On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  With the case packed, she opened her underwear drawer and looked in disgust at her old corset. The elastic was threadbare and sagging, the satin virtually falling apart. And she’d lost so much weight since the start of the war, the damned thing swum on her.

  Tossing it aside to put in the dustbin later, she decided to flout convention and go without it – after all, she reasoned silently, she had nothing to hold in, so she was hardly going to wobble about and cause a scandal like Gloria Stevens, who’d been a stranger to corsets all her life.

  She smiled at the thought of Gloria, who had the nerve not to care what people thought of her and carried on in her own brash way. It was lovely of Rosie to invite her tonight, and Peggy was glad they’d become friendlier since the incident of the soot fall, for she’d always secretly admired Gloria.

  Peggy changed into clean underwear and pulled on her yellow linen dress which had short sleeves and a square neckline. Fastening the buttons down the front, she buckled the cloth belt and eyed her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. The dress was an old favourite and definitely showing its age now, but the colour cheered her up and was just right for a celebration.

  Standing by the mirror, she brushed her thick, dark curly hair into neat waves, dabbed some powder on her nose and carefully eked out the last of her lipstick and mascara. Happy with the result, she clipped on the sparkling earrings she hadn’t been able to resist at a jumble sale and hunted out her one and only pair of low-heeled black shoes. They needed a bit of polish to hide the scuffs, and she’d have to have them resoled soon at the cobblers, but they would do for tonight.

  She had one pair of decent stockings, but was saving those for the wedding, so she slipped her bare feet into the shoes, grabbed the evening bag that had done her such sterling service since the Christmas of 1932 and draped her gorgeous Indian silk stole over her shoulders. Jim had sent it as a Christmas present the first year he’d been abroad, and as she rarely went out, this was only the second time she’d worn it. Grinning with delight and eager for the evening to begin, she returned to the kitchen.

  Coats, gloves and scarves were pulled on to ward off the bitter cold. Fran picked up the violin, and bottles and plates of sandwiches were gathered up amidst a great deal of chatter and laughter. Once they were all ready, they trooped out of the front door, none of them wanting to scuff their good shoes by going down the back alley.

  Peggy held Daisy’s hand and went arm in arm with Cordelia whilst the four girls paired off and hurried on ahead with the food and drink. Danuta had promised to join them once she’d finished her district rounds, and Peggy could only surmise that she must have been held up by some emergency or other.

  Rosie had taken her time dressing carefully for this special evening, and knew she looked very glamorous in the black velvet cocktail dress and high-heeled silver sandals. This was a night to celebrate, and she was determined to enjoy every last minute of it, which was why she’d closed the Anchor for the night and put a big notice on the door to that effect.

  Now the fire was lit in the inglenook, sending the sweet scent of apple wood into the room. Sprays of holly and ivy had been entwined with tinsel into wreaths which hung from the sturdy beams, and candles flickered in glass jars on the mantelshelf. There were more candles on the linen-covered tables which had been pushed together to form a line from one end of the room to the other. The curtains had been drawn to add to the sense of cosiness, the old piano had been polished, and to complete the picture, Monty was sprawled in front of the hearth fast asleep.

  Rosie turned to her barmaid Brenda and they clinked glasses. ‘Cheers, Brenda, I couldn’t have done all this on my own.’

  ‘Glad to help,’ she replied after taking a healthy slug of gin. ‘I must say, Rosie, it does all look lovely. I bet the stuffy old Officers’ Club won’t be half as nice.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I doubt any of them will notice. Men are terrible at that sort of thing at the best of times, and after a lot of beer they could be in a mineshaft for all they cared.’

  ‘I’ll just shoot upstairs and get changed,’ said Brenda. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

  Rosie nodded, and as she waited for her guests to arrive, prowled around the room, admiring the way the horse brasses glinted in the candlelight, and how Monty’s brushed coat gleamed in the firelight. She felt calmer than she’d done in years, for within two days she would be Mrs Ronan Reilly and at the start of a whole new life. And it would be an exciting one, for she had plans to do a great many things once she’d sold the Anchor, and had even picked out the house she’d like to buy.

  The only shadow marring her happiness was the fact she hadn’t seen Ron since yesterday afternoon, but she supposed he’d been busy at Beach View doing the last-minute jobs still on Peggy’s list. Still, it would have been helpful if he’d come to take Monty for his walks when she’d had so many things to do.

  Her thoughts were broken by the arrival of the Beach View girls, who were soon followed by Peggy, Cordelia and Daisy. She hurried to greet them with kisses and hugs, and made a huge fuss of Daisy who was looking very sweet in her lovely new outfit.

  The first round of drinks had been poured when Brenda came downstairs looking quite youthfully carefree in a pink frilly blouse and navy skirt to join in the fun as she wasn’t serving behind the bar tonight; and then Madge turned up looking very glamorous in a dark green dress, wielding a huge bottle of gin courtesy of Solly, and a cake from the bakery.

  Doris arrived at the same time as Peggy’s sister-in-law, Pauline. They studiously ignored each other as they greeted Rosie, handed over their offerings and then promptly chose to sit at opposite ends of the table. Rosie was sad to see this for Peggy’s sake, but there was nothing much she could do about it except hope the alcohol loosened them up enough to at least talk to one another – but not enough to have them falling out. She didn’t want them to ruin Peggy’s rare night off.

  Alf’s wife came in with Fred’s Lil; Danuta rushed in having finished her district rounds and quickly gone home to change into a pretty white blouse and pleated skirt. She was swiftly followed by Stan’s niece April, and Ruby.

  ‘Oh, Ruby, April,’ cried Peggy. ‘It’s so lovely to see you both.’ She hugged the girls who’d once been her evacuees, and regarded them with deep affection.

  ‘What have you done with little Paula?’ Rosie asked April. ‘She could have stayed here, you know.’

  ‘That’s really kind, Rosie, but Vera Gardener’s looking after her, bless her. I don’t know how I’d cope without her, to be honest.’

  Peggy smiled. ‘I told you when you first went for that interview at the telephone exchange that her bark was worse than her bite,’ she said warmly. ‘Being on her own now that revolting dog has gone, I expect she’s very happy to mind little Paula.’

  Rosie turned to Ruby, who was looking quite stunning in a simple dark blue dress. ‘How’s your Mike doing up there in the wilds of Scotland?’

  ‘Getting very bored, but that could all change if he’s sent home to Canada.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘It’s what we’ve both been dreading, and of course I don’t want ’im to go, but anything ’as to be better than watching puffins and gulls all day, I s’pose.’

  ‘Oh, Ruby, I am sorry,’ murmured Rosie.

  ‘It ain’t all doom and gloom,’ the girl replied, ‘’cos once this war’s over, he’s coming back for us to get married.’

  ‘How exciting,’ said Rosie. ‘So you’ll be moving to Canada with him, then?’

  ‘I’m willing to give it a go,’ Ruby said brightly. ‘At least there, I won’t have to worry about me rotten mum turning up on the doorstep to cause trouble.’

  Rosie patted her arm, thinking of the ghastly Ethel who’d spitefully pinched her letter to Ron and was now serving a prison sentence for stealing from the Red Cross. In her opinion, the further Ruby went from her mother, the better.

  At that moment the door crashed open and Gloria Stevens made her entrance, holding aloft two bottles of cham
pagne. She had some holly pinned in her peroxided hair, jewellery jangling, bosom and hips quivering beneath a very tight, short red dress.

  ‘Wotcha, Rosie, gel,’ she yelled. ‘You can get this party going proper now I’m here.’ She came down the step and nearly sprained her ankle in her high heels.

  Rosie almost burst out laughing as all conversation stopped and everyone held their breath to look at her and see how she’d react. She had only told Peggy she’d invited Gloria, wanting it to be a surprise – and most clearly, it had been.

  Without missing a beat, Rosie hurried towards Gloria and relieved her of the champagne before she dropped it. ‘Glad you could make it, Glo,’ she giggled, grabbing her around the waist to stop her toppling over. ‘It looks like you’ve been having your own party. Steady the Buffs, girl, we’ve got a long way to go yet.’

  Gloria shot her a sloppy grin and, before Rosie could stop her, plumped down next to Doris, who shrank away, pursing her lips.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Gloria, breathing gin fumes and cigarette smoke over Doris as she peered at her more closely. ‘You made yer mouth look like a tight bumhole. Swallowed a wasp, ’ave yer?’

  Doris went puce as Gloria screeched with laughter at her own joke and everyone else collapsed into helpless giggles.

  Rosie quickly steered Gloria away from Doris and sat her between Ruby and Ivy who’d also come from the East End and welcomed her gladly. ‘Try and behave, Glo,’ she said through her giggles. ‘Not everyone appreciates your sense of humour.’

  Gloria knocked back half of someone else’s gin and winked. ‘I always said you and Ron were made for each other,’ she slurred, raising the glass. ‘The best woman won, Rosie. Here’s to yer, gel.’

  Rosie didn’t point out that it had always been a one-woman contest. Raising her own glass, she downed it in one. This could turn out to be quite a night.

  15

  Stan the stationmaster looked at his pocket watch and checked it against the clock above the guests’ bar in the Officers’ Club. They’d all arrived promptly at seven and now it was almost eight and still there was no sign of Ron, which was so out of character it was beginning to worry him.

  ‘It’s not like Ron to be late when there’s free drink to be had,’ he rumbled. ‘You don’t think something’s happened to him, do you?’

  Frank and the others looked uneasily at the clock, and then down at the table loaded with empty glasses. They’d been in high spirits when they’d arrived, looking forward to giving Ron a rousing send-off, but after two rounds of drinks without him, their enthusiasm was flagging and Stan had voiced their growing concerns.

  ‘I’ll nip down to Beach View and see what’s keeping him,’ said Frank. ‘He’s probably fallen asleep and forgotten the time.’

  ‘He might have gone to the Working Men’s Club first by mistake,’ said Sergeant Bert Williams. ‘I’ll pop over and see if he’s there.’ He pulled some notes from his pocket and handed them to Alf the Butcher. ‘Get another round in, Alf. I shouldn’t be long.’

  Alf got the round, but no one felt like drinking as they sat in a tense silence watching the clock and waiting for the others to come back.

  ‘You don’t think he’s done a bunk, do you?’ asked Bertie Double-Barrelled. ‘Chaps can get cold feet, don’t you know.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that to Rosie,’ said Stan firmly.

  ‘He wouldn’t dare,’ Fred put in. ‘Rosie would kill him.’

  ‘Aye, and I wouldn’t blame her,’ muttered Chalky White. ‘But I wish I’d done a bunk before marrying my missus, and that’s a fact,’ he added gloomily before sinking half his pint.

  Colonel White, Robert and John Hicks exchanged glances but said nothing, knowing that any encouragement would send Chalky off into one of his long, moaning monologues.

  ‘He’s not at the Working Men’s Club or the Fishermen’s,’ said Bert Williams, plumping down in a chair to catch his breath. ‘I saw Frank on my way back and there’s no sign of Ron or Harvey at home. So he’s going to the Crown to see if he’s sneaked in there for a quick half with Gloria.’

  ‘I doubt he’d risk that,’ said Alf. ‘Rosie would cancel the wedding and have his hide.’

  ‘She’d have more than that,’ said Fred with a snort. ‘I know that if my Lil caught me in there, I’d end up singing soprano for the rest of me life.’

  There was a half-hearted chuckle at this before they settled into a gloomy silence, waiting for Frank to come back. As the minutes ticked away, they sipped their beer and the older amongst them began a desultory conversation about the standing down of the Home Guard, and how much more time they’d now have on their hands.

  The Colonel, John Hicks and Robert discussed the war news and what they would do once it was all over, and Bertie just sat thoughtfully, ignoring his beer and watching the clock.

  He let the conversations drift around him. Something was nagging at him from the back of his mind and he needed a clear head to work out what it could be. And then the talk of the Lancaster bomber coming down to explode on the old farmhouse brought a scene from the past flooding back and it suddenly dawned on him as to where Ron might be. And if he was there, then they didn’t have a minute to lose.

  He was about to tell the others when he realised he could be mistaken. It was a long shot, and probably quite misguided, but it deserved some serious consideration before he spoke up. He didn’t want to send them all on a wild goose chase – and besides, he wasn’t at all convinced he could find his own way there after all this time.

  But the thought kept nagging away at him, the possibility growing stronger and the dire consequences of doing nothing becoming more vivid. If he didn’t follow this up, his old pal could die. This was not the time to dither.

  Unobtrusively, Bertie left the gathering and went in search of the club chairman to ask if he could use the telephone in his office to make a private long-distance call.

  Peggy was feeling a bit tipsy after an hour and a half’s solid drinking, so she’d left the party to check on Daisy. Her daughter was fast asleep despite the racket coming from below, so she tucked the blanket over her shoulders, softly kissed her brow and carefully made her unsteady way back down the stairs.

  ‘Peggy!’ Frank hissed through the partially opened side door.

  Startled, Peggy spun to look at him and nearly fell over. She grabbed the telephone table to steady herself. ‘What are you doing hiding behind that door, Frank?’ She giggled. ‘You do look silly.’

  ‘Is Da here?’ he hissed urgently.

  ‘Of course he’s not,’ she hissed back. ‘And neither should you be, Frank Reilly. You’re supposed to be at the Offishers’ Club.’ She blinked and tried to focus on him, but he seemed to be shifting about in a most confusing manner. ‘Is this some sort of daft game you men have thought up?’

  He ignored her question. ‘When did you last see him, Peg?’

  Something in the urgency of his tone broke through the effects of the drink, but it took a while to think straight. ‘Yesterday,’ she replied. ‘In the morning. Or it could have been teatime.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m really not sure. He comes and goes. Why do you want to know, anyway?’

  ‘It’s not important,’ he replied, almost dismissively. ‘Is Harvey here?’

  She shook her head, still not really too concerned about this very odd conversation. ‘Is he supposed to be? Won’t that posh club let him in?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said impatiently and shut the door.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ she said, turning to weave her way down the narrow hall back to the bar. Frank can be very odd at times, she thought. And if it didn’t matter, then why come at all? ‘He must be drunk,’ she muttered, bumping into the coat stand and apologising to it until she realised what it was and had a fit of the giggles.

  She forgot about Frank and his silly games, for the party was now in full swing, with Gloria bashing out a tune on the piano for a singalong, and Fran accompanying her on the violin.


  ‘Was that Frank I saw you talking to?’ asked Rosie when Peggy flopped into the chair beside her, took a good swig of wine and lit a cigarette.

  ‘He was looking for Ron,’ she replied.

  ‘Why, where’s Ron got to?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? I haven’t seen him since yesterday – and Frank said it didn’t matter anyway.’ She took another sip of the lovely cold wine. ‘I bet Ron put him up to it, and they were all outside sniggering to see how their silly prank was going down.’

  She took a bigger sip. ‘They’ll probably start banging on the door and running away in a minute, silly devils.’ She grinned at Rosie. ‘Honestly, Rosie, men just never grow up, do they?’

  ‘Yesterday?’ Rosie took the glass from Peggy’s hand and put it firmly on the table and out of her reach. ‘Didn’t he sleep at yours last night, Peggy?’

  Peggy frowned. ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, trying very hard to sober up enough to think straight. ‘His bed was made – so that could have meant he hadn’t slept in it, I suppose. When he didn’t come home for Daisy’s birthday breakfast, I assumed he’d come over here and stayed the night.’ She gave a lopsided smile and reached to get her glass back for a refill. ‘It’s all very confusing, Rosie,’ she said, pouring more wine. ‘I never know where he’s sleeping.’

  Rosie drummed her long red fingernails on the table. ‘I’m beginning to wonder that myself,’ she muttered. She leaned towards Peggy and took both the bottle and the glass from her. ‘If his bed hadn’t been slept in at yours and he wasn’t with me – then where the hell was he?’ she hissed.

  ‘How on earth should I know?’ Peggy protested, rather miffed that Rosie kept taking her drink away.

  ‘I bet there’s someone who does,’ Rosie retorted, her blue eyes shooting daggers at Gloria.

  ‘Oh, no, Rosie, don’t even think that,’ Peggy said sharply, grabbing her wrist to keep her in her chair. ‘He promised not to go near her again, and he would never break that promise.’