While We're Apart (30 page)

Mary introduced them, and Ivy was soon chattering away to him as if she'd known him for years. Mary admired her confidence, for she'd felt awkward and rather tongue-tied in his company. He seemed to be very nice, but he wasn't Jack, and she didn't want him getting any ideas.

She sat and tried to ignore the piteous howls that came from the large shaggy dog that was now trying to get under one of the low tables. She watched as the final trickle of people came down the steps to settle in the chairs or stand about talking in the dim light from two naked bulbs.

The cellar was huge, with a low, beamed ceiling and dark doorways that no doubt led to smugglers' tunnels, but with so many people crammed down here it would get hot and stuffy once the door was closed. Yet the old, sagging furniture made it welcoming, and with a makeshift bar, a gramophone, and even a small primus stove and kettle, it was quite cosy. The thought of a cup of tea was enticing, for she was very thirsty after drinking all that sweet lemonade, and she wondered if she dared go and ask for one. The barmaids seemed to be very busy serving bottles of beer from the stacks of crates piled in the corner.

‘Well, this is a rotten ending to a lovely evening, I must say.'

Mary realised that Mrs Reilly had plumped down into a nearby chair and was now holding a sleeping baby while she tried to soothe the poor howling dog. She smiled in welcome. ‘It's not too bad at all,' she replied. ‘In fact it's far nicer than an Anderson shelter.'

‘You're right there. Ron's done a good job of fixing the place up, and the party usually carries on until the all-clear sounds.' Mrs Reilly pointed to the older man who was now closing the door on the shrieking sirens. ‘That's my father-in-law, Ron, and that's the Anchor's landlady, Rosie Braithwaite.' She leant a bit closer. ‘They're walking out together, but it's supposed to be a secret,' she said in a stage whisper.

Mary regarded them and thought it was rather sweet that people of that age were courting. Yet Ron looked sturdy and fit, and Mrs Braithwaite was certainly no shrinking violet. She looked down at the shivering dog which mercifully had stopped howling now the sirens had fallen silent, and was trying to climb into Mrs Reilly's lap. ‘Is he yours?'

‘This is Harvey,' Peggy said as she eased his great paws from her lap and ordered him to lie down. ‘He's Ron's, and that other one is his pup, Monty, who now lives here with Rosie.' She smiled and looked down at her sleeping baby. ‘And this is Daisy, my youngest,' she said proudly.

Mary admired the baby who had long dark lashes, plump cheeks, and a mass of curly hair. ‘She's lovely, Mrs Reilly, and very good not to be worried by all the noise.'

‘You must call me Peggy, dear,' she replied firmly. ‘Everybody does, and I prefer not to be too formal.' She tucked the blanket more firmly round Daisy and smiled. ‘I don't usually bring her out at night, but I've got fed up with being stuck indoors now Jim's away with the army.'

She turned to introduce an elderly lady called Cordelia, who was sitting on another couch squashed between Stan and Ethel. Ruby and a young Canadian officer with an eyepatch were standing talking nearby.

As the muted sound of several squadrons of Spitfires and other fighter planes roared overhead on their way to tackle the incoming enemy, Peggy told Mary all about Beach View Boarding House, her family and the history of her lodgers. She related the story behind Ruby's arrival in Cliffehaven, and how her young Canadian fellow had been injured. Barely pausing for breath, she went on to explain that Ethel and Stan had seemed to come to some sort of understanding, and then embarked on the stories of the girls who lodged with her, introducing them as they came over to see if she and Daisy were comfortable.

Mary warmed to Peggy and was delighted to learn so much in such a short time. It was clear that Fran, Sarah and Jane adored her, and that she was a warm-hearted, sweet woman, who tackled even the darkest trials with stoic determination never to be beaten. She was very different to her sister.

As if Peggy had read her thoughts, she smiled. ‘Me and my sister Doris are chalk and cheese,' she said lightly. ‘But as long as you take her airs and graces with a pinch of salt, you'll be fine. It's a comfortable house – much grander than mine, but I'd be careful not to let her know about your piano-playing, or she'll be on your back to do concerts and things for her charities.'

Mary smiled ruefully. ‘It's too late for that,' she admitted, before going on to explain about the forthcoming recital.

‘Oh dear,' sighed Peggy. ‘Well don't let her force you into anything you don't want to do. And try to get Ivy out of the habit of being used as a skivvy. Give my sister an inch and she'll take a mile, no mistake.' She licked her lips. ‘I don't suppose you'd fetch me a cup of tea, would you dear? Only I'm parched, and I can see that Rosie's finally put the kettle on.'

Mary struggled out of the sagging couch, rather amused that she seemed to have been forgotten by Smoky now he had the lively Ivy to chat to. She noted that Charlie didn't seem at all bothered by this, for he had his arm draped round Gladys while they flirted.

She was suddenly struck by the awful thought that Jack could very well be doing the same sort of thing in some pub down in the West Country, and she had to stifle a pang of anxiety. Boys in uniform attracted girls, it was a fact of life, and if Jack could have seen her earlier, he too might have jumped to the wrong conclusion. She had to keep faith in him, and not let her imagination run riot.

The deep thunder of many heavy bombers made the old walls shudder and brought a sprinkling of plaster dust and ancient cobwebs sifting down. No one else seemed to notice, so Mary swallowed her momentary fear, eased her way through the crush and went over to get the tea. She couldn't allow herself to think about that terrible night when she'd lost everything, for if she did, every raid would be torture.

‘It's all right, dear.' Rosie greeted her with a cheerful smile. ‘This old place has been standing for a couple of centuries and it's not about to fall down now. I expect you'd like a cup of tea after all your hard work tonight – and one for Peggy and the others, if I'm not much mistaken. I know how Peg, Ethel and Cordelia like their cuppas.'

Mary nodded and waited while the kettle boiled, the bombers continued to thunder overhead and the dust silently sifted down. ‘I hope you didn't mind me playing, Mrs Braithwaite, but I didn't really have much choice,' she said.

‘Goodness me, of course I didn't mind,' she replied. ‘And please, call me Rosie. It's a bit daft to be so formal under the circumstances.' She smiled as she casually brushed the dust from her blouse and stirred the tea in the pot.

Mary felt rather awkward about calling women of that age by their Christian names, for she'd always been taught to respect her elders. Yet Rosie and Peggy seemed very relaxed about things, so she supposed it didn't really matter.

‘You did very well tonight, Mary, and I'm rather hoping you'll come and play every Friday and Saturday evening. I'll pay you, of course,' Rosie added hurriedly, ‘and the boys are very generous, so there'll be lots more of this.' She reached under the table and held out a jar of coins.

Mary stared at the jar. ‘Goodness,' she breathed. ‘Where did all that come from?'

‘The boys wanted to buy you a drink, so I took their money and put it aside. Take it, love. You've earned it.'

Mary felt the weight of the jar and guessed there had to be almost a week's wages in there. ‘Gosh,' she breathed. ‘I didn't expect this.'

‘So, will you come and play tomorrow night?' Rosie placed the thick china cups on a tray.

‘I'd love to,' she replied. ‘But it will depend on my shifts at the factory, so I can't promise I'll do it every weekend.'

Rosie grinned. ‘Then come when you can. You're good for business, Mary, and while you're enjoying it and earning a bit of pin money, I'll be pleased to see you any night.'

Their conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by an enormous explosion that shook the very foundations of the old pub. Everyone stilled as they looked up, and after a moment of stunned silence, carried on talking as someone put a record on the gramophone. ‘That sounded as if it's hit the promenade,' said Rosie with a sigh. ‘Those poor old hotels have taken a terrible battering. I do hope no one was hurt.'

Mary balanced the money jar alongside the cups on the tray and weaved her way through the couples who were now dancing to ‘Begin the Beguine'. She set the tray on the floor and handed out the tea which was gratefully received by Peggy and her friends, and having stowed the jar in her large handbag, sat down to enjoy her own.

It was wonderfully refreshing, and she sighed with pleasure. If she was to play here again tomorrow, she'd ask Rosie to give her water or tea. She couldn't be doing with all that sickly-sweet lemonade.

Harvey inched towards her and put his muzzle on her lap, his great hazel eyes looking at her beseechingly. She patted his head and stroked his ears, apologising for not having a biscuit to give him. It felt quite homely down in the pub cellar, with a dog at her knee and friendly people surrounding her. Perhaps life in Cliffehaven would prove to be rather pleasant, for it was clear that few, if any, of its inhabitants were as fearsome as Mrs Williams.

The all-clear sounded just before midnight, and everyone seemed most reluctant to leave, for the party was in full swing.

‘Come on you lot,' shouted Rosie as she turned off the gramophone. ‘It's way past drinking-up time. Haven't you got homes to go to?'

The trickle became a flood as people gathered up their things and traipsed up the concrete steps to where Ron was chivvying them out of the side door. Mary, Ivy and the other girls followed the general exodus, shivering as they stepped out into Camden Road and were met by a bitterly cold wind and the stench of burning.

‘Someone's copped it,' said Ivy after they'd cheerfully said goodbye to Smoky, Charlie and the other boys, who had to return to their various barracks. ‘And it looks as if it was on the seafront, going by that glow.'

Mary and the others looked to where a haze of orange and black smoke eddied in the wind above the rooftops. They could already hear the clanging fire-engine and ambulance bells, and knew they'd only get in the way if they went to see what had been hit. Besides, they'd all seen enough damage caused by the Luftwaffe to understand all too well the tragedy that could be unfolding down on the seafront. It wasn't something to stand and gawp at.

‘That were a bit too close for comfort,' muttered Gladys with a shiver. ‘Come on, girls, let's get home. I'm freezing.'

They walked quickly down Camden Road and had to wait while a fire engine raced off the fire-station forecourt. The girl driving it didn't look old enough to be in charge of such a beast, but they all gave her a cheer of encouragement before they hurried on.

When they reached the High Street, Mabel, Gladys, Dot and Freda said goodnight and hurried up the hill to their billet in what had once been a youth hostel. They were all on night shift tomorrow and Sunday, but would meet again at the factory estate on Monday to show Mary around and help her settle in.

Ivy put her arm through Mary's. ‘That were fun, weren't it?' she said as they tucked their chins into their coat collars against the cold night air. ‘You played a blinder there, Mary. I 'ope you didn't mind me dropping you in it like that, but we was all getting fed up with no one to play the thing properly.'

‘Yes, well don't volunteer me for anything else until you ask me first,' Mary replied. ‘It's not that I didn't enjoy it,' she said hurriedly, ‘but I could have done with some sort of warning.'

‘Yeah, sorry about that, but I knew that if I said anything you'd refuse to do it.' They reached the house and paused for a moment to steel themselves against any sudden appearance of Mrs Williams. ‘You didn't really mind, did you?' Ivy asked with a frown of concern.

Mary chuckled. ‘Not once I'd got going. And, actually, I'll be playing there again tomorrow night.' She dug the jar out of her handbag and shook it. ‘I even managed to earn a few bob as well, so all in all you've done me a favour.'

‘Cor.' Ivy's eyes widened as she felt the weight of the jar. ‘How much d'ya reckon you got in there?'

‘I don't know.' Mary shoved it back in her bag. ‘Let's get in before we freeze to death, and we can count it.'

They tiptoed across the gravel drive so as not to wake Mrs Williams who slept in the front bedroom, and Ivy slotted the key in the door. Entering the warm, silent house, they began to creep up the stairs.

‘And what time do you call this?'

They looked up to find Mrs Williams at the top of the stairs, resplendent in a silken negligee and thick, shining white face cream, her head prickling with curlers covered in a bilious green hairnet.

Mary stifled the urge to giggle and continued up the stairs. ‘I know it's very late, but there was a raid and we couldn't get here any earlier,' she said, her voice not quite as steady as she would have liked. ‘I'm sorry if we've disturbed you.'

‘I have been at my wits' end wondering where you'd got to,' Mrs Williams replied crossly. ‘You told me you were going to spend the evening in your room, but when I went up to see if you'd changed your mind about listening to the recital, you weren't there.'

‘Yes, I'm sorry about that.' Mary edged towards their bedroom door. ‘We had a sudden change of plan.'

‘I suppose this is your doing?' The beady gaze settled on Ivy, who was fighting a losing battle against her giggles.

‘Not at all,' said Mary hastily. ‘I simply decided to go to the Anchor with Ivy, and it turned out to be great fun.'

‘The Anchor?'