by Nancy Revell
Rosie felt herself freeze.
‘He came to the funeral.’ She knew she had to be honest about this. Mrs Rainer might hear he was there. If she lied, she’d wonder why. Might even try and contact him so he could look after Charlotte.
‘But he left right after,’ Rosie said. ‘Made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with Charlie or me.’
‘That sounds about right,’ Mrs Rainer mused. ‘I remember your mam mentioning him. Said they didn’t get on. That he was a nasty piece of work. I’m surprised he turned up for the funeral.’
Rosie knew then and there that if by any remote chance Raymond found out Charlie was here, he wouldn’t get over the threshold.
Mrs Rainer stood up.
‘Come on, let’s get you a cup of tea. You must be parched.’
Rosie stood up too.
‘And don’t worry,’ Mrs Rainer reassured. ‘It’s fine. I can have Charlotte for as long as you want. She’ll be in good hands. And she’ll be well looked after.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much. This means so much,’ Rosie said. You have no idea just how much.
Rosie felt as though a colossal weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Her sister would be safe.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday 25 January 1943
‘So where’s this “Iraq” place?’ Angie said.
They had all been reading that Iraq had finally declared war on the Axis powers.
Angie sighed. ‘I didn’t knar there was so many places in the world I’ve never heard of.’
‘You’ll have to get Quentin to teach you,’ Dorothy goaded.
‘He’s teaching me how to be posh, Dor. He’s not teaching me lessons like I’m back at bleedin’ school, yer knar.’
Everyone looked at Angie with slightly puzzled expressions.
‘So, what kinds of things has he been teaching you?’ Marie-Anne asked.
‘Well, he’s not been teaching me anything lately, ’cos he’s not been here.’
‘Really?’ Bel said. ‘Where’s he gone?’
‘He’s at the War Office in a place called Whitehall in London.’
‘And what does he do there?’ This time it was Rosie.
‘Says he’s a “pen-pusher”.’
‘What does a pen-pusher do?’ Bel said. ‘I’ve heard the expression, but I’ve never really understood what it means.’
‘I think it’s like what you and Marie-Anne dee,’ Angie said. ‘Work in an office, shuffle paper about, type letters … all that sort of thing.’
Bel suddenly looked up at the canteen clock.
‘Talking of which, I said I’d get some letters typed up for the afternoon post … Said I’d make up time with leaving early today.’
‘Bel’s learning shorthand,’ Marie-Anne declared.
‘Really?’ Hannah said. ‘That’s exciting.’
‘Yes, Bel’s turning into a right old teacher’s pet,’ Marie-Anne huffed.
‘How’s that?’ Gloria was curious.
‘Well, I had to practically beg Helen to send me to shorthand classes, whereas Bel’s been here all of two minutes and Helen’s got her onto a course – and is letting her leave work early so she’s got time to see Lucille and have some tea.’
‘I think it’s more a case of her needing someone else apart from you who can do shorthand,’ Bel said, fighting back a wave of irritation.
God, she’d never known anyone get so much gyp for trying to educate themselves. Her ma had been openly hostile about her night classes, demanding to know who was paying for them. When she’d told her that work was picking up the tab, she’d presumed that meant Helen – or, rather, the Havelocks – and had gone off for a fag in the yard, mumbling to herself. Joe hadn’t exactly been cock-a-hoop about it either. He’d also gone off muttering about being ‘ships passing in the night’, and Lucille, as expected, had been in uproar.
‘See you later,’ Polly said, ‘and don’t worry about LuLu. I’ll keep her entertained.’
‘Thank you,’ Bel mouthed.
As Polly pulled out the slightly crumpled map from her haversack, Hannah and Olly cleared the table of plates and trays and cutlery.
Muriel came over with a dishcloth and gave the top a wipe-down.
‘If it’s not newspapers, it’s world maps. Yer all having a geography lesson now?’
‘We just wanna see where these places are that we’ve never heard of,’ Angie said.
‘But which are very important,’ Martha added.
‘Is that so?’ Muriel said, pulling out her tea towel and making sure the table was dry. ‘There yer are,’ she said. ‘You dinnit want that map getting any marks on it, do yer?’
‘Thanks, Muriel.’ Polly unfolded the map and spread it out.
‘That’s a grand one.’ Muriel stood, the dirty dishcloth in one hand, tea towel in the other.
‘It was Arthur’s,’ Polly said.
‘Oh, God bless.’ Muriel gave Polly a sad look and headed back over to the canteen.
‘So, where’s this Iraq place?’ Angie said, leaning over the map.
‘There it is, right next to Saudi Arabia.’ Olly stretched an arm across the table. ‘You know – Arabian Nights … Sinbad the Sailor.’
Angie’s eyes widened. ‘Cor, it’s big, isn’t it?’
‘And where’s Warsaw?’ Martha said.
Hannah had been telling them what her aunty had heard from the rabbi about the stirrings of a rebellion in the Warsaw ghetto; how the normally passive Jewish community had fought back when German troops had tried to round up another group of men, women and children for deportation. After two days the troops had retreated, giving the Jews living in the ghetto the hope that, in the face of resistance and armed confrontation, the Germans would think twice before embarking upon more mass deportations.
‘Yer ma all right?’ Gloria asked Polly as everyone scrutinised the atlas. ‘Only she’s seemed a little on edge the past week or so?’
‘I think she’s worried about Lucille getting the measles – or a bout of influenza,’ she said. Everyone with a child under the age of ten knew there’d been an outbreak of both. The Echo was calling it an epidemic.
Gloria looked at Polly. She looked well. Very well.
‘Yer all had the measles when yer were young, I take it?’
‘I know Joe and Teddy had it. They always got everything the other one had – and always at the same time. Used to drive Ma up the wall. And I know Bel had it.’ Polly laughed. ‘Covered from head to toe, she was.’
‘Can you remember having it?’ Gloria said.
Polly thought about it.
‘I remember having chickenpox.’ She shivered involuntarily. ‘Makes me want to itch just thinking about it.’
Twenty minutes later, Polly was folding up the map and the women were heading back out for the afternoon shift.
‘So, have you set a date yet?’ Gloria asked Rosie.
‘For the dreaded tea party?’ Rosie said.
Gloria nodded.
‘This Saturday,’ Rosie sighed.
‘What’s this Saturday?’ Dorothy appeared from behind.
‘Nothing wrong with your hearing, is there?’ Gloria said.
‘Gloria was asking if we’d set a date for Charlotte to go to tea at Lily’s’
Dorothy’s face fell.
Just then, Angie bounded up. ‘What’s wrong? Yer got a face like a slapped backside.’
Dorothy threw Angie a look like the summons. ‘Rosie was saying that they’ve set a date for Charlotte’s visit to Lily’s.’
‘Eee, we’re so sorry, miss,’ Angie said. ‘I can’t believe we dobbed yer in it like that.’
‘Don’t be daft, Angie. It would have come to a head anyway. Charlotte’s obsessed with Lily and everything about her, so it would just have been a matter of time before she started mithering me about going there.’
‘I know, but we should still’ve been more discreet,’ Dorothy said.
Gloria
guffawed. ‘Surprised you know the meaning of the word!’
As they neared their workstation, Rosie told them all to grab their gear and head over to Denewood, a screw steamer that was taking shape on the ways at the top end of the yard. The platers’ foreman had told her they were ‘hanging up’ this afternoon, which meant they were needed to tack-weld the metal plates onto the ship’s ribs before the final welding was done.
‘And remember,’ Rosie told them, ‘speed is of the essence. We’ve been asked because we’re fast.’
‘The fastest welders in the West,’ Dorothy said in a mock-American accent, hooking her welding lead over her shoulder as though it was a lasso and she a cowgirl.
‘The speediest in Sunderland,’ Angie chipped in.
As they walked across the yard, Rosie shot a look at Gloria before turning her attention back to the squad’s terrible two. ‘Your mam keeping all right, Angie?’
‘Aye,’ Angie said. ‘Why?’
‘She must be missing you at home, helping her look after the bairns. Especially with Liz being away,’ Gloria chipped in.
‘Yeah, she’s had to do less overtime, hasn’t she, Ange?’ Dorothy gave her friend a loaded look.
A look that wasn’t missed by either Rosie or Gloria.
Chapter Seventeen
Helen’s heart lifted as she spotted her mother.
Not only had she found her in the lounge bar – as opposed to the one on the first floor where the latest Admiralty were billeted – but she’d also caught her on her own.
‘Well, this is a surprise!’ Miriam said, looking her daughter up and down but finding nothing to criticise. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ She sat up straight on the tall stool.
‘Amelia not here?’ Helen asked, giving her mother a quick kiss on both cheeks. She could smell Yardley and gin.
‘She’s gone to powder her nose.’ Miriam looked over in the direction of the Ladies.
‘Why don’t you sit over there, Mother,’ Helen suggested, pointing to the Chesterfield, ‘and I’ll get some more drinks sent over.’
‘Well, my dear, I shan’t argue,’ said Miriam, looking at her daughter a little suspiciously. ‘Everything all right? You’ve not come to tell me anything ghastly, have you?’
Helen felt her hackles rise, knowing her mother was referring to the time she’d come to the Grand in a right state, having found out that not only was she pregnant, but the father of the baby was already married, with two children and his wife expecting a third. Foolishly, she had thought her mother would help her. Or at least offer comfort. She’d done neither – and had been quite horrible, into the bargain.
‘No, Mother,’ Helen said. It took all her willpower not to simply walk out. ‘I’m meant to be meeting John. We both fancied getting out. All work and no play and all that. And there’s no better place for a decent gin and tonic, is there?’
Miriam got off the bar stool and Helen watched as she carefully made her way over to the lounge area. She was walking slowly and self-consciously, which meant she was already half-cut. Helen congratulated herself on her timing. This was going to take less time than she’d anticipated, which was just as well. She didn’t know how easily it would be for her to hold her tongue in the face of any more venomous comments.
She turned to the barman.
‘I’ll have a tonic please, and a double gin and tonic for my mother. She’s had the day from hell, poor thing.’
Seeing the look of surprise on the barman’s face, she added, ‘She hides it well.’
Helen walked over to Miriam, now settling herself in one of the soft leather armchairs.
‘I won’t be a moment, Mother. It’s blowing a gale out there. I just want to check my hair.’
Miriam scrutinised her daughter.
‘Good idea. You could do with a little more lipstick too. Remember, “Beauty is a Duty.”’
Helen took a deep breath and headed over to the women’s toilets. She preferred the saying ‘Knowledge is Power’; it was what had motivated her to come here this evening.
Walking into the powder room, she saw Amelia drying her hands and checking herself in the mirror.
‘Amelia, so lovely to see you!’ Helen said.
‘Helen, darling, what a surprise!’ Amelia kissed Helen lightly on both cheeks. ‘What are you doing here? Your mother says you’re working round the clock these days. Hardly have a minute to breathe.’
‘Which is exactly why I’m out this evening,’ Helen said, looking at Amelia’s heavily made-up face. She was certainly taking the whole ‘Beauty is a Duty’ ethos to heart, although it was questionable as to whether she had succeeded.
‘You with your chap this evening?’
‘John?’
‘Yes, that rather gorgeous doctor of yours.’
‘Well, he’s not really my doctor,’ Helen said. ‘He’s just a friend.’
‘Of course he is, my dear,’ Amelia winked. ‘Just like the Admiral is my friend.’
Amelia turned to reapply her lipstick. She looked at Helen in the mirror.
‘Oh, the joys of youth,’ she lamented. ‘You’re looking stunning as always, Helen.’
‘Thanks, Amelia. As are you,’ Helen lied.
Amelia batted the compliment away with a well-manicured hand. ‘I do the best of a bad job.’
‘Rubbish,’ Helen said, forcing a smile onto her face. ‘And Harvey? How’s Harvey doing?’ she said, keeping her eyes on Amelia, who was now fluffing up her hair. ‘He looks well, I have to say. Very well,’ she added.
‘He’s fine,’ Amelia said, her voice flat and disinterested. ‘You know Harvey.’ She turned back towards the mirror. ‘Never changes.’
Helen counted to five in her head.
Suddenly there was a look of panic on Amelia’s face.
Bingo!
‘When did you see Harvey?’ Amelia said, putting the lipstick lid back on and throwing it in her handbag.
‘Just now. On my way here,’ Helen said, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘As I say, he looked very well.’
‘Bugger! He’s not meant to be back until the weekend.’
She hurried to the door.
‘Sorry to be rude, my dear, but must dash.’
She heaved open the door.
‘And tell your mother I’m sorry too. I’ll call her tomorrow – and huge apologies I couldn’t stick around and have a good old catch-up, my dear. It’s been an age.’
And with that she was gone.
Helen knew that by the time it took Amelia to get home, wait for Harvey, then ring his base and find out he was exactly where he should be, Helen would have done what she had come here to do.
If Amelia made it back to the Grand before she’d gone, well, it was clearly a case of mistaken identity, wasn’t it?
So easily done in these wretched blackouts.
‘Well, darling, it looks like you’ve been stood up?’ Miriam looked at her watch. ‘It’s gone nine.’ She gave Helen a sidelong glance.
‘It’s always a bit hit and miss with John,’ Helen said, making herself sound suitably disappointed. ‘He never knows when he’s going to get called into theatre. Or there’s some sort of emergency.’
Miriam thought back to the time she had first met Dr Parker at the Royal. He’d been one of the junior doctors looking after Jack when he was in a coma. Helen’s new squeeze had certainly climbed the ladder since then.
‘You know, darling, I’ve been meaning to have a quiet word with you for a while now.’ Miriam took a sip of her gin and tonic. ‘You’re not serious about your doctor “friend”, are you?’
‘Mother, he is just a friend. Nothing more.’
‘Of course he is, darling.’ Miriam’s words belied their meaning. It was quite clear by her tone that she did not for one minute think they were ‘just friends’.
‘Don’t get too serious with him, will you?’ Miriam advised. ‘Men like that enjoy playing the field … I hate to even mention his name, but … like that frightful Theodor
e fellow.’
‘John’s nothing like Theo,’ Helen snapped.
‘Well, you mightn’t think so now, darling, but I’m sure you thought Theodore was the best thing since sliced bread and look what happened there.’
‘That was a totally different scenario, Mother, and as I keep telling everyone, not that anyone seems to be listening to me, John and I are merely friends.’
‘Fine, have it your way, Helen, but – and I’m saying this to save you any more heartache – surgeons are like gold dust. Any single woman in her right mind will leap at the chance to bag one for a husband. And these doctors and surgeons know it.’ She paused. ‘And Dr Parker, my dear, knows all about you. He might enjoy your company, but trust me, darling, when it comes to marriage, he will want someone …’
She stopped in mid-sentence.
‘Oh dear, how do I say this nicely?’
A pause.
‘He’ll want someone … unsullied.’
Helen looked at her mother.
God, she hated this woman.
‘Mother, I have no intention of getting married any time soon, so let’s drop the subject. Let me get us another drink and then you can tell me all about your day. We might as well enjoy the evening since we’re both here.’
Helen walked to the bar. She could feel her cheeks burning. Her mother’s words had cut deep.
Was that really how John viewed her? Sullied? But it didn’t matter if he did, did it? They were only friends, after all.
Returning with their drinks, Helen sat down and lit up a cigarette. It helped calm her, and she needed to be in control if she was going to get what she wanted.
‘So, tell me, Mother, what’s been happening? I hear you were at the Doxford launch the other day?’
For the next hour Helen boxed clever. Being careful not to be too nice as it would make her mother suspicious, but at the same time she wanted it to seem as if she was amenable to a truce.
Neither of them mentioned the strong words they had exchanged in the car on the way back from Arthur’s funeral. Or the real reason for Miriam putting up a postbox.
‘This feels like old times,’ Miriam said, looking at her daughter. ‘The way we used to be. Just you and me. Chatting. Getting on.’
