Wartime at Liberty's

by Fiona Ford

  ‘What do you mean?’ Flo asked, setting the paperwork back on the desk and folding her arms.

  Henry let out a long sigh and Flo allowed herself to feel a pang of sorrow for the man whom she had once looked up to. ‘I mean I’ve never stolen anything in my life.’

  ‘But you’ve been to prison,’ she blurted.

  ‘I took the blame for someone else,’ he muttered.

  ‘What do you mean? Who?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ Henry said in exasperation, rubbing a hand across his face. ‘I know you want answers, but I can’t give you them. I’ve said as much as I can.’

  ‘But that’s not good enough. If you want to clear your name, if you want to come back to Liberty’s, then you’ll have to start talking to me – or at least to someone. What about Celia or Mr Button? Does he know any of this?’

  ‘Celia knows everything; she was there. As for Mr Button, he knows I took the blame for someone else and went to prison, and he knows why I can’t talk about it. It’s why he vouched for me with the board, and it’s why he’s trusting me now when I say I had nothing to do with it.’ His eyes filled with earnestness as he gripped her hand. ‘Please believe me, Flo. Please help me.’

  Flo’s heart went out to him. She could see he was upset, that it had all gone wrong for him somehow. But then she remembered the disappointment on the faces of all her colleagues when the money had gone missing, the way that all their hard work and hopes for the war effort had been blown apart. And here was her former superior, who could help clear up this confusion if he would only start talking to people and telling the truth. She understood that he was keeping his mouth shut to help other people but equally he had to think about those caught up in the affair. What about Stan? What about the staff? What about the war effort? What about her?

  ‘I’m sorry, really I am.’ Flo sighed. ‘But you have a history with Mr Button and Celia. They know you of old, I don’t, and much as I want to believe you, unless you give me more of an explanation I’m afraid I can’t help. Please believe me when I say there’s nobody more sorry about this than me.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Then I think from now on it would be better if we kept our relationship professional. So, shall we go over those notes so I can ensure everything remains ship-shape?’

  With that she opened the folder and pulled it towards them. She knew she was doing the right thing, but if that really was the case then why did she feel so wretched?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It had been a difficult couple of days since Henry had handed over his workload to Flo. Not only had she struggled to make sense of his notes, but she hadn’t stopped worrying about him or the state of Liberty’s and she had even gone into work that Sunday to try and make sense of her new duties.

  It hadn’t even helped that she had woken to the news that the RAF had successfully bombed parts of Berlin, dropping over a thousand tons of incendiaries on the city. As she sat in the Bell Street kitchen on Sunday morning, first light pouring through the windows, Flo gulped down a cup of tea with Dot sitting opposite. They were both hanging on to the newsreader’s every word that the British raid had been the largest on the German capital in two months.

  ‘Well, that’s us done for then,’ Dot said, getting up to wash her cup out.

  Flo looked at her in surprise. ‘Do you think so?’

  Dot nodded. ‘Hitler will want payback for this, mark my words.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Flo said, sipping the last of her tea. ‘Maybe we’ve got him on the ropes now. Maybe he’ll retreat.’

  Dot snorted. ‘And maybe we’ll eat bacon regular again.’

  Flo said nothing as she got up and washed her own cup. Then, giving Dot’s shoulder a kindly squeeze, she finished getting ready for work. There were days when it felt as if the war would never end. And as Flo made her way to the store she couldn’t shake the feeling that Dot was right about the Nazis making Britain pay for this latest attack. It seemed as though it was a never-ending cycle of bombing, with the only true cost being the loss of human life.

  For the rest of the day as Flo worked to put Mr Masters’ affairs in order she couldn’t shift the feeling of misery that engulfed her. Everything seemed so hopeless. She had worked so hard to try and make things right, but there were times when it all seemed futile. The war was still in full swing, the troubles at Liberty’s seemed to be on-going, and Flo truly wondered just how much she would have to take before she could find a small corner of happiness.

  The thought plagued her all day as she worked in Henry’s office which overlooked shelled-out London. When Flo finished and made her way home to Bell Street all she wanted to do was have an early night. Yet the moment she walked into the dark hallway she heard the sounds of music and laughter coming from the kitchen. Curious, Flo shucked off her coat and shoes, then padded barefoot towards the source of the noise.

  Inside the kitchen, Flo found Alice holding Arthur in her arms, jiggling him delightedly up and down on the spot, while Dot, Mary, Rose and even Jean and Bess were circling the scrubbed pine table, the wireless blaring from the side of the kitchen. All the women were singing and dancing together, their faces alive with merriment.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked over the din, noting the bottles of stout that had been pulled from Dot’s emergency stash in the basement.

  At the sound of Flo’s voice, the laughter stopped as the girls gathered to welcome her.

  ‘There you are!’ Alice cried. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. Where have you been?’

  Flo shrugged. ‘Had to work today. I’m taking on some of Mr Masters’ duties while he’s out of the office.’

  At the mention of the deputy store manager’s name, Rose grimaced. ‘He’s a disgrace. I hope he never comes back to work at Liberty’s. I don’t know why Mr Button hasn’t called the police.’

  ‘’Cos things ain’t always that straightforward,’ Dot said bluntly. ‘You should know that better than anyone, Rose Harper, after your pick-pocketing earlier this year.’

  Rose coloured at the mention of her previous misdemeanours. ‘That was different.’

  ‘Why? Because it was you?’ Dot put in.

  ‘Dot’s right, Rose,’ Jean agreed. ‘I know it looks awful, but really we don’t know. Best to let the Liberty powers that be get to the bottom of it before we start kicking Mr Masters while he’s down. Sometimes things aren’t always what they seem.’

  Rose stretched out a finger to tickle Arthur’s chin. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s just difficult after we all worked so hard to raise the money for the war effort.’

  ‘Life’s not fair sometimes,’ Bess muttered. ‘We just have to make the best of it.’

  ‘And you look as if you’re doing a brilliant job of that,’ Alice said. ‘How are you coping with your injury now?’

  ‘You mean the loss of my hand,’ Bess said in a gruff tone. Flo couldn’t miss the way Alice winced in apology, clearly regretting bringing the subject up.

  ‘I didn’t mean …’

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ Bess replied more gently as Alice’s voice trailed off. ‘I just think sometimes it pays to call a spade a spade. But thank you, Alice, I’m adapting to life well without it. It’s early days yet, the medics tell me, and really I’m just grateful to be out of hospital. I’m going to look at other ways to serve my country.’

  ‘Are you?’ Rose cried in surprise.

  ‘’Course.’ Bess shrugged. ‘I thought I’d help you out more with your first-aid evenings for a start. I really enjoyed the last one.’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Rose enthused.

  ‘Good on you, darlin’.’ Dot nodded approvingly. ‘That’s a nice attitude to have, and one we should all adopt given that we’re celebrating.’

  ‘So I gathered,’ Flo said, helping herself to one of the bottles of stout on the table and pouring herself a glass. ‘What’s the occasion then?’

  At Flo’s question, all eyes turned expectantly t
o Mary.

  ‘The occasion is I’m going to be a mother!’ Mary cried proudly.

  Flo looked at her in confusion. ‘You’re pregnant? But how? David’s been away for months. Have you only just found out or something? You don’t look pregnant.’

  ‘No, you daft mare.’ Dot laughed. ‘Come on, Flo, use your head!’

  ‘But I don’t see what else it can be?’ Flo frowned, until suddenly her face broke into a wide smile: ‘Unless …’

  ‘Unless is right.’ Mary beamed, throwing her arms around her, sloshing stout down Flo’s back in the process. ‘Mabel Matravers contacted the authorities and Mrs Rawlins at the council was good enough to call in on me this morning of all days to deliver the good news in person. It seems that Mrs Matravers has had a change of heart and has agreed to let me and David adopt Emma the moment we marry.’

  Flo stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘More than sure. Mrs Rawlins says Mrs Matravers has even signed the paperwork in readiness,’ Mary said triumphantly.

  ‘Well, that’s wonderful news,’ Flo cried, feeling her bad mood evaporate and happiness flood through her.

  ‘I just can’t believe she’s changed her mind. She was so resolute she didn’t want us to adopt her,’ Mary said in disbelief.

  ‘Well, perhaps Mrs Matravers thought about it a bit,’ Flo offered, not wanting details of her good deed to go noticed.

  ‘Who cares why she did what she did?’ Alice replied, switching Arthur from one arm to the other. ‘Let’s be grateful she’s changed her mind. If nothing else baby Emma is now set to have a good life.’

  ‘And not only that, you deserve it, darlin’,’ Dot put in, turning to Mary. ‘You’re a born mum.’

  At the mention of the word ‘mum’ Dot’s face clouded over. The sadness that she experienced at never having become a mother herself wasn’t lost on Flo.

  ‘Have you contacted David?’ she asked.

  Mary shook her head. ‘I’ll send him an urgent telegram in the morning. I know he’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘You deserve it, love.’ Flo smiled. ‘All you need now is for David to come back and marry you and then you’ll be a proper family.’

  ‘I know.’ Mary hugged herself happily. ‘And not only that, the authorities said I can start to take Emma out again. Get to know her a bit better, that sort of thing, so she’ll be more settled when we do finally marry and can bring her home.’

  ‘Well, that’s wonderful news,’ Dot exclaimed. ‘You should have said before. We’ll have a big party for her.’

  Mary grimaced at the thought. ‘I think that might be a bit much, Dot. We don’t want to crowd the child.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Alice nodded. ‘Best to do it gradually. Anyway, if you want to throw anyone a party, you want to toast Flo here.’

  Flo coloured. ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Well, darlin’, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one that went to see old Mabel in the nick,’ Dot said, grey eyes twinkling.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Flo cried.

  ‘Because Mrs Matravers told Mrs Rawlins,’ Mary said with a roll of her eyes. ‘Did you think one of us had a second career as Sherlock Holmes?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Flo protested. ‘I just went to see her, pleaded your case.’

  ‘That’s not nothing,’ Alice said, looking at her with love in her eyes. ‘That’s a real act of friendship.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Flo shrugged, feeling embarrassed. ‘I just did what anyone else would do.’

  Mary stepped forward and took Flo’s hand. ‘You did a wonderful thing for me. I shall never forget it, ever. Thank you.’ With that Mary pulled Flo in for another embrace. ‘You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.’

  From nowhere, Flo felt tears of happiness well from deep inside. ‘You’re welcome,’ she managed to whisper, before wriggling free from her friend’s embrace. ‘Now then,’ she said, lifting up her glass. ‘I thought we were here to celebrate.’

  With that the girls clinked their glasses together.

  ‘Here’s to Mary, David and Emma,’ Dot called.

  ‘To Mary, David and Emma,’ the girls echoed.

  As Flo took a sip of her drink she felt her shoulders loosen and her headache lift. Perhaps life wasn’t all doom and gloom. Perhaps there were still moments of joy to be found amongst all this hardship.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The following Wednesday morning Flo made her way to the school for another piano shift feeling uncertain about the future. She had needed to change her days that week because of a stock take at work. Thankfully the school had been more than happy to accommodate. After the impromptu party on Sunday night where they had toasted Mary’s future, Flo’s unshakeable feeling that Hitler wanted revenge had been right. Bombs had dropped over East Dulwich way that weekend, and the din of heavy anti-aircraft fire had been audible in the Bell Street terrace four miles away. It had been a very disturbed night and nobody had got much sleep.

  Since then they had all enjoyed much better nights; however, the newspapers were full of reports of Sunday’s blasts. Flo paused at the newsstand near the bus stop and read the headlines. Shivering, she took in the scene of a row of houses being destroyed, people screaming as they fought for their lives. Just a couple of years ago, reports like this were commonplace, when London was struck by the Nazis almost every night. For the last year and a half Londoners had scarcely heard or seen a bomb. Occasionally, if you turned your back against the shelled buildings and scenes of devastation, it was almost possible to pretend that they were back in peacetime. Until front pages such as these propelled you back to the present.

  Flo turned her back on the papers and walked down the road towards the school. Like everyone else, she’d had enough of her life constantly being overshadowed by war but there were times when it seemed impossible to think about anything else. Pushing open the staff door at the back of the school building, Flo knew she had to put her feelings aside. Today would be a busy day. Not only was she helping out with the lunchtime music session – she was a bit early, in fact – but she had to cover her own job and Mr Masters’ later.

  Celia wanted to put on a big performance at the end of term, something to keep the children’s spirits up in the deep midwinter, and Flo had agreed to lend a hand, thinking there was nothing better than music to lift the spirits.

  Walking into the large hall, she was pleased to see Celia was already there putting out rows of chairs.

  ‘Flo, love,’ she called cheerily. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not bad,’ replied Flo. ‘How are you?’

  Celia shook her head vigorously, causing a lock of hair to fall from her bun and into her eyes. ‘Fed up with them bloody Germans! Thanks to them, I’m missing my outdoor privy.’

  ‘Of course!’ Flo exclaimed. ‘You’d have been just around the corner from where the bombs dropped.’

  ‘It was a nightmare,’ Celia sighed, sitting on one of the chairs for a moment. ‘The place was chaos. One poor lad fell through the ceiling into the room below. When he came to, he found hisself in the kitchen with a cooker on his chest!’

  Flo looked at her wide-eyed. ‘Oh my word! Was he all right?’

  Celia nodded and pushed the lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Miraculously he was unharmed. But enough about the Nazis. They’ve stolen enough of my weekend; I’m not letting them ruin my week as well.’

  ‘Well said,’ Flo replied, doing her best to smile.

  Celia frowned and laid a hand on Flo’s shoulder. ‘What’s got into you? Germans didn’t bomb you out ’n’ all, did they? Dot didn’t end up with a kettle on her backside?’

  This time Flo managed a half-smile. ‘Ignore me. I’m feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re allowed, Flo love,’ Celia offered. ‘You’ve had a lot to put up with lately. Forgive yourself a bit.’

  ‘I don’t know, Celia, I really don’t. It’s just, well, I feel so overwhelmed. I mean, first I l
ost Aggie, then Neil, and what with the renewed attack on London, not to mention all my friends that have been hurt through this flamin’ war like Rose and Bess, all of it just feels so pointless. I feel that life is one long stretch of misery.’

  As Flo finished speaking, there was silence, and she wondered if she had gone too far. Even in her miserable state she knew she sounded riddled with self-pity. She was about to apologise when Celia threw her arms around her and pulled her into her chest.

  ‘Flo, my love, you’ve every right to feel the way you do,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve had to weather more than your fair share, you really have. But I promise you that you will know happiness again. Actually, if you don’t mind me being honest, I think it’s time for you to face some cold hard facts.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Flo asked.

  There was a brief pause as though Celia were weighing up the pros and cons of speaking up before she continued.

  ‘Flo,’ she began, her tone firmer now. ‘I understand you’re grief-stricken, of course you are, but it’s as though grief has overtaken you and you’ve been frightened to live your own life. Refusing to do the things that bring you pleasure won’t bring your Neil or Aggie back, you know.’

  ‘I haven’t been,’ Flo protested. ‘I’ve been playing the piano.’

  Celia tutted. ‘Half-measures. It’s singing that will make you happy. I saw the way you lit up at the Palladium that night.’

  At the suggestion Flo shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why?’ Celia snapped. ‘And don’t give me some nonsense about lies and guilt over some silly letter. Your Neil loved you; if he didn’t he never would have been so hurtful. Indifference is the enemy in marriage, sweetheart, not hurt.’

  Flo locked eyes with Celia and knew it was time to tell the truth. ‘Because I enjoy singing too much; that’s the real reason.’

  ‘What on earth does that mean?’ Celia demanded.

  ‘I mean, I lose myself when I’m singing; I forget everything and everyone. Nothing else matters. I saw it with Aggie and I see it in you too. I’m the same and that’s the problem. Because if I sing then I forget to think about Neil and Aggie, and I can’t bear for them to slip from my mind for even a second.’