by Nancy Revell
‘I’ve found summat in the loft!’ she shouted down to Dorothy, who was doing a rather good Judy Garland impression of ‘Over the Rainbow’ in the bathroom.
Angie tossed the paper bag onto the bed. It made a clinking sound as it landed. She pulled the rags, which seemed to be made from some kind of heavy green material, and let them fall freely to the ground. Jumping off the chair, she looked down at what she could now see was an old uniform. She sneezed again as she shook it out, producing another cloud of dust. She laid the khaki green uniform on the bed and picked up a peaked cap. She then opened up the paper bag and emptied the contents onto the bed.
She gasped as a cluster of medals and ribbons were revealed.
‘Dor! Come and see what I found!’
Dorothy hurried through to the bedroom. She too was now wearing a summer dress, not unlike the one Angie had on.
‘Blimey, Ange, where did that come from?’
Angie raised her eyes to the ceiling.
‘The loft? You’ve been in the loft?’
‘I just thought I’d have a neb ’n I found all this …’
They both stared at the creased-up officer’s uniform, the cap that was covered in cobwebs, and the mound of medals that were in need of a good polish.
‘I’m guessing it belongs to George,’ Angie said.
‘Gosh.’ Dorothy was looking closely at the medals.
‘These are really impressive medals.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, they’re pretty rare, which means George must have done something pretty spectacularly brave to get them.’
Angie stood and stared.
‘Eee, you’d never think it, looking at him, would ya? I mean … he’s skinny as a rake … and posh … and old.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t have been old in the First War,’ Dorothy mused, ‘and being posh or skinny doesn’t mean you can’t be brave.’
‘What shall we do with it all?’
They were both quiet.
‘Shall we stick it back in the loft? We don’t want him thinking we’ve been nosing around.’
‘No, it doesn’t seem right shoving it all back up there.’ Dorothy looked around the room. ‘Let’s hang the uniform in the wardrobe for the time being.’
‘And leave the medals out on the side. We can shine them up later.’ Dorothy spread the medals out on top of the chest of drawers.
‘Come on then, let’s go and see Gloria and Hope,’ Dorothy said as they both left the bedroom and made their way along the short hallway. After they shut their front door and began to make their way down the two flights of stairs, Angie leant into Dorothy and whispered, ‘Do yer know anything about the others who live here?’
When they got to the bottom, Dorothy whispered back, ‘Just that the basement flat is owned by some bloke who works for local government. And that his name’s Quentin.’
‘Quentin? He sounds posh,’ Angie said, as they stepped out the front door and walked down half a dozen stone steps that led to the pavement.
‘I think you can safely say he will most definitely be posh with a name like that, Ange.’ When they stood on the pavement they looked up at their new home and linked arms.
‘Eee, I’m dead chuffed, Dor.’ Angie looked at her friend. ‘Me too, Ange, dead chuffed.’
They both stood for a moment before they turned to continue on their way. They let an old man and his wife past, but when they saw who was walking behind the elderly couple, they remained rooted to the spot.
‘Oh!’ Dorothy couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. ‘Helen! What a coincidence to see you here.’
Helen looked equally taken aback.
‘Likewise!’ Her reply was curt, but she couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice either.
The three women stood looking at each other, no one knowing what to say.
‘You two visiting friends?’ Helen asked eventually, knowing she had to say something.
‘Actually, Angie and I have just moved into a flat here.’ Dorothy looked up at the house. Angie was standing ever so slightly behind Dorothy, but had followed her friend’s gaze and was now proudly looking up at their new abode.
‘Oh, that’s nice.’ Helen was the epitome of politeness as she gave them a tight smile. ‘Well, nice to see you both. Have a good evening.’
And with that Helen went on her way.
Dorothy and Angie walked at a distance behind her as they were all clearly heading in the same direction. They noticed Helen was carrying a neatly wrapped present with a pretty pink bow on it. When she reached the end of the street she turned right, as did Dorothy and Angie. Helen walked along Borough Road. As she passed Gloria’s basement, she turned her head slightly but carried on walking.
Angie nudged Dorothy.
‘Eee, for a moment there I thought she was gannin to Gloria’s!’
‘Cooeee! Glor, it’s us! Your two favourite people! Dor and Ange!’
Gloria came hurrying to her front door. She had heard the knock and had been convinced it was Helen before she heard the terrible two’s distinctive voices.
‘Come in, come in!’ Gloria ushered them both into the flat.
‘Oh, my God, Glor! We’ve got loads to tell you.’ Dorothy bustled in, followed by an excited-looking Angie.
‘We’ve just moved into the flat and Ange’s told her mam and dad!’
‘Eee, Glor, it’s lovely. Nippin’ clean, we’ve got a bedroom each, and an indoor bathroom – and there’s even towels!’ Angie said, her eyes wide as if to stress the point.
‘And we found an old officer’s uniform and some pretty impressive medals,’ Dorothy said.
‘In the loft,’ Angie added.
‘But,’ Dorothy said dramatically, ‘wait until you hear who we just bumped into?’
Gloria felt as though she had just been caught in a whirlwind. Despite her workmates’ verbal bombardment, though, she knew instinctively who it was that they’d ‘just bumped into’.
She feigned innocence. ‘No, who?’
‘Helen!’ Dorothy and Angie spoke in unison.
‘Never!’ Gloria hoped she sounded suitably shocked. ‘Yeh, ’n she looked like she was off to a party or summat, ’cos she was carrying a present with a geet big pink bow on it.’
As she made them all cups of tea and Dorothy and Angie chatted on whilst fussing over Hope, Gloria’s mind kept wandering to Helen. She had clearly been on her way round to see her. Gloria had tried not to worry about Helen these past ten days, but hadn’t succeeded. Her mind would only be put to rest when she managed to see her and find out how everything had gone – and, most importantly, ask her how she was feeling.
And as much as Gloria thought the world of the two young girls presently buzzing about her flat, chatting away and laughing, she wished their new digs hadn’t been quite so near to her own.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Bloody, bloody typical!’ Helen murmured under her breath as she carried on walking along Borough Road. ‘Out of all the places in town those two could have rented, they had to get somewhere right next to Gloria.’
Helen turned right up Fawcett Street and jumped on a tram. She might as well go straight home.
This was so frustrating.
She’d tried to see Gloria and Hope the other day, but they’d not been in. She’d been really looking forward to seeing them this evening – had even nipped into town and bought a really cute sun hat for Hope at Risdon’s. It was to be an early birthday present, as she’d heard Bel chatting to some of the workers the other day, telling them about her daughter, Lucille, and how she was having a joint birthday party with her friend’s little girl, who was just about to turn one. When Helen had realised it was Hope she was talking about, she’d stupidly felt hurt that she hadn’t been invited.
So what if Hope was her sister? Even if it did become common knowledge, she was in no doubt that she would be the last person Polly’s sister-in-law, or any of the other women welders, would want to
invite to any kind of a social do.
Helen looked down at the perfectly wrapped present in her lap.
Well, it looked like she’d just have to wait to give it to Hope.
When Helen walked through her front door, she sensed that, for once, she was not coming into an empty house. When she stepped into the hallway her instinct was proven right.
‘Helen, is that you?’
‘Who else is it going to be, Mother?’ Helen said, wearily. She had actually got used to coming home to an empty house. Quite enjoyed it now. The only person she was ever really pleased to see when she got home was Mrs Westley the cook, but she was usually gone by the time Helen got back from work.
‘I’m in the sitting room!’ It was an order as opposed to a statement.
Helen deliberately walked past the open door of the front reception room and carried on through the breakfast room and into the kitchen. Her spirits lifted when she saw that Mrs Westley had left one of her scrumptious home-made steak and kidney pies on top of the Aga.
Miriam tried to curtail her anger at being so blatantly ignored.
‘Are you deaf?’ Miriam’s sing-song, but slightly shrill voice resounded through the house as she went to find her daughter.
‘No, Mother,’ Helen said, cutting herself a piece of pie. ‘My hearing’s fine, thanks for asking.’
‘I was actually hoping,’ Miriam softened her tone, ‘that you and I might have a little chat.’
Helen looked at her mother’s face.
The pair now barely spoke to each other.
‘Mother, why don’t you just tell me what it is you want.
It always unnerves me when you try to be nice.’
Miriam let out a tinkle of laughter.
‘Oh, Helen, I’m always nice.’
Helen gave her mother a look of disbelief, sat down at the kitchen table and forked a large piece of pie into her mouth.
‘Mm, Mum,’ she said through a mouthful of food, ‘you really want to try this pie. Mrs Westley has surpassed herself.’
Miriam took a deep breath, forcing herself to keep calm. She was determined this conversation they were about to have would build a bridge across their fractured relationship. Now that her daughter had done what she was supposed to, she wanted her back as an ally. Or at least, for life to be back to the way it had been before this Theodore debacle.
‘I’ll give the pie a miss this evening, darling. But I will be sure to tell Mrs Westley how much you relished it,’ Miriam said, all the while thinking she would, in fact, be lambasting the cook for defying her orders yet again. Helen would look like the back end of a bus if Mrs Westley had her way. At least, she thought, she no longer had to worry about Helen gaining excess weight for any other reason.
‘So, Mother, what is it you wanted to chat to me about?’ Helen put another forkful of food into her mouth.
Miriam had to bite her tongue. ‘Darling, why don’t you stop eating for a moment? There’s nothing more uncouth than talking with your mouth full.’
Helen could feel her hackles starting to rise. Putting her knife and fork down, she glowered at her mother.
‘All right, Mother. Go on, spit it out. Tell me whatever it is you want to tell me – or ask – and then you can get back to the Grand, and I can continue to enjoy Mrs Westley’s pie.’
‘Well …’ Miriam sat down on the kitchen bench opposite her daughter and reached out to take her hand. ‘I just wanted to say to you, darling, that I’m so pleased you saw sense.’
Helen looked at her mother for a moment, confused. A myriad thoughts flashed across her mind.
‘Sorry, Mum, I’m not sure what you mean?’
Miriam stretched her other arm across the table and took hold of Helen’s other hand.
‘I mean, what you did the other week … Or rather …’ she paused ‘… what you had done the other week.’
Helen stared at her mother. She pulled her hands away. ‘What did I “have done”?’ She could feel her heart pounding. Did her mother know?
‘Darling.’ Miriam tried to take hold of Helen’s hand again, but Helen pulled it out of reach. ‘You know? The solution to your little problem?’
Helen could feel the anger rising inside her.
‘How did you know?’ Helen paused. ‘How did you know about the solution to what you call my little problem?’
‘Your grandfather – who else?’ Miriam fought down the irritation welling up inside her. This was proving harder work than anticipated.
‘And how did Grandfather know about it?’ Helen demanded.
‘Oh, Helen, my dear, you should know by now that nothing in this town – and especially anything out of the ordinary that might take place in any of our hospitals – gets past his notice. You don’t plough the amount of money he does into these places without having just about everyone in your pocket.’
‘Dr Billingham,’ Helen said, angrily. She’d paid him a fortune to keep his trap shut. Clearly her grandfather had paid him more.
‘So, what did Dr Billingham tell Grandfather?’ Helen’s eyes narrowed.
‘That a young doctor you knew had come to him and asked if he would be prepared to help you sort out …’ Miriam stopped, trying to think of the right words.
‘What? Sort out a little problem I had?’ Helen could feel herself starting to shake with fury.
Miriam nodded.
‘Oh, darling,’ she gushed. ‘You can’t imagine what a relief it was. For me and for your grandfather. I was beside myself with worry about what we were going to do. I mean, can you imagine? The scandal would have been totally disastrous – not just for the family and the Havelock name, but for you too.’ Miriam took a deep breath, relieved they had now got to the reason she was sitting here, in this kitchen that stunk of kidneys and gravy, instead of at the Grand, where she should have been, sipping gin and nibbling on some salmon hors d’oeuvres.
‘So,’ Miriam continued, with a thin smile, ‘we can get back to normal now, can’t we? I thought you might even want to come out and celebrate with me this evening. Or perhaps tomorrow? Make a night of it. Or if we went out on Monday we could also go and see that seamstress on Holmeside and get you fitted up with a new dress.’
Suddenly Helen burst out laughing.
Miriam thought her daughter seemed a tad unhinged.
This was not quite the reaction she had expected, but who cared? The catastrophe that had threatened to ruin her life was over. That was the main thing.
‘Oh, Mother, dear …’ Helen was still laughing; tears had now come into her eyes. She got up and disappeared into the scullery for a few moments, reappearing with a bottle of brandy. She collected two tumblers from the sideboard and put them both down on the kitchen table, sloshing a good amount into each glass.
‘Oh, Mum, I do believe you are going to have to get me a new outfit. Most definitely. And we can certainly go out for a little celebration afterwards, if you fancy? But I think it may be a case of you drowning your sorrows, for I’m afraid my little problem, as you like to refer to it, is, in fact, going to become quite a big problem.’
Helen took a sip of brandy.
‘A very big problem – in all ways.’
Helen raised her glass.
‘But, Mum, come on, let’s put our differences aside and make a toast.’
Miriam looked totally confused as she raised her glass in the air.
‘Here’s to you, Mother,’ Helen said.
She paused and smiled.
‘To becoming a grandmother for the first time!’
Helen took another small sip.
‘Congratulations!’
Helen thought her mother looked as though she had been turned to stone.
‘And only another five months to wait! How exciting is that?’ she added.
Miriam’s mouth opened and shut again.
‘You mean to say you haven’t had it done?’ she asked. ‘What?’ Helen asked, all laughter now gone. ‘You mean, have I not got rid of it?’
>
Miriam nodded. There was a part of her that was hanging on to the last vestiges of hope that her daughter might be playing some cruel trick on her.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Helen said simply.
‘But you were scheduled to have it done last week. On Tuesday?’ Miriam still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘That’s right, Mother.’ Helen’s face was impassive. ‘You were correctly informed by Dr Billingham that this was indeed the date I was due to go to the Royal to sort out my little problem … And I did go to the hospital on the arranged date – at the time stipulated. And my goodness, it really was the most beautiful summer’s morning … But, anyway, I digress.
‘So … yes … I did go there – to the Royal … I was even admitted to the ward. Lovely young nurse in charge … And I was given the number-one slot. First to go down … And two very nice elderly porters even took me to what I believe they call the “prep room”, which is where you go before they wheel you into theatre.’
Helen sat back and took another small sip of her drink. ‘But what Dr Billingham obviously failed to tell Grandfather was that this was as far as I got. I never made it into the operating room. I got up off the stretcher, had a quick word with Dr Billingham, reassuring him that, of course, he would still be paid in full, and walked back up to the ward, got dressed, said goodbye to the nice young nurse, and walked out of the hospital – along with my little problem.’
Miriam looked as though she was going to self-combust. ‘You stupid, stupid girl!’ Miriam’s stare was venomous. ‘I think you’ve already told me that on a number of occasions of late, Mother. I think we’ve ascertained that you are of the firm belief that your daughter is “stupid”.’
Miriam gulped back the entire contents of her glass of cognac in one go.
She looked at Helen with slightly deranged eyes.
‘The shame. The shame of it all. My daughter. Having a bastard by a married man! You’ve ruined the Havelock name. You do realise that, don’t you? Your grandfather will probably disinherit you. You’re ruined. Your future is ruined. You’ll never get married. Never even get another bloke. You’ll be known as a harlot. A whore. You and your bloody father have decimated my life!’