‘I’ll get Jim to bring up another bed anyway,’ said Peggy, with a determined glint in her eye. ‘He can use it when he’s more settled.’
Sally stepped hesitantly into the room, expecting a gloomy attic, bare floorboards and a lumpy bed. What she discovered was a bedroom fit for a princess and, carefully putting down her case, she stared around her in awe.
Square and sunlit beneath a gently sloping roof, it was furnished with a single wrought-iron bed which was made up with crisp white linen and a floral eiderdown that matched the curtains. There were three rugs scattered over the polished floorboards, a mirror above the gas fire that stood in the small hearth next to its meter and, under the window, was a dressing table and soft armchair. A sturdy wardrobe and chest of drawers completed the furnishings, and through the window she could see over the rooftops to a glimpse of the sea.
‘It’s lovely,’ managed Sally, hardly daring to believe this was to be hers for as long as she stayed.
It was a palace compared to the dingy two rooms in Bow.
‘You can ignore the old gas lamps,’ said Peggy, ‘we’ve got electricity up here now.’ She flicked the brass switch next to the door and the central light came on to prove the point. ‘You’ll need some sixpences for the gas fire, but I can always let you have some to be going on with. I change the sheets and towels once a week, and meals will be in the dining room now there are so many of us. Breakfast is at seven, lunch at twelve, and tea at six thirty after the boys have listened to
Children’s Hour
.’
Sally’s happiness and awe disappeared like fog as she suddenly realised she would be expected to pay some kind of rent for all this luxury. ‘I won’t be able to pay you no rent until I get me first wages. ’ow much do you charge?’
‘Goodness me, Sally,’ breathed Peggy, clearly shocked. ‘You don’t have to pay your board and keep, dear. The government gives me a grant for that. All I ask is for you to hand over your ration book, keep the room clean and tidy, and perhaps help a bit round the house like my daughters do.’
Relief flooded through her as she reddened. ‘I didn’t realise,’ she murmured.
Peggy cocked her head. ‘Didn’t you get the leaflet they sent out when the arrangements were made for you and Ernie to leave London?’
‘I might have,’ she hedged, knowing full well she had – but she wasn’t about to admit she could barely read well enough to have made sense of it.
‘Oh, well, never mind. You’re here now.’ Peggy smoothed the creaseless pillowcases and checked the blackout lining on the curtains. ‘Just remember to keep these shut once it’s dark,’ she murmured, ‘we don’t want Wally Hall round here throwing his weight about.’ She smiled as Sally frowned. ‘He’s the ARP warden, and a proper little Hitler.’ She gave a sniff of derision. ‘Actually, he’s just a jumped-up post office clerk with ideas above his station.’
Sally grinned. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘We got one of them at ’ome.’
They smiled at one another. ‘Come on then, let me show you the bathroom and how to work the gas boiler. It’s a bit fierce, and needs handling just right.’
The bathroom was one floor below. It was a large, square room tiled in white, with polished lino on the floor, and a claw-footed bath taking centre stage. There was frosted glass in the window, and against one wall stood a heavy iron radiator – which, to Sally, was the height of luxury. Peggy showed Sally how to turn the tap on the gas boiler, hold the switch and aim the lighted match into the hole at the front.
It came to life with an alarming bang before it settled to a soft roar.
‘Just be sure you turn it off when you’ve finished,’ warned Peggy. ‘And if Cissy seems to have moved in for the duration, keep banging on the door until she comes out. That girl can spend hours in the bathroom.’
Sally was still overawed by the fact there was a proper bathroom in the house and could only nod.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, and don’t worry about Ernie, I’ll keep an eye on him. Tea’s in about an hour, so you’ve plenty of time to settle in. Have a bath if you want.’ She hurried downstairs.
Sally eyed the deep tub with misgiving. A person could drown in that. She returned to the bedroom and softly closed the door behind her. Not even in her wildest dreams could she have imagined sleeping in such a wonderful place and, as she touched the crisp linen and breathed in the scent of fresh air and Omo soap powder in the fluffy towels, she was tempted to climb on top of the thick, downy eiderdown and go to sleep.
Then she caught sight of her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She had felt quite smart when she’d left Bow, but now she could see that her felt hat and travel-stained overcoat looked scruffy: there was a smudge on her cheek and her hair was a tangled mess. The thick woollen skirt she’d finished making the night before had bagged and looked dowdy, and her best cream sweater was worn and shabby compared to the lovely one Anne had been wearing. Her shoes were sturdy enough, but even they could have done with a bit of a polish.
‘You don’t belong ’ere, Sal,’ she muttered, the stress and strangeness of the day finally crumbling her resolve. She sank into the soft armchair and burst into tears.
Aleksy Chmielewski had seen the girl moving like a shadow along the corridor before she hurried upstairs. He’d been coming out of his room on the first floor, and she hadn’t seen him, but he’d watched her until she disappeared on to the top floor.
He was thoughtful as he made his way to the bathroom. She reminded him of his little sister Danuta, and seeing her so unexpectedly had brought back the memories he’d tried so hard to put to the back of his mind.
Striking a match, he lit the boiler, turned the taps until the water gushed into the deep tub and stood staring into space as the steam rose and misted the windows. He had last seen Danuta in Warsaw.
It had been the spring of 1938 and he’d been due to rejoin his squadron which was fighting in the Spanish Civil War. The picnic had taken place in the park near their tenement apartment on the poorer side of the city. None of them had realised then that their way of life in the ancient, beautiful city was about to come to an abrupt and bloody end.
Aleksy turned off the taps, stripped and sank into the hot, soothing water. He closed his eyes, the memories as sharp and haunting as always. He could see Danuta sitting next to Anjelika, his lovely wife, who had their baby Brygida on her knee. They were laughing with the little girl as she clapped her hands in delight at the flitting butterfly that eluded her.
The tears seeped from beneath his lashes as he sank further into the water. Anjelika had looked so beautiful that day in her floral dress, with ribbons in her dark hair and his locket around her neck. He could hear her laughter and that of his sister and child – could see his elderly parents and read again the anguish in their eyes as they tried to pretend they weren’t concerned that their only son was leaving once more to fight a war they didn’t understand. Could remember so painfully how he’d tried to imprint every moment of that day in his memory so he could carry the images with him. For now, they merely served to haunt him.
Aleksy angrily smeared away the tears, washed thoroughly and clambered out of the bath. Wrapping a towel round his waist, he cleaned the steam from the mirror and studied his face. It was a strong face – like his father’s – and although he was not yet forty, he now had the same wings of grey at his temples.
He looked away, the anguish in his eyes too hard to bear. Warsaw had fallen before he could reach his loved ones – and there had been no word from them since.
Chapter Three
They had all gone into the garden to inspect the Anderson shelter before it got too dark. The boys considered that sleeping in it would be a ripping adventure, and had to be forcefully made to understand it was for emergencies only. The adults were less enthusiastic, and there was muttering about seeking shelter in the basement or under the stairs until Peggy put her foot down and told them in no uncertain terms that they had no alternative.
She told Jim what needed to be done to make it more habitable, and, so he wouldn’t forget, handed him the list she’d made earlier before showing everyone where she’d stacked the spare blankets and pillows so they could be grabbed on the way down to the basement door. She had already placed the paraffin heater and Primus stove in the shelter along with a battered camping kettle and saucepan. A dozen candles and a big box of Swan Vesta matches were in an old biscuit tin to keep them dry.
Sally had watched in admiration as Peggy had organised everyone. Ron was to be in charge of the boys when the siren sounded, but the dog and ferrets would have to remain in the basement. She and Jim would take care of Mrs Finch, and the Pole would make sure everyone on the top floor had been accounted for, and that Sally could manage with Ernie. Once this was organised, they’d returned to the warmth of the house and the delicious aroma of stew.
The large dining room had an ornate fireplace and mantel, and bay windows hidden behind heavy velvet curtains that were lined with blackout material. Several small tables had been put together to accommodate them all, and these were covered with colourful cloths. The chairs didn’t match, the cutlery was diverse, and Ernie had to sit on two cushions to reach his plate. But none of it mattered, for the atmosphere was warm and friendly, and Sally began to feel a little more at ease.
She had been content to watch and listen as the family chatted about their day, Ernie and Charlie tried to outdo each other with tall stories, and Ron continued his argument with his son Jim that if he was going to die, then it would be in his own bed, with his animals beside him – and not in some hole in the ground with a tin roof.
Peggy was a real mother, she realised wistfully. The sort of woman who would offer comfort and advice, even a hug if necessary, and would never dream of abandoning her family for the bright lights of the nearest pub. And yet she was fully in charge of her household and plainly stood no nonsense. It was clear she adored her handsome husband, Jim, who had the same twinkling eyes and soft Irish brogue as his father – and used them to full effect. Possessed with the sort of charm that made women look at him twice, Sally suspected Peggy didn’t always have an easy time with him.
Mrs Finch was aptly named, for she was a tiny, birdlike woman who chattered away regardless of whether anyone was listening, her grey head bobbing as she consumed a surprising amount of stew and apple dumplings. The Polish airman who, to everyone’s relief, insisted they called him Alex, was quietly spoken with lovely manners, but Sally thought he had sad eyes and wondered why.
Cissy had stuck her blonde head around the door to greet everyone before disappearing upstairs. The meal was almost over by the time she returned in a cloud of perfume to announce she didn’t have time to eat because she’d be late for the theatre. Blowing a kiss to them all in dramatic fashion, she ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Anne had left soon after and, with a stiff little bow, Alex went back up to his room to study the English textbooks Anne had lent him. Mrs Finch settled down to her knitting by the kitchen fire, the dog lying across her feet until Ron took him out for his nightly walk to the pub.
As Sally had helped with the washing-up, she’d wondered what Martin Black was like. It sounded very romantic to be stepping out with a handsome and, no doubt, dashing RAF officer, and part of her wished that she too could go dancing or to the pictures. But as she said goodnight and carried a protesting Ernie upstairs, she realised that all the while she had him to care for, she wouldn’t get the chance. She felt no bitterness – it was a fact of life.
Ernie hadn’t wanted a bath; like Sally, he wasn’t used to such a big tub or so much water, and at first it had been a struggle to get him into it. She was soaked by the time he finally allowed her to wash him and, once he was clean and dry, and tucked up in bed, she’d sunk into the warm, slightly grubby water and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.
The first day was over and she felt slightly easier now she’d met everyone. But it still felt odd to be far from home, and for the first time in her life she felt a pang of something close to yearning for those cramped rooms in Bow. The Reillys seemed to be a warm-hearted and welcoming family – but they weren’t her family, and she must guard against the temptation to ever believe they could be.
Peggy had sorted out the boys, helped Mrs Finch to bed and finished the ironing. Now she was sitting beside the range with her knitting, listening to a concert on the wireless. Jim had gone back to work at the cinema for the evening session, Cissy was dancing in the revue at The Apollo, and Anne had gone to meet Martin. Sally and Ernie were upstairs, and no doubt Ron had taken Harvey to The Anchor, and was ogling the middle-aged landlady’s magnificent bosom as usual.
She chuckled as she counted stitches and changed needles. Ron had been widowed for nearly thirty years, and who could blame him for lusting after the luscious Rosie Braithwaite? He’d been at it for years with no luck at all – it seemed her determination to keep him at arm’s length was as strong as her knicker-elastic, for Ron had got no further than a peck on the cheek under the mistletoe at Christmas.
But then, she reasoned, the fun was in the chase, and perhaps they preferred to keep things as they were? She carried on knitting, but the music that poured softly from the wireless wasn’t really holding her attention. Her thoughts kept drifting to Sally and her little brother.