by Nancy Revell
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ Dorothy said. ‘I just wish I’d been able to make him see sense. Honestly,’ she dropped her voice, ‘he should be clicking his heels you’re with Jack and not Vinnie.’
By the time they’d all sat down at their table at the far side of the canteen, word had got round about Bobby working with Jimmy’s squad.
‘You all right, Glor?’ Rosie asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Honestly?’
Gloria nodded.
‘Didn’t you know he was starting at the yard?’ asked Martha.
‘No, she didn’t, Martha.’ Dorothy poured out a cup of tea and gave it to Gloria. ‘Bobby’s not the most loquacious of sons.’
Angie pulled a puzzled face.
‘Loquacious,’ Hannah explained, ‘comes from the Latin loqui, meaning “to speak”.’
‘Dorothy was saying she doesn’t think Gloria’s son is much of a talker,’ Olly added.
‘Ah,’ said Angie, taking a bite of her sandwich and making a mental note to ask Quentin if he too knew Latin.
‘He doesn’t waste any time, does he,’ Polly said. ‘He must have left the house at the crack of dawn.’
‘You didn’t see him when you got up?’ Dorothy asked.
Polly shook her head. ‘We didn’t even know we had a new lodger until Ma told us this morning.’
‘Bobby’s a grafter, that’s for sure. Even when he was a boy,’ said Gloria. It was clear to them all that she was incredibly proud of her son.
‘Well, I know one person who’s going to be cock-a-hoop about all of this,’ said Rosie, taking a bite of her sandwich.
‘Who?’ Angie asked.
‘Helen!’ Martha guessed, tucking into her packed lunch.
‘Why’s Helen going to be cock-a-hoop about Bobby being back?’ asked Angie, looking perplexed. She was still half asleep after staying up late with Quentin, kissing and cuddling and chatting on the sofa in his flat downstairs; it had been so late that even Dorothy had been fast asleep when she’d tiptoed in.
‘Because Helen’s in desperate need of more riveters,’ Martha explained.
‘Which means that I’m equally cock-a-hoop,’ Rosie added, ‘because Helen might just stop pilfering Martha from me and I can have a full squad full-time.’
‘Talk of the devil.’ Dorothy nodded over to the entrance of the canteen. Everyone looked round to see Helen making her way towards them. There was a slight dimming of voices as workers became aware of her presence. It wasn’t often management mingled with the hoi polloi.
‘Hi.’ Helen cast a look around the table at the women. She might now be accepted by them all, but she still felt nervous when she interacted with them as a group. She pulled out a spare chair and sat down.
‘I’ve only just got to know about Bobby,’ she said, scrutinising Gloria’s face. She had no idea how she must be feeling.
‘But you took him on?’ Dorothy questioned.
‘I did,’ said Helen, shaking her head when Hannah pointed at the teapot. ‘But I didn’t realise he was Gloria’s son.’
‘He didn’t tell yer?’ Angie asked.
‘No,’ Helen said, looking back at Gloria. ‘He just turned up, said he’d been medically discharged, that he had experience riveting and could he have a job. I kept thinking the name rang a bell. But I’m so used to you using your maiden name – ’ she threw Gloria an apologetic look ‘ – I didn’t think. It was only just now, when Marie-Anne came to see me and said it was nice of me to give your son a job, that I realised.’
‘Typical Marie-Anne. Never misses a trick,’ Dorothy muttered. Marie-Anne always got to know everything there was to know about a new worker – especially unmarried men in their twenties.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gloria reassured. ‘Bobby wouldn’t have wanted to put you on the spot. Make you feel like yer had to give him a job.’
‘Tight-lipped more like,’ Dorothy sniped.
‘I can’t stay,’ Helen said, looking at Gloria, ‘but I just wanted you to know I didn’t realise it was Bobby – and to check you’re all right. I’m guessing it was probably a bit of a shock – and probably more than a little awkward – him turning up out of the blue?’
‘Just a little!’ Dorothy spluttered.
Helen looked at Dorothy and thought she seemed ready to pop.
‘Dor was there last night,’ Gloria explained.
Helen nodded, knowing that Dorothy usually went round to see Hope on a Friday evening.
‘I’ll come round after work for a cuppa and a catch-up, if that’s all right?’ Helen knew Bobby’s arrival must have been a shock to her father as well.
‘Course it is. We’ll see yer later,’ Gloria said, forcing a smile.
As the women started to chatter amongst themselves, Gloria could feel the guilt, which had lain dormant for a long time, start to bubble back up to the surface. Now that Bobby was back, she knew that there would be no pushing it down again.
At the end of the shift, the klaxon sounded out and the entire workforce downed tools. As it was a Saturday, no one wanted to waste any time getting home – or to the pub.
‘Yer must have seen quite a bit of action?’ Jimmy asked Bobby as they made their way across the yard to the timekeeper’s cabin.
‘A fair bit,’ Bobby said. ‘More so after being stationed on Opportune.’
‘Ah, one of Thornycroft’s,’ said Jimmy. Thornycroft was a well-known shipyard in Southampton. ‘HMS Opportune – an O-class destroyer ordered back in September 1939 for the First Emergency Flotilla. Commissioned in August 1942.’
Bobby smiled. His new boss, he was fast learning, had a near-on encyclopaedic knowledge of just about everything and anything to do with the maritime industry – from naval vessels to merchant shipping, going back to the days of wood and sail. It was impressive.
‘Yer mam told me you were mainly in the North Atlantic,’ Jimmy said.
Bobby had also learnt today that Jimmy got on well with Rosie’s squad of welders and had even helped his mam move from their old house on the Ford estate to the flat on Borough Road. It seemed as though everyone, bar him and Gordon, knew his mam had left his dad.
‘That’s right. North Africa, the Arctic, the Atlantic,’ Bobby said. ‘Mainly escorting convoys.’
‘And Glor said yer were in the Battle of the North Cape?’ Jimmy asked, looking at Bobby. He’d been a little wary of the lad to start with – knowing who his dad was – but from what he’d picked up working alongside him today, you’d never have guessed the two were in any way related.
‘I was,’ Bobby said.
‘What a way to bow out,’ Jimmy said, ‘sinking the Scharnhorst. The papers here were full of it.’
Bobby would have given anything not to have had to ‘bow out’, but didn’t say so. He didn’t want Jimmy, or any of the others in his squad, to feel like he didn’t want to be there. It was just that he’d have preferred to be with Gordon on Opportune, especially as he’d heard before leaving that they were being deployed to combat German torpedo boats in preparation for the invasion of France.
‘Felix oportunitate pugnae,’ Jimmy said as they both handed in their white boards to Davey.
‘“Happy at the chance of a fight”,’ Bobby translated with a smile. It was Opportune’s motto. If only he could have had the chance of one last fight. Still, he had to console himself with the thought that he was still a part of that fight. He mightn’t be with Gordon when Opportune joined the air and sea attacks on northern France, but the landing craft he would be working on over the next few months would be. It was of some consolation.
‘Bobby!’
Jimmy glanced over his shoulder.
Bobby hadn’t heard anything, but looked at what had caught his boss’s attention.
‘Mad as a hatter, that one,’ Jimmy warned, nodding back at Dorothy, who was hurrying towards them. Angie was trailing behind her.
‘I’ll leave yer to it.’ He gave Bobby a pat on the back. ‘Good
luck.’
Bobby smiled as he stopped to wait for the pair. He’d take whatever luck was sent his way, but not for the reasons Jimmy had meant.
‘The perfect end to the day,’ Bobby said as Dorothy caught him up.
Dorothy ignored him, continuing instead to walk down to the ferry landing. The initial crush of workers had either headed up to their homes on the north side of the river, or caught the earlier ferry over to the south side.
‘I wanted to have a word with you,’ she said.
‘As I did with you,’ Bobby countered. They had now come to a halt on the ferry landing. Bobby looked down at Dorothy, who seemed shorter than last night, which, he realised, was because she was now wearing flat leather hobnailed boots.
‘I wanted to thank you,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Dorothy snapped.
‘For helping me get sorted with somewhere to stay. For getting me board and lodging with Mrs Elliot,’ Bobby said.
‘Everyone calls her Agnes,’ Dorothy said. ‘Like I said last night, we’re not still living in the Dark Ages.’
Bobby barked with laughter.
‘Some might beg to differ,’ he said.
His comment stumped Dorothy for a moment.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend,’ he said, ‘or is that also now not the way things are done?’
Dorothy rolled her eyes up to a clear afternoon sky, marred only by the shimmering grey of the barrage balloons.
‘This is Angie,’ she said simply.
Bobby wiped his dirty hand on his denim overalls and reached out to shake Angie’s hand. She chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it being dirty.’ She held up both hers, which were covered in grime, before taking his hand and shaking it.
‘Nice to meet yer, Bobby,’ she said, staring up at him and feeling a little disloyal to Quentin for sensing herself blush. It was hard, though. Gloria’s son was very dishy.
‘All aboard!’ the ferryman shouted out as W.F. Vint butted the quayside.
‘So, when’re you going to go and see your mam?’ Dorothy asked as they piled onto the ferry.
Bobby looked out to the river but didn’t reply.
Realising he genuinely hadn’t heard, Dorothy moved around so that she was on his right.
‘So, when’re you going to see your mam?’ she repeated.
Bobby looked down at her, his eyes twinkling, before turning his attention to Angie. ‘Is your friend always this bossy?’
Angie nodded and widened her eyes. ‘Always.’ She caught Dorothy glaring at her. ‘Yer wanna live with her,’ she mumbled under her breath.
‘Well, Ange, if he does “wanna live with” me,’ Dorothy quipped, ‘he’ll have to marry me first, as Bobby here is not one for living in sin.’
Her comments were followed by laughter from Bobby.
As Bobby headed off to the café Angie had recommended on High Street East, which she’d told him was run by two women called Vera and Rina, he thought about Dorothy’s jibes and accusations that he had ‘the mindset of an old man’. He would have liked to tell her that wasn’t the case – that he was actually quite a liberal and didn’t think marriage was sacrosanct; nor that a couple should stay together ‘till death do us part’ if they were unhappy, particularly if the wife was being battered on a regular basis. But while he certainly didn’t care if a woman had a child out of wedlock, he did care about the repercussions a mother’s unmarried status might have on the child. Surely his mam must realise that Hope would be branded a bastard and taunted because of it when she was older. For that reason alone, Jack should have got divorced and married his mam; for their daughter’s sake, if nothing else. Which begged the question, why hadn’t he? He’d certainly had long enough.
As Bobby pushed open the door to the cafeteria, he was hit by the smell of freshly baked bread, mixed with frying bacon. Angie had told him not to mind the small, round, grumpy owner – she was brusque with everyone, even those she liked. She said it was worth enduring for her famous butties and had started to say something about the cakes there, but hadn’t got to finish her sentence as Dorothy had elbowed her and dragged her off home.
‘What can I do yer for?’ Vera asked, drying her hands on a tea towel.
‘Bacon butty, please,’ Bobby said, thinking Angie’s description of the proprietor of the café was spot on. Looking through into the kitchen, he saw a taller, regal-looking woman who he guessed was Rina.
‘Sit yerself down ’n I’ll bring it over,’ the old woman ordered, her attention and scowl moving to the next person in the queue.
Sitting down at a table in a corner of the café, Bobby poured himself a glass of water while he waited. His arms felt tired. He’d forgotten how intense riveting could be. He’d lost some of his fitness while he’d recovered from his head injury; it wouldn’t take long to get it back, though.
Perhaps, he wondered, it was not such a bad thing that his mam and Jack weren’t married. If he turned out to be another Vinnie it would make it easier, wouldn’t it? Or not? He wasn’t sure. Had his mam stayed with their dad because they were bound by their marital vows? He’d never been able to understand why she hadn’t left him. Nor did he think he ever would.
He smiled politely as Vera plonked his plate and cup of tea in front of him. At least, he thought as he took a bite of his bacon sarnie, he would get to know more now he was working at Thompson’s; it might be the second-biggest shipyard in the town, but everyone still knew each other’s business, whether they wanted to or not.
Taking a big slug of perfectly brewed tea, Bobby’s mind went to Hope. He was also going to make sure his little sister was safe. He’d pop in to see her every week. It was the least he could do. He would do whatever it took to save another child from going through what he and Gordon had been forced to endure. If his mam was being used as another man’s punchbag, well, then, that was her prerogative – she was a grown woman and could make her own choices – but he wasn’t going to let Hope suffer. No way.
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday 8 March
‘John!’ Helen jumped out of the car and hurried across to Dr Parker, who was walking down the steps of the asylum. Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she stood back. ‘I’m guessing you’ve been busy?’
‘No more than usual,’ he said, his heart drumming a rapid beat as it always did on seeing Helen. ‘But I’m guessing you are, if you can’t squeeze me in for a quick cuppa.’
Helen frowned. ‘I’ve always got room to squeeze you in, John. I did ring yesterday to see if you’d be about today, but you never called back.’
‘Ah, that explains it,’ Dr Parker said. ‘Denise must have forgotten to pass the message on. Strange, though. She’s always so efficient.’ He took Helen’s arm. ‘Well, why don’t we have a little stroll around the grounds in lieu of a cup of canteen tea?’
Helen felt her body tingle as he touched her. She had on a short-sleeved blouse and she could feel the goosebumps as his fingers gently touched her skin.
‘Sounds like a good swap,’ she said, looking out at the perfectly manicured grounds of the asylum and feeling the start of spring on her face. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’ She turned and smiled at John. How she wished she didn’t desire him so. ‘I could certainly do with some fresh air and I’m sure you could too. You’re looking a little pale. Or is that too many late nights?’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Talking of which, how’s Dr Eris?’
Dr Parker let out a loud laugh as he reluctantly let go of Helen’s arm and started walking along the gravelled pathway that bordered the asylum. ‘She’s good. Although my pasty complexion is due to a week of night shifts.’
Helen was pleased; the green-eyed monster that always started to stomp about whenever she thought of John and Claire together – especially together late at night – was appeased.
‘Which was why I’ve been here,’ Dr Parker continued, ‘to arrange a night out. I think Claire needed reassuring that it was work and not a lack of des
ire that has been keeping us apart.’
Helen let out fake laughter to mask the painful jab of jealousy.
‘Well, I think Claire should count her blessings. Poor Polly has to do with the occasional letter, and Rosie not even that.’ The words were out before she could rein them back in.
Dr Parker caught the irritation in Helen’s tone, confirming what he’d thought from the start – Helen and Claire would never be the best of friends. Helen tried to make out she liked Claire, as Claire did with Helen, but it was no good – their true feelings for one another always managed to slip out and show themselves.
‘How’s everyone at work?’ Dr Parker asked, his concern genuine.
‘They’re all good,’ Helen said. ‘Working like Trojans, I have to say – and for once it’s not me being the slave-driver.’
‘Rosie?’ Dr Parker knew about the LCTs they were building and how important they were for Rosie – and Peter. Helen nodded. She, like Dr Parker, believed that Rosie’s need to get the landing craft down the ways as quickly as possible was because she felt she was helping to fight Peter’s corner. The war in Europe was escalating, with the Americans stepping up their daylight air raid attacks on Berlin.
‘Gloria and Jack all right?’ Dr Parker asked.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Helen said, stopping in her tracks. ‘No, they’re not!’
‘What’s happened?’ John’s face was serious. Thoughts of Miriam or Mr Havelock executing revenge on them sprang to mind.
‘Bobby’s back!’ Helen said. Seeing a wooden bench nearby, she walked over and sat down. Dr Parker followed.
‘But I thought he was still at sea? That he was under medical supervision.’
‘Not any more,’ Helen said, her emerald eyes looking at John. ‘He’s been medically discharged. He turned up unannounced at the flat.’
‘Oh dear … And I’m guessing sod’s law means that he turned up when Jack was there – and Hope.’
‘And Dorothy,’ Helen added.
‘I can imagine it was a bit … strained?’ he said.
‘Just a bit,’ said Helen, before taking a deep breath and telling her friend all that had happened: how Bobby had turned up and not been at all happy to find his mother living in sin with a married man, and with a child born out of wedlock; how he had left but Dorothy had gone after him and taken him to Tatham Street, where Agnes had given him board and lodging; and then how he’d come to Thompson’s at the crack of dawn and asked her for a job.