Polly's Angel (56 page)

So, as she worked, she was quietly content, quietly planning her own celebrations which would, of course, take place just as soon as Tad was hers once more. She intended to marry him in due course but occasionally common sense came to her aid and reminded her that no one, not even she and Tad, could live on fresh air. They would both have to get jobs in Civvy Street before they could possibly start planning their future together.

The bonfire which the street had planned might have been difficult some years earlier, for Snowdrop Street was right in the city with few open spaces, but now, thanks to Jerry, there were plenty of large bomb-sites, already thickly overgrown with the tall pink spears of rosebay willowherb. These open spaces were just the sort of area where a nice big bonfire could blaze without danger of hurting anyone's property and all over the country, Polly imagined, they were being put to the same use. So she helped the kids from the surrounding streets, the flower streets, to collect everything burnable and piled it high, and then she went and helped Deirdre to bake a number of cakes and pies, and she and Peader borrowed every trestle table they could lay their hands on from church halls and schools, and then they sat back and waited hopefully for a fine day on which to celebrate.

At the weekend Polly put in her usual call to Tad, determined to persuade him to get leave and come to the Snowdrop Street party.

She got through easily and in her new, gentle tone, greeted Tad enthusiastically and asked him what he meant to do the following Tuesday.

‘Tuesday?' Tad said, apparently less aware than Polly of the importance of the occasion. ‘I dunno – why?'

‘Oh, Tad,' Polly cried, softly reproachful. ‘You can't have forgot – Mr Churchill's given everyone the day off to celebrate – it's VE Day!'

‘Oh aye,' Tad said. ‘Well now, what had I meant to do? Stay in bed late, I reckon, and—'

‘Stay in bed later, wit' all the country celebrating?' Polly asked incredulously. ‘You can't do that, Tad – think what you'll be missing! Why, we're having a street party, we've all give food and Mammy's made
vats
of lemonade and ginger beer, and there's to be fireworks, and flags, and games . . . We – we t'ought, all of us, that you'd come across to see us, and stay for the day and mebbe the night too. There's no one in the spare room, and I know you're bound to have leave owing, because you've not had any time off since that day in Lincoln an' even then you had to go off early, flying.'

She had tried not to sound injured, but knew that she sounded at least disappointed at his failure to leap at her idea like a trout at a fly, but she kept her tone wheedling rather than reproachful, bearing in mind that wretched, goody-goody Jenny.

‘Oh, I couldn't do that,' Tad said immediately, however. He sounded quite shocked. ‘I couldn't let me pals down, Poll. There's all sorts of goings-on planned in Lincoln and the NAAFI are running a big dance and a special dinner . . . No, I couldn't let me pals down.'

‘But just now you couldn't even remember what Tuesday was,' Polly wailed. ‘And won't your pals have just as good a time if you aren't there, then? Because you can't have done much, or you wouldn't have forgot. Oh, Tad, I've done no end, honest I have. I've beetled about getting fuel for the bonfire, and I've helped Mammy wit' the cooking and Daddy wit' fetching chairs and tables and I've even done sewin', and you know how I do hate me needle.'

Tad sighed. ‘Sorry, love, it can't be done,' he said, his tone complacent. ‘Well, you have fun now, and t'ink about me stuck up here doing me best to have fun as well.'

It was at this point that Polly's careful plans deserted her. ‘Who with?' she demanded, her voice strident with suspicion. ‘Are you goin' to watch fireworks and eat your dinner wit' that Jenny you telled me about?'

‘She's bound to be there,' Tad admitted. ‘After all, as I've told you a thousand times, Poll, she's me good friend so there's no reason—'

Polly cut across this thoroughly infuriating sentence. ‘Tad Donoghue, if you don't want to come to our street party then I can't make you,' she shouted wildly into the receiver. ‘But I'm tellin' you, when you
do
deign to come back to Liverpool, don't you bother calling in Snowdrop Street, because I shan't be after wantin' to see you! I'm going to send a telegram to Sunny this moment, asking him to come and stay and be me – me partner. Well? What do you say to that?'

‘I'm sorry, Poll,' Tad said, but he didn't sound sorry, he sounded amused, which only added fuel to Polly's anger. ‘But I suppose, if you feel that strongly—'

‘I do,' Polly shrieked, discretion cast to the four winds and temper and disappointment bringing tears to her eyes. ‘Why, if you had any feelings for me, Tad Donoghue . . .'

‘You're my good pal,' Tad said soothingly. ‘Calm down, Poll, and remember—'

He got no further. Well, he might have done had Polly not slammed the receiver back on its rest and stalked, trembling with rage, out of the telephone box. And presently, when she was calmer and could think straight, she realised that the careful work she had been putting into her relationship with Tad ever since the visit to Lincoln had just gone up in smoke. He would be telling himself this very minute that Polly had not changed at all, she was still the bad-tempered, spoilt child he had known in Dublin. And he would he turning to Jenny and asking her . . . asking her . . .

Tears blinding her, Polly turned round and rushed back to the telephone box. She asked the operator, in trembling tones, for the number and had a considerable wait – ‘Line's busy,' said the operator impersonally – before at last she got through to the mess.

But not to Tad. ‘He's not here,' the officer who answered the telephone said. ‘Is that Polly? No, he's had to go out – wasn't he on the telephone to you just now? I thought he said you'd just spoken to him.'

‘I – I had,' Polly said, tears running down her cheeks and tasting salt in her mouth as she opened it to speak. ‘But – but I've j-just remembered something I – I forgot. I'll ring later.'

She had rung later, but somehow, Tad was never available, and it seemed pointless to write a letter. She could say she was sorry, hadn't meant a word of it, would accept him on any terms, but what was the use? If he wouldn't speak to her then he was unlikely to take much notice of a letter. So, on the eve of the day for which she had longed so passionately, Polly went to bed in a very subdued frame of mind, quite seeing that her horrid temper had ruined her whole life for her and quite at a loss, for the moment, as to how she was to mend the breach she had caused between Tad and herself.

Besides, she thought drearily, as she turned out the light and rolled up the blackout blind for the last time, by now he's probably asked that horrible Jenny to marry him, and I hope she makes him very unhappy, so I do!

Then she got into bed and after indulging in the luxury of a good cry into her pillow she settled down and, despite her conviction that she would never sleep, was soon dreaming.

On the morning of 8th May, Polly woke early to find pale sunshine pouring in through her bedroom window. It was early, but she slid cautiously out of bed and padded over to the window, telling herself that she might as well check that it had not rained in the night because if it had, some work might be needed on the bonfire, and there might be work to do on the street itself, which must be dry and decent before they could set out the tables and chairs.

But all was well. The night, clearly, had been as fine as the day which now beamed down upon Liverpool. The sky was a deep blue, there was not a cloud in sight and the sunshine was growing brighter as the sun rose in the heavens. It's going to be a marvellous day, Polly told herself, going over to her washstand and struggling out of her nightdress. Well, it would be a marvellous day if . . . but there's no use repining. I lost my temper and now I've lost Tad, and I've just got to make the best of it. Anyway, it wasn't kind of him to refuse to speak to me when I phoned, and heaven knows I phoned often enough to show anyone I was sorry, so I was. But that's Tad for you: unforgiving. And who wants a feller like that, a feller who can't forgive a person for making one little mistake and having a bit of a shout because they were disappointed?

Unfortunately, however, Polly knew very well that the answer to this rhetorical question, which should be a firm ‘No one sensible wants a feller like that,' was in fact, very different. One person wanted a feller like Tad – no, not a feller like him, she wanted Tad himself – and that of course was Polly O'Brady.

However, she could not stand around in her room feeling miserable, not with such an important day about to start. She chucked her nightdress on to her unmade bed, poured water from her jug into the pottery basin and seized the small piece of soap which was all she had left until Mammy found some more, somewhere. She washed all over, rinsed herself, dried on the small scrap of towel hanging beside the washstand and began to dress, her uniform all cleaned and pressed for this special day.

Once she was ready she headed for the stairs. Deirdre was already in the kitchen, with the kettle boiling on the hob and a panful of cold potatoes frying over the flame. Some rather suspicious-looking sausages were sharing the pan and Polly gave a sigh at the sight of them. Now bacon would have been nice but was rarely available, so it would have to be sausages and some of those delicious fried potatoes.

‘Morning, Mammy,' Polly said, going over to the Welsh dresser and beginning to lay the table. ‘Is Daddy about yet?'

‘He's walked down to the tram to meet Monica,' Deirdre said, turning the potatoes and sucking in her breath as the fat spat. ‘They'll be back in a few minutes, so we can all have breakfast together. Be a love, alanna, and slice me some bread and put it on the plates.' She glanced round the kitchen as though walls truly did have ears. ‘I managed to get a few shell-eggs, so I thought we'd begin our celebration early wit' them and the sausages and spuds. After all, heaven knows when we'll have our dinner, and the party won't start until four o'clock so's everyone can be there.'

‘I heard from Grace; she's coming back to the ‘Pool if she can manage it, and Sunny says he might come too, because his ship's in dock for some sort of a refit,' Polly said, getting the loaf out of the crock and beginning to slice. ‘Oh, it'll be a grand day, so it will, but it'll be best of all to see me pals, if we manage to meet up. Only I guess there'll be crowds everywhere, and neither Grace nor Sunny could say for certain where they'd be, or at what time.'

‘Never mind; if they're home they'll make their way to Snowdrop Street sooner or later. But it's a pity Tad can't get away,' Deirdre said with a shrewd look at her daughter. Polly, noticing it, sighed inwardly. She had not said much about Tad since the fateful phone call the previous weekend, but she realised that her mammy, who knew her so well, probably guessed what had happened. ‘Still, everyone will be wanting leave for today, I reckon,' Deirdre continued, moving the pan off the heat. ‘Mebbe next week or the week after our Tad will turn up here, eh?'

Polly finished slicing the bread and turned to her mother with a deep sigh. She might as well spill the beans, she was no use at telling fibs, never had been. And besides, Mammy and Daddy wouldn't blame her; they would be comforting and loving. It would ease her conscience to tell Mammy the truth. ‘Tad won't be coming, not today nor in a few days,' she said bluntly. ‘I shouted at him when I rang to invite him here and he said he couldn't let his pals down. I – well, I lost me temper, Mammy, and telled him that if he didn't come today he needn't bother to come at all. I – I said I'd write to Sunny and get him to come instead. I was horrid, so I was.'

‘Lovers' tiff,' Deirdre said comfortably just as the back door opened and Peader ushered Monica inside. ‘Don't you worry, alanna, these things happen no matter how we try to avoid 'em. Monica, me dear, sit you down, I'm just going to dish up.'

Sunny and Grace had met that day entirely by chance since neither could possibly have known the whereabouts of the other. Sunny's ship had come in for a refit but though he had hoped to be in Liverpool for the celebrations he knew that everything depended on the trains, on the hour that his ship's captain saw fit to dismiss him, and on luck.

In the event, luck and his skipper were definitely on his side, with the result that he was told good-humouredly the previous evening that he could make himself scarce so long as he was back at his post before the ship sailed on the Wednesday, and managed to catch the milk train next morning, arriving in Liverpool after various changes and connections, to his own delight and astonishment, before noon.

He had come into Lime Street, of course, along with a great many other men and women in uniform, and the first person he saw as he got down from his train was a neatly uniformed WAAF with light brown, shiny hair and a pale, heart-shaped face, walking along the opposite platform. As she turned towards him her face lit up in a smile of such sweetness and genuine pleasure that he felt his heart give a little leap. ‘Grace! By all that's wonderful, if this isn't the strangest thing! So you
did
get leave, after all, and the first person I see when I reach Liverpool is you!'

‘Hello, Sunny,' Grace said. Her smile did not falter but he saw a certain wariness come into her blue-grey eyes. ‘I daresay you're off to Snowdrop Street as well?'

Sunny had been about to agree that he was indeed off to Snowdrop Street when he changed his mind. He held out a hand and took hers and watched pink roses bloom on her cheeks. ‘No, why should I go to Snowdrop Street when you're here, and we can have a good time, just the two of us?' he said. ‘Oh, we'll mebbe go round there later, queen, but not yet, eh? There's a lot to do and see in the city and two's easier than half-a-dozen, wouldn't you say? Besides, they've gorra street party and all sorts this afternoon. We'll spend the morning together, just catching up on what's going on, shall us?'