‘I can come with yer to see Hope,’ Angie said. ‘Quentin’s not calling until after work tomorrow.’
‘No, there’s no need,’ Dorothy said. She was perched in front of her dressing table, putting on a fresh layer of lipstick. ‘I’m not going to stay long. I’m just nipping round there with Hope’s sweeties and then leaving.’
Angie sat on Dorothy’s bed and watched her in the oval mirror. ‘What’s up? You’ve got a face like a slapped backside.’
Dorothy huffed and turned around to face her friend.
‘I’ve made a decision,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to be a buffer for Gloria and Bobby any more. It’s making me too angry every time I go round there and see Bobby playing the perfect big brother to Hope and all the while practically ignoring Gloria. And Jack having to stay away just because Mr Self-Righteous doesn’t want him there.’
‘But it sounds like Jack wouldn’t be there anyway. He works late just about every evening. Glor says he doesn’t get back until after nine most nights,’ Angie said.
Dorothy stood up and straightened her dress.
‘Well, regardless—’
‘I think Glor will be disappointed,’ Angie said. ‘She’s always saying how Hope loves it when you and Bobby go round. Says yer both have her running around the flat, screaming with laughter. Playing hide-’n-seek. Gives her a night off ’n a chance to cook something half decent while yer both keep Hope entertained.’
Angie was surprised when Dorothy didn’t bat back a reply but just stood up.
‘You’re not going to the Ritz dressed like that, are you?’ Dorothy looked at Angie, who had swapped her overalls for an old summer dress.
‘I thought we might have a night off,’ Angie said tentatively.
‘No chance,’ said Dorothy. ‘We’re not old maids yet.’ She walked out of the room. ‘I won’t be long, so you better be ready to go when I get back.’
Dorothy thought she heard Angie sigh loudly, but she ignored it, grabbed her handbag and gas mask, then hurried out of the flat, down the stairs and out the front door.
It took her all of three minutes before she was outside the entrance to Gloria’s flat. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the front door. Bobby answered as usual, opening it wide and welcoming her in with the sweep of an arm.
‘I won’t be staying tonight, Bobby,’ Dorothy said, looking behind him to see Hope pulling herself up from the clippy mat.
‘Dorrie!’ It was her pet name for Dorothy. Three syllables were still rather a mouthful.
Dorothy pulled out a bag of sweets from her handbag.
‘Hi, gorgeous girl, I wonder who these are for?’ She pulled a puzzled expression.
Hope giggled and stabbed a finger to her chest.
‘Me! Me! Me!’ she answered.
Dorothy smiled and handed the bag to Hope, who had a quick nose at the contents before looking back up at her godmother. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Hope offered the bag up to Dorothy and then to Bobby. They shook their heads, both re-enacting the scene they played every week.
‘Mammy! Mammy!’ Hope ran into the kitchen. ‘Sweeetieees.’
‘I’m not stopping,’ Dorothy said, smoothing down her skirt and giving Bobby what she hoped was her most scornful of looks. ‘I’ve just popped by to give Hope her weekly hit of sugar.’
‘What? Yer not staying?’ Gloria asked, coming out of the kitchen with a twist of toffee in her hand.
‘Dorrie play!’ Hope demanded, going over and grabbing Dorothy’s hand. She started tugging her towards her dollies.
‘Ah, honey pie, Dorrie can’t – not tonight,’ Dorothy said apologetically, cupping her god-daughter’s cherubic face in her hands and kissing the top of her head.
Hope pulled a sad face.
‘You off out tonight?’ Gloria asked.
‘I am, Glor,’ Dorothy said, ‘but that’s not the reason I’m not staying.’
‘Why’s that?’ Gloria was perplexed as well as disappointed.
‘I’ve decided that I’m not going to be a “buffer” any more,’ Dorothy said, her voice chirpy, but her face betraying her tone. She was staring at Bobby. ‘For starters, I’m too angry.’ Again, the chirpy voice. She looked at Hope and smiled. She didn’t want her god-daughter to pick up on any kind of upset or anger. She watched as Bobby played along with the charade and smiled down at his little sister.
‘So, I thought it best off to skip tonight,’ Dorothy explained, ‘but I didn’t want my little chickpea to miss out on her sweeties.’ She again put on a smile for Hope, who seemed unsure about the faux-jolly behaviour of her godmother and her big brother.
Bobby tried his hardest not to look crestfallen, as did Gloria.
‘Oh, all right,’ Gloria said. ‘See yer tomorrow at work then.’
Dorothy again manufactured a smile.
‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ she said, directing her words at Gloria and ignoring Bobby.
As she turned and left the flat, her face fell. She hurried up the stairs so neither Gloria nor Bobby could see her true feelings. Why did she feel so awful? Bloody Bobby. It was all his fault. They could all be having a really lovely time if only he’d make it up with his mam.
As she walked back to her own flat, her pace naturally slowed as she imagined what it would be like if Bobby did as she wished and sorted out his differences with Gloria. She was in no doubt they would have a lovely time – just the thought of it lifted her spirits. She crossed the road. Just as the thought of it also left her feeling conflicted. Would it be right to enjoy Bobby’s company when she and Toby were courting? Especially as she was on the cusp of becoming Toby’s fiancée. Were her feelings of anger towards Bobby masking something more?
Reaching the steps up to her flat, Dorothy shook her head. She was overthinking the whole situation, getting confused because she was spending so much time with Bobby. She saw him nearly every day – on the ferry in the morning, and they worked within spitting distance of each other at the yard. That was besides being with him and Hope every Friday.
Well, at least that had now been knocked on the head.
Letting herself into the main hallway, Dorothy tried to gee herself up in anticipation of a night at the Ritz with Angie. Trudging to the top of the stairs, she sighed. It was no good. She still felt as flat as a pancake.
‘So,’ Henrietta asked once Helen had sat down and they were both taking sips of their fake Russian vodka, ‘how is dear John?’ A mischievous smile played on her lips.
Helen eyed her grandmother. She really was much more astute than anyone would think. ‘He’s fine, Grandmama.’
‘It would be good to meet him one day,’ Henrietta said, her voice hopeful.
‘It would,’ Helen said. ‘But not at the moment. We still have to keep our little secret, don’t we?’ she said. She looked at Henrietta, who had started to fuss about with her skirt, making sure it was in a perfect swirl around her chair.
‘Do you remember what our secret is?’ Helen asked tentatively. It was a question she always asked when she visited as a way of reminding her grandmother that their real relationship must be kept strictly confidential.
‘Yes, yes, my dear, I remember,’ she said.
Helen raised her eyebrows, showing she wanted more information.
‘I can’t let anyone know who I really am,’ Henrietta said off pat, sitting up straight and checking that both jade earrings were still there; it was another of her grandmother’s quirks. ‘Or who I am to you.’
She paused.
‘You know, darling, I’ve been doing the same for your mama for years – I’m well versed in the art of deception.’ She let out a tinkle of laughter.
Helen forced a smile. How she hated to be compared to her mother in any shape or form.
‘Good,’ she said simply, pulling out her copy of Persuasion from her handbag and opening it up.
Henrietta placed her pale, blue-veined hands elegantly on top of her own copy of the Jane Austen classic. Helen knew this meant her grandmother was in the mood to chat rather than read, which suited her fine; she always found it hard to concentrate after she’d met with John.
‘Did you know that it was George Thomas Hine who designed this asylum – this one as well as several others in the country?’
Helen shook her head.
‘And it was built over the first five years of the 1890s. It is a prime example of what is known as a compact arrow echelon plan.’ Henrietta recited the words as though reading them from a book. ‘But what is really interesting is that in his time Mr Hine was a progressive. He wanted his designs to help the patients, so, in the case of this particular asylum, he built it on a hill so that those inside could see life beyond their present – to see hope beyond the walls behind which they were incarcerated.’
‘That’s really fascinating. This Mr Hine sounds like he was a good man.’ Helen looked at her grandmother, thinking how the asylum had become Henrietta’s world.
‘Do you think you might like to leave this place sometime in the future?’ she probed tentatively. It was something she had wanted to put to her grandmother for a while.
Helen watched as Henrietta’s face changed and became sombre. She took a sip of water and placed it carefully back on the coaster. She did not like the tumbler to have any contact with the tabletop.
‘No, my dear,’ Henrietta said.
Helen saw a terrible sadness in her grandmother’s big brown eyes. She had never seen her look so sad, or so serious.
‘Can I ask why not?’ Helen enquired, leaning forward a little, concentrating on her grandma’s very pretty, albeit heavily made-up face.
‘I have to stay here. It’s my punishment,’ Henrietta said simply.
‘Punishment for what?’ Helen asked, perturbed.
Suddenly the bell rang out for the end of visiting hours, making Helen jump.
‘Punishment for what?’ she repeated. She had to know before she left.
‘For being so stupid,’ Henrietta said, her lips pursed. ‘I should have known. Should have known what he was doing. But I was stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.’
Helen knew her grandmother was talking about her grandfather; it was a subject they tended not to touch upon. Seeing how upset Henrietta was becoming, she took her hand and could feel it shaking.
‘You’re not stupid, Grandmama. Don’t get upset.’ She sucked back her anger. ‘It’s him that needs punishing.’
The bell rang again.
Helen stood up. She could have cried. But she didn’t. Instead, she got up and put her arms around her grandmother and hugged her tightly.
Dr Parker sat on the wooden bench outside the asylum. It was late and dark. He had just dropped off one of his patients – a wounded soldier whom he believed to be suffering from something akin to shell shock. The poor soul had not slept since he came in, but worse still, he had not said a single word. Claire had agreed he was suffering from what was now being referred to as ‘post-concussional syndrome’.
Claire had told John that she’d meet him for a walk in the grounds once she’d got her new patient settled in and John had told her not to worry how long she was. He’d finished his shift and was happy to sit outside and enjoy the peace and quiet. It had been a frantic day.
Watching Claire as she dealt with the young army private, he had been filled with admiration. She was such an amazing woman – so empathetic and kind. And they gelled together so well. She was even as passionate about improving prosthetics as he was – well, almost. And there was no doubting that the physical attraction was there.
And yet still Helen was not far from his thoughts. He’d seen her earlier on this evening for their usual catch-up before her visit with Henrietta and as always the time had flown and he’d been left with the feeling that they hadn’t had long enough. Saying farewell to Helen always felt such a wrench. They hadn’t mentioned the conversation they’d had about love and marriage since the day of Pearl’s wedding almost two months ago, but it was still playing heavily on his mind. Helen had obviously believed he was of the opinion that a woman should walk down the aisle in white, which had got him thinking: if Helen had harboured feelings for him in the past, she would never have allowed herself to make him aware of how she felt, believing he would not want to court a woman who was ‘sullied’, to quote that awful mother of hers. Did Helen have feelings for him that weren’t purely platonic? Or was he simply reading far too much into the situation and it was his way of allowing himself to hang on to his delusion that Helen might reciprocate his feelings?
One thing was clear: he needed to know either way before he asked for Claire’s hand in marriage. It was the only way forward. The only way to move on with his life. He just had to pick the right time. And it had to be soon.
Gloria felt the brush of lips on hers and opened her eyes to see Jack smiling down at her.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘We had a few problems at the yard to deal with.’
Gloria pushed herself up from the settee. The last thing she remembered was listening to the news on the BBC Home Service.
‘Nothing serious, I hope?’ Gloria said.
‘There was an accident at the yard.’ Seeing the look on Gloria’s face, he quickly added, ‘Not fatal – thank God.’
‘What happened?’ Gloria sat up.
‘One of the platers’ helpers sliced the tip of his thumb clean off.’
Gloria grimaced. During her time at the yard she had seen a surprising number of similar accidents.
‘Is he all right?’
‘There was a lot of blood, but he’ll live. One of the men took him to the Royal. I’m guessing stitches and a week or so off work. I’ll hear tomorrow how he’s got on.’
‘Let me make a nice cuppa.’ Gloria started to get up.
‘No, stay there, I’ll get it. I’ll just pop my head in and say goodnight to cheeky chops. She been all right?’
‘She’s been a dream,’ Gloria said, ‘but then it is Friday, which is spoil-Hope-rotten night.’
Jack smiled as he looked down to see a solitary toffee in the middle of the table beside a piece of paper with a scrawl of orange crayon on it, which he guessed indicated the lone offering was his.
‘Although her fairy godmother didn’t stop this evening.’ Gloria raised her eyebrows.
‘Really?’ Jack asked, popping the toffee in his mouth.
‘She says she’s not going to be a buffer between me and Bobby any more.’
‘Good for her,’ he said through a mouthful of toffee. ‘’Bout time you two sorted yourselves out.’
‘I know, yer right,’ said Gloria. She knew she should be more proactive and force the issue with Bobby to clear the air, but she kept finding excuses not to.
After checking on Hope, who was fast asleep, Jack came back into the living area to find Gloria had gone into the kitchen to make the tea. He went in, put his arms around her and kissed her.
‘Yer do know the way to a man’s heart.’ He kissed her again and smiled.
‘Well, yer easily pleased if a simple cuppa does the trick,’ Gloria laughed.
They took their cups and saucers and settled back in the lounge on the sofa.
‘There was also another reason I was late back,’ Jack said, taking a sup of his tea.
Gloria eyed him.
‘I rang Angus and asked to speak to Miriam,’ he said.
‘Really?’ Gloria was surprised. She knew Jack was getting irritated by the lack of any kind of communication from his wife – but she hadn’t thought he’d ring her. He could barely say her name, never mind speak to her in person.
‘I’ve waited long enough for this bloody divorce to come through.’
‘And did yer speak to her? Or should I say, would she speak to you?’
Jack let out a sigh. ‘No, I didn’t. Apparently, she’s having an extended break at some kind of health spa and they’re not sure when she’s due back.’
‘And do you think that was the truth?’ Gloria asked. ‘Do they have health spas in Scotland? And if they do, would they be open? In the middle of a world war?’
Jack put his cup and saucer down on the coffee table and looked at the woman he couldn’t wait to make his wife.
‘Now you’ve put it like that, I’m not sure.’ He eyed Gloria. ‘You are one suspicious woman.’
‘Only when it comes to Miriam,’ she said. ‘I just don’t trust that woman as far as I could throw her.’