Bill clinked the side of his glass with his spoon, forcing the guests to quieten down.
‘You all know I’m not one for speeches, so I’m just going to keep this really brief,’ he said.
‘Thank Gawd for that!’ someone heckled.
‘I want to say thank you to everyone for coming and helping us celebrate – and to point out that there is no free bar!’ he laughed.
There were a few boos.
‘Although everyone’s first drink is on the house—’
This was followed by a robust chorus of ‘Hurrah!’
‘So, before the stampede, I just want to raise a toast to my new wife, Mrs Pearl Lawson.’
Everyone’s attention went to Pearl, who looked as though she wanted the ground to swallow her up.
‘It’s quite simple, Pearl …’ Bill turned to look at his bride ‘… I love you to pieces.’
Bill lifted his glass and took a sip.
Everyone followed suit.
‘And just one more thing before I get back to where I belong – behind the bar,’ he chuckled. ‘Pearl’s granddaughter Lucille is going to throw the bouquet, so, ladies, either make a run for it now, or keep your eye on the ball – or should I say, the bouquet.’
All the young unmarried women had known that Lucille was to do the honours as Pearl had not wanted to cause a commotion outside the registry office, so they had positioned themselves within catching distance. Dorothy and Angie were, naturally, amongst the dozen or so hopefuls.
‘God, look at him!’ Dorothy hissed into Angie’s ear.
‘Who?’ Angie said as she followed Dorothy’s angry stare over to where Bobby was chatting to Matthew’s secretary, Dahlia, nicknamed the ‘Swedish seductress’ by Marie-Anne, who had invited her as her companion in the hope that she might pick up some tips.
‘Bobby, of course,’ Dorothy said. ‘Look at him! Happy as Larry, chatting up Dahlia.’
Angela saw that Bobby and Dahlia were indeed both happy and chatting away to each other.
‘Actually, they look well suited,’ Angie said, returning her attention to the ritual of the throwing of the bouquet.
‘What makes you say that?’ Dorothy snapped. She wished it didn’t bother her, but it did. She didn’t know why, but seeing them together irked her.
‘Dunno,’ Angie said, her focus firmly on Joe and Lucille. Joe had stepped forward so that he was standing in front of the bar. He nodded down at Lucille, who was clutching the hand-tied flowers. She nodded back, her face serious.
‘What? Because they’re both just about the same height?’ Dorothy persevered.
Angie glanced back over at Bobby and Dahlia. It was true. Dahlia was almost the same height as Bobby, but then Angie noticed she was wearing a pair of gorgeous, high-heeled shoes.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘And because they’re both very good-looking. He’s tall, dark ’n scrummy. She’s all blonde, blue-eyed ’n leggy.’
Dorothy inspected them both. There was no denying it, they were a good-looking couple.
Angie watched Joe and Lucille and thought they reminded her of two circus performers getting ready to do their trick.
‘I’ve got a good mind to go over there and tell Dahlia to steer well clear.’ Dorothy was speaking into Angie’s ear, but her eyes were still glued to Bobby and Dahlia.
Angie watched as Joe stepped forward and put Lucille on his shoulders. He then slowly turned around so that they both had their backs to the hopeful brides-to-be.
‘Tell her that he’s a cold-hearted, stubborn, selfish man and she should avoid him like the plague.’
‘I don’t think Dahlia’s that bothered about his personality, Dor,’ Angie said, looking across to see that Dahlia had moved a little closer to Bobby and was whispering something into his good ear. She quickly turned her attention back to Lucille, who was slowly raising the bouquet above her head.
‘Well,’ Dorothy said, watching as Bobby said something back to Dahlia, making her laugh and toss her long, corn-coloured hair back at the same time, ‘I’d better tell her, his body’s covered in ink.’
‘What? He’s got lots of tattoos?’ Angie asked, eyes still focused on the wedding posy. It was a lovely, home-made tie of flowers, which she knew had been picked from Albert’s allotment.
‘Yes! Tattoos,’ Dorothy said, watching as Bobby rubbed his hand on his head, giving Dahlia a half-smile.
‘How do you know he’s covered in tattoos?’ Angie suddenly said, turning her head and looking at her friend. ‘You never told me that before.’
‘And here goes!’ Bill shouted out, raising his glass in the air. ‘One … two … three!’ Knowing that was her signal, Lucille threw the bouquet back with all her might, high up into the air. Dorothy was just about to explain to Angie how it was that she had seen Bobby without some of his clothes on and therefore knew he had tattoos, when all of a sudden there was a loud cheer and she felt something soft hit her in the side of the face. Looking down, she saw a small bunch of wild flowers, tied with a blue ribbon, on the floor of the pub by her feet.
Angie sighed and bent down. Picking them up, she held them aloft to show the expectant crowd of wedding guests that the flowers might not have been caught as tradition dictated, but at least they, along with the hope of a future marriage, had been rescued from being trampled underfoot.
‘Thanks for being my escort – again,’ Helen said as she and Matthew entered the Tatham.
‘My pleasure, as always,’ said Matthew, pulling open the door that led into the bar. As he did so, they were both hit by a blast of warm, smoky air and an atmosphere that could only be described as full of revelry.
‘Actually, you were properly invited by Pearl,’ Helen added. ‘She likes you.’ It was true. Pearl had told Bel to tell Helen that her ‘usual fella’ was also invited to the reception.
Helen caught sight of the bride over a sea of heads. She was surprised to see Pearl behind the bar, serving her guests. She turned her head to continue speaking to Matthew. ‘Or should I say, I think she liked the generous sum you left behind the bar after Artie’s christening.’
Matthew laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I have come armed with a bulging wallet.’
‘And I have come armed with a present that will be equally welcome,’ she said as she fought her way to the bar.
Seeing Helen and Matthew, Bill quickly finished serving and went over to put his hand out. ‘Glad you could both make it.’ He actually felt incredibly guilty at seeing Helen. He had wanted to invite her to the registry office, as not only was she Bel’s niece, but she had given Bel the report that had gone some way to proving her paternity. Regardless, Pearl had told Bel that she would not have a Havelock at her wedding, but to relay to Helen that she was more than welcome to come to the reception, along with the good-looking, dark-haired bloke she’d brought to the christening. Seeing Helen here today with her chap, Bill was glad she did not seem to be holding any kind of a grudge. Far from it. His eyes nearly popped out when she put a bottle of single malt on the bar.
‘Your wedding present,’ said Helen. ‘Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Lawson.’
She smiled at the looks on Bill and Pearl’s faces. It had been one of the best bottles of Scotch stocked in the town’s top wine and spirit merchants, J.W. Cameron & Co. She had gone there because her grandmother had told her about the place, which was where she used to buy what she called her ‘Russian water’.
‘I didn’t think you’d be working today,’ she said.
‘Yer obviously didn’t see the new sign above the front door,’ said Pearl.
Helen looked at Matthew. He, too, had a puzzled expression on his face.
‘Mrs Lawson here,’ explained Bill, looking proudly at his new wife, ‘is now joint licensee of this revered establishment.’
‘Well, double congratulations!’ said Helen.
‘I reckon that means double the drinks,’ said Matthew, getting out his wallet and handing Pearl a note.
‘Cheers, pet,’ Pearl said. ‘I’ll save mine for later. Can’t have the new proprietor tipsy on her first day, can we?’
Helen thought you could have knocked her over with a feather. Pearl behind the bar and not drinking. Bill could probably have saved himself a lot of money if he’d done this the moment he’d taken Pearl on as a barmaid.
As Matthew ordered their drinks, Helen smiled. She would guess that Pearl was just as ecstatic about her wedding present as she was about her nuptials.
Dorothy was chatting to Toby, but was only half concentrating. Bobby had just brushed past her and was now standing a few feet away, next to Pearl, who was taking a fag break and sitting on the other side of the bar. By the looks of it he was congratulating her, bending over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Cocking her head and blocking out Toby’s voice, she could just about hear Bobby thanking Pearl for inviting him to the wedding and apologising for not making it to the actual ceremony as he had been needed at the yard. She couldn’t believe it when Pearl smiled and patted him on his shoulder, telling him that she didn’t mind one bit, and he’d come for the best part – ‘a bit of grub ’n a few jars’. She was even offering him one of her cigarettes.
‘Honestly!’ Dorothy said to Toby out of the corner of her mouth.
‘What’s up?’ Toby asked, knowing Dorothy’s attention had been elsewhere, not that this perturbed him. It was one of her quirks; whenever they were out, she’d always have an eye or an ear on something that was happening in their vicinity. He’d often thought she’d have made a good agent. She never missed a trick.
‘Nothing,’ she said, as her eyes flickered across to see Bill walking over and shaking hands with Bobby.
‘Dor, what’s got your goat?’ Toby persevered.
‘Oh, it’s just Bobby,’ Dorothy said, forcing herself to focus on her beau again.
‘Ah, no surprises there,’ he said, looking across as Bobby waved a note at the barmaid and pointed towards the newly-weds to show he wanted to buy them a drink.
‘He’s got his feet well and truly under the table,’ Dorothy said.
‘Well, I’m guessing this is his local if he just lives across the road?’ Toby said, trying to cool Dorothy’s growing irritation. Every time she started on about Bobby, she got more and more vexed.
‘Not just here,’ Dorothy groused. ‘Everywhere. Agnes always leaves a bit of supper out for when he gets in, Polly really likes him because he was in the navy like Tommy, Joe gets on with him because they both worked at Bartram’s when they were young, and Bel likes him because she likes everyone since she adopted the twins. Everyone thinks butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, when the truth is, he’s a cold, hard-hearted man who’s making his mother unhappy.’
Toby looked across to see Gloria laughing at something Agnes was saying. ‘I’m sure Gloria’s all right. He’ll come round. He probably just needs to get used to the situation.’
Dorothy scowled. ‘Et tu, Brute?’
Toby laughed. ‘Forget Gloria and Bobby – let’s talk about tomorrow.’ It had been agreed that Dorothy would take Toby to meet her parents in the morning. ‘You’re sure they don’t think it’s rude that I can’t stay for Sunday lunch? They understand I have to go back down south?’
‘Of course they’ll understand,’ Dorothy said. Secretly, she was over the moon that Toby couldn’t stay for lunch; she couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting round the table with her mother, stepfather and four siblings, making polite conversation. ‘In fact, you could tell a little white lie and say you’ve got to leave that bit earlier so we only have to be sociable for an hour at the most – and then me and you can go somewhere posh for a bite to eat.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Toby said.
Dr Eris forced a smile as Dr Parker opened the door to the lounge bar. It was her fault they were running late. Their tardiness had been orchestrated so as to spend as little time as possible at the wretched wedding reception. Still, she thanked her lucky stars they hadn’t been expected to attend the actual ceremony – in a registry office, of all places.
Stepping into the crowded pub, she immediately came face to face with Helen. Typical. The last person she wanted to see was the first person she bumped into.
‘Ah, Helen! Lovely to see you.’ Dr Eris embraced the woman she despised and gave her an air kiss.
Helen forced herself to smile at the woman she loathed. ‘Claire, how are you? Lovely to see you. And so good you could make it. John says you’re all working round the clock?’
Dr Eris felt herself bristle at the reminder that the woman who could give most Hollywood sex sirens a run for their money was friends with the man she planned on marrying. As soon as possible. ‘Well, he’d be right there. John’s lot are overrun with war casualties, and at the asylum we are seeing quite a substantial increase in the wounds to men’s minds.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Not that we’re meant to broadcast the fact, but I know you are very discreet.’
Helen nodded, feeling that Dr Eris was leading up to something else. Something unrelated to the bodies or minds of their patients. Glancing at Matthew and John, who were standing next to them, she caught the word ‘Bucharest’ and knew they were engaging in war talk. Earlier on in the week the papers had been full of reports about the bombing of the Romanian capital, which had had limited success and had led to the deaths of thousands of civilians living near the railroads they were targeting.
‘So, tell me,’ said Claire, drawing Helen’s attention back to their own conversation, ‘I believe there is another reason you have become somewhat of a regular visitor to Ryhope – apart from seeing John, of course.’
‘You might be right,’ Helen said, tentatively. She was reluctant to tell Claire anything until she was aware of exactly what she knew.
‘You’re sounding very mysterious,’ said Claire, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Would I be overstepping the mark in asking who it is you are visiting?’
‘Oh, it’s a very old and very distant relative,’ Helen said, looking over Claire’s shoulder, desperate for a distraction and overjoyed to see Polly come into view with Artie on her hip.
‘Oh, look!’ she said, loud enough to stop John and Matthew chatting. ‘Here’s Polly – with Artie!’
‘Excellent!’ said Dr Parker, glad of the excuse to break away from Matthew. The man was annoyingly perfect. ‘I’d best say hello to my godson – my, hasn’t he grown!’
‘Stay here,’ said Helen, desperate to extract herself from any more probing questions from Claire. ‘I shall bring mother and son over and we can all “ooh and aah” to our heart’s content.’ And with that Helen put down her drink and squeezed her way through the busy pub to fetch Polly and Artie.
As she watched Helen weaving her way through the wedding guests, waving at Polly to get her attention, Claire’s mind started to whirr as she thought again about Helen’s regular visits to Ryhope. Very old and very distant. Miss Girling wasn’t that old. She might be in her sixties, but she looked well for her age, more like fifty. And distant? Perhaps. Perhaps not. When Denise had told her about John pulling her up on her failure to pass on Helen’s message, it had put paid to her attempts at scuppering the frequency of Helen and John’s cosy little get-togethers in the canteen. She had been forced to look at other ways to keep the pair apart, which had led her to think not only about how she could limit the regularity of their rendezvous, but about how to take Helen out of the game altogether. She’d realised that she needed to find some kind of leverage that she could use to force Helen to cool her friendship with John; she’d need to do some digging, but she was confident she would find something. Everyone had secrets. Her work had taught her that. And that was when she had thought about Helen’s visits to the asylum. She’d been so focused on Helen’s friendship with John that she hadn’t looked beyond that; she hadn’t looked at who it was that was bringing her to the asylum in the first place. Who it was that Helen was visiting.
It hadn’t taken much to find out. A quick chat to Genevieve and she’d learnt that Helen had turned up fairly late on Christmas Day to see Miss Henrietta Girling. One of her own patients. How was that for a coincidence? And it was strange that Henrietta hadn’t mentioned it. When she’d gone back over Miss Girling’s doorstep of a file, she could have kicked herself for not making the connection earlier. The stuck-up, blonde, skinny-as-a-rake woman who had been a relatively frequent visitor until the start of this year was none other than Helen’s mother. Miriam Crawford. She’d only met the woman a few times since she’d started working at the asylum, so she supposed she could be forgiven for not realising, especially as Helen looked nothing like her mother.
Seeing Helen returning with Polly and the wretched baby in tow, she felt more than ever that Helen was hiding something. Otherwise why hadn’t she told her before that Miss Girling was a relative – even if she was a ‘distant’ one? Helen must know that she was Miss Girling’s doctor. Miriam must have mentioned to her daughter that their mad great-aunty in the asylum had a female doctor – that alone would have told Helen. There were no other women psychologists, or women doctors of any kind for that matter, at the asylum.
And John – he must have known that Helen was visiting Miss Girling and yet he hadn’t mentioned it to her. Mind you, that was John: the height of professionalism; never one to break a confidence.
Dr Eris smiled as Polly finally made it through the throng of east-enders. She saw Helen head off to speak to a group of women who Claire knew worked as welders. Matthew was making a beeline for the bar. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of this smelly, smoky, spit-and-sawdust pub. She glanced down at her watch and worked out how much longer she would have to endure this wedding reception before she could hold John to his promise of a meal at the Palatine.
As Polly reached them, Dr Eris plastered a look of adoration on her face and a wide smile.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ she purred. The upside of being a psychologist was that you learnt how to lie – and lie well. Which brought her back to Helen and her visits to Henrietta. She was pretty sure Helen was lying about something – she just didn’t know what. Not yet, anyway. But she’d find out – of that she was sure.
After chatting to the guests, Helen and Matthew found a seat and sat down.
Jack came over to say hello to his daughter and the man he had been told was simply a friend – and not, as it looked to him, a potential suitor.
Although Jack hated to bring Miriam into any conversation, he broke one of his cardinal rules and asked Helen if she had heard anything from her mother of late.
‘I rang Aunty Margaret the other day,’ Helen said, ‘asked her if Mother had decided to move in with them permanently, which she didn’t seem to find amusing.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. I’ll bet she didn’t.
‘So, she didn’t give any indication about when she was coming back?’
Helen knew her father must be champing at the bit to get the divorce all done and dusted.
‘I’m afraid she didn’t,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll push for more information next time I call.’
‘No, don’t do that. I can always call her,’ Jack said.
Helen gave a bitter laugh.
‘Yes, Dad, as if Mother’s really going to speak to you.’
Once everyone had settled and enjoyed a few drinks, Pearl told Geraldine that now would be the perfect time to put out the buffet. Geraldine forced a smile and disappeared out the back. She had to be nice to Pearl, it was her wedding after all, but since hearing the news that the bride was now also joint licensee, she was dreading the new regime that would surely come into being over the next few weeks.
Seeing Geraldine reappear from the back with a tray of sandwiches, Rina and Vera bustled over to help.
‘Food,’ Rina said, ‘is all about the presentation.’
‘And about having the ingredients to make it,’ Vera huffed, even though they had done well with this particular spread. Not only had Maisie got hold of a cooked joint of gammon, which had been used in the sandwiches, but Rina had brought some rugelach – spiral-shaped pastries laced with sugar, raisins and ground nuts – which she’d made for the occasion.
Most of the guests were now sitting around the pub tables anticipating the start of the buffet. The occasional waft of freshly made sandwiches and home-made pies had whetted everyone’s appetite whenever any of the bar staff had gone out the back.
Helen, Matthew, Rosie and Charlotte were sitting round one of the tables. Charlotte still found Helen rather scary, but was over the moon to be so near the gorgeous Matthew Royce. Charlotte thought he looked like Clark Gable minus the pencil moustache.
‘Not that I want to bring work up on such a jolly occasion,’ Matthew said to Helen as he watched the food being carried out and carefully laid out along the bar, ‘but have you heard about the Studland Bay fiasco?’
Helen and Rosie nodded solemnly. Word had gone round that on Tuesday a trial run of Duplex Drive amphibious landing tanks had run into difficulty, six of them sinking when conditions were affected by a sudden change in the weather and wind velocity.
‘At least we know the tanks shouldn’t be unloaded too far away from the beach,’ Helen said. ‘They’ll need to be released in shallower water.’
All their minds were on the LCTs that their yard, and all the town’s other shipyards, were producing. Austin’s had launched the most recent LCT just yesterday.
‘I suppose it’s a good thing they found out now rather than on the day of the invasion,’ Rosie said.
None of them mentioned the six men whose lives had been lost in the learning. They were at a wedding, after all, and had a teenager hanging on their every word to boot.
After the buffet had been reduced to a pile of crumbs, the clear-up got underway. Geraldine was relieved to see that as arranged, the two young girls from down the road had turned up to do all the clearing-up and washing-up. Looking at the pile of dirty plates, there was barely a crust left to chuck out for the birds. A good job she had put herself a plate aside for later.
As the bar was given one last wipe down, the guests started to head over to order more drinks. Spotting John, Helen excused herself and went to see him.
‘I saw you managed to have a catch-up with Dad,’ she said, sidling up to him as he waited by the bar.
Dr Parker turned round and smiled. Helen’s beauty and those emerald eyes never failed to take his breath away.
‘Yes, yes, he seems very well, doesn’t he?’ he said. ‘I can’t believe it’s been over two years since it was doubtful whether or not he was going to come out of his coma, never mind make a full recovery.’
Helen nodded, thinking back to that time. It had been when she and John had first met each other.
‘I told him I’d still like to write a paper on his case when the war’s over. There’s still so little known about retrograde amnesia.’
Helen laughed. ‘John, you’re always thinking of work.’ She looked across at Polly, who was handing Artie to Bel. ‘So, did you enjoy your time with our godson? You and Claire looked like you were having a good coo over him.’ Helen tried to keep any jealousy she’d felt on seeing them looking quite the cosy couple out of her tone.
‘Yes, yes,’ Dr Parker said. ‘I had to apologise to Polly for being an absent godfather. It’s shameful I’ve not seen him since the christening.’
Helen laughed. ‘You’re far too conscientious, John. I’m sure Polly does not mind at all. She knows you’re saving lives and limbs.’ As she spoke, her vision strayed to Major Black in his wheelchair. He had lost both limbs in the First War. He was puffing away on a large torpedo-shaped cigar and was in deep conversation with Agnes and Dr Billingham.
‘Besides,’ Helen said, ‘Artie’s other godfather is doing a sterling job.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s becoming quite a fixture at the Elliots’.’
‘Really?’ John said, looking over at Dr Billingham and giving him a wave. He knew it must be hard for Helen to regularly see the man who had saved her life but had been unable to do the same for the baby she’d been carrying.
Helen lowered her voice. ‘I’m not sure whether it’s Agnes or the lovely food she keeps serving every time he turns up that has him making regular trips into the east end. But judging by how she’s dressed today, and the fact she let Vivian loose on her hair this morning before she did Pearl’s, I think I know what I’d be putting my money on.’
‘Looks like love is in the air all round,’ Dr Parker said, looking across at the next table to see Angie and Quentin chatting away. They looked as besotted with each other as when he had seen them at the Palatine on Christmas Eve.
‘I think you’re right,’ she agreed.
Hearing Dorothy laugh, they both looked across to see her leaning into Toby, who was putting his arm around her and pulling her close.
‘And if Dorothy gets her way, there’ll be a ring on her finger in the not too distant future.’
‘And then there’s you and Matthew,’ Dr Parker said. The words were out before he could stop them. He’d had more to drink than usual, which appeared to have had the effect of stripping him of his usual inhibitions.
Helen spluttered. ‘What do you mean by that?’ Her face was a mix of amusement and incredulity.
‘Well, I saw you were both in the Echo again the other day,’ Dr Parker said, immediately feeling a little embarrassed he’d brought up the subject. Damn that last pint.
‘Yes,’ Helen said, brow furrowed, ‘the one taken at the launch at Pickersgill’s last Friday?’
‘That’s the one.’ Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘I’m just waiting to see both your names in the Announcements section, although I hope you tell me before I have to read it there first.’
Helen looked at Dr Parker as though he was crazy. ‘What on earth are you talking about, John?’
‘Well, you know, if Matthew were to propose to you—’
Helen hooted with laughter. ‘Well, I think we might have to start courting first. And I can’t see that ever happening.’
‘What?’ Dr Parker had been of the firm belief that Helen and Matthew had been an item since Artie’s birth in September, if not before then. ‘You’re not courting?’
‘No, we most certainly are not.’ Helen said it in such a way that it was clear she was telling the truth; not that she’d have any reason to lie.
Again, Helen laughed. ‘I’m amazed you’d think that, John.’ She lowered her voice and quickly looked around to make sure Matthew was still sitting at the table with Rosie and a lovestruck Charlotte and was not able to hear their conversation. She mightn’t want to date Matthew, but she also didn’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘You know me so well and yet you think I’d be with someone like Matthew?’
‘Well,’ John started to defend himself, when actually he felt like rejoicing, ‘it’s not such a stretch of the imagination. He’s not exactly a bad catch. Tall, dark and handsome, and even if he is a widower, he’s still relatively young … comes from a good background …’
Helen looked at John and thought he was right. She understood why he would think that because he had no idea her heart was still yearning for someone else – for him.
‘Now you’re starting to sound like some society matchmaker,’ Helen chuckled. She looked around the room again and saw that Matthew had got up and was introducing himself to Bobby, no doubt interested to see who his secretary had her eye on. He had told her that Dahlia was single and that she had hinted to him on occasion that it was something she was keen on changing.
Helen turned her attention back to John. She hadn’t eaten much and the vodka and soda she’d drunk had gone to her head a little. Suddenly, she had a fantasy of stepping forward a little so that their bodies were touching and kissing him gently on the lips. She instantly reprimanded herself.
‘But even if Matthew and I were courting,’ Helen said, taking another sip of her drink, ‘I doubt very much he’d be dropping down on bended knee.’
‘Why on earth not?’ Now it was Dr Parker’s turn to sound incredulous. ‘Most men would be queuing up to walk you down the aisle.’
‘Perhaps,’ Helen said, again dropping her voice, ‘but not if they knew the whole truth.’
‘The whole truth about what?’ Dr Parker was totally perplexed.
‘About my life,’ Helen whispered. ‘About all the things that have happened.’ She looked at John. ‘You know, men expect their brides to be married in white. To be virtuous.’
Dr Parker hooted with laughter. ‘Really, Helen, you do amaze me. You’re one of the most progressive women I know and here you are expounding an ideology I would have thought you wouldn’t give the time of day to.’
‘What, you don’t agree with it?’
‘Of course I don’t agree with it. Honestly, Helen, I really would have thought you would know me better than that. It shouldn’t matter about any of those things. What matters is that you love each other and want to be with each other for the rest of your lives. It doesn’t matter one jot what has happened in either of your lives beforehand.’
Helen couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘Really? That’s what you really think?’
‘Of course,’ Dr Parker said.
‘With regard to your own life, as well as to other people’s?’ Helen persisted. She still couldn’t quite believe that she had got it so wrong for so long.
‘Of course about my own life.’ He looked at Helen and furrowed his brow. ‘As if I’m going to say it’s fine for other men, but not for me.’ His laughter this time was laced with exasperation.
‘You are the most complex woman I’ve ever known,’ he said, shaking his head.
Helen was looking at John, desperately wanting to say so many things to him, to tell him that she’d been in love with him for so long and still was, that the only reason she hadn’t told him was because she thought he’d never consider dating her because of her past.
But she knew she couldn’t.
John was here with his girlfriend. It would be inappropriate and undignified and quite frankly, embarrassing.
‘You two look as though you’re having a rather interesting – and might I say, very animated – conversation.’
Helen heard Claire’s soft, lilting voice before she saw her. She looked round and desperately tried to think up a convincing lie. Seeing Toby talking to Dorothy, she dropped her voice. ‘Just chatting about one of the workers, who, it’s looking likely, might well be getting engaged.’
Helen looked at Claire, who flashed John a look. It was a look which hinted that Dorothy might not be the only person expecting a marriage proposal in the near future.
As the late afternoon turned into early evening, some of the older guests, and those with children, started to say their farewells. Seeing Kate chatting to Pearl at the bar, Rosie knew she would be telling Pearl that she was leaving and that the dress was for keeps, but if she wanted it looking after until she wore it again, she would love to use it as the Maison Nouvelle’s new window display, along with the headpiece. Rosie found it curious that the pair got on. Rosie wondered if it was because they had both spent much of their lives on the wrong side of the tracks.
Shortly after Kate’s departure, Agnes and Beryl left to relieve Beryl’s daughters, Audrey and Iris, of their child-minding duties. They were followed by Dr Billingham and then Mr Clement, the photographer, and his wife and three daughters. Georgina Pickering, who’d become close to the women after being introduced to them by Rosie, left with the Clements. Georgina was now scraping a meagre living reporting and taking photographs for the local paper, having vowed to herself that she would not go back to doing private investigations; the guilt of the work she had done for Miriam still weighed heavily on her and she worried the women would discover that it was she who had found out their secrets and handed the information over to their nemesis. Today, she had enjoyed picking Mr Clement’s brain on all things photography related, and having done so, was eager to get back home to check on her father, who had not been well enough to attend the celebrations; nor had he had the inclination, but he was happy to hear about the event second-hand from his daughter.
Mr and Mrs Perkins left with Martha, followed by Vera and Rina, who had been complimented many times over for the spread they had magicked up despite the restrictions of rationing. Rina had mentioned Vera’s café on High Street East in passing to those she didn’t know, saying that it would be lovely to see them there in the future. Vera listened as Rina did an excellent job of drumming up business, making people’s mouths water with her descriptions of the special Jewish pastries she made, as well as the more traditional cakes Vera baked, which ‘taste like they used to before the war’. Feeling a little tipsy on port, Vera had nearly told Rina how glad she was that she had taken her on two years ago, but not wanting to spoil her reputation as a curmudgeonly old woman, she’d refrained.
Bel was desperate to get back to the twins but had stayed longer, knowing how much it meant to her ma that she had her family around her. It wasn’t often that she, Maisie and her ma were together. Maisie and Bel had given the bride and groom a rather unconventional wedding gift by ensuring that Ronald, who was Pearl’s former drinking and poker-playing buddy and amorous pursuer, did not turn up to partake in the celebrations. It had been easily enough done by exchanging booze and fags for the promise of a no-show. Bel and Joe finally left when George returned in his MG to pick up Maisie and Vivian, having already taken Lily back to the bordello first.
Pearl waved them all off on the doorstep of the Tatham and stayed there for a moment, enjoying the quietness of the evening and thinking that today hadn’t been a bad one. Not bad at all.
Gloria had left earlier with Hope, who had exhausted herself playing with Lucille; the pair had spent most of the time running up and down the hallway that led from the front of the pub to the back. Jack had followed shortly afterwards.
The women welders had naturally gravitated into a group by the bar and were chatting away. Toby and Quentin were talking with Olly, whom they knew a little, and were surprised at how well they all got on.
Dorothy, naturally, was holding court, making Rosie, Polly, Hannah, Charlotte and Angie either chuckle, tsk or roll their eyes in despair.
Bobby was sitting at a table with Dahlia and Marie-Anne and a lad called Hector who was one of Joe’s Home Guard unit.
‘Same again, everyone?’ he asked, standing up.
‘Yes, please, Bobby.’ Dahlia gave a Bobby a smile, making a point of crossing her long, very slender legs, causing her dress to slide up.
‘Cheers, mate,’ said Hector. ‘My shout next.’
‘Thanks, Bobby,’ said Marie-Anne. ‘You know, you’re so much nicer than I expected.’ She put her hand to her mouth.
Bobby let out a bellow of laughter. ‘No guesses who you’ve been chatting to.’ He looked over at Dorothy, who was regaling her friends with a story that was making them all chuckle.
He walked over to the bar and ordered sherry for the women, a pint for Hector and a shandy for himself. Angie had now taken over the story, which he had ascertained was about how she and Dorothy had come to be friends and which involved some bloke called Eddie the riveter who had been seeing another woman behind Dorothy’s back. Bobby thought Eddie the biggest fool on the planet. He continued to eavesdrop and heard that the other woman was Angie.
‘I’ll never forget as long as I live,’ Angie regaled, ‘sitting with Eddie and his mates, and this strange woman wearing overalls comes over as if she’s gonna give him a pint, ’n she says, “This one’s for free, like all the others you’ve had out of me.” And then she pours the whole lot over his head. Eee, I couldn’t believe it! And then she turns to me and says, “If I were you, I’d keep my legs and purse shut with this one. Trust me. No good will come of it.”’
Bobby had to stop himself smiling as all the women started hooting with laughter remembering that day in the Admiral.
‘I thought to myself,’ Angie said, looking at her best mate, ‘sod Eddie, I want to be with that mad cow – and all her mates she’s drinking with. They look a right lot!’
Bobby couldn’t help but feel the same now.
He was just paying for the drinks when he felt someone bump into him.
It was Toby.
‘Sorry there, old chap.’
‘No worries,’ Bobby said, ‘good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Dorothy.’ This was a little bit of an exaggeration as Dorothy hadn’t exactly chatted to him directly about Toby, but he had picked up bits and pieces from what she had told Gloria during their Friday nights with Hope.
‘All good, I hope?’ Toby said, putting out his hand.
The two men shook.
‘Dorothy tells me you were on HMS Opportune?’
Bobby nodded and seeing Geraldine putting the drinks he’d ordered on a tray, he handed over a note and told her to keep the change. The girl had been run ragged all day and looked ready to drop.
‘And Dorothy tells me that you’re with the War Office?’ Bobby asked.
Toby nodded.
There was a moment’s awkwardness.
‘Well, nice to meet you, Toby. You’re a very lucky chap.’ He nodded over to Dorothy, who had just noticed the two chatting and did not look pleased.
Toby chuckled. ‘And you too, old chap.’ He flicked a look over to Dahlia, who had her compact out and was reapplying her lipstick.
Bobby smiled and picked up his tray of drinks. Toby turned to the bar and ordered a round from Geraldine, who had perked up after her generous tip.
Bobby glanced over at Dorothy. She was still giving him a look like thunder, which he returned with the slightest of winks, knowing it would infuriate her.
As he walked back to Dahlia, he caught her looking at Matthew. It would seem they were using each other to make the true objects of their affections jealous. Unfortunately, looking at the way Matthew was talking with Helen, and Dorothy with Toby, neither he nor Dahlia was having much success.
Seeing Toby putting his arm around Dorothy’s waist, Bobby felt a stab of jealousy. Still, he wasn’t one to give up. Dorothy might well be on the verge of being proposed to, but it hadn’t happened yet.
He felt there was a shred of hope. Dorothy was passionate about him, that much was obvious – just not in a good way. What he had to work out now was how to turn that round before it was too late.
When Helen went to bed that night, she tried to read another chapter of Persuasion, but just couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was her conversation with John. It was all she’d been able to think about since their talk at the Tatham. Every time she thought about John’s words, she felt a searing excitement. Why had they never discussed this before? Why had she just assumed he wanted a bride who was as pure as the driven snow? Helen gave up on reading and switched off the light. All she’d been able to hear since she’d fallen for John was her mother’s voice telling her she was ‘sullied’ and ‘spoiled goods’. And she had believed her. She’d been brainwashed. But today she had found out that John didn’t think like this at all! He clearly didn’t give two hoots whether the woman he married was ‘virtuous’ or not. For John it was all about love. He was a true romantic.
If that was the case, and if he was attracted to her, as she suspected he was, an attraction she’d thought he had fought because he would never be able to make an honest woman of her, then …
Helen’s heart started pounding as she considered the possibilities.
But then her elation was felled by thoughts of Dr Eris.
John was with Claire.
They were serious.
He was a romantic.
Therefore, if John was with Claire, he must be in love with her. Mustn’t he?
When John and Claire got back to Ryhope, they were caught by Genevieve as they came through the main entrance.
‘Dr Parker?’
‘Yes, Genevieve?’
‘Dr Jameson has just rung asking for your advice on something or other. He sounded a little fraught, I have to say. I asked him if it could wait until morning, but he insisted that as soon as I saw you return I had to “plead with you” to go and see him on the ward. His words, not mine.’
Dr Eris had a shooting vision of snapping the junior doctor’s bloody neck. John had just treated her to a very romantic meal at the Palatine, which had gone some way to making up for having to endure spending their day off in a smoky east-end pub. Next she had planned a night of seduction.
‘That’s all right, Genevieve, don’t worry,’ Dr Parker said. ‘Call through to the ward and tell him I’ll be there in ten.’
‘Come on, then,’ Dr Eris sighed, then smiled, doing a good job of hiding her anger and frustration. ‘I’ll see you off.’ She took his arm and they went out into the fresh night air and kissed each other goodnight.
Heading back into the asylum and to her quarters in the West Wing, Claire realised the clock was ticking and she really needed to cement her relationship with John, especially having heard that he now knew Helen and Matthew were not an item. That really was a spanner in the works.
She was pretty sure that Helen was still after John and that John was still blissfully ignorant of the fact – but for how long? Helen’s visits to the asylum meant she was seeing more of the man Claire fully intended to marry. Her misdirection of Helen’s calls courtesy of Denise had only worked for so long. Now Helen was back and seeing more of John than ever before, thanks to her mother’s great-aunty. Which begged the question: why hadn’t Helen visited before, especially as it provided the perfect excuse to meet up with John? It just didn’t make sense. Something smelled off. She’d get to the bottom of it. Get herself a bargaining chip before John’s friendship with Helen turned into anything more. She was determined she was not going to suffer the same fate twice and have the man she wanted to marry snatched from under her nose. Never again. She really did not want to have to resort to playing the oldest trick in the book in order to get a ring on her finger, especially as she had no burning desire to have a baby. That could only be a last resort. There had to be another way.
She just needed to find it.
Dr Parker hurried off into the darkness. He didn’t need a torch as he knew the way from the asylum to the Ryhope with a blindfold on if need be, although walking in the blackout was pretty much akin to that. Striding along the narrow country lane that provided a short cut back to the military hospital, Dr Parker berated himself every step of the way, telling himself to stop feeling happy – elated even – because Helen and Matthew Royce were not courting, as he had firmly believed.
Thank goodness Dr Jameson had called. He’d have to stop himself giving him a slap on the back and thanking him for being an overly anxious, verging on the neurotic, newly qualified doctor and calling him away from his date this evening. He had been thinking of ways to cry off staying over at Claire’s tonight. Ever since Helen had told him that she wasn’t seeing Matthew, all he’d wanted was some time to think. He’d taken Claire to the Palatine and they’d had a perfectly lovely evening, but if he was honest with himself, what had led to his good humour was Helen’s revelation.
Dr Parker climbed over a stile and into the grounds of the hospital. He realised with a sinking heart that here he was again, obsessing about Helen even though he had resolved to stop doing so after the madness of last September, when a flurry of dreams about her had compelled him to go and declare his feelings. He’d never got a chance to ask her if she loved him, as his dreams had made him believe, because Artie had decided to come into the world a little earlier than anticipated; then, afterwards, when he’d again been about to declare his undying love, Matthew had bumped and barged between them and kissed Helen right in front of him. No wonder he’d thought they were an item. But looking back, that kiss could just as easily be interpreted as a show of friendship as much as it could a lover’s exchange. He’d firmly believed Helen and Matthew were a couple, but he’d been wrong. God, if only he’d known that then.
As he walked onto the gravel path that led to the hospital entrance, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Perhaps his dream really had been true?
Dr Parker slapped himself on the head, as though to bring himself to his senses. What was he doing, running headlong towards the rabbit hole of insanity? He’d done this before; he could not do it again. Helen was a friend. A good friend. They had recognised their friendship and how special it was at Artie’s christening. And even if she wasn’t with Matthew, that did not automatically mean she wanted to be with him. He had to accept their relationship was platonic. He could not give over his whole life to moping after her. After the debacle of the dream, he had told himself to man up and have an adult relationship, not fritter his life away like some sad knight of old mourning for ever a love that never was.
Besides which, he had a girlfriend already. Claire. Whom he adored. Found attractive. Was intimate with. Whom he loved. Didn’t he?
Oh, dear God! Get a grip, man.
Claire was the woman he was with. The one he would marry. Wasn’t she?