Charles called back later in the evening and we spoke for longer. I tried hard to be chipper and felt slightly better about playing my part. We would crack on with the wedding plans and then Charles would go off and do a very good and important job and I would do mine back here, and that was all there was to it, which in wartime was perfectly fine.
If I said that enough times, perhaps it would be true. Still, I wanted to curl into a ball and wait for the war to just go away.
This would not help anyone.
Bunty was out, so I went to bed early, which gave me a whole night to sort myself out.
I hated the idea of Charles’ going, but for now he was still here, alive, in Britain and I would get to marry him. That was a lot more than many people had. Of course I thought of Irene and Bunty and Anne. I was damn lucky. It was as simple as that.
I wrote to Charles in the middle of the night, to say properly how proud I was of him. Even though I had told him a dozen times when we had talked, I wanted him to have it in black and white.
He wrote to me at exactly the same time. He wanted to thank me for being such a brick. Even though he had said it a dozen times when we had talked. Most of all, he said, I had to know that he loved me more than anything else in the world.
I kept the letter in my bag and read it over and over again.
Two nights later, Bunty, Thelma, and I were sitting in the kitchen, which Bunty had just renamed the Wedding Office, eating pickled cucumbers for our tea. In her self-appointed role as Bunty’s deputy in charge of wedding plans, Thelma had called round before our shift at the fire station so she could go through Bunts’ frighteningly efficient lists to see how far a change of date might mess things about.
I knew that the two of them had decided to make things as cheery as they could, and I was more than keen to join in.
“I always think that keeping your chin up isn’t that hard,” Bunty had said when I first told her about the change of plan. “You just need to lift your face. It’s your heart that takes the effort. When it falls over it can be so stubborn about getting back up.”
“I’ve decided just to think about the wedding,” I said. “That’s the lovely bit and it would be such a shame to spoil it.”
Bunty had taken up the challenge with gusto. “If we refer to List A,” she now said authoritatively, “which as you know covers outfits, then whatever date Charles manages to get, you are definitely prepared.”
Thelma diligently consulted the list while I loudly bit into a cucumber and Bunty threw me one of her Looks.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, with my mouth full. “List A. Lovely.”
“I’ll move on. List B: Guests,” said Bunty.
“List B,” said Thelma heartily. “I’m there.” She looked across the kitchen table at me. “Keep up, Lake.”
I tried not to laugh but succeeded only in choking slightly.
Bunty rolled her eyes. “It all depends on whether it’s a weekend, but I think we should plan for a party in the evening either way,” she said. “Does that sound sensible?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Corporal Thelma?”
“Oh yes,” agreed Thel. “Although can’t I be an officer, as I’m Second in Command?”
We both looked at Bunty. “No,” she said. “List C: Food.”
“Crikey, Bunty,” said Thelma, “if you were in the War Cabinet, you’d sort them all out and this whole business would be over by Christmas.”
Bunty smiled and leant back in her chair. “Can you imagine?” she said almost dreamily. “Over by Christmas. What a lovely thought.”
For a moment no one said anything.
“Come on,” I said before the mood could become too contemplative. “List C: Provisions. Tricky one. If we don’t have champagne and caviar by the bucketload, I’m calling the whole thing off.”
“Quite right too,” said Thelma.
“I’ll say,” said Bunty. “And bananas and pineapples for pudding.”
“Covered in toffee and ice cream,” said Thel.
“Which we’ll eat until we are sick,” I said, happily bringing down the tone.
“And then have some more,” said Bunty revoltingly. “Hold on, there’s the telephone. I’ll go.”
I was pleased to see Bunty get up almost easily and march off to the stairs. Her injured leg was getting stronger, and I could see her finding it easier to get around, often without using her stick.
I sat back and began to crunch my way through another cucumber, thinking how nice it would be with a big lump of mature Cheddar and some newly baked bread covered with fresh butter. Then I heard Bunty shout for me from the floor above. Her voice sounded urgent, so I put down my fresh-bread-less pickle and hurried upstairs, wondering if it might be Charles again.
“I see,” she was saying. She put her hand over the receiver. “It’s Anne,” she whispered. “Or rather, it’s Betty calling about Anne.”
“Emmy’s here now,” said Bunty as we put our heads together in order to listen.
“Hello, Emmy,” said Betty. She was breathless as if she had been running. “I don’t know how to put this. Anne’s been sacked from Chandlers.”
“What?” said Bunty and I at the same time.
“I know. It’s a long story, but her mum’s been out of sorts again. Anne thinks it’s her nerves. Anyway, Anne managed to get a neighbour to have Tony, but she ended up having to take Ruby to work.”
Bunty and I looked at each other over the phone.
“Is she all right?” asked Bunty.
“Yes, yes, they’re both fine. But Ruby wouldn’t sit still. You can guess what happened.”
“Why on earth did Anne take her in?” I said, cross with the worry. “We all know what Ruby’s like.”
“I would say she probably had no flaming choice,” said Betty hotly. “You know the situation.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was unfair. Where are they now?”
“They were sent home,” said Betty. “Mr. Rice said he’s not giving out second chances anymore. There’s another thing. The march is off,” she finished. “Someone told Mr. Terry.”
“No!” said Bunty.
“He’s announced that he’ll sack anyone who joins in. If you ask me, they’ve used Ruby as an excuse to play rough and get rid of Anne. Terry hauled her up about the letter asking for a meeting to discuss a nursery and then he heard about the parade. It was perfect for him. Old Ricicle isn’t a bad sort. I reckon Terry’s the one playing at Jimmy Cagney and being the tough guy. I don’t know what else to say.”
Betty sounded thoroughly defeated.
“This is awful,” I said. “Asking him outright wasn’t even Anne’s idea. It was mine. Betty, this isn’t fair. If he should pick on anyone, it should be me.”
“Don’t worry,” said Betty. I heard her light a cigarette. “You tried. We all tried.”
“Why don’t I talk to him?” I said. “I’ll explain that everything was my idea. That I talked everyone into it. If I’m the troublemaker, maybe he won’t make Anne leave. Let me try to see him.”
It had been very easy to come up with suggestions, but the nearest thing I had done to putting myself in any risk was to have a mild row with Miss Eggerton, and then I’d quickly backed down at the first sign of a fuss.
“I don’t know,” said Betty. “Maybe. Would he agree to a meeting, though?”
Bunty looked at me and shrugged.
“Do you want to speak with Anne first, Betty?” I asked. “If she’d rather I keep out, then I will. If not, I’ll come tomorrow on the first train. Please tell her we will make this right.”
“Okay,” said Betty. “I’d better go. I’ll call back when I can.”
We said hurried goodbyes and then Bunty put the phone down. “You’ll make this right?” she said, not unkindly. “How are you going to do that? He sounds just as vile as you said.”
“I’ve no idea,” I said as Thelma appeared from downstairs, looking concerned. “But it’s my fault and I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Maybe if I appeal to his better nature—make him be the hero of it all. Sorry, Thel, we’ve just heard our friend Anne’s been given the sack.”
“Flipping heck,” said Thelma. “That’s horrible.”
“It wasn’t just you, Emmy,” said Bunty. “I was there too.” She looked at the grandfather clock. Even its tick-tocks sounded gloomy. “You and Thel need to go to your shift. I’m going to think of who I can write to next. You’re right, we can’t just let it go.”
“And I’ll think of what I can do about Mr. Terry,” I said. “What on earth is Anne going to do now?”
I slept badly that night, tossing and turning as I tried to think of how to help my friend. Writing letters to politicians was all very well, but it wasn’t going to do Anne any good. Somehow Mr. Terry had to be convinced to give her back her job, and somehow I was going to have to find a way to talk him into it. I knew he wouldn’t agree to another meeting. This time I would try a surprise visit.
I took the first train out of London the next morning.
“None of this is your fault,” said Anne, giving me a hug at the railway station where she had been waiting for me for over an hour, as my train was delayed. “It really isn’t. Mum has been struggling to cope with the kids. That’s why I ended up taking Ruby in, not because of you. And more to the point, shouldn’t you be at work?”
She was probably right, but I didn’t say anything.
Anne rubbed her hands together in her bright red woollen gloves. They matched her scarf and hat and made her look for all the world as if she was getting ready for the festive season to start.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. She looked terrible.
“I must admit I’ve been better,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have got someone to say I was sick, although I have done that twice before. Poor Ruby, she didn’t know what was going on. Shall we sit down?”
The railway station had a small tea and waiting room, and mainly to try to get Anne warm, I agreed. Betty had called back later last night and said that Anne would meet me if I really did want to come. It was good to see her, but her bloodshot eyes gave her away.
“What did Mr. Rice say exactly?” I asked as we chose from a doleful selection of stale-looking baked goods.
“He just said bringing in children had to stop. Apparently, it’s happened in other parts of the factory and Mr. Terry has had enough.”
“And he said that was it, right on the spot?”
“Yes. He said to get my cards and go, so I did. Ruby was howling by then and I just wanted to leave.”
I paid the lady at the counter and said, “My treat,” which was entirely wrong under the circumstances. Then I followed Anne to a table.
“Look at this,” said Anne. “Betty took it off the wall and hid it down her shirt to smuggle it out.”
She passed me a handbill. On it was printed a short announcement.
It has been brought to the attention of the Chandlers Management that a number of employees are planning to stage a protest march regarding facilities in the factory.
We would like to remind all employees that this is against both company and security rules. Any personnel taking part in protests will be subject to disciplinary action, including dismissal and legal proceedings.
Signed.
M.T. Terry
Factory Director
“That’s when I knew I was done for,” said Anne. “I’m such an idiot. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve left the children with Maeve, as she’s on nights. Mum’s a worrier, so I’ve just told her they’re changing our shifts. The thing is, she can’t cope with Ruby and Tony for twelve hours a day.”
Taking off her gloves, Anne leant her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. I knew the girls had to scrub them like mad every day to get the oil and the dirt out, and now they were red raw and cracked. Anne was looking a shadow of the woman I had first met.
“Eat that scone,” I ordered, as if it would make a difference. “I’m going to try to see Mr. Terry and tell him it’s down to me. I’m sure if you hadn’t been in Woman’s Friend you’d be less noticeable, and you’d probably have gone about the nursery request more quietly if I hadn’t made that stupid comment about a parade.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Anne, cutting a scone in half, the remainder of which I knew she would share with Ruby later. “It’s lovely of you to try. But I’m the one that took Rubes into work.”
“I’ll tell him I let you down on babysitting,” I said. “And if I say all the stuff about trying to get better facilities was my idea and I put you all up to it, then he might relent. But I’ll only go if you are happy for me to try it.”
Anne hesitated. “I’ve got no job, I’m lying to my mum, and everything we’ve all tried so far hasn’t worked,” she said. “I don’t think things could be much worse. I didn’t expect Mr. Terry to talk to us when we wrote to him, but he didn’t even let one of the Welfare Managers listen to what we had to say. If you can find a way to get to him, you tell him from me, there’s a factory full of women trying their best, but we can’t do everything. Whether he’s interested or not, we’re trying to look after our families and homes too. Not to mention hoping to God our boys come back in one piece,” she finished, her face now flushed with anger.
If I had wanted to appeal to Mr. Terry before, now I felt that nothing would stop me.
“I don’t know if I’ll even get as far as his office,” I said. “But I’ll do everything I can. I promise.”
“Well, I’ve flipping failed,” said Anne. “I keep thinking what Anthony would say, and I know he’d be telling me not to let him push us around.”
She was holding my hand tightly. “I don’t want to get you into trouble, Emmy,” she said. “And how are you going to get in to see him?”
Now I smiled. “You won’t. Do you see that van?”
Anne looked through the window. A nondescript goods van had parked outside the station, and a man in a dark jacket and cap was taking some boxes from a porter.
“That’s Mr. Noakes,” I said, beginning to pick up my things. “Do you know him? His wife’s Mrs. Noakes, on reception. He’s given me a lift to and from Chandlers twice now and is awfully friendly and kind.” I gave Anne what I hoped was an encouraging grin. “Also, he does a daily pickup from the train that comes in just about now.”
Anne’s face lifted. “You crafty old thing,” she said.
“It may not work,” I replied. “But I must catch him before he leaves, so please eat up, and would you mind taking mine for Ruby if she’d like it?”
Anne said, “Thank you and good luck,” then handed me a piece of paper with an address on it. “I’ll be at Maeve’s,” she said. “Will you come as soon as you’ve seen him?”
I nodded a yes, and tucking the note into my pocket, headed off to Mr. Noakes. “Don’t take any old nonsense,” called Anne. “And give him what for!”
Outside the station, Wilfred Noakes was putting the last of his boxes into the van, and I quickly walked over, calling out a hello.
“Miss Lake!” he said, his breath showing how cold it was. “We can’t keep you away.”
“Good morning, Mr. Noakes,” I said. “How are you and Mrs. Noakes?”
“Very well, thank you,” he said. “Should I be giving you a lift?”
I looked around in case of being overheard. “Probably not,” I said, unwilling to lie to him. “Unless you want to be part of what is probably A Very Bad Idea.”
Mr. Noakes laughed heartily. “Best offer I’ve had all day,” he said. “Come on. Get in.”
Wilf Noakes was as thoroughly decent as I had thought. He was slightly built and had lovely brown eyes. He and his wife Noreen made a handsome couple. I decided to tell him what was going on so he could make me get out if he thought he might get into trouble. To my surprise, however, he seemed to know at least as much as I did.
“That Mr. Terry’s such a… well, I won’t say the word, but I’ve no time for him,” he said. “He’s only been in charge a year and he’s upset more people than the canteen’s made hot dinners.”
This was news to me. From the way he spoke, I had assumed that Mr. Terry had been part of the factory’s success for ages.
“He’s just sacked two of my friends,” I said abruptly.
“Mrs. Barker?” said Wilf.
“And now Mrs. Oliver too,” I said.
Wilf snorted. “I heard it from Noreen. And this is why you want to see him?”
I nodded. As we drove on out of the town and towards the factory, I made another confession. “Mr. Noakes, I haven’t any papers for the security guards,” I said.
“Now there’s a turn-up,” said Mr. Noakes quite calmly. “And call me Wilf, although probably not in front of the guards.”
“Thank you, Wilf, and please call me Emmy.”
Wilf nodded and was silent for a moment.
“Emmy,” he said thoughtfully, “when we get to the gates, tell me if you recognise any of the lads. It could be helpful.”
We were nearly at Chandlers and I was beginning to feel nervous. “This isn’t going to get you or Mrs. Noakes into trouble, is it?”
Wilf shook his head as he expertly drove the van around a tight bend.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can always say I assumed you were back for another meeting. Noreen will be fine. To be honest,” he added, “we’re leaving anyway. She doesn’t like the way Terry looks at her, and neither do I. You see, everyone has their secrets. Right, are you ready?”
We had drawn up to Chandlers’ main gates. I inspected the two Security Guards closely as they walked up to the van. “The one on the right has seen me before,” I said.
“Good. Now look innocent and pretty and leave this to me.” Wilf rolled down the window of his van and leant out. “Frozen to death yet?” he called out, handing over a sheet of paper. “It’s all on the list. Here’s the key to the back, and I’ve picked up Miss Lake again for the chief.”
If I’d thought Wilf was hatching a complicated cover story, it was clear he was more of a Look Confident and Tell the Truth sort of man. Handing over my identity card, I tried to look innocent, or failing that, unthreatening at least. I had nothing to prove I should be there.
Before the guard could question it, Wilf turned up his chatter. “Somebody here’s made quite an impression on the boss,” he said, giving me an unsavoury wink. “I think this one’s got an open invitation.”
“Hmm,” said the guard. “Stay there until I get you a pass.”
I almost gasped. Wilf might just have done it. “You could look a bit less shocked,” he said through his teeth, trying not to laugh. “Thanks, mate,” he added as the guard returned and handed him my pass.
As soon as we drove away, Wilf let out a guffaw and thumped the steering wheel. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Noreen would have a right old go at me for that. Although you’re going to have to work on your Mata Hari impression if you want a career in spying. Your face!”
“I think this one’s got an open invitation? Wilf, I’m engaged!” I said in mock protest, then beginning to laugh. “And as for the wink—”
Wilf roared. “You’re a good sport,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I couldn’t think of how else to get you in. Never mind, at least it worked.”
A few moments later he brought the van to a stop at Shed Twelve. “I can wait just down here if you like,” he said. “In for a penny and all that.”
“Thanks, Wilf,” I said, getting out. “I won’t be long.”
“Be careful,” he said. “Try to tell Nore that I know what’s going on.”
I nodded a thank-you and walked the short way to Shed Twelve. A large, shiny black Austin 16 was parked at an angle outside.
Mr. Terry was here.
Noreen Noakes was sitting in her little booth. We exchanged hellos, and now, feeling slightly dry-mouthed, I told her I was here to see Mr. Terry. I didn’t say I had an appointment.
“Thank you, Miss Lake,” she said. “I’ll call up for someone to come and get you.”
“No,” I said in a stage whisper. “Please don’t.”
Mrs. Noakes looked at me with surprise.
“I’ve come about Anne Oliver,” I said, speaking urgently and hoping she would get my drift. “And Irene Barker. I saw Mr. Noakes at the station, and he kindly gave me a lift. He said to tell you I’ve told him why I’m here.”
Despite my lack of coherence, Mrs. Noakes cottoned on. “It’s a poor business,” she said quietly. Then as if everything was perfectly normal, she said, “Just sign your name here. If Mr. Terry said to go straight up, then please take the doors on your right. You know your way, of course.”
“Thank you,” I said, and had never meant it more.
As I made my way up the stairs to the offices, I wondered how many other people at Chandlers were less than fans of the Factory Director. The thought gave me a small boost of confidence. Perhaps other people would stand up on Anne’s side?
There was no time to think about it. A middle-aged man in a suit came out of the doors on the first floor, so I smiled and thanked him, which meant he held them open for me. I was just another young woman in a suit. Now I needed to get past Mr. Terry’s secretary. There was no way my luck was going to stretch this far.
Her desk was directly outside his office, like a sentry who had been to the perfume counter at Boots. I couldn’t risk a row, so I didn’t dare stop.
“Excuse me?” she said as I walked past, rudely ignoring her. “Is that Miss Lake? Do you have an appointment?”
Mr. Terry’s office was within touching distance. The door had his name on it, on a sign above the sort of glass that you couldn’t see through.
“Miss Lake,” demanded his secretary loudly, “I must insist.”
I thought of Anne. And so must I, I thought to myself.
Then I reached for the handle, opened the door, and went in.