Secrets of the Singer Girls (15 page)

Mr Gladstone went to reply but clearly thought better of it and the two fell into a comfortable silence as together they stared out over the sea of workers.

Vera felt a sense of protectiveness stir in her heart. The women were listening to
Music While You Work
on the Home Service and the crackly old wireless was playing ‘We’ll
Meet Again’.

‘So much solace and companionship in music, ain’t there,’ mused Mr Gladstone. ‘It stops me from getting lonely, that’s for sure. I miss their singing when I’m
home on my own. Don’t tell them that, though.’

Vera chuckled, then on impulse, she turned to face him. ‘Why don’t you come to ours for your tea tonight?’ she said. ‘It’s a Saturday night after all. Daisy’s
invited Sal and Poppy round to eat after they’ve done their stint at the hospital and before they go off to a dance. It’s only corned beef hash, but I’m sure I can eke out another
plateful for you.’

Mr Gladstone’s face lit up as if he had been invited to take tea with the King himself.

‘Corned beef hash, you say?’ he grinned, rubbing his rotund belly. ‘Why, it’s my very favourite – a rare treat. I’d be delighted. And there was me thinking it
was just a plate of bread and dripping to keep me company tonight. What time shall I present myself?’

Vera was taken aback at his reaction and instantly found herself regretting her uncharacteristic act of spontaneity. She liked to keep her private and work lives separate, and now she worried
this would send out the wrong message, but she couldn’t very well withdraw the invite.

‘Eight thirty prompt, Mr Gladstone.’

He grinned and his top lip twitched mischievously. ‘Does this mean you’ll call me Archie now?’ he twinkled.

‘Don’t push your luck, Mr Gladstone,’ she retorted, and, with that, took her leave of his office.

At a quarter past eight that evening, Vera spooned loose tea into her giant brown pot, poured in boiling water, then popped a tea cosy on top before standing back to admire her
handiwork. The tiny kitchen was as clean as a new pin and filled with the delicious smell of a mutton stew bubbling away on the stove. In another act of spontaneity, her second of the day, she had
popped to the butcher’s at dinnertime and blown half a week’s rations on some mutton. She had even managed to get her hands on a loaf of bread, not fresh admittedly, but Vera had a
nifty trick of dabbing it with a bit of water and putting it in the range to warm through, making it taste just baked. Never let it be said she had fallen foul of the squanderbug!

Vera took the lid off the stew and pondered her impulsive behaviour as she stirred a wooden spoon through the rich, meaty juices. Why was she making such an effort? Was it because Daisy seemed
to be trying so hard to turn over a new leaf that she felt compelled to try herself? Another alarming thought popped into her head. Or was it to impress Mr Gladstone?

Don’t be so daft, Vera, she chided herself. You haven’t needed a man so far, so why ever would you start behaving like a simpering girl now?

No, it was all for the benefit of her little sister. With a resounding clatter she replaced the lid on the pot.

When she heard the front door open, Vera instinctively froze. Her father always returned at the same time. His routine rarely changed. He spent his days pawning whatever he could lay his hands
on, gambling and dabbling in the black market to provide himself with enough money to spend the afternoon with his cronies down the pub.

At around eight in the evening, he returned like a bad omen to take his paper to the toilet in the yard, gobble down some tea and then go out again, to where exactly Vera shuddered to think.
Usually he came up with some cock-and-bull story about working a night shift, but after years of living with Frank, Vera was wise to his ways.

From local gossip and experience she knew that the only place Frank headed was to a local drinking den or boxing club. At times he seemed to have plenty of money, showering Daisy with gifts of
perfume and magazines; other times he was penniless and it was left to Vera to make up the shortfall in the housekeeping. She could usually tell immediately by his voice whether his horse had come
in or his scheme had paid off.

‘Hello, Vera,’ he slurred behind her in a voice thick with drink and danger. Without turning round, she could already picture the look of malice lurking in her father’s eyes.
Tonight he was vexed, and instinctively, Vera felt her body stiffen.

‘Something smells delicious,’ he said slowly, walking up behind her and standing so close she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, one by one. The rancid odour of ale and
Woodbines swept over her, intensifying the chilling feeling of foreboding. ‘Enough of that for your old man?’ he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he took the lid off Vera’s
pot of stew.

She whirled round. ‘Don’t do that,’ she snapped, regretting the words even before they were out of her mouth.

Retribution was fast and furious. In a flash Frank had his hands round her neck and she was pinned up against the kitchen wall. Even when he was drunk, her father seemed to have unnerving
accuracy and his rough fingers had her gripped tightly round the jugular.

‘Or what?’ he seethed, pressing his face so close to hers she could see every broken and bloodshot vein in his eyes. ‘What you going to do, you stupid little busybody?’
he growled. ‘Show me up like you did at the pub? Yeah, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. I ought to have given you a bloody good hiding for shaming me like that. You’re
nothing, my girl. You hear me? A silly, worthless cow, just like your stupid mother.’

In horror Vera realized her father was shaking with an uncontrollable rage, his fingers tightening round her neck, tiny flecks of spittle showering her face.

‘Frank,’ she spluttered, ‘I can’t breathe. Let me go.’

‘Let you go?’ he mimicked. ‘I should have drowned you at birth, you useless witch. Don’t you ever talk back to me in public again. You should take a leaf out of your
sister’s book.’

His mouth twisted spitefully; then he smiled as he gouged his thumb into the side of her neck so hard she felt the vein underneath pulsing.

‘It’s about time you showed your old man some respect. I’m the guv’nor, the man of the house! Do I make myself clear?’ he roared.

Vera’s head was starting to tingle. Her field of vision was obscured as her father’s fingers gripped her windpipe like a vice. Hot shards of pain sliced down her throat; she realized
she could black out at any moment.

‘I said, do I make myself clear?’ he bellowed.

‘Yes,’ she rasped, attempting to nod her head.

‘Good,’ he snapped, releasing his grip. Vera slumped to the floor, gasping for breath and clawing at her blouse. The fear was all-consuming. She wanted to crawl away, but staring at
her father’s heavy hobnailed boots, Vera knew exactly what he would do if she tried to escape.

Suddenly, he knelt down and his face loomed into view. ‘Look at you,’ he sneered, roughly pulling her blouse down to reveal the scars that covered her chest.

‘Frank, please don’t,’ she whimpered, mortified.

‘It’s no bloody wonder you ain’t got a fella,’ he taunted, flicking her chest. ‘Look atcha. You’re deformed. What man would want to wake up next to a woman
like you? You’re probably barren and all after everything that’s happened.’ Frank Shadwell looked down at his elder daughter with a look of utter contempt.

‘Right. I’m off out, but I’m warning you, Vera, you breathe a word of this to our Daisy and I might pay a little visit to your new friend Poppy.’

Vera sat bolt upright in alarm. ‘What she’s got to do with this?’

A hideous smile creased Frank’s face. ‘Lovely little thing,’ he grunted. ‘She and I got unfinished business. You turn Daisy against me and I might just see my way to
finishing it. Know what I mean?’

Frank’s threat was veiled, but with a sinking despair Vera knew exactly what he meant. She nodded wordlessly.

‘Good,’ he snapped. ‘I’m off to work. See you in the morning.’

A minute later, the door slammed shut and Vera hauled herself to her feet and sank trembling into a chair. She felt a solitary tear course down her cheek. Angrily, she brushed it away. No, she
could not start crying now, for if she did, Vera knew she would never stop.

Instead, she rose to her feet and carefully replaced the lid on the pot of stew. Next she walked to the mirror over the mantel and, with a shaking hand, did up the buttons on her blouse and
smoothed down her hair. She took a moment to regard her appearance. Mr Gladstone and the girls would be here shortly and she could not for a moment let her feelings betray her. But there was no
disguising the ancient pain in her eyes, as another piece of her heart hardened to stone. Against all odds she must protect her younger sister from that monster, and if that meant keeping his
violence and dark side a secret, then so be it. That was the heavy burden she must now carry. For all their safety depended on it, including, Vera realized with a wrench, sweet Poppy’s.

Ten minutes later, the girls burst through the door in a giggly whirlwind, their apple cheeks glowing fresh from the spring evening air.

‘Cooee,’ grinned Sal. ‘We in time for tea?’

Vera took a deep breath and painted a bright smile on her face. ‘Get in, get in, and shut that door else you’ll let out all the hot air,’ she fussed, collecting their coats and
neatly storing them away in the good room.

Sal paused and sniffed the air. ‘Vera,’ she breathed, ‘that isn’t what I think, is it? Oh, it is! You’re a ruddy marvel.’ With that, she grabbed Vera about
the waist and playfully danced her round the tiny kitchen.

‘Get away with you, you scoundrel, Sal Fowler.’ Vera smiled awkwardly. ‘Now, go and wash your hands in the scullery, girls. We’re just waiting on one more; then I can
dish up.’

‘Who’s that?’ asked Daisy, crinkling her elegant nose as she touched up her lipstick in a compact.

‘Is it Frank?’ Poppy asked fearfully.

Vera felt her tears bubbling just below the surface, and using every ounce of self-control, she blinked them back. ‘No, love, he’s at work,’ she reassured Poppy.

‘Oh, that’s good news,’ gushed Daisy. ‘He must have picked up a night shift down the docks. See, Vera, I told you he’s trying hard.’

Vera was saved from answering by two swift raps at the door.

‘I’ll go,’ sang Daisy, leaping from her seat.

Seconds later, a sheepish Mr Gladstone stood at the door clutching a withered bunch of violets in one hand and a bottle of port in the other. His shoes had been buffed to a high shine and were
gleaming almost as much as his blue eyes.

‘I’ve been looking for an excuse to crack this open,’ he smiled, passing the bottle to Vera. ‘Sorry about the flowers, though,’ he said, gazing at the limp bunch
apologetically. ‘There wasn’t much choice at the market.’

‘That’s ever so kind of you, Mr Gladstone,’ Vera smiled back, taking the flowers quickly with a trembling hand.

Mr Gladstone hesitated. ‘Are you quite well, Vera? You look a little pale,’ he said, concerned.

‘Why ever wouldn’t I be?’ she replied, turning quickly. ‘I’ll just go and put them in water.’

With that, she bustled to the yard to fetch water from the outside tap, relieved to be out from under Mr Gladstone’s scrutiny. She knew the foreman was sweet on her, and that little
episode showed her why she must keep him at arm’s length. How could she afford to let anyone get too close, least of all someone as kind and perceptive as he? Archie wasn’t daft, and if
she let him into her heart, he would surely dig out her secrets. That was unimaginable.

When Vera returned, she noticed with gratitude that Archie was seated at the wooden kitchen table deep in conversation with Poppy.

‘Did the gentry
really
have the butler ring a gong to summon them up to dinner, Poppy?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes,’ she said, shifting a little awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention.

‘How wonderful,’ breathed Daisy. ‘Every single night?’

‘Oh yes.’ She nodded. ‘He even had a menu in a silver frame on the table with all the courses written on it.’

‘What, every day?’ squawked Sal in disbelief.

‘Yes,’ replied Poppy. ‘Even if His Lordship was up in London and Her Ladyship was dining alone. They upheld their traditions rather rigidly.’

‘Well, they won’t be holding on to them for much longer,’ muttered Sal darkly. ‘The war will see to that. Though I doubt
His Lordship’s
much affected by
rationing and bombs. Bloody toffs.’

‘Watch your language,’ Vera warned.

‘Sorry, Vera,’ Sal replied quickly.

‘That’s all right,’ said Vera, patting her softly on the shoulder as she went to dish up.

‘So that’s upstairs,’ smiled Daisy. ‘But what was life like below stairs, Poppy?’

‘Nothing much to say really, Daisy,’ Poppy blustered.

‘Well, I tell you summat for nothing. I reckons as ‘ow it’ll be His Lordship envying us tonight,’ beamed Mr Gladstone as Vera spooned a piping-hot ladleful of stew into
his bowl. ‘This is an absolute feast, Vera. You’ve done us proud. My tummy’s grumbling like a tank.’

‘Oh yes,’ gushed Poppy. ‘Cook’s stews never looked as good as this.’

Vera waved a dismissive hand. ‘Well, I dare say I don’t match up to a butler in white gloves, but it’ll have to suffice.’

‘Shall I do the honours, Vera?’ asked Mr Gladstone.

‘If you would be so kind.’

Gently lowering her eyes to the table, she mouthed the Lord’s Prayer alongside the factory foreman. Being immersed in the silence of prayer, Vera finally felt a peace wash over her.

‘Amen,’ she whispered reverently when Mr Gladstone had finished.

Seconds later, the room was filled with sounds that brought joy to Vera’s heart: the eager scraping of cutlery on bowls and appreciative murmurings.

‘This is ever so good, Vera,’ said Daisy brightly, as she used a hunk of bread to mop up her left-over gravy. ‘Thanks.’

Vera felt so taken aback at her younger sister’s gratitude she looked up in surprise. Had she heard the girl right? Happen this war had one blessed side effect. Her self-centred little
sister was finally growing up. She caught Mr Gladstone wink at her from across the table and felt a wave of happiness wash over her.