As the Sun Breaks Through

Doris didn’t mind the restriction of being in the hall-floor bedroom, and had settled into Beach View far better than she’d ever expected to, and yet she was still trying to come to terms with the chaos in the house. It had been so quiet and orderly in her lovely Havelock Road home, but here she was surrounded by people rushing in and out, who didn’t seem to mind coping with birthing babies, small children, erecting stair contraptions and tending to sick animals, and it was all rather a shock to the system. Although she had to admit there were times she thoroughly enjoyed feeling part of a family again – and she’d come to look on all of them as such now – even young Ivy, who had the cheek of the devil, but was surprisingly, and rather endearingly, fragile under all that sparky bluff and bluster.

It was strange how you never really knew people until you lived with them and got involved in their lives, she mused, as she left Beach View that early Monday morning. Her set ideas about them all had proven to be totally unfounded, especially over this weekend.

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She’d seen a surprising new side to Ron, for his distress over Harvey had been awful to watch, and yet the tenderness he’d shown both towards his dog and to Rosie Braithwaite was quite remarkable. It seemed Ron had hidden depths previously masked by a cheerful disregard of his responsibilities, and that intrigued and unsettled her, for she’d always thought of him as a rough, selfish man who went his own way without a thought for anyone else.

Doris crossed the street and hurried along Camden Road, her thoughts still on Ron. He was clearly trying to reform in his pursuit of Rosie, and when she’d seen how they were together, she’d realised they shared the same sort of special relationship that Peggy had with her Jim. Although she was ashamed of it, she couldn’t help but feel envious.

She and Edward had never really experienced the close intimacy that came from a deep and abiding love that bound two people together and withstood the years. She’d always known that Edward loved her, and in her own way she’d loved him back, but it was a love that stemmed from friendship, companionship and the sharing of day-to-day duties around the home – not the passion her sister shared with Jim, or Rosie with Ron.

Doris sighed. Now Ted was gone, and she was over fifty, she’d more than likely missed the boat as far as passion was concerned – though it would be nice to experience it just once. A fleeting and rather disturbing image of Colonel White’s handsome face came from nowhere, and she hastily dismissed it as the wishful thinking of a frustrated and lonely woman. Handsome he might be, with lovely manners and the sort of cultured voice that could recite the telephone directory and make it sound interesting – but he was her boss, and she had no business to think of him as anything else.

She was just approaching the side alley to the Anchor when Rosie stepped out in a loosely tied, scarlet satin robe which gaped to show too much cleavage and a lot of leg.

‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, handing a large jug to the dairyman as his Shire waited patiently at the kerb. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly is,’ Doris replied rather stiffly. She still wasn’t really sure what to make of Rosie, for although she seemed to be educated and quite pleasant, she ran a pub, dressed outrageously and didn’t think it at all inappropriate to fetch the milk wearing something that left very little to the imagination.

‘Have you got a minute?’ said Rosie. ‘Only there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’

Rather startled by this unexpected approach, Doris looked at her wristwatch. ‘I like to be in the office early to prepare everything before the Colonel arrives, but if it’s important, I could spare a couple of minutes.’

Rosie clutched the full jug of milk to her bosom with one hand and her gaping wrap with the other. ‘Let’s go inside before that chap over there has a heart attack,’ she giggled.

Doris glanced across the road at the leering man and gave him such a glare he ducked his head and scuttled off.

‘Would you like a cuppa?’ asked Rosie as they entered the narrow, dark hall.

‘Thank you, but I’ve just had one,’ said Doris, giving the place a quick once-over. She’d never been in the Anchor before, and was surprised by how quaint it was with its low beams, brick floor and white walls of lath and plaster. It was all spotlessly clean and there was the smell of beer permeating through from the bar she could glimpse at the end of the hall, but the over-riding scent was of beeswax and Rosie’s flowery perfume.

Rosie put the milk jug on the table by the telephone, tied the belt more firmly around her waist and eyed Doris with some amusement. ‘Would you like me to show you round?’

‘Perhaps another time,’ Doris replied, only slightly fazed to be caught snooping. ‘What was it you wanted to discuss with me?’

‘He’s feeling very sorry for himself, and hates wearing that ruff, but he’s eating well and seems to be on the mend.’

‘Good.’ Rosie folded her arms beneath her generous bosom and regarded Doris with some sympathy. ‘You’ve been through the mill lately, haven’t you, and you must be finding it hard to settle at Beach View after the peace and quiet of your other place.’

Doris was surprised by her astuteness. ‘I’ve been extremely fortunate to have a sister who’s so generous,’ she replied. ‘Yes, it is noisy with people coming and going and what feels like a different drama being played out every day – but strangely enough I’m rather enjoying it.’

Doris was puzzled by the questions, not at all sure she wanted this woman knowing her business. ‘I hope to have my own place once Jim and the rest of the family come home.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Rosie. ‘And I have a proposition for you.’

‘There is a property I own just off Mafeking Terrace,’ Rosie informed her. ‘It’s a nice little bungalow, but will need some work done to it now my tenant, old Mrs Carey, has sadly passed away. I was wondering if you’d be interested in renting it?’

Rosie gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Doris, there’s a lot you don’t know about me – and although I own a pub and play the part of the landlady to the hilt, there’s more to me than meets the eye. Like you, I prefer to keep my private life private.’

Rosie waved away Doris’s stuttering apology. ‘So what do you say to the bungalow?’

‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ Doris replied, trying hard not to appear too eager. ‘But I’d need to see it before I make any decisions.’

Rosie unhooked a set of keys from near the telephone. ‘The address is on the tag, and you might need a bit of imagination to see yourself in there. I’ve yet to clear the old lady’s furniture and freshen the place up.’

Doris slipped the keys into her handbag. ‘I’ll pop in during my lunch break. Thank you for thinking of me when there are so few places to be had these days.’

Rosie giggled. ‘Don’t thank me yet, Doris. You haven’t seen the state of it.’

‘I’m still grateful,’ said Doris rather humbly before shaking her hand and hurrying off to work.

Doris walked quickly towards the factory estate, her mind in a whirl. The thought of having her own space again, of quiet evenings spent listening to the wireless, or summer days pottering in the garden unmolested by over-eager dogs and raucous toddlers, was very tempting. But would Peggy be offended if she upped sticks and left? She’d been so good to her, that the last thing she wanted to do was cause a rift between them. And yet the chance to make a home for herself again had been her driving force ever since she’d moved into Beach View, and although it had come sooner than she’d expected, she’d be foolish not to grab it with both hands.

Running up the wooden steps and into the newly built porch, Doris was about to unlock the office door when she realised the Colonel was already at his desk. ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ she said brightly as she stepped inside. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’

He got to his feet to welcome her. ‘My goodness, Mrs Williams, you look positively radiant this morning. Can I be so bold as to ask why?’

‘Indeed you may, Colonel,’ she replied, hanging up her cardigan and gas-mask box before patting her hair into place. ‘I have been offered the rental of a bungalow off Mafeking Terrace.’

His smile lit up his handsome face. ‘It must be old Mrs Carey’s place in Ladysmith Close. She was over eighty and passed away a couple of weeks ago – and it’s the only one empty at the moment.’

‘No, of course not,’ she replied, silently berating herself for even thinking how nice it would be to have him as a neighbour as well as her employer. ‘Empty houses are as rare as hen’s teeth, and as long as it isn’t in too bad a shape, then I’ll grab it.’

‘I thought I’d pop over during my lunch break,’ she said. ‘Mrs Braithwaite will need an answer by tonight.’

Colonel White cleared his throat. ‘Would you like me to come with you? Just to check on damp, roof tiles and guttering and such like,’ he added hastily.

Doris’s heart gave a little flutter which she determinedly quelled. ‘That would be most helpful,’ she said and took a sip from her cup. ‘Good grief,’ she gasped. ‘I forgot to put any tea in the pot!’

Colonel White laughed. ‘Let’s forget the tea and go and see that bungalow. I have a feeling your mind is elsewhere at the moment, and there’s nothing urgent to deal with here.’

Doris tried to keep her expectations of the bungalow in check as they left the estate and crossed the road into Mafeking Terrace, which ran in a loop along the side of the hill. Rosie had already warned her that the place was in a rather poor state, and as she’d never been up here before, the area might not be to her liking – although if the Colonel lived here, it couldn’t be all that bad.

Ladysmith Close was about halfway along Mafeking Terrace, and proved to be a pleasant, tree-lined cul-de-sac dipping down the hill with bungalows on both sides, and a panoramic view of Cliffehaven and the sea. Number 18 was set back from the pavement behind a sadly neglected garden and low brick wall.

Doris stood and regarded it with a beady eye, noting how quiet it was and how pleasantly the cool breeze came up from the coast to temper the rising heat. There was a large bay window to the left of the front door which needed a good rubbing down and a fresh coat of paint, and a smaller, frosted one to the right, which she guessed was the bathroom. The walls and roof looked to be in good condition, and so did the chimney, but as Doris had no real idea of what she should be looking for, she was glad the Colonel had come with her.

‘I’ll scout around out here whilst you go in,’ he said, heading for the side gate.

Doris nervously slotted in the key and pushed open the front door. Stepping inside, she noted the hall carpet was worn and the walls and paintwork were yellowing from either age or tobacco – it was hard to tell. There was a vague reminder of the elderly woman lingering in the air along with hints of boiled cabbage and fish – but that could easily be dealt with by opening the windows.

Doris pushed open the door to her right to discover a lavatory, washbasin and bath which had clearly been put in fairly recently, for it was in good condition; and then went into the front room. It was flooded with light and looked over the town towards the sea – reminding her forcibly of the vista she’d had in her old home, and endearing her immediately to this shabby little bungalow.

The curtains were heavy brocade and must have once been beautiful, but the glare of the sun had faded and frayed them and as she brushed her hand over them, she discovered they were full of dust. She surveyed the room. It was cluttered with aged, but good, solid furniture that had stood the test of time and still had wear in it. Every flat surface was covered in lace doilies, on which sat vases of dried flowers, trinkets and framed photographs from an era long since passed. An ornate mirror hung above the fireplace which still retained its lovely art nouveau tiles and brass fender, and there were framed embroidered pictures around the walls. The rug in front of the fire had scorch marks all over it, the parquet flooring would need sanding and repolishing, and the walls and ceiling were the same yellow as the hall. But Doris could see that despite all the clutter, it was a good-sized room, and with that lovely window it had huge potential.

She went back into the hall and explored the two bedrooms which were quite small, but perfectly adequate, and then headed for the kitchen which was at the back of the house and overlooked the garden.

Despite her age, Mrs Carey had clearly put her energies out there, for rows of beans and peas vied for space with onions, chives, dahlias and roses, and there were pots of herbs and pansies outside the back door. A sturdy fence surrounded the garden and behind it was a line of trees which shielded the bungalow from being overlooked by those in Mafeking Terrace.

The kitchen itself was very basic, with a Belfast sink, rotting wooden drainer and a couple of cupboards that had seen better days. The floor was tiled, but it was so grubby Doris couldn’t see what colour it was. A small wooden table and two chairs had been crammed in a corner, and pots and pans hung from hooks above the tiny black range which needed a good clean.

Doris gave a deep sigh of longing for her modern kitchen with all its new appliances. She was going to find it hard to adapt, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers, and with a bit of thought and a lot of elbow grease, she’d soon have this place in order.

Her thoughts were broken by the Colonel tapping on the window, and she unlocked the back door to let him in.

‘It all seems to be fine structurally,’ he said, stepping into the kitchen. ‘The guttering and drains are clear, there’s a damp course of sorts, and the brickwork has been recently pointed.’ He glanced around the kitchen. ‘It does look rather tired and in need of some attention in here, though, doesn’t it?’

‘The whole place is tired,’ she replied, ‘and it will take a good deal of work to get it to feel like home.’ She smiled at him. ‘But strangely enough, I can imagine myself living here.’

She followed him as he inspected the other rooms, and when they’d seen enough, she locked the door behind them and pocketed the key. ‘We’d better get back to the office,’ she said. ‘Half the day’s gone already.’

‘Would you think it a liberty if I was to ask you to have a look around my place? Only I thought it might give you some idea of how yours might be once the work is done.’

Doris dithered, which was most unlike her – but curiosity overrode propriety. ‘I should like that very much.’

‘Jolly good,’ he said, shooting her a hesitant smile before turning into the next-door garden.

Doris was rather startled that he actually lived next door, but she followed him up the path, noting the neatly cut lawn, the fresh paintwork and gleaming windows. Stepping into the hall, she followed him through the sparsely furnished and painfully tidy rooms until they reached the kitchen.

The brass taps gleamed above a pristine Belfast sink, the draining boards were pale and smooth from being regularly scrubbed, and burnished copper-bottomed pots and pans were lined up like soldiers on the shelf above the modern gas cooker. The cupboards had been painted white and the red and blue tiles on the floor were spotless. She admired it all, thinking privately that the Colonel might have left the army, but old army habits clearly lived on.

‘I have rather a lot of time on my hands now I live alone,’ he said shyly. ‘But it means I can tinker about decorating and seeing to both mine and Mrs Carey’s garden, which I rather enjoy.’

Doris looked from the pristine kitchen into the back garden, which had been turned into a flourishing vegetable patch with a freshly creosoted shed tucked into one corner. ‘You certainly put my house-keeping and gardening skills to shame,’ she replied lightly to cover her embarrassment at how easily he’d read her mind. ‘If we’re to be neighbours, I shall have to look to my laurels.’

‘I’m sure not,’ he replied, ‘and if we are to be neighbours, then perhaps we can be less formal out of the office. My name’s John.’

Doris felt the heat slowly rising up her neck and into her face as their eyes met. ‘Mine’s Doris,’ she managed.

‘Well, Doris, I think we have something to celebrate, don’t you? How do you feel about me taking you to the Officers’ Club this evening for drinks and dinner?’

Her blush deepening, Doris didn’t dare look at him. ‘That sounds very pleasant,’ she replied.

He tugged at his jacket, rubbed his hands together and then dug them in his trouser pockets as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. ‘Jolly good show.’

Peggy slowly made her way home with the two little girls who were tired after their busy day in the crèche, and inclined to grizzle and whine at having to walk. Rachel Goldman had done her best to find a pushchair big enough for them both, but they were so few and far between, it had been a hopeless task.

Queenie was preening on the garden wall as they approached, and quickly dashed off at the sight of the children. One she could tolerate; two was above and beyond her patience. As Peggy reached the gate the girls spotted Ron and Harvey in the garden, and with all grizzling forgotten and a rush of energy they pelted down the path to greet them.

Peggy was about to warn them not to hug the dog, but Ron was already warding them off, quietly reminding them how to pet Harvey without hurting him.

Harvey was clearly feeling very sorry for himself and embarrassed by the cone round his neck, the tight bandage around his middle and the leash fastened to his collar. He stood there looking the picture of misery as the children fussed him and Ron kept a tight hold of the lead.

‘Is that really necessary? Peggy asked. ‘The poor boy’s already feeling foolish, and you know how he hates being on a lead.’

‘To be sure, if I don’t have it, he’ll be off and busting his stitches,’ Ron muttered. ‘He’s already tried to make a break for it today, and I’ll not be risking losing him again.’

‘They’ll not be there for much longer,’ Ron said. ‘I put poison down that hole and covered it up good and tight so no other animal can get down there.’ He tugged Harvey’s lead. ‘That’s enough petting for now,’ he told the girls. ‘It’s teatime and Harvey’s hungry.’ He looked across at Peggy. ‘There’s a letter for you from Jim,’ he said, almost as an afterthought.

‘Then why didn’t you say earlier?’ She raced up the concrete steps into the kitchen, and with barely a nod to the others, snatched the letter from the table and dashed upstairs to read it in peace.

Settling into the chair, she found her fingers were trembling as she tore it open. The thin pages of the air letter slid from the envelope and a small black and white photograph fell into her lap.

She gazed at it, hardly daring to believe how handsome, fit and tanned Jim looked – all bare-chested and muscled in just shorts as he stood on a sunlit veranda surrounded by palm trees. He didn’t appear to be injured at all, she thought in wonder – and in fact looked supremely fit.

My darling Peggy,

I know how anxious you must have been, but as you can see by the photo, I’m fine. I can only hope that the nurse’s letter arrived before the telegram, and that it has gone some way to easing your worry. It was only because I managed to persuade the padre to convince my commanding officer not to send anything until I was safely in hospital that the telegram was delayed by about three weeks.

You know me, Peg, the gift of the blarney rarely lets me down and gets me out of all sorts of scrapes, and it’s thankful I am that the padre is an Irishman and it didn’t fail either of us this time.

Now, I realise that three weeks sounds like a long time to you, but I was completely out of it and barely noticed where I was or what was going on. You see, we were having a bit of trouble with the Japs and our planes couldn’t come in, so I stayed in the field hospital until I could be airlifted out – which evidently took those three weeks. The surgeon in the field hospital was terrific and got me sorted very quickly because my wound wasn’t that serious, but with all the muck and bullets flying about, I got an infection – which was lucky really, because it meant I was on the first plane out of there.

So here I am, back where this madness all started, and being looked after like one of those maharajahs, with hot and cold running water, gorgeous Australian nurses and lots of peace and quiet – which is a blessing after the awful racket I’ve had to put up with lately.

The hospital’s quite big, and there’s a long veranda at the back overlooking a lush tropical garden which runs down to a sandy beach and swift flowing river. It’s lovely sitting out there with a cup of tea or a cold beer, enjoying the sun, dozing off, or playing a hand or two of cards. Once I’m properly up and about again, I’m going in that river, it looks very inviting – and I’ll also have a go at croquet! Did you ever imagine, Peg, that I would ever write that line? Some of the chaps are awfully good at it, and I’m longing to give it a go. I’m sure I’ll pick it up in no time.

The chaps here are a good bunch, and I count myself lucky that I got off so lightly, which is more than I can say for Ernie. Poor blighter got it bad, and I feel terrible because it was all my stupid fault. I can’t tell you what happened, the censors would cut it out anyway, needless to say his war’s over and he’ll be on his way home soon. As far as I know, Big Bert is still causing the enemy mayhem and putting himself right in the middle of things. He’s what the Aussies call a ‘bonzer bloke’, but it strikes me he’s either leading a charmed life or is invincible.

I’m sorry I got wounded and caused you to fret, but please don’t shed any tears for me. I’ll be right as ninepence very soon, and am having a high old time here. The nurses are great fun and don’t mind mucking in with a game of cards or Ludo, and they don’t get all hot under the collar if a chap swears or tells a dirty joke. I’ve met a lot of Aussies during my time away, and now I’ve met some of their women I can see why they’re such a cheerful, sunny bunch. Perhaps after all this is over we should go out there and see what life could be like for us? I hear it’s sunny most of the time and you can grow oranges in your back garden! How about that?

I’ll write again very soon. Give my love to everyone, kiss Daisy for me and tell Da to hurry up and propose to Rosie. I just know you’re itching to dust down your wedding hat – and by the sound of it from your letters, there will one or two chances to wear it before long. I just wish I could be there to share it all with you. But things are changing, and that day is coming nearer. I send you a kiss and a prayer that the sun will soon break through these dark clouds and we can very soon be together again.

Jim. x

Peggy held the letter to her heart, thankful that he was somewhere safe and getting better. She refused to let the thought of him being returned to his regiment cast a shadow on her happiness, and silently vowed to remain positive from now on.

Running back downstairs, she handed the letter to Ron to read and helped supervise the children who were squabbling over a picture book. ‘Where’s Doris?’ she asked. ‘She’s usually home by now.’

‘She’s getting changed,’ said Ivy. ‘The Colonel’s taking her out for dinner,’ she added with a knowing wink.

‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t jump to conclusions,’ said Doris from the doorway. ‘The Colonel has kindly asked me to dinner because I have something to celebrate.’

Peggy admired the neat black dress, fake pearls and dinky concoction of black net and feathers perched on Doris’s carefully brushed hair. ‘It must be very special for you to have made such an effort,’ she said. ‘I must say, you do look marvellous,’ she added, noting the heightened colour in her sister’s face and the happy gleam in her eyes.

‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘It’s amazing what one can find at jumble sales these days.’

‘Well, don’t keep us in suspense, for goodness’ sake,’ said Ivy. ‘What’s going on?’

Doris told them about Rosie’s bungalow, and then turned to Peggy. ‘I do hope you don’t mind, Peggy, but I signed the lease before coming home this evening, and once the work has been done on it, I shall be moving in before the end of August.’

‘Oh, my dear, of course I don’t mind,’ said Peggy truthfully. ‘We both knew this wasn’t permanent, and I’m delighted Rosie took my advice and offered it to you.’

‘Oh,’ said Doris. ‘I hadn’t realised you’d discussed it with her first.’

‘She simply asked me if I thought you might want it,’ said Peggy. ‘We didn’t discuss your business, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘It’ll take a bit to get the place straight,’ said Ron, breaking the short, tense silence. ‘I’m thinking I’ll be busy for the next few weeks with painting and such-like.’

‘Of course we will,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s what we did with Cordelia’s place in Mafeking Terrace before Ruby and Ethel moved in, and with so many willing hands it won’t take long at all.’ She reached for Doris’s hand. ‘That’s not to say we’re in a hurry to get rid of you,’ she said, ‘but a chance like this doesn’t come along often, and I know you’ll settle in there very happily.’

‘I’ll miss not ’aving you around,’ said Ivy. ‘But it’s near enough to the factory for me to pop in for a cuppa now and again.’ She looked at Doris with a sly smile. ‘The Colonel lives up that way too, don’t ’e? So that’ll be cosy.’

Doris blushed. ‘Do try to keep your mind out of the gutter, Ivy,’ she said mildly.

‘What about furniture?’ asked Peggy. ‘I can spare a bed and perhaps a couple of bits, but—’

‘I’m keeping some of Mrs Carey’s furniture,’ said Doris, ‘but I would appreciate a bed. Mrs Carey died in hers, and the thought of it would keep me awake.’

‘I bet that wouldn’t be the only thing keeping you awake if the Colonel’s feeling frisky,’ muttered Ivy, shooting her a wicked grin.

Peggy gave Ivy a light tap on her hand. ‘Naughty girl,’ she reproached softly. ‘Poor Doris deserves a bit of fun after all she’s been through, and you shouldn’t tease her.’

‘Yeah, I know, but she don’t mind a bit of leg-pulling,’ replied Ivy without a glimmer of regret.

Peggy was about to say that Doris was far more fragile than she let on when the telephone rang. She went to answer it, and after a bit of static, Gracie’s voice echoed down the line.

‘Hello, Peggy. I can’t talk for long as I don’t have a lot of change, but I wanted to know how Chloe is and how you’re managing.’

‘Chloe is absolutely fine,’ she replied firmly, ‘and so am I. What about you? How are things in Dover?’

There was a short silence and then what sounded like a sob. ‘He’s refusing to see me,’ Gracie said brokenly. ‘And it’s all my fault, Peg.’

‘I don’t see how that can be,’ she replied, her heart going out to her friend.

‘They warned me he wouldn’t look the same – that the burns … that it was important I didn’t show any reaction.’ Her voice faltered as she fought her sobs. ‘I tried, Peggy, I really did, but … but it was such a shock to see him like that, I simply couldn’t hide it. His face … his lovely face …’ She broke into wracking sobs.

Peggy gripped the receiver as graphic images flashed in her mind. She’d never met Clive, but had seen his photograph and so knew he’d been a handsome man, and the horror of what had happened to him was just too awful to contemplate. She yearned to be able to console Gracie, but couldn’t begin to think how that was possible.

‘Clive has yet to see the extent of his injuries,’ she managed through her tears. ‘But when I failed to hide my shock, he shouted at me to go away and not come back, and I’m ashamed to say I fled. But I went back the next morning, determined to stay by his side regardless of the fact I could hardly bear to look at him.’

She took a shuddering breath. ‘You see, I knew he was frightened, terribly frightened, and I wanted him to know that we would see through his recovery together.’

There was a pause as Gracie slotted some more coins into the public phone. ‘Not really,’ she continued, ‘because I let him down so very badly. He looked straight at me with his one good eye and demanded that I kiss him – on what’s left of his lips. And I couldn’t, Peggy. I just couldn’t,’ she wailed.

Peggy closed her eyes, imagining the awful scene – understanding Clive’s need to be treated as normal and poor Gracie’s inability to do so. ‘It will get easier in time,’ she said, hearing the triteness of her words even as she spoke them. ‘You’ll both get used to what’s happened and once—’

‘Maybe,’ Gracie replied, calmer now. ‘But I’m doing no good here. Clive refuses to see me and the doctor suggested I stay away for a while until he’s come to terms with things. Seeing me has upset him dreadfully, and if he’s to recover, then he needs peace and quiet and to be with other men who are going through the same thing.’

She gave a tremulous sigh. ‘I’ll be home sometime late tomorrow. If you could keep Chloe for one more night, I would be grateful.’

‘I’ll keep her for as long as you like,’ said Peggy as the pips went. ‘You’ll need a bit of time to yourself to recover from it all and—’

The line went dead. Peggy replaced the receiver and sat for a while in the hall, thinking how very lucky she was not to be walking in Gracie’s shoes. She took a deep breath, offered up a silent prayer to keep Jim safe, and went back to the light and warmth of her kitchen.

Cordelia was reading the children a story before they had the nightly treat of being carried upstairs on the chairlift.

Ron listened as Peggy quietly summarised the call from Gracie. He shared her concern for both of them and knew Peggy would do all she could to support her friend during this terrible time, but the real battle would be going on inside Gracie’s head and heart – and because she was made of strong stuff, he suspected she’d soon go back to Dover.

This war had damaged so many young lives, and he was relieved and thankful his son hadn’t shared the same fate as Clive and was on the mend. However, the cheerfulness of Jim’s letter didn’t really ring true, and he seemed a bit too anxious to allay their fears. Ron wondered if Jim really had got off as lightly as he’d professed. He looked all right in the photograph, but the camera could lie, and no one could see what was going on in his mind.

Ron’s own experience of war taught him that Ernie’s injuries would be preying on Jim, especially as he blamed himself for what had happened – although how that had come about was a mystery. Ron could only hope that Jim’s worry over Ernie wouldn’t delay his recovery.

He returned the letter and photograph to its envelope and, although he wasn’t particularly hungry, made a concerted effort to eat the tinned corned beef and garden salad, which had been served with a couple of the tiny new potatoes he’d dug up earlier.

‘Fred the Fish finally managed to get me a couple of kippers, so I’m taking them up to Chalky White’s. If I’ve time, I’ll pop in and see Rosie after, but I’ve warned her I might not make it,’ he added. ‘Old Chalky can talk the hind legs off a donkey, so he can, and I could be stuck there for hours.’

‘The poor man probably gets lonely, with his wife going off to her sister’s all the time,’ Peggy commented.

‘I doubt that,’ muttered Ron. ‘She’s always at him for one thing or another, and I’m thinking he likes the peace and quiet.’

He pushed back from the table, washed his empty plate, and then regarded his sad-eyed dog with some sympathy. ‘You’ll be staying put, ye heathen beast,’ he said, fondling the dog’s ears. ‘It’s a long walk, and you’re not ready for that yet.’

The telephone rang just as he was about to fetch the paper-wrapped kippers from the larder. ‘I’ll get it,’ he rumbled, stomping off into the hall.

‘Hello, Ron,’ said Rosie with a slight edge to her voice. ‘I was wondering if you could pop in? Only something’s cropped up and needs seeing to with some urgency.’

‘Oh no, it’s something far more important than that. And it might take some time to fix, so perhaps you should forget the kippers tonight.’

Ron had visions of a flooded cellar, burst pipe or another soot fall. ‘What the devil has happened, Rosie?’

Ron frowned as he replaced the receiver. Rosie certainly sounded anxious about something, and he couldn’t very well ignore her plea for help – but kippers wouldn’t keep either.

He went back into the kitchen and pulled on his jacket and cap. ‘Rosie’s got some problem at the Anchor she needs sorting, but those kippers need to get to Chalky before they go off.’ He looked at Rita who was sharing a copy of the Picture Post with Ivy. ‘I don’t suppose you could take them up on your bike?’

She set the magazine aside. ‘Of course I will,’ she replied before turning to Ivy. ‘Fancy a ride up there, and then a pint at the Woodman’s Arms for a change?’

Ron nodded his thanks, dragged on his jacket and cap and left the house. Less than a minute later the girls passed him on the speeding motorbike. His smile was wry as he watched them disappear around the corner. He understood Rita’s youthful appetite for speed, and she could handle that bike expertly, but if Chalky offered them any of his lethal parsnip wine, they’d find the journey home an entirely different kettle of fish.

Double summer-time was still in force, which made the evenings much lighter for longer, so Rosie had yet to pull the blackout curtains. He peered in through the heavily taped windows to the bar and saw that Brenda was again in charge, with no sign of Rosie. Monty was sprawled before the empty inglenook and all seemed calm and normal enough, so why the urgent summons?

He stepped down into the bar and headed straight for Brenda. ‘What’s happened? Rosie said it was urgent.’

‘Oh, it is,’ said Brenda with what looked suspiciously like a knowing gleam in her eye. ‘She’s upstairs.’

Ron frowned and hurried into the hall. Taking the stairs two at a time, he found the sitting room door was closed, which was most unusual. He opened the door and found the room deserted and in darkness but for the soft glow from a table lamp. ‘Rosie? Where are you? What’s going on?’

He couldn’t imagine what might be wrong as he hurried towards the sound of her voice. And then he came to an abrupt halt outside her open bedroom door.

Rosie was resting against a mass of pillows, the soft glow of many candles gleaming on her tanned shoulders and long, slender legs. She wore nothing but a very skimpy silk petticoat and a seductive smile. ‘I’m in urgent need of some proper loving,’ she murmured, her blue eyes hazy with lust.

Ron could barely breathe as his eyes feasted on her. ‘To be sure, darling girl, I’m the man for that,’ he managed.

He kicked the door shut, threw off his jacket and cap and tenderly gathered her to him.

19