Chapter Eight
Sally gave Ernie a lick and a promise with the flannel after breakfast and combed his hair, which she noticed could have done with a trim. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked. ‘Only you look a bit pale.’
‘Yeah, course I am,’ he replied, grimacing as the comb snagged on a tangle. ‘Ow,’ he protested, ‘that ’urt.’
‘Sorry, luv, but if you keep wriggling …’ She eyed him closely. He looked tired, with dark rings under his eyes – but he’d slept well. ‘Perhaps I should keep you ’ome today,’ she murmured.
‘Aw, Sal. It’s the last day of term and Mrs Granger said we was ’aving jelly and custard as a special treat.’
Sally didn’t want to spoil his fun, but he definitely looked peaky, and that worried her. ‘All right,’ she conceded, ‘but if you don’t feel right, you’re to tell yer teacher. Promise?’
He nodded, scrambled away from her and bumped his way rather more slowly than usual down the stairs.
Sally cleaned the bathroom, fetched their coats, and followed him shortly afterwards. Anne had been absent at breakfast, but now she was bustling her young brothers into coats and caps and finding their satchels and gas-mask boxes. Sally noted the swollen eyelids and the wan face and gave her a warm smile of support as she sorted out Ernie and fetched the shopping list and basket from Peggy.
Once everyone was ready, they went down to the basement, fetched the crate cart – which had now been improved with a set of pram wheels that were far more stable – and set off for school, Harvey howling at the gate because he hated being left behind.
‘Keep an eye on Ernie, will you, Anne?’ she said, as they reached the school gates, and Charlie and Bob dragged the cart into the playground. ‘He’s not looking too clever this morning.’
Anne dredged up a smile, but it couldn’t mask the haunted look in her eyes. ‘Of course I will,’ she said, ‘but I suspect he’s just a bit tired with all the excitement of Christmas coming.’
Sally would have liked to express her sympathy for the other girl, but realised that, as she wasn’t supposed to know what had happened between her and Martin, it wouldn’t be wise. If Anne felt the need to confide in her, then that would be the time to say something. With a wave to Ernie, she fished the shopping list out of her pocket and set off back down the road to the local shops and joined the long queue outside the butcher’s.
Two hours later she arrived back at Beach View with three sausages, two chops and a pig’s head. There was no sign of Peggy, and the sink was full of dirty crockery, so she dumped the basket on the kitchen table, put the meat in the larder and set about doing the washing-up.
‘John Hicks telephoned while you were out,’ said Peggy, arriving with an armful of laundry. ‘He’s coming to tea on Christmas Eve. I thought it would be less awkward for both of you if we all sat down together.’
Sally felt a thrill of pleasure, but firmly tamped down on it. ‘I dunno,’ she murmured. ‘He’s a lot older than me, and … well … What’s a bloke like ’im want with a girl like me? We ain’t got nothing in common.’
Peggy dumped the laundry on the table. ‘Nonsense. John’s a nice, ordinary chap who wants to get to know you better. And you’re a lovely sweet girl who deserves to have a bit of a life. What’s the harm in having tea?’
Sally shrugged and refused to meet Peggy’s gaze.
‘Did you overhear me and Anne last night?’ Peggy put her hand on her shoulder, forcing Sally to look at her. ‘Is that what all this is about?’
Sally shrugged again, unwilling to admit she’d been listening – and unwilling to voice the awful doubts that had woken her through the night.
‘You silly girl,’ said Peggy. ‘John comes from a working-class family, just like you. Having a bit of tea with us is a good way of seeing if you like the look of each other. What happens after that will be up to the pair of you. But if things develop between you and you’re taken to meet his family, I can assure you there won’t be any of the sort of nonsense my poor Anne had to go through.’
‘I dunno,’ said Sally again. ‘I don’t speak proper, even though I’ve been trying ’ard to change that, and I’m only …’
‘That’s quite enough,’ said Peggy flatly. ‘John knows who you are and where you come from and it doesn’t matter a jot. Now,’ she gathered up the laundry, ‘I need a hand with this lot. We’ve actually got a pair of paying guests arriving this evening, and there’s a lot to do before they arrive.’
Sally found it impossible to quell the hope and excitement as she helped Peggy scrub the bed linen in the big tub downstairs, wrestle it through the mangle, and hang it on the line. She found she was humming some silly tune as she prepared the room for the guests and decided that Peggy was right. What harm was there in agreeing to have tea with him?
‘You look happy today, Sally.’ Cissy had kicked off her shoes and was standing on a chair so that Sally could pin the hem of the lovely gown.
‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ she replied. ‘And I love Christmas. When Dad was at ’ome, we always had a goose and plum pudding, and a fruit cake with thick white icing swirled on top. It didn’t happen every year, of course, but Dad’s a good cook, and the smell coming from the kitchen on Christmas morning was always special.’
Cissy grimaced. ‘I doubt there’ll be much celebration this year,’ she replied. ‘What with the shortages and the blackout; but Mum’s got a dozen plum puddings in the larder she’s made over the years, so at least we’ll have one of them.’ She yawned. ‘I’m just looking forward to having a day off. I’m absolutely shattered.’
Sally looked up at her in surprise. ‘I thought you loved doing the shows?’
‘Oh, I do, but it’s exhausting with all the rehearsals and costume changes. We do two shows on Saturdays and Wednesdays, you know, and then there’re all the extra ones for the troops.’ She grinned, her weariness banished. ‘We’re doing a special show for the RAF boys on New Year’s Eve. It’s what the dress is for.’
‘You look ever so lovely in it,’ murmured Sally wistfully. ‘They’ll go potty when they see you. I wouldn’t mind betting you’ll be swamped in admirers.’
Cissy looked delighted at this. Then she bent down and whispered urgently, ‘Sally, can you keep a secret?’
She rested back on her heels, looked up into the flushed, excited face, and grinned. ‘Of course.’
Cissy stepped down from the chair, checked the hallway and closed the door. ‘I’ve got a solo spot that night,’ she whispered. ‘And our director said that Basil Dean and Leslie Henson would be in the audience scouting for talent.’
‘Who are they?’
Cissy’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You don’t know?’ she breathed, forgetting that not everyone was as involved in the theatrical world as she. ‘They’re the ones who founded ENSA, and this could be my chance of getting into it.’ Her eyes sparkled and her pretty little face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Just think, Sally, this time next year I could be a star like Gracie Fields, or even Vera Lynn. She was voted the Forces’ Sweetheart two months ago, you know,’ she babbled, ‘and even goes abroad to entertain the troops. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if something like that happened to me?’
‘Aren’t you a bit young?’ Sally said carefully, once Cissy stopped for breath.
Cissy shrugged and got back on the chair. ‘I’d have to get Mum and Dad’s permission,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m sure they’ll give it. After all, there’s a war on, and this is what I’m good at.’
Sally realised the girl was far too excited and wasn’t thinking practically at all. She just hoped Cissy wouldn’t be too devastated when Jim and Peggy refused to sign the consent form – which they would, she was certain.
Cissy fidgeted on the chair, making it impossible for Sally to continue pinning the hem. ‘Oh, Sally,’ she breathed. ‘Who would have thought it? My life is about to change for ever, and soon all my dreams will come true.’
‘You’d better stand still then,’ said Sally through a mouthful of pins, ‘or else this dress won’t be finished in time.’
When Sally arrived for the afternoon shift at the factory, she delivered the last of the clothes she’d altered and mended. With several shillings jingling in her pocket, she sat at her work-station and looked around. There was no sign of Iris, but she could see Simmons bearing down on her with his usual dissatisfied glare.
‘Miss Turner,’ he snapped. ‘A word.’
She looked up at him, her pulse racing. What on earth could she have done to make him so angry? ‘Yes, Mr Simmons?’
‘It has been noted that you are running some sort of business in company time,’ he said. ‘It has also been noted that certain of these items have been made from material stolen from company stock.’
Sally was so shocked it took a moment to react. ‘I never stole nothing,’ she protested, shoving back her chair and standing to face him squarely. ‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing? All them clothes I made were out of scraps I bought in the town – and I only do private work at ’ome – never ’ere.’
‘Then how do you explain this?’ He held up a jacket that had clearly been made of blue air-force serge.
Sally had become aware of the tense silence surrounding her as she eyed the poorly made garment dangling from his hand. ‘That ain’t my work,’ she said firmly.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ he said smugly. ‘It’s obviously home-made, and you’re the only one doing that around here.’
She snatched it from him and gave it a swift inspection. ‘The seams are crooked, the lining ain’t been hand-stitched at the hem or the cuffs, the buttonholes would make a schoolkid blush they’re so bad, and the lapels don’t even lay flat.’ She handed it back to him. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘Well, I do mind. That ain’t my work, and whoever says it is, is lying.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Brenda, glaring through the smoke of the cigarette stuck to her bottom lip. ‘Sally would never have made that thing, let alone pinched material from the stock to do it.’
A chorus of agreement went round the factory, and Simmons reddened. ‘Be quiet, the lot of you,’ he shouted. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Get back to work.’
Sally folded her arms and glared at him, determined not to let him see how devastated she was to be accused of theft.
Once order had been restored on the factory floor, Simmons returned her glare. ‘There’s no doubt the material came from here – therefore it’s stolen. You’re the one running a dressmaking business on the side, so it has to be you.’
Sally’s angry tears were being held back by sheer force of will. ‘It wasn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not a thief.’
‘Then prove it, Miss Turner, otherwise you will be dismissed.’
‘You can’t do that,’ shouted Brenda. ‘It’s only three days to Christmas, and Sally’s done nothing wrong.’
‘If you don’t button it, Brenda, you’ll be out on your ear as well,’ he snarled.
‘I can’t prove anything,’ said Sally, her spirits plummeting. ‘All I can do is show you some of my work so you can compare it to that terrible piece of workmanship, and see for yourself that I ’ad nothing to do with it.’
Almost before the sentence was finished, the things she’d delivered today were being brought to show Simmons.
He glared at each piece before ordering them back to their machines. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time,’ he said coldly. ‘But I’m watching you, Miss Turner, and if there is the slightest suspicion that you’re up to no good, you’ll be dismissed instantly.’
‘You can watch all you like,’ she retorted, ‘but I ain’t a thief.’ She looked into those emotionless eyes and was tempted to tell him to stick his lousy job. But being branded a thief made her so angry, she could barely think straight. Besides, she needed the money, and with this hanging over her, she’d never get a decent reference. She sat down and tried to thread the needle, but found to her distress that her hands were shaking and she could barely see through her tears.
‘Never mind, ducks,’ soothed Brenda when Simmons was out of earshot. ‘We can all guess who’s at the bottom of it – and, come what may, we’ll make sure she gets her comeuppance.’
‘But that won’t clear my name, will it?’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Brenda, grimly mashing out her cigarette before getting back to work.
Sally had worked through her shift, eating her sandwiches and drinking her tea at her work-station, unwilling to be the focus of attention – for she knew the accusation was now the only topic amongst the other women.
And yet their sympathy and support was overwhelming, and as she left the factory that night, she was warmed by it. But, as she hurried through the dark streets, she couldn’t dismiss the awful shame of being called a thief. It hung about her like a heavy cloud and followed her all the way home.
The house was quiet as she stepped into the hall, and she tiptoed up the stairs. All she wanted now was to climb into bed, pull the covers over her head, and hide from the world so she could at last give vent to her anger and despair.
Pushing open the bedroom door, she was startled to find Peggy sitting by Ernie’s bed. All thoughts of her terrible situation fled. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘Don’t worry, Sally.’ Peggy rose from the chair, a finger to her lips as Sally raced to Ernie’s bedside. ‘He’s asleep, and I don’t want him disturbed.’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ she whispered urgently, her gaze trawling the sleeping child for any sign of what could be wrong.
Peggy gently steered her on to the landing. ‘He had a funny turn and the school doctor brought him home,’ she whispered.
‘What sort of funny turn?’ Sally’s pulse raced.
‘He was complaining that his back and hips were hurting and, when he put his weight on his good leg, it gave way on him. He’s got a graze on his cheek and a bit of a bump on his head, but neither is anything to get alarmed about.’
‘Oh, my Gawd. You don’t think the polio’s come back, do you?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘The doctor says he’s just been overdoing things, and that he needs lots of rest. He’s given him something to help him sleep, and suggests that we massage his joints every day to try and keep them supple and the pain at bay.’
Sally nodded. ‘Yeah, I always gave him a good rub when he were aching. It seemed to help.’ She looked at Peggy through her tears. ‘You should have come and got me, Peg. Ernie’s more important than bloody uniforms.’
‘I suppose I should have,’ she admitted on a sigh. ‘But once the doctor had been, there seemed little point. Ernie wasn’t in pain, and he soon fell asleep.’ She dug in her apron pocket and brought out two bottles. ‘I fetched the prescription from the chemist. He’ll have to take these as well as the others from now on. They’re to help build up his strength.’ She held out the larger bottle. ‘This is a special oil to massage him with. Use it sparingly, it’s very expensive.’
Sally eyed the bottles, her spirits plummeting further. Ernie’s medicines already took a fair chunk out of her earnings; now it looked as if she’d have to work even harder to make any savings. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing,’ Peggy said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
‘No, Peggy,’ Sally said firmly. ‘You’ve already done so much for me and Ernie, I insist you tell me.’
‘Well, all right,’ said Peggy reluctantly. ‘But you don’t have to give it all to me now. There’s no rush.’
‘I pay me debts, Peg. You’ll ’ave it now.’ Sally tiptoed into the bedroom, found the jar beneath her clothes in the dressing-table drawer and was about to hand over the coins when she saw the wheelchair. ‘What’s that doing ’ere?’
‘Jim’s got a mate at the hospital. It’s on loan, so it didn’t cost anything.’
Sally glanced down at the sleeping boy, handed the money to Peggy and chivvied her out of the room so they could talk without disturbing him. ‘He don’t need no wheelchair,’ she hissed furiously.
‘The doctor suggested it would be a good idea for when he got tired. He has to rest more, Sally. He’s been trying to keep up with Bob and Charlie and has been doing far too much lately.’
‘Ernie will hate it.’ Sally was close to tears again. ‘He might only be six, but he’s very proud of his independence, and I’ve encouraged him. That’s why ’e won’t use his walking stick.’
Peggy sighed. ‘If we can persuade him to use it, then perhaps he won’t need the wheelchair quite so much.’ She bit her lip. ‘You see, the doctor explained that he’s been putting too much pressure on his joints and the muscles simply aren’t strong enough.’
‘This is all my fault.’ Sally fought the lump in her throat and the welling tears. ‘I should’ve insisted he use the stick, and not encouraged him to do so much. I thought it would ’elp him get stronger.’
‘You mustn’t think that, Sally. Oh, my dear, there, there. Don’t cry.’ Peggy drew her gently into her motherly embrace and held her close.
Sally clung to her as the fear, exhaustion and sadness overwhelmed her. It was so good to feel the warmth and comfort of that embrace – so sustaining to know that someone cared, that she wasn’t alone any more.
Once the storm was over, Sally dried her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Sorry about that, but it all suddenly got too much.’ She gave Peggy a watery smile. ‘You’re a diamond, Peg, and that’s a fact.’
Peggy patted her cheek. ‘If you need me, I’ll be downstairs, and don’t be afraid to wake me if Ernie’s ill in the night. Just tap on my bedroom door. I’m a light sleeper.’
Sally wished her a good night and crept into her bedroom. Ernie was curled like a puppy beneath the blankets, his thumb plugged into his mouth, eyelashes fanning his pale cheeks. There was a bump on his forehead and a graze on his face, but he seemed to be sleeping soundly.
She washed and changed into her nightclothes and, with the eiderdown wrapped round her to ward off the chill, made herself comfortable in the armchair next to Ernie’s bed.
As she watched him sleeping, she realised that – although he was still small for his age – he’d begun to fill out and look healthier, despite tonight’s pallor. She knew for certain that it was good fresh air, regular meals and bedtimes that had brought about this change, and she could never thank Peggy enough for all she’d done over the past months. But it was a terrible worry that his joints had become painful again, and that his good leg had weakened, and she prayed the doctor had been right, and that the polio hadn’t come back.
She eyed the wheelchair and could remember all too well the weeks he’d had to spend in an iron lung – and the following months when he’d needed nursing at home. Florrie had tried her best, but she’d soon got bored with the endless trips to the hospital, and the sleepless nights when he cried pitifully and would not be comforted.
Sally wearily rubbed her eyes. She had been barely eleven when she’d taken charge of Ernie’s wellbeing and, although it had been lonely stuck indoors with a sick child, and she’d missed a good deal of school, it had had its rewards. Like when he took his first faltering steps with the calliper, and the day he ventured out to watch the other kids playing football in the street. The ball had come his way, and he’d kicked it back, earning a shout of praise that made him grin from ear to ear.
That had been the start of his recovery – and she could only hope that this was a minor setback and that he’d soon be riding Ron’s shoulders again, and getting up to mischief with Charlie. Any other outcome didn’t bear thinking about.
He stirred at three in the morning and she gently lifted him out and sat him on the pot before tucking him back in again. She lay on the single bed, curled round him and fell asleep until the alarm clock went off at six.
‘Me legs ’urt, Sal,’ he whimpered, as she sat him on the pot again.
‘I’ve got some lovely oil the doctor gave me to give them a rub,’ she soothed, putting him back to bed. ‘And you’ll get breakfast in bed as well, won’t that be a treat?’
He nodded, but without much enthusiasm – and then saw the wheelchair. ‘I ain’t a spastic,’ he said. ‘I don’t need no bloody wheelchair.’
‘Language, Ernie. You know you mustn’t swear.’
‘Well I ain’t using it,’ he said stubbornly.
‘But it’ll be just like your crate-car,’ she said with a brightness she didn’t feel. ‘Think about it, Ernie. It’ll be all yours, and you’ll be able to go everywhere in it, all wrapped up snug and comfortable. You’ll be the envy of your mates at school.’
He thought about this for a moment. ‘Suppose so,’ he muttered. ‘But only if I can ’ave flags and stuff on it.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘They won’t call me a spastic, will they? I ‘ate it when they do that.’
‘Who calls you that?’ Sally watched him closely. ‘Has someone been bullying you, Ernie?’
He refused to look at her. ‘Just a couple of the big boys,’ he admitted. ‘They laugh and point at me, and when the teacher’s not looking, they knock me down.’
‘I’ll have a word with Anne. She’ll sort ’em out.’ She brushed back his hair and softly kissed the bump on his head. ‘Why didn’t you say something before, Ernie? Anne or the headmaster would have stopped it straight away if only you’d said.’
He gave a great sigh. ‘I didn’t want a fuss,’ he said. ‘I can stick up for meself.’
‘Of course you can.’ She kissed him again. ‘I’ll go and get your breakfast now, so while I’m away, why don’t you concentrate on what Santa might put in your stocking this year? Have you made your list yet?’
He shook his head. ‘There ain’t no point,’ he muttered. ‘It’s always a bit of fruit, some nuts and a couple of sweets. Santa only brings good things when Dad’s ’ome.’
‘Well,’ said Sally, thinking of the presents she’d hidden on top of the wardrobe, ‘this year might be different, and you could be in for a surprise.’
‘Is Mum coming for Christmas?’ His voice was plaintive.
As there had been no word from her since they’d left London, Sally thought this highly unlikely. ‘I don’t think so, luv,’ she said softly. ‘It’s a long way for ’er to come, and there is a war on, you know. The trains and that are all at sixes and sevens, and I don’t think she’d be allowed to get a permit to come down anyway.’
His large brown eyes looked up at her. ‘What’s a permit?’
Sally took a deep breath. ‘It’s like a ticket,’ she explained. ‘And only a very few people are allowed to go from one town to another – especially down ’ere by the seaside.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Mr Chamberlain said we all got to stay in one place. I suppose it’s to keep the spies out.’ She closed the door before he could ask any further questions and hurried downstairs to the kitchen to make him a tray of breakfast.
‘How is he this morning?’ Peggy was busy at the stove.
‘Full of questions, and feeling a bit sorry for himself,’ said Sally, eyeing the pretty tray and best china.
‘This is for the guests,’ Peggy explained hurriedly. ‘I did warn them that room service was extra, but they didn’t seem to care.’
‘If those two are married, I’ll eat me hat, so I will,’ muttered Ron, who was leaning against the sink to drink his tea and getting in Peggy’s way.
Peggy laughed. ‘Do you want it toasted or fried? They tied the knot at the Town Hall yesterday morning, and have the certificate to prove it.’
‘War weddings, eh?’ Jim looked over the top of the Racing Post he’d been reading at the table, and caught Peggy’s eye. ‘I remember what they were like.’
Peggy blushed and swiped the tea towel at him. ‘Go and find something sensible to do, Jim Reilly. You could make a start by taking this in to Mrs Finch.’ She handed him a plate of toast and boiled egg. ‘Just make sure you pour her tea, otherwise she’ll have it all over everything.’
‘Yes, m’lady,’ he said, giving a tug of his forelock before taking the plate and teapot.
She grinned at him. ‘When you’ve done that, you can tape the windows again – the ones we’ve got left. And see if you can get any more plywood in case there’s another explosion.’
‘B’jesus, it’s worse than being in the army. Orders, orders, orders,’ he muttered good-naturedly as he headed for the dining room.
Sally set about boiling an egg and cooking toast for Ernie, while Peggy took the other tray to the guests on the first floor.
‘Will you be staying home today, Sally?’ she asked on her return to the kitchen.
‘I’d like to,’ she said hesitantly, glancing at Ron, ‘especially now Ernie’s not quite the ticket. But the thing is, there were a bit of trouble at work yesterday, and if I don’t show me face, it won’t help me case.’
Peggy eyed her sharply. ‘What happened?’
Sally reluctantly told her as she smeared a wafer-thin layer of margarine on the toast and tapped the top of the egg. She still felt so ashamed that she couldn’t look at Ron or Peggy. ‘So, you see,’ she said finally. ‘I gotta go in, or they’ll think I really did nick that material.’
‘Of all the …’ Peggy plumped down into a chair. ‘Of course you must go. I’ll come with you if it will be any help.’
‘No,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I got to fight me own battles. And I’m determined to clear me name, no matter ’ow long it takes.’
Ron threw the dregs of his tea into the sink and slammed the mug on the wooden drainer. ‘If it was up to me, I’d be banging a few heads round that factory. I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life.’ He patted Sally’s shoulder and gave her a warm smile. ‘To be sure, no-one thinks bad of you here, girl,’ he muttered.
‘We’ll look after Ernie for you,’ Peggy said firmly. ‘But if you have any more trouble at that factory, then let me know, and I’ll be down at Goldman’s like a shot to give that Simmons a piece of my mind.’
Sally gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, but please don’t, Peg. I’m not a kid any more and I’m used to dealing with men like Simmons.’
The words sounded brave, but Sally knew all too well that once Simmons had taken against her, her employment at Goldman’s could be terminated at any minute. There were plenty of other jobs to be had, but sewing was what she knew, and what she was good at. She certainly didn’t fancy working in a munitions factory.
Ernie ate his breakfast, getting crumbs and egg all over the sheet. Sally cleaned him up and then carefully warmed a little of the sweet-smelling oil in her hands and began to gently massage his back and limbs.
He was almost asleep by the time she’d finished, and she gathered up her things and took one last look at him before she left for work. She hated leaving him like this, but had little option if she was to clear her name and keep her job. She just hoped the shift would run smoothly and there were no further upsets – she was too tired to cope with much more today.
Once the overnight honeymooners had gone, Peggy stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linen. They’d been a lovely young couple, and she wished them well, but with him flying Spitfires, and her working as a WAAF at the air-base, they had an uncertain future – but then none of them knew what the next day might bring.
Her thoughts went to Anne and Martin. Was it better to marry in defiance of everything his parents stood for and hope things would turn out all right? Or was Anne wise to break it off? Seeing her daughter’s sad little face this morning she didn’t think so.
The telephone was ringing as she reached the hall and she picked it up. ‘Cliffehaven 329.’
‘Mrs Reilly, this is Martin Black. Could I please speak to Anne?’
‘Hello, Martin.’ This was the fourth time he’d called and, so far, Anne had refused to speak to him. ‘Anne’s out,’ she said truthfully.
‘Mrs Reilly, I know what you must think of me, but I love Anne, and if she’d only let me talk to her, I’m sure we can find some way out of this ghastly mess.’
‘I’ll tell her you called,’ she said. ‘But Martin,’ she warned, ‘don’t be surprised if she doesn’t ring back. She was very hurt.’
‘I know. That’s why it’s so important I speak to her.’ He was interrupted by the pips going. ‘Damn, I’m out of coins, and I’ll be cut off in a minute. Tell her I’m on duty all over Christmas so I won’t be able to see her until the New Year. Please tell her I love her with all my heart, and that I still want to marry …’ The pips drowned him out and the line went dead.
Peggy put down the receiver and sighed. Love was complicated enough without having to deal with toffee-nosed parents as well as the war. It just wasn’t fair.
Sally held her head high as she marched past Simmons and took her place behind the sewing machine. She just wanted to get this shift over and go home to Ernie.
Brenda plumped down next to her. ‘Cheer up, ducks,’ she said, wrapping the scarf over her rollers. ‘I’m calling a meeting with the girls over the tea break. We’ll sort something out.’
‘I don’t want no more trouble,’ muttered Sally.
‘And there ain’t gunna be any,’ said Pearl, sitting on the other side of her.
‘What you doing here? I thought you was on the lates this week?’
‘I was. Then I ’eard about yer trouble and changed shifts.’ She grinned. ‘We’re mates, ain’t we? And mates stick together.’
Sally grinned back. It was good to know so many people believed in her and that, regardless of what happened next, she could always count on her friends.
She returned to Beach View feeling much more positive about things. The shift had gone quickly, Simmons had stayed away from her, and the cheerful, warm support of the other women had bolstered her spirits.
The kitchen still held the reminder of the evening meal and the warmth of the fire in the range. ‘Hello, Peggy,’ she said, taking off her coat. ‘How’s Ernie been?’
Peggy put down her knitting, poured her a cup of tea, and got the plate of supper she’d been keeping warm off the hob. ‘He’s been quite chirpy,’ she said. ‘He had a good long sleep after lunch, then I wrapped him up warm, and Ron and I took him for a ride in his wheelchair along the front.’
Sally held the teacup in her cold hands, relishing the warmth. ‘He didn’t make a fuss?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Ron warned him that, if he did, he wouldn’t take him out with the dog and the ferrets again for at least a month. He was a bit put out about that,’ she admitted with a soft smile, ‘but his little face lit up when he saw what Ron and the boys had done to make his wheelchair more interesting.’
Sally grinned as she tucked into the stew Peggy had made from the pig’s head. ‘What did they do to it?’
‘The boys had gone down to the gift shop and persuaded Mr Peters to dig out his summer stock of coloured windmills and those little Union Jacks that kiddies stick in their sandcastles. When they got back, they tied them on to the wheelchair and added some stickers they got with their comics.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘Charlie even let him borrow his precious Cliffehaven Wanderers scarf as a special treat.’
‘Blimey. That’s a turn-up. Charlie don’t let no-one near that usually.’
Peggy was still smiling as she picked up her knitting. ‘He’s had a good day,’ she said comfortably, ‘and is fast asleep now, so you can put your feet up and relax. It’s nice to have a bit of company in the evenings.’
Sally sipped her tea, and finished the stew, slowly thawing out from the cold walk home. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Anne’s gone to the pictures with Dorothy. Cissy’s in her room sulking. She and Jim had a bit of a set-to over her wanting to join ENSA. He flatly refused to give his permission – and I agree with him wholeheartedly. She’s only seventeen.’
‘Poor Cissy,’ murmured Sally. ‘She were that excited. But I’m sure that once she calms down, she’ll see you were right.’
Peggy eyed her over the knitting. ‘So, she talked to you about it, did she?’
Sally nodded. ‘She swore me to secrecy, so I couldn’t say nothing – anything before.’
‘Well, she’s had her temper tantrum, slamming doors and stamping her feet like a five year old. If she’s meant to be a star on the stage then it will happen – but not until she’s twenty-one,’ she said evenly.
Sally thought it wise to change the subject. ‘I suppose Ron’s at the pub?’
‘Either that or playing soldiers again.’ She put down her knitting and stared thoughtfully into the fire. ‘He’s been acting a bit mysteriously just lately, and I suspect he’s up to something he shouldn’t be …’ She grinned and continued knitting. ‘I don’t know why that should bother me – Ron’s always up to something, and I don’t expect him to change the habits of a lifetime just because there’s a war on.’
‘He’s been ever so good with Ernie. Like a real granddad. We never knew ours; he died before we was born, and with Dad away most of the time, it’s been ’ard for Ernie not ’aving a man about the place.’
Peggy concentrated on turning the heel of the sock she was knitting. ‘Talking of having a man about the place, I’m looking forward to seeing Alex again on Christmas Day,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s hope there aren’t any raids and he can get away.’
Sally finished her tea, washed up and stifled a vast yawn. ‘I’m for me bed, Peg. Goodnight.’ She kissed the other woman’s cheek and hurried upstairs.
Ernie was asleep, the wheelchair parked beside his bed. It was festooned in flags, and windmills, and someone had pegged playing cards to the spokes of the wheels so that when it moved, it would make as much noise as a Spitfire.
Sally washed and climbed into bed, snuggling beneath the blankets, her thoughts for once not occupied by Ernie, or the trouble at work, but focused on Christmas Eve. John Hicks would be arriving at about six, and she hadn’t decided what she would wear. She still hadn’t by the time she fell asleep.
It was raining hard the next morning, and Sally had left Ernie playing cards with the others at the kitchen table while Peggy baked a cake with the last of the eggs and butter, and Mrs Finch knitted something unrecognisable in the chair by the rather dismal fire. The coal was running out and Jim had warned there would be no more until fresh supplies were delivered to the merchant on the other side of town. Ron had immediately set off with a big sack and his axe, promising to bring home some wood.
Work had proceeded smoothly, with no sign of Simmons, which was a relief. When the whistle went for the break, Sally and Pearl were heading for the canteen when Simmons appeared at the door and called Sally back.
‘The boss wants to see you,’ he said, his gaze not quite meeting hers.
Sally glanced at Pearl and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Was this the dreaded moment when she’d be given the sack? ‘Mr Goldman wants to see me?’
‘That’s what I said,’ he replied impatiently. ‘What’s the matter with your hearing, girl?’
She shot another glance at Pearl, who gave her a sympathetic smile, and followed Simmons in silence as they headed for the main office.
Marjorie was sitting behind the desk, thumping the typewriter keys as if she needed to vent her fury on something and they were the nearest object. She looked up, glanced at Sally and pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll let Mr Goldman know you’re here,’ she said stiffly.
Sally waited nervously, and found she was trembling as she was shown into the boss’s office alongside Simmons.
‘Sit down Sally,’ he said without preamble. ‘Mr Simmons has something to say to you.’ He glared at Simmons, who cleared his throat before speaking.
‘It seems I’ve made a mistake,’ he said, gaze firmly fixed to a point beyond her shoulder.
Sally said nothing. It was obvious he was terrified of Goldman and hated having to admit he’d been in the wrong, but she wasn’t about to help him out of this.
‘Another woman was responsible for the theft,’ he said, ‘and she has been dismissed.’
‘That isn’t an apology, Simmons,’ snarled Goldman. ‘This girl’s character has been put into question, and she has no doubt suffered some distress over your false accusations. You will say you’re sorry and damned well mean it.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Turner. Truly.’ He looked flustered and Sally actually felt a dart of sympathy for him. ‘Please accept that I was merely acting on the evidence I had before me. I shouldn’t have believed the worst of you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, swallowing the desire to tell him to get his facts right before he started throwing around accusations about innocent people.
‘You can go now, Simmons,’ rasped Goldman. ‘I wish to have a private word with Miss Turner.’ Sally remained poker-stiff in the chair. She didn’t like the sound of this at all. What was Goldman up to?
He waited until the door had closed behind the other man and then sat down in his enormous leather chair. ‘I’ve been keeping a close eye on you, Miss Turner – and I must say I was shocked when Simmons told me what you’d been accused of.’
Sally stared at him, unable to think of anything to say.
‘You can thank the other women you work with that your name has been cleared. They suspected who the culprit was and made sure she owned up.’
‘It was Iris, weren’t it?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ he replied gruffly. ‘It appears the culprit stole quite a bit of material over the past weeks, and has been making these questionable garments and selling them on some market stall. The police are investigating the matter as we speak.’
Sally should have felt more relaxed now her name had been cleared and the culprit brought to book, but she was still wary of Goldman’s motives. Bosses had the reputation for taking liberties – and if he expected her to show him more gratitude than she was willing to give, then he’d got the wrong girl.
He lit a fat cigar and puffed on it for a moment before eyeing her through the smoke. ‘Your work is exemplary, Miss Turner – as my brother-in-law, Mr Solomon, told me it would be in his letter. Therefore I would like to offer you the position of line-manager. It will, of course, mean a pay rise, but I’m sure you won’t object to that.’ He gave her a ghost of a smile.
She stared at him, unable to believe she was hearing right. Swiftly pulling her scrambled thoughts together, she smiled back. ‘Thanks ever so,’ she said breathlessly, ‘but will it mean working longer hours? Only I’ve got me brother to look after and …’
‘I know all about your circumstances, Miss Turner, and am quite prepared to let you work the same hours as now. But it will mean more responsibility,’ he added, his gaze piercing the cigar smoke. ‘Are you sure you’re not too young to handle it?’
Sally at last relaxed. ‘Old head on young shoulders, that’s me, Mr Goldman,’ she said brightly. ‘I won’t let you down.’
‘I don’t doubt it for a minute,’ he murmured, the smile lurking again. ‘And to make up for the distress you’ve been caused, you can take tomorrow off with pay, and enjoy your Christmas. Marjorie has your pay packet ready. I’ll see you bright and early on the twenty-seventh.’
Sally left the office in a daze, the pay packet snug in her apron pocket. She couldn’t wait to tell Pearl and Brenda.
But it seemed her good news had travelled fast, for as she walked into the canteen she was greeted with a round of applause and shouts of, ‘Well done, Sal.’ Red-faced and laughing, she joined in the celebrations with a cup of tea before they all had to get back to their machines.
Life was full of promise for Sally that evening and, as she walked home three hours later along the slick, wet pavements of a silent, rainy Cliffehaven, she finally felt she belonged.