The Secret Notebook Read online

That evidently hadn’t changed.

  Alone now, Izzie poured a glass of red wine and set it down on a small table beside the large, pink, flowery utility armchair in the back room, beside the French door.

  The notebook was a little bigger than A5 size, Izzie thought, the handwriting in dark blue ink and so familiar in style…

  Chapter Four

  Molly

  Blackpool, Saturday November 6, 1943

  Dear Diary,

  I should be getting off to sleep, but I’m too excited. I need to write down what happened today, so I never forget.

  Dora had just left work and I stood in the doorway of the boarding house to cool off before going back inside to put the cleaning stuff away in the hall cupboard.

  Enid shouted from the kitchen that I should answer the front door. I wanted to tell her to do it herself but kept my voice down to a whisper.

  I wasn’t that brave to answer my stepmother back…

  I raised my curls away from my hot face and neck; I knew they needed combing. But that didn’t matter.

  No one ever cared what I looked like – so long as they got fed and a bed.

  I whisked open the door to find two tall, dark men, so smart in RAF uniforms and more handsome than anyone I had ever seen.

  I was transfixed.

  ‘Joe Blackshaw, miss. We’re billeted with you. And I’m very pleased to meet you.’ He held out his hand to shake mine, blue eyes twinkling. He had a smile that took my breath away, and he told me that I wasn’t seeing double as he gestured sideways. ‘This is my twin brother, Jack.’

  Joe Blackshaw’s hand was warm and I thought I’d like to hold on to it for longer. His open smile and sparkling blue eyes made my insides flip about like a landed fish. I stood there, smiling like a twerp and then a bit belatedly, I moved my hand to Jack’s, and said it was nice to meet him, too.

  ‘How do.’ He looked exactly like his brother, his smile a match too, but my stomach didn’t lurch about when his hand closed around my fingers. I thought that was strange.

  I led them both into the lounge to meet Enid, introducing myself as Molly, stepdaughter of Enid, on the walk along the hallway.

  I was kept busy then with a continual stream of billets arriving, right up until mealtime. But I’d a right old struggle to keep my excitement under control at the thought of seeing handsome Joe Blackshaw again, the warmth I’d felt at the touch of his hand…

  All the guests settled down for their meal and when it came to clearing the plates afterwards, Joe brought his pots to the kitchen, followed by several others who did the same.

  ‘Do you go dancing?’ he asked without preamble. ‘We’re off to the Tower Ballroom in a bit. Will we see you there?’

  My insides were flip flopping again; I took their plates, aware of Enid standing at the cooker stirring custard.

  I whispered that I hoped to go, and prayed that mother wouldn’t hear me making plans – she’d a way of ruining them.

  ‘You’ve a lot of clearing up to do, young lady, before you go off gallivanting!’

  She’d heard.

  But I could work quick when I’d a mind to.

  I was just about to open the back-room door to say goodnight when I heard Enid pipe up that it was time I was married and off her hands. She was talking to a neighbour, Marian Howarth, my friend Dora’s mum, who’d come for her regular cup of tea on a Saturday evening. Enid told Marian I’d be left on the shelf at this rate. I was a bit shocked when she added, ‘Always out with this one and that, a right flibbertigibbet. I’ve told her – no funny business with our billets – no good can come of that.’

  That was such an unfair thing to say! I love dancing and the way the band or organ music makes me happy. But flibbertigibbet? I enjoy a laugh and a joke, a kiss and a cuddle, but I don’t flibbertigibbet around!

  But there was something I did like about her words – getting wed would mean moving out of Enid’s proximity.

  Now that idea appealed…

  ‘There’s time yet, Enid, the lass is only twenty-one,’ Marian responded.

  ‘I don’t know, Marian, I think Bill, God rest his soul, let her have all of her own road. She’s a bit too keen on enjoying herself, that one.’ Enid sighed. ‘Most girls her age are settling down.’

  Hearing her talking about Dad spurred me into action and I stuck my head round the door to tell them I was off out shortly.

  She announced she’d need help traying up the bacon and the like early in the morning.

  I don’t know why – maybe some latent contrary streak in me – but I shot her a beaming smile and said, ‘Six?’

  She blinked with surprise, unable to hide her reaction. ‘Just before.’

  ‘Right ho.’

  I hurried and dressed in the navy tailored dress I planned to wear that evening, quick dab of lippy and a speedy run through with the hairbrush.

  The more I thought about it, the more getting married and moving away sounded just the ticket.

  I just needed someone to get married to…

  Someone I loved – a lot.

  Dora and I walked arm in arm along the sea front, night bombers flying out across the sea providing a continuous drone.

  I told her that I’d looked a right sweaty Betty when I’d met the Blackshaw brothers and that Joe had asked if I was going dancing and he’d said he and his brother might go too.

  I kicked one leg backwards to inspect the eyebrow pencil seam running down the back of my calf, and the light coat of gravy browning used to resemble the colour of stockings. ‘Be a shame if the sea mist took it off!’

  Laughing, we moved nearer the tram tracks, out of reach of the spray, then crossed the road to go into the Tower – the ballroom our favourite Saturday night destination.

  As we shrugged out of our coats, Dora said she was coming around to help out tomorrow teatime to get a proper look at the brothers. I laughed because she always came to help on a Sunday teatime.

  Dancing was in full swing when we entered the ballroom. Many of the men were in uniform, some in smart suits, some young women in land army uniform and others in dresses.

  Wonderful upbeat organ music filled the room, helping to set aside the press and gloom of the war, the unending melancholy news of injuries, death and destruction, the food shortages, the cold…

  Dora went off to dance with an old friend and disappeared into the crowd. I watched as she moved away, and my heartbeat stuttered when my gaze met Joe Blackshaw’s; he gave me a nod and my cheeks flamed in response.

  ‘Evenin’, Molly.’

  None of the RAF trainees billeted with us at the boarding house had ever had this effect on me.

  In fact, no one ever had.

  I couldn’t understand why he affected me so that I felt short of breath, swept along, chosen especially for his attention as though I was special.

  ‘Want to dance?’ He smiled his captivating smile, lovely eyes twinkling, and it almost made me forget I needed to actually say ‘Yes’. Then he held out his hand for mine, brow raised in question … and whisked me onto the dance floor.

  He held me and I fancied we floated, waltzing around the heavenly floor. He was so handsome, his easy smile compelling. I could feel the warmth of his palm on my back through my dress, holding me against him – and yet, I wanted more, to be closer still. Whilst we danced, I imagined myself in a beautiful romantic film, one with a happy ending…

  My Dear Diary, I felt like the cat that got the cream being whisked around the dance floor, aware that many pairs of female eyes followed Joe, yet he didn’t return their gaze.

  He kept his eyes on mine and his were filled with warmth.

  ‘You enjoy dancing?’ he asked me, and I nodded. He held me a little closer against him.

  My sigh of happiness ended abruptly when someone grabbed my arm and jerked me away from Joe.

  ‘What you doing with him?’ It was Denis, a past dance partner, a disgruntled expression on his boyish face.

  Joe asked, ‘Who�
�s this then, Molly?’

  ‘Denis.’ He cocked his chin. ‘I’m her young man.’

  Joe raised his brow. ‘Are you?’

  ‘No. We’ve danced now and again, but he’s not my young man. I would know!’ I was cross that Denis had spoilt such a wonderful, dreamy moment.

  Taller and stronger-looking, Joe jerked his thumb, indicating that Denis should shift away. ‘Find someone else to dance with.’

  ‘Bitch.’ Denis spat in my direction, but I didn’t care.

  I could have burst with happiness; Joe had sent Denis on his way. I felt even more treasured, cared for and protected by this tall, handsome, uniformed man, and the warmth inside me turned molten. I couldn’t stop smiling for being so happy.

  We danced until it was time for the music to end for the night; for the first time ever at the Tower, I had danced with only one partner. Joe Blackshaw. He bought us both drinks, spent all of his time with me… He was so attentive. I felt like a princess; I had never met anyone like him.

  Joe held my coat and I slid my arms into the sleeves. ‘It’s been a grand night, Joe.’

  ‘It has.’ He put his arm along my shoulder and smiled in agreement, that wonderful smile again, and I waved to Dora who was also making her way out with Jack and another couple who walked in the same direction home.

  It was so dark sometimes and we all bunched together as a rule to be safer.

  Joe and I dawdled at the back as we walked along the promenade. I barely felt the bitingly cold November wind tossing the waves and my hair, chilling everything in its path.

  Joe chattered non-stop about how he was looking forward to being posted somewhere warm once his training was complete. How he’d intended to become part of the air crew eventually rather than ground support; that’s what their extra training was for, he said.

  We drew level with one of the shelters and he guided me towards it so we could move inside out of the wind.

  He took me in his arms and kissed me then. His mouth and the tip of his nose were cold, yet warmth rushed through me when he held me, his mouth moving expertly over mine. He held me closer and closer.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he whispered, briefly raising his mouth before kissing me again. ‘Your hair is lovely.’ His fingers tangled with my wild curls and I felt the gentle tug deep inside. ‘I felt like one lucky man tonight, Molly, having you all to myself.’

  The weak moonlight showed him smiling, ‘Every man in the Tower Ballroom envied me. I love that feeling.’

  I knew pure bliss in that moment. The waves ebbed and flowed, and the sound of them breaking on the shoreline in the pitch dark below the prom added a magical, romantic soundtrack that filled my heart to bursting.

  I tingled from the warmth of his closeness, the embrace of his arms and the loving words I treasured, held close. I felt truly cared about. I’d never had compliments like those before, never been kissed so thoroughly before. I’d never been so happy to be me before. I could feel myself melt against him, but then, just as Joe’s palm moved to my hip to gather me closer, Jack called across to us.

  ‘I’m going to see Dora home, Joe, Molly.’

  Heartbeat galloping, I pulled away from Joe. The waxing moon cast a brief hazy silver light over the promenade. I waved over in Dora and Jack’s direction, called cheerio, breathless because only when I came up for air did I realise that I had been completely carried away, in what felt like a romantic trance – unsure how far I’d have gone if Jack hadn’t shouted. I felt like I’d had all my bones removed.

  ‘I need to get home too, time’s getting on.’ I said those words because I thought I should, but I would rather have returned to the heated kisses.

  That engaging smile of his showed in the dim moonlight. He seemed unworried by the interruption and offered his arm for me to link. ‘Let’s get you home, then, love.’

  I wanted to say something, tell him that I did want him to hold me and kiss me, but I was still shocked at my reaction to him, at how easily I’d thrown caution to the wind… I didn’t really understand how it seemed so right to be close to him after such a short time of knowing him.

  Against the daily tedium of air raid sirens and cold cramped shelters and rationing, Joe was my shaft of happiness, of light, even perhaps escape. His smile, his easy laughter and conversation of home in Manchester, of their postings so far, was a huge contrast to the daily grind, news of deaths, endless rumours of imminent invasion on the coastline, and working with Enid – who, at the best of times, was sullen.

  Enid could drain the laughter and fun from me in a heartbeat.

  Being with Joe – just walking alongside him – so very handsome in uniform, entertaining and easy to talk to, made my world bearable, beautiful, even.

  To be kissed by him and held so tightly, and to feel I was the only one that mattered in his world…

  It was shocking how much I wanted him, wanted him even as we turned in off the promenade onto Banks Street and into the boarding house front yard.

  Joe squeezed my hand when I said I’d better go in first in case Mother was about and that he should follow shortly along with Jack. He wished me goodnight and I floated into the hallway on a cloud of bliss.

  Blackpool, Sunday November 7, 1943

  I’ve been kept busy all day and only just caught a glance of Joe at breakfast, before he and the others went out.

  I’d almost finished preparing for Sunday tea, and was wringing out a clean tea towel until it was almost dry to tuck over the tray of butties to keep them fresh, when Dora arrived to help.

  I lined up the brown teapots and spooned in tea from the caddy.

  Dora shared some sugar around the sugar bowls and asked if there was anything else, she could do to help. ‘That’s what I’m here for, Molly!’

  ‘Mmm, I’m sure that’s all you’ve come for!’ We laughed and ferried the plates of sandwiches, homemade scones, butter curls, teapots and paraphernalia through to the dining room, where a mixture of hungry RAF trainees and a couple of civil servants played cards, listened to the radio and wrote letters. They all eagerly awaited Sunday tea.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ Joe said, taking the loaded sandwich tray from me. ‘Jack will bring the teapots.’

  I looked over his shoulder to Jack and he raised his thumb and said, ‘Will do,’ his smile warm and friendly.

  ‘Oh! Thanks.’

  ‘We’ve been told to help where we can. Is there anything else to bring through?’

  ‘Just cups and the rest of the teapots.’

  ‘We’ll sort it.’ He smiled, his blue eyes sparkled with warmth and I wished at that moment I’d put some lipstick on, brushed my hair and changed my frock. I smiled back, unable to string a response together because my breath caught at the sight of those blue eyes.

  I thanked him again and actually squeaked when I spoke to him. I thought I should pinch myself for being so affected.

  Luckily, if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

  I nipped off into the hallway to sound the gong for mealtime, just in case any guests were still in their rooms, then made my way back through the dining room to check all was well.

  ‘Will you and your friend come for a walk after tea?’ Joe piled some sandwiches on his plate. I’d a job not to jump up and down with glee!

  I said I’d ask Dora and hurried into the kitchen.

  Well, in all honesty, Dear Diary, I ran!

  Dora was wiping down the kitchen worktable and said it’d be okay to go for a walk so long as she wasn’t out too late.

  Joe, Jack and a couple of the other billeted RAF trainees helped to clear the tables, and wash and dry the pots after tea, whilst Dora and I set the tables for breakfast the following morning. We were finished and ready to go in record time.

  Within minutes, the Blackshaw brothers, Dora and I were walking along the promenade, the chill breeze bringing the fresh smell of salt and sea to us straight off the dark sea. We stood and leaned against the huge concrete blocks that protected the Blackpo
ol coastline from enemy invasion and looked out across the sea, the remaining strip of flat sand that the incoming tide hadn’t yet covered just visible in the dark by the light of the half-moon.

  ‘I never get tired of this view, or the salty smell.’

  ‘Have you always lived here in Blackpool?’ Joe asked, a little lop-sided smile accompanying his words. ‘I think it’s grand.’

  ‘No, I’m not sandgrown. We came here from Royton when I was thirteen – my mum died the year before that, and Dad took the chance of a fresh start. Sadly, he died seventeen months after we moved here.’

  ‘Enid isn’t your mum, then?’

  ‘Stepmum. She insists on being called Mother. Dad met her when he came on a work trip with friends sometime after Mum died.’

  ‘It’s her boarding house, then?’

  ‘Yes. Dad worked for the railway and he and his pals stayed at the Bing Lea. He always said Enid was a lost soul too – her first husband died in the Great War. No children.’

  Joe put his arm around my shoulder. That new warmth I had never known before filled me from top to toe. It was so overwhelming. I felt complete, as if I truly belonged for the first time.

  ‘Tell me your craziest first memory.’ I wanted to know everything about Joe.

  ‘Climbing trees.’ He stared out to sea. ‘Jack and me swinging on a rope off a branch over the stream.’ Then he turned to me and laughed. ‘The rope broke and Jack ended up with his arm bandaged up and a good hiding off Ma. She’d told us not to go on it, time and again.’

  Jack laughed too where he stood alongside us. ‘I was always the one to cop it!’

  The slight squeeze Joe gave my shoulder sent tingles everywhere in my body. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I was three or four. Playing in a massive cardboard box in the Rope Works Mill with other kids, whilst my mum worked a sort of treadle machine. There was so much noise, machinery – and bits of soft fluff floated in the air, made you cough when you breathed them in.’

  ‘Your mum took you to work, then?’