by Nancy Revell
Bel nodded.
Pearl turned to Helen. ‘If it’s about some bloke, pet, I’d say dinnit waste yer energy. They’re not worth the hassle.’
Bel looked at her ma as she hurried off. She shook her head in disbelief. The irony that they had just spent the last few hours frantically trying to locate Bill seemed completely lost on her ma.
‘You all right?’ Bel asked Helen as they continued to walk along the corridor and into the main foyer.
‘Not really,’ Helen said, trying to force a smile.
‘Do you want to chat about it?’ Bel eyed Helen.
She nodded.
Took a deep breath.
Then laughed through the tears.
‘What are aunties for, eh?’
The two young women looked at each other and both laughed loudly as they made their way out of the asylum and into the bright afternoon sun.
Chapter Sixty-Four
‘Twice in the space of twenty-four bloody hours … like a bad bloody penny,’ Pearl muttered to herself as she walked down the corridor.
‘Not even a mention of a bleedin’ Havelock in decades. Now they’re every soddin’ where I turn.’
Pearl took a right.
Even turning up in the local nuthouse – acting like one of the inmates.
Confused, she stopped in her tracks.
‘Did the auld cow at reception say right or left?’ Pearl spoke aloud to the empty corridor.
She stood, dithered for a moment, then turned left.
Ever since she’d told Isabelle the truth about who her father really was, there’d been a steady drip, drip, drip of Havelocks in her life – as though Bel’s awareness had dragged the bastard back from the past and into the present. She’d spent her whole adult life successfully avoiding Charles and all the heinous memories that went with him, and now – like a bad rash – they had come back with a vengeance.
Pearl stopped again then turned right.
Isabelle had got herself a job at Thompson’s and the drips had become a drizzle. A job Pearl was sure she’d applied for through curiosity about her ‘other family’ – at least that’s what she hoped was the reason.
She prayed to God that Isabelle wasn’t secretly after retribution.
If she was, she’d be swimming in shark-infested waters. You didn’t go up against men like Charles. A man with too much money, too much power and no conscience to speak of. A dangerous combination.
Pearl reached the end of another corridor and stopped again.
She had a horrible feeling she was lost.
She took another right turn.
And now Charles’s granddaughter seemed to be everywhere.
The drizzle had turned into a downpour.
Helen had ingratiated herself with the Elliot clan – as well as with Gloria and the bairn. She’d organised and paid for Pol’s wedding flowers, and Isabelle’s night classes. And she’d got her grandfather to pay for Arthur’s funeral and Pol’s posh doctor.
But worst of all, Helen had found out that Isabelle was blood.
Pearl stopped again and had a breather.
She was now officially lost.
This place was like a rabbit warren.
Hearing a voice further down, she decided to go and ask where on earth she was. Once she was pointed in the right direction, she would finally see Bill. Have her chat with him and get the hell out of there. This place was beginning to give her the creeps.
She started walking.
The voice became louder, clearer.
It was the voice of an elderly, well-spoken woman.
Her voice had a slightly melodic quality to it.
And was also familiar.
Pearl reached the room from where the voice was coming.
The door had been left wide open.
She knocked.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, looking into the room. The decor immediately took her breath away. The room was large, plush and filled with antiques. Beautiful. Almost majestic.
Not remotely like a hospital.
She took one step over the threshold and instantly felt as though she had taken a step back in time.
Her eyes fell on an ornate red-lacquered Chinese cabinet.
It looked so familiar …
She looked at the woman who was sitting with her back to her, chatting away as though there was someone right opposite her. The woman was talking to her reflection in the mirror.
Despite her advancing years, the woman was wearing a huge crimson and purple skirt and tightly fitted bodice.
Those clothes.
Piled chaotically high, dyed a rich reddish brown, diamanté hairpins sticking out at random.
That hair.
‘Sorry to bother yer,’ Pearl said, her eyes fixed on the woman.
She looked so petite.
Pearl waited for her to turn around. It didn’t take long – a few heartbeats – before the woman became aware of Pearl’s presence in the mirror.
And when she did, her eyes scrutinised her, then widened.
Then the penny dropped for both of them.
The woman spun round.
Her small hands went to her heart-shaped face, covered in garish make-up – a thick layer of powder, rouged cheeks, generously applied cherry lipstick, and a dab of cobalt blue on her eyelids.
Just like a Russian doll, Pearl thought.
She was transported back to the distant past.
A past she had tried her whole life to escape.
‘Oh my! What a surprise!’ the woman said, a smile spreading across her face.
She stood up and walked over to Pearl.
‘Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne!’
Pearl was fifteen years old again – in her own mind, as well as in the mind of the woman now opening her arms in an embrace.
‘It’s my Little Match Girl!’
Dear Reader,
So much of life, I believe, is about overcoming adversity. When I was a journalist, many of the stories I used to report on were known as TOT – Triumph Over Tragedy. They were always my favourite stories – the ones I really enjoyed writing, because I felt they gave hope to others who might be going through similar hardships.
My Shipyard Girls are such a diverse mix of women, but they all have something in common – they are all fighting their own battles, dealing with their own worries, and coping with their own difficulties. Just like most of us are today.
My belief is that triumph is in the trying.
And so, dear reader, I hope, if you are facing tough times yourself that you find the strength to keep trying. And to keep on trying.
With Love,
HISTORICAL NOTES
Local historian Meg Hartford came across this photograph of two real-life women welders who worked in the Sunderland shipyards. It was published in the Sunderland Echo during the Second World War with the caption: ‘It was not only unskilled work the women undertook during the war. Here two women get to grips with a heavy metal welding job in a Sunderland shipyard.’
Image credit: Sunderland Echo
Turn the page for a sneak
peek into my new novel
A Christmas Wish for
the Shipyard Girls
Prologue
Borough of Sunderland Lunatic Asylum
Sunday 16 May 1943
1.30pm
‘Sorry to bother you, Claire.’ Dr Parker was stood on the doorstep of Dr Eris’ little cottage in the West Wing of the Borough of Sunderland Lunatic Asylum.
‘Not at all, John. Come in. Come in.’ Dr Eris opened the door wide. ‘Seems like two minutes ago we were saying good night to each other.’
Dr Parker let out a bark of laughter and followed Dr Eris down the hallway. ‘It does indeed. Although the intervening time has been somewhat eventful.’
‘Very true. They’re saying it’s been the worst air raid yet.’ Dr Eris lead the way into the kitchen. ‘Sit yourself down. Let me make a quick cup of tea. It can be in place of the on
e you turned down last night.’
Dr Parker felt himself redden. ‘I hope you weren’t offended. I just didn’t want the hospital grapevine to go into meltdown. I think the very fact we went out for a drink together had the effect of sending the gossipmongers into a feeding frenzy.’
Dr Eris chuckled as she put the kettle on and placed two cups and saucers and a little jug of milk on the small kitchen table. ‘That’s the downside of working in a hospital that’s in the middle of nowhere – the entertainment tends to be generated inhouse. You can’t sneeze here without just about every member of staff and probably all the patients knowing about it too.’
Dr Eris poured boiling water into the tea pot and gave it a feisty stir. She had actually been the one to get the gossip going by casually dropping it into conversations with her colleagues that she and the eligible Dr Parker were going out for a drink and it was most definitely not for the purpose of talking shop. She’d also made a point of informing the receptionists at both the Ryhope and the asylum where she was going and with whom – just in case there was an emergency, of course.
‘So, tell me, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Dr Eris put the pot on the table and sat down.
‘I’m afraid I need to pick your brains about a patient who came in last night,’ Dr Parker said.
Dr Eris tried to hide the disappointment; she’d hoped the visit was a social one.
‘Tell me more,’ she said.
‘One old chap suffered a nasty bash on his head – fell over on his way to the shelter. He’s quite elderly and a bit unsteady on his feet. He’s been patched up, but he still seems very confused and I’m wondering whether or not his memory loss and lack of clarity are due to a possible concussion – or if it’s dementia.
Dr Eris poured their tea and added milk.
‘I can certainly take a look at him and give you my opinion,’ she said, a smile playing on her lips.
Dr Parker narrowed his eyes. ‘What is it you’re not saying?’
Dr Eris crossed her legs and leant forward a little, her teacup in her hands. ‘I was just thinking that – much as I’m sure you value my thoughts on the matter – it might be more enlightening if you got the office to track down his next of kin and find out if he seemed confused before the bombs dropped.’
‘Dear me –’ Dr Parker combed his hair back with his fingers ‘– I think it might be me with dementia. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m sure one of the nurses took a call from his son saying he’d be visiting later. I’ll speak to him then. You must think I’m as thick as two short planks.’
‘I think you’re anything but, John. But I do think you’ve been working round the clock lately and are exhausted. You need a decent night’s shut-eye. The effects of sleep deprivation, especially over the long-term, can mirror those of a dementia sufferer, you know?’
Dr Parker guffawed. ‘Thanks for the reassurance.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘So, tell me, how was last night for you?’
‘At the pub or the air raid?’ Dr Eris asked, deadpan.
Dr Parker laughed out loud. ‘I meant the air raid, but I have to say that I personally had a thoroughly enjoyable evening at the Albion.’
Dr Eris smiled. ‘Me too.’
As they drank their tea, the pair exchanged stories about the aftermath of the bombing. Dr Eris’ time had been spent checking and medicating those inmates who had become distressed by the disruption, Dr Parker had spent until the early hours in the Isolation Hospital in the West Wing, which had been converted into a makeshift ward for the injured. All the staff had done their bit, and most had gone to bed when they’d normally be getting up.
Finishing off his tea, Dr Parker pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘Well, I’d best get off.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Rounds to do.’ He looked at Dr Eris. ‘And thank you for the belated tea.’
‘You’re more than welcome,’ Dr Eris said, standing up and putting the teacups in the sink. ‘And I’ll take a look at your confused elderly gentlemen. You’ve got me curious.’
‘Thank you,’ Dr Parker said. As he made to go, he suddenly felt a little awkward. This would be the ideal opportunity to ask Claire out on another date. So, why was he hesitating?
‘Let me see you out,’ Claire said, turning and walking down the hallway.
As she opened the front door, she had to stop herself from slamming it shut again.
Helen was walking down the pathway to the Isolation Hospital.
Worse still, she’d spotted her, and was raising her arm to wave hello.
Dr Eris turned around to face Dr Parker.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t just the tea you passed up on last night.’
Dr Parker furrowed his brow in question as Dr Eris stepped forward, put her arms around his neck, and gently pulled him towards her.
Chapter One
Helen and Bel were sat on the wooden bench to the left of the entrance of the Borough of Sunderland Lunatic Asylum. The perfectly manicured lawns of the hospital grounds lay stretched out in front of them. Their faces turned heavenward and they basked momentarily in the solace of the afternoon sun. The beauty of their surroundings and balmy tranquility of this most idyllic of spring days was, however, in total antithesis of what had gone before.
Opening her eyes, Bel turned her head slightly. Helen still looked stunning despite the smudged mascara and slight puffiness around the eyes. ‘Just because you saw him coming out of Dr Eris’ accommodation, doesn’t mean he spent the night there.’
Helen gave Bel a sideways glance. Within the space of a few days Bel had gone from being simply one of her staff to a family member. A blood relative. Her aunty. Her mother’s sister. Her grandfather’s illegitimate daughter.
‘Oh, Bel, that’s nice of you to say, but if you’d seen the way they kissed …’ Helen’s voice trailed off.
‘It mightn’t have been what it looked like,’ Bel argued. ‘Dr Parker might have just popped in there for a cuppa. The kiss might have been chaste.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘Anyway, it’s late – a bit late for two people to be getting up.’
‘This is exactly the time they would be getting up –’ Helen felt the hurt in her heart as she spoke ‘– whenever there’s an air raid, John – and all the rest of the doctors and nurses – work through the night, making sure any casualties are tended to, treated, operated on – ’ She stared back up at the sun and closed her eyes. ‘I feel such a fool.’ She shook her head, annoyed at herself. ‘To think that John would want me.’
Bel looked at Helen in surprise. ‘I don’t see why that would be such a foolish thing to think. I can’t see any man not wanting you.’
‘I don’t mean want as in simply to desire.’ Helen sighed heavily. ‘I mean want as in want me as his sweetheart. His fiancée.’ She turned her face away from the sun and looked at Bel. ‘As the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.’
It was only then that Bel understood just how much Helen was not only in love with Dr Parker but how strong and deep her love for him was. This wasn’t just about some other woman snaring the man she wanted for herself, but her losing the man she was desperate to be with – forever. And Bel knew better than most that love like that rarely came along twice. She had been one of the lucky ones.
‘Well,’ Bel said, looking back at Helen, ‘I don’t think you should give up until you know the whole story. All the facts. You don’t know for certain he stayed over at her place. It might have looked like a kiss between two lovers, but that could have just been your imagination.’
‘Mmm,’ Helen mused. ‘I’m not convinced.’ She glanced at Bel and gave her a sad smile. ‘But I think you’re right in that I need to make sure I’ve got the correct end of the stick.’ She sighed. Her mind fell back into the past traumatic twenty-four hours – the shocking bombshell about her grandfather, followed by the worst air raid to date. The pervasiveness of all the death and destruction meted out on the town had driven her determinati
on to tell John that she loved him. That she didn’t just want to be his friend, but his lover – his lifelong soulmate.
‘Oh, there you are!’
Helen and Bel turned around simultaneously.
An attractive, smartly-dressed woman in a brown tailored skirt suit, with shiny, tawny-coloured hair twisted up into a French knot, was walking down the stone steps of the asylum. She had her eyes trained on Helen and a wide smile on her face.
‘Oh, no,’ Helen whispered under her breath.
Bel stared at the tall, slim woman now striding purposefully towards them. She reminded her a little of Katharine Hepburn. Amazing cheekbones, flawless skin with just a dusting of freckles.
Helen stood up and Bel followed suit.
‘Helen, I’m so glad I caught you before you left.’ She glanced at Bel and smiled before returning her attention to Helen. ‘That was you I saw in the West Wing, wasn’t it?’
Helen hesitated for a moment. She thought about denying it but realised there was no point.
‘Yes, your eyes weren’t playing tricks. That was indeed me,’ Helen said, trying her hardest to sound upbeat, and hoping to God it wasn’t obvious she’d been crying.
‘Ah, that’s good. Not going mad then.’ Claire grimaced a little. ‘I worry sometimes about making the crossover.’ She cocked her head towards the Gothic red brick frontage of the asylum. ‘They say it’s never a good idea to live and work in a hospital of this kind. One might get confused. Doctor or patient? Patient or doctor?’ She laughed lightly.
‘I didn’t see your friend with you though?’ She looked at Bel.
‘No, no, you didn’t.’ Helen didn’t elaborate, but instead turned to Bel.
‘Bel this is Claire – or rather Dr Eris.’ Helen pulled her mouth into a mock grimace. ‘That is, providing she doesn’t “make the crossover”.’