Christmas with the Shipyard Girls Page 6

  ‘We have a lot to be thankful for, don’t we?’ Hannah said after they had each paid their penny fare and made their way to the front of the boat.

  Rosie, Dorothy and Angie all nodded solemnly.

  ‘Were you two all right after we left you?’ Hannah’s question was directed at Dorothy and Angie.

  ‘We needed a good bath!’ Dorothy half laughed.

  ‘And the water was nearly as black as when my dad gets out the tub!’ Angie hooted.

  ‘Angie’s dad’s a miner,’ Dorothy explained to Charlotte.

  Charlotte nodded her understanding. She liked Dorothy.

  ‘So, are you staying long, Charlotte?’ Hannah asked.

  Charlotte gave her sister a defiant look.

  ‘Yes, I’m going to be working at the yard.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case,’ Hannah said, clapping her hands together, ‘let’s have lunch together in the canteen soon, and you can tell me all about the subjects you’ve been studying at school. Rosie says you’re learning Latin?’

  Charlotte nodded.

  ‘I do miss school,’ Hannah said wistfully. ‘I was going to go to university, you know? To study Classics.’

  Charlotte noticed Olly, who had been standing quietly next to Hannah, take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

  As they reached the south docks, there was no chance for any further chit-chat. As soon as they disembarked, they were buffeted onto the landing, before being carried up Low Street by the swell of workers all eager to get to the pub or back home for their tea.

  ‘Are we getting the bus home?’ Charlotte asked. They were heading into town, having said goodbye to everyone. She was desperate to get back to Brookside Gardens as she wasn’t sure how much longer her bladder could hold out.

  ‘We’re just going to nip in to say a quick hello to Kate,’ Rosie said. She got out her little electric torch and switched it on.

  ‘Come here.’ She linked her arm with Charlotte’s, knowing she wasn’t used to the blackout. They walked down Little Villiers Street, along Borough Road, past Gloria’s flat and the municipal museum, and on to Holmeside.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘The Maison Nouvelle.’

  ‘The “new home”,’ Charlotte translated.

  Rosie felt a flourish of pride.

  As they walked into the boutique, the brass bell above the door jangled, causing Kate to jump with nerves. Seeing it was Rosie – and that Charlotte was behind her – she jumped again. Only this time for joy.

  ‘Charlie!’ Kate hurried across the shop floor and flung her skinny arms around her friend’s little sister. ‘I often wondered if I’d recognise you, but I needn’t have worried.’

  Kate looked at Rosie.

  ‘She’s the spit of your mam, isn’t she?’

  Rosie nodded. It was true. Even more so this past year, as she had changed from a girl into a young woman.

  ‘Shame she hasn’t also inherited her calm and sensible nature,’ Rosie said, shutting the door and taking off her overcoat. Kate always kept the boutique lovely and warm. She claimed it was because she wanted customers to feel relaxed, but Rosie thought it had more to do with the fact that, after all the years spent living on the streets, Kate was determined never to be cold again.

  ‘Rosie, I think you might be looking back on the past with slightly rose-tinted glasses.’ Kate laughed as she turned the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ and ushered them through the shop and into the back room. ‘Your mam was a lovely woman, but I don’t remember her being that calm or sensible.’

  Charlotte looked at Rosie, only just managing to keep a look of triumph from spreading across her face.

  ‘She was so full of life,’ Kate recalled, going over to her little stove and putting the kettle on. ‘Whenever she used to come around ours, my mam would say, “Poor David, he’s got his hands full there!”’

  Seeing Rosie’s and Charlotte’s faces as they savoured every word she spoke about their beloved mother, Kate smiled. ‘Mam thought it was great, you know, that Eloise was so free-spirited.’ She chuckled. ‘And that your dad was so easy-going.’

  ‘That’s the way I remember her,’ Charlotte said. ‘Always chatting and laughing.’

  Kate busied herself with making the tea.

  Charlotte started shifting about uncomfortably on her chair.

  ‘Kate, would I be able to use your toilet, please?’

  ‘Of course, you can,’ Kate said. ‘Go through the door and it’s just on your right. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but at least it’s indoors.’

  Rosie had to stifle a chuckle at the obvious relief on Charlotte’s face.

  ‘Maybe bang on the door, just in case,’ Rosie said, suppressing a smile.

  Charlotte looked at her sister and caught the laughter in her eyes.

  As soon as Charlotte had left the room, Kate sat down at the table. She leant towards Rosie.

  ‘So, tell me, what on earth is Charlotte doing here?’ she whispered.

  ‘She’s bloody well run away from school!’ Rosie whispered back. ‘Turned up last night while I was up the hospital with Gloria and Martha. Came back to find an excited-looking Mrs Jenkins peering round her front door, telling me some young girl “claiming” to be my sister had turned up and was it all right that she had let her in with the spare key Peter had given her?’

  ‘Oh my goodness! Bet you were livid.’ Kate’s eyes were trained on her friend.

  ‘Was? I still am!’ Rosie said. ‘I was up all night trying to work out what to do.’

  ‘And?’ Kate was staring at Rosie. She looked worn out.

  Charlotte came back into the kitchen before Rosie had a chance to answer.

  Kate got up and poured out their tea. Charlotte sat down quickly and started to sip hers, relishing it. She hadn’t drunk anything since lunchtime.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful news about Tommy?’ Kate perked up. ‘You should have seen Polly’s face last night when she turned up with Maisie. I think she was in shock. She hardly said a word. George took her up to the hospital and said she practically flew through the front doors.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s still flying high.’ Rosie chuckled. ‘Apparently she popped into the Royal to see Gloria and Martha this morning. Seems like she’d been by Tommy’s bedside all night.’

  Kate’s face suddenly lit up.

  ‘My guess is they’ll be wanting to get married soon?’

  Rosie laughed.

  ‘I think Tommy will have to get better first! But don’t worry, Kate, there’ll be another wedding dress to be made in the not too distant future.’

  Rosie finished the dregs of her tea.

  ‘Come on, drink up.’ She looked at Charlotte. ‘Home time.’

  Rosie stood up.

  ‘And Kate, would you mind telling Lily that I won’t be able to come and do her books this evening, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Kate said.

  ‘Who’s Lily?’ Charlotte asked, taking a final swig of her tea.

  ‘I do her bookkeeping on an evening and she’s Kate’s landlady.’

  ‘I’ve never heard you mention her before?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Rosie said sternly, ‘if I wasn’t having to deal with the repercussions of all your shenanigans at school, we might have had more time to chat about life in general.’

  Charlotte knew when to keep quiet. She stood up and put her mac back on.

  Rosie ushered Charlotte towards the front door.

  ‘Tell Lily I’ll try and get in tomorrow for a few hours, probably early evening.’

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ Kate said, following them. ‘I’m sure she’ll be very excited to hear that Charlotte’s in town.’

  ‘So, what happened to Kate after her mum died?’ Charlotte asked as they walked up Holmeside and on to Vine Place. Now that her bladder was empty, she was more than happy to walk home. Even if it was a bit nippy.

  ‘Well, she ended up in Nazareth House.’

  ‘W
ith the nuns?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Yes, with the nuns,’ Rosie added, taking her sister’s arm as they crossed over to Tunstall Road. ‘Where they had their own peculiar idea of caring for those who no longer had a mam and dad.’

  Charlotte caught her sister’s profile in the darkness. She saw anger.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, put it this way,’ Rosie said, ‘by the time she was fourteen, Kate had decided life on the streets was preferable to staying another night with the Sisters.’

  They walked on in silence.

  Charlotte couldn’t help but draw parallels. Kate had been orphaned when she was ten. Her own parents had died when she was eight. But where Kate had been taken in by the nuns at Nazareth House, she had been taken on as a border at Runcorn.

  There was no arguing that Kate had drawn the short straw.

  Both of them, however, had decided that they’d had enough of where they were and done a bunk when they were fourteen.

  As they approached Brookside Gardens, Charlotte counted her blessings.

  ‘So, how did Kate end up with the Maison Nouvelle?’ Charlotte asked.

  Rosie noticed how well her sister pronounced the name of Kate’s boutique.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Rosie said, ‘but Kate ended up going to live with Lily, who encouraged her to do what she was clearly born to do.’

  ‘Make gorgeous clothes,’ Charlotte added, having seen the beautiful pastel pink wedding dress displayed in the front window.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie smiled, ‘make gorgeous clothes.’

  She turned to Charlotte as she opened the small five-bar gate at the end of Brookside Gardens.

  ‘Now, not a word. And quiet as a mouse until we get indoors.’

  Charlotte agreed, although she had no idea why they were having to be so silent.

  They stole along the gravelled private road and Rosie’s heart felt heavy as she thought of Lily. There was no way Charlotte could know the truth about her ‘other life’ at the bordello. That was one thing she knew for certain. When Charlotte was older, perhaps, but definitely not now. She was still far too young.

  As they made it through the front door, Rosie shut it softly behind them, breathed a sigh of relief and shook off her coat.

  ‘Right, first things first.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘As you are such a dab hand at building fires, get one going in the lounge. I’ll make us some sandwiches and a pot of tea.’

  Charlotte felt like dancing down the hallway and into the lounge. She hadn’t felt so happy in a long, long time.

  Chapter Eight

  Helen sat down on the only free seat left on the tram.

  ‘Oh, isn’t she gorgeous!’ the old woman she’d sat next to exclaimed. ‘Incredible eyes.’ She looked at Helen. ‘She’s obviously got them from her mammy.’

  Brushing Hope’s mop of black hair to the side, Helen smiled at the old woman, who smelled heavily of lavender. She couldn’t, of course, correct her and explain that this gorgeous little girl on her lap was, in fact, her sister. That the bonny little girl was her father’s love child – a child he’d had to a woman she was just on her way to see.

  Helen was glad when the old woman struck up a conversation with the passenger on her other side. She wanted to be left to her own thoughts. Hope also seemed happy to sit and simply look around her.

  The day, Helen reflected, had passed in a haze, ending with the slightly bizarre conversation with Rosie in which she had reassured her that she had been a cow of a boss to Charlotte.

  She had seemed satisfied, but Helen thought Rosie was delusional if she thought she was going to scare her sister back to Harrogate simply by making her work.

  Whenever she looked out to check on Charlotte – or Charlie, as she’d heard her telling people to call her – she seemed happy as Larry, hurrying around the office, making tea, sorting out the post, tidying up. And, of course, Marie-Anne and Bel had fussed over her, even though they were under strict instructions to give her a hard time.

  Helen had told Rosie that she’d put Charlotte on the payroll as a temporary worker and that she’d be given a very basic wage, which, she’d said, might be a good way of showing her how little she would earn if she were not to go back to school; although something told Helen that it wasn’t so much that Charlotte was averse to going to school, but more that she didn’t want to go back to the one she was at.

  As the tram trundled up Holmeside, Helen’s mind started to mull over a slightly throwaway comment Rosie had made explaining how Charlotte was able to go to such an expensive boarding school.

  What was it she’d said?

  Helen’s thoughts were broken momentarily by the old man opposite her who had fallen asleep and had started to half snore.

  That was it. She’d said her parents had left enough money in their will.

  But why, Helen wondered, hadn’t they done the same for Rosie?

  As the tram squealed to a stop on Vine Place, Helen thought about all the secrets and lies her mother’s investigator had unearthed: Dorothy’s bigamous mum, Angie’s mam’s bit on the side, Martha’s evil birth mother, Hannah’s aunt’s financial troubles …

  The only blot on Rosie’s copybook was that she had fallen in love with a man almost twice her age.

  Something told her that her mother’s private eye hadn’t dug deep enough.

  The blinds of the tram were pulled down in line with blackout regulations, and as there was little light, Helen allowed herself to rest her tired eyes, which still felt dry and scratchy from all the brick dust last night.

  Likewise, Hope curled up in her big sister’s arms and started sucking her thumb.

  For a little while, Helen allowed herself the indulgence of imagining that Hope really was her child. The one she had lost when she’d been four months gone.

  Since the miscarriage, she had wanted to ask John whether or not the baby she had been carrying was a girl. He must know. After all, he had operated on her.

  But she had never asked him – and he had never told her.

  Perhaps it was best if she never knew.

  Wanting, yet not wanting to know.

  It was like having a scab and itching to pick it, but knowing that if you did, it would hurt, there would be blood and it would take even longer to heal.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘How you feeling?’

  Polly sat down by the side of Tommy’s bed. It was evening visiting hours and there was a low murmur of chatter in the ward. Anyone who got too raucous received a scathing look from matron.

  ‘All the better for seeing you.’ Tommy turned his head towards Polly, his hazel eyes drinking in the sight of the woman he loved.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s just gone seven,’ Polly said.

  ‘I must have slept most of the afternoon after you and Arthur left.’

  Tommy’s voice sounded croaky and Polly automatically reached over to the bedside cabinet for a glass of water. Tommy pushed himself up so that he was half sitting. It seemed to take every bit of energy he had to do so.

  ‘Here.’ Polly went to put the tumbler to his lips, but he stopped her and took the glass himself.

  ‘Thanks, Pol,’ he said, taking a few sips. ‘Was Arthur all right when he got back?’ he asked. ‘He looked tired.’

  ‘He was fine,’ Polly said, ‘although he’s slowing down a bit now. He’s cut down on the hours he spends at Albert’s allotment. He’s had to admit it’s getting too much for him, especially now winter’s just around the corner.’ Polly looked at Tommy. ‘You probably noticed a difference in your grandda since you saw him last?’

  Tommy smiled sadly and nodded.

  ‘He looks a lot older.’ He paused and took Polly’s hand. ‘You, however, look even more beautiful than I remember, if that’s at all possible.’

  Polly blushed and squeezed his hand.

  ‘It won’t be long before I’m back to the way I was,’ Tommy said, aware of ho
w different he must look from when Polly had last seen him. From the man she’d waved off at the train station almost two years ago.

  ‘I love you just the way you are, Tommy Watts,’ Polly said. ‘You’re alive, and you’re here, and we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. That’s all that matters.’

  Tommy looked at Polly for a moment before pulling her gently towards him so that he could kiss her.

  ‘I’ll love you until the day I die, Polly Elliot,’ he whispered.

  Catching a sadness in his tone, Polly looked at him.

  ‘Do you remember much? From your time on the hospital ship?’

  Tommy was hit by the image of the young Red Cross nurse as she’d taken her fatal gasp.

  ‘No,’ he lied, his voice distant, as though he himself were sinking back down to the bottom of the Atlantic along with the nurse.

  ‘From before then?’ Polly asked gently.

  ‘From before then?’ Tommy repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ Polly said, looking at him with concern now. He had turned even paler than he already was. ‘Before you ended up on the hospital ship.’

  Tommy closed his eyes briefly. His mind’s eye flickered back to that day in June. He could almost feel the intense North African sun beating down on his face as he put on his diving suit, the heat made only just bearable by the cool sea breeze.

  ‘Not really. It’s all a bit of a blur,’ he lied.

  His memory of that day was, in fact, vivid – the adrenaline coursing through his body as he swam down to the bottom of the ship’s hull, how he’d spotted the limpet mine more or less straight away, worked hard to get it loose, knowing it could go off at any moment. He remembered well the relief on freeing it, the sight of it slowly floating down towards the seabed. He’d swum away from it as quickly as he could. The new diver’s gear he was wearing allowing him more freedom and, therefore, more speed.

  If he’d been wearing his normal cumbersome canvas suit, lead shoes and twelve-bolt copper helmet, he would, quite simply, not be here now.

  ‘There was an explosion underwater,’ Tommy volunteered, knowing he had to say something.