While We're Apart (4 page)

Beach View had been Peggy's home all her life, for it had belonged to her parents, and she and Jim had taken over the business once they'd retired to a bungalow further along the coast. They were gone now, and she still missed them, but at least they'd been spared yet another awful war, and had lived long enough to see most of their grandchildren come along.

As the threat of war had become reality, the once thriving boarding-house business had died, and with only the two nurses, Suzy and Fran, and the elderly widow, Cordelia Finch, as lodgers, Peggy had been at her wits' end to know how to keep the place going. But with every dark cloud comes a silver lining, and with the help of government grants to supplement the low rents, her empty rooms had been filled by the billeting office. The past three years had been interesting, to say the least, with all the comings and goings, and she still got the occasional letter or card from those who'd stayed for a while before moving on.

Beach View Boarding House stood three streets up the hill from the seafront in one of the many terraces of Victorian houses that were such a feature of Cliffehaven. Four storeys tall, it provided five bedrooms on the top two floors, another in the hall, and two more in the basement which Ron filled with all his clutter and shared with his dog, Harvey, and his two ferrets. Apart from the kitchen and basement scullery, there was a dining room which was rarely used now, and Peggy and Jim had scrimped and saved to have a bathroom put in upstairs. It was a luxury that had been worth every penny, even though strict rationing meant the days of soaking in deep hot water were gone.

In the long narrow back garden Ron's vegetable patch had taken over most of the space between the house and the ugly Anderson shelter. The outside lav had been rebuilt after the bomb blast from two streets up had flattened everything, and although the new lav and cistern were very posh, Peggy still felt guilty every time she saw it, for Ron had liberated it from the rubble of a bombed-out hotel. He'd assured her that it was all legal and above board, but Peggy knew him too well and still had her doubts.

There was also a shed which housed more of Ron's clutter and provided a hiding place for him when she needed things done about the house, and a chicken coop for the hens who managed regularly to lay enough eggs for everyone, despite the racket of air-raid sirens and squadrons of planes roaring overhead.

A large store of wood was piled next to the water butt and almost empty concrete coal bunker; a washing line was strung from a post nailed into the flint of the back-garden wall up to the house, and the two bicycles were sheltered from the elements by a sheet of tarpaulin that Ron had fixed beneath the kitchen window.

Peggy gave a wistful sigh as she thought about her lovely car which was now under wraps for the duration in a friend's garage, its tyreless wheels propped up on bricks. She did miss it, and now she had Daisy she couldn't even use her bike to get about.

She turned away from the dreary view and headed back downstairs. On reaching the kitchen she saw Ron was still entertaining Daisy with her wooden bricks, and Cordelia was engrossed in the afternoon wireless programme while she tried to make sense of her tangle of knitting. Harvey was sprawled in front of the range fire, snoring happily, his ears twitching only slightly every time Daisy knocked down the pile of bricks with a gurgle of delight.

With a sense of deep contentment, Peggy lit a Park Drive cigarette and sat down at the table, glad for a moment's respite before everyone came home for tea. She let her gaze drift to the mantelpiece over the range where she kept the framed photographs of her loved ones amidst the clutter of ration books, discarded lists and old bills.

There was Jim, so handsome in his REME uniform as he smiled back at her; and her two young sons, arm in arm in the back garden, mischief in their cheeky grins. Her spirits faltered somewhat as she looked at the photograph of her eldest daughter, Anne, who stood beside her husband, Wing Commander Martin Black, with their little Rose Margaret in her arms. Jim had been stationed God knew where up north, and Anne, the baby and Peggy's two boys were down in Somerset for the duration. She felt their absence keenly, for Rose and the boys were growing up without her, Jim's many letters couldn't compensate for the loss of his warm and loving company, and she ached to have them all home and to be a proper family again.

Refusing to dwell on these thoughts, she smoked her cigarette and admired the lovely studio shot of little Daisy who was now just two months away from her first birthday, and then moved on to the one of her nephew Anthony and his fiancée, Suzy, who'd been her lodger since before the war. Their wedding would be next – and as Peggy loved weddings, the thought cheered her up no end.

She grinned at the snapshot of Cissy, her second daughter, who had just turned twenty-one and looked very trim and glamorous in her WRAF uniform. Peggy was still smiling as she looked at the photograph of her lodgers. It had been taken in the back garden with her rather battered Box Brownie early this summer when Kitty Pargeter was still living here, and it gladdened her heart to see Cordelia and the six girls so clearly happy to be together.

Kitty's bright smile told of her courageous determination to live life to the full after having lost part of her leg in a plane crash. Suzy was the quintessential English rose and her fellow nurse, Fran, the fiery-haired Irish imp. Rita was dark-haired and, as usual, wearing trousers and that moth-eaten WWI flying jacket, and the sisters, Jane and Sarah, were fair and pretty. They had escaped Malaya just before the fall of Singapore, and were Cordelia Finch's great-nieces.

Peggy fondly regarded Cordelia, who'd given up on her tangled knitting and was dozing before the fire. Cordelia was in her late seventies and this cold, wet weather played havoc with her arthritis, but she remained cheerful and bright and keenly interested in what all the girls got up to. She had lived at Beach View for many years now and had become very dear to all of them, but her increasing deafness and her rather cavalier attitude to using her hearing aid caused a great many moments of hilarity as well as frustration – and it sometimes meant that conversations took very strange turns indeed.

As for Harvey! She eyed the large brindled lurcher with affection, despite the fact he was a ruddy nuisance at times. His latest escapade had been to impregnate a pedigree whippet whose owner had dumped the resulting puppy at Beach View. The pup, Monty, was now happily ensconced at the Anchor pub with the landlady, Rosie Braithwaite, and although Peggy was relieved not to have him under her feet all day, she still rather missed him.

Peggy stubbed out her cigarette as Harvey opened his eyes and yawned luxuriously. He was always blotting his copybook, but he was a faithful dog, and an intelligent one too: he'd become quite famous in the town for sniffing out people trapped in their bombed buildings. He and Ron were as scruffy and wayward as each other, but Peggy knew that the house simply wouldn't be the same without either of them.

Harvey pricked up his ears as a gust of cold wind blew in from the hall and the front door slammed.

Peggy headed for the kettle as Suzy and Fran shed their sodden nursing cloaks and shoes. ‘You look soaked through,' she said fretfully. ‘Go and dry off, or you'll catch your deaths.'

‘To be sure, Aunt Peggy, 'tis filthy weather out there,' Fran told her, as she unpinned the soggy white cap and shook out her damp tumble of russet curls.

‘The wind makes it worse,' said Suzy as she undid the button on her starched collar and stripped off her apron. ‘It drives the rain right through you.'

‘I'll make a pot of tea,' said Peggy. ‘Go and change.'

As the girls ran up the stairs, Daisy decided she'd had enough of her bricks and began to clamber over the recumbent Harvey, who lay and suffered in silence. Peggy placed the kettle on the hob and, carefully stepping over the scattered bricks, rescued the dog from Daisy's clutching fingers. ‘Can you tidy up these toys before someone breaks their neck tripping over them, Ron?'

Cordelia woke from her doze. ‘What boys?' she asked in confusion. ‘Are Bob and Charlie here?' She looked expectantly round the kitchen.

Peggy experienced a sudden pang of sadness. ‘No, Cordelia,' she said clearly. ‘Daisy's toys are in the way, that's all.'

Cordelia eyed her over her half-moon spectacles and frowned. ‘I do wish you wouldn't shout, dear,' she said with a cluck of annoyance. ‘I'm not deaf, you know.'

Ron dumped the bricks and toys into the playpen before turning to her with a mischievous smile that made his blue eyes sparkle beneath the wayward brows. ‘To be sure, Cordelia, you have a fine way of ignoring the truth,' he said.

Cordelia tried to be cross with him and failed. She could never resist his smile. ‘Get away with you, you old scallywag,' she retorted. ‘You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you.'

Peggy listened to this exchange while she settled Daisy in her high chair and made the tea. They had both hit the nail on the head, for Cordelia wouldn't accept the level of her deafness and, when it suited him, Ron had only a distant and rather vague acquaintance with the truth. But they enjoyed their little spats, and there was no harm done.

Cordelia struggled out of the armchair and began to lay the table for tea. ‘Is everyone home tonight?'

Peggy placed the teapot and cups on the table. ‘Everyone but Rita,' she replied. ‘She's going to the pictures with her nice young man, and they're planning to have a fish supper afterwards.'

Cordelia's face lit up with pleasure. ‘I do like Matthew,' she said. ‘And it's delightful to see our sweet little Rita start to blossom, don't you think?'

Peggy nodded. Rita had met Pilot Officer Matthew Champion at Kitty's wedding, and by the look of it, it had been love at first sight for the pair of them. He was a lovely lad, just into his twenties, and as dedicated to the RAF as her son-in-law Martin. But Matthew flew one of the large bombers that spent night after terrible night on raids over Europe, and she knew that Rita suffered dreadfully every time he went up.

Ron sank into a chair and lit his pipe. ‘I know what you're thinking, Peg,' he said once he'd worked up a cloud of smoke, ‘and it'll do no one any good. The heavy toll on the RAF is the same for our boys out there with the Atlantic convoys and those fighting in Egypt. We have to stay positive, or we'll never win this war.'

Peggy knew he was right, but it didn't make her fret any less, for Martin still flew his Spitfire on those raids into Europe. She determinedly pushed away the gloomy thoughts and put the potatoes and sprouts on to boil. Jim would be home tomorrow and she must concentrate on that, and be grateful that he was still in England, and would probably not be sent to fight anywhere. He was, after all, in his mid-forties and had done his bit in the last war.

As Ron and Cordelia carried on with their non-too-serious bickering, she checked the stew and ladled out a small portion for Daisy. Setting it to one side so it could cool, her skittering thoughts turned to the knotty problem of how to tell Jim about her close brush with death during the bombing raid earlier in the year, which had led to an early miscarriage and a hysterectomy. The telegram informing him of her operation had clearly not been delivered, for he hadn't mentioned it at all – and as the censors read everything she'd felt uncomfortable about revealing such intimate details in what should have been a very private letter.

She had almost decided on the best way to do it, but she was afraid he'd be upset that she hadn't told him earlier, and had battled through the ordeal without him by her side. She could only hope that her obvious good health and a meal of his favourite sausages, mashed potato and onion gravy would prove he really had nothing to worry about.

Suzy and Fran came back into the kitchen having changed into knitted sweaters, comfortable slacks and slippers. While Suzy made a fuss of Harvey and chatted to Cordelia, Fran carefully placed her vanity case and two towels on an empty chair. ‘I'll set your hair after tea, Auntie Peg,' she offered. ‘And then I'll do your nails and give you a face pack.'

‘Oh, I'm not sure I want that green goo on my face again,' said Peggy.

‘Well, we'll see about that,' said Fran, tossing her curls back. ‘But at least it will give you a chance to sit down and take a breather while I do your hair. To be sure,' she continued in her Irish lilt, ‘you've fair worn us all out with your dashing around these past few days.'

‘Aye, she's right about that,' said Ron as he puffed contentedly on his pipe. ‘You haven't sat still since the wedding, and if you're not careful you'll be worn to a frazzle by the time that son of mine gets home.'

‘A bit of hard work never killed anyone,' Peggy retorted, ‘and I don't want him coming home and thinking I've let things go.'

‘Ach, Peggy girl, he'll not be worrying his head about spit and polish,' said Ron. ‘He'll have had enough of that in the army, so he will.' His greying brows lowered as he suddenly noticed Fran's vanity case and the towels. ‘I hope you're not contemplating attacking me with your scissors again,' he rumbled.

Peggy, Suzy and Fran giggled, remembering the last time Fran had brought her hairdressing things into the kitchen, when she had forced him to sit still while she cut his hair and trimmed his flyaway brows.

Fran shot him an impish grin. ‘Ach, Uncle Ron, you're quite safe. 'Tis Peggy's turn today.'

‘I'm glad to hear it,' he muttered.

Jane came up the cellar steps, shivering with cold and thoroughly drenched. ‘Is autumn always like this in England, Auntie Peg?' she asked wanly.

‘I'm afraid it often is,' Peggy replied as she helped her off with her far-from-adequate raincoat. ‘But you'll soon get used to it.'

Jane smoothed her hands over her fair hair and flicked the long, thick, soggy plait over her shoulder. ‘And to think I used to moan about the heat and humidity in Malaya,' she said with a wry smile. ‘What I wouldn't do for a bit of sunshine now.'