by Ellie Dean
She began to pace again as the clock ticked away the minutes. Stubbing out her cigarette, she topped up her drink and returned anxiously to the window. It was now almost half-past seven, but still there was no sign of Ron. Perhaps she should telephone Beach View and find out what he was up to?
Hitching up the hem of her long dress, she navigated the stairs carefully in her high heels and to a chorus of wolf whistles from the bar, picked up the receiver. The line was busy. She waited a couple of minutes and tried again, and Vera Gardener assured her that there was no problem with the line, but it was still engaged.
Rosie replaced the receiver and stomped back upstairs. She’d give him another five minutes to either turn up or telephone her, and then she’d go to the ball on her own. She had the tickets in her handbag, had taken too long to prepare for the evening to let it all go to waste, and if she was lucky, she might even find a single man to dance with.
The telephone remained stubbornly silent and Ron was nowhere to be seen. ‘Your five minutes are up,’ she muttered crossly. Snatching up her fur and evening bag, she went back downstairs and out through the side door. It would take her a good ten minutes to walk up the hilly High Street in these damned shoes, and she’d probably be late into the dining room. Her dander was well and truly up, and if it meant making an entrance on her own, she’d blooming well do it – and in style.
Everyone was gathered in the kitchen of Beach View, their focus on Harvey who was lying shivering on the rug in front of the range fire. Ron had cleaned the wound as best he could and wrapped a length of gauze bandage over it, but Harvey was clearly in great pain.
‘Where’s that vet got to?’ Ron demanded, distraught. ‘Surely it doesn’t take this long to see to a cow with a damaged udder?’
‘I’ve tried ringing again,’ Peggy told him, ‘but his receptionist said he’s still out at Chalky’s place, and as Chalky doesn’t have a phone she can’t get a message to him.’
‘I’d walk over there myself and drag him away if it didn’t mean leaving this poor old fella,’ muttered Ron, gently stroking Harvey’s brindled head. ‘It’s time that blasted man took on an assistant.’
‘I know where Chalky’s place is,’ said Rita, pulling on her old leather flying jacket and shoving her feet into sturdy boots. ‘It won’t take a minute to run down to the fire station to collect my bike.’
Before anyone could reply, she was out of the door at a run. Hurdling the back gate, she shot down the twitten and then raced along Camden Road, her boots thudding on the pavement. Every minute counted now, for Harvey was in grave trouble, and if the vet didn’t see to him very soon, they were in danger of losing him. The thought of Beach View without darling Harvey brought tears to her eyes as she hurtled along towards the fire station. She had to save him – simply had to.
Rita was almost blinded by her tears, so barely saw the blonde woman tottering along in high heels, evening dress and fur wrap. She tried to avoid her, but the woman stopped suddenly and Rita ran straight into her. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped, grabbing her before she fell.
Rosie disentangled herself, clearly about to read her the riot act until she saw who it was. ‘Rita? What’s happened? Why are you running like that?’
‘It’s Harvey. He’s been injured and I have to fetch the vet,’ she replied breathlessly before breaking into a sprint for the final few yards.
The old motorbike Rita and her father had brought back to life before the war started first time. She fastened the crash helmet beneath her chin, and as she shot away from the fire station forecourt, she caught a glimpse of Rosie still standing on the pavement. It was only as she opened the throttle and the bike roared up the hill, that she remembered Ron was supposed to be taking Rosie to the ball at the Town Hall.
Rita set aside all thoughts of Rosie and concentrated on where she was heading. She had two choices. She could take the quickest route straight up the hill and across country – thereby risking missing the vet who might already be on his way back – or take the main road which wound into the hills and along the ridge. With only a momentary hesitation, she decided to take the main road and, with the hooded headlight barely showing her the way through the gloom, she accelerated until the needle on the speedometer hovered just below eighty.
The bike was running sweetly as she took the meandering set of bends that ran through a tunnel of trees to the open fields and tiny hamlets that lay on the other side of the hill sheltering Cliffehaven to the west. Picking up speed again as she reached a straighter stretch, she kept her eyes peeled for a van coming the other way. But the road was deserted.
Rita’s anxiety grew as she raced through the gathering gloom, and she almost missed the track which led down to the farm. Skidding to a halt and battling to stay on board as the bike lurched beneath her and the engine died, she managed to turn it round. She rammed her heel on the kick-start, and the engine coughed once, but didn’t catch. She tried again and again, her exasperation and frustration reaching boiling point as it refused to start.
She was on the point of giving it a good kick when she saw a beam of headlights approaching the open farm gate. Leaving the bike on the ground, she ran towards them, waving her arms and yelling to the driver to stop.
The van came to a halt within inches of her feet. ‘What the dickens do you think you’re doing?’ shouted the middle-aged vet crossly.
‘It’s Harvey,’ she shouted back. ‘He’s been badly hurt. You’ve got to go to him at Beach View – and hurry. Please hurry,’ she finished on a sob.
‘Do you want a lift?’
‘No. Get to Harvey before it’s too late.’
The van rattled off at speed and Rita sank sobbing onto the grassy verge beside her bike. She could only pray she’d got to the vet in time.
Rosie’s fury with Ron had fled instantly as Rita told her about Harvey. Having watched the girl go haring off on that motorbike, she’d turned back for the Anchor to get changed out of her finery.
As she pulled on slacks, blouse and a light sweater, she could only imagine what sort of torture Ron must be going through. Harvey was like his beloved child, and if anything happened to him, he’d be devastated. It was no wonder he’d forgotten about the ball tonight, and she felt utterly miserable about how angry she’d been, accusing him of all sorts, when in reality he was caring for his dog. Slipping into comfortable flat shoes, she hurried downstairs, leaving a disgruntled Monty behind, and managed to avoid being seen by the people in the bar as she left by the side door.
It was dark now, but the air was still warm and fragranced by the day’s heat, and she took a deep, restorative breath as she reached the corner of Camden Road. She could see the vet’s ramshackle old van parked outside the front steps of Beach View, which was a huge relief, so she hurried to the back gate and quietly let herself into the scullery.
It was awfully quiet upstairs, and as she entered the kitchen it was to find the entire household gathered around the table in tense silence. Harvey was lying there on a rubber sheet, his tongue lolling between his slack jaws as Ron stroked his head and the vet carefully stitched the wound in his side.
Rosie edged further into the room and stood by a tearful Peggy. ‘How’s he doing?’ she murmured.
‘We’ll know better once he comes round,’ she replied, her eyes never leaving the dog on the kitchen table. ‘I thought we were going to lose him,’ she added, her voice unsteady, ‘and we still might if the anaesthetic affects his poor old heart.’ She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘He’s got a heart murmur, you see, and at his age …’
Rosie gripped her hand in sympathy and looked over at Ron. His face was ashen beneath the streaks of dirt, and his hand wasn’t quite steady as he continued to stroke the dog’s head. Her heart went out to him, but there was absolutely nothing she could do but stay here and be with him.
The vet finished his stitching, and after spreading a thick daub of iodine over the wound, applied a bandage. ‘That’s all I can do for now,�
�� he said wearily. ‘He should really come to the surgery so I can keep an eye on him, but I don’t want to move him.’
‘How long before he wakes up?’ asked Ron.
‘Not too long. I didn’t want to give him too heavy a dose of anaesthetic because of his age. I’ll ring the surgery to let Maureen know where I am and then stay on for a bit, if you don’t mind, until he does wake – just to make sure the dear old boy has pulled through.’
‘You can stay as long as you like,’ said Ron, his attention back on the comatose dog. ‘Would one of you women make the poor wee man a cup of tea? To be sure, he looks parched and dead on his feet.’
‘It has been a very long day,’ the vet admitted with a soft smile at Rita who was filling the kettle. ‘Not helped by you scaring the life out of me by running straight into my headlights,’ he admonished gently.
‘Sorry about that,’ she replied with a cheeky grin. ‘But it was the only way to stop you.’
Rosie made her way through the crush surrounding Harvey and put her hand on Ron’s shoulder. ‘I’m here if you need me,’ she said quietly.
Ron looked up at her in confusion. ‘Rosie? What are you doing here?’ And then the confusion cleared to be replaced by the shock of remembrance. ‘Oh, Rosie, I’m so sorry. I forgot all about …’
‘It’s all right, my darling man,’ she soothed, nuzzling his cheek. ‘Nothing matters but Harvey.’
‘Ach, Rosie, girl, I don’t deserve you,’ he replied, the tears making his eyes very blue in his dirty face.
‘We’ll discuss that in more detail once Harvey’s up and about again, and you’ve had a good wash. What on earth have you both been up to?’
Ron explained, all the while stroking Harvey. ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ he finished. ‘Chasing things is bred into a lurcher.’
Harvey grunted and his eyebrows twitched. A shiver ran through him and he slowly opened his eyes. He rubbed his nose against Ron’s hand and licked his fingers, his amber eyes still hazy from the anaesthetic.
‘Don’t let him try and sit up,’ warned the vet. He fixed the stethoscope into his ears and listened to Harvey’s heartbeat, a smile slowly lightening his expression. ‘Good and strong despite the murmur,’ he declared. ‘It looks like our boy will pull through.’
A collective sigh of relief went round the room and Ron rested his cheek against Harvey’s muzzle. ‘Ye heathen beast,’ he murmured affectionately. ‘You’ll not be giving me a fright like that again.’
‘I’m sorry, old chap,’ said the vet, advancing on Harvey with a large cone of stiff cardboard, ‘but you’re going to have to wear this until those stitches are healed.’
Harvey suffered the indignity of having the outsize ruff fitted around his neck and looked beseechingly at Ron in the hope he’d rescue him. When he realised he wasn’t about to, and that it hurt too much to try and struggle against it, he flopped down with a martyred sigh and promptly went back to sleep.
With Harvey now sleeping on the rug, Ron and Rosie sat in the fireside chairs throughout the night to keep watch, and as dawn finally broke, Harvey lumbered to his feet to go and inspect his food bowl and have a long drink. He was on the mend.
19
Doris didn’t mind the restriction of being in the hall-floor bedroom, and had settled into Beach View far better than she’d ever expected to, and yet she was still trying to come to terms with the chaos in the house. It had been so quiet and orderly in her lovely Havelock Road home, but here she was surrounded by people rushing in and out, who didn’t seem to mind coping with birthing babies, small children, erecting stair contraptions and tending to sick animals, and it was all rather a shock to the system. Although she had to admit there were times she thoroughly enjoyed feeling part of a family again – and she’d come to look on all of them as such now – even young Ivy, who had the cheek of the devil, but was surprisingly, and rather endearingly, fragile under all that sparky bluff and bluster.
It was strange how you never really knew people until you lived with them and got involved in their lives, she mused, as she left Beach View that early Monday morning. Her set ideas about them all had proven to be totally unfounded, especially over this weekend.
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She’d seen a surprising new side to Ron, for his distress over Harvey had been awful to watch, and yet the tenderness he’d shown both towards his dog and to Rosie Braithwaite was quite remarkable. It seemed Ron had hidden depths previously masked by a cheerful disregard of his responsibilities, and that intrigued and unsettled her, for she’d always thought of him as a rough, selfish man who went his own way without a thought for anyone else.
Doris crossed the street and hurried along Camden Road, her thoughts still on Ron. He was clearly trying to reform in his pursuit of Rosie, and when she’d seen how they were together, she’d realised they shared the same sort of special relationship that Peggy had with her Jim. Although she was ashamed of it, she couldn’t help but feel envious.
She and Edward had never really experienced the close intimacy that came from a deep and abiding love that bound two people together and withstood the years. She’d always known that Edward loved her, and in her own way she’d loved him back, but it was a love that stemmed from friendship, companionship and the sharing of day-to-day duties around the home – not the passion her sister shared with Jim, or Rosie with Ron.
Doris sighed. Now Ted was gone, and she was over fifty, she’d more than likely missed the boat as far as passion was concerned – though it would be nice to experience it just once. A fleeting and rather disturbing image of Colonel White’s handsome face came from nowhere, and she hastily dismissed it as the wishful thinking of a frustrated and lonely woman. Handsome he might be, with lovely manners and the sort of cultured voice that could recite the telephone directory and make it sound interesting – but he was her boss, and she had no business to think of him as anything else.
She was just approaching the side alley to the Anchor when Rosie stepped out in a loosely tied, scarlet satin robe which gaped to show too much cleavage and a lot of leg.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, handing a large jug to the dairyman as his Shire waited patiently at the kerb. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly is,’ Doris replied rather stiffly. She still wasn’t really sure what to make of Rosie, for although she seemed to be educated and quite pleasant, she ran a pub, dressed outrageously and didn’t think it at all inappropriate to fetch the milk wearing something that left very little to the imagination.
‘Have you got a minute?’ said Rosie. ‘Only there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’
Rather startled by this unexpected approach, Doris looked at her wristwatch. ‘I like to be in the office early to prepare everything before the Colonel arrives, but if it’s important, I could spare a couple of minutes.’
Rosie clutched the full jug of milk to her bosom with one hand and her gaping wrap with the other. ‘Let’s go inside before that chap over there has a heart attack,’ she giggled.
Doris glanced across the road at the leering man and gave him such a glare he ducked his head and scuttled off.
‘Would you like a cuppa?’ asked Rosie as they entered the narrow, dark hall.
‘Thank you, but I’ve just had one,’ said Doris, giving the place a quick once-over. She’d never been in the Anchor before, and was surprised by how quaint it was with its low beams, brick floor and white walls of lath and plaster. It was all spotlessly clean and there was the smell of beer permeating through from the bar she could glimpse at the end of the hall, but the over-riding scent was of beeswax and Rosie’s flowery perfume.
Rosie put the milk jug on the table by the telephone, tied the belt more firmly around her waist and eyed Doris with some amusement. ‘Would you like me to show you round?’
‘Perhaps another time,’ Doris replied, only slightly fazed to be caught snooping. ‘What was it you wanted to discuss with me?’
‘
First things first,’ said Rosie. ‘How’s Harvey this morning?’
‘He’s feeling very sorry for himself, and hates wearing that ruff, but he’s eating well and seems to be on the mend.’
‘And Ron? How’s he holding up?’
‘As robust as ever now he knows Harvey will recover.’
‘Good.’ Rosie folded her arms beneath her generous bosom and regarded Doris with some sympathy. ‘You’ve been through the mill lately, haven’t you, and you must be finding it hard to settle at Beach View after the peace and quiet of your other place.’
Doris was surprised by her astuteness. ‘I’ve been extremely fortunate to have a sister who’s so generous,’ she replied. ‘Yes, it is noisy with people coming and going and what feels like a different drama being played out every day – but strangely enough I’m rather enjoying it.’
‘What about after the war? Will you stay on there?’
Doris was puzzled by the questions, not at all sure she wanted this woman knowing her business. ‘I hope to have my own place once Jim and the rest of the family come home.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Rosie. ‘And I have a proposition for you.’
Doris raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘There is a property I own just off Mafeking Terrace,’ Rosie informed her. ‘It’s a nice little bungalow, but will need some work done to it now my tenant, old Mrs Carey, has sadly passed away. I was wondering if you’d be interested in renting it?’
‘I didn’t know you had other property,’ said Doris without thinking.
Rosie gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Doris, there’s a lot you don’t know about me – and although I own a pub and play the part of the landlady to the hilt, there’s more to me than meets the eye. Like you, I prefer to keep my private life private.’