by Nancy Revell
‘Well, this is where we get to the shocking part, Mother,’ Helen said. ‘But I have to add that this is not the most shocking part of what I have to tell you.’
She had just about finished smoking her cigarette. Helen felt her stomach rumble. She had hardly consumed a thing all day, but lately she had begun to enjoy the feeling of light-headedness that came with not eating.
‘Who?’ Miriam was now tired of playing this sick game.
Helen crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and looked up at her mother.
‘Gloria,’ she said simply, ‘Gloria Armstrong … You know Gloria, don’t you, Mum? One of the women welders at the yard … the one you snatched Dad from all those years ago.’
The room was silent. Miriam’s face had gone white as a sheet.
‘G-Gloria?’ she stuttered. ‘Gloria Turnbull?’
‘That might have been her maiden name, but yes, that’s the one. She’s called Armstrong now – although I’m not sure for how much longer. Not after what I saw today.’
Miriam shook her head, as if trying to free herself from the words her daughter had just spoken. Words she was struggling to understand.
‘Are you seriously telling me, Helen, that your father is having some sordid affair with Gloria? Frumpy, poor as a church mouse, plain ugly Gloria?’
Helen thought it was a tad harsh to call Gloria ‘ugly’. She might be carrying a little extra weight, but she wasn’t ugly.
‘That may be your opinion, Mum, but clearly Dad doesn’t think Gloria is either “frumpy” or “ugly”.’ Helen was sticking the knife in and knew it. ‘Nor does he seem to mind that she is as “poor as a church mouse”.’
Miriam drew the chair she was leaning against out from under the table and sat down. Helen stopped herself from commenting on the ability of her mother’s legs to keep her upright. Lighting up another cigarette, she watched as her mother took a large gulp of her drink.
‘But I’m afraid the worst is yet to come, Mum,’ Helen said, creating a mist of smoke around them both.
‘It would seem,’ she said, her eyes searching her mother’s face, ‘that Dad and Gloria have had – what do people like to say? That’s it! – a love child. They’ve had an adorable little “love child” …
We, of course, would call it a “bastard” … But that’s all semantics. It doesn’t really matter, does it, Mother? The fact of the matter is, your husband and one of the women welders have recently welcomed into the world a daughter. Their daughter.
‘Their very own baby girl.’
Mrs Westley nearly dropped the fine china gravy boat she was drying when she heard the most blood-curdling cry come from the drawing room.
‘Nooo!’
The cook stood stock-still, gravy boat in one hand, tea towel in the other.
She had worked for the family long enough to know that the scream that had just pierced the air, was Mrs Crawford’s.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Vera’s Café, High Street East, Sunderland
‘Bloody hell!’ Peter said.
He had been listening aghast as Rosie told him all about what had happened that afternoon at Thompson’s. ‘And you’re sure she’s all right? No kind of concussion or head injury? Sometimes these things don’t show themselves until a while later,’ he said, desperately trying to keep his anger at bay, but thinking, That bastard! Wait until I get my hands on him!
Reading his mind, Rosie took hold of Peter’s hand, which had formed itself into a tight fist during the telling of the attack.
‘She’s got a bad bump on her head, which is why I think they’re keen to keep her in overnight, but honestly I think she’s going to be fine.’
She paused and looked at Peter in earnest.
‘But,’ she whispered across the table, ‘I’m not telling you this because I want you to do anything … you know?’ They hadn’t spoken any more about Peter’s ‘out-of-hours’ policing since the afternoon they had become lovers and had shared their secrets with each other.
Peter nodded, but didn’t say anything. Just then Vera came bustling across to them with two plates of apple and plum pie.
‘Get some meat on yer bones. The pair of ya!’ She plonked the plates down in front of them.
Since her favourite customers had clearly worked out their differences and were now open about being a proper courting couple, Vera enjoyed clucking about them. She had decided that they both needed ‘feeding up’, in her words, and so they could no longer simply come in for a pot of tea without being given a slice of whatever speciality Vera had baked for that day’s trading. The way Vera rationalised it was that Peter might as well get something for the five-bob note he always left at the table regardless of what they ordered.
‘Ah, Vera,’ Rosie said, gently taking hold of Vera’s arm, ‘can I be a real pain and ask if you could box this up for me? I’m going to see a friend in hospital and I know this will cheer her up no end.’
Vera cast Rosie a look of reprimand. ‘I will do, but – ’ she looked tellingly at Peter ‘ – you need to get some more good meals down this one.’ She looked back at Rosie. ‘She’s wasting away!’
Peter chuckled and nodded his compliance. ‘I will do, Vera. I promise.’
Pleased at Peter’s response, Vera picked up Rosie’s plate and padded back to the counter, where there was, as usual, a queue of customers.
Rosie looked at Peter. ‘And will you promise me that you won’t do anything foolhardy regarding the Vinnie situation?’
Peter nodded as he pushed his plate of pie to the middle of the table.
‘Providing,’ he bartered, ‘you help me eat this.’
Rosie forked a piece of pie and popped it in her mouth. The mix of apples, plums and Vera’s melt-in-your-mouth pastry tasted gorgeous. Since she and Peter had been seeing each other, she seemed to have totally lost her appetite and was having to force food down just to keep up her energy.
‘God, that’s nice,’ she mumbled.
‘So,’ Peter said, taking a big sup of his tea, ‘it sounds like Helen saved the day.’
‘Indeed,’ Rosie said, ‘and thank goodness she did, as I really don’t think anyone else would have seen what was happening.’
‘I’m guessing you went with her to the hospital?’ Peter knew Rosie would have insisted on being by Gloria’s side after such a violent and traumatic event. Especially as he knew they had become even closer these past few months.
Rosie ate another piece of pie, washing it down with a good swig of tea. ‘Once they’d got her all cleaned up and settled on the Observation Ward, she actually seemed quite relaxed. More relaxed than she’s been for ages. You know, all that worry about Vinnie finding out and wondering when to tell him and what he’d do when she did. It’s like she’s actually happy – no, relieved – that the decision has been taken out of her hands. She’s wanted to tell him for so long now. She’s hated lying, but not really had any choice.’
‘And at long last the truth is out,’ Peter said.
‘Well, I guess half of it,’ Rosie added. ‘Although I don’t think it’ll be long now before the whole truth is.’
‘At least then,’ Peter dropped his voice, in case anyone was earwigging next to them, ‘Gloria and Hope’s father can be together properly.’
‘Exactly,’ Rosie said. ‘And from what Gloria’s been told by George’s friend Rupert – you know, the solicitor from Gourley and Sons in John Street?’
Peter nodded. He knew most of the town’s lawyers and legal beagles, even if they didn’t work in the criminal sector.
‘Well, it looks like the divorce is making good progress.’
‘And,’ Peter said, thinking of some family cases he had been involved in over the years, ‘at least there won’t be any wrangling over custody.’
‘Mm …’ Rosie mumbled her agreement as she ate the last bit of thick-crusted pie. ‘Not that Vinnie would have really wanted Hope, even if she had been his. But you can bet your bottom dollar that he would hav
e used it as a way of continuing to try and beat Gloria down.’ Rosie looked at her watch. ‘Sorry, but I can’t stay long. I said I’d meet the girls in about an hour up at the hospital, so we can catch visiting hours.’
‘Of course,’ Peter said, ‘I didn’t realise that was the time. Will you tell Gloria I was asking about her? I know I’ve not even met her yet, but I feel like I’ve known her for ages.’
Rosie laughed. ‘She says the same about you.’
Peter suddenly leant forward in his seat. ‘I saw an old friend of mine today called Toby. He dropped by—’ Peter started, but was interrupted by Vera’s reappearance.
‘That’s what I like to see,’ she said with a satisfied look on her face. She dumped the boxed-up pie next to Rosie. ‘Sharing,’ she said simply, before turning around and hurrying back to her customers, who were now huffing their impatience.
‘God,’ Rosie said, glancing at her watch again, ‘I really better get going, otherwise I’ll be late.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, get yourself away,’ Peter said, standing up and going round to pull Rosie’s chair out for her.
‘I’m going to give up arguing with you about paying the bill,’ Rosie laughed, turning and giving him a quick kiss on the lips.
She grabbed the boxed pie and hurried out of the shop, turning at the door to look for Vera. She managed to catch her eye as she was pouring hot water from her copper urn into one of her big brown ceramic teapots. Rosie mouthed the words ‘Thank you’ and Vera responded in her usual fashion by frowning and waving Rosie away with her free hand.
After Rosie left, Peter paid up and made his way into town to the police headquarters. As usual, his mind was churning over. He had wanted to tell Rosie about his old school friend Toby, who had popped by out of the blue to see him the other day, but it looked like that would have to wait.
He sighed. It seemed like the time he and Rosie managed to scrape together was never long enough. Whenever they parted there were so many things they had not had time to chat about. They both always seemed to be in a rush. Sometimes they only managed a quick cuppa at Vera’s before they went off to their respective evening jobs. Only occasionally had they managed to crib a night off so they could do something special – something ‘normal’ couples did. Not that, as they had discovered, they particularly enjoyed doing what ‘normal’ couples did. They had both admitted that they didn’t have the urge to go dancing; neither were either of them that keen on going to the cinema. They’d been the once, but had whispered to each other all the way through the film and had been tutted at more than once.
All Peter wanted was Rosie’s company, and lots of it. And he was sure Rosie felt the same. This past week she’d voiced her concerns about her little sister, Charlotte, who, judging by the tone of her letters lately, didn’t seem as happy as she normally did. Peter had suggested that it could well be her age. She had just turned fourteen, after all. He’d had to suppress a chuckle when he had seen the thunderous look Rosie had given him for daring to suggest her little sister was not really that little any more.
‘But I don’t want her to grow up!’ Rosie had declared, and they had both laughed.
‘I know,’ she’d admitted. ‘I’m like one of these awful mothers who refuse to let their children grow up and keep mummying them all their lives.’ Peter thought that it was certainly true that Rosie was more like a mother to Charlotte than a sister.
Although Peter hadn’t shown it, he’d been gutted when Rosie told him that she was going to spend Christmas with Charlotte and the Rainers in Harrogate. Mr and Mrs Rainer were old friends of the family who looked after Charlotte during the holidays. Peter had hoped that Rosie’s sister would come to Sunderland for Christmas, not just because he was keen to meet her, but because he wanted to spend Christmas with Rosie. She’d told him, though, that she didn’t feel it was safe enough for Charlotte to come to Sunderland. There had been too many air raids, in her opinion.
And it was true. Just the other evening two high-explosive bombs had been dropped near the Hendon gasworks. Luckily, no one had been killed, but the town was getting a regular bashing from the Luftwaffe. It was making Peter increasingly unsettled. And that feeling had been exacerbated by Toby’s visit. They’d talked a little about their misspent youth at Bede Grammar, but most of the afternoon had been taken up in chatting about more present-day matters, in particular Churchill’s most recent plans and military strategies.
As Peter reached the front entrance of the police headquarter he forced his mind to concentrate on the task at hand.
‘Peter!’ the desk sergeant shouted out on seeing his old colleague step through the double-fronted glass door. ‘Good to see you!’
Peter shut the door behind him as his entrance had already allowed a gust of cold air into the warm reception area.
‘And you, too, Neville. Do you ever go home?’ Every time Peter came to the station, his old colleague always seemed to be there behind the front desk.
‘Do you?’ Neville shot back.
Peter laughed.
‘I’m after the custody sergeant. Who’s on duty tonight?’
Neville looked down at his rota.
‘Gregson.’
Peter made his way along the corridor and down a flight of steps to the bowels of the building where the police cells could be found.
When he pushed through the swinging doors that led to DS Gregson’s desk, Peter didn’t even look over to the cell where Vinnie was presently residing, although he could hear him snoring loudly.
‘Aye, aye, there, Pete. What brings you down to these parts?’ DS Gregson asked.
‘A favour,’ Peter said, nodding in the direction of Vinnie’s cell. ‘How long were you going to keep this one for?’
‘Well …’ DS Gregson looked at some paperwork. ‘He should get dealt with either tomorrow or the next day at the latest.’
‘Can you make it “the latest”? I need to sort something out and it might take a little while.’
‘No bother, mate,’ DS Gregson said. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll go one better. I’ll wait for you to give me the nod. From what I’ve heard about this one’s shenanigans today, I’m in no rush to give him back his liberty.’
Peter thanked Gregson and left the custody suite just as Vinnie woke up and started shouting for his ‘brief’.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘So, will Vinnie now go to jail?’ Hannah asked Rosie and the women welders as they headed out of the main hospital entrance and made their way back onto the New Durham Road to catch a tram back into town. They had just spent the last hour with Gloria, although the strict ward nurse had only allowed them to see their friend two at a time.
‘Mm,’ Rosie said, ‘these things are hard to predict. They’re not always straightforward.’
Hannah looked puzzled.
‘It depends if they have enough evidence to charge him,’ Martha interrupted. She had asked her mum and dad the same question earlier on. ‘But,’ she continued, repeating her father’s words verbatim, ‘sometimes they just get what is called a caution, which basically amounts to a slap on the wrist.’
Now Hannah was looking even more puzzled as they all crowded into the bus shelter in an attempt to protect themselves from the cold wind. It didn’t look like they were going to get a white Christmas, but it would most definitely be a windy one.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘They slap him on the wrist rather than send him to jail?’
‘Nah,’ Angie said, ‘it just means they do nowt about it.’
‘What? He might not receive any kind of punishment for what he did to Gloria?’ Hannah asked incredulously.
‘It’s possible, Hannah,’ Rosie said. ‘Gloria’ll know in a few days if he’s going to go to court for what he did to her.’
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the number 15 bus that would take them into town.
Once they were on-board and had paid their fares, Hannah continued her questioning.
‘But what will happen if they don’t send him to court?’ Her pale face was full of concern. ‘Won’t he just do it again?’ she asked anxiously.
None of the women had an answer to Hannah’s question. If they’d had to guess, they would have said that Vinnie would most likely lie low for a while before something would stir up his ire again and he would go looking for the woman who had, over the past few decades, become his reliable punchbag.
A few minutes later they arrived at Park Lane.
‘A pre-Christmas drink everyone?’ Dorothy suggested.
No one needed asking twice as they all hurried across to the Park Inn on the corner of Olive Street.
As Helen climbed the stairs to the top of the house, she felt a little dizzy, as though she had been the one blindsided by a shovel and not Vinnie. And it was not just her body that felt off-kilter, but her mind too. As she reached the third floor and went into her room, she shut the door firmly behind her before flopping in a heap on top of her bed. How could one day bring so much horror and fear, followed by joy and happiness, and then end in such a terrible betrayal?
Her stab at her mother and the retelling of her father’s infidelity had given her a temporary reprieve from the deep-seated grief she had been hit with. But it had been only the very briefest of reprieves.
Now she was on her own, there was no escaping her true, very raw pain. At least here, in the privacy of her own room, knowing that no one could hear her, she could allow the gut-wrenching sobs to steamroll their way out of her. Alone she could finally unleash all the feelings that had been bursting to break free from her all day.
Her mother’s coldness had enabled Helen to harden her own heart and relay her father’s indiscretions in a way that gave her a perverse sense of revenge. If her mother could be insensitive to the point of being downright cruel – then so could she.
It had brought Helen a sliver of satisfaction to see that she had been able to push her mother to such an extreme that not only had she been unable to keep a stiff upper lip, she had actually lost control of herself in such an ear-splitting fashion.