There'll Be Blue Skies (8 page)

Anne’s blush deepened. ‘But I do love him, Mum. So much. It’s really difficult …’

‘I think you and young Martin should do your courting here,’ said Peggy. ‘You can have the dining room after tea. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.’

Anne visibly relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She kissed Peggy’s cheek. ‘I’ll tell Martin next time he telephones.’

‘You do that, love.’ She kissed Anne goodnight and began to clear away the mugs. But her hands stilled as she set the crockery in the sink. Her daughter was a vital young woman who was being forced to face a world in which nothing was certain. Perhaps she and Martin were meant for each other – perhaps it was just a momentary fling brought on by the excitement of war and the sense that every day had to be lived as if it was the last. Either way, Peggy didn’t want her daughter to get hurt – and although she couldn’t always protect her, she could at least help give her a bit of breathing space until she knew what she wanted.

Sally lay awake long after Cissy and Anne had stopped talking next door. She wasn’t used to sleeping alone, and was alert for any sound of distress coming from Ernie. He had surprised her by willingly clambering into the narrow bed Jim Reilly had carried up earlier. At six, he’d informed her, he was old enough to sleep in his own bed like his new best friend Charlie.

Sally luxuriated in being able to stretch out, to have the pillow to herself, and not be kicked and nudged throughout the night. She snuggled beneath the eiderdown ready for sleep – but it was too quiet, and she found herself listening for some sign that there was life in the streets below.

Back in Bow she’d become used to hearing the men fighting outside the pub at closing time, and had learned to sleep through the neighbours’ screaming matches, the banging of doors and the thuds of heavy boots on wooden floorboards. Those sounds had been her lullaby since childhood, and now the silence seemed to creep in on her, making her wakeful and restless.

Sally stared at the slither of moonlight that knifed across the ceiling from between the curtains, her thoughts on home and the life she’d left behind. The girls at the factory in Bow would be out on the town still, and looking forward to the weekend. She missed them, especially Ruby, and hoped she would find it easy to make friends with the girls in the factory down here. She wasn’t usually shy, and could stand up for herself, but as the new girl she would have to keep her head down and her mouth shut, until she’d worked out the order of things.

Factory life had its hierarchy, just as everyday life did. The boss sat in his office high above the factory floor, his overseer marching back and forth along the lines of machines as he barked out the orders, and organised the cutters, packers and machinists. But the real power lay with the women who sat at their machines day after day, and although Sally had only been fourteen when she’d started working there, she’d quickly learned she must stand her ground, and prove herself if she was to survive that first week.

There were always those who led, those who bullied and formed intimidating cliques, and those who simply faded into the background. Sally had firmly avoided getting roped into the sometimes malicious gossip, had learned to laugh at the smutty jokes she didn’t understand, and to get on with her work. For every item of underwear finished and passed earned her another few pennies.

She experienced a flutter of nervous excitement as she thought about her new job. Goldman’s factory had once made underwear too but, according to her old boss, they had secured a licence to make uniforms. But the best news was that the wages were higher, set each week and not reliant upon how many garments were made. Not having to pay rent here, or give half her earnings to Florrie, would be her chance to save some money, rent her own machine and get her home dressmaking business up and running again.

It had just started to flourish in Bow when she’d had to leave, and she hoped it wouldn’t be long before she could begin again, here, where people had more money. If successful, she could then look after Ernie and give him all he needed without having to rely on anyone else. With this pleasant thought, her eyelids fluttered and sleep began to claim her.

‘Sal? Sal, I don’t like it on my own. I’m cold.’

Sally dragged herself awake and reached for him. ‘Come on, luv,’ she murmured. ‘It’s toasty warm in here with me.’ She lifted the bedclothes and he crept in beside her.

But as she cuddled him close, she came fully awake. He was soaking wet.

‘Ernie,’ she whispered fiercely, as she frantically threw off the bedclothes and hauled him out of her bed before his sodden pyjamas could wet that too. ‘Oh, Ernie, no wonder you’re so cold.’

‘I’m sorry, Sal. I didn’t mean to.’ He clung to her, his legs wrapped round her waist, his face buried in her neck.

‘I know you didn’t, luv,’ she said, swiftly stripping off the borrowed pyjamas and bundling him in a towel. ‘Sit on the chair while I clean up. If you want to go again – then use the po.’ She pointed at the china chamber pot Mrs Reilly had placed under the bed, and hurried to strip Ernie’s bed. The blanket was, thankfully, only slightly damp, but the sheets and mattress were soaked.

Sally was almost in tears as she used the dry corner of one of the sheets to try and get the worst out of the mattress. It would stain, she was certain, and it had looked brand new when Mr Reilly had brought it upstairs.

Having done her best with the wet patch, she hauled the mattress over to the gas fire and fed in one of the tanners Mrs Reilly had given her. It would take all night to dry and probably cost far more than a single tanner, but she dared not let the mattress ruin. Mrs Reilly would be furious.

Ernie sniffled and shivered as he huddled into the towel. ‘I’m cold, Sal. I wanna go back to bed.’

Sally tamped down on the rising panic and dragged on her overcoat to cover the petticoat she used as a nightdress. Having gathered up the soaking sheets and pyjamas, she perched Ernie on her hip. ‘I got to wash these, first,’ she whispered. ‘You too,’ she added, wrinkling her nose. ‘God, Ernie, you pick yer moments, don’t yer? You ain’t done this for years.’

‘I wanna go ’ome, Sal,’ he whined.

‘Don’t be daft,’ she whispered back. ‘I thought you and Charlie was getting on like an ’ouse on fire?’

He shrugged and buried his head in her shoulder. ‘Will Mrs Reilly be cross with me, like Mum?’

‘Course not,’ she replied, fearing that Mrs Reilly would probably have them both out on their ears if she found out Ernie wet the bed. She tiptoed down the stairs to the bathroom and pulled down the blackout blind before turning on the light and locking the door.

Sitting him on the chair in the corner, she lit the boiler and flinched at the loud noise it made. Surely the whole house would be woken? She stood very still in the centre of the bathroom and listened. When she was satisfied no-one was stirring, she turned the taps just enough to quietly cover the bottom of the huge tub with a couple of inches of water. ‘Now, Ernie,’ she whispered with some urgency. ‘You’re not to make a noise. Not a word. You understand?’

‘But I don’t want another ba—’

‘Shush. You’ll have the whole ’ouse awake.’ She slipped off her coat and hung it on the hook at the back of the door.

He sat sullenly in the few inches of water as she soaped him, but perked up when she bundled him back in the towel and plonked him on the chair. ‘I’m thirsty,’ he declared in his piping voice. ‘Can I have a drink?’

‘That’s the last thing you’ll get. Sit there and don’t make a sound while I wash these.’ The tone of her furious whisper seemed enough to silence him, and Sally dumped the sheets and pyjama trousers into the bath. She worked up a good lather and scrubbed them as hard as she could, rinsing them under the tap, checking there were no stains left before she wrung them out.

‘I’m tired, Sal. I wanna go to sleep.’

‘In a minute.’

The sheets were dripping, but there was nowhere she dared hang them. Frantic and tearful, Sally eyed the mop and bucket in the corner. She carried the bucket across the room to the sturdy radiator, tied a corner of the sheet to one of the pipes, and began to twist it tighter and tighter, squeezing as much water out of it as she could.

Some of it went in the bucket, but most of it puddled on the linoleum. She quickly mopped the floor and repeated the process with the other sheet. Satisfied she’d managed to get them as dry as possible, she hurriedly mopped the floor again.

‘Can I go to bed now?’ Ernie asked sleepily.

‘Not until you’ve been to the lav,’ she whispered back. ‘I can’t risk you doing this again tonight.’ She put on her coat and carried him into the lavatory. When he was done, she didn’t dare pull the chain, for the noise it made could wake the dead.

Once back in their room, she dressed him in his pants and vest and settled him back in his bed, using a dry folded towel as a mattress. Covering him with the eiderdown, she kissed his cheek and smoothed back the lick of hair from his brow. He was a dear little kid, and it wasn’t his fault he’d wet the bed. But Sally feared Ernie’s bedwetting might continue – and, if it did, then Mrs Reilly was bound to find out sooner or later. It was vital she could think of some way of stopping him.

After a hasty check on the steaming mattress to make sure it wasn’t getting scorched, she hurried back down to the bathroom. Gathering up everything, she checked the bathroom was clean and tidy, and that there was no sign of the night’s escapade before closing the door softly behind her.

Returning to their room, she opened the doors on the big wardrobe and hung the sheets over them. The pyjama bottoms were suspended from the mantel above the gas fire, held in place by her heavy shoes. It smelled like a laundry, she realised, and quickly opened the window a few notches to let the cold night air in.

Ernie was fast asleep, curled like a cat on the folded towel, and seemingly undisturbed by the trouble he’d caused.

Sally took off her coat, climbed into her bed and pulled the eiderdown and blanket round her. She was cold to the bone and exhausted, but her heart still raced and she couldn’t dismiss the thought that tonight might only be the start of her worries.

Chapter Four

Sally woke with a start, disorientated and confused by her surroundings and the unfamiliar sounds coming through the open window. It took a moment to realise she was in Cliffehaven, and that it was the murmur of the sea and the screech of gulls she could hear. Then the memory of the previous night returned and she hurried out of bed to check the mattress.

The gas fire had gone out, the meter was empty, but the mattress had dried sufficiently, and there was only a small stain in the middle which she hoped Mrs Reilly wouldn’t notice if she put it back upside down. The pyjama trousers had dried well above the fire, but the sheets were still slightly damp. With a deep sigh of relief, Sally took the sheets from the wardrobe doors, and dragged the mattress away from the hearth.

It was almost seven, so while Ernie slept on, Sally dressed quickly in the skirt and sweater she’d worn the day before. She didn’t possess such finery as stockings, not even the thick lisle ones, so she pulled on knitted ankle socks and slipped her feet into the sturdy lace-up shoes. Running a brush through her tangle of fair curls, she attempted to keep them in order with two plastic combs firmly planted either side of her middle parting.

But her hair would not be tamed, and the curls sprang in all directions about her face. With a grimace of impatience, she glared at her reflection. There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin looked pale and blotchy, and her eyelids were still swollen from the tears she’d shed during the night. ‘There’s no doubt about it, Sal,’ she muttered. ‘You ain’t never gunna be an oil painting, so why bother?’

She put down the brush and went to open the curtains. Bright sunlight poured in, making her blink. The sky was pale blue, and there were two seagulls making a terrible racket on the roof across the street. She breathed in the clean, salty air, bracing herself for whatever the day had in store before she went to wake Ernie.

‘Come on, sleepy ’ead,’ she said softly. ‘Time for breakfast.’ She slipped her hand beneath him. The towel was still dry.

Ernie grumbled and fidgeted as she fixed the calliper and finished dressing him. After a trip to the bathroom, she carried him back upstairs and hurried to remake his bed. Not wanting a repeat performance of the night before, she decided he should have only one small drink with his tea and no more before bedtime. Once he was asleep, she would put the folded towel underneath him, and hope for the best.

If that didn’t work, then she didn’t know what she could do, other than keep waking up in the night to carry him to the lav. And, if she did that, then she was asking for trouble. No-one could go without that much sleep and, once she started working, she’d be dog-tired to begin with.

She carried Ernie downstairs, and stood in the hallway wondering if she was supposed to go in the kitchen or the dining room.

‘Good morning, you two,’ said Anne brightly, as she came out of the kitchen carrying bowls of steaming porridge. ‘Come and sit down before this gets cold.’

Sally followed her into the dining room and found that almost everyone was already at the table. To a chorus of greetings, she settled Ernie on the cushions and tucked in his chair before taking her place next to him.