by Nancy Revell
There, she’d said the word in her head.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
Accept it – Peter might be dead.
Rosie watched Toby take Dorothy in his arms and kiss her and then whisper something in her ear. And then her heart started thumping, felt like it was going to explode in her chest. He was looking around the café. He was looking for her.
He saw her.
He didn’t smile.
It was bad news.
He was walking towards her. She wanted to stand up and scream at him to go away.
She didn’t want to know.
And then, as he got nearer to her, she saw the beginnings of a smile.
He wouldn’t smile if he had bad news. Would he?
Rosie stood up, would have walked towards him if her legs had not become lead weights. ‘Peter?’ She heard her voice. It sounded strangled. Hoarse.
Toby took both her hands. ‘Peter’s fine. We’ve just had news. He’s OK.’
Rosie stared at Toby.
Everything had gone quiet.
‘He’s fine,’ Toby repeated, putting his arms around her and giving her a hug.
‘Peter’s alive?’ Rosie spoke into the coarse green material of his army uniform.
‘Yes, he’s alive,’ Toby said.
And then he felt her body relax and judder as she sobbed and sobbed. He held her while she cried – and then cried some more.
When she finally pulled away, she realised everyone was silent. And everyone was staring at her. She saw Charlotte standing next to Lily, then George walking over to her and instructing her to sit back down. The Major wheeled his chair over to Toby, cocked his head over to the table at George’s bottle of whisky.
Vera suddenly appeared at her side with a large brandy, muttering that she thought she also needed one herself.
And slowly everyone started to half laugh, half cry.
Peter was alive. Their joy was not so much for Peter, even though those who knew him liked him, but for Rosie. The woman they all loved and who they were desperate to see have a happy ending.
The war was still raging, and there were still no certainties, but Peter was alive. And their friend’s heart remained intact. For now, at least.
‘A toast!’ Toby declared, his large whisky raised in the air.
‘To Peter!’
Rosie looked up at Toby and smiled. The tears still trickling steadily down her face.
‘To Peter!’
All their voices were strong and determined.
As they gathered to listen to the King’s speech, Mr and Mrs Clement came over to say hello to Polly and baby Artie.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ said Mrs Clement. ‘Can I?’ she asked, putting her arms out.
‘Willingly,’ Polly laughed, handing over Artie, who smiled at Mrs Clement and immediately made a grab for her perfectly styled victory rolls. She didn’t seem to care. She kissed his chubby little hand, causing him to forsake her hair for the thick sparkling necklace she was wearing.
‘It was good to see Dr Billingham yesterday,’ Mr Clement said, lighting up a thick cigar that looked the same as the ones the Prime Minister smoked.
‘Oh, I didn’t realise you know each other?’ Polly was surprised.
‘Yes, Richard and I go way back,’ Mr Clement said. ‘Makes me feel old just thinking about it,’ he laughed, and started puffing away, creating a cloud of smoke.
Mrs Clement coughed and walked over to chat to Agnes, taking Artie, who seemed happy to remain in her charge.
‘Very sad, though –’ Mr Clement blew out smoke and coughed ‘– about his daughter.’
Polly looked puzzled. ‘Who? Mary?’
Mr Clement nodded and coughed again. He was not a regular smoker.
‘Poor girl. So young. So pretty. So much going for her.’
‘What? You don’t mean she’s dead?’ Polly suddenly felt nauseous. She was staring at Mr Clement, trying to read his face.
‘Yes,’ Mr Clement said. ‘Got caught in the Blitz.’
Polly felt as though her stomach was doing a very slow somersault.
‘What? Recently?’
Surely Dr Billingham would have mentioned it? She would have known.
‘No, no,’ Mr Clement said, ‘she was caught in one of the first raids.’
He thought for a moment.
‘Yes, must be about three and half years ago now. Summer of 1940. She was in the East End, walking home after a late shift.’
‘Oh God.’ Polly had gone white. ‘That’s terrible. How awful.’
‘Yes, Richard took it badly – not surprisingly.’ He cast an eye over at his three girls, who were thankfully still too young for any kind of war work. ‘No one saw him for a while. I don’t think anyone knew where he was. Then he just seemed to reappear. Started back at the hospital as if nothing had ever happened.’
Mr Clement looked down at his cigar as though wondering whether to risk another puff.
‘Never mentions her … Mary … God rest her soul.’
Polly felt the tears coming.
She looked up to see Rina clapping her hands.
Vera was fiddling with the wireless.
‘Looks like it’s time for the King,’ Mr Clement said.
Needing to feel her own child in her arms, Polly relieved Mrs Clement of Artie as the voice coming out of the radio solemnly announced to the nation, ‘His Majesty King George the Sixth.’
The slightly hesitant words of the King floated over Polly’s head.
She didn’t hear his words of hope, nor his talk about the nation’s spirit and the ‘bright vision of the future’.
All she could think of was Dr Billingham.
Her heart felt like it was breaking for him, and as it did, tears dripped down her face and onto her baby boy, who smiled up at his mammy and tried to catch the salty raindrops that were wetting his warm cheeks.
Tears were also dripping unchecked down Rosie’s face as she listened to the King talk of ‘the fighting spirit of France reborn’.
She didn’t care that others could see she was crying. She had dropped her defences and she was happy to let them stay down for a while, letting all the emotions she’d held back pour out of her as she listened to the words of the country’s monarch.
Listening to him, she believed every word he spoke of hope and victory.
For Peter was alive.
He was alive.
As the national anthem sounded out, Bel tugged Joe’s sleeve and told him she was going.
Joe bent down and kissed her. His face was stern. He asked her if she was sure and was there anything he could say to make her change her mind. Bel shook her head.
She nodded over to Lucille, who was standing next to the Major, her chin up, back straight, her little chest puffed out. The Major also had his chest puffed out and his shoulders back as he turned slightly and gave the little patriot by his side a wink.
Bel kissed Joe once more, then grabbed her handbag and gas mask and slipped away, disappearing out of the door and into the fading light of what would turn out to be a Christmas Day she would never forget.
Chapter Fifty-Five
‘See yer back in an hour. Dinnit be late,’ Pearl shouted after Geraldine as she left the pub.
Geraldine purposely ignored Pearl. She took her instructions from Bill – he was the boss, the licensee, not Pearl, much as she’d like to think she was.
They both heard the door crash shut.
Pearl finished off polishing the last few glasses.
‘We’ve got some sandwiches I saved from yesterday out the back if you want?’ Pearl said.
‘Drink first?’ Bill replied.
‘Do yer even need to ask?’ Pearl laughed, grabbing her packet of cigarettes from under the counter.
Bill poured them each a large whisky and the pair nestled themselves on two bar stools.
Bill raised his glass.
‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Aye, Merry Christmas!’ She grabbed her
drink, chinked glasses and took a large sip.
‘What a year, eh?’ Bill mused.
‘Aye,’ Pearl agreed, ‘and it’s not over with yet. Least I won’t be dragging yer over to Ryhope any more, eh?’ she went on. ‘Seeing as I finally got what I needed from Henrietta.’ Pearl let out a short burst of laughter. ‘Eee, it only took us nigh on five months.’
‘Not that I minded being dragged there,’ Bill said. Talk about an understatement. ‘I quite enjoyed our day trips. The scenic train journeys. The pub lunches … Makes a change from being stuck here day in, day out.’
‘I knar,’ Pearl agreed. ‘Take out dropping in at the asylum ’n they would have been grand.’
‘I suppose we could—’ Bill started to say when Pearl suddenly jumped off her stool.
‘I keep forgetting …’ she said, ducking behind the bar and grabbing her handbag. She came back out, repositioned herself on her stool and began scrabbling around in her bag.
Bill watched her.
‘There it is!’ she said, giving a big sigh of relief. ‘Thought fer a moment I might’ve lost it. Eee, my heart’s going nineteen to the dozen.’ She put her hand on her bony chest to prove her point. With her other hand, she held up Bill’s ex-wife’s wedding ring.
‘If yer’ve gor any sense,’ Pearl said, her thumb and forefinger pinching the gold band, ‘yer’ll flog this ’n get yerself a bit of dosh.’
Bill looked at the ring before taking it from Pearl.
Pearl took a sip of her drink and a puff on her cigarette and watched as Bill got off his stool and lowered himself to the floor so that he was on one knee.
‘Have yer dropped it, yer clumsy clot?’ Pearl was scouring the floor, looking for a glint of gold.
‘I’ve not lost anything, Pearl,’ he said, looking up at her.
It was only then that Pearl saw he was holding the ring in his right hand. His left was on his knee, keeping him steady.
‘Wot yer deeing, yer daft beggar? Yer been at the Christmas spirit or summat?’ Pearl was trying to sound jovial, but in truth she was shocked.
‘Not yet,’ Bill said with a laugh, ‘but I fully intend to later.’
‘Come on, ger up!’ Pearl laughed nervously.
‘I was wondering,’ Bill said, not making any attempt to move, ‘if you would like to wear this for real?’ He held the ring up to Pearl, his eyes searching her face, desperate to see something, anything other than an outright rejection.
‘What yer talking about, yer daft ha’p’orth?’ Pearl said.
‘I’m asking you to be my wife. For real. Not for pretend,’ Bill said.
Pearl stared at Bill.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Pearl reached down to take the hand that was holding the ring and helped Bill to his feet. In all the time he had known Pearl, Bill had never seen her so serious. So tongue-tied.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Nowt’s wrong,’ Pearl said.
Bill put his arms around her, pulled her off the stool and held her close.
‘I love you, Pearl Hardwick,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘And I want you to be my wife.’
Pearl looked up at Bill.
She opened her mouth to give him her answer.
‘Ma!’
They both heard Bel’s voice before they saw her.
They immediately jumped apart like two teenagers caught canoodling.
Bel banged through the lounge door.
‘Ma?’ Bel looked at her mother and then at Bill. They both looked guilty.
‘You all right?’ she asked.
‘Course I am,’ Pearl said.
‘How much has she had to drink?’ Bel asked Bill.
‘Just that.’ Bill nodded to the whisky that had barely been touched.
‘Good,’ Bel said.
She looked at Pearl.
‘I’m keeping my promise,’ she said simply.
Pearl didn’t say anything, just grabbed her handbag and then her winter coat.
She looked at Bill.
‘I’ll give yer my answer when I get back.’
And with that she turned and followed her daughter out of the pub and into the street.
‘Need I ask where we’re gannin?’ Pearl asked as they walked down Tatham Street. It was now almost deserted. It was getting dark. Everyone was inside, in front of roaring fires, enjoying the rest of their Christmas Day.
Bel didn’t answer. Her ma knew full well where they were going.
‘That all sounded very cryptic,’ Bel said as they crunched through snow, hitting the pavement as they walked under the railway track. ‘“I’ll give yer my answer when I get back”?’
‘None of yer business,’ Pearl said as they turned right into Salem Street.
They trudged through grey-white snow that was now turning to slush.
‘So, come on,’ Pearl demanded. ‘What’s the plan?’
Bel took a deep, nervous breath and checked her watch. She was hoping she had timed this right.
As they turned left onto Toward Road and made their way to the place Pearl had done her hardest to avoid since she’d left there all those years ago, Bel told her ma her intentions.
Pearl listened.
If she was surprised at anything her daughter said, she didn’t show it.
When they finally reached the long stretch of road known as The Cedars their feet were numb. Neither of them cared. Both were concentrating on what was to come.
The overhanging trees that lined the wide residential road might have been bare of leaves, but their snow-laden branches still acted as a partial canopy, which had kept the pavement clear. Bel stepped up her pace now they were unhindered by icy slush. If she slowed down, she might chicken out, change her mind.
And she had to do this.
Had to.
Pearl struggled to keep up. This was the second time she’d been over this way today, and after being on her feet most of the afternoon, she was tired. She forced her legs to move more quickly. She could rest when all of this was over – hopefully for good. Hopefully, after today, she could leave this godforsaken place behind. For bloody ever.
By the time they turned right into Glen Path, they felt the beginning of sleet on their faces and then the odd hailstone.
Bel put her hand over her face to stop the sting of ice on flesh.
Was this a sign she should turn back?
Well, if it was, it was too late.
She looked at her ma as they reached the driveway of the Havelock residence.
Pearl had her handbag on her head to try and protect herself from the hailstones now spitting down fast and furious.
She felt her stomach turn as they both stepped onto the gravelled driveway and walked up to the front door.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Can I help you?’ Eddy looked down at the two women who were now covered in identical cloaks of speckled white.
Pearl stared up at him, as she had done that night all those years ago. The man had barely changed. He was the same, just older.
‘We’ve come to see Mr Charles Havelock,’ Bel said in her best King’s English. She was trying hard to keep the nervousness out of her voice, just as George VI had tried his hardest to hide his speech impediment when he addressed the Commonwealth.
‘Well, I very much doubt he will be seeing uninvited guests today,’ Eddy said, scrutinising the two women. ‘It being Christmas Day, after all.’
Bel stopped herself snapping back that they were well aware of what day it was. It was because it was Christmas Day that they were here.
Eddy gave the two women another sweeping look, from the shabby leather boots they were wearing to their worn winter coats. There was something about the older woman, though, that seemed vaguely familiar. He left the door ajar and disappeared.
Pearl looked at her ma, who had gone as white as a sheet. She wondered if it had been such a good idea to bring her. Pearl had been hardly able to bear looking at the place the las
t time they were there and then they’d been across the road – not about to walk into the house she had avoided like the plague her entire life.
They both heard Helen’s voice before they saw her.
‘Well, didn’t they say who they are, Eddy?’ There was the clip-clop of heels on the tiled hallway as she approached the partially closed front door. ‘What? You just left them out there – in the middle of a snowstorm?’
Hearing the impatience and put-down in Helen’s tone made Pearl feel the first smatterings of sympathy towards the Havelock girl.
The large oak door swung open. Helen was standing there in the same dress she had worn for the christening.
‘Oh my goodness!’ she said as soon as she saw who it was. ‘Come in, come in, before you both freeze to death.’ She gave Eddy a look like the summons, stood aside and waved them both in.
Bel forced a smile, took a deep breath and stepped into the warmth.
Pearl followed. For a moment she was the Little Match Girl – fifteen years old, about to drop with exhaustion and desperate for a job and a roof over her head. She forced herself back into the present. She had to stay with it, be strong. This was important. Probably one of the most important things she had done in her life. And for once, she wasn’t going to mess it up, like she did most things.
‘My, my, who do we have here?’ Miriam was leaning against the open doorway of the dining room where they had just finished the final course of their Christmas meal. As Miriam had started drinking earlier than normal, she was already a few sheets to the wind.
‘Come in and get warm.’ Helen ushered Bel and Pearl past her mother, who managed to look down her nose at them despite being the same height.
Bel looked at Miriam as she walked past her, smelled the gin. It still felt odd that she was her sister. Strangely enough, she reminded her more of her ma.
Bel and Pearl’s white cloaks started to fade as they entered the warmth of the large dining room where the fire was blazing. Pearl scanned the room; it hadn’t changed, not one bit.
‘Eddy!’ Helen commanded. ‘Take their coats and put them somewhere to dry.’
Pearl chalked up another brownie point for the Havelock girl.
She shook off her coat and handed it to Eddy. She wondered if he recognised her. Unlikely. She had changed a lot since then.