Far From Home (10 page)

‘I see you’re married,’ said Peggy, her gaze settling on Polly’s wedding ring. ‘What does your husband think of you leaving the safety of Hereford for this place?’

Polly conceded Peggy had a right to know who her lodgers were and the reason for them being there, but it was hard to talk about Adam. She finished the sandwich and sipped the tea before answering. ‘My husband doesn’t know I’m here,’ she said finally. ‘He was injured in France and is now at Cliffehaven Memorial, which is why I came down to help nurse him.’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’ Peggy fell silent and drank her tea, her dark eyes still bright with curiosity despite her words. ‘Do you have family back in Hereford?’ she asked moments later.

Polly bit down on a smile. It was clear Peggy hadn’t finished her inquisition. ‘We have a daughter, Alice,’ she said, ‘but she’s gone with the rest of my family on one of the convoys to Canada. I have an uncle there, and they will stay with him until it’s safe to come back.’

At the thought of Alice, she felt the tears well and sniffed them away. ‘I could have gone with her, of course, but my husband needs me, and after what I’ve witnessed these last two days, I now know she’ll be a lot safer in Canada than here with me.’

‘It’s always hard to let your children go,’ murmured Peggy. ‘My two boys have been evacuated to Somerset, and this house feels very empty without them.’ She cocked her head, the dark, wavy hair falling over her brow. ‘Charlie’s just turned nine, and Bob’s thirteen. How old is your Alice?’

‘She’s five.’ Polly’s voice broke. Talking about Alice was too painful, and she changed the subject quickly. ‘I will need to wash and tidy up before I go to the hospital. Could you show me my room, please?’

‘But surely you should rest before dashing off again?’

Polly drained the cup of tea and smiled ruefully. ‘I’m already a week late, and if the matron at the Memorial is half as particular about timekeeping and rules as the one at Hereford Royal, I’m already in deep trouble.’

‘I’m afraid she is,’ murmured Peggy. ‘Poor Danuta’s already had a run-in with her, and the other girls say she’s an absolute dragon.’ She put down her teacup and stood. ‘Come on then. I’ll show you where everything is.’

Polly was shown the cellar steps to the back door and listened closely as Peggy went through the evacuation routine they followed when the air raid siren went. She looked out of the window at the Anderson shelter and the garden. ‘That’s quite a show,’ she said in admiration of the vegetable patch. ‘Who’s the gardener?’

‘My father-in-law, Ron,’ Peggy replied. ‘He lives in the basement with Harvey.’ At Polly’s frown, she hurried to explain. ‘He’s a Bedlington-cross, what Ron calls a lurcher, and has the unfortunate habit of sleeping on Ron’s bed.’ She sighed and shrugged. ‘I don’t really approve, but Harvey’s become rather adept at finding people under the rubble and is quite the celebrity.’ She paused and smiled. ‘He hates the sound of the siren, though, and howls to the heavens until it stops. But he’s as good as gold during the bombing. Which I find very strange.’

‘Is he used to loud noises then? My dad was a farmer and had several gun dogs. Nothing much frightened them, either, but anything high-pitched used to set them howling.’

‘Ron takes him hunting, but he and Harvey are laws unto themselves,’ confided Peggy dryly. ‘You’ll meet them at tea along with everyone else.’

She bustled into the hall, showed Polly where the dining room was and took charge of the smaller bag. ‘Jim and I have the back bedroom down here,’ she said. ‘It’s nice and central, and I can keep an eye on comings and goings.’ She grinned. ‘With so many pretty young girls in the house, and so many servicemen chasing after them, I’ve got my work cut out. But nothing much gets past me. I ran a bed and breakfast business here before the war, you know, and you wouldn’t believe some of the shenanigans that went on.’

‘I don’t expect I would,’ Polly murmured. Peggy was lovely and friendly, but her endless chatter was draining Polly of any energy she had left, and at this moment, all she wanted was to lie down and shut out the rest of the world for a few minutes.

‘We have quite a houseful,’ Peggy continued cheerfully as she led the way upstairs. ‘There’s June and Fran who share the middle room right at the top, and Suzy who has the single one next door. They’re nurses too, so you’ll find plenty to chat about, I’m sure.’ She paused for breath and hurried on. ‘My daughter Cissy’s room is the third one on that floor, and she shares with her sister Anne when she’s off duty at the OC. Anne’s married now, and she and Martin are about to buy their own little home.’ Her eyes sparkled with happiness. ‘She’s expecting our first grandchild, which is very exciting.’

‘How lovely for you,’ murmured Polly, who was getting confused with all the names and relationships. No doubt they would be easier to remember once she could put faces to them.

They reached the first floor. ‘That’s the bathroom. I’ll show you how to light the boiler without losing your eyebrows in a minute. Mrs Finch sleeps in that room, and this one is yours.’

For the first time in half an hour, she fell silent. Then she smiled hesitantly. ‘I’m sorry, dear, but you’re going to have to share with Danuta.’

‘Oh. I didn’t realise. Isn’t there another room? Only I’ll be coming in at odd hours and I don’t want to disturb anyone.’

Peggy shook her head. ‘Only down in the basement, but that’s in a terrible state with all Ron’s clutter and the smell of dog. You’ll be much better up here, I assure you.’

‘I see,’ murmured Polly. ‘You’ve mentioned Danuta before. Who is she?’

‘She’s about your age and Polish,’ gabbled Peggy, who was clearly trying to persuade Polly that Danuta would make the perfect room-mate. ‘She’s very sweet, but terribly shy and awkward, and needs taking out of herself a bit more. I expect she feels a little lost at the moment, what with everything being so foreign, and that matron not letting her do her nursing.’

Polly thought she’d come to the end of her explanation, but Peggy snatched a breath and hurried on.

‘Her brother was billeted here for a while, you know, but he was killed only weeks before she arrived, and of course that has hit her hard. It will do her good to have a bit of company, and I’m sure you’ll get on like a house on fire.’

Peggy finally ran out of breath and looked at Polly hopefully.

Polly tried to absorb this flood of information. She didn’t want to share a room with a complete stranger – especially someone who was in mourning and probably couldn’t speak much English. But there seemed to be no other option.

‘I’m sorry, dear. I know it isn’t what you expected, but Danuta turned up out of the blue looking for Aleksy, and of course I couldn’t possibly turn her away.’

Polly realised she was making a fuss over nothing, thereby upsetting Peggy, who didn’t deserve it. ‘It’s all right,’ she hurriedly assured her. ‘I’m sure we’ll get on fine.’

Peggy smiled brightly and opened the door with a flourish. ‘There we are then, dear. That’s your bed, and of course there’s plenty of space for your things in the wardrobe and chest of drawers.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Danuta brought hardly anything with her from Poland,’ she confided, ‘and most of that is only fit for the ragbag.’

Polly wasn’t at all sure about the sound of this young woman but decided it would be unfair to judge her before they’d even met. The irony was that Danuta might not want to share either, in which case, they’d just have to knuckle down and make the best of it until another room became free.

‘I will need your ration book, dear, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to keep the blackout curtains shut after dark – and of course you will need sixpences for the meter.’ Peggy’s smile was hesitant still, as if she was aware of Polly’s uncertainty with the arrangements. ‘I change the towels and linen once a week. Breakfast is at seven, lunch at midday and tea at six-thirty. Of course with all you girls doing shifts at the hospital, mealtimes are adjusted accordingly, but I’d appreciate you letting me know what your shifts are.’

Polly placed the heavy suitcase on the floor. ‘It’s a lovely room,’ she said truthfully. ‘I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here.’ She walked into the bay and looked out of the window through the criss-cross of white tape. There was no view of the beach at all, which was rather disappointing.

Peggy seemed to read her thoughts. ‘The only room with just a glimpse of the sea is at the top of the house – but even then you have to stand on tiptoe.’ She smiled and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter,’ she continued. ‘None of us has any time to sit and look at the view any more, and the seafront isn’t as pretty as it was anyway.’

Polly followed her into the bathroom, listened carefully as Peggy demonstrated the mysteries of lighting the boiler and thought longingly of a bath and a few minutes of peace before she had to go out again.

Peggy’s expression was understanding. ‘I’ll leave you to it, but be sparing with the water, dear. All these raids mean we have to conserve every drop.’ She headed back to the landing and hesitated on the top step. ‘I do hope you and Danuta get along,’ she said softly. ‘She needs a friend.’

Polly stood on the landing and watched her hurrying down the stairs. Peggy Reilly was warm and caring, the very opposite of the seaside landladies lampooned on postcards and by the musical hall comedians, and Polly counted herself very fortunate. Turning back to the bedroom, she closed the door and leant against it, taking in the room more carefully.

It was comfortable and spotlessly clean, the sunlight streaming through the window on to polished furniture and floorboards. Compared to the accommodation provided by the hospital when she was a student nurse, it was luxurious, for although she had to share, there was plenty of room for both of them, and the beds looked temptingly soft.

She moved away from the door and approached the small rattan table that stood beside Danuta’s bed. Looking down, she saw the faded, creased and water-stained photographs. Without touching them, and feeling a little guilty at her prying, Polly regarded the faces of the elderly couple who seemed to be sitting at a table in a sunlit garden. There was a snapshot of a younger couple with a little girl, and another of the same handsome, dark-eyed young man in the uniform of the Polish air force. Polly studied the faces, and wondered if this was the brother Danuta had lost.

Realising it was none of her business, she set about unpacking. But as she opened the drawers and found the few shabby bits of clothing that must belong to Danuta, she felt a twinge of pity. The poor girl clearly possessed very little, and Polly knew enough from the newscasts to realise that Danuta’s journey here must have been fraught with danger. No wonder she was finding it hard to settle.

As she hung her dresses in the empty wardrobe and placed her shoes at the bottom, she couldn’t dismiss the memory of those haunting photographs. Had Danuta left her family behind in occupied Poland – or were they dead?

Polly closed the wardrobe door and placed her own precious photographs on the mantelpiece before pausing for a moment in deep contemplation. Peggy had said Danuta needed a friend – well, she did too. Perhaps sharing this room wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Polly pushed the empty cases under her bed and resisted the urge to lie down on the tempting eiderdown. If she closed her eyes now, she would probably sleep for hours, and she had to get to the hospital without further delay. Grabbing her washbag and clean clothes, she plucked the towel from the bed and hurried to the bathroom.

The Apollo Theatre had been built in the latter part of the last century when the railway had opened up the way to Cliffehaven and people began to take their holidays at the seaside. It stood squarely on the corner of Cliffe High Street and Queen’s Parade, which ran the length of the promenade, and had, so far, survived the air raids.

There were elegant doors leading into a grand foyer where large chandeliers had once graced the ornately decorated ceiling – these had been taken down for the duration – and sweeping staircases led to the different sections of the auditorium. The balconies, boxes, pillars and ceiling were heavily gilded, the walls covered in thick flock wallpaper, and the velvet tableau curtain which drew up and back from the stage was deeply fringed with gold tassels. At night the theatre took on an air of mystery and grandeur, but in the harsh light of day, it merely looked tatty.

The small troupe of dancers, singers, musicians, comedians and acrobats were playing at the Apollo for a week before they went on the road again. It was a respite for all of them, for the travelling had proved exhausting, and it was good to be in one place for more than a night.

Rehearsals were in full swing that afternoon and the dancers were being put through their paces before the evening show. Cissy was wearing a leotard beneath her wrap-round cardigan and shorts, but despite the fast tap routine she’d been rehearsing with the other girls, she was chilled by the draught which always blew from the wings. She could also feel her nose twitching from the dust that rose from the stage with every pounding step, and tried to sniff away the urge to sneeze.

‘Cecily Reilly! Concentrate!’ The dance master hit the floor with the gold-topped cane he always carried. ‘You have the grace and aptitude of an overfed carthorse.’

Cissy glared at him and caught up with the others as Mrs Philips hammered out the tune on the upright piano. Horace Dalrymple was a vicious old queen who considered himself far too gifted and important to be stuck in Cliffehaven with a bunch of hoofers he regarded as having little talent. He was habitually dressed in a dark suit and black fedora, with a gaudy cravat tied at the open neck of his flamboyant silk shirts. His hair was a shade too long, and several shades too black for a man in his sixties, and the cane was not an added affectation – he liked nothing better than to rap ankles and knees with it when he was displeased.