Polly's Angel (24 page)

He should have kept his mouth shut, of course. He meant to, but it wouldn't be silenced. Before he knew what he was saying he had spoken. ‘Monica! What in God's name are you doin' here, when I t'ought you safe in Southport?'

His mother had jumped up as he entered, rushing to his side almost as quickly as Monica had, and now she said quietly, gripping his arm warningly: ‘Isn't it a wonderful t'ing, me darlin' feller? Monica t'ought you'd likely be home for Christmas so she's come to stay – well, I can see for meself you're thrilled as can be, almost wit'out words!'

‘Oh, I am, I am,' Martin said quickly, hugging Monica so hard that she squeaked in protest. ‘Darling girl, you're the last person I expected to see here – I – I thought I'd have a quick word wit' me family and – and then mebbe get to Southport tonight, or tomorrow if I couldn't make it. I've got five days' leave – imagine that, five whole days ashore!'

By now Polly was hanging on to his arm and Peader was shaking his shoulder and grinning at him, whilst Bevin and Ivan were on their feet and crowding close, their faces alight with excitement. ‘Me boy, it's the best Christmas present any of us could have asked for, to have yourself amongst us,' Peader said in his slow way. ‘Come to the fire – we're eatin' in ten minutes or so, but until then sit yourself down and tell us how you come to be here.'

‘Oh, we berthed this afternoon, so I got meself ashore as soon as I could and come on home,' Martin said. He still hadn't got over the shock of finding Monica in his parents' parlour, but had himself well in hand now. ‘If I'd only had a forty-eight I'd have gone straight to Southport, of course, but since it's five days I thought I'd stop off here first . . . and now I don't need to rush off anywhere,' he added hastily, with Monica still pressed against him, her face hidden in his seaman's jersey. ‘Well, I thought I'd give you all a surprise, but you've given me a better one.'

‘So we have,' Deirdre said equably. ‘Monica, you sit right down by Martin. Boys, go and wash up ready for tea and you, Polly love, go and warm the pot. Your daddy and meself will start slicing ham and buttering bread . . . because these two will have a great deal to say to one another, that I do know.'

Martin obediently sat down in one of the fireside chairs and as soon as his family had left the room Monica came and sat on his knee. Martin put his arms round her and gave her another hug, a gentler, more genuine one this time, and then turned her in his arms so that she faced him. ‘Sweetheart – what a wonderful surprise! But you said you were living with your parents . . . I never dared hope to see you today . . . not unless I managed to – to make it back to the station . . .'

Monica heaved a huge sigh and snuggled into his arms. ‘Oh, Martin, I've missed you so! And – and your mam's been really nice to me, though that Polly . . . but never mind that. She's had to give up her room, and . . . well, I suppose I've not tried very hard with her. But I will now, really I will. I'll really try to gerron with your family.'

Martin kissed the side of her face and then bent down and rummaged in his ditty bag. ‘Got something for you,' he said. And he pulled out the little square parcel which contained the box with the thin gold chain in it and held it enticingly before her. ‘Want it now or later?'

‘Oo-oh,' Monica said longingly. ‘Only I'd better purrit under the Christmas tree, Martin, with all the other presents. It wouldn't be fair, else.'

And Martin, saying that he understood, put the parcel under the tree and began to tell his wife about his latest voyage and the course in gunnery which he would take, starting in the New Year. And he tried not to be glad when Polly popped back to tell them to come through to the kitchen for tea.

Grace was going home. As soon as war had been declared she had written to the Admiralty offering her services to the WRNS and had started to enquire about a passage to Britain, but it was not until mid-January that things began to happen.

The Admiralty had not replied, but she had been offered a passage by two Salvationists who were also keen to return to their native country. Mr and Mrs Carewe needed someone to help with their two small children, and who better than Grace? So she had cabled to the O'Bradys that she was coming home and now, with tears running down her cheeks, she stood by the rail of the SS
Queen of the South
, waving to Sara, Brogan and Jamie, and trying not to wonder whether she would ever see them again, or whether she would see England for that matter, because it would not be an easy voyage, everyone aboard knew that. A great many vessels had fallen victim to the magnetic mines which now infested the seas, though Grace thought they would probably account for as many friends as foes, since no one could tell where they would turn up next. Then there were the U-boats, skulking below the waves, aiming their torpedoes at any ship they did not recognise as one of their own. Civilian ships owned by countries which had no part in the conflict had been sunk, so everyone on board knew the risks, and knew also that the voyage was unlikely to be an entirely peaceful one.

But it was no use dwelling on the dangers ahead. Being a member of the armed forces would not be all smooth sailing, she supposed. So Grace dried her eyes and led her young charges down to their cabin. She was here to do a job so the sooner she started the better.

‘Let's have a game of “Happy Families”,' she said brightly, getting out the pack of cards. ‘Who'll deal, children?'

Because of her mother's words, Polly began to search for Sunny as soon as she could after the Christmas holiday was over, but she did not find him. Remembering what Alice had been told she went to his house, or what had once been his house, feeling very silly indeed and hoping that she would not make a fool of herself. At Sunny's old address she found a stringy, hatchet-faced woman with dyed black hair who told her, in the strangest accent that Polly had ever heard, that the Andersens had moved out some time previously and that she herself had been the tenant for nigh on eighteen months.

‘Wh-where did they go, do you know?' Polly quavered. She felt sure the woman thought she was pursuing Sunny like some sort of common Mary-Ellen, but having come this far she was determined to get what information she could. ‘Sunny was me pal, only we – we've not seen each other for a while. He was at school wit' me brother,' she added untruthfully, and imagined the woman's sharp black eyes softened a little.

‘Oh aye? Well, his pa vas a sailor, so folk hereabouts kind o' thought that the lad vould have follered in his footsteps. Then it vould have been natural that the boy's mother would have headed for Pompey,' the woman said, having given the matter some thought, with her dyed black head cocked to one side like a blackbird, and her little eyes taking Polly in from top to toe. ‘Pompey's a good place for sailors, and sailors' vives.'

‘Yes, I expect so. I believe Sunny has joined the Navy, so perhaps his mother has gone to this – this Pompey to keep house for him,' Polly said, and was rewarded with an even sharper look, an abrupt crow of laughter – and the door slammed almost in her face, though the woman did have the grace to say: ‘Try Pompey,' as she disappeared from sight.

Polly went thoughtfully home and got out the old
Atlas of the World
which countless O'Bradys had turned to for geographical advice from time to time. She found Great Britain with its principal cities, ports and harbours, but she could not find Pompey, no matter how she spelt it. Finally, she concluded that the woman had just been taking a rise out of her, put the atlas away and decided to think no more of Sunny. Indeed, if he no longer lived in the ‘Pool, she might as well forget him, because she was unlikely to walk into him again by accident. For by now she was even more certain that the naval back view she and Ivan had seen on Church Street had been Sunny, probably visiting Liverpool en route for somewhere else.

Martin and Monica spent the first two days of his leave at number 8, but then they went off to Southport, and it was not until they came back again, Martin walking into the house to say goodbye to everyone, that it occurred to Polly to ask her elder brother whether he had ever heard of Pompey.

‘Yes, ‘course I have,' Martin said indignantly. ‘So should you, Poll. It's an Italian city out of Roman times, it was buried when one of the Italian volcanoes erupted – Etna, was it? Or was it Vesuvius? Any road, it's an Italian city.'

‘Oh,' Polly said, confounded. ‘Is it a port, Mart? Only someone told me that there are lots of sailors in Pompey and . . .'

Martin gave a little choke of laughter and put a brotherly arm round her shoulders. ‘I thought you meant
Pompeii,
the ancient city,' he said kindly. ‘Pompey's another kettle of fish altogether, so it is. It's a sort of nickname that sailors have given to Portsmouth, God alone knows why. And there are certainly a great many sailors in Pompey. All right, alanna? Does that answer your question?'

‘It does,' Polly said with great relief. You never knew, if she decided to join the WRNs when she was older she might easily go to Portsmouth one day, though if there were really hundreds and hundreds of sailors there, she had not yet worked out how she might find Sunny and his mammy. But having discovered the possible whereabouts of the family, she decided that she would do nothing, for now – there was little enough that she could do, after all. ‘Thanks, Mart.'

So now, knowing that in all probability Sunny was unlikely to be in the city, she decided to put him right out of her mind. Besides, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to join the WRNs; joining the WAAF might be more fun, because Tad was in the Air Force and she kind of liked the thought of meeting up with her old friend again.

So Polly continued to work, and study, and to help her mammy and write letters to anyone, just about, who would write back. And waited for the months to pass until she, too, could help to fight this war which seemed so slow in getting started.

Chapter Eight

Years ago, when it had first happened, Sunny had been deeply upset and angry that Polly had suddenly stopped meeting up with him, but even in his disappointment he knew better than to blame her. It was her stuck-up, stupid parents, that's what it was, and he was fairly sure that if he could just get Polly alone . . .

The trouble was, he could not. He had been baulked at every turn, not by Mr and Mrs O'Brady but by Polly herself. With her blue eyes sad instead of smiling, she had turned away from him, ignored him, moved if he came near her, until he was forced to realise that this was serious. He had done wrong to encourage Polly to mitch off school and now he was being paid out for it. They would not let him see her and since they had clearly abstracted some sort of promise from Polly, he knew that she was far too honourable to break her word and would consequently have nothing at all to do with him.

It was sad, but Sunny was young and on the brink of a new adventure. He was very soon fed up with skiving round Liverpool picking up bits and pieces of jobs when he could, and without Polly, life suddenly seemed dull indeed. So Sunny Andersen, son of a sailor, went and joined the Navy, because he saw a life on the ocean wave as being very much to his taste. He joined the Royal Navy as an ordinary seaman, of course, the lowest of the low, but he was bright and rapidly rose to able seaman and then he was sent on a course to learn to be a signaller, and when he had successfully completed the course he was posted to the sloop
Poppy,
whose home port was Portsmouth.

War was coming; everyone in the armed forces knew it and Sunny was no exception. He also realised that he was likely to be carrying out his duties on various ships anywhere in the world and it was unlikely he would be able to return to Liverpool often, since his ship's home port was in the south of the country. It was sad, because he loved the city, it was his home, the only one he had known until he joined the Navy, but as soon as he had moved away his mam had moved down to Portsmouth, ‘to be near your dad,' she had said, though Sunny took that with a pinch of salt. Now when he was ashore it was convenient to move into the small spare room in his mam's warm, untidy little house and he supposed that he would be spending his leaves in Pompey now, so that he could see his mam and, when he was in port, his dad. A pity, because he had lost touch with Polly, and he still thought of her with affection and just a touch of desire, but he had had a good few girlfriends since he joined up and no longer thought of Polly as often as he once had.

He thought of her, however, when he found himself, just before Christmas, with a five-day leave – and a pal, also with five days off, who still lived in the ‘Pool. Dempsey was a cheery lad, one of a big family, and when Sunny had explained that he could no longer spend his leaves in the ‘Pool because his mam had moved – he did not say where – Dempsey had immediately told him that the entire Dempsey family – especially his three sisters – would be delighted to entertain him.

‘Any pal of Reg Dempsey's a pal o' theirs,' he said lavishly. ‘You come along o' me, Sunny, an' you can look up your old mates whiles I do the same.'

So Sunny had got himself a rail warrant and arrived in Liverpool on a cold afternoon just before Christmas.

Naturally, Sunny was rather pleased than otherwise to find himself, in all the glory of his uniform, back in Liverpool for a short spell. His first thought was that now he should get in touch with Polly again, since she would be a working girl by this time and no longer quite so much under her parents' thumbs, so at the first opportunity he left the Dempsey household, telling Reg that he was going to look up old friends, and then began to make his way across the city towards Titchfield Street.