Triumph of the Shipyard Girls Page 12

  ‘At the end of the day, Mother, we’re family,’ Helen said. She signalled over to the barman for another round of drinks. ‘It’s a true saying. Blood is thicker than water.’

  ‘It certainly is, darling, and to hear you say that – well, it really is music to my ears.’ There was only the slightest slur to Miriam’s speech. Helen knew if she’d had a gin in every tonic she’d drunk this evening, she’d be on the floor. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to put on the kind of performance she’d managed thus far – one that would have got her a standing ovation had she been performing at the Empire.

  ‘I know we’ve had our differences, Mother, but I have to say that you really are a force to be reckoned with.’

  Miriam smiled. ‘Why, thank you, darling. What makes you say that?’

  Her mother was angling for a compliment and Helen was more than willing to give her what she wanted, knowing that in return she was also going to get what she wanted.

  ‘Well, I was thinking the other day about how you found out all those – ’ Helen dropped her voice and leant towards her mother conspiratorially ‘ – secrets.’

  Miriam recrossed her legs and sat up in her chair. She reminded Helen of a bird shaking its tail feathers, revelling in the attention and admiration being foisted upon her.

  ‘The women’s secrets.’ Miriam copied her daughter’s conspiratorial tone.

  The barman arrived with their drinks and placed them on clean coasters.

  They were both quiet until he had gone.

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ Helen said, raising her glass and chinking it with her mother’s. ‘How on earth did you manage to find out all that information?’

  She had a sip of her cold tonic water, pretending to grimace at the strength of the non-existent gin.

  ‘It can’t have been easy.’ Helen looked at her mother. ‘I mean … honestly, Mum, Hercule Poirot has nothing on you.’

  Miriam’s face lit up. She had felt exceedingly pleased with herself at the time, but had always felt so frustrated that she hadn’t been able to boast about her antics to anyone. She hadn’t even confided in Amelia. She might be her best friend, but Amelia was hardly the best keeper of secrets. Now, finally, it looked as though she could make good on that missed chance to brag.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe it – even if I told you,’ Miriam said.

  ‘Go on, try me,’ Helen said. ‘There’s nothing that shocks me these days.’

  ‘Well, your dear mother here …’ Miriam said, looking about to make sure no one could overhear their conversation, ‘ … did a little bit of subtle prodding and poking around, and managed to find out the name of someone who, well, let’s just say someone who is, in real life, a bit of a Poirot.’

  ‘A proper private eye,’ Helen whispered.

  Miriam chuckled at the memory.

  ‘He was that. A proper private eye. As old as Poirot but without a shred of his grace and charm – or impeccable dress.’ Miriam took a sip of her gin. ‘God, you could tell the man was a widower. During my first visit there I couldn’t concentrate for looking at the gravy stain on his tie.’

  ‘Really? Sounds like some character in a film,’ Helen gently cajoled.

  ‘Exactly! And his office wasn’t must better. Very run-down.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t put yourself at risk going somewhere too rough and ready.’

  Helen had learnt over the years never to ask her mother a direct question if she wanted to know the answer. If her mother sensed you wanted to know something, she’d hold back, enjoying the power of having something she knew you wanted.

  ‘No, no, my dear, I was careful. It wasn’t exactly in the best part of town, but not the worst either. On the cusp.’

  Helen furrowed her brow.

  ‘It was on the corner of High Street West. Very discreet. No brass plaque on the main entrance, just a small one on the first floor.’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  Helen looked at her watch. It had taken a little over an hour.

  And three large G & Ts.

  ‘Funny set-up,’ Miriam mused, her mind now back in time. ‘He had this plain-Jane secretary working for him. A bit younger than you, but dressed like she was some old maid. Not a touch of make-up on, and believe you me, she could have done with some.’

  Miriam took another sip of her drink.

  ‘And the old man with the gravy stain,’ Helen said. ‘Did he do all the digging around?’

  ‘Mmm, I believe so.’ Miriam put her hand up and drummed her forehead with her fingers. ‘God, I can’t think of the name.’

  Helen didn’t speak.

  ‘That’s it!’ Miriam said. ‘Mr Pickering … Pickering & Sons. That was the firm. Never met the sons, though.’

  Another look of deep concentration.

  ‘And the young girl. Now what was her name …’ Another pause. ‘Georgina. The plain Jane was called Georgina. She was the one who put together the report I was given.’

  Miriam looked pleased with herself.

  ‘See.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your dear old mama’s memory.’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Helen agreed.

  At last! Time for a celebratory drink.

  ‘I’ll get us a nightcap,’ she said.

  She walked over to the bar.

  ‘Make that two gin and tonics this time, please,’ she told the barman.

  She went back and sat down.

  ‘It just shows you, doesn’t it?’ Helen said. ‘Scratch the surface and you’re bound to find something. Everyone’s got a skeleton shut away in their closet.’

  Miriam let out a tinkle of laughter. ‘That was exactly my thinking at the time.’

  Helen looked at her mother. ‘Makes you wonder about our family, doesn’t it?’

  She had got what she came for, but what the hell, it was worth trying for the bonus ball.

  Miriam let out a loud laugh.

  ‘God, darling …’

  She waited for the barman to put down their fresh drinks and leave.

  ‘ … I don’t know about your father’s side, but I think the Havelock skeletons would take up a whole dressing room.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday 30 January

  ‘Go and see yer aunty Aggie.’ Gloria let go of her daughter’s hand and watched her toddle down the hallway. Agnes had, as usual, left the front door ajar. It would have been wide open had they not been in the depths of winter and therefore freezing cold.

  ‘Ah, ’tis me favourite little girl.’ Agnes’s voice sang out as she appeared from the kitchen. Hope already had her arms in the air in anticipation of a hug. Agnes picked her up, giving her the once-over.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Gloria said. ‘She seems fine. No spots.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ Agnes said, giving Hope a kiss on her rosy, unblemished cheeks. ‘Yer boys keeping themselves safe?’

  Gloria nodded and crossed her fingers. ‘God willing.’ She looked over Agnes’s shoulder. Normally Polly would have been there, bustling down the hallway, pulling on her coat and hoicking her haversack and gas mask over her shoulders.

  ‘She’s not exactly tip-top this morning,’ Agnes explained, putting Hope down. ‘Said the milk smelled off – or odd. She couldn’t quite decide.’ Agnes raised her eyebrows at Gloria. ‘Said it was making her feel a bit queasy.’ She hung Hope’s little woollen coat up on the stand. ‘She’s in the lavvy.’

  The two women exchanged looks but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’m ready!’ Polly’s voice sounded out as she clattered through from the kitchen. Tramp and Pup roused themselves from their basket and pottered after her.

  ‘You feeling all right?’ Agnes scrutinised her daughter. ‘You look as white as a sheet.’

  ‘Yes, Ma, honestly, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.’

  Agnes, Hope and the two dogs watched as Polly and Gloria stepped out onto Tatham Street and were immediately swept away in a swell of flat caps,
all bobbing in the direction of the docks.

  Within a few minutes, Polly and Gloria were crossing the Borough Road and making their way down Norfolk Street. It was still dark and the pavements, as usual, were jammed with overall-clad bodies making their way to work.

  ‘You all right?’ Gloria said.

  ‘I think so.’ Polly gave Gloria a fleeting look as they circumvented two old men who had stopped to light their hand-rolled cigarettes.

  ‘Yer look a little pale, ’n yer ma said you’d been feeling a bit sickly?’

  Polly looked at Gloria but didn’t say anything.

  They turned right onto High Street West and carried on walking as the long stretch of road became High Street East.

  Polly gave Gloria a sidelong glance.

  ‘I think I might be pregnant.’

  Gloria turned her head to get a good look at her workmate.

  ‘How long since yer last monthly?’

  ‘A couple of weeks before the wedding.’

  They slowed their pace as they turned the corner onto West Wear Street.

  ‘I remember because I was glad I didn’t have to worry about it when we were staying at the Major’s flat.’ Where she and Tommy had enjoyed their week’s honeymoon before their wedding. ‘And I was even more relieved I didn’t have to worry about anything like that on our actual wedding day.’

  ‘So,’ Gloria said, as they slowed their pace, ‘I’m guessing, if yer have fallen, it would have been the period from when you ’n Tommy made up – a week before yer got married?’

  Polly nodded.

  ‘In my reckoning that’ll make yer around six weeks gone – give or take,’ Gloria said.

  As they turned left and started down Bodlewell Lane, they slowed their pace as they hit the crowd of workers bunching up by the ferry landing.

  ‘That was my calculation too,’ Polly said.

  Gloria looked as the workers paid their penny fares and made their way onto the ferry.

  ‘And yer’ve started to feel a bit bilious?’ Gloria asked.

  Polly nodded.

  ‘Anything else?’

  Polly blushed a little and lowered her voice.

  ‘My boobs seem to have got bigger.’ She paused. ‘Well, they feel bigger. And they’re a bit … well … a bit sore.’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ Gloria said. She’d had the same with all three of her children. ‘If yer are expecting,’ she dropped her voice, ‘would yer be glad about it?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Over the moon,’ Polly said. A big smile spread across her pale face.

  Gloria squeezed her arm. ‘Well, that’s great. Really great to hear.’

  ‘But I don’t want to say anything to anyone,’ Polly said. ‘Not at the moment. Just in case I’m wrong. I remember Beryl saying ages ago that some woman had what she called a “fake” pregnancy ’cos she wanted to have a baby that much.’

  Gloria laughed. ‘Trust Beryl.’

  They paid their fares and stepped onto the ferry. The river looked dark grey and choppy.

  ‘What about Agnes? Do yer think yer should say something to yer ma? I think she might have her suspicions.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll exactly be clicking her heels in the air if I am,’ Polly said. She grabbed the rail as the ferry churned up water and started its short journey across the river.

  ‘Why’s that? I’d have thought she’d be chuffed to pieces. Another grandchild ’n all that.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Polly sighed. ‘I think she’s worried that I’ll end up like her. Widowed. Left on my own to bring up a baby without its da.’

  ‘Does that worry you?’ Gloria looked at Polly’s face. She was getting paler with each bob of the boat.

  Polly looked out towards the mouth of the river – out at the darkness she knew to be the North Sea. She shook her head.

  ‘If Tommy doesn’t come back, at least I’ll still have a part of him with me. A part of him will live on.’ She was quiet for a moment.

  ‘Besides,’ she said, looking over at Thompson’s, ‘Ma didn’t really have anyone around her to help when she had me and the twins – whereas I’ve got Ma, and Bel and Joe, and all you lot.’

  Gloria suddenly chuckled at the thought of the women welders clucking around Polly and the baby she might have.

  ‘You’ll be sick of everyone fussing,’ she laughed. ‘You’ll be wishing fer a bit of peace ’n quiet.’

  The ferry hit a particularly large wave as it passed a tug.

  Polly’s smile dropped. Her pallor turned ashen.

  She leant over the iron railing on the side of the ferry and threw up.

  ‘So, we’ll keep this just between me and you for now?’ Polly said as they walked up the embankment to the timekeeper’s cabin. ‘I don’t want everyone getting all excited, only to find out it’s a false alarm.’

  ‘Mum’s the word,’ Gloria promised, reaching up to take her time board off Alfie. ‘Have yer said anything to Bel?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Polly said. ‘I feel awful, actually.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, normally I’d have told her at the first inkling I had, but I haven’t said anything because I know she’s gutted that she’s not fallen herself. It’s been well over a year since she married Joe – and nothing.’

  ‘I keep forgetting they’re trying,’ Gloria said.

  They walked across the yard.

  ‘Probably because she seems so happy in her new job,’ Gloria mused. ‘Especially now she’s learning shorthand.’

  They slowed down as they spotted the women by their workstation, drinking tea and chatting.

  ‘Well, I think yer doing the best thing,’ Gloria said. ‘Wait till yer know fer definite … Try ’n take it a bit easy, though, eh? Yer don’t want to make yerself ill or wear yerself out. Yer gonna need all the strength yer’ve got.’

  They both saw that Dorothy had spotted them and was waving a letter in the air.

  ‘Yeah! They’re here!’

  Another celebratory wave.

  ‘Look what I got!’

  Polly laughed and reached into her top pocket.

  ‘Snap!’ she laughed.

  Dorothy jumped up and down on the spot.

  ‘Letters from our lovers!’

  Within minutes the women were gathered around the five-gallon barrel fire that Martha had stoked up, listening to Dorothy read out her letter from Toby, then Polly hers.

  Both caused an uproar when they left out the odd sentence here and there because it was either too risqué (in Dorothy’s case) or too lovey-dovey (in Polly’s), before the klaxon put a stop to any more questions and cheeky banter.

  As Polly went down on her haunches in order to get into the right position to do a particularly awkward overhead weld on the flank of the Chinese Prince, she wondered how she would feel doing this in a few months’ time. She had to be realistic; there were some things she quite simply wouldn’t be able to do. The changes that being pregnant would inevitably bring about were going to be huge – in many ways. If she was honest, it frightened her as much as it excited her.

  When they all stopped for their mid-morning break, Polly went off to the toilets, accompanied by Dorothy.

  Angie and Martha tucked into some flapjacks that Mrs Perkins had made.

  ‘Polly all right?’ Rosie asked, giving Gloria a loaded look.

  ‘You guessed?’ Gloria said, glancing over at Angie and Martha and looking around to check that no one could hear.

  Rosie nodded. ‘That’s the second time she’s been to the lav this morning. Plus, she looks as white as a ghost. And let’s face it, it wouldn’t be totally unexpected – especially as her and Tommy had that week together before the wedding.’

  Gloria nodded. ‘She brought up her breakfast on the ferry on the way over here, poor thing. But she’s sworn me to secrecy. Wants to be totally sure.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ Rosie said.

  For a short while, they both drank their tea in silence. />
  Gloria looked at Rosie. She and Polly were the only married women in the squad.

  ‘Do yer think you ’n Peter might want a family?’ It was something Gloria had wondered about a few times. She’d been surprised that Rosie had not fallen after her wedding and honeymoon in Guildford last New Year. Or after Peter’s visit during the summer.

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said simply.

  Gloria was surprised by the lack of emotion.

  ‘Besides,’ Rosie said, ‘I’ve got my hands full with Charlie, haven’t I?’

  ‘I forgot,’ Gloria said. ‘Today’s the big day, isn’t it? The day she finally gets her own way ’n sees inside Lily’s “home”.’

  Rosie nodded solemnly. ‘At least when it’s done, it’s done. Curiosity cured and all that.’

  Gloria threw the dregs of her tea on the ground and screwed the top back onto her flask.

  She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if, rather than extinguished, Charlotte’s curiosity might actually be intensified after a visit to Lily’s.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Ma chérie!’ Lily took Charlotte’s face in her hands and planted a kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘Bienvenue! Bienvenue!’ Lily welcomed her guest.

  ‘Merci,’ Charlotte answered automatically.

  ‘Let me take your coats.’ George came hobbling down the hallway.

  Charlotte and Rosie shrugged off their grey mackintoshes and George hung them up on the coat stand.

  Lily pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and wiped off two red lipstick marks she’d left on Charlotte’s already flushed cheeks. Standing back, she inspected her young guest, a slight frown appearing on her brow as she surveyed the sensible A-line skirt and light blue V-neck jumper that Charlotte was wearing.

  ‘I thought you’d be wearing your lovely red dress. The one Kate made you for the wedding?’

  Charlotte swung round and glared at her sister.

  ‘Rosie wouldn’t let me. She said it was too over the top. That I had to save it for special occasions.’

  Lily pursed her lips. She had been warned about being on her best behaviour, which was hard.