by Annie Groves
‘I haven’t been up to anything,’ Rosie protested indignantly. ‘I don’t know what Lance has told you but—’
‘Oh, come off it, you know perfectly well what I’m talking about. I’m talking about how you’ve bin chasing after my Lance, asking him to meet up with you secretly when he came into the shop asking for me.’
‘I did no such thing,’ Rosie gasped.
There was a look of fury in Sylvia’s eyes. ‘I hope you aren’t trying to call my Lance a liar! Hah, that would be a fine thing, coming from you. And to think I thought you was my friend.’
‘I am your friend,’ Rosie insisted. ‘And if you had any sense you’d know that.’ She recognised her mistake immediately as Sylvia stiffened angrily and stepped back from her.
‘It’s because I’ve got some sense that I want nowt to do wi’ you any more. Because I’ve got enough sense to know when a girl is after my chap and enough to know just what to do about it.’ Rosie could see that Sylvia was working herself up into an angry frenzy. ‘I dunno why I bothered trying to defend you to Lance. You’re no friend of mine no more and I’ll thank you to remember that.’
Rosie didn’t know what to say. She tried to tell herself that Sylvia was very young and very much in love, and that her feelings for Lance were blinding her to the truth of how unfair and unkind she was being. But in her heart Rosie felt not just badly let down but very hurt. This was the second time someone she had thought of as a friend had turned on her and ended that friendship. There was no point in trying to reason with Sylvia. Anything she said now would only lead to a slanging match and Rosie was not one for that kind of thing.
Very much on her dignity, she inclined her head and said quietly, ‘I certainly don’t want to be friends with someone who doesn’t want my friendship, Sylvia, but if you ask me you’re a fool for trusting a chap like Lance.’
‘You’re the one who’s the fool – for thinking that Lance wouldn’t tell me what you was up to. I’ve a good mind to tell the other girls, an’ all.’
‘I wish you would, ’cos if you did they’d soon put you right about a fair few things,’ Rosie felt driven to retort.
That had been over two weeks ago now, and Sylvia had only spoken to her when she had had to since then. Rosie had too much pride to let the other girls know that she had been accused of trying to snatch another girl’s chap, and so she had done her best to act as though everything was normal and they hadn’t fallen out. Luckily, with the war on the other girls had their own worries to think about, and no one had seemed to notice that Sylvia was going out at dinner time leaving Rosie to sit in and eat her sandwiches on her own.
Rosie suspected that part of the reason Sylvia was going out was so that she could see Lance, and despite their falling-out, she was still genuinely concerned for Sylvia and worried that ultimately Lance would let her down and leave her very hurt.
‘Well, she’s good and late now,’ Enid said, ‘and Mrs Verey will have summat to say to her when she does come in. There was no air raids last night so it can’t be that they’ve bin bombed out or owt like that.’
‘Maybe she isn’t feeling very well,’ Rosie offered, still not wanting Sylvia to get into trouble, even though she had behaved so unkindly to her.
‘Huh, if you ask me she’s probably gone and stayed out too late with that Lance and then not wanted to get up for work,’ Ruth offered critically. ‘Pity she’s not here, ’cos that means she won’t get a piece of the cake that we’ll be having at dinner time on account of it being someone’s birthday.’
Enid and Ruth were both smiling meaningfully at her, Rosie realised, her own face brightening with a wide smile as she blushed and shook her head, saying, ‘If you mean me then—’
‘’Course we mean you. Who else would we mean?’ Enid demanded, mock derisively. She nudged Ruth and demanded, ‘We clocked the date, didn’t we, Ruth, when we heard you saying that your dad had brought you back summat from New York but that you wouldn’t be going to open it until your birthday. Don’t you remember, Rosie, Ruth asked you when your birthday was?’
She did remember now, Rosie acknowledged, although she hadn’t twigged the significance of why she was being asked at the time.
‘All the girls put a bit in and Mrs Verey said as how we could have a bit extra for our dinner hour and that she’d see to it that there was a bit of a cake.’
Tears filled Rosie’s eyes. After what had happened, first with Bella and now with Sylvia, the kindness of the girls she worked with meant so much to her.
Waking up this morning she hadn’t been able to help contrasting this birthday to those she had enjoyed in the past when Bella had never been able to wait for her to call for her on the way to school but had instead come rushing round with a card, whilst Rosie was still having her breakfast.
Then after school they would go back to the Grenellis’, where Maria would have made a special birthday tea that would include Rosie’s favourite chocolate ice cream. There would be cards from la Nonna and Maria, and always a special present for her from Maria, a pretty dress she had made for her and which she would be dispatched upstairs to Bella’s small bedroom to change into. Bella would change too and then they would go downstairs together, all giggly and self-conscious, to be made a fuss of and told how pretty they looked.
Neighbours would come in to wish her a happy birthday and then stay to share in the celebration, which often included someone playing some music and someone else singing. But this year, of course, there had been no Bella to wish her a happy birthday and no Grenellis to make it and her feel special. She had felt so low this morning, especially since her mother was now working nights and Rosie had been in the house alone. And now here out of the blue the girls she worked with had lifted her spirits immeasurably with their kindness. Rosie couldn’t begin to tell them how much they had cheered her up.
The birthday she had been dreading because it would be the first she could remember having without her ‘second family’ to celebrate it with her had not been as bad as she had feared after all, Rosie admitted as she hurried home in the November dusk, carefully carrying what was left of the wartime carrot cake Mrs Verey had got for her.
The house was cold and empty. Her mother had forgotten to stoke up the fire with some of the slack, a mix of coal dust and small pieces of coal, which households used to keep their fires smouldering whilst they were out in the hope of preserving some warmth at the cost of very little coal.
She also seemed to have forgotten her birthday as well, Rosie recognised sadly, as she put her cake down on the kitchen table and took off her coat before switching on the wireless and then going to sort out the fire and relight it.
That done, she filled the kettle and then went upstairs to bring down the carefully wrapped presents her father had left for her. He had teased her about her not wanting to open them until her actual birthday, but Rosie had remained adamant. She had put the brightly wrapped parcels on the kitchen table and had poured the boiling water over the tea leaves before she remembered to go and check the front door for any post just in case her mother had forgotten to do so.
There was some mail, and Rosie felt both nervous and excited when she picked up one envelope and saw Maria’s familiar writing on it.
Desperate to read what Maria had written, she started to open the envelope as she hurried back to the now cheerfully blazing fire and pulled a chair up close to it.
The first thing she noticed was that Maria hadn’t put any address on the letter and that made her heart sink a little.
Dear dear Rosie,
I am hoping that this letter will reach you on your very special day and that you will know now that I am thinking of you. How could I not do, Rosie cara? You have been as a daughter to me and there isn’t a day when I don’t think of you and miss you.
It was for the best that we left Liverpool, though. La Nonna is so much happier here amongst the family we have in Manchester. They help to take her mind off the dreadful thing that happened, a li
ttle. You will remember how, as a small girl, you used to sit at her feet and listen to her stories of the old country. Now the little ones of my cousins and their sons and daughters do the same and when I look at them I think always of you.
You will want to know I think that Bella is now betrothed to Alberto Podestra, although they cannot be married yet since Alberto, because his family became naturalised some years ago, has now decided that it is best for him to join the Pioneer Corps, since he does not want to find himself fighting against his own countrymen as some of our boys have already had to do.
Oh, Rosie, this is such a sad world we live in. Sofia is still fiercely angry with the British Government, I’m afraid, and like many in our local Italian community she refuses to have anything to do with English people. But today is your birthday and I wish so much I could be there to wish you ‘happy birthday’ in person.
Thinking of you,
Your loving ‘aunt’ Maria
Rosie was weeping softly long before she had reached the end of the letter. And then once she had, she had to read it again and then a third and a fourth time before she could bear to put it down. Darling Maria. Had she known how much it would mean to her to hear from her today? Rosie wondered tenderly. There was no message in her letter from Bella but Rosie refused to feel down about that. She did wish that Maria had written down her address. Reading between the lines, though, she guessed that Maria was trying to let her know that Sofia would be against any contact between them. But at least Maria had cared enough to write to her and that eased her sore heart so much.
The fire was burning up well now, although the tea she had brewed had gone cold. Drinking it anyway, Rosie turned to the presents her father had brought home for her.
She opened the stockings first, recognising which parcel they were from the shape. Six pairs! ‘Oh, Dad,’ she protested, ‘you spoil me.’ In the next parcel she found a small bottle of Evening in Paris scent. Very carefully she unstoppered the dark blue bottle and sniffed the lovely fragrance. She would use it very sparingly, she promised herself, to make it last a long time.
The final parcel would she knew contain the fabric her father had bought her. Her mother had already had hers, and it had made Rosie’s eyes sting with tears when she had seen that her father had chosen a soft wool in her mother’s favourite shade of red.
Inside her own parcel was a generous length of the same soft wool, in the prettiest shade of soft lilac blue Rosie had ever seen. It would be perfect for her colouring. She pressed her face against it, loving its softness and loving even more the knowledge that her dad had touched it too. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that he was here with her, ready to give her a birthday hug.
‘Sylvia’s going to get herself into a lot of trouble, if she doesn’t watch out, not coming in to work yesterday and not sending any message to say why not. Mind you, if you want my opinion, she’s bin getting a bit above herself since she started seein’ that Lance. It’s Lance this and Lance that all the ruddy time,’ Enid declared sharply, coming into the workroom. ‘Mrs Verey’s just bin asking where she is and she’s said, seeing as how you and Sylvia are friends, Rosie, you can finish a bit early tonight and go round and find out why she hasn’t come in to work.’ Enid gave a disgruntled sniff. ‘If you was to ask me, I’d say that Mrs V. is being too soft, and that if Sylvia wants to go meking a fool of herself over someone like Lance, then she’s welcome to do so. I’ve heard that he allus keeps two or three girls on the go at the same time, boastin’ that there’s safety in numbers.’
Rosie gave her an uncomfortable look, not wanting to say that Sylvia had fallen out with her. Instead, she nodded in acceptance of this charge, even though she had already planned to go up to Edge Hill after she had had her tea to fulfil her promise to her father that she would call on her aunt and make sure that she was all right. The truth was that she was anxious on Sylvia’s behalf and worried about her not coming in to work, despite the fact that they had fallen out.
Knowing her Aunt Maude as she did, Rosie had already taken the precaution of writing to her to make sure that her visit was convenient. Originally she had hoped to call and see her the previous Sunday afternoon but her aunt had told her that she was too busy and demanded instead that Rosie call on a day and time of her own choosing. Rosie knew that if she tried to alter it now there would be a terrible fuss. It was just as well she had only planned to have the last of the vegetable soup she had made from the root vegetables she had been given in return for having done some sewing for a neighbour whose son had an allotment.
‘Oh, and she said to tell you that Mrs Simpson has been on to say that her daughter won’t be needing that wedding dress now. Her fiancé’s plane was shot down over the English Channel last week.’
Rosie’s face paled. ‘Oh, no! They looked so in love. Oh, that poor girl.’
‘Aye, well, she isn’t the only one,’ Enid reminded her brusquely. ‘My cousin’s lad was with the BEF and he was her only one, and then Phyllis’s brother was killed when that bomb dropped on Central Station in September, never mind all them sailors that’s bin lost.’
Rosie gave her an unhappy look. She hated being reminded about how vulnerable her father was to Hitler’s torpedoes.
Even though it was only four o’clock, the dank day was already fading into semi darkness as Rosie stepped off the tram and turned into the street where Sylvia lived. Mrs Verey was a kind employer and she had allowed Rosie plenty of time to get round to Sylvia’s in work hours to find out why Sylvia hadn’t come in to work.
The sight of a queue outside a butchers had tempted Rosie to join the end of it on the off chance that she might be lucky and get something for dinner, but her conscience had refused to let her use her employer’s time for her own ends, so instead she had headed for the tram and the dock area.
It was one of Sylvia’s sisters who opened the door to Rosie’s knock, giving a brief wary look up and down the street before inviting her in.
‘It’s all right, our dad’s gone down the docks to see a mate of his, and he’ll probably not be back now until the pubs close, with it being a Saturday, otherwise I’d daresn’t let you in, seein’ as how our Sylvia’s gone and told him it was on account of you that she’s bin seein’ this Lance.’
‘What? But that’s not true,’ Rosie protested before she could stop herself. ‘What I mean is…’ She stopped uncertainly. She wasn’t sure how Sylvia would react to her visit, and whether or not she would welcome her.
‘Oh, it’s all right. Me and Bertha didn’t believe it anyway. We’d both already warned her about what was going to happen if our dad caught her sneaking out behind his back. Given her a real pasting, he has. Her backside will be black and blue – just like her eye. Daft, she was, to think she could get away with it. She might have known that someone would see her, carrying on like she was. Only went and got herself caught in a doorway three streets away, doin’ what she shouldn’t, for anyone to see.’ Clara snorted in derision, oblivious to Rosie’s shock.
‘You wait here,’ she told Rosie, showing her into a shabby cold front parlour lit by a flickering gas mantle that hissed and smelled.
Her mother might not be much of a housewife, but Rosie had grown up watching Maria and Bella’s mother take a pride in keeping their home not just clean and polished but in making it homely with flowers and ornaments, and she had automatically absorbed their homemaking skills so that the little house she and her parents shared shone with love and care, unlike Sylvia’s home, which smelled of neglect and dust, Rosie recognised, wrinkling her nose against the odour of the gaslight and averting her gaze from the dust on the linoleum and the mantelpiece.
The apprehension she had sensed in Clara had transferred itself to her and she jumped nervously when the parlour door opened, half expecting to be confronted by Sylvia’s irate father but instead it was Sylvia herself who stood there, a large bruise swelling her cheekbone.
‘Oh, Sylvia…’ Rosie whispered sympathetically,
whilst Sylvia’s eyes filled with tears that spilled down her face.
‘Oh, I’m right glad you’re here,’ Sylvia sobbed as she threw herself into Rosie’s arms. ‘And I’m sorry for what I said about you and Lance. Oh, Rosie, I’m that upset. I haven’t seen Lance since me dad caught me with him. But I’ve written to him and he’ll be round here quick as a flash to get me, you can be sure of that.’ Cos now that we’ve bin together proper like, it means that we’re a couple, and anyway he said the last time I saw him how much he loves me.’
Rosie’s heart sank further with every betraying word Sylvia recounted. Couldn’t Sylvia see what was happening, and what Lance was?
‘When me and Lance are wed, it’s me dad who’s going to be sorry because I won’t want anything to do with him. And when we have money, then he’ll be sorry.’
The hysterical outburst continued, Sylvia pouring out her feelings. But although she was angry with her father for having told her that she wasn’t to see Lance again, and obviously cowed by his physical punishment of her, so far as Rosie could tell Sylvia felt no remorse or discomfort over the situation she had been caught in.
‘Mrs Verey wants to know what’s wrong and when you’ll be coming back to work,’ Rosie informed her as soon as she could get a word in.
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I won’t be coming back to the shop. Me dad has said that I’ve got to find another job as brings in more money. And besides, he wouldn’t let me come back anyway because of you.’
‘Clara said something…’
‘Yes. He thinks it was you as encouraged me to go out with Lance,’ Sylvia told her. When she saw Rosie’s expression she defended herself, saying quickly, ‘Well, I had to tell him summat, didn’t I?’
‘But I was the one who told you not to get involved with him,’ Rosie reminded her.
Sylvia gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Me dad’s told me that I’m not to see Lance again but I will. And we can be married, and I won’t have to bother about what me dad says no more.’
