Polly's Angel (27 page)

‘Oh, I see,' Polly said, rather disappointed. ‘Well, you could go, of course. When the war first started they shut all the cinemas and theatres and that, but they soon opened 'em again. I expect I told you in one of me letters.'

‘You did mention it,' Grace said. She chuckled. ‘Sara said if anything persuaded you to go to America it would be the cinemas shutting, I remember. But they changed their minds in time to keep you, I guess.'

‘That's right,' Polly said. She laughed too. ‘I were that mad – oh I
do
love the flicks, Gracie – that I'd have blowed up the houses of parliament if I'd had the chance. I love dancing, and going on walks wi' me pals, and going to the theatre now and then, but the flicks is best.'

‘Why? Because you can hold hands without anyone knowing?' Grace asked curiously. ‘Or because of the stories?'

‘We-ell, it's a good place to go with a feller, all right,' Polly admitted after a moment's thought. Over the past four or five months she had gone about with a good many boys, though none of them had been particularly important to her. She was saving her real affection for her old friends, she told herself virtuously – friends like Sunny, or maybe even Tad – but the other fellers were great fun, and good company after a day spent dancing attendance on customers in the shop or taking dictation from dull old men, because all the young ones had been whipped into the armed forces. ‘But it's the stories really, Gracie. And – and the acting, and all the girls so beautiful and all the fellers handsome . . . Oh, I don't know. It's me best thing, anyhow.'

‘Yes, I know how you feel, 'cos I'm fond of a good film myself,' Grace acknowledged. ‘But . . . well, with so much – well, reality going on, it seems a bit daft to go meeting guys at the cinema. And besides, I scarcely know Sam, not really. So I said I didn't think I'd have time, because I meant to join the forces at once, so that means I should really go along to the recruiting place first thing tomorrow, I suppose.'

‘Guys? And first thing
tomorrer
?' Polly almost wailed. ‘Oh, but they might send you away from the ‘Pool right away and then what 'ud I do? I've been looking forward to you coming home so much, Gracie! I've a heap o' pals you've not met yet, girls and fe— guys, I mean, I've told them all about you and they're really looking forward to meeting you. Don't go away too soon, there's a luv!'

But Grace, though tired, was adamant. ‘I think I ought to go along to try to join up tomorrow,' she said obstinately. ‘They won't take me at once, Poll, that much I do know, so you'll have plenty of time to introduce me to your pals.'

So now, with this in mind, Polly did wonder whether to wake Grace up. Might it not be kinder, perhaps, to do so? But Grace looked so tired, and was sleeping so soundly, that eventually she decided that like it or not, Grace should lie in this morning, and went quietly down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Deirdre smiled at her daughter and put a large plate of porridge down in front of her place, then poured her a mug of steaming tea. ‘They've mebbe rationed bacon and butter and sugar but you can still have a nice plate o' porridge and a big mug o' tea,' she said, ‘to say nothing of a pile of toast and margarine. Now get eating, or you'll be late for work, and that 'ud never do. Where's our Grace? Comin' down in a moment?'

‘No. I've left her to sleep,' Polly said, sitting down and beginning to spoon porridge. ‘She wants to join up today, Mammy, but I said she should get used to being home a bit first. Only you know what? She's that determined she'll probably take no notice of what I said, and there's me longing for her to meet me new pals, which wouldn't mean a huge delay in her joining up.'

She sounded so injured that her mother laughed. ‘Never you mind, alanna,' she said, taking her place opposite her daughter. ‘She'll mebbe go to the recruiting office, but I doubt they'll send her straight off to wherever she's to go. They'll have to go into her credentials first. Why, she's just got back from America – she could be a German spy for all they know.'

‘Huh, not our Gracie,' Polly said. She finished her porridge and reached for the topmost piece of well-browned toast. ‘She sounded ever so American when she first came home, but by the time we fell asleep she were talking just as ordinary and nice as I do!'

‘Well, that's all right, then,' her mother said comfortably. ‘Now you go off to work, me darlin' daughter, and I'll see that Grace is still around when you get home.'

With breakfast finished, Polly put on her green coat, wrapped her striped blue and fawn scarf around her throat, and set off for a day's work at the Reliant Insurance Company. She did not go willingly – like her mother Polly wanted to do war work – but for the time being Mr Slater of the Reliant would have to do.

She reached Exchange Flags and went slowly through the big oak doorway, up the stairs and in through the door marked
Reliant Insurance Company
–
Reception; please Enter
, where she found the receptionist, Sadie, already behind her desk, polishing her long, filbert nails with the little wash-leather buffer which was part of her manicure set. Polly envied her the little leather case with her initials – S.P. for Sadie Phelan – on it in gold, but she knew her chances of owning such an object was slight. Sadie was twenty-four and had been earning for years, whereas Polly was very much the office junior and was paid accordingly.

Sadie looked up as Polly entered and smiled. ‘All ready for another day of glamour and excitement?' she asked, fitting the buffer into its place on the cream suede which lined the small case and extracting a spade-like object with which, Polly knew, she pushed down her cuticles – cuticles, Sadie had explained, being highly unfashionable this year. ‘I don't know how you stand old Slater, chuck. What wi' his bad breath an' his terminal dandruff, to say nothin' of his whiney voice,' Sadie remarked eyeing Polly quizzically. ‘I reckon he's old Hitler's secret weapon. Guaranteed to send any halfway pretty girl mad after workin' for him for a week, let alone months an' months.'

Polly took off her coat and scarf and hung them on the coatstand, then perched on the edge of Sadie's desk and eyed Sadie's small telephone exchange enviously. Lucky Sadie, she met all the people who came into reception, sent them to the appropriate departments or offices, and no doubt, knowing Sadie, made eyes and light conversation with any feller who took her fancy, whilst Polly was either stuck in the typing pool, or sat opposite Mr Slater, taking dictation and praying she would be able to read her shorthand outlines when she returned to her own desk. The trouble was, if she got sufficiently bored she simply stopped listening to what Mr Slater was saying, though her obedient hand continued to write neat shorthand across the pages of her notebook. If she had been listening, reading the work back was easy enough, but when she had not been listening, her own shorthand outlines looked more like Chinese characters to her, and she could usually only make a vague stab at their meanings.

‘Oh, old Slater isn't that bad,' she said vaguely now. ‘Besides, Sadie, I'm waiting for you to move on, so's I can take over in here. Aren't you longin' to join the forces, queen? Me pal Grace came back from America yesterday, docked in the early evening, and she's going to join up just as soon as she possibly can. The WRNs, I guess.'

‘I've gorra lorra responsibilities,' Sadie said primly, and winked at Polly. ‘To say nothing' of a nice wage packet – they don't pay you much to be a WRN or a WAAF, you know, queen. But tell me about your pal – she's been in America a while, hasn't she? I bet she's as fashionable as anything – how old is she? What about fellers? Don't say she left a feller pinin' for her in America! Oh, it's me dream to go over there some day – I got cousins . . . But the war's purra stop to all that. Bleedin' pity, but there you are.'

‘I don't think Grace has any particular feller,' Polly said slowly. ‘Which is odd, now I come to think, because she's got rather pretty in an – well, an unusual sort of way. She's got light brown hair which curls under when it reaches her shoulders, and a straight little nose, and really nice blue eyes, as well as a wizard figure, so you'd think she'd have the fellers swarming round her like bees after the honey. But it's a good thing she didn't have one over there, since she's come home now, to where she belongs. I expect she's hoping to meet one when she's in the WRNs – I would, anyway. A sailor . . . Oh, I do like sailors!'

Sadie chuckled. ‘Don't we all, queen? Now you'd best get to your desk before old man Slater—' She broke off as the outer door opened. ‘Good morning, Mr Slater!'

Polly promptly fled and joined her fellow-workers in the large, chilly room which had once contained eighteen young ladies, and now held only six. The other five were already there – Miss Highes, the senior typist, who worked as secretary to Mr Richards, the managing director, and occasionally unbent enough to go down to Claims and take dictation for the solitary man still working there, and Gladys, Paula, Anita and Jane, who were already clattering away on their elderly typewriters, although Polly knew very well that they could not actually be working yet, because it was only five to nine and none of the men would have sent for a typist yet.

‘Where've you been?' Jane asked as Polly heaved the black cover off her old Remington and snatched her shorthand notebook out of its drawer and her pencil from the handleless mug which held an assortment of different writing tools. ‘Chatterin' to that Sadie, I daresay?'

‘Sadie's all right,' Polly said rather breathlessly. ‘Look out, though, old Slater . . .'

The door opened and Mr Slater, coatless now and with his black bowler in one hand, came into the room. He gave them a brief, meaningless smile and then fixed his eyes on Polly. ‘Good morning, ladies! Miss O'Brady, bring your notebook through, would you? I have to go to a meeting this afternoon so this morning will be a busy one – we had better start work at once.'

Polly got slowly to her feet and took an extra pencil out of its mug, in case the other one broke. Mr Slater got very cross if she was not prepared for such emergencies. If only he had been a trim, soldierly major with a blond moustache and laughing eyes! Or – or a sailor, with lots of gold braid, or a nice flight lieutenant . . .

‘Miss O'Brady, why are you staring into space? Don't say you've forgotten your pencil again! If I've told you once . . .'

Mr Slater's whiney voice brought Polly back to earth with a jolt. She heaved a sigh and flourished her pencils at the old horror, noting with evil satisfaction that despite only just having arrived at the office, Mr Slater's shoulders were already well speckled. Thank the good God I don't have to get near enough to smell his breath, she reminded herself reverently as she took her seat opposite him. Now concentrate, Poll, or you'll regret it later. And anyway, when I join the forces I shan't work in a perishin' office, not me! I'll be something exciting, and outdoors, I'll not . . .

‘Miss O'Brady, I said take a letter to Mr French of the Plymouth branch, but I've not seen your pencil so much as touch the paper. Really, if it wasn't for the fact that most of our staff have left to join the armed forces . . .'

‘Sorry, sir,' Polly said with another sigh. ‘It's just that me pal – my friend, I mean – came back from America last night and we had a lot of talking to catch up on, so I'm a bit—'

‘I'm not interested in your private life, Miss O'Brady, just in getting my letters typed,' Mr Slater said with unnecessary sharpness. He looked spitefully at her and Polly knew that if it had been in his power to do so, he would have sacked her on the spot. But fortunately she was a quick typist and, when she was not dreaming, an accurate one. So he knew he would have to put up with her for a while, anyway.

‘Sorry, sir.'

‘Right. Now are you attending? Good. Then a letter to Mr French, if you please . . .'

Grace woke late and lay in bed for a few moments, wondering where she was and why the ship seemed suddenly so still. Then she opened her eyes and saw the Sacred Heart on the wall above the bed and the edge of the pink and white checked counterpane which Deirdre had laid lovingly over the pair of them once they had settled, Polly at the foot of the bed and herself at the head, and remembered everything. She also glanced at the alarm clock on Polly's little bedside table, and gave a squeak. Half past eleven, the morning was almost gone and she had done nothing but sleep! But then she remembered the previous day and how very tired she had been and settled back on her pillow. It wouldn't hurt to lie in just this once . . . and although it was getting on towards lunchtime, she could join the WRNs just as well in the afternoon. Indeed, she would get up presently and go down to see if there was any hot water for washing and then she could make her plans. Auntie Deirdre would advise her what was best to do.

But ten minutes later, reaching the kitchen with her blue dressing gown on over her striped pyjamas, Grace realised that quite a lot had changed since she had last been in the O'Brady house. Deirdre had gone to work, Peader told her, pulling the kettle over the fire and getting out the loaf, but he was to be her deputy until his wife came home at around four.

‘Your Auntie Dee said you'd have a bowl of porridge and a boiled egg for your breakfast, alanna,' he said, pouring cold water into an enamel jug, adding hot from the kettle, and handing it to her. ‘And I t'ought the pair of us would have a couple of kippers at midday. But as you're late up, how about missin' out breakfast and havin' a nice hot bowl of vegetable soup first and then the kippers? Would that suit you?'