Secrets of the Shipyard Girls Page 11

  ‘So, have they set a date yet?’ Dorothy asked Polly, who was now looking slightly less hungover.

  ‘Not yet,’ Polly said, scraping the last bit of gravy and mash from her plate. ‘But my guess is they won’t hang about.’

  ‘Was there any mention about what Bel is going to wear?’ Rosie asked curiously.

  The women all looked at Rosie, surprised that she, out of all the women, would be asking about such things.

  Polly laughed. ‘I think the smartest bit of clothing Bel has in her wardrobe is her clippie uniform. I’m sure she’ll find something, though. Anyway, you know Bel, she would look good in a load of rags sewn together.’

  ‘Mm, I might have an idea,’ Rosie said thoughtfully, as she got ready to leave. The women stared at her, awaiting more information.

  ‘That’s all I’m going to say for the moment!’ she said with a chuckle.

  ‘Anyway, Glor,’ Dorothy said, pushing her plate away, ‘while we’re on the subject of weddings and the like, you thought any more about Hope’s christening?’

  Gloria sighed loudly and dramatically. ‘Give me time to breathe, won’t yer.’

  ‘Glor,’ Dorothy put on her poshest voice, ‘I am just carrying out my designated role as Hope’s appointed godmother. And the rules are that my goddaughter needs to be christened – and sooner rather than later.’

  Gloria shook her head from side to side in exasperation. ‘There will be a christening – I promise, Dorothy, but first of all I’ve got a divorce to sort out.’

  As the women enjoyed the last few minutes of their lunch break, they continued to chatter on about every aspect of Bel’s wedding.

  Polly sat back, and listened to the banter, her mind drifting to thoughts of Tommy, and idly wondered what kind of wedding they would have. She chuckled to herself as she imagined all her workmates kitted out in ivory white bridesmaids’ dresses, traipsing down the aisle after her. It would certainly be a sight for sore eyes.

  ‘How’s that hangover doing?’ Rosie asked Polly as they packed up and got ready to join the throng of dirt-smeared workers hurrying to the main gates.

  ‘Oh, I feel loads better now, thanks, Rosie. A mound of shepherd’s pie and a gallon of tea have helped no end. Sam’s been back and forth like a yo-yo refilling my flask. Poor lad.’

  Rosie chuckled at the thought of the yard’s skinny little tea boy, his long metal pole of clanging tin cans swaying like a seesaw across his shoulders, being run ragged by Polly’s need for tea.

  ‘Do you fancy a quick trip into town before you head home?’ she asked.

  Polly looked more than a little surprised. Rosie was never one to hang around after work. Even when they went out for the occasional drink at the Admiral, she’d always be the first to leave.

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ Polly said. ‘The reason being …?’

  Rosie laughed. ‘Grab your gas mask and bag. I’ll explain as we go.’

  Polly did as she was told, adding, ‘As long as it doesn’t involve any kind of alcoholic beverage, that’s fine by me.’

  For a change Rosie and Polly didn’t take the ferry across the river but jostled shoulder-to-shoulder with the horde of mainly male workers up the cobbled lane from the yard on North Sands to Dame Dorothy Road, where they ran and jumped on a tram just as it was pulling away.

  Climbing to the top deck, Polly glanced to her left as they passed the lovely thirteenth-century St Peter’s Church, one of the oldest churches in the whole of the north-east – possibly even in the country. Behind it she could just about see the necks of the huge metal cranes peeking above the embankment, ready to serve the shipyards and engine works which lay on either side of the river.

  ‘So, come on,’ she said as they caught their breath, paid their fares, and found a seat, ‘tell me what the mystery trip into town’s all about. I’m itching to know.’

  ‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘when we were all chatting about the wedding, I was thinking how much it’s going to cost Bel and Joe. Even if it’s a small affair, like you say, it’s still going to put them back a bit. And, let’s face it, no one’s exactly flush these days.’

  Rosie paused as a group of shipwrights spilled on to the top deck, shouting and joking.

  ‘So, I was thinking how I could help out.’ Rosie glanced at Polly, before adding quietly, ‘Especially after Agnes looked after me that night.’

  Polly looked back at her boss and saw just how deep her gratitude was. None of them had ever spoken openly about the night Rosie had been attacked by her uncle – the night when Agnes had nursed Rosie through the most horrendous case of arc eye and tended to all the tiny burns she had suffered after having her face held over a live weld.

  ‘Honestly, Rosie, you don’t owe Agnes, or any of us, anything, we’ll just be chuffed to have you there. You will be able to come, won’t you?’ Polly asked.

  ‘God, yes, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Rosie said. ‘My own life is totally lacking in any kind of romance, so I might as well enjoy someone else’s.’

  Polly smiled, but felt sad for Rosie. She wanted to ask about her detective, but thought better of it. Whatever they’d had, it was now clearly over. ‘So? You were thinking …’ Polly prodded Rosie to continue.

  Just then the brakes of the tram started to hiss.

  ‘Our stop,’ Rosie said, ‘come on.’

  They both jumped off at the bottom of Fawcett Street, where there was a huge cordoned-off bomb site where Binns – the ‘Harrods’ of Sunderland – had once stood. Turning right, they started walking up Holmeside. Only then did Rosie finally start to tell Polly of her idea.

  ‘It’s a bit of a long story, really,’ she said, ‘and I don’t want to bore you with all the details, but early on this year I met an old schoolfriend of mine called Kate. She had fallen on some hard times and was begging in town.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Polly said quietly. She was listening attentively. It was rare for Rosie to disclose anything personal about herself, and never anything about her ‘other life’.

  ‘Anyway,’ Rosie said, ‘we got chatting and, well, the long and short of it is that Kate now lives at Lily’s. But,’ Rosie added quickly, ‘not to work there as such … We … that’s Lily and I, suggested that Kate stay in the spare room in exchange for being our cleaner. Like a live-in maid, really.’

  Polly was so entranced by every word coming out of her boss’s mouth that she didn’t even notice the two smiling young soldiers who had taken off their caps and moved to the side of the pavement to let them pass.

  ‘Then,’ Rosie said, her face brightening, ‘by chance we found out that Kate was a total genius with a needle and thread. Honestly, I swear she could be the next Coco Chanel – she even looks like her.’

  ‘I think I might know where you’re going with this,’ Polly said.

  As they passed Maynard’s the confectioners, Rosie slowed her pace.

  ‘So, Lily and I came up with an idea, which,’ she said, coming to a halt, ‘we’ve just managed to put into action.’ She pointed to the shop sign above them.

  ‘Welcome to Kate’s very own little seamstress shop – soon-to-be boutique.’

  Polly looked up at the new hand-painted sign which read ‘Maison Nouvelle’.

  ‘Wow!’ Polly said, eyes wide. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Maison is “house” and nouvelle is “new”. We thought it sounded nice even if people don’t know what it means. Plus Lily’s obsessed with anything French.’

  Rosie opened the glass front door, criss-crossed with tape to stop it shattering in the event of an air raid, and as she did so the little brass bell above them tinkled.

  ‘Oh Rosie, how lovely to see you.’ Kate hurried from behind her large wooden table on which was strewn a huge pattern, and a smattering of pincushions, needles and bobbins of thread. She gave Rosie a quick kiss on both cheeks.

  Polly was standing looking around her in fascination. This was like an Aladdin’s cave of all things fabric and fashion. There wer
e rolls of different textiles, some plain, some patterned, stacked up against the wall or lying on the floor. There were ribbons and lengths of lace hanging from coat hangers and hooks, and boxes full to the brim with an assortment of buttons and all kinds of other haberdashery.

  The shop’s centrepiece was the huge table Kate had been working at, which had a long iron measuring tape embedded in its thick wooden top. To the side was a dressmaker’s mannequin, partially dressed in swirls of rayon and laced with needles.

  ‘So … Polly, this is Kate. Kate – Polly.’ Polly forced her eyes back to the young woman who stood in front of her, her hand held out. Polly grabbed her hand and shook it energetically.

  ‘This place is incredible,’ she said, ‘it really is. How long have you been open? I’m surprised Dorothy and Angie haven’t been here.’

  Kate beamed at Polly’s compliments.

  ‘Well,’ Rosie interrupted, ‘that’s because it’s not officially open yet.’

  ‘Come and have a cup of tea out the back,’ Kate beckoned, heading towards a thick curtained partition. Polly watched Kate walk towards the back of the shop and tried to imagine this pretty, well-dressed and perfectly coiffured young woman sitting on the streets with her hand stretched out begging for change, but couldn’t.

  When Polly ducked round the velvet door panel, she found herself in a tiny, but very warm and cosy back room. There was just enough space for a stove and a little square table.

  Kate told Rosie and Polly to sit while she made the tea.

  ‘It really is quite a wonderful place,’ Polly said.

  ‘Well,’ Kate said, as she carefully poured the tea into three small china cups, ‘it’s going to be wonderful. I’ve got so many ideas – and hopes.’ Her manner was timid but she held herself with confidence – a confidence that Lily had been trying her hardest to instil in her. Since her arrival at the bordello in March, Lily had taken it upon herself to transform Kate from the raggedy down-and-out street beggar she had once been, into a well-spoken and well-groomed young woman.

  ‘I’m going to start off doing basic seamstress work, lots of make-do-and-mending, some tailoring, that kind of thing, you know. Since clothes rationing came into force, people are wanting curtains and all kinds of things made into dresses … and,’ she added a little self-consciously, ‘I hope to create my own designs – see if anyone likes them enough to buy them.’

  ‘Which they will,’ Rosie said, taking a big slurp of her tea. ‘I’ve seen some of her designs,’ she told Polly.

  Rosie looked at both women seated opposite her before turning her attention to Kate.

  ‘But, now for the reason we’re here … Polly came into work this morning not only with a hangover …’ Kate giggled softly as Polly pulled a shocked face as if trying to deny the accusation. ‘But,’ Rosie continued, ‘she also came with the marvellous news that her brother Joe has proposed to her sister-in-law Bel.’

  Kate looked slightly puzzled.

  Quickly, Rosie explained, ‘Bel was married to Joe’s brother, Teddy, but he was sadly killed out in North Africa at the end of last year.’

  Kate was now looking even more puzzled.

  ‘You see,’ Polly butted in, ‘Joe was injured and was shipped back home and it was Bel who nursed him. In a nutshell, the pair of them fell in love – and are now wanting to get married.’

  ‘Which,’ Rosie broke in, ‘is where you come in …’

  Kate’s face lifted in comprehension.

  ‘You see,’ Rosie swung her gaze to Polly, ‘I was thinking this afternoon about what to get Bel and Joe for their wedding present, and I was also wondering how Kate was getting on today setting up the shop – and that’s when the idea struck me! If Bel is in agreement I’d love to bring her here and for Kate to design and make her a dress for her wedding. What do you think?’ She looked at them both for their reaction.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Rosie,’ said Polly, genuinely taken aback. ‘I think that is the most wonderful, kindest and most thoughtful present ever. Bel will be over the moon, but she’s a proud one. I know she’ll want to pay for it herself. She hates anything that smacks of charity.’

  ‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘you’ll just have to tell her straight. It’s a present – and people don’t pay for their own presents. It’s as simple as that.’

  Rosie turned her attention to Kate.

  ‘And this can be your first commission, Kate. You’ll get paid the going rate, and if Bel is all right with it, you can put the dress in your window after the wedding to show customers just what you can do with those nimble hands of yours.’

  Kate instinctively looked down at her hands, before quickly looking up again with excitement sparkling in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, I would do it for nothing, Rosie, no one has to pay me,’ she said, imploringly.

  Polly had automatically followed Kate’s gaze down to her hands and been shocked to see how gnarled they were for someone of her age. One of her fingers looked a little wonky, as if it had been broken and never healed properly, and there were old calluses on her knuckles. Her nails were also bitten so badly the tops of her fingers and thumbs looked swollen. Quickly Polly looked back up.

  ‘This is just so exciting,’ she said, looking at Kate and then Rosie. ‘I can’t wait to get back and tell Bel.’

  ‘Tell her to come round tomorrow,’ Kate said, ‘if she gets a chance. We can chat through some ideas. I’ll draft out a few sketches tonight.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I know all you want to do now, Kate, is get back to Lily’s and raid her collection of Vogue.’

  Kate chuckled. Rosie had read her mind.

  In a few minutes Polly and Rosie were back out on the street, with Polly saying her thank-yous and Rosie brushing them off.

  The two women walked down Holmeside and on to Borough Road before going their separate ways – Polly back to Tatham Street, excited about telling Bel the news, and Rosie back to her flat where she was planning to have a quick wash down and change of clothes before heading out to Lily’s for the evening.

  Kate left the Maison Nouvelle at seven o’clock when darkness had fallen. After buttoning up her thick woollen coat and pulling out a jangle of keys from her pocket, she locked up. Then she stood back and looked at the shop – her shop.

  As she did so, something caught the corner of her eye and she looked right, but with no street lights on she couldn’t see much. She felt a shiver go down her back as her eyes fell on the darkened outline of the town’s Museum and Winter Gardens with its two huge Romanesque pillars. She had spent countless nights freezing to death huddled at the top of the stone steps that led to the entrance, either starving hungry, or half-cut on cheap spirits.

  Kate turned away from her memories and started walking up to Park Lane. She quickened her pace. It was dark and cold and she wanted to be shot of all reminders of her past life. As she reached the bus depot she broke into a jog in her eagerness to get back to Lily’s, where it was warm, and there was laughter and music and joviality, and where she could get sketching out some ideas for Bel’s wedding dress that were already floating across her mind’s eye.

  It was only by chance that he spotted Rosie and Polly coming out of a new shop called Maison Nouvelle. The two women had been so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them had spotted him on the other side of the road, nor had they paid heed to anyone else around them.

  Seeing Rosie made him stop dead in his tracks in the middle of the pavement, causing a woman with her pram to run into the back of him. The woman apologised profusely, but he reassured her that the fault was all his.

  As usual, whenever he saw Rosie or was in her company, or even when he just thought about her, his whole being became more alive, more alert, more energised. Seeing her now he instinctively wanted to rush over to her, to go and talk to her, but thankfully his head caught up with his galloping heart, and reminded him:

  Rosie does not want you, Peter!

  And not only did she not want him, but she had
made it clear it would not be a good idea for them to simply be friends.

  That had hurt, but he had known she was right. They could never be just friends. It would have been torment for him. But what was niggling him was that, for some inexplicable reason, he felt that it would be torment for her too.

  Why?

  Why did he feel that?

  It made no sense.

  Again his heart was speaking to him – and not his head.

  Seeing Rosie had floored him, and instead of carrying on walking up to the police station in town, he found himself going into a little coffee shop across the road from the Maison Nouvelle, where he ordered a cup of tea and a sandwich. He told himself it would be a change to the canteen at the police station, but really he just wanted a little time on his own to gather his thoughts before starting the night shift he had volunteered for.

  As he sat there, forcing down a dry corned beef sandwich, he kept thinking about Rosie.

  Why couldn’t he accept it was over? Why didn’t it feel like it was really over between the two of them?

  You just have to give up, Peter. She said she doesn’t want you. Accept it.

  After paying for his stale sandwich and weak tea, DS Miller left the café. As he did so he heard the tinkle of a shop bell and looked across the road to see a petite young woman locking the door to the Maison Nouvelle.

  He was about to carry on to the station when the woman turned and looked down the road. She looked deep in thought. It was dark but he immediately recognised her, although, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where from. He continued on his way, racking his brains as to who the woman was. He hated it when his memory failed him.

  As he turned to walk up Fawcett Street and passed the badly bombed Binns department store, it suddenly came to him.

  It was Kate, the beggar girl!

  From what he remembered she had spent quite a few years on the streets. Strange, though, that she was now working in a shop. And in charge, by the looks of it.

  And what a coincidence Rosie and Polly had been in the shop.

  Five minutes later, DS Miller stepped through the swinging glass doors of the Sunderland Borough Police headquarters.