a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1)

by Elaine Roberts

  Children were put on men’s shoulders or pushed to the front of the crowd. As one, everyone cheered and clapped as they lunged forward to see the young soldiers in their full army uniforms. Their noise deadened the thud of the army boots hitting the road. Women threw small children’s shoes into the road for good luck.

  An old man called out, ‘We’ll see yer at Christmas, lads, stay safe.’

  ‘Don’t let the Huns win, yer doing it for King and country, lads, King and country.’

  Everyone cheered as the atmosphere became almost party-like but the men in uniform stared straight ahead as they kept marching.

  Annie strained her neck to see before turning to Rose with tears in her eyes. ‘Do you think our brothers will be joining up?’

  Rose’s eyes widened. ‘Oh good lord, I hadn’t thought of them going off to fight.’ Her eyes began to water. ‘Surely they’ll be needed to work the land, won’t they?’

  *

  ‘Is that you, Joyce?’ Arthur Bradshaw yelled from the sitting room.

  Joyce picked up the brown envelope from the tiled hallway floor before shutting out the chilly wind that had been howling in through the front door.

  Joyce turned the letter over and saw it was addressed to her. She frowned as she looked at the scrawling handwriting; no one ever wrote to her.

  ‘Joyce?’

  Joyce quickly thrust the envelope into her shopping bag and began to undo her coat buttons. ‘Yes, Uncle, sorry, I’m just taking off my coat. It’s freezing out there.’ She hung her black threadbare coat on the coat stand in the hall, revealing her long black skirt and plain white blouse, which buttoned down from the neck. She removed her ankle boots and left them on the floor under the stand. ‘I’ll just pop and put the kettle on.’ Joyce sped along the short hall to the kitchen. She placed the bag on the scrubbed wooden table and took the letter out of it, leaving the muddy potatoes and vegetables inside. She placed it flat on the table, safe in the knowledge her uncle would never come into the kitchen unless something awful or life threatening was happening. She couldn’t help the smile that was forming on her lips. Hadn’t the policeman said they either had to move into the basement or hide under the kitchen table when the Germans were dropping their bombs? Luckily her uncle hadn’t been tested on that one yet, but maybe she should talk to the girls about sorting out the basement. It wasn’t a place she had ever been in as the door was kept permanently locked. She made a mental note to talk to her uncle about it.

  Joyce picked up the letter and turned it over in her hands. There was no one around who would write to her, her friends were now in London and she had no one else. Joyce brushed away the tears that were threatening to trip over her lashes as she remembered the morning she got up to find out that only she and her uncle now lived there. He had spent the following days and nights swinging like a pendulum between grief, anger, and disbelief. She shook her head. Joyce ripped open the letter and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It was from a solicitor.

  Dear Miss Taylor,

  We are writing to you because you have been identified as the granddaughter to Mrs Edith Taylor and a beneficiary of her estate. However, before we can proceed, we need you to confirm this is so.

  Please contact us to arrange a meeting between yourself and the other recipients of items from the estate…

  ‘I will, Mr Bradshaw.’ Rose’s voice carried into the kitchen.

  Joyce shook her head, before quickly pushing the letter back in the envelope. She didn’t understand, there had clearly been a mistake; her grandmother didn’t have anything to leave anyone. She turned to fill the kettle up with water.

  ‘Hello, Joyce.’ Rose blew on her hands and rubbed them together. ‘I need to get some gloves; it’s freezing out there. It won’t be long before we’ll be thinking about Christmas.’ She slumped down on the kitchen chair. She sighed as the hard, wooden slats supported her aching back. ‘Apparently your uncle’s parched and wants to know where his tea is.’

  ‘Isn’t he always? Sometimes I think I’m just here to wait on him hand and foot.’

  Rose arched her eyebrows. ‘It’s unlike you to complain. Is everything all right?’

  Joyce sighed before turning to face her friend. ‘Maybe that’s the problem, I don’t complain enough.’

  ‘Talk to me. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m all right, I’m just feeling a little fed up, that’s all.’ Joyce placed the cup and saucers on a tray and spooned the loose tea leaves into the teapot. ‘If I’m honest I don’t really know why.’ Her fingers were splayed rigidly on the table as she leant forward. ‘I suppose seeing you and Annie working in a place you love has just brought it home to me that my life isn’t really going anywhere, and I come home and I’m like an unpaid servant to my uncle.’

  Rose reached out and clasped Joyce’s hand in hers. ‘Have you tried talking to him?’

  A strangled noise came from Joyce. ‘Does he strike you as someone you could talk to? Why do you think my aunt left?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘To be honest, I didn’t like to ask but I thought she’d died.’

  ‘No, I think she left in the middle of the night and it took my uncle quite a while to realise she wasn’t coming back.’

  Rose studied the faded grain of the wooden table. ‘It must have been awful for you. Is that when your uncle started drinking?’

  Joyce wanted to tell her friend everything about why she felt such loyalty towards her uncle. After all he took her and her father in when her grandmother no longer wanted them at her house. She decided not to, saying instead, ‘His drinking did get worse then, he just can’t come to terms with her leaving like that.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Rose paused for a moment. ‘Why did she leave?’

  Joyce gave Rose an anxious look. ‘He was always at work, and when he wasn’t there he was out drinking somewhere. He always said he had to do it for work. Money was all he cared about, or at least that’s what my aunt thought.’

  ‘It was very brave of her to leave.’ Rose reached out to hold Joyce’s hand. ‘Has he tried to find her to tell her he’s sorry?’

  ‘I don’t think he knows that word.’ Joyce shrugged. ‘I was not much more than a child when I arrived, and she left not long after my father died, but I always felt there was a sadness about her.’

  Rose shook her head. ‘It sounds quite sad. There was obviously more going on than you knew.’

  ‘Yes, but he never talks about her, he just keeps drinking.’

  ‘Then you need to put your foot down. I know they took you in but that doesn’t mean he can treat you like some unpaid skivvy.’ Rose looked thoughtful. ‘We need a plan.’

  Joyce gave a humourless laugh. ‘I can’t talk to him about it. He scares me. He never used to but…’

  Rose nodded. ‘I know he does, but we are here now, and maybe it’s time for you to start thinking about your own life.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Have you asked Simon about baking cakes and pies for the café?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘He’s worried about the war and whether he’ll have to leave his business to go and fight. If that does happen, he’s anxious about what will happen to his mother and younger sister.’ She picked up the kettle and poured the boiling water into the teapot.

  ‘Why don’t you tell him you’ll keep it going for him but you want to introduce some of your own cooking to the café?’

  Joyce stirred the water in the pot before placing the lid on it. She gave a weak smile. ‘It might help stop him from worrying so much.’

  Rose walked over to the shelf; standing on tiptoes she reached up and grabbed a tin. Prising open the lid, she placed a few of the homemade biscuits on to a tea plate before passing it to Joyce. ‘You like Simon, don’t you? I mean really like him.’

  Colour immediately filled Joyce’s cheeks.

  Rose smiled. ‘No words are necessary, I have my answer.’

  ‘You may well have, but he only sees me as a good waitress.’

&
nbsp; Rose pinched a biscuit from the tin and snapped it in half before taking a nibble from it. ‘Then show him you’re much more than that.’ She licked the crumbs from her lips. ‘These are delightful, much better than anything you buy in the shops.’ Rose hesitated for a moment. ‘Look if you don’t want to ask him, just bake something and take it in. He’s hardly going to send you home with it again, is he?’

  Fear ran through Joyce.

  ‘Look you’ve been given a great gift that he doesn’t know about. You should use it. Bake something and let him find out for himself; otherwise how will he ever find out?’

  Joyce frowned, wondering if she had the courage to be so bold.

  Rose patted her friend’s hand. ‘The one thing I’ve learnt from Annie is you have to create your own luck and hope the good Lord above puts you where he wants you to be.’ She put her hands around the teapot. ‘You had better get this tea to your uncle and I’ll start peeling potatoes.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘You’re a good friend, Rose. I shall give it all some serious thought, thank you.’

  11

  Joyce looked disdainfully at the empty whisky bottle before throwing it into the bin in the kitchen. An involuntary sigh escaped from her. She walked over to the sink and turned the tap on, rinsing her hands under the cold water before smothering them in carbolic soap.

  ‘I’ve eaten far too much. That chicken pie was lovely.’ Rose turned a plate upside down and placed it on top of Annie’s meal. ‘It’s a shame Annie has to work so late every night. I hope this doesn’t get ruined when she heats it up over a pan later.’

  Joyce put the kettle on the range to boil before turning on the taps. Water splashed out to fill up the sink ready to wash up the dishes. ‘Is Annie enjoying her work at the theatre? She’s very quiet about it these days. I wonder if the excitement of being in London is wearing off.’

  Rose grabbed a cloth ready to start drying the dishes after Joyce had washed them. ‘I don’t know, she doesn’t say much to me either. The gossips are saying that she’s Matthew Harris’s latest victim. I don’t say anything but I get the impression he isn’t very well thought of, despite his position.’

  ‘Have you tried talking to her?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘Not really, to be honest I don’t think she’d believe me; she likes to see the good in everyone. I believe Kitty has made some cutting remarks but everyone just thinks she’s jealous. The trouble is Annie is quite naive and won’t see it until she’s in an impossible situation.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Perhaps we should ask Peter about him.’

  Rose frowned. ‘Peter?’

  ‘Yes, his mum has a few boarders from the different theatres so if he’s as bad as you’ve heard it would have been discussed by them. There must be something because Peter wasn’t very happy when Annie mentioned him that day we were on Westminster Bridge.’

  ‘I noticed that, his expression changed and he looked away from us but I put that down to him being jealous because he liked Annie.’

  Joyce lifted another plate out of the sink and nodded. ‘I must admit I thought the same. Perhaps we should talk to him and to Annie in a bid to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. I’m not sure he’ll tell us about what he feels about Annie but maybe we can find out more about Matthew Harris.’

  Joyce dried her hands on a towel that was hanging nearby. ‘We could go and meet her from work for a change.’

  Rose groaned. ‘I feel like I’ve only just left there but it’s a good idea. I’m not sure Annie will listen to us though. In some ways she’s led such a sheltered life.’

  Joyce laughed. ‘Unlike you, Rose Spencer.’

  ‘I know we all come from the same village, but the joys of coming from such a large family is you soon learn how to spot when something isn’t right. My brothers played tricks on me all the time so I had to have my wits about me.’

  ‘Do you miss them?’

  Rose nodded. ‘I love what I do now – well apart from Miss Hetherington, that is – but I do miss the laughter and the arguing.’ She chuckled. ‘Basically, I miss all of the Spencer family’s way of living.’

  ‘You should go home for Christmas.’ Joyce thought for a moment. ‘There’s not a day goes by when I don’t miss my mother and father so make the most of them.’

  Rose nodded. ‘I know but, in reality, I’m not sure I can afford to go home or if I’ll get the time off work.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Just think about it.’

  Rose folded the tea towel in half and hung it over the back of the chair she had been sitting on earlier. ‘Do you fancy walking to meet Annie?’

  Joyce smiled. ‘I don’t see why not.’ She picked up the letter, folded it in half and thrust it into her skirt pocket. ‘We best wrap up warm, it’ll be even colder now the evening has set in.’

  Half an hour later, wrapped up in their coats, woollen hats and scarves, Joyce pulled the front door closed. Not wanting to wake her uncle, she tried to not let it shut with its usual hard thud.

  They began a brisk walk along Great Earl Street towards Seven Dials. A high shrill laugh came from inside a house as they walked past, quickly followed by people singing at the top of their voices and a dog barking.

  ‘I’m glad we don’t live next door to them.’

  Rose laughed. ‘Maybe they’re celebrating.’

  ‘Where are you two off to?’

  Joyce turned around to see Peter packing up his barrow, his breath just visible from his exertion in the dark evening. ‘I thought you’d be finished by now. Do you normally work this late?’

  Peter groaned as he picked up another box. ‘It depends how busy the streets are but to be honest, with the cold evenings yer don’t get many people out and about and can’t say I blame them either.’ He pulled at the bottom of his coat. ‘Anyway, what are you two doing out? I thought you’d be warming yourselves up against a lovely coal fire.’

  Rose giggled. ‘We would be if we had any sense but we decided to go and meet Annie from work instead.’

  Peter stopped what he was doing and looked at them both. ‘I might come wiv yer, if that’s all right?’

  Joyce smiled. ‘Of course, we have no desire to come between true love, but what about your barrow?’

  ‘True love eh?’ Peter grinned. ‘The lad can take it ’ome can’t yer, boy?’

  Harry beamed at him and nodded.

  ‘Mind you she’s only seen me clean once or twice. I’m always covered in dust, she’ll think I never wash.’ Peter grabbed a rag and wiped his hands on it.

  The girls eyed him up and down before Rose smiled. ‘I think you’ll be all right, Annie and I are quite used to it.’

  They all turned and said their goodbyes to Harry and carried on walking towards Seven Dials and Shaftesbury Avenue. The mission hall doors were wide open to let everyone in that needed shelter. Laughter and chatter spilled out from The Crown Public House.

  Joyce tucked her hand under Rose’s arm as she looked left and right at the Seven Dials roundabout. ‘I’m sure there’s more cars on this road every day.’ She turned to Peter as they all stepped across the road together. ‘We want to ask you if you know or have heard anything about a…’ She frowned and looked at Rose.

  ‘Matthew Harris, he’s the pianist or musical director at the theatre.’

  Peter sighed before looking at the girls. ‘Why do yer ask?’

  Rose smiled. ‘You know my ma always used to say to me “don’t answer a question with a question” because it looks like you’re hiding something, and I actually believe she is right.’

  ‘Don’t yer just love a mother, they don’t miss a trick.’ Peter’s face tensed as he stared straight ahead. ‘I’ve heard talk of him but I don’t know him.’

  Joyce nudged his arm. ‘Come on then, what have you heard?’ She guided her friends across to Great White Lion Street. ‘What’s the secret you’re keeping? You can tell us.’

  ‘I’m not keeping any secret.’ Peter frowned.
‘I’ve just heard he’s not a very nice man. Apparently, he preys on young girls who want to be stars and just takes what he wants, when he wants it.’

  Rose leant forward to look at him. ‘Is that why you looked away when he was mentioned on Westminster Bridge?’

  Peter nodded.

  ‘Then we definitely need to try to warn Annie.’

  ‘Evening, Joyce.’ Charlie Young stood outside his bicycle repair shop. ‘It’s unusual to see you out this time of day.’

  Joyce smiled. ‘Evening, Mr Young, are you finishing up for the day?’

  ‘Yes, it’s time for me to go upstairs and have something to eat.’ He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. His tall frame leant against the doorjamb, while his hand gripped the handlebars of a child’s bicycle.

  Rose nudged Joyce in the ribs.

  ‘Sorry, I’m being very rude not introducing you to my friends.’ She moved her hand to Rose. ‘This is Miss Spencer.’ She felt another nudge in her ribs. ‘She prefers to be called Rose. And this is Peter, he has his own fruit and vegetable barrow on the market.’

  ‘And I prefer to be called Charlie. Mr Young is my father, although Joyce still insists on calling me Mr Young.’

  Rose beamed and held out her hand. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Charlie.’

  Joyce watched Charlie holding Rose’s hand for a few seconds longer than he should.

  They all stood in silence for a moment; no one wanted to put out the spark that had been ignited.

  Joyce cleared her throat.

  Charlie dropped Rose’s hand like it was a hot potato and nodded towards Peter. ‘I believe I’ve bought some vegetables from you.’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘If I remember rightly, it’s your nephew that helps you out?’

  Peter smiled. ‘Yeh, he’s a quick learner.’

  Charlie’s gaze drifted back to Rose. ‘So where are you all off to?’

  ‘We’re going to meet Annie from the Aldwych Theatre, she works there.’ Joyce paused and looked around her, before shaking her head. ‘Actually, we were so busy chatting we’ve come the way I go to work every day, which isn’t the quickest route to the theatre.’