‘Hi, Mam,’ Bobby said as he came striding over to where the women were having their lunch. ‘I’ve just heard that the ship that went down definitely wasn’t Opportune. It was a Royal Norwegian Navy destroyer called Svenner.’
Since hearing the news yesterday that a warship had been hit, Bobby had read every newspaper he could get his hands on, scanning all the articles for news of any naval battles or ships sunk.
‘Oh, thank goodness for that.’ Gloria put her hand on her heart. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’ She blew out air. ‘How do you know?’
‘Jimmy,’ he explained. Jimmy had, of course, given him the full rundown on Svenner – that she’d been built by Scottish shipbuilders Scotts, and had started life as HMS Shark, but had been lent to the Norwegian Armed Forces in exile.
All the women looked up at Bobby and smiled – all apart from Dorothy, who was getting to her feet, brushing crumbs off her overalls.
‘I’ll tell you if I hear anything else, but don’t worry, Gordon will be fine. And if Opportune does take a bashing, you can rest assured he’ll survive.’ Bobby smiled. ‘Gordon can swim like a fish. He could swim the Channel if he had to.’
Gloria smiled too. Her relationship with Bobby might be strained, but at that moment she didn’t care; she was just glad he was home, safe and sound. Now all she wanted was the same for her younger son.
As Bobby started to turn, he found himself face to face with Dorothy.
‘Now might be a good time to give your mam a hug. She’s been worried sick.’ She spoke out of the corner of her mouth so no one else could hear.
Bobby looked down at Dorothy’s earnest, dirty, oil-smeared face. God, he wanted to kiss her. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to tell her that he wished he could put his arms around his mam and give her a hug – make everything all right – but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell Dorothy that sometimes things don’t work out how you expect – or how you want them to. That sometimes your mind tells you to be one way, but your heart won’t comply. But he didn’t.
‘I best get back to my squad,’ he said instead, a look of apology etched into his face.
As Dorothy sat back down with the women, she forced herself to smile.
‘You two heard from Toby or Quentin?’ Gloria asked.
Dorothy and Angie shook their heads in unison.
‘They warned us they probably wouldn’t get the chance to call when the invasion started, didn’t they, Ange?’
Angie nodded.
Neither woman said anything, but a lack of communication from their beaux was far preferable to them being overseas. Like Gordon or Tommy – or worst of all, Peter.
Gloria looked at Rosie.
‘How yer bearing up?’
It was a question they had all wanted to ask since they’d arrived at work this morning but hadn’t known whether to or not. Rosie was not one for talking about her emotions.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, before letting out a gasp of laughter. ‘I don’t think I’ll have any nerves left by the time we win this war.’
Everyone chuckled. It was good to hear Rosie still sounding so upbeat. Whenever she talked about the war it was always when and not if it would be won.
‘Besides, I’m not the only worried wife on the planet, am I?’ Rosie nodded down at the Daily Mirror. ‘Come on, then. Tell us the latest.’
Hannah spread out the newspaper. They all knew their ‘little bird’ was praying for a swift victory. If Europe was liberated, her parents would be freed from Auschwitz; God willing, they were still alive.
‘“Invaders THRUSTING inland!”’ Dorothy read the headline over Hannah’s shoulder. Angie pulled her back and gave her a glowering look.
‘Go on, Hannah,’ Martha said. ‘Read what it says.’
Squinting down at the small print, Hannah started to read.
‘“Reports of operations so far show that our forces succeeded in their initial landings. Fighting continues. Our aircraft met with little enemy fighter opposition or AA gunfire. Naval casualties are regarded as being very light – ”’ she looked up and smiled at Gloria ‘“ – especially when the magnitude of the operation is taken into account. Allied airmen returning from attacks on north France last evening reported that our troops were moving inland. There was no longer any opposition on the beaches now guarded by balloons.”’
‘Hurrah!’ Dorothy shouted out. Seeing Bobby looking over, her smile morphed into a scowl.
‘Gan on, Hannah,’ Angie said, rolling her eyes.
‘“One pilot saw the Stars and Stripes flying over a French town.”’
All the women automatically turned to Rosie. She felt her face flush with excitement and hope. Perhaps Peter was in that town?
As Hannah continued to read the article, which boasted of the British, Canadian and American troops gaining footholds along the Normandy coast as well as several miles inland, Rosie only caught the odd word or phrase – her mind was on the flag flying over a French town.
It’s a sign, she couldn’t help thinking. We’re winning. France is being liberated. Peter is coming home.
Sergeant MacLeod knocked and walked into Toby’s office.
‘Update, sir,’ he said simply. They were all exhausted, having had next to no sleep for the past forty-eight hours.
‘We’re getting news through that there’ve been nearly one thousand acts of sabotage carried out by our circuits and the Resistance over the past forty-eight hours. I’m getting reports of huge disruptions to the German forces.’
‘Excellent!’ Toby said, sitting down and motioning his sergeant to do the same.
‘And I’ve just had a memo saying that Bayeux has been liberated. The SS scarpered as soon as the invasion started. British troops are there now. There’s not even been any need to drop a single bomb on the place.’
‘Brilliant news!’
Sergeant MacLeod leant forward. ‘There is some bad news, I’m afraid.’ He paused. ‘Regarding circuit Tempest.’
Toby sat up. ‘Yes?’
‘All the other networks have messaged in, but nothing from Tempest.’
‘They might have got held up somewhere?’ Toby said.
‘A report has just come in that Sainte-Mère-Église has just taken an unexpected battering from a German counter-attack.’
‘What? I thought the Yanks had taken Sainte-Mère-Église? Communications came through that the town had been one of the first – if not the first – to be liberated!’ Toby said incredulously.
‘It was, but it seems there was a sting in the tail of the retreating German troops. The place was hit badly. Peter and two Resistance fighters were seen arriving in the town just before the first bomb landed. They were spotted going into a house on the Rue de Carentan, which is where I’ve just learnt they were due to meet up with the rest of the circuit.’ Sergeant MacLeod paused. ‘Seconds later, the first bomb dropped. The house they were in took a direct hit. There was no way anyone was walking out of it alive.’
Toby clenched his jaw in anger. ‘Bloody hell! Unbelievable! Bloody, bloody unbelievable.’ He shook his head. ‘The town’s secure now?’
Sergeant MacLeod nodded. ‘It is, sir. Reinforcements arrived this afternoon. Tanks from nearby Utah Beach.’
‘And they’ve checked for bodies?’
‘As much as they’ve been able to. The town’s got eighteen of their own to bury. Sounds like it’ll be a while before they’re able to clear the site.’
Toby fought back his anger at the loss of more men – worse still, men he knew. He thought of Rosie. Pictured her face when he’d seen her last, unashamedly desperate to hear news of her husband.
Toby pulled out his top drawer and retrieved his bottle of whisky, as well as the letter he had hoped he would never have to send.
‘Dorothy,’ Mrs Kwiatkowski shouted up the stairs. It had just gone six o’clock and she had heard Dorothy and Angie trudge up to their flat just a few minutes earlier.
She waited a moment before shouting again, this time louder.
‘Dorothy!’
She heard their door open and Dorothy appeared, still in her overalls.
‘Toby is on the phone,’ she told her.
‘Really? I’m not expecting a call from him,’ Dorothy said, stepping out of the flat.
‘Well, go and see what it’s about,’ Angie said, nudging her from behind.
Dorothy hurried down the stairs. Mrs Kwiatkowski was glad to see she had taken her work boots off and was just in her socks. She moved to the side to let Dorothy pass.
Dorothy heard Mrs Kwiatkowski ask Angie how her day at work had been and knew she would stand there chatting until her phone call with Toby was over. Walking over to the receiver, she picked it up. She was not one for premonitions, but she had an uneasy feeling that this was not going to be good news.
Ten minutes later, Dorothy walked to the door to see that Angie was sitting with Mrs Kwiatkowski on the bottom step of the stairs that led up to their flat.
Seeing Dorothy’s serious face, which looked unusually white, they both knew instinctively that something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ Angie asked.
Mrs Kwiatkowski eased her arthritic body into a standing position.
‘Come on, let’s get a cup of tea,’ she said, squeezing Dorothy’s arm as they all walked back into her flat.
‘What is it, Dor?’ Angie asked again, although in truth she didn’t really want to know. She’d never seen such a look on her best mate’s face and knew this was serious. Really serious.
Dorothy slumped into the chair by the kitchen table. Her eyes were bloodshot, and Angie could see the beginning of tears. Dorothy very rarely cried. When she did, they were generally crocodile tears. The ones starting to trickle down her face now were most definitely real.
Angie sat down next to her.
‘It’s Peter,’ Dorothy said.
Toby had told Dorothy that Peter had been officially declared ‘missing presumed dead’, which they all knew meant he was dead, only they didn’t have a body to prove it. Dorothy had asked him for more details, but Toby had apologised and said at this point in time they could not give any more information, but they believed Peter had been killed on the day of the invasion. He had told Dorothy that she could tell Rosie the news herself – with the support of the women around her – or he could do it through more conventional channels and send a telegram to her home. If he did that, though, Peter’s letter – his final letter to Rosie – would likely come later. Without hesitation, Dorothy said that the news should come from her squad – and that Peter’s letter might offer a minuscule drop of comfort. She knew her workmates would agree that Rosie should not be alone when she got the news, nor, indeed, hear it at this late hour.
Just after ten o’clock, four hours after her phone call with Toby, there was a knock on the main front door to the flats. Dorothy and Angie hurried down the stairs to the hallway and opened the door to find a young uniformed soldier standing at the top of the stone steps. He saluted and handed over the two letters. They offered the soldier a cup of tea and a sandwich, which he politely refused. Dorothy and Angie were relieved. Neither of them were in the mood to make small talk. Angie told him to wait and quickly went up to their flat to wrap up the sandwich they had made in case he took them up on their offer.
Going back up to their flat, Dorothy put the two letters on the tallboy. For once, Dorothy had not the slightest desire to sneak a peek – especially not at Peter’s letter. She thought her heart might break if she did. Toby had told her that most soldiers going into dangerous situations were advised to write letters to their loved ones in the event of their death. Some chose to. Some didn’t. Sadly, some didn’t have loved ones to write letters to. Dorothy didn’t know which was worse.
Dorothy and Angie talked well into the early morning, recalling what they had all been doing the day Peter had died – how happy they had all been at work, and afterwards in the Admiral. They had all been so relieved. The day they had all been working towards, the day when the vessels they’d built and the landing craft they had pieced together so speedily had gone into battle. There had been an unmistakable sense of hope that the end of the war was in sight.
Sitting at the kitchen table, drinking cups of tea, Dorothy and Angie talked and talked, as if talking about it might make it better, but it didn’t. Angie had nearly started to cry when they recalled how positive Rosie had been. It had been infectious. She’d even convinced Gloria that Gordon would be fine – telling her that most of the attacks were on land and that it appeared as though there were plenty of smaller vessels in the Channel that could rescue those on Opportune should she take a blast and sink.
Rosie had been acting as though she was privy to some inside information that Peter would be all right. That he was coming home.
How wrong she had been.