As the Sun Breaks Through

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Is it very serious?’ asked a fretful Peggy.

  ‘Not yet. I think we’ve caught it in time before it turns to something more complex, but she will need a close eye kept on her for a day or two.’ He smiled at Cordelia. ‘Now you rest, take in plenty of fluids, and we’ll soon have you up and about causing mischief again.’

  There was a gleam in Cordelia’s eyes which bore no relation to her high temperature. ‘It’s not me who causes mischief, Herbert Sayer. I heard all about you and the widow at the golf club.’

  He twirled his waxed moustache and wriggled his fine white eyebrows, grinning broadly. ‘Your chap Bertie’s too sharp for his own good,’ he said, rising from the bed. ‘You really shouldn’t believe everything he tells you.’ He winked at Peggy. ‘I’ll see you both later.’

  Peggy was most intrigued to hear about the doctor’s dalliance, for the old man had been on his own for many years since his wife died. Cordelia obviously knew more than she was letting on, so once she was feeling brighter, Peggy decided she’d try to find out more.

  After she’d shown the doctor out, she told the others what he’d said and then ran back upstairs with a jug of water. She waited for Cordelia to swallow the pill and then dashed back to the kitchen to make her fresh tea and warm the porridge. It was barely past eight o’clock. At this rate, she thought wryly, I’ll be worn out by the time I have to leave for work.

  ‘Right,’ said Ron as she returned once more to the kitchen and dropped thankfully into a chair to relax with a cigarette and cup of tea. ‘You’re to stay there until you have to leave for work. Young Fran’s gone back to bed for a couple of hours and Sarah’s left for Cliffe estate, but we’ll manage. I’ll keep Daisy amused for now, get the prescription from the chemist the minute it’s open, and do the shopping if you’ve got a list.’

  ‘It’s on the table,’ said Peggy, ‘but with Cordelia so poorly I think it might be best if I telephoned Solly and warned him I can’t come in today.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Ron sternly. ‘Rita and I will keep an eye out for her until lunchtime, and Fran has promised to take over this afternoon.’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ Peggy protested. ‘It’s her one day off, and I’m sure she’s made plans to meet up with Robert later.’

  ‘She’s ’appy to do it, Aunty Peg,’ said Ivy through a mouthful of toast. ‘Grandma Cordy needs us to rally around, and I’m sure Robert won’t mind coming ’ere for his tea.’ She gulped down the last of her hurried breakfast. ‘Talking of which, me and Rita are in charge of cooking tonight, so there’s no need to get into a flap if you’re late back from visiting Danuta.’

  Peggy looked at her askance, knowing only too well that Ivy could burn water.

  Ivy giggled. ‘It’s vegetable stew, Aunty Peg, and even I can manage not to ruin that.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on it, so don’t worry, Aunt Peg,’ said Rita. ‘I reckon you’ve had enough drama for one day.’

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like your Australian,’ Peggy teased, warmed by their loving kindness.

  Rita turned pink. ‘Peter Ryan is not my Australian. He’s just a friend.’

  ‘Yeah, tell that to the marines,’ retorted Ivy, dragging on her coat and grabbing her gas mask. ‘I seen the way you eyes ’im when you thinks no one’s looking.’ She dodged Rita’s swiping hand and giggled. ‘I’ll see you all after me shift.’

  Rita busied herself at the sink. It had only been a year since her lovely young Matthew Champion had been shot down and killed on a raid over Germany, and although her loss was still clear in unguarded moments, she’d begun to slowly blossom and enjoy life again now she’d met Peter Ryan. Peggy had fretted that this new attraction of Rita’s was on the rebound, and that the very likeable Australian might prove too good to be true, and end up hurting her. But these past weeks had proved her wrong, and she was glad of it.

  ‘So, what are we going to do about Doris?’ asked Ron, busy helping Daisy with a jigsaw puzzle he’d made for her the previous Christmas.

  ‘We are doing nothing,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘What was said was in the heat of the moment, and of course I’m not about to throw her out.’

  ‘Then she needs to pull her silk stockings up and behave,’ said Ron. ‘I’ll not be having her upset you like that again.’

  Peggy patted his hand whilst Rita clattered dishes in the sink. ‘Thanks, Ron, but I’ll deal with Doris. You concentrate on making things right with Rosie.’

  3

  Harvey was already on guard duty at the side of Cordelia’s bed, having refused to budge when it became apparent she was not coming downstairs today. He looked up as Ron carried in the large bowl of steaming water and set it carefully on the bedside table, then with a snort, rested his nose back on his paws, his eyebrows twitching as he watched Rita fussing with pillows.

  ‘Is there anything else I can do?’ Ron asked, feeling rather awkward amongst Cordelia’s clutter of clothes, delicate furniture and china ornaments.

  Rita finished plumping the pillows and smiled back at him. ‘Thanks, Grandpa Ron, but Grandma Cordy and I can manage from now on.’

  ‘I expect he’s in a lather to get back to Rosie,’ said Cordelia.

  ‘Aye, well, I thought I’d see if she needed a hand before opening time,’ he muttered. He looked down at Harvey. ‘Out you come,’ he ordered.

  Harvey closed his eyes and ignored him.

  ‘Leave him be,’ said Rita. ‘He’s doing no harm.’

  Ron made his escape and stomped down the stairs, wincing at the pain shooting up his back. Determined not to let it hamper him, he strode into the kitchen to fetch his jacket, hat and gas-mask box. He checked there was enough fuel in the kitchener range to keep it going so the water was heated and they could cook, and then went down the concrete steps to the basement.

  Closing the back door behind him, he stepped out into the garden where Queenie was sunning herself on the herbs he’d seeded into the turfs he’d laid over the Anderson shelter. Reluctant to shoo her off in case she took it into her head to follow him, he left her to sleep, hoping the delicate little plants wouldn’t suffer too much.

  He squinted against the sun to watch the American bombers go over with their escort of Hurricanes and Typhoons, and then settled his fedora to a rakish angle over his brow. It was actually Jim’s hat, but as he was in Burma and it was only gathering dust, Ron had decided to make use of it. The dark blue fedora was much smarter than his greasy old cap, and it certainly lent him an air of sophistication which had been sorely lacking until recently.

  Smothering a vast yawn, he stood for a moment to enjoy the day’s warmth, wishing he wasn’t quite so tired. He’d managed to snatch an hour of sleep on his return this morning, and with all the hoo-ha over Cordelia and Doris, and dashing about shopping and collecting prescriptions, he felt drained. He pulled his pipe out of his jacket pocket and went to lean against the flint wall as he filled it with tobacco and got it alight.

  As he puffed sweet-scented smoke into the still, warm air, he mulled over the scene with Doris and gave a chuckle. Peggy had certainly shown her mettle this morning and no mistake, and he’d been amazed to discover that beneath that gentle exterior lay a veritable tiger – in fact it had quite shocked the girls, who’d never seen that side of Peggy before. Yet none of them blamed her for losing her temper, for Doris had fully deserved that slap, and if it had been up to them, she’d have been booted out there and then.

  Ron bit down on the stem of his pipe. It was not in Peggy’s nature to be unkind, and he suspected she was already bitterly regretting that row. Doris was a trial, and not the most welcome guest, but Peggy’s loyalty to her sister meant she would ask her to stay. He gave a sigh, took one last puff of his pipe and pushed through the gate. He could only hope that Doris kept her mouth shut and her head down, for there was trouble enough in the world without bringing it into the heart of Beach View.

  He strolled along the alleyway, noting the potholes that need
ed filling with ashes from the range, and the trails of bramble and ivy eating into the flint walls of the gardens which, like his, had been turned into vegetable plots. Tarpaulins had been stretched over damaged roofs; bullets had scarred walls; shattered chimney stacks had been taken down, and far too many windows had been boarded over. All in all, it was a gloomy scene, and did nothing to lift his flagging spirits.

  Yet, as he crossed the road coming up from the seafront and began to amble down Camden Road, Ron became aware that he was being watched. The queues of gossiping women outside the shops looked at him admiringly – in fact a few were openly flirtatious – and passing them by, he heard their whispering and tittering. His spirits rose, for they’d clearly noticed this new and very smart Ron, and going by some of their comments, it seemed they approved.

  He lifted his chin a little higher, squared his shoulders and stuck out his chest, tipping his hat at their greetings and grinning at the more daring who called out cheeky remarks. If Rosie was half as impressed by this new and improved Ron, then he had a fighting chance of persuading her to accept his proposal.

  The Town Hall clock struggled to be heard above the racket of the American planes as it struck eleven forty-five and Ron reached the Anchor’s side door. He thought it wise to knock, rather than just go in, for he needed to mind his manners and not upset Rosie from the outset by taking liberties.

  The heavy oak door creaked open, and Rosie stood there looking magnificent in her white frilly blouse, tight black skirt, dark stockings and high-heeled shoes. There was no sign of the previous night’s exhaustion, for her platinum hair shone in the sunlight and her smile was warm as she regarded him with sparkling blue eyes.

  ‘My goodness, you do look smart,’ she said, holding fast to Monty’s collar to stop him climbing all over Ron. ‘It’s most impressive, but why the sudden transformation?’

  ‘I’ve turned over a new leaf,’ he said, positively preening in her admiration. He stepped into the narrow hallway and patted Monty’s head. ‘To be sure, the effort was worth that lovely smile, Rosie.’ He reached for her hand, his heart thudding. ‘Would it also be worthy of a wee kiss?’

  Rosie giggled. ‘Just a small one. I’ve got a pub to open.’

  He shed the hat and gas-mask box to gather her tenderly into his arms, feeling her softness mould against him as her familiar perfume heightened his senses and their lips met. His heart sang as she put her arms round his neck and returned his kiss, her breasts rising and falling against his chest as her pulse quickened.

  All too suddenly she was pulling away from him and looking flustered. ‘Gosh,’ she breathed, tugging at her blouse which had come loose from her skirt. ‘Now you’ve got me all of a dither.’

  ‘Then let me kiss you again before the feeling wears off,’ he said, reaching for her once more.

  She shook her head and stepped away. ‘That’s really not a good idea, Ron. It’s almost opening time and I need to keep my wits about me.’

  ‘Brenda can manage perfectly well on her own,’ he persisted. ‘Come on, Rosie,’ he pleaded. ‘We’ve been apart for weeks and I want to show you how much I’ve missed you and how sorry I am that I upset you.’

  She still looked flustered, but kept her distance as Monty got bored and sloped off into the bar. ‘I’ve missed you too, and of course I know how sorry you are – I feel the same. But Brenda isn’t coming in today, and I just don’t have the time for canoodling’ – she shot him an almost shy smile – ‘regardless of how very pleasant it is.’

  Ron was crestfallen. ‘I was hoping we could have time to talk quietly about things,’ he said.

  She cupped his freshly shaven chin and brushed her lips against his cheek. ‘And we will, Ron, I promise. But now there’s a pub to run.’ She smiled up at him. ‘D’you fancy helping out?’

  It was an olive branch of sorts, and although his disappointment was raw, he accepted it. ‘To be sure, I’ve nothing better to do,’ he said nonchalantly.

  ‘Thanks, Ron, you’re a star.’ She turned away and made for the bar.

  Ron was thoughtful as he hung his hat, jacket and gas-mask box on the hall stand. He was confused. Her welcoming kiss had said one thing, her demeanour another – and he wasn’t at all sure where he stood with her. And yet it seemed she’d forgiven him his drunken behaviour that fateful night before she’d left, and still wanted his company – even if it was only to help behind the bar – so there was a glimmer of hope that all was not lost.

  He recalled his years of soldiering and decided he needed a new strategy. Every mission called for a carefully laid plan, and if he was to win Rosie, then it was vital he go about it with military precision. He would hold back, gauge the lie of the land for any hidden stumbling blocks – like Major Radwell – and then assess the best way to advance.

  Feeling rather more confident, he rolled up his shirt-sleeves and strode purposefully into the bar.

  Peggy enjoyed her work at the uniform factory, for it gave her a chance to do something useful, provided interesting new social contact, a very welcome wage, and respite from all the responsibilities at Beach View. Now she was on her lunch break, and as it was such a lovely day, she and her friend Gracie had decided to sit on the wall outside the factory to eat their sandwiches and catch up on their news.

  ‘It’s a shame that lot are making such a racket,’ said Gracie, looking up at the bombers and fighters. ‘I’m sure the birds must be singing, but I’m blowed if anyone can hear them above that.’

  ‘I’d rather that than the drone of a V-1,’ said Peggy. ‘I’ll never get over the way it got louder and louder and then went silent as it dropped from the sky and blew Havelock Road to smithereens.’

  ‘It must have been terrifying,’ agreed Gracie with a shudder. ‘We all heard the explosions and rushed out to see if there was anything we could do. I was so frightened for you when I saw where it had landed, and so thankful when I realised you and the others were all right.’

  ‘I’m just glad you were working that day, otherwise you and little Chloe would have been at the picnic and got caught up in it too.’

  Peggy twisted round to watch the children from the factory crèche scrambling about in the small playground, their laughter and chatter bringing a lightening to her spirits. She waved at Daisy, but her daughter was too busy playing chase with Gracie’s Chloe to take any notice, so she turned back to finish her sandwich.

  ‘I can tell you’re still shaken up, Peg. Are you sure you should have come back to work so soon?’

  Peggy’s smile was rueful. ‘I need the money, Gracie – and besides, now we’ve got Doris living with us, I’m glad to escape the house.’ She told her friend about the row that morning. ‘I’m not proud of what I did,’ she finished, ‘but I have to admit, I do feel better at letting it all out.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Gracie, squeezing her hand in sympathy. ‘From the sound of it, Doris has been a complete pain for years and it was time to let her know how you felt.’ She giggled. ‘I can’t imagine you going for her like that. You come across as so warm and cuddly. It must have been quite a shock to Doris.’

  Peggy chuckled. ‘It certainly shocked me. But the worm has finally turned, Gracie, and Doris had better watch her step from now on.’

  Despite making light of it, Peggy still felt ashamed, and not wishing to dwell upon that unpleasant exchange, she pulled the thermos out of her string bag and poured them both a cup of tea. ‘Changing the subject, have you heard from your Clive?’

  Gracie bit her lip and shook her head. ‘It’s been nearly a week since his last letter, and although I know he must be horribly busy with all the raids the RAF is on now, I’m a bit miffed he couldn’t find the time to send me a couple of lines.’

  She grimaced. ‘Still, he’s probably exhausted, poor darling. These endless sorties are bound to be telling on all the air crews, and I’m being selfish wanting him to write letters when he needs to sleep.’

  ‘It’s not at all selfish, Graci
e,’ Peggy soothed. ‘We women wait in hope for a letter or card, and when it doesn’t come we fret that they’ve forgotten us because they’re so taken up with their war duties. The mail from India isn’t always reliable, and it can be delayed by weeks. And when I do hear from Jim, it’s usually an indecipherable scrawl on a grubby page torn out of a notebook.’ She gave a sigh. ‘It’s all rather disheartening.’

  ‘Is it as bad as they say over there?’ asked Gracie, offering her packet of Lucky Strike cigarettes to Peggy.

  Peggy raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask where she’d got them as she took one and lit up, plucking a thread of tobacco from her lip. ‘He tells me nothing, really – but that’s not a bad thing. What I hear on the news is enough to get my imagination going, and I don’t really want to know what he’s having to face over there.’

  ‘At least as long as there’s no telegram we know they’re still alive,’ sighed Gracie. ‘To be honest, I dread the knock on the door.’

  ‘We all do.’ Peggy smoked the American cigarette which tasted so different from her usual Park Drive, and tried not to think about telegrams.

  Sarah Fuller was also on her lunch break at the Cliffe estate. Once she’d finished her meal in the noisy canteen with the other girls of the Women’s Timber Corps, she went into the manor house gardens to read her letters in peace and quiet.

  It was a warm day, and she wished she was wearing a cotton frock and sandals instead of the WTC uniform of heavy jodhpurs, thick shirt, sweater and stout boots. However, if the rumours were correct, and the Timber Corps was moving to another site, she’d soon be in a civilian office job and swapping her uniform for something more appropriate for the weather.

  Heading for her favourite spot, which was sheltered from the busy pathway by a rose arbour and huge rhododendron bushes, she stripped off her sweater and sat down on the lichen-stained stone bench. Lighting a cigarette, she shuffled the three letters, returning repeatedly to the one bearing the American Forces franking, and the familiar handwriting. She hadn’t expected to hear from Delaney after that heart-breaking letter she’d had to write to call things off between them, and although she was intrigued to know what he’d said, she was also fearful of his undoubted hurt and anger at being rejected so swiftly – and unexpectedly – after his loving proposal.