Queenie

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Kimberley Chambers 2020

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photographs © Richard Jenkins Photography (woman), Shutterstock.com (street scene)

Kimberley Chambers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008144821

Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008144838

Version: 2020-08-03

Dedication

In loving memory of

Joyce Pauline Darling

July 1941—November 2017

Epigraph

‘We know what we are,

But know not what we may be’

William Shakespeare

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Part Two

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part Three

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Part Four

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Part Five

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Kimberley Chambers

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

From what I can recall, my early childhood was a happy one. I lived with me mum, Molly, dad, Eric, and younger sister, Vivian, in the East End of London. Whitechapel, to be precise.

My dad worked long hours down at the docks and it was Mum’s job to cook, clean and look after me and Viv. Like most East End families, we didn’t have much dough. But compared to those that lived in the slums, we were reasonably well off. We had a two-bedroom house all to ourselves and a hot meal on the table every evening.

Vivvy wasn’t just my sister; she was my best mate too. When we weren’t at school, we’d be outside playing from dawn to dusk. Marbles, rounders, release, conker fights and even cricket with the boys. It was warmer running around the streets than it was indoors at times.

Once every summer, Mum and Dad would take us to Southend for the day. We’d collect shells, fish for crabs and go paddling in the sea before eating a handsome fish-and-chip supper.

Hop-picking in Kent was another annual family outing. Aunt Edna, me mum’s sister, would come with us too. A funny lady, she would sing all the way there and all the way home. Viv and I loved Aunt Edna dearly.

But in life, things can change in an instant. That’s certainly what happened to me. One minute I was this carefree teenager, the next I had to batten down the hatches as life as I’d known it smacked me in the chops over and over again.

Anyway, enough of me waffling on. Not for the faint hearted this, so put on your seatbelts and prepare for a rollercoaster.

My name is Queenie and this is my story.

PART ONE

‘One might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb’

Proverb

CHAPTER ONE

Summer 1939

Eric Wade chucked the newspaper to one side. ‘It’s gonna happen, Molly, I’m telling you. Now Hitler’s invaded Poland, we’re bound to get involved. Expect an announcement soon, my love. We’re going to war.’

Molly squeezed her husband’s hand. Eric was thirty-four, a medium height, broad-shouldered man who currently had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His own father had been killed in action during the Great War and Eric was petrified of being called up as he feared the same would happen to him.

‘I was talking to Mr Ricketts yesterday and he said if the worst happens, it’ll be the younger lads they call up, Eric. The ones without families. Try not to worry too much, lovey.’

Eric stood up. He wasn’t a big boozer any more, but the thought of going to war was enough to turn any man to drink. ‘I’m off to the pub. I’ll see you later, love.’

Molly walked into the lounge to see her two daughters glued to the window. ‘Queenie, Viv, come away from there. You don’t want the new neighbours to think we’re a family of nosy parkers, do you?’

Viv obeyed her mother’s orders while Queenie stayed put. She couldn’t take her eyes off the boy she presumed was the youngest son. He was tall with a mop of wavy jet-black hair. At twelve, Queenie had boy mates but was yet to have a proper boyfriend. She decided there and then that when she was old enough she wanted a boyfriend just like this one. She’d never seen anyone so handsome before, but he was far too old for her she feared.

‘Queenie, I won’t tell you again. Move.’

Queenie reluctantly did so and was lunged at by her mother. Molly spat on her handkerchief and wiped the remains of her daughter’s breakfast off her face. ‘If you’re going over the road to ask the new neighbours if they’d like a cup of tea, you need to look your best,’ smiled Molly.

Queenie grabbed Viv’s hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go meet them.’

The previous tenant of the house had been Nutty Nora. She’d died in hospital recently and wouldn’t be sorely missed. She used to wake half the street up by dancing and singing in the middle of the night. Many a time, Queenie’s dad had got up and led the senile old woman back inside her house, only for her to reappear in the street ten minutes later.

Queenie approached the woman who was standing on the doorstep. The two lads had disappeared. ‘Hello. We live opposite you at number thirty-one. My mum sent us over to ask if you’d like a cup of tea?’

The woman was of medium build, smartly dressed and had beautiful thick wavy black hair that shone in the sunlight. She smiled. A kind smile that lit up the whole of her face. ‘Patrick, Daniel,’ she shouted in an Irish accent.

The two lads reappeared, and Queenie felt herself blush. The younger one was even more handsome up close. He had piercing bright green eyes, full lips and a cheeky grin.

‘These lovely young ladies live over the road and have asked would we like a cup of tea.’

‘Does the Pope pray?’ the older lad chuckled.

Not knowing what that meant, Queenie and Viv glanced at one another.

The woman held out her right hand. ‘I’m Mary. Mary O’Leary, and these two ragamuffins are my sons, Patrick and Daniel. We would absolutely love a cup of tea,’ Mary smiled. ‘And please do thank your mum.’

‘OK. We’ll be back soon,’ said Queenie.

Daniel gently grabbed Queenie’s arm. ‘Not until you tell us your names, you won’t. My mum’s always told me and my brother we aren’t to accept things off strangers.’

Realizing her sister was unusually lost for words, Viv stepped in. ‘I’m Vivian and this is my sister, Queenie.’

Daniel winked. ‘A pleasure to meet you both. Three sugars each for me and Patrick and two for Mum. Oh and don’t forget the biscuits.’

Mary chuckled and playfully punched her youngest on the arm. ‘You take no notice of this one, girls. He’s a terrible wind-up merchant. I’ve got sugar and biscuits.’

When Daniel grinned at her, Queenie felt her insides flutter, a feeling she’d never experienced before.

Viv linked arms with her sister and led her back to their house. ‘Why did ya act all weird?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you did. You stood there like a stuffed dummy.’

‘You’re talking rubbish.’

Vivian might only be nine, but she was astute for her age. ‘Queenie and Daniel sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,’ giggled Viv.

‘Shut your big mouth, else Mum will hear ya,’ ordered Queenie.

‘Are they nice people? Would they like tea?’ asked Molly.

‘They’re very nice, Mum,’ Viv replied. ‘Oh, and Queenie fancies Daniel.’

‘No. I don’t,’ Queenie glared at her sister, face turning a shade of beetroot. ‘I’m going to lie down; I got a headache. You can take the tea over by yourself.’

‘Whatever’s a matter with her?’ asked Molly, as her eldest flew up the stairs.

Vivian shrugged. ‘Search me, Mum.’

The following morning, having recovered from the previous day’s embarrassment, Queenie happily tucked into her breakfast. Kippers soaked in vinegar with a thick slice of bread was her favourite. ‘You look nice, Mum. You going out somewhere?’

At thirty-one, Molly was plumper than she’d been when she’d married Eric. A five-foot-three brunette, she had a kind smile, big brown eyes and was wearing a floral dress. ‘I’m popping down the Lane with Mabel. You two need new school shoes.’ Mabel Brown lived next door. Queenie and Viv often played with her daughters, Aggie and Nelly.

‘You’re quiet, Dad. You OK?’ asked Queenie.

‘No. I’m not OK. It’s only a matter of time now before Chamberlain sends in the troops. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.’

‘Don’t worry the girls please, Eric. Put that newspaper down and eat your kippers. They’re getting cold,’ ordered Molly.

Queenie and Viv glanced at one another. Both were thinking the same thing. What had happened to their once jolly dad? Lately, all he did was go on about the war and it was tiresome, to say the least.

Queenie was sitting on a kerb outside Derek Lewis’s house swapping cigarette cards when Derek’s mum bellowed, ‘Kids, get in ’ere. The Prime Minister is about to make an announcement.’

Even though the small front room was packed with people, you could have heard a pin drop. ‘I am speaking to you from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street,’ boomed Neville Chamberlain’s voice. The radio was turned up to full volume.

Queenie squeezed her sister’s hand. Had her dad been right all along about a war, she wondered? The Prime Minister’s voice certainly sounded serious.

‘This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us,’ explained the Prime Minister. ‘I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.’

‘Flipping hell! Hitler’s coming to get us. We’re doomed,’ cried Derek Lewis.

Derek’s mum smacked him around the head. ‘Shut it you, ya bleedin’ bock.’

Confused and not really knowing what to do next, Queenie took Viv’s hand and set off home.

The atmosphere walking a few streets from Derek’s house to their own was strange. Everyone seemed to be outside their houses having a chinwag, but there was none of the usual hoots of laughter or happy faces, just solemn expressions and looks of concern.

‘We ain’t all gonna die, are we, Queenie?’

Queenie put a protective arm around her nine-year-old sister’s shoulders. Everybody said how alike she and Vivian were. They ate well but were both skinny as rakes. They had the same mousy brown hair too that their mum made them wear shoulder length as she said it was too fine and looked straggly if they grew it any longer. ‘Don’t you worry,’ Mum had told them. ‘Dad’ll look after us. We’re gonna be fine.’

Nobody was at home, so Queenie and Viv sat on the kerb outside rather than sit inside alone. They had no idea where their dad was, but their mum would most certainly have got wind of the news down the Lane and was probably rushing home to them at this minute.

‘Are your ma and da not in?’ shouted a voice. It was Daniel O’Leary.

‘No. But they’ll be back soon,’ Queenie managed to reply.

‘Ma said come in for a cup of tea. You can wait for your ma and da with us.’

Queenie leaned towards Viv. ‘You show me up and say I fancy him, I’ll never speak to you again.’

Within twenty minutes of sitting inside Mrs O’Leary’s house, Queenie had temporarily forgotten England was at war. Mary made them sweet tea to help with the shock and cut them each a slice of Irish apple cake, which was gorgeous. Then she told funny stories, mainly about her sons, to make them laugh. Daniel was eighteen, Patrick twenty-two, and Queenie could not stop smiling. The lads joined in with the fun too, telling stories about their mother and the rest of their family back in County Cork.

‘Have you not got a husband?’ Vivian asked bluntly.

Queenie nudged her sister. ‘You don’t ask people such questions. Apologize to Mrs O’Leary at once.’

Mrs O’Leary waved her hand. ‘It’s fine, honestly. Yes, I do have a husband. Paddy. I kicked his useless backside out years ago, mind, the drunken old goat. Good for nothing, that man. Well, apart from giving me three gorgeous sons.’

‘Our dad used to drink too much when Viv and me were little. My mum made him stop,’ exclaimed Queenie.

‘I don’t ever remember Dad being drunk,’ queried Viv.

‘Neither do I. But that’s what Mum told me. He was drunk when he registered your birth, Viv, that’s why your name’s spelt wrong.’

‘What do you mean it’s spelt wrong?’

Seeing the look of indignation on her sister’s face, Queenie pretended she was joking and decided to change the subject. Their mum had nearly died giving birth to Viv, had been ill for ages afterwards. The spelling of her sister’s name was meant to be Vivienne, but their dad had made a cock-up and registered it as Vivian, which was usually the man’s version of the same name. ‘Is your other son married, Mrs O’Leary?’ enquired Queenie.

‘Call me Mary. All my friends call me Mary. Seamus died, my love, back in Ireland. He would’ve been twenty now, God rest his soul.’ She solemnly made the sign of the cross across her heart.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Queenie mumbled.

‘Me too,’ added Viv. She craned her neck. ‘Aunt Edna’s just turned up at ours, Queenie.’

‘We better go now. Thank you so much for the tea and cake, Mary. It was very kind of you.’

Mary O’Leary smiled. ‘You’re very welcome, girls. The boys go to work all week, so if you’re ever bored, you’re always welcome to pop in. That’s if it’s OK with your mum, of course.’

‘Bye, girls,’ said Patrick. ‘And don’t you be worrying about no war. Daniel and I will look out for you.’

‘Too right we will,’ Daniel added with a wink, and Queenie felt herself blush again.

Aunt Edna was the only other relation Queenie and Viv had that they knew of. A big lady with an even bigger singing voice, Aunt Edna had short dark curly hair and was the life and soul of any party. She loved to sing and could play the piano without even looking at the keys.

At thirty-five, Aunt Edna was four years older than their mum. She’d had her heart broken by a cheating fiancé in her younger years and had been single ever since. She treated Queenie and Vivian more like daughters than nieces.

Edna put an arm around both girls and held them close to her ample bosoms. ‘I brought you some sweeties. Where’s your mum and dad? I take it you’ve heard the news?’

Molly Wade arrived home at that very minute and joined in the hug. ‘It’ll be OK. We’ll all be OK. Where’s your father?’

‘Dunno, Mum. Will we have to go to school tomorrow?’ asked Queenie.

‘I don’t know yet, love. It’s all been such a shock; I can’t think straight.’

‘Will Hitler bomb us, Mum? Derek Lewis says we’re all doomed,’ said Viv.

‘Take no notice of Derek Lewis,’ replied Aunt Edna. ‘His mother talks rubbish an’ all.’

Molly was worried, extremely worried. The war was obviously her main concern, but Eric was another. He’d rolled home drunk last night, for the first time in years. The girls were in bed and thankfully hadn’t witnessed it, but Molly’s guess was he was down the pub again now and she couldn’t go back to those dark days. She’d given Eric an ultimatum when Vivvy was three months old. He either gave up the booze or she was leaving him and she and the girls were moving in with her sister.

The ultimatum had thankfully worked and ever since Eric had been a good, kind husband and father. Eric had endured a tough upbringing. After his father got killed in battle, his mother had gone on the game to make ends meet. She’d been found strangled in an alleyway when Eric was nineteen years old, a subject he found difficult to talk about even now.

‘Eat your sweets, girls. I got you some cola bottles and Parma violets,’ urged Aunt Edna.

When the girls went out into the back yard with their sweets, Edna made her sister a cup of tea. ‘Awful news, ain’t it, lovey? But we must try and be bright in front of the kids. I’m surprised Eric isn’t ’ere. Did he say where he was going?’

Molly’s eyes welled up. ‘He came home drunk last night. Started on me like the old days. Thank God it was late and the kids were fast asleep.’

‘You gotta nip that in the bud, Moll,’ Edna advised, her face full of concern. Eric Wade was a decent enough man until he had a drink inside him. Alcohol did not agree with Eric one little bit. It turned him into a monster.

An hour later, Eric arrived home as sober as a judge.

‘There you are! Where have you been? I was worried sick, Eric,’ Molly gabbled.

Edna glanced at her brother-in-law to check the state he was in, before going out in the garden to join her nieces. She had male friends, lots of them, but would never trust another romantically after what David Futcher had done to her. Singing and playing the piano in pubs brought Edna far more happiness than men ever had.

Eric held his wife in his arms. ‘I’m so sorry about yesterday. It won’t happen again, Molly.’

‘It had better not, Eric, because now war has been declared, I couldn’t cope with you off the rails an’ all. I don’t know if I’m coming or going as it bloody well is.’

Eric put his arm around Molly’s shoulders and led her into the back yard. ‘Girls, Edna, I know today’s news is shocking, but I want you to know we’re all gonna be fine. I went to see my pal, Canning Town Keith, earlier and he reckons he can put a shelter up for us ’ere, in our own back yard. That’ll keep us all safe, eh?’

Queenie and Viv ran over to their father and hugged him. ‘Will Hitler not be able to get to us if we all sit in our shelter, Dad?’ asked Viv.

‘Nope. Hitler won’t be able to get at us in there.’

‘That means Aunt Edna will have to move in with us,’ said Queenie. ‘’Cause if the bombs start going off, she lives more than ten minutes away.’

‘I can run round ’ere in five bleedin’ minutes,’ lied Aunt Edna. ‘Anyway, we’ve all gotta carry on with our normal lives. There’ll be no food on our tables otherwise. Hitler don’t frighten me, ya know. I’ll be singing in the Prospect of Whitby tonight as usual. It’ll take more than a short-arse, pasty-faced kraut to stop me doing what I wanna do!’

As Queenie and Viv giggled like mad, Molly and Eric couldn’t help but laugh too. Edna didn’t only have a wonderful singing voice and a way with words, she also had the knack of turning a dark day into a positive one. Edna’s glass was always half full, never half empty. She truly was a ray of sunshine to be around.

And in the dark days of the war ahead their little family would need all the help they could get.