Some Lucky Day (22 page)

Without stopping to think it through, Peggy went into the hall and picked up the telephone receiver to ring Martin at Cliffe aerodrome.

‘Hello, Peggy,’ said Martin rather distractedly. ‘You’ve only just caught me. We’ve got a bit of a flap on, so I can’t talk for long.’

‘Do you think Kitty Pargeter might like me to visit her at the hospital?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Only I’ve realised she’s all alone up there, and far from home and her mother, and I thought . . . Well, I thought she might like someone older to lean on and help see her through things,’ she finished lamely.

‘That’s a super idea, Peggy. I knew you’d come up with something.’

‘You don’t think she might resent having some strange woman butting in?’

‘Not if you take your time to get to know her before you try mothering her,’ said Martin with a smile in his voice. ‘Freddy won’t be able to visit for a while, we’re fully stretched at the moment, so I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have you visit.’

Peggy was about to ask him how he was and if he’d heard from Anne lately, when she heard a confusion of loud noises on the other end of the line.

‘Sorry, Peggy. I’ve got to go. I’ll ring you tomorrow, if I can.’

The line went dead and Peggy replaced the receiver. She wasn’t at all sure if she was taking on rather more than she could chew by befriending Kitty Pargeter, but deep in her heart she knew it was the right thing to do – for there was always room for one more chick to be tucked safely under her wing.

Daisy was bashing a spoon against the tray of her high chair, but there was still no sign of Ron or Harvey as Peggy returned to the kitchen. She exchanged the spoon for one of Daisy’s soft toys to lessen the racket, for the stresses and strains of the day were beginning to take their toll. Ron might be making himself scarce, but he’d have to come home sooner or later, and Peggy was determined to have her say before the long day was ended.

As the first squadron of fighters and bombers roared overhead on their way across the Channel, Rita came running up the cellar steps, dark curls bobbing as she ripped off her leather flying helmet and goggles.

‘I’m late,’ she declared as she wriggled out of her heavy boots and pulled off her thick socks. ‘The picture starts in less than an hour and I can’t go like this. I’m covered in engine oil after servicing the fire station vans.’

‘Make sure you come and see me before you go out again,’ called Peggy after her as she ran into the hall. ‘I’ve got something for you to give to Ethel.’

‘Righto,’ shouted Rita, who was now halfway up the stairs.

Peggy went to the larder and opened the tin where she’d stored the buns. Taking three out, she wrapped them in greaseproof paper. As she turned to place them on the table her gaze fell on the big cake tin. It wasn’t where she’d left it.

With a prickle of dark suspicion, she opened the tin. She could have wept with frustration, for her beautiful Victoria sponge had a great wedge cut out of it. Peggy’s patience finally ran out and she carried the tin over to Cordelia. ‘Is this Ron’s doing?’ she snapped.

‘Oh, dear,’ Cordelia sighed. ‘He must have done that while I was in the garden hanging out my washing.’ She giggled. ‘Sly old devil. I thought there was a naughty twinkle in his eye as he went off whistling with a spring to his step.’

‘I’ll give him whistle,’ said Peggy crossly.

‘What was that about thistles, dear?’ Cordelia fiddled with her hearing aid. ‘I hope you’re not planning on making thistle soup again. It really was quite horrid.’

Peggy shook her head, dumped the scavenged cake tin back in the larder and went to stir the stew. ‘What with eels and cake, and taking my daughter on one of his poaching expeditions, that man has pushed me too far,’ she muttered furiously. ‘He’s going to get what for when he dares to show his face in my kitchen again.’

‘Space in this kitchen for a car and water exhibition?’ Cordelia clucked and shook her head. ‘You do talk nonsense sometimes, Peggy dear. It must be the heat and all the work you’ve done today. I’d sit down and put your feet up if I were you.’

Peggy dredged up a weary smile. There were times when conversations with Cordelia could veer off into very strange territory, and she simply didn’t have the energy to explain what she’d really said.

When Rita came dashing back into the kitchen in a smart pair of dark linen slacks and a lightweight oyster-pink sweater that matched the ribbon in her hair, Peggy noticed the mascara and dash of pale pink lipstick and hoped to goodness Rita hadn’t stumbled into the same trap as Fran. ‘It is just a girls’ outing to the pictures, isn’t it?’ she asked as she handed over the little cakes for Ethel.

Rita grinned. ‘Fran told me about Chuck. It’s just me, Ruby and Lucy – and not a lying Yank in sight. And don’t worry if I’m a bit late, we’re having fish and chips after.’

‘What shift are you working tomorrow?’ Peggy asked.

‘Early morning.’ Rita slipped on her shoes and reached for her sheepskin-lined WWI flying jacket. ‘Why, did you want me to do something?’

Peggy nodded. ‘I’d like you to take me up to the Memorial hospital in the afternoon to visit Kitty Pargeter.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Rita said. ‘But I must rush now.’ She kissed Cordelia and Peggy, picked up the greaseproof packet and ran down the steps. Minutes later they heard the roar of the motorbike as she drove it down the twitten and out onto the main road.

‘That girl will kill herself one day,’ muttered Cordelia. ‘Why can’t she wear a dress and be like other girls her age? Trousers and motorbikes are so unbecoming.’

‘Unbecoming they might be,’ said Peggy, ‘but they get her from A to B, and I’m quite looking forward to having a ride on that bike tomorrow.’

‘What? Do speak up, dear. You’re muttering,’ said Cordelia crossly.

Peggy realised that the heat in the kitchen and her bad mood was also affecting Cordelia, for she was rarely sharp with anyone. She took a deep breath and made winding signals by her ear so that Cordelia knew to turn up the volume on her hearing aid. ‘Can you hear me now?’ she asked.

Cordelia bridled. ‘There’s no need to shout, dear. I’m not that deaf, you know.’

‘I need to warn you about the tea party tomorrow,’ said Peggy as she came to squat by Cordelia’s chair. ‘Fran’s young man won’t be coming, and she’s very upset, so I don’t want you to mention it when she comes down.’

Cordelia regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Does that mean they’re no longer walking out together?’ At Peggy’s nod, Cordelia sniffed. ‘I’ve always been of the opinion that men with that many shiny teeth shouldn’t be trusted,’ she said darkly, ‘but then he was an American, and one can never be too sure about them either.’

‘I think that’s a bit harsh, Cordelia,’ said Peggy with a wry smile.

‘Maybe so, but if he’s not coming and Fran’s lovesick and off her food, it means there’ll be more cake for us,’ she replied with a chuckle.

Peggy laughed and kissed her cheek. ‘Bless your heart, Cordelia. I can always rely on you to cheer me up.’ She went back to the stew and then helped Cordelia to lay the table.

Fran came downstairs with Sarah and Jane, and although her eyelids were swollen from her tears, she’d put on her make-up and a pretty dress to bravely face the world. ‘Suzy will be down in a minute,’ she said. ‘She’s just getting washed and changed.’ She ruffled Daisy’s dark curls, dodged tiny, sticky fingers and planted a soft kiss on her head. ‘I told Rita about Chuck when she came in earlier, so everyone knows now,’ she said sadly.

‘You sit down and tuck into that,’ said Peggy as she placed a bowl of stew in front of Fran. ‘A broken heart is soon mended with good food inside you and close friends to keep you company.’

‘It seems that men these days have no stamina,’ said Cordelia as she sat down at the table. ‘You’re better off without him, dear, believe me.’

Fran dipped her chin so her russet curls hid her brimming eyes. ‘I know,’ she muttered, ‘but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.’

‘The stew is not a mess,’ protested Cordelia. ‘Ron’s eels are a mess, and you should be grateful you don’t have to eat them.’

Fran looked at her and giggled. ‘To be sure, Grandma Finch, I’ll not be eating any eels today. This stew is lovely.’

‘Well, get on and eat it then. Ron’s ferrets worked hard to catch those rabbits and it would be an awful shame to waste them.’

Peggy smiled as the chatter went on round the table and Daisy began to droop with sleep over her food. Things were getting back to normal and, with the family’s support, Fran would soon get over her heartache.

The meal was over, the dishes washed and put away, and a fresh pot of tea placed on the table. Peggy gave Daisy and each of the girls one of the fairy cakes, and cut Ron’s into two for herself and Cordelia. Rita could have hers with her cocoa when she got in. Ron had had more than his share already and could damned well go without.

After every crumb of fairy cake had been devoured, the four girls put cardigans over their cotton dresses and went arm-in-arm for a stroll to the Anchor. A glass of beer and a bit of a sing-song would cheer Fran up no end, and if it got too hot inside there was always the garden to sit in, for it was a balmy night.

Peggy put Daisy to bed and then joined Cordelia in the back garden. The night was soft and so still they could hear the sharp cry of a distant vixen, the returning bark of a dog fox, and the hooting owls that lived in the trees at the top of the hill. The moon sailed above the house, casting blue shadows across Ron’s vegetable patch and fruit canes as the stars twinkled benevolently in the indigo velvet sky.

‘I wouldn’t mind betting Ron doesn’t come home until well after closing,’ said Peggy as she smoked a cigarette. ‘He knows I’ll be cross with him and no doubt thinks I’ll have forgotten his sins if he leaves it long enough.’

‘I shouldn’t let it niggle you, Peggy,’ said Cordelia as she looked up at the sky. ‘Ron is a rogue and he’s far too old to change his habits now. No matter how cross you get, he’ll never . . .’ She was interrupted by the mournful first whine of the air-raid siren.

Peggy was on her feet instantly and helping Cordelia to struggle out of her low-slung deckchair. ‘Go straight to the Anderson shelter while I fetch Daisy,’ she shouted as the first wave of fighter planes from Cliffe flew overhead.

She checked that Cordelia was safely making her way down the path, then turned and ran into the house to her hall-floor bedroom. Daisy was fast asleep, so she gently gathered her up in a blanket, grabbed some pillows on the way through the kitchen, and hurried back to the shelter.

Cordelia had already pulled the collapsible canvas cot out from beneath the wooden bench, and Peggy settled the sleeping baby inside it. Daisy’s special Mickey Mouse gas mask was placed beside it and wouldn’t be used unless absolutely necessary, for Peggy distrusted it and Daisy hated being cocooned inside it.

Yet more planes were taking off from Cliffe and the surrounding aerodromes, and the sirens were now wailing at full pitch all through the town as the searchlights spluttered into life and began to sweep their beams across the skies. Peggy knew she didn’t have very long and certainly had no intention of getting caught in the house during a raid – not after what had happened last time.

She raced back into the house, grabbed the two gas masks, both their overcoats and the box of things she always had packed for just such an emergency. Dumping two blankets on top, she turned off the light and fumbled her way down the cellar steps to the back door. Heavily laden, she struggled to pull the door shut but finally managed it, just as she heard the furious whine and roaring engines of a distant dogfight.

In her rush, Peggy almost fell down the steps into the Anderson shelter, but she managed to stay on her feet long enough to dump the things she was carrying on the bench and then slam the door behind her. The first of the enemy bombers were already thundering overhead, the ack-ack guns were firing and the big guns down on the seafront and along the hills were booming.

‘Whew,’ she said as she sat down with a thump on the hard bench to catch her breath. ‘That was close. I wonder why the warning was so late?’

‘I don’t know, dear, but could you light the tilley lamp? It’s awfully dark in here, and I need to keep an eye out for the spiders.’

Peggy smiled as she fumbled in the box she’d brought from the kitchen and found the matches. Cordelia hated spiders, and she didn’t blame her – nasty scuttling things. Once the lamp was lit, the warm glow made the smelly, damp shelter seem infinitely more homely.

‘Right, Cordelia, let’s get you settled, and then I’ll make us a nice cup of Bovril.’

Because Cordelia couldn’t possibly be expected to sit through bombing raids on a hard bench, Ron had refurbished a deckchair especially for her. With new canvas and all the screws and nails firmly applied, there was no danger of it collapsing. This deckchair stayed wedged in the corner of the shelter and therefore had to be brushed down to rid it of the spiders and small bugs that persisted in living in it. There wasn’t much anyone could do to stop the damp turning it a bit green, but then everything was mouldy in here and they’d all become inured to it.

Once Peggy had made sure it was as clean as she could get it, she helped Cordelia into her overcoat and waited for her to settle in the chair, then propped her firmly on both sides with pillows so that when she fell asleep, she wouldn’t slide out of it.

‘There,’ said Peggy as she placed a soft blanket over her knees. ‘Is that comfortable?’

Cordelia smiled up at her. ‘Yes, dear, I’m as snug as a bug.’

Peggy lit the primus stove and poured fresh water from a flask into the small tin kettle. A good slug of gin and tonic would have gone down nicely, and no mistake, she thought wistfully as she spooned Bovril into the mugs and listened to the earth-shattering noise of the dogfights going on and felt the boom of the big guns reverberate beneath her feet. But the gin had long gone, and there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in the house but for two bottles of the horrid milk stout she’d determinedly put to the back of her larder.

They drank the beefy drink as bombers thundered overhead and the ack-ack spat their tracer bullets into the sky. The big guns shook the ground and made the corrugated iron around them shudder, and through the cracks in the door they could see the flashes of the pom-poms briefly light up the night.