by Annie Groves
‘Desert was it, mate?’ Ted asked with a nod in the direction of Rick’s well-tanned face.
‘North Africa,’ Rick confirmed, adopting the same brisk economical way of speaking.
‘Sidi Barrani?’ Drew guessed, removing his cigarettes from his pocket to offer them around.
Rick nodded as he lit one and inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs, the kitchen light illuminating the angles of his battle-hardened desert-tanned profile before he blew it out again.
‘Which reminds me,’ he told Dulcie, ‘I met up with a friend of yours in the desert – that Italian guy from Liverpool. Good chap. It can’t have been easy for him, seeing as it was the Italians we were fighting, but he never hesitated for a minute. He’s on leave as well. He’s gone home to see his parents in Liverpool.’
Dulcie tossed her head. It was a pity that Wilder hadn’t been here to listen to Rick’s comment. She’d have to get her brother to repeat it in front of him. The good-looking Italian she’d flirted with at the Hammersmith Palais in an attempt to make some of the other Selfridges girls jealous didn’t mean anything to her, but it wouldn’t have done Wilder any harm to hear that another attractive man was keen on her.
Olive, who had been watching Tilly closely, knowing how she had once felt about Rick, wasn’t as relieved as she once would have been to see how uninterested in him Tilly was. Olive wasn’t at all happy about the way Tilly had been behaving tonight. She had sensed a new, almost reckless determination in her strong-willed daughter, and she was relieved that Tilly lived at home under her own watchful maternal eye.
‘How are your parents, Rick?’ Olive asked politely ‘Have they settled down all right in Kent?’
After the death of Dulcie’s younger sister, Edith, Dulcie and Rick’s parents had moved to Kent to get away from the bombs.
‘I suppose Mum is still going on about Edith, is she?’ Dulcie asked before Rick could answer Olive. ‘She always was Mum’s favourite. I expect she thinks she’s up there in heaven caterwauling along with the angels now.’
‘Dulcie,’ Olive protested, but Dulcie simply tossed her head. ‘Well, it’s true. She was Mum’s favourite and that is what she will think.’
Everyone at number 13 knew about the rivalry that had existed between Dulcie and Edith when they had both been living at home before the war. Edith had been their mother’s favourite and favoured child, a fact about which Dulcie had vigorously complained for as long as they had all known her. Initially Olive had believed that Dulcie must be exaggerating. It seemed impossible to her, as the parent of a much-loved only child, that any mother could favour one child to the extent that Dulcie had claimed. However, after Dulcie had damaged her ankle during an air raid, Olive had visited Dulcie’s mother to alert her to the fact that Dulcie was in hospital. She had discovered then that Dulcie’s mother did indeed favour her younger daughter above her elder, and the compassion that Olive now felt for Dulcie, despite her often brash manner, dated from that visit. Not, of course, that she would ever hurt Dulcie’s keen pride by letting her know that. Hence her chiding comment.
Dulcie ignored Olive’s gentle rebuke. She wouldn’t want anyone else to know it for the world, but deep down inside her there was still a small, scratchy, sore place that hurt every time she thought about the way her mother had favoured – and loved – Edith more than she had done her.
Edith had been their mother’s pride and joy right from the minute she had been born, and that pride and joy had only grown once Edith had developed a singing voice that, according to the agent who’d taken her under his wing, would give her a career that would rival that of Vera Lynn.
Their mother had been devastated when Edith hadn’t returned home from a singing engagement when the Blitz had been at its worst. Her body, like so many others, had never been recovered, and they had been told by local officials that they must assume that Edith had been killed. The horribleness of there being no body and everything that implied – there were the most awful stories about absolutely nothing being left of people apart from what looked like a patch of sticky toffee on the ground – meant that their mother had been unable to bear to continue to live in London. Edith had been everything to her, whilst she …
Seeing his sister’s expression and guessing what she was thinking, Rick swiftly changed the subject.
‘John’s home on leave as well,’ referring to the son of the builder for whom their father worked. ‘I left him down in Kent with his mum and dad. He said to give you his best.’
Making a speedy recovery, Dulcie preened herself. John had always been sweet on her, right from their shared schooldays.
‘Dad’s settled in Kent really well. John’s dad and uncle have got a nice little business going down there and Dad reckons they did the right thing moving out of London. You should go down and see them if you get the chance.’
‘What, and have Mum going on about how much better than me Edith was?’ Dulcie scoffed. ‘No, thanks. You are coming to the New Year’s Eve dance, aren’t you?’ she demanded.
‘Of course I am. There’s no way I’m going to miss out on the chance to dance with all those pretty girls,’ Rick laughed.
‘Deserve a medal, you lot do, for showing them what’s what in the desert,’ Ted chipped in, giving Rick an approving look. ‘Read about it in the papers, I did,’ he continued in his quiet way.
‘We had the RAF to give us a hand,’ Rick told him. ‘Mind you, for once I think I’d rather have been up in the air than down on the ground. Gets everywhere, that sand does, and I mean everywhere,’ he emphasised feelingly, causing the other two young men to respond with broad man-to-man grins whilst the girls affected not to understand.
Then, just as Olive was beginning to feel concerned that the conversation might be venturing in a direction best conducted in male-only company, Rick said, ‘I saw a bit of what the German bombs have done to London on my way from the station, and if there’s anyone deserves a medal from anyone then it’s them what have had to cope with being blitzed. Compared with what I’ve seen, marching through sand and firing off a few rounds at the enemy is child’s play.’
Rick was really a very pleasant young man, and a very thoughtful one, Olive admitted, when he tipped Dulcie firmly off his knee and announced, ‘You’ll all be wanting to get some sleep. Is it still all right for me to kip down at Ian Simpson’s, do you know, Mrs Robbins?’
‘It sure is,’ Drew answered him for Olive, explaining, ‘I lodge there and Ian told me that you were welcome to stay.’
Cocoa mugs were quickly drained, everyone standing up, the girls going to help the young men retrieve their coats and hats, Tilly pulling a small private face to Drew as she whispered, ‘It’s a pity Rick had to arrive now and not during the daytime tomorrow.’
Drew knew what she meant. Rick’s arrival and the fact that he too was staying at Ian Simpson’s meant that Drew and Tilly wouldn’t be able to say a long lingering good night in the discreet darkness of the blacked-out street.
‘We’ve got tomorrow night,’ he reminded her, ‘and since it’s New Year’s Eve I bet there’ll be plenty of slow numbers being played at the Hammersmith Palais.’
Tilly nodded, her heart thumping in excited anticipation of the dance and the chance for her and Drew to be close.
Stifling a yawn, Sally helped Olive clear away the empty mugs. She’d offered to work New Year’s Eve since she couldn’t be with George, who was on duty. It was disappointing, of course, not to be able to welcome in the New Year with him but there’d be other dances and hopefully other New Years. She gave a small shiver despite the warmth of the kitchen. It didn’t do to risk tempting fate by looking too far ahead or making too many plans during wartime.
It was funny the changes the last months of the year had brought to them all, Tilly thought a little later, lying snugly in her bed whilst Agnes slept peacefully in the bed next to hers. Last New Year’s Eve they had all been heart- and fancy-free, except for Agnes, and they had tended to stick together w
hen they went out dancing. Tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve, though, it would only be her and Dulcie going out together with their partners. It was a pity – Tilly had enjoyed it when they all went out together. It had been fun. But that was what happened when you met someone special, she acknowledged. You wanted to be with them every minute you could. She felt sorry for Sally, who couldn’t see George. New Year’s Eve, even more than Christmas, was a time when people in love wanted to be together, to make all those sweet special promises to one another.
Falling in love might have changed the amount of time they spent together but it hadn’t and couldn’t change the closeness of their friendship. The four of them were still close friends, of course, and they always would be. Tilly knew that they’d all drop everything like a shot if one of the others needed them.
As she had done every single night since he’d first put it round her neck, Tilly reached for Drew’s ring, holding it tight as she whispered a prayer for him, to join all the other prayers she said every night for those she loved, and for their country.
THREE
‘You look lovely, beautiful, and I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’
Tilly’s face flushed a pretty pink as she listened to Drew’s obviously heartfelt compliment. He’d been waiting for her when she’d come downstairs in the plum-coloured silk velvet dress her mother had had made for her in the early months of the war. With its nipped-in waist and bias-cut full skirt it emphasised Tilly’s slender figure, the colour of the rich velvet complimenting the dark hair and pale Celtic skin she’d inherited from her mother. Her dancing shoes might be well-worn now, but thanks to Drew she was wearing a pair of brand-new silk stockings – given to her not directly by Drew himself, but passed tactfully to her mother to give her, along with a pair for each of the other girls, to be wrapped up as extra Christmas presents. She was wearing another of Drew’s Christmas gifts to her, too: a gorgeous shimmering silver-grey silk shawl, which she’d draped round her shoulders, to wear underneath her best coat with its velvet collar and cuffs.
At Drew’s own appearance Tilly’s breath caught in her throat. He looked so smart in his dark lounge suit and crisp white shirt worn with the dark maroon tie with the tiny gold fleck that she’d given him for Christmas. The tie had been a lucky find, having been handed over to her mother’s WVS group along with other men’s clothes. It had caught Tilly’s eye as they sorted through the clothes and its Gieves & Hawkes label had had Dulcie announcing knowledgeably that it must have been very expensive when new. Tilly had been honest with Drew, explaining to him that even if she had the money for an expensive new tie she doubted that she would be able to buy one because of the ongoing shortages. Drew, to her delight, had said that he loved the tie, and tonight he was wearing it to prove that statement.
Wilder, Dulcie’s date, was wearing his habitual leather flying jacket over a white shirt and a pair of black trousers, whilst Dulcie’s brother, Rick, who was going with them, was in his army uniform. Rick’s good looks meant that no girl was likely to spend too much time looking at his clothes, Tilly admitted, but to her relief she had discovered with his return that Rick and his good looks no longer had any effect on her whatsoever.
Only now could she admit to herself that a tiny corner of her had been worried that Rick might remember her crush and perhaps comment on it in a teasing way. Thankfully he had done nothing of the kind, and the only thing to spoil her happiness was the niggling feeling of guilt because she hadn’t told Drew about that silly girlish crush.
Within minutes of the young men arriving at number 13, all five young people were piling into the taxi picked up by Wilder on his journey from the station to Article Row, having asked the cabby to wait with the promise of a good tip if he did, and were being waved off from the darkened hallway by Olive.
As they were engaged, and knowing how little privacy they had, Olive had given Ted and Agnes permission to spend a couple of hours together in her front room before they went to join in whatever traditional celebrations still might be allowed to take place in Trafalgar Square. Olive herself had accepted an invitation from the Windles to see the New Year in at the vicarage, which was within easy walking distance. Prior to getting to know Audrey, Olive had never had a really close friend. Orphaned and then married young, she had been far too busy, especially whilst she had been nursing first her husband and then later both her in-laws. Their friendship might only have come about because of the war and the fact that they were members of the same WVS unit, but it was genuine and Olive found Audrey a wonderfully soothing antidote to her neighbour Nancy’s acerbic and often spiteful attitude to their shared neighbours.
This evening’s get-together might not be going to be a party as such, but since it was New Year’s Eve Olive had decided to wear her own silk velvet dress. The rich amber fabric had been a present to her from Tilly and Agnes, and she treasured the dress as much for that as for its lovely material and elegant style. At thirty-seven, Olive was nearly as slim as her daughter, so that its boat-shaped neckline and three-quarter sleeves, along with its neatly fitting bodice and gentle A-line skirt, suited her perfectly.
She might not have spent all afternoon washing and then drying her hair, like Tilly, Dulcie and Agnes, but her natural waves meant that her weekly home shampoo and set always left her hair framing her face in a pretty natural style.
Olive knew that there was no need for her to warn Ted about the standard of behaviour she expected from the young couple left alone in the house in her front room. Ted was simply not the sort of young man to behave in anything other than the most respectable and responsible manner. And Agnes, bless her, being the timid girl that she was, was hardly likely to encourage him to break any rules.
Going upstairs to her bedroom to check her appearance and get her best coat before setting out to walk up to the top of Article Row and then across to the vicarage, Olive had a strong suspicion that she might not have been able to say the same thing about her own daughter. Tilly had always been passionately intense about everything she did and passionately proud of everyone and everything she loved. That was her nature. Drew was a well-brought-up young man – Olive could see that – but a passionate young woman in love for the first time, combined with the urgency that war brought, was not a combination that could allow any protective mother to do anything other than react with some concern.
Still, Olive thought, ten minutes later as she said good night to Ted and Agnes, and let herself out into the dark street, at least it was Drew and not Wilder who was Tilly’s beau. Try as she might, Olive couldn’t quite take to the other young American. She was prepared to accept and understand that a young man from another country, who had come to Britain expressly to offer his help in its fight against Hitler, might be justified in feeling proud of himself but whilst Wilder’s arrogance and the comments he sometimes made about others might boost him in his own eyes, in Olive’s they did him no favours at all.
Dulcie, though, seemed pleased that he had shown an interest in her. Whether she was pleased because she liked Wilder himself or because she liked the excitement of going out with a young American with plenty of money in his pockets, Olive didn’t know. Whilst there were plenty of young men in uniforms from other countries to be seen on the streets of London, Americans were a much rarer sight. There was quite a lot of openly expressed ill feeling in some quarters about the fact that America was remaining aloof from the war, and no doubt in Dulcie’s eyes that made Wilder and his ilk, who had volunteered to put their lives at risk, and who behaved as though they were something very special because of that, all the more potently dangerous, and challenging to a young woman. Drew might be American but Olive didn’t think she had ever met a more modest and considerate young man.
The night air was yellowy grey with what now seemed like an ever-present pall of smoke from the burned buildings. It felt gritty in the lungs and left behind an unpleasant taste. The occasional car and taxi moved slowly along the road that ran past the church and the vicarage
, their dimmed lights just about picking out the white paint on the edge of the pavement, which had been put there because of the high number of road accidents in the early days of the blackout. A bus rumbled past the end of the road. The church hall and, beyond it, the church itself loomed up out of the darkness. Olive’s walking pace quickened as the cold air bit into her lungs.
Normally she would have walked to the vicarage with Nancy, her next-door neighbour, and her husband, but they had gone down to Nancy’s daughter’s in-laws in the country to spend Christmas and the New Year with them. Olive knew that Nancy wasn’t the most popular inhabitant of Article Row, especially with the younger generation, as she was one of those people who seemed to delight in finding fault with others, but they had been neighbours for a long time.
Olive had always got on reasonably well with her, although this last year she had found herself having to bite down on her tongue a bit over some of the things Nancy had said, especially about Sergeant Dawson. Olive liked Sergeant Dawson. He was a kind man – a good man – and Nancy had gone far too far when she had tried to suggest that he might be showing too much of an interest in women without a man to protect them. Nancy had been referring to her when she had said that, warning her, Olive knew, and ever since then she had felt uncomfortable about being in the sergeant’s company on her own. Not because she felt there was any truth in Nancy’s aspersions – she didn’t – no, it was because she suspected that Nancy might be peering round her lace curtains to see if her suspicions were being confirmed.
Poor Sergeant Dawson. They hadn’t had an easy life, he and Mrs Dawson, with losing their son when he had been a young boy, and then Mrs Dawson turning into a recluse because of it.
The vicarage was in front of her now. Olive opened the gate and walked up the path to the front door. The vicarage, the church and the church hall had all been built by the same wealthy merchant who had built Article Row.