Where the Heart Lies (40 page)

Julie wasn’t having much fun at all, but then neither was poor Mrs Morris, who was cramped up on the narrow bottom bunk of their Anderson shelter. Her husband was pacing the concrete floor, wringing his hands and constantly sweeping his fingers through
his tangle of hair with impatience. Mrs Morris was taking her time having this baby, and it felt as if it had been going on for hours.

‘You won’t make it come any quicker by huffing and puffing, Alf,’ said Mrs Morris after the latest contraction had eased. ‘Why don’t you go back to your fire-watch duties and leave us women to it?’

Alf worked for the electricity board and was a plodding sort of chap, unused to drama and clearly out of his depth. His short-sighted gaze flitted between Julie and his wife as he shifted his feet and pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘I dunno what to do for the best,’ he said fretfully.

‘Your wife’s right,’ said Julie. ‘She could be ages yet, and you have an important job to do out there. Why don’t you go back on fire-watch duty and come home when the raid’s over?’ She really didn’t want him hanging about, because he looked like a fainter, and there simply wasn’t any room in this shelter for him to be stretched out on the floor at the first sight of blood.

He squeezed his wife’s shoulder in a bashful sort of fashion, picked up his tin hat and hessian bag and backed out of the shelter. ‘See you later then,’ he murmured, and was gone like a scalded cat as his wife began to groan again.

‘That’s right,’ Julie soothed as the bombers thundered overhead and the contraction deepened. ‘You can make as much noise as you like now. No one will hear you over that racket.’

She sat with Mrs Morris as the fighters and bombers roared overhead and the hurricane lantern swung and flickered shadows across the tin walls of the shelter. They listened to the distant crumps of explosions and the whine of straining engines as the fighter planes did battle overhead, but their main concern was the baby that seemed reluctant to come out.

‘Can’t say I blame the poor little bugger,’ chuckled Mrs Morris. ‘If I were him, I’d stay in there until this lot have finished and all.’ Her smile faded suddenly and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, Gawd,’ she gasped. ‘I think this is really it.’

Julie saw the look of concentration on her face and was prepared for what she suspected would be a very swift delivery after all that hanging about.

As Mrs Morris gave an almighty push, her baby was born and began to cry furiously. ‘It’s a little girl,’ Julie said delightedly as she dealt with the umbilical cord. Wrapping the squalling baby in one of the clean towels Mrs Morris had prepared, she handed her over.

‘My word,’ breathed Mrs Morris, her face soft with love and pride, all the pain and worry vanquished by the sight of her newborn. ‘She’s got a set of lungs on her, and that’s a fact.’ She looked up at Julie with sudden concern. ‘Alf wanted a boy,’ she said, ‘do you think he’ll mind?’

‘She’s beautiful,’ replied Julie with a soft smile. ‘I think your husband will just be so relieved it’s over that he won’t mind at all.’

Mrs Morris grasped Julie’s hand. ‘Thanks ever so for coming out on a night like this, Sister – and I’m sorry it took so long.’

‘Just rest and enjoy your baby while I clean up and get you comfortable. We could be here a while yet, so would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’

‘That would be lovely,’ she sighed. ‘Me throat’s as dry as a parrot cage after all that puffing and blowing.’

Julie finished dealing with Mrs Morris while the kettle boiled, and then handed her a cup of tea and took the baby. Having washed and dressed her in the sweet little knitted suit that Mrs Morris had hand-embroidered, she placed her back into her mother’s arms.

Weary from the long, tense day, she longed for her bed and the reassurance that William was safe. But Mrs Morris couldn’t be left alone, and it was her duty to remain with her until the all-clear sounded, and her husband returned. She pulled the spare blanket over her shoulders and concentrated on the noise overhead in an effort to stay awake.

It was five in the morning when that welcome sound heralded the end of the enemy raid, and although the party was still in full swing, Rosie and Ron had had enough. ‘We must be getting old,’ she murmured as they strolled back to the Anchor in the pearly dawn light.

‘Never,’ he rumbled, patting her hand, which was
neatly tucked into the crook of his arm. ‘Why, Rosie, we’re just spring chickens compared to some – and being with you makes me feel young again.’

As they reached the side door to the pub, she drew to a halt and looked up at him, her expression unreadable. ‘We can’t go on like this, Ron,’ she said softly. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

He swallowed painfully and his heart seemed to be squeezed with dread. ‘But we’ve had a lovely night,’ he stammered. ‘I thought you . . .’

She placed a soft finger on his lips. ‘Shhh, Ron. Don’t say another word until I’ve finished.’ She regarded him for a long, tense moment and then closed her eyes and kissed him – not on the cheek, but on the mouth.

Ron thought he’d never tasted anything so sweet. He had never known the power of such a kiss before, or dared to dream this moment would really come. After an instant of hesitation, he gently pulled her to him and tried to convey his depths of feeling in his own kiss.

They eventually drew apart, and Rosie blushed and dipped her chin. ‘I’m sorry, Ron. I shouldn’t have done that – but I’ve wanted to for ages,’ she confessed softly.

He cupped her lovely face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you then?’

She looked back at him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. ‘It’s not a girl’s place to make the first move, Ron, you know that.’

‘But why tonight?’

‘I don’t really know,’ she murmured. ‘I suppose I just got carried away in the moment.’ She looked up at him through her lashes. ‘Am I very brazen?’

‘You can be as brazen as you like,’ he murmured as he captured her lips again and held her close. ‘You’re my Rosie,’ he murmured some minutes later, ‘and I love the bones of you, girl.’

She gave a deep, sad sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I know you do,’ she murmured, ‘and I love you too, but it was wrong of me to give you false hope.’ She drew from his embrace, her lovely eyes bright with tears. ‘And it is false, Ron,’ she said sadly, ‘for we can have no future together.’

Ron felt a stab of fear. ‘If we love each other, then I can’t see . . .’

She silenced him with a sweet brush of her finger over his lips. ‘I’m not free, Ron. We could never be together, not properly – not the way we both want.’

Ron’s thoughts were in turmoil. There’d been rumours that Rosie was either widowed or divorced, or had merely used the wedding ring as a subterfuge to keep predatory men at bay. His throat tightened. ‘You’re still married,’ he rasped.

She nodded.

The disappointment weighed heavily round his heart as the joy of the last few moments melted away. ‘But you’ve lived here for years and there’s been no sight of him, not even a whisper that he existed. That’s not a marriage, Rosie.’

‘I know,’ she replied, reaching into her small handbag for her cigarettes and lighter. She blew smoke into the pale dawn light, her gaze distant. ‘But divorce is out of the question.’

Ron took the cigarette from her trembling fingers and threw it in the gutter. Grasping her arms, he gently forced her to look at him. ‘Why, Rosie?’ he asked softly.

She took a deep, quavering breath and let it out on a sigh. ‘Jack’s been very ill for a long time. He’s being looked after in a secure section of a special sanatorium and will never come home again,’ she murmured. ‘The law says I can’t divorce him, even though he’s insane, so I must live in this limbo until he dies.’

Ron gathered her to him and buried his cheek in her hair. ‘Oh, Rosie, me darlin’ girl. What a terrible burden you’ve been carrying all these years. Why did you not confide in me?’

‘I couldn’t,’ she said, her breath hitching against his suit jacket. ‘Not until I was sure you felt the same way as me.’ She finally drew away from him. ‘I’m so sorry, Ron. Tonight has been wonderful, and now I’ve gone and spoiled it.’

He softly kissed away the single tear that dewed her cheek. ‘The night has not been spoiled at all,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve waited so long to kiss you, and now that I know you love me, my heart is full.’

‘Oh, Ron,’ she breathed, her face shining with love and hope.

He took her hands and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I will keep on loving you for as long as I’ve breath in me body. But I’ll not be impatient, Rosie, or take things further than you wish. What we share is too precious, and I’m prepared to wait for as long as it takes to make you me own.’

She looked back at him with just a glimmer of the old teasing light in her lovely eyes, and the curve of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘Is that a proposal, Ronan Reilly?’

Ron grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You can call it a proposal of a proposal,’ he said. He gave her a light slap on her delicious bottom. ‘Now get indoors and go to bed before I start making a fool of meself.’

She giggled, unlocked the door and stepped inside. ‘I do love you, Ron. Sleep well, you old scoundrel, and I’ll see you this evening.’

‘Less of the old,’ he retorted. But he was talking to a closed door.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, knowing he had a silly grin on his face as he went back into Camden Road and headed for home. But he didn’t care. Rosie loved him and he was walking on air. His heart sang, the birds were trilling, and it was going to be a beautiful day.

Peggy’s nerves were worn to a frazzle after spending those long, fraught hours in the Anderson shelter. Charity had complained about everything, the
babies wouldn’t be soothed, and Harvey had disgraced himself by letting off a huge fart, the smell of which had lingered sickeningly for what felt like hours.

They had trooped back into the kitchen, glad to find they still had water and electricity, and there didn’t appear to be any damage to the house or in the street. Once both babies had been changed and fed and tucked into the pram together, Peggy and Anne set about preparing breakfast. Charity Farnsworth didn’t offer to help, merely sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper while Mrs Finch tried to lay cutlery and china around her.

It was still and silent after the noise of last night, and the dawn sky promised a lovely day. But Peggy knew her troubles were only just beginning when she saw Jim come into the kitchen. He looked at her with questions in his eyes that she couldn’t answer – not here, not now, and certainly not in front of the others.

‘Was it very bad out there?’ she asked him, her tone deliberately casual. ‘It sounded pretty alarming from where we were sitting.’

He took off his tin hat and warden’s jacket, dumping his gas-mask box on a nearby chair. ‘More noise than anything,’ he said moodily, easing his braces over his shoulders and leaving them to dangle from the waistband on his trousers. ‘A couple of incendiaries came down close to Lord Cliffe’s manor, and an enemy bomber ditched in the sea. Rita’s still out there dealing with the fire up at the manor, but
all in all we got away lightly compared to Portsmouth, which took the brunt of the attack.’

‘That’s good,’ she said, turning her back on him and concentrating on the powdered eggs and milk she was stirring in a saucepan. The chickens had obviously been disturbed by the noise last night, for there were no fresh eggs, and this powdered stuff didn’t scramble well at all.

She heard the scrape of a chair against the lino and his muttered greeting to Charity, who immediately started questioning him about why he wasn’t in the forces.

‘I’m forty-four,’ he muttered. ‘And I did my bit in the last war – not that it’s any of your business,’ he added gruffly.

Peggy was alerted to his unusual rudeness. His feathers were well and truly ruffled, and if she didn’t do something about it soon, there would be ructions. She continued stirring the scrambled eggs, her thoughts in a whirl. There would be ructions anyway, she concluded, so whatever she did she couldn’t win.

The early morning meal was eaten almost in silence, the atmosphere as tense as it had been the evening before. Peggy could see that Anne and Mrs Finch had noticed the way Jim kept glaring at her, and it was making her most uncomfortable. When Ron came home with a silly grin on his face half an hour later, she was glad of the distraction and hurried to fetch his breakfast.

With the arrival of Suzy and Fran, the mood
lightened somewhat, and Peggy felt she could relax a little. ‘You look very pleased with yourself, Ron,’ she murmured over her teacup. ‘Good night, was it?’

‘Well now,’ he beamed, ‘you could say that, Peg. But a gentleman never talks of such things.’

Peggy smiled at the thought of Ron and Rosie finally getting together. Perhaps there might even be a wedding in the family before too long? She finished her tea and started on the washing-up, glad not to have to sit and look at Jim’s grumpy face as he pretended to be immersed in the newspaper. But the time was fast approaching when she knew she couldn’t avoid the confrontation any longer – and in a way, it would be a relief to get it over and done with.

She heard the sound of someone at the front door, followed by weary footsteps in the hall. A moment later, Julie appeared in the kitchen. The poor girl looked exhausted.

‘I’ll be off then,’ said Charity as she clattered her empty cup into the saucer. ‘Yon train’s due in an hour and I don’t want to miss it. Goodbye, Miss Harris.’ She gave a curt nod in Julie’s direction, then stomped out into the hall.

Peggy followed her and opened the front door as Charity picked up her case and gas-mask box.

‘I can’t say it’s been a pleasure,’ said Charity. ‘Always been one to speak me mind.’

‘So I noticed,’ said Peggy dryly. ‘Goodbye, Miss Farnsworth. Safe journey.’

She watched as Charity lumbered down the steps and strode down Beach View Terrace towards Camden Road. ‘And good riddance,’ she hissed before slamming the door.

‘Right, Peggy Reilly. It’s time you and me had a talk.’

Peggy turned and found she was staring at Jim’s chest. She looked up into his face and realised the moment had come. ‘We’ll talk upstairs,’ she said firmly, and eased round him before running up to their bedroom.