While We're Apart (38 page)

‘Just fine. I'll tell you all about it later.'

Ivy went running off back to the armament factory, and Mary walked through the gate and down the hill. It was very dark, with no moon or street lights to show her the way, but as her eyes adjusted, she found it was quite easy to follow the pavement down the hill towards the darker shadows of the town's rooftops.

She heard the train whistle blowing and the chuff of the engine as she approached the humpbacked bridge, and because she'd always liked trains, she leaned over to watch it slowly pull into the station. A great plume of smoke and steam threatened to engulf her and she stepped back hurriedly. Once it had cleared she looked down again and, in the strong beams of the engine's lights, watched the guard offload several large bags of mail while the passengers stepped down to the platform where Stan was waiting.

There weren't many getting off at Cliffehaven, just a few women and young girls, and an old man who hobbled on a walking stick, his equally aged dog limping alongside him. Then a middle-aged man in a suit jumped down, carrying a suitcase. He handed his ticket to a glaring Stan and strode off, whistling cheerfully.

Mary frowned and wondered who the man was, for Stan seemed to be friends with everyone, yet he'd made his dislike obvious. Shrugging off this thought, she watched as the mail van arrived to collect the sacks before she continued her walk down the hill, only to discover that the man in question was a few yards in front of her.

He looked as if he hadn't a care in the world as he sauntered along and doffed his hat to every woman he passed, but their expressions of shock and disapproval told quite another story, and Mary became even more intrigued. Whoever he was, he seemed impervious to their glowers, for he continued to stroll casually along, whistling quite happily.

She regarded his suit which, on closer inspection, was a bit flashy, and the fedora set at a jaunty angle over his light brown hair, and wondered if he was what people called a spiv. He certainly looked pleased with himself, and his manner was that of a man who was very comfortable in his surroundings, for there was a definite swagger to his shoulders and in his step.

As the man stopped outside the large department store to admire his reflection in the heavily taped window, Mary saw him adjust his tie and straighten his hat. She carried on walking towards him, hoping he was too occupied to notice her.

Yet, as she drew level, he turned from the window and raised his hat. ‘Good evening, young lady,' he said with a bright smile.

Not wanting to get into conversation with him, she bent her head and hurried on.

‘I say, you're new here, aren't you?' he said as he caught up with her. ‘Do you live nearby? I can escort you home, if you like? It's really not safe for a lovely young girl like you to be out on her own in the dark.'

Mary realised he wouldn't be shaken off, so she abruptly stopped walking and regarded him stonily. He had once been handsome, she could see, but his pallor was sickly, his hair was cut brutally short, and his eyes and smile held a feral quality that made her skin prickle with distrust. ‘I would appreciate it if you didn't bother me,' she replied flatly.

He simply smiled at this, and adjusted the brim of his hat again so it tipped over one very blue eye. ‘I didn't mean to be a bother,' he said smoothly. ‘And perhaps next time we meet you'll see that I am a perfect gentleman. Good evening.' He gave a rather unpleasant snicker of laughter and strolled away.

Mary waited by a shop window until he reached Camden Road where he turned off, and with a sigh of relief, she slowly continued down the hill. He was decidedly creepy, and she sincerely hoped she never would see him again.

There was no sign of him in Camden Road and she hurried past, breaking into a run as she reached Havelock Road. She fumbled to put the key in the lock and then slammed the door behind her and leant against it to get her breath.

‘Good heavens,' exclaimed Doris as she came out of the drawing room. ‘I would prefer it if you didn't slam my door like that.' She looked at Mary more closely. ‘What's the matter? Has something happened?'

Mary pushed away from the door and gave her a shaky smile. ‘I'm all right, really,' she said quickly. ‘Some man tried to talk to me, that's all, and because I didn't like the look of him, I ran all the way back.'

Doris frowned. ‘Well, as long as you're all right, but perhaps tomorrow you should walk home with Ivy. It isn't safe in the blackout – especially with so many Americans and Free French lurking about.'

‘He was an Englishman who was old enough to know better,' said Mary, who was still cross with herself for being so easily frightened.

‘Well he can't have been a local,' said Doris dismissively. ‘The men in Cliffehaven are well known for being gentlemen.' Her frown deepened. ‘Where is Ivy? She should be home by now.'

‘She's been given some overtime and will be back in a couple of hours.' Mary took off her coat and hung it on the hall stand alongside her gas-mask box. ‘I told her we'd keep her food warm. Now, I would like a bath before supper, if that's all right.'

Doris looked rather disgruntled. ‘Just remember not to use more than two inches of water,' she said. ‘Supper will be in half an hour as I have to go out this evening. If you're not down in time, I shall leave the remainder of the fish pie keeping warm in the slow oven.'

The thought of fish pie drying out was not enticing, but Mary needed a bath rather more urgently than food right at this moment, so she thanked her and ran up the stairs.

There was no sign of Doris when she went back down to the kitchen, so she carefully rescued the fish pie from the oven and doled out two portions, one of which she put under a plate to stop it drying out any further.

It was surprisingly delicious, and when she'd finished she mopped up the remains with a chunk of the wheatmeal bread. Having washed her plate and left the baking dish to soak in the sink, she decided to go and play the piano. With Mrs Williams out of the house, it was an ideal opportunity to practise some of the popular songs for Friday night.

It was late afternoon and very dark by the time Ron had completed the long list of tasks Peggy had set him, so he hurried off with Harvey to go and find Stan. He was at the station, waiting for the next train, and Ron quickly told him not to worry about questioning Mary, for Peggy was going to deal with her.

‘That's a relief,' said Stan as they shared a mug of tea in the Nissen hut that now served as ticket office and left-luggage store. ‘Peggy is far better at that sort of thing, and I really wasn't looking forward to doing it.'

‘To be sure it's something best left to women,' agreed Ron as he sat back and filled his pipe. He regarded his friend from beneath his brows. ‘Peggy has already befriended the girl, and, in her usual way, managed to find out more than either of us could ever have hoped for.' He struck a match and lit the tobacco, puffing away at it until it was burning satisfactorily.

‘So why is the girl looking for Tommy?' asked Stan as he fed part of his jam sandwich to Harvey.

‘I'm sorry I can't tell you that, Stan, me old friend. I promised Peggy not to repeat what she told me. Suffice it to say we must look out for the girl, and try to keep her well away from that toerag.'

‘That will be difficult,' muttered Stan. ‘He arrived on the mail train less than an hour ago, and she'll be playing the piano in the Anchor at the weekend.'

‘How did he look?'

‘Full of himself, as usual,' Stan replied with a grimace. ‘Flash suit, expensive leather case and smug grin. His hair was shorter than any army recruit, and he had the pallor of a man who's spent time in a prison cell, but he was his usual arrogant self for all that.'

Ron finished the mug of tea and stood up. ‘I'd better get to the Anchor and make sure Rosie's all right. See you, Stan.'

He went out into the cold, black afternoon, pulled his cap over his ears and drew up his coat collar. As he and Harvey went down the hill and turned into Camden Road, Ron was deep in thought.

Like him, Peggy had naturally been concerned about Mary being in such close proximity to Tommy. Yet Ron had the feeling that his daughter-in-law knew far more than she was letting on. He'd caught a glimpse of her as she'd stood in the scullery that morning, and her expression was that of someone who was far too deeply worried – which was odd, because she'd only known the girl for such a short time.

His thoughts meandered as he went over their conversation, and as he remembered her almost casual dismissal at his mention of Rosie, he stopped dead. Did his Rosie have anything to do with this? Was that why Peggy had clammed up? Or was his overworked imagination playing tricks with him?

He looked down the street to the Anchor, and a shiver of apprehension ran down his spine. Whatever the truth was, he knew without any doubt that if it didn't remain buried, it would bring trouble to them all.

It was now Thursday night and Peggy was deeply anxious. She'd left several messages with Doris over the past few days to get Mary to call her, but so far she'd had no response. Now it was a matter of urgency, for it was imperative that she talked to her before she went to the pub tomorrow night.

Peggy lit a cigarette and looked at the mantel clock. Luckily the girl had been working every day at the Kodak factory and hadn't yet called in to see Rosie. But it was only a matter of time before she did, and there was no guarantee that she wouldn't mention her search for Cyril – which would be a disaster if Tommy was listening to their chatter.

‘Whatever is wrong with you, Peggy?' Cordelia looked at her over her half-moon glasses. ‘You've been on edge all week.'

Peggy shot her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Oh, you know me, Cordelia. I'm always fretting over something.'

‘It's not Jim, is it?'

Peggy shook her head and glanced at the clock again. ‘I just have to telephone Doris,' she said as she left the vegetables to simmer on the hob.

‘You've been doing quite a bit of that lately,' Cordelia remarked drily. ‘And as I doubt it's sisterly concern, it has to have something to do with young Mary.'

Cordelia was too sharp for her own good at times, thought Peggy. ‘I just need to talk to her about something,' she hedged. ‘Why don't you put the kettle on? I'll be back by the time you've made the tea.'

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried into the hall and picked up the receiver. Having given the number to the woman at the exchange, she waited impatiently for someone to pick up at the other end.

‘Mrs Williams speaking.'

‘Doris, did you give Mary my messages?'

‘I do have rather more pressing things to deal with than acting as your message service,' replied Doris. ‘The girl is out all day, and I rarely see her as I'm so busy every evening with my important charity committees.'

‘You could have put a note under her door,' said Peggy through gritted teeth.

‘My doors are fitted properly, unlike yours, and do not have gaps beneath them,' Doris replied snootily.

‘Then why didn't you leave a note on the kitchen table? Surely that couldn't have been too taxing for you?' Peggy snapped.

‘There's no need to take that tone with me,' huffed Doris. ‘And if you wish to speak to Mary, then here's your opportunity. She has just arrived back from her work. Don't take too long about it, Margaret. Anthony has promised to telephone this evening to discuss the music for the wedding service.'

Peggy puffed on her cigarette as she heard Doris speaking to Mary, and the rustle of the receiver being passed from hand to hand at the other end.

‘Hello, Peggy,' said Mary. ‘It's lovely to hear from you, and I'm sorry I haven't been to see you, but I've been at work and the time just seems to have flown past.'

Peggy made a huge effort to calm down. ‘Hello, Mary dear,' she replied. ‘I have had a word with Ron about what we discussed,' she said carefully.

Mary was equally careful at the other end. ‘I see,' she said. ‘And having spoken to him, is there something we need to talk about?'

‘Yes, there is. And if at all possible, I think it would be best if we spoke this evening.'

‘I see.' There was a slight pause. ‘Is it good news, Peggy?' Mary asked finally.

‘Let me just say that there is news,' Peggy replied hesitantly. ‘Whether it's good or bad, that will be up to you to decide.'

‘Oh dear, that doesn't sound terribly promising,' Mary said on a sigh.

Reluctant to go into any further detail while Doris was no doubt earwigging close by, Peggy stubbed out her cigarette in the glass ashtray she kept by the telephone. ‘From what Doris said earlier, she's not planning on going out this evening, and I wouldn't trust her not to listen at the door. Why don't you come here? We can talk in private in the dining room.'

‘Yes,' said Mary. ‘I think that would be best in the circumstances. I'll have my supper and come straight over.'

Peggy had a sudden thought. ‘Why don't you bring your night things with you and stay here? It will probably be very late by the time we've finished talking and Ron isn't here to escort you home – and I don't want you wandering about on your own in the dark.'

‘That's very kind of you, Peggy. Thank you. I'll see you in a little while.'

Peggy replaced the receiver and then went into the dining room to draw the blackout curtains before switching on the light. It was cold and not very welcoming, so she quickly set a match to the kindling and paper in the grate and waited until it was burning merrily before she added a couple of logs and a smattering of anthracite.

With the two armchairs placed invitingly on either side of the hearth, she plumped up the cushions and smoothed the creases out of the white antimacassars that protected the arms and backs. There wasn't much more she could do, she realised, as she used the hem of her wrap-round pinny to dust the tops of the furniture. But perhaps the standard lamp would cast a kindlier glow than the large central light. Having seen to this, she checked that the fire was burning satisfactorily and placed the guard in front of it before she went back to the kitchen.