CHRISTMAS FOR THE DISTRICT NURSES
Annie Groves

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Annie Groves 2019

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

Cover photographs © Jonathan Ring (models), Lebrecht Music & Arts / Alamy Stock Photo (background)

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: 9780008272272

Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008272289

Version: 2019-10-04

Dedication

Heartfelt thanks to Teresa Chris, Kate Bradley and Penny Isaac, without whom the stories of the district nurses would never have been told.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

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

Chapter Thirty-Five

Keep Reading …

About Annie Groves

Also by Annie Groves

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE
December 1941

‘I don’t see why I have to do it. Why can’t you?’

Gladys shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that there would be no point in getting angry with her younger sister. That never achieved anything. ‘Because I’m on duty this evening,’ she said calmly.

Evelyn threw up her hands, groaning theatrically. ‘Of course you are. You’re always on bleeding duty. Proper saint, you are. How did they ever manage without you?’

Gladys took the two steps necessary to cross their tiny kitchen and reached for her gabardine coat that hung on the back door. She still hadn’t grown out of the thrill of putting it on, of having her own uniform. She’d waited long enough to be able to join the Civil Nursing Reserve. She was damned if she was going to let her sister make a drama out of nothing, yet again. ‘What’s so important that you can’t make a bit of stew?’ she asked.

Evelyn scowled. ‘I was going to do my hair.’

Gladys laughed. ‘Do what to it? Didn’t you just do it?’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ Evelyn snapped meanly. ‘It’s not as if you ever took any trouble with yours. Look at it, just hanging down straight, all flat and horrible.’

Gladys shrugged, pulling on her heavy coat. She knew her mousy-brown hair was lank but she was far too busy to spend hours curling it in papers or hunting down bleach or whatever smelly substance it was that Evelyn used to lighten her carefully coiffured locks. ‘Not much point when it’s mostly hidden by my cap,’ she pointed out.

‘Exactly.’ Evelyn pouted. ‘You’re always down that blasted first-aid post, when you aren’t running round after those district nurses in their precious home. You never have no time for us no more. I have to do everything and it’s not fair.’

‘Not fair?’ Gladys couldn’t bite back her instinctive response. ‘I tell you what’s not fair. Having to miss nearly all my schooling cos Ma couldn’t cope with all seven of us. Working my fingers to the bone for you lot when I was only a kid myself. Only learning to read when I started work at the nurses’ home. Even that was just good luck in that two of them made time to teach me. Now, when I finally get a chance to do nursing like what I’ve always wanted, you still expect me to cook for you first, so you don’t have to give up an evening doing your hair.’

Evelyn wasn’t impressed. ‘Oh, not that again. Poor old Gladys. You’d have hated school anyway – I know I did. So count yourself lucky.’

‘Pity you didn’t make the most of what chances you had,’ Gladys said, taking out a pair of navy gloves from her coat pocket.

‘I don’t need school learning for what I’m going to do.’ Evelyn’s eyes flashed boldly.

Gladys paused. This was new. ‘What do you mean?’

Evelyn folded her arms in defiance. ‘I’m going to go on the stage.’

Gladys stood still and stared. ‘You’re going to what?’

‘Go on stage.’ Evelyn sounded more defensive now. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Glad. I’ve got a good voice, I have, and I’m going to be famous like those film stars. I could be the next Vivien Leigh.’

‘Your hair’s the wrong colour,’ Gladys pointed out. Typical, she thought. She herself had a good voice, and it wasn’t being boastful to think so, because one of the district nurses who was really musical had told her so. But she wasn’t daft enough to imagine she could go on stage with it. A few carols around the home’s piano were enough for her. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go. There’s a bit of lamb on the cool shelf in the larder and potatoes under the sink. Make sure they all wash their hands before they eat. Oh, and by the way,’ she halted briefly before stepping out into the cold of the December evening, ‘you might have to wait before you start your stage career. The government’s just brought out a law saying that every woman who’s not married between twenty and thirty has to sign up for war work. I don’t think they count singing.’

Evelyn snorted. ‘You’re just jealous. I’m not twenty yet, anyhow.’

‘Not far off, though,’ Gladys shot back. ‘You’ve got, what, about eighteen months to become a star, then you’ll have to sign up for the Land Army or whatever.’

‘Never! I’ll break my nails.’ Evelyn looked aghast. ‘But I tell you what, I shan’t ever do what you do. I think it’s disgusting, all that blood and all. You don’t know who half those people are or anything.’

Gladys smiled, unmoved by her sister’s final comment. She carried on smiling as she made her way along the back lane and headed towards the first-aid post, which was in the nearby church hall. She didn’t care what anybody else thought. She had believed that nursing was beyond her wildest dreams and yet here she was, about to start a shift in a job she loved. It didn’t matter that she’d already done a day’s work, cleaning and cooking at the nurses’ home. She truly could not think of a better way to spend her evening.

‘You awake, Billy?’ Kathleen turned over on the narrow mattress and shook the shoulder of the man lying next to her. ‘It’s nearly time for your shift.’

Billy groaned. ‘Just two minutes’ more kip, Kath.’ He stretched, his feet pressing against the cold wall of the small room. He’d often wished he was taller, but now he realised his average height was a blessing. He wouldn’t have fitted into Kathleen’s bed otherwise. Strictly speaking he shouldn’t have been there at all.

‘It’s no good, Billy. I can’t hold back the clock. Shall I make us a cup of tea while you get ready?’ Kathleen was half out of the bed but he pulled her down to him again and stopped her.

‘Let’s wait a bit. Let’s have a cuddle, warm me up before I have to go out.’ He smiled up at her, scarcely able to credit his good fortune. Here they were, together at last. It wasn’t exactly as he had imagined it, squeezed into a tiny bedsit instead of their own home, but he didn’t care. As long as he had Kath with him, he could move mountains.

She sighed. ‘Not long now and we’ll have a proper big bed.’

‘That day can’t come soon enough,’ Billy agreed, moving his feet so they didn’t touch the freezing wall. ‘We’ll deserve it an’ all. Lord knows we’re due a bit of comfort, you and me.’

Kathleen hugged him, pressing her face into his dark hair, cut short but still with a bit of curl to it. She still had to pinch herself sometimes. Despite the disappointment of having to postpone their wedding, she counted herself lucky to be in his arms. She didn’t care about the poky room. She had never known much better, and soon they would have their own home, a real house with a separate bedroom for her little boy, and their own yard out the back which they wouldn’t have to share with anyone.

She shifted slightly, careful not to make too much noise. Her landlady lived downstairs and didn’t approve of Billy coming to visit, although she generally turned a blind eye. Sometimes Kathleen felt guilty that they had pre-empted their wedding vows. But after the horror of what had happened, she couldn’t bear the thought of never having had Billy in her arms, not knowing his love. Life could be snuffed out at any moment.

For years she had lived in a small downstairs flat on a side street in Dalston. She had moved in when she’d married her first husband, Ray, full of hope for the future. That had soon vanished when she realised what sort of man he was – mean, unreliable, violent. She’d been blinded by his good looks, although everyone had warned her. She hadn’t listened. The only good thing to come out of the marriage was her boy, Brian, who would be three in the new year. Now Ray was dead, killed down at the docks where he’d been trying to cash in on the black market.

Kathleen had tried to show some respect for him; he was her son’s father and she wanted to do the right thing. However, she had been harbouring her secret love for Billy ever since the scales had fallen from her eyes about Ray. They had been at school together and, once Ray had disappeared, supposedly to find work, she would never have managed if it hadn’t been for Billy helping her out, along with their good friends around the corner, the Banham family.

She had been overjoyed when Billy had proposed. He’d announced it at a Banham family christening and it had brought tears to her eyes when she saw how happy her closest friends were for them. Finally it looked as if their life together could begin.

Billy had always lived with his mother, who had been thrilled to hear that her son had at last become engaged to the love of his life. However, she felt she was too old to cope with a toddler around the house. Billy had understood. He had planned to move in with Kathleen after they married, even though her place was really just one big room with a back kitchen and a shared privy in the yard. He was out most of the time anyway, working down at the docks in Limehouse, or on ARP duty in the evenings.

They’d fixed the date even while the Blitz had rained down on the streets around, causing havoc, destroying houses, roads, entire families. They had been under no illusions about the danger, but one day in the summer their plans fell apart.

Kathleen had been at home with Brian when she heard the familiar wail of the air-raid siren, which had sounded practically every night for months on end. ‘Off we go, then,’ she’d said to her little boy, hurriedly bundling him into his siren suit and snatching up the bag she kept in readiness by the front door. Together they had hurried to the local church hall, set up for those who had no Anderson shelters in their gardens. At the last minute she had decided it would be quicker to push him in his old pram, and that meant she could load the shelf underneath it with his teddy bear and wooden bricks, extra food, and a few of her own essentials.

Never had she been so thankful to have acted quickly. When the all clear came the next morning, they had returned to a scene of devastation. Jeeves Place had taken a direct hit, and Kathleen’s home was nothing but a pile of smouldering bricks. She could see straight through to the yard and the houses that had backed on to it. Neighbouring properties had lost all their windows, some of their roofs and brickwork. The smell was indescribable.

‘This your place?’ a kindly policeman had said. ‘Afraid you can’t come any closer – it’s not safe.’

‘But … my things,’ she had gasped. ‘All my clothes, all my boy’s clothes, they’re in there.’ Even as she said it, she recognised that they had very little left behind worth saving.

‘You can come back later when we’ve made it secure,’ the policeman had suggested. ‘Do you have anywhere you can go in the meantime?’

Kathleen had gulped, taking in the changes to her old street. Its narrow pavements were shrouded in dust and rubble, a few residents grey-faced with shock standing at the far end beyond the cordon. ‘Y-yes, I think so.’ She hoped the Banham household was still standing. She didn’t think her shaking legs would take her any further.

She had the desperate urge to get Brian away from all of this before he could realise what was going on, that the only home he had ever known was now in ruins. ‘We’ll go to my friends,’ she had said, and swung the pram around as fast as she could.

It was a matter of minutes before she arrived at the Banhams’ front door, which was still mercifully in place. Jeeves Street had taken a pounding earlier in the summer and there were gaps in its once-solid terraces, but the house she sought was intact. True, the air stank of fires and brick dust and, worse, an underlying stench of decay and rust. But the Banham home, for years her sanctuary, stood firm.

Mattie, her best friend, had cried with relief and hugged her hard before pulling her into the heart of the house, the big kitchen, with its view over the awkward wedge shape of not-quite-garden. Flo, Mattie’s mother, had immediately set about making tea and pouring precious orange juice for Brian, as Mattie still got extra for nursing her younger child. Kathleen had collapsed onto a chair, relieved beyond measure that she was safe and so were her closest friends and their children. Mattie’s father, Stan, was an ARP warden in the same section as Billy, and Flo promised to inform him at once that they were in one piece. ‘We thought you would be,’ she said. ‘We knew you went to the church shelter whenever the siren went, no matter what time of day or night. We all squashed up into our own shelter, packed in like sardines we was.’

Kathleen had stared around, taking in Mattie, her face tear-streaked, with her daughter Gillian pulling at her sleeve, and younger child Alan grizzling from his cot in the corner – the one that Gillian and Brian used to share when they were smaller. Flo looked worried but resolute, as usual. Only then, once Kathleen had her cup of tea and could see that Brian was chatting away happily to his teddy, did it occur to her that everything would have to be changed.

So the wedding was postponed until Kathleen and Billy could find somewhere to set up home together. That was easier said than done. Both wanted to stay in the area; as well as Billy’s mother, his work was relatively close by. Kathleen had family down in Haggerston but wasn’t close to them. They had all but washed their hands of her when she had married Ray against their advice, and although she sometimes visited her mother, it was more out of duty than anything else.

She and Mattie had often talked about taking Brian, Gillian and Alan out of Hackney to somewhere safer in the countryside; as mothers of such small children they would be eligible to be evacuated with them. Yet it was hard to leave Mattie’s parents. Both of Mattie’s brothers had joined up when war had broken out, Joe in the navy and Harry in the army. Harry had vanished at Dunkirk and for many bleak months everyone believed he was dead, but he had survived … just. He was still recovering in hospital, and was in no position to help his parents should they need it. Mattie’s husband Lennie had been taken prisoner at the same time and nobody could say when he would be home, though they all talked determinedly of ‘when’ and not ‘if’.

Mattie and Kathleen had worked together to keep the household running smoothly, while everyone kept their ears to the ground in case word of a house or flat came up. Even so it was many months before Stan got wind of anything likely.

Then, in November, he’d been on duty one night when there had been an accident with a gas main and he had helped to evacuate a nearby block of flats. A grateful elderly resident had confided in him as he slowly walked her towards a WVS mobile canteen so that she could have a warm drink on the chilly evening.

She was worried that her sister’s house would be broken into by looters. The sister had left it to go to her daughter’s, and wouldn’t be coming back as she was too frail. How could she find reliable tenants? She didn’t know what to do for the best. Stan had offered to put her in touch with the ideal young couple.

Now Kathleen turned in Billy’s arms, thoughts of the new house filling her mind. It was between her old flat and Butterfield Green, an open space which would be good for Brian to play in come the better weather. It had two bedrooms upstairs, a large one at the front big enough for a proper double bed, and a smaller one at the back. Downstairs was a front parlour, a kitchen that was more like a scullery, and, an unexpected luxury, a lean-to bathroom at the back, with a copper for hot water and no need to step outside on a cold night. It was more than they could have hoped for.

Once again she briefly wondered if she and Billy should have waited until the wedding before sleeping together but, after the postponement, they had decided that enough was enough. They had waited for years, always acting properly despite their strong attraction and ample opportunity. Who knew what awaited them. So Kathleen had found a temporary billet with Brian, and Billy had taken to visiting between his days down at the docks and his evening shifts. It wasn’t much but they savoured every second they had together. After all, they would be together officially soon, with a new date for the wedding set just before Christmas.

‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ she said, reluctant to leave the comfort of his arms. She had never felt safer in her life, secure in the knowledge that this was where she belonged. ‘Nearly time to go.’

He smiled easily as he turned onto his back and looked at her, the waves of brown hair falling around her beloved face, brushing his own shoulders. ‘Got a few minutes yet, haven’t we?’ His eyes grew bright.

She took in his look and smiled back. ‘I thought you were tired, Billy Reilly?’

His smile grew broader as he drew her closer to him. ‘Never too tired for you, Kath,’ he breathed, before kissing her deeply and drawing the covers over them once more.

CHAPTER TWO

‘This is what comes of taking up the tram tracks to use the metal for the war effort,’ groaned Edith as she set down her Gladstone bag in the common room of the nurses’ home. ‘Or not having any spare metal for new bikes. Kids try to ride ones built for adults. Then they fall off. I’ve had two broken arms to look at in one afternoon. It puts me off riding my own bike, I can tell you.’

Alice had got in from her rounds ten minutes earlier and had made a pot of tea. ‘Here, have some of this. It’ll put you in a better temper.’

Edith collapsed into a comfy chair with well-worn cushions and looked up at her tall friend. ‘Thanks. I will. Brrr, I’m freezing, there’s a bitter wind out there.’

Gladys was passing by and caught her words. ‘Shall I build up the fire a bit? Gwen said we can have an extra bag of coal to boost our morale.’

Edith nodded enthusiastically, mindful that this was a big concession from their deputy superintendent. ‘That would be lovely. Sure you don’t mind? I’d offer to help but my fingers are numb.’ She wrapped her red hands around the cup of tea, feeling its warmth as her fingers began to tingle. ‘That’s more like it. Thanks, Al.’

Pushing back her dark blonde hair behind her ears, Alice took a seat beside Edith. ‘That’s what should be top of your Christmas list, then. New gloves.’

Edith nodded. ‘I think Flo’s knitting me some. That’s why I haven’t tried to replace these old ones, which are full of holes.’ She pulled out a bundle of navy wool from her pocket and held it up. Her hands were scarcely bigger than a child’s, appropriate to her birdlike frame. ‘Call that a glove? It’s more like a fishing net now. Mind you, I’ve had these since we qualified. So that’s, what …?’

‘Two and a half years,’ said Alice at once. ‘We began as district nurses back in the summer of 1939.’

‘Before the war.’ Edith raised her eyebrows. ‘Hard to imagine there was such a time, isn’t it?’

Alice nodded, sipping on her own tea. ‘No shortages. No air raids. A proper night’s sleep. Remember those?’

‘Only just.’ Edith took another gulp of tea. ‘I know the raids seem to have stopped now but I still feel as if I’m making up lost time for all those hours of sleep we missed. Sometimes I wake up and imagine I can hear the siren going, out of sheer habit. Does that mean I’m going crazy?’

‘Probably.’ Alice set down her saucer. ‘I know what you mean though. You get used to going to bed expecting to be woken up and having to run down to the refuge room. If you’d told me a few years ago that I’d be able to sleep sitting up on a hard chair, I’d have thought it was impossible, but now we know better.’

‘Still prefer my own bed though.’ Edith loved her little attic room, which had few extra comforts but all the essentials. Before coming to the Victory Walk home she’d never had her own room. It was her haven, and she resented every air raid that took her from it. ‘I’m tempted to go up and have forty winks now before the evening meal, but it won’t be as warm. Gladys, that fire’s lovely – come on, Al, let’s sit right beside it now it’s blazing.’

Gladys beamed in triumph. ‘Me ma always said I was good at getting a fire going. When we had any coal to burn, that was. Sometimes me little brothers would come back with wood they’d found and we’d use that.’ She brushed her hands across her apron. ‘I’d best be going, I’m on duty at the first-aid post tonight.’

‘How’s it going?’ asked Alice.

‘Very well. I love it,’ said Gladys honestly. ‘The most difficult thing is to get me sister to help out at home. That’s why I want to be off now, so I can leave again in good time for my shift. Our Evelyn, that’s the one who’s only a couple of years younger than me, needs to get into the habit of being the cook around the place and I ain’t giving her any chance to make excuses.’

‘Quite right.’ Edith frowned. ‘You’ve done more than enough for them, Gladys. You’re needed elsewhere now.’

‘That’s what I says to them,’ Gladys replied with determination. ‘Give that fire a good top-up before you eat and it’ll keep going all evening. See you tomorrow, then.’ She hurried out.

Alice shook her head. ‘Doesn’t sound as if that sister is making life easy.’

‘Don’t you go worrying about it, Al, you can’t make no difference. We did the best we could, teaching Gladys to read. She’s got to sort out things at home. High time her sister stepped up, but it’s not our business.’

‘I know.’ Alice sighed and stretched back in the wooden carver chair she’d pulled as close as she dared to the roaring fire. She rolled her shoulders back a few times, easing out the tensions of the day, made worse by cycling around in the cold. Then she brightened. ‘I forgot, I had a letter today.’ She dug around in the pocket of her Aran cardigan, a present from her mother on her last visit home to Liverpool.

‘Is it from Joe?’ Edith asked eagerly, her dark eyes gleaming. She knew Alice received regular letters from Joe Banham, and plenty of the nurses speculated that this meant there was romance in the offing, although Alice maintained it was no such thing.

‘No.’ Alice’s face grew solemn. ‘I haven’t heard from him for a while. Not that it means anything,’ she added hastily as Edith’s expression grew anxious, ‘there might be problems with the post.’ With Joe in the navy, they were never sure where he actually was at any given time.

‘Of course.’ Edith was equally determined not to jump to the worst conclusion. Joe would be all right. He had to be. His parents had been through enough when they believed his brother Harry was dead – as had they all, her more than anyone. Harry was the love of her life and she had felt as if part of her had died too; now he was slowly recovering, there was not a day that went past when she didn’t count her blessings. ‘So who is it from, then?’

Alice drew out the envelope and showed her friend the handwriting on the front: bold, forward-slanting lettering. ‘Dermot,’ she said.

‘Oooooh, Dermot.’ Mary had arrived, her face breaking into a broad smile at the mention of the doctor who had temporarily worked at a local surgery when the regular doctor had been unwell. ‘How is the divine Dermot? Still breaking hearts all along the south coast?’

‘You’re late back,’ Edith said, watching as Mary found another carver chair with a faded cushion and pulled it across to join them. ‘Was there a problem?’

‘No, not really. Mr Emmerson was feeling a bit lonely, that’s all, so I stayed for a chat,’ Mary explained, warming her hands in front of the flames. ‘He misses his sons, poor old devil. But then one of his daughters-in-law popped round so I left them to it.’ Mary’s elderly patients loved her as she had the knack of getting them talking. She often said that it wasn’t simply their aches and pains that needed attention, it was that since the war broke out more and more of them were on their own. ‘So what has the lovely Dermot to say for himself?’

‘Anyone would think you had a soft spot for him,’ teased Edith. ‘Better not let Charles hear you saying that.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing. Charles has been too busy recently to hear me say anything. I hardly see him.’ Mary’s face fell and her chestnut curls drooped a little. Her boyfriend was a captain in the army and, even though he had been based in London for much of the war, he found it difficult to spare time away from his duties at headquarters. ‘So, cheer us up, Alice. What’s the news?’

Alice scanned the sheets of paper, covered in vivid navy ink. ‘All right … good … he’s well, he sends his best. Reading between the lines, they’re working flat out, there’s no let-up even though the raids over the airfields have died down. Lots of his colleagues have gone to serve abroad so there’s twice as much to do for those left on the home front.’

‘Sounds familiar,’ said Edith.

‘No budding love interest, then?’ Mary was always keen to hear about other people’s romances as hers had gone into the doldrums.

‘If there is, he isn’t saying.’ Alice looked up from the letter and folded the top sheet. ‘He might not tell me, of course.’ She counted herself immune to Dermot’s considerable charms as he’d trained as a doctor at the same time as she had studied for her first nursing qualification, back in Liverpool. Their relationship had always been that of colleagues, whereas his arrival in Dalston had caused uproar among the single nurses, and even those not so single.

‘That’s too bad. Well, I live in hope.’ Mary’s good mood had bounced back.

‘He’s wondering what it will be like treating American troops, now they’ve joined the war,’ Alice went on, skimming the second page. ‘He’s going to be working alongside a couple of surgeons from New York, by the sounds of it.’

Belinda rushed in, her dark, tightly curled hair a tangled mess. ‘Budge up, I’m frozen solid,’ she said, bringing across yet another chair to the fireside. ‘I thought I was going to be late for the meal, the ambulance took so long. Woman in labour with a breech birth,’ she explained hastily. ‘Did somebody say “American troops”? Go on, Alice, tell me about my favourite subject.’

Alice pulled a face. ‘Nothing specific, sorry. Were you hoping for news of a battalion of them to be stationed up the road?’

‘We should be so lucky.’ Belinda made a face as well. ‘Look, I know Pearl Harbor was terrible but we have to look on the bright side. All those handsome young men coming across the ocean just to rescue us.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Bringing gifts of nylon tights and chocolate …’ Mary sat up straighter. ‘I know, I know, better not let Charles hear me say that. Still, you can’t deny that things might start to get interesting.’

‘Exactly.’ Belinda beamed in anticipation.

‘The only good thing is, it might mean that the war is over faster,’ Alice said seriously.

‘True. No, you’re right, I realise that,’ Belinda said hastily. ‘It’s just that you’re not looking for a boyfriend, are you, Alice, but some of us like to keep on the alert just in case. There’s a bit of a shortage of eligible men around here if you hadn’t noticed. So if there are thousands of them about to board ship for Europe, then I for one intend to be ready. What are you looking at me like that for? I’m just saying.’

Edith got to her feet. ‘Looks as if the meal’s ready. Stew again, by the smell of it.’ She reached for her bag as she rose. ‘I’ll take this back to my room and see you down here in a mo.’

Alice stood as well. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it like that,’ she admitted.

‘Well, some of us have,’ said Belinda with spirit, unfolding her tall, slim frame from the warmth of the chair. ‘Who knows, Alice, we might get you out dancing yet.’ She ran after Edith, her thick nurse’s cloak over one arm, her Gladstone bag swinging from the other.

Alice watched them go, reflecting on Dermot’s letter, less concerned by what he had said than what he hadn’t. There had been no mention of Mark, Dermot’s best friend, who had also trained at the big Liverpool hospital when they were there. Mark had broken her heart. She had believed that they were destined to be together and that he felt the same as she did. However, the lure of the Spanish Civil War had been stronger and Alice found herself deserted, not for another woman but for a rival against which she could not hope to win: a cause. Gradually she had hardened her heart and poured everything into her work instead.

Yet it was only human to wonder if he was all right. She knew he had returned from Spain and enlisted as a doctor, and was – to the best of her knowledge – somewhere on the south coast, treating the Forces and also any enemy airmen who had been shot down this past year. She told herself it was enough to know that he was alive, doing the work that he loved and was so supremely good at. There could be nothing further between them. But it did mean that, however enthusiastic her colleagues were, the very last thing she ever wanted to do was to go dancing.

CHAPTER THREE

‘I thought these new girls were meant to help us out but this has been the slowest day I can remember in all the time we’ve worked here,’ Peggy Cannon complained, pulling off the dusty headscarf that she wore while working in the gas-mask factory. ‘I know they’ve got to register for some kind of war work, but why didn’t they sign up for something they’re good at?’ She rolled up the fraying piece of cotton and shoved it into her bulging handbag.

Clarrie was more forgiving. ‘You forget what we were like at first. We were all fingers and thumbs. Give them a few days and they’ll catch up.’ She shook free her own hair, which was a striking red, all the more noticeable in the dull changing room of the factory.

‘They’ll have to,’ Peggy grumbled. ‘We’re going to be making more than gas masks and boxes now, aren’t we? I heard we were going to do stuff for weapons, rubber seals and that.’

Clarrie glanced around. ‘Don’t go saying that outside these walls.’

Peggy snorted. ‘What do you take me for? Do they seriously think we won’t notice that everything we’re working on is a different shape?’ She buttoned her coat, with its worn patches from several years’ use. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just in a bad mood.’

Clarrie shrugged, used to her friend’s impatience. ‘Well, my sister’s gone and put her name down for the Land Army,’ she said. ‘Can you credit it? She can just about peel a carrot; she’s never grown a thing in her life. Pity the poor farmer who ends up with her.’

Peggy grinned at the idea. ‘Maybe she’ll be good with animals. Used to take that dog you had when you were little out for walks, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, but she didn’t have to kill it and eat it,’ Clarrie pointed out. ‘No, she’s in for the shock of her life. And she’ll most likely be out in the middle of nowhere, no dancing or nothing.’

One of their fellow workers passed by, half hearing their conversation. ‘Oh, are you going dancing?’ she asked casually. ‘Well, good for you, Peggy, cos you’re over him by now, aren’t you? Let’s face it, he’s been dead much longer than you was wed. Best to get back out on the dance floor!’ and she was off in a trail of cheap perfume, leaving Peggy with her jaw dropping at the insensitivity of the comment.

Clarrie tucked her arm through her friend’s. ‘Pay her no notice. She don’t know what she’s talking about.’

Peggy swallowed hard. ‘I know. She’s nothing but hot air, that one. She don’t know the half of it and that’s a fact. Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She found it was suddenly hard to breathe. She’d go for ages convincing herself that she was all right, but all it took was one callous remark and she was back down in the deep well of grief, mourning Pete, who’d been her husband for less than a year when he’d been killed at Dunkirk. As if a bit of dancing could put right the unfairness of that.

Not that she hadn’t tried. Where Edith had stayed in, craving silence and stillness to remember her Harry, Peggy had thrown herself into escaping, drinking, dancing, staying out, and generally carrying on as if there were no tomorrow. Sometimes it helped her to forget, more often it just brought it home to her how wonderful Pete had been and how nobody else came close. She’d had one particular dreadful incident, when she was attacked by a Canadian airman whose dark good looks hid his violent heart. She had even bounced back from that, as far as the few people who knew about it could tell. Only Peggy knew that her love for Pete was so deeply buried that nothing could touch it, and she couldn’t see how she would ever get over his loss.

Clarrie glanced at her watch. ‘Tell you what, shall we have a quick one down the Duke’s Arms? It’s Friday, there might be some of the old gang from school there.’

Peggy perked up. That was one place it wouldn’t matter if two young women came in for a drink on their own. They had plenty of friends who often went there and most of them had known Pete.

‘Yes, let’s. Pete’s mum won’t be waiting for me, it’s her WVS day.’ Peggy continued to live with her mother-in-law and, although the two women had their occasional differences, there was comfort to be had in the knowledge that they had both loved Pete.

The cheerful old pub was not far from the factory and already the main bar was buzzing with conversation. There was nothing fancy about it, and from the outside it was impossible to tell, in the blackout, that it was full of old metal lamps inside and well-polished woodwork, with a welcoming atmosphere that drew the regulars back time after time. Clarrie waved at a few people as she pushed her way in, Peggy – who was shorter – following behind. Clarrie was like a beacon with her bright hair, and Peggy sometimes felt in her friend’s shadow.

‘Hello, girls, what can I get you?’ A familiar figure was standing at the bar.

‘Billy! What you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home getting ready for the big day?’ Peggy came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the young man grinning sheepishly over the top of his pint.

‘Dutch courage,’ he admitted, setting down his glass. ‘Come on, what’ll it be? You might as well take advantage of my last night as a free man.’

Clarrie laughed. ‘Surely you of all people aren’t having second thoughts, Billy?’

Billy gave her an incredulous look. ‘Me? Of course not. It’s just, well, you know, I’ve got to stand up in front of everyone and say my vows. What if I mess it up? I’m getting all nervous just thinking about it.’ He grinned to make a joke of it but they could see his hand was shaking a little.

Peggy faced him seriously. ‘You won’t, Billy. And, even if you do, who’s going to care? Kath won’t, she’ll be glad that you finally made it to the altar at last. She won’t want you smelling like a brewery though, I can tell you that for a fact.’

Billy shook his head firmly. ‘I only just got here. I won’t be staying. Only wanted to settle me nerves a bit then I’ll get back to Ma’s, make sure she’s all set for tomorrow. What can I get you?’

‘Half a shandy,’ said Clarrie at once.

Peggy was tempted to say port and lemon, but that drink had been her downfall once too often. ‘I’ll have the same,’ she said, and caught Clarrie’s brief glance of approval.

‘Then I’ll have a half meself as a top-up and that’s it, no more till after the … the wedding.’ Billy suddenly went bright red. ‘I still can’t believe it. I’m really marrying Kath tomorrow. How about that?’ His eyes shone as he passed them their shandies.

‘Cheers, Billy,’ said Clarrie. ‘If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you and Kath. We’ll be there in our glad rags to wish you well. Half eleven, isn’t it?’

‘I got to be early,’ Billy grinned. ‘I’ll be in no end of trouble otherwise. I’m not even on duty this evening.’

‘I should hope not! Not on the eve of your wedding, Billy. Let the ARP cope without you for once.’ Peggy took a sip of her drink.

‘Anyway Stan’s working tonight so we’re all in the best hands possible.’ Billy carefully poured his half of bitter into his pint glass, wishing he didn’t feel so shaky.

‘I’d have thought he’d be wanted back home,’ Clarrie said. ‘Aren’t we all going back there tomorrow after the service?’

Billy nodded. ‘Yes, Ma couldn’t cope with having a crowd of people, Kath’s bedsit is smaller than that table over there, and we don’t have no spare cash to hire a hall. Besides, she feels as if Jeeves Street is her second home, so it’s the best thing all round. I’m ever so grateful.’

‘It’s only what you deserve, Billy,’ Peggy repeated with sincerity, even as a little voice whispered that she too had known that thrill of anticipation and sheer happiness, and would never find it again.

The atmosphere in the church was calm, with a faint smell of dust, flowers and beeswax. There was a moment of silence which felt to Billy as if it lasted a lifetime. Then Kath looked up at him, blinked hard and said, very clearly so that everyone could hear: ‘I do.’

Billy thought his heart would burst with happiness and pride. He looked down at her and met her eyes, which were the most beautiful in the world.

‘You may kiss the bride,’ said the vicar, and Billy didn’t need to be told twice. Even as he did so he could sense the rush of approval from their guests, ranged along the front pews.

Kathleen had not wanted to wear white. She had done so for her first wedding, and that had brought her precious little joy. Now that clothing was growing harder to come by, it was a waste of time, effort and material to have a dress that could be worn only once. She had gone for the more practical choice of a neat suit in soft grey featuring a nipped-in waist, with a deep rose blouse that she had made herself. It flattered her delicate colouring. Mattie had done her hair first thing in the morning, persuading it to fall in waves, sweeping it up at the sides so it wouldn’t get in her eyes.

Billy knew this was not a repeat of her previous disastrous marriage. They would start out differently, and do everything differently. He would be a proper husband to her. After today, they would move into their new house and start their life. He would show her what a happy partnership could be like. He remembered how it was when his own father had been alive – how contented his parents had been, comfortable to accommodate each other. He would build on that. She deserved nothing but the best.

The organ began to play and the vicar gently gestured to the newlyweds that they should turn and make their way back down the aisle. Billy grinned and Kath smiled back up at him. ‘Off we go, then,’ she breathed, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm.’

‘Off we go,’ he repeated. ‘You and me, Kath. Together from now on.’

The Banhams’ kitchen was full to bursting, and so was their front parlour. If the weather had been warmer, the guests would have spilled outside into the back yard, but the bitter chill had put a stop to that. Everyone crowded inside, enjoying the spread that Flo had conjured up from pooled ration cards, friends’ and family’s generosity and sheer ingenuity. At the centre of it all stood the happy couple, both of them still grinning from ear to ear.

Billy was in his only good suit, with a new white shirt and borrowed smart striped tie. He’d loosened the knot and undone his top button as soon as he’d reached Jeeves Street, not being used to such formal restriction. Now he laughed with relief. He hadn’t made a mess of his vows after all, but had stood at the altar and spoken with complete conviction. Kath could now set aside the hated surname of Berry and become Kathleen Reilly. They would change Brian’s name too. Billy loved the little boy as if he was his own son, and in truth had already been a far better father to him than Ray had ever been.

Brian himself wore a new pair of smart tweed shorts and had started the day in a new pale green shirt that now had food down it. Nobody minded. Flo privately vowed to clean it later, and he could borrow one of Gillian’s jumpers. Gillian was proudly copying Brian and smearing her own blouse with pickle. Flo was tempted to intervene but it would have meant dashing through a group of people and creating a scene; today was not the day for it.

Attracting nearly as much attention as Kathleen and Billy was Harry Banham, back on a rare visit home. He sat in an armchair, carefully propped on cushions. Even though he had suffered his injuries eighteen months ago, he was still receiving treatment for them, and had recently undergone yet another operation. His old spirit had returned, though, and he encircled Edith’s waist with his good arm. She was perched on one arm of the chair, happy to be snuggled next to Harry, conscious of the warmth of him through the material of her best frock.

‘Us next,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting.

Edith giggled. ‘Can’t wait, Harry.’ She turned to face him. ‘We’ll get you patched up a bit more first though.’

Harry pretended to be offended. ‘What, you mean you miss my ravishing good looks?’

‘You’ll always be the most handsome man in the room to me, Harry.’ Edith’s voice grew serious. ‘But you know as well as I do that there will be more operations to come. We don’t want to ruin the chance of them succeeding. I really, really don’t want to wait but it’s for the best. For the time being, at any rate.’

Harry pulled her closer still. ‘I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. You mean the world to me, Edie.’

She tipped back her head and laughed. ‘I know,’ she said happily. She wanted to be Harry’s wife more than anything, but realised that any delay in his treatment might mean it was less likely to be fully effective. There were all sorts of new developments in the treatment of facial burns, as so many airmen had suffered them during the Battle of Britain. Harry didn’t need the kind of reconstruction that some of them did, but he’d had a skin graft on one side of his face to repair the worst of the damage there. Fortunately his hair had begun to grow back and he could wear it a little longer than the standard army crew cut, to mask the upper scars.

Edith couldn’t decide if it made it better or worse that she was a nurse. Sometimes she could take a step back and recognise how wonderful it was, that the surgeons had such skill and could help mend what would have been permanent terrible disfigurement only a few years ago. Next she would remember all the risks that came with any surgery and her heart would fill with dread that Harry would react badly to the anaesthetic or go down with a dangerous infection. Then she would give herself a talking-to. After all, she had thought she had lost him for good. She would take him back into her willing arms whatever shape he was in; if he could be given some semblance of his former appearance, then so much the better.

Clarrie came over, balancing a plate of Spam sandwiches in one hand. ‘They let you come home, then?’ she asked. ‘We didn’t know if you’d be allowed out yet.’

Harry smiled up at his old school friend. ‘Didn’t want to miss this,’ he said. ‘I felt bad that I couldn’t say for certain that I’d be here. Billy wanted me to be his best man but there was a chance the last operation would be put back a week and I knew I couldn’t say no to that.’

‘Course not.’ Clarrie put her plate down on a side table before its contents fell off. ‘There, help yourselves. Anyway, his mate Ron did a grand job. He scrubs up well, don’t he? I’ve never seen him in a suit before. And it was lovely that your dad gave Kath away.’

‘Yes, well, she’s almost family so it was only right,’ Harry said, accepting the sandwich that Edith passed him. ‘Her own dad passed away years ago and she don’t get on with her brothers. Their loss, I say.’

Edith nodded vigorously. She knew what that felt like; she had very little to do with her own brothers, who had thought she’d got ideas above herself when she’d taken up nursing.

‘Joe didn’t get leave, then?’ Clarrie asked, smoothing down her turquoise cardigan, which she’d teamed with a blue and green scarf, knowing those colours set off her red hair.

‘No, he hasn’t made it,’ said Harry, his expression fading. ‘Haven’t seen him for ages, have we, Edie?’

‘No, more’s the pity. We don’t even know where he is these days.’ Edith automatically cast a glance across the room in Alice’s direction, to where her friend was talking to Mary. If Alice didn’t know where Joe was, then nobody did. As their friendship was partly based on a common love of books, he would write to her and tell her about what he was currently reading. Then Alice would work out where the author of the book was from, or where it was set. That would be where Joe was at the time of his writing the letter. But there had been no letters for a while. Edith had the feeling that Alice was more concerned than she let on.

Clarrie picked up the empty plate. ‘I’ll get you some more, shall I?’ she asked, and moved off before either of them could answer. Edith appreciated it; she just wanted to stay cuddled up tight to Harry, and the less he moved around the better.

‘I don’t suppose Kath and Billy are going on honeymoon,’ Harry said.

‘No, it’s too hard to travel and they don’t have much money to spare,’ Edith said. ‘They’re going to their new house and Brian’s staying here, so they can have a bit of time on their own.’

Harry gave her a squeeze. ‘Lucky them.’

‘Yes,’ Edith sighed. ‘Oh Harry, how I wish it was us.’

He squeezed her again. ‘Me too. But our day will come, Edie.’ His voice was quiet but full of conviction. ‘Our day will come.’

CHAPTER FOUR
January 1942

Mary stood in the doorway between the service room and the common room and clapped her hands loudly. ‘Excuse me!’ she shouted over the general hubbub of the nurses enjoying their Saturday morning leisure. Very few had had to work and they were making the most of a few hours with nothing more pressing to do than listen to the wireless or read the paper. ‘Gladys here has something to say.’ She turned to the smaller young woman behind her.

‘Er, yes.’ Gladys cleared her throat. Although she wasn’t as shy as when she’d first started working at Victory Walk, she hated speaking in public. She was grateful to Mary, who had no such qualms, for getting everyone’s attention. Mary didn’t flaunt her upbringing but her family’s money and connections meant that she had never lacked confidence. ‘The thing is, I need volunteers. For the victory garden. What with us having a few frosty nights, the parsnips are going to be ready, and I can’t get them all in on me own. So I’d be glad of a helping hand.’ She blushed furiously but held her nerve to the end of her sentence.

‘Any takers?’ Mary demanded brightly. ‘I’d do it myself but I’ve promised to sort out donations of clothes down at the church hall. Come on now, don’t be backward about coming forward. A lovely fresh morning like this, who’d want to be cooped up inside?’

One look at the faces turned towards her gave the answer – they all did.

‘Cos you’re getting parsnip soup this evening,’ Gladys explained, ‘only there won’t be no soup if there’s no parsnips.’

Belinda sighed dramatically. ‘Stands to reason. All right, I’ll do it. I’m not going on my own though.’ She looked meaningfully at the rest of them.

Bridget put down her newspaper, wrinkling her freckled nose, the crossword only half completed. ‘They’ve made that extra difficult this week,’ she said, pointing at it. ‘I’ll join you. Can’t deprive you brave girls of your soup, can I?’ After over a year in London, her Irish accent was as strong as ever.

This made Edith feel guilty. She wasn’t particularly fond of parsnip soup but it would be filling. ‘I’ll join you,’ she said. ‘And Alice will come too, won’t you, Al?’ Alice was absorbed in a long article in The Times and had barely registered what was going on.

‘Right, yes, of course,’ she said, hurriedly refolding it. ‘Why did you say that?’ she hissed at Edith as they made their way up to their attic rooms to change into their oldest clothes.

‘Because you always spend the weekend with your head in the paper or a book and exercise is good for you,’ Edith replied instantly. ‘Are you going to wear that green wool scarf, Al? Can I borrow it if not? I’ve gone and left mine at Dr Patcham’s surgery. I remember taking it off when I popped in yesterday and then I forgot it.’

‘We could go and collect it later,’ offered Alice. ‘I’ve got my blue one, I’ll wear that.’

‘Thanks.’ Edith disappeared into her small room.

Alice opened her own door and crossed to the small desk on the opposite side, under the dormer window that looked out over the Dalston rooftops. Gaps were visible in many of the terraces where houses had taken direct hits in the air raids, but Alice’s eyes were drawn to a creased and battered Christmas card which stood on her desk. The print of the robin was somewhat the worse for wear, but she didn’t mind in the least. It was nearly a month late, and must have taken a very indirect route, but finally she had confirmation that Joe was still alive – or at least he had been when he wrote the card.

She picked it up and read it again, smoothing the card as she did so. As well as the standard good wishes for Christmas and the coming year, he’d added, ‘I’m looking forward to rereading Lorna Doone.’ That had made her smile. She couldn’t imagine him reading it even once as it was so romantic, let alone twice. So he’d included that to tell her where he was. She knew the book was set on Exmoor, and thought it unlikely any naval ships would be based there – but, of course, it wasn’t far from Plymouth. That would be it.

Setting it down once more, she gave a deep sigh. First Scapa Flow, then Plymouth. Opposite ends of Britain and both cruelly far from Dalston. She knew it could have been much worse: naval vessels were now in North Africa, or India or the Far East. Yet Plymouth felt impossibly far away. ‘Stop it,’ she murmured. ‘You can write to him. He’s alive and well, that’s the main thing.’ She could not quite admit even to herself just how much she missed him, how worried she had been when Christmas came and went without a word.

‘Al, you in there? You ready yet?’ called Edith from the corridor. Hastily Alice grabbed her oldest jumper and began to change.

The victory garden had once been a pair of terraced houses two streets along from the nurses’ home, but they had been totally destroyed in a direct hit in a raid last spring. Rather than let the land go to waste, it had been turned into a plot for growing vegetables. All over London, green spaces were being dedicated to producing food for a nation under siege. Those who were lucky enough to have front or back gardens planted them up. Even the grounds of Buckingham Palace were being put to good use. Closer to home, vegetable plots were to be found in Victoria Park, and allotments were in demand all around the borough.

The hardest thing had been the digging down to find uncontaminated soil. The first few feet were likely to be toxic after the bombing, and so the nurses had set to with determined energy. Stan and Billy had been recruited to help. Harry had come to watch, on one of his few visits home, and had been amazed to find that Edith, with her tiny frame, had been able to wield a spade as well as the rest of them.

‘Hah, you think that just because I’m small that I’m delicate,’ she had laughed. ‘I tell you, riding around on that old boneshaker of a bike, you have to have muscles of steel. That, and lifting patients of all shapes and sizes. Don’t you forget it.’

Now Edith plunged ahead, climbing the slight mound that marked the boundary of the plot. Gladys was already there, a large trug at her feet. She had pitched up the sleeves of her shabby coat, and her hands were muddy. Bridget and Belinda had also arrived before them, and they were taking out trowels from a canvas bag. ‘Here, we saved a couple for you,’ Bridget called.

Alice didn’t mind digging out the vegetables. Her father had been proud of the vegetable plot in the back garden of her childhood home in Liverpool, and her mother would encourage the young Alice to help her pick blackcurrants, which she would then turn into delicious tarts, crumbles and jam. Her parents had written to tell her that they had got rid of the flower beds and planted vegetables and fruit there as well. They’d even started keeping chickens. Alice sighed as she thought of the luxury of fresh eggs for breakfast every day.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Edith.

Alice shook her head and laughed. ‘Just trying to imagine my parents and their chickens. They won’t like it if they make a mess of anything.’

‘I don’t think you can tell that to a chicken,’ Edith replied, pulling out her first parsnip. ‘Look at that, a real beauty. I do miss scrambled eggs though. Do you think we could build a henhouse in the yard, next to the bike rack?’

Bridget laughed. ‘They’d have to be miniature birds, wouldn’t they? I like a boiled egg for breakfast as much as the next person, but you’ll be hard pressed to get away with that.’

Edith frowned. ‘What about over at Jeeves Street? What do you reckon, Al?’

Alice shrugged. ‘I know it’s got a big yard, or small garden, whichever way you want to look at it, but lots of it is taken up with the Anderson shelter. Mattie’s already growing greens on the top of that, and potatoes in old dustbins. She even got radishes to grow on the windowsills last summer. Not sure where she’d fit the chickens.’

‘Ah well, just a thought.’ There was something in Edith’s tone that told them that she hadn’t given up on the idea just yet.

‘Nearly spring and then we can start sowing all sorts of things,’ Gladys said with enthusiasm. ‘I want to try carrots. Maybe some peas and beans too.’ She brushed the worst of the mud from another parsnip. ‘How are you getting along, Belinda?’

The tallest nurse straightened up, dashing her tight black curls from her eyes. ‘There are a few good ones over here. I’m trying not to get too filthy though. Got to look my best this evening.’ She gave them a bright smile.

‘Why, where are you going?’ Gladys always liked to hear about the nurses’ evenings out, as she never had any of her own, caught between the demands of her first-aid duties and the need to look after her siblings as Evelyn was still being difficult.

‘Dancing,’ said Belinda, turning on the spot in a twirl. ‘Peggy and Clarrie asked me to go with them. Any of you fancy coming along? The more the merrier.’

Alice and Edith automatically shook their heads, but Bridget looked interested. ‘I might do that,’ she said. ‘I’ll see what Ellen is doing.’ Ellen had come over from the same big Dublin teaching hospital, and they shared the two-room annexe to the nurses’ home. The home had been full but the superintendent, Fiona, had been eager to recruit more trained staff to her team. They had joined them when the war was already well underway. ‘Where were you thinking of?’

‘West End,’ said Belinda grandly. ‘We can get the bus. We’ll be there in no time at all. After the parsnip soup, of course, we wouldn’t want to miss that.’

‘Not after all this hard work.’ Bridget stood up and stretched. ‘Do you think we have enough yet, Gladys?’

Gladys looked around critically at the now-filled trug and the other bags the nurses had brought along. ‘Yes, that should do. Thank you, it would have taken me hours on my own.’

‘Hours you don’t have,’ Edith said under her breath. She had never known Gladys to have any time to herself and wondered if that would ever change.

‘We can go back and get cleaned up, then pop over to Dr Patcham’s,’ she said to Alice, who was shaking the worst of the earth from her hands. ‘Then I might write to Harry this afternoon.’

Alice nodded. ‘And I might write to Joe,’ she said quietly, unable to keep the delight from her voice.

‘Joe?’ Edith stopped in her tracks. ‘Joe? Have you finally heard from him?’ She was all but hopping on the spot.

‘Yes, at last.’ Alice gave a huge smile, allowing the strength of her feelings to shine through. ‘He’s safe; he’s probably based in Plymouth. He’s alive. I got a card this morning. He’s safe, Edie.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Peggy smiled as she caught sight of Belinda being swirled around the dance floor. Her partner was in a Canadian uniform and the top of his head reached as far as the tall nurse’s ear, but he was full of enthusiasm and she seemed to be having a good time. At least he was keeping to the right beat. It was too bad when you were asked for a dance and the man turned out to have two left feet.

The place was crowded and the air felt hot, despite the coolness of the winter evening outside. Peggy took a moment to compose herself. She had had three different dance partners so far, all of whom had been perfectly polite, friendly even, but she did not feel inclined to seek out any of them again. She didn’t want to give them false hope. She was interested only in dancing, nothing more. She patted her light brown hair into something like its intended shape.

Clarrie whirled by, the skirt of her bias-cut frock flaring out just as it was meant to, emphasising the shape of her calves. In this light, and moving at that speed, nobody would notice that the hem was frayed and the seams much mended. It had lasted for several dance seasons, and would have to last for many more unless the war ended soon. They all knew how unlikely that was.

Peggy grinned and shook her head as Clarrie raised her eyebrows at her and cocked her head a little to one side. She knew it was shorthand for ‘Are you going to dance with any of them again?’ Clarrie could be very protective, which Peggy appreciated, but she still didn’t want to accept a second dance with any of the young men.

She was in no hurry to get back on to the dance floor. Sometimes it was more fun to watch, guessing who was going to dance with whom, or trying to recognise anybody she had met here before. The music was lively and she tapped her feet along with the rhythm, almost without realising it. She knew most of the tunes from hearing them on the wireless, which was on full blast throughout her shifts at the factory.

‘You look as if you like the music.’

A voice sounded from just behind her, and she turned to meet the eyes of a man who was clearly a GI from his uniform. The Americans had begun to arrive now their country had entered the war good and proper and already some people resented their presence, but Peggy had nothing against them. He was taller than her, perhaps by a head. He was slimly built but she could tell he was fit from the curves of his muscles beneath his olive shirt. Something about the way he held himself made her think that he would be a good dancer.

‘Want to have a spin?’ He smiled, and his expression was bright, almost teasing. She thought his accent might be from New York – or as far as she could tell from watching Broadway Melody more than once at the local Odeon. His skin was a warm brown colour, a couple of shades lighter than his eyes, which sparkled as they fixed on her.

Suddenly the idea of standing at the edge and watching the entertainment was not as compelling. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said after a moment. It didn’t do to seem too keen.

His smile broadened as if he knew exactly why she’d made him wait, then he opened his arms and she stepped into them. She fitted exactly. As he began to move to the first notes of the new song, she knew she’d made the right choice. He was an excellent dancer – not flashy, but naturally assured. He made her seem as if she was far more accomplished than she’d ever been before.

‘Do I pass the test?’ he asked lightly, never missing a beat.

This time she didn’t pause. ‘You do,’ she said, tipping her head back and laughing in surprised delight.

‘Oh, I don’t want to go home yet.’ Peggy’s voice was full of regret. ‘Go on, Clarrie, stay for another song. Just one more.’ She gazed soulfully at the entrance to the dance hall as they lingered by the chilly cloakroom.

Clarrie shrugged into her big winter coat with the astrakhan collar. ‘No can do, Peggy. It’s my sister’s last day at home tomorrow and it’s all hands on deck to make her a Sunday roast to remember and give her a proper family send-off. She’ll have my guts for garters if I oversleep and ruin it.’

Belinda shivered theatrically as she pulled on her own big coat. ‘I’ll be too late for curfew but I can get in through the back fence and the common room window. Mary’s going to make sure it’s unlocked. I don’t want to push it too far, though, or they’ll think I’m taking the mickey.’ She buttoned up her cardigan all the way to the neck. ‘Good evening, wasn’t it? I think you’ve made a conquest, Peggy.’ She nodded to the group of American soldiers to one side of the entrance.

Peggy raised her eyebrows. She knew she should deny it and play along, but life was too short – she of all people should know that. ‘He was a lovely dancer,’ she said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. ‘We only had a couple of turns though.’

‘Six or seven, more like,’ Clarrie said at once.

‘Ooh, who’s counting?’ Peggy didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that her best friend had noted exactly how much of the evening she’d spent in the soldier’s arms. ‘Anyway they’ll all be off soon, so nothing will come of it. They’re just passing through.’ More’s the pity, she thought.

She fiddled with her clip-on earring; it had become tangled in her hair, which she had worn loose for once. It wasn’t a valuable earring, just paste, but she liked it – it was one of a pair Pete had given her for a birthday years before. She didn’t want to lose it. God knew she had little enough to remember him by.

‘Peggy?’

She was shaken from her memories by the voice at her side. It was the soldier.

‘You want me to walk you home?’ His voice was warm. ‘I’d be happy to do so.’ He gave a small grin.

‘No … no, you don’t need to bother. I’m with my friends.’ She nodded across to where Clarrie and Belinda were tying on their scarves.

‘It’s no bother.’ His smile grew and she had a sharp feeling of certainty that he meant it. Her knees weakened at that voice and those melting eyes. But he was just passing through.

‘Thanks, though.’ She wanted to prolong the moment a little longer.

‘Peggy, come on, we have to get the late bus,’ Clarrie called. People were milling all around them, all keen to catch the transport while they had the chance. The building was noisy, its once-smart gold paint now cracked and shabby in the dull light.

The soldier nodded. ‘You got good friends. I’m glad, cos I wouldn’t want no harm to come to you.’ He reached into his uniform pocket and brought out a small notebook and pencil. ‘Can I write to you, Peggy? Will you write to me? I’ll put down my address here, so you don’t forget me. The name’s James, in case that’s slipped your mind already.’

‘I don’t …’ Peggy was going to protest that there was no point, they’d had a fun evening and that was that, but then she asked herself what harm could it do? Maybe he would come through London again. He might be one of the lucky ones. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said. ‘Here, give me that, I’ll write it down.’ She hastily scribbled down the address of the house in which she lived with Pete’s mother, wondering if it was a betrayal of her late husband.

‘I’ll be sure to take good care of it,’ James assured her, tucking the notebook back into his pocket. ‘You do the same, now.’ His eyes flashed with good humour.

‘Peggy, come on!’ Clarrie was losing patience.

‘I’d better go.’ Peggy felt rooted to the spot. The noise of the crowds seemed like miles away; even the irritated sound of her best friend couldn’t pierce the shell around the pair of them.

‘Be seeing you,’ said James lightly, but in such a way that she knew he meant it. ‘I hope so anyway. So long now.’

‘So long.’ Peggy took a step away, raising her hand in a silly wave. She watched him turn and rejoin his friends, then was conscious of Clarrie tugging on her arm, and the spell was broken. ‘Yes, yes, coming, don’t fuss.’

The three young women hurried from the dance hall, along with scores of others, many in uniform, all buzzing from their night out. The bus stop was only a short distance away and, judging from the number of people there already, one must be due any moment.

‘Thank God for that, I hate waiting around in the cold after going dancing,’ grumbled Clarrie.

‘I know what you mean,’ Peggy muttered absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

‘Yes, you got quite overheated there,’ Clarrie said, raising her eyebrows.

‘Stop it. I was only having a bit of fun. You were dancing with plenty of men yourself – in fact the pair of you were.’ Peggy felt around for the small page from the notebook in her pocket.

Belinda chuckled. ‘Well, that’s why we came out, isn’t it? There were a few decent dancers there. Most of them a bit short for me, though. I don’t think I’ll ever find a man tall enough.’

‘What’s that game they play over there? Basketball, isn’t it? You need a basketball player,’ Clarrie said with certainty. ‘Look, isn’t that our bus? Quick, head for the top deck.’

Swiftly they climbed onto the bus and up the stairs, finding three seats together at the back.

‘What was that last song you were dancing to?’ Clarrie demanded, her eyes sharp as she observed Peggy’s response.

Peggy looked down at her hands. ‘“Whispering Grass”,’ she said slowly.

‘That’s by the Ink Spots, isn’t it? Your favourites.’

‘That’s right.’ Peggy’s mouth curved in a slight smile. They were her favourite singers and that was their best song. She’d never had the chance to dance to it with Pete but had often imagined doing so. She stared out of the window at the dim shapes just visible in the blackout and hummed the tune to herself, oblivious to Belinda and Clarrie’s teasing. They could say what they liked. This had been an evening to remember.

CHAPTER SIX
April 1942

‘I should have guessed this is where you’d be if you weren’t at the home.’

Alice pushed back the sleeves of her old jumper with muddy hands and squinted into the springtime sunshine, unable to properly make out the figure who called to her from the cracked pavement. But she knew that voice, despite not having heard it for far too long.

‘Joe! You’re back! You’re here! Why didn’t you say you had leave?’ She rushed across the vegetable beds of the victory garden and up the little slope that marked the boundary. Then she stopped short. ‘But … you’re injured.’ She took a breath. ‘What happened? Should you be here – haven’t they told you to rest?’ Anxiety creased her forehead as she reached to touch his arm, but then dropped her hand as she realised it was covered in earth. All the same her instinct was to stretch out and make contact, to convince herself that he really was there, and not a figment of her imagination. He was rarely far from her mind, even if there was nothing she could do to ensure his safety.

‘I’m on the mend, don’t worry.’ Joe automatically glanced down at the cast around his left leg, and gripped more tightly onto his walking stick. He hoped what he said was true and that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself by stumbling. Then he looked up again and met Alice’s concerned gaze and smiled broadly. ‘Honestly, I’m all right. I’m much better. It’s just a broken leg and they say it’s going to be fine.’

Alice frowned. Trust Joe to make light of it. She didn’t want to panic him but he must be in pain, and that cut her to the quick. ‘Shouldn’t you at least be on crutches? I’m not sure that a stick—’

‘Alice, don’t worry,’ Joe said hastily. That was the trouble with nurses. They never stopped doing their job. ‘I’ve been on crutches for weeks and I’m sick of them. They get in the way. People fall over them. I’d never have managed on a crowded train. Whereas with a stick, I can get around more easily and yet still get a seat. Works wonders, being a wounded sailor. You should try it.’ His eyes danced with merriment.

‘Maybe I will.’ She grinned, more relieved to see him than she cared to admit, a little more reassured now that he didn’t seem to be in agony. ‘Do you need to sit down now? We have some wooden boxes somewhere …’

Joe looked at the slope and the uneven ground beyond and shook his head. ‘No, and I can’t stay long. I just wanted to see how you were and to find out if you have plans for tomorrow.’

Alice took in how his appearance had changed since she last saw him. He had lost a little weight, she thought, although he was still tall and muscular, but he’d acquired more lines on his face. She could guess that he had indeed been in considerable pain recently. ‘Some of us thought we’d go to the special Easter service at church in the morning. Then maybe a walk, if it stays fine.’ She paused. She didn’t want to dig up bad memories but she had to know. He was too important to her. ‘Go on, tell me, put me out of my misery. How did it happen?’

Joe sighed. ‘All right. We were part of a convoy across the Atlantic and we got hit by a U-boat. I was lucky, I got out with only a broken leg – well, and a few cuts and bruises. Some of my crewmates died.’ She gasped in horror and he hastily continued. ‘We weren’t in the water for long, we got rescued by an American ship, it could have been far worse.’ He looked away, unable to watch her face as she took it in. He didn’t want to see her distress. ‘Then we got brought back to port and I’ve been laid up ever since.’

‘Joe …’ She rested her hand on his arm, regardless of the mud. She struggled to find words to encompass the terror of what he must have been through, and failed. ‘We had no idea …’

‘No. Well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Didn’t want to worry anyone, did I? And as you can see, I’m almost as good as new. This will mend in no time.’ He smiled, to try to convince her. ‘So will you come for dinner tomorrow? Ma’s planning one of her specials, and she’ll be mortally offended if you turn her down.’

Alice nodded immediately. ‘I wouldn’t dream of saying no. I can bring a contribution too – as you can see, we’ve been busy with the vegetables. We’ve got the last of the leeks, and I was just sowing the new lot when you got here.’ At least there was something practical she could offer.

Joe nodded appreciatively. ‘Ma would love that. As long as we aren’t depriving you. Will you ask Edith as well?’

Alice looked over his shoulder. ‘You can ask her yourself.’

Edith had come around the corner and was waving a brown paper bag at Alice. ‘Found them! I’d put them in my drawer after that seed swap … Joe! Oh my goodness! Is that really you?’ She ran towards him and then halted abruptly, realising he was leaning heavily on a walking stick. ‘What happened?’

‘Good to see you, Edith.’ He grinned affectionately at the diminutive young woman who would one day be his sister-in-law. ‘I’ll let Alice explain my mishap, and then with luck we can talk properly tomorrow – you will come to dinner, won’t you?’

‘Just you try and stop me!’ Edith beamed. ‘Wait, you’re not off already, are you? I’ve only now got here.’

Joe shrugged. ‘Sorry, but I’m needed back at home.’ He kept his smile steady, not wanting to reveal that the short walk from Jeeves Street had cost him more than he had thought. He would have to sit down very soon and not try to go so far next time. He’d half-planned to ask Alice to come to their old café with him, but now that was out of the question. How he hated being a semi-invalid. He didn’t know how his brother Harry bore it. ‘Sorry to leave so soon but it’s good to see you, it really is.’

Edith nodded and Alice looked at him straight in the eye, realising what the problem was. ‘Yes, you’d better get back, you don’t want to make your leg any worse than it is,’ she said seriously. She could see how his face was becoming more drawn by the minute. ‘Why don’t I come with you and tell you everything you’ve missed these last few months. And of course we’ll be there tomorrow, and we’ll arrive early so we can help cook the leeks. Can’t wait.’

‘Yes, give your parents my love,’ Edith said, her eyes growing darker as it dawned on her that the tall man in front of her was in increasing pain. ‘You get home and have a good sit down, do you hear? Let Alice take your arm. That’s my professional advice and you ignore it at your peril.’

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ said Joe.

It was almost like old times around the big table in the Banham kitchen, except for the absence of Harry and Lennie. Flo was determined to make it special, and had invited Kathleen, Billy and Brian as well as the two nurses to join the family. She had managed to persuade one of the stallholders at Ridley Road market to get her a large chicken, which she had roasted, along with carrots and potatoes, now glistening and golden. Even better, as Alice got there early as promised with her big bundle of leeks, she had made soup for them to start with, and the savoury aroma had made everyone’s stomachs rumble in anticipation.

Flo had reacted with horror when Alice offered to cook the soup. ‘Never let it be said that a guest in my house had to make their own food with ingredients they brought themselves,’ she scolded. ‘As if you aren’t on your feet every day of the week. You go and have a nice cup of tea and I’ll see to that soup.’ She had wiped her hands firmly on her old apron, worn to protect her Sunday best outfit. Alice recognised the maroon blouse with a pattern of daisies as the one Flo had worn for Kathleen’s wedding.

So Alice had retreated to the parlour with her cup and saucer from Flo’s best set, brought out in honour of the day, where she found Joe in an armchair by the window, facing the street.

‘Don’t get up,’ she said hurriedly, but too late, Joe was already rising. He was leaning on his stick, but she could see less heavily than yesterday. He really shouldn’t have tried to walk to the victory garden and back, she thought, but didn’t say so. By the time they had reached his parents’ house he had been all but silent, all his energy going into putting one foot in front of the other.

‘Can’t let my manners slip just because of a broken leg.’ his usual grin was a little laboured. ‘Sorry about yesterday. Tried to do too much too soon.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Alice said, setting down her cup on a side table and pulling across another chair to join him. ‘Shall I fetch you a cup of tea?’

‘Good God, no. Ma’s been bringing me tea ever since I set foot through the door. Not that I don’t appreciate it but you can have enough.’ He sat down again, pulling a face. ‘So, tell me your news, but properly this time. I didn’t really take it in yesterday.’

She leaned back and smiled, taking in the welcome sight of him looking less haggard, better rested, bringing back the colour to his intelligent face. His dark hair had been freshly cropped into its regulation service style, but his deep brown eyes were relaxed, without the sharp edge she’d detected yesterday.

‘Stop looking at me like I’m one of your patients.’

‘I’m not.’ She blushed a little and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘You are. I can tell.’

‘Oh, all right. I can’t help it. I’m bound to be concerned – you’ve been away so long and then you turn up with a broken leg and horrific story about how it happened.’ She shifted a little in her chair. ‘Anyway, you’ve heard everything in my letters. We’re just glad the raids seem to have stopped, for now at least. You’d better tell me the rest of your news though.’

Joe nodded and grew serious. ‘As it’s just us … I don’t want to make my parents more worried than they already are.’ He paused and then went on. ‘It seemed for a while as if we were getting better at working out where the U-boats were, and there were fewer attacks. But now we’re suffering more of them and we aren’t able to predict their movements like before.’

Alice wrinkled her nose in concentration. ‘So what’s changed?’

Joe looked a little uneasy. ‘I can’t really say …’

‘But if I guessed that someone from the Allies had worked out how their signals were coded,’ Alice said slowly, feeling her way carefully through her train of thought, ‘and then the Germans realised their code had been broken and so altered it, would I be right?’

Joe smiled wryly. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Alice.’

She exhaled deeply and then looked at him with a quizzical expression. ‘So is that what you do, Joe?’

She knew Joe had exceeded what might have been expected of a boy growing up in the heart of Dalston, by winning a place at technical college and then training as an engineer with the Post Office, before deciding his talents would be best put to the nation’s service by enlisting in the navy. Flo and Stan were extremely proud of their son’s achievements and feared that his golden future might be curtailed by the risks he ran. Yet they would have it no other way; the country needed talent like Joe’s.

Now he gazed out of the window before answering. ‘Not quite. The real brainboxes stay on land, working behind desks. They’d never be able to think straight on board a ship like ours – well, what it used to be like. No, but someone’s got to put their ideas into practice, and that’s more or less what I do. There. Now you know. Not to be mentioned outside this room.’

Alice briefly shut her eyes to absorb this new knowledge. Her admiration for the man grew even stronger. ‘Of course not,’ she breathed. She realised her pulse had quickened. What danger he must be in, for so much of the time. But she didn’t want to give away that worry. He was home to recuperate, not be burdened with her concern. ‘Well then, you’d better not ruin your chances of getting back to it by walking too far on that leg of yours.’ Her eyes met his as he turned away from the window, and again she felt that jolt of connection that went beyond words.

‘Yes, nurse,’ he said mock-meekly, and they laughed, just as the door opened.

‘Here they are!’ Edith sang out, and Gillian rushed in, keen to see her uncle on his all-too-rare visit. ‘Mind his leg, duck. And here’s Alan.’ Edith held the little boy, now eighteen months old, in her arms and beamed at him as he waved his hands. ‘Can you say “Joe”? Try it.’

‘Ow-ow-ow,’ said Alan obligingly, smart in his checked shirt and flannel shorts that Alice thought must be made from one of his mother’s worn-out skirts. As Edith was distracted by the baby and showing him to his uncle, Alice noticed her friend’s face. Delight was written all over it, in a way that she never showed when at work. Alice wondered with a start how long it would be before Edith could marry her Harry and have a child of her own.

Then there was no time to think further about it as the food was ready and they were all summoned into the kitchen, drawn by the irresistible smells of delicious soup, overlaid by roasting chicken. Alice quietly made sure that Joe could sit at the end of the big table and rest his stick in one corner, while the others settled onto the mismatch of chairs as best they could. Gillian and Brian proudly perched on plump cushions placed on dining chairs and Alan was placed in the high chair.

‘Don’t give him more than one potato at a time,’ his mother Mattie warned as she cleared away the soup bowls, ‘or he’s liable to throw them at you. He thinks it’s a great game.’ She frowned lovingly at him as she helped her own mother pass the platters laden with vegetables. ‘Here, Billy, try some carrots.’

Billy heaped Kathleen’s plate before his own, passing the platter to Alice. She caught the look that passed between them and wondered what it meant. They seemed to be full of suppressed excitement, beyond the thought of one of Flo’s famous special dinners. She wondered what it could be. All in good time, she told herself, piling carrots onto Joe’s plate.

‘You don’t have to do that – it’s my leg that’s broken, not my arm,’ he protested, half putting out a hand to stop her.

‘I’ve done it now,’ she grinned, registering the warmth of his hand as it brushed against her own.

‘Tuck in, everyone. Let’s not stand on ceremony,’ Stan urged them, and nobody needed to be told twice.

It wasn’t until Mattie led the two toddlers into the back kitchen to have their hands and faces wiped at the end of the meal that Billy let slip the secret.

‘There’ll be another one to clear up after soon,’ he laughed, and then clapped his hand over his mouth, realising what he’d said. Kathleen began to nod and then saw that everyone was staring at them.

‘Really, Kath? Is that why you’ve been eating like a bird?’ Edith demanded. ‘I wondered what was up. Aren’t you the dark horse?’

‘Congratulations, that’s wonderful news,’ said Flo warmly. ‘How lovely, a brother or sister for Brian. When is it due?’

‘In the late summer,’ said Kathleen, leaving the date deliberately vague. She knew that nobody around this table would judge her, but wanted to get into the habit of giving that answer. She was fairly sure that if anybody counted, they would know that this baby had been conceived before the December wedding. She hoped that if it was late then no one would bat an eyelid. Whenever it arrived, she knew it would be loved by everybody here.

‘Well done, Billy.’ Joe jokingly punched his friend’s arm. ‘Good job you had plenty of practice going without sleep in the raids. You won’t get a full night’s kip now.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ said Billy, trying to look regretful and failing.

Once again Alice caught the look on Edith’s face, similar to the one she’d noticed when her friend was carrying Alan earlier that afternoon. Sooner or later, Edith was going to want a family of her own. Alice didn’t want to think about it; she had relied on Edith ever since they’d met on their first day of specialist training to become district nurses. They had been inseparable ever since. Of course she had known that this could not continue for ever, especially when Edith became serious about Harry. But there had been so many changes in those few short years; this felt like one too many.

‘Is something wrong?’ Joe murmured, giving her a careful glance. He edged a little closer to her.

‘No, nothing at all,’ Alice assured him, keeping her voice low so that nobody else could hear it over the buzz of congratulations. ‘Everything is lovely. Such a wonderful meal.’ She could feel the warmth emanating from him.

‘Good,’ he said, watching her keenly.

For a moment she fervently wished that he could stay for longer than his brief leave, that she could share her cares and worries with him and he would tell her not to be so silly. He could always put things into perspective for her. Yet that was impossible. She must not even think about it. Gratefully she looked at him and absorbed his warmth while she still could.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Peggy was bored. Mrs Cannon had tried to persuade her to go to church on Easter Sunday morning but she hadn’t attended. There seemed no point. It was at moments like these, when families traditionally gathered together, that she missed Pete most keenly. Mrs Cannon had been a little disappointed but hadn’t pressed her. ‘I’ve been invited to eat with my WVS friends afterwards,’ she’d said. ‘Would you like to come too?’

Peggy had only just avoided shuddering in front of her mother-in-law. To sit and talk about knitting for hours at a time was her idea of torture. Now she sat at the kitchen table with the wireless on in the background, the Halle orchestra blazing away, staring blankly out of the window into the small yard.

Perhaps she should copy Mattie’s example and grow a few things. That would give her something to do and Mrs Cannon would appreciate it. It would be an excuse to get outdoors, now that the raids had stopped. Mattie had said she could have some seeds, and Edith could maybe get more from those seed swaps she went to. Peggy sighed. She’d never grown anything before and wasn’t sure if she could start now.

She glanced down at her hands. Her skin was pale, and prone to freckles. Her nails were short, necessary for working in the factory. Nail polish was hard to come by and she hadn’t bothered for ages. Just one more thing lost in the misery of the war. For two pins she could have burst into tears.

There was a knock at the door.

Peggy had no idea who it could be. Not Clarrie – her family always had a big meal on Easter Sunday, and she would be on kitchen duty. No one else came to call for her. Perhaps something had happened to Mrs Cannon. Hastily she ran her fingers through her hair to bring it to some semblance of tidiness and tugged at the collar of her frayed pink blouse. She hadn’t expected to see anyone today and had dressed in any old thing, Easter or no Easter.

The front door had a glass panel towards the top, crisscrossed with brown tape against bomb blasts, and with one corner cracked since a raid last spring. She could pick out the silhouette of a figure, taller than her but not as tall as the Banham brothers. She was none the wiser.

Peggy could not have been more surprised at the man in unfamiliar uniform who stood there as she opened the door.

‘Well, hello, Peggy. Remember me?’ He smiled broadly and swept off his olive-coloured cap.

‘James?’ She could scarcely believe her eyes. She had heard nothing from the young soldier after their night in the dance hall, which at first had surprised her, but then she assumed anything could have happened. He could have been stringing her along – plenty did. He could have met another girl he liked better. He might have been killed in training or combat. You could drive yourself mad thinking about the what-ifs. It was better not to think at all.

‘That’s right. Ain’t you going to invite me in?’

Peggy could see at least one set of net curtains was twitching in the houses across the narrow road. Well, this will give the old gossips something to talk about, she thought.

‘Yes.’ She smiled back at him, remembering what lovely eyes he had. ‘Yes, of course. Come on through.’

‘I’m sorry to turn up all of a sudden,’ he said, as she took him into the small kitchen. The front parlour was too suffocating and formal. She didn’t know how they did things in the States. ‘You must have thought I forgot you, not writing to you like we said.’

‘Well …’ Peggy felt caught out. After all, she hadn’t written to him either. She had felt that would be too forward. She didn’t need to go chasing after any old soldier on scant acquaintance; she had her pride, which God knew had been dented enough. If he wanted to contact her first, that would be a different matter.

‘See, I mislaid your address,’ he rushed in, hastening to make things right. ‘I thought I had it tucked away safe and all, but when I came to look I couldn’t find it. You got to believe me, Peggy, I was real keen to write to you.’ He hesitated and she sensed he meant it. She relented a little.

‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’

He looked at her blankly.

‘To make tea. You do drink tea?’

He laughed. ‘Sure I do. Yes please. Got to have a cup of tea in a proper British home.’

‘That’s right,’ she said, wondering if this was what he thought a proper British home was like. ‘Only we don’t have much sugar. Will just milk be all right?’

‘I don’t have much of a taste for sugar,’ he said, easing the collar of his olive shirt. ‘What happened was, I must have slung my jacket down and the notebook fell out. I couldn’t find it nowhere. I searched high and low, but it wasn’t until I opened a pocket of my bag that I found it. Must have fallen in. Then they said we were coming through London at the end of our training and I thought a letter might not get here in time, so I’d take a chance and just show up.’

Peggy nodded, taking this in. Was it likely? Was he spinning her a tale? He sounded genuine, and he looked contrite.

‘Did I do right?’ he asked.

She decided to take a chance. ‘Yes,’ she said. She had the sensation that she had just crossed a line. Steadying her hands she made the tea, pouring a careful amount of fresh leaves into the warmed pot, taking the milk from the cold shelf in the back pantry, putting it into a little jug. The familiar ritual calmed her. ‘Sorry, I haven’t got any biscuits.’

‘Don’t need no biscuits.’ He smiled up at her and she could see how good-looking he was, in his army uniform. She remembered how strong his arms had felt as they moved together on the dance floor. He sipped his tea with appreciation. ‘Say, is this your place? Do you live here with your folks?’

It was the moment of truth. Of course everyone around here knew about Pete. Yet when she’d gone out dancing since his death, Peggy had never so much as mentioned him. That part of her life was closed to the servicemen she met at dances or in the pub, who thought she was looking for fun and a good time.

‘Sort of,’ she said, reaching a decision. ‘Tell you what. Let’s drink our tea and then go for a walk.’ She couldn’t talk about Pete in his own mother’s house. That felt like a betrayal. But for the first time since the news from Dunkirk had come, she felt she could confide in a stranger. ‘Then I’ll explain. Does that sound all right?’

His eyes brightened, clearly relieved that she hadn’t slung him out on his ear. ‘Sure, Peggy. Whatever you say.’

‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ said the young woman in smart uniform. ‘I know you’ll probably have other plans for Easter Sunday afternoon, but we’re dreadfully short down at the ambulance station, so we thought we’d try the nurses’ home for backup. There’s been an accident; at least one child’s been badly hurt.’

Belinda stepped back from the large front door, which was shiny as ever in a fresh coat of navy paint to show that – no matter what the neighbourhood had been through – the nurses’ home was still in good shape. ‘It’s all right. You’d better come in and wait while I grab my bag – it’s Geraldine, isn’t it? We worked together before, with those people from the block of flats with smoke inhalation.’

The woman with the bright blue eyes nodded. ‘Clever of you to remember. And you’re … Belinda, aren’t you? I do apologise for ruining your Easter.’

Belinda shrugged. ‘I’m Jewish, actually, and I don’t celebrate it. So I’m free to come along.’ She ran up the stairs towards the upper-storey bedrooms and reappeared a minute later, now changed and with her Gladstone bag. ‘Let’s go. Where’s it happened? Do you know what we’re likely to find?’

Geraldine hurried out towards the ambulance parked at the end of Victory Walk. ‘It’s only the other side of the Downs; that’s why we got the call, as our station’s so close,’ she explained. ‘A wall collapsed, and apparently there were several kids playing on the pavement beneath. Perhaps they’d been trying to climb the wall, we don’t know, but it didn’t sound good.’

‘Oh, poor things.’ Belinda hopped into the passenger side as Geraldine swung herself into the driver’s seat and instantly started the engine, her muscular arms turning the wheel in a well-practised move. Belinda remembered that the woman had been extremely competent in the smoke inhalation incident, and was relieved that – if they were to be the only two on the scene – she would be partnered by somebody who knew what she was doing.

The far side of Hackney Downs, the big green open space a stone’s throw from the nurses’ home, was only a short distance away, and before the war it would have been an easy drive, but Geraldine had to navigate numerous potholes, keeping a fine balance between arriving at the accident as quickly as possible and yet not shaking her passenger and herself half to death on the bumps, cracks and craters in the road surface. Belinda had to grit her teeth as the vehicle shuddered along, thanking her lucky stars that the injured children weren’t further away.

It was obvious where the trouble was as they drew closer. An old brick wall had clearly given way, and the back of a shop was visible through the gap. A couple of small boys were sitting on the pavement, and leaning over the pile of bricks was an ARP warden. Belinda screwed up her eyes to try to see who it was; it wouldn’t be Stan or Billy, as they were going to be at Flo’s big dinner. It must be Brendan, their colleague, who was a stallholder at Ridley Road market. She knew he was good with children, and exhaled in a sigh of relief.

‘Ready?’ Geraldine swung the ambulance close to the kerb, her hand already on the door handle.

‘Ready,’ Belinda confirmed, picking up her leather bag and jumping out. She ran towards the bricks and then stopped. Brendan was moving them one by one but at high speed, and from this close Belinda could see why. A small pair of feet stuck out from the edge of the pile.

‘Brendan, what’s happened?’ she asked.

He turned. ‘Ah, Nurse Adams. I’m glad to see you.’ She could tell he was keeping his voice deliberately calm in order not to frighten the little boys, but his eyes were dark with urgency.

‘Tell you what,’ said Geraldine, pitching up her sleeves, ‘I’ll give you a hand there if you, nurse, wouldn’t mind checking on these two. No sense in us all crowding round that poor little blighter.’

Belinda could see the sense in that and turned her attention to the two boys, one of whom had a huge cut on his head and was bleeding all over his ripped shirt. The other was pale and sweating, his eyes almost black with horror. She recognised the symptoms of shock and got to work straight away. ‘Now you let me see what you’ve done to yourselves,’ she said, keeping her tone light and friendly. ‘My, that’s a cut and a half, isn’t it? Not to worry. They often look much worse than they are.’

‘He’s bleeding, miss,’ said the white-faced boy. ‘That there wall just came down and squashed us. We didn’t stand a chance, we couldn’t get away.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his grubby hand.

Belinda regarded the wounded boy gravely as she reached inside her bag, the contents of which she could by now identify without even looking at them. ‘You’re going to have to be very brave while I clean you up,’ she said. ‘I want you to look over there,’ she pointed to beyond the ambulance, to distract him, ‘and keep your head very still while I—’

‘Ow, miss!’ the boy cried. ‘That bloody hurts, that does!’

Belinda smiled to herself. Perhaps he wasn’t hurt too badly after all. ‘Yes, it will,’ she said. ‘Not much I can do about that right now, but the main thing is to get you clean. So I’m just going to bathe your cut again …’

‘Miss!’ But he kept his head steady, and she could work quickly to staunch the blood, disinfect the open wound and cover it with a sterile pad, held in place with a bandage. ‘There, you’re being an excellent patient. Almost finished. Just let me get out my biggest safety pin and fasten the end of this …’ she bit her lip in concentration, ‘and there we are, all done. Right, now, as for your friend …’

She turned to the other boy who was even paler now and shivering. At once she took off her navy blue cloak and wrapped it around him. ‘Are you feeling cold?’ she asked gently. It was a warm day; this boy needed treatment, and fast. ‘You’ll feel better with that on, I know I always do.’

He nodded mutely, as behind them Brendan and Geraldine methodically cleared the bricks from the third child. Belinda knew she had to keep her charges from watching.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked the boy with the head wound.

‘George, miss.’ He gulped. ‘Will my head be all right? I didn’t see it but it didn’t half thump me, worse than me ma giving me the back of her hand.’

‘Yes, I can see you must have taken quite a blow,’ Belinda said, wondering how to get hold of his mother. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the other child.

‘Benny, miss.’ He sniffed again, but she could see he had grown no paler.

‘Miss, can I ask you something?’ George seemed to be recovering now. ‘You’re a nurse, aren’t you?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Belinda. ‘That’s how I knew what to do to help your head get better.’

‘And the warden called you nurse,’ George continued. ‘Do you come from that big house near the high road?’

‘That’s right.’ Belinda cast another surreptitious glance at his little friend.

‘We had a nurse from there come to our school,’ George went on. ‘She was nice to us. She showed us how to brush our teeth proper. Course it was a long time ago cos we all know that now we’re older. I’ll remember her name in a minute.’

Frowning, Belinda thought it rang a bell. Some of the others had mentioned it – there had been a local campaign of some kind, but before she had come to Victory Walk. It had come up in conversation but she couldn’t recall who had been involved.

The boy wrinkled his nose as he thought long and hard. ‘Something like water,’ he said eventually.

Belinda grinned at him. ‘Was it Nurse Lake?’

He grinned back. ‘That’s it, miss. Do you know her? She was ever so kind. Didn’t shout at us or nothing, or give us the cane.’

‘I should hope not,’ Belinda said at once, remembering now that this must be how Alice met her teacher friend, Janet. It all made sense. She also thought that Alice might be able to identify these boys if they couldn’t give their addresses.

‘Yes, Larry’s sister used to like her too.’

‘Who’s Larry?’

‘Him, miss, our friend.’ George went to look behind him and Belinda was too late to stop him. ‘Oh no, miss. He’s only little, he’s younger than us and we was meant to look after him …’

Turning around herself, she saw that most of the bricks had been cleared away and the small body could now be seen. It was lying completely still.

Geraldine caught her eye. ‘Swap places,’ she called. ‘We need you here. I’ll come to the other two.’

Belinda grabbed her bag and leapt across the jagged pile of rubble to where Larry lay.

Brendan crouched beside him. ‘I did it as fast as I could,’ he muttered. ‘I couldn’t pull the bricks off any-old-how, I didn’t want to hurt him even more. What do you reckon, nurse – are we too late?’

Belinda lowered herself down to their level, her long legs awkward on the sharp stone. ‘You’d better let me see.’ It would not be the first time she’d seen a dead child but it never got any easier. This one was so young, too – maybe four or five, although the children from the nearby streets were often malnourished and appeared younger than they really were. ‘Larry, can you hear me? I’m just going to reach for your wrist.’ She took hold of the cold little hand, careful not to move the arm in case it was broken, but she had to ascertain if there was a pulse. It was no good. She moved around so that she could try to feel his throat instead. She noticed that the other arm was bent out of shape and the small woollen sleeve of his jumper was covered in a dark red stain.

Maybe she could detect the faintest throb. Leaning forward, the sharp pain in her knees almost forgotten in her concentration, she brought her ear as close as she could to his face and listened for a breath, waiting to see if she could feel it on her own cheek.

It seemed as if she was frozen in that position for hours, every nerve stretched to recognise any sign of life. She was oblivious to Geraldine’s reassuring voice as she tried to command the boys’ attention away from what was happening directly behind them, or Brendan’s anxious shifting from foot to foot. She shut her eyes to block out everything but the slightest clue that little Larry might still have a chance.

Finally, just as she thought she would have to give up, she felt the tiniest puff of air. She blinked. Was it a stray breeze? No. There it was again. She felt once more for the pulse at his throat. Yes, faint and erratic, it was there, it was definitely there.

‘Stretcher!’ she called. ‘Get me a stretcher right now!’

‘Can’t we lift him?’ Brendan asked.

‘No. Absolutely not. Look at that arm. And we don’t know about his head or spine,’ Belinda said firmly. ‘Well get it as close to him as we can and ease him onto it, with as little disturbance as possible, supporting the injured arm as we do so.’

‘Right you are,’ Brendan said, sounding as if he was relieved not to have to make such a call. ‘What about the others?’

‘They need to come to hospital,’ said Belinda decisively. ‘At least one of them’s in shock and I suspect the other has a risk of concussion.’

‘Hope there’s a bed free,’ he muttered.

Belinda stood, her knees in tatters. ‘There will be. They’ll have to make room for these. We’re a whisker away from losing this small boy.’

In the back of the ambulance, keeping the stretcher with its precious load as steady as possible, she barely had time to notice the young couple walking along the Downs. It was only after they had arrived at breakneck speed at the nearest hospital and ensured that all three boys were safely admitted that it occurred to her who she had seen. Belinda had done her best to extract addresses from the boys, with George able to explain that Larry lived around the corner but not what street or house number, and promised the harassed admissions clerk that she would telephone her with the full details. ‘One of my colleagues has worked with the family,’ she explained. Then she had sunk onto a chair near the clerk’s desk as Geraldine offered to find a quick cup of tea to revive them before driving back.

Now that she had a moment to herself the image came back to her. It had been Peggy – well, no surprise there, as she lived nearby and would sometimes go for a walk on the Downs, as they all did, strolling along what was left of the grass and avoiding the trenches and the new allotments. It was the young man with her who was so unexpected. He had been in American army uniform. He had dark skin. It was the soldier from the dance hall, all those months ago. They had looked to be very close indeed. Now what was all that about?

CHAPTER EIGHT
Summer 1942

‘You’ve got another one of those letters,’ said Mrs Cannon as Peggy came downstairs in her light cotton dress and sandals. Now that summer was properly here, the temperature had risen, though the hallway of the small terraced house was still shady and cool. The older woman stood at the parlour door, half-hidden in the shadows, and held out an envelope to her daughter-in-law.

‘Thanks.’ Peggy took it and tucked it into her patch pocket. She had given up hiding the arrival of the letters, as it only made things worse. Besides, she didn’t want to skulk about and pretend nothing had happened.

She had been seen, of course. Belinda had teased her, which she didn’t mind; after all, Belinda had met James, if briefly, and had seen how genuine he was. It was the reaction of the neighbours that had caught her unawares.

It had been downright vicious. Mrs Bellings across the road had lost no time in making her feelings known. ‘It’s a disgrace,’ she’d spat, catching Peggy as she came home from her shift not long after Easter. ‘You flaunting yourself like that, with that man. A GI, of all things. Don’t think I don’t know what they’re like. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Peggy had found herself speechless for a moment and then had recovered. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business,’ she had retorted sharply, letting herself into the house and slamming the front door in her indignant neighbour’s face. She had leant against the coolness of the hallway wall, catching her breath. Spiteful old woman, she thought. She’s just jealous.

However it had not been a one-off incident. Plenty of people were beginning to object to the presence of the American servicemen. More and more were preparing to sail across the Atlantic, and the British were often at a loss as to what to make of them. ‘Overpaid, oversexed and over here’ was the general complaint. Women who associated with them ran the risk of being scorned, or being considered mercenary and just in it for the nylons, or worse. Peggy had compounded the problem because James was black.

To give her credit, Mrs Cannon had not been one of them. She had asked Peggy if it was true and Peggy had told her what had happened: she had met James and liked him but not really thought anything of it when she didn’t hear from him; he’d called for her out of the blue; they’d gone for a walk and got along like a house on fire. Now he had been posted to another army camp, she wasn’t sure where, but they had agreed to write. That was all there was to it.

What Peggy hadn’t admitted to her mother-in-law was that she had been able to talk to James about Pete, and how understanding he had been. There had been no awkwardness. ‘I won’t say I know how you feel because I don’t,’ he had said. ‘But I had a brother who died. It was an accident. Weren’t nobody’s fault – he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A truck came crashing onto the sidewalk and he was gone. We was close. For a while I didn’t care what happened to me, nothing felt real.’

‘That’s exactly what it’s like,’ she’d said, dizzy with relief that he hadn’t stepped away at the thought of her having being married, or been embarrassed at her sorrow, or thought she was an easy target because she was likely to be vulnerable. If anything he stepped even closer to her, and for a moment she sensed he would protect her and how much she had missed that feeling.

It had not been a long walk. He had had to get back to base and wasn’t sure what time it would take. He had promised to write and not lose her address again. They had not so much as kissed when they’d said their goodbyes.

Yet Peggy had been sure that something important had taken place that afternoon. She had kissed quite a few men in her time and not one had meant anything, apart from Pete. She felt something shift, and the way she looked at the world seemed different somehow.

She could not explain that to Mrs Cannon. She played it down, not wanting to be disloyal to Pete or to offend his mother who had shown her nothing but kindness. The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble. However, it looked as if trouble might come her way anyhow. She had overstepped the mark. She had overheard one of Mrs Bellings’s cronies comment that if she absolutely had to walk out with a man, what was wrong with a good British one?

Peggy had been out at the market with Mrs Cannon when she heard that. Mrs Cannon had taken her aside. ‘Don’t mind her, duck. Never had no sense, that one. You had the best young British man there was, and that did you a fat lot of good in the end, didn’t it? I don’t begrudge you a bit of fun, dear; it’s been nearly two years, after all.’ Despite her cheery words the older woman had bitten her lip, still nowhere close to accepting the death of her only child.

Now Peggy picked up her cardigan, much mended at the elbows, and turned for the door. ‘I’ll go to the market after work and see what bargains I can find,’ she promised, trying to brighten her mother-in-law’s expression. She sensed that every letter from James was a nail in the older woman’s heart, but Mrs Cannon would never rebuke her for receiving them.

‘You do that, dear. I’ll make us a nice potato pie for later. Now you go on, you don’t want to be late.’

Peggy nodded and left, holding her head high as she strode along the dusty pavement. The rows of terraced houses were almost identical, all the worse for wear, all still with windows taped in case the raids started up again. Mrs Bellings could twitch her curtains all she liked. The more she objected, the more determined Peggy became.

Edith checked her watch. All nurses had to have one but for once she wasn’t using it to check a patient’s pulse. She wanted to catch her superintendent at the end of her working day but before she set off for one of her numerous committee meetings. It required careful timing.

Edith had returned to Victory Walk as swiftly as possible after her rounds. She hadn’t exactly cut any visit short, tending to everyone as meticulously as ever, but she hadn’t hung about to chat. She needed to see Fiona while her courage was strong. If Fiona denied her request then Edith would have to come to an important decision, and she already had a pretty good idea which way it would go.

She would restock her Gladstone bag later on. Leaving it in her attic room, she looked at her watch one more time, walked swiftly down the wooden stairs, which glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, and reached the superintendent’s door. She knocked firmly.

‘Come in … ah, hello, Edith.’ Fiona rose from behind her desk, to her full height, though she was even shorter than Edith. ‘What can I do for you? Your timing is excellent; Gwen and I have only now finished reviewing the training budgets.’

Edith saw that the deputy superintendent had also risen. Gwen towered over both of them, her severe face made even more so by her hair scraped rigidly back into a bun. ‘Have you come to enquire about one of the bursaries?’ she asked.

Edith had not counted on the outwardly fearsome deputy being there as well, but in for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself. ‘No, it’s not that.’

‘Well, sit ye down.’ Fiona subsided onto her chair and immediately stacked her folders out of the way. ‘Enough of those figures, I simply cannot bear to look at them for one second longer.’ She smiled brightly, her auburn hair now showing streaks of grey. Edith stared at them, for a moment taken by surprise. Fiona was so energetic that she forgot that the woman was older than most of them, and to be reminded of this almost threw her. Then it strengthened her resolve. The years would catch her soon enough; she must make the most of them in the meantime.

‘No, it’s not that,’ she said again, sitting on a narrow wooden chair to one side of the desk, as Gwen took a position to Fiona’s right. Edith took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I would like … that is, Harry and I would like to get married. Quite soon.’ There. She’d said it.

Fiona nodded, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, Edith, there’s no real surprise in that. You have been engaged, what? Over two years now, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ Edith was always impressed that Fiona kept track of all her charges’ personal lives as well as their professional ones. ‘Yes, we agreed it before he was posted to France, but then there was Dunkirk …’

‘And we are all extremely thankful that he made a recovery after such a terrible time for you all,’ said Gwen, leaning forward to emphasise her point.

‘Yes indeed.’ Fiona regarded Edith. ‘So I imagine you’ve come here to talk about more than your wedding plans?’

This was the moment of truth. Edith took another deep breath and plunged ahead. ‘Yes, that’s why I wanted to see you before deciding on a date or anything like that. It’s because I want to keep on nursing. Please.’ There, she had said it. Now her fate was out of her hands.

Gwen nodded slowly. ‘I see. You are aware that strictly speaking you would be expected to resign your post upon marriage? Of course you are.’

Edith twisted her hands but refused to buckle under the scrutiny. ‘I know.’

Fiona tapped her pen against the edge of the solid old desk. ‘More than one of your colleagues has left for that very reason.’

‘I know. I’m not saying I should be a special case,’ Edith rushed on, ‘but Harry and I probably won’t be able to live together anyway. He still has to have more operations even though they aren’t as serious now. A couple more to try to hide the burns on his face and to improve the movement of his damaged arm. Then he’ll be able to perform desk duties even if he can’t go back to his unit and fight any more. That could be anywhere.’

‘But if he’s going to be well enough for desk duties, he’ll be well enough to be married,’ said Fiona. ‘Is that your thinking?’

‘Sort of.’ Edith twisted her hands still tighter. ‘It’s also, I came so close to losing him – it’s made us want to waste no more time. We’d like to be together when we can, depending on where he’s posted, but also I don’t want to stop nursing, not when we’re all needed so badly. I won’t use it as an excuse to take extra leave or anything. I wouldn’t let you down. I wouldn’t,’ she added, not sure what the two senior figures were thinking. Gwen’s serious face gave no clue. Then Fiona beamed at her.

‘I can’t imagine you would,’ she said. ‘I realise that the standard procedure is – Gwen, hear me out,’ she went on, as her deputy looked as if she would interrupt. ‘Those rules were made before the war began. Circumstances have altered completely. We’ve changed the design of our uniform to accommodate the shortages – why not extend that to the scarcity of experienced nurses? I don’t want to lose you, Edith. You are a highly valuable member of our team here.’

‘Thank you.’ Edith could not quite believe she was out of the woods yet.

‘It is highly irregular,’ Gwen stated, her back ramrod straight. Then she relented. ‘Yet as Fiona says, we can ill afford to send you packing. It takes time, money and effort to recruit staff, and you have shown yourself to be extremely competent. Furthermore you know the area now and your patients and the doctors all speak well of you.’ Her face softened, a rare sight. ‘Besides, I can remember what it was like to meet somebody you are certain you wish to spend your life with. Nobody knows how long they will have together. Who are we to deny you that?’ The usually stony-faced deputy looked away, as Fiona caught her eye in sympathy.

Edith was one of the very few younger nurses who knew that beneath Gwen’s fierce carapace lay a tale of sadness and heartbreak. Her fiancé had been killed in the Great War and, to add to the sorrow, her two brothers had also died in the fighting. A generation of young men had been lost and the women left behind had been permanently marked. Edith appreciated what must be going through her mind now.

Fiona stepped into the gap, after a respectful pause. ‘Exactly. We wish you every happiness, Edith. The Banhams are a fine family altogether and they will be lucky to have you. We will count ourselves lucky to keep you. It cannot have been an easy decision to ask us and we appreciate your directness.’

Edith nodded mutely.

‘May I ask, what about children?’ Gwen said. ‘As we are being direct. Don’t glare at me, Fiona, we might as well raise the subject.’

Edith tipped her head in acknowledgement. The angle of the sun had changed and she moved a little to avoid being blinded by it. It lit occasional dust motes as they floated by the big bookcase of medical reference works.

‘We’ll take our chances and see,’ she said honestly. ‘We would both like to have children, of course. We were worried that Harry’s injuries and then all his treatment might have affected our chances but he’s asked his doctors and they say not. I know he’s had lots of new drugs and nobody can say for sure, but we’re going to hope for the best.’

‘Very well.’ Fiona put her pen down. ‘You’ll have to see how you go. I defy even you, Edith, to cycle around on one of those old bikes while heavily pregnant. I would have to advise against that.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Meanwhile, accept our congratulations and start planning your nuptials.’

Edith smiled in relief. ‘We won’t have a big do. But that’s all to be decided anyway.’

Fiona rose. ‘Now I hate to rush you but I have a meeting to attend. Gwen, a word with you about those blasted budgets; I’ve now realised that one of our assumptions is wrong.’

Edith knew she was being dismissed and saw herself out of the office, the nerve centre of the whole building. She was delighted with the result of the meeting and could not wait to tell Harry. She loved nursing with all her being but, if it had come to making a choice, the truth was that she loved Harry more. She had been prepared to give up everything to marry him. She was heartily glad that she would not have to.

CHAPTER NINE

‘Everything all right, Gladys?’ Alice thought that the younger woman was looking worried.

‘Oh, you gave me a fright. I didn’t know you was there.’ Gladys swung around from where she’d been cleaning the counter in the service room. ‘Do you want a cold drink? It’s warm out there today, isn’t it?’

Alice could see that Gladys was avoiding her question and decided to bide her time. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said, although she wasn’t really thirsty. ‘I’ll get myself a glass of water, don’t stop what you’re doing on my account.’

‘I got some lime cordial around here somewhere,’ said Gladys. ‘How about a splash of that? Bet you haven’t had any for ages.’

‘Yes please. Wherever did you get it?’

Gladys scrabbled around in the far reaches of the end cupboard. ‘Here you are.’ Then her face fell. ‘To be honest, I couldn’t rightly say where it came from. My sister Evelyn gave it to me, sort of as a peace offering. We had another row. She said she would look after the little ones but then she scarpered off to the pub again.’

Alice drew cold water from the tap and carefully added a small drop of the precious green cordial. ‘The pub? Isn’t she a bit young for that?’

Gladys sighed and pushed a strand of straight dull brown hair out of her eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right. I try to stop her but she don’t listen. They let her do a bit of singing and she thinks she’s going to be a star. I’m just an old killjoy who’s out to spoil her fun. She don’t see how she’s being taken advantage of. All those men from the docks who go there … I worry about her, but the more I say, the more she sneaks out.’

Alice’s face creased in sympathy. ‘I bet you do.’

‘Think I’ll have some of that meself.’ Gladys reached for the glass bottle. ‘I try not to have it too often so it’ll last, but now and again I give in.’

‘You deserve it. You work so hard,’ Alice said. ‘Doesn’t it smell lovely? All fresh.’

Gladys took a sip, closed her eyes and nodded. ‘I feel better already.’ But Alice could see she was putting on a good front, and the worry had not left her eyes.

‘Are you on first-aid duty tonight?’ she asked.

Gladys shook her head. ‘No, not until tomorrow. Thought I’d go down to the victory garden and fetch some more potatoes.’ She sighed again. ‘That’s the other thing, all the shortages. I know I shouldn’t say it but it gets me down sometimes. Always wondering how we’ll manage. You nurses out on the district all day long, you need to be well fed, but I dread not finding enough food for you all.’ She looked around in case anyone else had heard her confession.

Alice realised that Gladys felt the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. She had grown up with such heavy responsibilities and there had been no let-up since. The war did that to everyone; despite trying to maintain a cheerful outlook or – failing that – a stoic one, it was only natural to feel despondent sometimes. The campaigns in the East and in North Africa were in trouble, the U-boats were preventing supplies from crossing the Atlantic, and rationing was biting ever harder. No wonder Gladys was slumping against the counter.

On top of that, just when she might have expected some help at home from her sister, the opposite had happened and Evelyn was refusing to pull her weight. Not only that, she was actually a cause of extra worry. It was not fair.

‘Shall I come with you later?’ she offered, feeling it was a barely adequate response.

‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that,’ Gladys said at once. ‘You done enough hard work for one day, you don’t want to be out grubbing about for potatoes.’

‘I don’t mind, I like it,’ Alice said. She took another sip of cordial. ‘Reminds me of helping out my parents when I was little. At least, I thought I was helping.’

Gladys brightened. ‘If you’d like to, then I won’t say no.’

Alice finished her drink and gave a satisfied smile. ‘It’s made such a difference, having that garden,’ she said. ‘You have worked miracles with it.’

‘Ain’t just me, you all help out,’ Gladys said immediately.

‘You do the brunt of it,’ Alice pointed out. ‘You’re too modest, Gladys. You think about what we need, work out when and where to plant it, and then pick it when it’s ready. We really just do what you tell us.’

At last Gladys gave a quick grin. ‘I like it too, really. It helps me to think, straightens out my head when I don’t know what to do with myself.’ She drained her glass. ‘Thanks, Alice. I’d better finish here and go to help Cook with the evening meal, but I’ll see you later.’ She picked up her cleaning rag again.

‘Right you are.’ Alice made her way back through the common room and into the hall, wondering how Edith’s interview with Fiona had gone. With luck she was up in her room right now, writing to tell Harry the good news. That’s what we all need, Alice thought to herself. Some good news. It seems like a long time since we had much of that.

‘What are you doing on Saturday evening?’ Mary asked a few weeks later. They were in the common room after a particularly tiring day. Alice couldn’t have said why; it was still hot, although no more than it had been for much of the summer; her patients were demanding, but only as much as they usually were. It was that background sense of constant unease, the drip-drip-drip of depressing news on all fronts. She hadn’t been able to shake it off properly.

‘Let me guess,’ Mary went on, settling herself in a comfy chair. ‘Sitting in your room reading a boring book. Or sitting down here reading a boring newspaper.’

‘They’re not boring,’ Alice began in protest but Mary took no notice.

‘Doing the crossword and then listening to more news on the wireless. Same as you do every day. Well, how about a change?’

Alice looked warily at her friend. ‘What sort of a change?’

Mary beamed. ‘Charles can get us tickets for the last night of the Proms. How about that? Wouldn’t you like to come?’

‘Really?’ Alice perked up. ‘Edie, did you hear that? Do you fancy a night out at the Albert Hall?’

Edith came across to join them, her expression slightly dubious. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know much about that sort of music. I might not like it as much as some of the others.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mary briskly. ‘It’ll be Beethoven, everyone likes that. It’s fun, Edith, it won’t be stuffy, I promise.’

Edith shrugged. She had been thinking of Harry’s latest letter with news about his forthcoming operations. If they went well then he would be recuperating through the autumn, and perhaps they could set a definite date for their wedding after that. A Christmas wedding – that would be perfect.

‘I don’t know …’

‘Oh, go on, Edie,’ said Alice, almost laughing as she realised it was usually the other way around, Edith begging her to go out for once in her life. ‘You might enjoy it. I’d love to go, Mary. It’s very kind of Charles. Are you certain we won’t be in the way – don’t you want him to yourself for an evening?’

Mary generously shook her head. ‘This is too good an opportunity to waste. Edith, you’re coming along and that’s that. It’s so exciting. I used to go all the time before the war – of course that was when it was in the Queen’s Hall, but that got bombed. I was afraid they’d cancel the whole thing but it started up again and better than ever, because the Albert Hall is so big. It’s good for boosting morale. Look at it like that, if you’re worried you won’t like the music.’

‘It’s all right for you, you grew up playing the piano and having singing lessons,’ Edith retorted. ‘We didn’t have so much as a harmonica in our house. If anyone sang too loud, my father clipped them round the ear. It puts you right off.’

Mary would not be dissuaded. ‘All the more reason to start now, then,’ she said smartly, standing up once more. ‘I’ll write to Charles straight away, before you change your mind.’

The staff car cautiously weaved along the damaged roads, past Hyde Park and through the centre of London, headlamps shaded because of the blackout, but as far as Alice was concerned it was as good as being in a sports car. It had been ages since she’d been in any kind of private vehicle. Even though she was crammed in the back with Edith, it felt like a decadent luxury.

The skies were lit by anti-aircraft spotlights, a far cry from the pre-war bright lights of the West End, and yet there were revellers out on the streets, making the most of a raid-free Saturday night on the town. Men and women in uniform alternated with those in civvies, some linking arms and wandering along singing.

In the front passenger seat, Mary was singing as well. She’d picked up the stirring melody of the sea shanties in the second half of the programme and was improvising her own version, tapping out the rhythm on the dashboard. From anyone else this would have been annoying, but Mary had a fine voice and it was all part of the evening’s fun.

Alice caught a glimpse of Charles’s face as he looked quickly across at Mary, before turning his attention back to the road. She knew that her colleague often despaired of him, as they saw each other far less often than she would like, and she doubted if their romance would ever come to anything. Yet Alice could tell from that brief glance that he thought the world of Mary. From the moment they had all met up earlier, he had been extra attentive to her, smiling even when she couldn’t see he was doing so, gently helping her with her jacket or making sure she had the best seat.

It wasn’t Charles’s fault their love could not progress; it was the war’s. He was an army captain and put his duty before everything, although this evening had made Alice realise how much that cost him. In any other situation he would have put Mary first.

Alice looked sideways at Edith, catching her animated face as a spotlight beam swept the sky above them. Far from hating the concert, Edith had loved it, swept along by the stirring music and the sense of occasion. It had been a night to remember. She began to hum along to Mary’s spirited rendition of the ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’.

‘Sounds as if you don’t mind that sort of music after all,’ she said when her friends had finished.

Edith laughed. ‘I don’t know if I’d want to go to it all the time but that was just what we needed. I can’t get the tunes out of my head.’

Mary turned around to face them, and in the intermittent light Alice caught her broad smile. ‘See, I said you’d like it. We could go to other concerts if you want, when our days off coincide. There’s usually something on at the National Gallery at lunchtime. Myra Hess, you know.’

Edith made a non-committal noise.

‘Charles used to take me before he grew so busy,’ Mary went on, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Didn’t you? We used to meet there for some music and a quick bite to eat. Remember when they had really strange food? I suppose it was all they could get, and they always like to provide something.’

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