Shipyard Girls at War, page 33
‘Sorry to bother you both, but Rosie has just arrived and is insisting she see Kate. How do you say it in French, Madame Lily? Tout de suite?’
Lily smiled. She loved it when her girls spoke even just a word of her favourite language.
Kate looked at Lily for permission to go, and Lily responded with a nod of her head. They made their way out of the room that had now been transformed into a little dressmaking studio, Vivian following her boss and Kate down the three flights of stairs. She was more than a little keen to know why Rosie was in such a hurry to see Kate.
‘Did Rosie disclose the reason for this urgency?’ Lily turned her head to ask.
‘No,’ Vivian answered, before dropping her voice, ‘but she did seem a little vexed.’
When Lily got to the bottom of the stairs, she walked into the front office to find Rosie at her desk and Kate already sitting in the chair opposite, with her hands in her lap, feet close together, her back as straight as a board. Lily knew the girl’s posture had been beaten into her by the nuns.
‘Do you know what kind I mean?’ Rosie was asking Kate. As always, Rosie was treating her old schoolfriend in the gentlest of manners, but Lily saw the look on her business partner’s face and knew something had happened. Something had upset her. And when Rosie was upset, she tended to get angry.
‘I think they call them “slacks”,’ Kate said quietly. ‘That Hollywood actress Katharine Hepburn wears ’em all the time … they’re becoming all the rage in London.’
‘That’s exactly what I want, Kate. What would we do without you?’ Rosie was forcing herself to be jocular. She knew Kate had suffered enough awfulness to last her a lifetime. She might have felt as if she was raging inside, but there was no way she wanted Kate to pick up on any of that.
‘Do you think you could make me a pair, please? Fairly quickly?’ Rosie asked.
Lily stepped forward, putting her jewellery-laden hand down on the front of the desk.
‘Of course she can,’ she said, smiling at Kate. ‘Make Rosie’s new trousers first – we can pick up where we left off with the pattern alterations when you’ve sorted Rosie here out. Now,’ she added, ‘go and get yourself some supper from the kitchen. I’ve just made a lovely coq au vin – have as much as you like; you’re still far too skinny for my liking.’ She smiled at Kate, who got up and hurried out of the room, leaving Lily and Rosie alone.
‘So, trousers?’
Lily didn’t wait for an answer but gently cajoled, ‘Come on, then, tell me what’s happened,’ as she went to pour two glasses of cognac from the crystal decanter she had just acquired, and which had been placed on top of the long, leather-embossed desktop.
Rosie slumped a little as she took her glass and looked at Lily with sadness. She knew she had to steel her heart and acknowledge that real love would never be a part of her life. It was just the way it was.
‘Oh, Lily,’ she sighed, ‘what a weird life this is.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Lily said, raising her heavy glass tumbler, and sitting down in the chair just vacated by Kate.
‘Now, tell me everything,’ she said, although she had a pretty good idea precisely what had caused the dark cloud of melancholy to descend upon the young woman she cared for so deeply.
She had been expecting its arrival for some time now.
Chapter Forty-Five
The next morning, across town in the Elliot household, something far less expected arrived on the doormat in the form of a Portsmouth postmarked letter addressed for the attention of Miss Pearl Hardwick.
Picking up the envelope from the doormat, Pearl was thankful no one else had seen it, thankful that for once she had been the first up as she had forgotten to prepare the fire the night before when she had come back from her shift at the pub. A couple of the regulars, who clearly had the glad eye for her, had bought her a few drinks, and that, coupled with the large brandy she kept hidden next to the beer tray, which she had slowly supped on throughout the evening, had made her more than a little tipsy; she had come back and gone straight to bed, completely forgetting to stack the fire up.
Prepping the range for the day ahead was about the only contribution Pearl made to the running of the Elliot household, and, although she hated doing it, she had learnt that it had the added bonus of endearing her to Agnes. And, whether Pearl liked it or not, Agnes was the boss and it paid to stay on her good side.
On seeing the letter, Pearl felt a wave of mixed emotions. If she had received any kind of communication from Portsmouth when she’d first came to stay with her daughter and in-laws, she would have been cock-a-hoop. But six months had passed, and now her feelings weren’t quite so clear-cut.
Stuffing the envelope into her bra, Pearl hurriedly cleared out the grate and made a tiny bonfire of kindling and coal, before sparking the fire up and making herself a cup of tea.
When she heard the rest of the household start to stir, she grabbed her cigarettes and carefully carried her cuppa out to the back yard, safe in the knowledge that no one would join her if she was having a smoke.
After placing her cup and saucer down on the ground, Pearl perched herself on the wooden stool she had put out in the corner of the yard for her fag breaks. After sparking up, she pulled out her letter, slid her thumb under the back of the sealed envelope, and slowly tore it open.
Reading had never been Pearl’s strong point, but luckily the words written on the white paper were both simple and to the point. It could hardly be classed as a love letter, but it was as near to one as Pearl had ever received.
The few lines of scrawled, childlike writing were, as anticipated, from Victor, her live-in lover, the man she had left in Portsmouth; the reason she had ended up back in her hometown.
Victor’s almost illegible scribblings told her that he wanted her back. That this time would be different. That he would be different. All she needed, he wrote, was enough money for her train fare back down south – and ‘a little extra’ to help keep them both going for a while. He made no mention of the money needed to pay off the debts they had both accrued, and Pearl wondered how he had managed to keep their creditors at bay.
Pearl read and smoked and then smoked some more.
She had loved Victor. Probably still did. The men she had been with since she’d come back didn’t count for anything. She and Victor had been a proper couple. The only downside had been that they were both as fiery as each other, especially after a few drinks. They fought like cat and dog and, more often than not, Pearl was the one to come out of it worse.
Pearl cringed inwardly when she recalled the last time she had seen Victor, how he’d chucked her and her meagre belongings out of their little end-of-terrace boarding house and on to the street after one alcohol-fuelled argument too many back in January.
‘Sod off, yer stupid cow!’ he had yelled from the front doorstep, so that every man and his dog could hear. ‘We’re finished. You’re on your own now!’
Pearl had known he had meant what he’d said, and so had gathered up her few bits and pieces off the street, stuffed them into her beaten-up suitcase, and headed back to her hometown.
She might have been returning with her tail between her legs, but she had been damned if anyone was going to know that, which was why she had made out that she’d come back for Isabelle’s sake after hearing about Teddy’s death; although, gauging by her daughter’s reaction, she had not believed that for one second. Her daughter wasn’t stupid. She had known straight away it was an outright lie that her mother had come to comfort her in her time of need; she would never have gone to see Isabelle if she had been all right with Victor. She might have sent a little condolence card – but that would have been it.
The only reason Pearl had gone round to Agnes’s was because her mate Irene had told her there was a spare room going. She knew Agnes wouldn’t turn her away – knew she would never turn away anyone in need – although she hadn’t been as sure that Isabelle would be so accommodating. And she had been proved right. She had seen the stubbornness in her daughter’s face when she had arrived at the house that night; if it had been up to her own flesh and blood, she honestly believed she would have been turfed back out on to the street.
Pearl turned slightly as she heard the household stirring. Polly had come into the kitchen carrying Lucille, and was chatting away to the little girl, who was still half asleep.
As Pearl looked into the kitchen from her perch outside, she thought to herself that her daughter had done all right for herself. She had certainly landed on her feet marrying Teddy.
Now Pearl had her own chance of a secure future with a half-decent man, and one who wasn’t going to go off and get himself killed at war. Why she wasn’t singing from the treetops and waving his letter about in glee was beyond her. She really did need to give herself a kick up the backside and, more importantly, get some money together, and get back down south. Back into her fella’s arms. She certainly wasn’t getting any younger and she would be damned if she was going to end up a wizened old woman all on her tod. She had been on her own most of her life, dragged herself along by her fingernails most of the time, without so much as a helping hand – so she did not intend to finish up old and alone. That much was for sure.
Chapter Forty-Six
A week later, July 1941
When Rosie woke up and realised what day of the week it was, she felt her heart sink. Normally on a Wednesday morning, as soon as she stirred from her slumber, she would be hit by an instant buzz of nervous excitement; a flutter of anticipation about meeting Peter.
But today she wouldn’t be going to Vera’s after work for her weekly rendezvous with the detective. Nor would she be going there ever again. Could not go.
Last week he had revealed his intentions and desire to her; his feelings had been made quite clear. He had given her no other choice than to call it a day. Now, all that she hoped for was that he would not think she had strung him along – because she hadn’t, not for one moment. If anything she had tried unsuccessfully to cheat herself. She hoped he wouldn’t hate her for it; hoped that he would know she cared an awful lot for him, but that it just could not go any further.
As Rosie got ready and headed out of the door for work, she started to imagine bumping into Peter, that he would tell her it was just fine and dandy for them to stay the way they were – to continue their very peculiar courtship of tea, chatter and the holding of hands.
Damn it! Stop it! Rosie cursed inwardly.
This is painful enough as it is.
As she headed down to the south dock that, as always, was swarming with workers, she told herself she should be hoping that she would never bump into the detective again.
So why did that prospect cause her heart to feel even heavier than it already was?
As Rosie looked up the river, trying not to seek out the Dock Police cabin on the river bend by the lock, she berated herself for inflicting this pain and mental torture upon herself. In hindsight it was as if, when she had first started meeting up with the detective, she had seen a burning building and walked straight into it – regardless of the consequences.
Why had she caused herself this upset when she had known all along there could only ever be one outcome?
Was she some kind of masochist at heart?
She must be, otherwise why had she kept on seeing him, got to know him, become closer to him? Why hadn’t she just nipped this addiction in the bud from the start? Instead of feeding it? Making her want more. And now she had stopped, she was so hungry her belly ached.
As Rosie walked up to the giant iron gates of the yard, jostling shoulder to shoulder with the other workers, she forced her mind to let go of her obsessive thoughts about the detective; it was exhausting her and draining her of her energy.
She took her white clocking-on card from the outstretched hand of the young timekeeper and forced her mind to concentrate on the here and now – for today was going to be a very busy day, in all ways.
‘Morning, miss!’
It was Angie. She was always in bright and early. Rosie counted her blessings that Dorothy had convinced her to swap jobs with Gloria, as she was turning out to be a good little worker. She never complained; just got on with it. And she was always on time. Sometimes, like today, she was even in before Rosie. She had joked, saying that it was because her father, a miner at one of the local collieries, was always up at the crack of dawn, and when he was up, the whole house had to get up. Whatever the reason, though, Angie never seemed to like being at home much. If she wasn’t working, she would be out with Dorothy, either on the pull in town, or going to the cinema to see the latest film. They were both united in their determination to have as much fun as possible. The pair of them were – quite simply – not going to take life seriously, not one jot.
‘Miss, the bitch is coming over,’ Rosie heard Angie’s voice hiss over to her in a whisper.
‘What was that, Angela?’ Helen said in her most hoity-toity voice.
‘Just telling miss I had a stitch coming on – cos I ran to work,’ she said, sticking her hand on her hip and pulling her face into a grimace.
Rosie had to smile. Angie could barely read or write, but there was nothing wrong with her brain – the girl was as sharp as a pin.
‘Mm,’ Helen said, unconvinced, but prepared to give Rosie’s new welder the benefit of the doubt; she had other things on her mind.
‘Rosie, I need Martha again today with the riveters.’
There was no ‘please’ or ‘I’m awfully sorry but …’
Helen was on full throttle. Her father was due back in just a few weeks. Her time was running out. There was no time for false niceties. The gloves were off.
The two women stared at each other – if they had been two dogs, their hackles would have risen.
Angie, who had been watching the women’s standoff, pretended to busy herself.
‘Fine,’ Rosie said, before abruptly turning around and stomping over to the welding machines.
Helen glowered at Rosie’s back before herself marching off.
When Martha and Hannah arrived at the welder’s work area, Rosie called them over. ‘Martha, you and I are going to the Admiral at lunchtime. We need to have a chat, and there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Martha nodded solemnly.
‘And, Hannah,’ Rosie continued, ‘come and grab a cuppa with me in the canteen. I’m parched and I want to put something to you.’
Angie’s ears had pricked up. She could not wait for Dorothy to turn up. Today was going to be better than a trip to the flicks.
‘I may have a solution to your problem.’
Rosie was sitting opposite Hannah in the canteen. It was relatively quiet, as the day’s shift had just started. She had wanted some peace and quiet in which to chat to Hannah, instead of having to shout over the intense clattering and clanging in the yard, so had come to the cafeteria knowing it would be more or less empty.
Hannah was sitting with both her hands jammed between her knees, as if she were trying to keep them from shooting up into the air. She had a cup of black coffee in front of her. Hannah’s almond-shaped dark brown eyes widened.
‘Really?’ She sounded the tiniest bit hopeful.
Rosie took a sip of tea and began explaining her possible ‘solution’.
‘A vacancy has come up for a trainee draughtsman. I remembered you saying how you used to love to draw when you were back home. And I’ve seen some of the sketches you’ve done here on bits of paper during breaks. They are very good.’
A slight blush crept across Hannah’s face. ‘Oh, they’re just – what do you call them – doodles?’
‘Well, they look like good doodles to me, Hannah. Anyway, I went to see the head draughtsman a little while ago.’
Hannah cast her mind back and recalled Angie and Dorothy chatting, wondering what Rosie had been up to when they had seen her come out of the drawing office.
‘I told him about you,’ Rosie continued, ‘and asked him to give me a shout if anything came up. And, now it has!’
Hannah’s face lit up.
‘Oh, Rosie! And he’s happy to have me? How does he know I’ll be any good?’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Well, I have to confess, I pinched one of your “doodles” of the ship by the quayside. He was quite impressed. He said he could not believe how exact and precise your drawing was. I think he used the word “technical”. You’re just what he’s looking for – someone who has a natural artistic flare and also knows the ins and outs of how a ship is built.’
Rosie looked at Hannah, who was now beaming from ear to ear.
Rosie smiled, feeling good that she was at least making someone happy. ‘But,’ she explained, ‘if you don’t take to it, or you don’t like it, you can leave.’
‘Oh, I think I am going to like it. How exciting!’
‘And, best of all,’ Rosie added, ‘there’ll be no more welding.’
Hannah looked a little embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been much good at that. I feel I’ve dragged everyone back,’ she said.
‘Rubbish,’ Rosie reprimanded her. ‘Welding is just not for you. Like Dorothy said when we were all out for a drink that day, it’s time for you to ditch the Guinness and start drinking something you actually like … If anything, it was my fault; I should have done something about it earlier. I just became a bit obsessed with keeping my entire squad together – regardless of anything else.’
As the news started to really sink in, Hannah became more animated and seemed so much happier than she had been for months.
‘I can’t wait to tell the girls! No more Helen breathing down my neck. And I’ll still be able to see you all – like Gloria does – at breaks and lunches.’
‘Exactly, Hannah, you’ll always be one of us. And I’ll always be here for you, regardless of wherever you work … Now, shall we go and tell Helen? I’m sure she’s going to be over the moon.’
