Triumph of the Shipyard Girls Page 3

  Having poured milk into the pan, Rosie lit the gas and put it on the hob before filling the kettle.

  Not that she minded, if she was honest. She just had to keep Charlotte focused on her new school – and on making new friends – rather than obsessing about Lily and thereby finding out that Lily was actually a madam, her home was a bordello, and that Rosie used to be one of her ‘girls’.

  ‘What do you think?’ Charlotte appeared in the kitchen wearing her Christmas present, a royal blue quilted dressing gown. ‘It’s so snug.’ She pulled the lapels up around her neck to demonstrate. ‘And so soft.’

  Rosie inspected her sister. She was fourteen years old and shooting up. There was no denying that she was at that crossroads: no longer a child but not yet a woman.

  ‘So,’ Rosie said, quickly taking the pan off the hob as the milk threatened to spill over, ‘what have you got planned for tomorrow, with me being back at work?’ She poured the hot milk into a mug, added cocoa powder and sugar, and stirred vigorously.

  ‘I think I’ll go to the library in town,’ Charlotte said, taking the hot chocolate off her sister. ‘I’m going to swot up on my French. I want to be top of the class.’

  Rosie threw a tea bag into a mug and added boiling water from the kettle, which was beginning to whistle.

  Charlotte had always liked her French lessons; her love for the language, though, seemed to have grown since she’d been back home. Something Rosie put down to Lily being a self-confessed Francophile – rather than to Charlotte having a burning desire to be an A-grade student.

  ‘Well, if you get bored, or want a break, you can always come in and see everyone at lunchtime. With the weather the way it is, we’ll all be in the canteen. Bel and Marie-Anne will no doubt be there too – dying to hear all the gossip from the wedding … And you can pop in and say hello to your favourite person.’ Rosie threw Charlotte a sidelong glance and suppressed a smile. Charlotte, despite trying to hide it, was more than a little intimidated by Helen.

  Charlotte ignored her sister’s teasing. ‘That sounds like a great plan. I’ll work in the library all morning and come and have lunch with everyone in the canteen. Then if Bel – or anyone else – wants me to do any chores in town, I can do that.’

  ‘That’s nice of you,’ Rosie said. ‘Bel really appreciated you running errands for her on Christmas Eve. She kept saying how she couldn’t have done without you.’ Rosie added milk to her tea. ‘And Lucille was over the moon with what “Santa” had picked out for her.’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘It was fun … Shopping for Christmas presents – I’ve never really done that before.’

  ‘Not even in Harrogate with Mr and Mrs Rainer?’ It was at times like this that Rosie realised how little she really knew about her sister’s life over these past six years.

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘Not really. They’d go to the Christmas market but that was mainly for food. And last year they didn’t even do that. I think they were getting too old to go traipsing around the shops.’

  They were both quiet for a moment as they sipped their hot drinks.

  Suddenly Charlotte perked up.

  ‘When I was shopping for Bel, trying to find the place that sold confetti, I spotted Maisie and Vivian in town.’

  Rosie felt herself tense.

  ‘Oh yes? Which shops were they in?’

  ‘They weren’t.’ Charlotte blew on her hot chocolate. ‘They were going into the Grand.’

  ‘Really?’ Rosie forced herself to sound casual.

  ‘They looked like they were on a date,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘What gave you that impression?’ Rosie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  ‘They were with two blokes and one of them kissed Maisie. On the mouth.’ Charlotte’s eyes widened. ‘And the other put his arm around Vivian.’

  ‘Were they Admiralty?’ Rosie asked.

  Charlotte nodded. ‘The thing is, I’m sure I saw the same two officers in the Grand the next day at the wedding. Well, not at the wedding. They came in and were going up the stairs to where they’re all billeted. And I’m pretty sure they saw Maisie and Vivian – and that Maisie and Vivian saw them …’

  ‘And?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘And … they all ignored each other. Like they’d never set eyes on each other before,’ Charlotte said, genuinely perplexed.

  Rosie thought for a moment.

  ‘Were they wearing their white uniforms?’

  Charlotte nodded.

  ‘Well, then, they probably weren’t the same officers. They all look the same when they’re in their uniforms.’ Rosie eyed her sister. ‘And coupled with that glass of champagne I saw you guzzle back when you didn’t think I was watching, I would guess your vision might well have been a little hazy.’

  Charlotte pursed her lips. She hadn’t realised Rosie had seen her sneaking a drink.

  ‘Come on then. Time for bed,’ Rosie said, making sure she’d turned off the gas.

  She followed Charlotte out of the kitchen and switched off the light.

  She would have to have a word with Maisie and Vivian tomorrow when she was at Lily’s. Tell them to be more discreet.

  Thank goodness Charlotte was still very young and very naïve.

  After getting into bed, Rosie pulled open the top drawer of her bedside cabinet and took out Peter’s letter. Putting it on her quilt, she straightened it out. Not that she needed to read it. She could probably have recited it by heart, she’d read it so many times.

  God willing, my love, I will see you soon. Rosie ran her finger along the words. But never forget how much I love you. And know that I will never forget the love you have for me. Nor its strength.

  Rosie knew these words could only have come from Peter. For only Peter would reassure her that he knew her love for him was steadfast and always would be.

  Only he understood that she needed him to know what she was unable to tell him herself.

  ‘Oh, Peter,’ Rosie whispered to her husband, imagining he was there, lying next to her. ‘Come back home soon.’ She missed him desperately. So much had happened since his brief overnight visit in August. She’d love to tell him that having Charlotte back home to live was actually working out.

  Switching off her side light, Rosie put the letter back into the top drawer and pulled the blankets around her, thinking of when Peter’s arms would be keeping her warm.

  As sleep edged closer, her mind wandered to the future. A possible future. To a time when Peter was back living here – with her and Charlotte.

  They would be a family of sorts.

  Something she had never dreamed she’d have.

  Chapter Four

  The Fishermen’s Cottages, Whitburn, Sunderland

  1936

  Rosie stood in the middle of her bedroom, her hand clutching the jagged piece of crystal rock. Her head was pounding in time with the beat of her heart and her ears strained to hear the exact whereabouts of her uncle Raymond. She kept her breathing shallow for fear of obscuring any noise.

  Hearing the front door shut and the sound of footsteps crunching along the gravelled pathway that led to the main road, she sucked in air, finally allowing herself to breathe properly.

  Hurrying across to her bedroom window, she squinted through the crack of her curtains. She could see the darkened outline of Raymond’s figure walking along the main road.

  Away from the village.

  Away from the house.

  Rosie stood rooted to the spot, her eyes straining into the darkness.

  She stayed like that for an hour, still clutching her crystal rock.

  Having convinced herself that he was not coming back, at least not within the next few hours, Rosie got to work, consciously blotting out the horror she’d just had inflicted upon her.

  There was no time.

  No time for tears or self-pity.

  All that mattered now was her sister’s safety.

  As she hauled her mam and dad’s suitcase out of the to
p of their wardrobe, she imagined them next to her. Guiding her and keeping her strong. It didn’t take her long to pack Charlotte’s belongings: her clothes, her favourite cuddly toy, a framed photograph of their parents and, of course, her favourite book, The Walrus and the Carpenter. Their mam had told them how the story had been inspired by the author’s walks along Whitburn beach. It would remind Charlotte of home.

  Rosie closed the suitcase, snapped the clasps shut and put it down on the floor. It wasn’t too heavy. She’d be able to carry it without too much of a struggle.

  Bumping it down the stairs, she placed it by the front door.

  Putting a huge pot of water on the hob, she waited for it to boil, poured it into the copper bath, and did the same again. After stripping off her nightgown, she scrunched it up and shoved it into the stove. The hot embers soon caught the cotton material. Rosie watched the flames flickering as she sat in the bath and scrubbed every inch of her body until it was red raw.

  Afterwards she put on the black dress she had worn for the funeral, as well as her mother’s gold watch. She took the cash she knew had been stashed away, then sat at the kitchen table to drink her tea and think.

  She read and reread her parents’ will, which she’d found crumpled up and discarded on the floor by the side of the range. It seemed quite straightforward. Everything had been left to her and Charlotte. As Rosie was now fifteen, soon to be sixteen, their savings, which she knew to be her parents’ ‘rainy-day money’, were hers to do with as she wished.

  When dawn began to creep over the horizon, Rosie took a deep breath and stood up. Tying her long blonde hair, now almost dry, into a tight bun, she walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

  It was time to wake her little sister and take her to her new life.

  A new and – most of all – safer life.

  Chapter Five

  J.L. Thompson & Sons, North Sands, Sunderland

  Monday 28 December

  ‘Morning,’ Rosie said, reaching up to the counter of the timekeeper’s cabin and taking her card from Alfie. ‘Good Christmas?’

  ‘Aye, it was that!’ Alfie was beaming from ear to ear. ‘What a wedding eh?’

  Rosie smiled her agreement. Polly and Tommy’s nuptials had given a lot of people a lot of pleasure, for a variety of reasons. Alfie, she knew, had been cock-a-hoop at being able to spend so much time with Kate, despite the fact that everyone had wanted to congratulate her on creating the most fabulous wedding dress, as well as ask her where she had learnt her trade – a question Kate had become adept at avoiding. No one was to know that the woman they were calling the town’s ‘very own Coco Chanel’ had once been a beggar and worn nothing but rags.

  Walking into the yard, Rosie could see that there were still patches of snow here and there, on the cranes that had been resting these past few days, and on the decks of the cargo vessels docked by the quayside.

  ‘Rosie!’

  Turning round, she saw Hannah, the squad’s little bird, and Olly hurrying towards her.

  ‘You two are in early?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, we wanted to get in before Basil. Give the place a tidy up,’ said Olly.

  ‘It was left in a bit of a mess on Christmas Eve,’ added Hannah.

  ‘Drawing-office Christmas party,’ Olly explained, brushing his blond mop of hair back with one hand.

  ‘Ahh,’ Rosie said, not that she could imagine the team of draughtsmen Hannah and Olly worked with having a knees-up, let alone one raucous enough to leave a mess; they were all incredibly studious and rather strait-laced. Probably why Hannah and Olly fitted in so well.

  ‘Did you both enjoy the wedding?’ Rosie asked, although she already knew the answer. Who hadn’t?

  Hannah and Olly nodded and gave each other a shy look. They’d been inseparable all evening. Rosie didn’t think Olly had let go of Hannah’s hand once. She wondered how long it would be before the two got engaged.

  When they reached the drawing office, Rosie looked at Hannah.

  ‘I’m guessing you’ve not heard any more news?’ Rosie didn’t have to say about what – or whom. Ever since Hannah had told them about the concentration camp her parents had been taken to, they’d been expecting the worst. Not that anyone would admit it. At least not to Hannah. They’d agreed it was important she kept her hopes up.

  ‘No.’ Hannah’s face clouded over. ‘Aunty Rina says it’s much harder to find out anything about the Auschwitz camp. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I wish they were still at the Theresienstadt ghetto. At least the Red Cross and the odd journalist were being allowed in there occasionally. Not like at Auschwitz.’

  Rosie’s heart really did go out to Hannah. It was a good job she had her aunty Rina and her work at the yard.

  ‘See you all in the canteen at lunchtime?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘Definitely,’ Rosie said, turning and making her way across the yard.

  She’d always loved her work here at Thompson’s, from her very first day as an apprentice, but she’d been a loner then, her gender making her the odd one out. Over the past two and a half years, since she had been tasked with training up her squad of women welders, she had grown to love her work for different reasons – for the friendship it afforded her and, though none of them would admit it outright, because of the love they had for each other.

  Approaching their workstation, she was surprised to see that Martha was already there and had got the five-gallon barrel fire going.

  ‘What a luxury – first day back and greeted by a red-hot fire,’ Rosie said, dumping her haversack on the ground.

  Martha poked the coals with a pair of metal tongs normally used to heat up rivets.

  ‘Thought I’d come in early. Get a nice fire going. It’s brass monkeys, as Angie would say.’

  ‘Cooee!’

  Martha and Rosie turned to see Angie and Dorothy marching across the yard, arm in arm.

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ Martha said. She stuck her hand up by way of a greeting.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you two in so early,’ Rosie said, splaying her hands in front of the fire.

  ‘Yeah,’ Martha chipped in, ‘thought you’d both still be hungover.’

  ‘No, Martha, dear,’ Dorothy said. ‘We had all day yesterday to recover from our festive overindulgences. Didn’t we, Ange?’

  Angie rolled her eyes heavenward.

  ‘We did, indeed, Dor.’ She swung her boxed-up gas mask and holdall off her shoulder and put them on the long wooden workbench. ‘It’s just my ears that need to recover.’

  ‘From?’ Martha asked.

  ‘From Miss Oh my God I’m so in love.’ Angie nodded over at Dorothy, who was pulling her flask out of her canvas duffle bag.

  ‘Toby?’ Rosie guessed.

  Angie nodded, her face pure weariness. ‘I think I might go mad if I hear his name one more time.’

  Dorothy had met Toby on Christmas Eve, when she and Angie had gone to Lily’s to drop off George’s uniform. Toby had turned up at the same time to give Peter’s letter to Rosie.

  Dorothy looked at Angie, Martha and Rosie.

  ‘I was really going to try and be very demure about it all.’

  She took a deep breath and clasped her hands.

  ‘But I can’t.’

  Another deep inhalation, then she declared, ‘Oh. My. God. I am soooo in love!’

  They all burst out laughing.

  Dorothy looked totally affronted.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

  ‘You!’ Martha said. ‘You’ve only known him five minutes.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Dorothy said. ‘When you know, you know.’ She looked at Rosie for backup. ‘Don’t you?’

  Rosie frowned and nodded at the same time. She had fallen in love with Peter straight away, only it had taken her several months to admit it.

  ‘Am I right in thinking Toby had to go back up north on Boxing Day?’

  Dorothy’s face immediately dropped. She pulled
a glum expression and nodded.

  ‘Scotland?’ Martha asked.

  Dorothy nodded again.

  ‘Whereabouts in Scotland?’ Rosie was curious. She knew Toby had had something to do with Peter’s recruitment by a part of the British army that apparently didn’t exist.

  ‘No idea,’ Dorothy said, deadpan. ‘He said he’d have to kill me if he told me.’

  Martha looked horrified.

  ‘She’s only kidding yer, dafty.’ Angie nudged Martha. ‘He didn’t tell Dor ’cos what he’s doing is all very hush-hush ’n he knars it’s a physical impossibility for Dor to keep her trap shut. Even if she wants to, she can’t.’

  Dorothy put her hands on her hips. She opened her mouth and shut it again.

  ‘I’m speechless,’ she said eventually.

  ‘’Cos what I just said is one hundred per cent right,’ Angie declared.

  Dorothy scowled at her flatmate. ‘Well, at least I talk to my best mate.’ She looked at Rosie and Martha. ‘And I don’t keep everything to myself, like some people.’ She glared at Angie. ‘Even the Gestapo would have a job getting any information out of Angie here about a certain someone.’

  ‘Quentin?’ Martha asked. They had all been surprised to see both Dorothy and Angie turn up at the wedding with dates. They’d gone on and on about how they were going to be ‘young, free and single’ at Polly and Tommy’s wedding, only, to everyone’s surprise, for Dorothy to turn up with Toby, and Angie with Quentin.

  ‘Yes, Quentin,’ Dorothy said. ‘Angie had the audacity to leave me on my lonesome last night to go out on a date.’

  ‘It wasn’t a date!’ Angie shouted. A group of riveters walking past automatically looked over.

  ‘It wasn’t a date,’ she repeated, dropping her voice, but not the outraged tone. ‘He’s teaching me how to be posh.’

  Rosie had to force back a smile. Bel had told her that Angie had only agreed to let Quentin accompany her to the wedding if, in exchange, he gave her what amounted to lessons in ‘being posh’.