Peggy was still suffering from the shock of that V-1 exploding in Havelock Road three days ago, and knew that everyone who’d been there that day was similarly affected – except for two-year-old Daisy, who was thankfully too young to understand how very close they’d all come to being killed.
It was the images of those poor dead soldiers that came to haunt Peggy at unexpected moments, bringing back the awful, gut-wrenching fear, as well as the heat of those ravenous flames and the terror of cowering against the initial blast which had uprooted trees and flung lethal debris for hundreds of feet – and the explosions that had followed soon after when Doris’s illicit store of petrol cans had caught alight.
She shuddered as she revisited the horrific scene in her mind. John Hicks and his fire crew had been incredibly brave as they’d tried to fight the raging inferno, but there had been nothing they could do to save those unfortunate women trapped in Doris’s house. Peggy could only pray they’d died instantly, for the alternative was just too appalling to contemplate.
As for her sister, Peggy had been so relieved and thankful that Doris had been away when the V-1 had hit she’d immediately brought her home without giving a thought to the consequences. Three days later it was proving to be a big mistake, for her sister had taken full advantage of Peggy’s loving kindness by demanding she had the best bedroom and ordering the others about as if she owned the place.
Peggy’s low spirits sank further. With the whole world in turmoil, she’d come to see the tranquillity and harmony of Beach View as her sanctuary, but if Doris didn’t mend her ways there would be trouble, and it would be up to her to defuse it.
‘Mumma. I got duck. Play with duck.’
Peggy dragged herself back to the present and forced a smile at Daisy as they shared the bath. She took the plastic duck, made it squeak and then drew her little daughter into her arms, revelling in the weight and scent of her – in her aliveness.
Slippery as an eel, Daisy squirmed and kicked the rapidly cooling few inches of water before crawling away to float the duck amid the soap bubbles Peggy had added as a treat.
Peggy got out of the bath shakily and, with trembling hands, hurriedly dried herself and got dressed. She was all fingers and thumbs and it took longer than usual to do up the buttons on her dress and fasten the belt. Annoyed with herself for being so feeble, she took a deep breath and glared defiantly at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She hadn’t been hurt and her loved ones were safe, so there was no earthly reason why she couldn’t pull herself together and get on.
Strapping on her watch, she noted the time with some alarm. It was almost seven, the girls were probably waiting to use the bathroom, and within a few hours she had to be at work. Clearly life had to go on despite Hitler’s demonic new weapon, and it did no good to dwell on all the ‘what ifs’ when other things had to be seen to. And in a way these day-to-day responsibilities were helping her to cope, for without them she’d have had too much time to think. And that wouldn’t do any good at all.
Having wrestled a protesting Daisy out of the bath, she wrapped her firmly in a towel and quickly dried and dressed her. Once that was achieved she cleaned the bath and then peeked in on Cordelia. The elderly lady had lived at Beach View for years and was now an intrinsic and very important part of Peggy’s family. Poor Cordelia had caught a nasty chill after hiding from the V-1’s blast in that water-filled ditch, and Peggy fretted that it could turn to something nasty if not kept an eye on.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked, alarmed by the high colour in Cordelia’s cheeks and the way her breath was rattling as she fiddled with her hearing aid.
‘Not very chipper,’ she confessed. ‘This blessed chill has gone to my chest, and I’m finding it a bit hard to breathe.’
Peggy saw what an effort it took for her to smile at Daisy, who was chattering away and trying to climb onto the bed. She lifted Daisy away and told her to go downstairs – which elicited a pout and the stamp of a small foot. ‘Do as I say,’ she said sternly. ‘Gan Gan’s tired and can’t get any rest with you climbing all over her.’
As Daisy stomped out of the room and slowly slid feet first down the stairs on her stomach, Peggy turned back to Cordelia. ‘I’ll get you a fresh hot-water bottle, a cup of tea and then call the doctor.’
‘Please don’t fuss, dear,’ she wheezed. ‘I shall be fine after a couple more days in bed, and the poor doctor has enough to do without being dragged out on a house call.’
Peggy didn’t agree, but said nothing as she plumped the pillows, adjusted the blankets and fished out the cold bottle from the bottom of the bed. Cordelia would be eighty in a matter of months, and although she’d always been a birdlike little woman, she’d never looked this frail before, and it worried her deeply.
‘Do you need the bathroom before I go downstairs?’
‘If I do, then I’m perfectly capable of going on my own,’ Cordelia replied tetchily. ‘Do stop fussing and go and see to Daisy. She shouldn’t be alone down there.’
Torn between the needs of Cordelia and the safety of her child, Peggy knew she really had no choice. With a promise to return soon, she hurried out of the room, thoughts of kettles and fires uppermost in her mind, and ran downstairs to the kitchen to find Daisy sitting on the floor next to Queenie the cat, pretending to read her a story from a picture book.
Peggy breathed a sigh of relief and put the kettle on the hob before returning to the hall. She dialled the doctor’s number and within a few minutes had his promise to call in after morning surgery. Bustling back into the kitchen, she fed the demanding cat which was winding itself round her legs and threatening to trip her up, filled the hot-water bottle, wrapped it in a knitted cover and poured a cup of tea.
A glance at the clock told her there was some time to go before the news came on the wireless, and she began to get anxious that there was no sign of Sarah, who was in danger of being late for work – or of Ron and Harvey, who were usually up and about much earlier than this.
Settling Daisy safely at the table with a slice of toast and a cup of milk, she hurried back upstairs to Cordelia, smiling at the thought that Ron must have struck lucky with Rosie and stayed the night at the Anchor. The idea warmed her and she was still smiling as she placed the tea on the bedside table and tucked the hot-water bottle into the bed by Cordelia’s little feet.
‘I take it from that silly smirk that the old rogue didn’t come home last night,’ said Cordelia with a raised eyebrow. At Peggy’s nod she clucked her tongue. ‘Good luck to them. But I hope Rosie knows what she’s letting herself in for by taking him back.’
‘I’m sure she does,’ said Peggy, opening the blackout curtains to the bright June day. She studied Cordelia, who was having a coughing fit, then hurried into the bathroom to fetch her some cough linctus, a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. It was always worrying when Cordelia was unwell, for at her age one never knew …
She helped her to a spoonful of linctus and waited for her to swallow the aspirin. ‘You rest and enjoy that tea. I’ll be up later with some porridge.’
‘Dearest Peggy,’ croaked Cordelia. ‘What would I do without you?’
Peggy kissed her cheek and was alarmed at how hot she felt. ‘If you need anything, bang on the floor with your stick,’ she said, unearthing the walking stick from beneath a pile of clothes and placing it on the bed. ‘I’ll leave your door open so I can keep an eye on you if that’s all right.’
Cordelia sipped her tea and then wearily sank back into the pillows. ‘I think I’ll sleep for a bit. Didn’t get much last night,’ she murmured, closing her eyes.
Peggy bit her lip, torn between wanting to stay and the knowledge that Daisy was downstairs with a pot of hot tea sitting on the draining board. She reluctantly left the room, jamming the door open with a chair before hurrying back to the kitchen to discover that Daisy now had company.
‘Hello, Ron. I didn’t expect to see you this morning now Rosie’s back,’ she said brightly. ‘I thought you’d be all tucked up billing and cooing until at least lunchtime,’ she teased. Her smile faded at his dour expression. ‘She did come home last night, didn’t she?’
‘Oh aye, that she did. But it was very late and the poor wee girl was exhausted, so I left her to sleep.’ He signalled the end of the conversation by reaching over to turn on the wireless which stood in a large wooden cabinet in the corner.
Peggy’s disappointment was sharp, but she made no comment. Poor Ron had set such store in Rosie’s return, and it was clear things hadn’t gone to plan, but with Rosie back in Cliffehaven, she was sure they’d find some way of healing the breach between them.
She surreptitiously watched him whilst she prepared the breakfast porridge, noting that he’d shaved and was wearing decent clothes for a change. He’d certainly made a tremendous effort to turn over a new leaf these past weeks, for his bedroom had stayed neat and sweeter smelling, and he’d taken more care in his appearance – even going so far as getting Fran to cut his hair and trim his eyebrows. Peggy mentally crossed her fingers that all this change would continue, and that he and Rosie would be all right.
‘Where’s that sister of yours?’ Ron asked gruffly.
‘She must still be in bed. She’s in terrible shock, you know, and I think it’s affecting her nerves.’ Peggy could see by his expression what he was about to say and forestalled him. ‘I know she rubs you up the wrong way, but Doris has lost everything, and because she’d arranged that lunch party, she blames herself for the deaths of those women. Try and show some sympathy for her, Ron.’
‘I’d be nicer to her if she didn’t order you about like a skivvy,’ he replied. ‘You haven’t stopped pandering to her from the moment she stepped through the door.’
Peggy slopped some thin porridge into the bowls and set them on the table. ‘I thought I’d lost her,’ she said firmly, ‘and she needs a bit of pampering after what she’s been through.’
‘That doesn’t mean she can ride roughshod over everyone,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t see why she couldn’t have had the double room at the top of the house instead of evicting Rita and Ivy from theirs. The view’s the same and the size is almost identical – and to be sure, it’s not as if she’s got a lot of stuff to put in it,’ he added grumpily.
‘Ron, please don’t keep on. The girls were happy enough to go up there, and Doris will find it easier without so many stairs to negotiate.’
‘Hmph. There’s nothing wrong with her legs, going by the way she strides about issuing orders. It seems to me she just likes to cause as much fuss as she can.’
Peggy took a deep breath before sitting down to pour out the tea and help Daisy with her porridge. Ron and Doris had never seen eye to eye, and Peggy knew how difficult her sister could be. She was so thankful Doris was alive, she was willing to put up with a lot of things – and yet Ron had a point. Doris was a fit and healthy woman in her early fifties and could quite easily have moved into the room at the top of the house – especially as Rita had a cast on her leg after her motorbike accident. And Doris didn’t need to be quite so bossy. Everyone understood how awful it must be to lose absolutely everything and they were all doing their best to make her feel welcome, even though none of them liked her.
Peggy stirred a few grains of sugar into her tea as she mulled over what to do for the best. Her patience was wearing thin after only three days, and if things weren’t resolved soon there would be an almighty row, which had to be avoided at all costs. Perhaps, once Doris had recovered from the worst of the shock, she would have another quiet word with her about her attitude. It would be tricky, for her elder sister was bound to take it the wrong way again, but Peggy could see that if things went on as they were the happy atmosphere of Beach View would be destroyed.
‘Is there no sign of that husband of hers?’ said Ron over the atmospherics coming from the wireless as it warmed up.
‘Ted’s still away,’ she replied, ‘and no one knows where he is so he can’t be contacted.’ Peggy regarded him over the rim of her teacup. ‘Besides, they’re no longer married, so he’s not responsible for her.’
‘Well, I’m thinking he should be, husband or not.’
Peggy folded her arms and regarded him evenly. ‘And just what do you expect him to do, Ron? He lives in a one-bedroom apartment above the Home and Colonial, and has a lovely new lady friend. The last person he needs is Doris moving in and playing gooseberry.’
‘He’s got money enough to find her a flat somewhere,’ he replied grumpily.
‘Why should he? Doris is my responsibility now, and this is her home for as long as she wants it.’
‘I was afraid you’d say that,’ he grumbled, fiddling with the knobs on the wireless until he got a clear reception for the BBC. ‘Perhaps you should write to Anthony and tell him his mother needs a roof over her head. To be sure, he has a fine house with plenty of room.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Anthony might see it as his duty, he’s a good son, but he and Suzy have the baby now, and it’s not fair to expect them to take Doris on. Especially as Doris and Suzy get on each other’s nerves.’
‘It strikes me that woman gets on everyone’s nerves,’ Ron muttered sourly. ‘’Tis a pity it’s us that’s lumbered with her.’
Peggy agreed with him whole-heartedly but was in no mood to continue the argument at this time of the morning, so she finished her breakfast in silence. Lending half an ear to the news, she tried not to worry over Cordelia, the strained atmosphere Doris was already causing and the uncharacteristic absence of Sarah, who was usually an early riser.
The newscaster’s plummy voice filled the silence. The Allied troops had secured the beachheads and were still making progress into France despite some resistance. The RAF was continuing their nightly bombing raids over Dunkirk, Boulogne and the Ruhr, and the Americans were now raiding during the day. The Allied losses were reported to be light, with only five planes brought down, but there was, Peggy noted, little mention of the casualties that must have been inflicted amongst the invading troops. The news at home was of a V-1 attack in London which had tragically killed twenty people.
Peggy’s hand trembled as she clattered the spoons into the empty bowls and carried them to the sink. There had been so much excitement when news of the invasion had broken, but Hitler’s latest terrifying weapon served to remind them all that victory was far from being assured, and after five long years of struggle and deprivation this war was wearing down even the hardiest of souls.
She blinked away the thought, determined to remain positive, and glanced up at the clock. ‘Where on earth has Sarah got to?’ she muttered. ‘She’ll be late for work at this rate, and it’s a long walk to the Cliffe estate.’
Without waiting for a reply from Ron, who was engrossed in the war report, she dashed upstairs and peeked into Cordelia’s room to check she was still asleep, then hurried along the landing to the bedroom Sarah shared with Fran.
She tapped lightly on the door, feeling guilty that she might wake Fran, who’d just come off night duty at the hospital and was having a precious day off. Getting no reply, she eased the door open and in the light coming through from the hall, found both girls fast asleep. She tiptoed across the room to the single bed beneath the window.
‘Sarah,’ she whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle shake. ‘It’s after seven. You have to get up.’
Sarah, who was usually so lively in the mornings, mumbled something and rolled over, pulling the bedclothes with her until she was buried within them.
Peggy gave her a more determined shake. ‘Wake up, Sarah,’ she hissed. ‘It’s late, and you won’t have time for breakfast if you leave it much longer.’
Reluctantly, Sarah drew back the bedclothes and sat up, her fair hair tousled, her blue eyes heavy-lidded and dull. ‘Sorry, Aunt Peg,’ she said through a vast yawn. ‘I didn’t get much rest last night. I kept having the most horrible dreams.’
Peggy wondered fleetingly if her nightmares had more to do with her heart-wrenching dilemma over her fiancé Philip and her sweetheart Delaney than the V-1 explosion. She put a loving hand on her slim shoulder as Fran mumbled and moved about restlessly in the other bed. ‘I know, dear,’ she whispered, ‘and you’re not alone. Now get dressed and you can tell me all about them whilst you’re having breakfast. They won’t seem so frightening in the daylight.’
Sarah rubbed her eyes then reached for her washbag. ‘I wish that was true,’ she sighed.
Peggy squeezed her shoulder in sympathy then hurried out of the room before Fran was disturbed any further. She decided that whilst she was here she’d go and check on the two girls at the top of the house, for she couldn’t hear them moving about up there. They were both reluctant to leave their beds in the morning, and she’d always had trouble digging them out so they weren’t late for work.
Ivy was due to start her shift at the armaments factory in an hour, and although Rita was still hampered by the plaster cast on her leg and couldn’t play much part in her work at the fire station, she still needed to keep proper hours and do something useful with her day.
She was a bit out of breath by the time she reached the second-floor landing, but on opening the bedroom door was pleasantly surprised to see that Ivy was already dressed in her dungarees and sturdy boots, and Rita was dragging on a skirt over her heavily plastered leg.
‘I just thought I’d make sure you were up,’ said Peggy. She cast a despairing look at the discarded clothes and dirty crockery scattered about the room. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could tidy up before you leave the house. This place looks like a bomb’s hit it.’
Ivy, who’d now survived two bomb attacks, shuddered. ‘No, it doesn’t, Aunty Peg. A bomb makes much more mess.’
‘And we firefighters make it worse by chucking gallons of water over everything,’ said Rita airily. She shot Peggy an impish grin. ‘So, all in all, it’s quite tidy really.’
‘Just get on and do it,’ Peggy replied, trying not to smile at her cheek. She closed the door and hurried back to the first-floor landing. They were a couple of little imps, cheeky with it, and too sharp for their own good. But oh how she wished they’d at least make some effort to keep that room straight.
She listened at Doris’s door, but hearing nothing, went along to peek in at Cordelia again. Her breathing was still rasping, but the aspirin seemed to have lowered her temperature, which was a relief. Realising that the cup of tea had gone cold on the bedside table, she decided to make a fresh one when Cordelia awoke.
Peggy’s bedroom was off the hall, and as the girls bustled about upstairs with their usual chatter to get ready for their day, she checked her watch and calculated she just had time to sort out some more clothes for Doris. Not that she had a lot, but she was sure there was enough to tide Doris over until she got her compensation through and felt like going out to the shops.
She pushed the door open and froze at the sight of Doris in Peggy’s old dressing gown and hairnet, rifling through her chest of drawers, pulling out clothes and tossing them onto the unmade bed. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m looking for something respectable to wear,’ said Doris, not at all fazed by being caught red-handed. ‘I must say, Margaret, most of your clothes are fit only to be used as cleaning rags – especially your underwear.’ She held up a frayed petticoat that had seen better days.
In rising fury, Peggy strode in, snatched up the petticoat and slammed the drawer shut, narrowly missing Doris’s fingers. ‘You could at least have had the decency to ask first,’ she said tersely. ‘Not creep in here on the sly when my back’s turned.’
Doris folded her arms and glared at her. ‘I’m not being sly. As your sister, I didn’t think I had to ask permission.’
‘Sister or not, it would have been the polite thing to do,’ Peggy retorted. She took a steadying breath in an attempt to keep her temper. ‘Just because you live here doesn’t give you the right to go through my private things,’ she said, noting the open wardrobe doors, the empty hangers and shelves and the pile of clothing on the bed.
‘But they’re not yours, are they?’ said Doris, plucking the lovely blue woollen overcoat, the tweed skirt and pale lilac twinset from the pile as if to demonstrate the point. ‘I bought these and as an act of charity let you use them when I’d finished with them because you clearly needed something proper to wear.’
‘I didn’t realise I was a charity case, or that they were on loan,’ said Peggy through gritted teeth. ‘It still doesn’t alter the fact that you should have asked before coming in here.’
‘I had hoped you’d return the favour without making a fuss,’ said Doris, tightening the belt on Peggy’s old dressing gown. ‘After all, I’ve lost everything but for what I was wearing that day, and am now forced to avail myself of your cast-offs.’
‘They are not cast-offs,’ Peggy hissed, stung by the insult. ‘That dressing gown and nightdress are perfectly adequate.’
Doris sniffed. ‘I’m not used to adequate,’ she said flatly, eyeing up the thick dressing gown which was hanging from a hook on the back of the door. ‘Why didn’t you give me that instead? It looks almost new and is of far better quality.’
Peggy snatched the dressing gown out of her reach and held it to her chest. ‘This is Jim’s and it’s staying here with me.’
‘Jim’s not here and my need is greater,’ said Doris. ‘Don’t be a dog in the manger about it, Margaret. Sentimentality is all very well, but it butters no parsnips.’
‘You’re not having it,’ said Peggy, stuffing it into a drawer and standing guard over it. ‘And I’m not being dog in the manger about anything. If you’d had the decency to wait until I had the time to sort through all your cast-offs, you’d have had the lot back anyway.’
‘Then I’ve saved you the bother,’ said Doris unrepentantly. She eyed the denuded cupboard. ‘Where’s the mink wrap I brought over at Christmas?’
‘In the box on top of the wardrobe,’ said Peggy crossly. ‘Like the overcoat, I never got the chance to wear it – so they’re as good as when you lent them to me.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ said Doris, reaching for the box. ‘You don’t exactly have the sort of social life that warrants such things, and I don’t really know what I was thinking of to pass them on to you in the first place.’
Peggy folded her arms tightly about her waist and bunched her fists. ‘Neither do I,’ she said, cold with fury. ‘I might not gad about with the snobs in posh furs and expensive overcoats, but I do have a sense of what’s right, and I’d never dream of ransacking your room or being so nasty.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Margaret, stop dramatising everything,’ Doris said impatiently. ‘You want to thank your lucky stars it wasn’t your home that was blown to bits.’ Her lip curled as she regarded the shabby room. ‘Though it has to be said, it might be an improvement,’ she added.
Peggy saw red, and before she knew it she’d dealt a ringing slap to Doris’s cheek. ‘You bitch,’ she spat. ‘Take that back – or I’ll slap the other one to match.’
Doris cupped her rapidly reddening cheek with her hand. ‘How dare you strike me!’ she gasped.
Peggy’s dander was well and truly up. She gave Doris a shove that sent her stumbling against the bed. ‘And how dare you denigrate me and my home! You’re the rudest, most ungrateful person I’ve had the misfortune to know, and if you don’t mend your ways quick smart, I’ll do more than smack your smug face.’
There was sudden fear in Doris’s eyes as she backed away. ‘Now, Margaret, there’s no need …’
‘And stop calling me Margaret!’ Peggy yelled.
‘But—’
‘I’m not listening to you any more,’ Peggy stormed. ‘This is my home, and I will not have you ordering people about or taking it for granted you can come in here and help yourself to things – even if they are yours. Your attitude is rotten, Doris – and I’ve had enough of it.’
‘Yours is hardly pleasant,’ shouted Doris. ‘And I’m mortified that I’m forced to put up with it.’
‘No one’s forcing you to do anything,’ Peggy shot back. ‘If you don’t like it here, then you can sling your blooming hook and be done with it.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Ron.
Peggy whipped round to see Ron, Harvey and the four girls standing wide-eyed in the doorway. ‘Clear off. This is a private row,’ she said furiously, slamming the door in their faces before turning back to Doris. ‘Not that it will stay private now they’ve all witnessed that,’ she snapped.
Doris had gone a dark red, the mark of Peggy’s fingers visible on her hot cheek. ‘You’ve made it intolerable for me to stay here,’ she said, clearly struggling to regain her dignity in the shame of having witnesses to their angry exchange.
‘No,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘It’s you who’s been intolerable. Bossing everyone about like Lady Muck; demanding things as if this is a blooming hotel and turning up your nose at everything. It’s got to stop.’ The fire went out of her suddenly and she sank wearily onto the bed amongst the scattered clothes. ‘I’m not proud of losing my temper like that, but if you hadn’t been so high-handed and sneering we wouldn’t have had this set-to in the first place.’
Doris’s face worked as she tried to rein in her emotions and come up with a face-saving reply. ‘You really should learn to control your temper, Mar … Peggy,’ she said, gingerly touching her cheek. ‘It’s not ladylike, and violence solves nothing.’
‘That slap has been a long time coming,’ Peggy replied evenly, ‘and you deserved it. Don’t expect me to apologise, either, because hell will freeze over before I do.’
They glared at one another in silence until Peggy broke eye contact and began to gather up the clothing. The row had shaken her to the core, but she was damned if she’d let her sister know that. All she wanted now was an end to it. She grabbed the clothes into a rough bundle and thrust them into her sister’s arms.
‘You’ve got what you came for,’ she said, adding the box containing the fur wrap to the pile. ‘I suggest you have a long, hard think about things before I have to face you again today.’
Peggy didn’t offer to help as Doris wrestled with the unwieldy bundle and tried to turn the doorknob without dropping anything. When the door opened to reveal that the others were still earwigging, she saw Doris turn an even deeper puce and determinedly refused to feel sorry for her.
Ron and the girls couldn’t hide their glee at Doris’s humiliation. They refused to budge, thereby forcing her to push her way through them, and there were smothered giggles as she fled up the stairs.
‘The show’s over,’ Peggy said tightly. ‘And I’ll thank you all to keep what you heard to yourselves.’
Closing the bedroom door on them, she sank back onto the bed and tried to regain her equilibrium. The unpleasant scene, coming so soon after the shock and horror of the bomb attack, had shaken her already unsteady nerves, and Doris’s arrogance and disdain for all she held dear had been the last straw. She’d never lost her temper like that before – and the power of it frightened her. And yet, as her pulse steadied and the anger subsided, she realised the set-to had been inevitable from the moment Doris had moved in.
She regarded the shabby bedroom with its worn linoleum, battered furniture and peeling paintwork. It might not be up to much, but it was her refuge, and if Jim was here, he too would have told Doris to sling her hook. She gave a deep sigh and began to tidy the mess.
As she folded her few remaining clothes and closed the wardrobe door on the empty hangers, she wished circumstances were different, and that Doris could move out. But with the war on, and so many people made homeless, accommodation wasn’t that easy to find, and she couldn’t bear the thought of her sister being forced to share a room in a hostel, or having to bed down in a church hall.
Feeling dispirited, she went to stand by the heavily taped window to watch another squadron of American fighters and bombers head for France. The vibration caused by their powerful engines rattled the rotting window frames and shuddered through the old walls, bringing yet another drift of plaster from the ceiling to settle on the floor.
Peggy bit her lip in consternation. The war still dragged on despite the Allied invasion and the liberation of Rome, and it seemed they still had more of it to contend with. The knowledge that she was stuck with Doris until peace was declared made her even more depressed.
‘I just hope she comes to realise how lucky she is to have a roof over her head,’ she muttered. ‘It might not be as grand as she’s used to, but it’s better than some.’
The rap of the door knocker brought her out of her gloomy thoughts and she hurried into the hall to find old Doctor Sayer greeting Ron and Harvey and looking more like Father Christmas than ever now he’d put on weight and let his silky white beard grow even bushier.
‘My boy Michael is taking morning surgery,’ he explained in his deep baritone voice, ‘and I thought that as Cordelia is getting on a bit, I’d pop in early. Chills can be nasty things for elderly ladies.’
Peggy’s smile was wry, for Dr Sayer was a year older than Cordelia, but thanks to the war, he’d had to come back from retirement. ‘Thank you for taking such trouble,’ she said, leading the way upstairs. ‘I don’t like calling you out when you’re so busy, but I am worried about her.’
Dr Sayer proved to be very sprightly for a man fast approaching his eighty-first year, and he reached the landing without pausing for breath. ‘In here?’ he asked, waving at the open door, and sweeping in before she could reply.
He placed his black bag on the bed and plonked down next to it, making the mattress dip so alarmingly that Cordelia had to grip the blankets to stay on board. ‘Now then, Cordelia,’ he boomed, ‘what’s all this I hear about you not feeling the full ticket?’
‘There’s no need to shout, Herbert Sayer,’ said Cordelia, fiddling with her hearing aid. ‘I don’t want the entire neighbourhood knowing my business.’
He chuckled and dug a stethoscope out of his bag. Waiting for Cordelia to get over her coughing fit, he then listened carefully to her chest, felt the glands in her neck and took her temperature. ‘Hmm. It’s a bit high, old thing,’ he rumbled, putting the thermometer back in its case. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Standing about in water-filled ditches trying to avoid Hitler’s V-1,’ she rasped.
‘Good Lord,’ he breathed. ‘Were you caught up in that?’
Cordelia had another coughing fit and could only nod.
Herbert Sayer dug about in his bag and brought out a bottle of pills and a prescription pad. He scrawled something on the pad, tore off the page and handed it to Peggy. ‘She’s to take one of those pills every four hours, and the Friars’ Balsam will help ease her chest. You know the drill, Peggy. Big bowl, lots of very hot water to infuse the Balsam and a towel placed over the head whilst she inhales the steam.’
‘I am here, you know,’ said Cordelia crossly. ‘And quite capable of following orders.’
He patted her hand. ‘I’ll be back this evening to check on you, but should you want me, day or night, just get Peggy to telephone the surgery and one of us will come.’
‘Is it very serious?’ asked a fretful Peggy.
‘Not yet. I think we’ve caught it in time before it turns to something more complex, but she will need a close eye kept on her for a day or two.’ He smiled at Cordelia. ‘Now you rest, take in plenty of fluids, and we’ll soon have you up and about causing mischief again.’
There was a gleam in Cordelia’s eyes which bore no relation to her high temperature. ‘It’s not me who causes mischief, Herbert Sayer. I heard all about you and the widow at the golf club.’
He twirled his waxed moustache and wriggled his fine white eyebrows, grinning broadly. ‘Your chap Bertie’s too sharp for his own good,’ he said, rising from the bed. ‘You really shouldn’t believe everything he tells you.’ He winked at Peggy. ‘I’ll see you both later.’
Peggy was most intrigued to hear about the doctor’s dalliance, for the old man had been on his own for many years since his wife died. Cordelia obviously knew more than she was letting on, so once she was feeling brighter, Peggy decided she’d try to find out more.
After she’d shown the doctor out, she told the others what he’d said and then ran back upstairs with a jug of water. She waited for Cordelia to swallow the pill and then dashed back to the kitchen to make her fresh tea and warm the porridge. It was barely past eight o’clock. At this rate, she thought wryly, I’ll be worn out by the time I have to leave for work.
‘Right,’ said Ron as she returned once more to the kitchen and dropped thankfully into a chair to relax with a cigarette and cup of tea. ‘You’re to stay there until you have to leave for work. Young Fran’s gone back to bed for a couple of hours and Sarah’s left for Cliffe estate, but we’ll manage. I’ll keep Daisy amused for now, get the prescription from the chemist the minute it’s open, and do the shopping if you’ve got a list.’
‘It’s on the table,’ said Peggy, ‘but with Cordelia so poorly I think it might be best if I telephoned Solly and warned him I can’t come in today.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Ron sternly. ‘Rita and I will keep an eye out for her until lunchtime, and Fran has promised to take over this afternoon.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ Peggy protested. ‘It’s her one day off, and I’m sure she’s made plans to meet up with Robert later.’
‘She’s ’appy to do it, Aunty Peg,’ said Ivy through a mouthful of toast. ‘Grandma Cordy needs us to rally around, and I’m sure Robert won’t mind coming ’ere for his tea.’ She gulped down the last of her hurried breakfast. ‘Talking of which, me and Rita are in charge of cooking tonight, so there’s no need to get into a flap if you’re late back from visiting Danuta.’
Peggy looked at her askance, knowing only too well that Ivy could burn water.
Ivy giggled. ‘It’s vegetable stew, Aunty Peg, and even I can manage not to ruin that.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on it, so don’t worry, Aunt Peg,’ said Rita. ‘I reckon you’ve had enough drama for one day.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like your Australian,’ Peggy teased, warmed by their loving kindness.
Rita turned pink. ‘Peter Ryan is not my Australian. He’s just a friend.’
‘Yeah, tell that to the marines,’ retorted Ivy, dragging on her coat and grabbing her gas mask. ‘I seen the way you eyes ’im when you thinks no one’s looking.’ She dodged Rita’s swiping hand and giggled. ‘I’ll see you all after me shift.’
Rita busied herself at the sink. It had only been a year since her lovely young Matthew Champion had been shot down and killed on a raid over Germany, and although her loss was still clear in unguarded moments, she’d begun to slowly blossom and enjoy life again now she’d met Peter Ryan. Peggy had fretted that this new attraction of Rita’s was on the rebound, and that the very likeable Australian might prove too good to be true, and end up hurting her. But these past weeks had proved her wrong, and she was glad of it.
‘So, what are we going to do about Doris?’ asked Ron, busy helping Daisy with a jigsaw puzzle he’d made for her the previous Christmas.
‘We are doing nothing,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘What was said was in the heat of the moment, and of course I’m not about to throw her out.’
‘Then she needs to pull her silk stockings up and behave,’ said Ron. ‘I’ll not be having her upset you like that again.’
Peggy patted his hand whilst Rita clattered dishes in the sink. ‘Thanks, Ron, but I’ll deal with Doris. You concentrate on making things right with Rosie.’