It had been over a week since Bel had lain wide awake in her bed in the middle of the night and asked herself if she was starting to have feelings for Joe. Her life, which had finally just started to level out, had once again suddenly been whipped up into a frenetic spin, like one of Lucille’s wooden spinning tops she loved to see zigzagging across the back yard; only it had been several days now and the spinning did not show any signs of abating.
She had actually felt physically dizzy with fear.
Bel had tried telling herself that she must be having some kind of strange breakdown – a delayed reaction to the death of her husband. The thought of her being mentally unstable had bizarrely given her some comfort, for it was a far better prospect than harbouring romantic feelings towards her brother-in-law.
Whenever Joe went out on Home Guard duty, she was both relieved as well as forlorn. Relieved that she didn’t have to deal with her feelings, and forlorn because she wanted to be with him. There was a part of her, a part she didn’t seem able to control, that really wanted more than anything for him to stay in and simply be with her and Lucille, playing games, chatting and laughing. But she had also started to feel incredibly awkward around Joe, and she was sure he had picked up on it. She had tried to behave normally, or at least act the same way she had been with him these past few months, but she was aware her attempts at conversation were coming across as forced and stilted.
This evening she really was going to have to act her socks off as the whole household was going to a party next door at Beryl’s. It was her birthday, and Agnes had decided it needed to be celebrated. Agnes had made one of her scrumptious Victoria sponges, and a big mince and onion plate pie, and Bel had made a mountain of sandwiches with a variety of fillings from a load of meat offcuts that Arthur had got from the market in town.
The house was presently buzzing with the sound of Vera Lynn’s singing ‘We’ll Meet Again’ blaring from the wireless in the kitchen, and doors were banging open and shut as they all hurried to get ready, enjoying the frivolity of getting dressed up and putting on their glad rags. Agnes was wearing her hair down for a change, and had put on her best little black dress, and was bustling to and from next door with trays of party food. The cake, now covered in little white candles, would be brought out when it was time to sing Beryl ‘Happy Birthday’. Surprisingly Agnes was being helped by Pearl, who was managing to puff on a cigarette, while balancing two plates of food on each arm like a skilled silver service waitress.
‘Don’t you dare let any fag ash get in that food!’ Agnes shouted out as they passed each other on the pavement outside.
Arthur and Joe were already next door, helping to move tables and create space for the guests. In the midst of it all, Tramp was running around, partly deranged by the lingering smell of the minced beef and the cold meats, and on alert for any more scraps that might be accidentally on purpose dropped by both Bel and Agnes.
Sensing the excitement pervading the Elliot household, Lucille was tearing around the house like a tiny whirlwind, shouting out, ‘Party! Party!’ And Bel was doing something she had not done since Teddy had died – she was putting on a little make-up.
‘Lucille, calm down!’ she shouted out to the blur of yellow she caught running past the bedroom door. Lucille was still obsessed with wearing her sunflower-yellow pinafore dress, which now only just fitted her. It was remarkable the dress had withstood yet another wash and repair, but there was no denying the time was nearing when it would either no longer fit Lucille, or it would have to be worn one last time before being chucked into the rag box. Bel dreaded the day; could well foresee her little girl’s distraught reaction.
‘I’ve got her,’ Polly shouted from the kitchen, as Tramp let out a little bark as if to confirm Lucille had been brought under control. ‘And, by the way, you and Ma are going to have to stop feeding this dog so much – it’s getting fat!’
Bel turned back to the mirror on her dressing-room table. She applied a smudge of lipstick, and brushed a little mascara on to her already very dark eyelashes. She had pulled out an old dress she hadn’t worn for so long she could not recall the last time she had put it on. It was her favourite party dress, and she was hoping its floral pattern and bright colours would hide the shameful thoughts and feelings she had been experiencing of late – and was now having to batten down on a daily basis.
‘Mummy! Mummy! Go party!’ Lucille came barrelling into the bedroom, along with a highly excited Tramp.
‘All right, little lady.’ Bel looked down at her daughter, who had already managed to get a mark on her freshly laundered dress, but who looked so happy and expectant she hadn’t the heart to reprimand her.
‘Mummy just needs to get her dress on and we’ll be ready to go.’
Bel took off her pale pink cotton housecoat, slipped into her knee-length V-neck tea dress, and stood and looked at her reflection.
For some reason she thought she would look different, that her improper thoughts would somehow distort her looks; but they didn’t. She looked the same as she always did.
‘Eee, Beryl, you are a funny one!’ Agnes was chuckling away with her friend, laughing at some reminiscence from the past. Nearly all the guests had arrived and the little house party was now in full swing – aided by Jimmy and Sheila’s home-made wine and a bottle of port Beryl had scraped the money together to buy. People were spilling out of the front lounge and into the hallway, or stood nattering in the kitchen, nibbling on sandwiches, or relishing slices of Agnes’s thick-crusted meat pie.
Beryl’s three older boys were serving in the Royal Navy, and so what had been their shared bedroom had been converted back to its original use – that of a living room. Beryl, like Agnes, didn’t allow smoking in the house, so those who liked a puff were standing in the back yard, which was where Pearl had been stationed most of the time, glass of port in one hand and fag in another. She had spent much of the evening chatting away to Ronald, for whom Pearl had wangled an invite at the last moment, mainly due to her putting Beryl on the spot and catching her in a good mood. Both Beryl and Agnes had observed Pearl’s growing closeness to their widowed neighbour, and had speculated whether Pearl genuinely liked the man, or if she was more interested in his seemingly limitless supply of cigarettes.
Joe and Arthur were standing together, both looking a little uncomfortable but not unhappy. The two men of the household had also made an effort to look smart: Arthur was in a black three-piece suit that normally only saw the light of day for weddings or funerals, and must have been at least as old as his grandson as he’d worn it to Tommy’s christening, and then again a short while later to his daughter’s funeral. Joe had put on his best trousers, which were still a little loose on him, despite Agnes’s best attempts to fatten him up, as well as a starched white shirt, the sleeves of which were slightly puffed up thanks to his father’s shirt-sleeve holders, which had been given to him and Teddy to share when they had become young men. He had also been cajoled by Polly into wearing a navy blue tie that, Bel noticed, exactly matched the colour of his eyes.
Joe had invited Maria to the party, but she was not there as she hadn’t been able to get out of her WAA duties. She had argued the case with the head driver in charge of the rota that there had not been any air raids now for well over five weeks, and all she would end up doing would be sitting on her backside the entire evening, but her words had fallen on deaf ears, and she’d had to work – party or not.
Just after seven, there was a knock on the front door, which had been left slightly ajar. It was Gloria, who had come armed with a bottle of gin that had been left untouched in her cupboard since she had found out she was expecting.
‘Over here!’ Polly shouted out over the heads of the other guests. She had positioned herself by the living-room doorway so that she could see Gloria as soon as she arrived, for her workmate did not know anyone at the party other than herself.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ Gloria said, pushing the bottle of gin into Polly’s hand.
‘Don’t worry – you haven’t missed the cake!’ Polly laughed. ‘Come in and I’ll introduce you to Beryl. You must have known – her favourite tipple is gin … And then I’ll find Bel and the rest of the clan.’
Ten minutes later, Polly took Gloria into the kitchen to find Bel and Agnes, who were just starting to light the candles on Beryl’s cake.
‘Oh, Gloria! Lovely to meet you. You both!’ Bel said, looking down at Gloria’s sizeable bump. ‘Any feelings as to whether it’s a girl or a boy?’
Gloria laughed. ‘If it’s a girl she’s going to give Martha a run for her money, that’s for sure. If I get any bigger, I think I’ll pop.’
Bel chuckled; she’d met Martha briefly on the night Rosie had been attacked, and had been somewhat taken aback by her outstanding physique.
Agnes smiled as she quickly blew out the burning matchstick. ‘Well, as long as it’s not twins!’ Her jocular words were followed by an immediate look of sadness, which they had all caught pass across Agnes’s face. Sometimes, for just a second, Agnes’s brain played a cruel trick on her and she forgot her son was dead; believed he was still alive and would be walking through her front door any day soon.
‘All right, Bel, get those pipes of yours in tune and start us off,’ Agnes commanded as she forced light-heartedness back into her voice.
Bel had also been thrown momentarily by the mention of twins, but she too pushed any mournful thoughts away as she started singing, ‘Happy Birthday to you …’
Agnes led the way, with Bel by her side, and Tramp snaking between her legs and nearly tripping her up; Polly and Gloria were at the rear. Bel’s sweet, melodic voice quietened the chatter of the party, and the talk turned to song as everyone started to join in.
Beryl was standing looking a little self-conscious and more than a little tearful; her teenage daughters, Audrey and Iris, were singing by her side, daintily holding the half-full glasses of wine their mother had allowed them.
As the whole party raised their glasses and toasted Beryl a ‘happy and healthy future’ – as well as the safe return of her two boys – Joe couldn’t drag his eyes away from Bel, who he thought looked particularly radiant this evening.
The couple of glasses of wine that Bel had hoped would help cloak her unwanted feelings had only managed to make her feel a little giddy and light-headed, and had given her a carefree, slightly flushed look.
As if sensing that she had become the focus of attention, Bel looked up and found Joe staring at her.
She held his gaze for a second before glancing down at the floor; she felt herself blush with embarrassment. When she lifted her head up again, Joe was talking to Arthur, and Beryl was blowing out the candles and closing her eyes to show she was following orders and making a wish.
‘Do you want to get the plates and we’ll cut the cake up?’ Agnes suggested. Bel panicked that her mother-in-law had seen something in the way she had stared at Joe, and she hurried out into the kitchen to fetch the crockery, glad of an excuse to go and compose herself. When she returned, though, she was mortified to see that her brother-in-law was being introduced to Gloria.
Get a grip, Bel reprimanded herself. Of course Joe needed to meet Gloria – after all, he was going to be a part of her baby’s life due to the very fact he lived here and was family.
‘So, Bel’s going to be looking after your little un when you go back to work.’ He was leaning on his stick, which Bel knew meant his leg was starting to pain him. Gloria nodded and smiled at Bel as she handed Beryl’s best dessert plates over to Agnes.
‘Well, you couldn’t want for anyone better,’ Joe continued. ‘Bel was born to be a mum. She adores children.’
‘I’ve heard you’re a natural with little Lucille too,’ Gloria said. ‘Polly’s told us all about her niece and how she totally adores you.’
Joe laughed. ‘Aye, but I don’t know if I’ve done anything to deserve such hero-worship!’
Gloria looked at both Bel and Joe, who were standing next to each other, when all of a sudden Lucille, on hearing her name, forced her head between her mother and uncle’s legs and looked up at Gloria with her striking sea-blue eyes.
‘Oh, she’s a bonny lass, isn’t she?’ Gloria said, captivated by the cherub-like face framed by a crown of corn-coloured curls.
‘And the spit of her mam too!’ Gloria looked at Bel, and then at Joe, and said, without thinking, ‘Blimey, you can see the family resemblance, that’s for sure.’
Joe smiled. He had seen his brother and, therefore, himself in Lucille. There was no denying it. And he had lost count of the number of times people had assumed his niece was his daughter. Lucille never seemed to mind the mistake made by strangers, and he could have sworn she had scowled a few times when he had corrected people.
‘Here you are, Glor! I know it’s what you’ve been waiting for!’ Polly chuckled as she handed over a plate on which there was a huge slice of cake.
‘She’s not really come to meet you and Ma,’ she said to Bel. ‘This woman is driven by one thing and one thing only at the moment.’
Bel laughed and started to chat away about her many different cravings when she was expecting Lucille. Joe stood for a little while, enjoying hearing Bel chatter on, although there was a moment when he felt sad for her too. Bel had only ever really wanted to be a mum, and when Teddy had been killed, she not only lost her husband, but also the chance of having more brothers and sisters for Lucille.
His thoughts were broken by the appearance of Pearl, who brought with her the strong smell of cigarette smoke. As usual he noticed the change it provoked in Bel – the wrinkle of her nose, followed by the look she gave her mother that told Joe she was trying hard to disguise the rising irritation her mother always seemed to cause her to feel. Knowing that Bel would ignore Pearl and pretend she hadn’t noticed her for as long as possible, Joe stepped in with the introductions.
‘Gloria this is Pearl, Bel’s ma. Pearl, this is Gloria. She works with Polly down the yard.’
Pearl stretched out a thin bare arm and shook Gloria’s free hand, which had become quite swollen of late due to her pregnancy. She had been forced to take her wedding ring off, which hadn’t bothered her in the least; she was glad to have the blasted thing off her finger, but she had noticed people looking at her bump and then down at her hand and making the assumption she was a wanton, fallen woman, which, if truth be told, she was, although only she and the women welders knew that.
Pearl, ever the eagle eye, saw the ringless hand and could hardly get her words out quickly enough. ‘So, the da’s not here this evening?’
The softness left Gloria’s eyes as she simply answered, ‘No.’
Bel glowered at her mother, then ushered Gloria off to see if there was any more cake left and to meet Arthur.
‘So, Joe, how’s all the Home Guard malarkey going?’
Joe forced a smile. He had heard Pearl take the mickey out of the Home Guard, or what had been known as the Local Defence Volunteers, calling them the ‘Look, Duck and Vanish brigade’, but that didn’t bother him, nor did her cattiness surprise him.
‘So, they dinnit even give yer any pay? Is that right?’ she asked.
‘No, Pearl, that’s what’s meant by volunteering.’ Joe looked over her bottle-blonde hair to see Bel giving Gloria her own slice of birthday cake. That was Bel. She’d give her last penny to someone if she thought they needed it more than her. It was what he loved about her. When he looked back at Pearl, he struggled to put the two of them together. How could a mother and daughter be so completely different in just about every single way?
‘But,’ Pearl seemed intent on pursuing the subject of earnings, ‘the army must have paid you something, and given you some kind of pension due to you being injured ’n all?’
‘Mm,’ Joe said, before spotting Lucille charging through from the hallway and tripping over the rug in quite spectacular fashion. There was a potent second’s silence before Lucille’s brain registered that she had hurt herself. And then came the ear-splitting siren of a long-drawn-out cry, followed by tears, sobs and snot.
Joe quickly hobbled over to the mass of yellow laid out on the floor. He bent over as best he could. On realising that her Doey was there, Lucille flung her arms out as though she was about to drown and never surface again.
‘Doooeey!’ she cried out, but already her elongated wail had dropped down a notch as Joe hauled her up from the floor and held her as if she was a baby chimp in his arms. Her little chest heaved as she sobbed.
‘I think this little girl is what you call TOT – totally overtired.’ Bel appeared behind Joe, brushing her daughter’s curls away from her angry red face.
‘Bedtime,’ Bel said the word in such a way it was clear there was no argument to be had.
Lucille’s sobbing scaled down to a gentle snuffling.
‘“Lambton Worm”,’ she demanded, a small bubble of salty tears and saliva forming as she opened her mouth.
Bel went to take her daughter from Joe, but the little girl clung to him like a limpet. ‘No! Doey! “Lambton Worm”!’
Bel looked at Joe, who immediately answered her unasked question.
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I love “The Lambton Worm”! I think I could even read it backwards if needed.’ His laughter was mirrored by his little niece, now tear-free and revelling in getting her own way.
As Joe carried Lucille out of Beryl’s house, with Bel following behind, Gloria and Agnes watched them leave.
‘If I didn’t know better I’d say they look like a lovely couple,’ Gloria said, taking a bite out of her slice of birthday cake.
Agnes looked pensive; she neither agreed nor disagreed.
‘I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged away from the party, Joe,’ Bel said as they walked back over the threshold of their own home and into the quietness of the empty house. As she heard herself speak, though, she wanted to kick herself. She sounded so polite, as if she was speaking to a stranger, not someone she had known since she was a small child.
Joe looked at Bel and chortled. ‘Course I don’t mind. I would have thought you’d have guessed I was glad of an excuse to leave …You’ve done me a favour. I’ve never been a real party person. And I can’t see that changing now.’
Joe thought how blind Bel was not to see how much he loved – and desired – to be alone with her, although he was pleased that was the case, as it worried him sick that his passion for her would show through. So far he had somehow just about managed to keep his true feelings for her hidden – and, more importantly, in check.
He felt guilty, of course, that he still felt this way, despite starting up his courtship again with Maria. He had hoped that by being with a woman he liked and was attracted to that it would somehow dissolve the love he had for Bel.
Joe turned his attention back to Lucille, whose eyelids were already starting to droop, but kept flickering open as she struggled to keep awake.
‘Unlike this little party-goer. There’s going to be no stopping her when she gets older. I think you’re going to have your work cut out.’
Bel let out a loud sigh. ‘Tell me about it. She’s a handful as it is.’
Joe looked at Bel, who appeared a little dishevelled. Her blonde curls kept bobbing back across her right eye, despite Bel’s repeated attempts at pushing them back, and the mascara she had applied earlier had smudged a little. Joe felt the return of the passion he had hoped to have conquered by seeing Maria. But it had remained resolute. Undefeated.
‘Come on then, sleepy chops, let’s get you into bed,’ Joe said to Lucille as he hobbled down the hallway and nudged open Bel’s bedroom door with his back, before walking across to the cot and swinging his little baby monkey into her crib. Bel followed him into the room, and he moved out of the way as Bel took off her daughter’s little pinafore dress and vest.
‘Put your arms in,’ she said gently, as she tugged Lucille’s white cotton nightie over her head, and pulled open the sleeves so that she could more easily poke her pudgy little arms through. Lucille then cosied up into her bed as Bel tucked her in.
‘Snug as a bug in a rug,’ Joe said, sitting down on the side of Bel’s bed – the shooting pains in his leg had been unrelenting for the past hour. As soon as he stretched his leg out, the sharp stabbing ebbed away.
As he watched Bel leaning down to give her daughter a goodnight kiss, he thought he had never seen such a perfect profile. Her ivory smooth skin looked almost angelic, surrounded by a halo of naturally blonde hair.
As Bel straightened up, Lucille reached for her raggedy bunny, pulled it up to her cheek and started sucking her thumb.
‘Lambton,’ she managed to mumble.
Bel turned and rolled her eyes, mouthing, ‘Sorry.’
Joe shook his head as if to say, Don’t be, and Bel bent down to retrieve the tatty book from under the cot. She sat down next to Joe on the bed, like she always did when it came to reading Lucille her bedtime story, but she felt awkward, like she was with a man she didn’t really know. Because of Joe’s nights spent training the area’s Auxiliary Units, this was the first time he had read to his niece since Bel’s realisation that she had feelings for him.
Bel straightened her back and sat ramrod straight on the bed as Joe took the book from her clenched hand and opened it at the first page, which showed a cartoon-like figure of a knight in shining armour slaying a giant dragon-like worm, which had wrapped itself around a medieval castle.
Joe looked at Bel curiously, before starting, as he always did with the verse, ‘“Hush now, had your gobs, I’ll tell you an awful story.”’
Joe quietly read the story, but after a few minutes his words were interspersed by the sound of Lucille’s gentle snoring.
‘I think she’s out for the count.’ Joe turned to face Bel.
Bel had been thinking how her daughter’s slumber was the complete opposite of how she herself felt, for even though it was getting late and the room was warm thanks to an uncannily balmy day, she felt wide awake. Almost alert. She had her hands clasped on her lap and had been nervously shifting about so as to make sure no part of her body was touching her brother-in-law.
Joe looked at Bel, and again felt the rise of desire – as he always did whenever he was in physical proximity to Bel. It seemed so calm and quiet here in the room. The little side lamp had enabled him to read, but the blackout curtains had darkened the room and even shut out the light from the night’s full moon.
‘Are you all right, Bel? You seem … I don’t know. Different?’
Bel felt her whole body flush as she looked at Joe. Her eyes seemed to lock into his deep, soulful eyes; his enlarged black pupils made them look almost inky blue in the partial darkness. She felt her heart start hammering, and her breathing became shallow as her lips parted slightly, but no words were forthcoming.
Joe regarded Bel. Her normally pale face was flushed pink, her perfect Cupid’s bow lips looked full and sanguine red. Her petite but womanly body was so close he would just have to lean forward and they would be touching. His eyes, for a moment, strayed to the V-neck of her pretty dress, which was revealing a glimpse of her full bosom, before he looked back up and into her vibrant, sparkling eyes.
And that was when he saw it.
The desire.
Her desire.
Without thinking, Joe leant towards Bel, and with the utmost gentleness he slowly kissed her lips.
Just the once. But he didn’t pull away.
And neither did Bel.
Joe felt his eyes close as his mouth once again found Bel’s. And this time he felt the movement of her soft lips respond and kiss him back. Equally gently. Equally softly. And equally passionately.
When they opened their eyes and their lips parted, they were both aware of each other’s breathing.
Bel felt as if she was in a dream; she had become lost in that short moment of sensuous intimacy. And she had wanted to stay there for ever.
But as her eyes opened and focused on Joe, her body filled with sheer panic.
What had she done?
‘Oh my God!’ she said in a harsh, shocked whisper. ‘That didn’t happen. It cannot happen!’
Joe had never seen such fear in Bel’s eyes before. It pulled him to his senses, and he stood up.
‘Sorry,’ he stuttered. ‘I’m so sorry, Bel.’
And with that he immediately turned and left the room.