by Ellie Dean
Monty was sprawled in front of the dying fire, his brindled coat and sleek lines enhanced by the faint glow. Smaller than his sire, he possessed the delicate build of his mother – a pedigree whippet Harvey had slyly deflowered to the fury of her owner. He opened an eye and frowned at being disturbed before dropping back to sleep with a soft grunt of contentment.
Rosie sipped the gin and tonic and leaned back in the fireside chair, wishing that she too could relax and sleep with a clear conscience. It was lovely to be home finally – to be amongst all that was familiar and comforting after the dramas and confrontations she’d had to put up with during her time away – but she could have done without Ron being here. She’d been too overwrought and disorientated to really appreciate his welcome, yet she’d seen the hurt and bewilderment in his eyes when she’d turned away from his loving overtures, and as she replayed the scene in her mind she felt an awful twist of regret. She hadn’t meant to be so distant with him, and now he was probably worrying and wondering why.
Rosie moved restlessly in the chair. She was aching for sleep, but her mind refused to be still, running amok with images of the day; what she’d gone through over the past few weeks – and what still lay ahead of her. Refusing to contemplate the undoubted dramas yet to come, she deliberately turned her thoughts to the ghastly events that had followed her husband’s death.
Her husband James’s sudden passing had been traumatic enough, even though it had been expected several times over the long years of his incarceration in that mental asylum; but it had widened the rift between her and his family, and rather than offering sympathy and help with all the paperwork and arrangements, they’d coldly isolated and thwarted her at every turn. Rosie had never needed Ron more, and could only thank her lucky stars that Henry Radwell had been there to counter the hostility with tact and an air of quiet command to ensure that James’s last wishes were carried out – and to offer solace when it all had become too much for her.
Snapping out of these uncomfortable memories, Rosie swallowed a slug of gin and looked around the room, at the beautiful flowers on the mantel, the polished furniture, the supper dish, and warm fire. Ron was such a dear man and he had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble – even to the point of wearing a suit and getting a haircut. She felt shame heat her face, for he’d deserved much better than her almost dismissive reaction to his loving welcome.
She’d known full well how anxious he would have been as the time of her arrival had come and gone, and then stretched into the early hours. He’d probably fretted that she’d had an accident – or worse – that she’d fallen for Henry Radwell and wasn’t coming back at all. She knew too that her sudden departure with Henry and rather terse letter would have done nothing to allay his fears over their silly falling-out and he’d have been anxious to make amends.
Rosie ran her fingers through her platinum curls and then rubbed her hands over her face. She had a lot of explaining to do, and wasn’t looking forward to it. But it wasn’t fair on Ron to keep him in the dark. Fences had to be mended and things put back on a more even keel so they could take stock, think things through and come to a fully reasoned decision together. It would bring heartache, but it was the only way to allow them to wipe the slate clean and move on with their lives.
She bit her lip and tried to keep the tears at bay, but they came anyway, and she was too physically and mentally exhausted to do anything about them.
Eventually, she realised that the fire had gone out and that it was almost six o’clock. The night was over, and within just a few hours she would have to be ready to serve behind the bar. But perhaps that would be better than sitting about feeling sorry for herself.
She dried her tears, then carried the glass and the plate of uneaten sandwiches into the kitchen before setting the guard in front of the fire and turning out the lights. Sliding between the sheets, her feet touched the stone water bottle Ron must have placed there earlier, and his thoughtfulness and undoubted love brought fresh tears.
It had been so lovely to be in his arms again, and to feel his strength and the security in his embrace that she’d missed whilst she’d been away. Yet there were things she needed to say to him – things he would find hurtful, and just the thought of how he would react made her want to curl up and hide from the world.
Rosie kicked away the cold bottle, heard it thud onto the floor and buried her face in her pillow. Moments later Monty climbed onto the bed and snuggled down beside her, instinctively knowing she needed his warmth and consoling presence.
2
Peggy was still suffering from the shock of that V-1 exploding in Havelock Road three days ago, and knew that everyone who’d been there that day was similarly affected – except for two-year-old Daisy, who was thankfully too young to understand how very close they’d all come to being killed.
It was the images of those poor dead soldiers that came to haunt Peggy at unexpected moments, bringing back the awful, gut-wrenching fear, as well as the heat of those ravenous flames and the terror of cowering against the initial blast which had uprooted trees and flung lethal debris for hundreds of feet – and the explosions that had followed soon after when Doris’s illicit store of petrol cans had caught alight.
She shuddered as she revisited the horrific scene in her mind. John Hicks and his fire crew had been incredibly brave as they’d tried to fight the raging inferno, but there had been nothing they could do to save those unfortunate women trapped in Doris’s house. Peggy could only pray they’d died instantly, for the alternative was just too appalling to contemplate.
As for her sister, Peggy had been so relieved and thankful that Doris had been away when the V-1 had hit she’d immediately brought her home without giving a thought to the consequences. Three days later it was proving to be a big mistake, for her sister had taken full advantage of Peggy’s loving kindness by demanding she had the best bedroom and ordering the others about as if she owned the place.
Peggy’s low spirits sank further. With the whole world in turmoil, she’d come to see the tranquillity and harmony of Beach View as her sanctuary, but if Doris didn’t mend her ways there would be trouble, and it would be up to her to defuse it.
‘Mumma. I got duck. Play with duck.’
Peggy dragged herself back to the present and forced a smile at Daisy as they shared the bath. She took the plastic duck, made it squeak and then drew her little daughter into her arms, revelling in the weight and scent of her – in her aliveness.
Slippery as an eel, Daisy squirmed and kicked the rapidly cooling few inches of water before crawling away to float the duck amid the soap bubbles Peggy had added as a treat.
Peggy got out of the bath shakily and, with trembling hands, hurriedly dried herself and got dressed. She was all fingers and thumbs and it took longer than usual to do up the buttons on her dress and fasten the belt. Annoyed with herself for being so feeble, she took a deep breath and glared defiantly at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She hadn’t been hurt and her loved ones were safe, so there was no earthly reason why she couldn’t pull herself together and get on.
Strapping on her watch, she noted the time with some alarm. It was almost seven, the girls were probably waiting to use the bathroom, and within a few hours she had to be at work. Clearly life had to go on despite Hitler’s demonic new weapon, and it did no good to dwell on all the ‘what ifs’ when other things had to be seen to. And in a way these day-to-day responsibilities were helping her to cope, for without them she’d have had too much time to think. And that wouldn’t do any good at all.
Having wrestled a protesting Daisy out of the bath, she wrapped her firmly in a towel and quickly dried and dressed her. Once that was achieved she cleaned the bath and then peeked in on Cordelia. The elderly lady had lived at Beach View for years and was now an intrinsic and very important part of Peggy’s family. Poor Cordelia had caught a nasty chill after hiding from the V-1’s blast in that water-filled ditch, and Peggy fretted that it co
uld turn to something nasty if not kept an eye on.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked, alarmed by the high colour in Cordelia’s cheeks and the way her breath was rattling as she fiddled with her hearing aid.
‘Not very chipper,’ she confessed. ‘This blessed chill has gone to my chest, and I’m finding it a bit hard to breathe.’
Peggy saw what an effort it took for her to smile at Daisy, who was chattering away and trying to climb onto the bed. She lifted Daisy away and told her to go downstairs – which elicited a pout and the stamp of a small foot. ‘Do as I say,’ she said sternly. ‘Gan Gan’s tired and can’t get any rest with you climbing all over her.’
As Daisy stomped out of the room and slowly slid feet first down the stairs on her stomach, Peggy turned back to Cordelia. ‘I’ll get you a fresh hot-water bottle, a cup of tea and then call the doctor.’
‘Please don’t fuss, dear,’ she wheezed. ‘I shall be fine after a couple more days in bed, and the poor doctor has enough to do without being dragged out on a house call.’
Peggy didn’t agree, but said nothing as she plumped the pillows, adjusted the blankets and fished out the cold bottle from the bottom of the bed. Cordelia would be eighty in a matter of months, and although she’d always been a birdlike little woman, she’d never looked this frail before, and it worried her deeply.
‘Do you need the bathroom before I go downstairs?’
‘If I do, then I’m perfectly capable of going on my own,’ Cordelia replied tetchily. ‘Do stop fussing and go and see to Daisy. She shouldn’t be alone down there.’
Torn between the needs of Cordelia and the safety of her child, Peggy knew she really had no choice. With a promise to return soon, she hurried out of the room, thoughts of kettles and fires uppermost in her mind, and ran downstairs to the kitchen to find Daisy sitting on the floor next to Queenie the cat, pretending to read her a story from a picture book.
Peggy breathed a sigh of relief and put the kettle on the hob before returning to the hall. She dialled the doctor’s number and within a few minutes had his promise to call in after morning surgery. Bustling back into the kitchen, she fed the demanding cat which was winding itself round her legs and threatening to trip her up, filled the hot-water bottle, wrapped it in a knitted cover and poured a cup of tea.
A glance at the clock told her there was some time to go before the news came on the wireless, and she began to get anxious that there was no sign of Sarah, who was in danger of being late for work – or of Ron and Harvey, who were usually up and about much earlier than this.
Settling Daisy safely at the table with a slice of toast and a cup of milk, she hurried back upstairs to Cordelia, smiling at the thought that Ron must have struck lucky with Rosie and stayed the night at the Anchor. The idea warmed her and she was still smiling as she placed the tea on the bedside table and tucked the hot-water bottle into the bed by Cordelia’s little feet.
‘I take it from that silly smirk that the old rogue didn’t come home last night,’ said Cordelia with a raised eyebrow. At Peggy’s nod she clucked her tongue. ‘Good luck to them. But I hope Rosie knows what she’s letting herself in for by taking him back.’
‘I’m sure she does,’ said Peggy, opening the blackout curtains to the bright June day. She studied Cordelia, who was having a coughing fit, then hurried into the bathroom to fetch her some cough linctus, a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. It was always worrying when Cordelia was unwell, for at her age one never knew …
She helped her to a spoonful of linctus and waited for her to swallow the aspirin. ‘You rest and enjoy that tea. I’ll be up later with some porridge.’
‘Dearest Peggy,’ croaked Cordelia. ‘What would I do without you?’
Peggy kissed her cheek and was alarmed at how hot she felt. ‘If you need anything, bang on the floor with your stick,’ she said, unearthing the walking stick from beneath a pile of clothes and placing it on the bed. ‘I’ll leave your door open so I can keep an eye on you if that’s all right.’
Cordelia sipped her tea and then wearily sank back into the pillows. ‘I think I’ll sleep for a bit. Didn’t get much last night,’ she murmured, closing her eyes.
Peggy bit her lip, torn between wanting to stay and the knowledge that Daisy was downstairs with a pot of hot tea sitting on the draining board. She reluctantly left the room, jamming the door open with a chair before hurrying back to the kitchen to discover that Daisy now had company.
‘Hello, Ron. I didn’t expect to see you this morning now Rosie’s back,’ she said brightly. ‘I thought you’d be all tucked up billing and cooing until at least lunchtime,’ she teased. Her smile faded at his dour expression. ‘She did come home last night, didn’t she?’
‘Oh aye, that she did. But it was very late and the poor wee girl was exhausted, so I left her to sleep.’ He signalled the end of the conversation by reaching over to turn on the wireless which stood in a large wooden cabinet in the corner.
Peggy’s disappointment was sharp, but she made no comment. Poor Ron had set such store in Rosie’s return, and it was clear things hadn’t gone to plan, but with Rosie back in Cliffehaven, she was sure they’d find some way of healing the breach between them.
She surreptitiously watched him whilst she prepared the breakfast porridge, noting that he’d shaved and was wearing decent clothes for a change. He’d certainly made a tremendous effort to turn over a new leaf these past weeks, for his bedroom had stayed neat and sweeter smelling, and he’d taken more care in his appearance – even going so far as getting Fran to cut his hair and trim his eyebrows. Peggy mentally crossed her fingers that all this change would continue, and that he and Rosie would be all right.
‘Where’s that sister of yours?’ Ron asked gruffly.
‘She must still be in bed. She’s in terrible shock, you know, and I think it’s affecting her nerves.’ Peggy could see by his expression what he was about to say and forestalled him. ‘I know she rubs you up the wrong way, but Doris has lost everything, and because she’d arranged that lunch party, she blames herself for the deaths of those women. Try and show some sympathy for her, Ron.’
‘I’d be nicer to her if she didn’t order you about like a skivvy,’ he replied. ‘You haven’t stopped pandering to her from the moment she stepped through the door.’
Peggy slopped some thin porridge into the bowls and set them on the table. ‘I thought I’d lost her,’ she said firmly, ‘and she needs a bit of pampering after what she’s been through.’
‘That doesn’t mean she can ride roughshod over everyone,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t see why she couldn’t have had the double room at the top of the house instead of evicting Rita and Ivy from theirs. The view’s the same and the size is almost identical – and to be sure, it’s not as if she’s got a lot of stuff to put in it,’ he added grumpily.
‘Ron, please don’t keep on. The girls were happy enough to go up there, and Doris will find it easier without so many stairs to negotiate.’
‘Hmph. There’s nothing wrong with her legs, going by the way she strides about issuing orders. It seems to me she just likes to cause as much fuss as she can.’
Peggy took a deep breath before sitting down to pour out the tea and help Daisy with her porridge. Ron and Doris had never seen eye to eye, and Peggy knew how difficult her sister could be. She was so thankful Doris was alive, she was willing to put up with a lot of things – and yet Ron had a point. Doris was a fit and healthy woman in her early fifties and could quite easily have moved into the room at the top of the house – especially as Rita had a cast on her leg after her motorbike accident. And Doris didn’t need to be quite so bossy. Everyone understood how awful it must be to lose absolutely everything and they were all doing their best to make her feel welcome, even though none of them liked her.
Peggy stirred a few grains of sugar into her tea as she mulled over what to do for the best. Her patience was wearing thin after only three days, and if things weren’t resol
ved soon there would be an almighty row, which had to be avoided at all costs. Perhaps, once Doris had recovered from the worst of the shock, she would have another quiet word with her about her attitude. It would be tricky, for her elder sister was bound to take it the wrong way again, but Peggy could see that if things went on as they were the happy atmosphere of Beach View would be destroyed.
‘Is there no sign of that husband of hers?’ said Ron over the atmospherics coming from the wireless as it warmed up.
‘Ted’s still away,’ she replied, ‘and no one knows where he is so he can’t be contacted.’ Peggy regarded him over the rim of her teacup. ‘Besides, they’re no longer married, so he’s not responsible for her.’
‘Well, I’m thinking he should be, husband or not.’
Peggy folded her arms and regarded him evenly. ‘And just what do you expect him to do, Ron? He lives in a one-bedroom apartment above the Home and Colonial, and has a lovely new lady friend. The last person he needs is Doris moving in and playing gooseberry.’
‘He’s got money enough to find her a flat somewhere,’ he replied grumpily.
‘Why should he? Doris is my responsibility now, and this is her home for as long as she wants it.’
‘I was afraid you’d say that,’ he grumbled, fiddling with the knobs on the wireless until he got a clear reception for the BBC. ‘Perhaps you should write to Anthony and tell him his mother needs a roof over her head. To be sure, he has a fine house with plenty of room.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Anthony might see it as his duty, he’s a good son, but he and Suzy have the baby now, and it’s not fair to expect them to take Doris on. Especially as Doris and Suzy get on each other’s nerves.’