‘I think we all deserve a pat on the back – or a bonus in our pay packets,’ Jimmy said as the shipyard’s entire workforce slowly made its way over to the far end of the yard to the dry basins.
‘Two in one day,’ Rosie smiled. She was bursting with pride. They’d managed to build two vessels bound for France in record time and they were being launched on the same day. ‘It helps having a full squad,’ she added, cocking her head back. They both looked behind to see the women welders walking alongside Jimmy’s gang of riveters.
‘With yer having Polly back?’ Jimmy asked, lighting his rollie as they walked.
‘That and the fact you’re not nicking Martha off me all the time,’ she laughed.
‘I would be if Helen’d let me,’ Jimmy said, deadpan, expelling smoke.
‘She wouldn’t dare,’ Rosie said. ‘I’d go spare. You’ve got more than your fair share now.’
They both knew Rosie was referring to the latest addition to Jimmy’s squad – Bobby.
‘Aye, yer right there,’ Jimmy said.
‘He getting on all right?’ Rosie asked.
‘More than all right,’ said Jimmy. ‘He’s like a machine, he is – never stops. Driven. Can’t get enough overtime. He’s proving to be a real role model for the younger lads.’
Rosie glanced round to see the young rivet burner and catcher jostling each other and joking around, their young faces smeared with dirt but animated with excitement at the prospect of a launch.
‘Does Bobby get on with everyone?’ Rosie asked, trying not to sound like she was probing. Gloria had confided in her that she had no idea how her son was doing. During his Friday visits he was polite enough, but he still had his defences up. The time he spent at the flat was purely given over to playing with Hope – except, of course, for his verbal sparring with Dorothy.
‘He’s not the chattiest of blokes I’ve worked with,’ Jimmy said, taking a string of tobacco off his lip, ‘but he gets on with everyone.’
They carried on walking to the dry dock at the very end of the yard, where the first launch was to take place.
Rosie knew Gloria was over the moon that Bobby adored Hope and wanted to be a part of her life, but it was obvious to them all that she was hurt by Bobby’s refusal to reconcile their differences and accept Jack as part of the family. Personally, she couldn’t understand it. They were all alive – and together. They should be counting their blessings.
‘How you doing, Dorothy?’ Bobby asked, nudging a path through the crowd of workers all heading over to the ways.
His question was met by a dark, sidelong look from Dorothy, and a smile from Angie next to her. Dorothy walked on in silence.
‘She’s good,’ Angie said. ‘We’ve just been chatting about Pearl and Bill’s wedding.’
Bobby smiled. He had heard all about the wedding from Bel, who had told him several times these past few weeks that she would never have guessed she would ever see her ma hitched, and that, in fact, she would not believe it until it happened.
‘Are yer gannin?’ Angie asked.
‘I’ve been invited,’ Bobby said. ‘So, yes, I’ll be there.’ He looked at Dorothy, who was muttering something under her breath he couldn’t make out. He followed her line of vision as she looked over at Gloria, who was chatting to Martha and the young girl from the drawing office who he knew was called Hannah.
Dorothy looked back up at him. ‘Why won’t you make things up properly with your mam? Today would be the perfect opportunity,’ she said. ‘The day of your first launch. Ships we’ve all been working on. Together. Men and women. Mothers and sons.’
Bobby laughed loudly. ‘That sounds like something Churchill would say.’
They walked on.
‘For God’s sake, Bobby, just be nice to her!’ Dorothy demanded.
‘I am nice. You make me sound like I’m horrible to her,’ Bobby defended himself.
‘What? Like you are to Jack?’ Dorothy hissed.
‘I’m not horrible to Jack either,’ Bobby said, his expression innocent.
‘Actually, you’re not,’ Dorothy conceded. ‘You’re not horrible because you don’t even speak to the man – you don’t get the chance to be horrible to him.’ She looked at him. ‘Although, some would argue that not speaking to someone is in itself being horrible.’
Bobby shook his head and touched his ear, indicating that he couldn’t hear.
Dorothy stomped round so that she was walking on his right side.
‘You’re being civil to your mam like she’s a stranger – not like she’s your mother, the person who brought you up, cared for you, loved you, who has been worried sick about you since the day war was declared.’
Bobby looked down at Dorothy. Every time he saw her, they had the same conversation. He didn’t mind being castigated on a regular basis; he just wished he didn’t feel like kissing her every time she opened that very loud but lovely mouth of hers.
Watching the launch of both landing craft, Rosie’s physical being might well have been in a shipyard on the north-east coast of England, but her mind was somewhere on the north-west coast of France – an area she was now quite well acquainted with thanks to Charlotte getting her a map of France from the school library. They had both studied it the other night, looking at where the invasion would likely take place and wondering where Peter might be. They had chatted about the ‘dress rehearsals’ that were taking place on the stretches of beaches along the Devon coastline, and Rosie had explained to her little sister about the Royal Navy landing craft that all the shipyards were producing. Charlotte had, of course, taken the opportunity to quiz her big sister more about Peter, making Rosie repeat what she had already told her about how they had met and fallen in love. Charlotte never tired of listening, just as Rosie never tired of the telling. When Rosie told her again about her wedding in Guildford, how she had been married for barely two days before Peter left for the war, Charlotte had sighed, as she always did, saying, ‘How sad, but so romantic.’
Minutes after the second landing craft hit the water, Rosie turned to her squad. ‘Back to work we go!’ The harder they worked, the more ships they got down the ways, the more chance they’d win this war. Which, of course, meant Peter would return.
Rosie would get the man she loved back. For good.
‘Come on, Dor, what yer deeing?’ Angie was standing with her haversack and air raid mask slung over her shoulder, hands on hips.
‘Hold your horses,’ Dorothy said, pretending to do up the shoelaces on her boots. ‘Do you want me to go flying and break an arm and then I won’t be able to work and Rosie will flip her lid?’
Dorothy looked up to see that Rosie was now standing next to Angie, looking equally impatient to be off.
‘Sorry, Rosie,’ Dorothy quickly added, ‘I didn’t see you there.’ She stood up. ‘And of course I know that obviously you would never flip your lid.’
‘I might if you don’t get a move on,’ Rosie said. She liked to be the last to leave, to make sure all their machines had been switched off and their equipment put away.
‘You get yourself off,’ Dorothy said, throwing Angie a look. ‘I’ve gotta go to the loo. I think I drank too much tea this afternoon. It’s gone through me like water through a sieve.’
Angie frowned. Dorothy hadn’t drunk any tea this afternoon. She’d said the weather was too hot.
‘All right then,’ Rosie said, wanting to get home, get changed and get to Lily’s. The sooner her work there was done, the sooner she would be home for Charlotte. ‘See you all tomorrow,’ she said, having a quick last look around. Everything seemed in order. ‘Have a nice evening.’
Angie waited until Rosie was out of earshot. ‘What yer playing at, Dor?’
‘Come on, follow me,’ Dorothy commanded, tugging Angie off in the direction of the women’s toilets.
‘What? Yer really do need the lav?’ Now Angie was totally puzzled.
‘No, of course I don’t. You know me, cast-iron bladder,’ Dorothy said. They all had cast-iron bladders due to their reluctance to use the yard’s very basic facilities. Although none of them had ever seen a rat, they’d all heard scratching sounds, which got worse the warmer the weather.
‘So, what we doing?’
Angie suddenly felt herself being grabbed by the arm and propelled sideways and under the long iron neck of a resting crane.
‘’Ere, Dor, I’m not a rag doll, yer knar,’ she said, looking askance at her friend.
‘We’re waiting on Bobby,’ Dorothy explained. ‘This has gone on too long. He needs to hear some home truths.’
‘Ah, nah, Dor,’ Angie wailed. ‘You can’t force people to dee what yer think they should be deeing.’
Dorothy shot Angie a look before focusing her attention back on the yard.
‘I beg to differ,’ she said defiantly.
They both watched as the yard started to clear. Dorothy knew that Bobby was usually one of the last to leave the day shift, sometimes even staying on to do a few hours with workers on the evening shift. Polly had told them that Agnes had got into the habit of putting his supper in the oven to keep warm.
‘There he is,’ Angie said, hopeful he wouldn’t stand about chatting too long. Quentin was due to call this evening and she’d be gutted if she missed him. ‘Ah, nah, he’s gannin into the platers’ shed.’
They stood watching and waiting for five long minutes.
‘Dor, this doesn’t feel right,’ Angie said. ‘I feel like we’re spying on him.’
‘We’re not spying – we’re waiting,’ Dorothy said, eyes trained on the entrance to the huge prefabricated metal shed.
Another five minutes passed that felt longer still.
‘Dor, I’m gonna have to gan. I’ll miss Quentin’s call if we hang about much longer.’
Dorothy looked at Angie’s forlorn face. ‘OK, let’s walk over to the main gates and if he’s not come by then, you can go and catch lover boy and I’ll stay here.’
‘Gee thanks, Dor. That’s kind of you,’ Angie said with undisguised sarcasm.
‘I know,’ Dor said as they both stepped out of the shadow of the mammoth crane. ‘I’m a kind and considerate friend, I am.’
When they reached the timekeeper’s cabin, it was nearly six o’clock. Dorothy shouted up at Davey to put down half five, which was the time they should have left.
‘Now, we’re lying as well as spying,’ Angie mumbled as they walked away from the large metal gates that had been partially closed after the end of the day shift.
‘No, Ange, lying would be making out we’ve worked an extra half-hour and we’ve not.’
Dorothy took a final look into the main yard before turning back to Angie. ‘Go on then, go and have your verbal smooch with Quentin and I’ll see you a bit later.’
‘Don’t forget Toby’s ringing yer at seven,’ Angie said, turning to leave.
‘As if,’ Dorothy tutted. But in truth, she was surprised to realise she actually had forgotten. Lately it seemed that she was thinking more about Bobby than her own beau. She was certainly seeing more of him.
‘At last!’ Dorothy mumbled to herself as she pushed herself up from the kerb of the embankment and wiped dirt and grit off her bottom. It was warm and she had slipped her arms out of her overalls and tied the sleeves around her waist. She had also untied her headscarf and her dark brown hair was hanging in loose, messy curls over her shoulders and down her back. She had been enjoying the feel of the early-evening sun on her skin. It wasn’t often she felt anything other than scratchy denim on her body during the day. Dorothy, like all the women welders, was terrified of getting burned and scarred by spitting welds. It hurt and it was unsightly when they did get to dress up and go out.
‘Bobby!’ Dorothy shouted out as he took his time card off Davey and started to make his way down to the embankment.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he shielded his eyes against the sun. Seeing Dorothy walking towards him, he couldn’t speak, only stare. She looked like some Greek goddess, the kind some of his shipmates had inked on their arms and chests. She looked incredibly strong, her arms toned, the muscles defined. The vest she had on looked like a man’s, but what it was covering was far from manly.
‘Dear me,’ he finally found his voice, ‘you’re a sight for sore eyes.’
‘And you’re late!’ Dorothy retorted, totally unfazed by the way he was looking at her. ‘I’ve been waiting ages.’
Bobby gave a bark of laughter, which was part amused, part incredulous, a reaction Dorothy always seemed to provoke in him. ‘I wasn’t aware we had arranged a date.’
‘We hadn’t,’ Dorothy said simply.
‘That’s all right,’ Bobby said, still standing rooted to the spot, mesmerised by the incredibly scruffy, but also incredibly sexy woman welder standing in front of him, hands on hips, wearing a pair of leather hobnailed boots. ‘I’ll just add telepathic communications to my considerable list of skills.’
‘Big-headedness is not an attractive quality in a man,’ Dorothy scowled.
Bobby suppressed a smile. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure, as it’s clear it’s me you’ve been waiting for?’
Dorothy was just about to speak when he butted in. ‘No, I’m going to use my mind-reading abilities and tell you …’ he put his large, blackened hands to his temples ‘… you are here to speak to me about …’ a pained expression was followed by a look of enlightenment ‘… my mam.’
‘Ten out of ten,’ Dorothy said.
‘Well, why don’t I get us both a drink from the Admiral?’ He glanced over to the pub at the bottom of the embankment. ‘We can drink it by the quayside, and you can tell me exactly what it is you want to say.’
Dorothy stood for a moment. Realising she was actually really thirsty, not having drunk much all afternoon and having sweated a lot, she nodded. ‘All right. I’ll have a lemonade, please.’
‘Lemonade it is,’ he said, his eyes still on Dorothy as they walked over to the pub.
Dorothy took a long drink, then turned her head to look at Bobby. They were sitting on the edge of the wharf, between two black metal balustrades, their overall-clad legs dangling down; the seagulls were squawking above them, the murky water of the Wear gently slapping against the quayside below. Dorothy felt conscious that their bodies were almost touching.
As Bobby pulled his arms out of the top of his overalls, Dorothy leant to the side to allow him elbow room to free himself. He tied the sleeves around his waist, as Dorothy had done with hers. It was hot; the sea breeze on his skin cooling. Dorothy couldn’t help but be taken aback by the sight of his tanned, very muscular arms, as well as by his array of tattoos. There was an anchor and a nautical star on one arm, a swallow on each shoulder and what looked like two cannons crossed on one of his forearms and a dagger going through a rose on the other. She forced herself not to stare.
‘So, tell me,’ Bobby said. ‘You said you wanted to speak to me about my mam.’
‘I do,’ she said, a little distracted.
‘And?’ Bobby said, looking at her profile and thinking he would love to do a sketch of her and send it to Gordon.
‘When are you going to start being nice to her – and Jack?’ Dorothy turned her head and forced herself to look Bobby in the eye, something she found surprisingly hard to do.
Bobby let out a hearty laugh. ‘Don’t hold back, Dorothy.’
‘I speak as I find,’ she threw him a scathing look, ‘and I find your behaviour around Gloria and Jack …’ She paused, trying to find the right word. ‘Distant … Distant and cold … And unfeeling.’
Bobby exhaled. He’d been back almost a month now and during that time Dorothy had repeatedly asked him the same question but in a myriad different ways. Bobby looked at her face, which was painted with smears of soot and dirt, but looked just as attractive as when he’d seen her that first night all done up to the nines.
‘I think you’re going to have to let it go, Dorothy. I know you think the world of Mam, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this is a family matter. It’s something I have to sort out with my mam myself. Just the two of us.’
Dorothy sighed. Angie and Helen had said the same to her.
‘I do understand that.’ She tried to soften her tone. ‘But the thing is, Bobby, you’re not going to be able to sort it out if you and Gloria don’t actually talk to each other.’
She took a deep breath.
‘And also, I know when you do get round to talking, there’ll be a lot Gloria won’t tell you.’
Bobby narrowed his eyes. ‘Like what?’
‘God.’ Dorothy exhaled. ‘Where do I start? There’s been so much happened these past few years.’ She looked at Bobby, whose face was also smeared with dirt, reminding her of a soldier’s camouflage. ‘A lot since you and Gordon dilly-dallied off and left home.’
‘We didn’t just dilly-dally off,’ Bobby said, beating back a swell of anger. He had a sudden flash of the two of them making their way to the navy recruitment office. Their father had just smashed every piece of crockery in the house. It had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.
‘Your mam’s been through a tough time since you and Gordon left – a really tough time,’ Dorothy said.
Bobby wanted to say that she had been through a tough time before they’d left – their father had made sure of that.
‘As I know she had been before you joined up,’ Dorothy added, reading his thoughts. When Dorothy had seen the bruises around Gloria’s neck for the first time shortly after they’d all started at the yard, she’d known that they had not been the first, nor would they be the last.
‘I bet you didn’t know your dad put her in the hospital, nearly killed her – would have if Helen hadn’t gone at him with a shovel,’ Dorothy said.
Bobby felt himself tense. ‘When was that?’ He forced the words through gritted teeth.
‘When he found out Hope wasn’t his,’ Dorothy said.
‘Was he still living with Mam?’
‘No, she’d sent him packing well before that.’ Dorothy let out a bitter laugh. ‘This was when he was living in sin with his bit on the side in Grindon. A woman, I hasten to add, he’d been seeing behind your mam’s back for two years.’
Bobby wasn’t surprised. While he was still at home, he had been sure his dad was off with other women.
‘So, I’m guessing Mam was all right?’ Bobby asked. ‘No serious injuries?’
‘They had to keep her in hospital overnight,’ Dorothy said.
Bobby clenched his fists. If his father were here now, he’d knock the living daylights out of him.
Dorothy saw the change in Bobby’s face; her eyes dropped down to his balled fists.
‘I know, it makes me so mad even now just thinking about it,’ she empathised.
‘That must have been shortly before he signed up for the navy?’ Bobby asked.
‘Yeah – signed up with one hand holding a pen, the other behind his back.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, Rosie’s husband, well, he wasn’t her husband then, but anyway, he sorted it out.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know the exact details.’ Dorothy dropped her voice even though there was no one else around to hear. ‘But at the time he was working for the Borough Police – and let’s just say, he went to see Vinnie in the cells and the next thing we knew, your dad was getting on a train to Portsmouth not only having signed up, but having also signed his divorce papers.’
Bobby’s eyes widened. ‘Where’s this Peter now? I think I’d like to shake his hand and buy him a drink.’
‘He’s not here any more.’
‘Dead?’
‘No, God, I hope not – for Rosie’s sake. No, he’s somewhere – but no one’s meant to know where. I shouldn’t really even be saying anything at all – you know what they say, “Careless talk costs lives”.’
‘I understand,’ Bobby said.
‘But let’s just say his mother was French,’ Dorothy said conspiratorially.
Bobby nodded. Now he understood why he’d not heard much mention of Peter, and why Rosie had been pushing everyone extra hard of late.
‘It’s not been all doom and gloom, though,’ said Dorothy. ‘There’s been two good things – no, three good things that’s happened to your mam since you and Gordon left home.’
‘Go on.’ Bobby finished his lemonade and put his glass down by his side.
‘First off, she came to work at Thompson’s and secondly, she met me and the rest of the squad.’
Bobby smiled. ‘Big-headedness is not an attractive quality in a woman.’
Dorothy ignored him. ‘And thirdly, she was reunited with Jack—’
‘What do you mean, “reunited”?’ Bobby asked.
Dorothy rolled her eyes to the still, blue skies above. ‘Don’t you know anything?’
‘Obviously not,’ said Bobby, putting his hands behind him and leaning back. ‘Tell me more.’
Dorothy had to twist around a little to look at him. She felt the sun on the side of her face and allowed herself to relax. For an insane moment she had a sudden urge to lay her head on his broad chest.
‘Jack and your mam …’ Dorothy forced herself to concentrate ‘… used to be love’s young dream, before manipulative Miriam came along.’
Bobby angled his head slightly to the left to hear better, but also to take in the entire enticing vision of the storyteller. He watched as Dorothy turned and crossed her legs so that she was facing him, and he listened as she related to him the story of how Gloria and Jack were ‘star-crossed lovers’ who had been parted as childhood sweethearts, but finally reunited after being separated for decades.
Bobby knew that Dorothy was giving the tale plenty of topspin, and it was also clear she was determined that his mam’s love story, like the movies he knew she liked to go and see, would have a happy ending.
‘It really is Shakespearean,’ Dorothy said, enjoying telling her tale with full theatrics, even if she did only have an audience of one. ‘When Jack finally makes the journey home from America – over the moon that he is finally returning to the woman he loves – and is about to learn that he has a newly born baby daughter, the ship he’s travelling on is torpedoed and he nearly ends up dead at the bottom of the ocean.’
Bobby’s eyes kept straying to Dorothy’s mouth, making him wonder what it would be like to kiss her.
‘Amazingly, he’s rescued and survives,’ Dorothy continued, her eyes widening. ‘But he falls into a coma, and for weeks on end it’s touch and go – until one day he wakes up.’ Dorothy raised her arms into the sky as though praising the gods above. ‘He is alive and well. Apart from one major hiccup – he can’t remember a thing! And so he ends up going back to live with Miriam!’
Bobby had heard bits and pieces about Jack from Jimmy and some of the other workers. He had a reputation as a fair manager, a decent bloke, who’d been part of Churchill’s British shipbuilding mission to the United States and had been instrumental in educating the Americans on how to mass-produce the more efficient and economic Liberty ships. Bobby had listened carefully to what people had to say – and the way they had said it – and no one, as far as he could tell, had a bad word to say about his mam’s new bloke. Bobby, though, was still wary. His own father had put on a good act outside the home. There were plenty of people who thought Vinnie was a decent chap – he was a veteran of the First War, no less – but it’d been a very different story behind closed doors.
‘If Jack’s such an all-round Mr Nice Guy,’ Bobby said, ‘why is it he’s not divorced from his wife?’ He eyed Dorothy. ‘Nothing to do with the fact she’s loaded to the hilt, is it? And he doesn’t want to go back to a life of poverty?’
‘Oh, Bobby, you really have no idea – no idea at all.’ Dorothy’s laugh was deep and held no mirth. ‘The reason Jack’s still tied to that vile woman is the same reason he’s been stuck on the Clyde for two whole years, unable to come back and see his own daughter and the woman he loves.’
Bobby frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Exactly. That’s the point I’ve been trying to get you to understand since you turned up.’ Dorothy felt a hint of victory. ‘There’s a lot you don’t understand.’
‘Then tell me.’
Dorothy felt herself deflate. ‘I can’t.’ She put her hair behind her ears. ‘All I can tell you is that Jack and Gloria did not see each other once over those two years because of what might happen to some people they care about.’
Bobby rubbed his hand across the top of his head, a habit Dorothy had noticed he did when he felt flummoxed or agitated.
‘I know it’s confusing, but I can’t tell you any more because, well, I just can’t – I’m sworn to secrecy.’
Bobby sat up straight, brushing his hands free of dirt and putting on a look of disbelief at the idea that Dorothy could keep a secret.
‘But what I can say is that Gloria’s had to cope with a lot on her own,’ she added.
‘She had you lot,’ Bobby said.
‘That’s nice of you to say,’ Dorothy said with sincerity. ‘We all try and be there for each other. But it proves the point that I’ve been trying to make since you came back: your mam’s a lovely, kind-hearted person who’s made sacrifices for the well-being of others – has put her own love on hold so that people she knows and cares about don’t suffer.’
Bobby didn’t say anything but looked out across the Wear to the south docks, his face serious and pensive. Dorothy wanted to ask what he was thinking, but something told her he wouldn’t tell her even if she did. She finished the rest of her lemonade and got up. ‘I have to use the pub’s facilities.’
Bobby stood up, slid his arms back into the top of his overalls, picked up his empty glass and took Dorothy’s off her. ‘OK, I’ll pop these back and you can continue filling me in about all the things I don’t know on the way back home.’
Dorothy didn’t need any encouragement and chatted away quite happily as they got the ferry back over to the south side. She took particular pleasure in relating Hope’s birth to Bobby and how it had really been her and Angie who had been the stand-in midwives, although she had forced Angie to cut the cord. Bobby chuckled away, again a little unsure about how much of the story was exaggeration and how much true. ‘And that’s how I earned my stripes as Hope’s godmother,’ she said.
As they walked up Low Street, Dorothy relayed the drama of Hope’s christening, when Jack had turned up with Arthur, Tommy’s grandfather. Bobby knew who he was as Polly and Agnes often mentioned him.
‘They were both dripping wet, and poor Arthur looked like he was going to breathe his last,’ Dorothy said. ‘But when Jack walked to the font and took Hope in his arms, it was like father and daughter were mesmerised by each other. It felt really special.’
For a while, they walked down Norfolk Street in comfortable silence. Dorothy had enjoyed her storytelling and Bobby had enjoyed listening.
‘Just out of interest,’ she said as they started down Foyle Street, ‘your tattoos?’ They crossed the road. ‘I know that the star means a sailor will always find his way home, and that an anchor is something to do with crossing the Atlantic, but I’m never sure about the swallows – something about distance sailed?’
‘That’s right,’ Bobby smiled. ‘Five thousand nautical miles … Do you know what the crossed cannons and the rose and dagger mean? They’re always the ones to confuse.’
‘I’m guessing they’re something to do with war or fighting?’ Dorothy said.
‘That’s right,’ Bobby said. ‘The cannons represent military naval service. And the rose and dagger mean a sailor is loyal and willing to fight anything, even something as sweet and beautiful as a rose.’
Dorothy didn’t say anything.
‘You haven’t been out with any sailors before?’ he asked, a cheeky glint in his eye.
‘Of course I have,’ Dorothy said in her best hoity-toity voice. She returned his look of mischievousness. ‘But I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing them with their tops off.’
Bobby barked with laughter. ‘You’re certainly a rare one, Dorothy. I’ll give you that much.’
By now they had reached the steps to the Georgian terraced house that had been converted into apartments. He caught the twitch of a curtain at the window of the ground-floor flat.
‘Thanks, Dorothy,’ he said, his tone genuine.
‘What for?’
‘For everything you’ve told me.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to thank me,’ Dorothy said in all sincerity. ‘I didn’t do it for you – I did it for Gloria. She’s been like a mother to me – has been to all us women welders, actually.’
Dorothy looked at Bobby and expected to see pride that his mother had been such a pillar of strength and support, as well as loving and caring, but she didn’t. Instead, she caught a look she’d seen before when they’d chatted about Gloria; it was a look she couldn’t read.
‘So, does that mean you’ll be all right with your mam now – and with Jack?’ Dorothy asked in earnest. ‘Now that you know everything?’
‘Oh, Dorothy.’ Bobby smiled as he sighed. ‘You are a one for a happy-ever-after ending, aren’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Dorothy said. ‘What other kind of ending would anyone want?’
Bobby didn’t reply, but tipped an imaginary cap and watched as she let herself in the front door and waved him goodbye.
‘Dor! Where have you been? We were just starting to get worried about you, weren’t we, Mrs Kwiatkowski?’
The old woman nodded as she headed over to put the kettle on, although as soon as she had seen Dorothy and the tall, strapping lad walking up the cobbles, she had known she was fine – more than fine.
‘And yer’ve missed Toby’s phone call!’ Angie said in disbelief.
‘Oh my God! I completely forgot,’ said Dorothy. ‘I just presumed I’d be back in time, but Bobby and I ended up having a lemonade and then I got all carried away telling him about Gloria and Jack and Hope – and everything that’s happened since we all started at the yard.’
‘Everything?’ Angie frowned, thinking of all the secrets it was imperative they kept.
‘No, not everything,’ Dorothy frowned back.
‘Well, that’s a relief at least,’ said Angie. ‘So, what about Toby? When yer gonna speak to him?’
‘Why don’t you call him back now?’ Mrs Kwiatkowski suggested.
Dorothy fought back a wave of guilt that she had missed Toby’s phone call – and that it was because of another bloke.
‘You sure?’ Dorothy said, going over and hugging the old woman. ‘You’re the best. I’ll make it quick, and I’ll pay you back, of course.’
‘He sounded gutted when I said yer weren’t back from work,’ Angie said. ‘He tried to make a joke of it ’n said there must be something “dreadfully amiss if you and my girl have been apart for more than five minutes”.’ Angie had just about perfected what she called an ‘upper-crust accent’ due to the amount of time she spent chatting to Quentin.
Dorothy laughed. ‘Sounds like Toby.’
She walked over to the phone.
‘But it’s been worth it … It’s been a long haul, and boy oh boy is Bobby as stubborn as a mule, but I’ve broken him. Wait until I tell Toby that I’ve finally made him see sense. Shown him the error of his ways,’ Dorothy shouted over her shoulder.
‘I’m sure Toby’s gonna be over the moon,’ Angie said, deadpan.
Angie took Mrs Kwiatkowski’s arm as they both headed out of the kitchen to give Dorothy some privacy for her call to Toby.
‘He will be!’ Dorothy said, picking up the receiver and starting to dial.
Angie and Mrs Kwiatkowski looked at each other, both shaking their heads. Neither of them needed to say what they were thinking.