The look on Rose’s face left the young man in no doubt that Grace was right. Rose definitely had feelings for him.
Rose’s mood improved overnight.
‘Whatever’s happened?’ Mary asked when she’d heard Rose speak to Peggy almost civilly and they’d both gone out of the door to walk to work together.
‘She went out with Bob last night, that’s what,’ Myrtle said.
‘Really? How did that come about?’
Myrtle shrugged and Grace buried her face in her newspaper, pretending innocence and ignorance by concentrating on reading a piece about Hitler’s surprising invasion of Russia.
Not suspecting that her mother might have had a hand in the new developments, Mary continued to question Myrtle.
‘She came home very late,’ the girl told her mother, gleeful to be able to impart the news. ‘It must have been after midnight. She woke me up. She was singing.’
‘Singing? Oh, my goodness, had she been drinking?’
Myrtle ran her tongue round her lips. ‘I don’t think so; it wasn’t that sort of singing. She was just humming under her breath. You know, as if she was really happy about something.’
‘It’ll make a nice change if she is.’ Mary laughed wryly.
Behind her newspaper, Grace smiled.
Twenty-Eight
Early in September Terry came home again on leave. ‘We’d better make the most of it, Peg. There’s rumours that we might be sent abroad soon.’
‘Oh no,’ she breathed. ‘Where to?’
He tapped her playfully on the nose. ‘Now you know I couldn’t tell you even if I knew, but I don’t. We’ll likely just get our orders at the last minute and be off, though the lads say we get something called embarkation leave.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A last leave before we’re sent abroad because no one knows when we might get home again.’
Though warm in his arms in the back row in a darkened cinema, Peggy shuddered. It sounded so final, ‘a last leave’ as if he might never come home.
‘You will write to me if you go abroad, won’t you?’
Terry shifted awkwardly, ‘I told you, love, I’m no good at letter writing.’
‘But just a line or two, just to let me know you’re safe. Please.’
‘All right,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘Listen, Peg, my mate Billy down the road from us ses we can use his place to be on our own.’
‘How – I mean, aren’t his parents there?’
Terry shook his head. ‘His mam died four years ago. There’s just him and his dad and he works nights at the factory. So we could have the place to ourselves.’
‘Where’s Billy then?’
Terry grinned. ‘At one of his girlfriends’. I reckon he spends more nights away from home than he does in his own bed.’
‘Oh, Terry, you know I’d love to, but – but I don’t know. It seems to make it all sordid, somehow.’
Terry was silent for a moment, but then he smiled gently and traced the line of her cheek with his finger. ‘All right, sweetheart, if you’re not happy about it, we won’t go there. Tell you what, I’ll splash out and book us a hotel room, shall I? Would that be all right?’
‘No, that’s even worse, facing the knowing looks of all the hotel staff.’
‘You could wear a wedding ring.’
‘Then they’d wonder why we weren’t in our own home.’
‘I could say it’s a special occasion. Your birthday or something.’
Peggy bit her lip. She so longed to lie beside him, to have his strong arms around her, to have him make love to her again . . .
‘All right, we’ll go to Billy’s place,’ she agreed at last, ‘but only if you can be sure we don’t bump into him or his dad. I’d be so embarrassed.’
Terry kissed her. ‘I’ll make sure.’
So, on the last night of his leave, Terry took her to his friend’s house. Billy had gone to a lot of trouble to make his small bedroom an idyllic love nest for them. He’d put clean sheets on his single bed, fresh flowers in a vase on the dressing table and two candles to give soft, romantic lighting. He’d even treated them to a bottle of sparkling wine.
‘Sorry I can’t run to champers, mate,’ he’d written on a note beside the bottle, ‘but enjoy.’
‘Isn’t that sweet of him?’ Peggy said, as she read the note out to Terry.
‘He’s a good sort, old Billy. We’ve been friends since when we was kids at school. I was never very good at school. Billy used to help me a lot.’
‘When am I going to get to meet him?’
‘Oh now, I don’t know about that.’ Terry laughed, pulling her to him. ‘He’s a devil with the ladies. I don’t reckon I could trust him with you, even if he is my best mate.’
Peggy put her arms around him and kissed him. ‘You trust me, don’t you?’
‘Of course, but I may be gone a long time.’
‘But we’ll write to each other . . .’
Terry’s answer was to silence her with his eager mouth. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
Peggy was lonely after Terry had gone and so too was Rose now. Her friendship with Bob seemed to be developing into something more – just as Rose had secretly hoped – but she was determined not to rush him. She wrote to the address he had given her and, much to her delight, Bob wrote back faithfully every week. But there was no word from Terry. Happier now with her own hopes beginning to come true, Rose thawed a little towards her sister. Deep down inside – though she would never admit it openly – she realized her own good fortune had followed on from the decision Peggy had made. If Peggy had still been going out with Bob, Rose would have had no chance.
‘Why don’t you go round and see Terry’s family? You know where he lives, don’t you?’
Peggy bit her lip. ‘I don’t think I’d be welcome.’
‘Why ever not?’
Peggy hesitated before saying, ‘Because he’s got a similar situation to the one I was in. There’s a family who live next door to the Prices – have done for years – so they’re all friends. You know, the fathers go to the pub together, the mothers are in and out of each other’s houses all the time and the two daughters are best friends.’
‘And?’
‘Terry and his best mate, Billy, who lives down the road from him, used to go out with the two girls as a foursome – just as friends. But the girl next door – Sylvia, her name is – read more into it than Terry ever meant. Just like,’ she added bitterly, ‘Bob did with me. Rose, we never meant to hurt anyone. It just seems that boys and girls can’t be friends.’
‘No,’ Rose said slowly, ‘it does seem that way.’ There was a pause before she added, ‘Why don’t you write to him? He might write back if he got a letter from you.’
‘He wouldn’t give me an address to write to.’
‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’
Peggy shrugged, but said nothing. She was close to tears.
‘I know, why don’t you ask his mate, Billy?’
‘I could, I suppose,’ Peggy said slowly. ‘But I’ve never even met him.’
‘You know where he lives, though, don’t you?’
Peggy avoided meeting her sister’s gaze. She nodded but did not explain how she knew.
‘Well, then,’ Rose said, ‘go and see him.’
It was a reasonable enough suggestion, but Peggy shied away from it. She was embarrassed to meet Billy, but at last when no word came from Terry and Rose continued to receive a letter every Wednesday morning without fail, Peggy plucked up her courage and decided to go to Billy’s home.
Just over a month after she had said goodbye to Terry and there was still no word, Peggy took the tram to the part of the city where he lived. She hardly recognized it in the daylight – she’d only been there with Terry twice, once to his home and the other time to Billy’s, but she’d made a mental note of the name of the street and the numbers of the houses. As she walked down the street, she kept her face a
verted from number eleven, where the Price family lived, and even more so from number nine, where she knew Sylvia Thomas lived. Thank goodness, she thought, that Billy lives right at the other end of the row of terraced houses and on the opposite side of the road.
As she reached number forty-six, she hesitated before knocking on the door that led directly on to the pavement. A rather large woman was donkey-stoning the doorstep of the house next door. She glanced up and grinned toothlessly at her. ‘Now then, lass, you lookin’ for that scallywag, Billy Parkin?’
The woman tried to get up, but when she seemed to have difficulty, Peggy stepped forward at once to help her. ‘Ta, lass. Eh, I’m getting too old for scrubbing me step. Now then, let’s have a look at you.’ The woman squinted at her and then smiled. ‘A’ you one of young Billy’s fancy pieces?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘No, I – I just wanted to ask him something about a mutual friend. That’s all.’
‘Oh, aye.’ The woman sounded very disbelieving. Then, as the cogs in her mind began to whirl – Peggy fancied she could almost hear them whirring – the woman smiled. ‘Oh ah, I know who you are. You’re young Terry’s fancy piece.’
Now Peggy could not deny it and felt herself blushing as the woman went on, ‘Oh aye, talk of the street it’s been, since he threw Sylvia over for you. A clippie, aren’t you?’
‘Er – yes.’
‘Aye well,’ the woman nodded knowingly. ‘We all know a thing or two about you young clippies . . .’
‘Whatever you’ve heard,’ Peggy began to protest, ‘it’s not true. Terry didn’t—’ But her words were cut short by the door of number forty-six flying open and a young man with tousled fair hair, and dressed only in trousers and a vest, grabbed her arm and pulled her unceremoniously into the house.
‘I heard what the old busybody was saying through me bedroom window,’ he said, slamming the door. ‘I ’spect half the street heard. Nosy old parker.’ He paused and looked more closely at Peggy, his bold gaze taking in every detail. A slow smile spread across his face. ‘Well, I’ll hand it to Terry, he’s picked himself a corker and no mistake.’
Peggy smiled. ‘Ta very much, I’m sure. You must be Billy.’
‘The very same. Come on in. I’ll make us a cuppa.’
‘Is your dad in?’ she asked nervously, following him through the front room into which the front door had opened.
‘Yes, but he’s in bed. He works nights, y’know. Ever since me mam died. He finds it easier that way.’
‘I’m sorry. When – when did that happen?’
‘Four years ago now, but he still misses her. We both do.’
‘Of course.’
‘What about you? Terry told me you’ve no dad.’
‘No, he died when I was seven.’
‘You remember him then?’
Peggy nodded. ‘I’ve two sisters. Rose was a few days short of her fifth birthday when he died, but Myrtle was only a baby. She has no memories of him at all and Rose only a few.’
‘It must have been hard on your mam. Three kiddies to bring up on her own,’ Billy said, as he filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
‘We’ve always lived with my grandmother – my mother’s mother. It’s her house.’
He set cups and saucers on the table. ‘Sorry, I’ve no biscuits.’ He grinned as he added the favourite saying of the day, ‘There’s a war on, y’know.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘and Terry’s somewhere in it. That’s why I’ve come to see you, really. Have you heard from him? I’ve no idea where he is and he hasn’t written and he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – give me an address so that I could write to him. Last time he was home he said something about being sent abroad, but he wouldn’t say where or even when.’
Billy stood quite still by the table, moving the cups so that the handles pointed in the same direction. Slowly he looked up and met her gaze. He stared at her for what seemed an age to Peggy. Her heart started to thump. Had something happened to Terry and she hadn’t heard? At last he said, ‘Terry’s not much of a one for letter writing.’
‘That’s what he told me, but I didn’t think he meant he wouldn’t write at all, especially – ’ she bit her lip – ‘when he got sent abroad. Billy, has he gone abroad? Do you know where he is?’
Billy avoided her gaze and shook his head. She wondered if he was telling her the truth. ‘I thought you’d be together – in the same unit or whatever they’re called. Terry said you joined up together.’
Now Billy answered at once. ‘No, they separated us. After what happened to the Sheffield City Battalion in the last war, they don’t like “pals battalions” any more.’
‘Do you know if his parents have heard from him?’
He shrugged. ‘He’ll not write. Like I said, he’s not one for writing letters.’ He seemed about to say more, but then closed his mouth firmly, as if to physically stop the words escaping from his lips.
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming here. I didn’t want to go to his home.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I don’t think I’d be very welcome.’
Billy gave a rueful grin too. ‘Probably not. But they got it all wrong. We was all only mates. It’s as bad as saying I was going out with his sister, Amy, and I wasn’t. Mind you,’ he added, with a laugh, ‘I expect her parents are relieved about that. I’ve got myself a bit of a reputation with the ladies.’ He winked at her.
Peggy smiled too. She liked Billy. He was honest, she could see that already, and she could also see what the girls found attractive in him.
‘But, yeah, you come round here any time you want.’ He laughed and held up his hands, palms outwards. ‘And I promise not to try it on. I wouldn’t do anything like that with my best mate’s girl. Mind you, I’m likely to be posted any time soon, so I may not be around for a few months.’
They drank the tea he’d made and talked a little longer before Peggy said she must go. He saw her to the door and said again, ‘Come round any time.’
As she walked back up the street, she risked a glance at Terry’s home. There was no sign of anyone, but as she turned away again, Peggy fancied she saw someone at the bedroom window of the house next door: a girl’s face peering from behind the curtain.
Was that Sylvia? she wondered. The girl whose heart Terry was supposed to have broken because of her? Peggy turned her head away and hurried on.
Twenty-Nine
Two more weeks passed and the whole month of October was surprisingly warm and sunny. Bob wrote regularly but not a word came from Terry. Peggy became resigned to the fact that he’d meant what he’d said: he was no letter writer. And then the household was thrown into turmoil when, one Wednesday at the end of October, no letter arrived for Rose.
‘Something must have happened to him,’ she wailed. ‘He never misses.’
‘Darling, do calm down.’ Mary tried to comfort her. ‘It could have been delayed in the post or he could have been kept too busy to write.’
‘Bob would make time,’ Rose insisted tearfully.
Grace retreated behind her newspaper, muttering.
‘How d’you think I feel, then, when I never hear from Terry?’ Peggy said, but was rewarded with an angry glare from her sister.
‘Maybe Bob’s met a pretty girl and forgotten all about you,’ Myrtle offered, biting into a piece of toast, spread thickly with butter.
‘Mam, have you seen her?’ Rose snapped, her anxiety making her irritable. ‘That’s nearly a week’s ration of butter gone on one piece of toast. Can’t you stop her being so greedy? She’s the only one not bringing money into this house and she gets all the treats and extras.’
Myrtle stopped chewing. Then she shrugged. ‘Then I’ll leave school and get a job. I’m sure I could keep up the family tradition and become a clippie.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Mary said and Peggy added, ‘We all want you to stay on at school. You’re the clever one, Myrtle. We’re all so proud of you. Take no notice of Rose. She’s just bad-tempered be
cause there’s no letter for her.’
‘I’ll make my own excuses, thank you very much.’
‘Girls, girls, please! Stop this bickering. Myrtle, none of us want you to leave school, but you should be careful with the rations and only have your fair share.’
‘Sorry, Mam.’ Myrtle hung her head, hiding a smile. The girl knew exactly what she wanted to do now. Other girls at school were leaving as soon as they were old enough and going into some sort of war work. Their conversations were littered with their plans.
‘My sister’s joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. She looks so smart in her uniform.’
‘Mine’s gone into the Land Army. The work’s hard, but she’s having a great time in the country.’
So Myrtle had been thinking. She was in the Upper Sixth now and would stay on at school until she’d taken her Higher School Certificate the following summer. She’d be eighteen by then and if the war was still going on, she’d join one of the forces. She was sure that, after the war was won, there’d be every chance for her to go to university then. Myrtle had complete faith that Britain and her allies would win the war; the only question was, how long would it take? But she told her family none of this; they wouldn’t approve. And now, she was thankful that her mother’s attention had turned away from her to Peggy.
‘You look a little peaky this morning, love. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, Mam, just a little tired.’
Mary said no more. She knew the girl was fretting because she’d had no news of Terry. She didn’t talk about it much because it was a sensitive subject, especially when Rose was in earshot.
The two sisters walked to work together, but said little to one another on the way. As they neared the depot, Rose murmured, ‘I’ll ask one or two of Bob’s mates if they’ve heard anything.’
‘Mm.’
Rose glanced at her sister. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You look awfully pale.’
‘My tummy’s a bit unsettled this morning. Must be something I ate.’
The Clippie Girls Page 19
