Polly's Angel (26 page)

‘Right you are then, Mrs Ellis,' Deirdre said now, taking the piece of cake and wrapping it in greaseproof paper. She put the small parcel into her capacious handbag, then turned to smile at her employer. ‘Peader will be grateful – he dearly loves a piece of cake with his cup of tea. What time shall I come in tomorrer?'

Mrs Ellis cocked her head to one side. ‘Well, what with January being one of the coldest months ever, and February not being much better, business doesn't seem to start until nearly mid-morning. Best be in by ten thirty, though, dear.'

‘Right,' Deirdre said with unimpaired cheerfulness, though her wage packet at the end of the week, which had been so thin all through January, did not look as though it would improve much now. ‘Cheery-bye, all.'

She had been putting on her coat, hat and gloves as she spoke and now she went briskly out through the cafe and into the Scotland Road, putting her umbrella up as she came on to the pavement for Miss Collins, who had a superstitious streak, would have announced that the war was as good as lost had Deirdre erected it indoors.

Outside, the rain was falling steadily, and there was a raw chill in the air. Deirdre thought gloomily that if it froze tonight they would all be in a pickle tomorrow, and wondered whether to walk home or go for a tram. But it was growing dusk and the thought of hanging about in the cold waiting for a tram that might take almost as long to arrive as it would take her to walk, settled the matter. She sighed and set off, head down, umbrella lowered against the driving rain, trying to concentrate on what awaited her – the warm fire, the kettle on the hob, and Peader's welcoming smile.

She was almost at the Bevington Arms pub on the corner of St Martin's Street when a tram rattled up behind her and stopped in a shower of spray, decanting several passengers, all of whom either tucked their heads low into their coat collars and set off up the road or erected their umbrellas and followed suit. Deirdre glanced sideways, to see whether a friend or neighbour was aboard, and was struck by something about one of the girls who had alighted last from the tram, carrying a sizeable suitcase and a canvas bag. She had turned her coat collar up and pulled a dark red felt hat well over her face but due to the things she was carrying she could not use an umbrella – indeed, she did not seem to have one. The girl set off ahead of Deirdre, walking purposefully, and there was something about her, something familiar . . .

Deirdre quickened her pace. It was difficult to take in any details in the driving rain but she rather thought she had seen the girl somewhere before. She was overhauling the girl fast and presently they were side by side on the pavement, so Deirdre glanced sideways. A tall girl, and very slim, though her dark coat hid her figure pretty effectively. She had shoulder-length hair darkened by the rain which was probably quite a light brown under normal circumstances, and a pale face with a small straight nose and eyes whose colour was hidden but whose long, light lashes were beaded, now, with raindrops, though the rain itself seemed to have stopped, for the moment at least.

A neighbour? No, not a neighbour. Someone, Deirdre decided, folding down her umbrella, that she had known long ago and so now could not immediately recognise. Someone from Dublin, probably, that was why the girl carried a suitcase. They reached Limekiln Lane where Deirdre had to turn left and she stretched out a hand to stop the other, but the girl turned left as well, and as she did so, glanced at Deirdre. Immediately she stopped short, a smile breaking out.

‘Oh, it's Auntie Deirdre, isn't it?' The girl dropped her suitcase and her canvas bag and grabbed Deirdre's hands, causing her to drop her umbrella and to clutch desperately at her handbag. ‘You don't recognise me, do you? I can't have changed that much – I'm Grace Carbery, and you're Polly's mam! Why, I'm making my way to your house this moment!'

Deirdre squeaked and stood on tiptoe to give Grace's cheek a hearty kiss, then bent to retrieve her umbrella. She scooped the canvas bag up at the same time and slung her own bag over her shoulder to give her a free hand. ‘Grace! Well, and haven't you changed now! You were just a slip of a thing when you left for New York, now you're a woman, and a very pretty one at that! Just wait until Peader sees you, he'll think I'm bringing a visitor to stay, and a very smart one too.'

‘How
is
he?' Grace asked, picking up her suitcase. ‘Now don't you go carrying my bag, Auntie Deirdre, you've got your own handbag. Let me do it, I'm very strong, you know.'

Deirdre, however, hung on to the canvas bag. ‘No, no, my dear, me bag's doing very well hung from me shoulder, it'll do me no harm to give you a hand,' she insisted, beginning to walk forward once more. ‘I'm so sorry no one met your ship, but with you not being able to give us any sort of definite landing time . . . My goodness, how thrilled everyone will be to see you at last!'

‘I'm thrilled to be home,' Grace said quietly. ‘I've had a grand time living with Brogan and Sara, and I dearly love Jamie, but . . . Oh, Auntie Deirdre, England's me home, Liverpool especially. Why, I've been gone years but I can still remember every street, every pub, every shop, just about. Oh, and I've brought you some photographs . . . Brogan's got a pal who takes pictures all the time so he took the apartment, the street, the park, and lots of Jamie. I'll get them out just as soon as we're indoors.'

‘It'll be grand to see some snaps,' Deirdre said as they turned into Titchfield Street. ‘We've had a shockingly cold winter, so we have, but spring will be on the way soon, and then you'll be able to enjoy being home again.'

‘Ye-es, only I'll not be home for very long,' Grace said rather apologetically. ‘I didn't come home just to
be
home, you know. I'm going to join one of the women's services, if they'll have me. Brogan thinks that the US will join the war quite soon, but I'm not so sure. There's a strong lobby for neutrality and although they've heard the stories of Nazi atrocities, same as you have no doubt, they're still holding back. And a good many of them have German roots which makes them unwilling to interfere in a war which they still feel needn't touch them.'

Nodding her understanding, Deirdre noted the slight American accent and smiled to herself. No doubt Sara and Brogan had that trace of an accent as well, and little Jamie who she had never met too.

‘Right. So maybe we'll have to fight on alone, but judging from the people in the street, they're prepared for that. And you've come back to help us, you good girl, you.'

‘Brogan wanted to come back too,' Grace said quickly. ‘But Sara remembers . . .' She hesitated. ‘Well, they left because it seemed best and I don't suppose things like that have changed much, have they?'

‘No, the feeling would still be strong,' Deirdre admitted. ‘Oh, not from the family, nor our good friends. But a good many people don't like mixed marriages, and— Why are you smiling?'

‘You sound like some of the folk in the States,' Grace said, smiling down at Deirdre. ‘Only over there, mixed marriages don't really mean religion so much as colour. There's a lot of feeling against whites marrying coloureds, and of course you can tell at a glance when a man is black . . . I don't know, Auntie Deirdre, there's a lot of prejudice in this world against people who can't help what colour they are, or what religion they follow.'

Deirdre, who knew very well that anyone who was not a Catholic was doomed to spend eternity regretting the error of their ways, returned some non-committal answer just as they reached number 8 and went down the jigger and round to the back yard. The front door, which would have been the usual way to bring in a visitor, would have meant getting Peader up from his chair and she wanted to surprise him.

‘Well now, and won't Peader be delighted to see you safe?' she said as they crossed the back yard. ‘For he's known better than any of us the dangers of sea voyages in such times as these. I wonder if he'll recognise you? You've grown into a really pretty young lady, that's what, our Grace! And just wait till Polly sees you! She'll be tickled pink, so she will.'

Polly came in from work in the best of spirits, full of stories of what had happened to her during the day. She burst into the kitchen in her usual impetuous manner and for a moment did not recognise the tall young woman with the bun of light brown hair on top of her head who sat opposite Peader beside the fire and turned a smiling face towards her.

‘Hello, Polly,' the girl said, getting to her feet and holding out her arms. ‘Haven't you a hug for me, then?' And all in a moment Polly knew her and with a squeak of excitement hurled herself across the kitchen and into Grace's arms.

‘Oh, Gracie, Gracie, aren't you smart and lovely? Oh, and you're a real grown-up lady, just like Mammy said you would be, only I couldn't believe . . . I love your hair done like that, and isn't it smooth as satin now, and you've not a spot to your face – wish I didn't have spots – and that dress . . . Oh it's lovely, so it is.' Polly began to drag her own coat and hat off, dancing across to the back door and hanging them on the hooks before turning back to her friend. ‘How long have you been here, me darlin'? Did Mammy meet you off the boat? Have you had your tea yet? How's Brogan, Sara and Jamie? I've a million questions to ask you, I don't know where to begin.'

‘Glory be, Poll. Glory be, Poll,' Grace said, picking up the scarf which had slid to the floor, handing it to the younger girl. ‘You've grown up a good bit yourself but you haven't changed in other ways; you're still my dear little Polly. Don't you ever stop asking questions, honey?'

‘Honey! That makes you sound like a real American,' Polly said, flinging the scarf on to the nearest chair regardless of the fact that it contained her father. Peader unwrapped the scarf from around his head and smiled across at Deirdre, who was quietly laying the table for tea.

‘What a terrible girl she is,' he said fondly, indicating his daughter. ‘Now, stop motherin' Grace, Polly. Or she'll up and leave before she's arrived, so she will. And stop shootin' questions at her like a machine gun.' He turned to his wife. ‘If tea won't be ready just yet, Deirdre, should the girls take a jug of water and go up to their room to wash? They'll be head to tailin' it same as they always did, though I daresay it'll be a bit of a squeeze because both of 'ems tall and neither of 'ems skinny.' He turned back to Polly. ‘An' while you're up there, alanna, Grace'll tell you all about your brother and sister and the little lads and you can catch her up with our news. Grace took her case up earlier so she knows where she's headin'.'

‘That's a grand idea, so it is,' Deirdre said. She went over to the stove and began to pour hot water from the kettle into a white enamel jug. She handed the jug to Polly who had begun to chatter again and pointed sternly to the stairs. ‘Off wit' you,' she said with eyes that smiled though her mouth was grave, ‘and be sure to be down in half an hour with all your questions answered and all your news given so we can enjoy our tea without bein' driven crazy by your brangling.'

Polly took the jug and headed for the stairs with Grace close on her heels. ‘Thanks, Mammy,' she called over her shoulder, ‘but half an hour's not long enough for all my questions! Still, we've got all night, once tea's done.'

It was true that the two girls had had a good deal of catching up to do, Polly reflected next morning as she crept out of the bedroom, having washed and dressed in almost total silence, without once causing Grace so much as to stir in her sleep. But despite having talked non-stop from ten o'clock or so until well after three, there was still a good deal she wanted to know. Oh, Grace had told her all about Sara, Brogan and Jamie. Sara and Brogan, she had said, were as eager to come home and help with the war effort as she, but they felt it would be deserting their adopted country. ‘If America enters the war, however, they'll come back,' she assured Polly. ‘Poor Brogan really envied me, I know it.' But she had not said a great deal about her own social life or what her plans were, apart from the fact that she had come home to join up.

‘Which service will you join?' Polly had asked eagerly, and Grace had not been evasive – but not too keen to decide either.

‘I wrote to the WRNs,' Grace had said rather crossly. ‘I wrote two or three times – maybe four – but I never once got an answer. Oh, I'd like to be one of them, all right, but someone on the boat said they're the senior service and not nearly so keen on recruiting as the younger services. So I'll have to see.'

‘But you'll try the WRNs first, won't you?' Polly had said eagerly. ‘I'm goin' to join them, Gracie, just as soon as I'm old enough. And it 'ud be nice if we was both in the same service, don't you think?'

‘Yes, it would,' Grace had said. ‘Only they won't let the girls go to sea, will they? Did I tell you, Poll, that when there was a storm I was just about the only person on the ship that wasn't sick?'

‘You did mention it,' Polly admitted, smiling to herself in the dark. ‘Monica – she's Martin's wife, me sister-in-law – said she'd join the WRNs if only they'd let her go to sea wi' Martin. But she's ever so wet, not a bit like us. I mean, we'd like to go to sea all right but not so's we could be with our relatives!'

‘No-oo,' Grace said cautiously. ‘But some of the sailors are awful nice, our Poll. Ever so friendly. One of 'em asked me if I'd like to go to the flicks with him one afternoon.'

‘Did they have a cinema on the ship?' Polly had asked, wide-eyed at the thought, only Grace told her that Sam – that was the sailor's name – had actually meant her to go to the cinema in Liverpool, before the ship sailed again.