‘Don’t think for a minute that I’m not grateful,’ Tom told the nurses who fluttered around his hospital bed, administering painkillers, disconnecting tubes and filling in charts, ‘but I’m keen to get back home. Have you any idea when that might be?’
‘Not yet,’ was the brisk response.
Connie made way for the nurse whose job it was to remove the drip. For once her advice erred on the side of caution. ‘Try not to run before you can walk,’ she told Tom. ‘You must give the doctors time to check you over and make sure there’s no lasting damage.’
He gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘I make a lousy patient, don’t I?’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ she countered fondly.
Tom laughed then winced.
‘What hurts?’
‘My ribs, my arm, my head – bloody everything.’
‘Then lie still and do as you’re told.’
Once the nurses had departed, Connie resumed her place at the bedside, laying a gentle hand on Tom’s uninjured arm and leaning forward to kiss his cheek.
‘Shouldn’t you be giving Lizzie a hand at the bakery?’ Tom asked. Events were gradually coming back to him: their walk up on to the moor and the promises that they’d made about their future.
‘No – Dad and Bill have stepped into the breach. I can stay here as long as you like.’
‘How about for ever?’ he joked.
Connie kissed him again. ‘Yes, if you swear you’ll be good.’
‘I swear.’ Despite a splitting headache, he felt content. ‘And that includes letting sleeping dogs lie as far as Ron Butcher is concerned.’
Mention of the man’s name made the hairs on Connie’s neck prickle. ‘Yes, best not to think about that,’ she murmured. Sitting there in the bright and shiny, disinfected atmosphere of the hospital ward made events in the outside world seem distant and unreal.
Making a feeble attempt to sit up but finding that he was in too much pain, Tom fell back on the pillow. ‘This is important, I have to warn Bill – he’s to steer clear of Butcher until I’m out of here.’
She stroked his cheek. ‘I’ll tell him to hang fire.’
‘Events are still foggy, but some stuff is coming back to me – how I was heading home …’
‘Yes?’ Connie urged him to continue.
‘I remember I was looking forward to getting some shut-eye.’ Tom shook his head and grew agitated.
‘Hush.’ She did her best to calm him. ‘It’s good that you’re remembering but there’s no need to rush it. Wait until you’re feeling stronger.’
‘No, listen!’ The memories came roaring back in all their terror. ‘I was thinking about us and the baby, nothing else. How we’d tackle it together. I rehearsed telling your dad and tried to picture his reaction. I was ready to admit it was my fault.’
‘It wasn’t anybody’s fault,’ she interjected softly.
‘And I’d say I intended to stand by you and help in any way I could. I loved you and we both wanted the baby. Everything would work out fine.’
‘Hush,’ she whispered again, her heart full to bursting.
‘Then out of the blue, Butcher cracks me on the back of my thick skull. I see stars and the next thing I know we’re on the ground, scrapping it out. You should’ve seen the look in his eyes, Con – like a wild animal. I knew I was fighting for my life.’
Connie interrupted him again. ‘You must tell every bit of this to the police – that’s the best way to stop him. I’ll fetch the sergeant as soon as you’re ready.’
‘I’m ready now.’ Details flashed into Tom’s head with frightening clarity. His last memory before he blacked out for good was of Butcher raising the hammer. ‘Tell Bill to steer clear,’ he repeated.
‘I will. You can make your statement, then Sergeant Newman will start a proper search. It won’t take them long to track Butcher down.’
‘Unless the bugger’s already bolted.’ Tom closed his eyes and sighed. Weariness overcame him and he felt himself drifting off. ‘Tell Bill,’ he said for a third time.
Connie sat for a while and watched Tom sleep. An attentive nurse – a stout, older woman with a practical, no-nonsense air – told her that the patient needed to rest and that it would be best for Connie to go home for a while.
‘If he wakes up, can you tell him that I’ll be back later this afternoon?’
‘Of course.’
‘I serve as head warden at the Gas Street post – I’m on duty tonight but I can probably get someone to switch shifts with me.’
‘No, don’t do that.’ Advice from the nurse was firm. ‘Call in here for an hour or so before you start your shift. That will be enough excitement for one day.’
‘It won’t look as if I’m abandoning him?’ For the first time in her life Connie was torn between duty and love. ‘I wouldn’t want Tom to think that.’
‘He won’t.’ The nurse bustled and chivvied her out of the ward. ‘Let us do our work, there’s a good girl. You carry on with what you have to do – patrolling our streets and making sure that everyone is safe from the worst that Herr Hitler can throw at us. Now, shoo!’
Instead of going home to Elliot Street as the well-meaning nurse had suggested, Connie went straight from the hospital to the bakery, where she intended to telephone Sergeant Newman to provide an update on Tom’s recovery. She rehearsed her speech in advance: ‘Tom’s getting his memory back. It’s exactly what I’ve said all along – Ron Butcher is who you should be looking for.’
She arrived to find her father pulling the last batch of bread from the oven and Lizzie using the phone to place the following week’s order for sacks of flour. Connie’s own phone call would have to wait, but all felt reassuringly familiar: the sweet smell of warm scones, the scrape and rattle of wire trays being stacked and the gleam of the glass-topped counter – all gave the impression that life went on regardless.
‘There you are at last. We’ve been rushed off our feet,’ Bert admitted to Connie as he dusted his floury hands on his calico apron. ‘We’ve sent Bill out to deliver the last orders.’
‘Here – let me do that.’ She snatched a cloth from her father and started to wipe down the surfaces. ‘I’ve been shooed out of Tom’s ward by one of the nurses, so I might as well make myself useful.’
‘How’s the lad doing?’
‘Better. They’re making him comfortable and glory be; he’s remembered what happened on Saturday night.’ Buoyed up by the good news, Connie prattled on about X-rays and plaster casts and how Tom was already champing at the bit to be discharged. ‘They’ve told him it might be a while. His injuries were serious and they want to be sure he’ll make a full recovery.’
‘Champion.’ Bert took off his apron and hung it on a hook. ‘That’s the spirit. It takes more than a knock on the head to keep a good man down.’
Connie paused mid-wipe and her face took on a dreamy quality. ‘Tom is a good man, isn’t he?’
‘The best,’ her father agreed phlegmatically. ‘It beats me why it took you so long to see it.’
She laughed then held her breath before speaking again. ‘I’m pregnant, Dad.’
He cocked his head and looked directly at her. ‘Course you are,’ was all he said.
‘You knew?’
‘Course I did – I’m not daft.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Your putting the cart before the horse?’ Bert asked. ‘No, what would be the point? What’s done is done. I’m just glad Tom is on the mend, that’s all.’ He took off his apron, put on his jacket and cap and made his way through the shop and out on to the street.
Lizzie finished her phone call and joined Connie in the bakery. ‘How’s the patient?’ She held up her crossed fingers for Connie to see.
‘Impatient,’ Connie replied with a quick, characteristic rise of her eyebrows. ‘He can’t wait to get out.’
‘Details, please!’ Lizzie’s demand was accompanied by the tinkle of the shop bell. ‘Later,’ she added as she hurried back to the counter.
‘Have you any of those fancy butterfly buns left?’ The short-sighted customer peered along the shelves. ‘If not, I’ll have three sultana scones.’
Then the next: ‘A small brown tin loaf, please.’ And the next: ‘I’ll take that last cottage loaf off your hands.’
And so it went on, with Connie at last able to telephone the station before snatching a quiet word with her sister.
‘Dad knows about the baby,’ she whispered.
Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘How did he take it?’
‘He said, “Course you are.”’
‘That was it?’
Connie nodded and Lizzie laughed. ‘Trust Dad!’ they chorused. Then they hugged by way of celebration. Good old unshockable, devoted Dad.
‘Tom really is on the mend,’ Connie reported. ‘He’s off the drip and having the proper plaster pot put on his arm as we speak.’
‘What a relief!’ Lizzie gave her another impetuous hug.
‘Yes, and he can remember what happened.’ Connie altered her tone as the shop bell rang again. ‘Listen, Lizzie – he wanted me to warn Bill not to go after Butcher. He says it’s too dangerous.’
Bill himself made his way into the bakery carrying two empty wooden trays. ‘Should my ears be burning?’ he enquired. ‘I thought I heard my name.’
‘You did.’ Lizzie took the trays from him and stacked them beside several others. ‘Connie has a message for you from Tom.’
Bill frowned. ‘Don’t tell me – he’s warning me to steer clear of Butcher.’
Connie nodded vigorously. ‘Those were his exact words. How did you guess?’
‘I can read the daft beggar’s mind, that’s how.’ Apparently unperturbed, Bill rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs.
‘Tom has a point,’ Connie argued. ‘I’ve called the station and the sergeant there has promised to pay him a visit. Then hopefully they’ll go after Butcher, no holds barred.’
‘So we leave it to the boys in blue?’ Bill’s frown deepened. Inaction was foreign to him – the bold part of his nature longed to be up and at the enemy, however dangerous. ‘How long is that likely to take?’
‘Who knows? We’ll have to wait and see. A few days, maybe.’
Bill shook his head. ‘I don’t have that long,’ he reminded them. ‘I start minesweeping duties again next Monday.’
Lizzie felt her throat constrict at the two-fold threat to Bill’s well-being. Going after Butcher without Tom’s help was bad enough without being reminded of the deadly dangers he was soon to face at sea.
‘Tell him,’ Connie instructed Lizzie before answering yet another ring of the shop bell.
‘No need,’ Bill insisted. ‘Butcher’s a lunatic – everyone knows that. But what am I supposed to do, sit on my hands while he buggers off out of here? Look at the damage he’s already done – first he sets fire to Annie May, robs Tom and me of our livelihoods, and gets away with it. And now the lousy so-and-so beats my best mate to within an inch of his life. I can’t sit around doing nothing, can I?’
‘Yes, you can – for my sake,’ Lizzie pleaded. ‘Leave it to the police.’
‘Damn it, I won’t sleep until he’s behind bars.’ Bill clenched his jaw and clung fast to his point of view.
‘If you won’t do it for me, do it for Tom.’
Bill turned for the door then in a split second thought better of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘For what?’ The deep sorrow in his eyes made her world shift and tilt.
‘For everything – for being an idiot and not thinking of you. For believing I was in the right. I mean it – I’m sorry.’
Lizzie trembled as she held his gaze, sensing that there was more to come.
‘I’m not talking about Tom.’ Bill’s stubborn wrongheadedness had struck him like a thunderbolt. ‘I mean our wedding – it was me who said we should put it off until I was back on my feet.’
‘But now?’ Lizzie could scarcely breathe as Bill pulled her towards him. His arms were around her; they were so close that she felt the beat of his brave, strong heart.
‘What the hell – now I think we should go ahead and get married straight away.’
‘Why?’ she gasped.
‘Because the way things are right now, none of us can know what’s going to happen tomorrow, let alone next week or next month. So, what do you say, my Lizzie – shall we just do it?’
‘When?’
‘This coming Saturday, the sixteenth, like we said.’
Dresses, flowers, fresh invites, a new best man! Lizzie’s mind was a whirl of last-minute preparations.
‘Well?’ Bill asked. ‘What do you say?’
‘I say yes,’ Lizzie replied. ‘A hundred, a thousand, a million times yes.’
Pamela’s resignation was formally accepted – with regret, Hugh said from behind his wide mahogany desk. Fred had already handed over his letter. The deed was done.
‘Now there’s no going back,’ Pamela told Sally during their afternoon break. ‘It feels as if Fred and I have jumped off the edge of a cliff into the unknown.’
‘I don’t know if I could do it – you’re braver than I am, the pair of you.’
‘It’s different for you,’ Pamela argued. ‘You have the little ones to consider.’ She lifted some buff-coloured files from a shelf and showed them to Sally. ‘These are unpaid invoices from February and March. You’ll have to write final reminders. If there’s no reply, write again to say that the matter will now be referred to our solicitors.’
There was a lot of business to get through in the little time that remained and Pamela was determined to leave everything in good order. Fred would do the same, providing Harold with the most up-to-date information about expected shipments – types of timber, dates of arrival and eventual destinations spread across Yorkshire and beyond.
By the end of the afternoon, Sally’s brain was brimming over with new facts and figures. ‘Can we stop now?’ she pleaded.
Pamela relented with a tired smile. ‘Yes – we’ll save the rest for tomorrow.’
Together they tidied their desks then went to fetch their coats. It was while they were in the cloakroom that Sally turned her thoughts towards the evening ahead. ‘I promised Dotty that she could go to Brownies tonight,’ she told Pamela. ‘But now I’m having second thoughts – I think she should stay at home until …’
‘Until the police track Ron down.’ Pamela guessed the reason behind her friend’s hesitation.
‘Yes, what do you think?’
‘Keep her at home – that’s what I would do, at any rate.’
‘You’re right – better safe than sorry.’ As Sally led the way out of the cloakroom into the reception area where Fred waited for Pamela, she came to a sudden, unexpected halt.
Pamela shunted into her from behind. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ After they’d both regained their balance, she saw that Sally had turned pale.
‘Nothing – don’t mind me.’
‘It’s not nothing,’ Pamela insisted as Fred joined them. ‘Something’s upset you. Is it still to do with Ron?’
Sally swallowed hard then nodded. ‘I suddenly remembered a favourite spot of his – it’s where we used to walk on a nice light evening like this.’
‘Might he be holed up there now?’ Fred quickly picked up on Sally’s train of thought.
‘Yes – why didn’t I think of it earlier?’
He grew alert. ‘Never mind that – where is this place?’
‘Near Raby village. There’s a cave in Wren’s Cove …’
‘We know it!’ Pamela exclaimed as she glanced at Fred to check his response.
‘Ron used to wait for me outside the pub on my evenings off then we’d hike along the cliff path as far as the cove.’
‘It makes sense,’ Fred agreed. ‘Butcher could well have taken refuge there. The cave is dry and off the beaten track. If he has provisions and is careful to stay out of sight, he could hole up in that cave all summer.’
‘The police need to know this.’ Pamela was certain that the lead should be followed up immediately. ‘We’ll go to the station, all three of us – right now this minute.’
‘I can’t – I have to tell Dotty that she can’t go to Brownies.’
‘Then Pamela and I will do it,’ Fred decided. ‘Don’t worry, Sally – we have to collect the rest of Pamela’s belongings from King Edward Street. We can easily call in at Gladstone Square on the way there and ask them to send a constable to Wren’s Cove.’
The plan was hastily made and they hurried along the dockside before parting ways at the market square.
Unable to dismiss Ron from her thoughts, Sally delivered the disappointing news about Brownies to her sister then scraped together a meagre tea of toast spread with beef dripping.
‘A penny for them,’ her father said as she cleared plates from the table.
‘They’re not worth it.’ A strong urge to investigate Wren’s Cove for herself was building within her. Fred and Pamela meant well, but why wait for the police? They no doubt had a dozen crimes to follow up – cases of looting, infringements of the blackout rules, shoplifting and worse – and were slow to act at the best of times. It stood to reason – this had to be followed up now before Ron did more harm. Sally only needed to cycle to the cove and carry out a quick search for signs that he’d been there: a campfire on the beach, say, or recent footprints leading to and from the cave.
After taking Eric to one side and quietly issuing instructions about putting the little ones to bed, she slipped out into the backyard, took her bike from the shed, crossed the square and set off up the steep hill leading to the Raby road.
‘I’m in a hurry – can I take the van?’ Connie asked Lizzie as they changed into their uniforms. ‘I’d like to drop in at the hospital before I start my shift.’
‘Keys are on the hook,’ Lizzie informed her. You’re in a hurry! What about me? I have a wedding to organize and a thousand and one things to do before Saturday.
She’d practically shouted her news from the rooftops – ‘Bill and I are getting married on the sixteenth after all! I’ll be Mrs Evans and the happiest woman alive!’
‘Well, I never,’ Bert had growled. ‘You girls are full of surprises. I’d best get my suit out of mothballs.’
‘Blow me down,’ had been Aunty Vera’s response. ‘That doesn’t leave me much time to ice that cake.’
‘About time too, you lucky beggar,’ Connie had commented before hugging Lizzie and lifting her off her feet.
‘Put me down!’ Lizzie had protested. ‘A woman in your condition shouldn’t be lifting heavy objects.’
‘A list of jobs,’ Connie had proclaimed, grabbing a pencil and a sheet of paper. ‘Number one – wedding ring. Has it so much as crossed Bill’s mind? Number two – rebook St Joseph’s and tell the vicar that we’re back on. Number three – food for the reception.’
‘All in hand,’ Lizzie had assured her. ‘First thing tomorrow, I’m going to ask Sally to stand in for Pamela as my bridesmaid.’
‘Yes. From what you’ve told me, Lord knows where in the world Fred and Pamela will end up by the weekend. Sally will be thrilled and she’ll do a good job, I’m sure.’
So much still to be done! Lizzie gazed into the mirror as Connie left the bedroom. Her face was flushed, her eyes gleaming with relish at the task ahead. Did all brides-to-be feel this mixture of anticipation and trepidation? Were all their cheeks permanently flushed in the build-up to the big day and were they too excited to eat, sleep or think straight?
Connie dashed downstairs and out of the house, collecting the van keys on the way.
Damn the rush-hour traffic, she thought as she crawled through the centre of town. At this rate, she would have less than an hour to spend with Tom. A bus in front of her stopped without signalling and then a beer delivery wagon pulled out from a side street, forcing her to slam on the brakes. It took her twice as long as usual to reach the bottom of the hill leading to the hospital and when she finally arrived at the gates her heart pounded as if she’d made the journey on foot, running every step of the way.
Finally! Visiting time had begun and finding a parking space had proved difficult. Inside the building at last, the corridors were crowded. Connie was obliged to stand to one side as orderlies wheeled a trolley towards her. The door to Tom’s ward stood open, and there he was, with the screens removed, propped against pillows and sitting up, his head turned expectantly.
Entering the ward, Connie discovered that other visitors had pinched all the chairs.
‘Don’t sit on the bed.’ A nurse’s barked order made her jump.
A young wife about to leave her husband’s bedside took pity on Connie. ‘Here, love – have mine. You look as if you need it.’
Connie thanked her and set the chair down at Tom’s bedside. There was colour in his cheeks and the red bruises on his forehead had begun to darken to a shade of blue. His arm was in the clean new pot. ‘How are you? I’m sorry I’m late. Do I look as though I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards?’
He sighed with relief and spoke over her. ‘You’re here – that’s all that matters.’
They laughed self-consciously, aware that eyes were on them – she in her head warden’s uniform and he looking much the worse for wear. A handsome couple, nonetheless.
‘Really, how are you?’ she said again.
‘Getting there, slow but sure. The doc gave me another once-over and said not to worry. I’ll be out and about before you know it.’
‘Lizzie and Bill have decided to get married after all.’ The good news burst from Connie like sun coming out from behind clouds. Her face shone with happiness.
‘By Jove,’ Tom said.
‘This coming Saturday – the original date. Do you think you’ll be out of hospital by then?’
‘Wild horses won’t stop me,’ he vowed. ‘How come Bill changed his mind?’
Connie wasn’t sure. ‘Most likely a case of seize the day. That’s what this war does – sends couples trotting down the aisle regardless.’
Tom nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘It’s grand to see you,’ he murmured. ‘You’re taking it easy, I hope?’
‘I am,’ she fibbed.
‘Liar. I know you, Connie Bailey – the way you dash around, trying to fit everything in. You’ll have to slow down now that you’re having our baby.’
‘And pigs might fly.’ He’d said the baby word again – how bloody frightening and breathtaking and awe-inspiring and downright impossible to get her head around. A baby – their baby!
‘Wait till I get out of here, then I’ll make sure you do.’
She smiled and drew the chair closer. ‘You and whose army?’
‘I mean it, Con. I want to look after you.’
‘And I don’t want to be molly-coddled, baby or no baby,’ she insisted.
‘Are we about to have an argument?’ Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Tom reached for her hand.
‘I don’t know – do you want to have one?’
‘No,’ he said softly, his eyes gazing intently into hers. ‘What I really want is for us to get married. What do you say?’