The one place that Connie longed to be was at Tom’s bedside. Pamela and Sally had to use all their powers of persuasion to get her to go back home for a change of clothes before she went to the hospital.
‘It’s half past three in the morning,’ Pamela reminded her as they travelled back to the old town in the commandeered lorry. ‘Tom needs a good night’s sleep and you could do with some rest too.’
Connie reluctantly took her point. She dropped Sally off in the market square and watched Pamela accompany her to the door of the Anchor.
‘You’re sure you’ll be all right?’ Pamela asked.
Sally was in a daze as she looked up at the familiar stone lintel with the date 1756 carved into it. She couldn’t believe that Ron was dead – the night’s horrific events didn’t seem real and she was convinced that she would wake tomorrow from a harrowing dream. Glancing down at the heavy iron door key in her hand as if it would provide a magical exit from the nightmare, she gave her friend a questioning stare.
‘Are you all right?’ Pamela repeated. She was anxious to get back to Sunrise to reassure her mother and father and to share her experiences with Fred. ‘God forgive me, I wanted Reggie Nolan to die,’ she would confess. ‘I plumbed the depths.’ Fred would comfort her and the bitter poison would be flushed from her system. Love would overcome hate.
‘I’ll have to be all right.’ Sally’s shaky answer was accompanied by a faint smile. Stone was real; the dated lintel above her head and the doorstep under her feet worn down by the tramp of fishermen’s boots, the uneven cobbles of the market square and the massive bulwark of the man-made jetty that had stood for centuries against the fury of the sea. ‘The little ones need me.’
Pamela squeezed her hand and watched brave Sally insert the key in the lock. Satisfied, she turned and ran swiftly along the headland path to Fred.
At Elliot Street Connie washed at the kitchen sink in hot water from a kettle boiled by her father, who stood by attentively. She dried her face and hands with the towel he provided.
‘Lizzie?’ he enquired tersely.
‘She’s fine. She drove Reggie Nolan to the Queen Alexandra. He was in a bad way.’
Bert nodded. He didn’t wish to know more. He listened as Connie went upstairs to change. It had been a long night of waiting and wondering. The whole town had heard the blasts and seen the kite balloons go up in flames, and when his girls hadn’t come home at the end of their shifts, he’d feared the worst. ‘It put years on me,’ he would later tell Vera. ‘I’m too old for this game – my nerves won’t stand much more of it.’
His sister would tut and tell him off. ‘We came through the first war, didn’t we? And we’ll come through this one if we keep our heads down and do as we’re told.’ Like millions of others, Vera put her faith in Mr Churchill and the bulldog spirit that kept Kelthorpe going through thick and thin. ‘Buck up, our Bert. We do what we always do – keep calm and carry on.’
Upstairs, Connie took off her uniform. Standing in her underclothes in front of the bedroom mirror, she placed her hands on her stomach then turned sideways to stare at her reflection. It was still too early to see any difference in her body but she felt … transformed. Yes; that was the word. Outwardly, she looked the same – tall and strong and capable, pale-skinned and with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Inwardly she welcomed a new soft glow that spread from her core to her fingertips and toes. In future she would be slower, more considered, kinder. Yes; right now this minute, she would lie down on the bed and rest a while.
Lizzie and Bill had done their best. Lizzie had broken the rules by driving through barriers and taking short cuts around gaping holes in the road, turning her headlights on full beam against blackout regulations and often driving on the wrong side of the road around bends or along the pavement if it meant she could shave off a few seconds in the race to get Reggie Nolan to hospital.
In the back of the ambulance, Bill had strapped an oxygen mask to the injured man’s face. Though still unable to see, Reggie’s panic had lessened and he’d grown more rational. ‘I copped it good and proper, didn’t I? Go on – give it to me straight.’
‘You’ve sustained fractures to both legs without a doubt. X-rays of your chest will give us the full picture.’
Reggie resisted Bill’s oxygen mask. ‘I thought my number was up.’
‘Not this time,’ Bill assured him.
Lizzie pulled up close to the main doors. Within seconds, Reggie was transferred to a hospital stretcher and wheeled away. She slumped forward against the steering wheel and felt the vehicle rock as Bill opened the passenger door and sat down next to her. For a while, neither said a word.
‘Just when you think it can’t get any worse.’ Lizzie broke the silence. She sat upright and inhaled deeply.
‘Boom! Jerry proves us wrong.’ Resting back in his seat, Bill closed his eyes.
‘All those LZs, just sitting there …’ Strung out across the estuary and lining the coast; each one capable of exploding and raining down destruction on the very people they were designed to defend. Lizzie shuddered. ‘One bullet from our own ack-ack guns would be enough, let alone Jerry snagging one and blowing himself up while he’s at it.’
Gloom settled on their exhausted shoulders and it was many more minutes before Lizzie gathered enough energy to park the ambulance then enter the hospital with Bill. They discovered that it was touch-and-go for their patient – extensive second- and third-degree burns were proving to be a major problem and it was too soon to assess the extent of the damage.
‘We’ll hang on here, if that’s all right.’ Bill hoped their efforts hadn’t been in vain. It was true that no one had a good word to say about the wisecracking RAF erk, but when the chips were down, he was one of theirs and you had to hope that he pulled through.
Dawn broke as Connie arrived at the Queen Alexandra. She’d slept for two hours, then got dressed and slipped from the house without waking her father. She’d driven through empty streets. A blanket of hazy smoke obscured the headland: the sole reminder of the previous night’s inferno.
It was a bright new day. The sky was suffused with a rosy-pink glow and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. She walked into the reception area to see Lizzie and Bill in conversation with one of the doctors. They listened and nodded then shook hands with him before linking arms and walking towards her.
‘Have you two looked in a mirror lately?’ Connie asked. Their faces were streaked with soot, their hair and uniforms caked with mud.
Lizzie drew her sleeve across her face.
‘You’ve made it worse.’ Connie pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. ‘Here, let me.’ She wiped Lizzie’s cheeks then gave the handkerchief to Bill. ‘What’s the latest on Reggie?’
‘He’s a tough little blighter.’ Bill spat on the handkerchief and rubbed his face as he spoke. ‘His eyes were damaged by the blast – probably not permanently – and the docs are treating him for serious burns, but now he’s back on the ward and already making a nuisance of himself.’
‘Ron Butcher wasn’t so lucky.’ Connie kept the information to a minimum. ‘He was sneaking about up on the headland – wrong place, wrong time.’
‘And that’s that.’ Bill felt nothing – Butcher had had it coming to him, one way or another.
Lizzie gripped his arm more firmly. ‘How about the family at number fifty-two?’
‘The rescue teams worked a miracle. They pulled all six of them out without a scratch.’
There were smiles all round and sighs of satisfaction. God was in his heaven after all. Bill and Lizzie walked out into the warmth of the rising sun while Connie hurried on to see Tom.
He greeted her with a worried look and a question. ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’
‘About getting married?’ She sat beside him in her prettiest summer dress, with her magnificent, shiny hair swept up in a loose topknot. ‘Of course not. What makes you think that?’
‘It’s not too sudden?’ He’d lain awake listening to the sirens and the gunfire, seeing a great blaze light up the midnight sky when the kite balloons had exploded. What if Connie had had second thoughts and backed out?
‘Sudden, yes,’ she agreed, ‘but I wouldn’t want it any other way.’
‘That’s good then.’ Tom winced as he shifted position. ‘I’ll be out of here before you know it.’
‘Tom Rose, you’re the worst patient in the world.’ He could barely move, for heaven’s sake; his skull was cracked, his arm broken and his face covered in cuts and bruises, yet all he could think about was being discharged. Connie teased him then grew serious. ‘The man who did this to you died in last night’s raid.’
Tom winced again. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Certain. Sally identified him – she’s the only one in the entire town who’s even a little bit sorry.’
‘Aye.’ Tom was silent for a while. ‘Good riddance, then.’
She held his hand and stared intently at him. ‘I’m going to do as you asked,’ she promised. ‘After we’re married I’ll take things easy. You won’t recognize me when I put my feet up and start knitting matinee jackets.’
‘Bloody hell, Connie.’ He sighed in disbelief. ‘Don’t change too much, though – I wouldn’t like that.’
‘I promise.’ Leaning forward, she brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘I’ll stay on at Gas Street for as long as I can, but Dad and Lizzie will take the brunt of the bakery work from now on. Vera will lend a hand.’
Tom had been making plans of his own. ‘We’ll need a marriage licence from the town hall. How soon can we arrange that?’
‘I’ll wave my magic wand and see what I can do. More to the point, how quickly can I run up a wedding dress? Sally’s a dab hand with a sewing machine and she’s already promised to help. I decided I don’t want to be in white, though, so I’ve chosen lilac with a cream lining. I’m thinking of asking Sally to be my bridesmaid.’
‘Whoa, steady on!’
‘What? I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am – I’m chuffed. But what about setting a date before we run too far ahead of ourselves?’
Connie’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘I’ve already thought about that,’ she confessed. Holding up her hand, she counted off the days on her fingers. ‘Today’s Tuesday, then Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday the sixteenth. Five days to prepare – do you think you’ll be ready to hobble down the aisle by then?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Saturday the sixteenth,’ she repeated.
‘You mean we could double up with Bill and Lizzie?’ Without a second’s hesitation, Tom agreed. ‘You bet I’ll be ready – never mind wild horses, a whole division of Rommel’s Panzers couldn’t stop me.’
‘I love you, I love you, I love you!’ Connie showered her fiancé with delighted kisses.
‘A double wedding it is!’ he declared.
Dresses, a cake, someone to take the photographs – oh, and she must check that Lizzie was happy to share her big day. ‘Leave it with me,’ she said. ‘All you have to do is get yourself discharged in time for the wedding march and the “I dos” at the altar.’ For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health …
‘All four of us – together?’ Lizzie’s jaw dropped. Had she misheard or had Connie actually just uttered the words ‘double wedding’? ‘Me and Bill, you and Tom?’
‘Exactly.’ Connie was still bursting with excitement. Forgetting all about her resolution to slow down, she’d dashed from the hospital straight to the bakery.
Stooping slightly and stiff from the heavy work of kneading, lifting and carrying, Bert came out from the back room with a what-the-heck’s-going-on expression. He used his apron to dust flour from his hands. ‘Double trouble, more like,’ he grumbled. He and Vera would have to bake a bigger cake. They’d need extra booze for the guests – extra cooked ham and eggs for sandwiches – extra everything. Trust Connie to rush around expecting the impossible.
‘Think about it,’ Connie went on. ‘We’re devoted sisters and Bill and Tom have been best friends since they were in short trousers. It’ll be perfect to double up on the wedding. Think of us posing for photos in the church porch afterwards – you in white, me in lilac, with Pamela and Sally in blue.’
‘Sally will be your bridesmaid?’ Lizzie cocked her head to one side.
‘Yes – I haven’t asked her yet but she’s sure to agree.’
‘But there’s a snag. Who’ll be Bill’s best man if Tom can’t do it?’
‘Sam will stand in for Tom. And Tom can ask Fred to step up at the last minute.’ Connie had worked it all out in advance.
‘Wait!’ Lizzie held up her hand. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Fred and Pamela are leaving town tomorrow.’
‘Heck!’ For a second Connie was flummoxed. ‘Not if I have a word with them,’ she decided, dashing out of the shop as quickly as she’d dashed in.
Bert pursed his lips then opened them with a pop. ‘We could always cheat with the cake.’ He was trying to find a practical solution to the rationing problem that a double wedding would present. ‘We can do three tiers but the top two would be cardboard covered in royal icing. Only the bottom one would be real.’
‘Let’s do it.’ Lizzie made a snap decision. ‘If a fake wedding cake is good enough for Vera Lynn, then it’s good enough for Connie and me.’
‘Reggie’s tucked up in a hospital bed for the duration.’ Connie had arrived like a whirlwind on Fred and Pamela’s doorstep. Their packed suitcases already stood in the hall at Sunrise and Hugh had promised to present the pair with tickets for the following morning. Harold and Edith had been putting on brave faces and acting as though they knew something that the fleeing pair didn’t. Their expressions said, Top secret, not to be divulged.
‘You know where the tickets are for!’ Realizing that her father would be the one to crack, Pamela had cornered him in the kitchen of their bungalow soon after breakfast. ‘Tell me!’
‘I can’t – I promised.’ He’d stood at the sink conscientiously washing dishes.
‘Please, please, please. Tell me!’ Neither Pamela nor Fred knew their destination – only that her uncle had made arrangements for them to disappear without trace.
Harold hadn’t replied.
‘Uncle Hugh has taken you into his confidence.’ She’d thought of Leeds, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham – one of the major cities where they could start afresh.
Harold had stacked dishes on the draining board. ‘Oh, love, your mother and I will miss you so much.’
‘Daddy, what has Uncle Hugh said? Where will Fred and I be going?’
‘Not where you think.’ Resistance crumbling, Harold had hugged her and whispered in her ear. ‘The tickets are for Vänersborg in Sweden.’
‘Sweden?’ Across the sea; far, far away.
‘Yes. Think about it. Not a soul will know who you are. You and Fred will be safe there.’ Harold’s heart had ached as he felt the physical ties that bound him to his daughter stretching to breaking point. ‘Hugh has contacts in Sweden – there will be jobs and a house for you to rent.’
‘Vänersborg?’ Fred had listened quietly to Pamela’s rapid explanation. Straight away he’d seen the advantages – a new town, a new language, a new world for them to explore together. ‘That’s very good news,’ he’d said at once. ‘Sweden is beautiful and the people will welcome us. We must thank Hugh immediately.’
‘You’re most welcome,’ Hugh had told the happy couple. ‘But remember, not a word!’
Now, less than twenty-four hours before their departure, Connie was on their doorstep, eager to point out the consequences of Ron’s demise and Nolan’s serious injuries. ‘That means Reggie can’t carry out his threats against Pamela, so you two can risk staying on until after the wedding.’
‘I could be Lizzie’s bridesmaid after all?’ Pamela’s face lit up as she turned to Fred.
He knitted his brows. What would such a delay do to their plans? True, the Simmons pair would be unlikely to act without their ringleader. It didn’t get him and Pamela out of the woods entirely – there were dozens more like them lurking in Kelthorpe’s shadows – but if being Lizzie’s bridesmaid meant so much to Pamela, then why not risk staying on for a short time? If the tickets could be altered, if Pamela’s parents and Hugh agreed, if they could all keep the secret for a few more days …
‘Tom and I plan to get married on Saturday too.’ Connie was breathless with pent-up excitement. ‘I want Sally to be my bridesmaid – she doesn’t know it yet.’
Pamela pictured the scene – St Joseph’s would be bursting at the seams with guests and well-wishers, the organ would play and a proud Bert would walk his daughters down the aisle. Bill and Lizzie, Tom and Connie would exchange vows.
‘Say you’ll do it,’ Connie pleaded.
A new life beckoned but old loyalties between the girls were strong. Pamela clasped Fred’s hand and raised it to her lips, hoping, hoping …
‘Very well,’ Fred agreed. How could he resist?
Pamela clapped her hands and jumped in the air. ‘Oh yes, Connie! Fred and I wouldn’t miss your weddings for the world.’
Knock-knock on the door of the Anchor.
Frank answered it to find Connie looking as if she’d hit the jackpot. ‘Sally’s in bed,’ he cautioned before the visitor had a chance to speak. ‘She’s having a lie-in.’
‘Oh no she’s not.’ Sally had come downstairs at the sound of the loud knocking. ‘She’s right here.’
‘How quickly can we sew my dress?’ Connie asked without preliminaries. ‘Can we get it done by this Saturday?’
‘Yes, if we go at it hammer and tongs.’ Look forward, not back; that was the ticket. Preparing for Connie and Tom’s wedding would help Sally to do just that.
‘And can you work miracles and make a bridesmaid’s dress for yourself, too?’ It was a tall order – Connie crossed her fingers and waited for Sally’s reply.
‘You want me …?’
‘To be my bridesmaid – yes, I do.’
Sally let out a loud sigh of wonderment. ‘You’re sure?’ she murmured.
‘I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have.’ Connie squeezed her hands. ‘Please say yes.’
‘Then, yes – I’d be honoured.’ She would be proud to process down the aisle in front of Connie Bailey and Lizzie Harrison – the two women besides Pamela whom Sally most admired.
‘Perfect.’ All was falling into place. Now to St Joseph’s to inform Reverend Greene then to the town hall to secure the licence and from there to Aunty Vera’s to rope her in for more food for the reception. ‘I’ll be back later this afternoon for a marathon sewing session,’ she promised Sally. ‘When will you be free?’
Saturday the sixteenth of May, 1942.
Bill had offered to buy Tom a wedding ring from the pawn shop on Tennyson Street – a stopgap until Tom and Connie could go shopping for one themselves. It was safe in Sam’s top pocket as they stood in front of the altar at St Joseph’s church. A bruised and battered Tom had a bad case of the jitters – he felt weak at the knees and he clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.
On the other side of the aisle, Bill adjusted the knot of his tie. It was blinking tight – he wasn’t used to this collar-and-tie malarkey. Fred stood like a rock at Bill’s side; firm and steady, taking his responsibility seriously.
Vera and an army of helpers had done wonders with the flowers. The ends of the pews were festooned with white ribbon and sprigs of delicate May blossom, and more blossom stood in brass vases on the pulpit and the altar. There was joy and beauty everywhere you looked. Sun shone through the stained glass as the organist and vicar emerged from the vestry and took their places. The moment had arrived.
Bert fretted in the porch, waiting for the music to begin. Right until the last minute he hadn’t been convinced that Connie’s groom would make it. Then again, this was Tom Rose you were talking about. And here he was, fresh out of hospital, dressed in his Sunday best, looking pallid and with his arm in a sling, ready to marry Bert’s eldest daughter. As for Bill and Lizzie’s sudden rush to be wed; well, better to do it before the Royal Navy nabbed him. Them getting married was a two-fingers-up to Herr Hitler and his blasted U-boats. Good on the pair of them.
The first slow strains of the ‘Wedding March’ reached the porch. ‘Ready?’ Bert asked Lizzie and Connie.
Connie was in lilac. Sally had worked her magic and the dress was perfect – low-waisted and long-sleeved, with a corsage of cream carnations that matched the trim on her gown. The flared hem skimmed her knees. Her hair was held in place by a satin Alice band adorned with silk flowers. Lizzie was in delicate white silk that swished as she walked, wondrously slim and shaking like a leaf as she clasped her bouquet with both hands. Her face was covered by her mother Rose’s short veil, which Lizzie would lift as she reached the altar.
The brides turned to Sally and Pamela. ‘Ready?’ they echoed in light, breathless voices.
The nervous bridesmaids nodded. Brides and bridesmaids carried trailing bouquets of carnations, also in memory of Lizzie and Connie’s mother.
Organ notes swelled to the rafters. All heads turned towards the door.
Lizzie was on Bert’s left side, Connie to his right. They slipped their arms through his. ‘Let’s get this over with,’ their father growled as the bridal procession entered the church.
‘Smooth as a baby’s bottom!’ Bert shook hands with everyone in sight. ‘Not a single hitch – it’s as if we’d been planning it for months.’
The church hall was crammed with guests tucking into a sumptuous spread of sandwiches and sausage rolls laid out on trestle tables. A magnificent cake took pride of place at the centre: the result of Lord knew how many pooled coupons and under-the-counter transactions. Tea urns hissed and cups rattled, while Frank Hopkins stood behind a barrel of his best bitter, serving pints with gay abandon. There was even a piano player, set up on a temporary stage, ready to entice the two newly married couples on to the floor for the first dance.
‘Are you sure you can manage?’ Connie watched Tom struggle to his feet as the pianist began.
‘Watch me,’ he told her, wrapping his good arm around her waist and sweeping her free of the crowd for their first dance as man and wife.
‘I was dreading this bit,’ Bill confessed to Lizzie.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she promised as she pulled him into the space at the centre of the room. ‘It’s a simple waltz – one-two-three, one-two-three.’
And it was fine. Bill held Lizzie close as they twirled. Thirty-six hours from now, he would step aboard HMS Northern Lights for a five-day spell of duty with Harry Tate’s Navy. Her crew would sweep for all types of mines, from contact through acoustic to magnetic. Bill knew the drill and in the past had willingly embraced the dangers – after all, the Harry Tate tag was a byword for courage in the face of Jerry’s U-boats and low-flying dive-bombers. But this time he had a wife to think about and he would have to do it without Tom.
One-two-three, one-two-three – Lizzie held her husband tight and waltzed him until his head was spinning.
Tom swayed and turned on the dance floor and it hurt like hell. Halfway through the number, he admitted defeat.
‘Let’s sit it out,’ Connie suggested. They passed Lizzie and Bill as they made for the nearest seats. Lizzie looked radiant – her cheeks were flushed and a smile played around her lips. ‘We did it,’ Connie whispered with a triumphant wink.
‘We did.’ Lizzie beamed back at her.
Pamela overheard them as Fred led her towards the dance floor. ‘Give me a moment,’ she whispered to him before grabbing hold of Lizzie, then corralling her and Connie in a quiet corner of the room. ‘Well done!’ she cried. ‘The ceremony could hardly have gone better – I’m over the moon for you both.’
‘Come here.’ Connie drew Pamela close and gave her a warm hug. ‘I doubt that I’ll get a chance to do that again before you and Fred set off on your new adventure.’
‘But we’ll stay friends,’ Lizzie promised. ‘No matter how far away you go, Connie and I will always be here if you need us.’
Pamela grasped their hands and squeezed them tightly. ‘Thank you – that means everything to me.’
The three girls shed glad tears, then Fred came and whirled Pamela on to the floor – round and round until she was dizzy – and Eddie Fraser shyly invited Sally to waltz with him. An embarrassed Arnold protested that he was no sissy, but his mother dragged him into the middle of the room and made him dance anyway. Then Sam Billington and Simon Fraser found more willing partners in Pamela’s two fellow lodgers from King Edward Street. Edith in a lilac two-piece and Harold, smiling benevolently, impressed onlookers with their immaculate footwork.
The crowd danced on through the afternoon and only stopped when Bert stood up and tapped the side of his glass with a spoon.
‘Speech!’ a dozen voices clamoured.
Waiting for the hum of conversation to die away, Bert coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I’m not one for spouting, so this won’t take long,’ he promised. ‘I only want to say how proud I am of my two girls and of what they do to keep this town safe.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Wedding guests clapped and smiled.
‘Their mother would have been proud too.’ Bert faltered and cleared his throat again. ‘So let’s wish the happy couples a big dollop of luck, because no one in Kelthorpe deserves it more than Lizzie and Bill, and Connie and Tom.’
‘Hear, hear!’
Edith sidled up to Pamela and Fred and took their hands. Soon, she too must let her daughter go. Happiness beckoned from across the rough North Sea.
‘None of us has a clue when Jerry will strike again,’ the father of the two brides went on. ‘It can happen in the blink of an eye. But these young folk are living proof that we can and will come out on top.’
‘We will. We’ll never give in,’ the guests affirmed.
Lizzie and Connie in their wedding finery met each other’s gazes and smiled. Bill and Tom squared their shoulders and thrust out their chests. They only did what was asked of them; what anyone else would do. They patrolled the streets and drove ambulances, fought fires and disabled mines. They were not out of the ordinary.
‘So let’s raise our glasses,’ Bert concluded. ‘Here’s to love and happiness.’
‘To love and happiness.’ A heartfelt murmur filled the room.
Bert put his glass to his lips and drank long and deep. ‘And good health and good luck to one and all!’