Keep Smiling Through (Beach View Boarding House 3)

by Ellie Dean

  This was probably the most daring thing she’d ever done outside racing the motorbike on the pre-war circuits, and although she was desperate for her application to be accepted, that yearning was tempered by her responsibility for Louise. Her acceptance into the dispatch riders’ unit would mean leaving home to live in the barracks at the airfield, and giving all her attention to the needs of the WAAFs. Would Louise be able to manage without her? She gave a deep sigh and told herself she must stop worrying.

  It was late afternoon and the town was already in darkness, with only a few hardy souls finishing their shopping before they hurried home. Heavy waves of enemy planes had been coming over most of the afternoon, and although it was quiet now, the blackout meant there was no tree with fairy lights twinkling in the centre of town – no gaily decorated shop windows, or glimpses of tinsel, streamers and silver balls in the upstairs apartments. Christmas would be very different this year, and without her dad, Papa Tino or Roberto to celebrate with, it was all a bit depressing.

  ‘Hey, great bike.’

  She snapped out of her reverie, looked up at the brash young American, and couldn’t help returning his broad smile. If this was his idea of a pick-up line then he’d chosen well, for any praise of her bike was certain to be appreciated. ‘Thanks,’ she replied.

  He eyed the Norton with delight before he looked back at her. ‘I guess you’re waiting for your boyfriend, huh? This his bike?’

  Why did men always assume a girl couldn’t own a motorbike? ‘It’s mine,’ she told him, with rather more than a hint of pride and annoyance.

  He gave a low whistle as his gaze swept her from head to toe. ‘Boy, oh boy, but you’re just an itty-bitty little thing. You sure you can handle that monster?’

  Now he’d spoilt it. She had long grown weary of this question, which had been asked repeatedly since she started riding the bike. ‘I’ve handled bigger.’ She rammed the helmet over her lank hair and prepared to kick-start the engine.

  It seemed he was impervious to her hurt feelings and cool response. ‘You don’t say,’ he breathed in admiration. ‘My brother had one of these back home in Oregon.’ His hand ran over the front mudguard. ‘It’s a powerful piece of machinery.’

  Rita heard the longing in his voice and decided she was being a little harsh with him. He was probably homesick, and the bike had become a sort of symbol of all he was missing. ‘Me and Dad rebuilt it,’ she said. ‘It was in a bit of a state when we found it.’

  His brown eyes widened. ‘You found it? But they’re worth a heap of money.’

  Rita grinned. ‘This one wasn’t at the time. It had been left to fall apart behind an abandoned house. It took me and Dad two years to sort it out.’

  ‘You helped your dad rebuild it?’ The disbelief was clear in his expression.

  Rita laughed. ‘Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t mess about with bikes. My dad has his own garage, and I was training as a mechanic before the war.’

  She reddened as she caught his glance at her heavy trousers and boots, the moth-eaten flying jacket and old leather helmet. ‘I’m a welder now – hence the get-up,’ she quickly explained. It was suddenly rather important that he knew she didn’t always look quite so scruffy.

  He gazed at her in silence, and then seemed to remember his manners. ‘The name’s Chuck Howard, by the way,’ he said, snatching the American Air Force issue cap from his head.

  ‘Rita Smith.’ She tried not to wince as her hand was smothered in a vice-like grip. ‘Been over here long?’

  ‘A few months,’ he replied, his gaze still trawling the Norton. ‘I’m based up at the camp yonder.’ He pointed vaguely in the direction of the hills. ‘We feel kinda useless not being allowed to join your RAF boys. But I guess President Roosevelt will get us involved soon enough now the conscription bill has gone through.’

  Rita nodded. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘you Americans are doing a sterling job clearing up after the bombing. Our street was in a terrible mess.’

  ‘We do what we can.’ He grinned down at her.

  As silence fell between them Rita felt a rush of awkwardness and began to fiddle with the strap on her goggles. ‘I should be getting home,’ she murmured.

  He looked crestfallen. ‘Aw, shucks, I was hoping you might like to come for a drink. We could talk about bikes,’ he added hastily. ‘My brother used to race them, you see.’

  ‘So did me and Dad before the war,’ she replied. ‘Is your brother here too?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nah, he joined the navy and is based somewhere in Hawaii.’ He reddened. ‘I guess I shouldn’t have said that, what with all the warnings about spies and such.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘So,’ he prompted. ‘About that drink? There’s one of your great little pubs on that corner.’

  She was tempted, for he was young and handsome and seemed like a really nice chap. It might be fun – and it was her birthday the next day. Then she saw a group of young women hurrying down the street in their high heels and best coats and remembered how much of a fright she must look. It would just be embarrassing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said with genuine regret, ‘but as you can see I’ve only just finished work and I need to get home.’

  ‘I have a night pass,’ he said quickly. ‘Maybe you could meet me later?’ He looked at her hopefully.

  His open, honest face and friendly smile made Rita hesitate. She chewed her lip and gave it some serious thought. It wouldn’t take long to wash and change into something more respectable. But Louise was expecting her home for the evening, and as it was the first time they’d both had a night off for some time, she couldn’t let her down.

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ she replied softly. ‘You see, I have someone waiting for me back home.’

  He stiffened and took a step back. ‘Oh, gee. I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realise you were married.’

  There seemed little point in putting him right when they probably wouldn’t see each other again – but she felt a twinge of regret, for their short interlude had been flattering and pleasant. ‘It was nice to meet you, Chuck,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Now, I really must be off.’

  ‘Well, so long, ma’am. You take care on that bike now.’ He snapped off a salute and stepped back onto the pavement.

  Rita shoved the goggles over her eyes and kick-started the bike, revving it just a little more than necessary before she shot down the road and reluctantly headed for home.

  The kitchen at Beach View Boarding House was in chaos as Anne returned from telephoning for the ambulance. Harvey was barking and whining and trying to lick Ron awake. The young airman was groaning with pain, Mrs Finch was muttering and wringing her hands, and Anne was torn between the needs of the boy and her grandfather.

  ‘Da!’ shouted Jim, as he fell to his knees beside the inert form on the floor and shoved the dog out of the way. ‘Da? Can you hear me?’

  ‘It’s no good yelling at him,’ said Anne. ‘He’s out cold.’ She struggled to her knees, the bulk of the baby making it awkward, as she wrestled to grab Harvey’s collar. ‘Get Harvey out of here, Dad, he’s making it impossible to get to Granddad.’

  Jim made a grab for the dog, which skittered out of reach and continued to bark and paw at Ron.

  Anne was shocked by the prodigious amount of blood coming from Ron’s head wound. ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘He fainted and hit the corner of the table with a terrible thud,’ said Jim.

  Anne could see that her grandfather was the colour of old porridge, his skin cold and clammy to the touch. She’d done a first-aid course as part of her teacher training, so understood how vital it was to keep him warm and his airway free. ‘Help me get him on his side,’ she ordered her father. ‘And then get a couple of blankets and some pillows. We must keep them both warm until the ambulance arrives.’

  ‘It’s not his heart, is it?’ Jim’s eyes were wild with fear as he wrestled to keep
Harvey out of the way while they saw to the old man.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ she said softly. ‘Just get the blankets, Dad. The ambulance should be here soon.’

  Jim dashed off and Anne looked across at the young flier who was slumped in the armchair, his injured leg stuck at an awkward angle in front of him. He was a ghastly colour too, and although he was moaning, he was clearly out of it – which could only be a good thing. That leg looked nasty. ‘I wouldn’t undo the tourniquet, Mrs Finch,’ she warned sharply as the elderly woman began plucking at it. ‘He’ll start to bleed again.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ flustered Mrs Finch. ‘He’s so young. Poor boy,’ she muttered, stroking back his hair and patting his pale, soft cheek. ‘I feel so helpless. What can I do to help him, Anne?’

  ‘See if you can get a drop of brandy down him,’ said Anne, feeling for Ron’s pulse as she shoved the dog away. ‘I hid the bottle at the back of the dresser drawer.’ She counted the thready beats beneath her fingers. Ron’s heart was definitely struggling. ‘What the hell have you been up to, Grandpa?’ she muttered.

  Harvey barked and whined and pawed at Ron’s inert body. ‘Be quiet,’ shouted Anne as she batted him away. ‘You’re really not helping.’

  But the animal was too upset to obey her and continued to whine and paw at Ron as he licked his face.

  Anne gave up the struggle and made herself as comfortable as possible on the hard floor, nestled Ron’s head against her thighs and kept an eye on Mrs Finch, who had scrabbled in the drawer, found the bottle Anne had hidden from her father and grandfather, and was now dribbling a thimbleful into the bottom of a glass.

  Gently lifting the boy’s head, she tried to get some of it in his mouth without choking him. ‘Come on, young man,’ she crooned softly. ‘Try and swallow some of this. It’ll do you good. I promise.’

  ‘Here you are,’ panted Jim, racing into the kitchen loaded with blankets and pillows. ‘What do you want me to do with them?’

  Anne took two blankets and a pillow. ‘Take the rest and wrap up the boy while I see to Granddad.’ As Jim hovered, she spoke more sharply. ‘See to the boy, Dad – and then get this damned dog out of here.’

  Jim stumbled away to do as he was told, but Mrs Finch soon became impatient with his ineptitude and shooed him away. ‘Isn’t there something else you should be doing before the ambulance and police arrive?’

  ‘Police?’ His eyes widened. ‘What would the police want here?’

  Mrs Finch finished cocooning the boy in the blankets and looked back at Jim as if he was half-witted. ‘They always turn up when something like this happens,’ she said calmly. ‘Hadn’t you better see to that?’ She nodded towards the canvas bag that lay forgotten on the kitchen floor, its contents strewn across the lino.

  ‘Oh, bejesus, what’s the auld fool been up to now?’ He hastily gathered up the rabbits and birds and stood in the middle of the kitchen in a panic. ‘Where shall I put them – and what about the two birds he’s got hanging in the cellar?’

  Anne looked up at him. ‘The rabbits are nothing to worry about,’ she told him calmly. ‘Wrap the birds in newspaper and bury them under the compost heap. It won’t do them any harm, and as long as you keep Harvey away, they won’t be found.’

  ‘To be sure, you’re a clever wee girl.’ He grabbed the newspapers that were piled on the floor next to the range and began to parcel the birds. ‘How’s Da? Any change?’

  ‘He’s still out cold,’ said Anne. ‘But he’s a better colour and his breathing is less ragged. He’d do better without Harvey climbing all over him,’ she added crossly. ‘Please, Dad. Get him out of here.’

  ‘In a minute,’ he rasped, still fumbling with paper and string.

  Anne realised her father was more interested in getting rid of the evidence of Ron’s poaching than seeing to the dog. She gave up trying to still the animal and turned instead to Mrs Finch. ‘Could you get me a bowl of warm water and a cloth? I need to clean Granddad up and see how deep this head wound is.’

  Jim was still making a hash of his parcels when he heard the loud clanging bell of the fast approaching ambulance. He froze as a terrible thought struck him. ‘The stuff in the shed,’ he shouted. ‘I forgot about the stuff in the shed.’

  ‘You mean the cigarettes, rum and whisky?’ Mrs Finch looked at him sternly. ‘There’s no time to move them now. You’d better shut Harvey in there. He’ll be frantic enough to bark non-stop, and that should keep the police away.’

  ‘To be sure, you’ve a mind like a first-class criminal,’ Jim said admiringly.

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ retorted Mrs Finch, ‘and I’ve lived in this house long enough to learn lots of new tricks. Now get on with you.’

  Jim grabbed a protesting, struggling Harvey by the collar and raced down the cellar steps, grabbing the two hanging birds on his way to the compost heap.

  Anne struggled to her feet as she heard the ambulance come along Camden Road. She grabbed the canvas parachute bag and quickly stuffed it under the wool and needles in Mrs Finch’s enormous knitting bag before peeking through the blackout curtains of the kitchen window.

  She saw her father slam the shed door on a ferociously barking Harvey before he began to dig furiously in the compost. Her gaze caught the gleam of parachute silk lying across the vegetable patch, and she quickly unlatched the window.

  ‘The parachute, Dad!’ she hissed, as the ambulance drew up into the road. ‘Don’t forget the parachute.’

  She heard him curse before she slammed the window and saw him hastily gathering up the parachute and stuffing it down the hole he’d just dug. She let the blackout curtain fall back over the window, took a deep breath to calm herself, and went to let the ambulance crew in. As was expected, they were accompanied by a policeman.

  Rita locked the motorbike in the garage and went upstairs to wash and change before she went next door. She was smiling as she ran a brush through her hair and thought about the young American. He was a bit brash, but it had been lovely to be asked out for a drink – even if he was more interested in the Norton than her.

  ‘Ah, well,’ she sighed, reaching for her coat and gas mask box. ‘At least I had the offer, and they don’t come too often.’ She hurried downstairs, locked up behind her and made her way in the darkness to the house next door.

  Louise was busy at the stove and there was a delicious aroma lingering in the air. ‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ she said as she turned and smiled at Rita. ‘Had a good day?’

  Rita grinned as she pulled off her coat and hung it on the back of the door. ‘I got propositioned this evening,’ she said gaily, ‘by a Yank.’

  Louise turned sharply from the pot on the stove. ‘You don’t want to be starting all that,’ she said in rapid Italian. ‘You know how much trouble Vi is causing in the street, and you have your reputation to think of.’

  She might have known Louise wouldn’t approve. ‘He only asked me out for a drink,’ she replied deliberately in English. ‘And as I turned him down, there’s no need to get so hot under the collar.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Louise murmured, still in Italian. ‘But with Papa and Roberto away, it’s a big responsibility for me to make sure you’re kept safe. You’re a pretty young girl, and there are too many men on the prowl who would take advantage.’

  ‘I might be young, but I’m not daft,’ Rita retorted.

  Louise put her hands on her hips, her face scarlet with emotion. ‘You have no experience of life,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘What do you know of men, eh? This war brings trouble to girls like you. It’s important you are careful.’

  Rita was taken aback by her vehemence. If she was like this over a passing chat with an American airman, how would she react when she told her about the dispatch rider’s application? She decided to change the subject before things got even more fraught. ‘What’s that heavenly smell?’ she asked instead.

  ‘Tomorrow’s dinner, and you’re not to look in the larder,’
Louise replied with unusual sharpness. ‘It’s a surprise.’

  ‘I’m sorry if you’re upset, Mamma,’ Rita said softly. ‘But you really shouldn’t worry about me. I’m quite sensible, you know, and wouldn’t do anything silly.’

  Louise gave a great sigh, left her cooking pots and sat at the table. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, remembering to keep to English, ‘It’s just that I’m afraid for you with so many servicemen about.’ She gave Rita a watery smile. ‘So,’ she said, clearly making an effort to remain calm. ‘Tell me about this American.’

  Rita decided it would do no harm – after all, nothing much had happened. ‘He was young and pleasant, and of course his manners were impeccable. He came from Oregon, wherever that is, and I think he’s a bit fed up with not being allowed to work with our airmen.’ She giggled. ‘He was more interested in the motorbike, really,’ she confessed, ‘and I think he just wanted to talk about his brother, who has the same model Norton.’

  ‘That’s what he wanted you to think,’ said Louise, her eyes narrowing.

  ‘Oh, Mamma, don’t be so . . . so cynical. Of course he was genuine.’ Rita giggled again. ‘Honestly, Mamma, what man could possibly want to be seen in a pub with a girl dressed in ratty old clothes with grease on her face and sweaty hair?’

  ‘Roberto wouldn’t mind,’ Louise said softly.

  ‘Roberto doesn’t count,’ said Rita firmly. ‘He’s known me since I had droopy drawers and a face smothered in jam.’

  There was a long silence and Rita suddenly had an awful feeling she knew where this was about to go.

  Louise looked at her and frowned. ‘You don’t love my Roberto?’

  This was dangerous ground, and Rita knew she had to tread carefully. ‘I love him as a brother, Mamma,’ she said softly in Italian. ‘And I miss him as a brother.’

  The tears sprang to Louise’s eyes and she hastily wiped them away with her apron. ‘You know Papa and I have always wished for you and Roberto to be married? Can you not love him just a little?’