Permission had not yet been given for blackout curtains to be removed, but many people weren’t prepared to wait for it. From the roof the girls could hear people shrieking with delight as they stripped their windows of the hated black fabric and light flooded into the streets again.
But Adele woke this morning to a thunderstorm, and as she and the other nurses took over from the night shift, the mood seemed very subdued. The heavy rain stopped, and there were longer queues than ever outside the bakers and fish shops, but people were wandering aimlessly, as if they were waiting for a signal to begin to celebrate.
It wasn’t until three o’clock, when Winston Churchill’s promised speech was broadcast from Downing Street to the nation on the wireless, officially announcing that the war in Europe was now over, that people suddenly began to look as if they truly believed it.
Now, at five, Whitechapel Road was filled with people waving flags, blowing on hooters, and many of them sporting paper hats in red, white and blue. Bunting had appeared as if by magic in the last couple of hours, festooned across every shop, from lamp-post to lamp-post. Adele expected that many women were at home busy preparing for street parties, perhaps finally deciding that this was the day to get out any currants, sugar and other foodstuffs they had managed to hoard away. She could see men hurrying along the road with crates of beer, and she guessed that by midnight most adults would be as drunk as lords.
She turned away from the window and smiled at the number of empty beds in the ward, for the promise that the war was soon to end had had a remarkably rejuvenating effect on patients. Those who hadn’t been thought to be fit to go home a few days ago had suddenly taken a turn for the better and been discharged. Others expected in for operations had cancelled, and even the men left were in a highly excitable state – she and Joan had both been asked for kisses, cigarettes and beer today. If Sister was to hear such requests she’d have a blue fit.
Yet even more pleasing than the joyful evening ahead was the knowledge that next week she was going home for two whole weeks. The past eight months since Rose’s death had seemed interminable. She was worried about her grandmother being alone, afraid she might retreat into herself again, or fall in the garden and lie there for hours before she was found. Was she eating properly? Was she warm enough at nights? What if she ran out of wood, or oil for her lamps? And Myles worried her too, for although she could telephone him, both at home and at his chambers, he wasn’t likely to admit to her that he was unhappy or troubled.
It had been a long, bitterly cold winter, and for some of the old people around here living in bomb-damaged houses, open to the elements, on a meagre diet, it had proved fatal. Coal was rationed and hard to come by – each day children were brought in with injuries sustained as they tried to collect wood to burn from bomb sites. The we-can-take-it spirit which had been so remarkable during the Blitz had disappeared. People were bone-weary of hardship, they looked gaunt and grey-faced, and as if the doodlebugs hadn’t been enough of a menace, then along came the V2s, which were even more deadly.
The destruction they caused was unbelievable. Huge craters appeared in the ground, and clouds of sooty black smoke, plaster and brick dust left rescuers choking. There had been one at Smithfield Market before Christmas, killing and maiming over a hundred people, then in January one struck a block of flats just across the road from the hospital in Valence Road, and demolished the one next to it. Adele had seen sights that day which for the first time in her nursing career had made her want to strip off her apron and cap and run. The dead and injured were mainly women and children, as the bomb had struck in the morning after most of the men had left for work.
The war in Europe might be finally over, but long after the servicemen came home, flats and houses rebuilt and repaired, there would be children with missing limbs still hobbling around. What of all those orphaned? The widows and those left homeless? Would the remaining slums and tenements be replaced with decent housing? Would there be new schools, hospitals, and work for all? Adele wanted to be optimistic today, but somehow she suspected it would be years before England returned to anything approaching normality.
‘Penny for ’em?’ Joan said, creeping up behind Adele and making her jump. ‘Wondering if ’e’s bin released and is on ’is way back right now?’
Adele smiled. She had finally told her friend the whole story when she returned to the hospital after Rose and Emily’s funeral. She had to, for the misery she felt was too great to keep to herself any longer.
Joan acted like a safety valve. She held her, let her pour it all out – her guilt, her sadness and her fears – and without that she might have crumbled. It was Joan who finally persuaded her to write to Michael. As she pointed out, it wasn’t a question of just offering him condolences and sympathy, he could get that from any one of his relatives. Their mothers had been friends and had died together, and as such her letter would mean so much more. She also added that she had to start the ball rolling if she wanted Michael back.
Once Adele had recovered from the shock and devastation of her mother’s death, there was great joy and hope to be found in knowing Michael wasn’t her brother. She did want him back as her sweetheart, she wanted it more than anything in the whole world. For such a long time she’d been forced to squash any memories of intimate moments, but now she could think of nothing else. She had only to imagine kissing him, holding him in her arms or running her hands over his bare skin, and she was aroused. Often she couldn’t sleep at night because of it.
It was frustrating that Michael was limited to writing only one short letter a month, that they took such an age to arrive, and that the censor prevented him saying anything meaningful. But at least she knew he appreciated hers, for in the reply to Myles he’d said, ‘Tell Adele her letter was beautiful. One day soon we’ll sit in Camber Castle and talk it all through.’
‘I wasn’t actually thinking of him, not then, more about whether or not England will become a better place now,’ she said. ‘The men who came back from the first war didn’t find a land fit for heroes, did they?’
‘Only you could be gloomy on such a day,’ Joan laughed. ‘I reckon’s we’ll all get what we deserve. In my case that should be a wedding ring from Bill, and a ticket off to America to live the rest of my bleedin’ life in luxury in Philadelphia.’
Joan had met Bill Oatley, an American marine, back at the beginning of the previous year. It had been a serious love affair from the very start and Joan had been in a state of terror that he would be killed when he went off to Normandy. Fortunately he’d been spared, and was still somewhere over in Germany. He had written and asked her to marry him a few months ago.
‘So what do I deserve?’ Adele asked.
‘Better than being stuck ’ere in this poxy place,’ Joan said firmly. ‘Go on back ’ome to yer granny, you know that’s what you want to do. Start up that caravan camp your mum ’ad in mind, that’s a winner if ever I ’eard of one. Me and Bill will be yer first customers for our ’oneymoon.’
‘I haven’t got any money to do it,’ Adele said with a smile.
‘You ’ave. Yer mum’s old ’ouse is yourn now.’
Adele shrugged. ‘I can’t sell it till everything’s settled.’
‘You don’t need to,’ Joan said firmly. ’You just go up a bank and get ’em to lend you some on it.’
Adele said she hadn’t thought of that.
‘Well, don’t think about it today, me old cock,’ Joan laughed. ‘What yer got to get yer ’ead round now is what yer gonna wear tonight and where we’ll go. Nothin’ else.’
A call from one of the patients had Joan scuttling away, and Adele realized she was right. Today wasn’t a day for thinking deep thoughts, it was a day for happiness and frivolity.
She would wear that gorgeous blue dress of her mother’s that Granny had altered for her, drink a lot and be wild. Next week would be soon enough to decide what to do with the rest of her life. She would even stop thinking about what she was going
to say to Michael when he got home. Like the song said, ‘I’m gonna get lit up when the lights go up in London.’
Chapter Thirty
Adele perched on an upturned crate and surveyed the land around her with excitement and delight. It was very stony, little more than shingle, but she thought that was all to the good – at least it wouldn’t be waterlogged when it rained.
It was the end of June, a hot day without a cloud in the sky, and she intended to spend the whole of this long weekend away from the hospital out in the sun. Dressed in shorts, an old sleeveless blouse and a pair of plimsolls, she felt rejuvenated already.
The war might still be dragging on in the Far East, rationing was as desperate as ever, and it was still well nigh impossible to get timber, paint or any other building materials. But every day troop ships were bringing men home from Europe, and soon Michael would be back too. They’d even started to remove the rolls of barbed wire along the beach. She was sublimely happy.
She had recently applied for nursing jobs in both Hastings and Ashford, but she’d heard nothing back yet. But even if she was turned down, she had decided to come back here in August for good, to put Rose’s idea for a caravan site into practice.
It was not going to be some sort of memorial to her mother, that wasn’t her style. It was a brilliant idea, and one that really appealed to Adele for many reasons, not least that she could earn a living while looking after her grandmother. Last time she was home, in May, she’d met Mr Green, who owned the land, for a chat about it. He’d said he’d be prepared to let her have the land rent free in exchange for a small percentage of the profits. She had talked to Myles about it, and he’d offered not only to lend her the money to start up, until the house in Hammersmith could be sold, but also to sort out all the red tape with the local council for her.
Maybe she might call it ‘Rose Beach Caravan Park’, or some such name to remind her where the idea came from. She certainly intended to plant a few rose bushes, the most vibrant-coloured, heavily perfumed ones she could find. She had no doubt that Rose’s spirit would be flitting around here anyway, for she had already felt something warm and friendly around here the first time she’d come to look.
Adele could barely close her eyes at night for thinking about it. She would need water pipes to be brought in, a cess pit, and a toilet and wash-room block. She thought she’d start with six caravans, but there was room for at least twelve. Mr Green said that the hotels and guest houses in Hastings were all fully booked for the whole summer, and she knew herself that by next summer, when she’d got the site ready to open, every family in London would be burning for a holiday by the sea.
As for the caravans themselves, Joan had an uncle in Southend who could supply them. They would be old ones of course, but sound – all they’d need was a coat of paint and some tidying up inside, and she’d have all winter to do that, ready to open at Easter.
Getting up, she walked over to the fence that ran alongside a small stream. There were some straggly bushes and trees growing there, and through them she could just see the roof and chimney of Curlew Cottage. Granny had been talking this morning about getting electricity put on and building a bathroom. It seemed the end of the war had galvanized her into wanting a bit more comfort. Adele hoped that whoever she got to do the work on the caravan site would do that at the same time.
As she stood there thinking how exciting all these new developments were, she saw a flash of light by the cottage, as if someone was signalling with a mirror in the sunshine. Realizing it had to be a car windscreen, she thought Myles might have called to say he’d had further news of Michael, so she set off for home at a fast trot.
News had come from the Red Cross that his POW camp had been liberated back in early May, but they couldn’t say how long it would take for him to get home as the whole of Europe was in turmoil. Power supplies had failed, telephone lines were down, and many of the railway lines had been damaged by bombs and tanks. Tens of thousands of refugees, displaced people and prisoners of war were adding to the problems.
As Adele got closer to the cottage and saw that it really was Myles’s car, she ran even faster. He had become even more important to her since Rose’s death, for she could talk frankly to him about her feelings for her mother, knowing he had experienced that same potent mixture of love, anger, amusement and distrust. Even if she couldn’t publicly announce that he was her father, the knowledge that he was gave her a feeling of security she’d never known before.
Adele burst through the door of the cottage. ‘Myles,’ she panted, rushing over to where he was sitting on the couch, to hug him. ‘I saw your car and ran all the way. Any news yet of Michael?’
He returned her hug, but said nothing, and when she looked at his face found he was grinning from ear to ear.
‘I look such a mess,’ she said, assuming that was what he found amusing, for her hair was tangled and her old shorts had been patched so often they wouldn’t even do for cleaning rags. ‘I’ve been at the caravan site, checking it out again. Have you been here long?’
‘About twenty minutes,’ he said, still grinning.
Adele turned her head to look at her grandmother, who was laying some cups on the table, and that was when she saw him.
Michael was sitting in the chair over in the far corner of the room.
Adele gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she exclaimed. ‘I never thought…’ She stopped short, suddenly shy and very daunted by how he looked.
He was terribly thin, the skin on his face scarred and puckered, and a walking stick was propped up against the wall beside the chair. Yet his grin was the same as the day she first met him, lips curling up at the corners in the way she’d always found so irresistible, a flash of white teeth, and his eyes as blue as the sky.
‘Michael! Oh my goodness,’ she murmured, and her heart began to pound.
For a brief moment the shock was too great. The last time she’d seen him was as he tenderly kissed her goodbye at Charing Cross station after they had spent the weekend together. She had held that image of the dashing young man in uniform, his shiny dark hair and skin as smooth as an apple, for six whole years, tucked away with the tears and heartache. But this wasn’t the Michael she’d held in her heart, it was a thin stranger in civilian flannel trousers with hair cut too short and a scarred face, and she wanted to run and hide.
‘You never thought you’d see me again? Or never thought I could change so much?’ he prompted, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
It was his voice that stopped the desire to run. It was just the same, deep and resonant, so very different to the cockney voices she heard daily at the hospital, or the Sussex brogue down here.
‘I don’t know what I was going to say,’ she said, and moved closer to him. ‘I’m lost for words because this is so unexpected. It’s so good to see you again. I just wish I’d known you were coming, I look such a mess.’
‘You don’t look so different to the way you were when I first met you here on the marsh,’ he said. ‘I expected in six years you’d have become sophisticated, your hair all rolled up the way most women seem to wear it now.’
Adele blushed. She’d left her hair loose this morning, in fact she’d hardly bothered to comb it. It probably looked like a haystack.
‘Tea’s ready,’ Honour said from behind them. ‘Would you like it there, Michael, or at the table?’
‘I’ll get up,’ Michael said, and pressing down his hands on the arms of the chair, lifted himself to his feet.
Adele watched as he walked to the table. Both his legs were stiff, reminding her of artificial limbs, but to her relief they clearly weren’t, for he turned on his heels easily and looked back at her. ‘You see, I can walk without the stick. It’s only a kind of security to have it with me. And I’m told there’s a small operation which will put things right.’
Adele could see by her grandmother’s fond expression as she looked at Michael that she believed all the hurts
of the past were wiped out just by him being here. Adele was very aware that wasn’t so. Explanations would have to be given, and even if he did still care for her, he would need to learn to trust her again.
Over tea and fish-paste sandwiches Myles explained how he had driven to Dover the day before to meet the ship Michael had been brought home on. He’d only got the message that morning that he was coming, and they’d stayed the night in a hotel in Dover because it was almost dark when the ship got in.
‘I was like a child waiting for Christmas,’ Myles said, his voice shaking with emotion. ‘One of hundreds of people waiting for their sons, husbands and fathers. I was scared too, afraid I’d been told the wrong day, the wrong ship, and even that I wouldn’t know him. There were so many men on stretchers, so much noise and confusion. Then at last there he came walking down the gang-plank. My boy, back home safe and sound.’
Honour somewhat pointedly told Adele that Michael had asked to come to Harrington House first before going on to Hampshire to see his brother and sister and their families.
‘I needed to adjust before that,’ Michael said, looking at Honour and half smiling as if rather amused by her view on his decision. ‘In the camp we all thought of nothing but those at home, but the reality of getting back is a bit overwhelming. I know everyone will be asking questions, and there is so much I want to say. But at the same time I’ve got nothing to say.’
Honour looked puzzled, but Adele knew exactly what Michael meant. When she had come back here during the Blitz she had felt just the same way. Right now, she too had a million questions for Michael, but found she couldn’t ask even one.
She knew she was staring at him, her heart was still beating too fast, and she wished they could be alone together so she could say all the things she needed to.