Keep Smiling Through (Beach View Boarding House 3)

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Quick, girlie,’ he rasped, stuffing everything into his coat pockets and making them bulge. ‘Matron’s been seen upstairs. It won’t take a moment for the old witch to find I’m gone.’

  Rita felt the suspension dip under his weight as she waited for him to settle behind her. ‘Hold on tight, Ron. I don’t want you falling off the back.’

  ‘To be sure, I was riding bikes before you were a glint in your daddy’s eye. Now get me out of here.’

  Rita chuckled as she carefully drove the Norton through the hospital gates and headed along Camden Road. She kept the throttle low and the bike steady, making sure she didn’t swerve too sharply round the potholes in the road, or have to brake too suddenly.

  ‘I’d kill for a pint of beer, so I would,’ he yelled above the roar of the engine. ‘Would you be after dropping me off at the Anchor for a wee chat with Rosie?’

  ‘I’ve already broken too many rules today,’ she shouted back. ‘You’re going home, Ron, and that’s an end to it.’ She grinned as she heard him muttering something about the young having no sense of adventure any more and kept on driving past the Anchor to the T-junction at the end of Camden Road.

  She rode into Beach View Terrace and parked behind a very swanky Rolls-Royce, which looked as if someone had spent an age washing and polishing it. Switching off the engine, she admired the Rolls as she waited for Ron to clamber off. ‘Doris bought a new car?’

  ‘Not even in her wildest dream could Doris afford that,’ said Ron. ‘It belongs to Lady Anstruther-Norton – our latest lodger.’

  Rita stared at him in amazement. ‘You have a titled lady staying here? How did that happen?’

  ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime,’ he muttered, fiddling with his bulging pockets and trying to retrieve his pyjamas.

  The front door opened and Anne came carefully down the steps. ‘What on earth do you two think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘Granddad, why are you on the back of Rita’s bike when you should be in your hospital bed?’

  ‘’Tis a long story, so it is,’ said Ron cheerfully. ‘Get the kettle on, lass. Rita and I could do with a decent cup of tea. ’Tis thirsty work, all this escaping.’

  ‘I should be going back to the factory,’ said Rita.

  ‘Not until you’ve explained to me why my grandfather has absconded – and why you thought it appropriate for him to ride on the back of that thing.’ Anne was clearly furious as she stood aside, pointed towards the hall and ordered them both indoors.

  Rita followed Ron meekly into the hall. Anne was every inch the stern schoolmistress, and Rita felt as if she was about five years old. ‘It wasn’t my idea,’ she began.

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Anne, closing the door firmly behind them and heading for the kitchen. ‘But I have enough to worry about without you and Granddad causing trouble. Matron has already been on the telephone, and I do not appreciate being harangued in such a way over something which I had no part in.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Anne,’ Rita said quickly, ‘but it was a spur-of-the-minute thing.’

  Anne turned and regarded her evenly. ‘You haven’t explained why you were at the hospital in the first place.’

  ‘Rita needed to talk to me,’ said Ron, shrugging off his coat. ‘That’s all you need to know, Anne, me darling. Now get that kettle on.’

  ‘Well, well, if it’s not Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow.’ Jim was grinning widely from his seat at the kitchen table. ‘How does it feel to be on Matron Billings’ “most wanted” list?’

  ‘Ron,’ twittered Mrs Finch, turning from the washing-up in the sink. ‘You are a naughty man, but it’s lovely to have you home, it really is.’

  Her words were drowned by the furious sound of barking and scrabbling as Harvey desperately tried to break down the cellar door to get to Ron.

  Ron acknowledged his son’s and Mrs Finch’s welcome and hurried to release his dog.

  Harvey flew into the kitchen, leaping and bouncing in ecstatic delight as his tail thrashed dangerously close to a pile of china on the table, and his tongue tried to wash every inch of Ron’s hands and face. It was several minutes before order was restored, but the noise had brought everyone into the kitchen, and now it was almost impossible to move about.

  ‘You’ll be getting us all into trouble, so you will, you bad man,’ said Fran, the Irish nurse with fiery hair. ‘But to be sure it’s good to have you home.’

  ‘It’s glad I am to be back,’ he replied, slumping into the armchair next to the range and trying to ward off Harvey, who had clambered into his lap and was enthusiastically trying to continue his ablutions. ‘Where’s that tea, Anne? To be sure, and I could be doing with something decent for me lunch. Got any pickles and cheese?’

  ‘I’ll give you pickles and cheese,’ muttered Anne, trying to maintain a stern expression as she collected cups and saucers. ‘There’s a war on, Granddad, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘To be sure, it’s a war I’ve been waging in that blasted hospital,’ he grumbled. ‘Me shrapnel’s playing up again with all that sitting about, and ’tis certain a cheese and pickle sandwich would improve me altogether.’

  ‘I doubt anything would improve you, you auld divil,’ said Jim fondly. ‘To be sure, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Da. We’ve missed your moaning about your shrapnel.’

  ‘Moaning, is it?’ Ron’s eyes narrowed beneath the bushy brows, but they glittered with amusement. ‘You see how you like it with shrapnel up yer ar . . . nether regions. It’d not be me moaning then, I can tell you that for sure.’

  Rita loved this kitchen, loved this house and the people within it. There was a warmth here, a gentle understanding and love in each and every word spoken and gesture made. She could have stayed all day.

  But time was rapidly moving on and she had to get back to work. She was about to turn down the offer of tea and reluctantly leave when a very attractive woman came into the kitchen, took one look at Ron and hurried to kiss his cheek. She stared in amazement as the old man went scarlet.

  ‘You’ve not met our new lodger, Rita,’ he said, catching her astonished expression and clearing his throat. ‘This is Lady Sylvia. She’s the mother of the young pilot.’

  ‘How do you do?’ The woman’s voice was soft, her smile warm and friendly as they shook hands. ‘I understand you and Ron have colluded to escape Matron. I don’t blame you. Ghastly woman.’

  Rita smiled back at her, uncertain of how one should speak to such a well-bred, titled lady. ‘I just hope no one gets into trouble because of it,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll have a quiet word with Matron and ensure no one gets punished, don’t you fret, Rita,’ she said with a warm smile before turning back to Ron. ‘Now, Ron,’ she said purposefully. ‘I promised you cheese and pickle, and cheese and pickle you shall have.’

  There was a hush as Lady Sylvia quickly left the kitchen and returned moments later with a cardboard box filled with jars of pickles, a slab of cheese, a packet of crackers, a pat of butter, and a loaf of bread. ‘I was going to bring it in this evening, but you seem to have ruined all my best-laid plans.’ Her eyes sparkled with fun as she set about making him a doorstep sandwich.

  ‘To be sure, I’ve a terrible hunger for one of them, Lady Sylvia,’ said Jim, eyeing the cheese before turning on one of his most appealing smiles. ‘How the divil did you manage to get hold of such a feast?’

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘One has one’s contacts, as I’m sure you do, Jim Reilly.’ A smile tweaked the corners of her mouth. ‘The real test was hiding it well enough so you wouldn’t get to it first and eat it all.’ She looked round the room. ‘Would anyone else like a sandwich?’

  There was a chorus of acceptance, and soon everyone was happily munching – even Harvey – which would soon have dire repercussions, for pickled onions made Harvey fart.

  Anne looked skyward, sighed deeply and poured the tea. ‘I’ll be glad when Mum gets back, and that’s a fact,’ she muttered to Rita. ‘How sh
e keeps everyone in order, I’ll never know. They don’t do anything I tell them and simply go headlong into one scrape after another – and with the house full to the rafters, it’s a wonder I get anything done.’

  ‘Where on earth does everyone sleep?’ asked Rita. ‘I thought you and Martin had taken over the front bedroom?’

  ‘I’ve put Lady Sylvia in there. Martin and I will share Cissy’s room, and if she manages to get home for Christmas, she’ll either have to sleep on the couch in the dining room, or use the bunk bed down in the cellar room next to Grandpa.’

  Rita chuckled. ‘I can’t see her being too pleased about that.’

  Anne shrugged. ‘There’s nothing much I can do about it, so she’ll just have to muck in like everyone else.’ She leaned closer, her voice barely above a murmur. ‘Lady Sylvia has insisted upon paying full rent on top of the grant we get from the government for those who billet with us. I could hardly put her down in the basement with Grandpa and Harvey, who both snore and blow off all night – she’d think we were complete plebs.’

  Rita giggled at the thought. ‘How long will she be staying?’

  Anne shifted on the hard chair and caressed her swollen belly. ‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘Until her son’s able to be discharged, I suppose. But she’ll certainly be here for Christmas; she said she wanted to stay at least until Mum gets home.’

  The kitchen cleared a little as the three nurses went upstairs to prepare for their afternoon shift at the hospital, and Jim accompanied Ron and Harvey out into the back garden to inspect the winter vegetables and argue over the best way to sell the parachute silk.

  Rita finished her cup of tea and the delicious sandwich, washed the china and prepared to leave. ‘I’d better go. Major Patricia will be furious, and I’ll end up having to work through the night to make up for the time I lost this morning.’

  Lady Sylvia looked up from the knitting she was trying to unravel for Mrs Finch. ‘Ron’s told me all about you, and I’m sorry to hear about Roberto and Antonino. It must be a difficult time for all concerned when one doesn’t know where one’s family is.’

  Rita felt a bit embarrassed at being the focus of such earnest attention from one so smart and posh. ‘It’s harder for Louise,’ she managed, ‘but we rub along. I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon.’ She picked up her jacket, leather helmet and goggles. ‘It’s been nice meeting you,’ she said with unusual shyness.

  ‘Why don’t you join us for Christmas?’ said Anne. ‘There won’t be too much in the way of turkey and all the trimmings, but at least it will be cheerful with so many people in the house.’

  ‘We’d love to come,’ breathed Rita. ‘And I’m sure we can share our rationing stamps to eke out whatever there is.’

  ‘You may find you’ll have rather more to eat than you expect,’ said Lady Sylvia, giving up on the knitting. ‘I do hope you don’t mind, Anne, but I’ve asked my husband to order a Fortnum and Mason’s hamper, and he’s assured me it will arrive in plenty of time.’

  Rita and Anne stared at her in disbelief. ‘A hamper from Fortnum and Mason’s?’ breathed Anne. ‘Do they do such a thing in the middle of a war?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Lady Sylvia, with a delicate sniff of what could have been interpreted as disdain. ‘The rich don’t expect to go without their little treats just because there’s a war on. Mind you, it helps to be in the know, and my husband’s office is only round the corner from Piccadilly.’

  ‘Goodness,’ sighed Anne.

  Lady Sylvia grinned. ‘As I said to your father earlier, one has useful contacts to be exploited at will when necessary. And this Christmas is one of those important occasions.’ She stood and smoothed back her silky blonde hair. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and unruffle Matron’s feathers and visit Christopher.’

  Silence fell in the kitchen as Lady Sylvia fetched her coat from the rack in the hall and softly closed the front door behind her.

  Rita and Anne looked at one another in amazement. ‘Blimey,’ muttered Rita, ‘how the other half live, eh?’

  Anne giggled. ‘Don’t they just? I wonder what you get in a hamper from Fortnum’s.’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m looking forward to finding out,’ Rita replied.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE ATMOSPHERE IN Barrow Lane didn’t improve over the following three days, and although Rita had done her best to persuade Louise to change her mind, it seemed she was determined to make Rita feel so guilty that it was impossible to talk to her about even everyday things.

  It had been a noisy day with planes taking off from the local airfield and several air-raid warnings, which luckily had come to very little. Darkness had fallen early as it always did at this time of year, and by five o’clock, they’d closed the blackout curtains and lit the gas lamps. They had become adept at preparing for the inevitable wail of the sirens, with small bags packed with their few precious possessions, the flask of tea and packet of sandwiches waiting on the table beside the rolled-up blankets and thick warm coats.

  Rita was dressed and ready for her fire-watch duties, and Louise was sitting close to the range, saying nothing as she stared into the flames. Their early supper had been eaten almost in silence, just as all the meals had over the past few days, and it was beginning to wear Rita down.

  ‘I’ll have to leave in a few minutes, Mamma. Are you sure you have everything you’ll need in the shelter?’

  ‘Of course,’ Louise muttered. ‘I’ve gone there often enough – on my own.’

  Rita didn’t respond to her snipe. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ she said, ‘but it sounds as if Gerry’s going to give us a noisy night, and I have things to do after my shift, so I probably won’t see you until early evening.’

  Louise shrugged. ‘You must do what you want. I no longer have any say in the matter.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mamma,’ Rita pleaded. ‘We both have jobs to do if we’re to win this war, and up until now you’ve been quite happy to go to the shelter on your own.’

  ‘It’s obviously something I’m going to have to get used to,’ Louise retorted, rising from her chair and slamming the kettle onto the hob. ‘My opinion no longer counts. I’m not important now you have made your plans to leave.’

  Tamping down on a bitter retort, Rita buttoned her heavy coat and wound the woollen scarf round her neck. ‘Please don’t talk like that, Mamma,’ she said stiffly. ‘This is hard enough as it is, and I don’t want us to fight when Gerry’s threatening to blow us all to kingdom come.’

  Louise kept her back to Rita as she spooned the last of the tea leaves into the brown china teapot. ‘Perhaps it would be best if Gerry did drop a bomb on me. Then you’ll be free to do what you want,’ she said softly.

  Rita took a deep breath. ‘Now you’re just being over-dramatic.’ She went to Louise and took her arms, forcing her to turn and face her. ‘I love you, Mamma,’ she said firmly, ‘and I have never wished you dead. Why do you keep saying such things when all it does is drive a wedge between us? Can’t you be happy for me? Can’t you see that I’ve been given the chance to finish my apprenticeship and do what I’ve always wanted?’

  ‘You promised Tino and Roberto you would look after me until they returned,’ Louise replied obstinately. ‘I heard you swear to it, right here in this room on the night they were arrested.’

  ‘None of us realised how long they would be gone. It was a promise made in the heat of the moment – a promise I have fulfilled to the best of my ability, and I’m sure Papa would forgive me for breaking it if he knew—’

  ‘A promise is a promise, regardless of how it is made.’ Louise sank into the chair and buried her face in her hands as she burst into noisy sobs. ‘You are breaking my heart, Rita – and you will break Tino’s when he discovers how little you value your word to him.’

  Rita had had enough. She grabbed the small bag which held all her important documents, letters, photographs, jewelled combs, pearl earrings and a change of clot
hes. With her gas mask box over her shoulder and her tin hat perched on her head, she looked down at the sobbing Louise and resisted the profound need to pacify her, for she suspected the noisy sobbing was merely an act.

  ‘I’m due to go to the airfield tomorrow morning for my initial interview and medical examination. I don’t know what time I’ll be back.’

  Louise raised her head from her hands, her eyes strangely dry and bright for one who’d been sobbing moments earlier. ‘Go then. See if I care – and if I die tonight, you’ll know you were to blame.’

  ‘That’s a cruel thing to say.’

  ‘Now perhaps you’ll understand what it’s like to be me,’ Louise snapped, forgetting she was supposed to be in tears. ‘It’s you who are cruel, Rita. Cruel, thoughtless and selfish.’

  Rita was so upset she could barely speak. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she muttered. She turned in the doorway to discover Louise was placidly making tea as if none of their harsh words had been spoken. ‘If you value promises so much,’ said Rita softly, ‘then perhaps you’ll not forget yours to go into the shelter during a raid.’

  Louise didn’t turn from the range. ‘I keep my word, Rita. Unlike some.’

  Rita left the house, dumped the small bag in the pannier, and fired up the Norton. Her emotions were in such turmoil she could barely think straight. Louise was using every weapon against her, and she would have to find some way of breaking through to her if either of them were to come out of this unscathed. Their relationship, once so close and loving, was being torn to shreds – but she couldn’t simply cave in to Louise’s demands, no matter how much pressure was put on her.

  Gladys Albright and John Hicks were waiting on the forecourt as Rita pulled up outside the fire station. ‘You’re looking a bit down in the dumps,’ said Gladys with motherly concern.

  Rita took off her goggles and silenced the engine. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, plastering on a smile. ‘Ate my tea too quick and got a bit of indigestion, that’s all,’ she added quickly when she saw Gladys hadn’t believed her. The last thing she needed tonight was the other woman’s well-meaning sympathy and homespun philosophy.