by Nancy Revell
Maisie took the scarf and wrapped it around her neck and across her chest.
By the time they had reached the top of the promenade they were dropping on their feet. Pearl had lapsed into her own world and was saying the odd word which neither Bel nor Maisie could make head nor tail of.
‘Do you think she’s all right?’ Maisie asked.
‘That’s the drink,’ Bel said, ‘but I think we need to get her somewhere warm – and quick.’
‘How far is it back to yours?’ Maisie had no idea where they were. They could have been in Timbuctoo for all she knew.
‘Too far to walk with Ma in this state and you with just that dress on.’ Bel looked around. ‘There’s a pub just up the road called the Blue House,’ she said.
Maisie remembered the blazing fire in the last pub they had been to and felt a surge of energy. She felt for her mother’s elbow through the fur coat and lifted her. Bel did likewise.
‘Come on, then. What we waiting for?’ She spoke across her mother’s bowed head to Bel.
‘Lead the way!’
Much to their relief, the pub was closer than they thought. The instant they got through the front door and the warmth of the bar enveloped them, Maisie felt she was in heaven. She didn’t even mind the usual stares as people clocked the fact that they had a ‘coloured person’ in their midst.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to walk into a pub in my entire life,’ she said to Bel.
Within a few minutes, the landlord had got the three women into the adjourning snug and away from the stares of the locals, who were understandably fascinated by the sight of this odd trio of women who looked like they’d been put through the wringer a few times.
The older woman was clearly the worse for wear – more than a few sheets to the wind – and had not reacted kindly to being denied a brandy, especially as the two younger and very attractive women at that had been more than grateful when they were handed a good measure.
While the landlord’s young son cycled to Tatham Street to let everyone know that Pearl had been found alive and well, but that they needed some warm clothes and a helping hand to get her home, Bel and Maisie started to talk to each other. The relief that they had found Pearl, along with the large brandies they were now drinking, allowed them to be amicable with each other for the first time.
‘How did you know where she was?’ Maisie asked Bel. She looked down at their mother, who was now gently snoring with her head crooked to the side and resting on the back of the leather armchair she had been put in.
Bel told Maisie that one of her mother’s few skills in life was that of making ‘the best fires ever’, and that her mother had told her on countless occasions how she would be sent out as a child to collect bits of sea coal from Hendon beach.
‘When Ma first came to stay with us,’ Bel said, thinking about the day she had just tipped up on the doorstep, suitcase in hand, ‘the only job she seemed able – or was willing – to do in the house, was to stack the fire up every night, ready for the next day. And every time she did it she would tell me how she’d go to Hendon beach as a child and spend hours picking up bits of smooth sea coal and carry them in a sack back home.’
Bel took a large gulp of her brandy. ‘… I’ve heard the story of her coal-picking days so many times I sometimes feel like I was there with her myself!’
The two sisters chuckled. It was the first time they had laughed together.
‘The thing is, she always made out it was a real chore, but I could tell by the way she talked about it that there was a part of her that had enjoyed the hours she’d spent looking for coal – the way she talked about the beach, what it was like in the summer when she would go for a swim, or in the winter when she and all the others down there picking coal would stand and watch the massive waves.
‘Oh, and of course,’ Bel added with a smile playing on her lips, ‘Ma was the champion picker. Always got the best bits of coal. She had – how did she put it … That’s it, “I had a real eagle eye,” she’d tell me – and she would always spot the best and biggest bits before anyone else.’
Maisie listened, feeling more relieved than she had ever done in her entire life, and revelling in the heat from the snug fire and the hot burn of the brandy, even if it was a cheap one, and not one of Lily’s finest.
‘So,’ Bel finished off her drink with a grimace, ‘when you started muttering on about “life back then” and electricity and the like, and we walked into that pub and saw the coal fire … well, it was like the penny dropped. I knew if Rosie’s detective friend was right in thinking that Ma would be heading back to some childhood haunt – then it would be there. Hendon beach.’
‘Well, thank goodness the penny did drop,’ Maisie said, picking up their glasses and standing up to get a refill, ‘otherwise this one here, quite honestly, wouldn’t be here now.’
Maisie knew – as she squeezed around the chair in which her mother was sleeping – if that had been the case, then there would have only been one person to blame, and that was herself.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The next day when the women welders broke off for lunch, the chatter was non-stop.
Gloria was the only one who had no idea about the drama of the previous evening as she had been tucked up, warm in bed, with baby Hope, who, for once, slept soundly next to her in her crib the entire night. For the first time in a long while, she hadn’t spent half the night awake, thinking about Vinnie or Jack – or Miriam.
When the women took their trays of food and sat round their self-designated table in the noisy canteen, Gloria was agog as she listened to everyone speaking over each other, telling their version of the night’s events.
Everyone had had plenty to say about Maisie and what a total cow she had been, but how, at the end of the day, she had redeemed herself a little by joining Bel in her search for Pearl and for wading into the sea to save their mother.
‘You should have seen the state of them all when we got to the pub!’ Polly laughed out loud as she regaled everyone with a description of Bel, Maisie and Pearl in the Blue House pub, how the three of them had looked like a trio of waifs and strays, with Pearl snoring away in the corner, and Bel and Maisie supping on huge glasses of brandy and practically sitting on top of the open fire, they were that cold.
Gloria had been particularly curious to hear that Rosie had sought help from DS Miller, and that he had galvanised the whole of the town’s police force into looking for Pearl.
‘So, in a way,’ Gloria said, ‘it was your detective friend who saved the day. If he hadn’t suggested that Bel look somewhere her mum used to go to as a child, she would never have gone to the beach at Hendon. No one would have. And, well … what could have happened doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said, ‘I guess so …’
‘Eee,’ Polly butted in, ‘I feel awful, Rosie. I can’t believe we’ve been so rude. There was so much happening last night. We managed to get word to everyone that we’d found Pearl and to say how thankful we were, but I don’t think anyone got to thank Peter. I don’t suppose you saw him afterwards?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘No, it was so late by the time we got word that Pearl was all right that I just went straight home. I did tell the young constable at the house, though, to go and see Peter and tell him we’d found her, so he could call off the search party.’
‘Goodness, how rude of us,’ Polly said. She looked at Rosie. ‘I don’t suppose you could take him a home-made pie or something from Ma to thank him – and his men – on behalf of us all, could you?’
Rosie stuttered. ‘Well … mmm … I’m not sure …’ She looked at everyone’s faces – all looking at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
‘Honestly, Rosie,’ Dorothy blurted out, ‘Polly’s not asking you to wine and dine him for the night – just to give him a bit of pie and say “thank you”.’
Her words were followed by a general murmur of assent.
Gloria looked at Rosie. She knew why her workmate was being so reticent, and she could understand.
‘All right, everyone,’ Rosie smiled. ‘I give in.’ She looked over at Polly. ‘Whatever treat your mum bakes for Peter, I’ll take it to him.’
As they started to leave their table, Gloria looked at everyone and said, a little mysteriously, ‘Actually, I might be getting a treat of my own soon …’ She shifted her look to Dorothy, who was scanning the canteen. ‘As Dorothy here is going to be buying me my long-promised “biggest cake ever” pretty soon.’ She paused as her workmate’s head swung back around on hearing her name.
‘What’s that, Gloria?’ Dorothy said.
‘I was just saying that I might be getting my “biggest ever” cake soon.’
Dorothy looked puzzled for a moment, then her eyes widened in comprehension.
‘You haven’t? Have you?’
Now everyone else looked puzzled.
Gloria solemnly nodded her head.
‘Oh, but I have, Dor, and I think that means you now have to fulfil your end of the bargain.’
Yesterday, after work, Gloria had decided to go and see the vicar and book a time for Hope to get christened. She was on her own in this world now. She had to stand on her own two feet, without a man either propping her up, or knocking her down. And her first venture as a single independent woman was to organise this first important milestone in her baby’s life.
‘Yay! At long bloody last, Glor!’ Dorothy threw her arms into the air as if she’d just won a race.
‘Can someone explain?’ Martha demanded.
Hannah stuck her arm up as if answering a question in class. ‘I know!’ she said. ‘Baby Hope’s going to get christened!’
‘That’s right, Hannah! And about bloody time!’ Dorothy added
The klaxon sounded out and everyone groaned.
‘This is turning out to be the best few weeks ever. A wedding – and now my goddaughter’s baptism,’ Dorothy declared melodramatically as they all scraped their chairs back and stood up.
Gloria chuckled. ‘But don’t get too excited, Dorothy. It’s only going to be a very small affair. Nothing like the wedding. And, hopefully, without all the drama –’ she looked guiltily at Polly. ‘No offence, Pol.’
Polly waved her hand and stifled a yawn. ‘None taken. I’m just grateful that everything turned out all right – what’s the expression?’
Dorothy butted in, ‘“All’s well that ends well”.’ She nudged Angie. ‘That’s a play by Shakespeare.’
Looking at Angie’s blank, uncomprehending face, Dorothy sighed, ‘Never mind, Ange … More importantly,’ she said as they all headed back out into the yard, ‘where do you reckon we can get a really big cake?’
As the afternoon wore on and the women tried to keep warm against the bitter cold winds now coming in from the north, Rosie kept thinking about Peter.
She was going to have to see him again.
Just when the aching of her heart was beginning to ease off a little, and the amount of time Peter came into her head during the day had lessened slightly – now, all of a sudden, after last night’s drama, he was back in her life again. And she would have to see him, whether she wanted to or not. She had asked the favour of him. It was her responsibility. She couldn’t push this on to Polly or Agnes, much as she would have liked to. She knew she had to go and thank him personally. It was the right and proper thing to do. Besides, he had gone beyond the call of duty and rallied practically the whole of Sunderland Borough Police Force in the search for Pearl.
It was just that, having seen him last night, and now that she was going to meet with him again, all her hard work at trying to forget him had been undone in one fell swoop.
She felt as if she was heading back to square one.
‘Bloody Maisie,’ Rosie cursed into her welding mask, ‘that woman has a lot to answer for. This is all her fault.’
But deep down, Rosie had to admit to herself that a part of her was secretly looking forward to seeing Peter again, even if it was just to hand over Agnes’s home-made plate pie.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Shipyard hooters up and down the River Wear sounded out the end of that day’s shift.
Each shipyard hooter had a different sound, but they all blared out at the same time.
Jack was just one of the thousands of shipyard workers that walked or cycled their way out of the nine yards, working flat out to keep up with the Allied need for new ships to be built and old ones repaired.
Jackie Crown’s shipyard, Jack’s new workplace, was on the north side of the river, which meant he only had a short journey home, past the Bungalow Café, along the top of the promenade, and then through Roker Park.
When he walked through the front door he was greeted by Miriam, who had already indulged in a large gin and tonic but had been sucking on an imperial mint to take away the smell.
‘So, darling, how was work today?’ she asked as she wandered over to the drinks cabinet and poured him a large Scotch.
Jack smiled and walked over and took his drink from her. He gave her a quick kiss, but only because he knew it was expected. Kissing – or any other kind of intimacy with his wife – still didn’t seem right. Which was absurd.
Time, he kept telling himself. It would just take time.
‘Yes, work’s good,’ Jack told Miriam, as he looked at the tumbler of single malt. He didn’t really want a whisky, but took a sip from it all the same. At least, he rationalised, it helped with the growing feelings he’d had of late of being trapped. Which, frankly, he could not understand. Why would you feel trapped in your own home – with your own very loving and very attentive wife? Honest to God, he was alive, wasn’t he? He had an enviable home life – and a job that he loved, and that, more than anything, was vital to the war effort.
‘You getting used to Crown’s now?’ Miriam continued to prod. She knew she had been criticised behind her back for organising Jack’s move.
‘It’s still feeling like I’m the new boy at school.’ Jack tried to make light of the situation, even though he did feel the odd one out.
When he had been given the tour of Thompson’s, some of the men’s faces had rung distant bells in the far recesses of his mind. He had hoped that the tinkling of those bells would become more audible, and perhaps, in time, would even clang with clear remembrances of his past, but it looked unlikely he would return to Thompson’s as Miriam had made it clear that it was important he should be at Crown’s when the buyout happened.
‘I’ll get there,’ Jack said with a tight smile.
‘You will get there, darling,’ Miriam purred, as she poured herself a large gin with just a splash of tonic. But her words were as false as the reality she was creating for herself and her husband – for Miriam had no wish for Jack to ‘get there’. She wanted her husband exactly where he was now.
Under her control. And with absolutely no memory of the past.
As they drifted off to sleep later on that evening, Miriam lulled herself to sleep with thoughts of a grand dinner party she was planning to celebrate Jack’s safe return. She was sick to death of all this warmongering and doom and gloom, of the constant BBC news reports about Hitler’s seemingly successful invasion of Russia, and then there was the constant speculation as to whether or not the Americans would join the war. And that was besides all the home news about bombings up and down the country. A respite from all this death and destruction was needed, and she was the one to provide it.
Unlike Miriam, Jack, on the other hand, wanted to hear every news report, read every printed word on what was happening in every part of the world. He had been horrified to hear about what was happening on the Eastern Front, and prayed that the Yanks would step up to the mark – and sooner rather than later.
When Jack drifted off to sleep, his mind always seemed to find itself straying back to the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. And when sleep finally won over, his dreams were filled with the panic of knowing
he was drowning – that he was being pulled to his death. But lately his dreams had been swamped with another image – one which replaced the portent of death with a most wonderful feeling of serenity. And that was the vision of the baby.
The baby he had seen just before he thought his life was coming to an end – the baby, for some inexplicable reason, he had felt was his.
Chapter Fifty-Four
A week later
‘Come on, Mother,’ Maisie shouted up the staircase from the hallway at the Elliots’.
Since Pearl had been rescued from her drunken attempt to bed down in the North Sea, Maisie had become a regular visitor at the Elliots’, although she would never stay long – just a few minutes while she waited for Pearl to fuss around. The pair of them would then have a walk into town, usually ending up in one of the tea shops, where Pearl would chain-smoke while they chatted about their lives.
If Maisie stayed more than a few minutes at the house in Tatham Street, she would have felt obliged to go and wait in the kitchen and even force down a cup of tea, which, if truth be told, wasn’t really what anyone wanted. Agnes was always polite and would make a point of offering her daughter-in-law’s newfound sister a brew when she came round, but Maisie was not fooled and knew her presence caused an unease in the house. She would, therefore, always tell Agnes, ‘I’m not staying for long, but thank you all the same’. She knew her polite rebuttal of the proffered hospitality was secretly welcomed by Agnes, who, if she had genuinely wanted Maisie as a house guest, would have insisted she have at least a cuppa, if not a bite to eat.
This did not perturb Maisie – not in the least. Her reason for calling round to Tatham Street was to see her mother, and, of course, her sister – and not because she wanted to ingratiate herself with Bel’s in-laws. It was her opinion that the family her sister had married into – the family she had adopted, and who had adopted her – was Bel’s world. It was her life, and not Maisie’s.
