Secrets of the Singer Girls (21 page)

‘Thanks, Archie,’ she whispered when she finally found her voice. His head snapped up in surprise at the sound of his Christian name leaving her lips for the first time.

‘You’re welcome, Vera,’ he blushed, and together they made their way back inside the safety of the factory.

Daisy followed close behind, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Once inside the factory, Vera hastily filled Archie in on the disturbing events of the weekend. The foreman was as sympathetic to Sal’s plight as she had known he would be.

‘That man wants his neck wringing,’ he spat. ‘But don’t worry, Vera – we’ll sort it. The main thing is Sal’s safe.’

After working out a plan, Archie called Poppy into his office and closed the door at Vera’s request.

As Poppy sat down, Vera noticed she had paled to the colour of flour.

‘It’s all right, Poppy,’ she soothed. ‘You’re not in trouble.’

‘I . . . Oh . . . very well. Where’s Sal?’

‘Late on Saturday night, Sal’s husband arrived home on leave, and well, let’s just say it wasn’t a pretty scene.’ Vera sighed.

Poppy’s jaw dropped open. ‘But . . . Sal,’ she said frantically. ‘She is all right, isn’t she? She told me her husband was a bad lot. I need to see her. Where is
she?’

‘Slow down,’ replied Vera, taken aback at Poppy’s nervous reaction. ‘She will be fine. But she has some very nasty cuts and bruises.’

‘Now, Poppy, please listen to what Vera has to say, as this affects you,’ piped up Archie.

Vera nodded gratefully at her boss before continuing. ‘Sal has gone to stay with her boys in the countryside until Reggie’s leave is up and he returns to the front line. He has no
idea where the boys are billeted, and nor for that matter do I. It’s safer that way. In the meantime, we will need to cover her workload, and as you and Daisy are her closest friends at
Trout’s, we thought it could fall to you. The war effort can’t be halted just because we’re one down.’

‘Of course, Mrs Shadwell,’ replied Poppy eagerly. ‘I’d be happy to help. I’ll work extra shifts. Night shifts too if you need me.’

‘That’s the ticket, Poppy.’ Mr Gladstone smiled. ‘It’s imperative we keep the real reason for Sal’s absence confined only to the people in this room, and
Daisy of course. We don’t want anyone getting wind of this, much less Pat Doggan. I’ll be telling the girls that one of Sal’s boys is seriously ill and she’s had to go for
an emergency visit. The fewer people that know about this, the better, so keep this zipped,’ said Mr Gladstone, pointing to his mouth. ‘Those girls are notorious gossips, and if they
get wind, it will be all round Bethnal Green by dinnertime.’

Poppy nodded. ‘You can rely on me.’

‘Now, hop to it,’ he said briskly. ‘Them uniforms won’t sew themselves. And remember, as Churchill himself said, careless talk costs lives, so mum’s the word. And
should you come across Reggie Fowler, do not speak to him on any account, you hear me? He’s a dangerous man.’

Once Poppy had left the office, Vera let out a long, slow breath and tried to calm her pounding heart. First Reggie’s ambush, and now her sister’s secret trysts . . . Events were
moving at a rapid pace and she prayed that the future held no more disturbing revelations. But a nagging voice told her that trouble always comes in threes.

It had been two weeks since Sal’s sudden departure to the countryside and Poppy missed her dearly. Her bright red hair and saucy banter had certainly helped to cheer up
the factory no end. The drudgery of the war seemed to be grinding all the women down, especially without Sal’s infectious spark of energy among them.

Reggie had not dared to show his face at the factory again, but a few of the Singer Girls had spotted him out and about in Bethnal Green, and the sightings alone had been enough to put Vera off
summoning Sal home. So her workload was still left to Daisy and Poppy, and this past fortnight they had both come to feel as if they were living at the factory, they were putting in that many
hours. Neither of them had dared utter a murmur of complaint, though: they knew Sal would stick her neck out for them if the shoe were on the other foot.

Nevertheless, Poppy had to confess to herself that the extra workload was exhausting. Her fingers throbbed and her back ached from the long hours seated behind a machine. She swore her foot even
pumped an invisible treadle in her sleep.

Every time Poppy closed her eyes, she could picture Sal’s scarred legs so vividly in her mind’s eye. Sal had trusted her enough to reveal her secrets that dark night in the factory
and yet Poppy still had not found the strength to spill hers. It had proved one thing to her: she truly was a coward, and sewing silly letters into seams and bandages was nothing but the actions of
a girl too scared to grip life with both hands. No, it really was time to draw a veil over her furtive behaviour.

Only Vera seemed to be full of high spirits, which she attributed to Frank’s increasing absences from Tavern Street. Vera had confided in her that he had picked up a new delivery job that
meant he would be away for longer periods of time. Vera had not the faintest idea what this job was, but if it meant her vile father wasn’t hanging around, then so much the better. Poppy also
had a sneaking suspicion that Vera was thrilled her little sister was now forced to work every hour, as it meant she could keep a close watch on her. Or maybe the twinkle in Vera’s eye was
down to matters of a different nature? Poppy had noticed a growing closeness between her and Mr Gladstone this past two weeks, and she was glad of it.

With Frank increasingly away from the home, it meant Poppy and Vera had both felt content to spend many a cosy evening in front of a warm fire, knitting and setting the world to rights, and it
wasn’t unusual to find a parcel of food – a home-baked pie, a bread-and-butter pudding or a little bit of dripping – neatly wrapped up in brown paper and left on Poppy’s
workbench. Vera didn’t show affection through words but through actions, and every food parcel and each hour spent by the fireside
showed
to Poppy that she mattered, at least to her
new friend. She just wished Daisy could realize how lucky she was to have a big sister like Vera.

The door to Mr Gladstone’s office opened and the factory foreman called all the girls to attention, providing Poppy with a welcome respite from her own tumbling thoughts.

‘All right, girls,’ he called over the rumble of the machines. ‘Shut down a minute, would you, and listen to what I’ve got to say.’

Thirty Singer sewing machines grumbled to a halt, and conversations stopped short.

‘Vera and I have had a great idea. Well, actually, I can’t take the credit for it – it was all down to Vera.’ He glanced over at his forelady and smiled proudly. Their
eyes locked briefly before Vera quickly looked away. Was it Poppy’s imagination or was Vera blushing?

‘As you all know, traditionally at the end of June, Trout’s has its annual beano down to the coast.’

‘Beano?’ murmured Poppy.

A day trip to the seaside,’ Kathy explained. ‘We haven’t had one since war broke out.’

‘I know you all miss it,’ Archie went on.

‘Yeah, especially Pat,’ muttered Kathy under her breath, so the older woman couldn’t hear. ‘She’d be piddled before the charabanc had even pulled off from the
kerb.’

‘Churchill may have instructed us to tighten our belts, but I’d like to show my appreciation of all your hard work. So instead of a beano, I’m going to throw us a little party
down the Dog and Duck. Show that bloody Adolf he can’t stop us East Enders having a knees-up. I want everyone to dress up in the colours of the Union Jack. I’d also like us to go up to
the hospital and visit the kids that day – take ’em some flags and sing ’em a few tunes. Wotcha think, then?’ He grinned, looking around expectantly at the women.

‘What’s to celebrate, Mr Gladstone?’ piped up Daisy morosely. ‘We’re still fighting this war, aren’t we?’

‘What’s to celebrate?
What’s to celebrate?’
he spluttered, turning such an uncomfortable shade of red Poppy thought he might burst on the spot. ‘We
are
British
.’ His chest swelled with indignation. ‘We are celebrating our Britishness. Our men are fighting and sacrificing their lives on foreign shores, and for what?
Our liberty, that’s what.’

A murmur of agreement rippled over the floor.

‘Back to work now, ladies,’ chivvied Vera, and everyone started to chatter excitedly.

At the end of the shift, as the night workers were clocking on, Daisy and Poppy pulled down the blackout blinds and stayed on longer to cover off Sal’s bundles. They worked in exhausted
silence, feeding through strips of material, snipping and sewing, both of them lost in their own thoughts. By ten o’clock, after a fourteen-hour day, both girls were fit to drop.

‘Come on, Poppy,’ yawned Daisy, tugging on her coat. ‘Let’s head home to bed. At this rate, it’ll be time to turn round and come back the minute we get there. Every
time I close my eyes I see little flickering sewing needles.’

‘Me too,’ Poppy giggled, her laughter quickly dissolving into a yawn.

Together the two young women bundled on their coats and hats, linked arms and wearily walked in the direction of the bus stop.

‘Not much to look forward to, is there?’ Daisy’s voice was flat in the darkness.

‘Are you not excited about the party?’ Poppy asked. ‘Bet the children can’t wait to see you on the wards again.’

‘I dare say,’ she mumbled. Suddenly Daisy halted in the street and the full moon illuminated her emerald eyes as she gazed at Poppy. There was no mistaking the heartbreak staring
back at her.

‘Oh, Poppy, I’ve had a letter from Robert,’ she choked, reaching down and pulling a crumpled piece of paper from inside her bra. ‘His unit’s already been posted
elsewhere, and after that he’ll probably be shipped out. I don’t know if I shall ever see him again. I met my soulmate and he’s come in and out my life so fast I worry I may have
imagined it all, except for . . .’ Her slight fingers began nervously to play with the heart necklace round her neck, and Poppy noticed she had bitten her usually immaculate nails to the
quick. ‘Oh, Poppy,’ she blurted, ‘I’m afraid I might be in the most dreadful trouble.’

‘Come now, Daisy,’ Poppy smiled, rubbing her arm. ‘Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. A problem shared is a problem halved. That’s what Sal told me.’

‘Hello, girls.’ A gruff voice rang out through the night, and both Poppy and Daisy froze.

Poppy couldn’t place the voice standing directly behind them, but Daisy obviously did, as she whipped round in a heartbeat.

‘Hello, Reggie. Well, look what crawled out the gutter,’ she spat, showing more bravado than Poppy felt at that precise moment.

‘Well, if it ain’t my dear wife’s oldest friend,’ he said. ‘I blame you Shadwell sisters for turning her head with all this silly job nonsense. We was doing just
fine until you came along and filled her brain with all sorts.’

‘Poppycock. If you hadn’t been so handy with your fists, your wife might be at home now instead of in hiding.’

‘Daisy,’ urged Poppy, tugging her sleeve as she flicked a nervous look up the deserted street, ‘you heard what Mr Gladstone said – let’s be on our way.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Reggie replied. ‘I ain’t stopping. I’m getting shipped out again tomorrow, back to the front. That’s what real men do, see? They
don’t hang around a gaggle of women in a clothes factory; they’re on the front line fighting the Huns, getting their hands dirty.’

‘Oh yes, Reggie,’ sneered Daisy. ‘We all know how you like to fight.’

The change in mood was like the flick of a switch.

‘
Shut up!
’ he thundered back. His hand shot out and gripped Daisy’s beautiful face hard. ‘Or else I’ll give you a good hiding and all, Daisy Shadwell.
You’re too mouthy by half. Always have been. I came here so you could pass a message on to my wife.’

He squeezed her face harder as he spoke. Even through her fear, Daisy refused to break eye contact and glared back at him.

‘You tell her from me that when this war ends, life will go back to
exactly
how it was before. Nothing will change, and she better be waiting for me, so help me God, or next time
she won’t be so lucky. I’m ’er husband and that earns me rights, see. She needs to know her place, and if she needs a little reminding, I’ll gladly bring her down a peg or
two.’

He released Daisy and gave her cheek a little tap before pulling a roll-up from behind his ear and calmly lighting it.

‘Ta-ta, girls,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘You be sure to pass my message on to Sal.’

‘Come on,’ Poppy urged. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

But Daisy was rooted to the spot, staring after Reggie as he retreated into the darkness. A look of such despair was etched over her face, and soon she began to cry – fierce, hard, angry
tears.

‘What hope have women like us got, eh, Poppy?’ she choked. ‘What bleedin’ hope when men like Reggie Fowler walk the streets? I thought this war was about fighting the
wrongdoing men overseas. What are you supposed to do when the enemy is your own husband?’

They walked the remainder of the journey in silence, and only once she sank exhausted into bed later did it occur to Poppy that, thanks to Reggie, she never did get to the bottom of what was
troubling Daisy so.

As soon as Daisy and Poppy had told Vera about Reggie’s visit and she was reassured he
really
had left Bethnal Green, Vera had wasted no time in hastily
summoning Sal back to the East End.

Poppy was, of course, thrilled to see her friend safely home again, but also secretly a bit relieved. Covering Sal’s workload as well as her own had been an exhausting experience, so much
so that when the party rolled around two weeks later, Poppy didn’t want to celebrate; she just wanted to curl up in her bed and sleep.

The other Singer Girls, however, had no such intention, and by the time they were all gathered in the pub after their shift and the sing-song at the hospital, everyone was eager to let their
hair down.