guarded national secrets were kept, and focus entirely on what she had to do to help bring this war to an end.
19
Peggy was dressed and Daisy was eating her breakfast by the time Sarah came downstairs. ‘There are a couple of letters for you,’ she said. ‘It’s been a bumper delivery today.’
Sarah blushed scarlet as she noted the one with the American franking and hastily put them both in her trouser pocket.
‘Aren’t you going to read them?’ Peggy put the scrambled egg, toast and tomato before her. ‘It’s not often the post arrives before you have to go to work.’
‘I’ll read them during my lunch break,’ Sarah replied, not quite meeting Peggy’s steady gaze.
Peggy sat down beside her. ‘Look, dear, I might not approve of you and Delaney, but it’s really not my business. Don’t feel you can’t read his letters because of me. And judging by the postage date, he must have written that just before the invasion began.’
‘I’ll read it later,’ Sarah replied firmly, and swiftly changed the subject. ‘How lovely it is to have real scrambled eggs for a change. The hens must be laying really well, even though the planes are making such a terrible racket.’
‘It’s still all go over there,’ said Peggy, wiping Daisy’s mouth clean and helping her get down from her chair. ‘I listened to the war report earlier, and it seems everything is going to plan, so I suppose we’ll all just have to put up with it for a while yet.’
‘You’ll never guess what I just seen,’ said Ivy, rushing into the kitchen and dropping her coat and gas mask onto a nearby chair.
‘A pink elephant walking down the High Street?’ teased Peggy.
Ivy giggled. ‘Nah, better than that. I saw your posh mate, Dolly, having a right set-to with Ethel.’
Peggy looked at her in astonishment. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘As sure as I’m breathing,’ said Ivy, plumping down at the table and eyeing Sarah’s breakfast greedily. ‘Can I ’ave some of that? I’m starving.’
Peggy smiled indulgently and fetched her plate from the warming oven. ‘I really can’t imagine Dolly getting involved in fisticuffs – especially with Ethel,’ she murmured, putting the plate in front of the girl.
‘Well, she was,’ said Ivy, digging into her breakfast. ‘Cor, this is blindin’, Aunty Peg,’ she said dreamily through an enormous mouthful of egg, toast and tomato. ‘There ain’t nothing like proper egg for breakfast, is there?’
Peggy held on to her patience as Ivy continued to shovel the food into her mouth. ‘What did you see exactly?’ she asked once the girl was mopping up the last of it with a heel of bread.
‘Your mate had Ethel pinned up against the dairy wall, ’er arm halfway up ’er back, ’er ugly mug pressed into the brick.’ Ivy grinned. ‘Ethel was kicking and struggling and yelling blue murder, but Dolly ’ad a firm grip on ’er, and she weren’t going nowhere.’
‘But what …?’ Suddenly Peggy had an inkling as to why. ‘Did you hear anything of what was being said, Ivy?’
‘Nah. I were too far away, more’s the pity. But I could see everything well enough. When Dolly grabbed her, Ethel’s famous lunch tin fell on the ground and there was tins of butter and milk and packets of tea strewn all over the pavement.’ She gave a sniff. ‘I always thought she were a thief, but to rob the Red Cross is low, even for ’er.’
‘So what happened next, Ivy?’ prompted an impatient Sarah. ‘Do get on with it. I have to leave for work.’
‘All right, all right. Keep yer ’air on. It won’t matter if you’re a few minutes late.’ She wriggled in her chair, clearly enjoying her moment. ‘Dolly were saying things close to Ethel’s ear, and must have got fed up with ’er not takin’ no notice, ’cos she forced her arm a bit further up and Ethel sort of sagged – all the fight going out of ’er.’
‘And?’ Sarah was reaching for her coat.
‘Dolly searched the pockets of her overalls, found what she were looking for after chucking out a couple more tins of butter, and let ’er go.’
‘What was it she found?’ asked Peggy.
‘I dunno, but it were small enough to put in her own pocket.’ Ivy’s eyes gleamed. ‘That Dolly’s quite something for a posh old gel,’ she breathed in admiration. ‘Ethel was winding up to punch ’er lights out, and she just stepped to one side cool as yer like, and let Ethel’s weight behind the punch send ’er staggering. She landed on her arse in the gutter,’ she finished, exploding into laughter. ‘I ain’t seen anything that funny in years.’
‘And that was the end of it, was it?’ asked Peggy, trying to control her own giggles.
‘Sort of. Your mate Dolly put one of them pointy heels right through a packet of tea and only missed Ethel’s fingers by a gnat’s whisker. There was a bit of shouting again from Ethel who called her a bitch and so on, and then Dolly walked away and drove off in ’er car.’
Ivy drank down her tea, clearly thirsty after all that talking. ‘I weren’t the only one to see it neither,’ she said, just as Sarah was heading for the door. ‘The factory estate supervisor come out just in time to see Ethel picking up her stuff. I shoved off quick, not wanting to get involved, but I reckon from the look on ’is face that Ethel’s in for a right earwigging – and probably the sack.’
‘Oh, lawks, I hope not. Poor Stan,’ sighed an anguished Peggy. ‘It’ll be all over town before you know it, and he’ll never live down the shame if she gets sacked for theft.’
Ivy shrugged and poured a second cup of tea. ‘I know it ain’t fair on ’im, but thieves are the lowest of the low,’ she said. ‘They steal from people what can’t afford to lose anything, and Ethel’s got away with it for too long. She deserves everything she gets.’
‘Don’t forget the jam you brought home,’ Peggy reminded her.
Ivy bristled. ‘I ’ad that off Fred’s Lil, fair and square,’ she protested. ‘She saw me coming home from work and offered it to me knowing ’ow much you and Daisy like yer jam.’
‘I’m so sorry, Ivy, said Peggy, feeling wretched. ‘I jumped to an unfair conclusion when you came back with it.’
‘I should’ve said straight off,’ conceded Ivy. ‘Sorry for jumpin’ at you like that, Aunty Peg.’
‘You had every right to,’ said Peggy, still fretting over poor Stan and the consequences of Ethel’s thieving.
Her thoughts turned to Ron and she wondered if he was back from his walk to the hospital yet, and if she’d have time to pop into the Anchor to see if Dolly’s surprising exploits had indeed retrieved a letter – and if they had, to find out what it contained.
But a glance at the clock told her she had less than ten minutes to get to the factory, and Daisy still needed to be dressed in her coat and shoes, and the slow walk would take at least eight of those minutes. Her curiosity would not be satisfied until this evening, she realised in frustration.
There was no time to get back to Beach View and drop off Queenie, so Ron let himself in through the Anchor’s side door, Harvey barging past him to
get upstairs to his favourite place on Rosie’s couch as he trudged wearily after him.
Ron still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Rosie wasn’t there to greet him with her lovely smile and sparkling blue eyes, her gorgeous figure wrapped in a silk dressing gown that whispered against her body as she walked – and although the scent of her perfume was still discernible, the place felt empty and soulless without her.
Her absence made him feel like an intruder, and as the days had gone on without any word from her, he was beginning to lose heart. He had no idea where she was or how to get in touch with her, and if she was with the Major, then he could only surmise that she’d made her choice and forgotten all about him. His heart ached at the thought, the spark of hope he’d kept alive in danger of flickering out as each silent hour passed.
He took a deep, restorative breath, filled Monty’s bowl with water and left it in the kitchen for Harvey to drink, and then went into the spare bedroom. Easing off his coat, he laid it carefully on the bed so Queenie wouldn’t be disturbed, and then closed the door firmly behind him. Queenie might panic when she woke to find herself in strange surroundings, and Rosie certainly wouldn’t appreciate her doing the wall of death on her new wallpaper – besides, he’d had enough shenanigans for one day.
Ron looked at the clock and went back down the stairs to place the order with the brewery, going over the list twice to check that he’d remembered everything.
The clerk assured him the delivery would be made before opening time, and feeling much relieved, Ron went down into the cellar, which he’d helped Rosie turn into a makeshift air-raid shelter.
There were overstuffed chairs and couches, a couple of low tables and rugs to make it homely, and a kettle and primus stove to make tea. Ron had fixed up a sort of bar in one corner, so all tastes could be catered for – although drinking and smoking in air-raid shelters was frowned upon by the authorities.
