Home Front Girls

by Rosie Goodwin

  Lucy felt completely and utterly devastated. This, on top of what she had witnessed the night before, was just too much and she had the urge to run away and hide. But of course, she couldn’t do that. Mrs P needed her.

  Hurrying out of the front door, she shot off down the next entry where she found Mrs Bloomfield, her next-door-but-one-neighbour hanging out her washing in the yard.

  The woman looked at the state of her in amazement, but before she could comment, Lucy gasped out, ‘Mrs Bloomfield, Mrs P has just had some really bad news. Do you think your Eric could go and fetch Mr P from work?’

  ‘Of course he will, love,’ the woman said, guessing what the bad news was. She had seen the telegram boy through her front window and felt guilty because she was so relieved he hadn’t stopped at her house. Derek, her youngest, was away in the RAF.

  Not stopping to thank her, Lucy then ran back to find Mrs P still standing exactly where she had left her. She could hear the kettle whistling its head off and went to switch off the gas.

  The next three-quarters of an hour passed interminably slowly as Lucy watched the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece. Mrs P sat where Lucy had put her as if she had been carved in stone, with not a tear in sight, until at last, Mr P burst into the room.

  ‘So what’s to do then, ducks?’ He threw his snap tin on the table as his wife handed him the telegram and once he had read it, his face crumpled. Then surprisingly it was Mrs P comforting him.

  ‘Come on now,’ she soothed. ‘It’s strange . . . but I think I’ve already done my grievin’. In fact, in a funny sort o’ way it’s a relief to know what’s happened to him, official-like. I knew he were gone from the time we had the first telegram, but now we can hold a memorial service fer him. Our lad were a hero, Fred, an’ we must never lose sight o’ that. We can be proud he died fighting for his country an’ what he believed in.’

  She glanced towards the photo of young Freddy standing next to the clock on the mantelpiece all upright and proud in his soldier’s uniform, with a watery smile on her face, and suddenly feeling in the way, Lucy slipped out of the back door leaving the bereaved parents to grieve in privacy.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Robert did manage to get to Coventry on the following Thursday and Dotty as usual was waiting at the station to meet him wearing clothes that she had borrowed from Annabelle.

  ‘She and her mum have been marvellous to me,’ she told him once they had greeted each other. ‘And they’ve made me feel so welcome. But between you and me it isn’t like having your own front door. I think I might start to look around for another flat to rent soon when things have quietened down. And of course I shall have to get myself another typewriter.’

  ‘If they quieten down,’ Robert commented grimly. ‘The newspapers reckon this is only the beginning, which is why I wish you’d come to London with me, Dotty.’

  ‘But it will be no safer there than it is here,’ Dotty pointed out. ‘And I’ve had no shortage of offers of a home. Miss Timms said I could go and stay with her too, bless her. Her mother died of a heart attack on the night of the raid, although I don’t think it was entirely unexpected. She’s been poorly for a long time, and reading between the lines I think she ran poor Miss Timms ragged. She wasn’t a very easy patient and was quite a strict, highly religious person from the bits that I’ve picked up on. Mind you, she was still her mother at the end of the day, wasn’t she?’

  Seeing the sadness that flitted across Dotty’s face, Robert’s heart went out to her. It couldn’t have been easy for her being brought up in an orphanage not knowing who her parents were, or even why they had chosen to abandon her, which was why he was so surprised at how nice Dotty had turned out to be. She didn’t seem to have a single nasty bone in her body and always had a kind word for everyone.

  ‘How about we head for the centre?’ he suggested now. ‘I’m determined to get you some clothes of your own before I go back. I’ve brought some cash and clothes coupons.’ He tapped his coat pocket and winked at her. ‘You’d be surprised what money can buy, even in wartime. It’s like they say – money talks. Oh, and we’ll get you another typewriter as well while we’re at it. We can’t have you slacking, can we?’

  Dotty knew that he was only trying to cheer her up, but she was so down in the dumps that she doubted anything would do that.

  Once outside the station they decided to walk into town. It was a beautiful day and they both wanted to take advantage of the sunshine while they could. On their way, Dotty told him all about Mrs Cousins and her children, shedding tears, and he sucked in his breath and squeezed her hand in his good one. Dotty still felt terribly guilty because she hadn’t gone straight home that dreadful night and found the note that poor Mrs Cousins had left for her, and she knew that she always would.

  ‘Her sister came to fetch her to go and live with her and her family in Wales,’ Dotty said, wiping her eyes, ‘but Mrs Cousins wouldn’t go until they had buried her children. I went to the funeral. Poor thing, I think she’ll always blame herself – if only I had gone straight home!’

  ‘You couldn’t have known what was going to happen, and she was only doing what she had to do, to feed her children,’ Robert said with no condemnation whatsoever. ‘I think this war is making a lot of people do things that they wouldn’t normally dream of doing.’

  Dotty glanced at him in surprise. He was so understanding and kind that he never failed to amaze her.

  ‘Laura has been worried sick about you too,’ he told her then, and the old familiar jealousy instantly flared up at the mention of her name. Dotty had allowed herself to get a little carried away when he had offered to come and see her, but now she realised once more that he had come merely as a very dear friend and she became silent.

  Once in the city centre they went into a café for a cup of tea, then Robert bought her some new clothes so at least she felt as if she had something of her own again, and a typewriter – another second-hand one from a pawnshop as Dotty refused point blank to allow him to buy her a brand new one. Then they headed back to Annabelle’s to unload the purchases, which were far too heavy to carry about for the rest of the day.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to catch the four o’clock train home to London,’ Robert told her on the way. ‘Otherwise I might get stranded here. Not all the trains are running.’

  Dotty felt a stab of disappointment but knew they would just have to make the best of the time they had.

  Miranda greeted them warmly and winked at Dotty as Robert took his coat off, making the girl blush. They settled him in the parlour then went through to the kitchen to make some tea.

  ‘What a nice-looking young man,’ Miranda said archly. ‘And he’s so polite. I think you may have struck gold there, Dotty.’

  ‘We’re just friends.’ Dotty blushed an even deeper red.

  ‘Well, you might regard him as a friend – but judging by the way he looks at you, I’d say he regards you as rather more than that,’ Miranda said knowingly.

  Dotty felt a flash of irritation. How could Miranda ever imagine that someone like Robert would ever look at her in a romantic light? She was under no illusions; she was a plain Jane and always would be, and she was sure that Robert was in love with Laura. And why shouldn’t he be? she asked herself. Laura was everything that she would have liked to be. But not wanting to upset the woman who had shown her such kindness, she decided that it might be best to ignore the remark and so she busied herself getting the tea tray ready.

  ‘So what are you two planning on doing for the rest of the day?’ Miranda asked.

  ‘Oh, we’ll probably just go back into the centre and have a wander around until it’s time for Robert’s train.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Miranda said. ‘You can both stay here. Annabelle’s gone out and I’m going out too, shortly, so you may as well make the best of having the house to yourselves for a while.’

  ‘Are you quite sure you don’t mind?’ Dotty asked hesitantly.<
br />
  ‘Of course I don’t. Now get that tray into the parlour before it goes cold and I’ll see you later.’

  Dotty did as she was told after flashing a grateful smile, and it was as she and Robert were sitting together drinking their tea that he suddenly put his cup down and regarded her seriously.

  ‘Actually, Dotty, there’s something I need to tell you, which is one of the reasons I’ve come today.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dotty raised her eyebrow quizzically as Robert looked slightly uncomfortable.

  ‘The thing is, I know how awful everything has been for you over the last few days and I’m not sure that this is the perfect timing for the news, but . . . . well, the long and the short of it is, Paul, my friend who agreed to look at your book, got in touch with me yesterday and told me that he’d like to publish it.’

  Dotty stared at him speechlessly. ‘What?’ she managed to croak eventually. ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘It most certainly isn’t,’ Robert assured her. ‘Of course, he wouldn’t discuss your advance or anything like that with me. But he told me that he absolutely loved it and he’d like to meet you at the earliest opportunity.’

  Dotty continued to stare at Robert in amazement. Her book was going to be published and she could hardly believe it. After all the terrible things that had happened recently, it was a dream come true.

  ‘So . . .’ His face broke into a wide smile now. ‘When do you think you’ll be able to come and meet him?’

  ‘Not before next week,’ Dotty squeaked. ‘I can only make it on a Thursday, my day off. Unfortunately Annabelle, Lucy and myself have lost a few days off work over the last week helping the WVS out. Mrs Broadstairs, our boss, has been very understanding, but I don’t think she would be if she knew I wanted more time to go gallivanting off to London.’

  He chuckled. ‘Well, you might not need to work at Owen Owen when you become a bestselling author.’

  Dotty didn’t like the sound of that. She enjoyed working in the department store; it was her security and she had no intention of giving her job up.

  ‘I suppose I could make it next week, that’s if the trains are running all right,’ she said as the wonderful news finally began to sink in.

  ‘Next week it is then. I’ll tell Paul,’ he answered and they then went on to talk about the plot of her novel – Dotty became quite animated as she spoke of ‘War-Torn Londoners’ and the hardships her main characters were forced to endure throughout the book and Robert listened, enthralled.

  The afternoon seemed to race away and all too soon Robert glanced at the ornate French clock and told her regretfully, ‘I ought to be getting back to the station now. Do you think Miranda would mind if you used her phone to call me a taxi?’

  ‘Of course she wouldn’t. I’ll do it now and when it comes, I’ll go to the station with you,’ she said, springing up from her seat.

  ‘No, I’d rather you didn’t,’ he told her in a no-nonsense sort of voice. ‘I’d rather you stayed here where you can get down into the cellar should there be another raid. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you because you’d seen me back to the train.’

  Dotty went to ring a taxi firm and fetch his coat, holding it close to her as she went back to the parlour, feeling miserable. They seemed to have had so little time together and it had gone so fast, and now she would have to wait for another whole week before she could see him again.

  They were standing in the hallway waiting for the taxi to arrive when Robert suddenly took her hand and awkwardly drew her towards him.

  ‘Promise me that you won’t go taking any silly risks,’ he said urgently. ‘You are very precious to me, Dotty.’

  She was so shocked that she could only nod in reply. And then he leaned forward and just for an instant his lips brushed hers and longing rose in her.

  ‘B-but won’t Laura mind you kissing me?’ she asked him in a choky voice when he released her and he looked at her, baffled.

  ‘What on earth would it have to do with Laura?’

  ‘W-well, I thought . . . that is, I assumed that you and she ... ’

  When her voice trailed away Robert threw back his head and laughed aloud before telling her, ‘You silly goose. Whatever gave you that idea? Laura and I have been friends since we were children; our mothers were very close. But Laura is happily married as it happens, with two lovely children to show for it. It’s actually her husband who wants to publish your book. Did I not mention that before? He’s an editor in a very big publishing house. The poor man is like me – we’re stuck at home unable to join the other chaps in giving Hitler a pasting. I’ve got this damn arm, and he’s in a wheelchair after a brush with spinal TB.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Dotty stammered, feeling more confused than ever.

  ‘Ah, that sounds like my taxi,’ he said, looking slightly embarrassed now. ‘Ring me and let me know what time your train gets into Euston next week, and I’ll come and meet you. We can talk more then,’ he promised. Then he turned on his heel and she stood as if rooted to the spot as the door closed behind him.

  She heard the taxi draw away before slowly raising her hand to her lips. They were still tingling. Her thoughts then moved on to the wonderful news he had brought for her: her novel was going to be published! She hugged herself as a shiver of delight coursed through her, but she wasn’t clear whether it was because of the kiss or the thought of becoming the author of a published novel. She felt as if all her birthdays and Christmases had come at once – and Robert had told her that she was precious to him. And the way he had kissed her – could it be that he felt something for her too? Suddenly she was so happy she could have climbed a mountain.

  Over the next few days, life returned to something resembling normality. The girls all went back to work and their daily routine, and the people of Coventry cleared up the mess and got on with their lives. There was nothing else they could do. But the respite was brief and within days the sound of the sirens had them all repeatedly scurrying for the cover of the shelters and the cellars again. Thankfully each time proved to be a false alarm, although other places weren’t so lucky. Everyone wondered how long it would be before the Luftwaffe came back – and which part of the city would be in the firing line next time.

  It was on a Wednesday as Lucy was serving a customer that she looked up to see the lift doors open and Mr P standing there. She hastily took the money from the woman she was serving and placed it in the large brass till then hurried towards him with her heart beating fast. He was as white as a sheet and she wondered what could have happened now. He saw her coming towards him, and taking his cap off he twisted it in his hands as he shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  ‘Er . . . is there somewhere we could go to talk, privatelike?’ he asked, obviously feeling totally out of place.

  ‘Wait here for a minute,’ Lucy instructed him. ‘I’ll just get Miss Lawson to cover for me then we’ll go up to the staff dining room.’

  Seconds later, they were riding up in the lift towards the top floor. Once the lift stopped, Lucy glanced through the glass doors leading into the dining room before asking him, ‘So what’s wrong, Mr P? Has something happened?’

  ‘Aye, I’m afraid it has, love.’

  When he didn’t go on, she urged, ‘Well, what is it then?’

  He sighed heavily before answering. ‘The missus sent for me from work again. Yer know she ain’t so good at venturin’ out since we lost our Freddy. But the long an’ the short of it is, a woman from the Red Cross came to see yer this mornin’ an’ seein’ as yer weren’t in, the missus invited her into our house. She left this letter for yer but she couldn’t stay, so Gladys promised that she’d see as yer got it.’

  Lucy looked confused. Why would anyone from the Red Cross be coming to see her? For a start she had been terrified that it might be a telegram informing her that something had happened to Joel, but surely that would have come from the War Department, not the Red Cross.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s
really bad news,’ Mr P said in a small voice. ‘An’ I wonder if yer shouldn’t come along home wi’ me before openin’ it.’

  ‘Do you know what’s in it then?’

  ‘Aye, I do.’ He dropped his eyes as Lucy stared at the letter he had passed her as if it might bite her. ‘The lady told our Glad.’

  And then suddenly all the strength drained out of Lucy as a thought occurred to her. It must be something to do with Mary, but she was safe in Folkestone and she was going to see her on Saturday. She had booked a day off work especially and had the train tickets all ready at home. She had been looking forward to it for weeks.

  Perhaps Mary was ill and they were writing to ask her to postpone the visit? She opened the envelope but when she started to read what was inside it she had to lean against the wall as her legs threatened to buckle.

  ‘It-it says that they deeply regret to have to inform me that M-Mary and the people who she was staying with were all k-killed last Saturday night,’ she stammered incredulously. ‘They say the unused bombs that the Germans were carrying were dropped on Folkestone before they set off back across the Channel.’

  She stared at Mr P appealingly, as if she were begging him to tell her that it was some horrendous practical joke, but the expression on his face told her that it was true.

  ‘B-but Mary can’t be dead,’ she sobbed as a picture of the little girl’s innocent face floated in front of her eyes. ‘I’m going to visit her on Saturday, you see. I’ve got her a new dolly and some fairy storybooks and . . .’ her voice trailed away as she slithered to the floor in a dead faint.

  She woke up to find herself lying on Mrs P’s settee and for a moment she wondered why and how she had got there. Then suddenly it came flooding back and she threw herself into the older woman’s arms and began to sob heart-rendingly.

  ‘There, there,’ Mrs P soothed, weeping herself for the loss of the little girl she too had loved. ‘Our Fred got one of the staff to fetch yer home in his car. There were no way yer could have stayed at work after receivin’ news like this.’