By the time Violet reached the front door of the two-up, two-down she shared with her family, she was so exhausted she could barely put her key in the lock. The day had been tiring and also wonderful. There had been so much to take in and remember, it had been enough to make Violet’s head spin. And to think she had only worked a tea dance! Yet the pleasure she felt from the moment she stepped inside the Palais had only grown throughout the day. Of course, there was the glamour of the dance hall, but it had been about camaraderie too. She had seen the way Renee, Nancy and Temperance looked out for one another. The way Bill Cain had picked on Temperance had not been lost on Violet. Nor had the way Nancy had offered to deal with what could only be described as bullying on the MC’s part.
The truth was, however, that her mother’s parting words had played on her mind all day. George Millington had voluntarily joined up. And incredibly the army had let him, but she supposed he was just past the call-up age at 42. Violet wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused. If the British army was allowing people like her father to join the ranks, Britain had no hope of winning against Hitler.
And apparently he was doing it all in honour of his son. Violet didn’t believe it. Her father didn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. There had to be an ulterior motive. But what? Violet had no idea, but then she felt as if she never had a clue about the rest of her family, aside from Roy and Queenie. Her parents felt like strangers, so much so she had never called them Mum and Dad, instead always preferring to use their first names. As for Maisie, she had always felt at odds with her too – she saw their parents very differently, loving and accepting them without question. There were times Violet wished she felt this way, and as she unlocked the front door and let both her and Maisie inside, she stole a glance at her sister who continued to look as joyful as she had all day. She hadn’t yet broken the news to her that their father was leaving for the army. Maisie was three years younger than Violet but there were times when it seemed as if they were decades apart. Violet knew how dramatic Maisie could be and thought it best they concentrate on their day at work – histrionics could come later.
And so, as Violet walked along the narrow hallway towards the cramped kitchen at the back of the terrace, she braced herself for her mother’s sobs or her father’s usual shouts. But to her surprise they didn’t come. Instead there was only silence, save for the sound of someone chopping vegetables.
Violet took in the sight of Betty surrounded by carrots and potatoes, the seven-o’clock news blaring out of the Bakelite wireless on top of the mantle.
‘You’re back,’ their mother said in a flat tone. ‘One of you peel the spuds, the other can set the table.’
‘Ma, we’ve just got in from work,’ Maisie protested.
‘Is that what you call it?’ Betty said turning around, her cheeks red and flushed, her eyes swollen. She’d been crying Violet noticed.
As Betty wiped her hands on the front of her pinny she frowned, and as she looked the girls up and down her jaw set.
Violet pursed her lips. ‘I haven’t told Maisie yet. About George.’
Betty looked stunned and Violet could tell by the way her mouth kept opening and closing she was about to lose her temper. She searched desperately for the right words to say, but was saved by the appearance of the man himself.
‘That my very own good time girls back from a hard day’s graft?’ boomed a loud voice.
‘What haven’t you told me about, Dad?’ Maisie said, turning to her father when Violet and Betty looked away. ‘Dad?’
But George smiled at his youngest daughter as he walked into the kitchen, bottle of stout in hand, wearing a pair of heavily mended trousers. With his large bulking figure, thick head of jet-black hair and deep voice George Millington was always the greatest presence in any room and he knew it.
‘Don’t call them that,’ Betty scolded. ‘They’re respectable girls or at least they are now.’
‘Look, we ain’t going to agree but it’d be nice if you could be a bit pleased for us,’ Violet put in, ignoring her father.
Betty let out a mocking laugh. ‘Pleased? About you working in a knocking shop? I’ve heard it all now.’
‘And it’s more money which means more housekeeping for you,’ Maisie added, forgetting her father for a moment.
‘That all that matters?’ Betty cried, her Irish accent suddenly coming out in full force as it always did when she was riled. ‘Money?’
‘I can’t say it don’t help,’ George chuckled, giving Violet a conspiratorial wink. ‘If Chamberlain has his way this war will ruin this country. Hitler’s got us on the bleedin’ run and’ll leave us penniless while he has his way. Take my advice, girls, take your fun and your dough where you can find it.’
‘Like you always do,’ Betty said pointedly.
At the barb George let out a loud cackle of laughter. ‘Too right, darlin’, and with you as my ball and chain, why wouldn’t I?’
Betty’s eyes flashed. ‘That the real reason you’ve joined up is it? To shirk your responsibilities around the house. I know your game, George Millington.’
Maisie turned white. ‘You’ve joined up?’
But George ignored her as he rounded on his wife.
‘You know I’ve only been able to get temporary work down the docks, Bet,’ he said in a weary tone that implied this was a regular row. ‘It’s better this way, regular job and work, a bit of money and a chance to honour our son.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Betty fired back, seemingly too enraged, Violet noticed, to fall apart at the mention of Roy as she usually did. ‘Where’s my housekeeping then?’
‘I ain’t been paid yet,’ George began, and Violet felt a flicker of disgust as she watched the lies trip so easily from his tongue. She had seen him only last week when she was coming out of Woolies, handing over a brown envelope to the tote man.
‘You must think I was born yesterday,’ Betty snapped. ‘Which floozy’s getting your cash this week?’
George set down his beer on the kitchen counter and laughed loudly. Violet shrank back and clamped her hands over her ears, wishing she was anywhere else right now. She would have expected that after a lifetime of hearing her parents argue she would be used to the insults and jibes but she hated the hostility between them as much as she had when she was a scared child.
‘And what the hell are you gonna do about it?’ George spat. ‘Leave me? For who? Nobody’d have you, you daft cow. You looked in a mirror lately? There might be a war on but most women seem able to run a brush through their hair and slap on a bit of lippy. Is it any wonder I go elsewhere when your boat race looks like a bucket of smashed crabs.’
There was an agonised silence then as Betty reared back from her husband. ‘If I look like this it’s ’cos of a lifetime spent in piggin’ misery with you for the last twenty odd years.’
With that Violet watched her mother flee from the room in yet more tears and she let out a shaky sigh of relief that for once the altercation between her parents had not resulted in violence.
She glanced at Maisie. Her eyes were wide and the look of joy she had worn all day had now been replaced by fear.
‘You’re joining up?’ Maisie said again, her voice trembling as she waited for confirmation.
George nodded as he leaned back against the worktop and picked up his beer.
Maisie rushed towards him and wrapped her arms around his middle. Violet tried not to roll her eyes at the scene – her little sister had always been a fool where their father was concerned. She prided herself on being daddy’s little girl, no matter what trouble he brought to their door.
‘Why? You’re too old, ain’t ya?’ she whispered into his chest.
George laughed and stroked his daughter’s hair with his free hand. ‘I’ve got to do right by our country and carry on Roy’s memory, love.’
‘But what if you get hurt?’ Maisie wailed, her head still resting on her father’s chest. ‘I can’t lose you n’all, Dad.’
‘That’s a risk worth taking. For our country’s freedom,’ George said softly.
As he looked over the top of Maisie’s head and shot Violet a mildly sanctimonious smile, she shook her head in disgust. Her father was always up to no good, but using Roy’s memory like this to cover up whatever lies he was hiding wasn’t right.
She looked away from her father and down at Maisie. She was crying softly now into her father’s chest while George continued to drink his beer and pat her head absent-mindedly.
‘Come on, dry your eyes,’ he said eventually. ‘This is me best shirt, can’t go out looking like a drowned rat on account of your tears, can I?’
Laughing, Maisie lifted her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘When are you going?’
‘Tomorrow, first thing,’ George said.
At those three little words, Maisie let out a gasp of shock and Violet was quick to follow.
‘So soon?’ she asked.
‘No point hanging about, not with Hitler carrying on the way he is,’ George said, pushing Maisie away from him as gently as he could.
Just then Queenie swept into the kitchen, empty teacup in hand and hair messed up at the back. Despite how confused she felt Violet couldn’t help smiling at her grandmother. She spent most of her afternoons helping out at the Women’s Voluntary Service but liked a nap when she thought nobody was looking.
‘Make us all a cuppa, will you, Maisie?’ she asked now, setting her empty cup on the side and taking a seat in one of the chairs by the fire still dressed in her bottle green WVS uniform.
‘Not for me, love, I’m all right as I am,’ George put in as Maisie filled the kettle.
Queenie shot her son a look of disgust. ‘The tea is for those what contribute a bit of housekeeping.’
George laughed, his thick head of hair barely moving as he threw his head back at his mother’s joke. Violet sighed as she looked her father up and down. Hair stiff with pomade and dressed in what she could see now was his best pair of trousers, she had a feeling he was going out.
‘That all you’ve got to say to a man who’s celebrating his last night of freedom? I’m fighting for our country, Ma.’
Queenie sniffed and looked her son up and down. ‘You’re up to something, George Millington. There’s some advantage in this for you, I just ain’t worked out what it is yet, but I will, and when I do I’ll bloody crown you for all the misery you’re causing.’
George laughed. ‘My dear old Ma. You always speak so highly of me.’
‘I speak as I find,’ Queenie said stiffly. ‘Where you spending your last night then? Heaven forbid it’s with your family.’
Maisie let out a sob. ‘Don’t talk to Dad like that,’ she said almost pleadingly. ‘We might never see him again.’
Violet said nothing but met her grandmother’s gaze for a moment.
‘All right, Maisie,’ Queenie said at last. ‘Don’t take on. I’m sure your father’s going to be fine.’
‘Course he will,’ Violet rallied. ‘He’s the luck of the Irish, or at least he has after nicking it off Ma.’
‘Haha!’ George smiled again and reached out to pinch his eldest daughter’s cheek but Violet moved away just in time. Her father’s womanising was legendary in the area, but despite the fact she and her mother could rarely say a good word to one another, the way her father treated Betty made her heart break.
‘Well, I best be off. I expect you’ll be in bed by the time I get back.’
‘You’re not even staying for tea?’ Violet thundered, as she gazed angrily at the bowl of potatoes she was about to peel.
‘No time, love,’ he said making his way towards Queenie. ‘You got half a crown for me, Ma? I’m short this week,’ he said in a low voice.
‘On your bleedin’ bike,’ Queenie replied without taking her gaze from the fire. ‘And don’t even think about asking your wife after what I’ve just heard you say to her. You’ll have to find some other mug to fund your floozy or gambling habit tonight.’
Swearing under his breath George stormed out of the house without so much as a goodbye. And as he slammed the door Violet let out a sigh of relief. Maisie pressed a cup of tea into her hands. As she smiled gratefully at her sister, she saw that Maisie was shaking. She put an arm around her sister.
‘He will be all right, you know.’
‘I just don’t know why you’re all so horrible to him. He’s our dad.’ She wept. ‘He’s going off to fight. I can’t stand the idea of him getting killed like Roy. You’re both so horrible.’
‘Maisie,’ Violet tried, but Maisie wouldn’t listen and rushed out the door.
Violet went after her, but Queenie laid a hand on her forearm as she passed. ‘Leave her, love. Give her some time. She’s not like us, she thinks the sun shines out of George’s backside no matter how badly he behaves.’
Sighing, Violet sat down in the chair opposite her grandmother and reached for the cup of tea her sister had made.
‘Why d’you think he’s really joining up?’ she asked.
Raising an eyebrow, Queenie mulled the question over for a moment. ‘I shouldn’t like to say. Course I want to believe he’s doing it out of respect for Roy and because he wants to do right by our country.’
‘But you don’t think that’s true,’ Violet countered.
Queenie laughed. ‘It pains me to say it about my only child, but as sure as eggs are eggs, George’ll be up to something. I don’t know if he owes money to someone and they’ve threatened to break his legs if he don’t pay up. Or some floozy’s husband’s caught him with his trousers down and threatened to break his neck.’
Despite the situation Violet laughed at the picture her grandmother painted. ‘You have got a high opinion of your son.’
‘He might be my one and only child but he’s a bad apple and I ain’t afraid to admit it,’ Queenie said. ‘I dunno how it went so wrong. Me and your grandfather loved the bones of him. But there was always something not quite right about George. He was always looking for ways to get one over on someone. I told your mother that when she first came round this house for her tea. Betty love, I said. Our George might be a good-looking lad but he’s work-shy and too interested in living the high life to settle down and be a good provider for you. Not like his grandfather, God rest him.’
At the mention of the grandfather that died before Violet was born, Queenie made the sign of the cross against her chest and met her granddaughter’s eye.
‘You and your mother are so alike. Headstrong, wilful and won’t be told. Your father swept your mother off her feet with his cheap talk and sweet nothings. She fell for his flannel hook, line and sinker and Bet was hell-bent on marrying him, thought she could change him.’ At the notion Queenie laughed and shook her head ruefully.
‘She found out the hard way a woman’ll never change a fella and the moment she said “I do”, she realised she’d married a good-for-nothing cheat. But to give her due credit she’s made her bed and she ain’t afraid to lie in it, even if she does give him rock all half the time. Not that he don’t deserve it of course.’
‘And do you really think that’s right?’ Violet said aghast.
Queenie shrugged. ‘Got nothing to do with what I think’s right or wrong, has it? Your mother’s a grown woman. She’s responsible for her own choices, good and bad.’
Violet was quiet for a moment as she thought about what her grandmother had said.
‘Do you think George loves Betty?’ she asked quietly. ‘She obviously loves him, otherwise she wouldn’t put up with what she does.’
Queenie looked up at her sharply. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, it’s as though she can see what he’s like and ain’t afraid to say it. But woe betide anyone else what says something,’ Violet reasoned, trying to find the words.
‘It’s the age-old story, love,’ Queenie said with a sigh. ‘She can say it but nobody else can. Your father loves your mother in his own way. Whether he respects her or not, that’s a different question.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, some people throw love around like it’s the only thing that ain’t at risk of being rationed. But respect. How a person treats you, talks to you, well that’s different,’ Queenie said carefully, checking behind her to see if Betty had appeared. ‘If you ask me whether your father respects your mother I should say no. No fella would carry on with all these other women, sponging off his wife for money and food like he does, if he respected his wife.’
‘Then why does Betty put up with it?’ Violet asked impatiently. ‘Some days she acts as if George is the best thing that ever happened to her and can do no wrong, and other days she seems to hate him as much as I do.’
There was a brief pause before Queenie spoke. ‘She has her reasons, Violet love. All I’ll say is not everything’s black and white and not everything is necessarily all your father’s fault.’ Queenie took a sip of tea and smiled warmly at Violet.
‘You fancy joining me up the WVS?’ she asked. ‘Do your bit for the war effort? We’re ever so busy just now with the Bundles For Britain Appeal.’
Violet frowned. ‘What’s that?’
Queenie shook her head in disbelief. ‘Do you ever listen to a word I say? Old Lady Reading put in an appeal at the tail end of last year for clothes ’cos of our shortages. The Yanks have been sending over more than we can cope with so we need help to get ’em sorted.’
Violet thought for a moment. She had wanted to do her bit for the war for a while but wasn’t sure where to focus her energies.
‘Would I have time with the Palais n’all?’
Queenie smiled. ‘Smart girl like you’d make time. Come on, you’d enjoy it and it’d get your mind off your mother.’
At that Violet laughed. ‘All right then. I’ll come down to the regional office tomorrow.’
‘I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, girl,’ Queenie said, patting her hand. ‘Not just for this, or for getting a job up somewhere as glamorous as the Palais.’
‘Then why?’ Violet asked.
Queenie leaned forwards in her chair and fixed her gaze on Violet. ‘Because you’re going out in the world and making something of yourself. You get this right, Vi, and you’ll never have to rely on a bloke like your mother has.’