by Ellie Dean
‘Bless you, dear, you’re always welcome, but it seems a pity you have to work after such a splendid afternoon.’
‘Robert and I are going out for our supper tonight,’ said Fran, ‘so I’ll not be back until late.’
Peggy beamed with pleasure. ‘I’m glad to hear it. See you later.’ She turned and headed back to the car. Things were going swimmingly between the two of them, and she couldn’t help but hope that perhaps in a few months there might be another engagement, or at least some sort of declaration. She knew she was an old romantic at heart, but she did so love it when things worked out well.
Chapter Eleven
PEGGY ARRIVED BACK at Beach View to discover that the house next door had already been requisitioned by the billeting people, for now Mrs Black had left town, there were several women busy moving their few belongings in. Having had a short chat to welcome them to Beach View Close, she made them all a pot of tea and left them to it. Mrs Black had always been a nice quiet neighbour, but she was very elderly, and Peggy was rather looking forward to having women of her own age living next door.
She returned to her own kitchen to find that the girls were still at work, Bertram had already left for his home on the other side of town, and Cordelia was trying, without much success, to make another pot of tea. There was no sign of Ron, Harvey or Daisy, and she could only hope that they were with Rosie at the pub, and not trekking across the hills in search of illicit game.
‘Let me do that, Cordelia,’ she said as she quickly took charge of the heavy kettle. ‘I don’t want you scalding yourself.’
‘Oh dear, I feel so useless,’ she replied sadly as she regarded her gnarled hands. ‘But this cold is making my arthritis very painful.’
Peggy could see how swollen her knuckles had become after sitting in that cold, draughty hall, and felt a pang of deep sympathy. ‘While the tea’s brewing, we’ll get changed out of our finery and bundle up in front of the fire. And I think it might be an idea if you put your gloves back on,’ she added as they headed for the stairs. ‘They’ll keep your hands much warmer.’
Having changed into less formal clothes and wrapped themselves in extra sweaters and cardigans, and with thick socks and slippers to keep their feet warm, Peggy settled Cordelia by the meagre fire and tried to stoke some life into it.
But the anthracite and coal dust just smoked and looked sullen, and the few bits of wood she’d placed on top took an age to catch. It was a good thing they’d put the stew in the oven this morning, otherwise it would never have got cooked in time for tea.
She checked the stew, poured Cordelia a cup of tea and went out into the freezing gloom to retrieve her washing, which was now as stiff as a board. Leaving it to drip from the wooden airer that was strung by pulleys from the scullery ceiling, Peggy shivered and shut the back door. It was getting colder by the minute, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t have snow by morning.
‘I hope Ron wraps Daisy up warmly when he brings her home,’ she said fretfully as she reached for the latest airgraphs which she hadn’t had time to read. ‘It’s bitter out there.’
‘It’s not much warmer in here,’ muttered Cordelia.
Peggy set the letters aside. ‘I’ll make you a hot water bottle.’
She had just filled the stone bottle when she heard the warning pips. She stilled, waiting for the sirens, praying they wouldn’t sound out on this bitter night. But her prayers weren’t answered, and as the sirens began to whine, she quickly wrapped the stone bottle in a cloth and tucked it into the emergency box she always kept for when they had to go into the shelter. As the sirens shrieked to full-pitch she ran into the hall to fetch their coats and outdoor shoes.
‘Can’t we just sit it out in here?’ pleaded Cordelia. ‘We’ll freeze to death in that shelter.’
‘I’m not risking that again,’ Peggy replied firmly. ‘Remember what happened last time we got caught indoors? You ended up with a broken arm and bruised ribs and I almost bled to death.’ The sirens were going full-blast all over the town now and she wrestled to get an overcoat over all Cordelia’s cardigans and button it up. Adding a scarf and a woollen hat that looked like a tea-cosy, Cordelia was finally bundled up like an Eskimo.
Dragging on her own overcoat, Peggy helped Cordelia down the cellar steps and then out into the garden. Cordelia leaned heavily on Peggy’s arm as they carefully negotiated the path, which was as slippery and lethal as an ice-rink. The air was like a knife cutting through to their lungs; the stars were coldly bright against the black sky and the moon was glowing. It was a perfect night for an enemy raid.
The Anderson shelter stank of damp and mould, the floor littered with leaves that had blown in from the nearby trees, and every corner was strung with thick spiders’ webs. It was as cold as a morgue. Peggy quickly settled Cordelia into her deckchair, which was jammed into a corner, and then added pillows to ensure she didn’t slip out of it if she fell asleep – which she usually did within minutes of taking out her hearing aid.
The sirens were louder and more demanding now and Peggy knew she didn’t have much time before some officious warden came along and shouted at her to turn off her kitchen light. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said once she’d lit the tilly lamp.
Dashing back to the house, she kicked off her slippers and rammed her feet into her outdoor shoes. She grabbed her scarf, gloves and hat and shoved the airgraphs into her pocket. With the door closed on the range fire, she turned off the light and reached for the heavy box.
She fumbled her way down the stairs, slammed the back door behind her and skidded and slipped down the treacherous path, guided by the bright moon and the phosphorescent beams of the searchlights that swayed back and forth across the dark sky. She was shivering by the time she’d closed the shelter door and her nose and fingers were tingling with the biting cold.
‘I do hope it’s a short raid,’ whimpered Cordelia. ‘I don’t think I can survive a whole night of this terrible damp cold.’
Peggy quickly placed a blanket over her knees and another round her shoulders before tucking the hot water bottle under her hands. ‘I’ll light the kerosene stove and that will chase away the chill,’ she soothed. But as she lit the stove and turned it so Cordelia could get full benefit of it, she was worried. Cordelia rarely complained, and this bitter cold was dangerous for elderly constitutions already weakened through arthritis.
Cordelia snuggled into the blankets and pillows as the first squadron of Spitfires, Hurricanes and Typhoons took off from Cliffe aerodrome and screamed overhead. But the thunder of the enemy bombers was ominously close, and the metal walls of the shelter began to vibrate from the noise.
Peggy kept a wary eye on Cordelia as she pulled on her gloves and hat and then wound the scarf round her neck. She could already feel the damp chilling her bones and see the hazy clouds of her breath, and could only thank goodness that Daisy would be in Rosie’s dry and much warmer cellar during the raid. Then she suddenly remembered that Sarah had to walk across the hills from the Cliffe estate to get home, and for the first time, prayed that Captain Hammond was at hand to drive her to safety. She was still suspicious about that friendship, but at least he had his uses, and he was charming – she couldn’t deny that.
Having ensured they were both wrapped up against the cold, Peggy lit the small primus stove, poured fresh water from the thermos into the tin kettle and put it on to boil. There was a jar of Bovril in the emergency box, and a nice hot beefy drink would go some way to making their situation more comfortable.
Once Cordelia had her gloved hands wrapped round her tin mug, Peggy sat down on the bench and listened to the thud of the Bofors guns, the rattle of the flak and the roar of planes. It was going to be a noisy night.
As the corrugated iron walls streamed with condensation and the noise overhead grew steadily worse, Cordelia carefully sipped her Bovril while Peggy retrieved Jim’s airgraphs from her skirt pocket. Under normal circumstances, she would have read out the interesting bits
to Cordelia, but with the racket going on overhead, it would have been impossible, so she settled down to try and read them in the faint, flickering light of the tilly lamp.
The convoy Jim was on had crossed the equator, and they’d marked this with a ceremony which involved an officer dressed as Neptune, and several marines done up as mermaids, which caused a great deal of hilarity. The captain presented Neptune with a drink of beer, so he would bless the ship and give it a safe passage. This was followed by a sort of playful mutiny in which officers were captured, smothered in tar and custard, and then thrown overboard. Once everyone had had their ducking there was dinner of goose and marrow, and they got paid their wages. It was the most fun Jim had had since they’d set out on this voyage.
In the following letter, Jim wrote how the weather was changeable, hot one minute, and surprisingly cold the next. One of the convoy ships broke down and they’d left her with a destroyer as an escort while they steamed round waiting for her to be mended, which had taken all day. Time passed with quizzes, boxing matches, concerts and deck sports, and because the weather had turned very cold, they’d changed back into battledress, which felt very odd after so long in the lightweight tropical kit. The sighting of whales, seals and a large flock of albatross had lightened his spirits, but he was missing her terribly and beginning to hate the restrictions of life on board. They were due to disembark within the next few days, and from there they would be sent to their various postings. He loved her more than ever, sent kisses to everyone and signed it, as usual, SWALK.
Peggy had tears in her eyes as she carefully put the airgraphs back in their brown envelopes. She missed him too, every single moment of the day and night. She looked up as the noise of the bombers and fighters increased and shook her fist. ‘Damn you, Hitler,’ she hissed. ‘Damn you to hell and back.’
The Anchor had only been open for five minutes when the sirens started. The bitter weather had kept people at home, and Rosie’s barmaids had the night off, so she’d bolted the front door and gone down into the cellar with Ron and Daisy, the dogs running eagerly in front of them. Harvey still hated the sound of the sirens, and he sat in a corner howling piteously until they were replaced by the shriek of fighters and the drone of bombers, and then he slumped down beside an unfazed Monty to happily doze.
Rosie sat close to Ron on the sagging couch with Daisy in her lap. Harvey and Monty had commandeered the other couch and were stretched out like emperors, contentedly snoring as the dogfights went on overhead. ‘Daisy’s such a good baby,’ she said as she cuddled her. ‘She doesn’t seem to mind the noise at all.’
‘Aye, well, she’s been born to the sound of it, so she has,’ said Ron proudly. ‘She’s a bonny wee girl, and has her mother’s spirit.’
Rosie held the tiny girl close, revelling in the scent and feel of her against her heart. If only things had been different – if only … But they were the saddest of all wishful words, for there was no changing the past and she’d had many years to learn to live with the consequences.
‘Are you all right, acushla?’
Rosie barely heard Ron as she looked down at the baby in her arms and marvelled at the long eyelashes that were fluttering in sleep against the sweet, soft cheeks, and the tiny fingers that were laced beneath her chin. How darling she was, how very precious. Oh, how deep were her regrets and how much she envied Peggy and all other mothers, for she had so much love to give and had been denied the chance to ever know what it was like to hold and care for her own child.
‘Rosie?’
She hastily pulled her thoughts together. ‘I’m just tired,’ she replied. ‘The long days and busy nights have started catching up on me, that’s all.’
He put his arm round her and gently drew her into his side so her head could rest on his sturdy shoulder as she cradled the sleeping Daisy. ‘You should get that brother of yours to do more,’ he rumbled. ‘Where was he all day – and why isn’t he here now?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I don’t really care,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve had enough of looking out for him.’
Ron drew back so he could look down into her face. ‘Is there something you’ll be wanting to tell me, Rosie?’
Rosie couldn’t lie to him, but she’d have to be careful not to rouse Ron’s temper – it would only make things worse if he and Tommy got into a fight. ‘He seems to have got himself into debt, yet again, but he’s chosen the wrong people to owe money to. I’ve told him straight I’m not giving him a penny, and that he’ll have to wriggle out of it the best he can.’
‘To be sure, he’s capable of wriggling out of most things,’ Ron said flatly, ‘but at least you had the sense not to give him any more money.’ He regarded her for a moment. ‘But how did he get into debt in the first place? Who are these people?’
‘I honestly don’t know who they are. He refused to tell me.’
‘Which means they’re a bunch of crooks.’ He removed his comforting arm and sat forward on the couch so he could look her in the eye. ‘He’s up to his old tricks again, isn’t he?’
Rosie’s gaze flicked away and she gave a shrug.
Ron was silent for a long moment as he reached in his pocket for his roll of tobacco. As he opened it and began to fill his pipe, his hands stilled. ‘This is good tobacco, Rosie. Where did you manage to find it, because I haven’t seen this brand in the shop for months?’
Rosie licked her lips and couldn’t think clearly enough to answer him.
He reached for her hand. ‘Rosie darlin’, you’ve got to stop protecting him. Especially if he’s dealing on the black market. You have too much to lose if the police come calling. And they will, Rose. As sure as eggs is eggs.’
‘I know,’ she sighed in defeat. ‘That’s why I gave the tobacco away and put the drink down the sink.’
Ron gave a low whistle. ‘That was a dangerous thing to do, Rosie girl. How did he take that?’
Rosie finally managed to look him in the eye. ‘Not well. But that’s an end to it, Ron,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t want you getting all steamed up about it. Tommy’s in enough trouble over the money he owes – he’ll get what’s coming to him without you becoming involved.’
‘Aye, I can see you’re right about that,’ he said solemnly. He concentrated on filling his pipe with the illicit tobacco. ‘But there’s more to your worries than just Tommy, isn’t there?’
‘I think Tommy’s enough to be going on with, don’t you?’ she said lightly as she got up from the couch and placed the sleeping Daisy in her pram. She took her time to pull the covers over her, for she was trying desperately to think of a way to distract him from this dangerous line of questioning.
‘I hope this raid doesn’t last too long,’ she said as she headed for the primus stove to boil a kettle. ‘It’s not good for a baby to be in such a cold place.’
Ron crossed the floor and gently stilled her hand. ‘Rosie,’ he said softly, ‘stop that and look at me.’
She reluctantly turned to face him, knowing that her thoughts and fears were showing in her expression.
‘I got back with the dogs and overheard some of your conversation with Tommy this morning,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re worried about young Mary, aren’t you?’
She nodded, and that acknowledgement eased the great weight she’d been carrying on her shoulders ever since morning. ‘So, you know about Cyril?’
‘I know it was an alias Tommy used many years ago. But how does young Mary fit into all this?’
She shrugged and gave a deep sigh. ‘That’s the strangest part of it. I can’t see how she could be, but Eileen overheard her asking about Cyril, and now Tommy’s got it into his head that she’ll cause trouble if she finds out the truth.’
Ron frowned. ‘Eileen? But why should Eileen Harris be dragged into it?’
Rosie shook her head and gave a wry smile. ‘Tommy can still wrap her round his little finger – more fool her.’ She folded her arms tightly round her waist, her dislike for Eileen
coming through in the flat tone of her voice. ‘I don’t think she actually cares much what happens to him as long as it doesn’t affect her comfortable little life – but she was willing enough to approach Mary to ask why she was looking for Cyril.’
Ron regarded her steadily. ‘And what did the girl say?’
‘Absolutely nothing, according to Tommy – which of course is like a red rag to a bull. Now he wants me to question her.’
Ron nodded. ‘Yes, I heard that part. Do you think it’s wise, Rosie? After all, it might lead to all sorts of complications, not only for Tommy, but for you as well.’
She frowned as she looked back at him. ‘It might be awkward, certainly, and I shall have to be very careful not to upset her in any way. But I can’t see that there could be anything the girl might say that could affect me. Tommy’s past was always going to catch up with him sooner or later – and I’ve never played any part in his dirty dealings.’
She smiled then and kissed his cheek. ‘Don’t worry about me, Ron. I’m tougher than I look.’
She turned away to make them both a cup of tea so she didn’t see the anxiety etched into his face or the trembling in his hand as he tried to light his pipe.
As the enemy bombers thundered overhead and the dogfights between the fighter planes continued, Tommy Findlay crawled into the profound darkness of the alleyway and slumped onto the ground amid the stinking litter that had spewed out of the dustbins. The pain in his broken leg was all-encompassing, spreading like fire through his body and roaring in his head. His eyelids were so swollen he could barely see, and as he struggled to breathe through his broken nose, the agony in his battered chest made him whimper.
The beating had been thorough and dealt with brutal efficiency by the four thugs, and Tommy barely heard the battle going on above him, for only the torment of his agony existed. Yet, deeply buried beneath that unbearable pain lay the knowledge that if he remained here, he would die.
He tried to move, but he no longer had the strength to even lift his head. Defeated, he drew up his knees, curling into the throbbing, gnawing pain, and almost welcomed the release from his torture that only death could bring.