Far From Home (22 page)

‘There. Is finished.’ Danuta stepped back from the table and brushed back her newly cut fringe as she eyed her handiwork. ‘You want me to do your legs now, June?’

‘Yes please, Danuta. Can’t have those two taking all the limelight.’ She clambered on to the table, making it rock, and hoisted up her skirt to reveal long, slender legs that seemed to go on forever.

‘You’ve got amazing legs, June,’ breathed Cissy. ‘You should be a dancer at the Windmill with legs like that.’

June laughed uproariously. ‘Not on your life. I’ve heard about that place. Don’t the girls dance half-naked?’

Cissy nodded, her concentration fully occupied with drawing the line on Suzy’s other leg.

‘Hey, girls,’ said Suzy, ‘let’s hope it isn’t raining tonight, or our smashing new tans will just wash away. Can you imagine it? We’ll look like streaks of bacon, so we will.’

Peggy and Mrs Finch exchanged glances and laughed along with them. It was good to have some fun for a change, and as long as the clouds remained thick in the skies, there would be no air raid to spoil it.

Polly sauntered along the street, the wind at her back whipping her cloak against her legs. It had been a long night shift at the hospital because two emergencies had come in, and she’d been asked to stay a while longer to settle them after their operations.

She’d managed to snatch a few minutes with Adam but he’d been asleep most of the time, and she’d had to be satisfied with simply holding his hand and having a one-sided conversation. At least now the bandages had been removed from over his eyes he looked a little more like the Adam she’d kissed goodbye all those months before.

Mr Fortescue was pleased with him, according to Mary, but Polly was still concerned that his recovery was taking too long. Each day she’d looked hopefully for some tiny sign that he was improving – and had been disappointed. His speech was still rather slurred, his attention slipping from one thing to another, and although he’d begun to eat again, he was still far too thin.

She slowed as she reached the end of Camden Road. Everything was shut because it was Sunday, and there was something mournful in the seagulls’ cries as they hovered and swooped overhead. But the freshening wind and scudding clouds invigorated her after the airless warmth of the hospital, and she strode across the main road into Beach View Terrace.

The girls were all upstairs in their bedrooms when Peggy heard the loud knock on the door. She pulled off her apron, patted her freshly washed hair and hurried to answer it.

Three handsome young men in long brown waterproof coats and slouch hats stood grinning on her doorstep. ‘G’day, Mrs Reilly.’ They spoke in drawling unison as they whipped off their hats.

‘Good afternoon,’ she replied, rather taken aback by the fact one of them was carrying a dustbin with holes in it, and what looked like two wire shelves from an oven. ‘Please, come in.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Reilly. It’s real nice of you to ask us to dinner.’ The spokesman had blue eyes and a mop of shaggy brown hair. ‘The name’s Joe,’ he drawled, ‘and this is Davy and Mike.’

Peggy could see no sign of the promised meat and was beginning to panic. They were big lads, none of them less than six feet tall, with the ruddy, strong faces and broad shoulders of boys who liked their food. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ she murmured distractedly as they filled her hallway.

The thunder of running feet on the stairs rescued her. ‘That sounds like the girls,’ she said gratefully. ‘Why don’t you all go into the dining room?’ she suggested. ‘There’s more room in there than in my kitchen.’

The three young men grinned as the girls reached the hall and, having deposited the dustbin and metal grilles at the bottom of the stairs, quite happily let them lead them into the other room.

Peggy dashed into the kitchen where Mrs Finch was rather shakily adding a touch of lipstick and powder to her face in honour of the visitors. ‘Mrs Finch, they’re here,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘And they haven’t brought anything that looks remotely like food. You’ve got to help me sort out something for them to eat.’

Mrs Finch frowned as she tipped the lipstick and powder compact into her ever-present handbag, and turned up her hearing aid. ‘Well, there’s the three pigeons, I suppose, and that bit of scrag end. But it will take a bit of time to cook it.’

‘Um, Mrs Reilly.’

Peggy whirled round to find the one called Joe standing in her kitchen doorway. There was something very odd going on under that long coat – it appeared to be moving of its own accord. ‘Yes?’ she asked distractedly.

‘Mrs Reilly, we was wondering if you’d like these?’ He opened the coat.

Peggy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The coat was like the one Ron wore when he went poaching and, as Joe held it open, four chickens poked up their heads from the inside pockets and began to cluck with annoyance, their black, beady eyes glaring malevolently back at her.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ chuckled Mrs Finch. ‘Well, I never.’

‘Where did you get them?’ Peggy managed to splutter through her laughter.

‘Well, I reckon you don’t really want to know that,’ Joe drawled, his blue eyes full of mischief. ‘Let’s just say these chooks were liberated from their prisoner of war camp, and are now only too willing to lay eggs for you in return for their freedom.’

Peggy was laughing so hard she had to sit down. ‘The girls said you’d bring meat,’ she managed, ‘they didn’t warn me it might be covered in feathers and running about the place.’

‘Oh, that,’ said Joe, unperturbed. ‘The chooks are just a bit of a thank-you present. They’re not dinner.’

Peggy and Mrs Finch watched, open-mouthed, as he dug into several other pockets and drew out a dozen tightly wrapped packets.

‘The steak’s not as tender as we get back home – but it’ll hit the spot, I reckon.’

‘Steak?’ Peggy gasped, unable to take her eyes off those parcels. ‘Real steak? All of that?’

‘Well, yeah.’ He shifted his feet as if suddenly unsure of himself. ‘You do like steak, don’t you?’

Peggy nodded, unable to speak.

He gave her a relieved smile. ‘Don’t worry, missus, it’s bonzer stuff all right, and I made sure there was enough for everyone.’ He dug in yet another pocket and very carefully drew out a brown paper bag. ‘There’s a dozen eggs to go with it, as well,’ he said, placing the bag carefully on the kitchen table.

She looked up at him, overwhelmed to the point of being dumbstruck.

‘
You
are a scallywag,’ scolded Mrs Finch with a chuckle. ‘I’ve heard the stories about you Australians. Rogues to the last man.’

‘G’day, Mrs Finch.’ He bent and gently shook her hand. ‘I reckon you could be right,’ he murmured with a wink, ‘but you know, I don’t reckon you’d really like it any other way.’

She shot him an old-fashioned look and went pink. ‘That would be telling,’ she giggled.

His smile was wide as he turned back towards Peggy, and she noticed how it made his blue eyes crinkle most attractively in that handsome, tanned face. She was getting as daft as Mrs Finch, she thought crossly, and really must pull herself together otherwise the day would simply descend into further chaos.

But then, as she looked up at him, she couldn’t help but acknowledge what fun he was, and how much she was enjoying his bright, open-handed, cheerful company.

‘I could always take the eggs back,’ he said, ‘but it wouldn’t be a proper Aussie dinner without steak and eggs.’

‘Did I hear the words steak and eggs in the same sentence?’ Jim appeared in the doorway closely followed by Ron.

The Australian turned and stuck out his large hand. ‘Yeah, that’s right, mate. You must be Jim, and Ron. Pleased to meet ya.’ They all shook hands and Joe glanced across at the silent, stunned Peggy before turning back to Jim with a worried frown. ‘I reckon your missus don’t know what hit her, mate. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought the chickens.’

‘Chickens?’ said Ron, his eyes widening. ‘What chickens?’

‘These.’ Joe opened his coat again and several feathers drifted to the floor as the birds made a second escape bid. ‘I have it on good authority that they’re excellent layers, though they might come in handy if you’re a bit short of dinner one night.’

‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Jim in admiration. ‘You Australians certainly know how to make the best of things. But we’d better get them tidied away quick. Dad, put them in the shed for now, and see if you can find them something to eat. We’ll build a proper pen tomorrow.’

‘I reckoned you might be needing some chook feed.’ Joe dug in an outside pocket this time and came up with another brown paper bag. ‘That should see ’em right for the next day or so.’

Harvey whined and danced on his hind legs as Ron and Joe managed to get the furious birds out of the pockets. Holding them by the legs and away from Harvey’s inquisitive nose, Ron carried them squawking down the cellar steps and out to the shed.

‘I expect you’d like a beer?’ said Jim, rooting about in the larder. ‘I got a few crates in from the Anchor, so I did.’ He pushed back the cork that was held in place with sturdy wire hinging and handed it over. ‘Cheers, Joe. Thanks for everything.’

‘No worries, mate. Good on yer.’ Joe took an appreciative swig of the rather warm beer, and then caught sight of Cissy who was lurking in the doorway. His face lit up. ‘Who’s this then?’

‘My youngest daughter, Cissy,’ muttered Jim, as he lifted two crates of beer out of the larder. ‘I’ll take these into the other room before the lads die of thirst.’

‘G’day, Cissy. The name’s Joe Buchanan. Nice to meet you.’ He smiled down at Cissy as he swamped her small hand in his giant fist. ‘Gee,’ he said, giving a low whistle. ‘How’d you get the shiner? What’s the other bloke look like?’

Cissy went bright pink. ‘I fell down during an air raid. It’s nothing,’ she said with unusual shyness, as he continued to look down at her for rather longer than was necessary. When he at last released her hand, she too seemed dumbstruck.

Peggy watched the little scene with a sense of misgiving. Cissy and Joe had instantly ‘clicked’ as the youngsters called it, which could only cause trouble. For he was here as one of the other girls’ guest, and if he kept looking at Cissy like that there would be tears and tantrums before bedtime, and no mistake.

She heaved a great sigh. It was probably a good thing he’d be leaving Cliffehaven within the next few days, she thought sadly, for although he seemed to be a very nice young man, he was far too attractive for his own good – and young Cissy was clearly smitten. Still, she decided, at least he’d brought a smile to her face and cheered her up a bit. She’d been far too gloomy of late.

Ron came back into the kitchen and kept a very firm hand on Harvey’s collar as they both eyed the parcels of steak. ‘That’s a wonderful bounty, so it is,’ he breathed. ‘I can’t remember the last time I ate steak. I’m hoping me old teeth are up to it.’

Joe tore his gaze from Cissy and grinned. ‘Then I’ll make sure we cook you the best steak you’ve ever had, mate. A real Aussie steak.’

‘You’re going to cook?’ Ron stared up at him in amazement.

‘Too right.’ Joe smiled and winked at Cissy, who was gazing up at him. ‘Now come on, ladies,’ he said, ‘out of the kitchen so me and my mates can get on. I don’t know about you, but my stomach thinks me throat’s been cut.’

He helped Cissy to her feet and she blushed becomingly as she took his arm. ‘We don’t want you falling over again, love,’ he said. ‘Not with that bad ankle.’

Peggy was about to say something sharp to Cissy, but found that she and Mrs Finch had been rounded up like sheep and were being firmly herded into the hall. ‘But my kitchen,’ she protested. ‘You won’t know where everything is and …’

‘No worries, missus. We’ll have it all clean and tidy before we leave. I promise.’

Peggy walked dazedly into the dining room to discover that everyone had settled down with Jim’s beer, and were all talking nineteen to the dozen as their cigarette smoke rose to the ceiling and the music of Glenn Miller drifted across the chatter. Someone had unearthed the old gramophone from under the stairs, but she had no idea where the records could have come from. The last time she’d listened to that old thing, it had been Bessie Tucker who was all the rage.

‘Right, you blokes. Follow me,’ shouted Joe from the doorway. ‘And don’t forget to bring you know what with you.’

Everyone watched in amazement as the two brawny men grabbed their discarded coats and hurried with enthusiasm to join Joe in the kitchen.

‘Well, I never,’ breathed Jim. ‘Would you look at that?’

‘It’s a lesson you could learn, Jim Reilly,’ teased Peggy. ‘Pass me one of those beers. I’m going to put my feet up and wait for my lunch to be cooked for me for once.’

Polly had snatched a couple of hours’ sleep and now she managed to persuade Danuta to come with her downstairs and join in the fun. She had lent the girl some powder, mascara and lipstick, and nodded approvingly as she chose one of her new dresses to go with the moss-green cardigan that did wonderful things to her eyes.

‘You look really lovely,’ she said. ‘Now come on, or we’ll miss all the fun.’

Danuta followed her uncertainly down the stairs and into the dining room where the other four girls were jigging about to the music as they set the cutlery and glasses on the tables that had been pushed together.