Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017

Copyright © Annie Groves 2017

Cover layout design © Annie Groves 2017

Cover photography © Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover photographs © Rajkumar Singh / plainpicture (woman), Simon Baylis / Shutterstock.com (street scene).

Annie Groves 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: 9780007550845

Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780007550852

Version: 2017-10-27

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Part Two

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

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Annie Groves

About the Publisher

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Spring 1941

Kitty Callaghan drew her coat more tightly around her and wondered if she’d done the right thing.

It was an old coat, but then nobody could get anything new nowadays. She’d never had much new to begin with, so at least everyone was in the same boat, now that war had been raging for over eighteen months. The material was worn and bobbled where her bag usually rubbed against it. It wasn’t much protection against the cold or the biting winds that blew in off the Atlantic. Well, she told herself, that wouldn’t matter now. She would soon be far away from Liverpool and everything she was familiar with, all she had ever known for every one of her twenty-two years.

She caught sight of herself in the dirt-smeared train window. A pair of dark eyes stared back at her, set beneath waves of dark hair, which she had tried to control with a few precious grips. Her face was white. That would be the light making her look like that. It was nothing to do with the fact that she was full of trepidation at what she had done.

Kitty had been lucky to get a corner seat. She knew that it was going to be a long journey – nobody could say quite how long, as the tracks were always getting damaged and then the race would be on to repair them. Her fellow passengers were in every sort of uniform. Soon she would be in uniform too.

Her decision to join the WRNS – the Women’s Royal Naval Service, known as the Wrens – had been a sudden one, and had come about partly thanks to a chance encounter at the New Year dance at the Town Hall. Kitty had been doing her bit for the war effort already, managing the local Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes (or NAAFI) canteen on the dock road near her home in Bootle to the north of the city. At first she had enjoyed it, finding it a challenge, and was satisfied that she was helping out, even if in a small way. But, having seen the devastation caused by the bombs dropped on the docks and all around, she knew she needed to do more. Her home city had suffered terribly from attacks by the German air force, the Luftwaffe. Family and friends had been hurt, and forced to make heartbreaking decisions, such as whether to evacuate their children away from the most dangerous areas. Yet everyone had been buoyed by the bravery of the pilots in the Battle of Britain back in the summer and, once it became clear that the war was not going to be over any time soon, people had begun to dig deep and find reserves of courage. So when Kitty had bumped into a recruitment officer at the dance, she had decided to pursue the enthusiastic young woman’s suggestion that she consider joining up.

‘Penny for ’em!’ One of the young lads, in an army greatcoat that was far too big for him, leaned across from the seat opposite and grinned at her. ‘What are you doing, then? Going to see your boyfriend?’

Kitty was no stranger to dealing with such comments – you couldn’t afford to be standoffish in the NAAFI canteen. She had learned to give as good as she got. Fortunately, having three brothers at home, she had already had plenty of practice. But she also knew not to indulge in idle conversation when she couldn’t be certain who might be listening, so she shook her head gently. ‘Careless talk costs lives,’ she said lightly.

The young man’s face fell. ‘Go on, a pretty girl like you must have a boyfriend,’ he persisted. He looked about seventeen with his baby face without a trace of stubble.

‘Don’t pester the lady – she’s right,’ said one of his companions, whose own uniform showed he was a corporal, not just a private. ‘You don’t know if there’s spies out there in the corridor or not. Sorry, miss, he don’t mean nothing by it. No offence, like.’

‘None taken,’ said Kitty. She was going to have to spend many hours with these people and there was no sense in making a scene. Equally, though, she didn’t want them larking about and chatting her up. She had some serious thinking to do.

Her own big brother had signed up almost as soon as war broke out. Jack was a pilot with the Fleet Air Arm and had already had a narrow escape when his ship went down after being attacked by the enemy. He’d been wounded by a bullet in the shoulder, but insisted he was better, and had returned to active service as quickly as they’d let him.

Danny, the brother who was just over a year younger than her, was in a reserved occupation on the docks, although at the moment he was recovering from an accident. It had nearly killed him, and could have taken scores of others with him. Kitty shut her eyes briefly at the memory. Danny had been the hero of the moment, taking the place of a fire-fighter who’d collapsed when trying to save a burning cargo ship. What Danny hadn’t told anyone was that he’d been turned down by every one of the Forces because he had an enlarged heart, the result of rheumatic fever as a child. So when he himself collapsed soon after the exertion, Kitty and the rest of the family had had to cope with the shock of the accident and the additional news that Danny had a serious condition that would restrict him for the rest of his life. She shook her head a little. It was no good worrying. Danny was old enough to look after himself; and besides, he could talk his way out of just about anything.

As for Tommy … Kitty couldn’t contain a sigh at the thought of her youngest brother, just eleven years old. As their mother had died giving birth to him, and their father while alive had been a feckless drunkard, she had raised him almost as her own. He’d also had a rough time of it over the past year and a half since the war had broken out, but he’d finally agreed to be evacuated. Kitty had no concerns on that score; he’d gone to a farm in Lancashire where their neighbour Rita’s children had been made more than welcome. He would be fussed over and pampered by the farmers Joan and Seth, safe from the attentions of the Luftwaffe that had made life in Empire Street so perilous. While she knew in her heart of hearts he had wanted to stay at home for the excitement of collecting shrapnel and being in the thick of things, it was for the best. Little Michael and Megan from across the road were there to play with, and he’d be better fed than the rest of the family put together.

So why was she so full of doubt? Kitty mentally gave herself a shake. She should be grateful. She’d survived the bombings where so many hadn’t. She’d been lucky to meet the kindest man in the midst of all the chaos at Linacre Lane hospital, where Danny and Tommy had been treated. Dr Elliott Fitzgerald was so far above her in social station that she sometimes had to pinch herself that he’d even talked to her, let alone taken her to a posh dance at the Town Hall and seen her whenever his rare time off from the wards coincided with her being off shift from the canteen. He’d been immediately encouraging about her joining the Wrens. Plenty of men would want the woman with whom they were developing a relationship to stay close at hand, but not Elliott. He believed she could do it, and be a success. He’d held her hand, looked into her face with his beautiful blue eyes, and said that she would be wonderful and exactly what the country needed. Just having him next to her made her feel more confident, more assured.

So why wasn’t that enough?

Because, said a little voice in her head, he isn’t Frank Feeny.

Suddenly the train jolted to a halt. Shaken, Kitty peered out of the window, but of course all the signs at the station they’d just drawn into had been removed, for security. She’d never been this far from home before and didn’t recognise anything.

‘It’s Crewe,’ said the baby-faced private, but the corporal dug him in the ribs.

‘Shut up, Parker. You know you’re not meant to say that.’

‘Only trying to be helpful,’ said Parker, rubbing his side. ‘That hurt, that did.’

‘I’ll give you more than that to complain about if you don’t watch your mouth,’ warned the corporal.

Just when Kitty thought it could be getting nasty, the door to the compartment opened and a young woman stuck her head through the gap. ‘I say, could you shove up? Thanks ever so.’ Without waiting for a reply she swung herself in and hoisted a very elegant case on to the overhead rack. Kitty only had sight of it for a moment, but that was all it took for her to recognise its quality, so very unlike her own shabby one beside it.

‘I’m so glad to have a seat,’ the woman went on, giving the occupants of the carriage a dazzling smile. ‘I simply dreaded standing all the way to London. Now let me make amends for disturbing you by offering you some gingerbread. Mummy asked Cook to bake extra for this very reason.’

The soldiers immediately broke off from their quarrel and looked brighter. Kitty masked a grin. Maybe this journey wouldn’t be so bad after all. It was a sign, she told herself. Push all thoughts of Frank Feeny firmly away – he thought of her as a pesky little sister, that was all. She was better off in so many ways now that Elliott had come into her life. And, while she was nervous about what the coming weeks of training would bring, there was something else too. Excitement. Ambition. This was the start of something completely new, and she owed it to her family, her friends, but most of all herself, to make the very best of it.

CHAPTER TWO

‘So why aren’t you out helping Mam down the WVS?’ Rita Kennedy, née Feeny, demanded of her younger sister Nancy. They were in the kitchen of the family home, even though neither of them lived there any more since their marriages. Then again, both marriages had turned out very differently to how they’d expected, and they both preferred the comfort of their mother’s warm and welcoming kitchen to just about anywhere else on earth.

Nancy planted her elbows firmly on the old chenille tablecloth and sipped from her cup of tea. ‘Because I’m minding Georgie. He’s still having a rotten time with his teething. The last thing they’ll want is a howling baby shouting the place down.’

Rita raised her eyebrows, knowing full well that Nancy would do anything to get out of hard graft. While their mother was a mainstay of the Women’s Voluntary Service, as well as organising salvage collections, cookery classes, make-do-and-mend classes and being the auxiliary fire warden for Empire Street, Nancy rarely lifted a finger if she could help it. She was perfectly happy to let somebody else mind her young son – usually their sister-in-law Violet, who, having no children of her own yet, liked nothing better than entertaining young George, who was not quite a year old. That suited Nancy down to the ground. Now she pouted at her big sister – a look she’d practised for many a year.

‘You needn’t be like that about it.’

‘I didn’t say a thing,’ Rita pointed out, pulling out a wooden chair and sinking gratefully on to it. She’d been on her feet all day.

‘You didn’t have to,’ Nancy complained. ‘Your sour look gave it away. Someone’s got to look after Georgie, and now Violet’s thrown herself into the WVS as well, it’ll have to be me.’

‘What about Sid’s mam?’ Rita asked innocently, waiting for the firestorm that would follow. She wasn’t disappointed.

‘That old witch! I wouldn’t trust her with a baby.’ Nancy was incensed. ‘It’s bad enough having to live under her roof – we don’t want to spend any more time with her than we have to. I don’t know how she does it, but she manages to be a proper busybody and a big streak of misery at the same time. I mean, Sid’s been a POW since Dunkirk, but every day she goes on and on about it like it’s only just happened. It’s as if nobody else has lost anyone in this blessed war. It’s all about her, what a martyr she is, how it’s destroying her health. It’s enough to get your goat.’

Rita couldn’t argue with that; Mrs Kerrigan always had been one of their nosiest neighbours, and she’d taken to the role of grieving mother as if she’d been born for it. Rita smiled to herself. Whatever disapproval anybody had for Nancy’s ways was like water off a duck’s back; she didn’t seem to give a hoot about other people’s opinions. Still, her sister could be remarkably callous about her missing husband, and Rita knew she was sailing a bit close to the wind these days. ‘You’re going to have to keep on the right side of her, though, for when Sid gets back,’ she said. ‘He’ll have been through enough without coming home to find his wife and mother at daggers drawn.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to dwell on it.’ Nancy tossed her head, making her red hair swing about her shoulders. ‘We none of us know when he’ll be back. It’s too depressing to think about.’

More like Nancy didn’t want Sid back to cramp her style, Rita thought, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. It couldn’t be easy for Nancy, rattling round in that gloomy big house with a mother-in-law who made no secret of disliking her. As for Mr Kerrigan, nobody ever saw him. He worked nights on the Liverpool Post and kept totally different hours to the rest of his family, which Nancy figured was to stay out of the way of his disagreeable wife. Nancy spent as much of her time as she could in her mother’s house, and had even come back to live there for a while, before Violet had arrived and it had simply become too crowded to contain them all. Reluctantly she’d taken little George back to his other granny.

Rita sighed. She was hardly so squeaky clean herself. She pushed thoughts of the circumstances of her marriage to her husband Charlie out of her mind, feeling too exhausted to think about it now. She loved her work as a nurse, but ever since the local infirmary had been bomb-damaged, she had been working at the hospital on Linacre Lane, a much longer walk away. She didn’t mind the walk itself – especially now that the buses were so unreliable – but the journey there and back combined with long shifts and the weight of responsibility of being a nursing sister wore her out. She reached for the teapot before Nancy could help herself to a refill. Guiltily she realised she was drinking her mother’s tea ration, though Dolly Feeny wouldn’t have begrudged her eldest girl a cup. The whole family were proud of Rita, who’d kept at her post while the docks were bearing the brunt of the Luftwaffe’s devastating raids.

Warming her hands on the cup, Rita leant back. ‘That’s better.’ It was amazing what a drop of tea could do to restore your spirits. ‘Have you heard Mam’s latest?’

Nancy glanced up. ‘No, what?’

‘She’s gone and put her name down for a victory garden. She was talking about it at Christmas and I thought she’d given up the idea, but no. Now the days are getting longer it’ll soon be time to start planting seeds and I don’t know how she’ll manage.’

‘Well, I suppose we could all do with more fresh fruit and veg,’ said Nancy eagerly. Her mouth watered at the thought of strawberries in the summer. Even if there was no cream or sugar to go on them, they could always use evaporated milk.

Trust Nancy to jump straight to how she’d benefit herself, thought Rita. ‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ she persisted in trying to make her point, ‘but how will she find the time? Look at how much she’s doing already. She doesn’t get enough sleep as it is – not that there’s any telling her. We’re all going to have to muck in.’

‘You’ve got to be joking!’ Nancy cried hotly. ‘What, go grubbing round in the dirt? Lots of these gardens are just on dug-over plots where bombs have dropped, aren’t they? They’ll be filthy, not even like proper allotments. I’m not having anything to do with it. It’ll ruin my nails.’ She turned her hands to admire the latest shade of polish she’d managed to procure. It wasn’t easy to come by and she had no intention of spoiling her careful manicure by wielding a spade.

‘All the more for us, then.’ Rita drained her tea. Even though her sister was annoying, it was fun to wind her up and it was better than the alternative – going back to her own house and her own difficult mother-in-law. But there was no getting away from it. She rose to her aching feet, steeling herself for the short walk to the corner shop across the mouth of the alley. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Nancy.’

Nancy nodded absent-mindedly as her big sister made her way out of the door. Truth be told, she had more urgent matters to worry about than whether she’d be needed to take a turn on the new vegetable beds. She was sure she could get out of it – she could usually wheedle her way into her mother’s good books and persuade her somehow. There were some things, though, on which her mother wouldn’t budge.

One of those was how the wife of a POW should behave. Both her mother and her father had been very angry with Nancy when her other sister, young Sarah, had accidentally seen her canoodling with a man in a bus shelter back in December. Sarah had clearly been torn in her loyalties and very upset about the whole thing, but in the end had spoken up, more because if anyone else had seen them it would have been ten times worse.

As far as Dolly and Pop were concerned, that was the end of the matter. Nancy had been warned in no uncertain terms that she’d have to watch out for her reputation. It was bad enough to be a fast woman, but to be one when her husband had been taken prisoner in the course of serving his country was not to be contemplated. They had spelled out to her just what sort of reaction she could expect if she continued down that route.

Nancy shut her eyes and remembered. It hadn’t been just any man. It was Stan Hathaway, local boy made good. Even though his grandmother lived just around the corner from Empire Street and his family weren’t anything special, he’d managed to go to university and was now a flight lieutenant in the RAF. If anyone deserved a bit of fun on his precious home leave, it was him. Besides, he made her feel something that no other man had – not even Sid, back in the days when she’d first fallen for him, before she’d taken off the rose-tinted spectacles and realised what he was really like. But by then it had been too late and she’d been pregnant with Georgie. But Stan … he was utterly different. He was sophisticated and smart, and made her think she was those things too when she was with him. She could just imagine his arms around her, his persuasive whisper in her ear, the way her skin seemed to fizz with electricity at his touch.

She started suddenly as a wail came from the room next door. Georgie was awake again and it didn’t sound as if his nap had eased his teething troubles. Carefully she got up, making sure not to catch her precious nylons on the chair. She’d have to wait until Stan’s next leave to get new ones – he always seemed to know a way of finding them, and was only too pleased to give them to her. He used to joke that it was his excuse for finding out if they fitted her properly …

Guiltily she wondered if that tea had tasted right. Maybe she’d got another one of her upset stomachs. She’d had a few of those lately. That was all it was. She wouldn’t even think about the alternative.

Rita pushed open the back door to the living quarters, which were behind and above the corner shop. She paused to listen. In days gone by there would have been the constant buzz of gossip from the shop, as her mother-in-law Winnie Kennedy extracted the juiciest morsels of scandal from anyone and everyone, before selling on her carefully hoarded luxury items that only a select few customers knew about. Sometimes it was as if rationing had never happened. Being so near the docks, there were always folk who could get hold of just about anything for a small consideration, even though this was strictly illegal.

Now there was only silence. Rita groaned inwardly. Winnie had changed, and it wasn’t because of the destruction of so many homes around them or the loss of life that had shattered so many families around Liverpool in general and the docks in particular. In fact most people had become more defiant, nobody wanting to give in to the terror of the bombs. The people of Merseyside had come together and refused to be cowed. But Winnie had retreated into an angry shell.

She had always carried on as if she was a cut above everyone else, and had raised her son Charlie to feel the same. She’d never troubled to hide her resentment of Rita, who had never been good enough for her beloved son. Rita had married Charlie knowing all this only too well, but she’d had little alternative as she’d been pregnant with Michael. She and Jack Callaghan had been young sweethearts, but too young and naïve to realise what they were doing. When Jack had been sent away on his apprenticeship, Rita had panicked – making the worst decision of her life. Many a time over the past eight years she’d berated herself for the choice she’d made, but she had made her bed and now had to lie on it. The living quarters had been crowded when they’d all lived there, with Winnie’s bedroom right next to Charlie and hers, and even more so when baby Megan had arrived on the scene. Rita had treasured the dream of finding a place of their own, away from Charlie’s interfering, domineering mother, hoping that this would be the solution to the widening cracks in her marriage. She’d been foolish to think that, she now realised. Now she was wise to Charlie’s callous and vicious nature, but here she was, trapped with the poisonous Ma Kennedy, Charlie goodness knows where, and her children far away from Empire Street.

She sighed at the thought of her children; she ached at being apart from them. However, she knew Megan and Michael were safe, away from the air raids, living on a farm in Freshfield all the way out in Lancashire. Tommy Callaghan was with them, which would liven things up, and she tried to visit them when she could, always amazed at how they thrived away from the air raids. They looked so different from the pale children of the city who remained; those whose parents couldn’t bear to part with them and who now roamed the bombsites of Merseyside, exposed to many dangers. Thank God the farming couple had welcomed them with open arms, and Rita knew the children would have the love and security they needed – not to mention all those fresh vegetables and meat, and the cream of the milk and the rich golden butter they could never have hoped for in Empire Street.

She pushed open the inner door to the shop. Winnie was slumped behind the till, her eyes dead. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She could barely summon the interest to speak.

‘Of course it’s me. I’m late because the shift didn’t finish on time.’ Rita thought it best not to say she’d stopped off for a cup of tea next door. ‘Shall I put the kettle on? It’s freezing in here.’ No wonder there were no customers, she thought.

‘Certainly not. Tea’s rationed, as you should know.’ There was a trace of the old Winnie, snobbish and sharp. The fact that she had a case of tea stowed away in the cellar was not to be mentioned. Rita bit back the retort.

‘If you’re sure? Then I’ll go and get changed.’ Rita let herself out of the shop again and made her way upstairs.

Winnie’s situation was all of her own making. She’d kept a secret for twenty years or more and it had only come to light during a terrifying raid just before Christmas. Dolly, as fire warden, had had to make sure everyone left their houses and went to the bomb shelter at the end of the street, but Winnie had resisted, even though the roof of the shop was alight. She’d been desperate to rescue a box of papers from the loft. Dolly, at great risk to herself, had managed to persuade her difficult neighbour to get to safety and had looked after the box. In all the confusion of the raid it had finished up in the Feeny family home. Both Dolly and Rita were now aware of its contents.

Far from relying on the income from the shop, it transpired that Winnie had been the owner of three properties: the shop and its living quarters, a large house in Southport and a guesthouse in Crosby. All those years Rita had dreamed of moving out – and Winnie had said nothing, like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold. She’d been far more keen on keeping Charlie tied to her apron strings, where she wanted him.

Charlie had had other ideas, and while his mother had boasted to all and sundry about his job in insurance, he’d used it to pay calls on well-heeled women on their own in the afternoons. Winnie had either turned a blind eye or refused to believe it was possible – just as she’d managed not to notice the marks on Rita when Charlie’s rage turned against his wife. Charlie had finally taken off to the house in Southport, supposedly so the children would be safer, which was managed by a very accommodating woman called Elsie. He’d even put it about that she was his wife. Rita had eventually tracked them down and taken the children away – just in time, as a stray bomb had ripped the front off the once-grand house, and the children had been left standing in the road.

Rita’s parting shot had been to hand Charlie his call-up papers. He was a coward, all bluster and smarm; the only fighting he was capable of was to hit a woman behind closed doors. She had no idea where he was now and she didn’t care. That was Elsie’s problem.

There had been one more document in Winnie’s box that if anything had been even more startling. It was a birth certificate for a child called Ruby, born to Winnie Kennedy, but two years after her husband had died. The father’s name was left blank. This baby would now be coming up to twenty-one years of age. And when Rita had tracked down Charlie and Elsie, the neighbours had been keen to point out that the couple were often in the pub of an evening – but the children were looked after by a young woman called Ruby.

So things had come to an uneasy standoff. The people of Empire Street were mostly a good lot, but prone to suspicion and gossip. Charlie’s disappearance, and the fact that he’d never been seen in uniform, was a gift to the likes of Vera Delaney, who would love to wipe the smug smile off Ma Kennedy’s face and take her down a peg or two. Only a few Feenys knew the full truth. Winnie was slowly going to pieces waiting for her big secret to be blown.

Rita, meanwhile, harboured a secret of her own. When she’d gone to rescue her children, she hadn’t done it alone. Jack had taken her: Jack Callaghan, Kitty’s big brother, her childhood sweetheart and – as she’d finally confirmed to him – Michael’s real father. She’d tried to be a good wife to Charlie, to forget everything that had passed between Jack and her; they’d been too young, and fate in its many forms had made it impossible for them to be together. Now he was back doing his duty, escorting naval convoys across the vital supply routes of the North Atlantic. How she missed him. How she wished they’d somehow found a way all those years ago to overcome all the obstacles – but that hadn’t happened. Now she had to face the fact that her feelings for him had never died, but that she could not have him. The fact that Charlie had broken every bond of duty to her as a husband was neither here nor there. Divorce wasn’t a word you’d ever hear in Empire Street; no matter what a husband had done to his wife, she’d be expected to stand by him. The best she could do was to write. Rita had promised that to Jack and she wouldn’t break her word. The letters were hurting no one, and if they kept his spirits up through those dark nights on the Atlantic, then that’s what she’d do, and to hell with the holier-than-thou attitude of the rest of the world – couldn’t they have those precious words to share, if nothing else? But now Kitty had left, she would have to find another way of receiving his letters to her. Next to the children she adored, the letters were the one chink of light in this miserable life she was stuck with.

A noise at the top of the stairs startled her. A slight figure with huge pale-blue eyes and a frizz of pale- blonde hair emerged, smiling nervously, almost like a frightened child.

Rita took a long look at her, and noted again how much she looked like Winnie, her mother. Not so much her hair, but her nose and her eyes were very similar, though the young woman’s had a gentleness to them which Winnie’s certainly didn’t. Something else for the gossips to get their teeth into … Rita forced herself to get a grip and spoke steadily and comfortingly. ‘Hello, Ruby, come and have a cup of tea, love.’

As Ruby tip-toed down the stairs towards her, Rita looked around her at the shabby, care-worn kitchen – she saw the loose tea that Winnie had tipped into the sink, the chipped cups on the drainer and the cold grate that had been left for her to make up herself. She sighed deeply – if she didn’t have Jack’s letters as a lifeline, then she didn’t know how she would keep on going.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me taking the top bunk?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘No, I don’t like heights at the best of times. I’m much better off down here.’ She thumped the hard pillow into something she thought might be a more comfortable shape. It was never going to be soft, but at least all the bedding was clean. She’d heard horror stories about some service accommodation, and apparently the Land Army girls often had to put up with worse.

‘Bit of a coincidence that we ended up being billeted together, isn’t it?’ asked the elegant young woman from the train, whose name was Laura Fawcett. They’d introduced themselves on the journey, Kitty explaining she’d come from Liverpool, and learning in turn that Laura, although from Yorkshire, had spent lots of time in London and knew it well. ‘I’m glad we got the chance to get acquainted before the others turn up. Looks as if they’re expecting a lot of new recruits.’

Kitty had been taken aback on arrival in the capital and had been glad to have the much more confident Laura to guide her to their new home in North London. Although she was well used to the bustle of Liverpool city centre, this place was on a different scale. The sheer number of people was overwhelming, many of them in uniform of one sort or another, all weaving around each other at baffling speed. Kitty had gripped her new friend’s arm, totally disoriented. Laura had taken it in her stride, mildly annoyed to find that holes in the road meant she couldn’t take the route she’d originally planned, but swiftly deciding upon a new one. She’d plunged into the Underground and Kitty had followed immediately behind, terrified at the thought of getting separated. That had been her introduction to the Northern Line.

Now Kitty glanced uneasily around the large room they were in, full of bunk beds in readiness for the arrival of trainee Wrens. She was used to sharing a house with her brothers, and not having a minute to herself, but her bedroom, basic though it was, had always been her sanctuary. She’d done her best to soften it with her eiderdown and the few bits and pieces that remained of her mother’s possessions. Here there would be room only for the most functional items. She wondered what sort of bedroom Laura had had and what her home was like – nothing like Empire Street, she was sure of that.

Laura appeared to have no such doubts and finished packing away the small amount of clothing they were recommended to bring in no time, somehow managing to cram in some very elegant-looking frocks as well. ‘This place must have been a school, just look at it. Certainly wasn’t made to sleep in.’ She glanced around at the huge windows and high ceilings. ‘Bet it’ll be freezing. Oh well, maybe they’ll work us so hard we won’t care. Can’t be as cold as up north, that’s for sure. I’m used to the wind howling over the moors so I probably shan’t even notice. How about you?’

Kitty smiled, remembering the force of the westerly gales that came in over the Atlantic with such regularity. ‘Oh, that won’t worry me,’ she said lightly. ‘We have to put up with that all the time in Liverpool. At least they’ll give us uniforms to keep out the worst of it. I’ve been wearing dungarees for work in the NAAFI and this uniform is much nicer – warmer too.’

Laura held up the bluette overall she’d been issued with. ‘It’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? It’ll be itchy as anything.’

Kitty grinned, thinking that her pretty new friend probably wasn’t used to anything but the finest material, and would not have had to wear anything practical, certainly not like the often-patched clothes she’d had to put on for scrubbing down the NAAFI canteen after it closed every day. She smoothed down the blue-and- white bedspread on her narrow bunk, running her hands over the anchor motif. She couldn’t help wondering what her brother Jack would be doing, out there on his aircraft carrier, facing God knows what.

‘Let’s go and see where that canteen is that they told us about,’ Laura suggested, hanging up the overall once more. ‘I shan’t wear that until I have to. If this is going to be my last day in my own clothes for a while, then I’m going to make the most of it. Two weeks of basic training and then heaven knows what we’ll be in for or what we’ll have to wear.’ She shrugged into her pale-yellow cardigan, which Kitty was fairly sure was cashmere. It perfectly set off Laura’s mop of beautifully cut blonde curls.

They made their way to the lower floor and uncertainly down an echoing corridor, trying to remember what the officer who’d welcomed them had said. There were so many doors – but then the unmistakable smell of cocoa hit them and they followed their noses to what might once have been the school refectory. A woman in her forties was standing by a large urn. She wore a bright turban on her head and Kitty reflected that up until a short while ago this would have been her, greeting the servicemen and sometimes -women who’d come through the doors of her own canteen.

‘Hello, girls,’ the woman said, immediately friendly. Steam rose from the urn. ‘I can do you tea or cocoa. What’ll it be?’

‘Cocoa,’ Laura and Kitty said immediately. Kitty couldn’t remember the last time she’d had cocoa. Before the war, at home in Empire Street, there hadn’t always been enough to go round; it was ironic that rationing meant that some people were better fed now than before the war. Kitty’s mother had died when she’d been a young girl, and Dolly Feeny, their neighbour, had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had since. Kitty’s father had liked a drink – too much sometimes − often spending down the pub what was intended for the housekeeping. Thank God for her brother Jack, and for Dolly, who’d made sure that the Callaghan kids didn’t go without. The Callaghan and Feeny children had been as thick as thieves growing up. Eddy had been like a brother to her – and Frank, of course, though in the last few years, Kitty knew her feelings had changed into something deeper, something enduring. Kitty pushed thoughts of Frank Feeny from her mind again – he’d never see her as anything other than a little sister, and it was time to put away her childish dreams and look to the future. The smell of cocoa drifted tantalisingly up to her nose. This was a treat not to be missed.

Gratefully they warmed their hands on their cups as they made their way to a battered wooden table next to a window. Through it they could see a curving drive and, beyond that, down the hill, London was spread out beneath them. Kitty took a tentative sip to see how hot the drink was and smiled. ‘Delicious. Haven’t had that for a while.’

Laura smiled back ruefully. ‘Strange, isn’t it? How quickly one gets used to not having the everyday stuff.’ She took a sip too. ‘Heavenly. That’s made it worth joining up already.’

Kitty eyed her new companion curiously. She seemed to be about the same age as her. ‘Why did you? Join up, I mean?’

Laura paused. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a case of doing my bit. And I was tired of sitting at home, doing nothing.’

‘Did you really do nothing?’ asked Kitty. Even though she hadn’t known this young woman long, it didn’t seem very likely.

Laura snorted. ‘Oh, nothing much. I knitted for the troops and went to some WVS meetings with my mother, but that’s not really a lot of help, is it, when we’re facing a fight to save our country? I knew I could do more. Well, I hope so anyway. I don’t know what they’ll decide I’m best at, but I look forward to finding out.’ She took another sip. ‘What about you?’

Kitty gazed out at the trees coming into bud, swaying in the breeze. ‘I think it was seeing what my brothers were doing and realising I didn’t have to look after them any more. Jack’s with the Fleet Air Arm, Danny’s on the docks, though he’s off sick at the moment, and Tommy’s been evacuated. I’ve run around looking after them for years and now they don’t need me so much, I wanted to do something more – something that will make a difference.’ She met the other woman’s gaze. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be best at either. I hope it isn’t cooking. I’ve done that and I’ve loved it but I want to try something different. I’ve never left home before. Even though we’re at war, I can’t wait to see a bit of London. D’you think we’ll have time?’

‘We’ll make time!’ Laura declared. She raised her cup and chinked it against Kitty’s. ‘I know exactly what you mean about doing more … Here’s to having fun, and damn the war. Those Germans aren’t going to put a stop to me showing you the delights of our capital city. Freddy used to show me around every chance he got.’ She stopped suddenly.

‘Who’s Freddy?’ Kitty asked shyly, hating to be nosey but keen to get to know this force of nature. Being around Laura was exciting in itself; she made it seem like anything was possible. ‘Was he your chap?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Laura’s voice caught but then she cleared her throat. ‘No, he was my brother. Is my brother. He’s missing in action, has been since November. He’s a pilot.’ She looked away quickly to the faint outlines of the buildings on the horizon. ‘He was only a year older than me, we did everything together – or at least we did until he was sent away to school and I had to stay at home and not bother my silly little head about serious subjects like maths and things like that. Still, we went everywhere together when he was home. He even taught me to drive.’

Kitty felt a bit awkward. She’d only known this woman a few hours, but they were going to be sharing a room and intimacy couldn’t be avoided. She desperately wanted to be a part of this new life and being shy wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She reached out her hand and took Laura’s shaking palm in her own. ‘Look, I realise it’s easy to say, but you mustn’t give up hope. I know. It happened to my brother Jack; his ship went down and we didn’t know where he was or what had happened to him. It was awful. It felt like a lifetime, but in the end we got news that he was alive and on the way home. He was shot but he says he’s better now and he’s back in active service. Don’t ever give up hope; it’s what keeps us going.’

‘Thanks.’ Laura seemed to give herself a mental shake and then smiled with determination. ‘Nothing I can do about it. Sitting around moping won’t help and Freddy wouldn’t stand for it, so I must buck up. Mummy’s furious with me for putting myself in danger but I told her not to be silly. They won’t actually let us fight, so I might as well go and make myself useful in whatever way I can. And if one of those ways is showing you around London, then all the better. Anyway, what about you – do you have a chap? With your looks you’re bound to have, hope you don’t mind me saying.’

Kitty furiously tried to stop herself from blushing. She’d got used to being called all sorts of things when behind the counter at the NAAFI, and fielding outrageously flirtatious remarks from many of the service-men, but to have her appearance commented on by this smart and very attractive young woman was an-other thing entirely. ‘Sort of,’ she admitted. ‘Well, nothing formal or anything, but I was walking out with a lovely man called Elliott.’ She could hardly believe she was going to say the next words. ‘He’s a doctor. He looked after my little brother Tommy when he was ill once.’

‘Oh, well done you!’ Laura beamed. ‘A doctor – that’s jolly nice. Oh God, I sound like Mummy. But you know what I mean. Doesn’t he mind you going away? Did he beg you to stay at his side?’

‘No, the very opposite. He said if it was what I wanted, I should leap at the chance,’ said Kitty, aware now that pride had crept into her voice. She knew she was lucky to have such support from him. ‘Also, he’s from London, so he wants to come and see me when he next has some leave.’ Her face fell as she remembered his workload. ‘That doesn’t happen very often though. And even when he thinks he’ll have time off, he’s often called back to the ward for an emergency. We really have been through a lot over the past few months. The bombing felt non-stop over Christmas.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Laura’s face was instantly sympathetic. ‘Even though they never give the name of the city on the radio, just say it’s in the northwest or wherever; we only heard about it afterwards, though word sort of gets around, doesn’t it?’

Kitty nodded sadly. ‘Should we even be talking about it now?’ She glanced around nervously. There was hardly anybody else in the room, as so many of the new recruits wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but all the same she was aware that the least said the better.

‘Well, it’s over and done with,’ said Laura pragmatically. ‘I don’t suppose it can do much more harm. But anyway, that’s wonderful that your chap might be down to visit. Maybe he can show us some places I don’t know about.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘He can take us out on the town. D’you think he’d like that?’

‘I’m sure he would. He’s very kind – and he’s a very good dancer.’ Kitty smiled but felt an odd prickling of something else – not pride, not anxiety but … could it be jealousy? Wouldn’t Elliott be far better off with a girl from his own background, someone exactly like Laura? No, she mustn’t think like that. Elliott had been surrounded by gorgeous young nurses from every walk of life and yet he had chosen her. She had nothing to worry about. And, furthermore, if she was prepared to feel jealous, then that must mean she was over Frank Feeny, mustn’t it? But, as she settled herself into the unfamiliar bed that night, it wasn’t just the strangeness and excitement of her new surroundings that gave her a fitful sleep, but the blue of Frank Feeny’s eyes that seemed to invade her dreams.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rita stared at herself in the mirror in the bedroom she used to share with Charlie and thought how much weight she’d lost. It was no wonder: rushed off her feet all day, walking to and from work as often as not, serving in the shop when she wasn’t on duty, and all on less food than she was accustomed to. By the dim light of the overhead bulb she could see her clothes were beginning to hang loosely on her, but she couldn’t exactly go out and buy a whole new wardrobe in a smaller size. She had once been proud of her curvy figure, and Jack had loved it … now there wouldn’t be much left for him to catch hold of. That was if he ever came back. And anyway, she wasn’t going to go down that route again; there was no future in it but heartbreak. So really it didn’t matter what shape she was, as long as she could keep body and soul together. Shivering, she knew it meant that she felt the cold more keenly. Still, it was March now and the weather would soon turn warmer.

There was a gentle knock at the flimsy door. Rita started. It wouldn’t be Winnie, that was for sure. She would just barge in – or at least the old Winnie would have. Now she no longer bothered, which was a relief. ‘Come in,’ Rita called.

Ruby stepped into the room, as cautiously as a mouse peeping out of its hole to see if the cat had gone. ‘Rita? Um … can I come in?’

Rita wondered what this was about – Ruby usually kept herself to herself, and in fact she felt she knew the younger woman no better than when they’d first met, three months back. Even though they shared the same house, they barely saw one another, as Ruby kept to her attic room and Rita rarely had time to sit around downstairs. She sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. ‘Come on in, Ruby. Make yourself comfortable.’

Shyly the young woman stepped forward and then sat where she’d been asked to, all without looking directly at Rita. Even though she was nearly twenty-one, she acted like a child, a timid one at that. Rita didn’t know if it was because there was something wrong with her, or because of how she’d been treated all her life. Being raised by that hard-faced Elsie Lowe would have been no picnic.

‘What’s wrong, Ruby?’ Rita could tell something was bothering her, and her naturally warm heart went out to her. ‘Take your time.’

Ruby jerked her head away and muttered something before she managed to say, ‘I’ve not done nothing wrong.’ She turned to face Rita and her huge blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. ‘Honest, I haven’t.’ She began to shake violently.

‘Ruby, of course you haven’t. Who said you did? Why are you saying this?’ Rita asked gently, wondering what could have frightened her. Everyone had been living with frayed nerves during the bombings, but those had tailed off recently. Was it the fear of the planes returning that had upset the young woman so much? ‘Don’t be scared, you can tell me.’

Ruby took a deep breath. ‘The police came.’ She looked away again. ‘I haven’t done nothing, really I haven’t.’

‘Police?’ Rita’s hand flew to her heart, immediately wondering if anything had happened to her children. Then she reasoned that they would have come to the hospital to tell her if it had been that. ‘Did they say what it was about?’

Ruby gave a big gulp. ‘I … don’t know. I heard them. They had loud voices. Mrs Kennedy shouted at them. They were very angry. I could tell but I didn’t go down. Then Mrs Kennedy went away with them.’

Mrs Kennedy! Rita had to stop herself from exclaiming out loud. Winnie was this poor girl’s mother and yet she wouldn’t even allow her to call her by her first name, insisting on the full and more formal Mrs Kennedy. And surely she hadn’t just shut the shop in the middle of the day? Even though she was a shadow of her former self, she still had an eye for profit.

‘You don’t need to worry, Ruby,’ Rita said, thinking fast. ‘It will have nothing to do with you. Otherwise they would have asked to speak to you, wouldn’t they? You haven’t done anything bad. They will have wanted to speak to Winnie. Maybe one of the customers has caused trouble, something like that.’ But Rita didn’t believe that for one minute. If it wasn’t the children, then there was only one person who was likely to bring trouble to this place.

‘So they don’t want to take me away?’ Ruby gasped. ‘They aren’t going to put me in prison?’

‘Of course not. Why would they do that?’ Rita tried to keep her voice reassuring, but she wondered just what Winnie had been saying to the poor girl while she was out of the house. Winnie loved to have control over people and here was a sitting target for her malice, daughter or no daughter. There was no telling how deep her spite ran.

Ruby’s face had just begun to brighten when the all-too-familiar air-raid siren began to wail. ‘Oh no, not again,’ Rita exclaimed without thinking. Then she said, ‘Don’t panic, Ruby, just go and get your bag – you do have it ready just in case, don’t you? – and then meet me downstairs. We’ll go to the shelter at the end of the road. I’ll see what we can take to eat, to keep our spirits up.’ Wearily she began to shrug into the coat she’d not long taken off. Eight thirty in the evening and she hadn’t had a proper meal all day.

Down in the kitchen she put her hand to the kettle and found it was still hot, so she quickly set about making a flask of tea. She knew Winnie kept packets of biscuits where she thought nobody could find them, and hastily bent to put a couple into her bag. A shadow fell across her as she stood up.

‘And what do you think you’re doing?’ Winnie spat.

‘Getting ready to go to the shelter,’ Rita said shortly. She didn’t intend to waste time or energy on her mother-in-law. ‘You’d better grab your things and come with us.’

‘Go to that shelter again? I’ll do no such thing,’ Winnie protested. ‘You get all sorts in there, all squashed in together – it’s not hygienic. You don’t know where they’ve been.’ She caught sight of Ruby hovering in the doorway. ‘My point exactly. I’m not going anywhere where I’ll be seen with her, for a start.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll be safe enough in the cellar.’

‘In that case I’ll take that pie for Ruby and me,’ said Rita, catching sight of a pastry crust under a dome of white netting. ‘We all know you’ve got enough to feed an army stocked away down there.’

‘That’s my pie …’ Winnie began to protest, but Rita was too quick for her.

‘That’s my supper. I only just got back from my shift and I opened up the shop first thing this morning, if you remember.’ Rita wrapped the pie in a clean tea towel and added it to her bag. She was about to head out of the door when she paused. ‘Winnie, what were the police doing here? Weren’t you going to tell me?’

Winnie’s head snapped round. ‘Oh, someone’s been gossiping, have they?’

Rita thought that was a bit rich, coming from the vicious-tongued old woman. ‘Just explain to me what happened.’

‘It’s you who’s to blame,’ Winnie hissed. ‘Going round saying things about my Charles that aren’t true. It’s all a mistake. They won’t be back here again to bother me. Not unless you start telling your pack of lies again.’

‘What are you saying?’ Rita was momentarily shocked into silence. Then the penny dropped. ‘I see, they’ve come about him being a deserter, haven’t they? His papers arrived in December and I bet he hasn’t shown up to enlist, so they’ve come for him at last.’

‘He’s in a reserved occupation,’ Winnie insisted, with whatever misplaced dignity she could muster. ‘He would never stoop so low as to desert.’

‘Winnie, this is Charlie’s wife you’re talking to, not one of the customers you’re trying to impress,’ Rita sighed in exasperation. She finished fastening her bag. ‘Since when is being an insurance salesman a reserved occupation? And he didn’t even do much of that.’ She buttoned her coat. ‘And he’s already well practised at deserting – he left me quickly enough for his fancy woman, don’t you remember? Why don’t you tell that to your customers – the ones we have left, anyway. Listen, Ruby and I don’t have time for this, we have to go. Stay in the cellar if you have to … and,’ she added in an uncharacteristic moment of sharpness, ‘do look after that precious box of documents, won’t you? You wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.’ Leaving Winnie open-mouthed, she hastily took Ruby by the arm and ushered her through the side door and on to the pavement.

Empire Street was lit by a beautiful full moon, but Rita didn’t have time to stop to admire the bright silver light. She knew it would make the bombers’ task easier – although the anti-aircraft gunners would have a better chance of hitting a well-illuminated plane. People were pouring out from every door of the short street, hastening to the communal shelter. There was Violet from her parents’ house, her gawky frame easily recognisable. She waved and came over.

‘You on your own?’ Rita asked her sister-in-law in surprise. The Feenys’ place was usually bursting at the seams.

‘I am,’ said Violet in her strong Mancunian accent. ‘Dolly’s out fire-watching, Pop is on ARP duty, Sarah’s at the Voluntary Aid Detachment post down the docks and Nancy went back to her mother-in-law’s after supper, taking baby George with her. I’ve just locked up, so it’s as safe as I can get it.’ She smiled ruefully.

‘No sign of Frank?’ Rita asked.

‘No, he’s at his digs. He’s doing a lot of night shifts this week,’ Violet said. ‘Hurry up, I don’t like being out in this, it’s like daylight.’

As the alarm continued to wail, the three women broke into a run towards the shelter. Once safely installed alongside their neighbours, they unpacked their provisions and settled down, knowing it could be a long night. Rita was full of admiration for Violet; she never seemed to tire and her spirits never seemed to flag. She led them all in a singsong, though Rita thought the notes of ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’ sounded rather gloomy as they fought with the rumble from the guns and incendiaries outside. And none of it could hide the whispers and mutterings occasionally directed at Ruby from some of the ruder elements among the street’s residents. Rita pulled Ruby closer towards her and made soothing noises to calm the strange girl as they waited, for what seemed like an age, for the all-clear.

Warrant Officer Frank Feeny hurried down the concrete steps of Derby House, ready to show his ID for the second time since entering the building. Nowhere in the entire country was security taken more seriously than in this fortified bunker in the centre of Liverpool, which was now home to the command for the Western Approaches. It was no exaggeration to say that the fate of the war relied on what happened in these two storeys of underground offices, mess areas, and the vital map room, which served as the nerve centre for the Battle of the Atlantic.

He checked his watch as he handed over his pass. Just about on time – he hated to be late, as did everybody involved in this high-level operation. Even though today he would have had a valid excuse. Last night’s raids had caused damage to the city centre, with the General Post Office being hit and the telephone exchange being affected; emergency exchanges had been at work ever since to ensure there was no breakdown in communications, but it was still a major cause for concern. Derby House had its own direct telephone line to the War Cabinet down in London, as top-secret news had to pass between the two centres at all hours of the day and night.

Frank rubbed his eyes, berating himself for feeling tired. After all this time in service he should be used to the demanding shifts by now. Despite the loss of his leg, he was still young and fit, even if he’d never be a champion boxer again. He needed to keep alert and all his wits about him. There was no room for anyone to make a mistake, here of all places.

‘Good evening, Frank.’ One of the teleprinter operators looked up as he passed by and gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Manage to catch up on your beauty sleep today, did you?’ She raised one eyebrow, and if Frank hadn’t known better he’d have thought she was flirting with him.

‘Can’t you tell? I’m handsome enough already,’ he managed to say automatically as he headed for the next room along. She was quite pretty, he recognised, with her hair in its victory roll, just like his sister Nancy liked to style hers. But he didn’t have time to think about girls. They were a distraction and he couldn’t afford that. One small slip and the consequences could be fatal in this line of work.

He was glad he’d settled into service accommodation rather than move back in with his family. He told himself it was because they were full enough, now his brother Eddy’s wife Violet lived there while Eddy was back at sea with the Merchant Navy, and even his little sister Sarah was little no longer and serving her own shifts as a trainee nurse. They didn’t need him waking them up at all hours. He’d have loved the comfort of his mother’s cooking and the reassurance of his father’s hard-earned wisdom, much of it gathered from the last war, but that was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.

He didn’t want to think about the other reason he stayed away. He would have had to look across the road at that other front door and know that Kitty was not going to step through it. When he’d first learnt that he was going to be stationed back in Liverpool, his heart had soared, despite his best attempts at reasoning, at the prospect of being near her. Somehow over the past couple of years she’d gone from being almost another sister to the one woman who made his pulse race, whose face he looked for in every crowd. But then he’d lost his leg and he knew no woman in her right mind would look at him twice. He had his pride; he wouldn’t beg. And he absolutely would not hold her back. In his current state he would be a burden to any woman and he didn’t want that – least of all for Kitty. It would be unbearable. He knew she was friendly with a doctor now, someone who had his full complement of limbs in working order, and whose job was to save lives; he was a lucky man and Frank hoped he knew it. But he cursed to the heavens above that just as he had returned to his Merseyside home, longing to see her again, Kitty had enlisted and been posted to the other end of the country.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nancy heard the flap of the letterbox rattle against the door and rushed to see what the postman had brought. She made a point of being the first to do this as she didn’t trust her mother-in-law not to open her letters; for an old woman who complained she was ill all the time, Mrs Kerrigan was surprisingly quick off the mark. She had just managed to stuff the two envelopes bearing her name into her waistband and cover them with her cardigan when, sure enough, her mother-in-law emerged from the dining room.

‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘Is there anything from my poor boy?’

‘Must have been the wind,’ said Nancy brightly. ‘There’s nothing there. We can’t expect Sid to write all the time, can we? He’ll have other things on his mind. Oh, that’s Georgie crying again, I’d better go.’ She almost ran through the parlour door, ignoring the venomous look Mrs Kerrigan shot at her.

The parlour was gloomy, but at least it was Nancy’s own space, which she rented from her in-laws in addition to the room she’d shared with Sid and insisted on keeping. She’d go mad without some privacy in the daytime. They had plenty of room, which was about the only good thing she could say for the cold, unwelcoming place. Now she drew a chair as close to the window as she could, to catch what meagre daylight managed to filter through the heavy net curtains.

Georgie looked up expectantly, crawling over and trying to pull himself up with the help of the chair leg. Nancy regarded him sadly. It was a shame that Sid would miss his son’s first steps – it wouldn’t be long now. Then George would be all over the place and she’d never have a moment’s peace. George had never known his father, and she had almost forgotten what he looked like herself. She glanced over at the picture on the mantle of them both on their wedding day. She smiled at the picture, admiring her own shapely figure and the way the fashionable dress hugged her curves. It suited her to ignore the memory of the swell of Georgie in her tummy and how it had taken several goes to zip up the dress, and the bitter tears she’d cried that morning over the revelation that Sid had been carrying on with a fancy woman in the run-up to their big day – if she hadn’t been in the family way then they’d never have made it up the aisle. Her smile drained away. Sid, well, he just looked like Sid, didn’t he. ‘Good boy,’ she said wearily. ‘Mummy’s just going to read her letters, then she’ll play with you.’

She opened the first envelope with its familiar handwriting. Mrs Kerrigan must never see this, must never know that Stan Hathaway was still writing to Nancy. The pilot’s looping script was instantly recognisable and it would be evident to anyone who saw it that the letter came from someone in the services – not something from a POW camp forwarded by the Red Cross. She hoped the postman could be relied on for his discretion, but she was far from sure he could. Her heart was hammering as she tore open the flap, careful not to rip the flimsy paper inside.

It was a short note, as Stan claimed he didn’t have much time. Still, he wanted her to know he was thinking of her – Nancy could just imagine the gleam in his eye as he wrote that and exactly what he was thinking of – and couldn’t wait to see her again. He wasn’t able to say exactly where he was, but he was being kept busy, defending the skies. He wasn’t sure when his next leave would be but maybe in another six weeks or so, if he was lucky. Nancy sighed with longing. She remembered how his touch made her feel, the sheer delight of being held by him making her reckless. Six weeks seemed like for ever. She didn’t know how she’d be able to sneak past the dragon-like figure of her mother-in-law but she’d manage somehow. She’d have to. Nothing could keep her from the warm embrace of the gorgeous Stan Hathaway. Carefully she folded the precious piece of paper and reached to tuck it in her skirt pocket. She’d hide it away in her bedroom later. Mrs Kerrigan would think nothing of coming into the parlour if she was out and snooping about to see what evidence of her daughter-in-law’s flightiness she could uncover.

‘Mmm-mmm-mm.’ Georgie reached for his mother’s pocket, keen to see what the fuss was about.

‘No, that’s not for you,’ Nancy said shortly. Then she saw her son’s face fall and the trembling of his chin that heralded another bout of wailing. Hurriedly she relented, bending down and scooping him up to place him on her lap. ‘Look what Mummy’s got. This is a letter from Aunty Gloria. Shall we see what it says?’

She opened the envelope with the huge handwriting on it and George snatched it from her, happily tearing it in two and stuffing one bit into his mouth. Nancy debated whether to take it from him, knowing that even used envelopes should be saved as paper was so scarce. Then again, it was keeping him quiet, and as long as he didn’t actually swallow it, it would probably do him no harm.

She unfolded the letter from her best friend, written on lavender-coloured notepaper and bearing a faint trace of Gloria’s favourite perfume. Even though there was a war on, she’d never gone short of it, as there had always been an eager queue of men willing to do anything to present her with a bottle or two, no matter how it had been come by. Nancy felt a twinge of jealousy. She knew she was pretty but Gloria Arden was something else, with her natural silver-blonde hair and her golden voice. She looked like a film star and carried herself like one, for all that her parents ran the Sailor’s Rest pub at the end of Empire Street. She had gone to London and been taken on by a leading impresario, who was arranging far more glamorous concerts for her than her old regular spot at Liverpool’s Adelphi Hotel.

Nancy skimmed the page and gasped. The concerts had been a roaring success, Gloria reported, and she’d been asked to do more and more. London just loved her. The impresario, Romeo Brown, was talking about getting her to make a record. In order to whet the nation’s appetite for that, he’d suggested a tour. She’d be heading up north, and a date had already been booked in Manchester. So she was going to persuade them to add a date in Liverpool. Then she would be able to stay for a while to see her family and, of course, her best friend.

Nancy was torn between the envy she always felt at Gloria’s success and anticipation of her visit, when she would be able to bask in her friend’s reflected glory. Life with Gloria was never dull, that was for certain. Trouble and adventure seemed to follow her around wherever she went. Nancy paused guiltily as she remembered that Gloria hadn’t had it easy these past few months, as her posh pilot boyfriend had died saving her, shielding her from a blast during an air raid. Giles had only just proposed and it should have been the happiest night of Gloria’s life, but tragedy had struck right at the moment of her triumph. So perhaps it was only to be expected that she would throw herself into her singing career.

‘Well, Georgie, things are going to liven up a bit at last,’ Nancy cooed to her son, as she retrieved the soggy paper from his mouth. ‘Let’s see what Granny Kerrigan says about that.’

And, she thought to herself, Gloria would know what to do about the other matter that was bothering Nancy. Not that there was really anything to worry about. But just in case it did turn out to be what she feared …

‘Winnie not well again?’ asked Vera Delaney, her lips pursed as she rubbed her finger along one of the shelves in the shop. ‘That’s a shame. Without her behind the counter this place is going to rack and ruin.’ Dramatically, she held up her fingertip, which bore a trace of dust. ‘Still, I suppose you’ve got more shelves to clean now there’s not so much stock.’

‘Well, there is a war on.’ Rita struggled to keep her welcoming smile in place. ‘What can I get you, Mrs Delaney?’

Vera hesitated. When Winnie was in charge she could get all manner of extras under the counter, but she was convinced nobody else knew about this, so she had no intention of asking Rita for any favours. She was all too aware Winnie distrusted her daughter-in-law. ‘I’ll just get my sugar ration,’ she said, pursing her thin lips.

‘Awful how it goes so fast, isn’t it?’ Rita said, trying to make conversation. She hated it when the atmosphere in the shop felt unfriendly.

Vera ignored her comment. ‘Still no sign of your husband, then?’

Rita looked up from the counter. ‘I’m sure Winnie told you, he went away to look after the children safely.’

Vera rolled her eyes. ‘Dodge conscription, more like.’ She reached for her sugar and handed over her coupon. ‘Don’t you try to lie to me, young lady. Word is out that your man is a deserter, plain and simple. I feel for Winnie, really I do, but when I think about what danger my Alfie is in down the docks it makes my blood boil.’

Rita didn’t reply as she took the coupon, even though there was plenty she could have said about Alfie Delaney. True, he had a job on the docks and was therefore in theory in the most dangerous place on Merseyside, but he spent most of his time appropriating goods for the black market, some of which found their way into Winnie’s cellar. He was far from the only dock worker helping himself to any extras that were available, but Alfie took it to a new height. When he wasn’t doing this he was usually skiving. Admittedly he had performed one heroic deed, saving Tommy Callaghan from a burning warehouse, but that had been months ago. Vera couldn’t resist mentioning this again.

‘And him pulling that young rascal from the flames, when he had no call to be there! Putting his own life at risk like that! That’s something we won’t find your husband doing, I’ll be bound.’

Rita smiled tightly, knowing that to say anything would be to give Vera even more ammunition. Somehow she had to ride out these snide remarks and hold her head high. She cursed Charlie for his cowardice. His reputation threatened to ruin her own, but she couldn’t let that show.

Vera drew closer. ‘Maybe you could let me know when Winnie will be back at work?’

Aha, thought Rita, that’s what she’s after – her usual parcel of ill-gotten luxuries. Before she could say anything, the shop door opened again and a gust of wind blew sharply down the narrow aisle.

‘Morning, Rita!’ Violet’s lanky frame appeared silhouetted against a rare burst of sunlight. ‘Hello, Mrs Delaney. Cold out, isn’t it? Brass monkeys, as my brothers would say.’ She threw her head back and gave her braying laugh – which took some getting used to – and her bright scarf slipped sideways on her poker-straight hair.

Vera shot her an infuriated glance. ‘Well, if you’d tell Winnie that I asked after her …’ She beat a hasty retreat. Violet beamed at her cheerfully.

‘Bye, Mrs D, sorry you couldn’t stop!’ she called as the door slammed shut. She turned back to Rita. ‘Horrible old bag, what did she want?’

Rita shook her head. ‘Her sugar ration. Or that’s what she said, anyway. Really she wanted to carp about Charlie and to find out when Winnie’s back in charge so she can get bits and bobs on the QT.’

‘Still no word from him then?’ asked Violet sympathetically. She had never met the man, but had heard all about him from the rest of the family. Nobody had a good word to say about him.

‘Not a dickie bird. He’s as good as vanished,’ Rita confirmed. She couldn’t bring herself to mention the shame of hearing about the visit from the police. ‘I can’t pretend I’m sorry, and the children never even ask about him. We’re better off without him. I just wish people wouldn’t tar me with the same brush.’

‘No, you mustn’t think like that,’ Violet said, immediately reassuring. ‘Everyone knows how hard you work. How are Michael and Megan? Have you heard from them recently?’

Rita’s expression changed at the thought of her beloved children. ‘Yes, they write all the time – well, Michael writes, and Megan mostly sends drawings. They love it down on the farm. Joan and Seth, that’s the couple who run the place, spoil them rotten. Now they’ve got Tommy as well, they’re made up. He’s big enough to help out with the animals. They’ll never want to come home.’ She shook her head. ‘I miss them of course. It’s like going around without one of my limbs. But knowing they’re safe and happy helps.’

‘Can’t you go and see them?’ Violet wanted to know. ‘You can’t be at that hospital every day, week in, week out.’

Rita bit her lip. ‘It’s just that bit too far to do on my own. You can’t rely on trains or buses and they’re rather out in the sticks. Also, I get called in for extra shifts all the time – you know what it’s like. Every time there’s a direct hit on the docks or anywhere around here I could be needed and I hate to say no.’

‘Of course,’ Violet nodded. But she could sense her friend wanted to say more.

Rita glanced behind her, as if to check the inner door was firmly closed. ‘Besides, I’m needed here,’ she said quietly. ‘Winnie’s not been herself ever since I got the children back. She used to run this place like clockwork, but now she doesn’t seem to bother about anything – not the orders, or the cashing up, or filling the shelves. I have to try to keep on top of that as well as everything else.’ Her expression gave away just how tiring she was finding it.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t quite realised,’ Violet said. ‘You can’t do everything, you know. Maybe I could help? I’m not very organised but I can talk to the customers all right.’

Rita smiled in gratitude. ‘I know you could; you’d charm them and they’d love it. But you’re so busy already, what with helping with little George and the WVS, and aren’t you helping Mam with the new victory garden too? You’ve got your hands full.’

Violet shrugged. ‘That’s as may be, but you think about it. If I can be of any use I will – as long as you don’t expect me to do any sums. I never was any good at maths, just you ask my Eddy.’

‘Oh, I will, next time we see him.’ Rita cheered up at the mention of her brother, who everyone thought of as the quiet one in the family, but who had a wicked sense of humour. ‘Don’t let me keep you. Did you want anything?’

‘Some strong string,’ said Violet, reaching for her purse. ‘I’m going to mark out seed drills in the new plot. One of the old fellows from the Home Guard showed me how. We’ll all have fresh carrots and be able to see in the dark.’ She waved brightly and was on her way.

Rita grew solemn again as soon as she’d gone. Violet was a breath of fresh air, all right, but she’d feel bad asking her to help out any more than she already did. Besides, it was the sums that most needed attention. Rita had only just realised that the shop wasn’t making anything like the income it had before Christmas, and she had no idea what to do about it. They needed the money – now Charlie had given up any pretence of providing for them. But there was no time to think about it now. She checked her watch, knowing that she’d have to set off for the hospital any minute.

‘Winnie!’ she called through the inner door. ‘Are you ready to take over? I’ve got to get going.’

There was a shuffling and then Winnie slumped reluctantly along the corridor. ‘When are you going to give up that ridiculous nursing job?’ she demanded. ‘Your place is here, looking after the shop and me. Now you’ve driven Charles away, it’s the least you can do.’

Rita closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for strength. She would not rise to the vicious old woman’s bait. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said instead, picking up her bag and jacket and making her way through the meagre stock to the outside door. She wrinkled her nose. It was still morning – but was that sherry she’d smelt on her mother-in-law’s breath?

CHAPTER SIX

‘Blast!’ Laura sat back on her heels and groaned. ‘You must think I’m a waste of space, Kitty, but this is much harder work than I’d ever have imagined.’ She wrung the grey water out from her damp cloth over the galvanised bucket. The sleeves of her overall were dripping from where they’d come unrolled.

It seemed that all they’d done since arriving was to clean the building, scrubbing and polishing, even though it had evidently been scrubbed and polished to within an inch of its life already by the previous band of new recruits, and alternating this with gruelling rounds of PT. The girls had also been sent on errands around London, taking urgent papers between offices, dishing out tea at important meetings and generally making themselves useful. Kitty had found it a shock to the system. She’d been accustomed to lifting enormous heavy pans of stew around the NAAFI canteen, but running around on her feet all day, minding her p’s and q’s whilst learning the ropes had been exhausting, and it had been almost impossible to take it all in. To begin with it had been hard to adjust to sleeping in their dormitory – which they were told to call a cabin. Soon they would also embark on a series of classroom lectures to learn the rules and regulations of the service, along with the endless jargon everyone used.

Kitty couldn’t help laughing at her friend. ‘It’s easier once you’re used to it,’ she said warmly. ‘Believe me, I know. I’ve been scrubbing floors since I was eleven – that’s when Mam died and I had to take over. Or even before that, as she couldn’t bend down when she was expecting our Tommy.’ A cloud passed across her face at the memory. ‘Anyway, they won’t have us doing this for long. It’s just to make good use of our time until we’re allocated our new positions.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said the young woman who’d been assigned to clean the corridor with them. ‘This stuff is making my hands red raw. I wasn’t sure what to expect in our first week but it wasn’t this.’

Kitty regarded their new colleague with interest. She was slight, and had very pale skin and a smattering of freckles across her small upturned nose. While she was not conventionally pretty, she had striking looks and an air of determination and energy about her that somehow reminded Kitty of her old friend Rita back in Empire Street. ‘I bet they think that as long as they have a group of women together they might as well set us to clean up the place,’ she said, shaking the bristles of her scrubbing brush with vigour. ‘But I’m sure they’ll start training us to do something else once we’re all here and the place is shipshape. What did you do before?’

The girl raised an eyebrow. ‘I was a teacher.’

‘A teacher!’ Kitty gasped. ‘You don’t look old enough … sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but …’

‘I’m older than I look,’ said the girl. ‘Don’t worry, everyone says the same to me. I’m twenty-three. I trained for two years, and then all the kids got evacuated, and I thought, “Marjorie, my girl, you’d better find something else to do with yourself and do it sharpish.” So here I am.’ She shrugged.

Kitty couldn’t help staring. Nobody from Empire Street had ever been a teacher, much less any of the women. Hardly anyone stayed at school longer than they had to; they were all needed to go out and work, or help raise the families, or both. It was all she could do to stop her mouth gaping open. ‘Well, at least you’ll be all right with these lectures we’re going to have to go to. I can hardly remember the last time I sat at a desk – I’ll probably be useless. Don’t you miss your job?’ she managed to say after a moment.

Marjorie looked wistful. ‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I had to fight tooth and nail to do my training. My family thought I was crazy, spending all that time studying for my Higher Cert and then going to college, when I’d only end up getting married and having to give up anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, that’s not going to happen. I prefer teaching to going out with men and I’m not ashamed to say so. When this war ends I’ll be back in the classroom like a shot. But meanwhile I’ll do whatever’s needed here. It’s just a pity that happens to be scrubbing floors, or ferrying urgent messages backwards and forwards, never mind the endless PT lessons. I know we’ll have to be fit, but at the moment my muscles don’t know what’s hit them.’

‘Too true.’ Laura sloshed the water around in the bucket and went back to the task in hand. ‘You must have been really determined to get to college, Marjorie. I must say I envy you. I’d have loved to be allowed to study like my brother, but my folks wouldn’t hear of it. My father still thinks that women get ill if they have to think too hard. Doesn’t want me coming down with a fit of the vapours.’ She rubbed at the tiles. ‘There, that’s better. Do you think they’ve ever been so shiny?’ She sat back on her heels once more. ‘I probably shouldn’t say it, but if there’s anything good to come out of this war, then maybe it’s going to be people like us having the chance to find out what we’re good at and to get on and do it. I’ve always been terrible at sitting around in drawing rooms and making polite conversation. There must be more to life.’

Kitty giggled. ‘I’d have loved to be made to sit down and talk to people. We never had time for that.’ The very idea was completely opposite to what she’d known in her life so far. Perhaps that was no bad thing. She wanted to be fully prepared for whatever was going to happen to them next. If their future survival was going to depend on their physical fitness in any way, she wouldn’t complain about the seemingly pointless rounds of PT.

Marjorie looked at them both and smiled. ‘I was always too busy studying or marking to do much of that either. So what are you good at, Laura? Apart from your budding ability to clean a floor?’

Laura pushed up her sleeves again. ‘I, my dear, am good at having fun.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Stick with me and I’ll show you how, you see if I don’t.’

Danny Callaghan sat at the kitchen table and felt the silence echoing around him. He couldn’t get used to it. He’d never experienced anything like it in this house – there had always been Kitty bustling around, Tommy bothering them both, and now and again Jack striding about and giving him advice, whether he wanted it or not. Then there had been all the friends and neighbours popping in and out, passing the time of day, sharing cups of tea. He could hardly believe it was the same place. There was the kettle still in its spot on the hob, there were the cups and saucers and plates, steadily getting more chipped, but there was no delicious smell of baking from when Kitty miraculously managed to procure the ingredients for one of her delicious cakes or pies, and no pile of scraps that Tommy had salvaged from a bomb site and brought home to keep in case they were useful.

He couldn’t stand the thought that everyone was out doing their bit for the war effort when he was confined like this. He wasn’t usually given to self-pity or despair, but if he allowed himself to think too far ahead he could feel all hope draining from him. He was young, he was enthusiastic, he didn’t know the meaning of fear, and yet all because of a ridiculous twist of fate he wasn’t allowed to fight for his country’s freedom. It hurt him bitterly.

Sighing, he drew the newspaper towards him. This was his one regular piece of routine: ever since coming out of hospital he had made himself do the crossword every day. He’d never seen the point of it before, but during the long, empty hours convalescing on the ward, a fellow patient had introduced him to the challenge of filling in the gaps, solving the complicated clues. He’d bonded with the older man and somehow their shared interest had overcome the difference in their backgrounds. It turned out that the man was a high-ranking officer, who’d now returned to some shadowy behind-the-scenes, hush-hush role, whereas of course Danny had never been able to join any of the armed services, thanks to his damaged heart. But for those few moments the two men had been united in tracking down the perfect solution, and Danny had been bitten by the crossword bug. He’d made himself do one a day ever since. It was strange in some ways. He’d been no slouch at school, but had been too restless ever to settle down and make the most of his studies. He knew he had a good brain but had preferred to use it coming up with the latest scheme to make money or have some fun while working on the docks. Now all that was denied him, for the immediate future anyway, he took refuge in the pastime of thinking for its own sake.

He was absorbed in what he thought must be an anagram when there was a knock at the door. He almost jumped, he’d been staring so intensely at the arrangement of letters, willing them to form a recognisable word. He shook himself and shouted ‘come in’, as the door opened anyway and Sarah Feeny stepped inside.

The youngest of the Feenys, Sarah shared the no-nonsense, get-up-and-go attitude of her mother. She’d taken to her VAD nurse training like a duck to water, despite being so young. There wasn’t much that shocked or surprised her – having all those older brothers and sisters meant she’d heard it all before. Now she looked about her and grinned. ‘Blimey, Danny, it’s as quiet as a church in here.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Danny made a face. ‘Cup of tea? The pot’s around somewhere.’

‘Oh, I can see it, I’ll do it,’ Sarah offered at once.

Danny rose. ‘I’m not dead yet, I can still make a pot of tea,’ he told her, more sharply than he’d intended.

Sarah’s face fell. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t. I was just trying to be helpful.’

Danny groaned inwardly. He knew he was over-sensitive to everyone trying to molly-coddle him, and that’s why he hadn’t told anyone about his condition in the first place – anyone apart from Sarah, who’d found out. She was the last person he wanted to snap at and he felt bad about it, but that’s what came of spending too long on his own with only his puzzles for company.

‘I know,’ he said, his face softening. ‘But it’ll do me good to stretch my legs a bit. You make yourself comfortable, you must have been rushing round all day. Take the weight off your feet, I’ll only be half a mo.’

Sarah sank gratefully into the chair that until recently had been Kitty’s. ‘It’s so nice to have a bit of peace! No, don’t look like that, I mean it. People have been shouting at me all day at work and my head’s fit to burst with all the things I’m meant to remember. Then I come home and there isn’t a spare inch of space. Nancy’s in a mad flap because Gloria’s coming back for a visit and she hasn’t got anything to wear if they go out. Rita’s there because Mrs Kennedy’s driving her round the bend. Violet’s going on and on about the victory garden – you’d think she’d been a farmer or something before she married Eddy. Mam’s got piles of old rags everywhere, which she says are for her make-do-and-mend classes. Mam and Pop are bickering like they always do. It’s like a madhouse.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, don’t listen to me, I don’t mean it. I love them all, you know that. But sometimes it gets to me, I can’t help it.’

Danny smiled. ‘A bit of a contrast to here, which is like a monastery. You’re doing me a favour keeping me from going crackers rattling around here on my own.’

Sarah beamed. ‘Good, I’ll put my feet up then. Don’t suppose you’ve got any sugar? I know we aren’t supposed to have any in our tea now as it’s not patriotic, but some days it’s the only thing that’ll keep me going.’

Danny turned to the corner cupboard. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a secret stash of it in here. What’s the point of working on the docks if you can’t sweeten your tea now and again?’ He passed it across. ‘Just don’t make a habit of it, all right – it might have to last for the rest of the war, however long that’ll be. My contacts aren’t what they were, not since the fire.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘Don’t worry, this is a treat,’ said Sarah, stirring the precious sugar into her drink. ‘I’m not encouraging you to go on the black market, Danny. Not like that Mrs Kennedy, we all know what used to go on in her shop.’

‘Used to?’

Sarah looked up at him, registering how pale he looked, his face white in contrast to his dark wavy hair. ‘You haven’t been in there recently, then? It’s driving Rita mad. Winnie’s hardly ever behind the counter, Rita’s left to open up and shut the shop, and it’s hardly making any money any more. She never has a moment to think straight, let alone visit the children. I think missing Michael and Megan is making it worse.’

‘But they’re happy on the farm, aren’t they?’ asked Danny. ‘Our Tommy’s having the time of his life. Or so I gather from his letters. His handwriting isn’t the greatest, but he goes on and on about the animals, they’re turning him into a right farmer. At least he’s making himself useful digging for victory. He loves it, so I bet the others do too.’

‘It’s not that so much as being apart from them,’ said Sarah. ‘Honestly, Danny, they’re all fine. Rita showed me one of Michael’s letters – they couldn’t be in a better place. But she misses them like mad, even though she knows they’re safer there than just about anywhere.’

‘Can’t she go and see them?’ asked Danny, then cursed himself for his own stupidity. What had Sarah just told him? The shop wasn’t making money and Rita had hardly any spare time. Of course she couldn’t just up sticks and catch a bus out to the country – always supposing there were buses running anyway.

Sarah shrugged. ‘You know it’s not that easy. Pop would take her in his cart but he’s never home either – he’s on ARP duty all the time. When he isn’t, he’s sleeping off the night shifts. You know how it is.’

Danny nodded. He remembered all too well the effects of working night shifts. Your brain didn’t feel as if it was your own. Then the idea struck him.

‘Why don’t I take her?’

‘Well, I’m sure it would be a lovely thing to do but …’ she began.

‘No buts,’ said Danny, suddenly seeing that this was the ideal solution. ‘Come on, Sar, it’ll be doing me a favour. I get to leave the house, but I’ll be sitting down the whole time so won’t need to worry about me ticker – while Rita gets an escort to see the kids. I get to see Tommy, check he hasn’t run too wild. Everyone wins.’ He stood up.

‘Danny, what are you doing?’ Sarah set down her mug.

‘Well, you just said they’re all there. We’ll go and tell them now. No time like the present.’ And before she could stop him, Danny headed out of the door, a new spring in his step.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Now are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Rita was torn between wanting to get going as soon as possible and anxiety that her sister-in-law wouldn’t be able to manage. She hastily buttoned her coat against the chilly spring breeze blowing through the open shop door.

‘Of course!’ Violet assured her. ‘Don’t even give it a thought, I’ll be absolutely fine. What can go wrong? You get off and see those children. There’s Danny now with the cart. Go on, stop mithering, I’ll see you later.’ She all but pushed Rita out of the door.

Rita hopped up on the cart beside Danny, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. ‘If there are any problems just make a note and I’ll sort everything out later,’ she called. She waved as Danny lifted the reins and the horse began the steady clip-clop that would take her to her beloved children.

Violet waved back cheerfully but gave a sigh of relief as she shut the shop door. She was sure that she could cope, but somehow not having Rita around made her feel more worried than she expected. She glanced around the place. Rita had dealt with the early morning rush, when the dock workers came in to get their newspapers, cigarettes and other essentials, and now everything was quiet. This was when Winnie would normally take over, but she’d gone back to her bed in a huff once she learnt that Violet had been drafted in to help, muttering what were most probably insults as she retreated up the stairs. Violet could have sworn the older woman had been unsteady on her feet, her eyes red, but she wasn’t going to dwell on it. She’d rather face a day in the shop on her own than share the cramped space with Winnie, who in their short acquaintance had been nothing but unpleasant. Still, she wasn’t going to let that upset her; according to Rita and Dolly, the miserable old bag was like that to everyone.

Violet decided the shelves could do with a clean. Poor Rita, she must never have the time to do it, so this would be something she’d appreciate. Violet wasn’t scared of hard work and elbow grease and she soon had the surfaces gleaming. Beaming, she looked around in satisfaction. That was a big improvement. Working in a shop was a doddle, she decided, as she put her duster behind the counter and smoothed down the front of her printed overall. Rita had been fussing about nothing.

No sooner had she settled herself on the stool behind the counter than the bell rang and a plump figure in a plaid headscarf came in. Violet recognised Mrs Mawdsley, a friend of Dolly’s from the WVS. She was a bit of a dragon when you first met her but nice underneath.

‘Oh, it’s you, dear!’ Mrs Mawdsley peered short-sightedly over her round glasses. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. Has there been an emergency? I do hope everyone’s all right …’

‘Nothing to worry about, Mrs Mawdsley,’ Violet said hurriedly, cutting off her customer before she could work herself into a tizz. ‘Rita’s gone to see her children for the day and so I’m standing in. How can I help you?’

The older woman undid her scarf and came closer. ‘Well, that’s very good of you, dear. That’s what families are for, though, isn’t it? I won’t keep you for long. I’m looking for some clothes pegs.’

Violet smiled in relief. ‘Well, you won’t need ration coupons for those.’ She’d been slightly confused by Rita’s explanation of which goods were rationed and which weren’t, and how the system worked, but this request should be simple enough. ‘Household goods are on these shelves here – but I expect you know that better than I do.’

Mrs Mawdsley beamed at the suggestion she knew her way around the shop better than the staff. ‘I do indeed, dear. Oh, someone’s made this look nice. Was that you? Dolly’s always saying what an asset you are around the house, and I expect Mrs Kennedy will be delighted.’

Violet smiled back but said nothing. She doubted Winnie would be delighted about anything.

‘Here we are, then. I’ll have two sets, a small and a large, just in case.’ The woman fiddled with her purse. ‘Now, I’m afraid I have no change, but I hope that won’t be a problem.’

‘Of course not.’ Violet held out her hand and Mrs Mawdsley gave her half a crown. Violet’s smile began to falter. Mental arithmetic was not her strong point. It was bad enough that there were two things to add up, but they were at different prices, and that made it more difficult. She looked around for a notebook. Maybe if she wrote it down it would be easier.

The doorbell rang again. A frail old lady stepped inside, drawing her shawl around her thin shoulders. ‘Hello, Mrs Mawdsley,’ she said in a tremulous voice. ‘And … it’s not Rita, is it? No, I can see you have different hair, young lady. My memory’s not what it was, you’ll have to—’

‘It’s Violet, Mrs Ashby,’ said Violet, recognising the oldest inhabitant of Empire Street. ‘I married Eddy Feeny, you know. Haven’t seen you since we were in the shelter together for the last air raid.’

‘That’s it!’ The old lady’s face lit up. ‘So you’re helping out here, are you? I’m glad to see you. Now maybe you can help me with my sugar ration. I like it when Rita does it, she’s always very fair, but sometimes,’ she dropped her voice, ‘Mrs Kennedy gets it a bit wrong and there never seems to be enough in the packet.’ She reached into her battered handbag.

‘Don’t you fret, Mrs Ashby, I’ll see you right,’ Violet assured her. ‘Let me see, I know the stamp for the coupons is back here somewhere …’

Mrs Mawdsley leant across the counter and tapped the front of a small drawer. ‘In here, dear. I think you’ll find that’s where it usually is.’

‘Oh yes, that’s the place, Rita did show me.’ Violet was getting really flustered now. ‘So, you give me your coupon …’

‘But I just did, dear.’ Mrs Ashby’s voice shook a little but she was adamant. ‘One moment ago. You’ve taken it already.’

Violet clapped her hand to her forehead. ‘Silly me. What am I like? Yes, you gave me the coupon, now where …’

‘It’s by the till where you put it,’ Mrs Mawdsley explained. ‘Right next to my half-crown. You’ve still got to give me my change.’

‘Yes, so I have.’ Violet stared at the counter. ‘It was two packs of pegs, one large and one small, so that’s … that’s …’

‘You owe me one and six, dear,’ said Mrs Mawdsley, taking pity on Violet’s inexperience. ‘You do know what that looks like, don’t you?’

Violet wilted under the gentle sarcasm then drew herself up straight. ‘Of course I do.’ She pinged open the till. ‘Here you are. And here you are, Mrs Ashby.’ She carefully cancelled the precious coupon. ‘Shall I put the sugar in your handbag?’

‘Thank you, Mrs Feeny,’ said the old lady, her eyes bright. ‘Oh, doesn’t it sound funny to say that. But now Dolly isn’t the only Mrs Feeny on Empire Street. Your Eddy beat his brother Frank down the aisle, who’d have thought it? He’s a dark horse, your young man. But you must be very proud of him.’

‘Oh I am, Mrs Ashby.’ Suddenly Violet found there was a lump in her throat. It was so long since she’d seen her husband, and being in the Merchant Navy he was putting himself in danger every minute of the day. But it wouldn’t do to show her fear for his safety. She forced herself to smile. ‘He’s one in a million, my Eddy. I’ll tell him you were asking after him when I next write.’

Mrs Mawdsley gave her a knowing look. ‘Chin up, that’s the spirit. Give him something to be proud of when he comes home. It’s not easy having your man away, is it? I remember when Mr Mawdsley was away during the last war …’ She fell silent for an instant and her face became unexpectedly tender. ‘Ah, well. It doesn’t do to dwell. You’ll soon get the hang of this place and it will be a big help to Rita.’ She linked her arm with that of the old lady. ‘Come along, Mrs Ashby, I’ll see you home.’

As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Violet collapsed on the stool. She couldn’t believe how tricky that had been, and it was only two customers with simple orders. How did Rita do it, serving all the dock workers practically at once? She supposed it was all a question of practice. Well, she had given her word that she would help out and she couldn’t back out now. Her pride wouldn’t let her – and she wouldn’t give Winnie Kennedy the satisfaction.

Back home after his day out, Danny shivered as he tried to coax the fire alight. Who would have thought it could be so cold riding on Pop’s cart? His hands were freezing. But it had been worth it, to see the pleasure on Rita’s face and the delighted smiles from Michael and Megan. Of course Tommy had been there too and he’d loved having his big brother coming to visit, and had shown Danny round every inch of the farm. Danny had to admit he’d been impressed; Tommy had sounded as if he knew what he was talking about when he’d explained how he looked after the animals and what some of the machinery did. All three children were pictures of health, thriving on the good food that Joan and Seth, the farming couple, could provide. Rita had almost cried at the sight of Megan, who she’d confessed she was most worried about. Megan had hated it when Charlie had taken her away from Empire Street and had become nervous and withdrawn. Now she was running around non-stop, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining. It was her job to check for fresh eggs every morning, which Joan then scrambled for them all with loads of butter. Danny’s mouth had watered at the description of their breakfasts. It had been a long time since he’d had loads of butter, even with his connections on the docks.

Finally he got the fire lit. Then he turned to the bag that Joan had insisted he take back with him: there was some of the famous precious butter, a box of eggs gathered by Megan, some of Joan’s home-made bread and scones, and some vegetables straight from the field.

Tommy had laughed when Joan had handed it over. ‘Danny don’t know how to cook,’ he’d said. ‘Kitty did all of that for him.’

Danny had pretended to clip him round the ear. ‘How do you think I’ve been managing all this time? I’m not completely useless, I’ll have you know.’ But now, looking at the bag of treats, he had to admit that Kitty would have known exactly what to do with them. He sighed; surely it wasn’t beyond him to make a vegetable stew? He could ask Rita for advice.

His thoughts turned to what Rita had said on the way back. On the outward journey she had talked of nothing but the children, her worries for them and her fears of what damage Charlie’s behaviour might have caused. Seeing the pair of them so happy and settled had calmed her anxiety on that front. So on the way back their conversation had become more personal.

Danny had known Rita all his life and she was almost like another sister to him – particularly as she was so close to his own sister, Kitty. He’d never had much time for her husband, thinking that Charlie was too full of himself, always ready to look down on everyone, and with very little cause as far as Danny could see. But he’d been too busy with his own life to take much notice of what had gone on nine years ago. He’d known Rita had been walking out with his big brother Jack back then, but that was about as far as his interest went.

On their journey back, as they had sat together on Pop’s old cart, Rita had asked him for a favour.

‘I have to tell you something, Danny,’ she’d said, nervously retying the knot of her headscarf. The worn material had slipped back over her wavy red hair and her hands shook slightly as the wind grew chillier. ‘I swore to your brother Jack that I’d write to him now he’s away and I want to keep my promise. He’s been writing back to me. The thing is, he always wrote care of Kitty …’

‘Oh, right,’ Danny had said, not sure in which direction this conversation was heading. If two old friends wanted to write to each other, who was he to stop them? But he couldn’t see what it had to do with him.

‘Well, now she’s not here any more,’ Rita went on, pausing a little and then resuming when Danny didn’t get the hint. ‘Look, I don’t want him to send them direct, as Winnie would get hold of them and then have the wrong idea.’

True enough, Danny thought, nodding. Winnie was mean enough to use that sort of thing against her − she would do anything to stir up spite and hurtful gossip.

‘There’s nothing bad in them, Danny,’ Rita had assured him, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘We aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s just two friends writing to each other. He gives me such good advice about the children, and now Charlie’s not around … It means the world to me to have his letters. Sometimes, when Winnie’s getting me down and I’m tired out from doing a late shift then working in the shop … well, it peps me up to hear from him. I don’t want to ask you to do something you don’t feel is right but … would you mind … could he send them to you? Then I could pop by and pick them up.’

Danny could see that this made sense. If Rita found Jack’s letters a comfort, then who was he to deny her that? He could see how Jack’s advice would be valuable to her, as his big brother had always been the steady, reliable one, unlike himself in the good old days before the fire when he’d had lots of carefree fun with numerous girls. Jack had always been sensible. Rita needed someone like that outside her own family, where nobody could say a thing without the entire house knowing. Jack would be the voice of reason. So he’d agreed. Jack would be pleased that Danny was prepared to help; he’d maybe even think his irrepressible younger brother was finally growing up.

Danny had just made himself a sandwich with Joan’s bread and butter and some Spam he’d found in the cupboard when there was a knock at the door. Some instinct made him shove the bag of farm produce away out of sight before going to see who it was. Usually he wouldn’t have bothered, but somehow his suspicions were raised.

He opened the front door and there was Alfie Delaney.

Danny groaned inwardly. His former colleague from the docks was the last person he wanted to see. But he couldn’t exactly turn him away.

‘Evening, Danny,’ said Alfie, all smiles. That had to mean he wanted something. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

Danny grunted and led the way back into the house, to where the fire was now burning brightly. He pulled up a chair and sat beside it. Alfie didn’t wait to be asked but did the same. ‘Oh, this is nice. Lovely warm fire, Danny. Proper little housewife, aren’t you?’

Danny glared at him. ‘Come round this late just to say that, did you, Alf?’

Alfie looked up. ‘No need to take that tone with me, Danny. I was paying you a compliment.’

Danny shook his head, knowing it was no such thing. Alfie reserved his compliments for when they were useful, when they would get him something he wouldn’t be able to have otherwise. Danny wanted the man out of the house as soon as possible, not to have him making himself comfortable in front of the fire. ‘So, what’s this about, then? What’s brought you sniffing around here?’

‘I’m concerned for your welfare, Danny,’ said Alfie, a sly smile on his face. ‘Haven’t seen you down the docks for ages, and we all know you’ve been ill with your dicky ticker. Heard you were all alone in here so I thought I’d better see that you were all right.’

‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ Danny eyed his visitor warily.

‘And of course I wondered if you’d had any more thoughts on that little proposition we spoke about,’ Alfie went on, his voice as light as if he was just talking about the weather.

Danny wasn’t fooled for a minute. ‘If you mean am I going to take the medical test for you, the answer is no and it’s going to stay that way. It’s fraud and we could both end up in hot water. You know it as well as I do.’ Alfie had been keen to dodge the call-up, and knew that if Danny took the regulation medical exam in his place, he’d be granted exemption. There was no way Danny’s heart could pass for normal.

‘Danny, Danny, you aren’t making any sense,’ sighed Alfie. ‘You having a bad heart could be a golden opportunity. I’d make it worth your while. Come on, make the most of this gift – it’s been handed to you on a plate.’

Easy to say when it wasn’t your heart that was damaged, thought Danny sourly, but he was far too proud to complain about his condition to the likes of Alfie Delaney. ‘No,’ he said shortly.

‘And talking of gifts,’ Alfie continued, his voice more menacing now, ‘did Tommy like those boots? I hear he’s got lots of fields to run around in now.’

Alfie had given Tommy some brand-new top-quality football boots for Christmas, but Danny had known it was a bribe, intended to make him feel he owed Delaney something. ‘You leave him out of it,’ he said. While it was no secret that Tommy had been evacuated to the countryside, he felt uneasy that Alfie was apparently so well informed.

‘And how’s the lovely Kitty? A little bird told me she’s not around at the moment either.’

‘What’s it to you?’ Danny demanded. He’d never liked the way Alfie looked at his sister. Thank God she was safely out of his grasp down in London.

Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘Doing her bit for king and country, is she? Well, I expect she’ll have some leave soon. I’ve always had a soft spot for her and I reckon she likes me ’n’ all. I shall look forward to getting reacquainted with her,’ he leered.

Danny fought to keep control of his temper. Alfie wasn’t fit to lick Kitty’s boots. ‘Yes, some people do the right thing now there’s a war on,’ he snapped, knowing that Alfie, for all his bluster and menace, was an utter coward who would do anything to avoid being called up. ‘And for your information, no, she isn’t coming back any time soon. So if that’s all you’ve come to say, you’re wasting your breath.’

‘Lucky for you that I’m still in a reserved occupation,’ Alfie said, slowly getting to his feet. ‘But if I need that favour done sharpish, you can be sure I’ll be back. After all, me and Harry Calendar know a few things about you, Danny. Not always so high and mighty, were you? Not always so keen to stay on the right side of the law. When I need you, you’ll find it better all round to do as I say.’ He buttoned his coat, a luxuriously soft woollen one that must have cost him a fortune – which he wouldn’t have managed on a charge hand’s wages. ‘Give my fondest regards to your sister. Show myself out, shall I? We don’t want to upset the invalid now, do we?’ With that final dig, he was off, slamming the front door behind him.

Danny put his head in his hands. Suddenly the thought of his sandwich didn’t seem so appealing after all.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘Are you sure this is all right?’ Kitty said nervously, brushing her hand against the soft silk collar of the dress she was wearing. It was the perfect shade for her, a deep dusky pink, accentuating her rosy cheeks and shiny dark hair. Laura had offered to lend her the dress as soon as she’d confessed she didn’t have anything smart. But it made her uneasy – she didn’t like borrowing when she couldn’t return the favour.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Laura said briskly. ‘Couldn’t have you going out dancing in your overall, now could we? Please, don’t even mention it.’ She turned around. ‘Come on, Marjorie, keep up. We’ve got to get in the queue as early as possible so we can bag a decent table. We want to be close enough to hear the band and to see everyone who’s there. It will be a big crowd tonight, I’ll bet you any money.’

Marjorie hurried along the pavement in her peep-toe sandals, which she’d admitted she hadn’t worn very often. ‘Not sure I like the sound of crowds,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Really, I’m not used to them.’

Laura looked perplexed. ‘I thought you said you came from near Brighton? That’s hardly a village, is it?’

‘Yes, but I always spent my Saturday evenings studying, or else preparing lessons,’ Marjorie explained, nearly tripping over her own feet as she breathlessly drew level with the other two young women. ‘This is all a bit much. Why did we have to go so far from our billet? It’s taken us ages and we had to change buses.’

‘Because the Hammersmith Palais is the place to be, no question about it,’ Laura insisted with a knowing air. ‘Trust me on this. If you like dancing, there’s nowhere to beat it. And if you don’t like dancing, well, you’re no friend of mine,’ she added grandly, sweeping around the corner and joining the back of the queue. ‘Well done, girls. We’ve made it in good time. You won’t be disappointed, I swear.’

Kitty glanced around her. There was a tangible air of excitement as the revellers huddled out of the wind, all dressed up in their finery. There might be a war on, but that wasn’t stopping this group of young people – and some not so young – from wearing their best and going out with the determination to have a proper night of dancing and enjoyment. She pulled up the collar of her old coat, glad of its meagre protection. There seemed to be a lot of men in uniform, either in groups with the women or in small gatherings of three or four, eyeing the crowd for prospective dance partners, or maybe something more. She squared her shoulders. She was not going to be put off by a few cheeky glances. She’d dealt with worse. She reckoned Laura had too. Marjorie, though – she wasn’t so sure.

Slowly the queue shuffled along and they drew ever closer to the big doors to the famous dance hall. Laura was smiling from ear to ear. ‘I love this place,’ she said. ‘I used to come here before the fighting broke out. Of course, once the air raids started, it made coming to London that tiny bit more inconvenient.’ She sighed. ‘Now relax and remember, just because a chap asks you for a dance, it doesn’t give him sole rights over you all evening; there’s plenty of us to go round. Here we are. Ready? We can leave our coats in the cloakroom. We don’t want to spoil the impression of our lovely frocks with these sensible old things.’

Kitty reflected that Laura’s beautiful coat couldn’t be called a sensible old thing by any stretch of the imagination, but her new friend had a point. As she handed over her serviceable coat and smoothed down her skirt, Kitty was glad she’d borrowed the lovely pink dress after all. She would have felt completely out of place if she hadn’t dressed up.

‘This way.’ Laura was a woman on a mission, turning down Marjorie’s suggestion that they go to brush their hair. ‘We can go and freshen up our lipstick in a moment – no, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Marjorie, but I intend to. First we stake our claim to a table. Then we can go in turn so we don’t lose our place. Here we are, just the ticket. Marjorie, you sit there.’

Kitty was impressed with Laura’s choice. They had a view of where the dance band would be and they weren’t too far from the dance floor, but they had the perfect angle to view everyone arriving and milling around. And, she had to admit, people would have quite a good view of them too. She knew that Laura, with her air of confidence and stylish hairstyle – and of course beautiful clothes – would attract attention. Maybe she herself wouldn’t look too bad either. The pink dress boosted her spirits and looked good with her dark, wavy hair. Not that she was here to find romance – she was going to be totally loyal to Elliott, and his familiar warm face floated before her vision. She knew he wouldn’t begrudge her a night out, though, not after her hard weeks of initial training. Soon she hoped to be a fully fledged Wren. She’d write to tell him of their adventure when she got back to the billet.

Marjorie, birdlike, perched restlessly on her seat. She too had borrowed a dress from Laura, with a sweetheart neckline, in a stunning shade of eau de nil. She looked around them, eyes flickering with anxiety. ‘Kitty, what are we doing here? I wish we hadn’t come. Everyone’s staring at us.’

‘No they aren’t,’ Kitty reassured her, almost as a way of reassuring herself. ‘Or only as much as everyone’s looking at everyone else. Don’t worry. You must be accustomed to all your pupils staring at you, aren’t you? You’d have to stand there in front of them and demand their attention.’ She found it hard to understand why anyone who’d gone so far as to qualify as a teacher could be so nervous, when she herself had so many reasons for feeling uncomfortable among a crowd of people who seemed to have so much more experience of life than she had.

‘That’s different,’ Marjorie said instantly, tossing her hair. ‘I know what I’m doing in a classroom. People look at you for a reason. Here, I don’t know … what’ll I say if anyone comes over?’

‘I suppose you just say what you like,’ Kitty grinned. ‘Here’s your chance to practise – a waiter’s coming our way.’

Laura looked up as the smart older man swept over to them. ‘What can I get you, ladies?’

‘I’ll have a cocktail,’ Laura said at once. ‘Can you do me a gin and tonic? Or as close as you can manage.’ She flashed her brilliant smile. ‘How about you, Marjorie?’

Marjorie hesitated. ‘Oh, just water,’ she said.

‘You can’t have just water on a night out at the Palais!’ Laura objected.

‘But I don’t drink alcohol,’ Marjorie protested. ‘I wouldn’t know how to start, I don’t know what I like.’

‘Maybe a lemonade?’ the waiter suggested diplomatically. Kitty reckoned he’d heard this conversation many times before.

‘You’ve had most of your life to drink lemonade,’ Laura interrupted swiftly. ‘Time to break away from the schoolroom, Marjorie. How about a martini? She’ll have a martini,’ she said to the waiter, before Marjorie could contradict her.

The waiter turned to Kitty.

‘I’ll have a shandy,’ she said, feeling very daring. She’d never been one for alcohol either. The memory of her father’s drunken rages followed by his moods of abject despair had put her off. But, she reasoned, one glass of shandy wasn’t going to turn her into her father. It might even give her a bit of much-needed Dutch courage.

‘Right, I’m off to powder my nose.’ Laura stood up. ‘See you in a minute.’

Kitty watched as plenty of servicemen in uniform turned to observe her sophisticated friend as she made her way across the hall. Several then turned back to see which table Laura might have come from. A few seemed to be interested, and finally two broke ranks and wandered across to them. Marjorie immediately fixed her gaze on the table top. Kitty sighed anxiously. It looked as if it would be up to her to make conversation. She’d have to get a grip and not let nerves overcome her.

The taller of the two men was a corporal in the army by his uniform. Kitty smiled in a friendly way without any flirtatiousness as he drew closer. ‘We hate to see you girls sitting on your own,’ he said with a grin. ‘How about a turn on the dance floor?’

Kitty shook her head, remembering how she had parried the banter in the NAAFI canteen. ‘I’m hopeless at dancing, I have to warn you. We’re just enjoying ourselves, watching the world go by.’

‘And what do you do?’ asked the shorter one, whose hair had been slicked back so carefully that it shone brightly, reflecting the lamps dotted around the hall. ‘With your looks, you’ve got to be models. Bet you spend all day getting your pictures taken.’ He looked at them hopefully, wondering if his flattery had worked.

Kitty batted it away. ‘Now we can’t tell you what we do, you know that,’ she said. ‘Careless talk costs lives; loose lips sink ships. Let’s just say it’s a bit more useful than modelling.’

The young man’s face fell, but his companion’s brightened up as Laura returned, her lipstick freshly painted and her hair brushed into shape. ‘Who’s your friend? I don’t suppose you fancy a dance, do you?’

Laura looked him up and down, seeming to assess him as a potential dance partner before cocking her head and saying, ‘Well, why not? It’s what we’ve come here for.’ Not giving him a chance to change his mind, she boldly took his arm and led him towards where a small crowd was gathering ready for the next dance.

His companion promptly lost his nerve and scuttled back to their group of friends who, by the looks of it, proceeded to mock him roundly for being such a coward.

‘Well, Laura doesn’t hang around,’ Kitty observed, as the waiter came with their drinks. She took a sniff of the cocktail. ‘Ugh, she’s welcome to that, though. I’ll stick to the shandy.’ She raised her glass. ‘Cheers, Marjorie. To happier days.’

‘Ummm.’ Marjorie clinked her martini glass against Kitty’s and sipped, first cautiously and then with more enthusiasm. ‘This is nice, though. It’s getting really busy, isn’t it? Laura was right to make us arrive early. I wouldn’t want to be stuck at the back, or so far forward that everyone trips over you.’

Kitty grinned. It sounded as if Marjorie was beginning to relax and find it not so bad after all. Maybe they’d make it through the evening without embarrassing themselves. ‘Did you want to go to brush your hair? I’ll keep the table, I don’t mind.’

‘No, it’s all right.’ Marjorie patted her hair. ‘It’ll do. I wouldn’t want to leave you on your own.’ Her gaze wandered around the room. ‘All sorts in here, aren’t there? What are those uniforms over there?’

Kitty squinted in the direction her friend was pointing. ‘Oh, they’re Canadians.’

Marjorie raised her eyebrows. ‘How do you know that?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen them before.’

‘We get a lot around Liverpool,’ Kitty explained. ‘We’ve always had a lot to do with Canada – we used to get Canadian timber all the time down at the docks where I lived. And there are lots of Canadian servicemen around there now. We even had some come to the canteen where I worked. I liked them. They’ve come so far from home to fight alongside our boys – you can’t help but admire them.’

Marjorie seemed to approve of that and looked at the group with renewed interest. ‘I say, they’ve noticed us.’

Of course they have, thought Kitty, you’ve been staring at them unabashed for ages, they’re bound to realise it. But she didn’t say anything, not wanting to bruise her friend’s new-found confidence and enjoy-ment. ‘Oh, they’re coming over. The one with the light- brown curls looks keen.’

One of the group, a pilot from his uniform, made a beeline for Marjorie, his curls bobbing a little as he rounded the table. Marjorie, far from retreating back into her shell, responded with smiles and nods as he asked her for her name and if she’d been here before. The martini looked as if it had worked its magic and banished her earlier awkwardness. Two of his friends began to chat to Kitty, general questions that didn’t require her to think much or give away what she was training as. Although she didn’t exactly have access to state secrets, she was always very careful to reveal as little as possible.

The pilot offered Marjorie a dance and, somewhat to Kitty’s surprise, she accepted. Marjorie hadn’t even said anything about being able to dance, but soon she was on the dance floor, trying her best. Kitty smiled at her friend’s obvious pleasure. Then Laura swept by with her partner. She was in a different league; her movements were graceful yet precise, and she’d obviously done this many times. The young man was gamely trying to lead her through the steps but it was clear who was really in charge. Kitty sighed. It would take a brave man to control Laura, on or off the dance floor.

She realised one of the Canadians was still talking to her and she broke off her train of thought to pay attention to him. ‘I can’t believe you’re here without a boyfriend,’ he was saying. He seemed to be building up to making his move.

Kitty felt she couldn’t let him get his hopes up. ‘No, my boyfriend isn’t in London,’ she explained. ‘He’s a doctor on Merseyside. He’s going to come down to see me soon.’ She crossed her fingers as she said this, hoping it was true. Lovely, kind Elliott – and he was a wonderful dancer. She could suggest they come here. Her face brightened at the idea.

‘Oh I see.’ The young man in front of her seemed to get the picture, and understood that it wasn’t him she was smiling about. ‘Well, nice meeting you, ma’am. You take care when you’ve finished your training, now.’

‘You too,’ Kitty said, and meant it. She knew – as did everyone else – the immense danger all fully trained fighter pilots were in. This young man would be lucky to survive. But nobody said this, of course. She watched as he wove his way back to his friends, wondering what the future had in store for him and the rest of them.

The next dance came to an end and Marjorie and her partner headed back towards Kitty, their faces flushed. He showed her to her seat and then moved off, as Marjorie waved. Over her shoulder, Kitty could see Laura, and the by now somewhat exhausted young corporal also coming their way.

Kitty raised her eyebrows as Marjorie sank back into her chair. ‘Not having another dance with him, then? He seemed nice. I thought you two were set for the evening.’

‘No, we decided we’d had enough,’ said Marjorie, all trace of her earlier anxiety now gone. ‘We started talking as we danced and it turns out he’s got a steady girlfriend back home in Toronto. He’s a very nice young man and I’m not surprised he has a sweetheart, so it’s best he goes back to his friends.’ She grinned. ‘I’ve surprised myself. He’s good looking, isn’t he?’

Well, well, thought Kitty, so books aren’t Marjorie’s sole interest after all. ‘Yes, very,’ she agreed. ‘So now we know what your type is, don’t we? We’ll have to keep a look-out for others with light-brown curls and pilots’ uniforms …’ She trailed off as Laura approached and she registered the expression on her face. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

‘Who … who was that?’ she gasped, her hand to her throat. She could barely force out the words. ‘That man dancing with Marjorie – who was that?’

‘Laura, whatever’s wrong?’ Kitty stood up immediately and rushed to her friend, who had frozen to the spot. Gently she guided her to the table and into a seat. ‘Here, sip this.’ She handed her the cocktail glass. Laura took it and swigged back a mouthful, swallowing hard, almost desperately. ‘Steady, now. That smells like strong stuff. Tell me what’s happened. One minute you’re dancing the night away and wearing out that poor boy, and now you’re shaking like a leaf. Whatever is it? Did he say something to you, or what?’

‘Oh, my God.’ Laura put the drink down and then dropped her head into her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. God, what an idiot. What a fool. No, he didn’t say anything, it’s not him. It’s my fault, making a spectacle of myself. Just ignore me.’ Her voice broke but she raised her head and was visibly trying to pull herself together.

‘Laura, take it easy,’ said Marjorie. ‘Is it something we’ve done? Tell us.’

Laura gave a heavy sigh. ‘No. Not really.’ She gulped. ‘It was that young man you were dancing with. I just caught sight of the two of you together when I’d finished my dance and … for one moment …’ She shut her eyes tight and then opened them. ‘Well, I thought it was Freddy. Stupidly, I know. It couldn’t have been, I know that deep down, but just for a second … it caught me unawares, I’m so sorry …’ She abruptly looked away, biting her lip in a desperate effort not to break down.

Marjorie looked stunned. ‘Who?’ she mimed, turning to Kitty.

Kitty’s heart went out to Laura. ‘Her brother,’ she whispered. ‘He’s missing in action.’

‘But she never said.’ Marjorie’s face betrayed her feeling of hurt that she hadn’t been told.

‘She doesn’t. She just spoke about it once, before you all arrived.’ Kitty sighed. ‘She said they were close. I hadn’t realised just how much.’

How hard it must be for Laura, she reflected, suffering in silence, surrounded by young men who must remind her all the time of the uncertainty that hung over her brother’s fate, always preparing herself for the worst possible news, never knowing how long she would have to go on in limbo. Kitty recognised that the young woman’s devil-may-care attitude was her way of coping, but it only plastered over the wound, it didn’t come close to healing it. The confidence – arrogance, almost – masked a deep hurt that could never go away until Freddy’s fate was resolved one way or the other.

‘You take your time, Laura,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to pretend in front of us. We understand.’

Laura turned back to them both. ‘Thanks,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Oh God. I must look a proper fright.’

‘Here, have this.’ Kitty retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘Clear up the worst with this, and then go to put on some more lipstick. I’ll come with you if you like.’

‘No, no, you stay here.’ Laura was recovering now, sounding more like her old self. ‘I’ll go on my own, I’ll be all right. But tell you what.’

‘What?’ Kitty and Marjorie said together.

‘Wave at that nice waiter and get me another one of these. Make it a double.’ With that Laura painted on a determined smile and pushed her way to the door of the ladies’.

Kitty twisted around to do as she was asked, catching sight of the waiter and raising her hand. Good for Laura – even though she was in despair about her brother, she wasn’t going to let it ruin their evening. And it was an easy mistake to make, Kitty realised. Anyone could do it. For example, there in the corner, among a group of officers in naval uniform, there was a young man with a head of gorgeous blond hair who from this angle was the spitting image of Frank Feeny. But no, she chided herself: that was all past. Her heart was fluttering involuntarily because of all the excitement of the evening – it was nothing more than that …

CHAPTER NINE

‘So I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then?’ Rita got up to go home, even though she’d rather have stayed in her mother’s kitchen to carry on the lively conversation. ‘Thanks, Violet, you don’t know what a relief it is to have your help.’

‘Think nothing of it!’ Violet insisted, and gave one of her braying laughs, which even after all these months made Rita’s ears ring. But she’d happily put up with that for the comfort of knowing the shop wasn’t going to be left in Winnie’s increasingly incapable hands.

‘What about Georgie?’ demanded Nancy, pouting at being sidelined yet again. ‘I was going to ask you if you could have him overnight and tomorrow morning, then I’d come round to pick him up. Do I have to change my plans?’

‘Plans? What plans?’ Rita paused on her way out. ‘You didn’t say anything, Nancy.’ Privately she thought for the thousandth time that her younger sister didn’t know how lucky she was. She could play with her beautiful, healthy son every day, watching him change and grow before her eyes: he was walking with increasing confidence and beginning to learn their names. Here he was now, just about managing to toddle towards her, holding out his arms, saying ‘ri-ri-ri’, which was as close as he could get to Rita. She bent down to hug him. He was adorable – why didn’t his mother want to look after him? Rita held him close, savouring the smell of his soft hair, which reminded her of her own children when they were that age. She sent up a silent prayer for their safety. Even though she knew they were well and happy, every day without them was like a blow to her heart.

‘Oh honestly, I’ve told you all of this before.’ Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘You know very well that Gloria’s coming home. She’s been a big success in London and now she’s going on tour. She’s coming to Liverpool today and I’m going to go and meet her. They’re putting her up at the Adelphi! I’m not going to miss that!’

‘Well, that’s a change from the Sailor’s Rest and no mistake,’ observed Dolly, who was fond of Gloria even though she’d got a reputation for being fast. ‘I hope she’s going to make some time to visit her parents in all of this high life. They won’t have seen her for ages.’

‘Oh, she’s bound to,’ Nancy lied. Gloria’s parents weren’t like Dolly and Pop. Mr and Mrs Arden were more bothered by how well their pub was doing than what their only daughter got up to. ‘Mam, you’ll take Georgie, won’t you? He loves being here, look at him now. It’s his favourite place in the world.’ She wondered if she was laying it on a bit thick, but she could usually persuade her mother, and it was true that George liked nothing better than to stay at his granny’s.

Dolly regarded her most troublesome child with a baleful air, in full knowledge that she was being taken advantage of, but she could never stay cross with her for long. ‘Oh, all right then,’ she said. ‘But make sure you behave yourself, young lady. I won’t have you being the talk of the street.’ Nancy pursed her lips at her mother but wisely kept any backchat to herself. The business with Stan Hathaway was still a sore spot between them and she didn’t want to risk any curtailment of her night out.

‘Here, Rita,’ Dolly said, ‘you get off and give the boy to me. Are you sure you won’t take some lettuce? I picked it myself; it’s one of the first things that’s come up in the victory garden. All thanks to your clever idea of using spare panes of glass from the bomb site to make little greenhouses, Violet.’

‘That’s a good idea. In fact, why don’t I drop some off at Danny’s?’ Rita asked. She knew that Danny would be grateful for the salad, as he would never think to buy it for himself. Moreover, letters had begun to arrive at his house from Jack, and she was desperate to hear his news.

‘Of course, what a kind idea.’ Dolly beamed at her eldest daughter’s thoughtfulness. ‘There’s plenty for both of you.’

‘Just make sure you wash it – we wouldn’t want Winnie to choke on a slug,’ Nancy added.

Rita tucked the precious letter into the waistband of her skirt and buttoned her coat over it to hide any tell-tale bulge. It would be foolish to go to all the trouble of getting the letters sent to her neighbour only for Winnie to spot her smuggling one back into the shop to read, and she knew the older woman would take full advantage of anything she regarded as stepping out of line. However, even the thought of Winnie’s malevolence couldn’t dampen Rita’s anticipation – she’d waited too long to feel that moment of connection with Jack. Just to see his beloved handwriting made her feel less alone.

Pushing open the door to the living quarters, she was surprised to find Ruby going through to the kitchen. Her startling blonde hair was bright in the early evening sunlight. Ruby jumped, nervous as ever.

‘Ohhhhh.’ Her voice shook. ‘It’s you, Rita. I’m … I’m glad it’s you.’

‘Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?’ Rita smiled reassuringly as she put down her basket and unpacked it. ‘See what I’ve got from Mam, Ruby. I could make us a nice sandwich. Would you like that? Maybe with some Branston pickle? That’s what I’m going to have.’ She drew out an enamel colander from one of the cupboards above the sink and began to pull off some lettuce leaves to wash.

Ruby nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. Finally she plucked up the courage to say what was on her mind. ‘The strange men were back today.’ She trembled. ‘I hid away. I don’t like it when they come; their voices feel funny.’

Rita paused at the sink. ‘What men, Ruby? Don’t worry, I won’t blame you for anything. Tell me what happened.’

The young woman wrung her hands. ‘They were angry. They shouted at Winnie. They said bad things. It was loud, I was scared.’

‘What things, Ruby? Did they threaten Winnie? Were they the police?’

‘They … maybe not … a bit like the police, but different uniforms.’ Ruby looked helpless. ‘They said … military police. That was it. They said she had to tell them where he was.’

Rita cast her eyes heavenwards. She had known it almost before Ruby began to speak – it was about Charlie again. Her useless deserting husband still hadn’t faced up to his duty and joined up. Now the authorities were after him good and proper. She’d been lucky that they’d come when she was out; despite her hatred of Charlie, the fact that they were all being dragged through the mud along with him was excruciating. She had nothing to hide and had done nothing wrong – but the powerful shame of knowing her husband was a complete and utter coward was enough to drive her to the depths of despair.

‘They won’t hurt you, Ruby.’ She tried to keep her voice level; there was no sense in making Ruby more frightened than she already was. ‘They just want to find where Charlie is. And since we don’t know, we can’t tell them anything useful.’

‘Charlie’s a bad man!’ Ruby suddenly burst out. ‘He was mean to me. I don’t like him. He took Elsie to the pub all the time, and he shut Michael and Megan away without their supper.’

Rita’s heart turned over at the thought of her children going hungry at their father’s hands, but she steeled herself. They were better fed now than they’d ever been in their lives. She mustn’t let it upset her further. ‘You’re right, Ruby,’ she said. ‘He’s not a nice man, but he’s not here, so we’ll be all right. Why don’t you pass me the bread and I’ll make those sandwiches. You shouldn’t let it worry you. After all, it’s ages since they last came looking for him.’

Ruby paused as she lifted the loaf from the bread bin. ‘It’s six weeks and two days,’ she said. ‘Also, they came at two o’clock last time and this time it was half past three.’

‘Really, Ruby?’ Rita thought that this was a strange thing to remember, especially as the young woman had been so frightened. ‘You’ve got a good memory. I never know when things have happened or how long ago. I don’t think many people do.’

Ruby looked at her seriously. ‘Well I do,’ she said shortly. ‘I see patterns. I know these things. If you need to know then you ask me. I don’t forget.’

‘All right, Ruby,’ said Rita, slicing the bread, feeling slightly startled by the direction this conversation had taken. She berated herself for underestimating the girl; just because she acted strangely didn’t necessarily mean she was an idiot, although Elsie and now Winnie treated her as one. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

Ruby beamed as she accepted her sandwich. ‘Yes please, Rita,’ she said. ‘I would like to help you. Michael and Megan are my best friends, so I’ll help you. I don’t forget anything, ever.’

CHAPTER TEN

‘Oh, this is nice!’ Nancy flung herself back on the elaborate counterpane of the big double bed and looked at the ornate ceiling. ‘They must think a lot of you, putting you up in here. Oh, I could get used to this. Who’d have thought it? If some of those old bags from Empire Street could see you here they’d have a fit. Serve ’em right and all.’

Gloria grinned. ‘Believe me, not every hotel’s like this. I’ve stayed in some right fleapits since starting the tour.’ She sat down on the velvet stool which stood in front of the mirrored dressing table. It was in the exact shade of the gorgeously thick curtains, which toned with the counterpane – it was all the height of luxury. ‘But no, I grant you, this is all right.’

‘Just think, all those nights we were downstairs when you were singing, and we didn’t know what the bedrooms were like.’ Nancy stretched her arms above her head. ‘This is the comfiest bed I’ve ever been on.’

Gloria raised her eyebrows. ‘Does that mean you’ve been trying out a few since we last met? Nancy, you dark horse.’

Nancy gasped, then realised her friend was teasing. ‘No, of course not. Don’t be like that, Glor. You know I’m not like some girls we could mention.’

‘Just as well, I suppose.’ Gloria gazed at the wallpaper above the mirror. ‘Apart from being on tour, I haven’t tried out any either.’

Nancy rolled on to her side and propped her head on her hand to regard her friend. Gloria had always attracted men without any effort – her looks alone guaranteed she would be the centre of attention wherever she went, with her natural platinum-blonde hair and stunning face, but added to that she had the gift of a powerful voice that she used to tug on the heartstrings of anyone listening. In her more honest moments, Nancy admitted she was deeply jealous of her friend, but it had also been useful to stick by her side as she then could bask in the reflected glory and also meet a fair few men herself. But times had changed.

‘Your impresario fellow making you work all hours, is he?’ she asked. ‘You want to stand up for yourself, make sure you get a bit of time off. All work and no play and all that.’

‘What do you think this is?’ Gloria said, smiling to take the edge off her reply. ‘I’m not performing this evening. He knows I can’t sing every night, or and move hotels as well. I’ll get too tired, and then my voice gets tired and we can’t risk that. No, he’s good, I’ve been very lucky. He knows what he’s doing. I trust him. No, not like that,’ she added, reading the inquisitive expression on Nancy’s face. ‘I tell you, I’m concentrating on my career now.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.