The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel

by Shirley Dickson

  21

  Trevor watched, fascinated, as Mr Newman took the nail he held between his lips and hammered it into a coffin. The boss never missed and would be mortified if he did, because a hammer mark on a coffin was a sign in the trade of shoddy craftsmanship.

  ‘I’ve heard tell of some dodgy fellows,’ he told Trevor, ‘who knock up coffins in their spare time and haven’t a clue how to seal the joints properly. They don’t seem to realise that it takes more than a hope and prayer and lining the coffin with sawdust to stop leakage happening.’

  Aye, Trevor thought, Newman’s, with its solid reputation, was the place to be.

  He stretched and yawned. The nightshift had taken its toll, but Mr Newman was not a sympathetic man.

  ‘If you’re tired, lad, go home. If not, I’d appreciate a helping hand.’

  Trevor picked up pieces of oak from the floor and flung them on the fire. He fetched a brush and started sweeping wood shavings.

  ‘Mrs Newman was in her element this morning,’ the boss said conversationally, without taking his eyes off the hammer. ‘There was a letter in the post from our Danny.’

  Danny, their only son and heir, was a pilot in the air force.

  ‘That’s champion. You’ll be glad when the war’s over and you have him home again.’

  ‘That I will. He’ll be back in the business where he belongs.’

  ‘Danny’s joining the firm, then?’

  Mr Newman gave him a critical look and Trevor wished he’d held his tongue. ‘Danny has some daft idea that he wants to become a teacher. I’ve told his mam that after the war he’ll come to his senses.’

  ‘Newman and Son, has a nice ring to it.’ He flattered Mr Newman because it would do him no harm. But what he really wanted to know was whether this plan for the business would include him. The boss, finished hammering, looked ready for a chat, and Trevor, leaning on the broom handle, was ready to accommodate him.

  ‘It’s like this, lad… the wife and me have ploughed all our money back into the business, like my father did before me… and I’m doing the same for Danny.’

  Bully for Danny, Trevor thought, poker-faced.

  A gleam shone in the boss’s eyes.

  ‘Between you and me, Trevor, I’m looking for bigger property, some premises with a fair bit of land. I intend to expand the business. An investment for Danny in the future.’

  More like a carrot to dangle in front of his son, Trevor surmised, but it was good news for him. Bigger premises meant more staff.

  Mr Newman’s manner changed and his look became tentative. ‘While we’re on the subject of business, I’d like a word with you about your mam.’ His brow furrowed in consternation. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing but respect for Mrs Milne… how she’s seen to folk in need over the years but… her way of doing things is outmoded.’

  Trevor knew the boss’s hidden meaning. The business was now too grand for the likes of his ma, whose practise of giving a neighbourly hand to lay out the dead was outdated. The insinuation was that it was Trevor’s responsibility to tell Ma to retire.

  ‘I can’t promise anything… but I’ll try.’

  Before he’d hitched up with Etty, Trevor would no more have confronted his ma than chewed tobacco but he didn’t flinch at the thought now. He had Etty to thank for that. With a turn of phrase, or a supportive smile, she assured him that his opinion did matter. She had a knack of making him feel good about himself.

  ‘I’d appreciate that, lad.’ Mr Newman visibly relaxed. ‘Your mam can be… tricky at times.’

  Trevor was saved from replying when the workshop door opened and May Robinson appeared, carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. Today, her complexion the same colour as the white pinafore she wore, she looked ghastly.

  ‘Have you met May? She’s back working for us.’

  Taking the tray from her, the boss set it down on the workbench. Like a trapped bird, she looked wildly about as if desperate to flit away.

  ‘We haven’t met,’ Trevor told her. ‘But you know my wife, Etty. She worked at the same factory. She’s told me about you… all good things.’ He smiled.

  ‘Yes…’ she said, ‘and I know her sister Dorothy. I often caught her bus when I worked at the factory.’

  ‘Our May is kindness itself,’ Mr Newman intervened, ‘when it comes to that sister-in-law of yours.’

  At the mention of Dorothy, May became animated. ‘Me heart breaks for what Mrs Calvert is going through. Laurie was such a lovely man. I hope your sister-in-law has a boy and it’s the image of him.’

  ‘Eh-hem,’ Mr Newman’s deliberate cough implied there’d been enough gossiping. May didn’t need a second telling and scarpered from the room.

  Trevor’s thoughts turned to Laurie Calvert’s death and how he’d had nightmares about the bloke’s watery grave. Truth to be told, he didn’t know Laurie, but folk spoke highly of him and no way had he deserved to die like that.

  Etty had taken it badly and Trevor had wanted to put things right. He came up with an idea about how to help her sister’s plight. Better at solving practical problems, his plan was to fix jobs around Dorothy’s house and not to complain about how much time Etty spent at her flat. The plan was a success – Etty was appreciative and their marriage had taken a turn for the better from that day on.

  The boss drained his teacup and took up the hammer. ‘Back to work, Trevor, lad. The coffin won’t make itself.’

  Later that afternoon, Trevor, ready for the off, made for the parlour door. Stomach rumbling, he fantasised about what Etty had made for his tea.

  He called through to the boss. ‘Remember, I can’t make it in tomorra.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ the boss corrected him.

  Heartened that the days were lighter now towards teatime, Trevor opened the door and stepped into the street. A movement over the road caught his eye. A soldier appeared in a house doorway – his doorway, Trevor realised with a start. The bloke, young and stocky built, exuded arrogance and watching him swagger up the street, something wrenched in Trevor’s gut. Instinctively, he withdrew into the cover of the parlour’s entrance.

  Etty appeared in the doorway and looked up the street, her lips parted as if she were about to call out to the soldier. Then, as if she thought better of it, she hesitated. She sagged against the doorjamb, watching him as he walked away. Turning the top of the street, the soldier disappeared out of sight. Etty turned to go inside, but not before Trevor saw the expression on her face; a look of profound disappointment.

  Trevor wasn’t daft. This was the bloke Etty had supposedly had a one-night affair with. Fuming, his heart thumped in his chest. By, what a mug he was. He’d been duped. Doubts crept into his mind, and all kinds of scenarios presented themselves. How many times had the bloke called at the house? And how convenient that Trevor worked the nightshift. What about all those times Etty said she’d visited her sister? No doubt, the bloke was married – why else the secrecy? – and strung her along and, fool that she was, Etty had swallowed his patter hook line and sinker. But what upset Trevor most was the deceit. He’d never thought his wife was a downright liar.

  How long he stood there, Trevor didn’t know and it wasn’t till a rag and bone man’s horse clopped up the street that he gathered his senses. He tried to analyse his feelings – anguish, betrayal, anger – but all he knew was that Etty had made a fool of him. Inhaling a lungful of air, he crossed the cobbles and, entering the flat, his mood darkened.

  ‘I’m late with tea,’ Etty told him as he entered the kitchen.

  The bairn, in her high chair, played with a favourite dolly.

  ‘I don’t want nowt,’ he said.

  Etty’s hands shook as she set the table.

  In the silence, heavy with duplicity, she turned towards him. ‘What?’

  ‘There was a bloke,’ he said, ‘a soldier… it looked as if he came out of our front door.’

  She hesitated, but was quick to recover, ‘Oh, him. That was Billy, May
Robinson’s fiancé. Did you ever meet him?’

  Holy Moses. It got worse.

  ‘What did he want?’

  She turned and looked directly at him. ‘He came to give his condolences about Laurie.’

  She was good, he would give her that.

  ‘That was canny of him.’

  She looked at him, warily. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Just general talk.’

  To think only this afternoon, he’d sung her praises. How wrong could a man be?

  He thought of May’s tormented face as she served him tea, wondering if her fiancé’s affair was the cause of her distress.

  ‘You look pale.’ Etty didn’t make eye contact. ‘You might be sickening for something. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘I don’t want tea.’

  The audacity of the woman – behaving like nothing was the matter! Trevor shrugged off his coat and slung it over the couch.

  A worried frown creased her brow. ‘How about a glass of milk while you wait––’

  ‘Are you deaf, or daft, woman? I don’t want anything.’

  As a hurt look crossed her face, Trevor despised himself but he couldn’t stop. He was so wound up with jealousy.

  Etty banged the salt cellar down on the table. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Trevor, but until you can speak civilly to me, don’t speak at all.’

  Cold anger rose in him and Trevor felt out of control. ‘This is my home and I’ll speak to you anyway I please.’

  Etty had the nerve to look outraged, as if she was the injured party.

  The full impact of her deceit hitting Trevor, he blasted, ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For us to behave as if nothing happened?’

  Hands on hips, she drew herself up. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘You know damn fine. You and your fancy man carrying on under my roof.’

  Fear struck Trevor. What if this bloke knew about Norma and he wanted to now be a proper father? At the thought that he might lose Norma, or at the very least have to share the bairn with another man, gut-wrenching insecurity washed over Trevor.

  ‘What I think, Trevor, is that you shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’

  ‘It was written on your face when he left, what this Billy means to you.’

  There was the rub. Trevor couldn’t bear the pain inside, spreading like a bush fire in his chest. Not betrayal, but heartbreak.

  Etty had the grace to flush.

  He mimicked, ‘It was one of those things… a one-night affair that happens in war. Liar! It’s still going on.’

  About to retort, she opened her mouth but no words came out. She shook her head.

  ‘Think what you like but the truth is I sent him packing… afterwards. He was engaged to May.’ She folded her arms. ‘And I did the same today.’

  Trevor hesitated. Could he be wrong? He wanted to believe her. He didn’t want to lose what they had. Then the memory of the solider came to the fore – and jealousy and outrage won.

  ‘D’you take me for a fool, woman? I saw the evidence… I’ve a good mind to throw you out into the street.’ His head fizzed with hopelessness. ‘I’ve had enough, Just… go to hell.’

  The words rang out. The bairn, watching, began to cry.

  Etty glared at him for one long moment and, collecting Norma from the high chair, stormed from the room.

  Trevor anxiously ran his fingers through his hair. He could never take the words back. If Etty left, he’d have lost everything.

  Again, the scene of the soldier swaggering up the street and Etty pining after him played in Trevor’s mind’s eye. No man worth his salt would be second best to another bloke, his outraged mind concluded.

  The wrath inside him exploded like a firecracker. He would keep his side of the bargain, provide Etty and his bairn a home, but for Trevor, the marriage was over.

  Billy gazed out of the carriage window and watched the hordes of folk, milling about the platform. Ever since he was a lad, he had been both thrilled and fascinated by the railway station. The notion that, by simply boarding a train you were transported to another way of life, appealed to the wanderlust in him.

  Soldiers in greatcoats boarded a train while womenfolk waved tearful goodbyes – some poor sods had lost limbs and walked with crutches. A group of sailors wearing duffle coats crossed the bridge, while beneath, a train roared into the station hissing steam. In the carriage next to his, a soldier hung out of an open window. His sweetheart, standing on the platform on tiptoe, gave him a kiss goodbye. The scene aroused Billy and his thoughts turned to Etty. She got under his skin. He wanted her that bad at times that it became a physical ache – and the fact shook him. He’d never felt like this about a lass before. He laughed, ruefully. Who would have thought it, Billy Buckley had met his match?

  The kid was a shocker, and something he hadn’t bargained for. A whistle shrilled and the train jerked to a start. His nose inches from the window, Billy watched as the station passed slowly out of sight. He settled back in his seat and massaged his temples.

  He lay back and rested his head on the seat and, closing his eyes, a picture of May’s face, wearing her brave expression as he told her it was over came to mind. The lass had more spirit than he gave her credit for. She had corresponded a few times but didn’t refer to the break-up and Billy worried that in her head they were still a couple. He never replied, as he didn’t want to encourage her, even though she kept things impersonal. The truth was, he now had no feelings whatsoever for May.

  He should have written though, told her he didn’t hold it against her that she’d lied about the kid. Billy felt a swine he hadn’t done that. As, truth be known, she’d made it easier for him to finish the affair.

  As the train hurtled along the tracks, he fell into a sound and peaceful sleep.

  22

  April 1943

  Etty passed the impressive Town Hall, pausing in front of the statue of Queen Victoria, towering above on a granite plinth. She wished her own head were made of bronze so she wouldn’t have to think.

  Yesterday’s row with Trevor had taken its toll and she tossed and turned all night in the spare bed. How Trevor could believe she’d be unfaithful and in broad daylight with Norma in the house?

  Yet, Etty thought, every picture told a story and Trevor believed what he’d seen. Could she really blame him? She had to admit the picture painted in the street did her no favours. Etty despaired. They’d been man and wife for some time, and now they’d got to know each other – to talk and debate about everything under the sun, and cautiously divulge their innermost thoughts – Etty had begun to believe they had a future together.

  As the scene of Trevor’s accusations played back in her mind, she regretted that she hadn’t been given the chance to tell her side of the story. Damn the man. She was innocent of his accusation. She’d seen through Billy for what he was and sent him packing for good. Heart sinking, she surmised that Trevor could think what he liked. Because if his trust in her was gone then what was the point? The bottom line was, Etty, as always, would depend on her own strength and resilience and work things out.

  Etty rounded the corner into Beach Road, and saw, over the road, the house where Dorothy was once employed. Mrs Brooke still kept in touch and when Laurie died, she sent condolences, wondering if Dorothy might like to join her in Lancashire. But Etty’s sister had declined.

  She’d told Etty, in a voice tinged with sadness, ‘It’s extremely kind of Mrs Brooke but I could never think of such a move. I want to stay in the flat where memories of Laurie are all around. Besides,’ she’d given a small smile, ‘I’ve got you to look after.’

  It had been Dorothy’s first attempt at humour since her husband had died, and Etty was pleased.

  It was peculiar walking past the Brookes’ house, seeing it unchanged, when so much had altered in their lives. Inevitably, Etty’s thoughts turned to Laurie, and memories came flooding back.

  She walked
on as the street, empty of pedestrians, rose up a steady incline. At the thought of what she hoped to achieve today – to meet up with Mam’s cousin and finally find out the truth about their mother – anxiety made Etty want to run a mile, but she steeled herself and carried on.

  Tall terraced houses with bay windows overshadowed small forecourt gardens, some displaying yellow daffodils that nodded their heads. A stiff sea breeze infused her nostrils. Seagulls screeched overhead and Etty saw a blue band of glittering sea on the horizon.

  Etty didn’t know which house to try first and was drawn to the one with a pillar-box red door.

  She knocked but nobody was in. The next door she tried stood beneath a canopy supported by two stonework columns. Banging the doorknocker, she heard it echo hollowly in the lobby. She was just about to walk away when a gruff voice called from inside. ‘All right… all right… I’m coming.’

  The door opened to reveal an elderly gentleman with a shock of silvery hair. He wore an Aran sweater with a polo neck and, leaning on a stick, his suspicious eyes assessed her.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m hoping you can help me find an aunt who I think lives in the street.’

  ‘The name is?’ His tone was terse.

  ‘Milne,’ she said, absently, staring at his weather-beaten face.

  ‘Don’t know anyone around here with that name.’ He made to shut the door.

  ‘Wait,’ she cried, blushing when she realised her mistake. ‘That’s my name.’

  The man stared.

  ‘It’s rather silly,’ she quickly put in, ‘but I don’t know her married surname.’

  ‘Any clues?’ he asked.

  ‘Her first name is Lillian’

  He scratched his head. ‘It’s the Mrs you want… we’ve lived here over thirty years and she knew most neighbours by name.’ A dejected look flitted across his eyes. ‘She recently passed on.’

  ‘Oh! I am sorry.’