Chapter Fourteen
Sally wasn’t used to drinking alcohol, and found she didn’t like the taste, and although she’d tipped most of it into Jim’s glass and watered down the rest, she still felt light-headed as they strolled back to Beach View. She was thirsty now and looking forward to a nice cup of tea.
As they stepped into the hall and shed coats and hats, Sally noticed that Peggy seemed unusually subdued. But then she didn’t feel too bright herself now that her departure from Cliffehaven had become a reality.
She followed Peggy into the kitchen and found everyone was home except Florrie. The boys were listening to Children’s Hour on the wireless and gave scant attention to their arrival. Anne was putting the finishing touches to a fish pie, and Ron was cleaning the sink where he’d gutted the fish, gathering up the heads, scales and bones in a bucket to put on the compost heap. Mrs Finch was wearing white cotton gloves and a large apron, busily cleaning her small collection of silver on the table.
‘Have you seen Florrie?’ Sally asked Cissy, who was poring over a film magazine.
‘No, sorry.’ She shot a glance at Ernie and kept her voice to a murmur. ‘How did you all get on at the you-know-where?’
‘We’ll tell everyone our news once the boys’ programme has finished,’ said Peggy. ‘Did you manage to get any tea, Anne? I’m gasping.’
‘We did, and the kettle’s almost boiled. Sit down, Mum. You look all in. Was it awful at that office?’
‘I’ve met more pleasant people,’ she muttered. ‘Did Martin find you?’
She nodded. ‘He caught up with us in the grocer’s queue. Mrs Finch stayed in the line while we went for a quiet chat. You’ve got her to thank for the tea.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I haven’t told anyone about Alex,’ she whispered. ‘I thought you’d want to do it.’
Peggy just nodded, her face drawn and pale as she lit a cigarette and made a concerted effort to relax.
With the tea poured and the fish pie in the oven, they sat in near silence until the story-time came to an end.
Peggy waited until she had everyone’s attention. ‘It has been a bit of a day,’ she began, ‘and there are several very important things we have to tell you.’ She glanced at Jim for moral support as he knew what was coming. ‘Martin came earlier with some very sad news.’ Her voice broke and she took a deep breath as Jim took her hand. ‘I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but Alex was killed last night defending the convoy in the Channel.’
‘Such a gentleman,’ said Mrs Finch, sadly. ‘How awful to think we’ll never see him again. He had such lovely manners.’
‘Ach, the poor wee man,’ sighed Ron. ‘He was a fine fellow, so he was. We’ll miss him, won’t we Jim?’
‘Aye, that we will, Da. That we will.’
‘Then you’ll be pleased to hear he’s left you a case of vodka under the stairs. He asked that you remember him as you take your first drink.’ She saw the light in Jim’s eyes and forestalled his hasty retreat to the hall. ‘There are other important matters to discuss before you and Ron get stuck into the vodka,’ she said firmly. ‘And you’ve got work in an hour, Jim, so you need to keep sober.’
‘What can be more important than giving Alex a decent wake?’ said Jim.
‘Security,’ she replied, and reached into her knitting bag for the keys she’d hidden there earlier. ‘I’ve decided it’s time we all kept our bedrooms locked – even during the day. With the raids going on, we’re out of this house far too much, and anyone could easily get in.’
She eyed Mrs Finch’s silver twinkling on the table. ‘We might not have much, but what we do have is precious. I would hate to think of someone stealing it.’
‘So that’s why Anne and I couldn’t get into our rooms earlier,’ said Cissy. ‘You might have warned us, Mum.’
‘I didn’t really think about it until this morning,’ she replied, checking the tags and handing them out. ‘I suggest you keep the key with you at all times, and not leave them lying about. Can you remember to do that, Mrs Finch?’
She nodded and tucked the key away in the handbag that rarely left her side.
Peggy leant back in her chair and smiled at Anne. ‘Now that’s settled, I think Anne wants to tell you her news.’
Sally tried to listen as Anne excitedly revealed her future plans, and the boys cheered at the news of the school closure, but she was finding it hard to concentrate. Peggy had avoided looking at her as she’d talked about locking the rooms – and had certainly not met her eye as she’d handed her the key. She could feel the heat of shame building in her as the only possible reason for this became clear. Florrie had been up to her old tricks.
Had Peggy caught her – what had she taken? The thought of that jar of money made her feel quite sick. But she couldn’t go rushing off now in the middle of things, it would be too obvious, and Peggy had been so careful not to reveal her true reasoning behind this sudden urge for security.
Sally sat at the table, the key clasped in her sweating hand, the weight of its implication burning into her skin.
Jim’s voice roused her from her dark thoughts. ‘Peg and Sally and I have finally done what we discussed the other night, but I’m thinking it would be wiser if we didn’t go over it now.’ He glanced meaningfully at the boys who had returned to their comics, bored with the adult conversation. ‘It will be hard enough as it is, and might take some time, so I think we should do it quietly and in private.’ His dark gaze settled on Sally. ‘Are you all right with that – or would you prefer we do it together?’
‘It’s probably best I do it,’ she murmured, glancing at Ernie who was busy colouring in his picture book. As Jim had said, it would be hard to disrupt him again – hard to make him understand they would have to leave this warm, homely place and go to live with strangers. She wasn’t looking forward to it at all.
The delicious fish pie was received with relish, and everyone groaned in exasperation as the siren howled before they could finish it.
‘Jim,’ said Peggy, as he hurried back from the hallway swathed, incongruously, in his thick coat, ‘wrap that silver in this tea-towel and put it in this box. Everyone take your plates with you – I’m not letting Hitler ruin the fish pie as well as everything else.’
They trooped into the garden and got settled as Ron went back for Harvey. The dog still hated the sirens, and had to be forcibly dragged down the path until he smelled the fish pie – then it was a job for Ron to keep up with him.
‘Will you get that flea-bitten animal out of me dinner?’ Jim tapped Harvey’s nose as it investigated the plate.
‘He hasn’t got fleas,’ muttered Ron, pulling the dog away and making him sit under the bench. Ron quickly ate most of his food and left just enough on the plate for the dog to lick it clean.
‘That’s disgusting,’ snapped Peggy, as the enemy bombers droned overhead and the guns began to boom. ‘I wish you wouldn’t let him do that – it’s unhygienic.’
‘It’ll save on the washing-up,’ retorted Ron with a grin, ‘and what’s a few germs compared to that lot?’ He looked up as the droning bombers continued their flight.
Sally giggled as Harvey slumped on the floor at Ron’s feet and proceeded to snore. It was the same every air raid. The banter would go back and forth, the determined cheerfulness covering their fears, Harvey at the centre of everyone as Mrs Finch fell asleep and the boys chattered. Sally knew she would miss this so much she could hardly bear to think about it – but Ernie had yet to be told of their plans, so she must keep her emotions under control for his sake.
She became aware of Jim nudging his father, and of the old man softly chortling as Jim opened the large coat to reveal the bottle of vodka he’d liberated from the cupboard under the stairs.
‘I don’t know why you thought it necessary to wear that great coat, Jim Reilly,’ shouted Peggy above the clamour. ‘It was obvious you couldn’t resist the vodka, so why bother trying to hide it? D’you think I was born yesterday?’
He looked sheepish. ‘Not at all, me darling – not at all.’
‘Then I hope you brought enough glasses for everyone so we can drink a toast to Alex?’
Jim drew out the two tumblers and couldn’t quite meet her gaze. ‘I didn’t t’ink you’d be wanting any,’ he said. ‘You usually screw up your face and call it poison.’
Peggy brought the teacups from the box. ‘In this instance, I’m prepared to make an exception.’
They raised cups and glasses, and Jim made the toast.
‘May the winds of fortune sail you,
‘May you sail a gentle sea,
‘May it always be the other man,
‘Who says the drink’s on me.’
He drank the vodka down in one. ‘God love your soul, Alex, and may you be flying with the angels tonight.’
The level on the bottle of vodka had been lowered quite substantially by the time the all-clear finally sounded two hours later, and it was with some difficulty that they managed to get Ron and Jim out of the shelter. It was decided they could both sleep in the cellar so their snoring didn’t disturb the rest of the house. The boys would go in with Anne and Peggy.
Sally carried Ernie upstairs. Unlocking her bedroom door, she gently laid him on the bed and pulled the blackout curtains before turning on the light. He was fast asleep, so she carefully stripped him to his underwear and tucked him in.
Once she was certain he wouldn’t wake, she got the chair and looked for the precious jar. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, and she frowned as she discovered it had somehow slid further back and was now out of reach. But at least it was still there – the room looked as tidy as she’d left it, and there was no evidence that Florrie had been through her things. If she had, the room would have been a tip, for Florrie was the untidiest person she knew.
With a deep, grateful sigh of relief, she replaced the chair and began to hunt through the drawers for a clean blouse to wear for work the following day.
Her hands stilled as she realised her best skirt had been folded neatly in the drawer instead of being hung in the wardrobe, and the lovely sweater she’d been given for Christmas was in with the blouses. She knew in that instant that Florrie had been in her room, and that Peggy must have tidied up behind her.
She sat there for a long time staring at that skirt and sweater, the shame flooding through her at the thought of Peggy knowing Florrie had no qualms about rooting through other people’s things. Had she gone into any of the other rooms? Sally felt beads of cold sweat run down her back at the thought.
‘What’s the old saying?’ she whispered. ‘Like mother, like daughter, that’s it. Now none of them will trust me ever again – especially after that to-do at the factory. No wonder Peggy couldn’t look me in the eye when she handed out those keys.’
Sally waited for an hour after she’d turned off the bedside light before she crept across the room and opened the door. The house was silent but for the groans and creaks of the timbers and the faint gurgling in the water pipes. She tiptoed to Florrie’s room and tried the door. It was unlocked, so she stepped inside and pulled the curtains.
Switching on the light, she looked at the pile of clothes and shoes in the middle of the bed, and the make-up and cheap jewellery strewn across the dressing table. Then she turned her attention to the chest of drawers. Her heart was thudding against her ribs and she was finding it hard to breathe as she eased out the bottom drawer. The cavity beneath a bottom drawer had always been a favourite hiding place of Florrie’s, and Sally prayed with all her might that she wouldn’t find anything as she steeled herself to look.
Her prayers had come to nothing, and her hands trembled as she took out three of Mrs Finch’s lace-edged handkerchiefs, and one of Anne’s good blouses. There was a belt of Cissy’s too – the one with the glittering buckle that was her favourite, and an almost unused lipstick she’d bought from Woolworths only the other week.
Sally felt such a rage it was like a huge mass growing inside her as she placed the stolen things on the bed. She used that rage to remain focused as she continued her methodical search through the rest of the drawers and the wardrobe – and when she was certain there was nothing else that shouldn’t be there, she swept the pile of Florrie’s clothes off the bed and sat down to wait.
The town-hall clock had just struck two when she was woken from her doze by the sound of stealthy but unsteady footsteps on the landing. She climbed off the bed and prepared herself for the coming confrontation.
Florrie’s make-up was smudged, and she was drunk. ‘What you doing in ’ere?’ She shut the door none too quietly, kicked off her shoes and slung the handbag onto the bed.
‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed Sally, ‘or you’ll have the whole house awake.’
‘I asked wot you was doin’ in ’ere,’ mumbled Florrie.
‘Looking for the stuff you nicked from other people’s rooms.’
Florrie’s bleary gaze settled unsteadily on the things Sally had placed on the dressing-table stool. ‘I was only gunna borrow them for a bit,’ she muttered. ‘What’s all the bleedin’ fuss about?’ She staggered to the bed and sat down.
‘You didn’t borrow ’em,’ Sally hissed. ‘You bleedin’ well stole ’em, and I won’t ’ave it. These are good people.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Me ’eart bleeds.’ Florrie took a whisky flask out of her handbag and took a swig. ‘So, whatya gunna do about it, then, Miss Goody Two-shoes? Miss Mealy-mouth-butter-wouldn’t-melt? Call the rozzers?’
‘I’d bloody well like to,’ she growled, ‘but it’s shame enough me mother can’t keep ’er thieving ’ands to ’erself, let alone have the rozzers all over the gaff.’
Florrie snorted and tried to focus on Sally. ‘You ain’t so posh now, are yer?’
Sally was beyond caring what she sounded like. ‘Where you been all day?’
‘None of your bleedin’ business,’ she slurred, taking another drink from the flask.
Sally grabbed it, screwed the lid tight, and tossed it under the bed. ‘It is my flamin’ business when Simmons starts asking me questions about ya – insinuating you and me got something special going on with Solomon and Goldman.’
‘Well, I ’ave, ain’t I? Solly and me, we’re gunna get married.’
‘In yer dreams. Solomon’s married to ’is wife’s money. He ain’t gunna look at you twice once she finds out what he’s been up to.’
‘And who’s gunna tell ’er?’ Florrie’s expression was belligerent as she struggled to get off the bed, found she couldn’t keep her balance and fell back again. ‘If I ’ear you been flapping your gob about me and Solly, it’ll be yer eyes, girl. And that ain’t no threat, it’s a bleedin’ promise.’
Sally regarded her with the coolness of someone who had long since stopped caring. Florrie’s mascara and eye-shadow were streaking down her face to mingle with the smudged lipstick. Her blouse was buttoned up wrongly and the bra it revealed was grey and grubby. Florrie was thirty-five, but she looked a decade older.
‘You disgust me, do you know that?’ she murmured without emotion. ‘Take a long, hard look in that mirror before you pass out, and try for once to see what I see.’
Florrie tried to focus on her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, but soon gave up. ‘You ain’t no bleedin’ oil painting yerself,’ she spat. ‘No wonder you ain’t got no bloke.’
‘I’m not like you,’ Sally whispered furiously. ‘I don’t need some bloke to leech off – some chancer to buy me drinks, and take me to bleedin’ ’otels.’ She jabbed Florrie hard in the shoulder, making her almost topple over. ‘You ’ad a decent man, but you treated ’im like dirt – and now it’s too late. Dad won’t never want you again.’
Florrie’s face crumpled and she began to sob, the large tears making an even worse mess on her face. ‘I only married ’im cos you was on the bleedin’ way. That’s the story of me life,’ she wailed. ‘I never ’ad no chance of nothing.’
‘Shush,’ hissed Sally. ‘Keep it down.’
Florrie eyed her mournfully, but at least she’d stopped wailing. ‘I ain’t ’ad a proper life,’ she sobbed. ‘Bleedin’ tied down with a man I couldn’t bleedin’ stand, and a flaming kid wot never shut up crying.’ She swiped the back of her hand under her nose and sniffed hard. ‘You was a pain in the arse as a kid – and then, just to put the tin lid right on it, I ’ad Ernie.’ She gave a harsh cough of laughter through her tears. ‘What a bleedin’ joke that was.’
‘I didn’t find it funny,’ replied Sally coldly. ‘And neither did Ernie, or Dad.’ Florrie was getting maudlin, as she always did after drinking too much, and Sally was bankrupt of patience. If Florrie thought she could wring one morsel of pity out of her with this act, then she was very much mistaken.
‘But I only wanted a bit of fun, Sal – don’t yer see? Surely there ain’t no ’arm in that?’ She collapsed on to the pillows and howled.
Sally realised she’d have the whole house awake in a minute. Pulling the covers over Florrie, she knew from experience that the only way to shut her up was to treat her like a child. She grimaced as she smoothed the over-bleached hair from her hot forehead and caught the rank odour of her unwashed body. ‘Yeah, all right,’ she said softly. ‘You go to sleep now. Everything’s fine, everything’s lovely. There, there.’
Florrie was asleep within seconds, and Sally turned her on to her side and wedged her there with the spare pillow. She took her cigarettes and matches in case she started a fire by trying to smoke when she woke up, and then collected the hankies, belt, lipstick and blouse.
Creeping out of the room she clicked the door shut and hesitated on the landing. She didn’t want to take these things into her room in case Peggy saw them and thought she was the thief. But what to do?
She stood there for some minutes in the dark, and then crept downstairs to the kitchen. She could hear the snores coming from the basement as she unfolded the handkerchiefs and blouse and mixed them in with the rest of the laundry in the basket. The belt was left hanging over the back of a chair, and the lipstick placed in view on the dresser. It was the best she could do to cover up Florrie’s pilfering, and she just hoped it wouldn’t raise any more questions.
It was almost three in the morning by the time she collapsed into bed. Florrie had to go – and soon. But how on earth did she get rid of her?
‘Because of the raid last night, things haven’t been settled,’ said Peggy, as she poured tea and handed round the cups at breakfast. ‘So Jim and I thought it might be best if we do it all together. What shift are you working today, Sally?’
‘I’m not due in until one.’ She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, after the trauma of the previous night, and could barely think straight. ‘I agree with you,’ she said, glancing at Ernie. ‘It’ll be best to get it over with in one go.’
‘What you on about, Sal?’ Ernie eyed her over the teacup.
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she said, and ruffled his hair.
‘That’s what grown-ups always say,’ said Charlie, with all the wisdom of an eight year old. ‘They never really tell you anything.’
‘Where’s Mum? I ain’t seen ’er for ages. She ain’t gone, ’as she?’
She noted the bewilderment in his eyes and made an effort to keep her voice low and soothing. ‘She’s asleep upstairs,’ she replied. ‘You’ll probably see her later on.’
‘I wish I could stay and help,’ said Anne, ‘but I have my first full interview with the OC this morning. Once I know when the training course begins, I’ll have a better idea of when I’ll be moving out.’
Sally saw how Peggy’s smile faded and her eyes darkened. She was going to find it very tough once everyone had gone, and she wished with all her heart that it didn’t have to be so.
Ron and Jim weren’t exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, but they nursed their hangovers with cups of tea, and told the boys not to make so much noise as they argued over their plans for the day.
Sally ate the toast and drank the tea, waiting on tenterhooks for someone to mention the mysterious disappearance of their belongings. But as one by one they left the table to prepare for the day without saying anything, Sally felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Once breakfast was over and the kitchen put to rights, Anne and Cissy left to go their separate ways, and Mrs Finch took her library book into the dining room. She liked to sit by the window in the sunshine and watch what was happening in the street.
The three boys were playing a game of snakes and ladders on the kitchen table when Peggy caught Sally’s eye and signalled it was time.
‘Now boys,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve got a real surprise for you all. You’re going with Sally on a holiday.’
‘Where? Why? For how long?’ The chorus of questions came in a mixture of anxiety and excitement.
‘Well now,’ said Jim. ‘You’ll be going on a train with lots of other boys and girls, and Mam and Sal will make you a picnic to eat on the journey. It’ll be quite a long journey, so we’ll put in some of your favourite comics and toys as well.’
Ernie looked at Sally with accusatory eyes. ‘Are we going away for very long?’
‘I don’t know how long we’ll be away,’ she said truthfully. ‘But Bob and Charlie and me will be going with you, so you don’t have to worry.’
‘Will it be like last time?’ he persisted. ‘With them fat women bossing us about?’
Sally tried to make light of it. ‘There’re always fat women telling us what to do, Ernie. It’s their job. But that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself.’
‘What about Mum? Is she coming too?’
‘No, love. She’s got to go to work.’
‘That’s what you said last time, and she didn’t come for ages and ages – and when she did – she … she …’ He burst into tears.
Sally gathered him up, noting that Charlie was about to cry too. ‘Listen, Ernie, it’s not like before. This is a holiday with Bob and Charlie and me, and we’re going to have lots of fun.’
‘Yes,’ said Peggy, putting her arm round her two boys. ‘You’ll be going to Wales where there’s mountains and rivers and lots of farms to explore. You’ll see forests and cows and sheep, and might even be allowed to help the farmer with his chickens. How about that?’
‘Why aren’t you coming, Mum?’ Charlie’s voice was still quavering with doubt, even though his eyes had lit up at the thought of being on a farm.
‘Because, my darling, I’ve got this place to look after. And then there’s Cissy, and Anne, and Mrs Finch to take care of.’
Ernie sniffled. ‘Will I be allowed to take me wheelchair – and what about Bob’s train set – can we take that too?’
‘Well, now,’ said Jim, ‘I reckon that chair of yours will fit nicely in the guard’s van, but your granddad and me will be looking after that wee train set till you come back. It might be too big to put in a case, and could get broken – and that wouldn’t be good, would it?’
All three boys eyed him solemnly, but it was Bob who spoke. ‘We’re being evacuated, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, son,’ said Jim. ‘Most of the other children have already left, and your mam and me decided it was too dangerous for you to stay any longer.’ He drew both his sons into his embrace. ‘We love you and don’t like sending you away,’ he said softly. ‘But we have to keep you safe.’
‘When will we be going?’ Bob’s voice was steady, his expression calm and accepting as he held Charlie’s hand.
‘Quite soon,’ said Peggy. ‘We don’t know exactly because the train lines are up, but we’ll have to start packing this morning so we’ll be ready when it’s time.’
‘What about Daddy?’ said Ernie, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Sally winced and gave him a handkerchief. ‘I told you before, Ernie. Don’t do that.’ She took a breath. ‘I’ll write to Daddy and tell him what’s happening once we know where we’re staying.’
Peggy became businesslike. ‘Right, let’s find those lists and see what we’re going to pack. Jim, get up in the loft and find some suitcases. Ron, take Harvey outside, he’s blowing off and it stinks.’
The three boys collapsed into giggles as a shamefaced Harvey was dragged out of the kitchen, his tail between his legs.
Sally eyed Peggy thankfully as the atmosphere lightened and they began to discuss the list, and what could be added to make the boys’ time away less harrowing.
The morning passed quickly as clothing was brought downstairs to be washed, mended or ironed. A list was made of things which would have to be bought, and Peggy dug out some of Charlie’s old shoes and pyjamas for Ernie. The heat of summer meant travelling in shirts, shorts, socks and sandals, but they also had to think about the coming autumn and winter. A pile of sweaters, blazers, wellingtons and mackintoshes were added to the growing mound of clothing on the table.
Sally helped with the washing, before setting to with a needle and thread to sew on buttons, turn collars and darn socks. Jim polished shoes as the boys argued over which books and games to pack.
It was a hectic morning, and Sally was up and down the stairs a dozen times before it was time to leave for work. She hesitated outside Florrie’s bedroom door and decided to leave her to sleep it off. She was in no mood for any more confrontations. Grabbing her jacket and gas-mask box, she picked up the string bag holding a flask and sandwiches, hurriedly kissed a cheerful Ernie goodbye and was running down the street.
She was already late, and Simmons would no doubt give her an ear-bashing – but as she would have to hand her notice in to Goldman this morning, she didn’t really care.
Simmons didn’t say anything as she scurried past him. Perhaps he’d realised finally that it would be wasting his breath. Pearl and Brenda were at their machines, already halfway through their shifts when she sat down beside them.
‘How did it go with the kids?’ shouted Pearl over the clatter of machinery.
‘All right, I think,’ she replied, swiftly feeding the material beneath the needle. ‘Ernie doesn’t seem too upset now he knows me and the others are going too.’
‘Where’s Florrie? Ain’t she supposed to be on this shift with you?’
‘She’s sleeping off her night out,’ said Sally grimly. ‘I’m not responsible for her, and if she gets the sack, maybe she’ll go back to London.’
‘When are you going to tell Goldman you’re leaving?’ asked Brenda, the fag bobbing at the corner of her mouth.
‘During my break.’ Sally concentrated on her work, her thoughts flitting from Ernie to Florrie, to Peggy and the boys – and to the journey ahead.
She was dreading it – dreading a repeat of what happened to them when they’d first arrived in Cliffehaven. And although she’d told that Miss Fforbes-Smythe she was quite capable of making her own arrangements, she didn’t really know where to start. She couldn’t afford a hotel or guest house, and even if she did manage to find a room somewhere, the money she’d saved would soon be eaten away by rent and food and Ernie’s medical care.
She finished the trousers and snipped off the loose cotton, her thoughts elsewhere. She suspected there wouldn’t be any work like this in Wales, and that she’d probably end up with the land army girls, or on the production line of a munitions factory – neither of which appealed in the slightest. But needs must, and if that’s what it took to make sure Ernie was safe and well looked after, she would do it.
The siren went off fifteen minutes later and everyone trooped into the vast shelter that had been built behind the factory. They sat and smoked and gossiped and tried to read magazines in the dim light as the clatter of gunfire and the roar of plane engines went on above them.
It was an hour before the all-clear sounded, and by then they’d had enough of being underground and quite happily returned to work.
Sally worked fast and efficiently until it was time for her break. Pearl was going off shift and planning to spend the rest of the day browsing round Woolworths for new make-up, and perhaps treating herself to an ice-cream from the dairy.
Sally approached Simmons who was standing in the corridor by the office. ‘I need to speak to Mr Goldman.’
He eyed her through the thick lenses of his glasses. ‘If it’s about Mrs Turner, then you’re wasting your time. She was sacked an hour ago.’
The news was hardly surprising, but it had other connotations which didn’t bode well. Florrie’s position here was guaranteed by Solomon – had he tired of her already, or had his wife found out and he’d dumped her as fast as he could? There would be the most fearful row when she got home, because Florrie was bound to blame her.
‘She was still in bed when I came to work. Does she know she’s been sacked?’
He smirked. ‘Oh, yes. She came swanning in three hours late, and was headed off by Mr Solomon at the staff entrance. I didn’t hear everything he said to her because he shut the office door, but I couldn’t fail to hear him telling her she was never to put a foot in this place again. She was yelling fit to bust, and stormed out ten minutes later calling him all the names under the sun.’
Simmons grinned. He was clearly enjoying himself. ‘Your mother does possess a vast and colourful vocabulary, doesn’t she?’
Sally could just picture the scene, with Simmons’s ear glued to the door as Florrie and Solomon tore into each other, and her spirits rose and ebbed as she thought of the different consequences of such a falling-out.
She pulled her ragged thoughts together, determined not to encourage Simmons’s voyeuristic streak further. ‘My request to see Mr Goldman has nothing to do with Mrs Turner,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s personal.’
His lip curled as he eyed her. ‘If you tell me what it’s about, I’ll see if he’s available. I should think both Solomon and Goldman have had enough of the Turner women today.’
‘If I wanted you to know my business I wouldn’t have asked to see Mr Goldman. Are you going to see if he’s in, or do I do it?’
Simmons hesitated, eyed his watch and fidgeted with his clipboard. ‘Wait here,’ he muttered.
She stood in the corridor outside the office, her pulse racing. It was clear Solomon had dumped Florrie – but without work, what would she do for money? Florrie had expensive tastes, and although she’d no doubt find some other fool to feed her gin and fags …
‘Oh, Gawd,’ she breathed, as she had a sudden very nasty thought.
She dug frantically in the pocket of her dress. The key to her room was still there – but had she remembered to lock the door this morning?
Now those chaotic few hours returned to haunt her. She hadn’t locked the door because she’d been in and out of the room all morning – by the time she’d had to leave for work she was already late and in such a hurry she’d forgotten. The precious jar was still on top of the wardrobe – along with the passbook.
Sally leant against the wall and closed her eyes as the chill ran through her. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please, please don’t let her find that jar.’
‘Go and wait in the outer office,’ said Simmons, bustling past. ‘He’ll see you in a minute.’
Sally pushed away from the wall and found that she was unsteady and almost blinded by the fear that swept through her.
‘Are you all right, Miss Turner?’ Marjorie stopped thumping the keys on the typewriter.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, sinking into the first chair she came across.
‘Well you don’t look it,’ she said, pouring a glass of water from a jug on her desk. ‘Drink this before you either faint or throw up. I’ve had enough dramas from your family this morning.’
Sally sipped the water, but her heart still thudded and she felt sick. All she could think about was that jar.
‘Miss Turner. Please come in. I understand you wish to see me on a personal matter?’
Sally followed him into the office and took the chair he indicated. There was, thankfully, no sign of Solomon. She made a concerted effort to focus on the reason for this interview. ‘I’ve come to hand in my notice, sir,’ she said.
‘I hope this has nothing to do with the unfortunate scene with your mother,’ he replied. ‘You’re a good worker, and an honest one, too. It would be a great shame to lose you.’
‘That’s very kind of you to say so, sir, but this has nothing to do with Florrie. You see, I’m leaving Cliffehaven.’ She calmly told him about evacuating the boys, and the likelihood that she wouldn’t be returning for the duration. ‘I’ll be sorry to leave, sir. I’ve enjoyed working here.’
‘I wish you luck, Miss Turner. It can’t be easy having to look after your brother in such circumstances.’ He smiled, his great jowly face creasing up like a pug dog’s. ‘I admire your courage and fortitude, and I’ll make sure you have a good reference to take with you.’
‘Thank you, sir. I would appreciate that, and I’m sorry if this leaves you in the lurch.’
‘When will you be leaving us?’
‘Probably by the end of the week. There’s no set date until the trains are running again, but I’ll work right up to the day I have to go.’
He stood to show the interview was over, and shook her hand. ‘It has been a pleasure knowing you, Miss Turner, and should you ever be in need of a job again, my door is always open.’
Sally spent the rest of her shift fretting and, with still an hour to go, she couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing her things, she didn’t bother to explain to Simmons, and raced through the pitch-black streets for Beach View.
The house was silent as she stepped into the hall. The kitchen and dining room were deserted, with no tell-tale sounds of Cissy’s music, or the boys’ chattering coming from the basement. Peggy and Jim must have taken the boys to the cinema. They’d been promising this treat for some time, and as the boys would be leaving Cliffehaven soon, it was no surprise they’d chosen tonight.
She slowly climbed the stairs, reluctant to reach her room, but knowing she must. She steeled herself to open the door, and stood there numb with shock. The wardrobe was open, the drawers yawning – her clothes were scattered everywhere.
With fear squeezing her heart, she climbed on to the chair and frantically searched the top of the wardrobe. Her money and passbook were gone.
Sinking to the floor she burst into anguished tears of despair.