by Nancy Revell
Everyone looked sceptical, but they didn’t have time to argue the point as the klaxon sounded out.
At the lunchtime break the women dropped their tools and were among the first to make it to the canteen, all eager to talk more about Polly’s pregnancy. As soon as Hannah and Olly arrived, Dorothy blurted out the good news before the pair even had time to sit down.
‘Oh, Polly, I am so happy for you!’ Hannah said, dumping her satchel and hugging Polly.
‘Me too,’ Olly said, sticking out his hand. ‘Congratulations.’
‘We all knew, you know,’ Dorothy declared, unwrapping her home-made sandwiches.
‘I thought you might be getting suspicious,’ Polly said, unbuttoning the top of her overalls, which seemed to be getting tight around the chest.
‘The bog-trotting might have given it away,’ Angie said, taking the top slice off her sandwich and looking inside; it had been Dorothy’s turn to make their packed lunches today. ‘My mam spends half her life on the lav when she’s up the duff. Either weeing or puking.’
‘Charming.’ Dorothy rolled her eyes. ‘It’s good to see Quentin’s lessons are making such a difference.’
Everyone suppressed their chuckles.
‘And you have been looking a bit peaky,’ Dorothy said, throwing Angie a look and making a show of biting into her sandwich with relish.
‘I noticed you weren’t eating as much as you usually do,’ Hannah chipped in.
‘Eating’s been a bit of a challenge,’ Polly agreed, looking down at her bacon bap with little enthusiasm. ‘I’m not going to broadcast it, though. Not until I’m through the first three months.’
‘You all right about me telling Helen?’ Gloria asked quietly, taking a sup of her tea. She could see Muriel loitering by the counter, making a big deal of cleaning and restacking the trays.
‘Of course,’ Polly said, pouring herself a cuppa from the pot. ‘Is she all right? Bel keeps saying how busy she is. Looks like she’s thinking of taking on more staff.’
‘I saw an old friend there the other day, being interviewed,’ Rosie chipped in. ‘Sounds like Helen’s after another clerk.’
‘I think she’s like everyone at the moment, working flat out,’ Gloria said.
‘She’s not got it together with that doctor friend of hers, then?’ Dorothy asked, brushing crumbs off her overalls.
Gloria shook her head and put down her teacup. ‘She claims they’re “just friends”.’
‘They looked more than friends at Arthur’s wake,’ Martha said, polishing off her meat pie.
‘People can just be friends, yer knar,’ Angie argued.
‘What? Like you and Quentin?’ Dorothy said, raising her eyebrows.
‘Exactly,’ Angie said, her face dead serious.
Gloria sighed. ‘I don’t understand you young ’uns. It seemed a lot more straightforward in my day.’
Later that evening Helen was sitting on Gloria’s sofa with Hope, flicking through a children’s picture book she’d brought round, one of her own favourites as a child. When Gloria told her that Polly was pregnant, she looked up.
‘That’s brilliant news,’ she said. ‘Tell Polly “Congratulations” from me. I’ll tell her myself when I see her next. And, obviously, say to her that if she needs anything, anything at all, she just needs to say. Any time off. That kind of thing. I’ll have a think about what we’ll do when she’s further along. If she’s still only a couple of months gone, we’ve got time to play with.’
Gloria started pouring out the tea she’d just made.
‘How do you feel?’ She looked up to gauge Helen’s reaction.
‘What do you mean?’ Helen looked genuinely puzzled.
‘About Polly being pregnant,’ Gloria said, adding a drop of milk to Helen’s cup.
‘I feel pleased for her … You say it as if I mightn’t be?’
‘I suppose,’ Gloria said, adding milk and sugar to her own tea, ‘I was thinking it might make you feel … I don’t know … a little sad, perhaps. After what you went through.’
‘Oh, Gloria, that’s in the past now.’
‘Is it? Is it all in the past now? Five months isn’t that long ago,’ Gloria probed.
‘It is and it isn’t,’ Helen said, looking at Hope pointing at a picture of a rabbit dressed in a waistcoat. She pulled a surprised face and Hope giggled.
‘I asked John if it was a girl or a boy.’ She glanced across at Gloria.
‘Really? When was this?’
‘At Polly and Tommy’s wedding.’ Helen looked back down at the book and turned another page.
‘And what did he say?’ Gloria stared at her.
Helen looked up and smiled sadly.
‘A girl,’ she sighed. ‘Like you said. Like we both thought.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Gloria reached over the coffee table and squeezed Helen’s hand.
‘At least I know,’ Helen said. ‘I can move on now, can’t I?’
Gloria nodded, although she wondered if anyone ever truly moved on after going through what Helen had experienced. Perhaps it was more a case of getting used to it. An unwelcome companion on life’s journey. She guessed everyone gained a few of those as time went by. She certainly had.
‘And,’ she asked tentatively, ‘it doesn’t bother you that Polly’s pregnant with Tommy’s baby?’
Helen laughed.
‘Well, I’d hope that it is Tommy’s baby!’
Gloria didn’t laugh.
‘You know what I mean. It wasn’t so long ago that you really did feel Tommy was the one for you.’
Helen cringed. Again, thinking of her actions of old. The actions of the old Helen. She wished she hadn’t been a total cow to Polly and the rest of the women, with her desperate need to gain revenge on those she thought had taken what was hers. Tommy had never been hers and never would have been, regardless of Polly. But it had only been these past few months – since she’d seen Tommy lying semi-conscious in his hospital bed – that she had come to that realisation.
She just wished she’d wised up sooner.
‘Oh, Gloria, that really does seem like another lifetime. I look back now and see it would have been a total disaster if I had managed to bag Tommy for myself.’
Gloria took a sip of tea and sat back in her chair. She felt shattered. She’d been doing flat welds and had spent most of the day squatting down on her haunches.
‘Why’s that?’ she said.
‘God, where do I start?’ Helen said, sighing a little and putting her arm around Hope, who was clearly tired. She was snuggling up and sucking her thumb.
‘For starters, any fool could see we were totally mismatched. On top of which, Tommy never loved me – and I think it helps if someone actually loves you back.’ Helen smiled and kissed the top of Hope’s head. ‘Seeing Polly and Tommy together at the wedding, you could tell that they were made for each other, and how much they love each other. I never had anything even close to that with him. But, you know, the saddest thing is, it wasn’t until I saw them together at the wedding that I realised I’d never really loved him. I think it was more a case of being in love with the idea of being in love. Putting it bluntly, I had a girlish crush on Tommy. A crush which went on for ages and made me think it was love, when really it was just infatuation.’
Gloria thought Helen’s take on her and Tommy was spot on. She was glad she had realised it and wasn’t secretly harbouring any ‘What if … ?’ feelings.
‘And as we’re on the topic of love ’n the like,’ Gloria said, taking a deep breath, ‘what about John?’ There. She had taken the plunge.
‘Oh, God, John.’ Helen exhaled. ‘Well, that’s the weird thing. Seeing Tommy and Polly together made me realise that John and I are similar in a funny kind of way. I mean, I know we’re completely different, but what Polly and Tommy have – that natural kind of meshing …’
Helen paused.
‘Well, I think that’s what I’ve got with John.’
Glor
ia felt like shouting ‘Halleluja!’ but didn’t. Instead, she said, ‘Perhaps, you should let John know that you feel this way.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, definitely,’ Gloria encouraged. ‘I think you’ll find he feels exactly the same way you do.’
‘You really think so?’
‘Yes,’ Gloria said. ‘I do think so.’ A blind man could see that.
‘It’s just …’ Helen waited until Hope had shuffled herself around so that her head was now on her big sister’s lap. ‘It’s just something my mother said.’
Gloria groaned. ‘What’s she been saying now?’
‘You know, the usual … That because of everything that’s happened I’m “soiled goods” … That kind of thing.’
Gloria felt a rush of anger. That bloody woman. She brought upset and misery wherever she went.
‘Her new word,’ Helen continued, ‘is “sullied”. She reckons that John might well like me, want to be with me, but he wouldn’t want to get serious because of what he knows about me. That he would want someone “unsullied”.’
Before Gloria had a chance to say anything, Helen changed the subject. ‘But enough about that,’ she said, stroking Hope’s thick mop of black hair. ‘I keep meaning to ask about Charlotte. How is she getting on? I haven’t had a chance to ask Rosie. She came to see me about something, but she got waylaid.’
‘I know, she said you were interviewing an old friend of hers,’ Gloria said.
Helen looked at Gloria. She was about to tell her about Georgina, but something stopped her. She’d tell her when she knew more. Besides, Gloria was already having to keep enough secrets.
‘When I last asked Rosie,’ Helen said, ‘she said Charlotte was settling in at the High School, but didn’t seem to be making that many new friends.’
‘I think you’re right. She’s not got many friends. Other than her little friend Marjorie. But she seems happy enough. And she seems to be doing really well in her classes.’
As Gloria went to make some more tea, she thought about Rosie and the relief she’d seen on her face when she’d told them all about Charlotte’s visit to Lily’s.
It had clearly been a success.
Her secret was safe.
For now, at least.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Here’s another letter from school,’ Charlotte said, handing over an envelope that had clearly been opened and resealed.
‘Why don’t you tell me what it says, as you’ve obviously already read it?’ Rosie sighed. It was hard work being a sister-cum-mam-and-dad all wrapped into one. ‘If I had the energy, you would now be getting an earbashing from me about why it is totally unacceptable to read someone else’s post. If you are given a letter which clearly states it’s for me, that means it’s for me. How would you feel if I read Marjorie’s letters to you? Or your diary?’
Charlotte blanched.
‘See? It’s not nice having your privacy invaded, is it?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Some things are private for a reason,’ Rosie laboured the point. ‘Sometimes you’re not meant to see – or know – things for your own good.’
Charlotte shuffled about uncomfortably on the kitchen chair and mumbled another ‘Sorry.’ She waited a beat. ‘It’s about the new summer uniform.’ Her eyes went to the letter in Rosie’s hand. ‘When I have to start wearing it, where to get it from, how much it is – that kind of thing.’
Rosie opened the letter out and quickly scanned it.
‘It’s a lot of money,’ Charlotte ventured. ‘Marjorie was telling me how much her uniform costs, and all the other stuff – you know, art overalls, science overalls, gym kit. She says her mam and dad are always complaining how ridiculous it is that there’s only the one school outfitter they’re allowed to go to. Something about it being a monopoly on trade.’
Charlotte didn’t say that Marjorie had also commented that Rosie must have to work all hours to afford the school fees.
Rosie looked at Charlotte. She had been conscious the last time they were in the snotty outfitters in town buying her new winter uniform that Charlotte would see how much it all cost and start to wonder how she was able to afford it. She’d tried to settle the bill discreetly and had told Charlotte to have a browse around the shop, but Charlotte being Charlotte, she hadn’t ventured far. Rosie was sure she’d been near enough to hear the sales assistant itemising everything on the bill.
‘I personally don’t think you or Marjorie should be worrying your heads about how much your school uniform costs. I think you’ve got enough to concern yourselves with.’ Rosie looked at the pile of textbooks Charlotte had just dumped on the table. ‘Come on, take all your books into the dining room and let’s get the tea ready. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
‘What are we having?’ Charlotte asked, gathering up her books.
‘Toad in the hole,’ Rosie said, getting out the frying pan and turning on the oven.
After setting out the homework she had to get done for the next day, Charlotte pushed a small blue book into the pocket of her skirt and went back into the kitchen. Every now and again, while helping Rosie to make the gravy and set the table, she kept touching the corner of the slightly battered notebook.
‘How long have you worked at Lily’s for?’ Charlotte tried to make the question sound casual.
Rosie felt herself bristle. ‘Why you asking?’
Charlotte laughed. ‘You always do that!’
‘What?’
‘When you don’t want to answer a question, you ask a question,’ Charlotte said.
Rosie forked a sausage. ‘Mmm, interesting observation … So, how long do you think I’ve worked there?’
‘Ahh,’ Charlotte laughed, ‘you’re winding me up now.’
Rosie smiled.
‘I’ve worked for Lily for years,’ Rosie conceded.
Charlotte knew not to probe further, but she thought it was weird her sister had never mentioned working there before when she’d been at boarding school in Harrogate.
It wasn’t until they had eaten their supper and were tidying up that Charlotte finally took out the notebook.
‘I think you dropped this the other day.’
Rosie’s heart dropped. It was Gloria’s rent book. It must have fallen out of the side pocket of her haversack.
‘I couldn’t help but look inside,’ Charlotte said tentatively. ‘It’s a rent book. For Gloria’s flat.’
Rosie took the book from Charlotte but didn’t say anything.
‘If Gloria’s paying you rent, that means you own the flat. Doesn’t it?’
‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘that’s true to a certain extent … I do sort of own the flat.’
‘Sort of?’
‘Well, obviously, you know that I used to rent that flat.’
‘From the old man upstairs,’ Charlotte said.
‘That’s right.’ Rosie took her time in answering. ‘Well, I’d heard he was interested in selling the house – or rather, the flats that make up the house – and I thought it would be a good investment. You know, like George was talking about at Lily’s. And he suggested that, as I’d be saving money on rent, with me moving here and not paying anything—’
‘Because it’s Peter’s,’ Charlotte said.
‘Yes. And he owns it outright, so there’s no mortgage or anything to pay on it – you know what a mortgage is?’
Charlotte tutted.
‘Well, because I wasn’t paying out anything on accommodation, George advised me to buy the flat and pay back the money in instalments.’
‘But I didn’t think women could get mortgages or any kind of loan from a bank without a husband or father’s say-so,’ Charlotte said. ‘Peter’s away and not contactable – and we haven’t got a father, so I would have thought you’d be stumped?’
‘That’s right.’ Rosie looked at her little sister. She was savvier than she’d thought. ‘I’m impressed. Where did you learn that?’
‘Some woman came in to school one day and talked to us about women in society. Their rights. That kind of thing.’ Charlotte snorted. ‘Or rather their lack of them. She was talking about women getting the vote and how it’s important to use it when we’re old enough.’
Charlotte started to fill the bowl in the sink to wash up.
‘It was really interesting. That’s when I learnt what a mortgage is and how women can’t get one without a man’s permission. Honestly, it’s treating women like they’re thick.’
It was at moments like this that Rosie was glad Charlotte was back at home and not still at the Runcorn School for Girls. She couldn’t imagine Mrs Willoughby-Smith letting someone like that come to the school to give a talk.
‘So, if you couldn’t get a mortgage, how were you able to get a loan?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Well, it was actually a man who lent me the money I needed,’ Rosie admitted.
‘Who?’
‘George,’ said Rosie.
‘That was kind of him,’ Charlotte said. ‘He’s nice, George, isn’t he?’
‘He is,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s one of the good ones.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thompson & Sons Shipyard, North Sands, Sunderland
1936
‘So, Rosie, let’s strike while the iron’s hot and get you started on Monday, eh?’
‘Yes, please, that would be great, Mr Crawford.’
‘Jack … Get used to calling me Jack. Everyone does. And in return, I get to call everyone else by their first names. Deal?’
Rosie smiled and nodded.
Jack was, as her mam would say, ‘one of the good ones’.
Rosie knew she had fallen on her feet when she’d walked into Thompson’s and asked to speak to the yard manager. She’d had to deal with the expected catcalls and wolf whistles when she’d been let into the yard by the old timekeeper, but she hadn’t cared, for she knew half the battle had been won simply by making it through the gates. Once inside, she’d marched up to one of the would-be Lotharios, who looked old enough to be her father, and asked him where she could find the manager. The aged Romeo had laughed and, speaking through a half-smoked cigarette hanging on his lower lip, told her that ‘the gaffer’ was all of fifty yards away, chatting to the head plater.
