Victory for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I—’ she started to apologise further, but stopped as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she took in the face of the woman she had almost pushed onto the road and under an oncoming tram.

  ‘Gloria!’ Helen said, equally stunned. ‘Gosh, I thought I was being mugged for a moment there! What are you doing?’ She looked down from where Gloria had suddenly appeared and saw the steps to the basement flat and the front door that was slightly ajar.

  ‘You don’t live here, do you?’ Helen’s mind was racing. She had not talked to Gloria since the day she had seen her having the living daylights beaten out of her by her ex. ‘I thought you were living up on the Ford Estate?’

  Helen was staring at Gloria, her heart hammering, and not just with the shock of almost being bowled over, but because she had been doing her utmost to avoid Gloria since that fateful day at the hospital.

  ‘Yes, that’s right; I was living up on Fordham Road.’ Gloria looked at Helen, who had even more make-up on than she normally did, and at the man she was with, who, Gloria noticed, had quickly taken his arm from around Helen’s shoulders when he’d realised they knew each other. ‘Until about five hours ago when I moved here,’ she said, trying to keep her voice friendly and light-hearted.

  ‘Why?’ Helen couldn’t seem to stop herself asking questions, despite sensing that Theodore was getting restless.

  ‘Oh, you know, nearer to work …’ Gloria was taken aback by the question. Helen had not spoken two words to her since the day Vinnie had attacked her. Not that she had spoken to her much before then, but that day Helen had saved her there had been a connection between them – a closeness. Gloria had asked Helen to come into the back of the ambulance so that she could thank her personally for being so brave, for putting herself at risk. That day Gloria had seen the other side of Helen – a kind and compassionate side. She hadn’t seen it since, but knew it was there, well hidden behind her fancy clothes, elegant hairdos and expensive cosmetics.

  ‘And, of course,’ Gloria added, ‘it’s nearer to Hope’s childminders.’

  As soon as Gloria said Hope’s name, she saw the change in Helen’s face. It was at that moment she knew for certain: Helen knew about Gloria’s love affair with her father and the child she had borne. A child bound to her by blood. Her sister.

  They stood and looked at each other. Neither knowing what to say next.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m freezing my socks off here.’ Theodore’s well-spoken voice broke the awkwardness.

  Gloria thought the voice a little harsh, despite the smile playing on his lips. There was something about the bloke that made her bristle.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Helen looked at Theodore and forced a smile. ‘We better get off.’ And with that Helen turned, quickly checked that there was no traffic on the road, and hurried across to the other side. Theodore followed but made no effort to take hold of Helen’s hand, or put his arm back around her shoulders.

  Gloria stood staring, still holding Rosie’s grey scarf, and watched as Helen and her date disappeared into the Burton – a nice enough pub, but not one she would have thought Helen would have chosen to frequent, nor the snooty bloke she was with.

  ‘So, who was your friend?’ Theodore asked after Helen had ordered their drinks. It was quieter this evening, being a Sunday, and he was glad of it. He’d been in theatre all day and didn’t feel like he had the energy to raise his voice to conduct a conversation.

  ‘Friend? Gloria?’ Helen almost spat the words out. She’d managed to shake herself out of the shock of seeing her father’s lover. The mother of her sister. ‘God, no! Gloria’s not a friend. She’s one of the women welders at work. Why on earth would you think she was a friend?’

  ‘Heavens knows.’ Theodore’s reply was curt as he looked around for a seat. He was shattered and didn’t need this attitude. Helen was normally the epitome of refined womanliness, never even the slightest hint of a bad mood. He didn’t give a jot who this person was. All that mattered was she was a nobody. She didn’t mix in Helen’s circles, and she certainly didn’t mix in his. His secret was safe.

  But this accidental meeting of someone Helen knew, even if it was just a lowly employee, had made him think. He had been taking Helen out for nigh on three weeks. Well, ‘taking out’ were hardly the right words to describe their meetings. He didn’t take her out anywhere other than this pub and a few other dives around town where he was guaranteed not to meet anyone he knew. All the other medics he worked with went to either the Grand or the Empress, both known for their sophistication and class. Most of them, thankfully, stayed local and went to the pubs in Ryhope. Helen still had no idea that he was a married man, but she wasn’t totally stupid. Naïve and innocent perhaps, but she had a brain on her, and it wouldn’t take her long to realise that he really was just after one thing. He just had to make sure he got what he wanted before the penny did eventually drop.

  Perhaps tonight was the night to push things along a bit.

  ‘Be a sweetheart and grab us those seats over there,’ he asked Helen, nodding in the direction of a free table by the window.

  As Helen did as she was told, Theodore caught the barman’s attention.

  ‘Make that one a double, my old man,’ Theodore said, pushing Helen’s gin and tonic back across the bar.

  Helen found a seat near the window, which, if not for the blackout shutters, she would have liked to have stared out of, inspecting the large detached Victorian house where Gloria and Hope now lived.

  It felt strange sitting here, just a few hundred yards away from her little sister. Standing there, talking to Gloria, she had wanted to ask her so many questions. But, of course, she couldn’t – she wasn’t even sure if her father or Gloria knew she was aware of their love affair and of their ‘bastard’, as her mother liked to call Hope.

  Well, if Gloria hadn’t known before, then Helen was fairly sure she did now. She’d caught the look Gloria had given her, knew Gloria had seen something in her face that had given her away. But what did it matter anyway? Her father wasn’t here, and couldn’t even be bothered to write to her. What did it matter if Gloria knew or not? It wasn’t as though she could utter a word to Helen – or anyone – about her father and Hope. There was no way Gloria was going to rock the boat, not with all those secrets her mother had threatened to expose if Gloria didn’t play ball and keep her mouth shut.

  Helen got out her Pall Malls and lit one, forcing back the tears that wanted so desperately to come trickling down her face. She had tried to hate Gloria, but how could she after seeing the bloodied mess of her face that day in the yard when her deranged husband’s fist had pummelled into her again and again?

  ‘Here you are, gorgeous.’ Theodore put Helen’s drink down. ‘Now why are you looking so downbeat? What can I do to put a smile back on that beautiful face of yours?’

  Helen looked at the man sitting opposite her. He was so lovely, so thoughtful and so considerate. She took a sip of her gin and tonic and it caught her breath. The cheap gin they used in these places seemed to taste stronger than the one her mother had at home.

  ‘Do you know what I think we should do this rather dark and, dare I say it, slightly gloomy evening?’ he said.

  Helen shook her head and took another drag on her cigarette. Being told she was gorgeous and beautiful was improving her mood, and she did so want to be happy. To be carefree like other women her age. God, she had reached the age of twenty-two and had barely even kissed a boy. Not that anyone would have believed her. She knew how to act the part, to walk the walk, talk the talk, and behave like a woman of the world. She had watched enough Hollywood films. But the truth of the matter was that not only was she still a virgin, she had only gone as far as kissing. And she hadn’t even done an awful lot of that.

  Helen took another sip of her drink.

  ‘What do you think we should do on this “dark and gloomy evening”?’ Helen asked, pushing back the residues of confusion and
sadness still lingering after her meeting with Gloria.

  ‘I think we should go back to my rather cosy little flat, where I have one of those wonderful gas fires that will get us warm instantly, and then I can put the wireless on and we can listen to some music and there’ll be just the two of us.’ He looked around at the other customers in the bar as if to highlight how unpalatable it was to be surrounded by people. ‘And I can make you a nice cup of tea and perhaps put a splash of brandy in there, just to take the edge off whatever it is that’s bothering you.’

  Helen looked at Theodore. The picture he was painting was rather enticing.

  ‘But,’ he lowered his voice and whispered into her ear so that she could feel his breath on her bare skin, ‘most of all, I can take you in my arms and simply hold you until you stop feeling so blue.’

  When Helen got back that evening her head was swimming. It was late and when she passed her mother’s bedroom door she could hear her gentle snoring. Tiptoeing up to her own room, Helen shut the door behind her and sat on the bed, breathless and more than a little tipsy. She didn’t think she’d had that much to drink, but she hadn’t eaten much during the day, so perhaps it had gone to her head more than normal.

  The evening had started off so dreadfully. Bumping into Gloria had caused all those feelings of hurt and anger to come rushing back up to the surface. And then there was that yearning feeling again. That was what she hated the most. It was as though she missed something. A strange kind of homesickness. It just didn’t make sense. Whatever it was, though, a sense of sadness – and of being alone – always followed.

  Thank goodness she had Theodore. Being with him this evening had brought her out of her depressive mood. If she didn’t have him in her life she would feel completely wretched all of the time. And what was so lovely was that he had seen she was troubled and had done his utmost to lift her spirits, to make her feel better.

  When they had left the pub, they had caught a tram, something Helen rarely did as she always had the use of the family’s chauffeur-driven car. Theodore had pulled her close to him in the semi-darkness of the carriage and she had pointed out local landmarks and areas of the town, even though they couldn’t really see them due to the blackout.

  In turn he had told her about where he lived in Oxford, on a wide, tree-lined street called Banbury Road, and about all the city’s beautiful buildings, parks and university colleges.

  ‘Perhaps I can show you around my home town one day soon?’ he had said, kissing her.

  And it was then that she had felt a sense of hope.

  Hope for a happier life.

  His words – his suggestion – had switched on a light in her mind, and it had illuminated a picture of another life, different to the one she was living now. A life away from Gloria and Hope. Away from her home where she and her mother were living a lie. A lie of a life that was being held up by a stack of secrets kept in place by her mother’s blackmail.

  Getting off the tram, Theodore had continued to speak about ‘the city of dreaming spires’ as he had shown her into his ground-floor flat. It was not unlike the one Gloria had just moved into – something Helen had had to force from her mind and replace with images of her and Theodore punting along the River Cherwell, laughing and carefree.

  As he had taken her coat and made her a cup of tea with brandy, she had asked him more questions about his life in Oxford before the war. Before he had been sent up north. It had sounded idyllic. Even the picture Theodore painted of his family – his parents and his brother and sister, Stanley and Tamara – seemed so perfect, so homely.

  And as the brandy relaxed her, she allowed herself to sink into his world and enjoy a respite from her own. As they had cuddled on the sofa, she had let him kiss her for a long time, and let him do more than she had ever let any other boy do. Helen knew that Theodore had wanted her. He had not hidden his passion from her and it had felt wonderful to be so desired. So wanted. He had made her feel good. She had been transported into another world, one that had given her hope for a different – and much happier – future.

  Chapter Twenty

  Holmeside, Sunderland

  One week later

  Saturday 7 February

  The tinkling sound of the little brass bell above the doorway of the Maison Nouvelle had Kate hurrying out from the curtained-off back room where she had gone to make herself a quick cuppa. When she saw it was Bel and Lucille, relief washed over her and the pounding of her heart started to die down. It annoyed her that she was still a bag of nerves whenever anyone entered the shop. She had been like this since Sister Bernadette’s surprise visit at the start of the year. She hadn’t been able to shake the fear of her return, no matter how much she argued with herself that the nun who had treated her worse than a dog no longer had the power to hurt her.

  ‘Oh, come in! Come in!’ Kate hurried through the shop to greet them. Bel had been her first real customer, Rosie having asked Kate to make Bel’s wedding dress. The pastel pink silk dress was still on display in the window. She had offered countless times to remove the dress so that Bel could have it at home but she had refused, saying she loved standing and looking in the window with other shoppers as they oohed and aahed over it.

  ‘My favourite small person!’ Kate crouched down as Lucille let go of her mum’s hand and ran to Kate. Bel thought she showed surprising strength in picking the little girl up, twirling her around and plopping her on the high stool next to the wooden workbench.

  ‘You now lurgy-free?’ Kate asked Lucille, who nodded excitedly.

  ‘Yes, she’s what you call fighting fit!’ Bel joked.

  ‘That’s what we like to hear,’ Kate said, pushing Lucille’s blonde locks out of her eyes. ‘Your aunty Maisie was telling me all about it and how poorly you were.’

  The bell rang out, causing Kate to jump. Seeing that it was Maisie, she relaxed. ‘Talk of the devil,’ she said.

  ‘I thought my ears were burning,’ Maisie quipped but she didn’t step into the shop. ‘Can we leave the little monkey with you for twenty minutes? Bel and I were just going to have a quick cuppa and catch-up next door?’

  ‘Of course,’ Kate said. ‘I’m actually working on a design for a girl’s party dress and Lucille would be a perfect model.’

  Lucille had become somewhat of a regular at the Maison Nouvelle since her aunty Maisie had become a part of her life. Whenever they were in town, or next door having their hot chocolate treat, Maisie would take Lucille in if the boutique was empty, and each time Kate would give her the ‘grand tour’. Lucille loved every moment, looking at the fabric-draped mannequins and touching all the different cloths and ribbons that were within her reach.

  ‘Thanks so much, Kate,’ Bel said, ‘but if she misbehaves, or you get a client in, just bring her next door.’

  As Bel shut the glass door laced with brown anti-blast tape, she saw Kate pull out a basket full of colourful ribbons, causing Lucille’s little face to break into a look of wonder.

  ‘Kate’s brilliant with Lucille. She’s a real natural with children,’ Bel said as she followed Maisie into the café.

  ‘I think Lucille adores her almost as much as she does you,’ Bel added as they sat down at a little table by the front of the shop.

  Maisie brushed the compliment away with her hand as she looked around for the waitress to give her their order. ‘I think it may have more to do with the toys and sweets I spoil her with,’ Maisie said, before turning to the young waitress. ‘Two teas, please – and a piece of cake to take away. Victoria sponge if you have it, if not, whatever you’ve got. Thank you.’

  Bel looked at her sister and thought how gracious she was, and also how well she pretended not to notice people staring at her. Maisie was a stunner, there was no doubt about that, but she knew it wasn’t just her good looks that drew people’s curious glances.

  ‘Honestly, I think I’m seeing more of you at the moment than I am my own ma who I live with! She’s like the female version of the Scar
let Pimpernel lately.’

  Maisie chuckled. Her sister had a way with words. And could be quite the comic, in a dry kind of a way.

  ‘I’ve never known her to put in so many hours,’ Bel continued. ‘Ma’s always been work-shy, to put it mildly. But lately it’s like she’s been going for some kind of barmaid of the year award. I’m sure Bill thinks he’s in with a chance. Poor bloke doesn’t realise the only reason she’s practically taken up residency behind the bar is because she doesn’t want to be at home.’

  ‘And all the free booze she manages to consume when she’s there.’ Maisie chuckled.

  ‘Yeh,’ Bel agreed, ‘and if she’s not supping away the pub’s profits, she’s drinking every last drop of liquor Ronald may have stashed away.’

  ‘And smoking all his contraband,’ Maisie added quietly, aware that the couple of old biddies at the next table had gone quiet since she and Bel had sat down.

  ‘And since Lucille’s been on the mend, she’s had her out and about, here, there and everywhere. God, she even took her into the museum the other day – and not just to see Wallace the lion, but to an actual exhibition! She used to refuse outright to take me anywhere near the place when I was little, saying it was just for the posh folk!’ Bel was enjoying their joint condemnation of their ma.

  Maisie poured a little milk into her cup and added a good heap of sugar. She knew now that Pearl hadn’t bothered much with Bel when she was growing up. Even Pearl had admitted to her that she had been a ‘waste of space’ as a mother, which made it all the more surprising that Pearl enjoyed spending time with her granddaughter. If Bel felt a little jealous, Maisie could understand it, but her sister wasn’t like that. Maisie wished she could be more like Bel in that way, but try as she might, the green-eyed monster frequently reared its ugly head.

  ‘Knowing what you know now,’ Bel asked, her voice unusually serious, ‘do you think you would swap the childhood you had for one growing up with our ma?’

  ‘Well, that’s a question and a half,’ Maisie said, blowing out air. ‘Gosh, I would really have to think about that one.’ She took a sip of tea, not liking to think about the childhood she’d had. Although it had not been poverty-stricken and neglectful like Bel’s, it had also not been a bed of roses by any stretch of the imagination either. She had suffered badly, albeit in a different way to the suffering Bel had had to endure.