by Milly Adams
Polly said, to no one in particular, as they were caught in a stream of pedestrians heading the same way, ‘Who’ll bet me it’s Verity who gets Gladys’s fag ash, when she brings us the Bull and Bush food? Any takers?’
‘Don’t you dare break your ethics and bet, Sylvia. Because this dreadful girl will jog our Gladys to make absolutely sure it drops over my plate.’
They were laughing as they hurried along in the glum light. Clouds had gathered and seemed to bounce back the light from the searchlights. Polly realised how the accoutrements of war had become part of everyone’s lives. But since the Blitz had finished, there was no cause for alarm; after all, the Luftwaffe was busy in the east, fighting the Russians, and the Allies … Stop thinking, Polly insisted to herself. She finally said, ‘Never mind the bet then, we’ll just thrash the locals at darts.’
They had almost reached the now-familiar Bull and Bush, the door of which opened onto the corner. Once upon a time, pre-war, light would have fallen out onto the pavement, along with the drunks, but the blackout was still in existence, and the beer wasn’t plentiful or strong enough for too many drunks. Their boots seemed to crash against the pavement as they hurried along, weaving round a pile of discarded rubbish and past the bombed-out buildings they had come to know so well. Sometimes a charred beam would crash; the last time an Edwardian iron fireplace, which had hung like a piece of strange art on a bedroom wall, had creaked and fallen, only to be caught on some sort of cord. It still dangled there. Rosebay willowherb would probably grow over all the damage when the weather grew warmer, just as it grew over the ruins everywhere else, come summer.
The girls heard laughter from the pub and smiled at one another. They crossed the road and went into the lobby, closing the door behind them, and only then did they draw aside the heavy curtain and enter the fug of cigarette and pipe smoke. Sylvia snapped at Polly, ‘I hate this. We wash, get clean, come here and leave, stinking of stale smoke. I wish I’d gone straight to the boarding house.’
Polly and Verity didn’t look at one another, but Polly said quietly, ‘Mrs Green won’t be back yet, but you can wait on her steps. She’ll be there soon, but what will you eat?’
Sylvia tutted. Verity grimaced, ‘Stay with us and have a generous helping of ash.’
Sylvia said too loudly, ‘Like I said, I don’t know why we come.’
Polly felt anger stirring, at the insult to the regulars. She muttered into Sylvia’s ear, ‘Why do you fight the inevitable. You know full well this is our world, and that it’s the same every trip. If you don’t want to come, go back to Horizon. For heaven’s sake, we’re in a pause, aren’t we? It is what it is, and it’s not forever; and it’s safe, and think of those fighting. That isn’t safe. And what’s more, these people live here, and like it.’
Sylvia crossed her arms and stomped to a spare table right in the corner of the room, beneath a tatty print of seventeenth-century Birmingham.
Verity raised an eyebrow at Polly. ‘Oh dear, cross-patch,’ Verity said. ‘Feel better now?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Polly murmured, turning back to the bar.
Verity leaned on it with her. ‘I say even more firmly: Oh dear. Let’s buy Sylvia a large sherry, if Boris has one under the bar. Sweet, very sweet, because …’ The girls exchanged a grin.
Polly shook her head. ‘It’s my fault. I’m just not in the mood for one of her moods, so I’ll pay.’
Verity nodded. ‘That you will. A large sweet sherry, if you would, Boris; and a pint of mild for you, my girl, and the same for me. Polly, Sylvia really is getting much better, and I hope it means she’s happier.’
The menu was the same as always, chalked on the board behind the bar. Polly called to Sylvia over the hubbub, ‘Fish and chips or sausage and mash?’
A group of men playing dominoes, with mufflers at their necks, nodded at Polly. One called, ‘Game of darts soon, Missus?’
Verity called, ‘Dig deep into those pockets, boys. The Waterway Girls are here.’
A group of three women who were drinking stout cackled. ‘Yous tell ’em, lass.’
Sylvia looked up from playing with a beer mat. ‘Fish and chips, please. And thank you, Polly.’
Polly smiled with relief as Verity picked up the tray of drinks. Boris was wiping the counter, then flung the cloth down, took out his ordering pad, licked his finger to flick over the page and fumbled above his ear for his stub of pencil. ‘Right yous are, Polly, what’s it to be? Her over there wants fish and chips, right, but the sausages is off.’
Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘It’ll be so difficult to choose then, won’t it, Boris? I know, let’s have the fish.’
Boris could hardly write for chuckling. ‘Yous girls just tickle me up, yous do.’
They drank at their table, sitting back to watch the life of the pub. Polly thought it probably hadn’t changed much for decades, except that there were no young men. Pause, she thought; breathe.
She felt a nudge against her boot. ‘Here’s our food,’ said Verity brightly. They all tensed and watched Gladys approach, carrying a tray that held three fish and chips plated up, with bread and margarine. The cigarette was in the corner of Gladys’s mouth, her grey hair stained yellow where the smoke rose.
Sylvia groaned quietly, then whispered, ‘All right, you win. To make it bearable, I bet a sixpence that it falls on Verity’s.’
‘You beast,’ hissed Verity, as Polly laughed.
Gladys lowered the tray onto the table. ‘Fish an’ chips, with mushy peas,’ she said. The cigarette wobbled up and down as she spoke. The inch-long ash shuddered and fell. The girls traced its descent. It landed between the plates. Verity nudged Sylvia and held out her hand, palm up.
‘Later,’ Sylvia muttered. ‘I might want double or quits on your two boys.’ She was looking behind Polly. ‘Who have just come in to land.’
Verity and Polly spun round, and Polly’s throat thickened and tears threatened. What on earth was the matter with her? They waved frantically, while those at the dominoes table watched with interest, nudging one another. The ladies across the room – one of them wearing a hairnet, Polly now realised – went into a huddle as Tom limped his way across in his khaki greatcoat, using his one stick, while Saul ordered at the bar.
Tom pulled a chair across from the dominoes table. ‘All right, is it mates?’ he asked.
‘Yous welcome to it, and tek this other fer yous mate, an’ all.’ One of the old boys shoved another chair across. ‘Sausages is off, so ’tis to be fish, chips, peas and ash.’
They all laughed, but quietly, because Gladys was old and though everyone wished she’d stop smoking for the good of her health, and the food, they didn’t want to upset her.
Tom sat down. He seemed to have brought the cool with him. Droplets of rain stained his greatcoat and beret. He gripped Verity’s hand. ‘All clean and bathed then?’
‘Oh, indeed we are,’ she said, raising his hand and kissing it. ‘You smell clean, too.’
‘I met your Mrs Green, when Saul and I went into the Men Only side. Very firm, she was, as she led us to Harry Harris, who took over. Saul didn’t bother, just read the paper, as he’d had a soak at his auntie’s. Our Harry Harris isn’t much of a one for smiling, is he? And I gather from Mrs Green that I have a room on the floor below you girls, and there’s to be no ’anky-panky.’
The domino players burst into guffaws. ‘Aye, right enough. That sounds like our Alice Green. Them players from t’theatre ’as the smiles wiped orf their faces good and proper, but who’s to know what happens after lights oot.’
The women across the other side of the fireplace called over, ‘Don’t you believe it. Our Alice has the ears of a bat, and ’as chucked out them tiptoein’ where they didn’t oughta be.’
Tom winked at Polly, Verity and finally Sylvia, who flushed and stolidly ate her chips. He said, ‘It seems to me that’s one battle too far, so I’ll keep my powder dry and wait until she’s me missus, shall I?’
T
he men nudged one another again, while the women huddled together, whispering.
Polly looked from Verity to Tom. ‘Missus? Something you haven’t told your team, Verity?’
Verity ignored her, but asked Tom, ‘Missus?’
‘Well, not sure what we’d call you, but I reckon it’s just plain Missus, or would it be Missus Lady Verity?’
Verity put her finger to her mouth, ‘Hush.’ She looked around, but no one had taken him seriously.
Sylvia laid down her knife and fork as Saul approached the table with a tankard in each hand. ‘If you haven’t asked Verity yet, Tom, you’ve just assumed, and that’s patronising,’ she said, shaking the salt over the chips. ‘And rather rude.’
Saul placed the tankards on the table. Polly pointed to the chair next to her. Saul said, ‘Not yet, cos I’m going ter feel a right fool, but I got ter do it – and so’s yer, Tom. Yer said yer was goin’ to, and our Sylvia’s got it right.’
Sylvia stared at Saul, as Frankie, one of the domino players, said, ‘This be better ’n a show, it be. I reckon I knows what’s to ’appen. Anyone taking a shilling on it?’
One said, ‘’E never would, not in ’ere. Don’t be bloody daft.’
Old Cedric, who was playing darts, and was one of the many who had wanted Polly’s hat with the large bobble for a tea-cosy for his missus, yelled, ‘Get on wi’ it, lad, for the love of old Reilly.’
Tom said, ‘I can’t get down like Saul, cos of me leg, but I would if I could.’
Saul had sunk onto one knee. ‘We’ve been buying rings, but we needs summat to put them on. So’s I want to put mine on your finger, Miss Polly Holmes, if yer’ll say yes to marrying me, when this war is done. I’ll ask yer mum and dad later, but no point, if yer says no. No point in tellin’, ever, till things is sorted, is there?’ He sounded so anxious, and his eyes were so intense, that Polly felt she’d never loved him so much.
The pub had fallen silent, waiting for her answer; and for Verity’s, because Tom was standing now, an anxious look on his face, too, as he held out a ring. Tom said, ‘They’re not new rings, cos there aren’t any, but we found this little shop—’
Sylvia, who was eating, interrupted him, putting down her knife and fork again and dabbing at her lips. ‘Please stop, Tom, or you’ll end up telling Verity how much you spent. And, girls, do answer, or the drinkers will have a heart attack, because everyone is holding their breath. Remember that to accept the path you are to tread is a sacred oath.’
Polly barely heard the words, because she was bending to kiss Saul on the forehead and pull him to his feet. ‘Of course I will.’ As she spoke these words, Verity was saying the same thing.
The rings were too big, but the girls would wear them around their necks until they reached Bull’s Bridge or perhaps they’d stop off at Alperton, from where they would be able to get into London to have them altered. The regulars were clapping now, and calling out that the drinks were on Saul and Tom, who bowed and promised they would see to it, once they’d eaten.
At that moment Gladys bore down on them with two more plated fish dinners, and her cigarette where it always was. There was no ash, so it must already have fallen. The boys searched the plates when she had gone, and yet again Gladys had missed. Saul winked at Polly. ‘’Tis a sign of good luck, my Polly.’
The girls won at darts, the boys bought drinks for everyone, but Boris cut the bill in half because it was good news, for a change. It was then that Polly saw the black armband on Frankie’s sleeve as he put on his coat and tucked his domino box into his pocket.
At ten o’clock it was time to leave for Mrs Green’s, so Saul turned back to catch the tram, waving and calling that he would keep an eye on Dog; and if they were late, he and Granfer would start the unloading for them.
Polly watched him go, then followed the others up the steps to the boarding house, past Mrs Green, who admired their rings and scooted them up the stairs. ‘Yous know the way, girls, and I’ll show yous young man the way to yous room. I have good ’earing. So don’t even try.’
Tom promised.
Polly lay in her bed – so soft, so wide, so dry, so clean – watching the fire flickering and feeling the steadiness, the landlubber feel that always took her by surprise. She drank in the quietness; there was no lapping of water, no calling of owls, no shouts from other boaters who had not yet retired for the night and no sound of the wind. She played with the precious ring, hoping that she who had worn it before had imbued it with happiness. Well, if not, she would change all that.
‘Darling Saul, the love of my life, the man I will love forever.’ Is that what Sylvia, who had such a strange way of putting things, had meant by ‘a sacred oath’? Polly didn’t know, but wondered how often she and Saul would pass one another on the cut, unable to stop, unless they happened to coincide overnight. But they would wave, their eyes would meet and they would know that they belonged to one another and were so lucky to be away from the front line of the war. She sighed with relief. That’s what Saul’s preoccupation, and then his brightness, had been all about – the ring.
She smiled into the dark. She, Polly Holmes, was an idiot.
Chapter 12
Monday 3 April – Marigold and Horizon unload before heading for Coventry
Verity and Tom met for breakfast in the dining room at six-thirty the next morning, along with the other two girls. Tom pulled out Verity’s chair, she sat and felt his lips as he kissed the top of her head, and the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. She knew that her unhappiness was over; her pain over her mother’s actions was healed because she and Tom had found one another again. And even if the worst happened, she would know that he had not betrayed her.
She looked around this room that had become a sanctuary for the three girls. The same autographed sepia photographs of repertory actors hung on the walls. On one of the bookshelves near the fireplace were photographs of Mr and Mrs Green’s two boys, in Royal Naval uniform. Verity wore her ring, but it kept slipping down her finger as she spread margarine on her toast, so she tucked it in her purse, which she rammed deep into her trouser pocket. She’d find string to hang it round her neck later today. Tom gripped her hand whenever it was free. There were two other guests, elderly businessmen at separate tables, breakfasting behind yesterday’s newspapers.
Verity checked her watch. ‘Come on, hurry up, everyone. They might be ready at the wharf and we can’t be late yet again. Shove that toast in, Polly Pocket; you’re too old for soldiers, for heaven’s sake, especially when there’s no egg to dip them into.’
Polly said, as she stuffed a whole soldier into her mouth, ‘Mind your own business, Bossy Boots. Did you sleep, Tom?’
Sylvia pointed at the pristine white tablecloth. ‘You spat crumbs, Polly – that’s disgusting. Don’t talk with your mouth full.’
Verity nudged Polly, saying, ‘Sylvia is right. You’re a disgrace, isn’t she, Tom?’
Tom was drinking his tea and grinned, but said nothing. Verity repeated the question. He replaced his cup. ‘I heard, but I wouldn’t dare bring down the wrath of you paragons of virtue until I had swallowed.’
They were all laughing, including Sylvia. Verity snatched another look at her watch. ‘No, really, enough of this – chop-chop. It’ll be seven-thirty before we get there.’
Polly nodded and called over her shoulder to Mrs Green, who was opening the door to let the two men out, newspapers folded neatly beneath their arms, ‘I expect Alfred’s up and at it at the wharf, isn’t he, Mrs Green?’
She bustled up in her apron. ‘My Alfred said yous’ll be unloaded sooner rather than later, so yes, crack on, girls; and yous too, Tom. Good luck, lad, when you’re back with the unit. Keep yous ’ead down, and a clean white handkerchief ready at all times.’
They were all laughing when they rose, with Polly muttering, ‘Just like Mum. All is well with the world if we have a clean hanky, not to mention spotless fingernails and well-shined shoes. But we fail on the latter, too.’
Mrs Green patted Tom on the shoulder. ‘Me boy says every soldier should ’ave an ’anky for surrendering, but keep it in yous pocket, else they’ll see it in the dark and shoot yous instead.’
They were still laughing as they hugged Mrs Green and trooped down the steps into a cool, damp wind.
They hopped off the tram at the wharf and Verity held back to pick up a newspaper from the kiosk. Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you time?’
Verity nodded. ‘Saul and I share the crossword, and I’ve also got time to ask you about Saul. I could tell Polly was worried when you two went off together, and her relief when it was to ask us both if we would marry you.’ She drew Tom to a stop. ‘But now I need to ask if there’s more news, because Mrs Holmes mentioned in a letter to Polly that you were here, with me. Polly thought I’d told her mother, but I haven’t, so it must have been Saul. Polly’s my friend, and I need to know why Saul wrote to her mum.’
Tom wouldn’t meet her eyes. She shook him and he said, ‘Look, he’ll tell Polly when he’s ready, and I think he’s right not to worry her until things are certain.’
Verity stared at him. ‘What things? How far has it gone?’
The muscles in Tom’s jaw were working. She knew that look, and it meant he wouldn’t be budged. ‘You know he talked to me in the pub, and I replied, as did Steerer Mercy. So what Saul’s done since is between him and his conscience, at the moment anyway. But you have to know he loves Polly more than himself – more than anyone, I think. And anyway, we’re needed now.’ He pointed to the tannoy, from which was coming the call, ‘Crane B to the Marigold pair. Crane B.’
‘Oh, quick,’ Sylvia called from across the yard. ‘Come on, Verity, we need to get the covers off.’
Verity hesitated and Tom shook his head. ‘Verity, Saul has the right. Just be there for Polly, as she will always be for you.’
Sylvia called again, ‘Come on, Verity.’