by Nancy Revell
‘I’m guessing …’ Joe paused, trying to choose his words properly, ‘… that he took advantage of her?’
‘Well, that’s one way of putting it,’ Bel said tersely. ‘Ma tried to make out they had some brief love affair – that she’d put a stop to it because of his wife, who she liked by the sounds of it – and then after she left, she found she was pregnant with me.’
Joe was quiet.
‘Ma was only fifteen at the time,’ Bel said. ‘Mr Havelock must have been in his fifties.’
Joe was genuinely shocked. He had always assumed that Bel’s father was some sailor or spiv who had diddled off as soon as he’d realised Pearl was in the family way. What he was hearing now was so much worse.
‘It was awful, Joe,’ Bel said, tears stinging her eyes again. ‘We were standing there, Ma trying to make out that it’d been some doomed love affair, and me almost believing her – and then a big black posh car pulled into the driveway and out stepped Mr Havelock.’
Bel sat back but kept a hold of Joe’s hand.
‘She hadn’t said who it was. Just that it was the master of the house. I couldn’t believe it. It took me a few seconds to work out who it was. I’ve never seen him in the flesh – just in photos in the local paper.’ Bel took a deep breath. ‘He looked so old and frail. And then his daughter, Miriam – you know, the one Jack’s married to?’
Joe nodded.
‘Well, she got out of the car. And his granddaughter – Helen.’ Bel didn’t need to ask if Joe knew Helen; the whole of the Elliot household had been well aware of who Helen was after she had tried to nab Tommy off Polly.
Joe blew out air. This was the last thing he expected to hear when he’d asked Bel to go for a walk.
‘Blimey, Bel. How do you feel about all this? It’s a lot to take on board.’
‘I know. I think it’s taken this past week for it to really sink in.’
‘So,’ Joe said, ‘just to make sure I’ve got this straight. Mr Havelock. The Mr Havelock.’ Joe paused. ‘Forced himself on yer ma, and got her pregnant. With you?’
Bel nodded.
‘Did Pearl ever tell him?’
‘God, no!’ Bel said. ‘I think that was the first time Ma had seen him in the flesh since she worked for him. You should have seen her. She went as white as a ghost. She was shaking … It was awful. I’ve never seen her like that before. Ever.’ Bel could feel the anger that had been simmering inside her since that day come to the boil. ‘That man … That man, who everyone thinks is the bee’s knees because of all his so-called charitable work, has no idea that he got Ma pregnant and that he’s got another daughter. And that we live just a few miles apart!’
‘Bel, I’m so sorry. This must be awful for you.’ Joe knew just how determined Bel had been to find her real father. She could never have guessed that this was what she would unearth.
‘So,’ Bel laughed a little bitterly, ‘it looks like I’ve got another sister. Or rather, half-sister. Miriam Crawford. And that Helen,’ her voice rose, ‘is my half-niece.’
Joe put his arm back around Bel and kissed her forehead.
‘What yer gonna do?’ he asked.
‘I’ve thought about it, but there’s not a lot I really can do, is there? It’s not as if I want to have any kind of relationship with the man. And I can’t exactly go up to one of the town’s richest and most important men and accuse him of raping my ma and then tell him that I’m the result.’
Joe pulled Bel closer.
‘I just can’t shake this feeling of anger,’ Bel admitted.
They were both quiet.
‘There’s a big part of me that wishes I’d listened to your ma. She kept saying in that quiet way of hers that sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. But I didn’t. I kept prodding, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.’
Joe didn’t say anything; it worried him how this would affect Bel in the long run. Mr Havelock was a high-profile man. It would not be easy for Bel to forget him, even if she wanted to. He just needed to sneeze and there’d be something in the paper about it.
And then there were his daughter and granddaughter. Miriam and Helen. They were both permanent fixtures in the lives of Bel’s friends, albeit not necessarily welcome ones.
Joe wondered, though, even if Bel could sweep all of this under the carpet and forget about it, would she choose to do so?
And it was that which gave Joe the most cause for concern.
Chapter Eight
A week later
Tuesday 7 July
‘Come in!’
Helen sat behind her desk, a cigarette smouldering in the steel ashtray in front of her.
‘Goodness, Rosie, for once come all the way into my office!’ Her voice had an edge of exasperation to it. ‘Please don’t stand in the doorway. I’m not going to bite, you know?’
Rosie wasn’t so sure and fought the urge to say so as she stepped over the threshold of the small, windowless room.
‘And will you please sit down. This may take a little time and I don’t want to crane my neck up at you while we discuss what we’ve got to discuss.’
Rosie did as she was told and sat herself down.
‘And what is it we have to discuss?’ Rosie asked, looking round the room; she couldn’t believe how organised and tidy it looked. Helen had obviously been spring-cleaning.
‘Well, first of all I’m putting in a big order and want to know if you and your squad need anything. I know you were hankering after a new welding machine.’
Rosie perked up. She was forever fixing the one she had, which was well and truly on its last legs.
‘Well, yes, that would be great if we could.’
Helen scribbled on her notepad, before stubbing out the cigarette that Rosie noticed had not been smoked and instead had simply burnt itself down to the butt.
‘And is there anything else you need that would increase productivity?’
Rosie looked a little puzzled.
‘You know,’ Helen said impatiently, ‘anything else that will help you increase your squad’s work output?’
Rosie sat up straight, annoyed by Helen’s curtness.
‘A couple of extra women welders would help no end!’
Helen pursed her lips. ‘You’re lucky to have the ones you’ve got,’ she bit back. ‘Especially as you’ve managed to keep Martha …’
Helen pushed her chair back as though she was getting ready to stand up.
‘So? Is that it? Nothing else?’
Rosie panicked and wracked her brains before quickly reeling off a list of things she knew she probably wouldn’t get, but it was worth a try.
‘Well,’ Helen said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She looked at Rosie, trying hard not to stare at the light smattering of scars across her face. Still, they hadn’t stopped her finding a man who loved her enough to marry her, even if, from what she’d heard, he was quite a bit older than her.
‘I need your lot back on Brutus this afternoon. The Ministry of War Transport want her ready for launch by the middle of January, at the latest, so it’s going to be all hands on deck.’ Helen felt a stab of regret that she would not be working at the yard then. Her due date was, ironically, around the same time.
‘If we keep on going the way we are,’ she added, ‘we’re looking at setting a new production record this year, which, to be honest, is pretty amazing, all things considered.’
‘That’s fantastic news!’ Rosie was genuinely over the moon.
‘Hence,’ Helen said, ‘the wish list.’
For the briefest moment there was no friction between the two women. There was no denying that they disliked each other intensely, but they had a shared passion for the shipyards, and the town’s shipbuilding heritage, which they were both incredibly proud to be a part of.
Helen stood up, causing Rosie to do the same.
‘Right, well, I’ll tell you when the order’s in,’ Helen said.
As Rosie turned to leave, Helen couldn’
t stop herself asking:
‘Oh and Rosie, I don’t suppose there’s been any more news about Tommy Watts, has there?’
Rosie shook her head sadly.
‘I’m afraid not.’
After Rosie had gone Helen sat back down and forced herself to keep her emotions in check. When Rosie had come to tell her and Harold the news about Tommy last week, she had nearly burst into tears. Thankfully she had managed to keep it bottled up, but as soon as she had got home that evening, she’d cried her eyes out. Mrs Westley, the cook, had sat with her in the kitchen and given her a big cuddle while she too had cried almost as much as Helen, having known Tommy from his visits to the house as a little boy.
If only, Helen kept thinking. If only she had managed to win his heart. If she had done, she would never have let him go. He’d have been there now, alive and well. With her.
And if she had succeeded in getting the only man she had ever truly loved, her own life would have been so very different from what it was now.
As Rosie left the admin building and made her way across the yard, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Helen seemed different somehow.
Seeing her squad in their usual place by the quayside, Rosie had to smile. Dorothy and Angie were sitting on the wooden bench and, by the looks of it, were regaling the rest of the women with either their latest shenanigans or some yard gossip.
As soon as the pair spotted Rosie they shouted out in unison:
‘She’s back!’
Gloria, Polly, Martha, Hannah and Olly all turned around.
‘So?’ Dorothy demanded. ‘What did the Wicked Witch of the West want?’
Rosie grabbed her holdall and perched herself on an upturned crate.
‘Well,’ she said, rummaging around for her sandwiches and tea flask, ‘she wasn’t so much the Wicked Witch of the West today, more the Wizard of Oz …’ She purposely let her voice trail off.
There was a general rumpus from the women all demanding to know what Rosie meant.
‘It would seem,’ Rosie said, putting them out of their misery, ‘that we’re finally getting a new welding machine! And some other bits and pieces too.’
‘How come?’ Martha asked.
‘Helen wants to see the yard hit an all-time production record,’ Rosie explained.
‘So she’s sussed out that we’ll get more done if we actually have equipment that works!’ Dorothy rolled her eyes.
‘So, when we hit the target she can take all the glory,’ Polly said, her tone cynical. She and Helen had pretty much hated each other from first clapping eyes on one another, or rather from the moment Tommy had clapped eyes on Polly and scuppered any chance Helen might have had of bagging Tommy for herself.
‘That’s about the sum of it.’ Rosie poured tea into her tin cup.
‘I have to say, though,’ she added, ‘there seems to be something different about Helen.’
‘What do you mean? Different?’ Gloria asked.
‘I dunno.’ Rosie thought for a moment. ‘Can’t really put my finger on it.’
‘I agree with Rosie,’ Hannah chipped in. ‘We saw her this morning going over to talk to one of the foremen in the platers’ shed, didn’t we, Olly?’
Olly nodded.
‘And when one of the men wolf-whistled her, she stopped dead in her tracks. What’s that expression? If looks could kill?’
‘Eee.’ Angie jumped down from the bench and stretched her back. ‘She normally loves being ogled at.’
‘And not only that,’ Dorothy chipped in, ‘she’s always strutted about the yard like she’s sex on legs, swinging her hips about like a pendulum, wanting the blokes to leer at her – preferably with their tongues hanging out.’
There was a general murmur of agreement.
‘Perhaps she’s started to get a bit of sense. Growing up a bit,’ Gloria said.
‘There she goes again,’ Dorothy looked over at her workmate and made a face, showing her irritation, ‘defending the woman who has brought nothing but trouble and strife to all of our lives.’
‘Yeh, look what she did to Hannah,’ Martha said. ‘She nearly finished her off, making her do the hardest jobs. Working her to the bone.’
‘But, in a funny way,’ Hannah squeezed her friend’s arm, knowing how protective she was of her, ‘I’m glad she did. Otherwise I wouldn’t be training to be a draughtsman—’
‘—and then we wouldn’t have got to know each other,’ Olly butted in, taking hold of Hannah’s hand and making her blush.
Dorothy rolled her eyes again.
‘Well, Hannah, you might well be feeling all loved-up and able to forgive and forget, but I know she’s still got my card marked for grassing her up to Ned’s wife.’
Olly looked puzzled.
‘Helen told everyone that I was seeing some plater called Ned when she was trying to split me and Tommy up,’ Polly said, her resentment clear to hear.
‘And she very nearly succeeded!’ Dorothy exclaimed.
‘Until thankfully,’ Polly added with increasing ire, ‘Dorothy told Ned’s wife and she came and gave Helen a right old earbashing – right here in front of everyone in the middle of the yard.’
‘Anyway,’ Rosie jumped in, wanting to change the subject, knowing Polly’s resentment towards Helen had increased tenfold since Tommy had been declared missing, ‘what were you all yapping about before I got here?’
‘My divorce,’ Gloria said. ‘Or rather divorce in general.’
‘Ah,’ Rosie said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
‘Aye,’ Angie chipped in. ‘Glor here was telling us that you have to prove that yer other half is either violent or mad – like a proper fruit loop – or has buggered off and not come back for years!’ She paused. ‘Anyways, we’re gannin to celebrate at the café that miserable auld woman runs up from the docks.’
Rosie shook her head, but didn’t reprimand Angie. Vera was, if truth be told, a rather grouchy old woman, but Rosie had a soft spot for her. As did Peter.
‘I told Bel to come along as well,’ Gloria said, ‘when I dropped off Hope this morning.’
‘I think she was glad of the invite,’ Polly said. ‘She’s going a bit stir-crazy in the house at the moment – keeps saying she feels like her life is all about other people’s babies and laundry. The emphasis being on other people’s babies.’ They all knew about Bel’s failure to fall pregnant.
Polly looked across at Gloria.
‘Of course, that excludes Hope. She’s like family now.’
As they gathered up their equipment and started to head over to Brutus in the dry dock, Rosie caught Polly looking over to where Ralph and his team were climbing down to the pontoon by the quayside. Her heart went out to her workmate. Poor Polly. Everywhere she looked there were reminders of Tommy. They had all tried to reiterate Hannah’s words that she mustn’t give up hope, but Rosie knew that deep down, none of them truly believed that Tommy was still alive.
Chapter Nine
As they all made their way to Vera’s café, the women were full of chatter.
‘So, it’s tonight you two are seeing what may well be your new digs?’ Rosie asked.
She looked at Dorothy and Angie, who were walking next to her, their arms linked.
‘Aye, miss,’ Ange said, looking unusually sombre, ‘we’re gannin there right after here.’
‘Why the serious face, Angie?’ Gloria asked, catching up with them. ‘I thought you’d be excited. You two. Yer own flat. Getting yer independence.’
Dorothy sighed loudly.
‘You would think, wouldn’t you? No more doing all the chores cos her mam’s always out. No more dodging her dad when he’s in a one.’
Dorothy looked at Rosie and Gloria and pulled a face she hoped reflected her exasperation.
‘No.’ She paused for effect. ‘Ange here is worried that George’s lovely flat – the rent for which, I hasten to add, is very reasonable – is going to be too posh.’
Gloria chuckled, thinking th
at anything George owned was likely to be pretty posh. George was posh.
‘Just go ’n see it, Angie. See what yer think of it. Where’s the flat again?’
‘Foyle Street.’ Angie looked at Gloria with eyes that pleaded for understanding. ‘All the houses along there look git grand. Right la-di-da.’
‘There do seem to be a lot of rich families living along that street,’ Rosie chipped in, ‘but that doesn’t mean they won’t be nice.’ Rosie did wonder, though, how the residents might react to two dirt-smeared, overall-clad women shipyard workers being their new neighbours.
‘If it is posh,’ Gloria said, ‘would that really be so terrible? Better than living in some dump, eh?’
Angie nodded. She always listened to Gloria.
‘Here we are!’ Hannah’s voice sang out as they reached the glass-panelled front door of the café, covered, like all the other windows in the town, with large crosses of brown tape.
‘It says “Closed”,’ Polly said as she and Martha caught up and they all gathered outside on the pavement.
‘That’s because,’ Hannah said, ‘my aunty Rina and’ – she lowered her voice and looked at Angie – ‘that “miserable auld woman”’ – they all laughed at Hannah’s skill at taking off the north-east accent in spite of the fact she still had a slight Czechoslovakian accent herself – ‘have closed the café especially for us. So we can have the whole place to ourselves for Gloria’s celebrations.’
Olly opened the door and held it back like a proper gentleman.
As soon as Gloria walked in she was greeted by Hannah’s aunty, who threw her arms in the air and hurried over to embrace her, giving her a kiss on both cheeks.
‘Congratulations!’ she said, a big smile spreading across her face.
Vera came bustling up behind her.
‘I dinnit think congratulations are exactly in order, Rina!’
‘Phat!’ Rina waved her hand dismissively at her boss. ‘Vera, my dear, these days any kind of good news is worthy of a celebration. And getting shot, as you would say, of some ne’er-do-well husband, is, I think you would agree, good news. Yes?’