Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House) (17 page)

The touch of her friend’s hand seemed to release something within Doreen, and the words came out in a rush. ‘Archie died. He’s dead.’

Veronica gasped as she gripped Doreen’s fingers. ‘Dead?’ she breathed. ‘But how? What happened? Oh, Doreen, I’m so, so sorry.’

The genuine sympathy was almost Doreen’s undoing and for a moment she was unable to speak as the tears rolled down her face and she struggled to cope with the overwhelming grief.

Veronica put her arm about her shoulders. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful, Dor,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll understand, really I will.’

Doreen swallowed the lump in her throat and dug in her trouser pocket for a handkerchief to mop up her tears. Of course Ronnie would understand, for she’d been widowed only two years before, and with no children or any family to speak of, she’d relied on her friendship with Doreen to help see her through those dark days.

She looked back at her friend, realising that actually she did want to talk about what happened. She needed to purge herself of all the awful images that were going round and round in her head, and to come to terms with the consequences.

Veronica said nothing as Doreen stumbled through her story, and when she’d come to the end, she gave her a heartfelt hug. ‘Oh, Doreen,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through – and I wish I could find the words to bring you some comfort. But we both know that words are superfluous at times like these.’

Doreen nodded as she pulled and twisted the damp handkerchief in her lap. ‘At least you understand,’ she murmured. She lifted her chin, determined to put a brave face on things and not be a sobbing mess. ‘I shouldn’t really have told you any of it,’ she confessed.

Ronnie’s eyes widened. ‘Why ever not? You can’t keep something like that all bottled up inside you, Dor. You’d go mad with it.’

‘We were all warned to say nothing because of the damage it might do to morale, and the fact that Hitler could use it as propaganda.’ She gripped her friend’s hand. ‘So you’ve got to promise to keep this to yourself.’

Ronnie nodded thoughtfully. ‘Of course I will, and I’m not at all surprised the authorities have put a lid on it. For such an appalling thing to happen to civilians without an enemy shot being fired would certainly cause a huge furore.’ She patted her hand. ‘But I’m glad you trusted me enough to confide in me, Doreen.’

Doreen discovered that she felt marginally better for having talked about it, but she was haunted by the images from that day, and suspected they would remain with her for as long as she lived.

‘I really do think you should take some time off, Doreen,’ said Ronnie. ‘You need to rest and grieve and come to terms with things.’

Doreen shook her head. ‘I’d rather not,’ she said firmly. ‘The thought of rattling about with only my thoughts for company makes me feel quite ill. Work will keep me occupied, and hopefully I’ll be so tired every night I’ll sleep well and not dream.’

Ronnie didn’t look convinced. ‘I remember how I was when Michael was shot down,’ she said. ‘I thought I could work my way through it and carry on as if nothing had changed, but look where I ended up – forced to rest in a cottage hospital for a month.’

‘I know,’ Doreen murmured, ‘and I will take care of myself, Ronnie, I promise. I’ve already spoken to Dr Maynard about having a day off to attend Archie’s funeral next week. Perhaps after that I’ll think about taking a few more days’ leave. But I can’t afford not to work, Ronnie. There’s rent to pay, food to buy, the girls are always needing new clothes and shoes and—’

‘It’s all right, I understand,’ Ronnie soothed. ‘And of course you can have all the time you need for the funeral. I’ll sort out someone to take over here.’ Her smile was wry. ‘And I’ll make sure it’s someone who knows their way around an office. That other girl was so useless I’ve had to demote her to the mail-room.’

‘Thanks, Ronnie.’

‘Will you be all right on your own? Would you like me to come with you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Doreen replied. ‘We can’t both leave everyone in the lurch – not with so many experiments coming to a head.’

‘They can do without us for half a day,’ said Veronica firmly. ‘You look as if a puff of wind would blow you down at the minute, which is hardly surprising after the horror you’ve been through, and I hate the thought of you facing the ordeal of that funeral on your own. I’ll sort something, never fear.’

Doreen suddenly didn’t have the strength to argue. She was drained of all emotion and the tight band of pain was intensifying, with tiny sparks of light darting before her eyes. She fumbled in her handbag, found the packet of aspirin and dropped it on the floor. ‘Oh, dear. I’m all fingers and thumbs today,’ she moaned.

Veronica retrieved the packet and frowned. ‘How many of these have you taken, Doreen?’

‘I don’t know. Four, six. I’ve lost count.’ She massaged her temples, trying to ease the awful throb of pain that was now virtually blinding her. ‘Another two won’t hurt,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve got the most awful migraine.’

‘You need to see the quack,’ said Veronica briskly. ‘Come on. I’m taking you over there now.’

‘I have to get these folders to Dr Maynard,’ Doreen protested.

‘We’ll drop them off on the way.’ Veronica grasped her arm and eased her out of the chair just as the sirens began to wail. ‘Damn and blast,’ she hissed. ‘Talk about bad timing.’

Panic overrode the pain and Doreen snatched her arm from the other woman’s grip. ‘I can’t go into the shelter,’ she gasped.

‘You have to, Dor. It’s the rules. Don’t worry, I’ll stick close.’

‘No.’ Doreen backed away from her and stood trembling by the filing cabinets as the sound of running feet came from the corridor outside. ‘I can’t, Ronnie. Really I can’t.’

Veronica’s reply was drowned out by the wailing siren and the thunder of planes taking off from Biggin Hill.

Doreen put her hands over her head, and she slid down the wall and curled over her knees. The noise was all-consuming, reverberating in her head and coursing through every part of her body until she vibrated with it. She couldn’t bear it – couldn’t bear the thought of that shelter – of the press of people – the dim lights – the smells of so many humans in such a small space where the doors were tightly locked and there could be no escape.

‘The shelters are big and light and not at all overcrowded,’ shouted Veronica over the noise of the last few Spitfires and Hurricanes leaving the aerodrome. ‘It won’t be the same, Doreen.’

She shook her head and curled tighter against the wall, her head buried beneath her hands, her nose pressed against her knees. ‘Don’t make me go there,’ she begged. ‘Please don’t make me go down there.’

‘All right, Doreen,’ Veronica soothed. ‘I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want, and I’ll stay with you.’ She quickly turned off the light, checked the blackout was securely fixed, and yanked the chairs away from the desk. ‘All I ask is that you come with me under here until it’s over. It’s not much of a shelter, but it’s better than nothing.’

Doreen felt the darkness creeping into her, but she crawled under the desk and huddled there as Veronica dropped her walking stick and awkwardly slid in beside her. ‘I’m sorry to be so feeble,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t be daft.’ Veronica lit cigarettes for both of them, the strike of the match illuminating her face and casting strange shadows beneath her eyes and cheekbones. ‘We might as well break all the rules while we’re at it,’ she said with a smile.

Doreen gratefully took the cigarette and was shocked by how badly her hand was trembling. She had to get a grip, she thought in panic – this was ridiculous.

Yet, as the sirens’ wails died down and they heard the first of the enemy bombers approaching, and the returning fire of the ack-ack guns around the fort, it took all her will power to stay beneath that desk. She felt hemmed in, enclosed in the darkness which was only alleviated by the faint glow at the end of their cigarettes. Veronica’s slight body was pressing against her on one side, the sturdy panel of the desk drawers on the other. She could feel control slipping away – was taken back to the awful press in that tunnel – and found she was gasping for air.

She stubbed out the cigarette beneath her heel and forced herself to take slow, even, deep breaths. It was vital she kept control, otherwise she’d be lost. But her heart was pounding, the darkness was all-consuming and the images of that tunnel were returning.

‘Hold my hand,’ shouted Veronica above the noise of the dogfights overhead. ‘Keep breathing, Dor. Just keep breathing.’

Doreen gripped her friend’s hand as her heart pounded against her ribs and she fought to breathe the musty air. Air raids had never bothered her before, but now the crash and crump of explosions made her flinch – the roar of heavy-bellied enemy bombers made her cringe – and the whine and scream of fighter planes engaged in deadly combat overhead seemed to accentuate the awful pain in her head. The darkness was smothering, the weight of it pressing down on her chest as she struggled to overcome the terrifying sense that she was drowning in it.

‘It’s all right,’ shouted Veronica, putting her arm around Doreen’s shoulders. ‘I’m here.’

Doreen closed her eyes and prayed for the raid to be over, for this debilitating fear to ease – and for the merest glimmer of light to pierce this all-pervasive darkness.

Peggy collected the dirty dinner plates and stacked them to one side before she made a pot of tea. The blessed sirens had gone off right in the middle of the meal and although they’d got the air-raid routine off pat, it had still been chaotic.

While Harvey had howled at the sirens and Daisy had yelled fit to burst at having her meal disturbed, Cordelia had turned up the worse for wear after too many glasses of wine at Bertie’s, and just as they were about to close the Anderson shelter door, Jack Smith had arrived. It was a tight squeeze – rather like playing sardines but without the fun. Thankfully, Harvey had settled down to sleep once the sirens fell silent, and Daisy had eaten her fill and was now happily drinking from her nightly bottle of milk.

Peggy looked round at the occupants of the shelter as the Spitfires, Hurricanes, Wellingtons and Lancaster bombers thundered overhead. The rather tipsy Cordelia was ensconced in her deckchair, surrounded by pillows and being fussed over by Bertie. Jack’s large frame took up a lot of space and he was squashed up between the front wall and Rita, but he didn’t seem to mind as he told her about his trip to his old haunts on the motorbike. Sarah and Fran were discussing knitting patterns as they unravelled a couple of old sweaters, and Ron was fidgeting about on the bench trying to get something out of his jacket pocket as Harvey snored at his feet.

When Peggy realised that he meant to fill his pipe, she reached out to still his hand. ‘Not tonight, please, Ron. There’re too many of us and that thing fills the place with smoke.’

He grimaced and stuck his pipe back into his jacket pocket. ‘It comes to something when a man’s outnumbered by bossy women, do ye not think, Bertie?’

Bertram, who was far too polite and tactful to side with anyone, gave a rather hapless smile and busied himself by pulling the blanket more closely over Cordelia’s knees. ‘When one is alone, one rather misses the company of women,’ he said with a gentle smile to Cordelia.

Ron grunted as Cordelia simpered and slid sideways in the deckchair. ‘At least you get to escape when you want to,’ Ron continued. ‘To be sure, me and Harvey are stuck with them day in and day out – and there’s forever a great long list of things for me to be doing.’

‘What’s got into you, Uncle Ron?’ asked Fran with a frown. ‘You’ve been grumpy for ages, and it’s not like you at all.’

‘Ach, that would be telling,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it’s me shrapnel on the move, or the cold damp – or having to sit for hours in this thing when I should be out on the hills hunting.’

‘Poaching, you mean,’ said Peggy drily.

Ron gave a great sigh of self-pity and then reached under the bench. Having fished about for a moment, he drew out his Home Guard tin helmet. Plonking it over his disreputable cap, he folded his arms and glowered from beneath his shaggy brows.

‘Why on earth are you wearing that thing?’ said Peggy, trying not to laugh.

‘Because I want to,’ he retorted.

‘You do look very silly,’ giggled Rita.

‘Aye, that I might. But if this roof comes down then it’ll not be me with a sore head.’

‘I hardly think a tin hat will stop you from getting squashed.’ Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, do take it off, Uncle Ron. You look so funny.’

Ron grinned back at her. ‘Well at least it’s made you smile,’ he said as he took the offending object from his head and shoved it back under the bench. ‘So it’s done its job.’

Peggy regarded him with deep affection as the girls continued to giggle and Harvey started to chase rabbits in his sleep. Ron could always be counted upon to make people smile.

She shifted the sleeping Daisy in her arms so she could drink her tea. ‘I don’t know what you think of us all, Jack,’ she said a moment later. ‘It must seem like a madhouse after being in the Army where everything is so ordered.’

‘It’s a home, Peggy, and that’s all that matters.’

‘And how are you getting on at the Crown? Gloria treating you all right, is she?’ she asked carefully.

‘She’s a bit of a one, isn’t she?’ he replied with a wink and a grin. ‘But I’ve got her measure, Peggy. A bit of flirting never hurt anyone, and if it gets me a good dinner at night, then what’s the harm?’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘But the bedroom door will be locked again tonight and my wallet will be under the pillow.’

Peggy laughed. ‘You always were bright, Jack Smith. I’m glad that hasn’t changed.’

Jack grinned at her and then eyed the other men as he reached into his pocket for a pack of rather greasy playing cards. ‘Fancy a game of rummy to pass the time, you two?’

‘Rather,’ said Bertie heartily. ‘What are the stakes?’

‘A farthing a trick,’ said Ron as he scrabbled in his trouser pocket and pulled out a quarter bottle of whisky. ‘And this should help to liven things up.’