Keep Smiling Through (37 page)

Chuck parked the jeep with typical gung-ho American verve. He helped her down and they ran up the steps past the colourful posters advertising ‘
Broadway Melody of 1940
, starring Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell,’ and into the warmth of the dimly lit foyer.

Rita knew how quickly tickets sold out for a Hollywood musical, so had advised Chuck to buy theirs in good time. They quickly found their way to the stalls, where an elderly usherette clipped their tickets, switched on her torch, and showed them through the baize doors to their seats.

The large cinema’s three blocks of seats were already packed, cigarette smoke drifting in clouds to the high, domed ceiling as people chattered, waved to friends or tapped along in time with the music from the ancient but ornate Hammond organ that had been raised to stage height from the orchestra pit. The organist was a familiar character to the residents of Cliffehaven, for he always wore full evening dress and a top hat when he played – even for the matinees.

Rita waved to Cissy and Anne, who were sitting in the far block. She recognised several of the women from the factory, and even saw Vi Charlton tucked up in the back row with her American. She blushed and smiled back at Vi’s knowing wink and quickly followed Chuck, apologising as they had to edge past knees and feet to get to their seats. They were only just in time, for the organ was slowly and majestically being lowered back into place and the lights were dimming.

The faded and much mended velvet curtains rattled open and silence fell, the anticipation for the Saturday night’s entertainment almost tangible as the beams of light from the projection window at the back battled through the cigarette smoke. The music coming from the speakers on either side of the stage was familiar and quite loud as the screen sent its reflective glow over the audience and the crowing and rather imperious Pathé News cockerel appeared.

Rita felt Chuck reach for her hand and they entwined their fingers as they watched the newsreel flicker on the screen, and listened to the plummy voice of the reporter.

The British offensive against the invading Italians in Northern Africa was going well, and it was expected to be a great success. An enemy raider had been driven off by British naval ships escorting a convoy in the Atlantic, and closer to home the beleaguered Londoners were going about their daily lives and celebrating Christmas in defiance of the devastation wreaked upon their city by Hitler’s blitz. The expert view from the Home Office was that the lull in the air raids over Christmas had been more to do with bad weather in Northern Europe than any altruistic gesture by Hitler – and that the citizens of Great Britain must remain alert.

As the newsreels came to an end Rita and Chuck settled further into their seats, comfortable and easy with one another as they held hands and waited for the first of the two films they would see tonight. It might be raining outside, but they were warm and snug and very happy to be together.

They came out of the cinema humming ‘Begin the Beguine’ along with everyone else. It had stopped raining, but there was a chill wind, and Rita shivered.

‘Let’s warm up in a pub,’ suggested Chuck.

‘That sounds like a jolly good idea, but I can’t stay too late,’ she said regretfully. ‘I’m on early shift tomorrow, and I’ll have to walk to work. The Norton’s been playing up and I daren’t risk it any longer on that steep hill.’

He helped her climb into the jeep. ‘Want me to have a look at it?’

She shook her head, jealous of anyone touching her motorbike, even Chuck. ‘I’ll sort it out after work tomorrow. You can lend a hand if you want,’ she added quickly.

‘I can’t tomorrow night,’ he shouted over the engine noise. ‘I’m on duty. Maybe the next day?’ He glanced swiftly across at her and, at her nod, shot her a beaming smile. ‘It’s a date,’ he yelled.

He drove down the High Street and along Camden Road, stopping outside the Anchor. ‘I thought we might try it for a change,’ he explained once he’d killed the engine. ‘Ron and Jim gave it high praise.’

‘It’s not the pub Ron’s in love with,’ said Rita and chuckled. ‘It’s the lovely Rosie Braithwaite.’

Chuck helped her down and they strolled arm in arm towards the Anchor and the raucous singing that drifted out into the street. ‘Can’t say as I blame the guy,’ he drawled. ‘Rosie’s quite a gal.’

Rita tugged at his arm playfully. ‘I didn’t realise you liked the more mature woman,’ she teased.

‘Only when they look like Betty Grable’s mother,’ he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘Betty who?’

He laughed. ‘I see I’m going to have to fill those yawning gaps in your education, Rita. But for now, let’s get inside out of this cold.’

The singing was so loud it was almost impossible to talk, but the songs were well known and they’d joined in, adding to the noise. Rita was aware of the time flying past and of how early she would have to leave the asylum in the morning to get to work – but she didn’t care. She didn’t need sleep – not while she was having such fun.

It was almost closing time when the door opened and Jim stepped in and surveyed the still crowded bar. Rita waved to him and he elbowed his way through the melee to the bar, bought a drink and battled his way to the corner settle they’d found next to the back window.

‘Cissy told me you’d be in here,’ he shouted above the noise. ‘She saw the jeep outside when she and Anne were coming home.’

‘I’m sorry we didn’t give her a lift, but there’s only room for two,’ explained Chuck.

‘No matter. They took it slow and got home safely.’ Jim lifted his glass and swallowed half his pint in one steady go. Wiping the froth from his lips, he then dug into his coat pocket. ‘I came to find you because there’s a letter arrived this afternoon that looks important.’ He regarded Rita, his expression solemn. ‘I’d’ve taken it to Louise at the factory, but I’m thinking it’s best you read it first in case it’s bad news.’

Rita’s hand was shaking as she reached for it. A chill swept through her as she read the stamped words, ‘Home Office’, in the left-hand corner. It could only mean news of Tino and Roberto.

She quickly tore it open. There was no address at the top, and the signature was indecipherable, but there was little doubt that it was official.

Rita stared at the scrawled signature, but it meant nothing to her. She looked up at Jim and Chuck. ‘It’s quite good news,’ she said, and showed them the letter.

‘At least Louise will get some comfort at last,’ muttered Jim.

Rita reached for her coat and gas mask box. ‘Thanks for bringing it, Mr Reilly.’ She turned to Chuck. ‘I’m sorry to cut our evening short, but Louise needs to see this. Could you please take me home now?’

Chuck parked the jeep at the end of the gravel drive and switched off the engine. Rita happily leaned into his embrace. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, and I’m sorry it ended so abruptly.’

‘A kiss might make up for that,’ he replied, nuzzling her cheek with his lips.

Rita became aware of the gap between the seats and the awkwardness of trying to embrace someone with a huge steering wheel in the way. But his kiss was soft and sweet, and the sensations he was arousing made her forget everything for a blissful moment.

She pulled away reluctantly, and he got out, opened the door and helped her down. ‘I’ll see you at the fire station the day after tomorrow,’ he said, holding her for just one moment more before he had to let her go.

Rita blew him a kiss and ran up the drive. She opened the big front door as the jeep roared away, saw Aggie watching her from the kitchen doorway and raced up the stairs. She could only hope that Louise hadn’t gone to sleep already. It was quite late, almost ten-thirty.

Louise was awake, sitting in bed, flicking through a rather tattered magazine someone had left in the kitchen.

‘There’s been a letter, Mamma,’ Rita said as she dug it from her coat pocket and quickly explained the contents before handing it over.

Louise’s lips moved as she struggled to read it word by painful word, and then she burst into tears and held the letter to her heart. ‘I must go to them,’ she sobbed. ‘Rita, you must
make
them tell us where they have been taken.’

Rita had suspected there would be tears and demands and had prepared for them. ‘They won’t tell me anything more,’ she said evenly, ‘and I certainly can’t force them to break an official secret.’

‘But I’m his wife,’ Louise retorted. ‘I have a right to know.’

Rita took off her coat, sat on the bed and held Louise close. ‘Papa will write soon,’ she said calmly against the storm of Louise’s tears, ‘the letter says so. We have to be patient for just a little while longer, Mamma, and then Papa will tell us what has been happening to him and Roberto.’

‘It’s so unfair,’ stormed Louise. ‘Why do I have to suffer like this?’

‘You’re not alone, Mamma. There are lots of other families going through the same thing. Just be glad that they’re alive and well, and look forward to Tino’s letter, which I’m sure will come very soon.’

Louise nodded, the letter still clutched to her heart. ‘It’s very hard for me, Rita,’ she breathed through her tears. ‘I miss them so much.’

‘I know,’ soothed Rita, glad the storm was over. ‘But you’ll feel so much better once you hear from them. Then we can write back, and perhaps send them a parcel of treats.’

Louise dried her tears, carefully put the precious letter back in the envelope and picked up the stub of a pencil, which she handed to Rita. ‘We will make a list of all their favourite things,’ she said purposefully. ‘And once we know where they are, we will take everything to them.’

‘I don’t know if we’ll be allowed to visit them,’ warned Rita.

‘Of course we will,’ Louise retorted. ‘Even murderers get visits in prison, and my Tino is not a criminal.’ She handed a clean sheet of writing paper to Rita, her expression alive with hope. ‘They will need warm clothes and fresh underwear,’ she began.

THE FOG HAD
finally lifted around lunchtime to reveal a watery sun and a steely sea. It being Sunday, Cliffehaven was quiet, the shops closed, the pubs not yet open for the evening session, but several people were strolling along the promenade, taking advantage of this minor break in the weather.

The day had gone swiftly for Rita, despite the fact she was still feeling tired after the late night and very early start. She had returned to their billet at the end of her shift, snatched a couple of hours’ sleep, and was now walking back down the hill with Louise, who was struggling to carry her ‘air raid bag’ as well as her gas mask box and handbag. It was only four o’clock, but the night was already closing in.

‘What on earth have you got in here?’ Rita asked, her arm almost wrenched from its socket as she took it from her.

‘My best clothes and shoes, the Madonna statue and family photographs, four potatoes, the rest of the onions and two tins of bully beef. There’s also a small tin of Spam, and one of condensed milk as well as the last of the sugar and tea.’

‘Good grief,’ muttered Rita, changing it from hand to hand. ‘No wonder it weighs a ton. What on earth possessed you to bring our entire larder into town?’

‘I don’t trust that Aggie not to steal it. Nothing’s safe in that kitchen with her around.’

‘They would have been quite secure locked in our room,’ Rita said evenly.

‘I feel easier having them with me.’ Louise continued walking, her expression set.

Rita sometimes wondered what on earth went on in Louise’s head, but she made no further comment. They reached the western end of the promenade, walked past the big houses in Havelock Gardens and through the small park to the High Street, where they would go their separate ways.

Rita put the heavy bag down and flexed her aching fingers. Louise was going to the early show at the Odeon before she started her night shift. ‘Why don’t I drop this off at the factory while you go to the flicks? It’ll be quite safe in your locker.’

Louise lifted the bag and hugged it protectively. ‘I’ll keep it with me,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Those lockers can be broken into very easily.’

Rita gave in. ‘Well, I’m off for my first driving lesson. I’ll see you back at the billet tomorrow morning.’ She gave Louise a warm hug and watched her trudge up the High Street towards the Odeon, the heavy bag dragging on her arm. ‘Bless her,’ she muttered, before turning off into Camden Road.

The fire station was next to Goldman’s factory, which now sprawled the length and depth of an entire block. John Hicks was waiting for her beside the bright red Dennis fire engine that stood on the forecourt. ‘Right,’ he said without preamble. ‘In you get, and I’ll run you through the basics before you terrify the life out of the locals by driving on our roads.’

Peggy was exhausted, not only by the anguish of leaving her boys behind, but by the interminably long and frustrating journey. It seemed there were still lines up everywhere, despite the fact there hadn’t been a raid of any significance for at least ten days.

Her passage home to Beach View had been interrupted constantly, stopping and starting all through the previous day. She’d had to change trains, wait on lonely platforms in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to show where she was, or how far she still had to go. She’d climbed on and off ramshackle buses that lumbered through the ever-darkening countryside at a snail’s pace, and had finally managed to snatch some sleep in the crowded second-class compartment as the train chugged and puffed towards morning.

Now she sat wearily in the refreshment room of a large crowded station, drinking stewed, weak tea. There was nothing to eat, so she made do with a cigarette. She’d managed to wash her face and hands and brush her hair in the ladies’ convenience, but her reflection in the age-spotted mirror had not been flattering. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin was the colour of whey, and there were soot smears on her coat and dress. Even the jaunty feather in her hat was drooping as if it too had had enough of this seemingly endless journey.