by Nancy Revell
‘It is, Ma. I don’t understand why it’s not happening … You fell straight away with Maisie.’ Bel hesitated, knowing she was heading into uncharted waters. ‘And obviously … well, clearly, you fell straight away with me.’
Bel watched as Pearl lit up a cigarette.
‘So, I was wondering, what happened after me? Did you want to start a family with anyone?’ Bel was sugar-coating her words. Her mother had never been with anyone long enough to settle down.
Pearl looked at Bel and blew out smoke.
‘I wish yer wouldn’t fanny around so much, Isabelle. What yer really wanting to know is why didn’t I get pregnant again?’
Bel nodded.
‘I couldn’t – even if I’d wanted to,’ Pearl said. Her tone was blunt. Unemotional. ‘Not that I think I’d have wanted to.’
‘Why couldn’t you?’ Bel felt herself leaning towards her ma, wondering if perhaps she held the answer as to why she and Joe were not able to have the family they both so desperately desired.
‘When I had you,’ Pearl said, smoke billowing from her mouth, ‘there were problems.’ She had a sudden flash of the old woman who had brought Isabelle into the world. And blood. Whenever images of her daughter’s birth forced their way back into her mind, there was always blood. Lots of it.
‘Afterwards, the old witch told me that I was lucky to be alive ’n that there’d be no more babs … “Mightn’t be a bad thing,” she said. She was probably right.’
Bel knew that her conception had been a dark and terrible violation, but she hadn’t realised that her ma had nearly died giving her life.
Bel took another sip of her lemonade. It tasted bitter.
Her conception, her birth – her very existence – had decimated her ma’s entire life.
Why did she have to keep prodding the hornets’ nest? She should know by now that nothing good ever came of it.
Half an hour later, Bel was walking to her night class.
She had her little electric torch switched on, although she knew every street and back lane in this part of town. So much of her childhood had been spent wandering around on her own. Once, she must have been only three or four, she’d climbed on board a tram, unnoticed, and ended up at a place where the air smelled of salt. She knew now it must have been either Roker or Seaburn. Luckily, the conductor had realised she was on her own and brought her home.
‘Evening.’ A middle-aged man doffed his cap and moved aside to allow Bel to commandeer the pavement.
‘Thank you,’ Bel smiled.
Why was it she wasn’t falling pregnant? It had been over a year since she had married Joe. And nothing. Why?
She had admitted to Joe one evening, when he’d caught her crying, that she worried it was her punishment for marrying her dead husband’s brother. Joe had surprised her by roaring with laughter and telling her he’d never heard anything so ridiculous.
‘How can anyone be punished for loving another person?’ he’d said, kissing her tears. ‘Perhaps for hating another being – but never for loving.’
He’d taken her in his arms and they’d shown each other the love they felt for one another. Afterwards, she had thought how wonderful it would be if their making love had also made a baby. But it hadn’t.
It had hit her hard when Polly told her she was pregnant – not that she would ever show it. The jealousy she felt had to stay buried deep. Or at least very well hidden.
Passing the Golden Lion, Bel thought of her ma. The spit-and-sawdust pub had been one of her most frequented drinking holes when Bel was young. She wished she had known then what she knew now. If she had, she wouldn’t have hated her ma so much.
As she crossed the road, it suddenly occurred to her that it was more than likely that her ma wouldn’t have been the only one to have suffered at the hands of Mr Havelock. She suddenly felt overwhelmed with a terrible sorrow for those he had abused and the lives he had ruined. And then she felt an even greater anger, outraged at how during all that time this awful man had led a gilded life.
It was wrong.
So very wrong.
And for the first time Bel felt the need for retribution.
Chapter Thirty
Saturday 20 February
As Polly finished off a particularly long flat weld, she pushed up her metal mask and inspected her workmanship. Her long line of beading was just about perfect. She’d always remembered Rosie telling them when they were trainees that their welds should look like a miniature twisted rope. At the time it had felt like an impossible task; now it was second nature. Feeling cramp starting to creep down her right calf, she stood up and stretched her leg. Laying her welding rod and stinger down on the ground, she put her hands on her hips and straightened her back. This was the first time in her life that she had felt as though she’d put on weight. It was barely discernible when she looked in the mirror, but she could feel it. Her waist had expanded ever so slightly and her bump seemed to be getting a little bigger with each passing day.
She looked at the rest of the women. They were all engrossed in their welds. They were on Denewood’s upper deck, welding together the steel flooring that circumvented the ship’s bridge. Squatting back down on her haunches to start on one of the corner joints, Polly let her thoughts wander to Tommy, as they invariably did when her world became a blur of molten metal.
Please, please keep yourself safe. She breathed heavily into her mask, causing the tinted protective glass to mist up momentarily. A small explosion of sparks flared up along with her own anger. Who was she kidding? She’d once heard someone say that the job of a mine-clearance diver was like playing Russian roulette over and over again. She’d tried to forget those words, but the more she tried to push them back, the more they seemed to come to the fore.
She would change her mantra.
Instead of begging Tommy to keep safe, she would implore God, or whoever it was that ruled their destiny, to end this war soon. Very soon.
Over the next few hours Polly tried to force her mind to focus on something other than Tommy, but it was a mental tug of war she repeatedly lost. When she finally felt Rosie’s hand on her back, telling her that it was time to down tools, she felt relieved, physically and emotionally.
‘So, what’s everyone doing this afternoon?’ Dorothy asked as soon as she’d taken off her mask.
‘This job must be extra hard for you, Dor,’ Gloria said, her expression deadpan.
‘Why’s that?’ Dorothy asked, puzzled.
‘Because yer have to keep yer gob shut for hours on end.’
Martha guffawed. ‘Yeah, must be purgatory.’
Dorothy opened her mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by Angie.
‘Actually, she doesn’t keep her cakehole closed. She talks to herself when she’s welding. Or makes up imaginary conversations. She’s told me.’
Dorothy gave a dramatic huff.
‘I get bored,’ she explained.
‘But never bored of hearing the sound of yer own voice!’ Gloria hooted with laughter as she walked round checking that all their welding machines were switched off.
‘So, what’s everyone doing with the rest of their day?’ Rosie asked, piling their rods into a cardboard box and pushing it under some tarpaulin. As the Saturday shift finished at three o’clock, she knew they’d all have something planned.
‘I think Ma and I are going up the cemetery,’ Polly said, tying the drawstring on her haversack.
‘To visit Arthur’s grave?’ Dorothy asked.
Polly nodded. ‘I think they might have put his headstone up. It’ll be lovely to see it if they have. I know Mr Havelock was going to sort it. I’m guessing it’ll be a nice one.’
‘And if they have, then I’m guessing you’ll be going straight home and writing a letter to your husband,’ Gloria said, smiling. She was the same with Jack, as well as with her two boys. If there was anything new to report, she’d put pen to paper straight away. Mind you, she wrote to Gordon and Bobby every week regardles
s, even if it was just a few lines to say she loved them.
‘You know me too well,’ Polly said, smiling.
‘You not heard from Tommy yet?’ Martha said.
‘I think Pol would have told us if she had.’ Dorothy’s words were accompanied by an exaggerated rolling of the eyes.
Polly shook her head. ‘Not yet, Martha.’
‘I’m surprised yer mam isn’t nagging yer to pack in work,’ Angie said.
Polly let out a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not far off. I think she’s holding out until I’m a few weeks further on.’
‘The three-month marker,’ Gloria said. She had spoken to Agnes when they’d been on their own. Gloria had reassured Polly’s ma that she’d keep an eye on her daughter, and that it went without saying that Rosie would be watching her like a hawk too, making sure she didn’t do anything that might put Polly or her pregnancy at risk.
‘So, when will yer be three months gone?’ Angie said.
‘About the middle of March,’ Polly said, undoing her turban and letting her curly chestnut hair break free.
‘Cor, that’s just over three weeks’ time.’ Angie’s eyes widened.
‘You feeling any different?’ Dorothy said.
Everyone looked at Polly.
‘Not really,’ she said, a slight blush showing through her dirt-smeared face.
‘Still sicky?’ Gloria asked.
Polly nodded. She constantly felt nauseous, but was thankful she was only being physically sick early in the morning.
‘My boobs feel huge,’ she said, looking down at her chest.
Everyone laughed. They’d all noticed the change in Polly’s figure, certainly her bosom, despite the camouflage of her overalls.
They all started to make their way along the makeshift wooden bridge that led from the deck to the yard.
‘You up to anything later, Glor?’ Polly looked at the group’s mother hen.
‘I’ll be picking up Hope from Beryl’s, frying us up a nice bit of fish, and then I’ll be putting my feet up ’n having a date with the Home Service.’
‘Is Helen popping round?’ Dorothy said, trying to sound casual but failing, as they all walked across the yard.
‘I think she might well be dropping by later on. Early evening probably,’ Gloria said. ‘Yer can still come around, yer know. Just ’cos Helen’s there doesn’t mean you ’n Angie can’t also visit.’
‘Mmm.’ Dorothy didn’t sound convinced.
‘Nah, it’s all reet, Glor, me’n Dor are gannin to the Ritz.’
Martha guffawed. ‘No surprise there then.’
‘Well, it’s a sad state of affairs if you’re not out on a Saturday night,’ Dorothy said. ‘Isn’t it, Ange?’
They all stopped to let a crane pass. Martha, Gloria and Rosie looked at Angie, then back to Dorothy. There was something in the air.
‘Dor, I can’t help it if Quentin wanted to take me to that posh place on the corner of St Thomas Street. Especially as he’s only here fer the one night.’
‘The Continental Hotel?’ Rosie asked. It was Lily’s favourite place, but even she admitted it was expensive and very well-to-do.
‘Aye, that’s the place,’ Angie said, as they all carried on walking. ‘He said if I want to see what posh is all about, then I had to gan there.’ She looked at Dorothy. ‘But of course I told him there was no way I could go. I couldn’t not go to the Ritz with Dor on a Saturday night.’
‘I think Quentin would tell you that you can’t use a double negative in a sentence,’ Dorothy huffed. ‘Bad grammar.’
Angie looked at Dorothy as though she were speaking gobbledegook.
‘So, you’re not going?’ Gloria asked, failing to hide her incredulity at Angie passing up a date at a lovely restaurant.
‘Nah,’ Angie said. ‘I told him it’d have to be any night but a Saturday.’
‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘I hope a certain someone would do the same for you if Toby came a-calling.’
‘Of course I would!’ Dor defended herself. ‘I’d never leave Angie in on her own on a Saturday night.’
Her words were met by a collective look of scepticism.
‘You doing your ARP duties, Martha?’ Gloria said.
‘Yes, although my mam is still on at me to give it up. Says I’m doing enough here to help the war effort.’
Everyone knew Mrs Perkins had been far from happy about Martha’s work with the Civil Defence since she had nearly died in the Tatham Street air raid.
‘Yer could always come out with us to the Ritz?’ Angie piped up.
Martha let out another loud guffaw. ‘I don’t know which my mam would think is worse.’
Everyone chuckled as they approached the main gates.
‘What about you, Rosie?’ Martha said.
‘Well, if you all look up to the admin office window, that’ll give you a clue,’ Rosie said with a mock-weary sigh.
Everyone looked up to see Charlotte standing at the window. She had her red dress on and was waving at them all with a big smile on her face.
Everyone waved back.
‘So, you two getting on all right?’ Gloria asked.
Everyone looked at Rosie.
‘It’s actually going really well,’ Rosie said. ‘I mean, Charlie’s a handful and all that, but I think things are settling down now. Although I have to say I’m so glad this half-term is almost over and she’s back to school on Monday. It’s a job keeping her busy and out of mischief.’
‘Where yer both gannin now, miss?’ Angie said.
‘Yeah, Charlie looks all togged up and very excited,’ Martha observed.
‘The Holme Café,’ Rosie said.
They all looked at Charlotte as she came bursting out the main doors of the admin building.
‘Is that lipstick she’s wearing?’ Angie said, frowning.
‘So, ma chère, has Kate sorted you out with some decent clothes to wear?’
Lily, George, Rosie and Charlotte were all in the café next door to the Maison Nouvelle.
Charlotte nodded and sat up straight in her chair. She’d been to see Kate this morning and had been measured up for a new skirt. She’d also tried on some second-hand clothes, which Kate was going to alter for her.
‘What can I get you all?’ The waitress was standing with her little notebook to hand.
‘Tea for five, my dear,’ Lily said. She caught the young blonde girl looking a little perplexed. ‘We’ve got another coming to join us. The seamstress from next door.’ The girl smiled. She knew Kate. Everyone knew Kate. Or rather, everyone wanted to get their clothes designed and made by Kate.
‘And I think we shall have a selection of sandwiches to start with, please.’
When the waitress had gone, Lily turned her attention to Charlotte.
‘Well, ma chérie, you look positively radiant – doesn’t she, George?’
It was obvious to everyone that Lily adored Charlotte – and Charlotte, Lily. And that Lily was fast becoming a mother figure to Charlotte.
Rosie had come to realise that her sister had existed on very little love and attention after their mam and dad had died. Having been stuck out in the desert for so long, she was now drinking up her new life with those who wanted nothing more than to lavish her with all that she had missed out on.
‘She does indeed look radiant, my dear,’ George said, getting out a cigar and preparing to light it. ‘Charming. Just like her older sister.’ He looked at Rosie and gave her a wink.
‘I hear Kate’s doing home visits now?’ Rosie asked Lily. ‘Charlie said she’s off to some big house up Barnes way to do a fitting after she’s been here?’
‘Yes, she’s been braving it further afield since she ventured over to that yard of yours to sort out Polly’s wedding dress.’
‘A visit she made thanks to Alfie escorting her there and back,’ Rosie said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Mmm,’ Lily said, her lips pursed.
‘I don’t know why you ar
e so set against Alfie?’ Rosie said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
‘It’s not that I’m against him as such,’ Lily said. ‘More that I’m against any young man who might have desires on our Kate. She’s not ready for any of that nonsense yet. It was very kind of him to take the time, especially as Kate now feels able to see clients at home, but I believe it shouldn’t go any further than friendship.’
Just then the bell over the door tinkled and Kate slipped into the shop.
‘Talk of the devil … Bonjour, ma petite!’
Kate smiled and slid into the empty chair next to Lily.
‘Now,’ Lily said, with a big smile on her face, ‘I can hear exactly what our very own Coco Chanel is going to have Charlotte wearing next time we all go out … Ah. Perfectly timed!’ she declared, seeing that the skinny blonde waitress was wheeling a rather rickety tea trolley towards them.
Rosie sat back and glanced at Charlotte. Her sister’s smile stretched from ear to ear. She was in her element.
Lily also looked as happy as Larry.
Rosie looked around the table. She could never have envisioned such a scene. She wished she could tell Peter about it. Lately she’d found herself chatting to him in her head, rather like she had with her mam and dad.
If she could speak to him now, she would tell him that he had been right and – loath though she was to admit it – so had Lily.
It really had been the best thing for Charlotte to come and live back home.
‘But remember, Charlie,’ Kate said, ‘you must never wear anything simply because it is in fashion. You must wear what suits you. What is you.’
‘Just as you must always be true to yourself, ma chère,’ Lily added, looking at Charlotte. ‘Never be ashamed of what you are – or of those who love and care for you.’
Rosie would have kicked Lily under the table had she been able to reach.
‘Interesting piece in the Telegraph today,’ George said, changing the subject. ‘Well, actually in all the papers today.’
Rosie was immediately attentive. Whenever George mentioned anything to do with the war, she knew it invariably concerned France, which, in turn, concerned Peter.
