Chapter Thirteen
Florrie appeared later that morning, dishevelled and clearly in a foul mood. Without a word to anyone, she staggered up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.
Sally was just thankful she hadn’t brought some awful man home with her, and that Ernie was still asleep, so couldn’t witness Florrie’s less than sober state. As she finished the dusting, Sally wondered how long it would be before Mr Solomon realised just what he’d taken on with Florrie.
She went to wake Ernie at lunch time, and he threw back the covers. ‘Where’s Mum? I wanna see Mum.’
‘She’s asleep, luv, and you know she doesn’t like being woken up.’
‘But I wanna see ’er,’ he insisted.
‘Well, you can’t.’
‘I ain’t washing till I do,’ he said, folding his arms and glowering.
Sally swept him up, none too gently, and carried him along the landing, thanking her lucky stars that Florrie had indeed come back and on her own – she didn’t dare think what she could have done if that hadn’t been the case.
‘Don’t you dare make a sound,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘or we’ll both be for it.’ She opened the door just enough so that he could see the mound under the covers, and hear Florrie’s snoring.
‘Right,’ said Sally, having shut the door, ‘now will you get washed and dressed?’
He nodded and tucked his head beneath her chin as she carried him to the bathroom. ‘That was ’er, weren’t it?’ he asked.
‘Of course it was, silly,’ she said, as she tried to tickle him out of his doleful mood. ‘Who else snores like that? Eh?’
He wriggled and giggled and it took some time to get him washed and into his clothes. Having taken him down for his lunch, she ran back up and prepared for the day, her thoughts on Florrie, and the thing that had been worrying at her since her arrival. She came to the conclusion that if she didn’t do something about it now, she might live to regret it.
She went to the dressing-table drawer and took out the jar of money. Peggy had already opened a bank account for her, and the passbook showed a healthy balance – but there was at least another five pounds still in the jar which she’d been saving to put towards her keep at Pearl’s. She wouldn’t have time today to go to the bank, but first thing tomorrow morning, she’d pay the money in.
But where could she hide the jar and the passbook until then? Everywhere seemed too obvious until she looked up. Dragging the chair over to the wardrobe, she put the passbook in the jar and pushed it as far back as she could, and checked to see if it was visible from anywhere in the room.
Sick at the thought that her mother might stoop so low, but suspecting she was quite capable of it, Sally put the chair back, checked the room was tidy and went to wake her.
She tapped nervously on the door and got no reply, so she opened it a fraction and wrinkled her nose as she peeked into the darkened room which stank of fags and cheap perfume.
‘Mum? Mum, you’ve got to wake up. You’re going to work this afternoon and lunch is on the table.’
The bedcovers moved and, with a groan, Florrie flung her arm over her face. ‘Tell Goldman I’ll come in later. I’ve got an ’eadache.’
‘Mr Goldman’s very particular about good timekeeping,’ she replied, switching on the light which made Florrie burrow beneath the covers. ‘It won’t look good if you’re late on your first day.’
‘Bugger off,’ growled Florrie, throwing a pillow at her. ‘Solly will smooth things over with Goldman.’
Sally realised she was wasting her time and shut the door and went downstairs. ‘She won’t be down for lunch,’ she said to Peggy.
‘Got a hangover, has she? I saw her coming in.’
Sally reddened with shame. ‘I’m sorry she’s upset everyone. I feel horribly responsible.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ replied Peggy. ‘You can’t help it if she’s your mother, and no-one is going to blame you for what she does.’
‘They might not,’ she replied with a watery smile, ‘but she’s only staying here because of me. Perhaps, once I’ve gone, she’ll go too.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Peggy. She poured tea and became businesslike. ‘It’s only dried eggs, but there’re tomatoes and a bit of fried potato to go with it, so eat up.’
Sally had little appetite, but she tucked in, knowing how wrong it would be to leave anything on the plate now the rationing was so restrictive.
Peggy eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t Florrie supposed to be working today?’
‘She’s going in later,’ mumbled Sally. ‘But she probably won’t get out of bed until tea time.’
‘What time are you finishing today, Sally? Only the Billeting Office shuts at five, and I’ll need to make an appointment.’
‘I’ll meet you there at four thirty,’ she replied, pouring a second cup of tea, and trying not to show the emotions that were welling inside her. ‘I’m sure Goldman won’t mind as it’s so important.’
‘Then I’ll make sure Jim gets there in time. He’s on the late showing tonight. But I can’t promise I can get an appointment; there’s bound to be the usual endless queue, and we’ll probably be stuck there for hours.’
Having kissed Ernie and quietly warned Peggy not to leave Florrie alone with him, Sally left for the factory.
It was a bright, breezy summer day, the sea and sky an innocent blue, with no hint of the horrors that had taken place during the night. But, as she walked the familiar route to the factory, she was made all too aware of how dramatically the landscape of Cliffehaven had been changed over the past week.
She carefully picked her way over and around the piles of rubble, dodging burst water pipes and hissing electricity wires that the teams of workmen were trying to repair. The graceful terraces of Victorian and Edwardian houses had been defaced by the rubble-filled gaps between them. Garden walls had disappeared, pavements had been torn up, and telegraph poles were felled like trees, their wires draped across shattered roofs and toppling chimneys. Shop windows were boarded, electricity cables and water pipes laid bare in the gaping holes where even more men worked to repair them. The end of one road had been shut off completely so the army could defuse an unexploded bomb, and in another, a huge bulldozer was slowly dismantling a house that was threatening to fall and demolish the two beside it.
She was almost at the factory when she saw Pearl coming the other way. With a wave, Sally hurried towards her and then came to a horrified standstill.
‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Pearl. ‘Will you look at that?’
Sally stared at the vast pile of rubble that had once been the two blocks of flats that overlooked the primary school. They had collapsed like a pack of cards right across the playground, and effectively sealed the entrance to the vast public shelter beneath it. If the attack had come during the day, the children playing there would have been killed, or buried alive in that shelter.
She shivered, and the terrible dread of what might have been grew stronger as she watched the men desperately digging at the still-smouldering mountain of rubble to clear the entrance. ‘It would be a miracle if anyone’s still alive,’ she breathed.
‘If the kiddies had been playing in that yard,’ murmured Pearl, ‘it don’t bear thinking about.’
‘That’s why I’m taking Ernie away,’ said Sally. She turned to her friend and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry Pearl, but I can’t move in with you – not yet. The boys have to leave Cliffehaven, and I’ve promised Peg and Jim I’d look after them.’
‘But all our plans …’
‘They can keep,’ she said softly. ‘But it’s too dangerous here for the boys now and, as Ernie can’t travel alone, I have to be with him.’
‘But you can’t,’ breathed Pearl. ‘What about your job, and your sewing? What about Peg and Jim and Ron? What about me?’
‘Don’t make this any harder than it already is,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ve already had me mum on me case, and she’s not helped a bit.’
Pearl crossed her arms, her eyes stormy, her tone acidic. ‘If your mum’s turned up, then why can’t she take Ernie?’
‘I wouldn’t trust her to look after him properly,’ said Sally with some asperity. ‘At the first whiff of a bloke with a stuffed wallet, she’d be off.’ She forced a smile and hugged her friend. ‘I’ll keep in touch, I promise,’ she breathed. ‘And, who knows? This war could be over in a few months and I’ll be back and moving in with you before you can blink.’
‘But, Sally, I don’t want you to go.’
‘Look at that, Pearl.’ She pointed to the devastation in the playground. ‘I have to go. Please try and understand. He’s all I got, and I have to keep him safe.’
Pearl gave a deep sigh. ‘I know. But I’m going to miss you, Sal. And that’s a fact.’
Sally took her arm. ‘Come on, we’re not doing no good standing here gawping. We’re going to be late for work.’
‘That’s if the factory’s still standing,’ muttered Pearl. ‘You never know, Hitler might have done us a favour by blowing it up – Simmons along with it.’
‘Nah, no such luck,’ said Sally, as they reached the gates and found the building hadn’t been touched. ‘The new one’s all right as well.’ She pointed to the enormous red-brick building that stood on the next corner. There were men putting up the ‘Goldman and Solomon Clothing Factory’ sign above the gates.
‘I didn’t realise they’d expanded,’ said Pearl. ‘Someone’s obviously making a packet out of this war. Shame it ain’t us.’
They went inside, clocked in and headed for their machines.
‘Miss Turner,’ shouted Simmons from the far end of the factory.
Sally wasn’t prepared to conduct a conversation from one end of the factory to the other, neither was she going to scurry back to see what he wanted. She waited until he came stomping to her work-station.
‘Where’s Mrs Turner?’ He was breathing heavily, and his face was red.
‘She’s not well. She’ll come in later and do a different shift. I can only stay for three hours, and all. I have to go to the Billeting Office.’
‘That’s not good enough,’ he snapped. ‘You women can’t just pick and choose what shift you’re going to do. It messes up my schedules.’ He took a deep breath and hugged his clipboard, his cold eyes magnified by the thick lenses in his glasses. ‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘Women’s trouble,’ she said shortly, knowing it would shut him up.
He went puce and couldn’t look at her. ‘I’ll have to inform Mr Goldman of her absence. This is most irregular – especially as this is her first day.’
‘You do that.’ Sally took off her lightweight jacket and sat down. Simmons was still hovering. ‘Is there something else, Mr Simmons, only I need to get on?’
‘Is it true that Mrs Turner is your mother?’
There was a glint of something in his eyes which Sally didn’t like, and she coolly returned his stare. ‘It is. Why? Is it important?’
‘Mr Goldman and Mr Solomon seem to think so. What’s so special about your family, Miss Turner? First you get a letter of recommendation from Solomon which gives you a raise in salary and a management position, and then your mother is assigned straight to the cutting tables. She has no proper experience, and I’ve been told by Mr Solomon that she will have to be supervised, which means taking someone off a more important job to make sure she doesn’t make costly errors. What’s going on, Miss Turner?’
‘I have no idea,’ she said on a sigh. ‘Why don’t you ask my mother when she comes in? I’m sure she’ll be delighted to put you in the picture.’
He eyed her belligerently then turned away and started harrying two latecomers.
Sally pushed her chair into the table and grimly checked her machine. Florrie hadn’t even bothered to show her face yet, but already she was causing trouble – and Sally wished with all her might that she’d stayed in London.
* * *
It was two o’clock and Peggy had finally finished cleaning the downstairs. She was about to begin on the bedrooms when Florrie appeared on the landing dressed in a tight skirt, high-heeled shoes and an almost diaphanous blouse. To Peggy’s mind she didn’t look at all as if she was on her way to work – unless it was on a street corner. ‘Lunch is over,’ she said curtly. ‘I’ve put some bread and marg under a plate for you in the kitchen. The tea’s stewed and rather weak, but you can warm up the pot on the range.’
‘I’ll eat in the factory canteen,’ said Florrie through a vast yawn. ‘Where is this flamin’ factory, anyway? Sally ain’t left no note or nothing.’
Peggy told her. ‘Ernie’s playing out in the back garden if you want to see him before you go to work,’ she added.
‘Nah. I’m running late as it is. I’ll see ’im tonight.’
Peggy watched her run down the stairs to the hall, and winced as the front door slammed behind her. ‘I wish to God I could get rid of her,’ she muttered crossly, ‘but as she’s Sally’s mother, I suppose I’ll just have to put up with her. But the minute Sally leaves, that woman’s out of here.’
‘Talking to yourself, me darling? First sign of madness, you know.’ Jim wandered out of the bathroom freshly shaved and looking very handsome.
‘Is that right?’ she retorted. ‘I’ll tell you what, Jim Reilly, it’s not my sanity you should be worrying about – it’s my rapidly decreasing patience. If you flirt with that woman again, she won’t be the only one on her backside in the street.’
He grabbed hold of her and gave her a resounding kiss. ‘I love it when you get all jealous and fiery,’ he said with a grin. ‘How about a bit of a cuddle while the house is quiet?’
‘Get away with you,’ she said, pushing against him. ‘You can’t get round me like that. I know you too well.’
‘But Peg, you know you’re the only woman for me.’
‘I’m the only one who’s had to put up with you for over twenty years,’ she replied, trying hard to maintain her tetchiness and not giggle.
‘And to be sure, my love, we’ll still be together another twenty.’ He kissed her again. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a cuddle?’
‘Quite sure. I’ve got work to do.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose I can’t win ’em all,’ he said without rancour, as he headed for the stairs.
‘I’ve made an appointment at the Billeting Office for four thirty,’ she called after him. ‘We’re meeting Sally there, so don’t be late.’
‘I’ll do me best,’ he said, his voice fading as he headed into the kitchen.
The telephone rang in the hall. ‘Will someone answer that?’ shouted Peggy.
‘I’ve got it,’ called Anne. ‘Hello?’ Her eagerness dwindled. ‘Oh, hello, what can I help you with?’
Like Anne, Peggy had hoped it was Martin. They hadn’t heard from him for over a week now, and she knew how much Anne was fretting. His blasted family didn’t help either – they hadn’t seen or heard from them since the wedding. Not that she minded much – they were unpleasant people – but it would have been nice if they could have shown Anne some support during these difficult days.
She kept herself busy by scrubbing the bathroom, muttering to herself about the way men never cleaned up behind them and left damp towels and dirty socks on the floor instead of putting them in the laundry basket.
She’d just finished when Anne caught up with her outside Mrs Finch’s room.
‘That was the headmaster,’ she explained. ‘The blocks of flats next to the school took a direct hit and the debris fell right across the playground, effectively cutting off the entrance to the underground shelter. The work crews have been digging for hours, and they’ve at last managed to get everyone out.’
‘Thank goodness it wasn’t term-time,’ breathed Peggy. ‘When I think of all those children who could have been playing there ….’ She sat on the nearest stair, her legs threatening to give way.
‘I know,’ soothed Anne, as she sat beside her, ‘at least we were spared that.’
‘What about the people from the flats?’
‘They were all in the shelter. There were some minor cuts and bruises and a couple of cases of hysterics, but they came out virtually unscathed. But the school didn’t escape completely. Two of the classrooms will have to be demolished, and the assembly hall’s been flattened.’ Anne gave a deep sigh. ‘With so many of the children having been sent away, and more following every day, it won’t make much difference. The headmaster is closing it down for the duration. I’m out of a job.’
‘Oh, Anne, what will you do now?’
‘Well, I have been giving it a lot of thought,’ she admitted. ‘You see, it was inevitable the school would soon close once the raids became more frequent, so I started thinking about how I could do my bit for the war effort.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I went to see the recruitment officer the other day, and there’s a place for me in the Observer Corps. I’ll have to go on a training course to begin with, but I can start whenever I want.’
‘What will that entail, Anne? You won’t be in any danger, will you?’
‘No more than I was in that school.’ She smiled, her eyes bright with an excitement Peggy hadn’t seen for a long time. ‘I’ll be tracking aircraft in some underground bunker in the cliffs, making sure Martin and the rest of our boys know where to find the enemy.’
‘Will it mean you having to leave home?’
Her smile faded as she took her mother’s hand. ‘Well, that’s the thing, Mum. You see, I’ll be living in the female quarters close to the shelter, so I’ll always be on call during an emergency, and can carry out my duties without having to make the long journey each day.’
‘But when will we see you?’
‘I’ll come home whenever I can, I promise.’ She gave Peggy a hug. ‘But I’m looking forward to it, really I am, Mum. And it isn’t as if I’ve never left home before. I was at university for three years.’
‘I know, but with everything going on, I like to keep my family close. What with the boys having to be sent away, and Sally leaving, and now you planning to move out …’
‘I know it feels hard at the moment, Mum. But it won’t be so bad, really it won’t. Please try not to worry.’
‘I worry about all of you,’ Peggy muttered. ‘But then I’m a mother, and that’s what we do.’
Anne held her in a tight embrace for a while, and then gently drew her to her feet. ‘I’m taking Mrs Finch to the library,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you leave the housework for once and come with us? We might even manage to get a decent cuppa at the WRVS canteen they’ve set up in the High Street.’
‘No, you go on. I need a little time to think quietly and try to get used to things. But as you’re going to the shops, see if there’s any tea been delivered – and we need more bread as well.’
Anne left with Mrs Finch, and Peggy continued cleaning. It was a task she could do in her sleep and gave her time to mull over all that had happened in the past two days. She came to the con clusion that there was very little she could do about anything, regardless of how vulnerable and un certain that made her feel. The house would feel so empty when they were gone, but she would probably worry even more about them once they were out of sight.
She finished hoovering the top landing and headed for Florrie’s bedroom. Opening the door she stood there in furious silence, taking in the spilled powder on the carpet, the squashed cigarettes in the hairpin dish, and the lipstick and mascara smeared on her good pillowcases. The whole room stank of stale drink, cigarettes and cheap perfume, and she flung the window open to let the fresh air in while she made the bed and swept up the talcum powder.
Florrie had flung shoes, underwear and dresses everywhere and, in the end, Peggy lost her patience and simply gathered everything up and dumped them in the middle of the bed in an untidy heap.
Closing the door behind her, she hesitated for a moment before peeking into Sally’s room. It was as she’d suspected; Florrie had been through the wardrobe and drawers, leaving everything strewn about as if a whirlwind had passed through. Sally would never have left it like that.
But what worried her more was the jar of money Sally kept in her dressing-table drawer. There was no sign of it, or the passbook for the bank. A few frantic minutes of searching finally revealed where she’d hidden it, and Peggy gave a deep sigh of relief as she pushed it even further back until it almost touched the bedroom wall.
Peggy quickly folded the discarded skirts and blouses and hung up the dresses as her thoughts whirled. Had Sally suspected her mother might help herself to those savings? Should she advise the girl not to leave money in her room? Should she have taken the money herself and hidden it until Sally got home?
It was another terrible dilemma, and she hoped her fears would prove unjustified. The last thing she needed was a thief in the house – the atmosphere was deadly enough.
Thoroughly overwrought, she shut the door and stomped downstairs. The cup of tea and cigarette she was longing for would have to wait a few more minutes.
Reaching the hall, she unlocked the small wall cupboard and eyed the rows of tagged keys that hung inside. It had been a long time since any door had been locked in this house, but she couldn’t risk Florrie helping herself to anything else. She returned upstairs and locked every door but Florrie’s.
‘That’ll spike her guns,’ she muttered crossly, and headed back to the kitchen, the keys snug in her apron pocket.
It was almost three o’clock and the house was quiet now everyone had gone out. She could see Ron and the boys were still happily occupied in the garden and so she sank into her favourite chair by the unlit range and put her feet up.
The tea was horribly weak, but there was still just enough flavour to take the edge off her anger, and she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out on a long sigh. She had an hour before she had to get changed to go to the Billeting Office, and she was determined to enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasted.
Ten minutes later she was startled by the heavy knock on the front door. ‘Now what?’ she said crossly, ramming her feet back into her slippers. She opened the door and her impatience fled. ‘Hello, Martin, what a lovely surprise. Anne’s out, but she shouldn’t be long.’
‘Hello, Peggy,’ he replied, taking off his air-force hat. ‘It’s not really Anne I’ve come to see – though I was hoping to, obviously.’
He looked uncomfortable, which was most unlike him, and Peggy felt a chill of foreboding as he stepped into the hall. ‘What is it, Martin?’
‘I’m sorry, Peggy. This isn’t a social call.’
She closed the door and they stood drenched in the sunlight that poured through the taped windows. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she suddenly realised the only possible reason for his coming today. ‘It’s Alex, isn’t it?’ she said fearfully.
He nodded. ‘He was shot down last night over the Channel during the raid on our convoy. There were three positive sightings of him going into the water – and a fishing boat picked up his body at first light this morning.’
Peggy sat down with a bump on the hall chair. ‘Poor Alex,’ she said, the tears streaming down her face. ‘He wanted so much to do his bit – and I so hoped, so very much hoped that he … that he …’ She pulled a handkerchief from her cardigan sleeve and blew her nose.
Martin stood awkwardly in front of her. ‘I’m so sorry, Peggy. He was a fine chap and a first-rate pilot as well as a good friend. He’ll be sorely missed by everyone.’
‘Yes, I can believe that,’ said Peggy softly, remembering his melodic voice, his dark, troubled eyes and his broken English – and the day he’d asked her to explain the English money. It had been the same day he’d shown her the picture of his family. She dabbed her eyes. ‘I suppose there’s no way of contacting his people in Warsaw?’
‘No. Poland is in such a mess, it’s impossible – and none of us knows where to start looking for them, even if they have survived.’ He squatted before her and took her hand. ‘He thought of you and Jim as his family, Peggy, which is why he asked me to give you this in the event of his death.’
Peggy took the envelope and stared at her name scrawled across it in black ink. Like the man, his writing was strong and carefully controlled, with just a glimpse of his passion in the artistic curls on each capital letter. ‘I’ll read it later,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you, Martin. It can’t have been easy for you to come here today.’
‘He was my fellow officer, and you were the only family he had. I was proud to have known him.’ He took a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. ‘The funeral has been arranged at the church where Anne and I were married. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it was where he might find peace at last. The details are all on there.’
Peggy read them before she stood and patted his cheek. ‘Thank you, Martin … Now go and find Anne,’ she murmured. ‘She’s only down the street at the shops or in the library.’
‘Will you be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She watched him hurrying towards the shops and then, feeling weary and battered and suddenly every one of her forty-three years, Peggy shuffled into her bedroom and quietly closed the door. She sank on to the soft bed she’d shared with Jim since their honeymoon and stared out of the window, beyond the back garden and up to the blue sky that seemed to mock her with its clarity and its emptiness.
She sat there, unaware of time passing, as she remembered the man who had so briefly and tragically entered their lives. Then, finally, she turned her attention to the letter. There was something small and hard inside and, as she opened the envelope, a gold chain and medallion fell into her lap.
She gathered it up and stared at the sweet-faced Madonna etched in the worn gold. On the other side was something written in Polish, which she couldn’t understand – but it was clear the medallion and chain were of the finest gold, and that both had been treasured. She held it in the palm of her hand, feeling the gold warm to her touch as she began to read his last words.
My dear Mrs Reilly,
You gave me a home and shared your warmth and love with a stranger who was in great need of such comfort. I have felt that you have become like my family, and I hope that you will remember me always with affection – for I have great affection for all of you, and can never repay your kindnesses.
As you are reading this, I am no longer with you – perhaps finally at peace in the loving arms of those who were lost to me in this world. But I ask one thing more of you, my dearest Mrs Reilly. Would you keep the holy medallion safe until it is confirmed that none of my family have survived the terrible things that are happening in Poland? I have prayed to God that Anjelika or Danuta may find their way to you – but I am thinking God cannot hear our prayers through the gunfire and mortar shells of this war.
But perhaps the words on the back of the medallion will bring comfort to you as they did to me. Translated from the Polish, they read, ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.’
I leave you in the hope that you will remember me with kindness, and I pray that you and your family will come through these dark days without harm. For Jim and Ron, my friends, there is a case of vodka hidden in the cupboard under the stairs. Ask them to please remember me when they take their first drink.
With the greatest of respect and affection, I bid you goodbye,
Aleksey.
Peggy sat with the letter and the medallion in her hand, the tears drying on her cheeks, and it wasn’t until she heard the little clock on her dressing table chime four, that she realised how long she’d been there.
Sally had kept an eye out for Florrie all day, but it was now four o’clock and there was still no sign of her. She could only suppose she was still sleeping off the previous night’s drinking, but Goldman would be furious, and she didn’t like to think of the row that would ensue when Florrie did finally show up.
She said goodbye to Pearl, and hurried into the town. The streets had been cleared enough for the trolley-bus to wend its way through, but it meant having to clamber over the rubble that had been piled on the pavements. There was little point in wearing her smart shoes any more, and she was glad of the old ones which didn’t matter if they got a bit more scuffed.
The Billeting Office was busy, with a long line of people waiting outside. Sally nudged her way through with apologetic smiles, and finally saw Peggy and Jim sitting in one of the long rows of wooden chairs in the main office.
‘I came as quick as I could,’ she said, as Jim gave up his seat for her and perched on a nearby windowsill.
‘You needn’t have rushed, dear,’ said Peggy. ‘We’ve at least another half-hour before it’s our turn.’ She delved into her string bag and brought out a bottle of elderflower cordial and a packet of sandwiches. ‘I thought you might need something to keep you going.’
‘Thanks, I’m starving.’ Sally bit into the sandwich and munched happily on the Spam and tomato sauce. ‘Is Ernie all right?’
‘He’s with Dad,’ said Jim. ‘They’ve all gone down to the fishing station to try and get something from today’s catch.’ He glared out of the window and folded his arms. ‘I expect they’re all round Frank’s right this minute, drinking tea and having a fine old time listening to his stupid stories.’
‘Now, Jim,’ said Peggy softly. ‘There’s no need for that. The boys have a right to know their uncle, and Ron needs to see his son now and again.’
He continued to stare belligerently out of the window and said nothing.
‘Did Mum go too? Only she never showed up for work.’
Peggy frowned. ‘She left around two. She was planning to eat in the factory canteen. Are you sure you didn’t miss her?’
‘That’s hardly likely, Peggy. Florrie’s not someone anyone could miss.’
‘Mmmm. Well, if she’s not careful, she won’t have a job to go to at this rate.’
Sally chewed on the sandwich for a while. ‘I don’t think she’s that bothered,’ she said finally. ‘She seems to have it in her head that Mr Solomon’s going to divorce his wife and marry her.’
‘I would have thought Florrie was far too sharp to fall for that line,’ sniffed Peggy. ‘She’s a fool to believe such nonsense, because it will never happen. His wife comes from one of the richest Jewish families in this county, and she’s the one holding the purse-strings, believe you me.’
‘How do you know so much about Mr Solomon?’
‘He’s married to Goldman’s sister, and Goldman is chairman of the local Trader’s Association that Jim and I belong to. Goldman’s wife is a fountain of gossip. Mrs Solomon knows what he gets up to, and when she thinks he’s playing away, she tugs on those purse-strings and he comes running back as fast as his fat legs can carry him.’
‘Mr and Mrs Reilly, Miss Turner?’ The middle-aged woman was thin and dressed entirely in grey, which did little to enliven her pale, lined face and the dull eyes which regarded them imperiously. ‘I’m Miss Fforbes-Smythe,’ she said in her upper-class voice. ‘Follow me, please.’
Miss Fforbes-Smythe was clearly a bitter old spinster with nothing better to do than boss people about, and Sally didn’t dare catch Peggy’s eye as they went into a small office that smelled faintly of unwashed clothing, disinfectant and, incongruously, lavender water.
They sat down before a large desk as the woman settled herself behind it, perched the half-moon glasses that hung from a chain round her neck on to her sharp little nose, and opened a folder. ‘I understand you want to have your children evacuated as soon as possible,’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ said Jim. ‘It’s not safe for them here any more.’
‘Quite.’ She gave him a wintry smile. ‘Unfortunately there are a great many parents in this county who suddenly feel the same way. It’s a shame no-one thought to take the government’s advice much earlier. It makes our work so much harder when people don’t do as they’re told.’
Jim opened his mouth to give a sharp reply, and Peggy quickly butted in. ‘I’m sure it does,’ she said, ‘but you’re doing such a sterling job here, I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion.’
‘We will have to, Mrs Reilly,’ she replied, without a glimmer of emotion. ‘Now, we are currently sending our children to Wales. I see you have two boys aged nine and almost thirteen.’ She glanced up from the folder and peered at Sally over the spectacles. ‘And you, Miss Turner, have a son of seven.’
‘He’s my brother,’ Sally said flatly.
The greying eyebrows lifted fractionally as the dull eyes regarded her. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Sally’s voice was low and filled with anger.
‘I can only go by the information I have, Miss Turner.’ The woman returned to the folder and shuffled through the papers. ‘Oh, yes. Ernest. It seems there has been some error in the paperwork that came down from London.’
Sally waited for an apology, but there was none forthcoming.
The woman took off the glasses and began to polish the lenses with a pristine handkerchief steeped in lavender water. ‘I understand you wish to travel with your brother, Miss Turner? It’s highly irregular. You can’t expect the government to fork out on train fares willy-nilly for just anyone, you know.’
‘They paid my fare down here – what’s changed?’
‘There is a war on. Every penny has to be spent wisely – and you are now seventeen, and not eligible for such arrangements. I assume you have paid work?’
‘I’m at Goldman’s, and if you won’t pay the fare, then I will. Ernie ain’t – isn’t going away on his own.’
‘Her brother has had polio, and can’t get about easily,’ said Jim, his voice tight with anger. ‘Sally has to travel with him, and I know for a fact there’s a government grant to cover her fare. She’s kindly offered to look after our boys as well, so we’d be grateful if you could arrange for all four of them to be accommodated in close proximity.’
‘I doubt I can arrange that,’ she said, placing the glasses precisely on her nose, and tucking the handkerchief into her sleeve. ‘We have lists of willing householders who will take the children in, but it’s highly unlikely anyone will want a seventeen-year-old girl and a spastic boy.’
‘He’s not a spastic,’ snapped Sally.
‘None of us like that term,’ said Peggy coldly, ‘and if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, then I shall make a complaint to your supervisor, Florence Wren – who happens to be a close friend.’
There was a deathly silence, broken only by the loud ticking of the clock on the wall.
Sally stared at that clock, determined not to let her angry tears spill. It was happening all over again, and this beastly old trout was about as sympathetic and helpful as a fox in a hen-house.
‘I apologise if I have caused any ill-feeling,’ Miss Fforbes-Smythe said stiffly. ‘But it’s almost impossible to place crippled children – even if they are accompanied by an older sibling.’
‘I can work and pay my way,’ said Sally. ‘Ernie’s no trouble.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Jim. ‘The wee girl here works hard, and that wee boy is no bother at all.’
The woman eyed him over her glasses for a long moment, and then wrote something in her folder. ‘All I can promise is that they will travel together and go to the same village. What I cannot do is guarantee they will be billeted close to one another, or that there will be accommodation suitable for Ernest. It will depend very much on the individuals who have kindly offered their homes for the duration, and it is out of our hands.’
‘And what do I do if no-one will have us?’
‘Then you must consider what is best for Ernest.’ She looked at Sally coolly. ‘I believe he was offered a place at the orphanage which you turned down when you arrived here in Cliffehaven?’
‘My brother is not an orphan, and I’m not leaving him in a home.’
‘I think you’re being rather hasty, Miss Turner. Ernest will be well provided for in a children’s home where they will understand his needs – which will leave you free to pursue your work without hindrance.’
‘He’s never been a hindrance, and hell will freeze over before I dump him in one of them places,’ she snarled. ‘If no-one will take us, then I’ll sort something out myself.’
‘That, of course, is your prerogative, but I warn you, the Office for Children’s Welfare take a very dim view of such things. After all, you are not yet twenty-one, and therefore still classed as a minor in the eyes of the law. There would have to be an inquiry into what is best for Ernest, regardless of your obvious concern for him.’
Sally fell silent. The last thing she needed was the welfare people poking their noses into her business. She’d had a few run-ins with them before back in Bow, but luckily Florrie had managed to persuade them that she hadn’t left an under-aged child in sole charge of her frail son. But it had been touch and go several times, and she just hoped there were no records from the London welfare office in that file.
Peggy clutched her handbag and sat forward. ‘If it comes to any inquiry,’ she said, ‘then I will apply for legal guardianship of both of them.’
‘That’s entirely up to you,’ Miss Fforbes-Smythe said with a distinct lack of interest.
Peggy’s jaw became firm, her gaze hardening. ‘You said they were going to Wales. Where in Wales?’
‘It’s a fairly small farming community called Llanbister.’
‘And when would they have to leave?’
‘In about a week’s time.’
‘A week?’ Peggy shot to her feet, her body trembling with fear and anger. ‘But that’s too long. Anything could happen in a week – look what they did to the school last night. Much more of that and Cliffehaven will be flattened.’
Jim grabbed her hand and gently sat her down again.
‘There are no trains until then,’ said Miss Fforbes-Smythe, unmoved by Peggy’s outburst. ‘The raids over the past few days have destroyed miles of track, and once they’re repaired, the service personnel will have exclusive use of the trains for the first three days.’
‘But surely, children are more important?’
‘Not in this instance,’ she replied. ‘There are several thousand service personnel stranded on the south coast who need to get back to their bases. It’s imperative to the war effort that we do all we can to help them achieve that.’ She took off her glasses again and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Which is why it would have been wiser to follow the government directive on evacuation in the first instance.’ She paused to let her admonition sink in. ‘So, do you still want me to book places on the first available train?’
Sally and Peggy looked at one another. ‘We have no other choice,’ said Peggy.
Miss Fforbes-Smythe gathered several leaflets and handed them across the desk before turning once more to her folder. ‘That is the list of requirements for each child. Please make sure they have everything on that list and limit their luggage to a case each.’
They took the lists and scanned them quickly, and Sally saw they were the same as the one she’d got in London.
The woman behind the desk had got into her stride now she had forms to fill in, and she looked quite animated. ‘I will need each child’s name, date of birth, home address and, in your case, Miss Turner, your London address as well as your billet here. I will also need to see your identity cards.’
They duly handed them over, gave her the details, and waited in silence as her pen scratched across the official-looking form.
‘They will have to have medical checks, of course. We can’t risk the spread of diseases.’ She glanced at Sally over her glasses. ‘I take it you are registered with a local doctor?’
‘It’s Dr Brown in the High Street,’ said Peggy. ‘He’s our family doctor.’
‘I will need you to sign these consent forms.’ She handed them to Jim before turning to Sally. ‘I see we already have your mother’s signature on the form for when you left London. I see no reason why that would not still hold as you are travelling with Ernest.’
‘And Sally’s train fare?’ said Jim.
‘I will make sure she is fully covered for that.’ Miss Fforbes-Smythe checked her notes. ‘I see you are connected to the telephone service, which will make it easy to notify you of the train’s departure. Please make sure your children are ready to leave at very short notice. We cannot always guarantee the time-table, but the train will leave promptly at the allotted time, so don’t be late. It won’t wait for you.’
* * *
The summer’s sun was low in the sky as they finally left that awful office. Peggy pulled on her gloves, adjusted her hat and tucked her handbag under her arm. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I could do with a large whisky and soda.’
‘You’ll be lucky to get a beer,’ muttered Jim. ‘Come on, girls, let’s go to The Anchor and see if Rosie’s got a decent drop under the counter.’
The pub had stood in the narrow street for eight hundred years. It leant precariously over the pavement, the great black beams running like arteries between the whitewashed walls. Inside it was warm and noisy, the cigarette smoke hanging in a pall several inches from the ceiling.
Peggy and Sally found a seat by the enormous inglenook fireplace where a bunch of dusty dried flowers had replaced the burning logs. This was Sally’s first time in The Anchor, and she looked about it with interest as Jim went to the bar.
Heavy dark beams crossed the sway-backed ceiling that was brown with hundreds of years of nicotine-staining. The tiny, diamond-paned windows had been covered in tape and were further protected by the outside shutters. The flooring was made from bricks that weren’t very evenly laid, and over the bar were row upon row of pewter tankards. There was an out-of-tune upright piano being played in one corner, where a group of soldiers were singing enthusiastically, and a group of girls in the smart uniforms of the WAAFs were gossiping and flirting with the soldiers in another. She could understand now why Pearl and Edie liked coming here. The atmosphere was warm and friendly and, as yet, no-one had had too much to drink. It was a world away from the East End pubs where no decent woman would dream of going.
Jim leant on the bar, flirted with Rosie, and disappeared through a side door. He came back with three glasses and a bottle of whisky under his coat. ‘She hasn’t any soda, but she’s bringing over a jug of water,’ he explained, quickly pouring each of them a hefty measure and hiding the bottle again. ‘You’ve got the old man to thank for this,’ he said with a grin. ‘Rosie’s obviously got a soft spot for him – this is his special bottle she keeps out the back.’
‘I didn’t even realise he liked whisky,’ said Peggy.
‘Don’t knock it, Peg. It’s nectar compared to the beer they serve in here.’
Sally watched as Rosie sashayed from behind the bar with the jug of water. Her skirt was tight, the heels were high, the blouse revealing a magnificent cleavage. Such an outfit on Florrie would have made her look like a tart, but Rosie possessed a warmth in her voluptuousness that made her soft and rather endearing. No wonder Ron was smitten.
‘Nice to see you, Peg,’ she said with a broad, friendly smile as she put the jug of water on the low table. ‘It’s not often we see you in here.’
‘We’ve had a bit of a day,’ she replied, ‘so we thought a nip of whisky might cheer us up.’
Rosie eyed Sally. ‘I hope you’re eighteen, darlin’, otherwise …’
‘Had her birthday only last week, to be sure, Rosie,’ said Jim, with a sly wink.
‘I just bet she did,’ Rosie said, and laughed. ‘You and your dad are as bad as each other. I wouldn’t trust either of you.’ With that, she sashayed back to the bar and began to wipe down the highly polished oak, her magnificent bosom moving gently and provocatively beneath the thin cotton of her blouse.
‘Ach, she’s a fine-looking woman, so she is,’ said Jim, his gaze fixed admiringly on that blouse.
‘Put your eyes back in, Jim,’ laughed Peggy. ‘They’re in danger of dropping into your whisky.’