‘Aw, Sal. It’s the last day of term and Mrs Granger said we was ’aving jelly and custard as a special treat.’
Sally didn’t want to spoil his fun, but he definitely looked peaky, and that worried her. ‘All right,’ she conceded, ‘but if you don’t feel right, you’re to tell yer teacher. Promise?’
He nodded, scrambled away from her and bumped his way rather more slowly than usual down the stairs.
Sally cleaned the bathroom, fetched their coats, and followed him shortly afterwards. Anne had been absent at breakfast, but now she was bustling her young brothers into coats and caps and finding their satchels and gas-mask boxes. Sally noted the swollen eyelids and the wan face and gave her a warm smile of support as she sorted out Ernie and fetched the shopping list and basket from Peggy.
Once everyone was ready, they went down to the basement, fetched the crate cart – which had now been improved with a set of pram wheels that were far more stable – and set off for school, Harvey howling at the gate because he hated being left behind.
‘Keep an eye on Ernie, will you, Anne?’ she said, as they reached the school gates, and Charlie and Bob dragged the cart into the playground. ‘He’s not looking too clever this morning.’
Anne dredged up a smile, but it couldn’t mask the haunted look in her eyes. ‘Of course I will,’ she said, ‘but I suspect he’s just a bit tired with all the excitement of Christmas coming.’
Sally would have liked to express her sympathy for the other girl, but realised that, as she wasn’t supposed to know what had happened between her and Martin, it wouldn’t be wise. If Anne felt the need to confide in her, then that would be the time to say something. With a wave to Ernie, she fished the shopping list out of her pocket and set off back down the road to the local shops and joined the long queue outside the butcher’s.
Two hours later she arrived back at Beach View with three sausages, two chops and a pig’s head. There was no sign of Peggy, and the sink was full of dirty crockery, so she dumped the basket on the kitchen table, put the meat in the larder and set about doing the washing-up.
‘John Hicks telephoned while you were out,’ said Peggy, arriving with an armful of laundry. ‘He’s coming to tea on Christmas Eve. I thought it would be less awkward for both of you if we all sat down together.’
Sally felt a thrill of pleasure, but firmly tamped down on it. ‘I dunno,’ she murmured. ‘He’s a lot older than me, and … well … What’s a bloke like ’im want with a girl like me? We ain’t got nothing in common.’
Peggy dumped the laundry on the table. ‘Nonsense. John’s a nice, ordinary chap who wants to get to know you better. And you’re a lovely sweet girl who deserves to have a bit of a life. What’s the harm in having tea?’
Sally shrugged and refused to meet Peggy’s gaze.
‘Did you overhear me and Anne last night?’ Peggy put her hand on her shoulder, forcing Sally to look at her. ‘Is that what all this is about?’
Sally shrugged again, unwilling to admit she’d been listening – and unwilling to voice the awful doubts that had woken her through the night.
‘You silly girl,’ said Peggy. ‘John comes from a working-class family, just like you. Having a bit of tea with us is a good way of seeing if you like the look of each other. What happens after that will be up to the pair of you. But if things develop between you and you’re taken to meet his family, I can assure you there won’t be any of the sort of nonsense my poor Anne had to go through.’
‘I dunno,’ said Sally again. ‘I don’t speak proper, even though I’ve been trying ’ard to change that, and I’m only …’
‘That’s quite enough,’ said Peggy flatly. ‘John knows who you are and where you come from and it doesn’t matter a jot. Now,’ she gathered up the laundry, ‘I need a hand with this lot. We’ve actually got a pair of paying guests arriving this evening, and there’s a lot to do before they arrive.’
Sally found it impossible to quell the hope and excitement as she helped Peggy scrub the bed linen in the big tub downstairs, wrestle it through the mangle, and hang it on the line. She found she was humming some silly tune as she prepared the room for the guests and decided that Peggy was right. What harm was there in agreeing to have tea with him?
‘You look happy today, Sally.’ Cissy had kicked off her shoes and was standing on a chair so that Sally could pin the hem of the lovely gown.
‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ she replied. ‘And I love Christmas. When Dad was at ’ome, we always had a goose and plum pudding, and a fruit cake with thick white icing swirled on top. It didn’t happen every year, of course, but Dad’s a good cook, and the smell coming from the kitchen on Christmas morning was always special.’
Cissy grimaced. ‘I doubt there’ll be much celebration this year,’ she replied. ‘What with the shortages and the blackout; but Mum’s got a dozen plum puddings in the larder she’s made over the years, so at least we’ll have one of them.’ She yawned. ‘I’m just looking forward to having a day off. I’m absolutely shattered.’
Sally looked up at her in surprise. ‘I thought you loved doing the shows?’
‘Oh, I do, but it’s exhausting with all the rehearsals and costume changes. We do two shows on Saturdays and Wednesdays, you know, and then there’re all the extra ones for the troops.’ She grinned, her weariness banished. ‘We’re doing a special show for the RAF boys on New Year’s Eve. It’s what the dress is for.’
‘You look ever so lovely in it,’ murmured Sally wistfully. ‘They’ll go potty when they see you. I wouldn’t mind betting you’ll be swamped in admirers.’
Cissy looked delighted at this. Then she bent down and whispered urgently, ‘Sally, can you keep a secret?’
She rested back on her heels, looked up into the flushed, excited face, and grinned. ‘Of course.’
Cissy stepped down from the chair, checked the hallway and closed the door. ‘I’ve got a solo spot that night,’ she whispered. ‘And our director said that Basil Dean and Leslie Henson would be in the audience scouting for talent.’
‘Who are they?’
Cissy’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You don’t know?’ she breathed, forgetting that not everyone was as involved in the theatrical world as she. ‘They’re the ones who founded ENSA, and this could be my chance of getting into it.’ Her eyes sparkled and her pretty little face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Just think, Sally, this time next year I could be a star like Gracie Fields, or even Vera Lynn. She was voted the Forces’ Sweetheart two months ago, you know,’ she babbled, ‘and even goes abroad to entertain the troops. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if something like that happened to me?’
‘Aren’t you a bit young?’ Sally said carefully, once Cissy stopped for breath.
Cissy shrugged and got back on the chair. ‘I’d have to get Mum and Dad’s permission,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m sure they’ll give it. After all, there’s a war on, and this is what I’m good at.’
Sally realised the girl was far too excited and wasn’t thinking practically at all. She just hoped Cissy wouldn’t be too devastated when Jim and Peggy refused to sign the consent form – which they would, she was certain.
Cissy fidgeted on the chair, making it impossible for Sally to continue pinning the hem. ‘Oh, Sally,’ she breathed. ‘Who would have thought it? My life is about to change for ever, and soon all my dreams will come true.’
‘You’d better stand still then,’ said Sally through a mouthful of pins, ‘or else this dress won’t be finished in time.’
When Sally arrived for the afternoon shift at the factory, she delivered the last of the clothes she’d altered and mended. With several shillings jingling in her pocket, she sat at her work-station and looked around. There was no sign of Iris, but she could see Simmons bearing down on her with his usual dissatisfied glare.
‘Miss Turner,’ he snapped. ‘A word.’
She looked up at him, her pulse racing. What on earth could she have done to make him so angry? ‘Yes, Mr Simmons?’
‘It has been noted that you are running some sort of business in company time,’ he said. ‘It has also been noted that certain of these items have been made from material stolen from company stock.’
Sally was so shocked it took a moment to react. ‘I never stole nothing,’ she protested, shoving back her chair and standing to face him squarely. ‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing? All them clothes I made were out of scraps I bought in the town – and I only do private work at ’ome – never ’ere.’
‘Then how do you explain this?’ He held up a jacket that had clearly been made of blue air-force serge.
Sally had become aware of the tense silence surrounding her as she eyed the poorly made garment dangling from his hand. ‘That ain’t my work,’ she said firmly.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ he said smugly. ‘It’s obviously home-made, and you’re the only one doing that around here.’
She snatched it from him and gave it a swift inspection. ‘The seams are crooked, the lining ain’t been hand-stitched at the hem or the cuffs, the buttonholes would make a schoolkid blush they’re so bad, and the lapels don’t even lay flat.’ She handed it back to him. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘Well, I do mind. That ain’t my work, and whoever says it is, is lying.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Brenda, glaring through the smoke of the cigarette stuck to her bottom lip. ‘Sally would never have made that thing, let alone pinched material from the stock to do it.’
A chorus of agreement went round the factory, and Simmons reddened. ‘Be quiet, the lot of you,’ he shouted. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Get back to work.’
Sally folded her arms and glared at him, determined not to let him see how devastated she was to be accused of theft.
Once order had been restored on the factory floor, Simmons returned her glare. ‘There’s no doubt the material came from here – therefore it’s stolen. You’re the one running a dressmaking business on the side, so it
has
to be you.’
Sally’s angry tears were being held back by sheer force of will. ‘It wasn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not a thief.’
‘Then prove it, Miss Turner, otherwise you will be dismissed.’
‘You can’t do that,’ shouted Brenda. ‘It’s only three days to Christmas, and Sally’s done nothing wrong.’
‘If you don’t button it, Brenda, you’ll be out on your ear as well,’ he snarled.
‘I can’t prove anything,’ said Sally, her spirits plummeting. ‘All I can do is show you some of my work so you can compare it to that terrible piece of workmanship, and see for yourself that I ’ad nothing to do with it.’
Almost before the sentence was finished, the things she’d delivered today were being brought to show Simmons.
He glared at each piece before ordering them back to their machines. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time,’ he said coldly. ‘But I’m watching you, Miss Turner, and if there is the slightest suspicion that you’re up to no good, you’ll be dismissed instantly.’
‘You can watch all you like,’ she retorted, ‘but I ain’t a thief.’ She looked into those emotionless eyes and was tempted to tell him to stick his lousy job. But being branded a thief made her so angry, she could barely think straight. Besides, she needed the money, and with this hanging over her, she’d never get a decent reference. She sat down and tried to thread the needle, but found to her distress that her hands were shaking and she could barely see through her tears.
‘Never mind, ducks,’ soothed Brenda when Simmons was out of earshot. ‘We can all guess who’s at the bottom of it – and, come what may, we’ll make sure she gets her comeuppance.’
‘But that won’t clear my name, will it?’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Brenda, grimly mashing out her cigarette before getting back to work.
Sally had worked through her shift, eating her sandwiches and drinking her tea at her work-station, unwilling to be the focus of attention – for she knew the accusation was now the only topic amongst the other women.
And yet their sympathy and support was overwhelming, and as she left the factory that night, she was warmed by it. But, as she hurried through the dark streets, she couldn’t dismiss the awful shame of being called a thief. It hung about her like a heavy cloud and followed her all the way home.
The house was quiet as she stepped into the hall, and she tiptoed up the stairs. All she wanted now was to climb into bed, pull the covers over her head, and hide from the world so she could at last give vent to her anger and despair.
Pushing open the bedroom door, she was startled to find Peggy sitting by Ernie’s bed. All thoughts of her terrible situation fled. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘Don’t worry, Sally.’ Peggy rose from the chair, a finger to her lips as Sally raced to Ernie’s bedside. ‘He’s asleep, and I don’t want him disturbed.’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ she whispered urgently, her gaze trawling the sleeping child for any sign of what could be wrong.
Peggy gently steered her on to the landing. ‘He had a funny turn and the school doctor brought him home,’ she whispered.
‘What sort of funny turn?’ Sally’s pulse raced.
‘He was complaining that his back and hips were hurting and, when he put his weight on his good leg, it gave way on him. He’s got a graze on his cheek and a bit of a bump on his head, but neither is anything to get alarmed about.’