by Nancy Revell
Rina looked at Polly.
Tears appeared in the eyes of both women.
‘People do not yet know of the terrible evil that is happening overseas. The atrocities that are being committed on innocent people as we sit here drinking our tea.’
Another look at Hannah. She hadn’t wanted to say this in front of her.
‘So, we need people like your Tommy to try and do what they can to stop it. Sometimes in life, love has to be sacrificed for a greater love.
‘What your Tommy is doing is a huge act of love. He is not only prepared to sacrifice his love for you, but he is prepared to sacrifice his own life to save those he doesn’t even know.’
She paused.
‘There is no greater act of love, in my opinion.’
And with that, Rina put her hands on top of Polly’s and squeezed them.
‘I’ve got to go now,’ she said simply, looking over to Vera, who was busy tidying up. ‘Otherwise, I will be subjected to a full half-hour of moans and groans.’
She smiled, her eyes looking deeply into Polly’s.
Then she got up and left.
As Polly walked home, Rina’s words kept going round and round in her head.
The feeling of doubt she’d had last night was back.
She felt a shiver of panic.
Had she made the most terrible of mistakes?
She walked on.
Sometimes in life, love has to be sacrificed for a greater love.
Chapter Fifty-One
Saturday 19 December
Like every morning for the past seven days, Polly woke with a sense that something was amiss.
It took all of two seconds this morning for her brain to fully engage, and with it came the awful awareness of her present reality.
What made it a hundred times worse this morning was that today would have been her wedding day.
As Polly got up and pulled on her work clothes and then her overalls, she felt sick to the pit of her stomach.
‘Try and eat something,’ Agnes said when Polly came into the kitchen.
‘Honestly, Ma, I can’t.’ Polly poured herself half a cup of tea, splashed some milk in it and took a slurp.
Agnes simply stood and watched her daughter, unsure what to say.
Polly was out the door within minutes.
Walking to work, she wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. It was bitterly cold. There was frost on the ground, making the whole of the east end look prettier and less grey.
The perfect day for a winter wedding.
By the time she’d reached Thompson’s, she knew what she had to do to get through this day.
Work.
Work until she dropped.
‘You all right?’ Rosie asked as soon as Polly reached their workstation.
Polly looked at Rosie, and then at Gloria, Martha, Dorothy and Angie, who were standing round the five-gallon barrel fire, warming their hands and stamping their feet. She was surprised to see that they had beaten her to work.
‘Please don’t say anything,’ Polly said, forcing back the tears that had started to well up on seeing the concern in their faces.
‘Here, get this down yer.’ Angie handed her a cup of steaming-hot tea before going back to her place next to Dorothy.
‘Yer know we’re here for yer all day,’ Gloria said. ‘We won’t fuss over yer.’ She looked around at the women. ‘Will we?’
They all nodded in agreement.
‘But you just say if yer want to talk, or cry, or scream and shout.’
‘Or if you have a change of mind,’ Martha said.
Her words elicited scowls from the rest of the women.
Polly looked at Martha. She could never be angry with their gentle giant. She was just saying what they all thought deep down.
‘Oh, Martha.’ Polly let out a slightly strangled laugh. ‘Even if I did, it’s too late now.’
The women all looked at Polly. It was the first chink they had seen in the armour of anger she had been encased in this past week.
Tommy killed the engine of his black BSA. He’d been able to get it out of storage after being given a petrol allowance for his work with Major Black and his Home Guard unit.
He didn’t dismount, though. Just sat with one hand on the throttle, the other over the warm engine. He knew in his heart of hearts that it was pointless being here. But all the same, he had to come. Just in case.
He let out a bitter laugh.
Who was he kidding? No one but himself. That was for sure.
He looked at the entrance of St Ignatius. The door was open, but it was quiet. There were no signs that another couple had filled the gap they had left.
Tommy couldn’t fail to notice what a beautiful day it was.
Crisp, fresh and frosty white.
He gave it until a quarter past; when it came, he was going to go, but couldn’t.
He waited until half past.
It wasn’t until midday that he turned on the ignition, kick-started the engine and rode away.
He only had himself to blame.
This had been his choice.
Helen came out of her office and walked over to Bel’s desk.
‘Is she all right?’
There was no need to specify whom she was asking about.
‘I think so.’ Bel looked at Helen. She looked stunning today. The glow of yesterday’s launch was still very much present, though there was sadness in her emerald eyes, and concern.
‘She’s not had a break.’ Bel looked across to Marie-Anne. ‘Has she?’
Marie-Anne shook her head. She personally thought that Polly was mad. She had no sympathy for someone who would purposely destroy something they would all have given their right arm for: true love.
The klaxon sounded out and Helen walked over to the window. She watched Rosie take off her helmet, followed by the rest of the women.
Bel and Marie-Anne joined her at the window and looked down at the yard. The frost had gone, allowing the slightly depressing grey of the shipyard to return.
‘Has anyone heard from Tommy?’ Helen asked.
Bel shook her head.
Helen thought of John. They too had not spoken since the day of the dive, when she had returned home after leaving Polly at the Admiral and called the Ryhope.
She had been angry. Had told John in a polite, civilised manner that Polly and Tommy had split up and that Polly was distraught. That the wedding was off. And that this time Tommy would be lucky if he came back home in anything but a box.
Then she’d hung up.
She thought he might have called her back, but it had been a week now and he hadn’t.
She hated to admit it, but she missed him.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Tommy rode carefully. As he always did when he had the old man riding pillion.
Arthur had asked if he would take him to the cemetery and Tommy had agreed.
It was ironic that on the day he should be getting married, he was going to visit a grave instead.
It wasn’t often that Arthur asked him for anything, though, so when his grandda suggested going to see Flo this afternoon, there had been no hesitation.
When they pulled up outside the cemetery on the Ryhope Road, Arthur carefully got off, removed his helmet, unbuttoned his winter coat and took out the bunch of flowers that had survived the journey relatively unscathed.
Tommy hung both helmets on the handlebars and unzipped his jacket.
As they passed through the open wrought-iron gates, Tommy looked at Arthur.
‘I don’t know what to do. About Polly,’ he admitted.
Arthur nodded but didn’t say anything. He had no idea what to say. He’d never been particularly good when it came to talking about feelings, never mind affairs of the heart.
Flo, he begged silently, help me out here, pet.
‘It’s strange,’ Tommy said, casting a sidelong look at Arthur. He slowed his pace. The old man looked exhausted. ‘I knew exactly what
I had to do when I started to get better. When I thought there was a chance I might be able to go back to the Rock.’
They made their way up the wide gravel path.
‘When I’m diving, I always know what to do, even when things go wrong. It’s like an instinct.’ He pushed his hair away from his face in frustration. ‘But with Polly I honestly have no idea what to do for the best.’ He blew out air. ‘It’s like I’m floundering around at sea, not knowing whether to go north, south, east or west.’
As they neared the part of the cemetery where Flo was buried, Arthur handed Tommy the bunch of wild flowers he had picked that morning. Tommy took them and watched as his grandfather adjusted his tie. He had on his best suit.
‘When it comes to Polly, I’ve always been unsure what’s right and what’s not. Should I just go and see her and beg her to have me back? Even if it is just for a week?’ His departure date was playing heavily on his mind. ‘Or should I just leave her be and let her get on with her life without me?’
They turned left off the main pathway and started walking on grass still crisp with frost due to the shade of the large, overhanging oaks.
‘Is it cruel to try and win her over and then leave her again?’ Tommy asked.
They came to a stop, having reached Flo’s headstone.
It was a simple, well-kempt plot with a basic headstone stating that Florence Elizabeth Watts was a much-loved wife, mother and grandmother. Underneath were the dates of her birth and her death.
Tommy looked at Arthur.
‘Aye, lad,’ he said, ‘put them on there.’
Tommy crouched down and carefully laid out the wild flowers. His grandfather never put them in a vase with water, saying he preferred them to have a natural life and end up back in the soil where they’d come from.
They both stood in silence for a short while.
As they walked away, Arthur gave the grave one last look.
They had started back towards the main gates when Arthur came to a sudden stop, as though struck by an idea.
‘If yer nana were here now,’ he said with great certainty, ‘I know exactly what she’d say.’
Tommy looked at Arthur.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
Arthur laughed to himself as if seeing the whole scene being played out in front of him.
He looked at Tommy with a smile on his face.
‘She would come stomping out the kitchen – because, of course, she was always in the kitchen. She would stand there, hands on her hips, looking at the two of us as though we were simpletons, and she’d say in that way of hers, “Tommy, lad, if yer want something, you’ve just gotta go ’n get it. No one else is gonna get it and stick it on a plate in front of yer. Life doesn’t work like that.”’
Tommy smiled.
Even though he had been small at the time, he could remember his grandmother saying just those words. They were words of advice he had taken to heart as a child. Words he had acted upon as he’d grown up and become a man – when it had come to doing the job he wanted, at least.
They walked on a little further.
Suddenly Tommy stopped.
He looked at Arthur.
‘Will you be all right getting the bus back to Tatham Street?’
Arthur looked at his grandson.
‘Of course I will, lad.’
By the time the words were out of Arthur’s mouth, his grandson had broken into a jog.
Arthur watched as Tommy reached the main gates and disappeared from sight.
Seconds later, he heard the revving of the motorbike.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Tommy jammed on his helmet, then hooked his arm through the spare helmet that Arthur had worn on the journey there. Turning the ignition key, he kick-started the engine, dropped the clutch and twisted the throttle.
There was only one thought in his mind.
He rode along the Commercial Road and continued onto Hendon Road before veering left on West Wear Street, slowing down as he turned right into Bridge Street. Seeing that his way was clear, he accelerated and blasted across the Wearmouth Bridge. He took the corner onto Dame Dorothy Street, the foot pedal almost scraping the surface of the road.
Again, he twisted the throttle and sped down the quarter-mile stretch before jamming on the brakes. The back end skidded out a fraction as the bike came to a halt. Fierce impatience suddenly raged. Not just at the passing traffic but at himself. For leaving this too long. Turning right and going carefully over the bumpy cobbles, he descended the steep embankment to the gates of Thompson’s.
A few workers either arriving or leaving the yard turned their heads on hearing the bike’s low, thumping engine. An uncommon sound these days and one that could just about be heard despite the clanking and clamouring of the shipyard.
Tommy turned left and came to a halt at the timekeeper’s cabin.
He pulled off his helmet, his hair ruffled and his face full of determination.
Alfie looked down, saw who it was and instantly knew why he was there.
‘Polly Elliot!’ Tommy shouted up. It wasn’t a request. He rested his helmet on the tank and slowly released the clutch.
The bike very slowly thudded its way across the yard. Barely faster than walking pace.
Workers stopped what they were doing, fascinated by the sight. Cars, vans and ambulances were unusual but not entirely uncommon sights in the town’s second-largest shipyard – but a motorbike? That was an anomaly. Riveters stopped riveting, caulkers stopped caulking, crane drivers left metal plates dangling in mid-air. The little tea boy downed his see-saw of tin cans and started running behind Tommy’s bike, his face full of gleeful fascination.
Tommy was unaware of the attention he was attracting. He was focused on one thing and one thing only. His vision fixed on the quayside where he knew Polly and her squad would be.
He spotted Martha first. She was turning around, pushing up her mask, looking at whatever it was that was catching the attention of those around her.
His eyes desperately seeking out Polly, Tommy finally saw the rest of the women welders, their backs to him.
He could see the amber glow of their welds bringing a rare splash of colour to their drab surroundings.
Rosie’s familiar face, her blonde curls in disarray, appeared next to Martha as she too pushed up her metal mask. She looked small next to her.
A hundred yards away, he saw Dorothy rise from her haunches and turn around. Her mouth fell open at the same time as her hand tapped the back of the woman next to her.
A flurry of sparks died instantly as Angie upended her mask.
Martha looked down at the two remaining welders.
Both were sitting, both had one leg straight out, the other at a right angle.
Both backs were hunched over flat welds.
One of the women looked up at Martha and put down her rod before twisting round.
She took off her mask.
It was Gloria.
Polly was oblivious to all around her. Engrossed in her weld, the hypnotic shower of molten metal allowing her to escape the darkness that had consumed her these past seven days.
Rosie stepped towards her, switched off her machine and dropped down onto her haunches.
She pointed ahead.
Polly pulled off her mask and turned just in time to see Tommy bring the bike to a halt.
Kicking out the bike stand, he switched off the engine. Leaning forward, he quickly placed both helmets on the ground and swung his leg over the back of the bike.
Tommy strode over to Polly, his eyes not leaving her once. The noise of the yard made any kind of speech pointless.
He saw the look in her eyes and his heart lifted.
Polly’s world of sparkling metal suddenly died, replaced by Rosie, who had bobbed down directly opposite her. Just inches away.
She mouthed something that Polly couldn’t work out and then Polly saw her point to something behind her.
Something was happening i
n the yard.
Pulling off her mask and banging it down on the ground, Polly twisted herself around.
Tommy!
Pulling herself to her feet, she turned to see him striding over.
She felt her heart hammering against her chest as she stepped forward, her body moving of its own accord.
She needed to feel his body against hers.
She loved this man. Regardless of what the future might hold.
It was a fight she would never win.
That she no longer wanted to win.
And then she saw him mouth the words.
I love you.
Tears welled up as he reached her.
Through the blur, she saw his face bend down to hers.
She felt his lips on her own. Gentle at first. Then more urgent.
She felt his lips on her neck and on her ear.
And then she heard his voice.
‘I love you, Polly Elliot.’
She flung her arms around his neck, breathing in his scent.
‘I love you too, Tommy Watts.’
Rosie, Martha, Gloria, Dorothy and Angie stood rooted to the spot. Their eyes not once leaving their friend. They watched with tears stinging as Polly and Tommy kissed.
When Polly put her arms around Tommy’s neck and he lifted her off the ground, Dorothy couldn’t contain herself any longer.
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ she exclaimed. Not that anyone could hear her words.
Her arm punched the air in victory. Ecstatic that love had won.
Angie jumped up and down, her own exuberance uncontained. Her helmet fell from the back of her head and clattered to the ground.
She grabbed Dorothy’s hand in excitement and they both raised their arms to celebrate love’s victory.