After a cold and windy ferry crossing, followed by a fifteen-minute walk through the east end, which seemed to be full of children and courting couples, Bel and Polly arrived at St Ignatius Church.
‘Please, Polly, sleep on it,’ Bel implored. ‘There’s no rush. You can tell the vicar tomorrow. Like Hannah said, you might feel differently tomorrow.’
Polly looked at her sister-in-law.
‘I won’t.’ Polly’s voice was steely. ‘Just as I know that Tommy won’t change his mind tomorrow, neither will I change mine.’
Bel followed Polly round the side of the church. It was a building they knew well. It had been a mainstay of their childhood and where they’d gone to Sunday school. It was where Bel had married Teddy and Lucille had been christened. Whatever the occasion, though, she and Polly had always been there together.
Just like they were now.
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Bel asked.
‘No,’ Polly said, knocking on the door of the rectory. ‘It won’t take long.’
Polly was true to her word. Bel had only been shuffling about trying to keep warm for a matter of minutes when she reappeared.
‘It’s done.’
Bel could have cried. Would cry later, no doubt, when she told the whole sorry story to Joe.
As they passed the ruins at the start of Tatham Street, neither uttered a word.
It was here Polly had learnt that Tommy had been returned to her.
Now, just two months on, he was being snatched away.
When Polly and Bel walked through the front door at Tatham Street, it was like walking into a morgue.
Agnes heard them open the door but chose to wait in the kitchen.
As soon as Polly saw her ma, she burst into tears.
Agnes looked at Bel as she took her daughter in her arms. She could see the terrible sadness – also mixed with anger – in Bel’s eyes. The ripples of Tommy’s decision to go back to war would spread as far as they would go deep.
‘He’s going back, Ma. He’s going back.’ Polly’s voice was muffled against her mother’s chest as she held her tight.
Agnes held her daughter for a good while, until she had exhausted herself and the sobs had finally died down.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Come and sit down. Bel’s made us a nice pot of tea.’
Agnes gave Bel a weary smile.
The three women sat around the table as Bel poured the tea.
‘How did you know?’ Bel asked Agnes, adding extra sugar to Polly’s cup and handing it to her.
Agnes looked at Polly. She was deathly pale.
‘Tommy,’ she said. ‘He came around here straight after.’
Polly suddenly started fishing around in the top pocket of her overalls, agitated.
She pulled out her engagement ring and slammed it on the table.
‘He can have this back as well.’
She may have exhausted the tears, but not the anger.
They all looked at the pretty ruby and diamond engagement ring oscillating on the top of the kitchen table.
Bel worked hard at holding back her tears. It was all so sad. So terribly sad.
Realising how quiet it was, she looked at Agnes.
‘Is Lucille next door?’
Agnes nodded. She had not wanted the little girl to see Polly in the state she was in now.
‘And Arthur?’
‘He left with Tommy. They’ve gone for a drink.’
‘Do you think he’ll be able to talk some sense into him?’ Bel asked.
‘You never know,’ Agnes lied. When Tommy had sat her down and told her what his intentions were, Agnes had seen that his mind was made up.
They drank their tea in silence. Words seemed futile.
After Polly finished, she rebuffed her mother’s urge to eat something. Instead, she took herself off to bed, praying that sleep would give her some respite from the living hell she had just been plunged back into.
‘Her mind’s made up,’ Tommy said. ‘I can tell. She’s had enough, and to be honest, I don’t blame her. She’s right, I’ve put her through enough. If I was her, I’d probably do exactly the same. Why put yourself through the wringer for the second time?’
Arthur took a sip of his whisky. He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
‘You understand why I’m doing what I’m doing, don’t yer, Grandda?’
Tommy knew that the old man would be gutted he was going back.
‘Aye, I do,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But that’s not to say I’m happy about it.’
‘Did yer know?’
‘I had an inkling,’ Arthur said. ‘Guessed yer would if yer could.’
Tommy took a gulp of his beer.
‘I just wish I could make Polly understand,’ he mumbled.
Comparing him to his mother had hurt, but Polly was wrong if that’s what she really thought. He did not have a death wish. Anything but. Since falling for Polly, he had never wanted to live more. Couldn’t she realise that?
‘I can’t stay here if I feel I could still be of more use over there.’ Tommy looked around the crowded bar. The air was thick with smoke. There were mainly shipyard workers here, enjoying a quick pint before heading home.
‘I still think about the nurse,’ he admitted.
Arthur nodded his understanding.
‘I keep thinking that I might not have been able to save her, but I can save others.’
He paused and took a sip of his drink.
‘For every limpet mine I get off the bottom of a boat, there’ll be at least a dozen lives saved.’
Arthur nodded. It was so like his grandson to be thinking about saving lives rather than killing.
The two men sat in silence for a while, both immersed in their own thoughts.
‘Give her time,’ Arthur said eventually. ‘She’ll come around.’
Unfortunately, thought Tommy, time was not on his side.
When Arthur returned home shortly before ten, Agnes was still up.
She had made a fresh pot of tea and had got the whisky out in anticipation.
‘Tea?’ she said.
‘Do yer mind if I just have it straight?’ Arthur took a tumbler from the sideboard, sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a drink.
Agnes put a splash of Scotch into her cup and added tea and a touch of milk.
They chatted for a little while.
Arthur confirmed what Agnes had surmised when she had seen Tommy.
The lad was adamant.
Agnes told Arthur that Polly had already been to see the vicar and had cancelled the wedding.
The pair agreed that a truce in the near future seemed unlikely.
Polly and Tommy’s love had become another casualty of this damned war.