Some Sunny Day

by Annie Groves

  ‘I’d still rather wait,’ she told Rob quietly, ‘until we’re sure.’ So much that she had taken for granted had changed for her with the discovery of her mother’s infidelity with Aldo. She now felt that not only could she not believe in her past, she felt she could not trust in her future either.

  The silence with which Rob received her comment made her feel dreadful. And so once they got to a quiet street, when he pulled her into the shadows and kissed her, Rosie didn’t try to stop him.

  ‘Be quiet all of you! I’ve got summat to tell you,’ Enid called out importantly, raising her voice to make herself heard above the chatter in the dinner hour busyness of the workroom.

  ‘Go on then, tell us,’ one of the girls called out cheekily.

  Enid gave her a firm look. ‘That’s enough of your cheek, Marjorie Belham. Mrs Verey has told me to tell you that there’s to be a meeting here tomorrow morning at half-past eight so you’ve all got to mek sure you’re here.’

  ‘A meeting? What kind of meeting? What for?’

  ‘Why can’t she tell us now?’

  ‘What’s it all about anyway?’

  Everyone seemed to be asking questions at the same time so that the clamour filled the room.

  ‘I can’t tell you nothing more because I don’t know nothing more,’ Enid told them sharply. ‘Just mek sure that you’re all here.’

  ‘What do you think Mrs Verey wants to say to us?’ Ruth later asked Rosie worriedly. ‘Only I hope she isn’t going to be laying some of us off. I like working here. I know the money’s not as good as at some places, but it’s good for getting to the shops and getting in the queues, not like some places where everything’s gone by the time you get to hear about it. Has Enid said anything to you on the QT, like? After all, she’s allus a bit more friendly towards you than the rest of us.’

  Rosie shook her head. She was as much in the dark as the other girls.

  The evenings had started to lighten and Rosie could see the men working on their allotments as she walked down her aunt’s road, her feet dragging the closer she got to the house. Her father had slipped her his key before he had left, so at least now she didn’t have to knock on the door and wait for her aunt to let her in or, even worse, be left standing there if her aunt happened to be out.

  Rosie hung up her coat and then headed for the kitchen, where she put just enough water in the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. Mr Churchill and his government were stressing to the people at every turn how important it was to be as frugal as possible with resources. It was, after all, men like her father who risked their lives in the convoys that brought into England the much-needed supplies.

  Whilst she waited for the kettle to boil, Rosie went into the larder and removed the mashed potato left over from the previous day. Mixed with winter cabbage and fried up it would make a tasty supper.

  Her aunt came in whilst she was halfway through cooking it. She sniffed the air and snapped, ‘I thought I told you not to go putting any of that foreign muck on good plain English food.’

  ‘I haven’t put anything in it, Aunt. It’s just cabbage and mash.’

  ‘Don’t you go lying to me. That mother of yours might have got away with lying to my brother, but I’m not as soft as he is. I’m telling you now, I won’t have you bringing your dirty foreign ways into my house.’

  Rosie could feel the anger expanding inside her chest from a tight hard ball to a burst of fury. Turning the gas off under the frying pan, she turned round to confront her tormentor.

  ‘I am not a liar.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. Of course you are. How could you not be with the parents you’ve had? That mother of yours, little better than a whore, and that Italian she let have his way with her.’

  ‘Aldo was not my father,’ Rosie protested.

  ‘Come here.’

  Before Rosie could stop her, her aunt had taken hold of her and dragged her across the kitchen to the small mirror in the hall.

  ‘Take a good look at yourself, miss, and then tell me that I’m wrong.’

  ‘You are wrong. I know you are.’

  Her aunt had let go of her and was walking away, ignoring her. Rosie’s heart was thumping heavily and painfully inside her chest. The humiliation of what she had just endured was burning her face bright red and making her throat ache as she fought back her tears.

  She would not let herself be Aldo’s daughter, she vowed fiercely. She would not!

  She couldn’t eat her supper. Her aunt had pointedly made herself a sandwich and gone into the front room to eat it. She was treating her as though she was something vile and unclean, doing everything she could to make Rosie feel bad about herself.

  Rosie couldn’t wait for her father to get back. Being here without him was unendurable. And if it hadn’t been for the promise she had given him that she would be here when he returned, she would have left. Yes, even if that meant that she had to join one of the growing bands of trekkers who trudged about the city every night, carrying their belongings with them to sleep in whatever temporary accommodation they could find, because they had no permanent roof over their heads. Rosie had never felt more alone. There was no one for her to turn to, no one to whom she could explain what was happening. How could she tell them about her mother and risk them turning against her as her aunt had done?

  It was almost dawn before she finally fell asleep, with the result that she slept through her alarm and only just managed to reach the shop in time for Mrs Verey’s talk.

  The other girls were already putting forward their own theories as to what Mrs Verey wanted to say. Rosie took off her coat and hurried to join them.

  ‘You’ve cut it a bit fine,’ Enid remarked. ‘That’s not like you, Rosie. There’s some here as I could name that are allus on the late side but you’ve allus been one who has come in to work well before time.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Enid. I didn’t hear the alarm,’ Rosie apologised meekly as she squeezed into the line of girls between Evie and Mary.

  Mrs Verey didn’t keep them waiting very long, coming into the workroom dead on the stroke of eight thirty. Naturally pale-skinned, with blonde hair that she always wore drawn back off her face in a chignon, today she looked positively washed out, Rosie thought sympathetically. She had always liked her employer and that liking had grown when Mrs Verey had loaned her her own hat for the funeral.

  ‘Thank you for coming in early,’ Mrs Verey began. ‘I wouldn’t have asked it of you if it hadn’t been necessary. I’m afraid the news I have for you is bad. This is a very sad day for me, but my husband has put his foot down and I’m afraid that I am going to have to close the shop.’

  A shocked murmur filled the room as the girls turned to one another in dismay.

  Mrs Verey looked as upset as they were themselves, and Rosie’s heart went out to her. She had heard Enid say more than once that Mrs Verey’s mother had originally owned the shop and that Mrs Verey had taken it over when her mother’s health had forced her to retire. The Vereys lived at the top end of Wavertree, close to the tennis club in one of the leafy avenues of large detached houses. Mr Verey had been a doctor until his own ill health had forced him to retire. The couple did not have any children and Rosie knew that Mr Verey was older than his wife. The shop was her lifeblood.

  ‘My husband feels that he must do his bit for the war effort and so he has accepted the position of general practitioner to a village in Cheshire so that their own doctor can be released to join our troops. Naturally, I must put my duties as a wife first. In addition, you all know, I am sure, of the problems we have been having in obtaining stock, and these problems can only become worse.’

  ‘But what about the wedding dresses that are hired out?’ Evie asked. ‘That’s a good bit of business.’

  ‘Yes indeed, Evie, it is, and that business will continue although not with me in charge, or from this shop any more, I’m afraid. I have made arrangements that Lady Anne’s Gowns will take over our existing stock, and I am assure
d that there will be positions for some of you at least with that emporium, if you wish to apply for them. Of course I am aware that those of you who are still under twenty will, as you reach that birthday, be required to sign up for war work yourselves. I really wish things could be different but alas they cannot. My final words to you all are those of thanks for your hard work here in this shop.’

  It was obvious from the strained note in Mrs Verey’s voice and the look in her eyes that she was distressed, and Rosie wasn’t surprised when she left the workroom immediately after she had given them the news.

  ‘Well, it’s all right for her with her husband going to work as a doctor again and getting paid by the government. But what about us? How are we supposed to manage?’ Bernadette demanded almost aggressively.

  ‘You can’t blame Mrs Verey, Bernie,’ Rosie protested. ‘She looked properly upset about it all, and like she said, we all know how short of stock we’ve been, especially since Christmas.’

  ‘Yes, Rosie’s right, Bernie,’ Enid agreed. ‘And as for us managing – well, like Mrs Verey said, there’s plenty of war work going.’

  ‘Sign on at one of them munitions factories, you mean? My Tom won’t ever agree to me doing that,’ one of the older women spoke up, shaking her head. ‘’E says that it’s downright wicked giving men’s jobs to women and that he doesn’t hold with it.’

  ‘Well, Mr Churchill will have summat to say to him and no mistake, ’cos he says us women are needed in the factories to mek the munitions and that for our men,’ Phyllis said.

  ‘Yes,’ Enid agreed. ‘Your Tom hasn’t worked a day since he claimed he hurt his back down on the docks five years ago, so much he knows, anyway.’

  ‘My mam has bin working at that wot used to be the sweet factory. Bottling fruit, they are now and she’s bin on at me since Christmas to go there with her,’ said Marjorie.

  ‘You get better pay at the munitions factories, Marj.’

  ‘Mebbe so, but ’oo wants to tek munitions home wi’ ’em?’ Marjorie winked meaningfully.

  ‘What about you, Rosie, what will you do?’ Enid asked her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rosie admitted.

  ‘My cousin – she’s your age – she was round our house last weekend and she says she’s going to sign up for the Women’s Land Army. She says she reckons a bit of fresh air and being away from Liverpool and the bombs will do her very nicely. Of course, she isn’t like you. She hasn’t got herself a young man yet. Have you and Rob Whittaker settled anything formal between you yet?’

  ‘Rob has talked about speaking to my dad on his next leave,’ Rosie admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Well, you see you don’t lose him, Rosie. There aren’t many lads like him about. Right, you lot,’ Enid announced in a louder voice, ‘we’ve all got to go down to the showroom and start packing everything up ready to take round to Lady Anne’s. Mrs Verey wants everything done and dusted pronto.’

  It was well past Rosie’s normal leaving time when she finally stepped wearily out into Bold Street. As well as packing up the delicate evening and bridal dresses, the girls had also had to carry them round to the new shop, which was situated close to Lewis’s.

  When Marjorie and Fanny didn’t return from their first trip, a grim-faced Enid had tracked them down to Lewis’s, guessing they had sneaked into the store, thinking their absence wouldn’t be noticed.

  ‘As bold as brass, sitting there in the restaurant, they were,’ Enid fumed to Rosie when she had brought them back.

  There was no sign of Rob waiting outside for her when she left the shop. Rosie hadn’t expected him to be there because they hadn’t made any arrangement to meet, but she would have preferred to have gone straight to the cinema with him instead of having to go back to her aunt’s. She was half tempted to go and see the newsreels by herself and then treat herself to a fish-and-chip supper. Her mouth watered at the thought, even though she knew that there was very little chance that there would actually be any fish.

  It was nearly ten weeks now since the Christmas bombings, and after the initial relief at their absence, people were beginning to get edgy and apprehensive, staring up at the night sky as Rosie herself was doing now, dreading hearing and seeing Hitler’s bombers and yet feeling that they were sure to return.

  As she walked home, Rosie tried to comfort herself by working out how long it would be before her father was back, but she knew that he wouldn’t even have reached Canada yet, and that it could be three weeks or more before he returned. How was she going to manage to cope with three whole weeks of her aunt’s antagonism and hostility?

  By taking herself out and finding a new job, that was how, she told herself staunchly. Her aunt had made it plain right from the start that she expected Rosie to contribute from her wages to the upkeep of the house, and she certainly wouldn’t be prepared to keep her for free. Not that Rosie wanted her to. Her pride wouldn’t let her depend on her aunt any more than she had to.

  It was already dark when she let herself into the house, its windows blacked out just like all the others in the street. In the dim light inside the hallway – typically her aunt was using the excuse of the blackout and rationing not to light any of the rooms unless she was using them – Rosie stumbled against something lying on the floor. Her initial reaction was to stiffen her whole body, the sensation of something soft and warm lying against her legs taking her back to the night she had been trapped in the bombed air-raid shelter. A shudder went through her and she had to remind herself that she was in her aunt’s hallway and not trapped underground, and so she kneeled down to ascertain what she had bumped into.

  The door from the kitchen opened, allowing a thin shaft of light to illuminate the hallway so that Rosie could just make out a pile of washing gathered up in an old pillowcase. The same pillowcase surely that she had brought her things here in after they had been bombed out at home.

  Her aunt was now standing in the doorway, watching her, a look on her face that Rosie couldn’t interpret.

  ‘Everything that’s yours is there. I want you out of here tonight and, I warn you, anything you leave behind I’ll burn.’

  There were tear tracks on her aunt’s cheeks and an emotion in her voice that Rosie had never heard before. Grief: Rosie knew enough about it herself to recognise it in others.

  ‘What do you mean? What’s going on? You can’t just throw me out like this. My dad—’

  ‘Your dad. Your dad was a bloody Eyetie who fathered you on that whore of a mother of yours. Now he’s dead. And so is my poor brother.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Rosie demanded.

  ‘I’m saying that Gerry is dead. Now get your things and get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of you, reminding me…’

  She was already turning away but Rosie didn’t let her. She ran to her, taking hold of her arm as she stepped into the kitchen, almost shaking it in her agitation.

  ‘I want to know what’s going on. You can’t just say something like that…’ And then she saw the telegram on the table. Releasing her aunt, she walked over to it.

  ‘That’s nothing to do with you!’ her aunt screeched. ‘He was my brother…’

  ‘It’s addressed to me. You opened it and it’s addressed to me. How dare you?’ Rosie hadn’t known she was capable of such ferocity.

  She looked at the telegram, the words blurring as she tried to read them.

  ‘We regret to inform you that Able Seaman Gerald Price has been reported as missing in action, presumed dead.’

  NINETEEN

  ‘Are you all right, love?’

  Rosie stared at the man who had just spoken to her. Whilst the rest of the city might be quiet, down here at the docks, men were working quickly and noisily to unload the great grey ships drawn up at the dockside. She could hear the concern in his voice.

  ‘Bombed out, are you?’ he asked her, nodding in the direction of her bundle of belongings.

  ‘We were,’ Rosie acknowledged.

  ‘There’s on
e of them shelters not far away from here. I’m walking that way meself. If you was my daughter I wouldn’t want to think you was on your own down here.’

  Daughter. Rosie’s eyes swam at the word. She nodded her agreement and let him help her with her bundles. She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been down here at the docks. She had no recollection either of having walked here.

  The seaman – George, he told her his name was – was chatting easily to her as he guided her out of the dock area and through the maze of narrow streets to a school hall that had been taken over by the WVS to provide overnight accommodation for people.

  ‘Found her down by the docks,’ Rosie heard him explaining to the woman at the desk by the door. ‘Poor lass was just standing there all on her own and she doesn’t look the type what would…’

  Rosie was distantly aware of the embarrassed note in his voice, and of the WVS woman frowning in concern as she looked at her.

  ‘Bombed out, were you, dearie?’ she asked brightly. ‘It’s a bit late to find you a bed now but we’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘It’s my dad,’ Rosie heard herself telling her. ‘There was a telegram…’

  The WVS woman got up from behind her desk and came towards her, took her bundles from her and then held both Rosie’s hands firmly in her own. ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea, shall we, and then you can tell me all about it.’

  Rosie looked at the sharp bright morning sky and shivered. She hadn’t been able to eat the breakfast the shelter had offered her; she had barely been able to drink her tea. All around her people were gathering their things together, making ready to face the day, but all she could think about was her father.