‘Polly’s called off the wedding?’ Rosie asked, shocked.
Charlotte looked from Gloria to her sister and then back to Gloria. They were all in the front lounge. Gloria was sitting on the sofa while Rosie poured the tea. Charlotte was keeping Hope amused whilst trying not to miss a single word of the conversation.
‘Yes,’ Gloria said, taking her cup and saucer off Rosie. ‘Her mind seemed pretty much made up.’
She took a sip and looked at Rosie.
‘You don’t seem all that surprised that Tommy’s going back out there, though?’
‘I’m not, really,’ Rosie said. ‘I had a feeling there was more to this dive than simply getting the thumbs up to go back to work.’
Gloria was quiet for a moment while she blew on her tea.
‘Well,’ she said finally. ‘It certainly was a bolt out of the blue for Polly. She clearly had no idea. It was like she was in shock. Shaking. Horrible vacant look in her eyes.’
‘Perhaps she didn’t want to see the signs,’ Rosie mused.
‘So, you don’t think they’ll get back together?’ Charlotte asked. She sounded desolate.
Gloria shook her head.
‘Well, not for the foreseeable anyway. Polly can be incredibly stubborn. And she’s hurt … And young.’
Rosie nodded sadly.
‘Do you think there’s anything we can do?’ Rosie took a biscuit from the plate on the coffee table and gave it to Hope, who immediately dropped it on the carpet.
‘You’ve got to do something,’ Charlotte demanded as she picked up the biscuit, pretended to eat it and then handed it back to Hope.
‘I reckon we play it by ear,’ Gloria said. ‘See what she’s like on Monday. Try and get her to see sense.’
‘Mmm,’ Rosie said. ‘Or perhaps Polly’s actually making the right decision?’
Gloria and Charlotte looked at Rosie, more than a little surprised.
‘Perhaps,’ Rosie said thoughtfully, ‘she’s protecting herself. I mean, just imagine if they got married as planned. Then Tommy leaves. There’s a good chance Polly will find herself pregnant, and if the worst, but not exactly unexpected, happens and Tommy doesn’t come back – well, then Polly’s stuck at home, bringing a child up on her own.’
She paused.
‘Just like her own mother did. With barely two pennies to rub together. And it’s not as if she’ll be able to keep working if she has a baby.’
Another pause.
‘And let’s face it, she’s unlikely to find a decent bloke to take her and a child on.’
Gloria and Charlotte looked at Rosie, slightly horrified.
‘What about true love?’ Charlotte argued. ‘And even if she did have a child, at least it will have had a mam and dad who loved each other. And the child would grow up knowing her father was a hero.’
Rosie didn’t say anything. Instead, she bent down and picked up Hope.
‘Look at the state of you,’ she said gently. ‘I think we need to clean you up.’
Gloria watched Rosie with her little girl. She had often thought it unusual that Rosie hadn’t fallen pregnant with Peter.
Was that because she too hadn’t wanted to be left on her own with a baby to bring up?
Or was it something else?
‘So, come on then, Ange, spit it out.’ Dorothy looked at her best friend as they walked down Fawcett Street.
‘Wot do yer mean “spit it out”?’
The two women were walking back from Meng’s Restaurant. It was meant to be a treat after they’d both fulfilled their Sunday obligations of visiting their respective families – as well as an attempt at cheering themselves up after yesterday’s bombshell. It hadn’t hit the mark on either score.
‘Well,’ Dorothy said, with more than a hint of exasperation, ‘you’ve hardly uttered a word about the Polly and Tommy debacle.’ They came to a stop to let an old couple walk past, before turning left onto Borough Road. ‘I’ve been wittering on about poor Polly and—’
‘And about Tommy,’ Angie butted in. ‘And how awful he is to do something like this … Polly’s been through enough … he should have thought about her feelings …’ Angie let her voice trail off.
They both shielded their faces as a gust of ice-cold wind blew dust at them.
‘Well,’ Angie said, ‘I personally feel like shaking Polly.’
Dorothy looked at her friend, aghast.
‘But she’s our friend,’ she said. ‘And that means we all stick together.’
‘But it doesn’t mean we have to agree with each other, does it?’
They walked along Borough Road.
‘I think Polly’s mad not to marry Tommy.’
‘But he’s broken her heart – again,’ Dorothy argued.
‘It’s not as if he meant to,’ Angie hit back.
She took a deep breath.
‘He’s gannin back to war. Not off with another woman.’
‘That may well be,’ Dorothy countered, ‘but he’s already done his bit. Like Polly said, he’s not exactly in the best of health. He’s obviously twisted Dr Parker’s arm to give him the go-ahead. He doesn’t have to go. He’s already done this once before with Polly when he could have stayed on as reserved occupation. God, Ange, think about it. There’s a good chance he won’t come back this time.’
They both looked to their left as they passed Gloria’s flat.
‘She’s gone to Rosie’s,’ Dorothy said, reading her friend’s mind. ‘Gone to tell her the news.’
The two turned left up Foyle Street.
Suddenly Angie quickened her pace.
‘Who’s that gannin into our flat?’ She flashed a look of concern at Dorothy. ‘Mrs Lavender never has visitors.’
Dorothy saw the back of a man trying the front door to the flats.
‘Better not be anyone trying to rob us!’ Angie barked.
Dorothy hurried to keep up. She’d never known Angie to be in such a mood. God help the bloke if he was a burglar.
‘Oi!’ Angie shouted out.
A young man with short strawberry-blond hair turned round.
As he did so, the main door to the flats opened and Mrs Lavender appeared in the doorway.
‘Wot yer deeing?’ Angie demanded, having reached the bottom of the steps.
‘Oh … umm …’ stuttered the young man. He looked at Mrs Lavender and gave her a quick smile, before turning his attention back to the woman on the street. She looked as though she wanted to lynch him.
‘I’m—’ he started to explain.
Mrs Lavender shuffled forward.
‘This is Quentin, girls.’ She gestured to Angie and Dorothy to come up. ‘Our neighbour,’ she said. ‘You know, the one I told you about.’
‘Oh, Quentin!’ Dorothy walked past Angie, throwing her a thunderous look. ‘How lovely to meet you at long last.’ She hurried up the stairs and stuck her hand out.
Mrs Lavender turned and hobbled back into the main hallway, holding open the large black oak door.
‘Come in. Get out of the cold.’
Quentin and Dorothy followed Mrs Lavender’s orders and stepped into the tiled hallway. Mrs Lavender’s flat door was open and the smell of fresh bread told them the old woman had been baking.
‘Come on, Angela,’ Mrs Lavender beckoned with a bony hand that still had traces of flour on it.
The look on Angie’s face still showed signs of suspicion.
‘He won’t bite,’ the old woman laughed.
‘Hello there.’ Quentin stuck out his hand. ‘Quentin Foxton-Clarke. Pleased to meet you.’
Angie took hold of it with a slight reticence.
‘Thought yer were robbing the place,’ she said.
Quentin laughed a little self-consciously.
‘My fault,’ he said. ‘Always forgetting my keys. Thank goodness for my – or rather our – lovely neighbour here.’ He turned briefly to Mrs Lavender before diverting his attention back to Angie. ‘Otherwise I might well have to break into my own home.’
Dorothy looked at her friend and their new neighbour. They were both blushing a little. Either that or there had been a sudden change in temperature.
There was a moment’s awkward silence.
‘I’ll get your keys, Quentin,’ Mrs Lavender said. ‘Will you be about for Christmas?’
‘Yes, I will indeed, Mrs Kwiatkowski,’ Quentin told the back of the old woman as she shuffled off into her flat.
She smiled. He was the only person she knew now who could say her name, never mind pronounce it properly.
‘Well, we can’t stand about yakking,’ Angie said, making a move for the stairs.
‘No, no, of course not. Well, lovely to meet you,’ he said, eyes still trained on Angie. ‘Both of you,’ he added quickly, throwing Dorothy a slightly apologetic look.
‘Oh, and good to know Mrs Kwiatkowski has someone looking out for her.’
Dorothy watched as her friend forced a smile and Quentin half raised a hand hesitantly in the air to bid them farewell.
‘I just don’t understand why Polly won’t marry him,’ Martha said, spooning out the roast potatoes.
She was at the kitchen table with her mam and dad. They’d just sat down to eat their Sunday dinner.
‘I think she should support Tommy,’ Martha said, sitting back while her mother piled peas onto her plate.
Mrs Perkins looked at their daughter. She knew why Martha felt so strongly about Polly’s reaction to Tommy’s news. Since the air raid at Tatham Street she’d had quite a few heated discussions about Martha continuing to work as an ARP warden – with both her husband and with Martha herself.
‘I’m inclined to agree with our daughter,’ Mr Perkins said. He was standing, carving the rather meagre joint of pork that had been placed in the middle of the table. ‘The lad obviously wants to do his bit and we should all support him in that – especially his future wife.’
Mrs Perkins looked at her husband. She took a spoonful of mash and dumped it on his plate.
‘Yes, but his future wife is clearly worried sick about the person she loves and doesn’t want to see him come to any harm. Especially when he has already had a close brush with death.’
‘That may well be,’ Mr Perkins countered, ‘but you can’t stop someone when their heart’s set on something.’
‘I agree,’ Martha said as her father shared out the slices of pork. ‘You’ve got to support someone if they really want to do something.’
Mrs Perkins looked at her daughter. Her incredibly brave and strong daughter. And then at her husband, who adored Martha – and had done from the day she had been handed to them.
Like Polly, Mrs Perkins also knew that she was not going to get her own way.
Martha may have escaped death by a hair’s breadth, but it had not deterred her from doing her ARP work.
She was just thankful that, these past two months, the town had been given a reprieve from any more air raid attacks, which meant Martha had been given a rest from risking her own life trying to save the lives of others.