by Nancy Revell
As if sensing Joe was thinking about her, Bel shuffled a little and murmured, ‘We’re not meant to be with each other tonight.’ Her voice was croaky. ‘It’s bad luck, you know,’ she said, before her breathing started to labour and she fell back into sleep’s embrace.
Joe didn’t believe in any kind of superstition. Nothing would spoil their day tomorrow. As long as the Registry Office was still standing and the Registrar there to marry them, that was all he cared about.
‘Hey, Joe.’ It was Polly. She had sidled up to him quietly so as not to disturb Bel. ‘How you feeling about your big day?’
Joe looked at Polly and was amazed at her energy. She’d had a full day at the yard, had come back and helped out with the wedding preparations – it was now gone midnight – and she still looked bright as a button.
‘Can’t wait,’ Joe whispered back. He looked at Polly and knew her excitement must be tinged with a little sadness that it wasn’t her wedding tomorrow. Thank goodness she’d just had a letter from Tommy, which always buoyed her up.
‘You’re not too disappointed you’re not going to have a honeymoon?’ Polly asked quietly, as she pulled her knees up to her chest. She was still wearing her work overalls and had wrapped her overcoat around herself to keep warm.
‘Nah,’ Joe said. ‘All I’m bothered about is getting married. That’s all I want. We can always go on a honeymoon when this war’s won.’
‘It’s not ideal, though,’ Polly persisted, ‘is it? Living in separate rooms, with both your ma and your mother-in-law under the same roof?’
‘We’ll sort something out,’ Joe said, looking down at Bel. She was now fast asleep and had the jacket of Joe’s uniform over her in place of a blanket.
‘Sleeping beauty,’ Polly laughed, as she put her hands on both knees and pushed herself up. ‘Let’s hope we get out of here soon or we’ll all be needing matchsticks to keep our eyes open tomorrow.’
Joe chuckled as he watched Polly go over to Agnes and the two start to chat. He wasn’t sure if it was the light playing tricks, or if Polly and his ma were casting slightly conspiratorial looks over in his and Bel’s direction.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The cellar at Lily’s was full. The air raid siren had gone off at the worst possible time when the house was pretty much bursting at the seams. They had all had to cram down in the cellar, and, as usual, Vivian had taken charge, although tonight she was skipping her Mae West tribute and instead was playing back-to-back records on the gramophone.
The mood was light and jocular and the call to ‘keep calm and party on’ had been made, but it had not escaped Maisie’s notice that those going to the wedding were far from happy about having to spend a good part of the night before cooped up in the basement.
Rosie was never the chattiest of people, but she wasn’t even bothering to make any effort to socialise, and Maisie could tell by the dour look on her face that she was worried about the bombs putting a stop to Bel and Joe’s nuptials.
Lily and George had tried their hardest to keep the jovial atmosphere going, but even they had wilted after half an hour or so and were now seated quietly chatting in the corner. Maisie would bet money on there being something other than a mere friendship going on between the two, but would never voice her suspicions.
Kate, unbelievably, had brought Bel’s fascinator down with her and looked like a woman possessed. When Maisie had asked her how the finishing touches were going, she’d barely muttered an answer and had just kept on unpicking some stitches on the headpiece.
‘I wish you were coming as well tomorrow,’ Vivian, squashed up next to Maisie on the chaise longue, whispered into her ear, all the while keeping her eye on a couple of the girls and their clients slow dancing to the sound of the Glenn Miller band.
‘So do I,’ Maisie whispered back, putting her hand across her mouth to prevent others from hearing what they were talking about. Maisie and Vivian had become firm friends. Both had been surprised that they were so alike, and, fortunately, their natural competitiveness hadn’t caused them to clash as their work at Lily’s was separate, with Vivian now the official ‘head girl’, and Maisie manageress of the Gentlemen’s Club.
But although the pair had become close, Vivian had no idea just how much Maisie wanted to go to the wedding, and would never have guessed she had been racking her brains to work out how she could wangle herself a last-minute invite.
‘I’m going to feel like a right gooseberry going with Lily and George,’ Vivian said, looking across at ‘the two oldies’ as she liked to jokingly call them, although she would never have dared say that to their faces. ‘They’ve been getting a bit too cosy for my liking lately,’ she added. ‘I think George’s practically moved in next door. I don’t think he’s been back to his own flat for about a week now.’
‘I think you might be right there,’ Maisie agreed. She and George had been working pretty much flat out getting the Gentlemen’s Club ready for the opening, and George had taken over one of the top rooms and more or less made it his own.
‘Do you know how you’re going to do Isabelle’s hair?’ Maisie asked.
When Polly had conveyed Vivian’s offer of a free hairstyle to a harried Bel one night, she had jumped at the chance. As she was no expert herself, and with everything else that needed to be done, it was one less thing to worry about. When Bel’s acceptance of the offer, complete with an invite to the wedding, had been relayed to Vivian, she had practically jumped for joy. Since then she had been practising a variety of elaborate ‘updos’ on a couple of the girls whose hair was a similar length to Bel’s.
‘I think I’m going to go with something classic but with a modern twist,’ Vivian said, ‘although I’m a little limited with the fascinator. A veil would have been easier, although I think Bel did right in going for something less traditional – this being her second wedding, and all.’
Maisie smiled automatically as one of the clients came over and offered Vivian his hand for a dance.
‘Won’t be long,’ Vivian mouthed before she turned to her partner and the pair started to do a very slow waltz.
Maisie put on a convincing show of looking as if she was admiring those who were dancing and was forcing herself to sway to the music, but behind her serene-looking veneer she was far from happy, and had been glad of a few moments when she could be left in peace to think her own thoughts. It had been increasingly difficult to disguise the jealousy that was rising up in her, which was unusual for Maisie, as one of her strong points, apart from her looks, of course, was that she was a master of deceit when it came to showing, or rather not showing, her emotions.
Lately, though, she just couldn’t stop thinking about Bel and how bloody lucky the woman was. She’d had a blessed life, marrying her childhood sweetheart, having a gorgeous daughter, and, yes, fair enough, it must have been heartbreaking when her husband was killed – but then his brother had come back, and hey, like some happy-ever-after ending, they’d fallen in love and were now getting hitched.
And, on top of everything else, Bel was not only close to her own mother, but by all counts, her mother-in-law too.
And they all lived together – one big happy family.
Maisie felt her whole body fill with bitterness and resentment. Her own life had been one big mess-up from the very start. And she knew exactly whose fault that was. There was only one person to blame – only one person who had ruined her life from the off, before it had even started.
And, by God, was she going to get her comeuppance.
Come hell or high water, she would make sure of that.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When the all-clear finally sounded out at just after two in the morning, the news quickly circulated that, as suspected, it had been the north side which had been hit. The centre of town and – more importantly – the Registry Office in John Street were still standing.
Everyone sheltering at the Tavistock House basement emerged tired and bleary-eyed. Joe went to
stay the rest of the night with his Home Guard zone commander Major Black in Frederick Street, and everyone else headed back to Tatham Street.
As soon as Pearl had got through the front door she declared she was ‘knackered’ and had gone straight up the stairs and climbed into her bed. These past few weeks had been full on and she hadn’t had a minute to spare. All her time had been spent either working at the Tatham, or helping organise Isabelle’s wedding.
Lying in her narrow little bed she tried to close her eyes, but her mind insisted on staying wide awake. As she lay there, willing sleep to come, she could hear Arthur’s loud snoring start up and reverberate through the walls from his bedroom next door, and downstairs she heard Agnes still clattering about.
Pearl would never admit it, but during their epic four hours in that bloody basement, she had felt sick as a dog thinking that the bombs might end up ruining the wedding. Thank goodness the south side of the town had escaped unscathed, and, moreover, that Kate’s little shop hadn’t been hit. The thought didn’t bear thinking about. If her dress had got ruined she might well have stomped her way across Europe herself to strangle that horrible little man with her own bare hands.
As Pearl pulled the blankets around her neck it suddenly occurred to her that she was happy – happier, in fact, than she had been her entire life. She liked living here – had even grown to quite like Agnes. The woman might be a bit bossy, but she kept the place in order, and she was a bloody good cook; lately, even Polly and the dogs didn’t get on her nerves half as much as they used to.
Of course, there would always be friction between her and Isabelle, it was just the way it was with the pair of them, but at least now she didn’t feel like they hated each other’s guts, and these past few months they had even managed to rub along without too many fall-outs.
As Pearl started to nod off, she was aware of Agnes trooping up the stairs and going into her bedroom next door, and the creak of the metal bedstead as Agnes finally put her head down.
Tomorrow, Pearl thought, was going to be a special day. It felt important. Like it was the start of something new. Not just for Bel and Joe, but for herself too. Her daughter’s wedding and her part in it had made her feel she had finally come in from the cold – where she had been for so long now – and that, as mother of the bride, she was at last becoming part of a proper family.
As Pearl slowly slipped into a deep sleep, she heard the voice.
The same voice she often heard when she drifted off and her subconscious took over.
‘Well done, Pearl, you’ve done really well.’
The voice was soft and gentle, reassuring. She had done well. She couldn’t see the baby in her arms, but she could feel her. Knew she was perfect and healthy and very beautiful. If she had been able to see the woman whose voice it was, she knew she would see the face of Evelina. Her kind Evelina. Her caring Evelina.
But then she heard the voice again. Only this time it was different. It was harsh. Coarse. Unkind. ‘Eee, well then, yer did well there, pet … like you’ve done it all before.’
In her dream the voice cackled like a witch. A croaky, heartless witch who was mocking her, knowing that she had, in fact, done this all before.
Pearl looked down but she didn’t see any baby – only blood. Pools of blood. A frightened voice sounded out. ‘What’s happening? Why’s there all this blood?’
It took a few moments to realise that the voice was her own. It sounded childish, but she was not a child. She was a young woman now. Still, she sounded as fearful as a young, vulnerable child.
And then the pain came. She could feel the terrible stabbing pain. The dark figure of a witch woman seemed to block out all the light. She was doing something. Down there. And it hurt.
Pearl screamed but no sound came out. The stabbing pain kept on. And on.
And during it all she was aware of a baby, only her baby was no longer in her arms, but just out of reach to her side. And the little bairn was crying, whimpering. She reached out to take the child but the woman with the witch’s voice was suddenly there again and she wouldn’t give her it.
‘Yer can’t have her! We’re not done yet!’ The voice was loud and the words were banging against her throbbing head.
Suddenly Pearl was aware that she was dreaming, but she couldn’t wake herself up and the dream continued: on and on with pain and blood and soundless screams. Until finally the pain ended. The screaming stopped and she was given her baby.
‘This’ll be your first and yer last, bonny lass’ – all of a sudden the witch had changed into the old fishwife she used to see by the beach.
‘I’m sorry to tell yer, petal, but there’ll be no more babs fer yer,’ she said.
Pearl could hear the sadness in her voice.
‘Perhaps that’s not a bad thing, eh?’ The voice was almost soothing. The woman gave her something in a tin can.
‘Drink it. It’ll make yer feel better,’ the woman commanded. The cold liquid tasted bitter, but within minutes the pain started to ebb away.
She could hear the baby near her. Crying. Then she felt the baby in her arms, and she looked down.
But when she looked she got a shock.
This wasn’t her baby. Was it? No, this was someone else’s baby! It had ivory skin and big blue eyes. Where was her other baby? The ‘special’ baby. The one they said she couldn’t keep.
Pearl looked down again at the baby in her arms. It was beautiful. It even had a veil of thin blonde hair. It looked like her. It must be hers. So, why didn’t she feel it was hers? No, this wasn’t right.
‘Where have you taken my baby?!’ Again Pearl cried out. But again there was no sound. No one could hear her.
When Pearl woke she was sweating and her bedsheets were on the floor. She sat up and grabbed the sheets and pulled them back around her. She told herself it was only a dream, but of course, she knew it wasn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When Bel opened her eyes just after half past six she felt an immediate rush of nerves and excitement.
This was her wedding day!
She still couldn’t quite believe it. The war had brought a sense of surrealism to her life. To everyone’s lives. Sometimes she doubted her own reality. If someone had told her two years ago that her husband would march off to war and not come back and that, as a result, she would harbour dark thoughts of joining him – only to find love again with her brother-in-law, she would never have believed them in a million years.
But, here she was, and in just a few hours she was going to be Mrs Elliot for the second time in her life. As thoughts of Teddy started to sneak through to her consciousness she pushed them back. Agnes had been right yesterday when she had said that there was to be no room for sorrow or sadness today, nor any guilt-ridden thoughts about Teddy.
This day was to be a joyful one. Last night’s air raid had proved more than anything just how short and unpredictable life was. Today was going to be a chance for everyone they knew to have a little fun, let their hair down and have a party. Everyone certainly needed it, and if her wedding to Joe was a chance for them to do that, then that pleased Bel no end.
As she quietly swung her legs out of the bed, Lucille started to stir in her cot. Her sea blue eyes squinted open, and on seeing her mum getting up, she stretched her arms out for a morning cuddle. Bel stood up and reached down to pick up her daughter.
‘Dooeeey. Where Dooey?’ They were always the first words uttered by Lucille on waking up. Normally Bel would give in to her daughter’s demands and take her next door to have a good-morning hug from Joe.
‘Sweetheart, he’s not here this morning.’ Bel heaved her daughter on to her hip and carried her out of the room. ‘We’ll be seeing him later on … but,’ she added, giving Lucille a kiss on her little rosy cheek, ‘because it’s a special day, you’ve got a special present.’
On hearing the word ‘present’, Lucille immediately sprang to life. And as her mother carried her into the kitchen and she spo
tted her brand new yellow dress hanging from the curtain rail, she let out a squeal of pure joy that successfully woke up the rest of the Elliot household – and in doing so heralded the start of her mother’s wedding day.
By ten o’clock the Elliot house was mayhem. Agnes and Pearl were toing and froing from the Tatham Arms, which, thankfully, was just two minutes’ walk away; both were wearing curlers and carrying large trays of sandwiches and other nibbles. Pearl had a fag hanging from her lip and left a trail of smoke behind her as she tottered across the tramlines to the other side of the road.
Inside the pub the two barmaids were sweeping up the wooden floor from the night before and Bill was arranging the tables and chairs and assembling an old rectangular decorating table that he was intending to cover with a long white tablecloth ready for the wedding buffet.
Polly had already been over to the pub to take the large vase of flowers she had arranged last night and Bill had given them prime position in the middle of the bar. Polly had returned to clear up the breakfast bowls, although very little of the big pan of porridge Agnes had made had been consumed. Copious amounts of tea, however, were being drunk and Polly was busy making another fresh pot, while keeping half an eye on an excited Lucille playing chase with Tramp and the pup.
Arthur was upstairs, staying out of the way, listening to his wireless as he got himself ready. In his head he was going through his duties as stand-in father of the bride.
‘Cooee!’ Beryl’s voice sounded down the hallway. Polly hurried out of the kitchen to find their next-door neighbour looking flushed and excited.
‘Agnes over the pub?’ she asked.
Polly nodded and asked, ‘Everything all right?’
‘Aye, hinny,’ Beryl said, ‘I just wanted to tell yer ma that I’ve just been to see Mavis and Maud and the cake looks fantastic!’
