Secrets of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  Gloria looked at Rosie.

  ‘You really are a star, you know? That’d help me out no end. It’ll be one thing I don’t have to worry about … And it’ll be nice to meet George,’ Gloria hesitated for fear of overstepping the mark, ‘… and perhaps Lily as well, one day.’

  Rosie looked at Gloria, and laughed. ‘Goodness, I don’t know if you’ll be so keen when you do meet them. George is a dear, but Lily is – how should I say it? – a bit of a character.’

  As they reached the other side of the river and headed up the bank, Rosie gently touched Gloria’s arm.

  ‘I know you want to tell Vinnie that he isn’t Hope’s father. But I’d hang on for a while longer if I were you. Let things calm down. Perhaps wait until your divorce is through. Give you some time to play with.’

  Gloria sighed as they reached the corner of the street where they went their separate ways – Rosie to her home further up the Borough Road, and Gloria to Tatham Street. She wanted to tell Rosie that more than anything she just needed to get it all out in the open. To hell with the consequences – that she was tired of feeling trapped. Of living a lie.

  Instead, though, she gave Rosie a sad smile and nodded her agreement, for she knew her workmate was right.

  Gloria got home just before seven o’clock, and there was a loud knock on the door within minutes of her dragging Hope’s pram over the threshold.

  Gloria knew it was Vinnie – knew he’d be around again.

  Quickly putting Hope in her cot, Gloria hurried to the front window. When she peeked through the curtains her suspicions were proved right. It was Vinnie. Thankfully, he looked relatively sober. If he had been at work, then the chances were he was on his way to the pub and, therefore, hadn’t had the chance to get tanked up.

  Gloria turned away from the window, checked on Hope, who was sleeping soundly, before marching out of the living room, making sure to close the door behind her.

  ‘What do you want, Vinnie!’ Gloria shouted through the door. Sod it, she’d been quiet for too long. It was time her voice was heard.

  ‘Is that you, Glor?’ Vinnie sounded a little confused.

  ‘Yes, Vinnie, who else is it going to be?’ Gloria said impatiently. ‘What do you want?’

  Now it was Vinnie’s turn to sound irritated and angry.

  ‘I want to see my bloody daughter, that’s what!’ he snarled back at the door.

  ‘Well, you can’t,’ Gloria said defiantly. ‘She’s sound asleep and I’ll be damned if anything is going to wake her. I’ve had no sleep myself for God knows how long, so just bugger off. You’re not wanted here. And like I told you before, I’m not having you anywhere near my daughter – whether she is asleep or wide awake.’

  Gloria jumped out of her skin as Vinnie smashed a fist against the front door. Her body started to shake involuntarily. She was sick to death of feeling this fear course through her body whenever Vinnie was around.

  ‘I’ve just about had enough of you – and your fists, Vinnie. If you bash on this door once more, or try to get in, I swear to God I’ll get the police on to you. One of my mates across the road is going to send her nipper down the station if you kick off again, and mark my words her bairn can run like a whippet, so you’re best off leaving – now.’

  Gloria, of course, was lying, but Vinnie wasn’t to know that.

  There was silence on the other side of the door, before another great thump caused it to judder.

  ‘You’re gonna have to let me see my bairn, Glor. Whether you like it or not.’

  Gloria could tell he was backing down, but, as always, he had to get the last word in.

  ‘She’s my flesh and blood.’ His face was so close to the front door, his lips were practically touching it. ‘There’s no getting around that,’ he spat the words out, angry beyond belief that he couldn’t just smash his way in and give her a good slap. The beating he’d taken from the man in the balaclava, though, darted across his mind, and he backed off.

  Gloria forced herself to keep quiet. How she wished she could scream at him, She’s not yours, Vinnie!

  But she didn’t. The words would just have to be screamed in her own head. For now, anyway. But it was getting harder to keep shtum. She wasn’t sure whether it was sleep deprivation that was making her feel like she couldn’t care less, but she was getting to a stage where she simply didn’t give a damn any more. The only reason she was just about managing to hold back was to ensure the safety of her little girl sleeping in the next room.

  For her sake, she would keep a lid on it.

  For now, Vinnie could have the last word.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grindon, Sunderland

  When Vinnie got back from his abortive attempt to see the baby he believed to be his, he was bursting at the seams with pure fury.

  ‘It’s just not right!’ he said, stomping back and forth within the claustrophobic confines of the small flat which was now his home, and had been for almost a year.

  ‘I should be able to at least see my own bairn!’ His voice was increasing in volume, along with his ire.

  ‘It’s like every man and his dog has seen my own bairn, apart from me – her soddin’ father! I wouldn’t know her from Adam if she was right in front of me. Talk about being made to look like a complete and utter idiot!’

  Sarah lit another cigarette and crossed her legs. She was sitting on her two-seater settee, looking up at Vinnie as he prowled around the perimeter of the room like a caged tiger. Ever since he had taken a beating that night outside of the pub a few months back, he’d become tetchier. He was drinking more, and that meant he was more prone to sparking up at the slightest opportunity.

  ‘Vinnie, you’re beginning to sound like a broken record,’ she said with a smile, trying to joke him out of his bad mood. ‘Come and sit down and have a fag,’ she told him, ‘you’re gonna give yourself a wobbler if you keep on going like this.’

  Vinnie’s head turned sharply. He stepped over to the little coffee table, pulled a cigarette out of the half-empty packet and rammed it into his mouth.

  Sarah held her lighter out and sparked it up as Vinnie bobbed his head down and puffed hard on his cigarette. Bellows of smoke filled the room. No words of thanks were uttered.

  ‘It’s that soddin’ cow who’s gonna give me a bloody heart attack,’ he snarled.

  Sarah’s mood always lifted a little whenever Vinnie slated his ex – or rather his soon-to-be ex-wife. She just wished Vinnie would get his act together and sort out a divorce, like he’d promised he’d do, so that the two of them could get married. It would be nice to finally be his ‘missus’ in name. She was sick of being his ‘mistress’ – couldn’t wait to have a ring on her finger so she could stick it up at all those on the estate who looked down their noses at her. And it wasn’t as if getting a divorce was like it used to be – just for the well-to-do snobs of this world. People like her mate’s sister from work were getting divorces. Nowadays people could start afresh, with someone new – someone they loved, not hated. And Vinnie certainly did hate Gloria now. Before he had been indifferent towards her, but since the baby had come along, his anger had well and truly spilled over.

  As Sarah kept a close eye on Vinnie while he continued to stalk around the room, sucking in smoke and almost spitting it back out, she felt annoyed at him being so obsessed with this bloody baby.

  Why did he care so much? From what she knew of him before they’d got it together he’d never exactly been the doting dad. He was like most men she knew: he’d done the business – given Gloria two kids, and that was it. That was him done. The rest was up to the woman.

  ‘She’ll come round,’ Sarah said, taking a drag on her cigarette, disguising a long sigh as she blew out a slow wispy grey stream of smog up towards the ceiling.

  ‘Aye,’ Vinnie fumed. ‘She’ll come around when the baby’s all grown up. It’ll be too late then. I want to see my daughter now! I’ve a right to! I should just go there and take the bairn off he
r. It’s my right as her father, for God’s sake!’

  In the middle of his rant, Vinnie suddenly stopped in his tracks as if he had been struck by a brilliant idea.

  ‘Come to think about it,’ he said, his voice sounding happier, more hopeful. ‘What’s to stop me doing just that? I’ve got as much right to that baby as she has. Probably more. I’m the father.’

  Sarah looked at Vinnie and felt her heart plummet. A little thread of panic started to weave its way into her mind. She knew Vinnie and she knew that when he got an idea in his head he was always loath to let go of it. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with some screaming baby. And she would bet her bottom dollar that it would be her who got landed with looking after the wee thing. There was no way, not in a million years, that Vinnie would look after the bairn himself. He might want the baby, but he certainly wouldn’t want to actually look after her. Of that much she was sure.

  It’ll be muggins here, she thought, taking another drag and expelling smoke. She would be the one left to do all the work, the one to have to get up in the middle of the night, the one to feed it – all the time up to the elbows in dirty nappies, and never having the time nor the money to be able to just saunter out whenever she felt like it, or whenever she wanted to go out for a booze-up, which, if she was honest, was most nights.

  Didn’t Vinnie realise that her years of babies and child-rearing were well behind her? She was done with all of that. There was no way she wanted a re-run – especially with someone else’s baby.

  She had to use her noddle.

  ‘Listen, Vin –’ Sarah always shortened her lover’s name when she was trying to be nice, or to turn him round to her way of thinking.

  ‘The bab’s not going to know whether you’re there or not at the moment. Wait until all the hard work is done and then go round and play daddy when she’s walking and talking and being as cute as pie.’

  She took another drag on her cigarette.

  ‘Just wait a little while and see what happens. Chances are Gloria’ll be round here, knocking on our door, begging you to have her in a few months’ time when she’s had enough of its squalling.’

  She wanted to add that he should be counting his blessings that Gloria wasn’t round here already, shoving the damn baby in their faces, demanding money for its upkeep. Most men would be only too happy at being let off the hook. But, oh no, not Vinnie.

  He just couldn’t stand the thought of a woman getting one over on him. Of him not being the one to call the shots or being the big man. God forbid he’d feel like he was being dictated to by a woman.

  Vinnie stopped pacing. He took another draw on his fag and ash fell onto the newly cleaned carpet.

  Sarah watched as it dropped and stopped herself from saying anything. She knew Vinnie was on the cusp – and if she started nagging him or saying anything to upset him, he’d spark off.

  ‘Why don’t we go to the pub and have a chat about it there?’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray and getting up off the sofa.

  Vinnie immediately started to calm down, placated by the thought of a nice frothy ale going down his throat. ‘Aye, sounds like a plan to me,’ he said, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and pulling out his comb from the inside pocket.

  As he looked at his reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece and slicked back his few remaining strands of hair, he made a vow to himself.

  He wouldn’t let Gloria get her own way.

  Who the hell did she think she was, telling him what he could and couldn’t do?

  She was still his bloody wife.

  He was in control. Always had been. Not her.

  And if he wanted to see his bairn, he damn well was going to. No one was going to stop him – especially not a woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  DS Miller walked down Holmeside, a route he took almost every day to the police station. Over the past few weeks he had seen the Maison Nouvelle take shape, although it still looked like it would be a while before it was ready to officially open.

  He had tried to push what he had discovered from his visit to the police archives to the back of his mind, but it was no good. It was keeping him awake at night, his mind churning over everything he had learnt – and everything he had yet to learn. Part of him wished he hadn’t. It certainly had not cured his curiosity as he’d hoped it would, but had further antagonised it.

  He had been right, though. Kate and Rosie did know each other. As soon as he’d looked into Kate’s background and seen she had been born and brought up in Whitburn, and was the same age as Rosie, he knew they must have been schoolfriends.

  He’d found out that Kate’s mother had died suddenly, and, as her father had been killed in the First World War, and no other relatives had come forward, Kate had been placed under the care of the Poor Sisters of Nazareth. Judging by the date of her first vagrancy offence she must have left Nazareth House and more or less gone straight on to the streets.

  It would seem unlikely that Kate and Rosie had stayed friends during that time. Had they only recently got to know each other again? And how was it that Kate had managed all of a sudden to turn her life around?

  And where was she living now, if not bedding down in some shop doorway?

  But it was what he had found out about Rosie that had really thrown him. Both Rosie’s parents had been killed in a hit and run accident just before her sixteenth birthday – the police at the time had made a half-hearted attempt at finding the culprit who had knocked them both over and left them for dead, but no one had even been questioned, never mind arrested for causing the couple’s death.

  Why hadn’t Rosie told him about this? Was it too painful for her?

  And what was really odd was that she hadn’t even mentioned she had a younger sister called Charlotte, who was eight at the time her parents were killed, which would make her about fourteen now. He had no idea where she was, though, as she wasn’t registered as living in Sunderland, or, indeed, anywhere in the county.

  Why hadn’t she mentioned her sister? Perhaps Charlotte had been sent away to live in another part of the country and they had lost contact?

  Somehow that didn’t seem like something Rosie would let happen. She was such a loyal friend to her women welders – had been there for them whenever they needed her, so it didn’t make sense that she would simply forget she had a sister.

  The more he thought about Rosie, the more he realised just how little he really knew about her.

  He had thought they trusted each other, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that Rosie had only really ever talked about what was happening in the present.

  As he walked past the Maison Nouvelle on the opposite side of the road, he looked over at the shopfront. He had never seen anyone coming or going since the day he had seen Rosie and Polly there, but this evening he spotted Kate locking up. He slowed down and watched as she slung a big patchwork cloth bag over her shoulder, and hurried up the street.

  DS Miller hesitated for a moment. The question he had asked himself repeatedly over the past few weeks, sprang back to him:

  I wonder where she lives now?

  His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself following her up Holmeside, past the Park Lane bus depot, and then along Grange Terrace. He wondered if perhaps Kate was living in the same tenement in which Rosie had been living last year – where he had first gone to see her to inform her of her uncle’s drowning. But, no, Kate hurried past the boarding house without even a second glance.

  Unable to stop himself, he followed Kate all the way along Briary Vale Road until it turned into West Lawn. Only then did she slow down.

  Intrigued, he watched from a distance and saw her slow her pace as she approached a magnificent three-storey Victorian terrace. The house had a wonderful brick balcony which overlooked the Ashbrooke Social Club, which he himself had frequented on quite a number of occasions as a few of his work colleagues were keen cricket players.

>   He watched as she opened the bottom gate and walked up the long pathway, up the stone steps, before letting herself in the front door.

  Well, that was a turn-up for the books.

  Kate really had gone from rags to riches.

  That in itself was intriguing – but what he still just couldn’t work out was the puzzle of how Kate and Rosie were connected now. Why hadn’t Rosie mentioned Kate to him?

  If Rosie hadn’t been open with him about what he had learnt recently, it strengthened his argument that she had also not been honest about the way she felt about him – and that she did, in fact, have feelings for him.

  Which could only mean that there was something stopping her from being with him.

  But what?

  God, why was it every time he tried to find out some answers, he was left with more questions?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next day

  ‘Yay! They’ve set a date!’ Dorothy shouted out as she hurried over to the welders’ work area, leaving Polly and Gloria, who she’d bumped into at the timekeeper’s cabin, lagging behind.

  Dorothy might have met Bel only a few times, but she felt she knew her. Polly had chatted a lot about her sister-in-law over the past year, especially after Teddy had been killed, but she hadn’t really got to know her until the day they’d all turned up after Hope was born.

  Hearing Dorothy’s jubilant voice ring out, Rosie, Angie, Martha and Hannah all looked up from their spot around their fire.

  ‘That is wonderful news!’ Hannah chirped.

  Martha, who was standing next to her little friend, looked at her and asked, slightly confused, ‘Who’s set a “date”?’

  ‘The wedding, Martha,’ Dorothy almost sang the words. ‘The wedding! What other date is there? This is the event of the year.’ She rolled her eyes dramatically as she put her bag and gas mask down next to her welding machine.