Wartime at Liberty's

by Fiona Ford

  There was a pause then as the girls looked at Rose in surprise. She hardly said two words to a goose and yet suddenly she had made a speech so full of insight it would rival those of Winston Churchill.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Bess muttered. ‘You want to start giving the Woman in White a run for her money when she waves the ships off with words of wisdom like that. The men on board’ll bloody well top ’emselves.’

  Rose looked suddenly shame-faced. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Bess said, her tone softer now. ‘You’re right, and I know you understand just how I feel.’

  ‘I am trying,’ Jean said, dropping a kiss on the young woman’s head.

  Bess squeezed Jean’s arm gratefully with her one good hand. ‘I know, and I’m grateful you’ve never left my side.’

  ‘Has your mother been?’ Mary asked.

  Rose opened her mouth to speak only for Bess to start talking over her.

  ‘She’s too busy but she’s sent a telegram.’

  ‘So how long you in here for then?’ Dot asked, ignoring hospital regulations and perching next to Jean on the end of the bed.

  Bess shrugged. ‘A few more days. Then they want me to go to a convalescent home and recuperate for a while.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Dot agreed. ‘It’ll help get you used to things before you’re back at Flo’s. I take it that’s what you’re still intending?’

  Bess and Jean looked at each other and smiled. ‘If Flo doesn’t mind?’

  ‘I’d be delighted. We’ll get everything sorted out for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jean beamed. ‘We weren’t sure. I mean we may not be able to pay as much without Bess’s wage and my Liberty’s savings.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that one bit,’ Flo urged. ‘It will just be nice to have you both back home where you belong.’

  The girls grinned at one another and Flo’s smile widened as she saw Jean plant another kiss on Bess’s forehead. Perhaps things would work out all right in time.

  ‘So what’s new at Liberty’s?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Well, we’ve got you a replacement,’ Dot said. ‘And a right cow she is too.’

  ‘A temporary replacement,’ Flo said, shooting Dot a warning look. ‘And she’s not a cow, and she doesn’t have designs on Mr Button.’

  At that Dot snorted. ‘Mr Masters is helping out as well. Very popular he is with the ladies.’

  ‘Dot!’ Flo admonished. ‘Will you leave Mr Masters alone?’

  ‘Only saying,’ Dot protested, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘Anyway, apart from that the fundraising rehearsals start tonight.’

  ‘Oh, excellent.’ Jean smiled. ‘Are you doing something, Flo?’

  ‘I am. I’m playing the piano, which is more than the rest of you.’

  ‘We’re doing costumes, lady,’ Alice exclaimed as Arthur yawned and wriggled in her arms.

  Mary laughed. ‘Yes, don’t blame us for the fact you’ve got a talent we don’t have.’

  Flo rolled her eyes at their teasing. ‘I’m only doing my bit.’

  ‘And I think it’s brilliant,’ Rose ventured, ‘which is why I’ve decided to resurrect first-aid nights for the public again.’

  ‘Bravo!’ Mary applauded. ‘About time. Those events were very popular.’

  ‘I know,’ Rose agreed. ‘I’m feeling so much better about everything now than I was when I started them and I want to move forward. That’s why I was hoping, Bess, that when you’re well enough, you’d come and talk to us about your experiences.’

  ‘Mine?’ Bess looked at Rose in disbelief.

  ‘Well, there was first aid on the spot, wasn’t there, when you had your accident?’ Alice said, getting to the point.

  Bess nodded. ‘There was. And doctors told me that without it, my burns would have been far, far worse.’

  ‘So will you?’ Rose begged.

  ‘All right,’ Bess sighed. ‘I mean it’s not like I can say no, is it, Rose? You’ll only start shouting again.’

  With that the girls broke off into laughter, and Flo couldn’t help noticing how Jean had never stopped holding her sister’s good hand. With a pang she thought how much easier life would be just now if she had someone to hold her hand through her pain.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was no other way of describing it, but Flo felt decidedly out of sorts as she made her way back from the hospital to Liberty’s. With Rose at her side chattering endlessly about how well Bess had looked and how marvellous it would be when she was recovered enough to join them for first-aid training, Flo found herself nodding and replying in all the right places but her heart wasn’t in it.

  Instead, all she could think as the bus crawled closer to central London was just how nervous she felt at the thought of playing the piano. She had hummed to herself in the bath since Neil’s death, sad lonely melodies filled with pain and anguish, but she hadn’t been near a musical instrument. And although she knew that she wasn’t breaking her vow of never singing again, playing the piano felt dangerously close.

  Despite the warmth of the bus, she shivered at the thought of it, struck by a sudden panic that she would be unable to perform. What if she’d forgotten how to play?

  By the time she and Rose reached Liberty’s, Flo had worked herself up into such a state that she all but flung herself into the pleating room as if she were about to face the executioner. She just wanted it over with.

  ‘Blimey, someone’s keen,’ Henry said playfully as Flo burst through the doors and rushed over to the old upright piano in the corner.

  ‘She’s been like this all the way back from Hayes,’ Rose said, out of breath as she struggled to keep pace with her friend.

  Flo lifted the lid of the piano and, pressing gently on middle C, she hummed lightly, relieved to find it was in tune.

  ‘I haven’t been like anything, Rose,’ she said, turning to face her friend. ‘I just want to get on, that’s all.’

  Rose said nothing, merely shaking her head and scurrying away. Returning her focus to the piano, Flo sat on the stool, her fingers hovering over the keys. As she stared at the notes before her, she realised she was nervous. Taking a deep breath, willing herself to get on with it, Flo pressed lightly on the keys, the first few notes of ‘Moonlight Sonata’ coming to her instantly. And the music immediately took her to another world; it was as though she could feel herself floating up, out of her body and away to a far-off land where all her heartache disappeared.

  As the piece came to an end, she opened her eyes and was surprised to find Henry staring at her, his round eyes filled with surprise.

  ‘You’re very good.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied.

  ‘I mean, did you play all that from memory, no sheet music at all?’ he asked, propping himself up on the edge of the piano on one elbow.

  Flo nodded. ‘I used to play piano as a kid for my Aunt Aggie when she was practising her singing, and for myself, for fun.’

  ‘But I thought you sang?’ Henry frowned. ‘Didn’t you do a turn at a pub?’

  ‘Not any more,’ Flo replied, turning her gaze back to the keys, indicating the matter was closed.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ Flo replied monosyllabically.

  ‘Well, if that’s you when you’re fine, I should hate to see you when there’s summat really wrong,’ he quipped in a broad Yorkshire brogue.

  Flo paused for a moment and smiled as she looked back up at him. ‘Sorry,’ she sighed, running her hands across her face. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘You went to see Bess, Rose tells me,’ Henry said.

  ‘Yes. She’s doing well.’

  ‘And how are you doing, Flo?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  Opening her mouth, Flo was about to reply and say all was fine, when she stopped herself and gazed into Mr Masters’ eyes. Something told her that he wanted to know how she really was, and she was sick and tired of pretending.

  �
�Not very well,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want to play the piano.’

  Henry nodded, his face full of understanding. ‘Any particular reason? Sick of Vera Lynn perhaps?’

  At the unexpected comment, Flo roared with laughter. How could anyone be sick of Vera Lynn?

  ‘No.’ She smiled, realising this was the first time she had laughed properly in days. ‘Nothing like that. It’s just today’s been a bit of a difficult day, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you looked like you were enjoying it a minute ago. You looked like you were somewhere else completely.’

  Flo said nothing. The truth of the statement only caused her to feel even more guilty at having a few moments away from her anguish.

  ‘Was visiting Bess more difficult than you thought it would be?’

  Flo nodded, her hands folded in her lap. ‘Yes. It made me think of Neil. I kept wondering if he suffered in his final moments or if he went quickly. Did he think of me as he died, did he still hate me for what I’d done?’

  Henry wrinkled his nose. ‘Why on earth would your husband have hated you?’

  Flo looked at Henry’s face. He looked genuinely interested to know, and before Flo could stop herself, the entire story of how she had lied about the singing she had adored and Neil forbidding it came tumbling out. By the time she had finished she hardly knew what to think about herself. She was a terrible person, no matter what the girls had said. She deserved to go through life feeling regret for what she had done. She had let her husband down, and she would have to find a way of living with the guilt.

  ‘I should have been more sensitive,’ Flo finished. ‘He hated the singing because of his mother. She ran off with a singer. It caused such misery in the family, and I think my singing in the pub reminded him of that terrible time.’

  ‘He should have been more sensitive to the fact that singing made you feel better when you were reeling from the loss of your aunt,’ the deputy store manager ventured.

  Flo looked up at him in surprise. The pleating room was noisy now as it filled up with performers ready to practise.

  ‘I’d never thought of it like that.’

  ‘There are two sides to every story, Flo,’ Henry said. ‘But you mustn’t worry over whether or not you were a good wife. We’ve all done things we wish we hadn’t and they don’t make us who we are.’

  As Henry broke off, Flo could see his chin was lowered and his brow furrowed with anger.

  ‘You look like a man who knows something about that.’

  Henry’s expression softened. ‘We’ve all made mistakes but I do know your decision to keep singing doesn’t define you or your marriage. It was just a part of it. You and Neil still loved one another and he wouldn’t have written to you so passionately if that weren’t true.’

  Flo paused for a moment. What if her boss was right? What if this would have been something they would have got over in time?

  ‘You know, Flo,’ Henry said, his tone measured as he interrupted her thoughts, ‘we all make mistakes with family; it doesn’t mean you don’t love them any less.’

  ‘It sounds like you know something about that,’ she repeated softly.

  Henry paled. ‘I understand guilt only too well, and just how hard it is to live with. Since I was fifteen I have blamed myself for my father’s death.’

  Flo looked at him in surprise. ‘How could you be responsible for your father’s death?’

  Briefly closing his eyes, Henry took in a deep breath. ‘Over twenty years ago I worked in the mines with my dad. It was a filthy, dangerous place but I was fifteen and what my dad said went. I didn’t argue, I respected him, but that didn’t mean I always did what he said. One day, I’d had enough and one of my pals suggested bunking off; we wanted to go to the pictures instead. I told Dad I felt too ill to work. Usually he’d never have stood for it – men went down them pits with all sorts wrong with them but they were tough – only Dad knew I wasn’t really cut out for life down the mines, no matter how much he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. So instead of tearing strips off me he sighed and said he’d cover my shift. Mum was out all day working herself as a charlady so I knew once Dad had gone that I could go out.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Flo coaxed.

  ‘What happened next is that there was an accident down the mine. The shaft broke and killed three men. One of them was my father.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Flo breathed.

  ‘It’s me that should be sorry, and I am – every single day of my life. If I hadn’t lied about being ill like that then Dad would never have gone into work because of me. It’s all my fault and I’ve spent my life ever since that day trying to atone for what happened.’

  Instinctively, Flo stood up and reached her hand out to comfort him. ‘This isn’t your fault. It was just a horrible accident.’

  ‘I know that’s true, Flo, but that doesn’t stop me blaming myself, or constantly asking what if.’ He looked at Flo and rested his hand on hers. The feel of his skin against hers gave Flo comfort and instinctively she felt a bond being formed between the two of them, a connection that only those who felt guilty over the loss of a loved one could understand.

  ‘And I bet you play that game in your head regularly enough too.’

  Flo felt her cheeks flush with the knowing in Henry’s eyes. It was if he were staring into her soul.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve lost count of the times I’ve said “what if” in the last month. But you must see that you were in no way to blame for your father’s death.’

  Henry shrugged, his eyes never leaving Flo’s. ‘Maybe, maybe not, but what I do know is I’ve learned to live with this pain and you will too.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  It meant a lot to Flo to know that Henry understood what she was going through. Their heart-to-heart had helped clear her mind, and had given Flo fresh perspective on Neil and her marriage. She knew she would never forget her husband and that there would be days that the grief would find her. But perhaps there was a way she could carve out a different life for herself.

  The following week, after a morning meeting with the other heads of department, Flo saw Dot, Alice and Mary in animated discussion looking like a group of customers who had just found a bargain in the Liberty New Year sale. As for Evie, Flo noticed she was on her own by the window running through what looked like paperwork. Flo did a double-take – the paperwork was her responsibility. Whatever was Evie doing with it? There was no time to find out as Dot beckoned her over.

  ‘You can’t have been on the shop floor for more than five minutes, whatever’s happened now?’ Flo remarked, eyebrow raised.

  ‘She’s been here half an hour,’ Dot fumed. ‘She and Edwin were going through some of the worsted wool fabrics.’

  ‘Worsted wool?’ Flo frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell us,’ Mary hissed, her cheeks flushed with indignation. ‘Said it was Board of Trade business.’

  ‘I’ll give her Board of Trade business,’ Alice snapped. ‘Who the flamin’ hell does she think she is?’

  Flo pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed deeply. She should have known the relative peace and calm of the last few days wouldn’t last.

  ‘Let me talk to her,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Dot said forcefully.

  Flo rounded on her. ‘No you won’t, I am department head. Besides, we don’t want a repeat performance of last week when you two nearly went at it like a pair of alley cats. Leave it to me.’

  Without waiting for a reply, Flo made her way over to Evie and found that she was actually knee deep in pattern books.

  ‘Morning, Evie,’ she called brightly. ‘What have you got there?’

  Evie’s head snapped up and she smiled warmly at Flo. ‘Mrs Canning, good morning. I was hoping I would find you. What do you think of this?’

  The cool late November sunshine streaming through the windows made it difficult for Flo to see what Evie was handing her. Tilting her head s
he could make out that Evie was showing her a pattern for a man’s utility suit.

  ‘Very nice. But why are you looking at men’s suits?’ Flo managed, handing the paper back to Evie.

  Evie’s cheeks flushed with excitement as she checked behind her shoulders to see if anyone might be listening. Catching Dot, Alice and Mary’s faces watching agog, Flo felt Evie’s hand pull her towards the window away from the girls.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ she said in a hushed tone.

  Inwardly Flo rolled her eyes. She was fed up with Evie’s theatrics. ‘All right,’ she said, turning away from her. ‘If you can’t tell me I quite understand, just put the pattern back in the files when you’ve finished.’

  Evie’s jaw dropped open in surprise, which gave Flo a small amount of satisfaction: she clearly hadn’t given the response Evie wanted.

  ‘No, I can tell you, Flo,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s just not for everyone’s ears.’

  ‘Go on then,’ Flo said in a bored tone.

  ‘Well, it’s all rather hush hush, but Edwin and I heard last night that the one and only Max Monroe has offered to perform at our fundraising night.’

  ‘What? The Max Monroe – the singer who performs with ENSA?’ Flo gasped, too stunned to be angry with Evie any longer. ‘When? How?’

  ‘Yes, the world-famous singer who entertains the troops as part of The Entertainments National Service Association,’ Evie said brusquely. ‘It’s no secret that Mr Monroe adores Liberty’s. Anyway, Mrs Hamble from jewellery told me that when he was in last week – purchasing a beautiful ring, I believe – he was chatting to one of the girls about the fundraiser. Next thing you know he’s asking to speak to Edwin, and offering his services as a headline act.’