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POLLY

‘Well, I have to say, I really like this music!’

Polly turned to see Brooke and Danny doing their best to dance to Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’ as it blasted out through the speaker system.

She couldn’t help laughing. Brooke’s huge hair (which always reminded Polly of the straw hair on a scarecrow that used to stand in the Rowlands’ field) was adorned by a floppy, red bow. She was wearing trousers that were too short for her, and big, heavy boots and red braces like a man’s.

Danny, meanwhile, was dressed in flamboyant clothing with some sort of military-style jacket, looking like a cross between a soldier and a Jane Austen hero, except that he had make-up on his face, of all things!

They looked so ridiculous that the sight of them trying to jitterbug to the popular wartime music was hilarious.

Then again, Polly recalled, ‘In the Mood’ had never been the easiest piece to dance to anyway, so these two stood no chance.

She and her friends had usually sat that one out, much as they’d loved the tune.

The 1940s weekend had kicked off at last, and Rowan Vale was already filling up with tourists. Many of them had dressed for the occasion, and it was a strange, though uplifting, experience to see the village filled with people wearing the sort of clothes she’d seen every day during her life.

‘Polly!’ She turned as Millie came rushing up to her, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘Come and see what they’re doing at the salon. It’s so wild!’

Polly smiled fondly at her and followed her to Churchside, where she found the shop fronts of the Swinging Sixties street had been transformed.

Every window had the gummed, brown-paper tape criss-crossing the glass, and each window display had been changed to reflect the 1940s, even though inside the shops were the usual 1960s goods.

The toyshop had removed its bright and cheerful games and toys from the 1960s and replaced them with the starker, more basic 1940s toys for its window display.

Callie had managed to secure several items on loan from local museums for the weekend.

She, Brodie and Mia had worked so hard on this, and Polly was amazed by how much they’d achieved in such a short space of time.

She peered through the glass, feeling a pang of nostalgia at the cardboard tanks, paper dolls, rag dolls, cardboard aircraft, bags of marbles and jacks, and packs of playing cards. She smirked at the dartboard with Hitler’s face on it. She’d bet lots of families had fun with one of those!

The newsagent, meanwhile, had stuck copies of 1940s front pages all over his window, and Polly dawdled for a while, scanning the headlines and remembering how people had lived for the daily newspaper and the next wireless broadcast so they could find out what was going on “over there”.

A headline could make your day or break your heart.

It had been the most unsettling and disturbing time people of her age had ever known, though sadly many of the older villagers had been through it all before, and not so long ago either.

‘Polly!’ Millie called impatiently.

‘Won’t be a minute,’ she replied automatically, steadying herself against the assault from so many bittersweet memories.

Passing the boutique, where the display of miniskirts and hotpants had been replaced with dresses, suits, hats and coats far more familiar to her, she followed the teenager into the salon, where she found Ingrid, Marie and Mandy hard at work giving giggling tourists vintage hairstyles similar to the ones they were now sporting themselves.

Gone were the beehives. Now they were wearing styles very much like Polly’s own, although Ingrid had gone for something a bit more sophisticated, similar to Harmony’s.

There were posters on the wall of Betty Grable and Veronica Lake, and she noticed the magazines were ones she used to read herself.

She stared at the covers of Woman’s Weekly and Woman’s Realm , Woman and Home , and Home Companion , remembering the endless knitting and sewing patterns, recipes that helped you make the most of your weekly rations, short, romantic stories that let you escape from the harsh realities of life for a little while, and the beauty tips for women who owed it to the nation to make the most of themselves and not let standards drop!

The strains of ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ drifted into the salon and Polly closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift away.

Images floated through her mind: moving into The Brambles with Charlie, their first proper home together; going to work each morning and spending the day with Mum, Eileen and Rosie as they made Deakin’s Teashop a success; testing new recipes, chatting with the customers, laughing and joking in the kitchen; the growing tensions as the likelihood of war increased; 11.

15am on Sunday 3 September, when Neville Chamberlain had announced Britain was at war with Germany; the day Charlie told her he was enlisting, and how she’d pleaded with him not to because he was an agricultural worker and exempt, and she couldn’t bear to think of him in danger; waving him off the day he left the village, her mum hugging her and telling her to be brave and not let him see how upset she was; the fear all over again when Ray joined up; Charlie’s death; rebuilding her life one painful piece at a time…

She stopped there. She always stopped there.

Everything that came later was too much for her to bear.

Anything good had been damaged beyond repair.

The pain wiped out all the happiness. The fear wiped out all the love.

It was why Max Meyer’s arrival in Rowan Vale had changed everything for Polly, and she didn’t know how to deal with it.

‘Isn’t it fab?’ Millie sighed. She twirled a strand from her heavily backcombed, blonde hair around her forefinger. ‘Wish they could do my hair for me. Just temporarily. I’d love to try something new for once.’

Polly shrugged her sadness away and put her arm around the young girl. ‘You look lovely just as you are,’ she told her.

‘I’ll never have a boyfriend, though, will I?’ Millie said sadly. ‘I’ll never get married or have children.’

‘I never had children either,’ Polly said softly.

‘But we have to make the best of things, love. We’re luckier than some of the ghosts, aren’t we?

I’ve got Jimmy and Shona and my family, and you’ve got Lucy and Sam.

One day, Lucy might have children, and then you’ll have babies living with you and I’ll bet you anything you like you’ll be wishing you could go back to the days when you had peace and quiet. ’

Millie laughed. ‘They’d better not touch my bedroom! Thanks, Polly. It’s just hard sometimes, you know?’

‘I know, love,’ Polly told her. ‘I know.’

She left Millie sitting on a chair watching in fascination as the stylists gave customers pin curls and victory rolls and headed back into the street.

Her nose twitched as the smell of fish and chips drifted towards her, and she shook her head at the size of the queue outside the shop. Some things never changed!

She turned off Churchside and wandered down Mill Lane but didn’t go back to the mill complex where the teashop was. Instead, she turned down Victoria Walk which led to the village green.

This was where the Victorian shops and house were situated, overlooking the green with its ancient wishing well.

She’d heard the photography studio had switched to photographing customers in their 1940s clothing for the day, instead of hiring out their usual Victorian costumes, and thought it might be fun to watch that for a while.

Before she reached the green, though, she felt a tug on her arm and spun round in surprise.

Her surprise increased when she saw Harmony Hill standing before her.

‘What the heck? Harmony, you came!’

Her surprise gave way to delight, and she had to stop herself from physically hugging the actress. She didn’t want to scare her away, after all.

‘It ain’t so bad, ya know?’ Harmony shrugged. ‘I just spent way too long standing by a stall selling baked potatoes. The smell was to die for! Man, what I wouldn’t give…’ She sighed. ‘Ah well, here we are. I’ve been looking for you. You and me need to talk.’

‘We do?’ Polly couldn’t believe her luck. Here was her Hollywood idol, not only tolerating her, but actively seeking her out. ‘What about?’

‘Come with me,’ Harmony said, and led Polly away from the green and along the footpath by the river.

Skirting the mill complex, they continued on their way into the open countryside, passing the odd cottage and a few tourists who’d entered the estate from the north side and were making their way to the centre of the village for the event, judging by their clothing.

Polly was beginning to wonder where Harmony was taking her when the young woman finally came to a riverside bench and sat down, indicating that Polly should do the same.

‘Are you feeling all peopled-out already?’ Polly asked her, feeling some sympathy. It had probably been a lot to ask of Harmony, attending a busy event like the 1940s weekend when she’d shunned company for so long.

‘It’s not so much people as all the noise,’ Harmony admitted. ‘I live a quiet afterlife these days. I used to love music and dancing and all that stuff. Now – not so much.’

‘I think it would get easier in time,’ Polly said gently. ‘Once you get used to it all again.’

‘Maybe. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about, anyway. I had a visit the other night.’

Polly’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Who from?’

She thought they’d all agreed. No bothering Harmony Hill. Polly had done what she promised and invited her to the event, and then it was up to her. Who’d taken it upon themselves to visit her?