Keep Smiling Through (29 page)

Rita remained silent. She might only be eighteen, but she’d learned enough to know that happiness and security didn’t have to depend on marriage – that sometimes it had the opposite effect. She’d seen enough of the trials Vi had gone through with her brute of a husband, had heard the stories of drunkenness and bullying from the women who’d once gossiped on the doorsteps of Barrow Lane, and seen the black eyes and bruises – and the hopelessness that seemed to weigh them down. Not everyone was lucky enough to have a marriage like Tino and Louise’s.

‘I’d better be going,’ she said, pulling on her jacket and reaching for her gas mask box and overnight bag. ‘I don’t think there’ll be any raids today, the weather’s too bad, but it might be an idea to keep your bag packed just in case.’

Louise nodded. ‘Could you get my washing from the kitchen before you go? It must be dry by now.’

‘It’s best if you fetch it, Mamma. You’ll have to mix with the others sooner or later, and as you know most of them it shouldn’t be too hard.’

‘I don’t want to bump into that Aggie person,’ she muttered.

‘She’s on early shift today,’ said Rita firmly. ‘Please, Mamma, you have to try and muck in with everyone here, or they’ll think you’re standoffish.’ She shot her a warm smile. ‘They’re not your enemies, you know. In fact they all asked after you, genuinely concerned about how you are.’

Louise pushed the tray to one side of the bed and slid beneath the blankets. ‘I’ll go down later,’ she replied. ‘What time will you be back?’

‘At about six. The rest of last night’s soup is in the pot over there for your lunch, and I’ll make sure there’s something hot for you when you get in at eight.’ Rita bent to kiss Louise’s cheek.

‘Will you go to the post office and see if there are any letters?’

‘I’ll do my best, but I might not make it during opening hours. Take care going down that hill and wrap up warm. It’s raining harder now and the wind’s getting up.’

Louise pulled the blanket over her head, her reply inaudible.

There were very few people about in the town, apart from the few hardy souls waiting mournfully outside the bakery for their day’s ration, and the men who were still labouring to shore up one of the large buildings which was leaning dangerously against its neighbour.

There were huge gaps all along the upper end of the High Street, and at the top of the hill the station looked forlorn now it had no roof and only the remnants of one wall. Rubble had been piled high into the bomb craters, and the shops closest to the station had had their windows blown in during the blitz of parachute mines that had all but obliterated the railway lines, bus depot, and the houses behind it.

In the gloom of the misty rain and the cold wind coming off the sea, Cliffehaven didn’t look at all festive, and it seemed in keeping with the sadness that lay heavy in Rita’s heart as she parked the Norton outside the recruiting office.

The door was locked, but as she peered through the misted windows, she could see there was a light on inside and someone was moving about. She rapped on the glass, impatient to get this over with.

The figure loomed towards her and an angry face peered through the glass. ‘We’re closed until ten.’

‘I have to be at work by ten,’ shouted Rita. ‘I need to speak to you now. It’s urgent.’

The recruitment officer glared at her, then turned the key and opened the door just far enough to talk through. ‘This is most irregular. What do you want, Miss Smith?’

‘I need to talk about my application.’ Rita tucked her chin into her collar as the rain dripped from her leather helmet and down her neck. ‘Please can I come in?’

The woman gave a great sigh and, with little grace, let her in. ‘Stand on the mat,’ she ordered. ‘I’ve just cleaned this floor.’ She slammed the door shut. ‘So what is it, Miss Smith?’

Rita pulled off the sodden leather helmet and shook out her hair. ‘I need help and advice,’ she replied. ‘You see, I was bombed out, and of course I couldn’t go for the initial interview and medical because of the raid on the airbase.’

‘I am fully aware of the consequences of that raid, Miss Smith, but I cannot see how your lack of accommodation is any of my concern. As for your medical, you will be given another date as soon as possible.’

‘That’s just the point,’ said Rita. ‘I don’t know if I should take it in the circumstances.’

The older woman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why ever not?’

Rita quickly explained. ‘I don’t need much training, and I was hoping I could stay in Cliffehaven to carry out my duties,’ she finished breathlessly.

There was a long, tense silence in which Rita could hear the thud of her heartbeat.

The other woman’s steely gaze never faltered. ‘One cannot pick and choose, Miss Smith. The WAAFs command obedience and total commitment. The training is compulsory, and carried out several miles away. You will then be posted wherever you are needed most.’

Rita’s eyes swam with hot tears. ‘Then I have no choice but to withdraw my application,’ she said shakily.

‘But you were so keen,’ said the woman, her expression softening. ‘I remember when you first came in here at the beginning of the war begging to be allowed to work as a mechanic on the airbase. Now you have the chance to finish your apprenticeship and do just that. Surely you don’t really want to throw this opportunity away?’

‘It’s the last thing I want to do,’ Rita admitted as she battled the tears, ‘but I can’t abandon Louise now she’s homeless.’ She looked up at the woman, saw the understanding in her eyes and could battle no longer. ‘Please,’ she sobbed, ‘isn’t there some way I could work at the local base during the day and stay with Louise at night?’

‘Oh, my dear.’ The woman put her arm round Rita’s shoulder and held her as she cried. ‘I’m sorry, but that just isn’t possible. You’d be part of the team, don’t you see, and expected to live at whichever base you’re assigned to so that you’re on call day or night. Joining one of the services is not like working in a factory or a shop. There aren’t set hours, and leave is erratic at the best of times.’

Rita was aware that her tears were dampening the stiff serge of the other woman’s uniform jacket – and it was a bit disconcerting to be mothered by someone she’d always found daunting. She eased from her embrace and hastily blew her nose. ‘Is there a form I have to sign?’

The woman wordlessly walked to her desk, found a sheaf of forms and a pen and hesitated before she handed them over. ‘There’re always forms to fill in,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘Are you really sure about this, Miss Smith? Isn’t there anyone else to look after Mrs Minelli?’

Rita thought longingly of Beach View Boarding House. If only Peggy wasn’t away. If only the house wasn’t already so crowded there might have been a chance. ‘No,’ she replied, her voice catching.

‘Then, I’m sorry, my dear.’ The woman pushed the forms towards her.

Rita could barely see through her tears as she swiftly signed them. ‘Thanks anyway,’ she muttered. She gave a wan smile and headed for the door.

‘If things change, then come back,’ the woman called after her. ‘The WAAFs could do with more girls like you, and I will guarantee that your reapplication will be rushed through.’

‘You’re very kind,’ said Rita. ‘Thank you.’

She was sobbing as she ran into the rain and climbed on the Norton. She could hardly see through her tears as she kicked the bike into life and headed for the factory. Her dreams were shattered. Although she was chilled to the bone and soaking wet, at least the rain acted as a perfect camouflage for her tears.

Ron knew he wasn’t fully recovered, for he’d attempted to smoke his pipe this morning and had ended up coughing his lungs out. His chest still ached where he’d pulled the muscles, and the shrapnel was moving about again in his lower back. All in all he was feeling a bit sorry for himself, and the only way he knew of countering that was to go and see Rosie.

It was almost opening time when he slipped out of the back door with Harvey and hurried down the passageway that ran between the terraces to the end of the street. Jamming his cap firmly over his head, he pulled up his coat collar and buried his chin. It was only a short walk down Camden Road to the Anchor, but it was raining and the strong gusts of wind threatened to knock him over.

Harvey trotted along beside him, tongue lolling, fur plastered to his head and back making him look more like his greyhound sire than ever. He didn’t seem to mind the weather at all; in fact, he appeared to be relishing it.

Ron tugged on the leash as Harvey tried to water every lamp post and sniff every scent. ‘Not the weather for that, ye auld rascal,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s get in the warm.’

He shoved his way through the ancient oak door and went down the single step into the stone-flagged bar that held the aroma of decades of beer and tobacco. A fire was blazing in the inglenook, sending dancing shadows over the heavy dark beams, and glints of light on the diamond-paned windows and collection of copper pots. Every table and chair had been polished to a gleam, the cushions on the old pews beneath the windows were plumped and inviting, and Rosie had strung tinselled branches of holly and mistletoe everywhere. It was like coming home.

Harvey headed straight for the fire and stretched out on the flagstones with a deep sigh of pleasure, his nose on his paws, his eyes watching Ron’s every move.

Rosie was behind the bar looking gorgeous as usual and she shot him a warm smile of welcome. ‘Hello, Ron. I didn’t expect to see you this early in the day.’

‘I worked up a thirst sitting about in that hospital.’ He took his coat off and dumped it on a stool. ‘Did you want a hand bringing up the crates or changing the barrels?’

‘It’s all been taken care of,’ she said, her gaze avoiding him as she reached for the beer pump. ‘Do you want your usual, or a drop of whisky to keep out the cold?’

‘To be sure, a drop of the heather would see me right.’ He frowned with concern as she kept her gaze averted, reached for the bottle under the bar and poured him a generous measure. ‘You seem a bit distracted,’ he said as he took the glass.

‘I’ve a lot on my mind.’

Ron was still frowning as he gulped down at least half of the whisky, but he decided to bide his time and say nothing until she was ready to confide in him.

Harvey got to his feet and ambled across the room to rest his front paws on the bar, tail wagging as he grinned at her. He was thirsty too, and liked a drop of beer now and again.

‘Here you go,’ said Rosie with a smile as she came round the bar and placed the shallow bowl on the floor. She patted his head distractedly as he enthusiastically lapped up every drop and pushed the bowl round the floor in search of more. Rosie retrieved it, smoothed her skirt over her slender hips and returned to her place behind the bar.

Ron’s concern deepened. Rosie was in a dither about something, and it was most unlike her not to straighten the seams on her stockings and freshen her lipstick before she came into the bar. ‘Are you all right, Rosie?’

‘Of course,’ she said rather too brightly.

He looked at her from beneath his bushy brows. ‘You can’t fool me, Rosie Braithwaite. What’s the matter, girl?’

‘Nothing,’ she said firmly, her gaze darting to the opening door behind the bar.

Tommy Findlay emerged carrying a crate of bottles which he dumped on the bar. He then stood beside Rosie as if he owned the place. His hair was slicked back with Brylcreem, his moustache was twirled, and his weaselly eyes gleamed with proprietorial victory as he gave Ron one of his greasiest smiles. ‘Morning, Ron. Glad to see you’re on your feet again so soon.’

Ron felt a chill of loathing run down his spine. ‘I didn’t realise you were still here,’ he muttered.

‘That’s not very welcoming, Ron,’ Tommy replied with all the bonhomie of a rattlesnake. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to know that someone’s looking after Rosie while you were laid up.’

‘That depends on who’s doing it, Findlay.’

‘Now boys, please play nicely,’ said Rosie with determined cheerfulness. ‘I’ve got a pub to run, and my customers prefer a happy atmosphere. Another whisky, Ron?’

He looked into her eyes and saw the plea in them to hold his peace. ‘Aye. I will that, Rosie, but I’ll take it over there by the fire, if you don’t mind. The company’s better.’

Tommy’s laugh held nothing but derision. ‘My, my, Rosie,’ he said, giving her waist a squeeze. ‘I do believe the old fool’s jealous.’

She jerked away from him. ‘Keep your hands and your opinions to yourself, Thomas Findlay. This is my pub and Ron’s my friend. If you can’t behave, then sling your hook.’

‘Do like the lady says,’ growled Ron, his fists curling, itching to swipe that supercilious grin off his face.

Harvey leaped to his feet at the sound of his master’s voice, ears pricked, lips drawn back in a snarl. He was big enough and fast enough to take the bar in one leap and have Tommy’s throat in his jaw within seconds. All it would take was Ron’s command.

Tommy eyed the dog warily, his cocky smile faltering. Then he shrugged and stepped back, easing the lapels of his flashy jacket and straightening his gaudy tie. ‘I was only having a bit of a laugh,’ he said. ‘Didn’t realise you’d lost your sense of humour, Ron.’

‘You weren’t being funny,’ snapped Rosie with an unusual show of temper.

Tommy was about to reply when the front door crashed open, bringing a gust of wind and flying debris into the bar along with a group of Canadian soldiers. ‘Hey, Rosie,’ one of them called cheerfully. ‘Set ’em up, honey. We got a mighty thirst today.’

Ron and Tommy regarded each other with mutual loathing as Rosie hurried to serve the Canadians. ‘I have a fair idea of what you’re up to, Findlay,’ muttered Ron, ‘and you’ll have me to answer to if Rosie’s hurt in any way.’

Findlay made a disdainful noise in his throat. ‘Yeah? You and who else’s army?’

Ron took a swig of his whisky. ‘You’d be surprised,’ he muttered, slamming the empty glass on the bar. He glowered at the other man, unfazed by the age difference. He’d learned a great many skills in the special operations unit during the last war – skills that were as honed today as they had been then. ‘I’ve got my eye on you, Findlay,’ he said with quiet menace.