All My Tomorrows (4 page)

‘I don’t think anyone’s gone to Hull, dear,’ said Cordelia. ‘Fran and Suzy are on duty at the hospital and Rita’s out with that motorbike of hers – no doubt racing about like a madcap as usual.’ She clucked and rolled her eyes in disapproval, though everyone had long realised she rather envied the freedom the young women had these days. ‘My Sarah will be at work on the Cliffe estate and dear little Jane is going straight from the dairy to her office job at the uniform factory.’

Peggy gestured to her to adjust her hearing aid. ‘You must be very proud at how well your nieces have settled in,’ she said clearly.

Cordelia nodded. ‘I think that once they got those letters from their mother, and could write back, it helped enormously. Though of course none of us know what has happened to their father – or to Sarah’s fiancé after Singapore fell.’ She paused, her expression sombre before she rallied again. ‘But still, they seem to be coping very well, all things considered.’

Peggy knew how deeply Cordelia had fretted over her late brother’s family when the Japanese had invaded Malaya, and it had been a joy to learn that they had come through safely, and that their mother had managed to get on one of the last ships to Australia. Cordelia had perked up no end, and thoroughly enjoyed playing the great-aunt now she had family of her own to fuss over. Poor Cordelia, her sons were far away in Canada, and there had been little communication between them, so it was a blessing that she now had Sarah and Jane to watch over.

‘By the way,’ said Cordelia. ‘Ron said to tell you he’ll have his lunch at the Anchor and then take Harvey into the hills before he has to open up for the evening session.’

‘At least all this running about is keeping him out of mischief,’ said Peggy dryly.

Cordelia grimaced. ‘That’s as maybe, but he’s working far too hard for a man of his age,’ she murmured. ‘What with running the pub for Rosie Braithwaite, and fulfilling his commitments to the ARP and Home Guard, I’m amazed he can find the time or the energy to tend to his garden as well as go poaching with Harvey.’

‘He’s only in his mid-sixties and as fit as a butcher’s dog,’ protested Peggy mildly. ‘He might moan about his moving shrapnel, and try to pull a fast one now and again to get out of doing things around the house, but I don’t think you need worry about him at all.’

Cordelia giggled. ‘He got another letter from Rosie this morning, and I suspect all this new-found energy of his comes from knowing she’s still thinking of him.’

Peggy’s smile was soft as she thought about Ron’s deep and abiding passion for the glamorous Rosie Braithwaite. He’d fallen in love with her from the moment she’d taken over the Anchor, and had patiently and determinedly courted her until she finally surrendered to his undoubted charm. A few short months ago she’d suddenly left Cliffehaven and, thinking she no longer loved him, Ron had been devastated. And then he’d found the letter she’d left in her treacherous brother’s safe-keeping and all had been explained. From that day on Ron had been revived, and he’d taken over the Anchor to ensure Rosie had a thriving business to return to – and to prove that although he might be a scruffy old Irishman with few refinements, he was the right man for her should she ever be free to take him on.

‘I know it’s wicked to think such things,’ murmured Peggy, ‘but it would have been a blessing for all concerned if Rosie’s poor sick husband had been killed when the insane asylum was bombed.’

‘I agree,’ said Cordelia. ‘Death would certainly be a blessed release from a life spent in torment.’ She eyed Peggy over the lip of her teacup. ‘You look peaky,’ she said flatly, ‘and there’s no good denying it, Peggy. What’s wrong?’

Peggy might have known those sharp old eyes would miss nothing, but it was still early days in her pregnancy, and she had yet to tell Jim and the rest of the family. ‘I’m just a bit run down and tired,’ she replied, ‘but it’s really nothing for you to fret about.’

Cordelia’s gaze was steady as she regarded Peggy. ‘I always said you do too much, but then you rarely sit still long enough to listen to any of my advice.’ She reached across and took Peggy’s hand. ‘I’ll help all I can, but you have to stop worrying about everyone else and start looking after yourself, Peggy.’

Her loving words brought Peggy close to tears again as she patted her hand. ‘I’ll take care, Cordelia,’ she promised. Then she glanced at the clock and reached for her wrap-round apron. ‘Goodness, look at the time. Half the day’s gone and I haven’t even started on the washing.’

Chapter Three

Cliffehaven

CORDELIA’S ARTHRITIS WAS
playing up something shocking, for the tentative warmth of the past two weeks had been replaced by bitter winds and heavy rain that lashed the windows and battered the delicate green shoots in Ron’s vegetable garden. It was four in the afternoon of a late April day which had never really recovered from a gloomy beginning, and she was sitting close to the range with a blanket over her aching knees and mittens on her misshapen hands, feeling decidedly sorry for herself.

The house was quiet, for everyone was out, and she missed the noise and kerfuffle and having someone to talk to. She would have liked a cup of tea as well, but her hands were so bad today, she didn’t dare try and lift the heavy kettle from the hob for fear she’d scald herself. She gave a deep sigh as she listened to the wind buffeting the house, and thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have to be out there.

Cordelia perked up when she heard the garden door slam and Ron stumped up the cellar steps into the kitchen with a crate of milk stout, quickly followed by a soaking wet Harvey who proceeded to shake himself vigorously and splatter everything with muddy water. Before she could stop him, the brindled lurcher made a beeline for Cordelia, his great paws landing heavily in her lap as he dripped all over her and tried to lick her face.

‘Oh,’ she cried out in distress. ‘Harvey, get down, you’re hurting me.’

‘Get out of it, ye heathen beast,’ growled Ron as he hastily dropped the crate on the draining board, grabbed the dog’s collar and hauled him away. ‘Sit there and stay,’ he ordered firmly.

Harvey slumped on the floor, ears drooping, eyes liquid with sorrow as if he was facing a death sentence.

Ron ignored this fine piece of acting and turned back to Cordelia. ‘Are ye bad hurt, Cordelia?’ he asked in softer tones, his Irish brogue still strong despite the years he’d lived in Cliffehaven.

Cordelia shook her head, although the weight of the dog had sent deep pains shooting through her legs and hands and her lovely blanket was now wet and muddy in patches. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she muttered as she plucked at the blanket. She looked up at him, saw the concern in his blue eyes and hurried to reassure him. ‘Harvey’s just a bit too big to be throwing himself all over me,’ she said lightly, ‘and he took me by surprise.’

Ron dug his hands into the pockets of his disreputable old corduroy trousers and regarded her steadily from beneath bushy eyebrows. ‘To be sure, Cordelia, ’tis sorry I am.’ His gaze dropped to her hands which she’d cradled in her lap. ‘Ach, your poor wee hands look terrible cold. Would you like me to fix you a hot water bottle and a cup of tea?’

She felt the blush spread over her face as she nodded. ‘That would be lovely,’ she murmured, unable to meet his eyes. Ron was still a handsome man despite the shaggy brows and wayward hair, and the ragged clothes which looked about fit only for the dustbin, and Cordelia always felt a pleasurable little flutter in her heart when he smiled at her. She knew it was silly, for Ron was at least ten years her junior, but he had such a lovely way with him, she couldn’t help it.

Ron shook out the worst of the muddy water from the blanket and placed it tenderly back over her knees. Then he stomped about the kitchen in his muddy wellingtons, his long poacher’s coat dripping onto the lino as Harvey lay with his nose on his paws, eyebrows and ears twitching as he watched every move.

Ron unearthed the stone hot water bottle from behind the gingham curtain under the sink, and when he’d filled it from the whistling kettle and secured the bung, he wrapped it in a tea towel and gently placed it within the fold of the blanket.

She nodded her thanks and closed her eyes as the lovely heat slowly melted away the pain. She’d been living here for years, but the warmth and affection Ron and his family showed her still brought tears to her eyes, and she counted herself very blessed.

Ron poured them both a cup of tea, slopped some in a saucer for Harvey by way of forgiveness, and then sat at the table, still in his wellingtons and dripping coat, the old tweed cap flung on a nearby chair.

As Harvey noisily lapped up his treat, Ron filled his pipe. When the dog had finished chasing the saucer round the room to garner the last smear, he sternly sent him back to his corner. ‘Where’s Peg?’ he asked once he’d got his pipe going satisfactorily.

‘She took Daisy down to the station to help man the WVS tea waggon and make sandwiches. Another troop train’s due to stop here on the way to the naval base.’ Cordelia had fretted over Peggy all afternoon, for the weather was terrible and she really shouldn’t have been out in it while she was still so tired and run-down.

‘To be sure, that wee girl does too much,’ muttered Ron around the stem of his pipe, ‘and standing about in this weather is not good for man nor beast.’ He finished his cup of tea and pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll set to and peel some spuds to go with that stew I can smell simmering in the oven – then I’ll fetch in more logs and clean up the mess I’ve made on her floor.’

‘She’ll appreciate that, but don’t do too many spuds,’ Cordelia said quickly. ‘There’ll only be the three of us eating at home tonight.’

Ron raised a greying brow. ‘Oh, aye?’

Cordelia was feeling much brighter now the pain in her hands and legs had been eased. ‘The Americans have invited the girls to another party up at the Cliffe estate, and if it’s anything like the last time, there’ll be a huge spread laid out.’ Cordelia grinned. ‘The Yanks don’t seem to have a problem with rationing, and Fran said the tables were fairly groaning with roast beef, chicken and ham.’

Ron carried the crate of milk stout across the room and stowed it away on the marble shelf in the larder. ‘’Tis a pity they can’t sneak a few bits home with them,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a decent bit of ham.’ He returned to the sink and began to peel the potatoes. ‘Are Sarah and Jane going this time?’

Cordelia smiled at the mention of her great-nieces. ‘They certainly are,’ she replied. ‘The last party was too soon after they got those letters from their mother, so of course they were in no mood for socialising then. But they’ve since had time to digest the news and realise that their father’s fate, and that of Sarah’s fiancé, is out of their hands – and that life must go on regardless of what the future might hold.’ She stared into the fire. ‘At least their mother and baby brother are safe in Australia with their grandparents, and while there is life, there is hope.’

‘I suppose there’ll be all sorts of shenanigans in this house from the minute they get back from work,’ grumbled Ron. ‘’Tis a mystery to me how much fuss and noise it takes to get ready for a bit of a dance with a few Yanks.’

Cordelia giggled. ‘I seem to remember someone making a terrible fuss every night when he was going to see Rosie Braithwaite. Those young girls are not the only ones with stars in their eyes, Ron.’

‘Aye, well,’ he replied with a shrug, ‘but at least I’m not the one for changing me clothes a dozen times and spending hours doing me hair.’

‘You’ve only got one set of decent clothes,’ she retorted, ‘and a month of brushing wouldn’t bring that mop of yours under control.’

He turned from the sink and winked at her. ‘At least I’m not as bald as a coot like most of my contemporaries. To be sure, Cordelia, I’ve a fine head of hair.’

‘Not short of a bit of vanity either,’ she said with a sniff.

‘Ach, Cordelia, you’re a hard woman to please, so y’are.’ His eyes twinkled as he looked at her, and then he turned back to the sink.

As Ron chopped the potatoes and dropped them into the saucepan of cold water, Cordelia noticed that Harvey was on his belly, slowly edging his way towards the range as he kept a wary eye on Ron. She didn’t encourage him, knowing he would leap up at her again, but she didn’t stop him either, for he loved to stretch out and warm himself in the glow – and he’d been punished long enough.

She smiled fondly at him as he tentatively squirmed onto the rug and softly rested his nose on her shoes, his big amber eyes liquid with a plea for forgiveness. He was a lovely, highly intelligent dog who had proved his bravery time and again by helping to sniff out and rescue those trapped in the rubble of an air raid. Blessed with a whole catalogue of expressions, he knew exactly how to get around her – as did his sidekick and fellow conspirator, Ron.

Peggy was almost dead on her feet, for she’d been standing for most of the afternoon, making endless sandwiches. But at least she hadn’t had to go and stand in the rain by the tea waggon to greet the young men on the incoming train and dispense cups of tea and cigarettes while they ate the sandwiches, for she’d been asked to stay in the Town Hall and oversee things there.

She’d had about enough of bread, marge, Spam, corned beef and fish paste, which was all they’d had to offer the boys, and as the last box of sandwiches was carried out of the Town Hall by one of the volunteers, she dropped her knife and sank into a nearby wooden chair. It wasn’t the most comfortable of seats, but at least it took the weight off her feet and eased the ache in her back. She shot a glance towards the pram on the far side of the room before lighting a well-earned cigarette. Daisy would be waking soon and then it would be time to walk home and start all over again.

Peggy sighed, the cigarette smoke streaming towards the ceiling as she tipped back her head and closed her eyes. She felt completely drained, and the thought of having to walk home in the wind and rain simply defeated her. If only she could use the car, she thought, life would have been so much easier. But it was propped up on bricks and locked away in a friend’s garage for the duration, and even if she had the money, petrol was so tightly rationed she wouldn’t have been able to use it anyway.