‘Morning,’ Rosie said, reaching up to the counter of the timekeeper’s cabin and taking her card from Alfie. ‘Good Christmas?’
‘Aye, it was that!’ Alfie was beaming from ear to ear. ‘What a wedding eh?’
Rosie smiled her agreement. Polly and Tommy’s nuptials had given a lot of people a lot of pleasure, for a variety of reasons. Alfie, she knew, had been cock-a-hoop at being able to spend so much time with Kate, despite the fact that everyone had wanted to congratulate her on creating the most fabulous wedding dress, as well as ask her where she had learnt her trade – a question Kate had become adept at avoiding. No one was to know that the woman they were calling the town’s ‘very own Coco Chanel’ had once been a beggar and worn nothing but rags.
Walking into the yard, Rosie could see that there were still patches of snow here and there, on the cranes that had been resting these past few days, and on the decks of the cargo vessels docked by the quayside.
‘Rosie!’
Turning round, she saw Hannah, the squad’s little bird, and Olly hurrying towards her.
‘You two are in early?’ she said.
‘Yes, we wanted to get in before Basil. Give the place a tidy up,’ said Olly.
‘It was left in a bit of a mess on Christmas Eve,’ added Hannah.
‘Drawing-office Christmas party,’ Olly explained, brushing his blond mop of hair back with one hand.
‘Ahh,’ Rosie said, not that she could imagine the team of draughtsmen Hannah and Olly worked with having a knees-up, let alone one raucous enough to leave a mess; they were all incredibly studious and rather strait-laced. Probably why Hannah and Olly fitted in so well.
‘Did you both enjoy the wedding?’ Rosie asked, although she already knew the answer. Who hadn’t?
Hannah and Olly nodded and gave each other a shy look. They’d been inseparable all evening. Rosie didn’t think Olly had let go of Hannah’s hand once. She wondered how long it would be before the two got engaged.
When they reached the drawing office, Rosie looked at Hannah.
‘I’m guessing you’ve not heard any more news?’ Rosie didn’t have to say about what – or whom. Ever since Hannah had told them about the concentration camp her parents had been taken to, they’d been expecting the worst. Not that anyone would admit it. At least not to Hannah. They’d agreed it was important she kept her hopes up.
‘No.’ Hannah’s face clouded over. ‘Aunty Rina says it’s much harder to find out anything about the Auschwitz camp. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I wish they were still at the Theresienstadt ghetto. At least the Red Cross and the odd journalist were being allowed in there occasionally. Not like at Auschwitz.’
Rosie’s heart really did go out to Hannah. It was a good job she had her aunty Rina and her work at the yard.
‘See you all in the canteen at lunchtime?’ Hannah asked.
‘Definitely,’ Rosie said, turning and making her way across the yard.
She’d always loved her work here at Thompson’s, from her very first day as an apprentice, but she’d been a loner then, her gender making her the odd one out. Over the past two and a half years, since she had been tasked with training up her squad of women welders, she had grown to love her work for different reasons – for the friendship it afforded her and, though none of them would admit it outright, because of the love they had for each other.
Approaching their workstation, she was surprised to see that Martha was already there and had got the five-gallon barrel fire going.
‘What a luxury – first day back and greeted by a red-hot fire,’ Rosie said, dumping her haversack on the ground.
Martha poked the coals with a pair of metal tongs normally used to heat up rivets.
‘Thought I’d come in early. Get a nice fire going. It’s brass monkeys, as Angie would say.’
‘Cooee!’
Martha and Rosie turned to see Angie and Dorothy marching across the yard, arm in arm.
‘Talk of the devil,’ Martha said. She stuck her hand up by way of a greeting.
‘I’m surprised to see you two in so early,’ Rosie said, splaying her hands in front of the fire.
‘Yeah,’ Martha chipped in, ‘thought you’d both still be hungover.’
‘No, Martha, dear,’ Dorothy said. ‘We had all day yesterday to recover from our festive overindulgences. Didn’t we, Ange?’
Angie rolled her eyes heavenward.
‘We did, indeed, Dor.’ She swung her boxed-up gas mask and holdall off her shoulder and put them on the long wooden workbench. ‘It’s just my ears that need to recover.’
‘From?’ Martha asked.
‘From Miss Oh my God I’m so in love.’ Angie nodded over at Dorothy, who was pulling her flask out of her canvas duffle bag.
‘Toby?’ Rosie guessed.
Angie nodded, her face pure weariness. ‘I think I might go mad if I hear his name one more time.’
Dorothy had met Toby on Christmas Eve, when she and Angie had gone to Lily’s to drop off George’s uniform. Toby had turned up at the same time to give Peter’s letter to Rosie.
Dorothy looked at Angie, Martha and Rosie.
‘I was really going to try and be very demure about it all.’
She took a deep breath and clasped her hands.
‘But I can’t.’
Another deep inhalation, then she declared, ‘Oh. My. God. I am soooo in love!’
They all burst out laughing.
Dorothy looked totally affronted.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
‘You!’ Martha said. ‘You’ve only known him five minutes.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Dorothy said. ‘When you know, you know.’ She looked at Rosie for backup. ‘Don’t you?’
Rosie frowned and nodded at the same time. She had fallen in love with Peter straight away, only it had taken her several months to admit it.
‘Am I right in thinking Toby had to go back up north on Boxing Day?’
Dorothy’s face immediately dropped. She pulled a glum expression and nodded.
‘Scotland?’ Martha asked.
Dorothy nodded again.
‘Whereabouts in Scotland?’ Rosie was curious. She knew Toby had had something to do with Peter’s recruitment by a part of the British army that apparently didn’t exist.
‘No idea,’ Dorothy said, deadpan. ‘He said he’d have to kill me if he told me.’
Martha looked horrified.
‘She’s only kidding yer, dafty.’ Angie nudged Martha. ‘He didn’t tell Dor ’cos what he’s doing is all very hush-hush ’n he knars it’s a physical impossibility for Dor to keep her trap shut. Even if she wants to, she can’t.’
Dorothy put her hands on her hips. She opened her mouth and shut it again.
‘I’m speechless,’ she said eventually.
‘’Cos what I just said is one hundred per cent right,’ Angie declared.
Dorothy scowled at her flatmate. ‘Well, at least I talk to my best mate.’ She looked at Rosie and Martha. ‘And I don’t keep everything to myself, like some people.’ She glared at Angie. ‘Even the Gestapo would have a job getting any information out of Angie here about a certain someone.’
‘Quentin?’ Martha asked. They had all been surprised to see both Dorothy and Angie turn up at the wedding with dates. They’d gone on and on about how they were going to be ‘young, free and single’ at Polly and Tommy’s wedding, only, to everyone’s surprise, for Dorothy to turn up with Toby, and Angie with Quentin.
‘Yes, Quentin,’ Dorothy said. ‘Angie had the audacity to leave me on my lonesome last night to go out on a date.’
‘It wasn’t a date!’ Angie shouted. A group of riveters walking past automatically looked over.
‘It wasn’t a date,’ she repeated, dropping her voice, but not the outraged tone. ‘He’s teaching me how to be posh.’
Rosie had to force back a smile. Bel had told her that Angie had only agreed to let Quentin accompany her to the wedding if, in exchange, he gave her what amounted to lessons in ‘being posh’.
‘But why do you want to be posh?’ Martha asked.
‘Because I do,’ Angie said simply.
‘I think it’s more a case that she wants to better herself,’ Dorothy explained.
‘When did you decide that?’ Martha was still confused.
‘It started when we moved into the flat,’ Dorothy answered for her friend. ‘She fell in love with the towels George left for us in the bathroom.’
‘The indoor bathroom,’ Angie butted in. She had never had the luxury of using an indoor bathroom before, never mind living in a flat with one.
‘Then I think she fell in love with George,’ said Dorothy.
Angie opened her mouth to object.
‘Not in love with George himself,’ Dorothy explained, ‘but in love with everything he stands for. You know, good manners, class … He’s very much the old-school gentleman. Very kind … courteous.’
This time Rosie allowed herself a smile. George was certainly all those things.
Martha looked at Angie. She was not objecting.
‘Oh, I see,’ Martha said, although she still seemed a little perplexed.
‘Look!’ Dorothy pointed over at two women dressed in blue denim overalls, their hair wrapped up in turbans, their gas masks and haversacks slung across their chests.
It was Polly and Gloria.
‘Here comes the bride!’ Dorothy’s voice sang out across the yard.
She was about to carry on singing the Bridal Chorus when she saw the looks on both women’s faces.
‘It can’t be Tommy, he’s only just left,’ Angie said.
‘Could be one of Gloria’s boys,’ Rosie said.
‘Doubt it,’ Dorothy said. ‘Gordon sent a letter the other day saying they were both fine.’
‘Well, something’s happened,’ Martha said, scrutinising her workmates’ faces as they came nearer.
The canteen was full to bursting. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of stewed meat and cabbage.
Gloria got served first. On seeing that Hannah and Olly were already sitting at the women’s designated table, she hurried over so that Polly didn’t have to break the news for the third time that day.
‘Arthur’s passed away.’ She kept her voice low.
‘Oh, no … When?’ Hannah said.
‘Boxing Day.’ Gloria looked round to see the rest of the women coming over.
Hannah stood up and went to give Polly a hug.
‘Oh, Polly, I’m so sorry. I know how close you were to Arthur.’
‘Thanks, Hannah.’ Polly forced back tears. They still seemed to spring from nowhere.
The women took their places around the table.
‘It’s so strange,’ Polly said, sitting down, ‘him not being there. The house seems so empty without him. Even yesterday when everyone was about.’
They were all quiet for a moment.
‘Tramp and Pup keep going to his room and lying by his bed. Ma’s giving them loads of titbits, but they’re not bothered. It’s like they’re keeping a vigil for him. Waiting for him to come back.’
‘Is he coming back home before you bury him?’ Angie asked.
Polly nodded.
‘What do you mean?’ Hannah asked.
‘When someone dies,’ Angie explained, ‘yer have the body back overnight. Before the funeral. Everyone does it round here.’
‘What about Tommy?’ Rosie asked.
‘I’ve sent him a letter. Told him Arthur died peacefully in his sleep. Which he did, thank goodness. Ma said he looked happy. Content. Holding a photo of Flo.’
Tears were now pooling in Hannah’s eyes.
‘Oh, that’s so sad. Yet so beautiful.’
‘Do you think …’ Rosie hesitated ‘ … that Tommy’ll be all right?’
They all knew that Tommy had suffered from ‘dark moods’ in the past. Like his mam. Only she’d succumbed to the darkness, taking her own life, unable to get over the loss of Tommy’s father in the First War.
‘Funnily enough,’ Polly said, ‘we chatted about it before he left.’ She stopped. ‘Gosh, that sounds awful.’
Gloria took her hand and squeezed it. ‘That doesn’t sound awful. More like yer both had yer feet planted firmly on the ground. Arthur was an old man. Yer could see his health was failing him.’
‘That’s what Tommy said. I guess it was more obvious to him than it was to me. I think he was quite shocked to see how much he’d aged while he’d been gone. He said in a roundabout way that he knew Arthur mightn’t be here when he got back.’
Polly took a deep breath. Tommy never said ‘if’ he came back – it was always ‘when’.
‘Before he left, he said I mustn’t worry about him if anything did happen to Arthur, that he’d be fine. That he’d been lucky to have his grandda in his life – and for so long.’
Polly looked around the table at the women.
‘So now,’ she said, forcing a smile, ‘I just need to make sure Arthur’s given a good send-off.’
Everyone murmured their agreement.
‘When’s the funeral?’ Dorothy said.
‘We’ve got him booked in at St Ignatius on Thursday.’
‘New Year’s Eve,’ Martha said.
‘I know. But I guess it’s sort of fitting.’ Polly gave a sad smile.
‘The end of a year. The end of a life,’ Olly said, pushing his heavy, black-rimmed glasses back up his nose.
‘And the start of a new one,’ Hannah said thoughtfully.
Bel knocked tentatively on the office door.
‘Bel, come in, come in!’ Helen had to stop herself sounding overly enthusiastic. She had been looking forward to seeing Bel after the short Christmas break. Her obsession was getting out of hand.
‘I have to say well done for organising such a wonderful wedding. And at such short notice. Everything went off like a dream, didn’t it? Talk about juggling a load of balls and not letting any of them drop. I think we need to put your skills to use here.’ Helen flung out an arm towards the admin department, which was now empty. The last of the staff had gone to lunch.
‘Thank you,’ Bel said, taken aback.
‘Come in, sit down!’ Helen was waving a manicured hand at the seat in front of her desk. ‘Now I’m thinking about it, perhaps we can get you trained in shorthand. Your typing’s up to speed now, isn’t it?’
Bel nodded. She felt a jolt of excitement. Adding shorthand to her skills meant she might get a promotion. She’d initially wanted this job so she’d get to know more about the Havelocks – her other family. Lately, though, she’d been keener to climb the administrative ladder.
‘Leave it with me,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll see what I can do about getting you on a course. It’ll mean you having to go to night classes, though. Do you think that’s something you’d be up for?’
‘Oh, yes, I would. Most definitely,’ Bel said.
‘I know you’ve got family. Would they object?’ Helen tried not to show how much she was scrutinising Bel’s face. Those eyes. That mouth. Nose. Even her cheekbones. There was no getting away from it. She was a younger version of her mother.
‘Oh, they’d be fine about me doing night classes,’ Bel lied. She knew Lucille would lament loudly about her ma not being there on an evening, and although Joe wouldn’t say anything, he’d miss her. They didn’t get to spend that much time with each other as it was – not with her working full-time and Joe out so much with his Home Guard unit.
‘Good! Leave it with me,’ Helen said, scribbling herself a memo. When she stopped writing she looked up at Bel. ‘Sorry, Bel, I’m guessing you came to see me for a reason?’
Bel felt a fluttering of nerves. She’d been dreading telling Helen all morning. She’d got to know her a little during the preparations for the wedding as Helen had provided the floral arrangements for the church – and a Christmas tree. Even so, she still didn’t know her that well.
‘Actually, I’m afraid I’ve come to tell you some sad news.’
‘Oh, God,’ Helen said. ‘Someone’s died.’ A moment’s panic. ‘It’s not Tommy?’
Bel shook her head.
‘No, no, Tommy’s fine. Well, as far as we know. Touch wood.’
She looked at Helen in her dark, military-style green dress and wondered randomly if it was one of Kate’s.
‘No, I’m afraid it’s Arthur,’ she said. ‘He passed away in the early hours of Boxing Day.’
Bel paused, trying to gauge Helen’s reaction.
‘I’m so sorry. I know you and Arthur were close.’
Helen bent down and picked up her handbag from the floor, then took out her cigarettes and lighter.
‘We weren’t that close,’ she said. Her voice was clipped. Why did death make her angry? ‘But I have known Arthur all my life.’ She lit her cigarette.
Bel noticed her hands were shaking.
‘Polly would have told you herself, but …’ Bel let her voice trail off.
‘I’m guessing she’s probably got a long list to get through. Arthur was a popular man.’ Helen blew out smoke. She looked a million miles away. ‘I’ll never forget my father taking me to see him doing a dive when I was little. I’d never seen anything like it. That huge helmet. The metal boots. If I’m honest, he scared me.’
Helen stopped.
A thought had just occurred to her. She’d have to tell her father. He’d be devastated. Now, he was close to Arthur. Loved the old man to bits.
Helen looked at Bel.
‘When’s the funeral?’
‘Thursday. New Year’s Eve.’
Helen laughed sadly. ‘Fitting.’ She crushed her cigarette out and stood up. Bel followed suit. She was being dismissed.
‘Tell Polly just to ask if she needs anything and to take off any time necessary to sort everything out. It’s not as if Tommy’s here to help. And Arthur’s got no other family.’
Bel turned to leave.
‘Oh, and Bel … Tell Polly not to spare any expense. Arthur gave his life to the Wear. To the town. To the shipyards. Mr Havelock will foot the bill. There’s to be no argument.’
The mention of the man who had fathered her gave Bel an involuntary jolt.
She nodded.
Forced a smile.
And left.