Christmas with the Shipyard Girls Page 2

  ‘I’m afraid not, Dr Parker. We don’t even have a name yet.’

  The front of the trolley buffeted open a pair of swing doors.

  ‘Over here, please!’ This time it was a woman’s voice. She sounded old and stern.

  Tommy managed to open his eyes.

  ‘Can you tell us your name?’ Dr Parker was bent over him.

  As the two men manoeuvred him on to the bed, Tommy tried to speak.

  Tommy! Tommy Watts! The words were as clear as day in his mind, but they seemed to lose their way before reaching his mouth.

  Instead he listened as the familiar broad Scottish accent of the driver explained that any identification he might have had was now likely lying on the bottom of the Atlantic.

  ‘We only knew to bring him here ’cos one of the lads heard him shouting in his sleep. Recognised the accent straight off.’

  ‘Well, at least he’s home.’ Dr Parker’s voice became distant as he moved on to the next patient.

  If the doctor had turned around, he would have seen the beginnings of a smile on the face of the patient with no name.

  He’d made it.

  He was home.

  Chapter One

  The Ryhope Emergency Hospital, Ryhope Village, County Durham

  Friday 16 October 1942

  Tommy felt the warmth of a kiss.

  Soft lips were being pressed against his own. He believed it to be a wonderful dream. One he’d be happy to remain in for eternity.

  And then he felt a fluttering of whispered words in his ear.

  ‘I love you, Tommy Watts.’

  And something told him this wasn’t a dream.

  Wake up! Wake up!

  He forced his mind to pull itself forward, to drag itself out of the dark, cloying slumber that had seemed to encase him for so long.

  He forced his eyes to open for the briefest of moments.

  Could it be? Please, don’t let this be some cruel trick of the mind!

  ‘Is that my Pol?’

  His words were barely audible, as though part of him did not dare to ask, knowing the madness that would ensue if what he believed was not true.

  ‘It is.’

  He heard the words and the tears that were being choked back; felt a hand on his own, squeezing him gently. It took all his strength to reach over and feel the hand that was holding his. It was real.

  ‘It is,’ he managed to say, a smile stretching across his face. ‘It’s my Pol!’

  He managed to keep his eyes open for a few seconds, drinking in the face of the woman he loved.

  ‘I thought I’d never see you again,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I didn’t think I was going to see you again either,’ the soft, lilting voice of his beloved said back to him.

  He was losing the battle to stay awake.

  He had to know.

  ‘Do you still want to be my wife?’

  He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, but he felt her warm lips once again on his own.

  ‘Of course I do.’

  He felt her breath and heard her whispered words, her face gently pressing against his own.

  It wasn’t until just after midnight that Tommy woke again.

  ‘Pol? Polly? Is that you?’ Tommy turned his head to the side, forcing his eyes wide to see the best he could through the darkness.

  For a second, he thought he saw the face of the Red Cross nurse, but then he felt a soft, warm hand take hold of his own.

  He tried desperately to keep his eyes open, but it was a losing battle.

  ‘Yes, Tommy, it’s me … I’m here,’ Polly whispered, her face appearing through the darkness as she leaned forward. ‘Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere,’ she reassured him, pushing a straggle of thick, curly hair behind her ear.

  The ward was in darkness, save for a little night light on the nurses’ station by the heavy swing doors. The matron was sitting bolt upright, her hands clasped in her lap. You’d have thought she was wide awake, were it not for her gentle snoring.

  ‘Polly?’ Tommy’s voice was croaky. ‘Can yer come closer, so I can see yer properly?’

  Polly got up from her chair and carefully perched herself on the side of the bed. She put the palm of her hand on his brow. It was still hot.

  Feeling her touch, Tommy closed his eyes. Tears began to roll slowly down his face.

  Cupping his face in both hands, Polly kissed him.

  Tommy’s eyes fluttered open and he kissed her back.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he mumbled. ‘Can’t believe I’m here with you.’

  He was staring at Polly, his hazel eyes still doubtful.

  ‘It is you, isn’t it, Pol?’

  ‘Of course it’s me,’ she whispered into his ear. She could feel tears welling up in her own eyes. ‘Who else would be sat here in dirty overalls, looking like they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards?’

  Tommy closed his eyes again and smiled.

  ‘That’s my Pol,’ he mumbled, his voice becoming slurred and sleepy. ‘Building ships to win the war.’ He recited the words as though he had said them many times over, which he had. He’d never tired of boasting about his sweetheart back home.

  Polly kissed him gently again and looked down at the man she loved. The man she had believed was dead.

  He had changed so much since she had seen him last. He’d lost weight and he looked older. Older than his twenty-six years. The stubble covering his thickset jaw was speckled grey, his fair hair now had hints of silver.

  Not that any of that mattered.

  Because he was alive.

  And he still loved her.

  Chapter Two

  As Rosie started rummaging around in her handbag for her keys, she heard her neighbour’s door swing open. Mrs Jenkins appeared seconds later, her hair in curlers, winceyette dressing gown wrapped tightly around her.

  ‘Rosie! You’ve got a visitor!’

  Rosie’s heart leapt.

  Peter!

  As though reading her thoughts, Mrs Jenkins quickly added, ‘No, sorry, pet, it’s not Peter.’

  She dropped her voice.

  ‘It’s a young girl. She says she’s your sister. I hope you don’t mind, but I let her in. Didn’t know what else to do. She was just standing there shivering in the cold and it’d gone midnight.’

  Rosie stood staring at her neighbour, not quite wanting to believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Of course, I quizzed her,’ Mrs Jenkins added quickly. ‘Seemed like she was telling the truth and she was wearing a school uniform … She didn’t look like she was trying to have me on, so I let her in.’ Mrs Jenkins pulled the spare key from the pocket of her dressing gown by way of explanation.

  Seeing Rosie’s lips purse, she asked, ‘Was that all right? You do have a sister, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I have a sister, Mrs Jenkins,’ Rosie said through gritted teeth. ‘You did the right thing.’ She got her own key out as she spoke. ‘It’s just that she wasn’t exactly expected.’

  She looked at Mrs Jenkins, who was gripping the top of her dressing gown around her neck. ‘Please, get yourself in, Mrs Jenkins. You’ll catch your death.’

  Rosie turned the key and pushed open the door.

  ‘Thank you so much. I’m lucky to have you as my neighbour.’

  Mrs Jenkins beamed. She was just opening her mouth to speak again, but Rosie had already gone in and was shutting the door.

  Standing in the tiled hallway, Rosie took a deep breath. This was the last thing she needed after the night she’d just had. A meal out at the Palatine with Lily, George, Kate, Maisie and Vivian had turned into bedlam when the east end was bombed. After the all-clear, she and Maisie had run to Tatham Street, terrified that their friends and family had been buried alive in their homes. Thankfully, they’d escaped. But only just. Others living on the street hadn’t been so lucky.

  ‘Charlie!’ she shouted, letting out the anger that had risen to the surface as soon as Mrs
Jenkins had warned her of her unexpected visitor. Walking into the living room, she saw Charlotte curled up on the sofa, still in her school uniform. She’d already made herself at home. The fire was only just starting to dwindle and there was an empty mug and crumb-strewn plate on the coffee table.

  ‘Rosieee …’ Charlotte sang in a sleepy voice as she turned her face up to her sister, who was standing with hands on hips, glowering down at her.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Rosie spat the words out.

  ‘I thought I’d come and see you.’

  Charlotte pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling the blanket she’d taken from the airing cupboard around her shoulders.

  Rosie stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Charlotte burst out laughing.

  ‘Eee, you sounded just like Mum. “I beg your pardon.”’ Charlotte put on her mother’s voice. It was one of the few distinct memories she had.

  Rosie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was actually speechless.

  ‘Come, sit down next to me,’ Charlotte cajoled. ‘It’s so cosy here. I love the house.’

  As she spoke, she looked around. Her eyes lingered on the fire.

  ‘Shall I put another shovel on?’ She looked at Rosie. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’

  She looked at her sister more closely.

  ‘Gosh, looks like you’ve been out picking coal yourself. Your clothes are filthy.’

  Rosie looked down at her cashmere jumper and skirt and realised for the first time that she did, indeed, look a state.

  ‘Never mind about me, Charlie.’ Rosie sat down and stared at her sister. ‘Explain yourself!’

  Charlotte looked at her sister and knew there was no way round this.

  ‘I’m not going back!’ Charlotte declared. Her face was set. Her tone determined.

  Rosie let out a bark of laughter that did not hold one iota of mirth.

  ‘I think you’ll find that you are going back.’

  ‘You can’t make me!’ Charlotte bit back.

  ‘I jolly well can.’ Rosie laughed again. ‘I’ll drag you all the way back there myself if I have to.’

  ‘Please, Rosie, don’t make me go back. I want to be here. I’m homesick.’

  Rosie looked at her sister.

  ‘Charlotte, you’re wasting your energy giving me the puppy-dog eyes. They might have worked on Mam and Dad when you were little, but I’m not them and your poor me act doesn’t wash either.’

  Charlotte straightened her back and looked her sister directly in the eyes.

  ‘Please, Rosie, please, just let me stay a while. You won’t even notice I’m here. I’ll be as good as gold. Promise.’

  Rosie sighed.

  ‘I’m too tired to argue with you, Charlie. It’s been a long day.’ She stood up. ‘You can either sleep down here or in the spare room. It’s up to you.’ She looked around the room and spotted Charlotte’s holdall. It was bursting at the seams.

  ‘I’m guessing you’ve brought a change of clothes.’

  Charlotte nodded.

  ‘Just as well,’ Rosie said, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing at the lounge doorway with a glass of water. ‘If you’ve got an alarm clock in there – ’ she nodded over to the bag ‘ – then set it for six. We’ll need to be out the door by seven, and not a minute after.’

  Before Charlotte had a chance to ask why, Rosie had turned her back on her and was making her way up the stairs.

  A few moments later Charlotte heard the bedroom door shut.

  Chapter Three

  ‘You all right, Tommy?’ Polly asked. She had been dozing but sensed that Tommy had woken.

  ‘Water?’ Tommy asked, his eyes looking to the bedside cabinet on the far side of the bed.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Polly commanded, seeing him grimace in pain as he tried to push himself up. She hurried around the bed and put the beaker of water to his lips. Tommy took a few sips, but the effort was almost too much and he was forced to slump back down in the bed.

  ‘What a state,’ he muttered, looking at Polly, who had started to dab his dry, cracked lips with a damp flannel.

  All of a sudden, he reached out and touched her face. Having felt the outline of her nose, her brows and her lips, he dropped his arm back on top of the starched white sheets.

  Polly looked at Tommy, puzzled. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. What had happened to him while he’d been missing? About his time in Gibraltar – all the stories he hadn’t been able to tell her in his letters.

  But she knew that those questions could wait.

  They had time.

  Polly closed her eyes and let her mind drift to the future, imagining their life together – getting married, setting up home and having a family.

  She hadn’t felt so happy or relieved in her entire life.

  When the light started to filter through the blackout blinds, Polly sat up and saw that the matron was no longer snoring.

  Tommy was also stirring.

  ‘Pol?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes?’ She took his hand.

  Tommy seemed to relax.

  ‘Yer know,’ he looked up at Polly, his hazel eyes sparkling, ‘when I first came around, before yer got here, I thought I saw Helen.’

  Polly smiled.

  So, that was why he kept asking if it was really her.

  ‘You’re right. You did see Helen. She was here, just by chance.’

  Tommy looked at her and furrowed his brow.

  Polly’s smile widened.

  ‘I think she’s friendly with one of the doctors. I think he might be your doctor. It was Helen who told me you were here.’

  Tommy nodded. His face scrunched up in pain as he did so.

  ‘You all right?’ Polly panicked.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Tommy said.

  Polly looked up to see the matron heading towards them with a steel kidney-shaped bowl and a large syringe.

  ‘Right, young lady. I think it’s time for you to leave. They’ll have my guts for garters if they find out I’ve let you stay all night.’

  Polly felt a surge of trepidation. She didn’t want to leave Tommy alone.

  ‘Go home, get some sleep,’ Tommy said, trying to mask the pain that had returned now that the morphine was wearing off.

  Polly bent over and kissed him.

  ‘Chop-chop!’ Mrs Rosendale said. ‘If the rest of them see you here, getting fresh with your fiancé, there’ll be a riot on.’

  Polly looked around at the dozen or so beds. She could hear a few of the patients starting to wake up.

  ‘I’ll come and see you later,’ Polly said, trying to keep the worry from her face as she smiled her goodbye.

  Making as little noise as possible, she walked towards the swing doors, before turning to take one last look at Tommy.

  Polly came face to face with a white doctor’s coat as she stepped out into the corridor.

  ‘Oh! So sorry!’ She stepped back.

  ‘Ah, Polly! You obviously managed to sweet-talk Mrs Rosendale into letting you stay the night.’

  Polly looked up to see the smiling face of Dr Parker.

  ‘How’s Tommy doing?’ he asked, his face now serious. ‘I was just on my way to see him.’ He guided Polly away from the swing doors.

  ‘He seems all right. A little bit confused. Keeps asking if it’s really me …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Come on,’ Dr Parker said, cocking his head towards the canteen at the end of the corridor. ‘Let me get you a nice cuppa. You look like you need one.’

  Polly took a large sip of her tea and savoured it.

  ‘Mmm, that’s lovely.’

  Dr Parker chuckled. ‘Not a word I think I’ve ever heard used to describe hospital tea.’

  He looked at the young woman opposite him.

  ‘Well, it’s great to finally meet you, Polly. Properly that is. Not standing in the middle of a bomb site.’ His mind momentar
ily jumped back to the dramatic events of the previous evening, before forcing itself back to the here and now.

  ‘So, you say Tommy’s talking?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, just a few words. He seemed a little confused, though.’

  ‘He’s been heavily sedated,’ Dr Parker explained, ‘and he’s been in and out of consciousness since he was admitted, so it’s not surprising he’s a little disorientated.’

  ‘But he’s going to be all right, isn’t he?’ Polly asked, suddenly worried.

  ‘All the signs are good,’ Dr Parker said. ‘Although it must be said, he’s been through the mill. Obviously, we had no idea who he was until Helen recognised him.’ Images of Helen’s face as she realised the man they had named ‘our poor chap’ was none other than the Tommy Watts rushed to the fore, along with her subsequent declaration of love.

  ‘Last night’s all a bit of a blur,’ Polly said, thinking of the aftermath of the air raid, ‘but I remember you saying that Tommy had lost a lot of blood and needed an operation.’

  ‘Well,’ Dr Parker looked at Polly, ‘Tommy is one lucky man.’ He smiled. ‘And not just because he has such a devoted fiancée who clearly loves him very much.’

  His words were sincere. He only wished that it was just Polly who loved Tommy.

  ‘Not long after he was admitted he suffered a ruptured spleen,’ Dr Parker explained.

  ‘What’s that?’ Polly was suddenly reminded of Helen suffering a ruptured appendix. ‘Something burst?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Dr Parker nodded. ‘His spleen burst, which meant he bled a lot, but we were able to operate on him before anything too catastrophic happened. He could have died. As I said, he’s a lucky man in more ways than one.’

  Polly didn’t know whether to be elated that Tommy had survived or shocked that he had been so ill he’d nearly died. She felt tears prick her eyes again.

  ‘I know you’ve had a night of it,’ Dr Parker said, ‘and your mind’s probably all over the place. I’m also guessing you haven’t slept a wink. I’ve been Tommy’s doctor since he was admitted, so any worries or questions you’ve got, just come and ask me. Providing I’m not in theatre, I’ll be able to see you.’