As soon as Bobby saw Dorothy and Angie, he knew something was wrong. He always waited on the corner of High Street East so that he could catch the ferry with them – or rather, so that he could be in close proximity to Dorothy.
He wondered if she was aware he purposely waited for her, or if she just presumed it was because they both left the house at the same time. Bobby knew his habit of waiting for them was a little pathetic, but he didn’t care. It gave him a chance to walk with Dorothy and chat as they made their way to work. Of course, it was always Angie he ended up talking to, despite Dorothy throwing her friend scowls of disapproval. Sometimes, though, Dorothy forgot she was angry at him and would join in the conversation. Dorothy, he had learnt, found it nigh-on impossible to keep shtum, no matter how much she purported to loathe him.
Looking at Dorothy and Angie now, neither seemed to have had much sleep, both had dark bags under their eyes and their arms were linked firmly together, as though they needed each other’s support. Normally, he would have ribbed them about having had a night out on the tiles, but they did not look like two people who had been out painting the town red. Observing their wan faces caused him immediate concern.
‘Everything all right?’ he asked as he joined them walking towards Low Street.
Dorothy threw him a hard stare. All her anger about Peter’s death suddenly had a target.
Bobby looked at Angie.
She shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘What’s happened? Is there anything I can do to help?’
Again, Angie shook her head. ‘Don’t think there’s anything anyone can do about this.’
They walked in silence for a while.
Bobby looked down and saw that Dorothy was gripping two letters: one looked official, the other personal.
‘Who’s died?’ he asked as they reached the ferry. He paid their fares and ushered them on.
They walked to the front of the old paddle steamer.
‘Peter,’ Angie told him.
‘Rosie’s husband?’ Bobby asked. He looked at Dorothy. She had been the one to tell him about Detective Sergeant Peter Miller – the man who had helped his mam and had got shot of his dad. Rosie’s husband had seemed like one of the good guys. There was no justice in this life.
‘That’s right,’ Angie said. She usually complained about having to answer for Dorothy, but not today.
The three of them looked out to the mouth of the River Wear, each lost in their own thoughts.
After the ferry arrived at the north side, they all got off and walked in silence up to the main gates.
When they collected their time boards off Davey and started towards their workstations, Bobby looked at Dorothy.
‘Good luck,’ he said, his voice low and sombre. ‘And just say if I can help in any way,’ he added, looking at Angie.
‘Oh, God,’ Dorothy said. ‘This is going to be awful.’
Seeing that Gloria and Polly hadn’t arrived and that it was just Rosie and Martha standing by the brazier, chatting, Dorothy looked at Angie. ‘You still agree – we need to tell her when everyone’s here?’
Angie nodded. They slowed their pace. ‘Let’s do it at lunchtime.’
‘Yes, at lunchtime,’ Dorothy said, feeling a slight sense of relief that she didn’t have to drop the guillotine onto her friend’s neck just yet. It was a temporary stay of execution, though. Whether they told her now or in a few hours, it would not make the news any less devastating, but at least she’d have her workmates there to support her in whatever way they could.
‘Just act normal,’ Dorothy said.
‘Easier said than done,’ Angie said, plastering a smile on her face as she wished Rosie and Martha ‘Good morning’ before declaring that she needed the loo.
Rosie and Martha watched as the group’s ‘terrible two’ sloped off to the outside toilets – something they usually avoided at all costs.
‘Do they seem a bit out of sorts to you?’ Rosie asked Martha, who laughed and said that they were probably just hung-over.
By the time the klaxon sounded out the lunch break, Dorothy felt as though she was going to be physically sick with nerves.
‘Shall we all have our lunch out here?’ Angie said, cocking her head over to the stack of pallets by the quayside.
‘Sounds a good idea,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve got a packed lunch.’
‘I’ll just nip to the canteen,’ Gloria said. ‘I didn’t have time to make anything today.’
Dorothy and Angie looked at each.
‘Well, dinnit take all day!’ The words – and the harshness with which they had been spoken – were out before Angie could rein them back in.
Gloria gave Angie a questioning look. ‘What’s up?’
‘Yeah, you two have been acting strange all morning,’ Martha said.
‘Quentin and Toby all right?’ Rosie asked.
The last question pushed Dorothy over the edge. She felt the urge to burst out crying, but managed to hold back. She had to be strong. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby and the rest of his squad settling down nearby with their packed lunches. She caught his eye and looked away.
‘Actually,’ Dorothy said, looking nervously at Gloria and then focusing back on Rosie, ‘it’s Peter.’
Everyone stopped dead.
Everyone was staring at Dorothy, who had put her hand into the side pocket of her overalls and had taken out Peter’s letter.
She put her other hand in her other pocket and pulled out the official notification of death.
Rosie’s eyes dropped down to Dorothy’s hand. Suddenly everything became slow motion. Was that Peter’s handwriting she could see on the front of one of the envelopes? Her heart lifted. Dorothy had brought news. She had brought a letter from Peter. But why did she look so serious?
‘Is that from Peter?’ she asked.
She watched as Dorothy nodded, her face grim, as Gloria stepped forward and took the other letter – the official one with typing on the front.
She watched as Gloria slid her thumb under the seal and opened it, casting her eyes briefly down the page before offering it to her.
Rosie could feel her hands starting to shake as she took hold of the letter. Her eyes scanned the typed words:
It is with the deepest regret that I have learnt that your husband, Mr Peter Miller, a member of the Special Operations Executive, has been recorded as ‘missing presumed dead’ following an operation on 6 June in France. I wish to express my admiration for the services he rendered and to convey my profound sympathy in your sad bereavement.
She stood staring, unable to move.
She sensed Angie was handing her the other envelope. The one with Peter’s handwriting on it. She heard Dorothy say something about Toby, and that he’d asked Dorothy to give it to her along with the notification.
She felt her body starting to tremble along with her hands as she took the envelope, ripped it open and began to read.
Dear Rosie,
I hope that you will never read this letter, for if you do it means that my superiors have received news that I am dead.
It pains me to write this, but I know it is going to cause you much more pain to have to read it, so I want to say sorry to you. Sorry I have put you through this heartache.
God only knows, you have been through enough in your life. But you’ve survived it – all of it. You kept going when others would have given up, you forced a smile when others would have cried, you made untold sacrifices in your life for the sake of love – the love you have for your little sister.
I know you understand the nature of sacrifice. You gave up so much to ensure that Charlotte was safe from harm and to give her the chance of a good life. And you did so without any hesitation. You knew without any kind of doubt that what you were doing was right.
I too have felt the same about the work I have been doing since I left you that day at the train station in Guildford. There has never been any doubt in my mind that what I decided to do after we said our goodbyes as man and wife was the right thing, and – I can’t stress this enough – so very necessary. I hope as you are reading this that you understand. And that you know I have no regrets. My love for you knows no bounds, but it also has to be sacrificed for the Greater Good.
Now I am writing, I realise there is so much I want to say – and which I haven’t been able to say. First of all, about Charlotte – I do hope she is well and not making your life too hard. It’s funny, but I feel like I know her even though we have never met, so say hello to her from me – and a reluctant goodbye – and tell her she has to be strong and brave, just like her older sister, and that she must now be there for you.
It took me some time to know what to write. I have sat here for a good while at the wooden kitchen table in the house where I am presently staying. It is dark and quiet, and it strikes me, as I sit and contemplate, how strange it is to write such a letter, but also very necessary – for us both.
When I first tried to put pen to paper, I didn’t know what to say. But in my mind’s eye I pictured you and the times we shared, and as I did, it started to feel as if you were near to me. I remembered the last time we were together at home in our bed and I could almost smell you – feel the touch of your bare skin on mine.
Just writing the words makes me feel sad – not for the loss of my life, but because I will never get to lie with you again, kiss you, or make love to you. But I will take it all with me, wherever that may be.
I need you to know that I have no regrets and that you must not either – for anything – nor any guilt. I have been around too much death these past few years and I know the residue that death can leave behind, how it can taint a life and darken a future and I need to know that this will not be the case for you.
It is why so many men – and women – have given their lives to this war: to fight the terrible darkness that will engulf the whole of humanity if we don’t beat this evil.
The life we had together was incredibly special and was all that I believe true love to be. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t ever let it stop you loving again. You are young and life is precious.
But I know you don’t want to hear that now.
What I’m trying to say is that the sacrifice of my life and the lives of so many others has been made so that love – not hate – can flourish.
So that the world can be one of light and not darkness.
Please, please don’t forsake that because I am not here to enjoy it with you. Whenever you feel lonely, just close your eyes and I’ll be there right by your side. And know I will always be with you. And I will always love you.
Forever yours,
Peter x