by Nancy Revell
Rosie looked at Peter and knew she could not stay another moment or her resolve would leave her. She would break down and tell him her true feelings – and then she really would be in a state. ‘I’m afraid I have to go now,’ she said, standing up.
Peter, forever the gentleman, immediately got up.
‘Well,’ he said, wanting so much to grab her hand, pull her to him, and kiss her with the passion that was always simmering on the surface whenever they were near each other. Instead, he said simply, ‘Well, then, I guess this is goodbye.’
‘Yes, Peter.’ Rosie swallowed hard. She looked one last time into his blue eyes and he looked back into hers, as if still searching for an answer, or at least for a different answer to the one she had given him.
She tore her eyes away from his and turned her back and walked away.
Peter watched her weave round the rest of the small tables, now all full with other couples, workers, or young families. Why was it he seemed to be forever looking at her back, as she walked away from him?
He watched as Rosie turned her head and mouthed ‘goodbye’ to Vera, who nodded in return.
His sight was still glued to Rosie as she left the café, leaving a blast of cold in her wake. He followed the blurry outline of her body through the steamed-up windows as it disappeared up the road through the rain and the thick fog that was starting to roll in.
What he could not see, though, as Rosie carried on walking up the road, was that within seconds of leaving the café her face had crumpled, and the rain starting to wet her cheeks was soon mixed with salty tears as the dam she had erected for this evening’s performance collapsed and her true sorrow and heartache broke through and flooded every part of her being.
Peter felt no compulsion to leave the café. It was as if his whole being had sunk into a deep depression. He looked down at the two untouched pieces of cake.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, and gently tapped the old gentleman who had his back to him and was sitting at the next table with his wife. He was sure they had been earwigging in on his conversation with Rosie. The man turned round with a face full of irritation.
‘Would you and your wife like these two pieces of Victoria sponge? My eyes were clearly bigger than my belly. They haven’t been touched.’
The old man’s face softened. Unused to such generosity he kept repeating his thanks as he turned to take the plates of proffered Victoria sponge. As the elderly couple ate they started to chatter for the first time since their arrival.
At least, Peter thought, he had brought a little pleasure to someone this evening. He just hoped he could lift his own spirits enough to get himself out of this chair and off to work. Still, he had a good hour to spare before he started his night shift with the Dock Police.
As he sat there stirring his tea but not drinking it, he mulled things over in his head. Why couldn’t he just accept what Rosie had told him? Something just didn’t make sense. He’d questioned enough people in his long career to know when someone was not telling the truth, and although he would never have had Rosie down as a liar, he felt that she was not being honest.
Just leave it, Peter, he reprimanded himself. Just walk away. It’s over. Accept it. Rosie couldn’t have made it any clearer. She does not want you!
Peter looked up from his tea and stared out the window. An image of Rosie from the other night sprang into his mind. The way she was dressed. She looked incredible. But it seemed so unlike Rosie to have make-up on – and those red shoes? Still, what did he know? They’d only known each other a few months. Had never gone out on a proper date as such – always just meeting up after work for a cup of tea and a bite to eat.
Besides, what was so unusual about her getting done up and going out on an evening? She was young and full of life. She worked hard. Why shouldn’t she dress up for a night on the tiles? But then, why had she been so cagey about telling him where she was going?
‘You all right there, hinny?’
Peter snapped out of his reverie. Vera was looming over him. Her wrinkled face had momentarily lost its hardness. Was that pity he saw in her pale blue eyes?
‘Yes, thank you, Vera. I’m fine. Well, I better be getting myself off. Been hogging the table too long. Sorry about the cake,’ he added, knowing Vera didn’t miss a trick and would have seen him handing the two plates over to the old couple on the next table. ‘It looked delicious, but I don’t think either of us were that hungry after all.’
Vera leant closer as she moved the barely touched cups of cold tea and the brown ceramic pot on to her battered tray, and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Aye, why, least it’s given the two old miseries something to talk about.’
Her words gifted Peter a genuine smile, which he tried to maintain as he got up and said his goodbyes, making sure, as always, that he left a generous tip.
When he stepped out on to the pavement and into the dark, rainy night, a young Merchant Navy sailor and his girl hurried past him, their arms wrapped around each other, laughing as they tried to dodge the puddles and keep dry. They seemed locked into each other’s worlds, as if no one else existed.
When he and Rosie had started seeing each other, they too had talked like they were in their own private bubble. Only the words they spoke to each other mattered during the hour or two they were together. He had daydreamed about her during his waking hours, and as he fell asleep at night he had imagined her body next to his. He had such hopes that the two of them could share a future together.
But, then, he had tried to kiss her – to do what felt so natural and so right for them both – and in that second, his hopes and dreams had shattered. Afterwards he’d convinced himself that if he could just see her again – talk to her – she would admit she had been hasty – scared perhaps of commitment.
From the moment she’d stepped into the café, though, he could tell that she was not going to welcome him back with open arms. She had not minced her words. Why was it then that he still did not seem to be able to accept what she was telling him?
Why didn’t he feel her words rang true?
Chapter Nine
‘Listen,’ Joe told Bel in a hushed tone.
Bel was bent down gently stoking the open fire in the middle of the black lead range that took centre stage in the Elliots’ kitchen-cum-living room. She immediately straightened up and looked at her brother-in-law – the man she had fallen in love with even though she had tried her hardest not to. He had just got in from his Home Guard duties and was still wearing his khaki green uniform; his face looked deadpan and earnest.
‘I can’t hear anything. What is it?’ Bel whispered, now curious. They were standing within inches of each other in what was normally the hub of the three-storey Victorian terrace they had both lived in most of their lives. ‘It’s the sound of silence,’ Joe whispered back as his mouth widened into a broad smile.
‘A real rarity these days,’ he added, still speaking softly.
‘Never a truer word.’ Bel laughed gently. ‘Even Lucille went to bed without much of a fuss tonight. I can’t believe everyone’s out this evening. There must be something on we don’t know about …’ As she spoke, Joe took hold of Bel’s hand and gently pulled her into his arms. The heat from the range had caused Bel’s normally pale face to flush a little. Joe wrapped his arms around Bel and looked down into her pretty, heart-shaped face. He still couldn’t quite believe this woman was his. The woman he had adored his entire life, the woman he had loved from the moment his sister Polly had brought her back to their home after finding her crying and shut out of her own home when they were all just children.
Bel allowed herself to enjoy the feel of Joe’s lips as he gently kissed her neck.
‘Someone might come in,’ she worried, but she didn’t struggle free from his embrace. Since she and Joe had admitted their feelings for each other, she felt as if she now lived for the moments when they were together – and alone. She loved the feeling of being in his arms, and his tender kisses. The guilt she had
felt whenever he held her or caressed her had slowly diminished these past few weeks – but not vanished. There were still moments – both when she was alone and when she was with Joe – that she thought of Teddy and felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal. But, she told herself, these feelings were to be expected. Teddy had been her first love; the man she had married and with whom she’d had a child. It was normal for her to feel this way. But Teddy was dead, killed in the so-called ‘Desert War’ out in North Africa, and for a long time she too had felt like dying. Gradually, though, she had clawed her way out of what had seemed to be a bottomless well of grief – and had done so with the help of Joe.
And as she had emerged from the darkness and into the light, without intending to, or wanting to, she had found herself falling in love.
‘I think there’s something special in the air tonight.’ Joe looked at Bel, who returned the look with a questioning furrow in her brow. ‘Well,’ he explained, his large hands, roughened by years spent riveting in the yards in all weathers, starting to lightly trace Bel’s neck, ‘I really don’t think there has been a time since I got back from Africa that the house has been so quiet and empty. Even Arthur must be out on the razz tonight.’ Bel giggled at the thought of Arthur whooping it up.
‘He’s with Polly,’ Bel said, ‘he went to meet her off the ferry after work and they’ve gone to Albert’s to get some vegetables from his allotment.’ She paused.
‘Well, we’re not totally alone,’ she said, looking down at the floor at Tramp, the stray Agnes had adopted, and her one remaining puppy.
Tramp and the runt of the litter that no one had wanted were lying curled up together as near to the grate as they could possibly get without singeing their fur. When Bel looked back up she put her hand to Joe’s face; it had now lost its desert tan and had aged much faster than it should have in the two years he had been away fighting in foreign lands. Her slender fingers slowly traced the side of his face, from the top of his forehead, down the side of his prominent cheekbones and ending on his lips.
Joe’s eyes closed, and as he always did whenever Bel touched him, he entered a world of sensuality he never wanted to come out of. He stooped to reach her lips and when he found them, they stood there kissing, their bodies pressing closer together, betraying their yearning for each other. Only the soft snuffling of the dogs and the odd spit from the fire infiltrated the quietness.
‘God, Bel,’ Joe mumbled through the kisses. ‘I so want you.’
Bel felt herself blush at Joe’s words. The past month they had kissed each other more times than she could count, but that was all. Their bodies had told them how much they wanted more, but their minds were firm. Or at least Bel’s was. She could allow herself to love Joe and to enjoy his kisses, his embraces and caresses, but there was no way she could give herself to him. It had always been her belief, and always would be, that love-making could only ever happen within the legitimacy of a marriage. Her upbringing had made her resolute. She had seen enough of her mother’s shameless behaviour with other men to vow from an early age that she would never follow in her footsteps.
Bel knew she didn’t have to explain herself to Joe, because he knew already. He too had seen Pearl’s drunken and promiscuous behaviour as they had grown up on this very street and he understood exactly why Bel was the person she was. She had been brought up – no, she had been dragged up – by a woman who had no right to be a mother, and because of this Bel had ensured that she grew up to be the antithesis of Pearl in all ways.
When their lips finally parted, Joe cupped Bel’s face in his hand. Their passion for each other had left them both breathless, but reluctant to part.
‘I think you know how I feel, Joe, but I just can’t. I know neither of us are exactly young and innocent – I’ve got a daughter, after all – but it’s just that … well, it just wouldn’t be right … I’m sorry, Joe.’ Bel started to say more, but Joe put a finger to her lips.
‘Never be sorry. I’m glad you are the way you are. And I love you the more for it,’ he told her. Bel’s startling blue eyes were glistening with love and also with tears. Whenever she was with Joe like this, her emotions seemed to overwhelm her. She had never felt so happy, so alive, yet also so tearful as when she was in Joe’s arms.
‘Bel,’ Joe said, his voice becoming serious. ‘I’ve something to ask you. Something I have wanted to ask since the moment you accepted my love. Something I know I should wait longer to ask you, but I’m afraid I just can’t.’
Bel looked up at Joe and then watched, slightly puzzled, as he took a faltering step backwards. Joe’s injured leg had healed, but at the expense of its ability to bend, which meant Joe required a cane to walk. As he hobbled a little to the side, he stretched out his arm to grab his walking stick that was propped up against the wall, before placing it firmly in front of him. As he did so Tramp and the pup started to stir, disturbed from their slumber by the sudden movement; one of Tramp’s mismatched coloured eyes opened lazily to see what was going on and the dog watched curiously as Joe put both hands on the top of the cane’s wooden handle, and slowly lowered himself on to one knee.
Bel stared down at him. At first she thought he was playing the fool, like he often did, using his stick as though he was Charlie Chaplin, or hamming it up to make her laugh. But, on seeing the very solemn look on his face, she realised Joe was not about to act out some comic scene.
‘Joe?’ she asked. She saw pain shoot across his face as he manoeuvred his bad leg into place so he was properly down on bended knee. Bel reached forward to help him back up. ‘What are you doing, Joe?’ she said. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself.’
Joe took hold of Bel’s hand, which felt warm and soft in his own.
‘Bel Elliot,’ he said. His voice was steady but gentle. ‘Would you make me the happiest man alive by becoming my wife?’
Bel froze. She looked down at Joe. For a moment her mind couldn’t comprehend what he was asking her, and then the full force of his monumental question hit her like a ton of bricks.
And then panic set in. Everything was happening too quickly: Teddy’s death. Her grief. Her love for Joe – a love that had blindsided her, but had also made her come alive again. Her fervent rallying against the way she felt. The shame. But in her battle to stop the onward march of her feelings for Joe she had been defeated and beaten down by the joy their love had brought – a joy that cascaded into her own life and into that of Lucille, too. She felt tears spring to her eyes unchecked. She felt so confused. Of course, she wanted to be with this man now kneeling before her. Not only did she love Joe, but she had known him all of her life.
In a split second a hundred thoughts bombarded her. Images of her beloved Teddy, also down on one knee, saying words practically identical to the ones Joe had just uttered – only that had been years ago when she was just seventeen. And just like that, all her feelings of guilt flooded back to the surface.
‘Bel,’ Joe said, seeing the mass of confused thoughts racing across her face. ‘I know this may seem too soon. And I know you must be thinking about our Teddy. But I don’t see any reason to wait. We love each other. We’ve known each other our entire lives. It’s not as if we need to get to know each other. There is no doubt in either of our minds … I know that … I can read you just as you can read me.’
As Joe kissed Bel’s hand, she looked at him and knew every word he spoke was true. She had tried to run away from his love but it was a race she was always going to lose. In her heart she knew that she and Joe would be together for the rest of their lives. Over the past few weeks since they had admitted their love for each other, it had been uncanny how quickly they had become almost inseparable. And it wasn’t just the pull of attraction they both clearly felt, it was so much deeper. It was as if they both knew they belonged together.
Yes, in reality they had only been together a few weeks. Yes. If these were ordinary times, this might well seem more than a little hasty – far too short a courtship for him to be asking fo
r a woman’s hand in marriage. But these were not ‘ordinary’ times. Far from it. No one knew if they would be there from one day to the next, with the amount of bombs being hurled down at them from the skies above.
‘It’s really simple,’ Joe kept on. ‘I love you – and you love me … Ma said something when we told her that we loved each other that day in the air raid shelter …’
Bel looked at Joe. That day would be etched in her mind for ever.
‘I remember it word for word,’ she interrupted. ‘She told us “If there is a love there between you and Joe, you can’t fight it. Our lives are too short and too unpredictable.”’ Tears were now rolling down Bel’s face and Joe squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her. He too would never forget his mother’s words. His ma may not have served on the front line, but she had been changed by the war, had lost the man she loved in the First War and a son in the second. She was as hardened and as battle-weary as any soldier.
Joe looked up at Bel.
Tramp and the pup were now fully awake. Seeing Joe with one knee on the floor, they had scurried over to him.
‘Will you, Bel? Will you take me as your husband?’
As Bel opened her mouth to give Joe his answer the kitchen door was flung open.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ It was Polly. She had stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway. Behind her was Arthur.
Bel and Joe turned to see two shocked faces gawping over at them.
Joe tried to get up, but struggled a little. Bel moved towards him and gently helped him back onto his feet. The shock of being interrupted had stopped her tears, but they had left their mark on her face.
‘Well then?’ Polly asked. Her voice was full of excitement and anticipation. She had certainly not expected to find this on her return home.
Bel and Joe looked at Polly blankly.
‘Don’t look at me as if you have no idea what I’m talking about,’ Polly said, her eyes glued to her brother and sister-in-law.
