Unforgettable (25 page)

‘For God's sake, Gracie, stop going on about your bleedin' advert,' Dolly screamed. ‘It's nothing to do with that. It's your chap, the one you took such a fancy to. The saxophone player.'

Gracie's heart lurched, and for a moment the room spun.

‘What's happened to him?' she whispered.

Her imagination soared crazily. Because she had been thinking about her mother so much lately, her thoughts immediately went to her father and his grisly fate. Not that Charlie could have drowned—well, of course he could, if he'd gone over one of the bridges into the Thames, either by accident or worse—but he wouldn't have been out of his mind with drink like her Dad—or maybe he would. How well did she know him after all? She didn't know him at all …

‘Are you all right, Gracie? You've gone the colour of that tissue paper. Shall I get you some water, or should I fetch somebody?'

She heard Dolly's anxious voice as if
through a fog. Then she registered the ludicrous thought that Dolly couldn't be doing with illness, so she had better pull herself together, or she'd be the one fetching somebody to see to Dolly.

‘I'm not going to faint,' she managed to snap. ‘You gave me a shock, that's all. Show me the ruddy paper then, can't you?'

She had been so stupid to think the worst. Why should it be?

Dolly handed her the paper silently. It was open at the theatre reviews, but she barely scanned the enthusiastic piece about the show at the Roxy, and how it had been revived by the inclusion of a brand-new scene that was totally transformed by a song by a new and exciting young songwriter.

All she saw was the photo of Charlie Morrison with his arm around the sophisticated girl she had seen coming out of the stage door with him. The same girl who had called him ‘darling', and who was now looking up at him so adoringly and possessively in the photo. The gushing text beneath the photo implied that these two were more than cosy.

‘I'm real sorry, Gracie,' she heard Dolly say more falteringly. ‘It looks as though there'll be wedding bells for them two soon, don't it?'

Gracie crunched up the newspaper and
flung it away from her.

‘Sometimes I
hate
you, Dolly Neath!'

‘Well, if that's all the thanks I get, I wish I'd never bothered gettin' out of bed this morning,' Dolly yelled, scrambling to her feet at once. ‘I was only doing what I thought was best.'

‘Oh Dolly, I didn't mean it. I don't even know what made me say it. It's just that I feel so—so …'

She shook her head wildly, not knowing what she was trying to say, nor if she could ever put it into words. How could you describe a broken heart? Poets could do it, but she was no poet. She was just an ordinary girl, and you had to feel the pain of heartbreak to know what it really meant …

Such feelings were far too private to be talked about; you didn't want to howl out loud that your stomach felt as if it was turning to water, that your legs had no substance in them, no bones to hold you up, and your eyes felt as if they held an ocean of tears just waiting to brim over; you couldn't say any of that, you could only feel it. She drew in a shuddering breath.

Dolly was still watching her uneasily.

‘It probably ain't true, anyway,' she said at last. ‘You know what these rags are like. They'll say anything.'

‘'Course it's true,' Gracie said angrily. ‘You heard her call him darling, same as I did.'

‘You said all show business people did that. You said it meant nothing.'

‘I know what I
said
. And I know what I think. And I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't want to hear his name mentioned again, either.'

Dolly was really alarmed now, wondering what this unusually aggressive Gracie was about to do. As her stomach rumbled, she snapped at her.

‘You're being a bit daft over this bloke, I reckon. What are you going to do then? Shall I go away and come back this afternoon like we agreed?'

She didn't really think she should leave Gracie alone. She could tell by her clenched hands that in this mood, she was more likely to hack at the delicate fabric she'd been working on, than make her usual perfect job of it.

As if in silent agreement, Gracie looked at the pile of work beneath the tissue paper, which she had taken such a pride in, and now felt like hurling the lot out of the window. In her heart she knew this was only a temporary thing, and that in work lay her salvation. But she wasn't thinking sensibly now, and she didn't want to slave over the bridesmaid
dresses. She would rather be working on one of Lawson's ruddy shirts than suffer the irony of helping prepare for another bride's beautiful day.

‘I'm not working any more today, nor staying indoors. Let's go out for the day, somewhere different—to the seaside if you like.'

‘Blimey, you don't do things by halves, do you?' Dolly said, but she was more relieved than she let on.

That wild look in Gracie's eyes just now had been really scary, and it wasn't until that moment that she knew how much Gracie had wanted the saxophone player. She'd have given anything not to have burst in with that perishin' newspaper, but you couldn't change what was already done. But thankfully Gracie's colour was returning to her cheeks now.

‘Are you game then? I could make us a few sandwiches to eat on the beach, but whatever we do, I'm not staying indoors all day.' Gracie was sharper than usual, and she couldn't stand much more of Dolly's scrutiny.

‘'Course I'm game. When did you ever know me to miss the chance of a day out, ‘specially by the sea. You never know, we might meet the men of our dreams,' she said
recklessly, before she stopped to think. ‘Oh Gawd, I'm sorry.'

‘Well, don't be. I told you, I don't want to hear
that
name, nor to even think about
that
person any more, but I'm not turning myself into a nun on his account, neither,' she added for good measure.

‘Attagirl. Chaps ain't worth it, and there's plenty more pebbles in the sea.'

She hooted, realizing what she had just said. ‘Did you hear that? There's plenty more pebbles in the sea, and we're off to the seaside.'

‘I heard,' Gracie said, forcing a smile. ‘You're a real brain-box today, aren't you, Dolly?'

To her surprise she was given a quick and embarrassed hug.

‘That'll be the day. I just want to be the best friend you ever had, gel. I don't forget what you did for me over my bit of trouble, so I mean to make sure you're feeling cheered up by the time we get back.'

Gracie was touched and embarrassed, and mumbled that she was already the best friend she'd ever had, just by keeping her sane. And that if she didn't hurry up and cut these bloomin' sandwiches, there'd be no point in catching a train to take them to the seaside.

Dolly could see she was already on the up.
She wanted to tell her how much she admired her guts, but if she did, she was sure there'd be tears or fury, so for once she let things be—providing Gracie let her eat one of the sandwiches right now, before she faded away completely.

* * *

An hour or so later they were being jostled and squashed on one of the rattling excursion trains to the seaside, which they had caught by the skin of their teeth.

‘Margate, here we come,' Dolly said gleefully, giving a wink to a couple of fellows in their compartment.

‘You girls meeting anybody?' one of them said.

They were about their age and both wore open-necked shirts and jackets over loose-fitting trousers, like most of the young chaps off on a day's outing. Dolly was still deciding how to handle this one without riling Gracie too much, when she realized her friend was forcing a smile at them.

‘Not until now,' Gracie said, with what was undoubtedly a flirtatious note in her voice. ‘Must be our lucky day, eh Dolly?'

An older couple in the compartment glanced at one another, clearly thinking they
were girls out for a lark, and probably up to no good.

The chaps grinned.

‘Ours too, eh, Norm? This is Norm, by the way, and I'm Roger. Roger the lodger, or as some say, the artful dodger.'

He winked at Gracie, and she tried not to cringe. Norm did the same to Dolly, who was giggling under her breath by now as they neatly paired them off.

‘Don't take no notice,' Norm spoke up. ‘He's as straight as a die, really.'

‘So what do you girls do, then?' Roger continued as if he hadn't spoken.

Dolly had recovered by then.

‘I'm a machinist, and my friend here is a professional seamstress. She makes clothes for all the nobs.'

‘Is that so?' Roger said. ‘I could do with a new shirt, couldn't you, Norm?'

Dolly dug Gracie in the ribs, thinking that this comment was too close for comfort when she was trying to give themselves airs. These two didn't look too bad, and at least they were scrubbed up for the day, with clean hair and nails, no sign of whiskers on their chins, and their hair cut short and neat.

Anyway, as long as they cheered Gracie up and got her mind off that blooming saxophone bloke, she'd be well happy.

‘Fancy dipping your toes in the sea then, girls? If you want to team up with us for the day, we'll treat you to a bag of whelks for your dinner.'

Gracie spoke quickly, since the very thought of it could make her stomach curdle.

‘Ta very much, but we've got our own sandwiches—'

Dolly dug her again. ‘I daresay we could share them with you in exchange for a bag of whelks, couldn't we, Gracie?'

Gracie glowered at Dolly. This was going too far, but she'd reckoned without the way Roger had sensed her reaction.

‘Nah. We wouldn't want to deprive you. So you're Gracie with the ginger curls, and you're Dolly, is that right?'

‘Right,' said Dolly. ‘So what do you both do?'

‘We're home on leave from His Majesty's good ship
Bountiful
,' Norm said. ‘You'd think we'd have had enough of the sea, but at least we'll have sand beneath our feet and not the jolly old rolling decks.'

Gracie stared at them as the train rocked along at breakneck speed.

‘You're sailors!' she exclaimed.

‘Full marks, Gracie.' Dolly sniggered.

‘No, what I mean is, I knew another chap who was a sailor.'

‘She was practically engaged to him!' Dolly put in.

‘His name's Davey Watkins, and he lives in Southampton. I don't suppose you know him?'

Roger grinned. ‘'Fraid not. It's a big Navy, love. Still, it's our good luck that you're not engaged to him any more, or you wouldn't be on this train with us now, would you?'

‘We're not exactly
with
you,' Gracie said, already realizing she had gone a bit far, and annoyed with Dolly for making her relationship with Davey seem more important than it was. On the other hand, it might not do any harm to let these chaps think there was still something between them both.

‘I'm still very fond of Davey, though, and we still write to one another often,' she fibbed.

‘What ship's he on, then?'

At Roger's question, Gracie knew she had backed herself into a corner, because she couldn't even remember the name of Davey's ship, and it wasn't something you could invent on the spur of the moment.

Before she could gather her wits and think of something intelligent to say, the train lurched around a bend in the tracks.

‘Whoops, hold on to your hats, girls, the driver's been on the beer already.' Norm
laughed, and then came a second lurch, and the bag of sandwiches on the overhead rack came hurtling down on Dolly's lap and split open on the floor.

‘Well, I know I was hungry, but I wasn't ready for my dinner yet,' she said with a little screech of laughter, and then the older lady in the compartment clutched her husband's arm.

It was hard for any of them to say exactly what happened next. One minute Norm and Roger were scrambling about, trying to scoop up the ruins of Gracie's sandwiches, and saying they'd have to settle for a bag of whelks after all.

In the next, everyone in the compartment was thrown together in a heap. Somewhere outside they could hear the sound of screeching metal and a horrific sound of something splintering. For a second their compartment seemed to waver on the track, and then nothing could stop it following in the chaotic wake of the ones nearer the front of the train. It toppled over on to its side, the windows caved in, and shattered bits of glass and twisted metal shot everywhere.

The warm summer days had merged into a lingering mellow autumn. The ground was baked, grass and farmland was tinder-dry, and clouds of choking dust immediately
enveloped the derailed train to add to the confusion. There was so much shouting and screaming that it was impossible at first to tell who was hurt and who wasn't.

‘Are you all right, girls?' they heard Norm shout.

‘I don't know. I think so,' a voice came faintly from where Gracie and Dolly had been sitting. And then the man travelling with his wife screamed frantically.

‘Somebody help me. My wife's not breathing. She's bleeding.'

The couple had been sitting by the window, and because of the sharp angle at which the compartment had crashed, the other carriages had been in danger of crushing them. It was only the tough training of the sailors which made them hang on tight and prevent a worse accident.

Ignoring their own cuts and bruises, they scrambled to where the man was clinging on to his wife in the middle of a chaotic mess of tangled metal and debris. They could see at once that the woman was dead. A huge shard of glass was sticking out of her neck, and the scarlet artery-blood was bubbling out profusely.

‘Should I pull the glass out?' the man said pathetically.

‘I should leave it where it is, mate,' Roger
said quickly. ‘It won't make any difference to her now.'