by Ellie Dean
‘Your father telephoned about ten minutes ago. He said he was sorry he missed you, but couldn’t hang on because the Staff Sergeant had only given him five minutes.’
Rita felt her spirits ebb. ‘It would have been lovely to speak to him,’ she said softly. ‘Will he call again, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, Rita, but I’m sure he’ll try.’
‘Is he well? Nothing’s wrong, is there?’
‘He’s absolutely fine.’ He regarded her in silence for a moment. ‘He rang because he got your letter. He’s not happy about you staying here now the house is gone, and asked me to make you see sense and get you on the next train out of Cliffehaven.’
‘I can’t leave without Louise, and she’s refusing to budge. I explained all that in my letter.’
‘I also understand you’ve withdrawn your application to join the WAAFs for the same reason,’ he said, his gaze steady.
‘How on earth did you know that? Dad couldn’t have told you, because I never let on to him I’d even applied.’
He didn’t smile, simply looked rather sad. ‘Cliffehaven’s a hotbed of gossip and rumour. You should know that, Rita.’ He fell silent for a moment and then gave a deep sigh. ‘So it’s true then,’ he said. ‘What a shame.’
‘I really had no choice once we’d been bombed out.’ She had a sudden, rather alarming thought. ‘I hope you didn’t say anything to Dad about it.’
He shook his head. ‘He never mentioned it, so I didn’t either.’
The relief was immense. Her father would blow a gasket if he’d known and would probably have gone AWOL to come down and read her the riot act. She hated keeping things from him, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and she’d worded her letter very carefully.
She sipped the hot tea, and then remembered he’d asked her to come here long before her father had telephoned. ‘What did you want to see me about, Mr Hicks?’
He shifted in his chair and fiddled with some of the papers strewn across his desk. ‘As you seem so determined to stay in Cliffehaven, I was wondering if you’d consider taking on a full-time job here. I’d pay the going rate.’
Rita put down her cup, afraid she’d spill the tea. ‘As a fireman?’
‘As a driver and fill-in mechanic.’
A little thrill sparked inside her as her thoughts raced. ‘Mechanics earn more than drivers,’ she pointed out, more in hope than expectation.
He laughed. ‘There’re no flies on you, are there, Rita?’
‘It’s too jolly cold for flies,’ she returned with a smile, ‘and I need the money.’
‘Tell you what. I’ll pay the rate for a driver when you drive, and the rate for an apprentice mechanic when you fix my engines. How about that?’
Rita grinned. ‘That sounds fair to me. You’ve got a deal.’ She drank the last of her tea and stood. ‘When do you want me to start?’
‘On your next shift, and then full-time once you’ve worked your notice at the factory,’ he said. ‘Mr Wickens will be on hand to help. He might be old and a bit doddery, but he knows more about engines than you ever will.’
Rita liked Mr Wickens, even when he was grumpy. He reminded her of Ron Reilly, for no matter how much he grumbled, there was always a twinkle in his eye.
John looked back at her, a grin tugging at his lips. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so broadly,’ he said, ‘or look so happy. Still seeing that young American?’
‘It’s nothing to do with him,’ she said quickly, not wanting him to think she was a dreamy girl with cotton wool for brains. ‘I’m just thrilled you’re giving me this chance, and I can’t wait to get my hands on a decent set of tools again. Dad’s were lost when the house blew up.’
‘You’re always welcome to come in and tinker during your hours off at the factory,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay for any work you do on our engines.’
‘Thanks, Mr Hicks.’ She shifted from one foot to the other, the excitement battling with sudden doubt. ‘I might need a bit of practice before I take one of the engines out on the road,’ she said nervously. ‘I know the mechanics, but the practical side of actually driving anything is a bit hazy.’
He laughed. ‘Come in tomorrow and I’ll give you a lesson. It shouldn’t take long. You’re a bright girl.’
Rita knew she was grinning from ear to ear in delight. ‘Is it all right if I go now? Only Louise is waiting for me to walk her back from the factory, and I want to tell her the good news.’
He frowned. ‘Why aren’t you using the Norton?’
‘Not enough petrol to keep running all over the place, and she’s developed a strange knocking sound which I need to investigate.’
‘Bring it down here and work on it in the garage during your spare time,’ he said as the telephone began to ring. ‘You’ll need it to get about now you’re stuck up at that asylum. It’s not safe walking up there in the dark.’ He picked up the receiver and his expression softened. ‘Hello, Sally. I thought it might be you . . .’
Rita closed the door on his private conversation with his new wife, but was still grinning fit to burst as she raced down the stairs and declared her marvellous news to all and sundry.
Warmed by their congratulations and encouragement, she felt as if she had wings on her boot heels as she all but danced along the pavement and headed for Goldman’s clothing factory. Chuck was meeting her outside the Odeon cinema at seven, she was about to start doing what she loved most, and would even learn how to drive a fire engine. Her world couldn’t be more perfect.
Rita was amazed at how simple it had been to look at life differently, and see that it didn’t have to be conducted in a haze of gloom and hopelessness. That Christmas Day at Beach View had opened her eyes to how low Louise had brought her, and although she would never leave Louise to cope alone, she’d slowly begun to loosen the apron strings.
She and Louise didn’t argue over her seeing Chuck any more. They’d said everything they had to say, and Rita was no longer so easily swayed by Louise’s tears and long, meaningful silences. Louise clearly wasn’t happy at the change in Rita, but they’d reached an uneasy truce, relying on their love for one another to carry them through this sea-change in their relationship.
The news of her new posting at the fire station was greeted with a warm, knowing smile by Louise, who couldn’t resist commenting that she’d always known Rita would be much happier staying in Cliffehaven, and that she hoped this would be the end of all that silly talk about joining the WAAFs.
Rita had just smiled, kissed her goodbye and left their billet with a light heart to ride the Norton down to the fire station on the way to meeting Chuck at the cinema. She was still concerned about the strange noises it was making, and if it hadn’t been for her date tonight, she’d have stripped the engine down and given it a good going over.
It was a filthy night and the fire station was all but deserted. After greeting the volunteer who was manning the telephone and reading his newspaper, she wheeled the Norton to the most distant corner of the vast garage and pulled her ‘air raid bag’ out of the pannier.
Locking herself in the small canteen, she changed into her best clothes. Once dressed, she brushed her hair and fixed May’s sparkling comb firmly amid the curls and then made sure Tino’s earrings were safely pinned in her earlobes. May had been right, they didn’t hurt at all now.
There wasn’t a mirror, but she could just make out her reflection in the shining steel dome that sat over the empty cheese platter. Her reflection was distorted in the curved metal, but as far as she could tell, she didn’t look too bad, even though she was wearing no make-up and hadn’t had the time or the spare money to get her hair done.
She donned the heavy fire service overcoat, which must look very odd with high-heeled shoes, but was the only protection she had against the appalling weather, gathered up her motorcycle gear and carefully folded it and the hold-all away in the panniers. Giving the Norton a pat, she called a cheerful TTFN to the volunteer
. The night was hers, and she meant to make the most of it.
She crossed the echoing space, past the three red Dennis fire engines, her heels tapping on the concrete. Opening the door, she grimaced at the rain that was teeming down and gurgling in a rush along the gutters. She’d forgotten to buy a new umbrella, and her hair would end up a horrible frizzy mess.
As she dithered in the doorway a noisy jeep swerved across the road and pulled up with a squeal of brakes, the big tyres sending a slew of dirty water across the pavement.
She leaped back with an angry gasp and only just escaped getting her shoes and stockings ruined. ‘For goodness sake,’ she muttered crossly as she checked for damage.
‘I’m so sorry, Rita. I was on my way to pick you up from your billet and only just saw you. I didn’t know there was a puddle there. Are you okay?’
She looked up at Chuck and her anger fled. ‘Only just,’ she teased. ‘You really should look where you’re going.’
He grinned and took her hand. ‘I can’t help it if you guys drive on the wrong side of the road, and then confuse us poor ol’ country boys by turning out all the lights.’
‘We do it especially, just to wind you up. So, where did that come from?’
‘One of my buddies back at base lent it to me for the evening. I didn’t want you getting wet, and it’s a long walk to your billet.’
Rita smiled back at him, her pulse missing a beat. ‘What a treat,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been in a jeep before.’
‘No time like the present. Come on, or we’ll miss the show.’
Rita felt the warmth of his hand as they ran into the rain, felt the strength of him as he virtually lifted her into the cab of the jeep and slammed the door on the wind and rain. She was a lucky girl and no mistake.
As he climbed in beside her she eyed the jeep’s interior. It was very basic – just a shell of metal really, with only a couple of dials fixed behind the large steering wheel, two bucket-shaped leather seats and a canvas roof which let in a terrific draught. The engine was noisy so it was impossible to carry on a conversation, and the suspension left a great deal to be desired. But it was fun, so much fun, and she blessed him silently for being so thoughtful.
Chuck parked the jeep with typical gung-ho American verve. He helped her down and they ran up the steps past the colourful posters advertising ‘Broadway Melody of 1940, starring Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell,’ and into the warmth of the dimly lit foyer.
Rita knew how quickly tickets sold out for a Hollywood musical, so had advised Chuck to buy theirs in good time. They quickly found their way to the stalls, where an elderly usherette clipped their tickets, switched on her torch, and showed them through the baize doors to their seats.
The large cinema’s three blocks of seats were already packed, cigarette smoke drifting in clouds to the high, domed ceiling as people chattered, waved to friends or tapped along in time with the music from the ancient but ornate Hammond organ that had been raised to stage height from the orchestra pit. The organist was a familiar character to the residents of Cliffehaven, for he always wore full evening dress and a top hat when he played – even for the matinees.
Rita waved to Cissy and Anne, who were sitting in the far block. She recognised several of the women from the factory, and even saw Vi Charlton tucked up in the back row with her American. She blushed and smiled back at Vi’s knowing wink and quickly followed Chuck, apologising as they had to edge past knees and feet to get to their seats. They were only just in time, for the organ was slowly and majestically being lowered back into place and the lights were dimming.
The faded and much mended velvet curtains rattled open and silence fell, the anticipation for the Saturday night’s entertainment almost tangible as the beams of light from the projection window at the back battled through the cigarette smoke. The music coming from the speakers on either side of the stage was familiar and quite loud as the screen sent its reflective glow over the audience and the crowing and rather imperious Pathé News cockerel appeared.
Rita felt Chuck reach for her hand and they entwined their fingers as they watched the newsreel flicker on the screen, and listened to the plummy voice of the reporter.
The British offensive against the invading Italians in Northern Africa was going well, and it was expected to be a great success. An enemy raider had been driven off by British naval ships escorting a convoy in the Atlantic, and closer to home the beleaguered Londoners were going about their daily lives and celebrating Christmas in defiance of the devastation wreaked upon their city by Hitler’s blitz. The expert view from the Home Office was that the lull in the air raids over Christmas had been more to do with bad weather in Northern Europe than any altruistic gesture by Hitler – and that the citizens of Great Britain must remain alert.
As the newsreels came to an end Rita and Chuck settled further into their seats, comfortable and easy with one another as they held hands and waited for the first of the two films they would see tonight. It might be raining outside, but they were warm and snug and very happy to be together.
They came out of the cinema humming ‘Begin the Beguine’ along with everyone else. It had stopped raining, but there was a chill wind, and Rita shivered.
‘Let’s warm up in a pub,’ suggested Chuck.
‘That sounds like a jolly good idea, but I can’t stay too late,’ she said regretfully. ‘I’m on early shift tomorrow, and I’ll have to walk to work. The Norton’s been playing up and I daren’t risk it any longer on that steep hill.’
He helped her climb into the jeep. ‘Want me to have a look at it?’
She shook her head, jealous of anyone touching her motorbike, even Chuck. ‘I’ll sort it out after work tomorrow. You can lend a hand if you want,’ she added quickly.
‘I can’t tomorrow night,’ he shouted over the engine noise. ‘I’m on duty. Maybe the next day?’ He glanced swiftly across at her and, at her nod, shot her a beaming smile. ‘It’s a date,’ he yelled.
He drove down the High Street and along Camden Road, stopping outside the Anchor. ‘I thought we might try it for a change,’ he explained once he’d killed the engine. ‘Ron and Jim gave it high praise.’
‘It’s not the pub Ron’s in love with,’ said Rita and chuckled. ‘It’s the lovely Rosie Braithwaite.’
Chuck helped her down and they strolled arm in arm towards the Anchor and the raucous singing that drifted out into the street. ‘Can’t say as I blame the guy,’ he drawled. ‘Rosie’s quite a gal.’
Rita tugged at his arm playfully. ‘I didn’t realise you liked the more mature woman,’ she teased.
‘Only when they look like Betty Grable’s mother,’ he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.
‘Betty who?’
He laughed. ‘I see I’m going to have to fill those yawning gaps in your education, Rita. But for now, let’s get inside out of this cold.’
The singing was so loud it was almost impossible to talk, but the songs were well known and they’d joined in, adding to the noise. Rita was aware of the time flying past and of how early she would have to leave the asylum in the morning to get to work – but she didn’t care. She didn’t need sleep – not while she was having such fun.
It was almost closing time when the door opened and Jim stepped in and surveyed the still crowded bar. Rita waved to him and he elbowed his way through the melee to the bar, bought a drink and battled his way to the corner settle they’d found next to the back window.
‘Cissy told me you’d be in here,’ he shouted above the noise. ‘She saw the jeep outside when she and Anne were coming home.’
‘I’m sorry we didn’t give her a lift, but there’s only room for two,’ explained Chuck.
‘No matter. They took it slow and got home safely.’ Jim lifted his glass and swallowed half his pint in one steady go. Wiping the froth from his lips, he then dug into his coat pocket. ‘I came to find you because there’s a letter arrived this afternoon that looks important.’ He regarded Rita, his e
xpression solemn. ‘I’d’ve taken it to Louise at the factory, but I’m thinking it’s best you read it first in case it’s bad news.’
Rita’s hand was shaking as she reached for it. A chill swept through her as she read the stamped words, ‘Home Office’, in the left-hand corner. It could only mean news of Tino and Roberto.
She quickly tore it open. There was no address at the top, and the signature was indecipherable, but there was little doubt that it was official.
Dear Mrs Minelli,
This is to inform you that Antonino and Roberto Minelli are at present being held in custody at a secret location somewhere in Britain. It is reported that both men are in good health, and have been given permission to correspond with you in the very near future. I regret I have no further information at this time.
Yours sincerely,
Rita stared at the scrawled signature, but it meant nothing to her. She looked up at Jim and Chuck. ‘It’s quite good news,’ she said, and showed them the letter.
‘At least Louise will get some comfort at last,’ muttered Jim.
Rita reached for her coat and gas mask box. ‘Thanks for bringing it, Mr Reilly.’ She turned to Chuck. ‘I’m sorry to cut our evening short, but Louise needs to see this. Could you please take me home now?’
Chuck parked the jeep at the end of the gravel drive and switched off the engine. Rita happily leaned into his embrace. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, and I’m sorry it ended so abruptly.’
‘A kiss might make up for that,’ he replied, nuzzling her cheek with his lips.
Rita became aware of the gap between the seats and the awkwardness of trying to embrace someone with a huge steering wheel in the way. But his kiss was soft and sweet, and the sensations he was arousing made her forget everything for a blissful moment.
She pulled away reluctantly, and he got out, opened the door and helped her down. ‘I’ll see you at the fire station the day after tomorrow,’ he said, holding her for just one moment more before he had to let her go.
