While We're Apart (25 page)

‘This interference has got to stop,' Peggy insisted. ‘It's causing great upset to both Anthony and Suzy, and ruining all their plans for a happy day.' She took a breath. ‘You'll have to write back to the council members and tell them the invitation is for the church only – and not the reception,' she said with dangerous calm.

‘I will do no such thing,' Doris declared.

‘Yes you will, Doris,' replied Peggy softly, ‘or I shall send my own invitation out to Ted's floozy and her latest man.'

Doris paled beneath the careful make-up. ‘You wouldn't dare,' she breathed.

‘Try me.' Peggy folded her arms and held her sister's gaze.

Doris was the first to look away. ‘I don't believe that even you would stoop that low,' she muttered.

‘I would if I had to.'

‘But that would cause no end of trouble,' Doris said furiously, ‘and I will not have my Anthony confronted by his father's disgrace on his special day.'

‘Then write those letters, Doris. This has got to stop – now.'

‘But it will be so embarrassing,' whined Doris. ‘It will show an appalling lack of etiquette on my part to have to withdraw part of an invitation. I'll never be able to look them in the eye again.'

‘You survived the scandal over Ted's affair, so you can survive this.' Peggy wasn't usually so heartless, but her sister was the absolute limit and she'd had enough.

Doris was wavering, and her hand wasn't very steady as she lit a cigarette. ‘How do I word such a letter?' she muttered. ‘You've put me in the most ghastly situation, Margaret.'

‘Actually, Doris, this “situation”, as you call it, is all your fault. You've gone steaming in with no regard for what Suzy and Anthony want for their day, and now you'll have to find some way of wriggling out of it. You shouldn't find that too hard after all the wriggling out you've done over the years.'

Doris looked at Peggy with blank dislike. ‘You're enjoying this, aren't you?' she hissed.

‘Not really,' Peggy replied truthfully. She relented slightly. ‘Come on, let's go and sit in your lounge and sort out what to write, then I can deliver the letters to the council chambers on my way home.'

‘It's not a lounge,' said Doris through gritted teeth. ‘It's a drawing room.'

Peggy shrugged. ‘Whatever it is, it will be more comfortable than standing about in the hall. And while we're at it, a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss either.'

‘You'll have to make it then. I have one of my migraines coming on.' Doris drifted into the sitting room, collapsed dramatically on the couch and closed her eyes.

Peggy rolled her eyes to the ceiling and went into the pristine kitchen to make the tea. She hunted in the cupboards and found a tin of rather splendid shortbread. Putting four pieces on a plate, she ate one while she waited for the kettle to boil. Of course she'd had no real intention of inviting that awful woman or her latest, highly dubious boyfriend, but the threat had been enough to make Doris see sense, and that was all that really mattered.

Doris certainly knew how to live well, she thought as she carried the tea tray in and put it carefully on the low table in front of the settee. The sitting room had huge bay windows that overlooked the broad back garden to the sparkling sea, and Peggy was drawn to that view every time she came.

The room itself was large enough to accommodate two richly upholstered couches on either side of the elegant marble fireplace, three armchairs, and even a piano. Doris had bought it many years ago in the forlorn hope that Anthony might learn to play it. Now it stood in the corner, tuned and polished to a gleam, to be admired as an expensive piece of furniture that no one knew how to use.

‘It's lovely and quiet. I suppose all your girls are at work,' Peggy commented as she left the magnificent view to pour the tea.

‘Two of them took umbrage and left after I threw out their friend, so there's only the ghastly Ivy, and she'll be back at six.' Doris opened her eyes, made a show of struggling to sit up, and took the cup of tea from Peggy. ‘There's another one arriving sometime today. She's probably as awful as all the others – another factory girl.'

‘Just because she works in a factory doesn't mean she has to be horrid,' said Peggy firmly. ‘Now, drink your tea and take an aspirin, then we can decide how best to word these letters.'

AS THE GUARD
came along the train calling out, ‘Cliffehaven. Next stop Cliffehaven,' Mary took her case down and slipped on her coat and beret. Gathering up her handbag and gas-mask box, she felt a flutter of anticipation and fear in her stomach. This was it.

The train slowed, and with a great clanking of wheels and screeching of brakes it came to a stop with a billow of smoke and steam. Mary followed two other women down the step to the platform, and as the thick smoke cleared, she looked around her. For a seaside station, it had clearly once been quite large, but there was bomb damage to the siding wall, and where she guessed there had once been a waiting room and ticket office there was now only a pile of rubble.

She noticed a woman in dungarees and the ubiquitous knotted headscarf sitting on a bench holding a cup of tea while she puffed on a cigarette, and a younger one busy pulling weeds out from between the row of cabbages that grew in an earth-filled cattle trough beside the signal box. They must be the stationmaster's wife and daughter, she thought as she breathed in the salty air and listened to the mournful cries of the gulls.

Hitching the straps of her bag and gas-mask box over her shoulder, she gripped her suitcase. The elderly stationmaster had just finished talking animatedly to the two women passengers and was now looking at her with undisguised curiosity. He was probably in his sixties, wide of girth and quite tall, with a ruddy face, kind eyes and rather wayward eyebrows.

‘Hello, dear,' he said as he examined her ticket. ‘My goodness, you've come quite a way today. Got family here, have you?'

Mary smiled, recognising a cheerful, nosy gossip. ‘I'm starting a job on Monday,' she replied.

‘Ah, so you've come early to get settled in.' He grinned at her as he stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and rocked on his heels. ‘Very wise,' he said. ‘Always best to get your bearings in a new place. So, where are you staying?'

‘Havelock Road.'

‘Blimey, there's posh,' remarked the woman who'd been drinking tea. ‘You'll be set up nice there.' She got up from the bench, grinned at Mary and stuck out her hand. ‘I'm Ethel, by the way, and this 'ere's me daughter Ruby.' The girl looked up from her weeding and smiled pleasantly.

Mary shook her hand and introduced herself, rather overwhelmed by this friendly greeting.

Ethel dug the stationmaster in the stomach with her elbow. ‘And this 'ere's Stan. Anyfink you wanna know about this place, you come and ask 'im.'

Mary decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘There are two things, actually,' she said rather nervously. ‘One, how do I get to Havelock Road – and, and . . . Do you happen to know a Cyril Fielding?' she finished in a rush.

Stan rubbed his chin with a meaty hand. ‘I know several Cyrils, but the name Fielding doesn't ring a bell.'

‘He would have been here about eighteen years ago,' Mary told him.

He shook his head and then his frown cleared and he smiled. ‘I'll have a think on that one. Eighteen years is a long time past. But I can help you with Havelock Road.'

‘Who are you billeted with?' asked Ethel, the cigarette bobbing up and down as she spoke. ‘A lot of them posh houses have been rented out to families now the owners have gorn orf to somewhere safer.'

‘I'm staying with a Mrs Williams,' Mary replied. ‘Do you know her?' She didn't miss the look of dismay that went between Ethel and Stan, and felt a stab of alarm.

‘She ain't too bad,' said Ethel hurriedly. ‘But she's got ideas above her bleedin' station, if you asks me.' She took the cigarette from her mouth, tapped off the ash with some deliberation, and stuck it back in.

‘I do think we shouldn't judge too harshly, Ethel my dear,' reproached Stan. ‘This young lady seems to be very respectable, and I'm sure they'll get along just fine.'

Ethel narrowed her eyes against the cigarette smoke as she folded her arms. ‘If you say so, Stan, but I reckon she'd be better off with Peggy Reilly, and no mistake.'

Mary looked puzzled. ‘Who's Peggy Reilly?'

‘She's Mrs Williams's sister and ever so nice. A proper diamond is Peg,' declared Ethel, who was settling in for a good gossip. ‘Looked after my Ruby, she did, when she first come down from London.'

Stan must have realised this could go on for a while, and intervened. ‘Come on, love,' he said to Mary as he picked up her case. ‘Let me point out how to get to Havelock Road. I'm sure you and Doris will get on fine as long as you can put up with her airs and graces. After all, she's Peggy's sister, so she can't be all bad.'

Mary decided he was probably right, and having said goodbye to Ruby and Ethel, followed Stan out into the street.

‘This is the High Street and you follow it all the way down the hill until you get to the last turning on your right,' he told her. ‘That's Havelock Road. Walk past Havelock Gardens, and Mrs Williams's house is the last but two. You can't go any further, cos it's a dead end.'

‘Thank you for being so helpful, Stan.'

‘Not at all,' he said expansively. ‘Now you're not to fret over what Ethel said. She's never seen eye to eye with Doris and is very protective of Peggy. I'm sure you'll settle in nicely, but if you do have any problems, you come and see me. If I'm not at the station, then I'll be on my allotment.' He waved in a general northerly direction.

‘That's really nice of you, Stan, but I'm sure I'll be just fine.' Mary shook his hand, retrieved her case from him and set off down the hill.

Taking her time to look in the shop windows, she meandered down the High Street past several bomb sites, the Town Hall, billeting and recruitment offices and the labour exchange. Cliffehaven was busy, with women pushing prams along the pavement, standing in queues outside the grocers and bakers, or hurrying along with laden shopping baskets. From the number of servicemen strolling about or passing at speed in their open trucks, it was clear there had to be several Allied bases nearby – including an airfield.

She tried to ignore the admiring glances and the occasional wolf whistles, and was disconcerted by how easily they made her blush. Yet it was rather flattering, and she could now understand why her friend Pat was having such a jolly time of it after being stuck in a tiny country village for most of her life. Mary also rather liked the look of Cliffehaven. It wasn't as old or sprawling as Lewes, and there were no cobbled streets or rows of ancient houses, but it seemed to be quietly respectable, and it had the bonus of being by the sea.

Mary stood and gazed down at the sea, sparkling in the early afternoon sun, for a trip to the seaside had been a rare childhood treat. This was an attractive sight, despite the gun emplacements and the coils of barbed wire and she was looking forward to exploring the promenade once she'd settled in.

Then her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since her six o'clock breakfast, and as she walked on, she came to Camden Road and saw the sign for the Lilac Tearooms. It wouldn't matter if she was a bit late getting to Havelock Road, for she hadn't mentioned a specific time of arrival, and she really did need to eat something before she had to face the undoubtedly tricky Mrs Williams.

The Lilac Tearooms were opposite a large hospital. The room itself was small and intimate beneath a heavily beamed ceiling, and it seemed it was very popular, for chattering women filled nearly every seat. It was all very reminiscent of the tearooms in Hillney, with gingham cloths on the tables and pictures of kittens and rose-clad cottages on the walls, and Mary felt quite at home as she found a spare place at a table and sat down.

She realised that a new face was an immediate target, and before she knew it, she'd told the other women on her table where she'd come from, what work she was starting and who she was billeted with. The general consensus seemed to be that she was lucky to get such a comfortable billet, but that Doris would need careful handling.

Having finished her lunch, she paid the bill, bid the other women goodbye and set off again. She had asked them about Cyril, and even though the rest of the customers in the tearoom had joined in the discussion, none of them had heard of him. She hadn't wanted to mention the young woman who'd run off leaving her baby behind – that sort of thing was far too personal for a general debate in a tearoom full of gossips.

Mary passed the remains of what looked like a church and vicarage, and the sight made her falter as all the memories came flooding back. Determined not to allow the past to overshadow the present, she gripped the handle on her case, took a long, appreciative look at the sweeping promenade, then walked on down the tree-lined road.

The park must have once looked quite lovely, with a weeping willow drooping over the pond and arched rose bowers sheltering the wooden benches. Now there were no metal railings, and most of the flower beds and lawns had been turned into vegetable patches.

She carried on down Havelock Road, past the remains of two bombed-out houses, her shoes scuffing the rustling leaves that lay across the pavement and in the gutter. She could see now what Ethel meant by being posh, for the houses were large and detached, with generous gardens and high walls, and being so close to the promenade, they would have had the most magnificent views of the sea from their back windows.

Mary found the right number and crunched across the gravel drive to knock on the door. It looked very nice, with clean windows, fresh paint, and a neat front garden. There were pristine white net curtains, the brass knocker gleamed, and no fallen leaves were lying about. Mrs Williams obviously ran a tight ship, as her father would have said.