The British Restaurant was basic, with mismatched chairs, and tables covered in rather faded oilcloth. The walls were unadorned, although they had been recently distempered, and the floorboards had been stripped and waxed to a gleam. Their waitress was a jolly, middle-aged woman who used to work at the Grand Hotel before it was smashed to smithereens during a bombing raid, and the menus were hand-written in pencil so they could be used repeatedly. The cutlery was cheap but serviceable, and there was a pot of flowers on each table to cheer things up, with proper linen table napkins which were very posh considering the rest of the place.
Despite the lack of ambience and the cheap prices, lunch had not been a disappointment. They’d had a rich tomato soup, a very tasty shepherd’s pie and sliced bottled pear with custard. Daisy had been very well behaved and there hadn’t been too much of her lunch on the floor beneath the high chair when she’d finished.
Peggy was feeling relaxed and rather sleepy as they dawdled over cups of tea and Daisy became engrossed in a picture book the waitress had found for her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out to lunch – or had a meal prepared for her – and it was absolute bliss not to have to worry about the washing-up. She smothered a yawn, thinking how lovely it would be to go home and have a bit of a snooze before she had to go to the station to meet April.
‘Peggy? Peggy, are you with us, or off in dreamland?’
She shook her head to clear the fog of drowsiness and shot Rosie a smile. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. I’m not used to eating so well at this time of day, and I almost nodded off.’
‘It’s a sign of getting old,’ said Cordelia darkly. ‘I drop off when I least expect it, and it’s awfully confusing to suddenly wake up and not know what day it is.’
‘I wish I had the time to sleep during the day,’ sighed Rosie. ‘There’s always something to be done even after I’ve locked the pub doors.’
Peggy looked at her watch and was startled to discover that it was almost two and the restaurant was about to close until the evening. ‘We’d better head back,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘I’ve got things to do before I meet the train.’ She cleaned Daisy’s face with the linen napkin, tidied up around the high chair as best she could and then pulled on her coat.
They left the friendly waitress a generous tip, promised to come again, and then slowly headed towards home in the lovely spring sunshine.
Having said goodbye to Rosie at the door to the Anchor, Peggy and Cordelia ambled on to Beach View to discover there was no sign of Ron or Harvey. Cordelia shed her hat and coat and promptly fell asleep in her favourite armchair while Peggy checked on the vegetable stew she’d left in the range’s slow oven.
Once the potatoes were peeled and the table set ready for later, she glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece and quickly deposited Daisy on her potty. Praising her warmly, she emptied the potty in the outside lav and plonked her back in the pram. She left a note for Cordelia to tell her where she’d gone, checked that Queenie was happily asleep on Ron’s crumpled bed and then headed back into town.
She didn’t follow her usual route along Camden Road, but went up the hill and turned into the labyrinth of narrow streets which would finally emerge about halfway up the High Street. She didn’t know these streets very well despite the fact she’d lived in Cliffehaven all her life, for she’d never really had cause to use them, but today she was curious to see where Ron might have ended up when he’d disappeared earlier.
It had occurred to her as she’d been peeling the potatoes that Ron had disappeared down a similar side street a week or so before, and she was intrigued enough by his odd behaviour – and his continued absence from home – to want to explore.
She pushed the pram along the quiet residential streets, noting the surprising number of twittens that ran between the houses, and seemed to end in high fences or someone’s back yard. At this thought she felt a chill of foreboding, and using her infallible sense of direction, headed down one of the alleyways that she knew would eventually lead to the High Street and the back yard of the Crown.
She weaved the pram around the weeds and rutted puddles and avoided the wind-blown rubbish that had gathered in the long grass at the base of the fences until she reached the sharp dog-leg and came to an abrupt halt. The Crown stood before her in all its shabby glory, the big back yard almost filled with empty crates and beer barrels, the tall gates standing open.
She stared hard at the sets of doggy paw-prints and large human ones that went from the muddy puddle by the gate to the back door. They could have been anyone’s, of course, but with her suspicions already aroused, she came to the conclusion that they had to be Ron and Harvey’s.
She gritted her teeth and looked up at the windows, dreading what she might see, but the sun was shining on them, making it impossible to see anything beyond the heavy taping and partially closed curtains. Furious with Ron and with herself for allowing her curiosity and suspicions to bring her here in the first place, she followed the dog-leg and within moments had reached the High Street.
The doubts began to crowd in. Was this where he’d disappeared to the other week? And was it the same alley he’d shot down this morning?
She looked down the High Street to get her bearings in relation to the restaurant – and then to the tobacconist’s. It could very well have been, for she remembered how she’d lost sight of him that first time when the crowd of young servicemen had come pouring out of the pub – and today, he’d crossed the road from those nearby offices and done a disappearing trick again. And yet there was another alleyway a bit further down, and a second just beyond the pub. Was she making too much of it all? Were her suspicions leading her astray and making her jump to conclusions?
‘Oh, Ron,’ she sighed. ‘I do so hope I’ve got it all wrong.’
Daisy clapped her hands and started shouting at the seagull which was sitting on a nearby lamppost, so Peggy quickly pushed the pram up the hill and headed for the station. It was all very worrying, and she could only hope that her imagination was indeed playing tricks on her – that Ron’s meeting with that man had been above board – and that he wasn’t involved with Gloria Stevens in any way.
She tried to tell herself that it could easily have been a different alleyway – that she’d been too far away to pinpoint the exact spot where he’d disappeared – and that Ron had more scruples than to get mixed up with a woman like Gloria. However, the doubts and suspicions lingered and cast a shadow over what had been a lovely day, and she knew she wouldn’t rest until she got to the truth.
‘I’ll have a word with him later,’ she said to Daisy as they went over the humpbacked bridge. ‘Perhaps if I can find out who that man was it will make things clearer.’ Having decided on a plan she felt marginally easier, and turned her attention to Stan, who was watering his spring vegetable in the tubs he’d lined up at the back of the platform.
‘Hello, Stan. How’s tricks?’
‘All the better for seeing you, Peggy,’ he replied, his ruddy face breaking into a beaming smile. ‘What can I do for you today, then?’
‘I’m meeting someone off the four o’clock train.’
He immediately looked downcast. ‘Sorry, Peg. It’s been delayed by more than an hour. Some trouble with the signals further west, I think.’
Peggy chewed her lip. ‘What a nuisance,’ she said irritably. ‘I can’t really hang about for an hour, but then neither can I come back. Daisy has to have her tea and her bath and all the girls will be coming home, and Cordelia’s exhausted after being out today, so I can’t leave Daisy with her and—’
‘Peggy, Peggy, love, don’t fret yourself,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll be here until the last train, and am perfectly capable of steering whoever it is to Beach View.’
‘She’s just a young girl, Stan, and I promised to be here when she arrived. I can’t just abandon her – not in her condition.’
Stan’s bushy brows lifted. ‘Condition? You mean she’s . . .’
Peggy realised in horror that she’d been indiscreet. ‘No, Stan,’ she said hastily. ‘She’s been in a nasty bombing raid and is feeling rather fragile. I get the feeling she’s been through the mill, what with nowhere to live and her fiancé abroad with the army.’
‘I tell you what, Peg. I’m expecting my Ethel to come down after her shift at the factory. She could hang on here and walk the girl to yours if that would help.’
Peggy dithered. ‘It’s very kind of you, Stan, but I don’t want to put either of you to any trouble, and a promise is a promise, after all. Ron’s bound to be home soon, so he can look after Daisy for me.’ She shot him a radiant smile before turning the pram around. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, so if the train comes in earlier than expected, keep her here.’
She began to walk away when Stan shouted after her. ‘What’s her name?’
‘April,’ she replied over her shoulder.
‘Right-oh. I’ll keep an eye out for her, never you mind.’
As the train pulled into Cliffehaven station, April twisted the ring on her finger and could only hope that it would deflect the awkward questions people were bound to ask once her condition began to show. Yet, disliking the subterfuge and having to live a lie, she silently berated herself to buck up her ideas and get on with it.
She dragged the case down from the luggage rack and made her way along the corridor to the door. She was the last passenger off, and she walked slowly along the platform, taking these few moments to study the man who was chatting to a couple of housewives while he took their tickets.
It was definitely Uncle Stan, for he was just as she remembered him – if a good deal stouter, older and redder in the face. He was certainly as jolly, for his smile was beaming and his laughter hearty as he exchanged a joke with the women. She paused at the back of the straggling queue waiting to hand in their tickets, listening to his voice and trying to find anything about him which reminded her of her mother.
There were almost twenty years between them – another sister had died before Mildred had been born – and the only things they seemed to have in common were their brown eyes and, dark hair. Stan was tall, well over six feet and, to put it politely, rather sturdy; whereas Mildred was as thin as a sparrow and would barely have reached his chest. They certainly didn’t share the same sense of humour and joy in life, she thought wistfully, for she’d never heard her mother laugh as wholeheartedly or seen her relaxed and naturally interested in what other people had to say.
‘Hello, dear,’ he said, his dark eyes regarding her intently. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be April, would you?’
‘Well, yes,’ she stuttered. ‘But how . . .?’
‘It’s no mystery,’ he said and smiled. ‘Peggy Reilly told me you were coming to stay, and because she’s been held up, she asked me to keep an eye out for you.’ He held out a meaty hand. ‘The name’s Stan, by the way.’
April’s fingers were smothered in a warm, gentle grip. ‘Nice to meet you, Stan.’
‘Nice to meet you too. Funny, isn’t it, but I’ve got a niece called April, and she’d be about your age now.’
‘That’s nice,’ she murmured, having been caught on the hop by this declaration. They stood there in a rather awkward silence until April found her voice again. ‘Perhaps if you showed me how to get to Mrs Reilly’s it would save her the trip?’ she suggested.
Stan shook his head. ‘Peggy was very definite that I keep you here until she arrived to fetch you home.’ His gaze trawled over her bruised face down to the plaster cast and sling. ‘My Ethel’s making a pot of tea at the cottage, and there’s a fresh batch of scones just waiting to be eaten. So why don’t I take that case, and we can wait for Peggy in comfort?’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ April replied. ‘But I don’t want to put anyone to any bother.’
‘It’s no bother,’ he boomed. ‘Goodness me, my Ethel always makes tea at this time of day, and we can’t have you sitting about on a draughty platform, can we?’ Without further ado, he took the case from her and led the way to the cottage.
As April followed him down the short path to the front door the memories flooded back. The vegetable plot had overtaken the flower beds, but the fruit trees were snowy with blossom and the old lean-to still looked as if it was about to collapse. The warm, welcoming gloom beyond the front door held the remembered scents of oil lamps, wood fires and baking, the lantern lights flickering over the highly polished brass pans that hung over the range where a wiry little woman was briskly whisking something in a bowl.
‘And this,’ said Stan proudly, ‘is my Ethel.’
‘Hello, love. You must be April.’ She wiped her hands down her wrap-round pinafore and took the fag out of her mouth without spilling the length of ash at the end of it. ‘I ’ope yer ’ungry,’cos I’ve made a lovely batch of scones, and there’s real jam and cream to go with them, an’ all.’
April smiled and shook her hand. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she stammered. ‘I hope you didn’t go to all this trouble because of me.’
‘Nah, I feed my Stan a spot of tea at this time every day when I ain’t up the factory,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Now, you sit down, love, and put yer feet up. You look fair worn out, if you don’t mind me saying.’ She picked up the sleepy ginger cat which hung limply over her arm like a fur stole and patted the fat cushions of the fireside chair in enticement.
April was warmed, not only by the lovely atmosphere of the cottage she remembered with such affection, but by the genuine welcome. To them she was a stranger, someone who was stranded for a while, and would eventually pass through – how very different it was to the cold formality of home.
She sat down and wrestled to get her coat off. Ethel dropped the stoic cat on the hearthrug where it turned in several tight circles before going back to sleep. She fussed around April, took her coat and hung it up on the back of the door and then ordered Stan to pour the tea and sort out plates while she prepared the scones.
April watched them as they worked in harmony in that tiny, old-fashioned kitchen. Ethel clearly wore the trousers in their relationship, but Stan seemed not to mind – in fact he was quietly glowing with happiness – and although Ethel had to be about twenty years younger than him, April could see the genuine adoration in her eyes every time she looked up at him.
As for the room, it was redolent with memories of sitting by this ancient range listening to Stan reading her a story, or playing with her dolls under the narrow table that had been jammed tightly beneath the window. And of how at night, sleepy and warm in Stan’s arms, he’d carried her up those narrow stairs to tuck her up into the little bed which had been placed next to her mother’s beneath the eaves to read her a story.
‘This is a lovely cottage,’ April said dreamily as the warmth of the fire started to chase away the chill of the long, drawn-out journey.
‘We like it,’ said Ethel, placing a jug of thick cream on the table, ‘although it could do with a bit of modernising to make it easier to run.’ She shot April a bright smile. ‘Me and Stan are getting married in June, so we’ll live ’ere until the war ends and ’e can retire.’
She threw the butt of her cigarette into the range fire. ‘It’s a shame, really,’ she continued, ‘’cos the railway won’t let us live ’ere once that ’appens, and we sort’a got used to the old place. Stan’s lived ’ere since he were a boy, you know.’
April did know this, but feigned surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Ethel, doling out whipped cream onto the scones. ‘He were born upstairs, him and his two sisters. His dad was stationmaster then, and when Stan got back from the trenches after the first shout, ’e took over with Barbara.’ Ethel leaned closer. ‘That were Stan’s wife what died a long time ago,’ she murmured confidentially.
‘I really don’t think young April needs to know my family history,’ said Stan cheerfully. ‘Give her time to enjoy that scone and catch her breath, my love.’
‘But I’m finding it fascinating,’ said April truthfully. She bit into the scone and closed her eyes in pleasure. It was as light as a feather, with real butter, the raspberry jam sweet, and the cream thickly rich. Such luxury during wartime was unknown, and she suspected Ethel was the canny sort who could source such wonderful things regardless of whether they were legal or not.
Savouring every last crumb, she ate it all and then sighed. ‘That was the very best scone I’ve ever had,’ she murmured. ‘What a wonderful treat, and how very kind of you to give me such a warm welcome.’
Ethel went pink and tried not to show how pleased she was at this praise by shrugging off the compliment, while Stan helped himself to a second scone. ‘Aye, my Ethel’s a grand little cook,’ he said, munching happily and dropping crumbs down his uniform jacket.
Ethel offered April another scone, which was very tempting, but she doubted she could finish a second one.
‘They are a bit rich, I grant you,’ said Ethel. ‘Tell yer what, I’ll bag the rest up and you and the others can ’ave them after yer tea.’ She grinned. ‘Cordelia and them girls love my scones, and so does Ron. I can guarantee there won’t be a crumb left.’
Stan must have seen April’s look of confusion. ‘Ron is Peggy Reilly’s father-in-law,’ he explained. ‘Cordelia has been a lodger for many years, and is getting on a bit now, and then there are the four girls who live there – all lovely, hard-working lasses it’s a joy to be with,’ he added comfortably.
‘Soppy old so-and-so,’ Ethel teased with a nudge of her elbow into his side. ‘I swear to God, April, he’s like a father to them girls – my Ruby and all. Always listening to their tales and giving them a packet of sweets or something from his allotment. Spoils ’em rotten, he does – but they do love ’im.’
April could believe that about Stan, and she suspected Ethel was just as caring in her rather gruff way. ‘So, how did you two meet?’ she asked, intrigued by this odd couple who seemed to suit each other so well.
‘My girl Ruby come down ’ere to live with Peggy,’ said Ethel, lighting another fag and sticking it in the corner of her mouth. ‘She were ’aving a bit of trouble back in the Smoke, yer see, and needed to get away.’
Stan cleared his throat and shot her a warning glance.
Ethel seemed to realise this was a sign that she was babbling on again. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘to cut a long story short, I come down a few months later, met Stan who’d been keeping an eye out for my gel, and that were it. We none of us looked back after that, did we, Stan?’
He shook his head and looked rather smug. ‘It was the luckiest day of my life when Ethel came off that train,’ he sighed.
‘How lovely for both of you,’ April said warmly. She caught their exchange of loving smiles and silently prayed that she too might find someone she could love like that and who would love her back.
‘You’ll be all right with Peggy,’ said Ethel as she poured out a second cup of tea for them all. ‘She’s a diamond, is Peg, and nothing’s too much trouble.’ Her bright brown eyes darted over April’s face and arm. ‘Looks like you’ve been through the wars a bit. What ’appened, love? Air raid, was it?’
April nodded, suddenly wary of revealing too much about herself.
‘Yeah,’ sighed Ethel. ‘We ’ad a right do ’ere, an’ all. The factories took a direct hit, and we was all lucky the bleedin’ place didn’t go up like a rocket, what with all that ammo in the munitions.’ She cocked her head. ‘And what about your family, love? Are they from around ’ere?’
‘There’s only my mother, and she’s not living locally,’ April said firmly in a bid to stop the questioning.
Ethel’s gaze fell on the sapphire ring. ‘Yer bloke’s away, then?’
April twisted the ring round her finger. ‘He’s fighting abroad with the army somewhere,’ she murmured, ashamed of having to lie to these lovely people, and feeling very uncomfortable in the light of Ethel’s curiosity which no doubt would not be satisfied with such a brief answer.
Peggy had arrived back at Beach View to find the place in chaos. Ron had clearly forgotten to shut the shed door properly, and Queenie had found the pheasants he’d hung in there and was in a frenzy of excitement with her trophies. There were bits of bird and feather all over the back garden, Harvey was rolling luxuriously in the stinking carcasses, and Cordelia was having hysterics.
Peggy grabbed Queenie’s scruff and quickly shut her in Ron’s basement bedroom, where she yowled and scratched in fury to be let out. Then she snatched up the length of rope that was tied to a hook outside the back door and threaded it through Harvey’s collar. ‘You should have known better,’ she scolded.
Harvey immediately slumped down as if the weight of the evil world was on his shoulders, his amber eyes looking up at her in contrition.
‘And it’s no good you looking at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘You’re a bad, bad dog.’ With that, she went back into the basement and tried to calm Cordelia. ‘I know it isn’t a pretty sight,’ she said. ‘But the birds were already dead and they didn’t feel anything.’
‘It’s the blood and feathers everywhere,’ Cordelia spluttered. ‘I can’t stand them, really I can’t. How could dear little Queenie do that? And as for Harvey rolling about in it all . . .’ She shuddered as the tears streamed down her face.
‘Unfortunately it’s in a cat’s nature to mess with birds,’ soothed Peggy above the cat’s yowling and Harvey’s whimpers. ‘But it’s all right, Cordelia. I’ll clean up the mess after I’ve made you a lovely cup of tea. How about that?’
‘That would be nice,’ she said, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘Oh, dear, Peggy, I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I heard the noise, but by the time I got down the steps it was too late to do anything.’
‘It’s not your fault, Cordelia. Ron should have secured the shed door properly,’ Peggy replied grimly as Harvey howled piteously and Queenie took up the protest from behind Ron’s bedroom door.
Daisy decided she didn’t like Cordelia crying, the animals complaining or her mother getting cross with everyone, so she began to wail. Her little face reddened as she bawled, waved her fists about and kicked off her blankets so they fell in the gore on the doorstep.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ muttered Peggy, ‘that’s all I need.’ She left Daisy to her tantrum, helped Cordelia up the stone steps to the kitchen and settled her at the table before she went back down to get Daisy out of her pram.
‘Stop that,’ she said firmly as Daisy kicked and fought against her. ‘Stop it at once, or I’ll put you to bed and shut the door on you.’
Whether it was her tone of voice, the determined look on her face, or the threat of something that had happened to her before, Daisy’s tantrum petered out into hiccups and the odd fat tear rolling down her little face.
‘That’s better,’ said Peggy, carrying her up the steps and putting her on the floor by her wheeled horse. ‘Now you play with that while I make tea, check on the stew and go and clean up that mess.’
Order was restored eventually, but there was still no sign of Ron, and Harvey was howling fit to bust outside the back door. Thankfully, it seemed Queenie had finally given up on her protests, and Peggy suspected she was sleeping off her feast of filched pheasant on Ron’s bed.
With Cordelia happily sipping her tea and keeping an eye on Daisy, Peggy went down the steps and turned the hose on Harvey to wash away the muck and feathers from his coat. Once this was achieved, she gingerly wrapped the chewed remains of the birds in newspaper and shut them firmly in the shed for Ron to deal with when he put in an appearance. Filling a tin bucket with soapy water, she gave the back step a good scrubbing, then tipped the dirty water into Ron’s garden butt.
Feeling very put-upon and out of sorts, Peggy let Harvey free, checked on Queenie who was indeed curled up and fast asleep on Ron’s bed, and then went up to the kitchen for a well-deserved fag and a sit-down.
She regarded Harvey who was warily keeping an eye on her as he lay in front of the range, and gave a sigh. Every day was a struggle without having to cope with cats and dogs and blasted pheasants, but she supposed she’d laugh about it once she’d calmed down. Life at Beach View could never be described as boring, that was for sure.
‘What are all those feathers doing floating about my vegetable plot?’ Ron ambled into the kitchen minutes later, tracking dirty footprints across her clean linoleum.
‘For goodness’ sake, Ron, get those boots off and clean up after yourself,’ Peggy snapped. ‘I have quite enough to do without having to run about after you.’
His wayward brows shot up and his eyes widened in surprise at her unusual sharpness. ‘What’s bitten you?’
‘I’d give you a list if I had a week to read it out to you,’ she said tartly, and went on to tell him about the chaos she’d come home to. ‘So I’m leaving you in charge while I’m out collecting April,’ she finished, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘And woe betide you if you let that stew burn or the potatoes boil dry.’
‘To be sure, Peggy girl, ye’re not in the best of moods today, are you?’ he grumbled. ‘And here’s me thinking you’d be all relaxed and happy after your lunch out.’
‘Are you surprised?’ She finished the cup of tea and reached for her coat. ‘There are things we need to talk about, Ron,’ she said quietly. ‘So don’t make any plans to go out tonight.’
‘But I—’
‘But nothing,’ she snapped, thoroughly fed up with everyone. ‘You’ll stay here for once and no excuses. Do you hear me?’
‘Aye, and I should think half the street can too,’ he muttered.
Peggy glanced up at the clock. If the train had come in as expected, then April would already have been at the station for half an hour. She pulled on her coat, grabbed her handbag and gas mask, and ran down the cellar steps to fetch her bicycle. It would be quicker than walking, and she was so fired up over everything, she certainly had the energy to tackle the steep High Street.
Ron stood in the doorway and watched her departure with a sense of foreboding. Peggy was on her high horse, and that usually spelled trouble. But he suspected she had more on her mind than pheasants, and because he was already feeling guilty about his recent escapades, he mentally prepared himself to face her accusations. Life could be very difficult at times, he thought woefully as he returned to the kitchen, especially when women got involved.
An awkward silence had fallen between them as April refused to be coaxed into revealing more about herself, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and a small, bustling woman in her forties came bursting into the cottage.
‘So sorry I’m late, but we had a right to-do at home and I had to sort it out.’ She took in the tea things at a glance and smiled at April. ‘Hello, dear. I’m Peggy Reilly, and I see you’ve been right royally entertained by my friends. I must say, I could do with a cuppa myself after cycling up that blessed hill.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Reilly,’ said a rather taken aback April. Mrs Reilly wasn’t at all what she’d expected – for she was so energetic and pretty, and a far cry from the landladies much lampooned by comedians.
‘You must call me Peggy,’ she said as she shed her coat and gloves and plumped herself down by the table. ‘I’m not one for formalities, as these two will tell you.’ She took the cup of tea from Ethel and sipped it gratefully. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ she sighed.
‘I made scones for you to take ’ome,’ said Ethel. ‘I expect you already got the tea on the go, so you can ’ave them after.’
Peggy turned to April. ‘Ethel’s trying her best to fatten everybody up,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Anyone would think there wasn’t a war on.’
She made them all laugh as she told them about the cat and the pheasants, and then finished her tea. ‘Come on, dear, we’d better let these good people get on, and make our way home. I’ve left Ron and Cordelia in charge of Daisy, and goodness knows what sort of chaos I’ll find. If it’s anything like last time, there’ll be ructions, and no mistake.’
Ethel fetched April’s coat. The cat stirred from sleep and promptly jumped up into the warm chair April had just vacated, and Peggy took the cake tin from Ethel which held the quickly prepared, delicious jam and cream scones.
‘Thank you so much for everything,’ said April as Stan tied her case firmly to the back of Peggy’s bike, and Ethel watched them from the doorway.
‘Glad to help,’ he said. ‘Now you make sure you come and visit me and Ethel whenever the mood takes you. I can show you round my garden and the allotment, and tell you stories about the folk of Cliffehaven and what they get up to.’
‘He’s nothing but an old gossip,’ said Peggy fondly. ‘But his stories are definitely worth listening to.’ She kissed him and Ethel and then pushed her bike down the short path. ‘It’s not too far to walk,’ she said once they were out of earshot of their hosts. ‘You’re not too tired, are you, after that long journey?’
‘I’m fine, really, and Stan and Ethel were such lovely company, I already feel quite at home.’
Peggy paused as they reached the other side of the humpbacked bridge. ‘They’re the salt of the earth,’ she said, ‘and I so hope you’ll be happy here with me. Beach View might not be a palace, but I like to think it’s homely, and that any girl who stays with me will be cared for as if she was my own.’
The tears pricked and April had to blink them away. The kindness of strangers had touched her heart. They’d made her welcome and offered sanctuary – and yet she was betraying all that by keeping the truth hidden. She looked at Peggy, the words trembling on her lips, the need to begin this new life with a clean slate suddenly very important.
‘It’s all right, dear,’ murmured Peggy as she patted April’s cheek. ‘I can tell you’ve been having a hard time of it recently, but that’s at an end now. You’ll be safe with me, and we’ll look after you for as long as you need.’
April was so deeply touched by this that she threw caution to the wind and gave her a hug. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she breathed. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’
Peggy hugged her back. ‘Oh, I think I do, dear,’ she murmured. She drew back from the embrace, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Now, come on, it’s late and the others will be waiting for their tea.’
‘She’s a nice little lass, isn’t she?’ said Stan as he closed the door and followed Ethel back into the main room.
‘She seems pleasant enough,’ said Ethel, clearing away the plates and starting on the washing-up. ‘But I reckon there’s more to ’er than meets the eye, Stan, and so I wouldn’t get carried away too quick, like you usually do.’
‘That’s not like you, Et,’ he said with a frown. ‘You’ve always been very supportive when it comes to girls like that.’
Ethel plunged her hands into the hot soapy water. ‘I’m not saying she don’t deserve a bit of ’elp, it’s clear she’s been through it and then some. I’m just saying that I reckon she’s ’iding something under all that posh voice and pretty smile.’
Stan decided Ethel was just being fanciful, so didn’t pursue this. ‘She reminds me a bit of Mildred when she was that age,’ he mused as he reached for the tea towel to help with the drying-up. ‘Although they’ve got different colouring, and there’s something softer and far more vulnerable in April than there ever was in my sister – there is something about her . . .’
‘Soppy old git,’ she said fondly. ‘A sob story and a pair of blue eyes never fail to touch you, do they?’ She glanced at the cup he was mangling in the tea towel and her tone sharpened. ‘Watch what yer doing, Stan, them cups are the good ones.’
Stan concentrated harder on drying his mother’s precious china as Ethel briskly finished the washing-up and carried the bowl outside to empty it into the butt which he used to water his garden. Despite Ethel’s rather surprising opinion of April, he’d liked her – felt sorry for her in fact. He knew a troubled, lonely girl when he saw one, but he was also curious as to why she was troubled, and how it was she’d ended up in Cliffehaven with Peggy. He mulled this over and came to the conclusion that perhaps Peggy’s earlier slip of the tongue had held more truth than he’d realised. Perhaps she really was in the family way? He decided not to share this thought with Ethel, for she could be a bit of a stickler when it came to things like that, and was already prepared not to like the girl.
‘And I’ll tell you something else, Stanley Dawkins,’ said Ethel as she returned from the garden with a bowlful of freshly picked vegetables. ‘That girl will be trouble. You mark my words.’
Stan felt very uneasy. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked carefully.
Ethel dumped the bowl in the sink and reached for a sharp paring knife. ‘A woman’s intuition, Stanley. That’s what.’
Stan tried to laugh this off. ‘You and your intuition. It’ll get you into hot water one day, my pet.’ To distract her, he nuzzled her neck, which made her giggle, then he reached for his coat. ‘The next train’s due, but I’ll not be long, and then we can settle down to a lovely cosy evening.’
Holding a potato in one hand and the knife in the other, she turned and kissed him. ‘You can mock, Stan, but a woman’s intuition is rarely wrong. You wait. You’ll see I was right about that gel.’
Stan shrugged on his coat and went out into the gathering darkness, utterly bemused by Ethel’s ability to get straight to things others simply couldn’t see – but then he’d be the first to admit that he never had understood women and their odd ways.