On Thursday morning Rosie nipped up to the admin offices on some bogus errand and spoke briefly to an excited-looking Bel.
Returning to her squad, who were scattered about Brutus’s deck, welding areas that had been marked out with large white chalk crosses, Rosie went to see Gloria, and then Dorothy and Angie, and finally Martha. Pretending to check their workmanship, she gave each of her squad a thumbs up. Their faces could not be seen due to their metal masks, but their eyes, visible behind their protective tinted glass, showed their glee.
Polly was totally unaware of what was happening around her, so determined was she to lose herself in her world of spitting and glittering metal.
During the lunch break, Dorothy had to work hard to keep her excitement under wraps, although they were able to pass off the buzz of anticipation as their joy at having finished Brutus ahead of schedule.
At the end of the shift, they all packed up quickly and headed to the Admiral, determined to get a table. They did not want Polly and Tommy’s reconciliation to be conducted whilst squashed up at the bar.
Dorothy and Angie made a point of dragging Polly off to the toilets to get her to give her face a quick wash.
‘This is meant to be a night out,’ Dorothy cajoled.
‘Even if we’re still in our dirty overalls – ’ Angie chipped in.
‘It doesn’t mean our faces have to look grubby as well,’ Dorothy finished off.
Polly, however, drew the line at wearing lipstick.
When Ralph and his diving squad came in, Rosie waved over to them and Bel smiled at them as they got a table near the women welders.
‘So, a toast to Brutus,’ Martha said, raising her half-pint of shandy.
‘To Brutus!’ the women all chimed in as they chinked glasses.
‘May she stay strong ’n help us beat bloody Jerry,’ Angie said.
‘Hear! Hear!’ Dorothy said, her eyes darting to the pub’s entrance.
‘And comes back in one piece,’ Gloria went on.
‘And sooner rather than later,’ Marie-Anne added.
They all took a sip of their drinks.
For the next half an hour they all chatted away.
Polly tried not to think about Tommy or what he was doing now.
After her second port and lemonade, she started to feel a little light-headed. Although she was listening to her friends’ banter, her mind kept slipping back to Tommy.
The anger was still there, but she could feel something else. Another feeling that was starting to nudge its way past her defences.
Was it doubt?
Tommy looked at his watch and felt his heart sink.
The Major had told him to expect a call from Commander Bridgman at around five o’clock. Tommy had reckoned he would be able to have the necessary conversation, which wouldn’t take long as neither he nor his commander were men of many words, and still make it across the river and down to North Sands by half five.
In time to possibly see Polly leave Thompson’s at the end of the shift.
He looked again at his watch and at the clock on the mantelpiece.
It was now half-past five.
The klaxon would be sounding out and Ralph and his team would be making their way to the Admiral.
Polly and her pals would be making their way to the main gates.
Tommy made himself a cup of tea, keeping the kitchen door wide open so he could hear the phone when it rang. Not that he could fail to hear it even if all the doors were shut. The ringer had been set to loud.
Walking back into the lounge, Tommy set the cup and saucer down next to the black Bakelite phone.
He waited.
And waited.
Six o’clock came and went.
Half six.
Seven.
Ralph and his unit would have had their usual two pints by now.
They might have pushed the boat out and had a third, just in case he’d got held up.
Half seven.
Even if the commander rang now, and even if they were only on the phone for a few minutes, he still wouldn’t make it to the Admiral until eight.
Tommy sat back resignedly.
The women kept up their cheery banter until seven.
They managed to keep Polly there until half past, when she declared she was ‘shattered’.
She left for home with Bel and Gloria.
The brief respite brought by the alcohol had been replaced by tiredness.
And now depression seemed to be nestling up alongside the anger.
Bel struggled to hide her disappointment at Tommy’s no-show, and Gloria her sense of defeat.
It was now Thursday evening. Neither of the women could see Polly and Tommy sorting out their differences in the next twenty-four hours, then making a mad dash down the aisle on Saturday morning.
When Agnes answered the door and saw Polly, Bel and Gloria – minus Tommy – she knew the women’s well-meaning plan had failed. Bel had told her what they intended to do. She hadn’t said much. Her feeling being that whether her daughter got back with Tommy or not, the prognosis was still not good. Perhaps it would be marginally better if Polly and Tommy made up and even got married … She wasn’t sure.
‘What will be, will be,’ she said quietly to Gloria as she handed over a sleepy Hope.
Gloria nodded her agreement, carefully putting her daughter into the pram before taking her leave.
Pushing Hope up Tatham Street, Gloria speculated whether they had all really been wanting a happy-ever-after ending for themselves as much as for Polly, when there was actually no such thing. Other than in the movies Dorothy dragged them all to see.
‘Oh, Jack,’ she said to the open skies. ‘What I’d give to be coming back home to you this evening.’
‘My jaw’s actually aching from having to pretend I’m happy,’ Angie said as they all trudged up the embankment to catch the tram back over to the other side.
‘What can we do now?’ Martha said as they reached Dame Dorothy Street.
‘I don’t think there’s anything more we can do,’ Rosie said, looking at her watch. She had promised to bring some fish and chips in for supper seeing as she wasn’t working at Lily’s this evening.
‘I just hate to give up,’ Dorothy said, her voice oozing despondency.
‘But we can’t force them to make up,’ Marie-Anne rationalised as they reached the bus stop.
‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ Rosie said, putting her hand out as the bus approached. ‘Sometimes things happen for a reason,’ she added as the bus’s brakes screeched to a halt.
Dorothy, Angie, Anne-Marie and Martha all looked at Rosie.
It was not a good look.
It was a look that said that they were neither convinced nor comforted by their boss’s words.