Shelter From the Storm

by Ellie Dean

  She went downstairs and into her bedroom off the hall to get changed into something a bit more respectable. Peeling off her wrap-round pinafore and the cotton dress she always wore to do her housework in, she took off her headscarf and tidied her hair. She was looking forward to her lunch out, for it was a rare treat and she’d heard that the food in these British Restaurants was very good as well as being cheap.

  She pulled on a tweed skirt and pale lavender-coloured sweater and cardigan, all of which were hand-me-downs from her older sister Doris. They’d hardly been worn, but Doris changed her wardrobe so often there weren’t enough days in the year for her to wear everything more than a couple of times, and Peggy was grateful to have her discarded clothes and shoes. She pushed her feet into her second-best pair of shoes – they were marginally more comfortable to walk in than her best ones – and then clipped on her earrings and put on her blue felt hat. It was a bit shabby, but it didn’t matter – most things were shabby now, what with making do and mending, the rationing and the paltry amount of clothing coupons to be had.

  Daisy was waking up and demanding a drink and something to eat, so Peggy got her out of the playpen and handed her a rusk to keep her occupied while she watered down some of the orange juice the government provided each week for small children. Once Daisy’s demands had been met, Peggy put on her little hat and coat and buckled her shoes. She would soon need some new ones, she noticed, so there would have to be another trip to Clarks to get her properly fitted now she was on the point of really finding her feet.

  Peggy carried Daisy on her hip as she helped Cordelia navigate the cellar steps, and once Daisy was strapped into the pram, she shut the back door and they set off. The pace was deliberately slow for Cordelia’s sake, but with the warm weather arriving, it seemed her old joints were easing up and she was quite sprightly today.

  Rosie was just emerging from the Anchor as they approached, looking as glamorous as ever in a short navy blue skirt, white blouse and lightweight three-quarter length coat, her feet shod in two-tone navy and white high-heeled shoes. Her hair had been freshly washed and set beneath the rather fetching hat, and her blue eyes sparkled with fun.

  ‘Hello, darlings,’ she said warmly as she kissed them both and made a huge fuss of Daisy. ‘What a lovely day – perfect for lunch out with friends.’ She chuckled. ‘I feel as if I’m playing truant by taking the day off.’

  ‘You deserve it, Rosie,’ said Peggy. ‘You work far too hard and it’s time you had a bit of fun.’

  They ambled along the pavement, chattering about the war news, the weather and the latest scandal that was doing the rounds, and then stopped to say hello to Rita, who was hosing down one of the fire engines. They continued in this fashion as they slowly wandered up the High Street, stopping now and again to discuss the very uninteresting shop windows and the ugliness of the utility clothing that was the only available thing to buy.

  ‘I know we’re supposed to feel patriotic by wearing those awfully dull things,’ sighed Rosie. ‘But you’d have thought a bit of colour wouldn’t go amiss. After all, grey, brown and black are hardly uplifting, are they?’

  Peggy agreed rather distractedly and let Cordelia continue the discussion as she watched Ron emerge from one of the council offices, deep in conversation with a man she didn’t recognise. Whatever the topic was, it looked very serious, and as the conversation came to an end, they shook hands and went their separate ways; Ron ducking into a side alley with Harvey at his heels, and the other man coming down the hill towards them.

  ‘Are you all right, Peggy?’ Rosie frowned with concern.

  Peggy quickly gathered her wits. ‘Just daydreaming of pretty clothes and proper stockings,’ she said, still darting glances at the man approaching them and hoping to goodness that Ron wouldn’t suddenly emerge into the High Street again and thereby cause trouble between him and Rosie.

  The stranger was tall and she guessed about forty or so, with a sturdy figure and a rather fine handlebar moustache. Dressed in a good suit, with polished shoes and a smart black bowler hat, he carried a briefcase and tightly furled black umbrella, and looked as if he’d just stepped out from a tailor’s shop window in London.

  ‘I say, no wonder you’re distracted,’ whispered Rosie as the man raised his hat to them and smiled before going on down the hill. ‘He’s rather attractive, don’t you think? I wonder who he is?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Peggy replied thoughtfully as all three of them turned to watch his progress. ‘But he’s not local, that’s for sure.’

  ‘He’s a dish,’ sighed Rosie.

  ‘You should both remember you have men of your own,’ said Cordelia briskly, ‘and not behave like silly girls.’

  Peggy and Rosie exchanged glances and stifled their giggles. ‘It doesn’t hurt to admire a good-looking man,’ said Rosie. ‘After all, Cordelia, you were watching him too, and I saw that glint in your eye as he passed.’

  Cordelia gave a sniff. ‘If you ask me, he’s far too attractive for his own good – and what’s a man like that doing here in the first place? I bet he’s up to some sort of mischief.’

  ‘It is unusual to see a man of his age out of uniform,’ mused Rosie. She grinned impishly at Peggy. ‘Perhaps Cordelia’s right and he’s a spy from MI5, or one of those Fifth Columnists the newspapers have been banging on about.’

  Peggy laughed. ‘Cliffehaven is hardly a hotbed of spies and Nazi sympathisers. He’s probably just dressed up to meet some lucky lady for lunch.’ She gave a sigh of longing for the days when Jim had taken her out, and then perked up again. ‘Talking of lunch,’ she said. ‘It’s time we had ours. I’m starving.’

  16

  Mildred was dressed and ready to leave to open her hat shop by the time April came downstairs in her newly purchased second-hand dress, coat, hat and shoes, and carrying the suitcase which contained yet more bargains her mother had brought home from the WVS clothing centre several days before.

  ‘The shop is very busy at the moment,’ she said as she pulled on butter-soft leather gloves and checked her appearance in the mirror above the hall table. ‘So I’m sure you’ll understand why I can’t hang about and go with you to the station.’

  ‘Of course, Mother,’ April replied. ‘It isn’t as if we might never see each other again, is it?’

  Mildred eyed her sharply. ‘You’re hardly a child any more,’ she replied tartly. ‘And I do not appreciate your sarcasm after all I’ve done to help you.’ She picked up a small box from the hall table. ‘You’d better have this,’ she said. ‘Your father gave it to me years ago and I have no use for it.’

  April opened the box to discover a gold ring set with a small single sapphire of the deepest blue. ‘But it’s lovely,’ she breathed. ‘Why have you never worn it?’

  Mildred shrugged. ‘I’m not particularly fond of sapphires, and that one’s so small it was hardly worth the effort of wearing it. But it’ll do for you – after all, you are supposed to be engaged.’

  Stung by her words and the careless way she’d dismissed her father’s beautiful gift, April slipped the delicate ring on her finger. At least she had something to remind her of her father and, unlike her mother, she would appreciate it and take very great care of it.

  Mildred leaned forward and almost brushed April’s cheek with a fleeting, frosty kiss. ‘Take care, and write to me when . . .’ She darted a glance towards the kitchen where the two evacuees were having their breakfast. ‘You know when,’ she said agitatedly. ‘Now, I really do have to rush.’

  April stood in the hall as the front door closed and she heard her mother’s high-heeled shoes tapping on the concrete steps and then along the cobbles. Mildred had obviously considered she’d done enough to rid herself of an unfortunate embarrassment and now the object of this burden was out of sight, she was probably already out of mind, and Mildred could carry on as if nothing had happened.

  April glanced towards the kitchen and the sounds of chinking crockery and murmured conv
ersation. The evacuees were naturally curious about the cool relationship between her and her mother and had probably realised quite quickly that there was little love lost on either side. As they were nice women and she didn’t want to lie to them when they asked the awkward questions she knew they wanted answers to, she picked up her case and quietly let herself out of the front door.

  Clicking it shut behind her, she slowly went down the steps and, without looking back, headed for the station. Her train wasn’t due for another two hours, but she couldn’t bear to remain in that house a moment longer, so she planned to put her case in the left-luggage office and go for a walk in the park, perhaps buy a cup of tea in the café by the bandstand and then find a sunny spot to while away the time.

  The sun was still hidden behind the many rooftops and it was chilly in the shadows, but the sky was a pale blue, promising a fine day. April gripped the handle of the case she’d unearthed from the accumulation of junk in the attic, and walked slowly through the familiar streets, wondering if indeed she ever would return home again. It was unlikely, she accepted sadly, for there was nothing for her here.

  Having handed her case in and checked that her train was due to arrive on time, April wandered around the town for a bit and then went into the Grosvenor recreation ground in search of a cup of tea. Time seemed to move very slowly as she sat in the British Restaurant which had been opened on the site of the old bandstand, and watched the children playing on the grass nearby while she drank her tea and admired how the early May sun glinted on the little ring.

  At last there was only half an hour to go before her journey began, and with a sigh of relief she made for the railway station. Once she’d collected her case and handed over her ticket and travel permit to be clipped, she found the ladies’ waiting room, where someone had lit a fire in the hearth to chase away the evening chill, and even provided some out-of-date magazines.

  There was no one about except for the stationmaster who was sweeping the platform, so April put the case down, settled on one of the rather uncomfortable benches and opened the newspaper she’d found on the seat. It was yesterday’s, but that didn’t matter.

  The train was eventually delayed by almost an hour and she’d read the paper from cover to cover and had started on the cryptic crossword by the time it chuffed into the station. Folding the paper neatly into her mackintosh pocket so she could finish the crossword during the journey, she put the straps of her gas-mask box over her shoulder and picked up her case to join the throng waiting impatiently on the platform.

  Despite the crush, April managed to get a window seat. She put her case and gas mask in the luggage rack above her head, loosened the belt of her mackintosh and left it draped over her shoulders as she sat down. She’d become used to doing everything one-handed, but the plaster was getting very grubby and the sling was fraying quite badly.

  She watched the activity on the platform as the stationmaster organised the porter and the guard stood stoically, waiting to blow his whistle and wave his flag. The train was obviously a popular one, for almost every seat was taken, and a group of young servicemen had filled most of the space in the connecting corridor.

  She caught sight of her reflection in the window and quickly looked away. Her eyes were too large and sad in her pale face, the remnants of her bruises still evident on her jaw and cheekbones, and she knew that if she didn’t keep a tight rein on her emotions she would simply disintegrate into a sobbing, self-pitying heap.

  Blinking hard, she squared her shoulders, determined not to weaken. She’d been through so much these past weeks she could certainly manage to get to Cliffehaven without falling apart at the seams. She looked out of the window again, fleetingly wondering if her mother might have changed her mind and come to see her off. But the platform was empty and she became cross with herself for even allowing this foolish thought to enter her head.

  Steam and smoke billowed along the now deserted platform as the guard blew his whistle and the train’s wheels began to slowly turn. The driver responded with a blast from the train and the great iron wheels got up speed. They passed the end of the platform and began to chuff their way between high embankments which were dotted with spring flowers of yellow and white with the occasional wild hyacinth daring to show through.

  April took the newspaper out of her pocket, but the words blurred and she found she’d taken in nothing as she stared at the crossword, her thoughts scattering. Mrs Reilly had sounded nice on the telephone, and hadn’t been at all fazed by the fact April was unmarried and pregnant. Of course April had had to bend the truth a bit about a fiancé being in the army abroad, even though she hadn’t really wanted to start out on a lie, but maybe, if Mrs Reilly turned out to be as nice as she’d sounded, she’d tell her the truth.

  And yet, however nice she was, she might not be quite so accommodating when she discovered April was having what people now called a ‘khaki baby’. It seemed she hadn’t been the only girl to fall for one of the coloured GIs, and she’d heard awful tales about girls being thrown out of their homes, of babies being abandoned, and men coming home on leave to find living proof that their wives had been unfaithful.

  April took a shallow breath and stared out at the passing scenery as she twisted the ring round her finger. It was too late for regrets, what was done was done. She’d simply have to face what happened next and deal with it, no matter how difficult it might be.

  Her thoughts moved on to her Uncle Stan. She had vague memories of a big, jolly man who’d swung her about and made her giggle, and who’d tucked her up in bed at night and read her stories until she fell asleep. She’d had no idea why they’d gone down to visit him all those years ago. Mildred had simply said that he’d lost his wife, and April couldn’t understand why he didn’t go and look for her. She knew better now, of course, and felt rather sad that he’d been alone for so long. Quite why Mildred hadn’t stayed in touch with him was a mystery, for he’d seemed to be a lovely, caring man.

  She continued to gaze out of the window as the train chugged and puffed its way through the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells and into the countryside. Her childhood memories of that visit were few and rather muddled, but she’d retained the impression of a cosy cottage right near the railway lines and a lovely garden full of flowers and fruit trees and vegetables. And of course she remembered the sea, and how Stan had rolled up his trouser legs and held her hand as they’d paddled in the icy water.

  April’s smile was soft at this memory, for it was the only time she’d been to the seaside, and she’d prattled away to her father about it all on her return, begging him to take her again. But his busy solicitor’s practice hadn’t left any time for holidays, just the odd day out once he’d bought a car – and because he was a nervous driver, they never went very far, and certainly not to Eastbourne or Brighton, the latter being considered far too racy for a family outing.

  The train came to a halt and panted patiently by the platform as people got off and luggage was quickly stored in the guard’s van. April’s thoughts wandered, speculating on how accurate her memories of Cliffehaven were, and how much it might have changed after all these years. If Tunbridge Wells was anything to go by it was probably unrecognisable, but she hoped something of her childhood had been left the same.

  As for Uncle Stan, he would be in his mid to late sixties now, and although he should have retired, the war had meant he’d had to carry on his duties at the station. Did his little railway cottage still exist? Was he still as jolly as she remembered – and what was the woman like who was about to become his wife?

  She had no way of knowing, for she’d suffered enough rejections these past months and her courage had failed her when it had come to writing him a letter. In the end, she’d decided she would move into Beach View with Mrs Reilly and get to know more about him before she revealed who she was. That way, she wouldn’t be taking a leap in the dark.

  17

  The British Restaurant was basic, with mismatched chairs, and ta
bles covered in rather faded oilcloth. The walls were unadorned, although they had been recently distempered, and the floorboards had been stripped and waxed to a gleam. Their waitress was a jolly, middle-aged woman who used to work at the Grand Hotel before it was smashed to smithereens during a bombing raid, and the menus were hand-written in pencil so they could be used repeatedly. The cutlery was cheap but serviceable, and there was a pot of flowers on each table to cheer things up, with proper linen table napkins which were very posh considering the rest of the place.

  Despite the lack of ambience and the cheap prices, lunch had not been a disappointment. They’d had a rich tomato soup, a very tasty shepherd’s pie and sliced bottled pear with custard. Daisy had been very well behaved and there hadn’t been too much of her lunch on the floor beneath the high chair when she’d finished.

  Peggy was feeling relaxed and rather sleepy as they dawdled over cups of tea and Daisy became engrossed in a picture book the waitress had found for her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out to lunch – or had a meal prepared for her – and it was absolute bliss not to have to worry about the washing-up. She smothered a yawn, thinking how lovely it would be to go home and have a bit of a snooze before she had to go to the station to meet April.

  ‘Peggy? Peggy, are you with us, or off in dreamland?’

  She shook her head to clear the fog of drowsiness and shot Rosie a smile. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. I’m not used to eating so well at this time of day, and I almost nodded off.’

  ‘It’s a sign of getting old,’ said Cordelia darkly. ‘I drop off when I least expect it, and it’s awfully confusing to suddenly wake up and not know what day it is.’

  ‘I wish I had the time to sleep during the day,’ sighed Rosie. ‘There’s always something to be done even after I’ve locked the pub doors.’