Where the Heart Lies (18 page)

She walked barefooted into the hall and went into her bedroom where she gathered clean clothes together before traipsing up the stairs to the first-floor bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she pulled the blackout curtain, turned on the light and lit the boiler, which always threatened to singe the lashes and brows of the uninitiated.

She sat on the edge of the bath and turned the taps, once again thanking her lucky stars for the luxury of an indoor bath. It was worth every hard-earned penny, but she did wish the government restrictions allowed more than just a couple of inches of water to soak in.

She sighed as she stripped off her filthy clothes and left them in a pile on the linoleum. ‘At least I no longer have to sit in a tin tub in front of the
kitchen range,’ she muttered, ‘and that’s a blessing if ever there was one.’

The cold little room filled with steam and she daringly let the water rise to four inches before turning off the taps with a silent promise to make up for her selfishness by using the water to soak Ron’s vegetable patch.

Sinking into the enveloping warmth, she slid down until the water lapped at her ears, and then closed her eyes. Peace, perfect peace – at last.

Julie had decided the doctors didn’t need to know about William just yet. There was little point in rocking the boat before she’d managed to sort out accommodation and a babysitter, but time was running out, and she was all too aware of how very difficult things would get if she had to move into the Town Hall.

As it was Saturday afternoon, there was no surgery, and the elderly Dr Sayers had welcomed her warmly and shown her into his consulting room. They had struck up an instant rapport, and Julie was pleased at how well this initial interview was going.

She sat patiently and waited for him to finish reading Matron’s letter of introduction. Kath’s description suited him admirably, for he was a natty, wholesome-looking man in his seventies, with impeccably groomed white hair and beard, the moustache twirled and waxed, his eyebrows brushed into sweeping wings above friendly grey eyes. He
wore a tweed suit and matching waistcoat, with a gold watch-chain looped across his flat midriff, and the hands that held the letter were square and capable, the nails clean and short. He exuded confidence and kindness, and she had no doubt that he was beloved by his patients.

‘That all seems in order,’ he said in a deep baritone. ‘I must say, your application arrived at the most opportune moment, Sister Harris. Our district nurse left almost a month ago, and it’s been almost impossible to find her replacement.’ He gave her a friendly smile. ‘You’ll find things a bit quieter here than in London, but I can promise you’ll be kept busy.’

‘I like being busy,’ she assured him. ‘Are there other nurses linked to the practice, or will I be on me own?’

‘There are two young volunteers, and Sister Beecham is my practice nurse. She is in overall charge of the nursing side of things, so you’ll refer to her regarding your schedule and so on. We will of course provide you with a uniform and bicycle.’ He grinned. ‘Cliffehaven is quite spread out, and very hilly, so I hope you’ve got strong legs.’

Julie chuckled. ‘I’ve cycled most of London, so I think I can manage.’

He pushed back from his leather chair, picked up the briar pipe that lay in a nearby ashtray and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. ‘Welcome aboard, Sister Harris. We’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.’

His handshake was dry and firm and Julie left the house feeling rather lucky to have such a pleasant doctor in charge. She had yet to meet his son, or the practice sister, but she was sure she’d get along with them too, for the whole place had a happy, homely atmosphere.

As she stepped out of the front door and headed for the gate, she looked at the luminous dial on her watch. It was almost six o’clock and the only light was from the moon. Mrs Reilly was bound to be at home by now. She hurried into the little park which had been turned into one huge allotment, then jumped as the wail of a nearby siren started up. Her thoughts raced. She was too far from William to get to him, and she had no idea where the nearest public shelter was, or where Eileen might take him. If she ran fast enough, perhaps she could intercept her?

Her heart was pounding as she ran through the darkness and emerged from the park, disorientated and unsure in the blackout of how to get back to the flat. This wasn’t the same road she’d come in from – where was the church, the High Street? She scrabbled in her pocket for Eileen’s map, but it was too dark to read it.

She dithered, the panic rising as more sirens began to wail throughout the town. And then she heard the shout of a warden, and was caught up in the hurrying mass of people who seemed to be heading towards what looked like a playing field. She tried to battle against the tide, her fear for William
growing, her need to get to him paramount. But the warden had grabbed her arm and was propelling her along, yelling at her to get a move on. There was no way to escape this surging mass of humanity.

Searchlights were spluttering into life, their phosphorescent fingers criss-crossing the clear, starlit sky. Eileen must have left with William by now, she reasoned as she was swept along. All she could do was pray she’d keep him safe.

The field lay to the north of the little park, the shelter dug deep beneath the ground and surrounded by walls of sandbags. Julie’s breath came in sharp gasps as the jostling crowd carried her inexorably down the steep concrete steps and into its depths as the first ack-ack guns shot tracers of red into the sky.

The underground shelter was poorly lit and smelled damp, but there were benches and chairs, and the floor had been concreted. Burlap screens had been set around buckets to provide makeshift lavatories, the stink of the chemicals inside them pervading the vast cavern. Julie found a space by the door and desperately searched for sight of Eileen and William, but in the gloom and the crush, it was impossible to see anything clearly.

She shivered as the warden slammed the door shut and turned the locking wheel that would effectively seal them in. She hated that sound, hated the claustrophobia of so many people crammed in together – hated the thought of how far underground they were, and how swiftly they could all
be crushed. But most of all she feared for William – the noise and the strange surroundings would terrify him, and Eileen wouldn’t know how to soothe him. She might even lose her patience and . . .

She closed her eyes and willed the raid to be over quickly, but even as she prayed, she could hear the sound of enemy aircraft overhead, the rat-a-tat-tat of the local guns and the booms of the Bofors she’d glimpsed on the seafront and along the cliffs. Was Cliffehaven the target tonight, or poor old London? Either way, William was in as much danger here as anywhere, and she had to trust that her sister would protect him.

When Peggy heard the siren, she grabbed their coats and the box she kept ready with supplies, and quickly helped Mrs Finch down the cellar steps and into the garden. Rita and the other two girls would stay on duty until the raid was over; Jim was at the cinema and Ron was probably at the Anchor. ‘I’ll get you settled,’ she shouted above the noise of the guns, ‘and then go and find Anne.’

Mrs Finch’s grip was surprisingly strong as she grabbed her wrist. ‘You mustn’t go out in this,’ she shouted back. ‘Anne said she was going to the seafront, so she’ll be quite safe in the shelter under the Grand Hotel.’

‘I can’t be sure of that,’ said Peggy as she bundled the elderly woman into the Anderson shelter and helped her into her deckchair, then frantically
stuffed cushions around her to keep her from slipping out. ‘She’s been gone for nearly an hour. If she’s caught in this she won’t be able to run very fast. I have to find her.’

Mrs Finch looked up at her, her pale eyes bright with tears. ‘Please don’t go, Peggy. It’s too dangerous.’

‘I have to.’ Peggy lit the kerosene lamp and tucked a blanket round the little woman. ‘Stay here,’ she ordered, handing her a packet of biscuits from the box, ‘and if you get at all frightened, turn off that hearing aid so you can go to sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.’

Mrs Finch grabbed her sleeve. ‘God go with you, Peggy,’ she said, the tears streaming down her lined face.

Peggy swiftly kissed her cheek then hurried out of the shelter. Once she’d made sure the door was fastened properly, she raced out of the back gate and down the alleyway to the main road that led straight to the seafront. She could hear a warden shouting in the distance and knew that if she was caught without her gas-mask box she’d be heavily fined – but that wasn’t important. Her daughter was out there, and Peggy just knew she was in trouble.

The sirens were all going now, right through the town, the searchlights weaving back and forth as the first phalanx of enemy planes advanced over the Channel and the RAF raced to intercept them. The guns on the cliffs were booming, the tracer bullets zipping through the black skies as the bright yellow
pom-poms burst to light up the enemy planes and give those guns a good target.

The continuous bursting of shells lit her way as she ran down the hill towards the seafront. She stumbled as her bedroom slippers caught in the rough pavement, and she kicked them off. Running in her bare feet, she called out to Anne in the hope she could hear above the awful racket of the numerous dogfights overhead.

The seafront was deserted but for the soldiers manning the guns, and there was no answer to her desperate calls. She continued running along the pavement, past the boarded-up private hotels, until she reached the Grand. It was in total darkness and, as she tried the front door, she found it was locked.

She stood there panting and in terror. Perhaps Anne was in the shelter beneath the Grand – in which case she should go back home. But something told Peggy that wasn’t the case. She might have changed her mind and not even come this way. But where could she have gone? The main communal shelter was on the far side of town. Surely she wouldn’t have walked that far?

Peggy dithered, and then the thought came that Anne might have gone to see her father at the cinema. She often called in to share a cuppa with him in the projection room. In a fever of anxiety, she ran along the seafront, hardly noticing the heavy booms of the nearby guns, or the roar of the planes overhead. Nor did she realise that her feet were cut
and bleeding, or that she had a sharp pain in her side as she began to run up the steep hill towards the Odeon. All she could feel was a growing dread that her daughter needed her. ‘Anne!’ she screamed. ‘Anne, where are you?’

A low-flying enemy plane roared above her, bullets spewing from its underbelly to crack and thud all around her. Peggy threw herself into a nearby doorway and curled into a ball, her head buried in her arms as the bullets ricocheted off brick and thudded into the road.

The Gerry plane roared away and Peggy lifted her head, ready to make a run for it. But as she warily emerged from her makeshift shelter she saw it turn sharply and come in low and fast – heading straight towards her, guns blazing. The bastard was coming back for a second go.

Peggy dived back into the doorway, her terror too great even to cry out as the bullets rattled and thudded and whined within inches of her. And then she was almost lifted off the step by the heavy blast from a nearby explosion.

Her ears were ringing as she cringed and trembled, and the house shook and debris rained down on her to scatter and tumble across the road and down the hill. ‘Anne, oh, Anne,’ she moaned. ‘Please, please, God, don’t let her be out in this.’

The presbytery had been standing next to the Catholic church for decades, but the nearby bomb-blast had finally signed its death warrant and, as
Peggy huddled on the step, the walls began to crumble. Guttering screeched as it buckled and tore from its moorings, slates slid with a crash to the ground and the old house groaned as, bit by bit, it began to topple.

Peggy darted out just as a huge lump of concrete thudded onto the step. She stared at it, frozen in horror by how close death had come. Now the walls were beginning to bow, the window frames threatening to snap under the pressure. A slate came winging from the roof like a discus and she leaped out of the way as it thudded into the ground where she’d been standing.

Spurred into action, Peggy stumbled away, clambering over the debris, oblivious to the fact that the enemy was heading back over the Channel, the RAF boys in swift pursuit.

‘Anne! Anne!’ she called, her throat rough and dry, the smoke and dust making her cough and her eyes burn. The back of the church was on fire, and several buildings had collapsed following that terrible blast, and she could barely see anything. ‘Anne,’ she called again, more in hope than expectation.

‘Mum?’ The voice was faint, but unmistakable. ‘Mum, help me.’

Peggy looked wildly round. ‘Where are you?’ she yelled. ‘I can’t see you.’

‘The post office,’ came the hysterical response. ‘Under the post office.’

Peggy clambered and clawed her way over the
rubble which lay strewn across the road, her heart pounding as she took in the devastation. ‘I’m here,’ she called. ‘Keep talking, Anne. You have to help me find you.’

‘Be careful, Mum,’ Anne sobbed. ‘The whole place is about to collapse and I’m trapped down here.’

‘Keep calm, love. I know what I’m doing.’ Peggy eyed the layer upon layer of bricks, beams, windows, doors and shattered concrete in despair. Ceiling laths were scattered like matchsticks; electricity wires threaded through the rubble, hissing like snakes as they came into contact with a leaking water pipe. She hadn’t a clue how she would get to Anne, but she’d damned well find a way, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

‘Keep talking,’ she said grimly, picking her way over the ruins with catlike caution.

‘I’m frightened, Mum,’ Anne said tremulously. ‘I think the baby’s coming.’

‘Dear God,’ breathed Peggy as she homed in on her daughter’s voice and carefully began to clear a way through. ‘Don’t cry, darling,’ she soothed, ‘just keep breathing deeply and evenly and everything will be all right. I’m almost there.’