Chapter One
1st September 1939, London
Dulcie Treadwell, firmly grasping the handles of her two carrier bags, pushed through Peter Jones’s exit onto Sloane Square, glad to be out of the stuffy department store. She glanced about her. A window cleaner on a ladder outside one of the shops whistled as he spotted her. She looked up and grinned. Two young mothers pushed their prams past her, chatting together, taking no notice of their babies howling. A bus rumbled by and a man rushed after it, grabbing the rail to haul himself onto the platform. A perfectly normal London scene. And yet a strange stillness hung in the air. A waiting. An expectation. She felt she could almost cut it with a knife.
It had been a hot, dry fortnight. Dale, as she preferred to be called, stood on the pavement, enjoying the heat of the morning sun on her face, the carrier bags brushing her legs. Anticipation fizzed through her at the thought of showing off her new dress and shoes to Jane and Rhoda at the tea dance on Sunday – her twenty-first birthday. Thrusting out her hand to grab the attention of a taxi coming towards her, she stepped into the road. Annoyingly, it sped by. So did the next one.
Dale crossed the road and made her way briskly towards Eaton Square. She became aware of a strong male voice from an open window of one of the houses she was passing. She slowed down. What was going on? She shouldn’t eavesdrop, but they ought to have shut the window. Then it dawned. Of course. It was the wireless. Probably some sports programme. She gathered her pace, but the same voice followed her from more open windows. Why had everyone got the volume up so loud? She glanced at her watch, wondering if it could be the news. Everyone listened avidly these days, still hoping war could be avoided. But if it was the news, it wasn’t the right time of day, so it must be a special announcement.
Perhaps she’d catch the last of the broadcast if she hurried. But from the next house came the sound of sobbing. Then someone inside banged the sash down. Abruptly stopping and stepping back, she felt someone from behind collide into her.
‘’Ere, mind where yer goin’,’ an irate woman’s voice reprimanded her.
‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. I heard someone crying in that house and wondered if they needed help.’
‘I think yer’d best mind yer own business, miss,’ the woman said, glaring at her, ‘’fore yer start causin’ more accidents.’ She ambled off.
Dale stared after her, then looked back at the house. She could still hear the sobbing even through the now-closed window. Dale hesitated, then shook her head. She should take that woman’s advice – it was none of her business. She strode past the next row of houses.
And then her attention was caught by the words ‘… signed by the King,’ voiced by the same wireless newsreader, followed by a few more words, then the snippet ‘… general mobilisation …’
Her pulse raced. She quickened her footsteps. She needed to get home to switch on the wireless. Find out what was happening. More snatches of the report floated down from the windows:
‘… Mr Chamberlain’s statement …’
‘… hostilities along the frontiers between Germany and Poland …’
The rest of the sentence was muffled by crackling. Her heart in her mouth, Dale began to run, trying to keep up with the newsreader before the broadcast ended.
The last words she heard before she turned into Charlwood Street rang in her ears:
‘… Great Britain and France are inflexibly determined …’
Dear God, is this the news we’ve all been dreading? A war with Germany?
Her fingers felt thick as bananas as she fumbled to unlock the front door. She rushed into the sitting room, threw her bags down and switched on the wireless. Foot tapping with impatience, she waited a full half minute as it warmed up. But all that was playing was some light music. She’d missed it. Damn! The next news wouldn’t be until one o’clock. But surely Mother would have heard it. She’d probably be in the kitchen listening to the wireless while she was preparing lunch.
But she wasn’t there.
‘Mother, where are you?’ Dale called.
And then she heard a muffled sound from above – like someone groaning in pain. She took the stairs two at a time, almost slipping on the rug outside her mother’s bedroom. Without knocking, she flung open the door – took a step back. Her mother was bent over her dressing-table, her head buried in her hands, sobbing hysterically.
It must have been the news bulletin. Her mother had been through the trauma of the Great War only twenty years ago. The shock of a new war would be even worse for her generation. Dale rushed to her side, then gently prised her mother’s hands away from her face. ‘Did you hear the whole thing?’
Her mother raised her head, her eyes red with weeping.
‘Where have you been all this time?’
‘I went shopping,’ Dale said. ‘You knew that.’
‘You shouldn’t have left me – today of all days … the most terrible news.’
‘I know,’ Dale said. ‘I heard snatches of it from open windows as I walked from Sloane Square.’
Patricia Treadwell shook her head. ‘What are you talking about?’
It was Dale’s turn to be puzzled. ‘From what I could catch, I think the Germans must have invaded Poland, which means we now have to declare war on Germany.’ She gazed at her.
‘It’s not that at all.’ Her mother’s expression was dull. ‘I haven’t switched the wireless on ever since that letter came this morning.’
Dale’s stomach gave a sickening lurch.
‘What letter? Who from?’
‘From your father.’ Her mother fished out a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I don’t know where to begin. It’s all so dreadful.’
‘Just say it.’ Dale’s patience was beginning to wear thin. Then a frightening thought struck her. ‘Has he had an accident?’
The words choked in her throat. Her father had only recently gone to Scotland – he was rather vague on exactly where, or how long he’d be gone. All he’d said was he was going to join a team who were experimenting on tracking weather by radio. Apparently, it was all rather hush-hush, but a vital development if there was to be another war. Although Dale had no idea what he was hinting at, she was secretly proud of him.
Her mother stared at her for a few moments with unfocused eyes. Then she shook her head. ‘No. No, nothing like that. I wish it were.’
‘What is it, then?’
Patricia Treadwell set her teeth in her lower lip. ‘He’s not coming home when we expected him.’
Mother tended to be overly emotional and even erratic, Dale reminded herself, especially since she’d been going through what her friends called in an undertone ‘the change’, where apparently women of a certain age succumbed to mood swings.
‘Does he have to stay longer in Scotland for his work?’
Patricia shook her head again. ‘No.’ The word seemed to come from deep down within her.
‘Is he ill?’
‘He’s far from ill.’ Her mother’s voice was harsh.
‘Then what—’
‘He wants a divorce!’
She couldn’t have heard right. Dale stared at her mother. She could see her mother’s chest rise and fall … hear the hiss of her jagged breath as she struggled to get her words out.
‘Wh-what did you say?’
‘You heard,’ Patricia replied, bitterly. ‘He’s met someone in Scotland and asking me if I’ll divorce him. Well—’ she glared at Dale ‘—he’s got another think coming if he thinks I’ll let him go to some floozie.’ She blinked rapidly.
Dale’s mouth went dry. Shockwaves rushed from her throat to her stomach. Was it true that her beloved father really had met another woman? It didn’t seem possible. He’d only been up there a couple of months. Mother could be difficult, heaven knew, but she and Dad seemed to rub along – well, mostly anyway. But all this time Dad must have been needing more from his wife. But a divorce …
She swallowed hard. A divorce was so final. Surely he’d want to discuss something so important – so devastating it would change all their lives – by coming home first and talking to his wife before making such a decision. But no, he’d simply written her a letter. No wonder Mother was in such a state. She must feel wickedly betrayed. And so do I, Dale thought bitterly.
‘I’ve given him the best years of my life, supporting him when we were young and had no money. Taking that switchboard job in the war so he could train to be an engineer.’ She paused, her eyes flashing. ‘Do you think I wanted to do that? No. I did it for him. Gave up my own life so he could fulfil his. And how does he repay me? He goes off with another woman – I expect she’s younger than him and that makes him feel young. He says she makes him happy.’ She squeezed shut her eyes as though trying to ward off the images that were making her so upset. ‘Happy!’ Patricia spat the word. ‘Being married and having children is a responsibility – not a guaranteed path to happiness.’
‘Mother, you’re in shock.’ Dale put an arm round her trembling shoulders.
‘To think all this time he was sleeping with her and I knew nothing about it. How could he?’ She began to weep.
Dale’s insides churned as she stood helpless, dreading to hear any more intimate details. She waited until the sobbing subsided. Her mother looked up, tears still streaming down her face.
‘And if I set him free and he goes to this woman, what will everyone say?’ Without waiting for her daughter to reply, she added, ‘I’ll be the only divorced woman in the street.’
‘Who cares about the street and what people think?’
‘I do.’ Patricia threw her a furious glance. ‘Everyone will be whispering behind my back. Saying I couldn’t keep hold of my husband. Don’t you remember poor Mrs Kingsnorth in Beaufort Street? The neighbours who she always said were so friendly ended up not speaking to her and she had to move right away. And he was the one playing away, but everyone blamed her for not being able to hold on to him. She let herself go, they all said, so it was her fault in their eyes.’
‘They weren’t proper friends and the gossips aren’t worth tuppence,’ Dale said crisply. ‘And you haven’t let yourself go. You always look lovely.’
It wasn’t exactly the truth. Her mother had gained some weight and these days rarely bothered to dress up. She’d had the same hairstyle ever since Dale could remember. Maybe when she’d calmed down, Dale would suggest a trip to the hairdressers for a more up-to-date look. Not today, though. She’d get her head bitten off.
Dale handed her a fresh handkerchief. ‘Come on, Mother, dry your tears. I’ll go and make a pot of tea and you can tell me what he said.’
Dale went downstairs and put the kettle on and was setting out the tea tray when her mother appeared.
‘Go and sit down and I’ll bring this through,’ Dale said as she poured milk in the jug and put a few biscuits on a plate. She carried the tray to the sitting room where her mother sat staring out of the window. She handed Dale the envelope.
‘You can read it. I thought it was to tell me he’d finished the job and was coming home.’ Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle another sob.
‘Let me just read it before I say anything,’ Dale said, removing the two sheets of notepaper. As usual he’d just written yesterday’s date and ‘Edinburgh’. They had to use a PO Box number when they wrote to him. Part of the hush-hush, she supposed. Quickly she skimmed the contents all the while chewing her lip. Her father sounded dead serious.
‘How dare he sign “Yours”?’ Her mother’s voice rose.
‘I suppose it’s habit,’ Dale said. She could understand her mother’s fury. It was a meaningless, cruel signing off. She hardly dared look up. When she did, she was shocked. Her mother’s eyes were steel, her mouth set in a thin line.
‘Claudia.’ She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. ‘What sort of a name is that? He even said I’ve always been a good wife and mother … and faithful,’ Patricia’s voice droned on. ‘He forgot to mention that. Oh, how could I have been such a fool?’ She looked Dale in the eye. ‘By the sound of it, you won’t be able to go on any more shopping sprees. But I know one thing – I’m not selling the house. I’m not having the neighbours say I’ve been tu...
