by Nancy Revell
When she opened them again, Rosie gently urged her to eat, telling her she had to keep her stamina up, otherwise she would be no good and wouldn’t have the strength to weld. It was what Polly needed to hear and so they all sat and ate their lunch and drank their tea, even though it was the last thing any of them felt like doing.
And then they went back to work, but before they did so, they all gave Polly a hug, each one telling her that they were there for her. The deep sincerity in their voices showed the depth of feeling they had for their friend.
‘You sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ Rosie asked.
It was the end of the shift and Polly had told them that she wanted to go and tell Ralph, the head dock diver, about Tommy being declared missing. Afterwards she would tell Stan the ferryman, who had known Tommy since he was a young lad.
‘No. Thanks anyway. I’d rather see them on my own.’
‘You sure you want to do it now?’ Gloria asked.
Polly nodded, picking up her haversack.
‘They thought—’ Polly corrected herself. ‘They think the world of Tommy. I’d hate for them to hear it from anyone else. Besides, I’d rather get it over with.’
‘I’ll tell yer mam yer gonna be a bit later than normal,’ Gloria said.
Polly was just turning away when Hannah came running over.
‘Polly, I’m so sorry.’ She flung her stick-like arms around her former workmate. ‘Martha has just told me.’
‘Thanks, Hannah,’ Polly said.
‘We’re here for you,’ Hannah said, her small, pale hands taking hold of Polly’s and squeezing them with surprising strength. ‘But you mustn’t give up hope. Promise me you won’t give up hope on your Tommy? You don’t know for certain what’s happened to him.’
Polly looked down at Hannah, their ‘little bird’. She knew that she also carried a weight of worry on her slender shoulders. She too had no idea if those she loved were alive or dead, or were somewhere between the two, languishing in some godforsaken labour camp.
‘Promise?’ Hannah repeated.
‘Promise,’ Polly agreed.
The women watched with heavy hearts as Polly trudged to the other side of the yard where she knew the divers were presently working on a frigate they hoped to fix without it having to be brought into the dry dock.
‘See you all tomorrow,’ Hannah said sadly, as she headed back over to the drawing office where Martha and her ‘friend boy’ Olly were waiting for her.
‘Do yer think Polly will be all reet, miss?’ Angie asked as they started to make their way over to the main entrance.
‘Let’s hope so, Angie,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s like what Hannah just said. She’s got to have hope, until she knows either way.’
Rosie took a deep breath.
‘Anyway, what are you two up to tonight?’ She looked at Dorothy and back again at Angie.
‘Gannin to the Ritz, miss,’ Angie said.
‘Well, go ’n have some fun,’ Gloria said. ‘Tell us all about it tomorrow. No more gloomy faces. For Polly’s sake, yeh?’
‘Aye, we will, Glor,’ Angie said as Dorothy hooked arms with her and they both walked off, though without the usual spring in their step.
Rosie and Gloria were quiet as they made their way down the embankment to the ferry landing.
Rosie walked over to the docking cleat and sat down.
‘God, I’m knackered,’ she admitted. ‘What a day, eh?’
Gloria sighed and nodded sadly.
‘But at least you’re now a properly divorced woman,’ Rosie said, looking up at her friend.
‘I know. In different circumstances I might have felt tempted to go and paint the town red with Dorothy and Angie. Or at least dragged you all to the Admiral for a celebratory drink,’ she added.
‘Well, I think we should do something to mark the occasion later in the week,’ Rosie mused. ‘I mean, that man has been the bane of your life. I think we were all nearly as happy as you when he signed up and was sent to Portsmouth.’
‘Yes, thanks to your Peter,’ Gloria said, watching Rosie undo her turban.
‘What’s that?’ Gloria pointed to a dried petal that had fluttered out of the folds of Rosie’s headscarf.
Rosie spotted and grabbed it just before it landed on the ground.
‘Ahh.’ A smile as wide as any Gloria had ever seen on her friend’s face suddenly appeared.
Rosie held her hand up to show Gloria the dried petal. ‘Oh, Gloria, I wasn’t going to say anything. Didn’t know if I should, to be honest. You know, with all this “careless whispers” talk.’ Rosie looked around as if to check no one was earwigging in on their conversation. The ferry landing had started to fill up with fellow workers, but none looked remotely interested in the two women, or in what they were talking about.
‘And, of course,’ Rosie continued, ‘there was no way I was going to say anything after Polly’s awful news.’ She paused for a moment, not sure whether she should really be telling anyone about the letter she had received that morning.
‘Go on,’ Gloria egged her on.
‘Well,’ Rosie said, lowering her voice. ‘I’d just left the house this morning when I saw the postwoman coming towards me, waving a letter in the air. I was surprised because I don’t really get any post unless it’s from Charlotte – and I’ve only just had another begging letter from her.’ Rosie rolled her eyes and Gloria chuckled. They all knew of the present stand-off between Rosie and her little sister over the issue of whether or not she should be allowed to come back home to live.
‘I knew it wasn’t from Charlotte, though, as soon as I looked at the envelope.’ Rosie paused for the second time. ‘Not unless she had somehow got herself over to the south of France!’
Gloria’s eyes widened. ‘What? The postmark was French?’ She whispered the question.
Rosie nodded. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
‘The south is unoccupied, so they’re still able to get post out,’ she explained.
Gloria had moved nearer to hear Rosie, entranced by this latest turn of events.
‘So, what did the letter say?’ she asked, her attention momentarily distracted by the approaching ferry.
Rosie stood and picked up her haversack. ‘Well, it wasn’t a letter as such.’ She paused. ‘When we were saying our goodbyes at the train station, Peter said he would try and get word to me that he was all right.’
Gloria’s face looked confused as they turned to board the ferry bumping gently against the wooden landing posts.
‘So, if there wasn’t a letter in the envelope … ?’ Gloria left the question hanging in the air as they both paid their fares and made their way down to the far end.
‘Petals,’ Rosie turned to Gloria and whispered. ‘He’d filled the envelope with dried petals. Petals from a bunch of pansies.’
Slowly comprehension showed on Gloria’s face. She smiled. ‘Ahh, I get it. Yer wedding bouquet?’
‘Yes!’ Rosie said. Her face looked vibrant. ‘We’d had this discussion at the time about the bouquet. He said I should have kept it, you know, pressed the flowers as a memento?’
Gloria nodded.
‘But I said it was better that two brides made use of the bouquet rather than just the one, which is why I gave it to a young couple who were due to get married after us.’
Gloria listened. Rosie hadn’t mentioned this act of kindness when she had told them all about her ad hoc wedding to Peter.
‘When I gave the young ATS bride the flowers I whispered something to her, and Peter, forever the nebby-nose,’ Rosie chuckled, ‘asked what I’d said to her, and I told him what the florist had told me – that the pansy meant you are always thinking of someone.’
‘Oh, Rosie,’ Gloria sighed, ‘that really is so incredibly romantic.’ Tears came into her eyes for the second time that day. ‘I’m so chuffed fer yer.’ Gloria looked at her friend and saw how happy those dried petals had made her. It was a joy to see, especially aft
er the sadness of the day.
‘I felt like I was walking on air this morning when I came into work,’ Rosie admitted. ‘I felt like the happiest woman on the planet. Like I could have built an entire ship with my own bare hands.’ They both laughed.
‘But then,’ Rosie’s voice dropped, ‘Polly arrived and my heart could have broken for her. I really felt for her … but I felt really guilty as well. There was me, all happy that I’d heard from Peter and there was Polly – devastated.’
The ferry arrived at the south docks and Gloria and Rosie hopped onto the landing and started up the bank to the main road.
‘Well, yer daft if yer feel guilty about getting some good news, Rosie. I can see why you wouldn’t want Polly to know about yer petals, even if yer could tell her, but you’ve no reason to feel guilty about it. God, there’s so much bad news about these days we’ve got to really make the most of any good news we get. Bloody enjoy it, that’s what I say!’
Rosie smiled. She knew Gloria was right. ‘Anyway, talking of good news, we’ve got your divorce to celebrate.’
Gloria laughed. ‘It’s a sad state of affairs when getting a divorce is a call for celebration.’
‘Not when it’s from someone like Vinnie,’ Rosie said.
The women’s laughter was bittersweet as they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.
Chapter Five
Twenty minutes later Gloria was pushing Hope back home in her pram. Every time she made the short journey up Tatham Street and across the Borough Road to her flat, she was thankful she no longer lived on the Ford Estate on the other side of town. Not just because it meant she didn’t have to schlep five miles to and from work every day, but because the little basement flat that had once been Rosie’s home signified the start of her new life.
Her new divorced life.
Four months previously she had left her old marital home, and all the awful memories that went with it, and she had never looked back.
Of course, she had hoped to have been starting her new life with Jack and Hope as a family, but that was not to be. Not for the moment anyway. But at least, Gloria thought as she carefully bumped the pram down the half-dozen stone steps to her front door, Jack was alive – even if she hadn’t seen him for nearly six months.
‘Ahh, home sweet home,’ Gloria said as she opened the front door, manoeuvred the pram inside, and hauled Hope out. As soon as she did so, though, Hope let out an ear-splitting cry.
‘Now, why did I just know that was going to happen?’ Gloria spoke her thoughts. ‘A perfect angel for yer lovely aunty Bel, but a little devil for yer auld ma. Let’s just see if a nice bottle of milk will do the trick.’
Gloria was heading towards her little kitchenette, a screaming Hope in her arms, when she heard a knock on the door.
She went to answer it.
‘Helen! How lovely to see you!’ Gloria had to speak loudly to be heard over Hope’s crying, which seemed to be getting louder and more demanding by the second.
As soon as Helen saw her little sister’s scrunched-up red face, her hands automatically went out to take her.
Closing the door behind her and watching Helen gently kiss Hope’s thick mop of black hair, then gently jig her up and down, Gloria caught her breath. Seeing Hope and her big sister together made her heart swell.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come round before now,’ Helen said as she did a slow lap of the small living area. She wanted to explain why, but couldn’t. Her head had been all over the shop this past week since turning up unannounced and meeting her sister for the first time.
Gloria went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gloria reassured her. ‘That door’s always open. You just come whenever you want. There’ll always be two people who are more than happy to see you. Particularly this one.’ Gloria looked over to her daughter who was now like a kitten in Helen’s arms.
‘You fancy a cuppa? I know I’m parched,’ Gloria said.
‘Yes, please.’ Helen’s voice was soft with barely the hint of a north-east accent.
Gloria headed into the kitchen, conscious of not fussing over Helen and steamrolling her with a load of questions:
How was she feeling?
Had she got a message to that no good Theodore that she was expecting his child?
She knew Helen must be beside herself. It might not be that unusual for young women of Helen’s standing to find themselves in the family way, but if they did, then they’d be racing down the aisle faster than the speed of light while they still had the semblance of a waist.
Helen, however, didn’t have that option.
After making the tea she took it through to the lounge on a little tray, put it on the coffee table and poured out two cups.
‘You fancy a sandwich? Or some biscuits with yer tea?’ Gloria asked.
Helen’s face blanched and she shook her head vehemently.
Gloria laughed.
‘Morning sickness in the evening then?’
‘More like morning, afternoon and evening sickness.’ Helen smiled, but Gloria thought she looked incredibly sad, as well as very tired.
‘Let me take little Miss Muffet off yer,’ Gloria volunteered.
‘That’s all right. I don’t mind,’ Helen said.
Gloria got up, went back into the kitchen and made up a bottle of milk.
‘Here you are.’ She handed the bottle to Helen, who gently cajoled her baby sister into drinking the milk.
Gloria laughed. ‘Please feel free to come ’n visit any time. If yer hadn’t come around I know fer a fact that little ’un would still be screaming her head off – ’n if I’d tried to give her that bottle she would have batted it away like she was trying to swat a fly.’
Helen chuckled.
‘So,’ Gloria’s face became serious, ‘how yer feeling? About everything?’
Helen looked at Hope.
‘She’s getting tired now,’ she said, purposely avoiding answering Gloria’s question, not because she didn’t want to answer, but because she really had no idea how she was feeling – about anything. Her emotions seemed all over the place. One minute she felt completely serene, the next as though she was hurtling down the rabbit hole and seeing only darkness at the end.
‘You haven’t told Dad have you?’ Helen looked up, her eyes finding Gloria’s for the first time, hoping she would be able to tell if she was lying.
‘Like I told yer last week, if you don’t want me to tell yer dad, then I won’t.’ Gloria’s voice was firm. She had spoken to Jack on the phone a few days after Helen’s impromptu visit and she’d had to bite her tongue more than once.
‘And you definitely won’t tell any of the other women, will you?’
‘Of course I won’t. Like I said before, it goes without saying. This is your business ’n no one else’s.’
‘It’s just …’ Helen hesitated. ‘I know what Mum found out … About your workmates. All their secrets.’ She looked at Gloria. She felt awful for having to do this, but it was the only way she knew for certain that Gloria would keep schtum. ‘I know about Dorothy’s mother’s bigamy, Angie’s mam’s lover, and Martha …’ Helen let her voice trail off. She didn’t need to go into any more detail about what else her mother’s private eye had found out. ‘I’ll keep your friend’s secrets if you keep mine.’
Gloria looked at Helen.
‘Yer don’t have to blackmail me to make sure I keep my mouth shut, Helen. If I say I won’t tell anyone, then I won’t. I’m a woman of my word. Are we clear on that?’
Helen nodded.
‘No more threats?’ Gloria added.
Helen blushed.
‘I know what it’s like to be fodder fer the local gossip-mongers,’ Gloria said. ‘I am, after all, a middle-aged woman who’s not only had a baby when most other women my age are becoming grandparents, but I also dared to kick my husband of twenty years out of the marital home.
‘But,’ she added hes
itantly, ‘busybodies with nothing better to do than stick their noses into other people’s business are one thing – yer dad is another.’
She looked at Helen and saw anger flash across her face, but still she persevered. ‘I don’t know why yer won’t tell him?’
‘Why would I tell Dad?’ Helen snapped back. Her change in mood unsettled Hope, who started to wake up and was blinking at her sister with large green-blue eyes.
‘He doesn’t care about me any more.’ Helen dropped her voice to an almost whisper.
‘Why do you think that?’ Gloria asked, genuinely perplexed. ‘Yer dad adores you. He always has done and always will.’ Gloria paused, not wanting to sound accusatory, but needing to say what she had wanted to say for a good while.
‘To be honest,’ Gloria took a deep breath, ‘yer dad’s more than a little hurt you haven’t written to him.’
Helen opened her mouth in disbelief. Feeling Hope begin to wriggle about, she stood up and started walking round the room, swaying Hope in her arms, trying to keep her calm when she herself felt like exploding.
‘I might have written to Dad if he’d bothered to write to me!’ Her voice was low but furious. ‘To have sent me just one letter!’ Helen let out a bitter laugh. ‘A postcard even! I’d have been over the moon with just a few words scrawled on the back of a photograph of the Clyde! But nothing! Not a single word.’
Gloria stared at Helen.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Yer dad’s been writing to yer every week. Sometimes more. He’s been so worried. He thinks yer hate him.’
Gloria was quiet for a moment, trying to fathom a reason why Helen had not been getting Jack’s letters. He must have written dozens since Miriam had banished him to Glasgow at the start of the year.
Helen stopped walking.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Her voice was barely audible, her piercing green eyes showing the sheer incredulity she was feeling. The penny had not just dropped, but clunked down heavy and hard.
‘That bloody postbox.’ Helen’s voice was breathless.