Secrets of the Singer Girls (18 page)

Sal paused and drummed her finger on the workbench as if to underline her point. Suddenly, it struck Poppy that her friend was in hiding, living with the terrible spectre of Reggie’s
return.

‘But that’s awful, Sal. What if he comes back?’ Poppy asked fearfully.

Sal shook her head despairingly. ‘If he survives the war, he’ll return to the East End at some point, but by then, Poppy, I hope I’ll be strong enough to fight back or else
will have upped sticks and left. It’s not much of a plan, I’ll grant you, but what else can I do?

‘Maybe I’m being naive, but a part of me hopes he will just vanish and the boys will forget they even had a father. How much they took in I couldn’t tell you. I tried my
hardest to protect them from the worst of it. I even learned how to take a beating without screaming so they wouldn’t hear.

‘I love my sons with all my heart, you see, and I would do anything,
anything
to keep them safe and happy. Being their mother is the only thing that has made my life worth living.
Every spare penny I earn from this place I’ve put aside in a biscuit tin under the bed, so that maybe one day, when we’re all reunited, we can escape the East End and I can give them a
better life. I’ve managed to save enough for three train tickets to the West Country and three months’ lodgings for us all, which should tide us over until I’ve found work. Soon
as the war’s over, we’re leaving. My escape fund, I call it. Makes me feel stronger just knowing it’s there. Daft, ain’t it?’

Sal’s speech seemed to have sapped all her strength and she sank down heavily into the chair next to Poppy.

‘I don’t think it’s daft at all, Sal,’ Poppy whispered, in a voice full of awe. ‘Your boys are lucky to have a mother like you.’

‘That’s sweet of you to say.’ Sal smiled back. ‘But don’t you think me weak for putting up with Reggie?’

‘On the contrary,’ she replied, taking Sal’s hands in hers. ‘I think you are the strongest, bravest woman I know. If anyone can find a way to a new life, it’s
you.’

‘Bless you,’ Sal murmured, comforted by the warmth of Poppy’s tiny fingers wrapped around hers. ‘Now that you know
everything
about me, is there anything
you’d like to tell me about your past? A problem shared is a problem halved. I should know,’ she added with a wry smile.

‘I know that too, Sal,’ Poppy replied quietly. ‘And I appreciate your concern, really I do, but my worries are nothing next to what you’ve been through. I’m just
being silly.’

Sal shook her head slowly. ‘You’re a long way from silly, Poppy Percival. There’s an old saying, you know: in a storm, you should open your front and back doors. Don’t
let your troubles find a home. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Poppy stared back at her for what felt like an age before answering. ‘I understand, and I’m grateful for your wisdom . . . but I really am dead on my feet. Shall we both go home?
It’s been ever such a long day, and that landlady’ll give me what for if I’m late back.’

‘If that’s what you want.’ Sal smiled back sadly. ‘If Vera gets wind that old Mrs Brown’s been boxing your chops, she’ll have her guts for garters.’

Together the two women rose wearily to their feet, but when they reached the doorway, Poppy paused and Sal spotted the fear she had seen earlier flash over Poppy’s face.

‘Promise me you won’t tell Vera about my secret letters?’ she implored. ‘She might send me home to Framshalton Hall, and I can’t go back there, Sal. Not
ever.’

‘No one’s sending you back there,’ Sal reassured her. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. You have my word.’

Poppy’s shoulders sank in relief and together the two friends left the factory and walked out into the dead of night. Sal had laid herself bare to Poppy. She just hoped that in time the
young girl would trust her enough to do the same.

In a strange way, Sal found that she was relieved to have unburdened herself. Aside from Vera and Daisy, no one else knew the full extent of her husband’s abuse or of the
scars she hid so well. She hoped one day she could repay the favour to Poppy. They were as different as chalk and cheese all right, she thought with a smile. Sal was a smart-mouthed East End
factory girl, while Poppy was as timid as a country mouse, and yet somehow, Sal realized, their friendship worked. She felt nothing but genuine affection towards the young girl and prayed she would
spill her secrets. Time will out, she thought sagely, as she turned the corner of her street and saw the outline of her temporary housing loom into view.

It was a welcome sight. After the drama of the night and seeing Poppy safely home, she was shattered, and the balls of her feet were throbbing. The thought of a hot, sweet cup of tea and a warm
bed had never felt so promising.

‘That’s strange,’ she muttered to herself as she walked up to the door. ‘I could have sworn I didn’t draw the curtains before I went out.’

Curtains were just one of the things Sal was so pleased to own. Her prefab home was nothing but a glorified single-storey hut made from reconstituted bits of damaged aircraft. But glory of
glories, it did at least have a tiny bathroom, so no more stumbling about in the dark groping for the communal lavatory door. She was proud as punch of her little home and prayed each night that it
heralded a new beginning.

Sal pushed her door open with a yawn. She hadn’t bothered to lock it. No one in the East End ever did. She stepped into the prefab and lit the tiny oil lamp that barely threw out enough
light by which to make tea.

Suddenly, through the soft orange glow, she made out the figure of a man sitting in the dark at the far end of the room.

She froze. The kettle slipped from her fingers and landed with a clatter on the floor.

‘Hello, sweetheart. Why don’t you come over here, then, and give your old man a welcome-home kiss?’

Reggie stepped out of the shadows and walked towards her, placing both hands on her shoulders. A scream caught in her throat as her husband’s fingers tightened round her neck. A crawling
feeling of despair prickled the length of her spine.

‘It’s been two and a half long years and you ain’t written me,’ he hissed. ‘Not once.’ The smile on his face was at odds with the menace in his voice as he
trailed his fingers up and down her cheek.

Sal froze, barely able to utter a word. How could it be? Reggie was standing right here in her new home, a monster in her midst again.

Why had she been so stupid to imagine he would never get leave or come home? And how on earth had he found her?

‘All my comrades lived for their letters from back home,’ Reggie went on. ‘Made the hell we were enduring so much easier to bear, so they said. But then, I wouldn’t
know.’ His smile froze and a vein twitched on the side of his head. ‘Because my darling wife didn’t write so much as one word to me.’

Sal gulped and tried her hardest to stay calm, but inside she was preparing for the very worst. How could this be happening? War had done her husband no favours and looking into his brittle
features, she realized if he wasn’t unstable enough before he left, his mind was certainly completely warped now.

‘So I gets to thinking . . .’ he said softly, picking up a lock of her red hair and twirling it tightly between his fingers, ‘perhaps my darling wife don’t love me no
more. Perhaps she’s even met someone else while I’m out there risking my life.’

His calloused fingers carried on winding her lock of hair, tighter and tighter, drawing her face closer to his.

‘Don’t, Reggie,’ she whimpered.

Finally, his fingers were blood red from twisting her hair painfully round them and her face was inches from his. She was so close now she could smell the beer on his breath. She felt trapped
and utterly helpless.

All my army mates will have come home to a hero’s welcome, I dare say. I come home to find my home bombed to smithereens and my wife and kids missing. So I goes up the council offices this
morning and they tell me you’ve been rehoused here and the boys have been evacuated.

Apparently, you informed them that you would notify me of the new address, but that’s funny, I says to myself, ‘cause I didn’t get no letter.’

He wrenched Sal’s head back so hard her neck strained at the jugular.

‘Not a single, solitary bloody letter,’ he seethed, poison dripping from his every word. ‘You ran like a dirty little deserter the first chance you got. You can’t just
walk out on our marriage and not pay the price. Do you take me for a fool?’

‘Please, Reggie,’ she croaked, her head spinning as she wondered what lie she could tell him. ‘Let me go and I’ll explain.’

‘Shut up and don’t speak until I say you can,’ he roared, his dark eyes flashing. ‘I ain’t done with you yet. Whatever was you thinking? That you were free? Got
shot of the boys so you could gallivant off with a fancy man? Got yourself set up in a nice new gaff – everything’s coming up roses for Sal while her old man’s away fighting,
ain’t it? Having yourself a lovely old war, aincha?’

‘No, Reggie,’ she quivered. ‘It’s not like that. You don’t know what it was like here. No one’s been safe. I had the boys evacuated out for their own safety.
I’ve got myself a job as a machinist too, at Trout’s factory.’

His eyes snapped open in surprise. ‘A
job
?’ he thundered, as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears. ‘My wife has a job?’

She nodded, mute with fear.

‘So that’s where you got all this money from?’ He motioned to the bed and Sal’s heart plunged when she saw her biscuit tin sitting with the lid off, completely empty. In
that moment, her fragile dreams of a new life crumbled to dust. Her precious escape fund, the money she had so diligently saved these past two years, to plan a new life, all gone, probably sitting
in Reggie’s back pocket.

A painful smile twisted over his face as he took in Sal’s reaction. ‘What’s the matter, girl? Think I wouldn’t find it under the bed?’ he goaded. ‘Not a very
original hiding place, is it? But then, you always was a bit stupid.’

The new strength that she had talked of not half an hour ago in the factory with Poppy had all but deserted her. Her secret stash of money had imbued her with a false sense of security, and just
like that, she knew . . . it was over. Trembling, the tears filled her eyes. Deep, desolate tears, as a tight ball of pain unfurled inside her. A road of misery stretched ahead, with no end in
sight. She had stupidly thought the war had freed her. How foolish was she?

The fear of what Reggie would do next was utterly paralysing.

‘Good at keeping secrets, aincha? Well, I’ll tell you this, my girl. If I found out you’ve so much as looked at another fella, the Blitz will have nothing on me. You hear me? I
will kill you with my bare hands.’

His eyes bulged in rage and Sal realized he was now capable of anything. War had turned him from a cruel monster into a full-blown killer.

Drawing back his fist, he brought it crashing down against her cheek. Her head snapped sideways and her lip burst open like a ripe watermelon.

‘That’s for running away,’ he growled, ‘and for not writing.’

Sal staggered back, clutching her lip, but in a flash, Reggie dragged her back to him, swinging her round by her hair.

‘I am going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. I own you, see – you, Joey and Billy, you all belong to me.’

Ripping off his thick army belt, he tightened it between his hands and got ready to unleash two years of pent-up violence.

At the mention of her boys’ names, something deep inside Sal snapped. The emotion thundering inside her now was almost primal in its intensity.

No matter how many times he beat her, or how hard, he would not break her spirit. Let him do his worst. She could take it. She had survived Hitler’s bombs, so help her God she would
survive this and she would escape him again. As she watched his deranged face, bathed in the flickering gaslight, she knew with a certainty he would try to kill her. If not now, then later. She
would never really be free of him.

Sal lost track of time as he unleashed his fury. Ignoring the hot shards of pain slicing through her and the roaring in her head, she used every fibre of her being to stay conscious.

I will survive this, she told herself over and over, like a mantra.

Eventually, Reggie exhausted himself and sank back onto the bed, tossing his blood-spattered army belt behind him.

‘Now say it,’ he ordered. ‘I own you.’

Sal groaned and hauled herself unsteadily to her feet, her limbs pulsing with pain. ‘You own me,’ she whispered, staring at the floor.

‘Louder,’ he demanded.

Drawing strength from every corner of her being, she gritted her teeth and acquiesced to his demand. ‘You own me.’

He smiled. ‘That’s better.’

Reggie glanced at his watch and yawned. ‘Oh, past midnight. Sunday now, day of rest. I’m getting my head down for some kip, and when I wake up, you and me gonna get reacquainted.
Understand?’

Reggie issued Sal with a lecherous smile before turning his back on her and stretching out on the bed, grunting as he kicked off his boots. Sal knew exactly what Reggie meant and what would
happen if she was foolish enough to say no. The fear of what lay ahead turned her stomach. Helplessness and despair blazed through her, but then she spotted it, flung casually on the bed within
inches of her fingertips. Reggie’s thick army belt. The deep welts on her back testified as to its handiness as a weapon.

This could be her only chance of escape. It was now or never. What had gone before was bad enough, but what lay ahead was simply unimaginable.

A vision of her boys’ faces floated into her brain and a voice screamed in her head,
Do it!
But her body was as rigid as stone. Try as she might, she could not move a muscle.

Run. Run. Run,
urged the voice. Sal started to whimper as the scrambled pathways of her brain struggled to think. If she left it any longer, she risked him locking the door, or worse .
. .

Then, just like that, his nicotine-stained fingers crept along the bed sheet and began to paw at the mottled flesh on her thigh. ‘Actually,’ he grunted, in a voice thick with lust,
‘why wait?’