Far From Home (36 page)

Peggy smiled softly and patted her daughter’s cheek before continuing. ‘She’s made a lovely frock for Pearl, who will be her matron of honour.’ Peggy chuckled as she threw the butt of her cigarette into the fire. ‘It’s a good thing the wedding is only a week away. Pearl’s waistline is growing by the day, and Sally’s had to alter the dress countless times. We’ve got a little bet that Pearl’s having twins – though the doctor insists she’s just enjoying her extra rations of milk and cheese.’

Anne softly stroked the small mound that pushed against the waistband of her own skirt. ‘I know how she feels,’ she murmured with a gentle smile. ‘I’ve had to put elastic in all my skirts, and will soon
have
to resort to wearing a tent – or a barrage balloon.’

They both giggled. ‘I’d better see if your father can get hold of one then,’ spluttered Peggy. ‘They’ve been putting them up all over town, and I’m sure something that hasn’t been tied down too well will come his way sooner or later. You know what he’s like.’

Anne was still chuckling as she knitted. ‘I think I’ll pass up the offer,’ she said finally. ‘Balloon grey isn’t really my colour.’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Mrs Finch. ‘I seem to have done something wrong.’ She held up the tangle of wool which festooned her knitting needles.

‘Give it to me,’ said Peggy kindly. ‘I’ll see if I can’t sort it out.’

She took the bedraggled piece of knitting and carefully began to unpick it. This bootee had been started so many times it was destined never to be finished, but as the old lady seemed to be enjoying the process, it didn’t really matter. Peggy had been knitting the layette ever since Anne told her she was expecting, and now there was an entire suitcase full of baby clothes upstairs. One tiny bootee wouldn’t be missed.

‘I haven’t seen Polly since I arrived. How is she?’ Anne asked a while later. ‘Has she gone back to work yet?’

Peggy gave up on the tangle and pulled it all off the needles with a little tut of irritation – the damned thing would have to be started again.

‘She’s due back next week, and I think she’s ready for it – though it’s hard to tell. She’s still very quiet, and there are moments when I catch her unawares and find her crying – but she seems to have come out of herself a little more now she’s involved with the Red Cross people.’

She began to wind the crinkled wool into a rough ball. ‘Danuta says she’s sleeping naturally, which is a relief. Those sleeping draughts are dangerous, and I was so frightened she’d come to depend upon them.’ Peggy brightened. ‘Ron has been an absolute brick, taking her for long walks over the hills every time he thinks she’s flagging. He’s even introduced her to Rosie, who seems to have taken a shine to her, and the three of them often have afternoon tea together before Rosie has to open the pub at six.’

‘My goodness,’ breathed Anne. ‘Granddad usually keeps Rosie to himself. Things must be getting serious.’

‘I doubt it,’ replied Peggy. ‘They’re friends, good friends, and Ron’s too set in his ways and a bit long in the tooth to start thinking about settling down.’ She grinned. ‘Even if the lady in question owns a pub and looks like a rather faded film star.’

Anne laughed and continued knitting. ‘And what about the strange and rather mysterious little Danuta? She and Polly getting on all right now, are they?’

Peggy nodded as she began to cast on stitches and make a new start to the bootee. ‘I was a bit worried they wouldn’t at first, but it seems they’ve formed a close bond since the tragedy of that ship sinking. I suspect Danuta understands far more of what Polly’s been going through than we ever could.’

She rapidly knitted several rows before speaking again. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I? Polly persuaded Danuta to take a First Aid course. Passed it with flying colours, evidently, and immediately gave in her notice at the hospital. She’s driving ambulances about and thoroughly enjoying herself.’ She grinned. ‘Your father has seen her behind the wheel and reckons she’s learning to drive on the job. She’s had several close shaves already, and Jim shudders at the thought of ever having to be one of her passengers.’

‘Don’t they drive on the other side of the road in Poland?’

‘I don’t know, Anne. They might do – and it would certainly explain her hazardous driving.’

Anne smiled. ‘I’m glad everything is turning out all right for her. It can’t be easy living in a foreign country where everything must feel so strange.’ She carried on knitting, the needles clicking in time with the music that came from the wireless. ‘What about Polly’s husband?’ she asked a while later. ‘Adam, isn’t it?’

Peggy nodded. ‘I haven’t liked to intrude on visiting hour, so I’ve not gone to see him. From what Polly tells me, he seems to be making a little progress, and yet I suspect there’s a very long way to go before he’s well enough to be told about Alice.’

‘But he’ll have to be told eventually,’ murmured Anne. ‘You can’t keep something like that a secret.’

‘I think Polly’s putting it off for as long as she can,’ replied Peggy. ‘She’s simply terrified he’ll blame her for Alice’s death – she certainly still blames herself.’ She put down her knitting and blinked away the tears. ‘It’s all so terribly sad.’

‘My knitting is not terribly bad,’ protested Mrs Finch. ‘You can see what it’s supposed to be – or at least you would if you didn’t keep unpicking it.’

Peggy could always rely on Mrs Finch to raise a smile. ‘Let’s make a cup of tea and treat ourselves to a nice biscuit while we listen to the news,’ she said, setting the bootee to one side. ‘It’s almost nine, and it looks as if we’ll have no raids tonight, so I think we’re due a bit of a celebration.’

Anne set her own knitting aside and went to the larder to fetch the milk and sugar before putting out the cups and saucers. ‘Will Cissy be back before I leave on Monday morning?’ she asked, as they waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Only I haven’t seen her in ages.’

‘She’s due back tomorrow afternoon,’ said Peggy. ‘And I’ll be relieved to have her home again even if she does hog the bathroom for hours and is totally useless when it comes to helping about the place. I don’t like to think of her travelling about with all these raids on, even if she isn’t leaving the county. It’s dangerous on the roads in the middle of the blackout. There have been some serious accidents over the past few months.’

‘I’m sure she’s absolutely fine, Mum,’ Anne soothed. ‘The travelling and the shows are what she enjoys best – though I can’t think why. The thought of prancing about on a draughty stage in front of hundreds of braying servicemen makes me shiver.’ She grinned. ‘But then I’m not Cissy, and I bet she’s having the time of her life.’

Cissy and the other girls were not having much fun at all, although they agreed that one day they might be able to look back on this tour and laugh about it.

The boarding houses they’d had to stay in were unkempt and smelled of boiled cabbage and fish; the beds were uncomfortable, the pillows lumpy, and the succession of landladies they’d had to face were complete harridans who seemed to think that because they were dancers, they were tarts – and therefore had to be virtually kept under lock and key.

The venues Witherspoon had found weren’t much better. From vast service canteens which were in the middle of nowhere, to draughty village halls and almost derelict theatres, they’d gone through their routines, accompanied by the less than skilled hammering on the out-of-tune piano they’d managed to strap on to the back of the wheezing bus.

The piano player had got so drunk one night he’d barely escaped with his life when he fell asleep on a bench in the middle of a town square and didn’t even notice the fierce bombing raid going on around him. They’d left him in the hospital of the forgettable town they were passing through and two days later the piano came loose from its moorings and crashed to the road, splintering into a thousand pieces. The drummer and violinist gave in their notice, saying they’d had enough.

From that moment on, the dancers had had to rely on Witherspoon’s collection of scratched records to accompany them – which wasn’t at all satisfactory, because the gramophone was very elderly and inclined to grind to a halt, and the girls couldn’t hear the music above the shouts of their audiences.

At least there was a bit of enthusiasm for all their efforts, and it was quite flattering to have so many young men waiting for them after the show. Yet even that small joy was dampened by Witherspoon, who refused to let them fraternise and had them all in the coughing, spluttering bus on their way to their digs before they could blink.

The tour was limping along when the magician’s rabbits went missing after they’d played at an army barracks. He threw a tantrum, upset the soprano by calling her a fat, screeching cow, and stormed off, swearing he’d rather face Hitler than look at her ugly mug again. The soprano left in high dudgeon, taking her husband with her – which was unfortunate, because he was the comedian, and rather a good one. It was discovered a few hours later that two baskets of costumes and props were missing. And that was the final straw. They had wound up the tour almost a week earlier than planned, but since the bus was incapable of doing more than fifteen miles an hour, the long journey back to Cliffehaven meant they would arrive on time.

Cissy was looking forward to being home again. Why she’d ever thought the theatre was glamorous, she didn’t know. She was cold, hungry, and in need of a bath and change of clothes, for she was convinced the bites on her ankles were from one of the flea-ridden beds she’d had to sleep in. Witherspoon was in a filthy mood, which pleased her, but it didn’t make for an easy or pleasant journey, as he kept shouting at everyone and making Judith, the youngest dancer, burst into floods of tears.

The bus had been threatening to break down for days, and it finally ground to a wheezing halt in the middle of a narrow country lane. The driver, who considered himself to be an excellent mechanic, clambered down to look under the bonnet and then stood there for an age scratching his head. Witherspoon stood beside him under an umbrella and everyone inside the bus could hear him ranting at the poor man.

Cissy and the other girls stared gloomily out of the window at the pouring rain and the deserted landscape. They were still several miles from Cliffehaven, and they were all hoping he’d get the bus fixed before it got dark.

‘Have you thought any more about our plan, Cissy?’ murmured Amy, who was keeping herself busy with the embroidery that accompanied her everywhere.

‘I don’t think it’ll work,’ Cissy replied, still staring out of the window. ‘None of us wants the job of distracting him, and although Flo got a good look when he opened the safe before we left, we still only know part of the combination.’

‘Flo said she’d distract him for us if we were willing to give it a go,’ said Amy.

‘But it could take hours to work out the rest of the combination, and we can’t leave Flo with him for that long. There’s no telling what he might do.’

‘I think we all know what he’d do,’ said Amy, her expression grim as she stabbed the needle into the half-finished tablecloth. ‘You’re right,’ she said with a deep sigh. ‘We’ll have to think of something else. Though I don’t know what – I’ve been racking my brain for days and can’t think of any way we can open that safe.’

‘Neither can I, and Judy and Flo haven’t come up with anything sensible either.’ Cissy gave a weary smile. ‘At least we’ve all been safe for the last three weeks,’ she said. ‘Those landladies might have been awful, but they made certain no male darkened their doorsteps while we were there.’ She giggled. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that last one slept in her curlers at the top of the landing every night, rolling pin in hand, itching to catch someone trying to get in.’

They giggled at the thought of Witherspoon getting hit over the head with a rolling pin. That particular landlady had muscles in her arms that would have put a docker to shame, and she’d have given him a right bashing and no mistake.

The bus finally came to life with a loud bang from the exhaust pipe, a plume of black, noxious smoke, and a rather disconcerting whine from somewhere under the floor. It coughed and rattled and wheezed the last few miles, the windscreen wipers losing the battle with the rain. As it approached the theatre, everyone began to gather their things.

The engine sighed deeply and died, and the bus sagged on its balding tyres like a weary hen settling over her eggs.

‘You’ll all help to unload the bus and get everything into the theatre before you leave,’ said Witherspoon, barring the exit.

There was a loud groan from the jugglers, who’d been looking forward to a decent pint, and a sharp yap from the performing dog who had already left a puddle on the floor.

Cissy and Amy clambered down into the rain and helped drag one of the baskets out of the back of the dead bus as the others trudged unwillingly to fetch the rest of what was left of their costumes and props. They trooped inside and dumped everything in the wings.

‘Right,’ snapped Witherspoon, who’d been watching the activity from the shelter of the doorway. ‘Everyone in my office. It’s time we discussed what an absolute shower you lot are, and how I’m going to be cutting your wages from now on.’

‘That ain’t fair,’ barked one of the jugglers. ‘You don’t pay us enough as it is.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ retorted Witherspoon as he opened his office door.

The light was already on and Cissy stared in amazement at the two large policemen who rose from their perch on Witherspoon’s desk. Sitting in his chair was another man in civilian clothes who had a grim expression and cold, accusing eyes which swept over them all from beneath the brim of his fedora.