The Teashop Girls Read online

  ‘Rose, can you spare me a minute before you sit down with Katie? I’ve got something I want to say to you.’

  Rose felt her stomach lurch. Was her friend going to tell her why she was so miserable first thing this morning? She placed her tray down on an empty table. ‘Hurry up, though, I don’t want my stew getting cold,’ she grinned, trying to keep the atmosphere light while knowing that after whatever her friend was going to tell her she would be disappointing her even more.

  Lily took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to let you down. But that new salesman, Tom White, asked me to go dancing, and I didn’t like to disappoint him and then I remembered . . .’ Lily stopped her awkward explanation as Rose began to laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Would you believe, I’ve been plucking up courage to tell you that nice army captain has invited me out to dinner. It’s most likely his last day in Ramsgate before he gets shipped off God knows where.’

  Lily started to laugh. ‘What a silly pair of whatsits we are! We can go to the pictures another time, can’t we? Johnny Johnson can wait. Another day, another B movie,’ she laughed. ‘Come on, let’s go and finish our food. Katie will be wondering what we are up to. She did pull a bit of a face when I dashed off just now.’

  ‘You work very hard, I think,’ Anya said as she finished polishing the brass doorknocker while Flora scrubbed the doorstep of the guesthouse. ‘This house is always, what you say – spick and span? Although I have not known anyone clean while it is snowing before.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the right word,’ Flora answered. ‘I like to keep busy, and cleaning keeps my mind off of this war. I even forget the snow,’ she smiled.

  ‘But you join in with so many things to do with the war. This . . . RAP, it takes up much time, and you dash here and there helping people, all for this, what you say . . . war effort?’ Anya stretched her arms above her head before brushing a stray hair from her face.

  ‘ARP,’ Flora corrected her with a smile. ‘As I said, I like to keep busy. Being busy stops me worrying. I keep thinking back to the last war and how people suffered. I’d hate to see my Rose, as well as all her friends, suffer in any way. Any little thing I can do to help others fight this war and bring it to an end is good enough for me.’ She dipped her scrubbing brush back into the rapidly cooling water in the galvanized steel bucket, then stopped to think for a couple of seconds. ‘I don’t often talk about my past, and I’ve not always done the right thing. If I’d been a good girl, I wouldn’t have had my wonderful daughter. But I’ve always followed my heart. I feel you are holding something back, Anya?’

  Anya looked Flora in the eye. ‘I have something to be afraid of. I think I go no further. I stay here at Sea View, and fight the war with my new friends.’

  Flora gave her a big hug. ‘You think too much, Anya. Why not take one step at a time – face one little thing and then another, eh?’

  ‘Then I will do little things too. Put all our little things together, and we have one big thing. Hitler will not like that.’

  Flora roared with laughter. ‘You are certainly a tonic, Anya.’

  ‘I thank you, I think – if I knew what this tonic was. But tell me, why do we clean and scrub outside in the dark?’

  Flora stood up and looked about her. The night was coming in fast. ‘Why, I’d hardly noticed, we’d been chatting so much.’ She threw the water from the bucket into the street. ‘Time to stop, I think. Everyone will be wanting dinner.’

  ‘That is good for me,’ Anya said, tucking her polishing cloth under her arm. ‘Come, I will make the cuppa. Look how British I am becoming – and I shall not forget the one for the pot this time,’ she laughed.

  The two women entered the hall as Rose dashed downstairs. ‘Mum, have you seen my clean pair of stockings? I can’t find them anywhere.’

  ‘If you mean the ones you left hanging in the bathroom, they were full of ladders, so I put them in my sewing basket. I was going to repair them when I sat down later.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t have any others; and Ben’s collecting me in half an hour. I can’t wear those horrid work stockings, and I so wanted to look nice,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Go and start the cuppa,’ Anya ordered her. ‘I have what you want,’ she said before hurrying upstairs.

  Rose followed Flora through to the kitchen and did as Anya had ordered, while her mum put away the bucket and cleaning clothes. There was a box of vegetables on the kitchen table. ‘Another gift?’ she asked.

  ‘Mildred dropped them off earlier. She said she swapped them for some fish before she took the rest to market. That woman doesn’t stop bartering, but she’s a godsend. Why, she even left some fish for us as well. Once I’ve had my tea and warmed up I’ll be making a tasty pie for our dinners.’

  Rose grimaced. ‘I’m glad I’m going out to dinner – yuck, fish,’ she said, turning up her nose.

  ‘You’d eat it if you were hungry,’ Flora tutted. ‘So what’s this sudden interest with your army captain? Is it serious?’

  Rose poured boiling water into the teapot and put the knitted cosy over the pot. ‘Oh Mum, he just asked me out to dinner. What with me going off to London for my training, and him off to fight the war, he said it would be a nice way to say goodbye. That’s all.’

  ‘But you don’t know when you’re going to London, do you?’

  Rose looked a little shamefaced. ‘I heard this afternoon. It’s arranged for the day after tomorrow,’ she said gently, seeing the hurt look on her mother’s face. ‘I was going to tell you, honest. What with rushing about getting ready for this evening, I’d not got round to it.’

  Flora wasn’t one for arguments, and she didn’t wish to fall out with Rose. She’d brought her daughter up to be honest, and she believed they would have discussed it at some point that evening. ‘Leave your bits and pieces out for me, and I’ll have them rinsed through ready for you to pack. We can’t have you off to London not looking your best, can we?’

  ‘Oh Mum, what would I do without you?’ Rose said, giving her a hug.

  ‘You’re going to have to learn to do without me once you’re living in Margate,’ Flora replied, trying hard to smile. It would break her heart not to have Rose living with her, but she was proud all the same that her daughter would be the manageress of a Lyons teashop. It was a much more secure life than the life of a singer, going from venue to venue and meeting all kinds of people. She should know.

  ‘Where is that cuppa? I am parched,’ Anya said, handing Rose a slim cardboard box.

  ‘I can see you’re learning your English from Mum,’ Rose laughed, and she took the box and carefully opened it. ‘Oh my gosh – I can’t take your silk stockings. Look, Mum. Please tell Anya she can’t do this.’

  ‘It’s most generous of you, Anya. Are you sure this will not leave you without stockings to wear?’

  Anya waved her hand to dismiss their comments. ‘It is nothing; I have more. They were something not stolen from me on my journey. I hid them in lining of my suitcase, as they are good for the bartering. I learn this after I left Poland. Not all people are honest. You have all been good to me; now I can be good to you,’ she said as she started to pour tea into the cups.

  ‘Speaking of being good – Rose, have you asked about a job for Anya yet?’

  Rose was about to speak when there was a knock on the door. ‘Oh my goodness, it must be Ben. I must go and put on my stockings! Mum, can you let him in? And please don’t cross-examine him. His intentions are honourable.’ She stopped to kiss Anya on the cheek. ‘You are a lifesaver. Ask Mum about the Sallys,’ she added as she dashed off.

  ‘The English are a strange race,’ Anya murmured as she poured milk into her cup. ‘But I do like them a lot.’

  6

  Lily stood outside the Coronation ballroom, tapping her foot impatiently. Shining a torch onto her wristwatch, she could see Tom was twenty minutes late. That’s not a good start, she fumed to herself, clutching her coat closer to her body. I should’ve worn a cardi
gan – if I’d known he was going to be late I could have taken longer getting ready.

  She stopped tapping as she recognized him sauntering up the road, seeming not to have a care in the world. I shouldn’t have suggested we just went dancing, she said to herself, stubbing out a cigarette with the tip of one of her best shoes.

  ‘There you are,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘I was a little early,’ she added, hoping he would acknowledge how late he was. Instead he simply held out his arm. She took it without another word as they joined the queue going in to the dance.

  ‘So, what’s keeping a girl like you in Thanet?’ he asked once they were inside, and he’d placed a small glass of sherry in front of her.

  Lily wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t one for sherry, but it was her fault for saying she didn’t mind any drink that was on offer. She took a sip, trying not to gag. ‘Habit, I suppose. That and a lack of opportunity. I could ask the same of you,’ she hit back.

  Tom laughed. ‘This job will take me around the country. I don’t plan to be a salesman for long. There are opportunities out there for a man like me, and I’ll be grabbing them while the others are away at war.’

  ‘What’s your excuse for not joining the services?’ Lily asked sharply. ‘Don’t you want to support your country against the Nazis?’

  Tom looked hurt. ‘In a flash,’ he said, ‘but I have a weak chest that would stop me fighting. My doctor advised against it.’

  Lily wasn’t daft; she had heard this excuse bandied about on more than one occasion. ‘You could be a pen pusher, or do something where you didn’t exert yourself. I know a chap who had polio as a kid, and they put him in the Pay Corps,’ she threw back at him.

  He sighed as if he’d heard these words before and slowly pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one without offering them to Lily. ‘People need to eat. I have a job; I visit the Lyons restaurants and tearooms to make sure they don’t run out of food. If that’s not helping the war effort, I don’t know what is,’ he said, standing up. ‘Do you want to dance?’

  Lily knocked back the last of the sherry and went to join him on the edge of the dance floor. Cigarette in hand, he pulled her close and they joined the throng of dancers as the band started to play a foxtrot. He wasn’t a bad dancer, and she noticed some admiring glances from other women. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  When they sat down again, Lily looked him square in the face and said, ‘I’d leave Ramsgate if the right offer was there. I’d quite like an adventure.’ She smiled, reaching for the cigarettes he’d left on the table.

  Tom gave her a look that suggested he knew what she meant. ‘Stick around and see what happens,’ he said, giving her a crafty wink. ‘Do you want another one of those?’

  ‘No, I’ll have a gin this time, thanks,’ she replied, and watched as he headed to the busy bar. Perhaps Tom would be her ticket away from Ramsgate and her stepfather?

  George had been home when she’d popped in quickly after work to get her clothes, and she could tell without a second glance that he’d been drinking as usual. As she’d headed to the stairs without acknowledging his presence, he’d bellowed after her, ‘What does a man have to do to get some food around here?’

  Lily had ignored him and rushed to her room, quickly wedging a chair against the door handle to stop him forcing an entry. Anticipating that George would be home, she’d already had a quick wash at work. There was no way she was stripping off to wash at the kitchen sink – not after what had happened the other evening. She pulled her one good dance dress from the wardrobe. She’d saved hard for this dress, and although it was now a year old, it was still stylish and attracted glances from men when she wore it. The green crêpe de chine clung in all the right places and swirled around her ankles when she danced. She felt like a million dollars, just like those American film stars, when she went dancing – so the last thing she wanted was for George to launch himself at her and damage this dress, as he had before. Her previous best dress was now in the dustbin; she couldn’t bear ever to see it again, let alone wear it – even if it could have been repaired.

  Checking her make-up in the dressing-table mirror she had taken from her mum’s room after she died, she thought hard as she reapplied red lipstick and added a few hairpins to her already neat hair. First turning off the light, she pulled back the blackout curtains and pushed hard on the warped frame of the sash window. Looking round the small bedroom, she spied a small chalk fairing that George had given her after a trip with her mum to Dreamland in Margate. She’d always hated the small ornament with the saying ‘Honour your father’ etched on the front. With one hefty throw, it flew from her hand out into the dark back garden and crashed against a wall, causing a lone dog to start barking and a neighbour to shout out in fright.

  Straight away the back door banged open as George staggered out into the night, swearing loudly for all to hear as he tried to work out what the commotion was. Lily took this as her cue to grab her coat, and with her best shoes in her hand she belted down the stairs and out the front door before George could come in again. She was halfway down the street before she stopped to put on the shoes and catch her breath. She was laughing for all she was worth, but stopped suddenly, thinking she’d be for it when she got home later. Hoping vehemently that George would go out to the pub and have a skinful so she’d be safe for the night, she had headed off towards the dance hall with a spring in her step.

  ‘What’s up with you? You look miles away,’ Tom said as he returned with their drinks.

  ‘Nothing much,’ she smiled back. ‘I was just thinking I could do with a bag of chips later. My treat,’ she added, in case he thought she was a gold digger. If only he knew what she’d really been thinking . . .

  ‘Why not? Perhaps we could take them back to my hotel room. It’s perishing cold out there.’

  ‘Why not?’ Lily replied, returning his knowing look. ‘How about another dance?’ she said as the lights dimmed slightly and the band started to play a waltz.

  Flora put down her sewing bag and blinked several times. When she could move, she would put the kettle on for a cup of cocoa. She’d overdone it a bit today, what with going down to check the ARP entrance to the underground tunnels and having a chat with fellow wardens. There’d been talk about painting the edges of pavements white so that people didn’t fall in the blackouts, but she’d soon put paid to that when she had asked who was going to volunteer to do such a thing, and where the money was coming from?

  Some of those councillors are full of hot air, she huffed to herself. Then to come home and decide to clean the doorstep and polish the brass fittings was a bit on the daft side. Thank goodness Anya had offered to help. She was a godsend around the house, and willing to learn. Even now she was upstairs with Miss Tibbs, learning how to use a sewing machine to make herself a skirt. Last week it had been knitting lessons. Whatever would she do next?

  It was unusual to be alone in the evening, as there were usually one or two of the residents popping in for a chat or to make themselves a drink. Flora kept an open house for her paying guests and insisted they use the kitchen as much as they wanted, with her only presiding over breakfast and dinner, if it was required. It was a system that had worked for many years, back to when she first ran the guesthouse – before General Sykes had taken up residence as her main guest. It was nigh on fourteen years now since she’d lost her husband in the tram crash just down the road. She sighed. Whatever had made her think of Ron after all this time? It had not been the right thing to marry for friendship, but at least Rose had grown up being able to call someone Daddy. She must be feeling unsettled, what with Rose moving on to pastures new. Who’d have thought she’d be a manageress in charge of her own shop while she was still in her twenties?

  Delving deep into the bag that held her knitting and darning equipment, she pulled out a bundle of faded cards held together with a piece of ribbon. Picking carefully at the knot, she pulled away the stri
ng and laid each one on her lap, opening one delicate card to reveal a photograph of herself in the days when she was younger than Rose. She lifted one closer to her face to look again at the young woman bending to collect flowers thrown onto the stage by admiring young men. ‘Dear General Sykes,’ she whispered to herself. ‘What glorious times we had, until it all went wrong.’ Whatever happens, history mustn’t be repeated, she thought as she gently placed a kiss on the fading image before carefully placing the cards back where prying eyes would never find them. At least we have our Rose.

  Flora jumped as someone rapped on the front door. It was gone eight o’clock. Whoever could it be? Please don’t let harm have come to Rose, she prayed as she hurried along the hallway to pull back the blackout curtain and switched off the light. ‘Hang on a minute; I’m just opening the door,’ she called as again there was a sharp knock on the stained-glass insert in the top half of the door.

  ‘Mrs Neville? I’m sorry to bother you so late in the evening. I’m Sergeant Miller, one of the army’s billeting officers. I’m here to see what rooms you have available to put up some of our men?’

  Flora opened the door wide and allowed him to step inside, followed by a young corporal with a clipboard. She’d heard from fellow landladies at a WVS meeting that she’d have a visit from them before too long.

  ‘You do realize we have mainly ladies living here?’ she asked with a pleasant smile. ‘I’d not like them to feel uncomfortable with uncouth men sleeping under the same roof.’

  The officer listened politely. ‘There are many homeowners in the same position as you, Mrs Neville. The men we will place here, if there is room, are family men and quite respectable.’

  Flora nodded politely and led the two men through to the kitchen. ‘Would you like a hot drink? I was about to put the kettle on the hob. Please do sit down.’