The Shipyard Girls, page 14
‘It makes you wonder about her life outside the yards, doesn’t it?’ Polly spoke her thoughts aloud.
Gloria agreed. ‘I know. We’ve been working with her for nearly a month now and we know next to nothing about her.’ Even Gloria had talked a little about her own life, and she was someone who kept her guard up most of the time. Working the kinds of hours they all worked, and as closely as they worked, it was hard for the women not to get to know each other.
‘Shall we see if she wants to come to the canteen with us to cheer her up?’ Dorothy suggested.
Gloria and Polly gave each other a slightly despairing look, as they both knew why Dorothy wanted to go to the cafeteria, and it wasn’t just to lift Rosie’s mood.
Martha said a loud and enthusiastic ‘Yes’. She had started to speak the odd word, which had initially shocked the women, but they’d been astute enough not to react. They hadn’t wanted Martha to clam up just as she was beginning to open up.
When the midday horn sounded out, though, Rosie left before the women had a chance to ask if she’d like to join them. Still, it was agreed they’d all head over to the canteen regardless. As well as it giving them all a reprieve from Dorothy’s continued and persistent pleas to mingle with the men, the women were glad to have a change from their daily diet of sandwiches. So after they had switched off their machines and Dorothy had given herself a quick spruce-up, the women grabbed their purses out of their small canvas work bags and walked over to the fitting-out dock to fetch Hannah.
When they all walked through the canteen doors, they breathed a collective sigh of relief as this time there was only a very brief lapse in the men’s eating while they noted the women’s presence. The women welders weren’t exactly part of the furniture yet, but they were no longer viewed as aliens from outer space, and for this the women were grateful.
After they had paid for their lunch, they made a beeline for the same table they had sat at the first time, finding comfort and confidence in familiarity. As they ate and chatted, Dorothy’s eyes flitted across the room before finding Eddie, who was holding court with a group of other riveters two tables along from the women.
Gloria had spotted him before they’d sat down and had noted how he’d inspected Dorothy from top to bottom. She’d also observed how he then pretended not to notice her and how he became louder as he regaled his workmates with a tale the women couldn’t hear, but which was captivating the men next to him.
He continued to ignore Dorothy, who had been batting her long and naturally dark eyelashes over at him to no avail, and who looked crestfallen as he cold-shouldered her during the course of their time in the canteen. Then, just as he and the rest of the small group of riveters got up to leave, he threw Dorothy a look, followed by a brief flash of a smile. A look of unadulterated glee immediately appeared on Dorothy’s face, having finally been acknowledged by the man with whom she was clearly infatuated.
‘How long’s he been working here?’ Gloria asked Dorothy as they walked back across the yard. There was no need to say who she was talking about.
‘Eddie? Not long. I think he got a job here shortly after war was declared.’
‘And what was he doing before then?’ Gloria probed.
‘I don’t think he had a job as such.’ Dorothy hesitated.
‘Funny, that,’ Gloria mused.
‘What do you mean?’ Dorothy asked in all innocence.
‘Well,’ Gloria said, ‘he wouldn’t be the first man averse to a bit of hard graft to suddenly find himself a job in the yards or down the mines to dodge conscription. Beats risking life and limb fighting the Jerries, I suppose,’ she added with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Dorothy looked at her and for once didn’t come back with a retort.
‘All right, ladies, that’s enough chatter. Back to work.’ Rosie was waiting for her flock by the ship’s half-built hull. She didn’t seem as weary now, but her face still hadn’t shaken the look of a woman who had much on her mind.
She had spent her lunch hour walking along to Roker, dropping down to have a stroll along Marine Walk, which ran parallel to the cordoned-off beach. The sea was unusually calm and in complete contrast to her own mental turmoil. Her mind had worked through every possible scenario of her problem, but each time she’d hit a dead end.
For starters there was no way she could go to the police, as Raymond would just deny outright that he was blackmailing her, and worse still, Rosie knew he would be certain to tell the local constabulary all about her evening job and about Lily’s illicit establishment.
If Rosie gave in to Raymond’s demands and handed over the money he wanted every week, she’d be able to keep working and just about survive, but she wouldn’t be able to afford to pay Charlotte’s boarding school fees.
Likewise, if she refused her uncle’s demands and he carried out his threat and made it known what she did at Lily’s, she wouldn’t be able to work again anywhere in the north-east, let alone as a welder. But most importantly, she would again be in a position whereby she’d be unable to afford to keep Charlotte in school.
Even if Rosie decided to simply run away and move to another part of the country to work, there was still a chance Raymond would track her down. Even if he didn’t, though, he would definitely be able to find Charlotte. There weren’t that many all-girl boarding schools in the country, and he would know her sister was probably in the north, somewhere near enough for Rosie to visit regularly.
Whatever way she looked at it, even if Rosie somehow managed to find a way to free herself from Raymond’s clutches, he would always be able to claw her back in by threatening Charlotte’s well-being.
As Rosie had walked back to work for the afternoon shift, in desperation she had started to think about how she could make this evil, soulless man disappear from her life for good. She thought of the ways and means of doing away with him, and in doing so rid the world of someone who only caused hurt, harm and destruction. Who would miss him? Rosie asked herself. No one. And more importantly, who would care? No one was again the answer. But much as she saw it as a credible possibility – a solution to her problem – she knew deep down that she could never take another person’s life, no matter how sick and twisted they were.
Throughout the afternoon shift, all Rosie could think of was getting back to her bedsit and writing a letter to her sister to tell her to be vigilant, and warn her about Raymond in such a way that it wouldn’t worry or scare her. Then she wanted to simply put her head down and sleep to give herself a few hours’ escape from this living nightmare she’d been plunged into. Perhaps, she hoped, after she had caught up on some sleep, she would have a clearer head and would think of something. Anything.
There had to be a way out of this.
At the end of the shift, Rosie said a quick goodbye to the women and for once was the first to leave. As she hurried through the dense crowd of fellow workers, she was impatient to get out. She felt trapped by so many people. She just needed to breathe and be on her own.
As she walked up the embankment to the main road, Rosie realised Raymond had her exactly where he wanted her. Just like he had when she’d been a grieving fifteen-year-old. After that sickening night, when he had so brutally taken her innocence, she had thought, or rather hoped, that she would never clap eyes on him again. Deep down, though, she’d known she hadn’t seen the last of him, and she knew now, without a doubt, that as long as her uncle was drawing breath, he would continue to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Polly… I was wondering… are you finishing on time tonight?’
Polly felt her whole body jump to life despite being shattered after a hard day’s graft. It was Tommy. Polly knew his voice well enough now to know who it was before she saw him. As she turned around, though, she was still taken aback when she looked at him. His tall, thickset body and worn face gave him a formidable presence, but he never came across as intimidating. Quite the reverse. When you looked into his eyes, there was a vulnerability there which could not be disguised. Polly wondered if Tommy himself was aware of it. Like at this very moment, as he stood there, separated from her by the expanse of a large metal sheet, he looked uncertain of himself, and more than a little awkward.
‘Yes, it looks like it. Rosie left on the dot tonight.’ Polly managed to sound much more energetic than she felt.
‘I know. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen her leave work on time,’ Tommy said, a wide smile appearing on his face as it always seemed to do whenever he was in Polly’s company.
‘See ya, Pol,’ Gloria interrupted, slinging her boxed-up gas mask and holdall over her shoulder. Martha followed with a big grin, a salutary wave, and a loud ‘Bye’. Dorothy and Hannah had already said their cheerios and left a few minutes earlier.
‘Bye, Gloria. See ya, Martha,’ Polly shouted across to her friends as they left, before turning her attention back to Tommy.
‘I was wondering…’ Tommy hesitated, ‘if… if you’d like some company on your way home.’
Polly’s face lit up. ‘That’d be nice. Yes, I’d like that,’ she said, gathering up her belongings and hoping the warm glow she felt spreading across her face wasn’t making her blush. ‘You’re not on your bike today then?’ Polly had seen Tommy arrive and leave work numerous times on his noisy black BSA.
‘No, I thought I’d give her a rest,’ Tommy said, quickly making his way round the metal sheet as Polly picked up her holdall. He offered to carry Polly’s bag but she declined, and the pair ambled off towards the main gates.
They were just getting their clocking-off cards out when Polly heard someone running up behind them.
‘Tommy,’ a gentle, sultry voice called out.
Polly turned to see the voluptuous, raven-haired beauty that was Helen Crawford approaching them both. A wolf whistle sounded out across the yard, and Helen smiled. She clearly enjoyed the attention.
As Helen slowed to a walk, Polly felt totally entranced by the vision of this incredible-looking woman. She had seen her from afar many times over the past few weeks and knew she was Jack’s daughter and worked in some kind of managerial role in the administration offices, but she had never come face to face with her, or spoken to her before. Her heart sank as she realised this woman was even more stunning up close than when viewed from afar. Her green eyes were startling, and her hourglass figure, with her tiny waist, full hips and a bust she was quite obviously proud of, just screamed sex goddess.
‘Tommy,’ Helen said breathlessly, ‘my mother wanted to give you this for Arthur and to tell him we were all asking after him.’ She handed Tommy a cardboard cake box, which had been tied with a pretty yellow ribbon. ‘It’s his favourite – fruit cake,’ she said, gently touching Tommy on the arm. Polly noticed her nails had been French manicured to perfection.
‘Oh, thanks, Helen,’ said Tommy. ‘Arthur’ll be chuffed to pieces. Say thanks to Miriam. That’s very kind.’
Helen didn’t once take her eyes off Tommy. Polly could have been invisible for all Helen cared. Polly had never felt quite so insignificant in someone’s company in her entire life. But what was worse was that this stunning woman undoubtedly had the glad eye for Tommy. And the realisation that Helen had her sights set on the man Polly knew she herself was falling for, had fallen for already, made her heart sink.
Alongside Helen’s vibrant good looks, Polly felt like a faded-out sepia photograph, her mousey hair limp and boring next to Helen’s glossy black mane. Envy filled Polly, but not just because of Helen’s breathtaking good looks: it was her natural inbred confidence which really prodded the green-eyed monster within Polly.
‘See you tomorrow, Tommy.’ Helen said her farewells, before turning and sashaying her way back across the yard.
As Polly glanced down at her own baggy overalls and mannish boots, she felt like the biggest frump walking the earth.
‘Helen seems nice,’ she said, lying through her teeth and immediately regretting saying anything remotely positive about this woman, this seductress, who was clearly trying to put a spell on the man whom Polly had been thinking about almost constantly since first setting eyes on him.
‘Oh, Helen is…’ Tommy hesitated, trying to find an appropriate word to describe the woman who had just poured a great big vat of cold water on his long-awaited attempt at asking Polly out. ‘. . . is Helen’ was all he could muster.
Polly and Tommy handed over their time boards and walked on down to the ferry in silence. They both seemed at a loss for words. Tommy was no fool, and he could see how Helen had made Polly feel. How Helen made most people feel: inferior. And to add to it all, he now had to carry this boxed-up fruit cake on his much-awaited walk home with Polly. It was as if Helen’s presence was stuck there between the two of them.
As if reading his thoughts, Polly looked down at the box in Tommy’s big hands and said, ‘Fruit cake? How lovely.’ What she was really thinking was how much Agnes would love more than anything to have the ingredients to make what she would call a ‘proper’ cake.
‘Yes, Miriam – that’s Helen’s mum – she does like to bake.’ Tommy desperately tried to think of something else to say, to change the subject away from Helen and this blasted cake. ‘Helen’s dad is Jack, the yard’s manager. Jack and my granda were good mates when they worked together years ago. I’ve known Helen for years. Since we were both bairns, really.’
Tommy couldn’t believe he had just brought the subject back to the woman who was the last person he wanted to talk about. Why was he so bad at making conversation?
Determined to steer the talk away from Helen, he started to tell Polly about the new Liberty ship design. ‘It’s a real feather in the yard’s cap,’ he said proudly. ‘Mr Thompson sailed to New York just the other week with a few other big shots, and Jack’s been asked to join them.’ Tommy was now on familiar territory and chatted on about the need for more ships, as so many were being torpedoed by German U-boats, and how the American yards could mass-produce this new cargo vessel because the design meant they were easier and cheaper to build.
Polly tried desperately to concentrate on what Tommy was saying, but her mind kept swinging back to Helen, wondering how on earth she stood a chance with this man if Helen was on the scene.
Tommy and Polly got off the ferry and walked up the cobbled street away from the docks and towards the east end. Their talk turned to what was happening in Europe and North Africa, and then to life closer to home – the yard, the people they both worked with, and those they loved. Before long all talk and thoughts of Helen had been washed away.
As they chatted, Tommy realised why Polly was so driven and determined to work in the shipyards. She not only wanted to become part of the long line of shipbuilders in her family, but she was also desperate to honour her father’s memory by becoming an important part of the war effort. Even though the man wasn’t alive, it was as though she still wanted his approval.
Perhaps it was the passion with which Polly talked and described her yearning to do good which made Tommy open up about his own overriding desire to play a more active role in the war. Polly was intrigued as Tommy told her about a group of highly trained Italian divers called ‘frogmen’ who were clamping mines on to the sides of Allied ships. ‘The explosives aren’t that powerful, but they can cause enough damage to create a large hole and put the ship out of action.’ She listened intently as he talked about the special units that were being formed, and how divers were needed to remove these mines. ‘The diving suit I wear and the equipment I use as a deep-sea diver is different to what these frogmen have, but I could easily adapt,’ Tommy explained.
‘Would they take you?’ Polly asked, immediately feeling guilty that her first reaction was that she hoped they wouldn’t.
‘I’ve tried but they told me I’m in a “reserved occupation” and because there are so few divers I have to stay here and work on the ships.’ Polly caught a hint of bitterness in his voice. She understood that all-consuming urge and knew it would not go away.
The more Polly and Tommy talked, the slower they walked. When they finally arrived at the top end of Tatham Street, she stopped to say goodbye, not wanting Tommy to walk her right up to her front door.
‘Thanks for the company,’ she said, turning to walk away.
Tommy panicked. ‘Perhaps we could do it again? Soon?’
‘I’d love that,’ Polly said, stepping away from him, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘Oh, and I hope Arthur enjoys his cake,’ she added, looking at the box which was now partly crushed, since Tommy had got tired of carrying it and had shoved it under his arm like a rolled-up newspaper.
Tommy watched Polly walk away before turning and making his own way back home. Straightening out the box and its yellow bow, he felt the happiest he had been in a very, very long time.
Polly felt light-headed, almost tipsy, as she breezed the hundred yards down the street to her front door. But as soon as she neared her home she was brought thudding back down to earth when she saw Agnes, arms folded, face like thunder, standing on her clean front doorstep.
‘So, I was right,’ Agnes said in a scarily low, calm voice. ‘There is a man on the scene.’
‘Ma, he’s just a friend. He just asked to walk me home and I said he could. He’s a really nice chap, honestly.’
‘Friend my foot,’ Agnes said, turning and stomping back into the house and down the hallway.
As Polly trailed after her mum, she felt like a little girl again, preparing herself for a good old telling-off. On seeing Bel come in from the washhouse in the backyard, Polly’s heart lifted. She had back-up.
‘So, come on, spit it out. Who is he?’ Agnes stood arms akimbo, staring at Polly.
Looking at the stand-off between Polly and Agnes, it took Bel all of two seconds to realise what had happened. ‘His name’s Tommy, Agnes,’ she butted in, ‘and from what Pol’s told me he seems a nice man.’
