All My Tomorrows (43 page)

Doris returned, having recuperated enough to make up her face and tidy her hair, and there was a sense of energy in her that had been missing throughout the day. ‘I can’t carry that heavy case downstairs,’ she said as she patted the string of pearls round her neck and adjusted her neat little hat.

Anthony left the room and they heard his feet thudding up the stairs as they stood facing each other in awkward silence.

‘I’m trusting you not to breathe a word of this to anyone,’ said Doris as she checked the contents of her handbag and pulled on her gloves.

‘I made a promise and I won’t break it.’ Peggy held her arms out to her sister and pulled her stiff body into a tight embrace. ‘I’ll call in regularly once I can get about more easily,’ she said. ‘And if you need me for anything, just pick up the telephone.’

Doris drew back from the embrace and gathered up her overcoat. ‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she murmured. ‘I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, and I haven’t always been fair to you – but I do appreciate your support.’

Peggy smiled inwardly as Anthony returned with the case and they trooped out into the hall. Her sister would never really change, even though Ted’s betrayal had shocked her rigid. But perhaps, when the storm had died down, she would look back on her marriage and realise that she had played a major part in its failure, for if a man was unfulfilled at home – if he was treated with little respect and barely acknowledged – he would seek comfort elsewhere.

She stood on the doorstep and waved until Anthony’s borrowed car disappeared around the corner. Closing the door, she leaned on it for a moment to bolster the last of her depleted energy, and then went into the warmth and comfort of her kitchen to tell everyone that Anthony had persuaded Doris to leave Beach View and return home.

Chapter Twenty-Two

THERE HAD BEEN
rumours coming out of Europe and the Far East during the past few months that were so horrific, no one wanted to believe them. And yet there had been reliable witness accounts of appalling conditions in the Japanese POW camps in the jungles of Malaya, Burma and Siam, where captured servicemen were being forced into hard labour despite the Geneva Convention that forbade such things.

In Europe, the SS leader, Heydrich, had called a conference in January to co-ordinate what he termed the ‘Final Solution of the Jewish Question’, and now there were dark whispers of cattle trucks transporting hundreds of thousands of dispossessed European Jews, dissenters and gypsies to vast concentration camps where they simply disappeared.

Peggy could hardly bear to listen to the news any more, for she didn’t understand the inhumanity of it all, and knew that every rumour, every snippet of information, coming out of the Far East was another knife-thrust to poor Sarah and Jane, who still didn’t know the fate of their father or Sarah’s fiancé. She would have cancelled the newspapers and banned everyone from listening to the wireless if she could, but of course it was impractical and unwise, for the mood of this war was changing daily, and it was important to keep abreast of things.

Peggy and Cordelia were sitting in deckchairs in the back garden to make the most of a lovely warm late May afternoon as they read the letters that had come in the second post. Ron and Rosie had taken Daisy in her pram for a stroll along the seafront, and the girls had yet to get home from work, so, despite the inordinate number of planes landing and taking off from Cliffe airfield, it was the calm before the usual evening rush.

Peggy had been home for almost a week. Cissy had paid a flying visit, and Peggy had also managed to get through to Somerset and reassure Anne and her younger sons that she was rapidly on the mend. It was a half-truth to allay their fears, for although her scar had healed nicely and she was able to get about more easily, she was always tired and found it hard to dredge up the energy needed to look after Daisy and get back into the swing of things.

The nub of it was, she was missing Jim, and although his many letters were a small comfort, she longed to talk to him, to see him and to hold him. The telegram had clearly never reached him, for he made no mention of her operation, and there had been no further telephone calls. Yet in a way it was a blessing, for it would have caused him unnecessary worry and he might have been tempted to do something silly.

‘The censor has had a field day with this,’ she said in tearful frustration as she tried to piece together Jim’s latest letter. ‘There are so many cuttings-out, it barely makes any sense. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing, and there’s not even a hint of any leave. Don’t the army realise how unfair it is on us wives not to tell us anything?’

‘I can understand how hard it must be for you,’ soothed Cordelia, ‘and I wish I knew what to say that might stop you fretting.’ She patted Peggy’s hand. ‘He’s bound to get leave soon, you’ll see.’

Peggy sniffed back the tears and stuffed the tattered, useless letter back into the envelope. Cordelia was just being kind, and she knew she should be thankful that Jim was still in England and not fighting Rommel’s troops in Africa – but that didn’t make her miss him less, or stop her from worrying about him.

Peggy lit a cigarette and shielded her eyes with an old pair of sunglasses, rather ashamed of her tears of self-pity when the rest of the world was going to hell in a handcart. It was time to pull herself together, she decided, to find that old fighting spirit and snub her nose at Hitler and all the inconveniences and frustrations this war brought to her door. There would be an end to it, a rightful victory that would see Jim and the other brave boys coming home having vanquished a brutal enemy. She just had to keep believing that, to live each day with hope and look towards a brighter, peaceful future – for if she didn’t, then she would be lost.

‘Oh dear,’ breathed Cordelia as she finished reading her own letter.

Peggy was jolted from her thoughts by the sad expression on Cordelia’s face. ‘What’s happened?’

‘This letter is from my sister’s solicitor,’ she explained. ‘As you know, poor Amelia passed away a few months ago. This is her will, and it appears that apart from a few charitable bequests, I am the sole beneficiary.’

‘As her only next of kin, it’s hardly surprising,’ said Peggy carefully, for she knew that the sisters had been estranged for years. When Amelia had become deluded and muddled, she had had to be admitted to a special hospital and had died a few weeks later.

‘Well it surprises me,’ said Cordelia. ‘I thought she’d leave everything to some church school she’d terrorised as headmistress.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I’m far too old to have to deal with such things,’ she muttered, ‘and I feel a bit of a hypocrite seeing as how I didn’t speak to her for years or even attend her funeral.’

‘Amelia was a difficult woman, and the funeral was two counties away,’ said Peggy firmly, ‘and it was she who decided not to have anything to do with you and the rest of your family, so don’t start blaming yourself.’

Cordelia folded the thick, creamy paper and slipped it back into the matching envelope. ‘You’re right, of course,’ she replied softly, ‘but her passing has made me realise that perhaps I could have done more to heal the breach. We are the last of our generation and she must have been lonely, with no husband or children to care for her.’

‘She chose her own way of life, Cordelia; you can’t be blamed for that.’

‘I’ve been a very lucky woman,’ she murmured with a wan smile. ‘Not everyone has a Peggy Reilly to love and look after them when they get old and feeble.’

‘Now you’re talking nonsense and making me tearful,’ chided Peggy softly. ‘Come on, Cordelia, it’s far too nice a day to get gloomy. What have you inherited?’

‘The bungalow and everything in it, some stocks and bonds, and the residue of her savings once probate has been granted and all the bequests and bills have been paid.’ Cordelia tipped the brim of her sunhat so her eyes were shaded. ‘The investment income and the savings will last me out and perhaps provide a few treats to make life a bit easier once this war is over. But I don’t need the bungalow.’

‘It’s not a good time to sell property,’ said Peggy as she remembered how little Anthony had paid for his cottage. ‘Why don’t you rent it out for the duration?’

Cordelia took off her half-moon glasses and squinted into the glare of the sunlit garden as yet more planes droned in the distance. ‘I could, I suppose, but tenants can be difficult, always complaining and damaging things because they don’t own the place, and I simply don’t have the energy any more to have to deal with all that.’

‘Ron and I could manage it for you,’ Peggy offered. ‘It would be a shame to leave it empty when so many people are desperate for somewhere to live, and the rent will give you some added income as well.’

‘I have more than enough,’ said Cordelia. ‘But I wonder. Would Sarah and Jane like to move in there, do you think? It would give them a bit of independence. I wouldn’t charge them rent, of course, and then, when I’m gone, it will be theirs.’

Peggy didn’t want to think of Cordelia’s demise, and quickly turned to more pleasant matters. ‘You’ll have to ask them,’ she said, ‘but I think it’s an excellent idea. Sarah’s an adult and Jane is maturing very quickly, and although they don’t seem to mind sharing a room, it’s time for them to have their own privacy and space. The bungalow would provide that, and of course we’ll always be on hand to help if there are any problems.’

Cordelia nodded and smiled. ‘Then I’ll ask them this evening,’ she said. ‘Now, I think it’s about time we had a cup of tea and a biscuit. I don’t know about you, but all this sunshine and decision-making has given me a terrible thirst.’

‘There’s something going on at the airfield,’ said Ron as he tucked into his breakfast the following morning. ‘I was up there at dawn with Harvey, and the number of planes coming in and flying out again was quite staggering.’

‘They’ve been making a terrible racket for the last four days,’ said Ruby. ‘Me and Rita went up on the motorbike to have a look after I finished me shift yesterday – but of course we weren’t allowed nowhere near the place.’

Ron continued to eat his porridge, his expression thoughtful. ‘Something’s up, that’s for certain. I’m thinking it would be wise to batten down the hatches and sleep in the Anderson shelter tonight, just to be on the safe side.’

‘But we’re supposed to be going to the party at Wayfaring Down,’ protested Fran, ‘and I’ve made a new frock especially.’

‘There will be other parties,’ said Suzy as she gathered up their nursing cloaks and gas-mask boxes, ‘and you’ll still get to wear your new frock. But Ron’s right, better to stay home tonight rather than get caught out in a heavy raid.’

Fran stuck out her bottom lip as she swung her cape over her shoulders. ‘To be sure, I’m sick of this war,’ she muttered.

‘Aren’t we all?’ retorted Suzy, who was still edgy about Anthony moving back in with his mother. ‘Now, come on Fran, or we’ll be late on duty.’

Ruby’s disappointment was tinged with relief. Despite her initial misgivings about how it might be interpreted by Michael if she went, she’d begun to look forward to the dance, but now the decision was out of her hands, she no longer had to worry. She cleared the table and started on the washing-up as Peggy tried to stop Daisy from smearing porridge all over her high chair.

After Suzy and Fran had left for the hospital, Ron went down to the Anderson shelter to do his weekly clean-up and restock the drinking water, candles, matches, kerosene and box of provisions. Jane was out on her milk round, Sarah was sleeping in on a rare day off, and Rita was due back from her night shift at the fire station.

‘I don’t know why everyone hates sleeping in the Anderson shelter,’ said Cordelia as she closed the newspaper and set it aside. ‘I find I can sleep just as well there as anywhere.’

‘That’s because you take your hearing aid out and can’t hear anything,’ said Peggy fondly.

‘Old age certainly has its advantages,’ she agreed, ‘and at least I don’t have to put up with Ron’s dreadful snoring.’

‘You’ll not have to put up with me at all tonight,’ Ron said as he carried the empty water container into the kitchen. ‘I’ll be on fire-watch duty.’

‘You mean you’ll be drinking tea with your cronies and talking rubbish as usual,’ Cordelia retorted with a sniff.

‘Ach,’ he countered with a twinkle in his eye, ‘it’s better than listening to you twittering away like a demented bird, so it is.’

Cordelia swiped at him with a tea towel and Ruby smiled as she finished the washing-up and began to dry the dishes. She’d come to love this warm, welcoming home and the people who lived here, and she enjoyed listening to the gentle banter that spoke so clearly of a deep and abiding affection. It reminded her of how it had once been when her father was alive, and they’d lived in the two-up, two-down just off Bow High Street. The kitchen had been the heart of their home then, and although the memories were faded and fractured, the essence of that sense of being loved and secure remained with her.

The sharp summons of the telephone snapped her out of her thoughts.

‘Would you get that, Ruby, dear?’ asked Peggy as she tried to mop up the porridge.

Ruby carefully put down the pile of plates and hurried into the hall to find Rita had come home and already had the receiver against her ear.

‘Yes, I’m not surprised,’ said Rita. ‘Of course I will. Yes, she’s here, do you want to speak to her?’ She listened and then replied, ‘Thanks for letting us know. TTFN,’ and replaced the receiver.

‘Who was that?’ Ruby asked.

Rita shrugged off her thick waterproof coat. ‘It was your Canadian friend Mike. All leave has been cancelled and the party is off. There’s something of a flap on up there, so he didn’t have long to speak. He sends his apologies and said he’d telephone once things have calmed down.’

Ruby felt a shiver of apprehension as the deep drone of another squadron of bombers passed over the hills behind the house. ‘It’s going to be big, whatever it is, isn’t it?’

‘Looks like it,’ said Rita cheerfully, ‘but the RAF can deal with anything the Luftwaffe can throw at them, so I wouldn’t let it worry you too much.’ She toed off her thick boots and padded into the kitchen to get a cup of tea.