Always in My Heart (14 page)

At least the news was a bit more cheerful, for Rommel was being beaten back in Libya, and the Russians had sent the Germans into a humiliating defeat after their attempts to capture Moscow. On the home front, there had been a terrible mining disaster in Staffordshire in which fifty poor men had been trapped, but at least the Germans seemed to have given up their bombing raids for a while – no doubt too busy dealing with the numerous RAF raids on Germany. And the Yanks were due to arrive in the spring, which was bound to cheer everyone up.

Peggy tucked Daisy into the old pram which had done such sterling service over the years, and hoped she’d stay asleep long enough for her to catch up on the washing. It was a brisk, bright day, and ideal drying weather, and although Peggy would have liked
nothing better than to put her feet up, she knew she couldn’t avoid the chore any longer.

The copper boiler in the basement had been lit, and the first load of washing was already flapping on the line when Peggy saw Ron and Harvey come down the garden path. Neither of them looked very happy with life, and Peggy knew it was time to ask Ron what the matter was.

He edged past her as she began feeding the second batch of washing through the heavy mangle. ‘To be sure, I’ll do that for yer, Peg,’ he said as he knocked the mud from his gumboots and promptly trampled it into her clean tiles as he reached for the handle.

They worked together in silence as Harvey gobbled down his food and slumped with a sigh of pleasure on Ron’s bed. Peggy had given up trying to keep the dog out of Ron’s room. There were more important things to worry about – like what was eating Ron.

She decided not to shilly-shally and to ask him straight out. ‘What’s been worrying you, Ron?’ she asked as she folded a damp sheet into the basket at her feet. ‘And don’t deny it,’ she said as he shook his head. ‘You’ve been grumpy for weeks.’

‘Aye, well, me shrapnel’s playing up in this cold weather,’ he said dismissively. ‘To be sure I’m a martyr to it.’ He winced and put his hand on his lower back as if to emphasise the point.

Peggy wasn’t fooled. ‘I’m sorry to hear your back’s playing up, Ron,’ she said softly, ‘but I get the feeling there’s something else bothering you.’ She noted the
way he chewed his lip and sensed that he wanted to tell her, but needed a bit of time to pull his thoughts together.

As the rollers squeezed the water from the last sheet and Peggy carefully folded it into the basket, Ron dug his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. ‘Rosie’s left the pub,’ he said flatly.

Peggy stared at him in amazement. ‘Good heavens,’ she breathed. ‘But why?’

Ron told her what Tommy had said. ‘To be sure that wee girl has broken me heart, Peg,’ he confessed. ‘I never thought she’d just up sticks and leave without a word.’

Peggy patted his slumped shoulder. ‘Poor Ron,’ she murmured. ‘No wonder you’ve been so quiet these past weeks.’ And then she became brisk. ‘But I wouldn’t believe a word Tommy Findlay said,’ she added purposefully. ‘There has to be more to this than meets the eye, Ron. Rosie isn’t the sort of woman to play fast and loose with anyone she cares about – and she does care for you, Ronan,’ she said more softly. ‘It’s obvious in the way she is when you’re together.’

‘D’ye think so?’ There was a spark of hope in his eyes.

Peggy nodded. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that Tommy’s only telling you half the story. Rosie’s husband is a very sick and dangerous man, Ron, and he’ll never be released from secure care.’ She smiled warmly at the older man who’d become father and friend over the years. ‘Don’t let Tommy Findlay cause trouble
between you – just be patient. Rosie will come back as soon as she’s able, and then you’ll know the truth.’

‘I could wring Findlay’s neck, so I could,’ he growled as he hauled the basket up and carried it outside to the washing line.

‘We’ve all felt like that at some point,’ muttered Peggy as she grabbed a pillowcase and flapped the creases out of it with such vigour it cracked like a whip. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work, and I’m amazed someone hasn’t done away with him years ago.’

Ron grinned and left her to peg out the rest of the washing, while he went to check on his vegetable patch.

Peggy stood and looked in satisfaction at the three lines of flapping washing, then picked up the basket and went back indoors. She was glad Ron was feeling more cheerful, but that still left the worry over Jim having to work in the armaments factory alongside his brother. It was well paid, but that was because it was a dirty, dangerous job, and they both clearly hated it.

The fourth cause of her worry was sitting in the chair by the kitchen range.

Cordelia Finch was wrestling with wool and needles, tutting and clucking with annoyance as she tried to pick up dropped stitches. She looked up as Peggy came into the kitchen and gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Can you try and sort this out, dear?’ she said. ‘I seem to be at sixes and sevens today.’

Peggy was only too glad to have an excuse to sit down. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea first,’ she said.

‘Yes, I’ve got a thirst too,’ Cordelia replied, fiddling with her hearing aid. ‘Perhaps we could make a pot of tea?’

Peggy smiled fondly and made the tea, and then settled by the fire to try and make sense of Mrs Finch’s knitting. ‘You seem a bit distracted, Cordelia,’ she said some time later. ‘Is something bothering you?’

‘Well, it’s all a bit silly really,’ she began. ‘You see, I don’t even know if there’s anybody there to actually worry about. But if there is, then it’s all rather serious.’

Peggy frowned. ‘Who are you talking about, Cordelia?’

‘My brother’s son. You see, I don’t know if he’s still there – or even if he has a family. So it’s a bit foolish of me to worry about them, isn’t it, when they might not even exist in the first place? But I do, Peggy. I really do.’

‘I’m sorry, Cordelia, but you aren’t making a bit of sense.’ Peggy put down the knitting and reached for the gnarled hands which were clasped tightly in Cordelia’s lap. ‘Start at the beginning and tell me about your brother,’ she encouraged.

As Cordelia began to talk of the brother she’d never known, Peggy slowly began to understand why the older woman had been so distracted of late. She kept hold of Cordelia’s hands as she talked, and when she’d finished, she gave them a heartening, gentle squeeze. ‘I agree that the news in the Far East is extremely worrying,’ she said, ‘what with Hong Kong and Malaya being overrun by the Japs, and
the Philippines under constant threat of invasion. But your nephew could be anywhere after all this time, and I really do think you should try and stop fretting.’

Cordelia dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. ‘I know I should,’ she admitted, ‘but he is family. And if he has a family of his own, and is still in Malaya …’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I feel so helpless, Peggy.’

‘Do you think your sister might have an address for him?’

Cordelia sniffed and folded her hands more tightly into her lap. ‘I very much doubt it,’ she said. ‘Amelia doesn’t approve of people who go to live abroad.’

Peggy didn’t really know how to answer this, so didn’t try. She sipped her tea and thought about Cordelia’s problem, wondering how on earth she could help. And then she had a bright idea. ‘My nephew, Doris’s son Anthony, works for the MOD. He might know someone who could find out if the Fullers still live in Malaya.’

The sweet little face brightened immediately. ‘Do you really think he might? Oh, that would be so helpful – as long as it isn’t too much trouble.’

‘I’ll speak to Doris this afternoon and ask her to ask him. I can’t promise anything, Cordelia, but he’s a very nice young man, and I know he’ll do all he can to help if it’s at all possible.’

‘That would be lovely,’ said Cordelia. ‘Thank you, Peggy, you are a dear.’

Peggy picked up the knitting again and frowned
over the dropped stitches. She didn’t feel particularly ‘dear’ at the moment, for she’d never got on with her eldest sister, and every conversation or meeting was a minefield. Doris could wind her up tighter than a clockwork train – and Doris clearly knew it. To have to ask her for anything was not going to be easy.

Lunch consisted of spam sandwiches and the last of the stewed apple with a drop of cream from the top of the milk as a treat. Cordelia headed for her bedroom shortly afterwards to take her afternoon nap, and, with the washing all lovely and dry and smelling sweetly of fresh air, Peggy folded it carefully away to be ironed after tea.

Having changed and fed Daisy, she tucked her beneath the blankets in the deep, coach-built pram, fastened the rainproof cover and put up the hood. Negotiating the front steps was always a bit of a struggle, but Daisy didn’t seem to mind being bumped from one to the next, and soon they were heading down the hill towards the seafront.

The wind was stronger down here, and Peggy was glad of the rather ancient and moulting fox pelt she’d clipped round her neck. The warm winter coat Jim had bought her for her birthday last year fitted now she’d lost her fat tummy, and her feet were snug in the fur-lined boots he and Ron had given her for Christmas. She tugged the woolly hat over her dark, wavy hair to cover her ears, not caring if she looked silly, and made her way along what was left of the promenade.

Cliffehaven had changed since the start of the war. What remained of the pier had been totally destroyed by an enemy bomber crashing into it, and two of the big hotels had been demolished in an air raid. Coils of barbed wire ran along the boundary between promenade and beach, and there were signs everywhere warning of landmines hidden in the shingle. The once gentle bay now looked ugly, with tank-traps at the low-water mark, gun emplacements on the promenade, and the scars of bullets marking the once-elegant shelters that were dotted along the seafront. The shelters had been there since Victorian times, but the stone seats were chipped, the beautiful glass windows broken, and the pretty finials and curlicues that had once graced the roofs were mostly reduced to splinters.

As seagulls hovered and shrieked, Peggy breathed in the smell of salt and seaweed, determinedly ignoring the stench of the clumps of ugly oil that littered the shingle and told the tale of too many ships and planes meeting their end in the Channel waters. It was a lovely day despite the cold, her baby was beautiful and she felt refreshed.

Havelock Road was at the very end of the long promenade, the rather grand houses set in large gardens which overlooked the sea. It was a quiet, leafy area, and regarded by most as the posh end of town – which it was, Peggy conceded. There was a small park which had a lake surrounded by weeping willow trees, and formal rose-beds leading to shady corners where
benches had been placed. The iron railings had long since gone to be turned into Spitfires and anything else that might be needed in the war effort, but it was still a pleasant place to visit – if one had time to sit about doing nothing.

Despite Doris’s best efforts, Peggy had never been jealous of her or her house – or the way she seemed able to spend money like water. Doris was married to the rather boring Ted Williams, who was manager of the Home and Colonial store in the High Street, and who enjoyed having a flutter on the stock market. Peggy would pick Jim over him any day, for at least her Jim had a bit of life about him, whereas Ted had been middle-aged before he’d turned twenty-five, and just went to work or played endless rounds of golf. Doris wheeled him out now and again when she needed an escort for one of her interminable charity functions, but to Peggy, it seemed they were like strangers who just happened to live in the same house.

Their son Anthony was a studious, rather shy Oxford graduate of thirty-one who’d taught physics and mathematics at a private school before the war. He’d been approached by someone from the MOD when the school had closed down, and instead of evacuating with his pupils, he’d stayed in Cliffehaven.

What he did was secret, but Peggy knew he spent most of his time in the underground bunkers that lay beneath nearby Castle Hill Fort. The Fort, which predated the first Napoleonic war, was fenced off now, with soldiers guarding it night and day, so whatever
he did had to be extremely important – as Doris never tired of telling her.

Peggy pushed the pram along the pavement and noted the weeds that had begun to push through the cracks. There were also potholes in the road, some of the kerbstones were broken, and the gutters were muddy and littered with dead leaves. The council workers had far more important things to do these days than pander to the needs of the rich and self-important – but Peggy reckoned the residents of Havelock Road would soon be making their complaints to the Mayor.

She came to a shocked halt as she reached Mrs Finch’s old home. The house had once been a fine example of Victorian architecture, but now it, and its neighbour, had been reduced to ruins, and Peggy was glad that Cordelia couldn’t see it. The rooms were open to the elements, the side wall had gone completely, and the chimney had crashed through the roof and smashed into the core of the house, taking floors and windows and bits of furniture with it. Rubble was strewn across the two gardens and a tree had fallen down, its topmost branches left to rest against the remains of what had once been a bedroom.

Peggy felt a pang of sadness, not only for Cordelia, but for the lovely house, and the Galloway family who had lived there, and she just hoped that no one had been killed. With a deep breath to quell her emotions, she gripped the pram handle and carried on walking. She would ask Doris what had happened to the Galloways and their neighbours.

She finally came to her sister’s house, and paused for a moment to get up the nerve to knock on the door. Doris and Ted lived at the very end of Havelock Road, in a large detached house which was almost hidden by a spreading chestnut tree, high hedge and an equally high flint and brick wall. There were no iron gates at the two entrances any more, but the shingle driveway that curved past the front door had been weeded and recently raked. The garage had been added on twenty years ago, and it stood to one side of the house, the wooden double doors firmly padlocked, the squares of glass in the tops gleaming as if they’d just been cleaned.