Keep Smiling Through (14 page)

Breakfast was a bit late, but it didn’t seem to matter, for everyone was reluctant to leave the warmth of the kitchen for the blustery, cold dark day outside. Peggy knew she still glowed from their lovemaking, and wondered if it was at all obvious to anyone – and rather wished that Jim wouldn’t keep winking at her from across the table. Mrs Finch was eyeing them both suspiciously, and it was disconcerting to say the least.

Anne went back upstairs to wash and dress as Suzy, Fran and June helped to clear the dishes before they wished her luck and sped off for their shift at the hospital. Peggy had warned them to behave while she was away, and although they’d promised faithfully, she couldn’t quite dismiss the feeling that they were only humouring her. June was a bit of a man-eater, Fran was always up to some kind of mischief, and Suzy – well, Suzy was just too pretty to be safe anywhere.

‘I hope you’ll be as strict with them as you are with Cissy,’ she said to Jim as Anne came to join them for a cup of tea before she and Jim had to leave for the bus. ‘And watch out for June. She and Cissy aren’t the best of friends since their falling out over Joe Buchanan, and I don’t want any unpleasantness – especially now that Anne’s here.’

‘Mum,’ protested Anne. ‘I’m perfectly capable of dealing with June and Cissy.’

‘Will you listen to yourself, woman?’ muttered Jim. ‘Stop fretting, will you? Everything will be fine.’ He winked at Ron, who was slurping his tea on the other side of the kitchen table. ‘Me and Da will keep the home fires burning, won’t we, Da?’

Ron finished his tea and nodded. ‘That we will, Peggy.’ He reached for his poacher’s coat and clicked his tongue. Harvey leaped from his favourite place by the range and barked excitedly at the promise of a day’s hunting.

Peggy kissed Ron’s stubbly cheek and wrinkled her nose at the pungent aroma drifting from the weatherproof coat. ‘What on earth have you got in there?’

He grinned. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’ With that, he headed for the steps that led down to the basement. ‘I’ll feed the chickens, and then see if I can find something for the pot. Anne’s promised a stew for tonight.’

Harvey raced back and licked Peggy’s hand as if he understood she was leaving, then almost bowled Ron over as he shoved his way through the door and down the steps.

Ron grasped the doorjamb to steady himself before he turned and rammed his cap over his silvery mop of unruly hair. ‘Take care, Peg, and make sure those young rapscallions have a good Christmas.’ His thick, bristly eyebrows lowered. ‘You did remember to pack those presents, didn’t you?’

Peggy’s eyes swam with unshed tears as she nodded and listened to him clump down the concrete steps and slam through the back door. She turned back to the others. ‘Oh, dear,’ she sniffed. ‘Are you sure you can all cope without me?’

Mrs Finch’s grey head bobbed as she smiled at Peggy and placed her soft, warm hand on her cheek. ‘Go and see your boys,’ she said, ‘and be thankful they aren’t on the other side of the world like my family. Anne and I will keep an eye on things here, don’t you fret.’

Peggy carefully gave her a hug, wary of brittle bones and unsteady feet. ‘Don’t let them wear you out – and ask for help when you need it,’ she ordered, mouthing the words clearly so the old lady understood.

‘We’ll be fine,’ said Anne as she stood and eased her back in the way of all pregnant women. ‘Go, Mum, and give those boys a big kiss and hug for me.’

Peggy kissed her and gently patted the bump. ‘You take care of my grandchild, and don’t do anything silly,’ she murmured.

Jim held out her coat, gas mask box and handbag. ‘You’ll miss the bus,’ he warned. ‘Come on. Time we left.’

Peggy slipped on her coat and gloves, her gaze settling on the beloved faces that looked back at her. Then she followed him into the hall and out of the front door without looking back. It was better that way, for then they wouldn’t see her tears.

She hastily blew her nose and tucked her hand in the crook of Jim’s arm. He was carrying her suitcase as well as the large string bag stuffed with presents, and was looking very smart in his best overcoat and soft trilby. But as she trotted along beside him down the steep hill to the trolleybus stop on the seafront, her emotions were in turmoil.

They had rarely been apart during their marriage, and three weeks was a long time. Jim had a habit of flirting with anything in a skirt, and there had been many a time she’d threatened to either murder him or leave, but she’d carried on loving him. Now she was putting that love to the test, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready.

It was bitterly cold on the seafront, the wind threatening to tear off her hat as the foamy heads of the thundering waves tossed spume in the air, crashing against the shingle. Peggy stood and watched the sea, never tiring of its majesty. She would miss it in the heart of Somerset.

‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ said Jim, as they found a seat and the trolleybus jerked away from the stop. He took her gloved hand and held it between his own. ‘We’ll be fine,’ he soothed.

She looked into his eyes and knew he understood her fears. ‘Are you sure?’

He nodded. ‘There’s only one woman for me, Peggy Reilly, and she’s sitting right beside me.’

Peggy would have liked to kiss him, but they were surrounded by strangers and it wouldn’t be seemly. She squeezed his fingers instead. ‘That’s all right then,’ she murmured as she looked into his handsome face and prayed that it would be.

The trolleybus whined and juddered up the High Street then came to a halt outside the bus station.

Jim collected the case from the luggage rack, grabbed the string bag and helped Peggy alight. She was wearing her high heels, her best coat and dress, and one of Doris’s cast-off hats, and knew she looked very smart, but probably not at all practically turned out for the long journey ahead. Clutching his arm again, she walked slowly towards the green and yellow charabanc which was already waiting at the kerb with its engine running.

In a sudden moment of panic, Peggy tightened her grip on his arm. ‘What if something happens and I can’t get back?’ she said, her mouth dry, the fear coursing through her. ‘What if Beach View is bombed? What if—?’

‘What if you get on the damned bus and stop fretting yourself into a standstill?’ Jim said softly. He put down the case and in front of an interested and amused audience of bus passengers and passers-by, swept her into his arms and kissed her so ravishingly that she almost lost her hat.

‘Jim,’ she hissed, red in the face and unable to think straight as she rescued her hat and tried to tidy herself.

‘Get on the bus,’ he ordered softly, ‘and give those boys of ours a big hug for me and Da.’

Peggy stood on tiptoe, held onto her hat and kissed him softly on the lips. ‘I love you, Jim Reilly,’ she murmured. Before he could say anything, and before she showed herself up by bursting into tears, she took the string bag from him, turned away, clambered onto the bus and showed the driver her ticket.

She heard Jim talking to the driver as he stowed her case in the luggage rack, but continued her way along the narrow aisle between the seats, resolutely ignoring everyone until she found an empty place near the back.

Sitting down, she kept her face turned towards the window, her handbag, gas mask box and the string bag tightly gripped in her hands as if they were the anchors that kept her tied to Cliffehaven and her precious family.

The driver closed the door, clambered back into his seat and revved the engine. With a deep rumble, the charabanc slowly moved away from the kerb. But where was Jim? She couldn’t see him.

And there he was, tall and handsome, the trilby pulled raffishly over one eye as he kept pace with the bus. Peggy put her hand on the glass, her expression saying so much more than any words could – and he seemed to understand, for his eyes held her until the last moment.

She twisted in her seat as she was carried away from him, and the last she saw of him was the hat being waved in the air as he stood like a rock in the middle of the busy High Street and defied the oncoming traffic.

Peggy sagged against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. All she could do now was pray that this war would spare her family and that she would see all of them again.

Ron was where he loved to be: high above Cliffehaven, the wind tearing at his hair and plastering his long coat around his legs as Harvey raced back and forth, nose to the ground, tail windmilling in the pursuit of rabbit and hare.

It was bitterly cold, making his eyes water and his cheeks sting, but Ron felt more at home here than sitting in front of the fire in Peggy’s kitchen. He knew these hills so well, and they gave him the time and space to breathe and think, provided the family with good food according to the seasons, and offered a chance for Harvey to be carefree again.

He hitched the rifle’s broken stock over his shoulder and smiled as he watched the lurcher chase after something through the long, windswept grass. Harvey had proved to be an excellent rescue dog, his finely tuned nose sniffing out people who had been buried beneath their bombed out homes and businesses. He’d become quite a hero during these past months, and he deserved these few hours of freedom to be just Harvey.

Ron was hardly out of breath as he tramped up the steep incline and paused for a moment to take in the view from the highest peak of the chalk cliffs. There were numerous gun emplacements all along the cliff-tops which marred the beauty of his surroundings, but he could look back on Cliffehaven from here and see how it stretched beneath him, the bay curving from these tall white cliffs to the western hills that softly undulated towards the sea. The landscape had changed over the past months, and several gaps denoted where a church spire, a tenement block or a row of shops had once been – but for all that, it was still home and Ron felt at peace.

He made himself comfortable on a convenient tuft of sturdy grass and lit his pipe, content to while away the time and leave Harvey to chase and forage and roll about in fox droppings. It would mean having to scrub him down when they got home, but with Peggy away, it probably didn’t matter too much.

Then he remembered that his granddaughter Anne had moved in – which meant he would definitely have to clean Harvey up. The girl was as fussy as her mother, and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot – not while she was carrying his first great-grandchild.

The thought rather shocked him. He didn’t feel old enough for such things, and it was sobering to realise how many years had flown by without him even noticing. Where had they gone – and what had he to show for them but a few old clothes, a couple of guns, fishing rods and rabbit nets?

He gave a deep sigh as he thought about the years he’d run his small fleet of fishing boats down on that shore – of the two sons he and Emily had raised in the tiny cottage that had once stood nearby – and of the loving family Peggy had warmly allowed him to join when Emily died and he was left all alone. They had been good years, and he was a lucky man. His only wish now was to see his sons, Jim and Frank, reconciled, and he had hoped their rescue mission to Dunkirk would be a beginning – but it seemed that whatever it was they’d fallen out about still kept them apart.

Preferring not to dwell on such things, he leaned back on his elbows, puffed on his pipe and let his gaze drift towards the elegant lines of Victorian terraces that climbed the hill to the east of Cliffehaven, and on to Camden Road and the Anchor pub. Rosie would be getting ready to open for the lunchtime crowd, and he could just picture her behind the bar, her voluptuous curves drawing every red-blooded man’s eye as she sashayed back and forth, opened bottles, and pulled pints.

‘Rosie,’ he murmured around the stem of his pipe, ‘you’re a wonder to be sure. And ’tis a wonder you give an old reprobate like me the time of day.’ He puffed contentedly as he thought of the afternoon ritual they’d fallen into, with him sitting in her little upstairs parlour drinking tea after the pub was closed for the afternoon.

The view was forgotten as he pictured Rosie in her chintz-covered chair, her high-heeled shoes kicked off, her long, finely shaped legs curled beneath her, the blouse undone just enough to give a tantalising glimpse of warm, peachy flesh. Rosie Braithwaite was perfect in every way, and Ron became lost in erotic fantasy.

Harvey spoiled the moment by flopping down beside him, reeking of fox. ‘Ach,’ he said in disgust. ‘Ye’re a heathen animal, so you are.’

Harvey panted and wriggled his eyebrows before rolling with vigorous relish in the grass.

Ron ruffled his shaggy fur and was rewarded with an enthusiastic lick across his face. ‘Get away with ye,’ he growled, giving him a gentle push. ‘Go on. Find something for the pot and leave an old man to his dreams.’

Harvey raced off and Ron got to his feet. Dreams and reality were not easy bedfellows, and he doubted he’d ever get further with Rosie than helping her in the bar and drinking tea in her parlour. But an old man could dream, couldn’t he? And there was still plenty of life in him, even if he was over sixty and had nothing much to offer.

Feeling much more cheerful, he whistled to Harvey, hitched the rifle over his shoulder and tramped towards the distant copse of trees where there would be plenty of burrows, and perhaps even a pheasant or two that had escaped from the big estate further north. With the gamekeeper and estate workers busy soldiering, there was always a good chance of something to be had – and he was certain Rosie would appreciate a nice fat bird for her Christmas dinner. He grinned at the thought that she might even invite him to help her eat it – and with a few tots of whisky to follow, who knew what might happen?

Rita had been on tenterhooks ever since she’d returned to the recruitment office with her birth certificate. The woman had clearly been surprised at her eagerness, and had softened enough to tell her more about the kind of work she might be doing.

It was a bit of a worry that she’d have to be billeted in one of the large accommodation blocks on the airbase and therefore would have little chance to keep an eye on Louise. But it all sounded terribly exciting, and she was bursting to tell someone other than May – yet, like May, she knew it wouldn’t be wise to say anything until she had confirmation.