Wartime Brides

by Lizzie Lane

  As she got to her feet and smoothed her coat, Polly saw a questioning look in her aunt’s eyes and immediately guessed what she was thinking.

  ‘It’s a proper job, Aunty Meg, and my employer’s a very nice man.’

  Meg picked Carol up from the settee, handed Polly her bag and gave her a knowing look. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

  ‘Not finished yet?’ said Colin’s mother to Edna, who was turning the sleeve of her wedding dress beneath the foot of the sewing machine.

  ‘I’m frightened of making mistakes,’ Edna explained. Her future mother-in-law nodded understandingly and left the room.

  Edna’s own mother had not been half so understanding. She’d stated in no uncertain terms that she was insulted by her daughter’s refusal to wear her own wedding dress. When Edna had explained about the new material Charlotte had given her and Mrs Smith’s offer of her sewing machine, she was doubly annoyed.

  ‘What’s wrong with my sewing machine? Not good enough either?’

  Eventually she’d simmered down. Her main aim was still to ensure that Edna became respectable. She would be married and unassailable by man or gossip.

  As Edna fed the material beneath the machine, her thoughts kept returning to the orphanage.

  Sherman. His name lay softly on her mind. All through the night his eyes looked up at her, begging her to cuddle him to her breast. His frantic cry filled her worst nightmares.

  Some people at work had commented that she wasn’t as happy as a forthcoming bride should be. But how could she tell them why, and what good would it do anyone if she did. Colin would not want to marry her and she would have no security to offer her son, no home, no income. All she could hope for was to marry Colin, help Charlotte with her sewing circle and, hopefully, see her baby now and again when she went to deliver the finished clothes to the orphanage. But in time someone might adopt him and the prospect filled her with fear.

  Groper Gordon posed another problem. She had not gone along to his office after work as requested. If she lost her job now things would be really hard for her and Colin. And yet she could not possibly contemplate ‘being nice’ to the balding office manager in return for keeping it. All the same she badly wanted to see her son again. Perhaps Charlotte could help.

  The following day she left the canteen and was back in the typing pool just before two. No one else had rushed to get back – except Groper Gordon.

  ‘I want to see you, Miss Burbage,’ he called across to her.

  Her stomach turned to lead as she got up from her chair. He stood close to the door as she entered the office. His arm swept around her and she heard the unmistakable click of a key being turned.

  Edna pressed herself against the door, her hand frantically searching for the key.

  He stood close up against her. She couldn’t move. Then he smiled and brought out the key, dangling it in front of her eyes, taunting her with the closeness of it and with his power to withhold it from her.

  ‘Now, there’s a naughty girl. You didn’t come along and see me last night, did you? And just for that I’m not going to give you the key.’

  ‘Please,’ she said, glancing swiftly over her shoulder, praying someone might pass. ‘Everyone will be back from lunch soon.’

  ‘They will indeed, young lady, but they know better than to come in here especially when my door’s locked. They know I’m busy when my door’s locked.’

  Edna knew he spoke the truth. Whispers of what he did behind the locked door circulated around the typing pool.

  ‘Mr Gordon. Please let me go.’

  His face came close to hers. She turned her head to avoid the smell of stale tobacco on his breath.

  ‘You’ll have to show me you’re really, really sorry about not coming along to see me. I mean it. Really, really sorry.’

  His mouth was like warm tripe on hers. The hand that held the key groped for her breast.

  This must not happen!

  She would not give in! She would not let him take advantage of her no matter how important her job was.

  As she pummelled his shoulders with her fists, she brought up her knee. Groper doubled in agony. The key fell on the floor.

  With fumbling hands she opened the door, then, trembling with emotion, she ran to her desk, gathered her things and, without stopping to punch her card into the time clock, bolted from the building.

  Myriad thoughts whirled round her brain as she fled towards East Street and the bus stop. All she wanted was to get away, but not home. She needed to talk things through with someone. She needed to tell them about Sherman and her fears about both his and her own future. The only person who had willingly listened to her problems was Charlotte.

  The bus stop was near the Clifton Suspension Bridge and it was only a short walk from there to Royal York Crescent. When she saw the imposing height and opulence of the Hennessey-White residence, she paused on the black and white tiled step and bit at her knuckles. Did she dare to knock just like a visitor of Charlotte’s own social standing?

  Taking a deep breath she tucked her red and gold patterned scarf into her pocket and patted the lapels of her jacket. Somehow the image struck her as smarter.

  A middle-aged woman with a pock-marked face and an easy smile answered the door.

  Edna gathered up all her courage. ‘Is Mrs Hennessey-White in?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. You might try at the doctor’s consulting rooms though. She might just have popped in on her way back from shopping.’

  Edna thanked her and asked directions.

  It was a short walk from Royal York Crescent to Clifton Park. Again she had to ring a doorbell before gaining entry; nothing like the doctor I go to, she thought.

  This time it was Polly who answered and her appearance almost took Edna’s breath away. She looked smarter than she’d ever looked before and more refined, almost a lady.

  ‘Gosh, Edna,’ said Polly in a low voice, smiling as she leaned close to Edna’s ear. ‘What are you doing here? Not in the club are you?’

  Edna felt herself blushing. ‘I wanted …’ She couldn’t say any more. The events of the past few weeks had finally caught up with her. Raising her hand to her head, she slowly closed her eyes and fell forward into Polly’s arms.

  When she came to she was lying on a couch, her coat and hat to one side, the buttons of her blouse loose over her breast. David was examining her.

  ‘You fainted,’ he said as he smiled down at her.

  Polly came to his side carrying a glass of water. ‘Here, drink this.’

  Edna did as she was told.

  ‘Now,’ said Polly before the doctor could ask her anything. ‘What did you want Charlotte for?’

  David raised the back of the couch just as Edna began to cry.

  ‘Nothing can be that bad,’ he said showing sudden signs of impatience.

  ‘It can be for working girls,’ said Polly daring to push him roughly to one side. Her action earned her an angry look. She chose to ignore it. She could handle him.

  Something inside warned Edna not to mention the baby clothes. If she did that she might tell them about Sherman and she wasn’t sure Polly was entirely trustworthy. Instead she swore them to secrecy between her sobs and explained only about her boss and what he wanted her to do in exchange for not sacking her once she was married. ‘I have to stop him, or make sure I can get another job. I thought Charlotte could help me,’ she explained.

  David straightened and stood back to leave Polly to it. With cool fingers she brushed Edna’s hair back from her face. ‘What a rat! I’ve got a good mind to go down there and give him hell myself.’

  David lay his hand on Polly’s shoulder and pushed her firmly to one side. ‘No need to, my dear. I think I might be able to help. I do know some of the management there. Leave it to me, will you?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Edna blinked. It struck her that David and Polly were far friendlier than she could ever be with her boss, Mr Gordon. Not that she�
��d want him to be that familiar with her.

  They insisted on her having a cup of tea before allowing her to leave. Even after she’d managed to persuade them that she was all right Polly escorted her to the door.

  ‘I’ll tell Charlotte you were asking after her,’ she gushed, her cheeky smile and bouncing blonde hair far removed from the secretaries Edna was used to at the tobacco factory. Most of them were austere with stiff hairdos, stiffer backs, and wire-rimmed glasses.

  It wasn’t until she got to the bus stop that she realised she’d left her scarf behind. Clothes were scarce enough as it was without her losing such a nice item. Sighing with frustration but telling herself not to panic, she ran back to the consulting rooms, hating to disturb such a busy man from his duties but too fond of her scarf and short on clothing coupons to leave it behind.

  She clasped the lion’s head knocker but did not use it. The door opened easily beneath her hand. A hybrid smell of polish and antiseptic drifted out. Typical, slap-dash Polly, she thought, so anxious to get back to her work that she hadn’t locked it properly.

  The reception area was just off the hallway, an elegant room of cream walls, parquet floors and Indian rugs. It was empty. Suddenly aware of low voices, she went over to the double doors of the consulting rooms. The voices got louder. She formed a fist, was just about to knock, then paused. The door was ajar slightly. She peered in through the gap and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her hand flew to her mouth. Suddenly she felt sick. Polly and David Hennessey-White were wrapped in each other’s arms. The bodice of Polly’s dress hung open exposing white flesh above a cream satin brassiere. David Hennessey-White was panting like an animal over her shoulder.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AS THE BRIDE prepared to leave the Baptist church hall to get changed and depart for her honeymoon, Charlotte gave her a hug and whispered, ‘Wonderful dress, darling.’

  She would have let her pass there and then, but Edna held her arm. Charlotte beamed broadly, anything rather than look with pity at her and Colin. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw that Edna was looking at her in exactly the same way.

  ‘This is my new address,’ she said with a brighter expression. She slipped a note into Charlotte’s hand. ‘Bring me some material and I’ll make some more baby clothes. And I’d love to have you visit.’

  They exchanged knowing looks. Charlotte ached to think how Edna must be feeling. Most brides were too wrapped up in their wedding day to think of anything or anyone else. Obviously Edna was not one of them.

  ‘Your chariot awaits you!’ Colin cried, coming up behind his bride in his wheelchair. Laughing, Edna fell into his lap. Charlotte waved and Edna waved back. Was that concern she could again see in her eyes? Wedding night nerves, Charlotte thought with a knowing smile, and remembered their conversation in the little teashop on Redcliffe Hill.

  As she moved away, a woman in a royal blue suit and a squat hat with a bunch of brown leaves at the side gave her a tight smile and a sharp jerk of her head by way of greeting. Edna’s mother, if she remembered rightly. There was a suspicious look in her eyes.

  In an effort to avoid holding a conversation with the woman, she deliberately turned her back and looked around for David. For a moment she couldn’t see him and half wondered whether he’d left without telling her. Quite honestly, it had surprised her that he’d agreed to come in the first place. But he’d surprised her a lot lately. The aggression he’d shown since coming back from the war was not so frequent. Instead there were long silences, periods when he would stare into space or act as though what she did and whether she was there or not were of no consequence at all. But every now and again he would explode. On such occasions she had managed to avoid the slaps to the face but not the bruises to the body.

  Eventually she saw him talking to Polly, who was wearing a black and white check suit. A black pillbox hat sat at a jaunty angle on her blonde head, its veil almost reaching the end of her nose.

  Just like the one I wore when I met David off the train. Oh well, isn’t copying the sincerest form of flattery?

  Polly’s smile was utterly bewitching. Her chin was down slightly but her eyes were looking up at David in a childish, teasing fashion.

  Almost like Janet flirting with those young GIs, thought Charlotte. If I didn’t know better …

  The thought was carelessly flung aside as a smartly dressed man with the look of a spiv brought two glasses of brown ale to Polly’s side. The spell was broken. David took one of the drinks and thanked him. Polly adopted a rather bored expression, looked around for diversion and spotted her. Her lips smiled but there was malice in her eyes.

  Polly held her head high and sashayed over, red lips smiling and teeth shining white.

  Charlotte could read people. Despite Polly’s body language, there was no doubting the look in her eyes.

  ‘Charlotte! Nice dress old Edna was wearing. I hear you gave her the material. My, but you’re such a saintly person. I could never live up to it myself.’

  ‘It was the least I could do,’ said Charlotte and couldn’t help but get the feeling that she was being belittled.

  ‘Well, I ain’t a saint nor a nun,’ Polly went on. She winked at the two men. ‘I’ll always be wicked. Can’t help it. Can I, Billy?’

  The last remark was addressed to the man she appeared to be with.

  ‘This is Billy Hills,’ David said. He went on to explain how he sold the toys that Colin made. Charlotte listened. At the same time she noted the change in both Polly’s speech and clothes. The latter were certainly of a higher quality than she’d worn before. When they’d first met, her Bristolian dialect had been thick enough to cut with a knife, ‘r’s and ‘l’s added to the ends of words and ‘aitches’ dropped all over the place.

  ‘An’ he’ll be back in business come Monday,’ said Billy, who made no attempt to hide his origins. He in turn went on to explain that the bride and groom were only going to Weston-super-Mare for the day and that they were retreating to their new home immediately after that. ‘It’s a nice ’ouse,’ he said. ‘Even got a little workshop at the front. Suits Colin a treat. Nice it is. Real nice. His parents know all about it. But no one’s told ’er mother.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘In fact, nobody dares!’

  ‘What a wonderful idea,’ said Charlotte, visibly warming to him. Billy, she decided, might be a rough diamond worn smooth, but he had a good heart. ‘This is the address, isn’t it?’ She rummaged in her pocket and brought out what she thought was the piece of paper Edna had given her.

  Suddenly Billy looked awkward. ‘Yeah!’ he said quickly, glancing at it then looking swiftly away. ‘Looks like it.’

  Polly’s next comment surprised her. ‘How would a bloke from the gutter like you know what “nice” is? You don’t even know how to read and write.’

  With an aching heart Charlotte noticed the pain in Billy’s eyes and the faint flush that rose to his cheeks. She touched his arm gently. ‘I think it’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘I also think you’re very brave.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Brave?’

  Still with her hand on his arm she nodded in the direction of Edna’s mother. ‘I wouldn’t like to be responsible when she finds out.’ She smiled and Billy smiled with her.

  Later that evening she wondered what had brought about the change in Polly’s clothes and the softening of her accent. Oh well, she thought, I can’t blame her for trying to better herself, and David was letting her do more work in the office, mostly filing and making tea, so he’d told her. But there was also a new hardness to the young woman. Polly had been overly sarcastic at the wedding, commenting that poor Billy Hills could neither read nor write.

  Not my business, she said to herself, but of course everyone’s business was Charlotte’s business. It wasn’t until later that she took out the piece of paper she’d shown Billy on which should have been Edna’s new address. It wasn’t. By mistake she’d pulled out a dry-cleaning ticket. So it was really true. Billy could not re
ad.

  When they left the wedding reception, David and Charlotte made a detour up through Old Market in order to drop Polly off in York Street.

  Without turning the hallway light on, Polly watched them drive away, the red car lights brightening as they paused at the junction with Midland Road.

  There was a soft click as the light was turned on. Aunty Meg stood there in a dark red dressing gown, the cord hanging loose, the front edges clutched together with her hands.

  ‘Another man friend?’ Meg asked with a hint of disapproval.

  ‘Doctor Hennessey-White and Charlotte, if you must know,’ Polly retorted. ‘They went to the wedding too. Nice do it was. Fancy a cup of tea?’

  Ignoring the disbelief on her aunt’s face, she swept into the kitchen. The pipes hammered as she filled the kettle under the single cold tap before slamming it down on the gas and striking the necessary match.

  Aware that Meg’s eyes were on her, she hummed nonchalantly as if unaware that her aunt did not entirely approve of her lifestyle. She well knew how to disarm her.

  ‘Did Carol go down all right?’ she asked, warming her hands on the pot as she waited for the tea to brew.

  Meg nodded. ‘She always does. You’d find that out if you were home enough.’

  ‘I have to make a living for us both. And I’m doing quite well. I’m a receptionist now, not a skivvy. I don’t need to live in—.’ She paused, thinking quickly. There would be times when she wanted to be away. ‘Only when Mrs Grey’s not available.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Meg accusingly, plumping herself down in a chair and folding her arms in front of her. ‘And you get paid enough to go out and buy clothes in Park Street stores, do you? And don’t try and tell me you bought that frock you’re wearin’ off some spiv on a bombsite corner!’

  Polly turned and cocked her head as she always did when she had a ready-made answer. ‘It’s one of Charlotte’s cast offs. She’s very good to me like that.’