Over the next few days, people came and went. Rosie continued to be hit by waves of grief so deep she thought they would consume her whole being. Part of her wanted them to. She cried and cried. Helen brought Dr Parker to check on her. He left a bottle of sleeping pills with Lily should she feel Rosie needed them. There was no need to explain why he had given the bottle to Lily rather than leave them with Rosie. It was hard to tell her mindset as all she kept saying was that she was fine and just wanted to be on her own.
While Rosie was on leave, Helen put Gloria in charge and the women on ‘pickup’ work, touching up spots that had been missed or weren’t up to scratch; she’d done so knowing their minds would not be on the job and that a lack of concentration might well lead to accidents – none of them needed any more tragedies.
All Rosie’s squad took it in turns to go and visit, as did Georgina, who wondered how so much heartache could befall one person. They didn’t stay long, just enough time to give her a quick update on what was happening at the yard and to tell her what she already knew – that they were there, should she need or want them. The problem was that the only person Rosie needed and wanted was Peter.
Through it all, Rosie barely let go of Peter’s letter. She held it when she fell asleep and cried over it as she read it over and over again in the morning.
The day after Rosie had been brought to the bordello, Charlotte came into her room to find the letter had fallen on the floor while Rosie was asleep. Picking it up, she caught a glimpse of her own name and couldn’t stop herself reading it. She stood stock-still as she committed to memory every word Peter had written to her big sister – how Charlotte had to be strong and brave, just like Rosie had been. She reread the lines on how Rosie had sacrificed her life for her own, and with tears stinging her eyes she resolved to show her sister that her sacrifice had been worth it – just as Peter’s had been too.
Thereafter, Charlotte would take Rosie a cup of tea and a sandwich after school and she would sit by her bed and tell her all about what she had learnt. She would stay there until Rosie had eaten her sandwich and drunk her tea. Only then would she leave her in peace.
The magnitude of the aftershock from Peter’s death was far-reaching. Every one of Rosie’s squad and those who knew her and loved her was deeply affected. And the ways they were affected were varied.
When Martha had told her mam and dad the news, they had hugged her tightly. Mrs Perkins had cried for a long while. It was only later that Martha understood for the first time both why they had been so set against her ARP work and their relief that it had more or less come to an end. Martha knew that if anything happened to their only daughter, her parents, like Rosie, would struggle with the effort of living.
Secretly, Polly felt guilty. She hadn’t told the women she’d received a letter from Tommy on the morning they’d heard that Peter had been killed. Tommy had written full of good humour and hope that victory was within their grasp, reassuring her that it was highly improbable that his unit would be involved in any more dangerous operations. Polly had confided her guilt to Bel, who had told her that from her experience, thinking back to when she was told that Teddy had been killed, the grief she felt had gone hand in hand with guilt. Polly and her sister-in-law had both cried. Their tears as much for Teddy as they were for Peter.
Like all the women, Hannah had saved her tears for when she was at home on her own. Peter, in her eyes, was a true hero. He had sacrificed his life and his love to try to stop the spread of malevolence unleashed by Hitler – a small man with a mammoth capacity for hate. Every night she prayed – every prayer devoted to Peter – asking God for a miracle, arguing that they needed to see that good could triumph and that there was light in a world that had become cloaked in darkness.
It was Dorothy out of all the women, though, who seemed the most affected by Peter’s death.
‘She keeps saying she feels like she’s “the angel of death”,’ Angie confided to her workmates. ‘I’ve never seen her so down. She didn’t even get excited when Toby called the other night.’
‘Dorothy’s life is about happy endings,’ Gloria said. ‘Look at all her favourite films ’n the books she reads – they all have a happy ever after.’
She paused.
‘And Rosie is not going to get her happy ending, is she?’
Helen, meanwhile, kept thinking about John. They had gone for a cup of tea after he had checked Rosie over and she had told him, ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose someone like that.’ She had looked at John and caught a flash of how it might feel should he die. It was an insight that had stayed with her and played on her mind. She couldn’t help thinking that if John was suddenly taken from her, she would be filled with huge regret. She thought about her own tragedies in life – the most dreadful one, of course, being the death of her unborn child. And the more she thought about it, the more she realised that she would not like to add the burden of regret to her own losses and adversities. She was edging to a decision – heading towards a course of action she knew she had to take. It was just a matter of when.
John had been hit by an equally strong revelation after tending to Rosie. Seeing her lying on the bed at Lily’s, he knew he was looking at a woman who had loved truly and deeply and with all of her heart. Some might argue that the effect on Rosie of losing Peter was an argument for a person not giving their whole heart to another. The repercussions should that love be taken away – ripped from you unexpectedly or unjustly or by sheer misfortune – were too great. He wondered if Rosie would ever be able to recover. It was almost too unbearable to witness. And during the days that followed, he thought about the love that Rosie felt for Peter and which he was sure Peter had felt for Rosie too, and it made him wonder about his love for Claire – and the love he’d felt for Helen. Still felt for Helen.
Dr Eris had wanted to scream in frustration when John told her that Helen, a damsel in distress, had gone to him following Peter’s death, asking him to check that Rosie was all right. The woman had only to snap her fingers and he’d come running. If anything, Helen should have been asking for her help. She was the psychologist, after all. Mental well-being was her domain. What did John know? He was a bloody surgeon. Besides which, there were plenty of other women the length and breadth of the country who were having to deal with similar news. And Rosie doubted very much there were many – if any – of those newly-made widows who were being checked over by a doctor. They simply had to get over it and get on with life. She would bet her bottom dollar that Helen had used Rosie’s bad news as an excuse to see even more of John than she was already.
Walking towards the reception area, Dr Eris saw that Genevieve was waiting by the front door. Her young stand-in was sitting behind the reception desk, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
‘Ah, Genevieve,’ Dr Eris called out. ‘You look lovely.’
Genevieve smiled. She had put on her best dress. It wasn’t often she went out of an evening. Not at her age – and on her wage. She wasn’t stupid, though, and knew there would be a reason Dr Eris had suggested they go out for a drink and something to eat. It wasn’t the first time she’d been wined and dined in exchange for information. She was intrigued, though, to know what Dr Eris wanted to find out. Whatever it was, she was sure she’d have the answers. She’d been at the asylum for a long, long time. Decades. And she had been blessed with a memory like an elephant.