As Agnes and Arthur walked along Tatham Street, smiles spread across both their faces as they watched Bel and Joe give in to Lucille’s demands and, holding on to her arms, they swung her little body off the ground amidst squeals of delight.
As they approached their front door, though, their faces dropped a little as they saw Pearl staggering around the corner from Murton Street, her blonde hair resembling a bird’s nest, and her scrawny arms struggling to heave her suitcase along the pavement. Bits of her clothing were trying to break free from the sides of the case, which had been wrapped up and tied with a thin bit of rope she’d been given by one of the station porters from whom she had sought help.
Spotting her grandmother Lucille immediately let out a loud cry of, ‘Pearl!’
Hearing her granddaughter’s excited greeting, Pearl looked up and saw Lucille bobbing between Bel and Joe. She gave up dragging her luggage, and straightened her aching back. ‘Ah, my little Lu-Lu,’ she said, catching her breath. As she spoke her suitcase toppled over, causing it to break free from the confines of the loosely tied rope and release its cargo on to the pavement.
Bel and Joe let go of an impatient Lucille, tugging to be released from their grip so she could run to her grandma.
For the first time ever, Bel felt glad to see her mother. During the air raid she’d had a worried, unsettled feeling about her mum, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Seeing her here now, safe and unharmed, she was hit by a wave of relief, which was followed more or less straight away by an annoyance that she still cared so much for her mother.
Bel looked at her mum’s abandoned baggage. She had sensed this morning when she’d seen her ma puffing away in the back yard, looking suspiciously thoughtful, that something was up, and she realised now that her mother had clearly been intending to go back down to Portsmouth – back to whatever, or whoever, she had originally run away from – and she hadn’t been going to tell Bel.
‘You off somewhere?’ Bel asked, looking down at the open-mouthed luggage, tongues of clothes lolling out on to the street.
‘Nah,’ Pearl said, looking at her daughter. Her tone had struck its usual gravelly harshness, but the way she looked at Bel was curiously soft; try as she might to disguise it, the love she felt for her daughter had managed to dodge her defences and had momentarily shone through.
‘I changed my mind,’ she said, picking her granddaughter up and giving her a big cuddle. ‘Couldn’t leave this cheeky little monkey behind,’ she said, looking at Lucille, who was giggling and had started to play with the loose straggles of blonde hair on her grandma’s head.
Bel looked at her mother but didn’t say anything. For once she didn’t feel like throwing an angry retort back at her.
She was not quite convinced her mother’s words were genuine and, as always, Bel had a sneaking suspicion that although there might be a sliver of truth in her ma’s purported motive for staying, she would bet there was also some other reason why she was still here and not heading back down south.
But, whatever it was, Bel knew that her mother did love her, or at least as much as Pearl’s hardened heart and self-obsessive nature would allow her to love anyone, and, in return, Bel could no longer deny the love she felt for her ma.
And she realised now that, despite everything that was annoying and dislikeable about her mother, she didn’t want to lose her – either as a casualty of war, or to whoever was expecting her back in Portsmouth.
Bel watched as her mother carried Lucille past her and Joe, following Agnes and Arthur into the house.
She was still looking when Pearl cast a glance back. ‘Do us a favour, Isabelle,’ she shouted over her shoulder, ‘and bring me bag in, will ya?’
As always with Pearl, it was a demand more than a request, for she didn’t wait for a reply as she stepped over the threshold of their home, still carrying a giggling Lucille on her hip.
Joe looked at Bel and shook his head. Bel grimaced in response.
Bel knew Joe was not quite as relieved about her mother’s return as she herself was, but there was no malice in his demeanour, just a weary resignation that this clearly meant that Pearl was to continue to be a feature in their lives.
After bundling Pearl’s clothes back into her broken suitcase, Joe hoiked it under his arm, and he and Bel both trundled into the house, where they found Agnes tearing around, checking every room and shouting out her daughter’s name.
‘Pol? You home?’ It was half question, half plea.
But there was no reply. There was no one at home. The house was just as they had left it – empty. Polly wasn’t anywhere in sight.
As Joe dumped Pearl’s broken suitcase and belongings on the kitchen table, he grabbed his mother’s arm.
‘Ma, why don’t you put us a brew on?’ Joe suggested, knowing his mother had to keep busy or she would go out of her mind.
‘I’m going to go to Thompson’s, check she’s all right … which she will be,’ he added, trying to sound as positive as possible, but worried sick himself as it had looked and sounded as though the bombs had been dropped on the north side.
Agnes looked at her son and knew he was right; she had to keep calm, like the posters kept telling everyone to do – ‘keep calm and carry on’. The only problem was she wasn’t sure she would be able to carry on if anything happened to another one of her bairns.
She knew her son was right, though, and they all needed a cup of tea with perhaps a little tipple of something strong in it. She was sure she had some brandy stashed in the back of one of her cupboards.
As Agnes followed her son’s orders and traipsed her way into the scullery, she stopped in her tracks – inhaled a deep glug of air – and then declared to the house:
‘Oh my goodness!’ She let out a chortle of disbelief. ‘Everyone come and look at this!’ she shouted.
Arthur, Pearl, Joe, Bel and Lucille ended up in a bottleneck in the pantry doorway, curious to see what was causing Agnes to sound so shocked, but – judging by the tone of her voice – also a little amused.
And then they saw it.
As they peered into the small galley-like room, at the very end, cuddled up in the corner, and lying on a yellow bed made up of Lucille’s favourite little pinafore dress, was Tramp – along with half a dozen tiny puppies.
‘Trampie!’ Lucille burst into gleeful excitement.
Bel laughed. ‘Well, that’s one way of finally getting her out of that raggedy dress.’
Joe put his arm around Bel and pulled her close.
Agnes was just telling Lucille she would have to wait before cuddling the puppies as they were all happily nuzzled into their mother’s belly, when Polly’s voice could be heard shouting down the hallway.
‘Ma! I’m home!’ Agnes practically fell over trying to get to the front door to greet her daughter. Tears of relief poured down her face.
‘Thank God!’ she cried, clasping her hands together as if she really were offering up her thanks to the heavens above.
She flung her arms round Polly, who hugged her mother back, equally relieved to find their house was still standing and, moreover, that everyone in it was alive and well.
‘And I’ve brought someone special back to show you,’ she said, turning round.
Agnes’s mouth dropped open and a huge smile spread across her face, followed by another burst of tears.
‘Ah, Gloria – you’ve had your baby!’ she said, stepping forward to take the little baby from Gloria’s arms.
Behind her stood the women welders: Rosie, Dorothy, Angie, Hannah and Martha. They all had identical tear streaks running down their filthy faces.
‘A girl?’ Agnes asked.
The women all nodded in unison.
‘Oh, she’s beautiful,’ Agnes gasped.
Agnes looked from the women and then back down at the perfect little baby swaddled in what she thought looked like a pair of overalls.
‘Name?’ She was still a little breathless from the dam of tears she was trying desperately to hold back.
Gloria leant in to look at her baby daughter, touching her cheek gently and smiling, thinking how much she looked like Jack.
‘Hope,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Hope.’