Chapter Twelve

The headlines over the following week seemed only to reinforce the belief that the war was not far from coming to an end. Romania broke with the Axis and joined the Allies after surrendering to the Soviet Union, and the Japanese were now in total retreat from India. Rosie in particular had been heartened to hear that Paris had been liberated by the Allies. Today, the papers were full of photographs showing de Gaulle and the Free French parading triumphantly down the Champs-Élysées.

Standing with her haversack slung over her shoulder, Rosie looked down at Dorothy and Angie. The klaxon had sounded out five minutes ago. Martha, Gloria and Polly had already started to walk over to the drawing office to pick up Hannah and Olly. The team’s terrible two seemed to be taking ages packing up. They were usually the first off.

‘Come on, slowcoaches,’ Rosie cajoled. ‘I need to have a quick word with Helen before I head home. And I promised Peter and Charlotte I’d be back in time to get changed and go and see the latest newsreels on France.’

‘Bet yer Peter’s dead chuffed,’ Angie said.

‘He is,’ Rosie said. ‘Very chuffed.’

‘And yer dinnit mind him having to keep gannin away so soon after he just got back?’ Angie asked. They all knew that Peter still worked for the organisation that had been nicknamed ‘Churchill’s Secret Army’.

‘No, I don’t mind,’ Rosie smiled. ‘As long as he’s on this side of the Channel, I’m happy.’

Angie nodded her understanding. ‘Yer gan ahead, miss,’ she said. She still occasionally called Rosie ‘miss’. It was a habit she hadn’t quite managed to shake. ‘Dor’s got summat she’s gorra dee.’ Angie cocked her head over to Jimmy and his squad of riveters. Rosie spotted Bobby, his tall frame towering above his workmates.

‘Oh,’ Rosie said, looking down at Dorothy, who suddenly seemed to be concentrating very hard on tightening the laces on her boots. ‘I’m guessing it’s to do with a certain riveter?’

Dorothy’s pale face looked up at her boss. ‘Who else?’

Rosie looked surprised. Dorothy hadn’t mentioned anything during the day.

‘Dor didn’t want to say owt in case she chickened out,’ Angie said, reading her thoughts.

‘Which I still might,’ Dorothy said.

‘Well, whatever it is, I hope it goes well,’ said Rosie.

‘We’ll tell yer how it gans tomorrow,’ Angie said, smiling. She had been desperate to tell everyone Dorothy’s plans all day, but Dorothy had forbidden her from doing so, saying she wanted to ‘just do it’ without any kind of fuss.

Angie watched Rosie hurry off. She’d never known her boss so happy. She supposed that being told your husband was dead only to be informed there’d been a mistake would do that to a person.

‘So, yer still up for it?’ Angie asked, turning her attention back to Dorothy.

Dorothy nodded solemnly. ‘I feel like I’m just about to walk the plank.’

Angie started scrabbling about in her bag for her compact. ‘Here, do yer wanna smarten yerself up? Put a bit of lippy on?’

Dorothy shook her head. ‘No, as discussed last night, Bobby’s got to see me as I am. Warts and all.’

Angie didn’t say anything. She’d never seen her friend like this. Last night when they’d been chatting through Dorothy’s plan, she had taken a lot of what she’d said with a pinch of salt. She certainly didn’t think Dorothy would approach her meeting with Bobby today without at least a smudge of her favourite Victory Red.

‘Right, I’ll leave yer to it,’ Angie said, but didn’t move.

‘Yes, OK,’ said Dorothy, glancing over at Bobby, who fortunately didn’t look in any hurry to leave work. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Wishing yer luck,’ Angie said, reluctantly leaving her friend. ‘Me ’n Mrs Kwiatkowski will have a nice cuppa waiting when yer ger back.’

‘Thanks, Ange.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Angie smiled as she got up and slung her bag over her shoulder.

‘And me you neither. Friends for ever.’

‘Friends for ever.’

Angie thought she’d never seen her best mate look so pale.

‘Rosie!’ Helen waved her in. ‘What’s up? Please don’t tell me there’s any more problems with Ganges.’

Rosie smiled. ‘No. None at all. Everything’s going to plan, fingers crossed. Actually, I’ve come to have a quick chat to you about Gloria – and your dad.’

‘Shut the door and come and sit down,’ Helen said, delving into her handbag and getting out her cigarettes.

‘It’s about their divorce,’ Rosie began.

Helen lit up her Pall Mall and sighed wearily.

‘You don’t mind me talking about it, do you?’ Rosie asked. ‘It must be difficult.’

Helen blew out a stream of smoke and shook her head.

‘And you don’t mind me talking about your mum?’ Rosie could not envisage what it must be like to have a mother like Miriam.

Helen waved away her concerns with a flick of her hand. ‘There’s nothing anyone can say about my dear mama that I haven’t said already myself.’ She took a drag of her cigarette. ‘So, no, I don’t mind talking about her in the least. I just wish she’d see sense and get it all over and done with quickly and without all this awfulness and drama. It’s so unnecessary.’

‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘I was just chatting to the women. Gloria’s keeping us informed as to how the divorce is going – or rather, not going … It sounds as though your father was lucky to actually find a solicitor who would get involved with a case against a Havelock.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘I can’t believe how much power that man has in this town.’

‘His tentacles certainly stretch far and wide,’ Helen said, blowing out smoke.

‘Gloria said the problem is finding grounds for divorce – and then proving them.’ Rosie stopped, unsure whether to continue.

‘Go on,’ said Helen. Her father had not talked much about the ins and outs of the divorce. She knew he didn’t want to involve her. His belief being that it wasn’t right for her, as their daughter, to be involved in their battle.

‘Well, it seems this divorce is going to be problematic because, like I’ve said, your mother hasn’t fulfilled one of the main “marital offences” – adultery, cruelty, separation … and what was the last one?’ Rosie thought for a moment. ‘That’s it, “incurable insanity”.’

Helen let out a bitter laugh. ‘All sorted then.’

Rosie gave a sympathetic smile. ‘The worst-case scenario,’ she continued, ‘is that they have to wait two to three years to show some kind of acceptable period of separation before the courts will sanction a divorce.’

‘Which will make Hope five, going on six,’ Helen said, blowing out smoke. ‘Dear me, I do worry about the effect this will have on her.’

‘I know,’ Rosie agreed. ‘Sounds like the name-calling has started already. Gloria said she tried to get Hope enrolled in some nursery that’s just opened in the east end and the woman who was running the place took her aside and said she couldn’t take “a child like Hope” and that she’d be a “bad influence”.’

‘How dare she!’ Helen was shocked. ‘That’s outrageous. How can anyone in their right mind think being illegitimate equates to being bad?’

‘I agree, but there’s plenty who do,’ Rosie said.

‘What’s the name of this nursery? I’ll sort it!’ Helen exclaimed.

‘Don’t,’ Rosie pleaded. ‘It’s why Gloria’s not told you. She doesn’t want any unnecessary hassle. She says it’ll just make it worse. Give the busybodies even more to chatter about.’

Helen crushed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. She was seething.

‘The thing is,’ Rosie said, ‘the reason I wanted to chat to you about it, in private, was for you to know that, as Gloria’s friends, we are all united in how we can help her. Even if it’s just as a shoulder to cry on, or a sounding board if she wants to have a good rant.’

‘Of course,’ Helen said, taking another drag on her cigarette. ‘If you think there’s anything I can do to help, just say.’ She paused. ‘Even if that’s nothing.’

Rosie smiled, reassured there would be no shenanigans at the offending nursery.

‘Polly’s going to have a word with Agnes and Beryl and suggest they start up a nursery.’

‘I thought they already had one?’ Helen asked. She knew that Polly’s widowed mother and her neighbour Beryl ran a voluntary makeshift nursery. It had initially been run from the Elliots’ house, but this past year had moved to Beryl’s as she had more room and only her two daughters at home.

‘It’s been more of a childminding service, you know, to help the women around the doors who’ve had to go to work,’ Rosie explained. ‘But Polly reckons they’d be up for setting up an official nursery. Charge a nominal amount. Iris and Audrey could be involved with teaching the older ones to read – when they’re not at work, of course.’

Helen nodded. She knew Beryl’s two girls worked for the GPO. They’d babysat Hope and Lucille – Bel’s daughter from her first husband, Teddy, who’d died out in North Africa – and they both adored baby Artie and the twins, Gabrielle and Stephen.

Rosie looked at Helen. ‘And admittance will not depend on the marital status of the child’s mother.’

‘A brilliant solution,’ Helen said. ‘And you couldn’t ask for better women to run it.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks, Rosie.’

‘What for? I’ve not done anything.’

‘For involving me,’ said Helen.

‘Of course – why wouldn’t we?’ said Rosie. ‘You’re one of us now – whether you like it or not.’

They both laughed.

Helen liked it a lot. Rosie’s words had warmed her heart.

As well as dampened the anger she felt towards the owner of the nursery – although only a little.

*

‘Hey, Bobby.’ Dorothy tried to sound confident and carefree.

All the riveters turned around, all apart from Bobby, who hadn’t heard. He was standing with his back to the brazier, looking at one of the newly launched ships from Austin’s going out on her sea trials.

‘Bobby!’ Dorothy shouted out louder, now feeling incredibly self-conscious.

One of the young apprentices darted over to Bobby and pulled on his sleeve. As soon as he turned round and saw Dorothy, a wide smile spread across his face.

‘Dorothy! To what do I owe this pleasure?’

Dorothy felt her heart thumping in her chest and beating in her ears. God, why did he have this effect on her? How could someone make you feel like kissing them and slapping them simultaneously? From the corner of her eye, she saw Jimmy and the rest of the squad quickly pack up and leave.

‘See yer the morra, Bobby,’ Jimmy shouted out as he tugged at the collar of one of the rivet burners who was standing staring at Dorothy.

‘See you all in the morning!’ Bobby said, before turning his attention back to Dorothy. As always, she took his breath away. Even more so when she was just in her vest and overalls like she was now.

‘Been a scorcher today,’ Bobby said, grabbing a green metal water container and offering it to her.

Realising that she was actually parched and had hardly drunk anything all day, or eaten anything for that matter, nerves always did that to her, she took it and had a drink.

‘Thanks.’ She handed it back.

Bobby laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ Dorothy asked, fighting her feelings of insecurity. Suddenly, she felt lost without Angie or her friends by her side.

‘Us being civil to each other. Me offering you a drink and you taking it.’

‘Well, I can soon remedy that,’ Dorothy hit back.

‘No, no, please don’t,’ Bobby said, his tone placatory. ‘Why don’t we sit over there.’ He nodded to a sunny spot by the river. ‘I’m in no rush to head home.’

‘OK.’ Dorothy forced herself to breathe normally. Talking to Bobby before they’d kissed had been much easier. Now, every time she looked at him, that was all she could think of.

When they reached the sunny spot of concrete, Dorothy turned towards Bobby.

‘There’s something I have to do first,’ she said, matter-of-factly.

Bobby furrowed his brow.

‘Oh yes, and what’s that?’ he asked.

Dumping her haversack on the ground, Dorothy stepped towards Bobby, went up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

As soon as her lips touched his, the whole world seemed to fade into the background and there was only her and Bobby standing, bodies pressed close together, kissing.

Bobby could not quite believe he had finally been granted his wish and was now kissing the woman he was crazy about – here in the yard. He put his hand to her face, gently touching her dirt-smeared cheeks, then kissing them, his lips finding her neck, wanting to go lower, to kiss every part of her. Not caring if anyone saw them.

Dorothy pulled away. Quickly looking around and checking that there was still no one in the vicinity.

‘Right,’ she said, her manner all officious. ‘That’s that done. Now let’s sit down and talk.’

Bobby barked with laughter. His eyes were sparkling with a mix of passion and puzzlement.

‘Dorothy, I can honestly say that I have never met a woman like you.’

‘Mmm,’ Dorothy said, sitting down by the quayside.

‘What do you mean, “mmm”? I’ve never heard “mmm” sound so laden with meaning,’ Bobby said.

‘Ten out of ten for being perceptive.’ Dorothy forced her voice to sound steady. She could have lost her resolve kissing Bobby just then. Could have lost herself in his kisses, his touch, his smell.

Again, Bobby looked perplexed.

‘Because,’ Dorothy said, ‘that “mmm” was loaded with meaning.’ She turned and crossed her legs so that the sun was on her back and she was facing Bobby. It also put a little space between them in case she felt the urge to kiss him again.

‘Right.’ She focused her mind on what she and Angie had planned last night over a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.

‘That kiss is to demonstrate that there is most definitely an attraction between the two of us. And that the kiss we shared at my flat was not just a one-off – and not simply a case of us both flying high because Rosie had got Peter back and you and Gloria had sorted out your differences.’

‘Well, any time you need to be reassured,’ Bobby said with a twinkle in his eye, ‘just say and I’ll be happy to prove the point.’

Dorothy felt herself flush.

‘The “mmm”,’ she pressed on, ‘also relates to you saying that you’ve never met a woman like me before.’

Bobby looked at Dorothy as she freed her thick dark brown hair from her turban and let it drop around her face and shoulders.

‘You can say that again.’

‘From my experiences of life, when a man says that about a woman it means that the woman is in reality just a novelty for the man – it’s like when a piece of chewing gum has been chewed and lost its flavour, it’s spat out.’

Bobby wanted to laugh but stopped himself. Dorothy clearly wanted to be taken seriously. He forced himself to concentrate.

‘That’s an interesting theory,’ he said. ‘And a very vivid way of explaining it.’

He offered Dorothy another drink from his water bottle. She took a mouthful and handed it back.

‘So, you think that I view you as a new toy that once the shine has worn off, I’ll cast aside in favour of a newer model. Is that right?’

Dorothy nodded. ‘Exactly.’

‘So, how do I go about proving that’s not the case?’

‘You can’t,’ Dorothy said. ‘Because you yourself probably believe that you won’t. That you won’t get bored when the shine has worn off.’ She paused. ‘But you will.’

Bobby ran his hand over the top of his head.

‘So, how can I prove that I won’t? Because I know I won’t.’

Dorothy inhaled the sea air.

‘Ange and I have thought up a plan.’

A wide smile spread across Bobby’s face.

‘Go on,’ he encouraged.

‘The plan being that we go out with each other,’ she said simply.

‘Court as a proper couple?’ Bobby couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘Yes.’ Dorothy adopted her most schoolmarmish expression. ‘But there’s to be no hanky-panky – other than kissing.’

‘OK,’ Bobby said. ‘That’s fine by me.’

‘And I think you should know from the off that I might seem a bit gobby and quite the freethinker, but there’s a part of me which is still very conventional.’

Bobby laughed.

‘I don’t think you could be conventional if you tried,’ Bobby chuckled. ‘This conversation we’re having now must be as far from conventional as you can get.’

‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ Dorothy said, sitting up straight. ‘Because this might come as a surprise to you, but I believe in saving myself for marriage.’

Bobby did look surprised.

Dorothy was quiet.

‘Well, all that means,’ Bobby said, his dark brown eyes finding Dorothy’s and holding her stare, ‘is that we’ll have to get married sooner rather than later.’

Dorothy gasped in disbelief, dramatically rolling her eyes heavenwards.

Bobby’s eyes were dancing, his smile broad.

‘I have a feeling,’ he said, ‘that there’s more you’ve got to tell me about our impending courtship.’

‘Indeed, there is,’ said Dorothy.

‘If that’s the case,’ Bobby said, ‘why don’t we chat about it over a drink at the Admiral?’

‘So,’ Bobby said, taking a drink of his lemonade, ‘we can go out as a couple. Go on dates?’

‘Yes, but only kissing.’

‘That’s OK. I understand. Just kissing.’

‘And there’s to be no seeing any other women.’

Bobby looked affronted. ‘Naturally.’

‘Well, you never know, it’s good to have these things spelled out. And agreed. One of my exes seemed to think courtship involved seeing at least one other woman.’

Bobby remembered the conversation he’d overheard at Pearl and Bill’s wedding in the Tatham about some no-good riveter called Eddie, who had been seeing Angie behind Dorothy’s back before the two women had become best buddies. Eddie, he’d surmised, must have been short of a few.

‘Can I just add that goes both ways,’ said Bobby. ‘That you too have to be faithful to me. And not see any other blokes. Just for the sake of clarity.’

‘Of course,’ said Dorothy.

‘And what about when you and Angie go off to the Ritz?’ Bobby asked tentatively.

‘What about when Ange and I go off to the Ritz?’

‘Most blokes would also go to the Ritz with the woman they are dating,’ Bobby added. The thought of Dorothy going drinking and dancing at the town’s main hotspot was not a good one. Especially in that red dress of hers.

‘Well, you’re not most blokes, and as you’ve already pointed out, I’m not most women, so I shall continue to go to the Ritz with Angie every Friday.’

‘Mmm,’ Bobby said, finishing off his lemonade.

‘Now it’s you that’s making a simple “mmm” sound loaded with meaning,’ Dorothy said.

‘Well, I don’t think you can have everything your own way,’ said Bobby. ‘I think I should be allowed to come with you to the Ritz.’

Dorothy thought for a moment.

‘No, that wouldn’t be fair on Angie,’ she said.

Another ‘Mmm’ from Bobby.

‘How about you forsake the Ritz every fortnight to go out on a date with me?’

Dorothy had a drink of her lemonade.

‘I shall ask Ange. If she agrees, you’ve got a deal.’

Bobby blew out air. ‘Now that we’ve done our deal, can I walk you home and give you a goodnight kiss?’

‘You may,’ Dorothy said. She took a deep breath. ‘But—’

‘But only kissing,’ Bobby said, beating her to it.

By the time they had reached the flat in Foyle Street, Bobby and Dorothy had already enjoyed several goodnight kisses.

When Dorothy got in, she found Angie supping tea with Mrs Kwiatkowski. They were both studying an article in the Telegraph that Dorothy knew to be about the recent announcement by the Russians that the Polish Committee of National Liberation was to be the new representative government of Poland. They’d torn it out of the paper during the lunch break to save for their neighbour.

They both looked up at Dorothy expectantly.

‘Where have yer been?’ Angie demanded. ‘Yer’ve been gone ages. Me and Mrs Kwiatkowski have just about scoffed all the biscuits.’

‘Well, we ended up going for a lemonade at the Admiral.’

Angie looked at Dorothy. Her pale, wan look had gone and had been replaced by rosy cheeks and a happiness she was trying to play down.

‘By the looks of yer, it went well,’ Angie said. ‘Did yer stick to the plan?’

‘Of course,’ said Dorothy.

Angie looked at her friend as she sat down and poured herself a cup of tea.

‘So, yer not still feeling guilt-ridden over Toby?’ she asked.

Dorothy’s face dropped. ‘Don’t, Angie. You know I feel terrible.’

‘How many times did you think of Toby when you were with Bobby?’ Angie asked.

Dorothy wasn’t quick enough to lie, so instead she changed the subject. ‘Actually, I’ve got a favour to ask you.’

Angie furrowed her brow. ‘A favour?’

‘Do you think we could go to the Ritz every other Friday, rather than every week?’ Dorothy asked gingerly.

Angie felt like jumping off her chair and whooping loudly.

‘Well, it’ll be a wrench – but that’s fine by me,’ she said, forcing herself to rein in her delight, and giving Mrs Kwiatkowski a sidelong glance. She had confessed to her neighbour how she no longer had any interest whatsoever in going to the Ritz since getting it together with Quentin.

Relieved that Angie didn’t seem too disappointed, Dorothy settled down to regale them with the events of the evening, bar the goodnight kisses. When she explained to Mrs Kwiatkowski about the rules of courtship she and Angie had drawn up and which, on the whole, Bobby had agreed to, Mrs Kwiatkowski shook her head, muttering that courting a suitor had never been so complicated in her day.