QUEENIE
Kimberley Chambers

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Kimberley Chambers 2020

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

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

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

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

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

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

Source ISBN: 9780008144821

Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008144838

Version: 2020-08-03

Dedication

In loving memory of

Joyce Pauline Darling

July 1941—November 2017

Epigraph

‘We know what we are,

But know not what we may be’

William Shakespeare

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Part Two

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part Three

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Part Four

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Part Five

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Kimberley Chambers

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My name is Queenie and this is my story.

PART ONE

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

Proverb

CHAPTER ONE
Summer 1939

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I didn’t.’

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

‘You’re talking rubbish.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vivian shrugged. ‘Search me, Mum.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What do you mean it’s spelt wrong?’

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

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

‘I’m so sorry,’ Queenie mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

I wasn’t that scared at first. I flatly refused to be evacuated like lots of my friends. My classroom soon emptied as children were sent to live in different parts of the country.

It was sad saying goodbye to Aggie and Nelly Brown. They went off to live with a distant relative in a rural part of Wales. Viv and I had tears in our eyes as we said our farewells. We had no idea if or when we would see them again. Derek Lewis was evacuated too. He was sent to live with an elderly aunt in the countryside.

Some of the lads, including Joe Brown, Aggie and Nelly’s brother, and Jim and Tim Lewis, Derek’s brothers, volunteered rather than waiting to be conscripted. I thought they were ever so brave to volunteer. Mabel Brown was in pieces as she waved goodbye to her only son.

With the help of his pal, Dad built us an Anderson shelter. It took up most of the back yard, but the neighbours were impressed. Lots came to view it and a few followed suit. Viv and I spent hours in that shelter mucking about with our gas masks, eating sweets, playing games and planning our futures. Viv wanted to become a midwife when she left school and I wanted to work in a posh shop that sold fashionable women’s clothes.

Christmas came and went without any drama, then in January 1940 the rationing started. Bacon, butter and sugar were the first items to become scarce. I was used to having three sugars in my tea, so I cut down to one and a half. I wanted to do my bit. I had to really.

By the summer of 1940, our neighbours in the East End were referring to the Second World War as the ‘Phoney War’ because nothing was happening. Lots of my friends who’d been evacuated began to return to the area, including Aggie and Nelly Brown. The laughter returned to our close-knit community and myself, Viv and our pals started to venture further afield again. We’d go over the marshes or Victoria Park. On hot summer days I loved going to Vicky Park. They had a lido there, so I always came home feeling nice and clean. It was better than washing in the sink or our tin bath at home. That took ages to fill with water, so mum would take me and Viv to the public baths once a week so we could scrub ourselves properly clean with soap and a flannel.

All good things must come to an end so they say, and that was certainly the case on 7 September 1940. That was the day the Blitz started. I will never forget the sound of that first bomb going off.

‘Mum. Mum, you upstairs?’ I squealed, as the house literally shook and the cup of tea I’d just made flew off the kitchen hob, scalding my legs. There was no reply and I knew my dad and Viv were out. Petrified, I crawled on all fours inside the larder and shut the door. ‘Help! I think the house is falling down,’ I screamed, as I heard something else smash. I honestly thought I was going to die there and then. I even wet my knickers I’m ashamed to admit. Mum returned minutes later. She’d popped to the shops. The bomb had landed only two streets away from us. Too close for comfort.

Within an hour, Mum, Dad, myself and Vivvy were huddled together in our shelter in the back yard, but I didn’t feel at all safe in there. We could hear screams, smell smoke drifting through the air. I couldn’t help worrying about Aunt Edna. Was she OK? Had she made it to her nearest shelter? Then another bomb dropped and all but ruptured my eardrums. I was terrified at that point, so was Viv. My sister and I huddled together, crying.

I had no sleep that night. Not even when the bombing stopped. First thing the following morning Mum, myself and Vivvy walked round to Aunt Edna’s. The devastation we saw on the way was gut-wrenching. A whole row of houses a couple of streets away from ours had been completely wiped out. My classmate Roger lived in one of those houses and I was relieved he and his family were all right. They’d made it to a shelter in time. Mr and Mrs King weren’t so lucky though. They’d had a shelter erected in their back garden the same as ours and the bomb had ripped right through it, killing them both. I shuddered. That could so easily have been us.

Aunt Edna was indoors and thankfully OK. She looked shaken though, especially when Mum told her about Mr and Mrs King being blown up in their Anderson shelter. ‘You must go to a proper shelter if the bombing starts again. Promise me,’ Aunt Edna said holding me and Viv tightly. We both made her a promise. No way was I sitting in our shelter again – not when bombs were being dropped, anyway.

That night the bombing started again. It was terrifying, watching the sky lit up with fire as Mum, Dad, Viv and I ran to the nearest shelter with our neighbours. The shelter was busy, but we found Aunt Edna because we heard her singing ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’.

People huddled together to keep warm and most, including me and Viv, joined in with Aunt Edna’s repertoire. ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’, ‘Show Me the Way to Go Home,’ ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ and ‘Leaning on a Lamp-post’ were just some of the many songs we sang. It seemed to lighten the mood, taking our minds off what was happening outside. I suddenly felt brave. The complete opposite to how I’d felt the previous day. Instead of wetting my drawers like a coward, I comforted some of the other kids who looked scared. I even gave them the rest of my sweets and reassured them us East Enders were strong enough to fight off Adolf bloody Hitler.

The following day, Aggie and Nelly Brown left the area to return to their aunt in the countryside. After we’d waved them goodbye for a second time, Mum informed me and Viv that the next day we too would be leaving the East End. I begged Mum to come with us, but she said she couldn’t; the offer wasn’t extended to her.

I went to see Mrs O’Leary to tell her the news. I always called her Mary to her face, but would refer to her by her surname when mentioning her to other people. My mum had taught me that. Most of the neighbours I would refer to as mister and missus, or if they were close friends of my mum and dad I’d call them aunt or uncle.

Mrs O’Leary hugged me when I told her the news. ‘It’s for the best, Queenie. My heart would break if anything happened to you. At least you’ll be safe.’

‘But the only time I’ve ever been parted from Mum and Dad is when I’ve stayed round Aunt Edna’s. I don’t want to live with strangers,’ I wept.

‘You won’t be alone. You’ll have Vivian with you. Make sure you tell them that the two of you won’t be separated.’

I nodded. ‘I’m going to miss you, Mary. Say goodbye to Patrick and Daniel for me, won’t you?’ Daniel had a girlfriend now. A stunning blonde called Lucy. I hoped that one day when I was older I would look like Lucy.

I spent a good hour with Mrs O’Leary before saying a final goodbye.

‘Don’t forget, you can write to me every day if you wish. Not that you’ll have time – I’m sure you’ll be having too much fun for that. Never forget, I’m always here if you need me though. If the people aren’t nice to you, Queenie, you must tell your mum. Or if you don’t want to worry your mum, you can tell me. The boys’ll be down there like a shot if you’re being mistreated, let me fecking tell you.’

I giggled and gave Mrs O’Leary one final hug. She was always saying feck this and feck that, and the way she said it never failed to make me laugh. ‘Bye, Mary. I’ll write to you soon.’

The following day Viv and I said a tearful goodbye to Mum, Dad and Aunt Edna at the train station. We had our cases with us and were quickly ushered aboard a carriage with loads of kids we didn’t know.

As the train pulled away, I waved and waved until my parents and aunt were out of sight. Dad was positive he would soon be called up and I wondered if I’d ever see him again. With bombs dropping night after night, I couldn’t help but fear I’d never see any of them again.

Little did I know, Hitler’s bombs weren’t the real danger.

Six Months Later
March 1941

‘Queenie, Viv. There’s some letters arrived for you.’

Queenie ran excitedly down the stairs. She loved receiving letters. ‘Thank you, Betty.’

‘Give me a shout once you’ve read them and I’ll cook your breakfast,’ smiled rosy-cheeked Betty.

Queenie handed Viv her two letters. She knew by the handwriting who they were from. One was from Aunt Edna, the other, Nelly Brown.

Ripping open the one addressed to both of them, Queenie read it out loud:

‘Dear Queenie and Viv, I’m so pleased you’re enjoying your time more in the countryside, now the weather is warming up a bit. Spring will be here soon and I’m sure you’ll love watching the flowers bloom and seeing all the baby animals being born.

‘Ivan sounds nice. I’m glad he’s taken the two of you under his wing and you are earning extra pocket money. It’s good of Ivan to drive you to the shops too to save you walking all those miles. Does he have children himself?

‘Things are very much the same here, but please do not worry, as we’re all OK. We get to the shelter early now as we know the bombs will be dropped at some point during the night. Big Fat Flo lost her house last Monday. That whole row is now a pile of rubble. Thankfully, nobody was hurt. They were all down the shelter.

‘Re your question about Aggie Brown not writing to you, Queenie. I had a word with her mum and Mabel said she’s not much of a letter writer and has made friends with some girls her own age where she is staying. It is very rude of Aggie not to reply to yours though, I must say. The ignorant little cow!

‘Please thank Mr and Mrs Briggs again from me for looking after you and feeding you so well. I bet I won’t recognize the pair of you when I see you, what with all that country air and wonderful grub you’re eating.

‘Dad and Aunt Edna both send their love, girls. Keep your chins up. You’re both doing brilliantly and I’m so very proud of you. Love always, Mum.’

Viv smiled. ‘Can I look at the letter now?’ Both girls’ biggest fear was that one day their mother wouldn’t write back to them because she was dead.

Queenie handed the letter to Viv and winced. She had woken up with a bad belly ache and it seemed to be getting worse. ‘Viv, do me a favour once you’ve read your letters: go down for breakfast and tell Betty I’m not feeling hungry this morning.’

When her sister left the room, Queenie read her letters from Aunt Edna and Mrs O’Leary, then curled up in a foetal position and held her aching stomach. She’d eaten the same as Viv yesterday, so it couldn’t be food poisoning. Perhaps she had caught a bug? But she hadn’t really been out anywhere.

Wishing she was at home so her mum could look after her, Queenie quickly reminded herself how lucky she and Viv had been. From the moment they’d met Betty and John Briggs, the couple had been extremely kind to them.

It had felt odd spending her fourteenth birthday and then Christmas with the Briggs, especially when Betty and John’s sons had turned up on Christmas Day with their wives and kids. Both Queenie and Viv had felt they didn’t belong there that day, but they’d put on brave faces and pretended to be jolly before excusing themselves and going to bed early.

The bedroom they shared was nice, bigger than their bedroom at home. It had pretty patterned curtains and oak furniture. They even had a proper wardrobe in which to hang up the small amount of clothes they’d brought with them. Their mum sent them money in the post to buy anything new they needed. Viv’s feet had recently got too big for her shoes, so Mrs Briggs had taken them to a shop to buy some new ones.

Mr and Mrs Briggs were generous too. The farm was ever so cold and muddy in the winter, so they’d brought her and Viv Wellington boots and trousers. Queenie had never worn trousers at home, her mum said only boys wore them, and it felt weird at first. They were far more practical though, for roaming across the fields on the farm.

Feeling something trickle down her legs, Queenie leapt out of bed and was mortified to see blood, not only on her skin and clothes but on Mrs Briggs’ white flannelette sheet.

Surely she wasn’t dying? And how was she going to tell Mrs Briggs that she’d ruined her lovely white sheet? She lifted up the sheet and was horrified to see the blood had seeped through to the mattress too.

Queenie burst into tears. What was she going to do?

Betty Briggs had been ever so nice about her situation. She’d sat her down, wiped away her tears and told her not to worry at all about the sheet or mattress. She’d then explained about the birds and the bees and given Queenie something that looked like bandages to stem the blood flow.

Later that evening, Queenie lay in bed not only feeling very stupid, but also thoroughly annoyed with her mother. Why had her mum never explained that her body would change at some point in her teenage years?

‘You still got a tummy ache, Queen?’ asked Viv.

‘No. The tablets Betty gave me worked far better than those awful-tasting Epsom Salts we’re forced to take at home.’ Queenie propped herself up on her elbow. ‘I felt so humiliated today, Viv. I honestly thought I might be dying, that something had burst in my stomach. Why didn’t Mum tell us about this, eh? Mrs O’Leary would have, I know she would. It’ll happen to you too, you’ll start bleeding in a year or so. It means you’re ready to make babies.’

Eleven-year-old Vivian shuddered at the prospect. ‘Not sure I want to have babies or be a midwife after all,’ she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

When Vivian finally fell asleep, Queenie read Mrs O’Leary’s letter once more. Because they were Irish, Patrick and Daniel wouldn’t be called up to join the British Army. Ireland had decided to remain neutral in the war. Currently, the O’Learys were living back in Ireland, driven out of London by the Blitz. They still had the house opposite hers, but wouldn’t return until the bombing stopped.

Queenie chuckled inwardly as she read one particular paragraph over and over again.

Daniel and that blonde tart have split up, Queenie. I’m fecking glad. Never liked the silly girl in the first place. She was all over him like a rash whenever he brought her round mine. I knew it wouldn’t last. Good riddance to Lucy.

Queenie folded the letter up and put it in her bedside drawer. She never read Mrs O’Leary’s letters to Viv. It didn’t seem right. Mary was her friend, not her sister’s.

Smiling, Queenie shut her eyes. She’d got over her embarrassment of earlier and Mrs Briggs had promised not to tell her husband or anybody else. Thinking about Daniel, Queenie drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

CHAPTER THREE
Two Months Later
May 1941

‘What does Mum say?’ asked Viv. ‘Read it out loud,’ she demanded.

Queenie’s eyes skimmed over the letter. ‘You can read it yourself. There’s been no more bombs. That’s over two weeks since they stopped. We still can’t go home though,’ sighed Queenie. It had been fun watching the spring lambs born and the little piglets, but overall, living on a farm was boring. It was so different to the East End, where the houses were close together and you only had to open your front door to bump into your friends. There was literally nothing to do here. And it was so quiet Queenie felt as though she needed to speak in a whisper.

‘How d’ya feel today? The weather’s glorious. Fancy going for a walk somewhere where we ain’t been before?’ asked Queenie.

‘I still don’t feel too clever. I don’t mind sitting outside, but I’m not up to walking far. Why don’t you go and find Ivan, see if he’ll take you into town? You can spend that money Mrs O’Leary sent us, and while you’re there you can get me some magazines and a good book.’ Mrs Briggs had been giving them lessons at home and it was she who suggested that they start reading books. Viv was currently reading Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens and loving it.

‘It wasn’t Mrs O’Leary who sent us the money, it was Daniel and Patrick – I told you that.’ Queenie had been stunned when a ten-pound note fell out of Mrs O’Leary’s latest letter. She’d never had so much money in her little purse before. ‘Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea before I go out?’

‘No. I’m fine, thanks. Mrs Briggs will bring me some breakfast up soon. I want to finish my book anyway. I need to know what happens to poor Oliver.’

Queenie put her purse in the pocket of her blue-and-white striped dress. ‘Bye then. I’ll see you later.’

Ivan Tumbleweed was a simple, thick-set, dark-haired thirty-year-old local man. He lived down the road from the farm in his caravan on some land his deceased father had left for him. His mum had abandoned him when he was young and taken his two older sisters with her. None of them had ever contacted him again, which at times grated on Ivan.

Seeing Queenie, Ivan drove towards her in his tractor. He liked young Queenie a lot and was sure she liked him too – why else would she spend so much time with him?

‘Good morning, Miss Queenie. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Ivan greeted her in his thick country accent.

‘Yes. It’s lovely. Are you finishing at lunchtime as it’s Saturday?’

‘I sure am, Miss Queenie.’ Ivan couldn’t help but notice that since arriving at the farm, Queenie had turned from a girl into a woman. She had titties now, not big ones, but they were noticeable, especially when she ran. She obviously didn’t wear a bra because he’d seen them bouncing up and down.

‘If you aren’t busy this afternoon, would you be kind enough to take me into town? Viv’s still in bed with mumps and I need to get her a couple of bits. I also need some things for myself.’

Ivan smiled broadly. The farm was his life, that’s why he had such big muscles. His only other interest was the pub. Every night he’d go to his local for five or six pints. ‘That would be my pleasure. I will finish ’ere at twelve. You can help me with my jobs if you want?’ He’d given Queenie lessons in driving the tractor yesterday and liked the feel of her body next to his.

‘I don’t want to get my frock dirty and I haven’t had any breakfast yet. I’ll meet you at twelve.’

‘Miss Queenie, I think you’re forgetting something,’ grinned Ivan.

Queenie stood on tiptoes and pecked Ivan on his unshaven cheek. Ivan always reeked of sweat and wore the same clothes. He actually reminded her of home as he smelled like Stinkhouse Bridge. But he seemed pleasant and harmless, and she didn’t want to hurt the poor sod’s feelings, so she waited until he was out of sight before wiping her mouth with her hand.

The journey to the nearest town took about twenty minutes. Ivan drove a green truck and Queenie loved going out in it. Her father had never had a car, so being driven somewhere seemed ever so exciting and grown-up. ‘Have you got a girlfriend, Ivan?’ asked Queenie, politely trying to make conversation.

Ivan grinned. She obviously fancied him. She’d asked him only a couple of months ago if he had children and he’d told her he didn’t because he was yet to get married. ‘No, Miss Queenie. Not many women round ’ere to choose from, so I thought I’d bide my time until the right one came along,’ he winked.

Queenie smiled politely. Ivan was simple, that much was obvious. ‘Do you need anything in town?’

‘No. I shall just be your bag carrier. That’s what gentlemen do, Miss Queenie. They open doors for a lady and carry her bags.’

‘Ahh. You’re a sweet man, Ivan. I hope one day you meet a nice girlfriend.’

Even more positive that Queenie fancied him, Ivan grinned like a Cheshire cat. He’d never had a girlfriend in his life. It was about time his luck changed.

Queenie bought herself and Viv a new summer dress each, then spent ages choosing a book for her sister. She finally decided on The Railway Children by Edith Nesbit. Hoping now the bombing had stopped, they’d soon be going home, Queenie bought some thank you gifts for the Briggs: a pipe for John and a pair of slippers for Betty. She then decided to buy Ivan a small gift too. He’d been ever so kind running herself and Viv into town. Without him they’d never have got there, because John was always working and Betty didn’t drive.

Lastly, Queenie bought herself and her sister a pair of comfortable sandals. They only had wellies and shoes to wear, which were far too warm now the weather was hot.

‘I think I’m done now, Ivan. Oh, wait a minute, Viv asked for some magazines.’

‘That’s fine. I’ll sit ’ere a minute with the bags while you buy your magazines.’

‘Thank you. I won’t be long.’

Ivan smiled. His Miss Queenie could take as long as she wanted.

Ivan opened the passenger side of the truck. ‘There you go, Miss Queenie.’

Having kept Ivan’s present separate to all the others, Queenie waited until he was seated before handing it to him. ‘I bought you a gift. Open it.’ The lady in the shop had kindly wrapped the dart flights in tissue paper for her.

Ivan could not believe his luck. No woman had ever bought him a present before, not even his own mother. ‘I loves them. I needed a new set too. One of mine is split. How did you know I play darts?’

‘Because I remember you telling me you play in the pub.’

‘This is the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me, Miss Queenie. I will treasure them,’ beamed Ivan.

‘It’s just a little thank you for driving me and Viv into town all the time, that’s all. I reckon we’ll be going back to the East End soon. I got a letter from my mum earlier. There’s been no bombs dropped for over a fortnight now.’

Ivan grabbed Queenie’s hand. ‘I don’t want you to go, Miss Queenie. Why don’t you stay ’ere with me?’

Thinking Ivan was joking, Queenie laughed and snatched her hand away. ‘As if! I honestly cannot wait to get home, see my family and friends. I’ve missed them all so much.’

Ivan’s eyes clouded over. Why was she laughing at him and saying these things? He didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

‘Where you going, Ivan? Isn’t the Briggs’ farm straight on?’

‘Yes. But I thought you might like to see where I live.’

‘Erm, I would another time. But I think I should be getting back now. I need to see if my sister’s OK,’ said Queenie, beginning to feel the first stirrings of unease. When he carried on driving away from the Briggs’ farm, she became more insistent: ‘Please take me back now, I just want to go home.’

‘It won’t take long. I thought you liked me, Queenie. But it seems you’re like all the others. You laugh at me and can’t wait to get away from me. Just like my mum and sisters.’

It struck her that Ivan had been unusually quiet on the way home, as if he was sulking. There was a difference in his tone, too, and in the way he’d used her name, whereas in the past he’d always addressed her as ‘Miss Queenie’. ‘I do like you, Ivan. You’re my friend. But please take me back to the farm now. Viv and me will both visit you when Viv’s feeling better. I promise,’ Queenie replied.

‘No point turning back. We’re ’ere now.’

They’d come to the end of the dirt track and in front of them was a grubby caravan, standing in a field with no houses or buildings in sight.

‘Can you please take me home?’ repeated Queenie, her heart thumping against her chest.

Ivan leaned in, giving her a whiff of his vile breath. ‘You can’t be a prick-tease like you been to me, Queenie, then laugh at me and say you can’t wait to get back to the East End. It ain’t right.’

Realizing he was deadly serious, Queenie opened the truck door and made a run for it. Ivan was soon catching up with her though. She could hear him cursing and his footsteps nearing. Queenie had never felt so terrified in her life. Suddenly paralysed through fear, she hid behind a tree and held her breath. Tears were streaming down her face. How could this be happening to her?

Unfortunately for Queenie, Ivan tripped as he ran past the tree and spotted her. All Queenie could do was burst into tears. She couldn’t run any more, couldn’t even move. ‘I’m sorry, Ivan, if you think I led you on,’ she managed to stammer. ‘Please don’t hurt me. I thought you were my friend.’

Ivan smiled, showing his dirty uneven teeth. He grabbed Queenie, threw her to the ground, undid the zip of his trousers and released his stinking penis. He then put his hand up Queenie’s dress and ripped her knickers off with one hand. ‘What about earlier? Kissing me and buying me a present. What is a man supposed to think, eh, Queenie?’ Ivan’s voice was husky now, his penis fully erect as he rammed it inside the girl of his dreams. ‘And you wear no bra. You bounce towards me so I can see your little titties, I know you do. What you is, is a prick-tease. You can’t treat me like that, then pretend you don’t want me. I know you wanna be fucked.’

Queenie lay still, sobbing her heart out. She’d never felt pain like it. Fearing once Ivan was done with her, he might actually kill her, she shut her eyes and said a silent prayer. None of her family was religious, but Mrs O’Leary was. She’d told Queenie she prayed with rosary beads. How Queenie wished she had some of those now.

As Ivan tried to kiss her, Queenie retched. His breath was awful, as though he’d never cleaned his teeth in his life. ‘I love you, Miss Queenie,’ he groaned.

All of a sudden, he began making loud, weird noises. Queenie didn’t have a clue what was happening; she could only hope her prayers had been answered and he was dying. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

Ivan rolled off her, zipped up his flies and smiled. ‘You mustn’t say nothing to the Briggs about this. They won’t believe you anyway. John trusts me; I been working for him for years. I give you a lift back now. Your shopping is in the truck.’

As the monster led her towards his truck, Queenie was too scared to make a run for it. His grip on her arm was too tight and if she made him angry he might violate her again or even kill her. Instead, her whole body trembling, she focused her thoughts on seeing her family again.

The journey seemed to last for ever, with Queenie sitting rigid in the passenger seat, sensing his eyes on her. She knew she would never be able to tell the Briggs about this, or even Vivvy – it was far too disgusting to tell anybody. Besides, Ivan was right: it was her word against his, and Betty and John were bound to believe him over her, given that he’d worked for them so long. Betty obviously thought the world of Ivan. She fed him every day and talked about him as if he were part of the family.

As Queenie went to open the truck door and run to the safety of the farmhouse, Ivan grabbed her arm. ‘No. I will open the door for you and I will bring your shopping to the front door. You won’t say anything, will you?’

The engine was still running, so Queenie knew she had to say the right thing. If she didn’t, she was petrified he might drive off with her. ‘I won’t say anything, I promise.’

Ivan smiled and stroked Queenie’s cheek. ‘Good. Our little secret. You’re very beautiful, Miss Queenie. I will always love you, you know.’

Somehow, Queenie managed to force a smile. ‘Will you get my shopping out for me, please?’

‘Of course. Miss Queenie’s wish is my command,’ grinned Ivan. ‘Hopefully, I see you tomorrow, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Queenie mumbled, before bolting to the Briggs’ front door.

‘Hello, Queenie. You all right? You look ever so pale,’ said Betty. ‘And you’re shaking – look at your hands.’

‘I’m not well. Got my thingy again and those awful pains in my stomach. Ivan’s bringing my shopping in. I must go straight to bed. The pain is far worse than last time. That’s why I’m shaking.’

‘Oh dearie me. Poor you. I’ll bring you up some painkillers and a cup of tea in a minute.’

Hearing Ivan’s thick country accent greeting Betty behind her, Queenie flew up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. She never wanted to lay eyes on that monstrous pervert ever again. She needed to get away from here and back to the East End where she’d be safe.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Queenie, please, tell me what’s wrong,’ pleaded Viv. ‘I know something is. You’ve not been right since you went to the shops with Ivan. Did something happen while you were out with him?’

‘No. Don’t be stupid,’ spat Queenie. ‘I’ve told you fifty bloody times what’s wrong. I still got bad stomach pains and I’ve caught your mumps.’

‘But your face isn’t swollen like mine was, and you said you’d already had mumps and couldn’t catch them again,’ said Viv, clearly unconvinced. Apart from using the bathroom, Queenie had not left the bedroom for four whole days now, not even to eat. Viv knew Betty was worried about her too. ‘Why don’t you let Betty call the doctor in like she offered to? You might need some proper medicine, Queenie.’

‘I don’t need a doctor, OK? Please just stop going on at me, Viv. Go and have your breakfast and when Betty asks you, tell her I’ve started to feel a bit better, but I’m still tired. Got that?’

Shocked at her sister shouting at her, Vivian did as she was told.

When Viv left the bedroom, Queenie breathed a sigh of relief. It was so hard trying to act normal. She couldn’t sleep or eat, her nerves were in tatters. Thankfully, the Briggs had a proper bath inside the farmhouse which she had loved when she’d first moved here. She’d thought of it as a luxury. Now she just saw it as a way to scrub his rancid smell off her, but no matter how much she scrubbed herself, she could still smell that awful reek of stale sweat and rancid breath. It had obviously left an imprint on her brain, just like he had. The vile, disgusting pervert.

Queenie shut her eyes. She’d written a letter to Mrs O’Leary, begging for help. She’d kept it short and sweet, telling her that something had happened and she would explain when she got home. In the meantime she asked Mary not to say anything to her family.

Viv had posted the letter on Sunday and Queenie knew by the other letters she’d written and received that Mary should have received it by now. Thank God the O’Learys were back in Whitechapel, because if they’d still been in Ireland, Queenie wouldn’t have known who to turn to. Aunt Edna would have been the only other option, but Queenie couldn’t tell her what had happened. She would die of shame if her parents ever found out. It was all too shameful for words. She wasn’t even sure she could tell Mary, but knew she ought to tell someone. Say she’d caught something off the dirty unwashed nonce? She’d caught nits at school twice in the past because some of the other kids were so unclean. None of those kids were as dirty as him – the monster!

The tap at the door startled Queenie. ‘OK to come in, Queenie? I’ve made you some breakfast and tea.’

‘Yes. Come in, Betty.’

‘Vivian informs me you’re feeling a bit better. I’m so pleased. I’ve done you two boiled eggs, toast, and put a sausage on the side. I know how you like our sausages, but don’t worry if you can’t finish it all. Just eat what you can.’

‘I will. Thank you.’

Betty put the tray on Queenie’s lap. ‘We’ve all been worried about you, duck. John insisted I send for a doctor, but I told him you were adamant you didn’t need one. Ivan sends his love too. He’s left you a present downstairs. I’ll bring it up later. Oh, and he said to tell Miss Queenie the dart flights you bought him brought him luck. He won last night,’ smiled Betty.

Feeling the bile rise in her throat, Queenie put her hand over her mouth. ‘Take the tray. Gonna be sick.’

Hearing the girl run from the room, retching, Betty made her mind up. Like it or not, Queenie was going to see a doctor.

A couple of days later, Queenie was lying on her bed reading Oliver Twist when Betty called up the stairs: ‘Queenie, you have a telegram.’

Queenie dashed down to collect it. It must be from Mary. It had to be.

Thanking a rather bemused-looking Betty and the man who’d delivered it, Queenie ran back up the stairs before ripping it open. For the first time since her horrendous ordeal, she managed a smile.

‘Who’s it from Queenie? Mum?’ asked Viv.

‘No. It’s from Mrs O’Leary. We’re going home tomorrow, Viv, but you mustn’t say anything to the Briggs. I will do the talking just before we leave, OK?’

Viv was stunned. ‘What! How come? I thought Mum said we weren’t allowed home yet?’

‘We’re going to surprise Mum. There’s been no more bombs, so we’ll be fine.’

‘But we should tell Betty as soon as possible. Her and John have been ever so kind to us. It’s rude to wait until just before we leave to tell them. And what about Ivan? He’s been kind to us too. He even let me drive his tractor yesterday.’

‘You what! When?’

‘Yesterday afternoon, while you were sleeping.’

Queenie grabbed her sister by the shoulders. ‘You say nothing and you go nowhere near Ivan again, d’ya hear me?’

‘But why?’

‘Because I bloody said so. He was looking at me funny that day I went shopping alone with him and he said some odd things. I don’t trust him, Viv. Not as far as I can throw him.’

‘Is that why you’ve been acting strange?’

‘I’ve been ill, Viv. You know I have. You heard what the doctor said. There’s a bug been going round the village.’

‘Yeah, but you’ve still been acting weird.’

‘I’m bored, that’s all. Bored out of my brains. I can’t wait to get home, see Mum, Dad, Aunt Edna, Mary and all our friends.’

‘Neither can I.’

‘Well, start packing your bits then and not a word to anyone. OK?’

‘OK.’

Betty Briggs was stunned the following morning when Queenie announced at 11.45 a.m. that she and Viv were being picked up at noon and would be returning to London. ‘I’m so upset you didn’t tell me beforehand, girls. I would’ve cooked you a lovely farewell dinner last night had I known. I take it that’s why you received a telegram?’

‘Yes, Betty, and I’m sorry I never told you beforehand, but one of our family is really sick, and we didn’t want any fuss,’ lied Queenie. ‘Thank you so, so much for taking Viv and me into your home and looking after us. This is for you, and I would like you to give this to John. It’s just a little thank you gift, something to remember us by.’

Betty’s eyes filled with tears. Since her sons had left home the farmhouse had felt very empty and it had been lovely having the girls around. She’d spent hours teaching them maths and English, and had given them numerous cooking and baking lessons. ‘You must say goodbye to John and give him his present yourself. He’s out the back. I’ll call him. Ivan will want to say goodbye to you too.’

Queenie felt the colour drain from her face. ‘No, please don’t call them. We really don’t want any fuss. It’s our Aunt Edna. She’s dying you see.’

Viv looked at her sister in astonishment. Their mum had always taught them never to tell such wicked lies in case they came true.

At that very moment, John walked through the back door. ‘Any chance of a cuppa, love? I’m parched.’

Tears rolled down Betty’s cheeks as she told her husband the girls were going home at short notice because a family member was seriously ill.

‘Why didn’t you tell us yesterday? Betty said you had a telegram, so we guessed it must be important. We would’ve loved to have given you a proper send-off,’ John said, in his thick country drawl.

Queenie looked at her shoes. ‘Viv and I were too upset to want any fuss. We’re very close to Aunt Edna. She’s the only aunt we have.’ It was nearly noon now and she hoped Patrick wouldn’t be long. Mary had said Patrick would pick them up in his car.

Betty opened her present and cried even more. ‘They’re beautiful slippers, girls. They’ll keep my feet lovely and warm in the winter months and whenever I wear them, I will think of you.’

‘Ahh, bless ya. You shouldn’t have,’ John said, as he put the new pipe to his mouth. ‘It’s been a pleasure having you stay with us and I know my Betty will miss your company. She always wanted a daughter,’ winked John.

Betty hugged Queenie and Viv close to her chest. ‘Please write to us. I would hate to lose touch with you.’

‘As soon as we are settled at home, I’ll write to you,’ said Viv. She felt awkward and rude that they were leaving at such short notice. As for Queenie’s lies about Aunt Edna, she’d be having strong words with her later.

Queenie was uncomfortable about lying to the Briggs and leaving them this way, so it came as a huge relief when their farewells were interrupted by the sound of a car horn outside. ‘That’s our lift home. Thank you so much for having us. We will never forget you.’

‘Hang on. I’ll bring your cases out,’ said John. ‘I must call Ivan too. He will want to say goodbye to you both.’

When John opened the back door and yelled ‘Ivan’, Queenie knew she had to get out of the house. ‘I’ll let Patrick know we’re ready,’ she mumbled, bolting for the front door.

She made it no further than the doorstep before colliding with Patrick, who was just about to knock. ‘You all right, darling?’ he asked, giving her a hug.

‘I just wanna sit in the car. I’ve had a bug.’ Queenie’s legs were like jelly at the thought of seeing Ivan again.

John brought the cases out and Queenie froze as she heard Ivan’s voice.

‘Get out the car, Queenie. Don’t be so rude,’ hissed Viv.

Queenie couldn’t move. Her legs were temporarily paralysed. She opened the car window instead. The monster was standing there, between Betty and John. ‘Thank you for all you have done for us, Betty and John. We won’t forget you.’ Queenie could hear the fear in her voice.

Ivan approached the car. ‘Bye, Miss Queenie. I’m going to miss you,’ he grinned, showing his rotting teeth. ‘And you, Viv.’

Queenie managed to swallow the bile that entered her mouth. ‘Yeah, bye.’

Patrick watched the scene with interest. His mother had told him to. He earned his living by being an illegal bookie and would bet his car on Ivan being a problem. The geezer looked like a nonce. He started the engine. ‘Ready, girls?’

‘Yes,’ Queenie said, putting her hands under her legs, so Viv wouldn’t see them trembling. But Patrick didn’t miss a thing.

‘Bye Betty, bye John, bye Ivan,’ Viv smiled. ‘I’ll write to you very soon, Betty. I promise.’

‘Bye, girls,’ said Betty and John in unison.

As the car pulled away, the last thing Queenie heard was the monster shouting, ‘Bye, Miss Queenie.’

Pretending she was tired, Queenie closed her eyes on the journey home. She was so relieved to have got away from the farmhouse, yet was dreading seeing family and friends in case they guessed something was wrong with her.

Patrick and Viv were chatting away happily. Queenie’s ears pricked up when she heard Daniel had a new girlfriend. But she wasn’t that bothered. Not now. She could never imagine herself wanting a lad to touch her again, even Daniel.

Knowing she had to pull herself together, Queenie yawned and pretended to wake up as they neared home. The sight that greeted her eyes as they entered London was shocking and dismal. Houses, buildings, shops, pubs, all reduced to piles of rubble. ‘Jesus wept!’ Queenie mumbled.

‘Oh my God, Queenie! Thank God Mum sent us away,’ said Viv.

Patrick looked in the interior mirror to size up Queenie’s reaction.

Queenie flinched. She would rather have been blown up by a bomb than being forced to endure what she had.

Molly Wade was elated yet stunned when she walked into her home to see her two daughters sitting on the sofa. ‘Oh, my babies! What you doing ’ere?’ she squealed with delight.

Viv cried and hugged her mother for dear life. ‘It’s so good to see you, Mum. We missed you so much.’

‘We couldn’t stay there no longer. Betty and John were lovely to us, but we were so bored. There’s nothing to do there. Both of us have been ill recently too. Viv had mumps, I caught a bug and we just wanted to be ’ere, with you,’ explained Queenie.

Queenie felt her eyes well up as her mother hugged her. She wished she was still the same carefree girl who’d hugged her mum goodbye eight months ago. ‘Is Dad at work?’

‘Sit down, girls. I’ll make us a cuppa. There’s lots I have to tell you.’

Molly Wade reappeared with a tray of tea and biscuits, sat in between her two daughters on the sofa and held their hands. ‘How did you get home by the way?’

‘Patrick O’Leary picked us up in his car. We wanted to surprise you,’ said Queenie.

‘Ahh, that was nice of him. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to stay here though. More bombs could be dropped at any time.’

‘We don’t care,’ snapped Queenie. ‘No way are we being sent away again.’

‘Is Dad OK, Mum?’ asked Viv.

‘Erm, yes. I didn’t want to worry you two, but Dad got called up not long after you left. He was in North Africa, last I heard. He’s OK though.’

‘When will he come home?’ asked Viv.

‘I don’t know, lovey. But fingers crossed it won’t be too long.’

‘We got a shock when we saw the state of the area. When did the row of shops where the butcher’s is get blown up?’ asked Queenie.

‘Around Christmas time. Lots of people you know have lost their lives too. Joe Brown was killed in action, so was Tim Lewis. Your school friend Linda Ruttle perished with the rest of her family when a bomb fell, Viv.’

Tears pricked Vivian’s eyes. ‘I don’t think Nelly knows her brother is dead. She never mentioned it in her letters.’

‘Mabel isn’t going to tell the girls until they come home. She wants to be there to comfort them. She’s been in a terrible state has Mabel, bless her. There’s other families you know that have been wiped out, but let’s not talk about that today. Let’s celebrate you being home. Shall we go and surprise, Aunt Edna?’ smiled Molly.

‘Not yet. I want to know who has died first. You should have told us by letter,’ snapped Queenie. ‘I need to visit Mrs O’Leary too. We have her to thank for getting us away from that hellhole of a farmhouse. If it wasn’t for Mary, we’d still be stuck there.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, Queenie. I know it was boring, but at least the people were nice,’ Viv replied.

‘I thought you were happy there,’ Molly said dismally.

‘I wasn’t. But then, I begged you not to send me away in the first place, didn’t I?’ Queenie reminded her mother. ‘It’s just a shame you didn’t bloody listen.’

CHAPTER FIVE

I tried to put what had happened to the back of my mind, but it was nigh on impossible. The nights were the worst. That monster would appear in my dreams, lunging towards me, and I would wake up terrified.

I went back to school and did my best to act normal. But the East End had changed beyond recognition and I was no longer that happy carefree girl I’d once been. I was irritable, snappy, bitter and downright rude at times, especially to Mum. Though I knew what had happened wasn’t her fault, I couldn’t help but blame her for sending me away.

Both Mum and Aunt Edna had heart-to-hearts with me, tried to get me to open up, but I couldn’t. I blamed my period, how I thought I was dying at the time, and had ruined Betty’s lovely mattress. ‘I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my life,’ I told them.

I told the same story to Mrs O’Leary. I could tell she knew there was more to it, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I felt far too ashamed to tell anybody. I never felt clean any more, not even after a trip to the public baths. I felt dirty, like a tramp.

Then I heard the news my dad had been shot in the leg, was in the army hospital, and would be returning home once he was well enough to travel.

I looked forward to Dad’s homecoming. It helped to take my mind off things. Viv and I made him a big banner welcoming him home. Mum and Aunt Edna baked cakes and made sandwiches, but Dad never showed. He arrived home the following morning, paralytic, and after that things went from bad to worse.

Things got to the point where I no longer had a father as far as I was concerned. Instead, there was a stranger living in our house. A nasty, evil, wicked bully who I totally despised.

It was no wonder I began to spend more and more time at Mrs O’Leary’s. Her house was the only place I felt safe and loved.

The war was changing everything.

Three Months Later
Summer 1941

‘Queenie, wake up. I think Dad’s hurting Mum again.’

Queenie was already wide awake ‘Mum’s told us not to get involved. Go back to sleep. The noises’ll stop soon.’

Putting her arms around Viv’s back to comfort her, Queenie lay deep in thought. She knew what was happening all right. The drunken stranger who was once her father was forcing her mum to have sex with him again.

Hearing their mum begging their dad to stop, Viv started to cry.

‘It’s OK. They’re just trying to make us a little brother or sister,’ Queenie lied. She knew that wasn’t the case. She’d seen the bruises on her mother’s body, knew what was happening was no act of love.

As Queenie heard her father grunt and groan, she felt ill. The monster.

Finally all was quiet, but still Queenie couldn’t sleep. She would speak to Aunt Edna later; ask if she and Viv could stay with her this weekend.

The next morning, Queenie was in a foul mood as she took her seat in the classroom. She’d lain awake most of the night, and felt groggy and ratty. She was also dreading breaking up for the summer holidays on Friday. These days she had little interest in playing outdoors amongst the rats and the rubble, she would rather be at school, or losing herself in a book. There was no quiet indoors any more, so perhaps she’d go over the park and read alone? Books were the only thing that would temporarily help her to forget. She was currently engrossed in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House in the Big Woods. It was a world away from London and the Blitz.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Queenie responded in unison with the other kids.

Mr Archer pointed a finger in the air and silently began counting heads. ‘Thirteen,’ he said out loud. ‘OK, today I have a special assignment for you. For the handful of you who were not evacuees, I want you to write a story pretending you were. How would you feel leaving your parents? Your pets? Use your imagination. As for the thirteen of you who were evacuated and have since returned, I want to hear every detail about your experiences. Where did you stay? What was the area and family like? Describe them in detail. Did you make any new friends?’

An image of Ivan flashing through her mind, Queenie was mortified as her breakfast flew out of her mouth with such force, some landed on Kenneth Holmes’s back.

Kenneth leapt up. ‘Urgh, ya dirty moo.’

As other classmates held their noses in disgust and murmured noises and words of distaste, an embarrassed Queenie knew she had to get out of there.

Yelling ‘Sorry’, she ran from the classroom in tears.

Mary O’Leary was chatting to her hairdresser Rosemary when she saw Queenie running hell for leather on the other side of the road. ‘Queenie! You all right?’

Stopping in her tracks, Queenie burst into tears. She couldn’t stand it any longer, the shame was burning inside her and she felt as though she didn’t want to live.

Excusing herself to Rosemary, Mary ran across the road. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’

‘Everything. I can’t go on, Mary. Just leave me. Leave me alone.’

Seeing Queenie was shaking, Mary gathered her firmly into her arms. ‘You’ve not been yourself since you returned from the Briggs’. What happened there? You know you can trust me, Queenie.’

‘Nothing. Nothing happened,’ wept Queenie.

Remembering what Patrick had told her, Mary held Queenie’s cheeks and looked her in the eyes. ‘It’s that Ivan, isn’t it? What did he do to you, darling?’

‘He—’ Queenie sobbed.

‘Did he touch you inappropriately? You must tell me, lovey. A trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

Queenie nodded furiously. ‘Yes. He touched me.’

Once inside the O’Learys’ house, a tot of brandy in her hand, and urged on by Mary, Queenie found it a relief to finally spill her guts. She explained what had happened with Ivan, how she’d tried to get away from him and how dirty and horrible she’d felt ever since.

The news didn’t come as a shock to Mary. Patrick had reported back that Ivan was a weirdo and he reckoned he was the problem. However, Mary’s heart broke as she made Queenie endless cups of sweet tea, held her in her arms and reassured her that none of this was her fault, she would help her through it.

‘You won’t tell anybody, will you? I don’t want Daniel to know, or Patrick – or anyone. I’d feel too embarrassed. Oh, the shame of what he did to me Mary, please—’

Mary stroked Queenie’s hair. ‘Of course not, angel. But you did right telling me. I can help you. I know it doesn’t feel like it at the moment, but in time, things will get better for you.’

‘It doesn’t feel like that.’

‘I know, but you have to trust me. Now I need to ask you some questions. Important ones.’

Queenie managed a half-smile. Mrs O’Leary was so kind. She’d washed her, rinsed out her sick-stained top, given her a fresh one to wear while her own dried in the garden.

Not wanting to worry Queenie unnecessarily, Mary chose her words carefully. ‘You know I got you those Kotex pads? Have you had to use any yet?’

‘Erm, no. Why?’

Mary’s heart lurched. Surely the poor girl wasn’t pregnant? Hadn’t she been through enough already? ‘May the cat eat that dirty bastard and may the devil eat the cat,’ she hissed.

Queenie was terrified when Mary insisted she must visit Dr Parrott the following day. ‘If I’m pregnant by that monster, Mary, I’ll kill myself.’

Mary held the child in her arms. ‘No, you won’t. You’re stronger than that, my love. Having felt your tummy yesterday, I honestly don’t think you’re with child. But we need to get you checked out, and to make sure you haven’t been infected with any diseases. Dr Parrott is from Cork, same as me; he can be trusted. He’s a family friend and a very nice man. You let me do the talking, OK?’

‘I haven’t got to take my knickers off, have I?’ Queenie asked fearfully.

‘I’ll be with you all the time, I promise. The doctor will examine your stomach and I’ve already got your wee sample in my handbag. He might want to ask a couple of questions, but I’ve pretended a young lad took advantage of you.’

‘Thanks for not telling him what really happened.’

Mary smiled. ‘Whatever you tell me is between us, OK?’ That wasn’t strictly true because last night she’d given the heads up to her sons regarding the awful experience Queenie had been through. She hadn’t gone into too much detail but, as expected, Patrick and Daniel were absolutely livid.

‘You leave that nonce to us, Mum. We’ll sort it,’ Patrick promised.

‘Too fecking right,’ Daniel added. ‘Poor little Queenie.’

And Mrs O’Leary knew that at least Queenie would never have to come face to face with the pervert who’d ruined her ever again.

The trip to Dr Parrott’s was scary for Queenie. Mary held her hand as he examined her stomach with his hands and a stethoscope. ‘I’m pretty sure you aren’t pregnant, young lady. But we’ll do the urine test just to be on the safe side.’

Urging Queenie to sit up, Dr Parrott then asked her some embarrassing questions. ‘Have you had any discharge or pain down below, Queenie? Anything unusual since you had sex?’

Wanting to scream out that she didn’t have sex, she was raped, Queenie bit her tongue and turned to Mary. ‘What does discharge mean?’

‘A substance. The doctor means have you noticed anything unusual in your knickers?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like a green substance or brown? Or have you noticed any change in the colour of your urine? Does it hurt when you use the toilet?’ asked the doctor.

Queenie blushed crimson. ‘No. Nothing.’

Dr Parrott smiled. ‘That’s good news. If anything changes though and you do start noticing something different, you must come back to me. In the meantime, I’ll do your urine test and will let Mary know when I have the results.’

Queenie breathed a sigh of relief as they left Dr Parrott’s house. ‘Mary, how can a doctor tell by your wee if you’re pregnant?’

‘They inject your urine into toads.’

‘Toads! What, as in like a frog?’

‘Yes. They import a special breed from abroad and keep them in tanks.’

Completely baffled, Queenie said no more.

The school holidays began and instead of going out exploring the bomb sites with Viv or playing silly games, Queenie spent most of her time with Mrs O’Leary or Aunt Edna. She much preferred being at their homes to staying in her own. She no longer felt close to her mother. Her dad was making all their lives a misery and in Queenie’s opinion Molly Wade should be putting her foot down.

On the Tuesday, Viv squealed with delight as their neighbours Aggie and Nelly Brown arrived home from evacuation. ‘Come on, Queenie. Let’s go and greet them.’

Pleased that Viv would now have Nelly to hang out with, Queenie told Viv to greet them with their mum. She hadn’t forgiven Aggie for blanking the two letters she’d written to her. Who did she think she was? She was no friend of hers any longer, the ignorant cow. Queenie had only written the second letter because, when she’d received no reply to the first, she assumed it must have got lost in the post. Queenie cursed herself. ‘What an idiot,’ she muttered.

Peeping through a tiny gap in the curtain, Queenie saw their landlord approach her mum. He looked annoyed and started pointing towards the roof of the house.

Viv ran back inside the house. ‘Aggie says hello. Where’s mum’s purse, Queen?’

‘Dunno. What’s the landlord saying?’

‘Dunno. Probably wants money.’ Viv ran back outside with the purse.

Since their dad’s army wage had stopped, their mum had been forced to take two cleaning jobs, just so they could eat and keep a roof over their heads. It was she who was handing all her hard-earned wages over to the landlord while her father drank any wages he earned down the pub. Queenie didn’t know if her dad even had a proper job. The docks had been bombed badly during the Blitz and with his shattered right leg, that he now dragged behind him, she was sure he wasn’t working back there, though her mum swore he was.

A serious expression on her face, Molly walked back inside the house and asked both her daughters to sit down.

‘What’s up?’ Queenie asked.

Molly sighed. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, girls. Our landlord has insisted on renting the upstairs of our house out. There’ll be a new family moving in next Monday.’

‘But he can’t! What about our bedroom? Where we meant to sleep?’ shrieked Viv.

‘We’ll have to bring your mattress down ’ere, love. We’ll manage. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky to have a bloody roof over our heads. Many families round ’ere haven’t, have they?’

Viv was distraught. ‘But what about our clothes and things? Where will we put those?’

‘We’ll find somewhere to put them,’ replied Molly. ‘Let’s just be grateful Hitler has stopped bombing us. Well, for now, at least.’

Queenie was furious. ‘But why are we losing the upstairs of our house? I take it it’s because we’re way behind with the rent?’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Molly. ‘But nobody is to blame for that, Queenie. Who could have predicted the war and your father being shot?’

‘No one. But seeing as Dad is working at the docks and you’re also working, how come we can’t afford to pay the rent?’

Molly looked sheepish. ‘Your dad could no longer work at the docks because of his leg. I didn’t tell you ’cause I didn’t want to worry ya. He is working though. He’s helping a friend out, but the money isn’t great.’

‘Well, it can’t be that bad,’ yelled Queenie. ‘He seems to be earning enough to roll home pissed out of his head every night, don’t he?’

Tears streamed down Viv’s face. She loved sharing a bedroom with her sister. It was bad enough listening to her parents’ arguments and baby-making as it was; now she and Queenie would have to sleep in the same room as them.

‘Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But you mustn’t blame your father. He’s going through a tough time. He saw some terrible things while he was away, has awful nightmares. He isn’t coping with his injury either. He’s in a lot of pain with his leg and says the alcohol helps him cope with it. We must all stand by him; help him through this difficult time.’

Queenie could barely believe her ears. She leapt off the sofa and paced up and down. ‘And we had it easy while Dad was away, did we?’ she bellowed. ‘How do you think me and Viv felt, being sent away, then coming home to a long list of friends and neighbours who’d died? As for losing half our home, I blame you as much as him, Mum. Why didn’t you put your foot down and demand Dad hands over the rent money to you? That’s what Mrs O’Leary would’ve done. She would’ve kicked Dad’s arse out and only allowed him back once he’d got himself sorted.’

‘Well, I’m not Mrs O’Leary and you shouldn’t be discussing our bloody business with that woman,’ fumed Molly.

‘Who said I was? Everyone knows what’s really going on, including me and Viv. We’re the ones who have to listen to Dad beat and rape you most nights. No wonder we’re always tired at school, eh? And now you’re expecting us to sleep in the same room as you and him.’

‘Whatever are you going on about, you stupid girl? I’m married to the man. Ya can’t get raped by your own husband. This is her, ain’t it? That nosy cow across the road. She’s the one putting ridiculous ideas in your head. You’re even copying her foul language. Always effing and blinding, she is. Well, I’m not putting up with this any more, young lady. You’ve changed since you came back from Lincolnshire, got far too big for your boots. I forbid you to visit Mrs O’Leary any more. It’s not normal, you spending so much time with a woman who is older than me. You should be out playing with your sister and friends of your own age.’

Eyes bulging with fury, Queenie let rip. ‘Do you wanna know why I spend so much time with Mrs O’Leary? Well, I’ll tell ya. She’s more of a mother to me than you’ll ever be. It was Mary who bought me my first bra and menstrual pads, and explained to me about the birds and bees. What did you do, eh? Let me lils bounce up and down like some slag and let me think I was dying—’

‘Stop it!’ Viv screamed, putting her hands over her ears. ‘Please, both of you, just stop it,’ she sobbed.

Queenie gave her younger sister a hug. ‘Come on; let’s go out and get some fresh air.’

Molly Wade put her head in her hands. She could feel Queenie slipping away from her and in her bones she knew it was too late to bring her back.

Aunt Edna welcomed her nieces with open arms. And she wasn’t too shocked to learn the truth of what had been going on. She knew from past experience that Eric was an arsehole in drink and she knew Molly hadn’t been herself of late. However, she was furious to hear that Queenie and Viv had been lying awake night after night, listening to Eric force himself upon her beloved sister. That wasn’t on.

‘And Mum’s got bruises. Loads of ’em. She won’t even get undressed in front of us down the public baths,’ added Queenie. ‘She insists on bathing on her own since I asked her about them.’

‘You never told me that,’ Viv exclaimed.

‘Only because I didn’t want to worry ya. I know Dad drags his right leg like a cripple now and I do feel sorry for him for getting shot. But he shouldn’t take that out on Mum and us. He don’t even call Mum by her name, he calls her ‘Woman’. He ain’t got no time for me an’ Viv either, Aunt Edna. He’s ’orrible to us. Really ’orrible.’

Aunt Edna sat between the two girls who were like daughters to her and put a comforting arm around their shoulders. ‘Right, ’ere’s what’s going to happen. I’m gonna make you a sandwich and a cuppa, then I’m gonna visit your mum whilst youse stay ’ere. I shall pick up some bits for you, then tonight you can come to work with me, have a singalong. Walter in the Crown won’t mind. How’s that sound?’

Queenie hugged her wonderful aunt. ‘Does that mean we can stay ’ere the night?’

‘You can stay ’ere whenever you want, you know that.’

‘Thanks, Auntie Edna,’ said Viv.

Queenie smiled for the first time that day. ‘Love you, Aunt Edna.’

Edna’s eyes welled up. ‘And I love you two more than you’ll ever know. Right, off to see your muvver now. You leave her to me.’

The weeks that followed were good ones for Queenie, the best she’d had since returning home. Aunt Edna had worked her magic on her mother and she and Viv were temporarily living with her. She also got confirmation from Dr Parrott, via Mrs O’Leary, that she definitely wasn’t pregnant. To say that was a massive relief for Queenie was an understatement. Mrs O’Leary reckoned it was the trauma of what had happened that had stopped her from having any more periods since, but said they would return in due course.

While living at her aunt’s, Queenie did not return home once to visit her parents. Viv did and said it was ever so cramped downstairs. She also said the new family traipsed through their home whenever they needed to use the kitchen or the toilet in the back yard. Queenie was furious about that. Say the man walked in while she was washing or getting dressed? It wasn’t even their home any more by the sounds of it. Queenie dreaded going back there.

It was on a Thursday afternoon that Queenie received the first bit of good news. ‘I visited your mum this morning, Queenie. Things still aren’t great at home with your dad, so I convinced Mum to allow you and Viv to stay with me for the rest of your holidays,’ explained Aunt Edna.

As for the second bit of news Queenie received. It wasn’t just good, it was absolutely mind-blowing.

CHAPTER SIX

I looked at Viv in amazement. ‘A telegram! But it can’t be for us. Who would send us a telegram?’

‘It is for us. I was at Mum’s when the man delivered it. It’s got both our names on the envelope. It’s from Betty and John,’ Viv explained.

For obvious reasons, I wanted to try to forget about my time in Lincolnshire, so I hadn’t written to Betty and John, not once. Viv kept in touch with them though and always signed her letters from herself and me.

‘Aren’t you going to open it then?’ asked Aunt Edna. ‘It must be important if it’s a telegram.’

‘You open it, Queenie,’ urged Viv.

‘No.’ I hated it when Viv read out the letters from the Briggs. It made me feel ill, especially their last letter, that ended with ‘Ivan is here. He sends his regards to you both and wants you to tell Miss Queenie those dart flights she bought him are still bringing him luck’.

‘Give us the bleedin’ thing ’ere, I’ll open it,’ demanded Aunt Edna. She ripped open the envelope. ‘Oh dear. It isn’t good news, girls, I’m afraid. A murder has occurred in Lincolnshire and a policeman will be visiting soon to speak to you both.’

‘What! Why?’ I asked. ‘We don’t know nothing about no murder.’

‘It’s not Betty or John, is it?’ said Viv, her complexion white.

‘No. It’s Ivan who worked for Betty and John. You were both friends with him apparently. I’m so sorry, girls. What a shock for you both. Come give me a hug, then I’ll make you a cup of sweet tea.’

My heart was leaping for joy. I wanted to jump up and down in celebration, but obviously I couldn’t. So I put on a shocked act and pretended to be upset like Viv, while secretly wishing Ivan had died in the most excruciating pain known to man.

Unable to contain my excitement, I ran round to Mrs O’Leary’s house to tell her the news. ‘Good,’ Mary said, grabbing my face in her big hands. ‘Now you can finally move on with your life, Queenie.’

‘But why do the police want to talk to me and Viv?’ I asked.

‘You can guarantee you weren’t the first young lady he did such a terrible thing to – once a nonce always a nonce. If I were you, I’d lie to the police and say he was worried about a few enemies in the village, but never mentioned any names to you. It’s the O’Leary family rule, Queenie: always lie to the coppers, always stay true to your family. Never done us no harm. We look after our family and friends alike, Queenie.’

‘OK. That’s what I’ll say then. Thanks, Mary. You’re just like a mum to me.’

Mary smiled. ‘And you are the daughter I never had. Time for you to shine now, my darling. Forget about the past and move on to the future. You can’t let what happened to you ruin the rest of your life.’

My eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m not sure I can move on.’

Mary gave my shoulders a shake. ‘Oh yes you will. Have you ever wondered why I felt your pain so much?’

‘Because you’re so kind,’ I replied.

She shook her head and hugged me to her chest. ‘What happened to you, my dear child, also happened to me back in Cork. I was younger than you. Twelve at the time.’

I started to cry, feeling her pain as sharply as if it was my own. ‘Mary, I’m so sorry.’

Mary gave my shoulders another shake. ‘Being sorry or feeling sorry gets you nowhere, angel. My brothers dealt with the bastard that abused me. And now Ivan has got his comeuppance. You have to move on. I did, and I ended up with three strapping sons. God rest his soul, my Seamus died, but I still have my Patrick and Daniel. They are my world. You must never tell anyone what I have told you today though. Even my boys don’t know the full story. There are some things sons shouldn’t know about their mother.’

I looked at Mary in awe. She was the strongest woman I’d ever known. ‘I will never say a word, I promise. And you are so right. Now Ivan is dead, I want handsome strapping sons just like yours.’

Mary smiled at me and squeezed my hand. ‘That’s my girl.’

Nine Months Later
Spring 1942

Queenie squeezed Viv’s hand as they listened to the latest dismal news bulletin. The Germans were bombing England again; not London this time, but there’d been attacks on Exeter, York, Bath, Norwich and Canterbury.

‘D’ya think they’ll bomb us again?’ Viv asked fearfully.

Queenie shrugged. ‘Not much left to bomb round ’ere, is there?’ she replied truthfully. The horror of the Blitz was still everywhere you looked. Houses, buildings and businesses had been reduced to piles of rubble and many men, women and children were hobbling around due to injuries they’d suffered. It had been reported that tens of thousands had lost their lives; Queenie could well believe it. Many people she’d known all her life had been killed in the bombings or while fighting overseas. St Mary Matfelon was no longer a church. That had been bombed beyond repair. As had Freddie the fishmonger’s. Poor Freddie had died, was burned alive while chopping up eels. Flo, his wife, had dropped dead at his funeral. A broken heart caused her death, the vicar reckoned. Even our coalman’s poor horse had been blown up. A bomb had dropped on his stable. Our coalman was devastated, as we all were. Trigger had been a wonderful horse, a big part of mine and Viv’s childhood.

Queenie hugged Viv. ‘No point worrying about it. What will be will be. No way am I being evacuated again though. I’m fifteen now, old enough to go to work and make my own decisions.’

Viv hugged her big sister. ‘I don’t wanna be sent away again either. I want to stay with you. If we’re gonna die, I’d rather us die together. I wouldn’t wanna live without ya.’

‘Cheerful pair, ain’t we?’ Queenie grinned. ‘And for the record, I wouldn’t want to live without you either.’

Once Viv left for school, Queenie sat out in the back yard with her book. Their useless Anderson shelter had now been dismantled and taken away, so there was room to sunbathe once again.

A gorgeous day in May, Queenie put her book down and closed her eyes. She always found it therapeutic when she could hear the birds singing. Life wasn’t too bad at the moment. In fact, it had turned out to be a godsend they’d rented out half their house.

After spending the school holidays with Aunt Edna last summer, Queenie and Viv had returned home. It was awful. The living conditions were cramped and their father would roll home drunk every night, waking everybody up.

Queenie begged her mum to chuck her father out. So did Aunt Edna, but her mum wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Your father is a war hero and a cripple. I can’t throw him out on the streets. Whatever would people think of me?’ were her mum’s exact words.

Then one night it all kicked off big style. Queenie witnessed her father trying to strangle her mother and couldn’t help but retaliate. The iron poker was the nearest object, so Queenie picked it up and repeatedly whacked it as hard as she could against her dad’s bad leg.

After that, Queenie, her mum and Viv all went to live with Aunt Edna. But then her dad gave up the drink again, and her mum moved back home on the understanding that if Dad fell off the wagon, she would leave him for good.

Queenie flatly refused to return home and told her mother in no uncertain terms that she and Viv would be staying at Aunt Edna’s. Her mother called a truce. The girls could sleep at Aunt Edna’s, provided they came home for their meals and told the neighbours they were only staying at Aunt Edna’s because it was now too cramped at home.

The arrangement had worked out well. Queenie loved sleeping at Aunt Edna’s and still got to see her mum and Mrs O’Leary every day.

Queenie’s bond with Mrs O’Leary had grown stronger than ever. Ivan’s murder had never been mentioned by either of them since the police had visited her and Viv. She’d done the talking, explaining that she’d spent more time with Ivan than her younger sister, and had calmly told the police Ivan had disclosed to her that he had a few enemies in the village whom he was scared of, but had never given her a reason or any names. The police toddled off quite happily with that information and hadn’t returned since.

Viv still kept in touch with Betty Briggs, but Queenie told her sister to keep the letters to herself now. She didn’t need or want any reminders, was afraid the terrible nightmares might return. Since she’d been staying at Aunt Edna’s, Queenie hadn’t had a single nightmare, and she’d taken Mrs O’Leary’s advice not to allow herself to think of Ivan. If he popped into her mind for any reason, she would immediately switch her thoughts to Daniel O’Leary. Daniel had recently split up with his girlfriend and Queenie couldn’t help but hope that one day, when she was older, she would marry him. She’d never disclosed such thoughts to Mrs O’Leary, mind.

Queenie’s reminiscing was ended by her mum calling her. ‘I’m going to the shops. Wanna give me a hand? I hope the queues aren’t as bad as yesterday,’ sighed Molly. Meat, tea, jam, biscuits, breakfast cereals, cheese, eggs, lard, milk, canned and dried fruit had all been added to the ration list. The queues were ever so long as women stood patiently, ration books in hand, desperate to get their hands on much-needed items.

‘Yeah. I’ll come with you,’ smiled Queenie. Since her mum had shown some backbone and left her father, then refused to return home until he gave up the drink, they were on much better terms. She still loathed her father though. Without a drink, he was the most miserable man in Britain. With a drink inside him, he was just a stranger.

The following morning, Queenie headed over to Mrs O’Leary’s with her best frock, shoes and underwear in her hands. She’d only left school last week and was desperate to bag herself a decent job before all the good ones went. Aggie Brown already had a job, in the Trebor factory. That wasn’t for Queenie; she would hate being cooped up inside a factory all day long. Encouraged by Mary, she had her heart set on working in a posh clothes shop.

‘I’ve run you a bath, darling,’ Mary smiled. ‘I’ll put the kettle on too. How you feeling? Not nervous, I hope.’

Queenie couldn’t believe her luck when Patrick and Daniel had recently had a proper indoors bathroom fitted. Mary was forever running her baths, which was a dream come true for Queenie. ‘I feel OK. I think I’d be more nervous if you weren’t coming with me though.’

‘I still think you’re going to the wrong area, Queenie. If I were you, I’d try locally. You won’t like all that travelling.’

‘But the wages’ll be more in the West End, Mary, and the clothes nicer. Please let’s go there. I’ve never properly been to the West End before. I’d love to see where the posh people shop and live.’

Mary rolled her eyes. ‘It’s your call. But I bet you won’t like the posh people or their fecking posh shops.’

Queenie laughed loudly. ‘You’re so funny. Thanks for running my bath. I’ll get ready.’

The West End was a real eye-opener for Queenie. In the first shop where she asked whether there were any vacancies, not only did the woman look at her as though she was something awful she’d stepped in, the prices were exorbitant. One of the outfits Queenie looked at probably cost more than what her home was worth.

Each shop Queenie ventured into, she could tell she and Mary were looked down upon. In one, they were even followed by a man, who Mary said thought they were thieves.

‘Told you they were all stuck-up feckers round ’ere, didn’t I?’ Mary reminded Queenie.

‘You wasn’t wrong. They all speak with plums in their mouths an’ all. Did you see the way that last woman looked me up and down? I don’t look that poor, do I?’

‘You look grand. Take no fecking notice of them, darling. I was too busy looking at her teeth. Size of ’em. She could eat an apple through a letterbox with those.’

Queenie laughed. ‘Oooh, look, Mary. This one’s a nice shop, not as poncy as the others, and there’s a vacancy note in the window, saying apply within.’

‘Shall I start talking this time?’ asked Mary. She could tell the reaction Queenie had got so far was taking a toll on the girl’s confidence. She’d stammered her words in the last shop, the poor ha’porth.

Queenie smiled. Mary had the gift of the gab. ‘Yes, please.’

Mary marched straight up to the young woman behind the till. ‘Hello. Are you the manager? My niece has come about the vacancy in the window.’

‘Oh, yes. That only went in the window this morning. No. I’m not the manager. I’ll call her for you,’ the girl smiled.

When the girl walked away, Mary nudged Queenie. ‘She seems nice. Not as stuck-up as those others.’

‘Yes. I think I’d get on OK with her. She doesn’t look much older than me.’

The manager appeared and the look of distaste on her face was clear when she heard Mary’s Irish accent as she introduced Queenie.

‘The vacancy has already been taken, I’m afraid,’ snapped the posh tall dark-haired woman.

‘It can’t have been,’ replied Mary. ‘The girl who works for you said it had only gone in the window this morning.’

‘Erm, yes. But the job went first thing.’

‘Why’s the card still in the fecking window then?’ Mary retaliated.

The look on the posh manager’s face was one of horror. Queenie wanted to laugh, but instead joined in. ‘Yeah, the card shouldn’t be in the bloody window then.’

‘Get out. Now!’

‘Come on, Queenie,’ said Mary. ‘Got a face that’d sour milk, that one. You wouldn’t want to work for her would you, darling? May she be afflicted with itching without the benefit of scratching.’

‘I should coco. She’s got a face like a smacked arse, an’ all,’ Queenie replied loudly, noticing the girl that worked there was smiling behind the manager’s back.

Once outside the shop, Queenie rolled up. ‘You were right, Mary. It ain’t for me up ’ere.’

‘Told you. ’Ere, look at this sign. That says it all about the people round here, sweetheart.’

The sign was on the door of a pub. NO DOGS, NO BLACKS, NO IRISH, it read.

‘But wouldn’t they let you in?’ Queenie asked, astonished. Mary was such a smart lady.

‘Nope. These posh feckers think all us Irish are thieves or tinkers. Come on, sweetheart. The boys insisted I treat you to a posh lunch. They’re paying, of course. How d’ya fancy a nice juicy steak?’

‘Really! You sure? I don’t wanna take liberties.’

‘You’ll be doing nothing of the kind. The boys can afford it, trust me,’ Mary winked.

The restaurant was owned by a friend of Patrick and Daniel’s, and after Mary introduced herself as the lads’ mother, saying Patrick had recommended they eat there, Queenie was amazed when the owner swiftly appeared, took them to the best table, then insisted they order whatever they wanted as the food and drinks were on the house.

‘No, love. We’re not liberty-takers,’ said Mary.

The owner was a blond, good-looking man in his late thirties, Queenie reckoned. He was immaculately dressed and unlike her father, who always smelled of cigarette smoke, booze and sweat, the owner smelled gorgeous. He smiled at Mary. ‘Your sons have done me many favours, Mrs O’Leary. Two top men you’ve raised, so well done you. No arguing. This is my treat. I recommend the fillet of steak. Melts in your mouth,’ he smiled. ‘Take your time looking at the menu and call a waiter when you’re ready to order.’

Queenie studied the menu. The poshest place she’d ever eaten before was Alice’s Cafe in Mile End. She didn’t even understand what most of the food was. There were no eels, no pie and mash or faggots on the menu.

‘Speak of the devil and two will appear,’ chuckled Mary.

Queenie was gobsmacked as Daniel and Patrick sauntered towards them, immaculately dressed in expensive suits, shirts, ties and polished leather shoes.

‘How’s our two favourite girls doing?’ grinned Daniel.

Mary beamed with pride as the manager came dashing over, shaking her sons’ hands and making a big fuss of them. ‘You didn’t say you were having lunch with us,’ Mary said to Patrick.

‘We’re not. We’ve got a meeting in Soho in an hour. I was hoping I might catch you though. I’ve seen a beautiful piece of jewellery I want you to take a look at. The shop’s only a five-minute walk away. Have you ordered food yet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, come with me now. Daniel and I will treat you if you like it.’

Mary squeezed Queenie’s hand. ‘See how good to me these sons of mine are? I won’t be long. Daniel will stay here with you.’

Daniel sat in his mother’s seat and picked up the menu. ‘The food’s lovely in here. What you having?’

‘I’m not sure,’ blushed Queenie. ‘I’ve never really eaten in a proper restaurant before.’

‘First time for everything,’ winked Daniel, before explaining to Queenie in plain Irish what each dish was.

‘I think I’ll have the steak, but not bloody.’

‘You need to ask for it to be well done. I’ll order it for you.’

‘Thanks. Can I ask you something, Daniel?’

‘Of course.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’m being nosy, but the price of the food is so expensive in here. More than the weekly rent on our house. If you can afford all this, why would you choose to live in Whitechapel?’

‘Truthfully, I only live among those I can trust. You East Enders look after each other like the Irish do. Community spirit is important and Mum’s happy in Whitechapel. People treat us like one of their own. Sod living in some poncey area where people look down their noses at us. I’d be clumping someone every other day if I lived around this neck of the woods,’ chuckled Daniel.

‘I’m so pleased you moved opposite. Your mum is like a second mum to me.’

‘And you’re like a little sister to me and Patrick. Never forget that.’ Daniel leaned closer to Queenie. ‘Any problems you ever have, you go to Mum. You can tell her anything, then if need be, me and Patrick will sort it for you.’

Queenie looked into Daniel’s eyes and in that split second, she knew who had killed Ivan Tumbleweed.

‘What do Daniel and Patrick actually do for a living?’ Queenie asked. She had no intention of mentioning to Mary the conversation she’d had with Daniel. But in a way it had made her feel good, powerful in fact. If she hadn’t opened up to Mary, that nonce would still be alive. He didn’t deserve to be. It was a good thing he was dead and unable to do what he’d done to her to any other poor girl.

‘My boys have their fingers in many pies, Queenie. I don’t ask too much ’cause I would only worry. If they ever need an alibi, I’m there for them though. I encouraged them to make something of their lives. Law-abiding citizens like us get nowhere. I urged them to take risks, now they’re reaping the rewards,’ winked Mary.

‘They look so smart, always.’

‘Yes. I drummed it into ’em at an early age that appearance is extremely important. First impressions count massively. I had ’em strutting around in suits at thirteen. Not at school, obviously. But as soon as they got home, they’d change into their suits before going out and doing odd jobs. They got in with a couple of villains, did bits and bobs for them. Their reputations have just grown from there. People know they can be trusted. They’re good men. Daniel can be a handful when he loses his temper. He’s calmed down a bit of late, mind. Patrick keeps an eye on him.’

‘Did you ever want a daughter, Mary?’

‘Daughters are a worry. Sons are a joy, if you raise ’em right. From an early age, I used to make up bedtime stories for the boys. I told ’em that one day they’d be kings with enough money to buy whatever they wanted. We were piss poor at the time, but they never forgot those stories. I believe children need moulding at an early age into what you want them to be.’

Queenie smiled. It was nice to hear Mary open up about her sons. ‘I would love to one day have sons like yours. Not sure I will though. After what happened, the thought of a man touching me fills me with panic.’ That wasn’t strictly true as Queenie often fantasized about Daniel touching her. She could hardly tell Mary that though.

Mary leaned across the table and squeezed both of Queenie’s hands. ‘I know exactly how you feel. At your age, I felt the same. But you mustn’t let what happened stop you from becoming a mother, darling. Holding your own baby in your arms is one of the greatest feelings in the world. Children are a gift from God and I just know you’d make a fantastic mum. I hate sex, have never enjoyed it. I got married because I wanted babies. You will do the same. I will make damn sure of it.’

Later that evening, Queenie lay in bed deep in thought.

Even though she hadn’t got a job, today had been amazing. The food in that restaurant was out of this world, the whole experience of being inside there was too. As for the steak, it was to die for. That conversation with Daniel had opened her eyes too. It’s not what you know in life that counts, it’s who you know.

Thinking of Mary, Queenie smiled. Not only was Mary funny, she was the kindest person she’d ever met. She’d thought it weird when Mary excused herself from the table between courses. Five minutes later, she returned with a posh bag. Inside the bag was the nicest frock Queenie had ever laid eyes on. Long, plain, emerald green, but so classy.

‘I love it, Mary. You’ll look beautiful in that.’

Mary had laughed. ‘It’s at least two sizes too small for me, darling. It’s for you. Obviously, you will need some new shoes to match. We’ll get those when we leave ’ere. Then we need to sort out your hair. I have a friend who’s a hairdresser. I know your mum cuts it for you, but you’re too old for those basin cuts now. I want you to look your best next time we go job hunting. Believe me, together we will nail this. Tomorrow, I shall give you a make-up lesson too. I know your mother doesn’t wear make-up, but you should, Queenie. You are a beautiful girl and once I have finished with you, the world will be your oyster.’

Still smiling, Queenie closed her eyes. This was the best day of her life, by miles. Mary O’Leary was not only her closest friend, she was her hero and her inspiration to forget about the past and focus on building a better future for herself.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Eight Months Later
Winter 1943

‘How do I look, Mary? Will I like it? Does the colour suit me?’ gabbled Queenie. She’d been desperate to look as pretty and sophisticated as her new work friend, hence her taking the plunge to dye her hair blonde. Daniel liked blondes too. His current girlfriend Bridie was a blonde bombshell. She looked like the actress Jean Harlow. Queenie was sixteen now and so hoped once Daniel’s latest relationship ended, he would ask her out. He’d been paying her a lot of compliments lately. Surely that was a good sign?

‘You look beautiful. Blonde really suits you. Show her the mirror, Rosemary,’ urged Mary.

‘You look gorgeous, darling,’ added Rosemary.

‘Oh my God! I look so different, but I love it! It really does suit me, doesn’t it?’

‘That was never in doubt. A pretty face like yours could get away with any colour,’ smiled Mary.

Queenie paid Rosemary, then left her house with a massive smile on her face. Not only had Mrs O’Leary taught her about fashion and how to choose things that would suit her, the job she loved so much had taught her a hell of a lot too.

Finding the job in Joseph Cohen’s shop, which sold high-end ladies’ fashion, had been a complete fluke. Queenie had been running an errand for her mum one day when she’d spotted the ‘Assistant Wanted’ card in the window. The shop was situated at the Bethnal Green end of Roman Road. Queenie had bowled inside, remembered Mary’s advice, and sold herself to the owner. She’d started work there the following Monday and had been in her element ever since. It truly was her dream job.

‘The boys are going to pop down to the pub to celebrate my birthday with us later. I hope that’s OK?’ Mary rolled her eyes. ‘They’ll insist on seeing us home, mark my words. They’re not used to me going to pubs, so they get very protective.’

‘Ahh, I think that’s really nice, Mary. Sons should be protective of their mum. Of course it’s OK. The more the merrier,’ Queenie beamed, her stomach doing somersaults.

Mary took her ration book out of her handbag. ‘I need to get some sugar. We’re nearly out of it. You can walk on if you like, show your mum your pretty new look.’

‘Mum won’t like it. When I told her I was thinking of going blonde she nearly had a cardiac,’ chuckled Queenie. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

The queue was long, but when the shop owner spotted Mary getting in line he called out, ‘Mrs O’Leary. You come to the front dear.’ All heads turned as Queenie walked to the front with Mary.

The shop owner put the sugar in Mrs O’Leary’s bag, then refused payment. ‘Give my regards to Patrick and Daniel, Mrs O’Leary. You take care of yourself.’

When Queenie and Mary walked out of the shop, both burst out laughing. ‘Did you see the look on Freda Smart’s face? If looks could kill,’ Queenie chuckled.

‘That’s the third time that’s happened in the past week, Queenie. My boys have certainly made a name for themselves, and I couldn’t be more proud of ’em,’ beamed Mary.

The Albion in Bethnal Green was where Aunt Edna now sang on a Friday night and when Queenie arrived with Mary, the pub was already heaving. ‘What would you like to drink, Mary?’

‘Just a lemonade will be fine. I’m not much of a boozer. My Paddy was enough to turn an alcoholic off the hard stuff,’ laughed Mary.

‘You must have a proper drink. It’s your birthday. I’ll have a proper drink too.’

‘Just a small Guinness then. Your aunt’s waving at us. I think she’s saved us a table.’

‘You sit down, Mary. I’ll bring the drinks over.’

Aunt Edna liked Mrs O’Leary and greeted her warmly. ‘Happy birthday, Mary.’ Edna handed her a card and a small gift.

‘Oh you shouldn’t have. You are silly.’

‘You’re my Queenie’s inspiration. She adores you and I for one am so pleased she has you in her life,’ beamed Edna.

Mary’s eyes welled up. She knew Queenie’s mum disliked her, so Edna’s approval touched her deeply. ‘Thanks, Edna. That truly means a lot.’

Queenie returned with the drinks, which included a pint of bitter for her aunt. When Aunt Edna was singing and playing the piano, she drank pints like they were going out of style. Not once had Queenie ever seen her drunk though. Unlike her father, Aunt Edna was a happy drinker, not a monster.

Mary took her coat off and Queenie gushed over the present she’d bought her. Green was very popular at present and the pretty frilly blouse she’d purchased from Cohen’s not only suited Mary, it was the same colour as her piercing green eyes.

‘I love it, Queenie. But you should never have spent all that money on me. You are naughty.’

Queenie squeezed Mary’s hand. ‘You’re worth every penny. I don’t know how I would’ve coped without your support and advice. You know, after what happened in Lincolnshire.’

Mary locked eyes with Queenie. ‘You’re a survivor, like me, sweetheart.’

Queenie smiled. Only Mary truly understood her. Both victims of rape, their bond was unique.

The evening was brilliant. Aunt Edna sang all her classics – ‘When Father Painted the Parlour’, ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’, ‘Sunny Side of the Street’, ‘The Lambeth Walk’, I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts’, ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ – then she called Queenie up.

Thanks to her aunt, Mary and her new job, Queenie now had much more confidence. She calmly took the mike, announced it was Mary’s birthday, sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and the whole pub joined in with her. ‘I would also like to sing my favourite song for my dear friend. Listen to the words, Mary. They were written for you.’

Queenie sang ‘You Are My Sunshine’ beautifully. Mary watched her with pride, tears streaming down her cheeks. Queenie was such a different person from that scared young girl who’d been raped. She was her own person now. A beautiful, confident, young lady with hopefully a wonderful, happy life ahead of her.

Patrick and Daniel arrived at the Albion just after ten. Both looked immaculate, as always. There was no sign of Bridie, Daniel’s girlfriend, and that pleased Queenie too.

It took the lads a while to reach their table as lots of men wanted to greet them. Their importance and aura stood out a mile.

As Patrick greeted his mother, Queenie’s heart leapt at the way Daniel looked at her. She’d made a special effort tonight, was wearing her new classy black frock from Cohen’s. ‘Bloody hell, Queenie! I didn’t recognize you at first. You look, erm, beautiful. Blonde hair suits you,’ Daniel grinned, not taking his eyes off her.

‘Thank you,’ Queenie replied meekly. She felt her cheeks burning up. He’d never looked at her like that before. She couldn’t believe her luck. Ever since their conversation in the West End, she’d thought about Daniel constantly. He was her knight in shining armour. She was sure of that.

Clocking the way her youngest was looking at Queenie, Mary piped up: ‘Don’t you be getting designs on our Queenie, son. You’re a dirty dog when it comes to women. Queenie can do far better than lumping up with a fly-by-night like you.’

The butterflies in Queenie’s stomach were fluttering enormously. If Mary had noticed it too, it could only mean one thing. Finally, she’d caught Daniel’s eye. He actually fancied her.

Queenie was in her own little bubble for the rest of the evening. She caught Daniel looking discreetly at her a few times and she felt ever so adult when he bought her a drink and she asked him for a gin and tonic. That’s what Doreen, her work friend, drank. Queenie guessed it must be pretty cool as Doreen knew all the latest fashions and trends. She didn’t particularly like the taste but found it took the edge off her nerves. Daniel’s intense gaze was making her feel all jittery.

Daniel had his posh new car outside, a black Ford Coupé super deluxe. Queenie felt like a queen as he escorted her to the car with Aunt Edna and Mary. Others leaving the pub were looking at them and the car in awe. ‘There’s no need to drop us at Aunt Edna’s. I need to pop in Mum’s to pick something up. We can walk from there. It’s only a few streets away,’ Queenie explained.

‘Pick up what you need, then I’ll drop you home,’ replied Daniel, turning to Queenie so that she got the full force of his charm. His green eyes sparkled like the Irish sea and Queenie could barely breathe. ‘A lady doesn’t make her own way home eh, Mum?’ Mary nodded approvingly beside her. ‘You and your aunt will be escorted home in style.’

Queenie and Edna both hugged Mary when they got out the car. ‘Don’t forget, it’s my birthday on Wednesday. You’re more than welcome to join us,’ Edna told Mary.

Knowing that Molly would be attending, Mary made up an excuse. She didn’t want to make things awkward.

Queenie ran indoors and picked up her old umbrella. Her new one had broken yesterday; such was the strength of the wind.

The short journey to Aunt Edna’s only took a couple of minutes by car. ‘Thank you ever so much for the lift and the drinks, Daniel,’ Aunt Edna said, as she got out the car.

‘Yes. Thanks, Daniel,’ added Queenie.

As her aunt turned her back, Daniel grabbed Queenie’s arm. ‘You seriously do look beautiful tonight. But Mum’s right: you can do so much better than me. There’s nothing I’d like more than to take you to bed right now, Queenie, but there are some girls you bed and others you marry and one day, Queenie Wade …’ Daniel pulled her small hand to his mouth and kissed it gently, ‘one day, Queenie. Hopefully you will be mine.’

Queenie’s heart exploded into a thousand pieces but no words would come out of her mouth. She was shocked, in an over-the-moon way. Daniel O’Leary would be hers, even if she had to wait until the end of the decade to have him.

Hearing her aunt calling, Queenie scrambled out of the car. ‘Goodnight, Daniel.’

The following Wednesday, Queenie rushed home to her aunt’s with a spring in her step. She’d been on cloud nine ever since Friday night. Even though she hadn’t seen Daniel in the meantime, she had barely eaten or slept for mooning over him. She didn’t feel tired, however, or hungry, just so happy.

‘Happy Birthday, Aunt Edna.’ Queenie gave her aunt a big hug. ‘I didn’t want to wake you this morning as I heard you come in really late.’

‘Oh, I had a right result last night with the cards. Wiped the floor with all the men. He weren’t happy, that Billy Timpson. Had the right hump,’ chuckled Edna.

Queenie smiled. When she wasn’t singing, Aunt Edna was gambling. Every Saturday daytime she’d run to and from the local illegal bookie, and more often than not she’d win. Lots of locals called her ‘Lucky Edna’ and the men were always asking her for tips. ‘I didn’t know what to get you, but I’m sure you’re gonna like this,’ Queenie said, handing her aunt her present. It was her very own tankard with EDNA’S PINT engraved on the front.

Edna rolled up. ‘I bleedin’ well love it, Queenie! No bastard’ll be nicking my drink any more. You’re a star, my girl. So thoughtful.’

‘What’s for dinner?’

‘The last of the lamb stew from yesterday. Dumplings are fresh though.’

‘Lovely. I’ll eat that, then get ready. Mum’ll be round at eight.’

‘Smashing. Big Al starts singing at nine, so we’ll get round there a bit beforehand. So kind of ’em to throw me a party. They didn’t have to.’ Edna sang in the Albion two nights a week and also on a Sunday lunchtime. The landlord and his wife were a lovely couple and Edna had been chuffed to bits when they told her they were celebrating her birthday with a party. Thirty-nine, she was today. Yet still felt twenty-one at heart.

‘Everyone loves you, Aunt Edna. Well, apart from the men you play cards with and the bookies,’ laughed Queenie.

‘They don’t call me Lucky Edna for nothing, ya know.’

Little did Edna know as she uttered those words, she’d used all her luck up.

‘You look nice, Mum,’ said Queenie. Her mother never made an effort as a rule, but tonight she was wearing a floral dress under her brown winter coat. She’d also applied a bit of blusher and lipstick, which was unusual.

‘Thanks, love. Happy birthday, Edna,’ Molly said, handing her sister a card, some chocolate and sweets. ‘Sorry I couldn’t afford anything more.’

‘Don’t be so daft, Moll. You know what a sweet tooth I’ve got. I wouldn’t be this bleedin’ size otherwise,’ laughed Edna.

‘You look lovely, Aunt Edna,’ Queenie said genuinely. Even though her aunt was a big lady, she had a beautiful face and smile. Queenie couldn’t imagine her thin and was sure it wouldn’t suit her.

‘Is it still OK if I sleep ’ere tonight, Edna?’ asked Molly. ‘Vivvy’s staying round at Mary Moggins, and me and Eric had a big barney last night. Berlin was bombed the day before, weren’t it? Eric’s adamant I shouldn’t come out tonight. He fears reprisals. Ya know what he’s like.’

‘Not drinking again, is he?’ asked Edna.

‘No. He’s even got himself a better job in a factory. But he’s obsessed with the war and listening to the bleedin’ radio. That and newspapers. He has no other interests these days.’

‘You stay ’ere with us, Mum,’ smiled Queenie. ‘My boss at work was talking about reprisals today too. But as Aunt Edna says, we just have to carry on our lives as normal.’

‘Too right we bleedin’ will. Sod Hitler and his not so merry men. Us East Enders ain’t frightened of no bastard. Right, we ready?’ grinned Edna. ‘It’s party time!’

Queenie was jovially chatting to her mum and aunt about work when there was a blackout. Seconds later, the sirens sounded.

‘Gawd stone the crows!’ gasped Edna.

‘Run,’ yelled Molly.

Queenie could not see properly, but was aware of the panic around her. Everywhere she turned, people were running for their lives.

Bethnal Green tube station was the nearest shelter and as Molly grabbed her daughter’s hand, she heard that formidable noise. The whirring, buzzing, the sounds of bombs dropping from the sky. ‘Run, Queenie. Run!’ shrieked Molly.

There was shouting, screaming, children sobbing, dogs barking as Queenie ran through the dark streets in the same direction as everyone else. It was mayhem and she could not help but feel scared. Not for herself, mind; she was far more worried about Viv, Mary, Patrick and Daniel. Were they running towards a shelter too? she wondered.

‘We’ve lost Edna. Where is she?’ Molly panted. She wasn’t used to running, was completely out of breath.

Queenie let go of her mother’s hand and tried to turn around. It was impossible though. They were nearing the entrance of the station and the crowds were surging towards them. Not all were panicking, but the women with children were.

As Queenie and Molly got lifted off their feet by the stampeding crowd behind, they found themselves inside the station and almost tumbled down the steps. ‘Aunt Edna. Aunt Edna,’ Queenie bellowed. Her voice could not be heard though. There were far too many other voices also shouting for their loved ones.

Recognizing someone she knew, Molly turned around and grabbed him. ‘You seen Edna, my sister?’

‘No, Molly. You seen my mum? I got separated from her. She’s seventy-four, for Christ’s sake.’

Guessing that, because of her size, Edna couldn’t run as fast as most, Queenie had her eyes glued to the hordes of people trampling down the slippery steps. The lighting inside the station was dismal and the atmosphere claustrophobic as it began to fill.

‘Aunt Edna! Aunt Edna!’ Queenie yelled, frantically waving her arms in the air. Relief flooded through her as she spotted Edna among the crowd being herded like cattle down the steps.

All of a sudden, Queenie heard a commotion behind her. She turned to see a scuffle, and as she turned back, she saw a woman fall down the last few steps with a child in her arms. An elderly man then fell on top of her and mayhem followed.

Queenie screamed as people, including her aunt, tumbled like dominoes on top of each other. ‘Aunt Edna,’ she cried. ‘Aunt Edna.’

‘Do something, someone. Stop the crowds coming,’ shrieked Molly.

But there was nothing anybody could do. The crowds just kept coming, then falling. Queenie sobbed. People were squashed, many dying in front of her very eyes, and Aunt Edna was at the bottom of the pile.

Overcome by the horror of knowing her sister was one of the fallen, Molly Wade fainted.

‘Mum,’ Queenie screamed. ‘Mum, wake up!’

Queenie stood inside the station, one of the many who had loved ones missing. Her mum was in a terrible state. She couldn’t stop trembling, neither could she speak.

Apparently, a single off-duty police officer had halted the chaos. He’d heard all the screaming and shouting and had stopped anybody else from entering the station.

There were lots of rumours flying around. A man behind Queenie was telling everyone that it wasn’t bombs being dropped by the Germans that had caused the chaos. It was the new anti-aircraft rockets being launched for our own protection and the government were to blame as they should have pre-warned us what was going on.

Another rumour said the stampede was caused by a pickpocket, but Queenie didn’t care what started it. All she could think about was her aunt. She could only hope and pray that Aunt Edna’s size might have saved her life.

After the many injured were taken away, bodies were pulled from the scene. Tears flowed freely. There was a dead woman, still holding her dead baby in her arms. So many looked dead, lots of them children. It was awful. Heartbreaking. It was Aunt Edna’s birthday too, thought Queenie.

As the bodies were taken outside by the men, Queenie felt sick. ‘Talk to me, Mum. Please,’ urged Queenie.

But Molly couldn’t talk. She was too traumatized.

As a gap to the left of the stairs opened up, a policeman urged the women and children to form an orderly queue and leave the station. As she filed past the lifeless bodies, Queenie glanced to the right but couldn’t spot Aunt Edna. One of the first to fall, she was too near the bottom of the heap to be visible.

Once outside the station, Queenie gulped in the fresh air, then watched in horror as each body that was brought out had a bucket of cold water thrown over it, to see if it would trigger any signs of life. One man sat up, but the majority just lay there lifeless, the cold water dripping off them.

‘Take Mum down to St John’s church, Queenie,’ urged Mrs Simpson. ‘That’s where the bodies are being taken for identification. You don’t wanna be watching this, love. I’ll come down there with you.’

Mrs Simpson lived not far from her mum in Whitechapel. Grateful to see a familiar face, Queenie held one of her mum’s arms, Mrs Simpson held the other and they led Molly away from the chaotic scenes. ‘My Aunt Edna, I saw her fall. She’s near the bottom,’ Queenie blurted out.

‘Oh no, Queenie. I’m so sorry,’ replied Mrs Simpson.

‘I’m hoping, ’cause she’s fat, it might have saved her,’ Queenie explained, her lip trembling.

Mrs Simpson doubted anyone near the bottom of the pile could have survived. But there was no point in saying that. All she could do was be there for Molly and young Queenie. ‘Miracles do happen. All we can do is pray. I’ll stay with you until we find out what’s happened to your aunt.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Simpson.’

The bodies were brought into the church by the men who’d been told by the police to help out. Adults were carried by two men, children were carried by one.

Having lost track of time, Queenie had no idea how long she’d been at the church. She felt numb. Her mum still hadn’t said a word. It was as though she’d been struck dumb.

Queenie waited and waited, praying for a miracle, then she saw four men walking towards her, obviously struggling to carry the body. Instinct told Queenie that was her aunt. She ran towards them. ‘That’s my aunt. Is she alive? Please tell me she is.’

‘I’m afraid not, darling,’ said one of the men. ‘None of ’em survived near the bottom of the pile. Tragic.’

When her aunt’s body was dumped on the floor of the church alongside many others, Queenie knelt beside her and held her hand. She looked a bit bruised, but she wasn’t flattened or anything. She just looked like she was sleeping. ‘Wake up, Aunt Edna. Please wake up. It’s your birthday,’ Queenie wept.

Aunt Edna lay lifeless. She would’ve loved to have woken up, such was her zest for life, but she couldn’t. The life she’d loved so much had been crushed out of her.

Queenie sat on the church steps. There were ten or so kids playing in the rubble, playing tag, screaming with excitement. Oblivious to the death and destruction going on around them. That had been her not so long ago. Mucking around in the streets with Viv and her mates without a care in the world.

Queenie steeled herself. She would miss Aunt Edna dreadfully, but knew she had to be brave. Mum and Vivvy would need her strength to get through this.

‘I miss my Seamus every day, but I refuse to mourn him. I only allow myself to remember the good times. Shedding tears for the dead doesn’t bring them back, Queenie. So save your tears for the fecking living,’ Mrs O’Leary had said to her only yesterday.

Queenie stood up. Mrs O’Leary was right. She’d run out of tears anyway, had none left to cry.

PART TWO

‘From the end spring new beginnings’

Pliny the Elder

CHAPTER EIGHT

When you think of the dead at war, you think of boys in the trenches or in the fields, not of my Aunt Edna who died needlessly. There were no bombs dropped that night. The blackout, sirens, weird whirring noises were all part of new anti-aircraft rockets, supposedly being launched for our own protection by the government. I was furious. Why hadn’t anyone informed us of what was going on? As if us East Enders hadn’t been through enough already.

There was a total media blackout of the truth. No mention in the newspapers or on radio stations. Twenty-seven men, eighty-four women and sixty-two children was the final death toll, the youngest being a five-month-old baby. We only learned the actual death toll via neighbours, nurses and local bobbies. I heard rumours that those in authority had tried to bribe young children, offering five-pound notes to them if they’d keep their trap shut. My aunt’s body had been taken from that church and chucked on the back of a lorry like a bag of bloody coal. I couldn’t forgive our government and neither would I be able to forget.

Mrs O’Leary helped me clear out Aunt Edna’s home and it was Mary who found just over two hundred quid stuffed in an envelope under the mattress. That enabled me to give my aunt the send-off she deserved. I chose a smart coffin and abided by my aunt’s wishes. Even though I’d have loved to have chosen a nice headstone and been able to visit her grave, Aunt Edna had a terrible phobia of creepy crawlies, especially worms, and she’d told me and Mum numerous times that, if she were to die during the war, her wish was to be cremated.

I took Mary’s advice and never told anyone else about the small fortune we’d found. ‘I’ll keep it safe at mine for you, Queenie. Don’t be giving your mum the money if she’s not thinking straight. Your father’s bound to get his mucky hands on it if you do,’ warned Mary.

I knew Mary was right. I guessed it must be gambling winnings and I knew Aunt Edna wouldn’t want my father to waste it. She’d hated him. So I decided whenever Mum needed anything, I would give her the money in dribs and drabs and pretend it was wages I’d saved. I paid housekeeping money now anyway, to help out with the rent and bills.

Aunt Edna’s funeral was very sad, yet it showed her popularity. Hundreds of people turned up – so many that most of them couldn’t find room inside the church. Mum and Viv were in bits, but I managed to hold it together and read a eulogy. My aunt had been so good to me. It was the least I could do for her.

I hated sleeping back at home. My nightmares returned. They weren’t about that monster Ivan any more though. They were about the stampede, people getting crushed. I could see Aunt Edna clearly in my dreams, reaching out to me, a look of panic on her face, and me desperately trying to reach her.

I wasn’t the only one having bad dreams. Both Mum and Dad would wake Viv and me up, screaming and shouting. It truly was the house of bloody nightmares. Horrible.

Then finally some good news. The family upstairs were moving out. I urged Mum to tell the landlord we could afford to rent the whole house again, now I was working and Dad had a job in a factory that paid a steady wage. The landlord agreed, providing a deposit was paid up front in case we fell behind with the rent again. I paid the deposit out of Aunt Edna’s money. I was elated to have my old bedroom back. So was Viv.

But, as usual in my world, good news was accompanied by bad. That same day I found out the landlord had agreed, I ran over to Mrs O’Leary to tell her the good news and collect some of Edna’s cash.

Mary opened the door holding her rosary beads, her eyes red. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’ I asked.

Mary led me into what she called her best room. ‘It’s Daniel. He’s only gone and got his new bird, Bridie, in the family way. I warned him to be careful. Now he’s lumbered himself for life. He don’t love her. I know he don’t. He’s been seeing another girl behind poor Bridie’s back.’

My heart sank. I fell backwards onto the sofa. I’d so wanted to marry Daniel, have his children. I was gobsmacked. Dreaming of a future with Daniel was all that had kept me going through the bad times, even though I knew he dated other girls.

Mary squeezed my hand, as always knowing more than I realized. ‘You’ve had a lucky escape, darling, trust me. He’ll not make a good husband.’

A month later, Daniel and Bridie got married. I feigned illness. No way could I watch the man I loved marry another. My future was over. Why was life so bloody cruel to me?

Nine Months Later
New Year’s Eve 1943

‘Oh come on, Queenie. It’s New Year’s Eve, for goodness’ sake. You have to come to the pub with us,’ urged eighteen-year-old Doreen Laine.

‘Doreen’s right, Queenie. Even I’m going and I rarely go to pubs. My dad said he’ll pick me up, so he can drop you off home too. You won’t have to walk all that way,’ added Eliza, the boss’s daughter.

Doreen smirked. ‘There’ll be lots of handsome men there and I can show you the one I’ve got my eye on. Please come. It’ll be fun and you never know, you might meet the man of your dreams. I won’t leave you again if that’s what you’re worried about. I promise.’

The only time Queenie had been out with Doreen was on her birthday. They’d got chatting to two strapping American servicemen. Doreen got sloshed, disappeared with one and the other insisted on walking Queenie home. On the way, he tried it on. He dragged Queenie down an alleyway, stuck his tongue down her throat and grabbed her tits. Petrified, Queenie had kneed him where it hurt the most and run for her life. She’d vowed there and then never to go out with Doreen again.

‘Please come, Queenie,’ urged Eliza. ‘It won’t be the same without you.’

Queenie rolled her eyes. Pubs reminded her of Aunt Edna, which was why she disliked going to them. She knew her aunt would want her to go out and enjoy herself though. ‘OK. You’ve twisted my arm. But I haven’t a clue what to wear.’

On the journey home, Queenie couldn’t help but feel excited about her spur-of-the-moment decision. She had recently turned seventeen and this would be the first New Year’s Eve she’d celebrated in a pub with friends. Watching Daniel O’Leary walk around with his new wife by his side hurt Queenie more than she could ever admit, but she was determined to show everyone in Whitechapel that she was getting on with her life as if nothing had happened.

Queenie opened her bag and ran her fingers over the pretty navy and white polka-dot dress. It was lovely material and by far the nicest thing she’d ever treated herself to. It was also only the second item she’d purchased for herself from the shop where she worked. Mr Cohen had been ever so kind, allowing her to buy the dress at cost price. Most of their customers were wealthy Jewish women and Queenie now knew why Mr Cohen lived in a posh house in North London and drove a Pontiac Streamliner. The mark-up on his dresses was immense.

Thinking about Doreen’s words, Queenie hoped there would be plenty of handsome men to choose from this evening. She’d been asked out on a few dates, but none of those men had met the criteria she was looking for. Only five foot three herself, she was determined any potential suitor must be tall, like Daniel. She didn’t want short kids. She also didn’t want girls; she wanted big strapping sons who would grow up to protect her, like Daniel and Patrick. Daniel had a child now, a daughter. Queenie was glad it wasn’t a boy. She’d have been even more jealous had it been. Mary kept urging her to go out with the girls, find the man of her dreams.

Picturing Clark Gable, her favourite actor, Queenie smiled. Tall, dark and handsome, that’s the type of man she wanted. He had to be kind too, and a good provider. And having seen what alcohol did to her father, she would be steering well clear of drunks.

‘What you all dressed up for? Where you going?’ exclaimed fourteen-year-old Vivian.

‘To a pub, with Doreen and Eliza from work. Do I look all right?’

Vivian studied her older sister. They used to look very much alike, everybody said so. Slim, petite, with the same mousy-brown hair, worn shoulder length. But Queenie had dyed her hair blonde now and she had breasts. She looked so pretty in her beautiful dress that had a tight bodice, Vivian could not help but feel a bit envious. ‘But what if Dad comes home drunk and starts on Mum? What am I meant to do if I’m alone and you’re out?’

Queenie squeezed her sister’s hand. Their father had fallen off the wagon in spectacular fashion over Christmas. ‘I’ll be home not long after midnight. Just sit with Mum, and if Dad gets home before me, come up here and put the radio on like we usually do.’

Vivian scowled as her sister hugged her goodbye. Once upon a time, she and Queenie were inseparable and spent all their spare time together. Now Queenie was all grown-up, had a new life and friends. Vivian didn’t like that, not one little bit.

Doreen was waiting at the station when Queenie arrived. ‘Oh Queenie, you look amazing in that frock, but why the pale lipstick? Here, put some of mine on. Bright red gets you noticed.’

Queenie allowed her friend to apply the lipstick. Doreen Laine was five foot six and with her high heels on, looked like a giant in comparison to herself. She had short blonde hair and an aura about her – until she opened her red lips and started swearing like a trooper. Men seemed to adore her though. Doreen turned the heads of males even when she was working.

When Joseph turned up in his posh car with Eliza in the front, Queenie felt very grown-up as her boss dropped them off at the Beehive. Joseph stuffed some money in Eliza’s hand, warned them all not to get drunk, but insisted the drinks were on him this evening.

On entering the pub, Queenie clocked a group of lads looking their way. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they were an odd-looking set of friends. Doreen was the stunner. She was the average one, and poor Eliza bordered on ugly with her squat, plump body topped by a mass of fuzzy hair.

The atmosphere in the pub was one of jubilance. The East End had been through so much since the war had begun, but all that bastard Hitler had achieved was to make an already tight-knit community even stronger. The war might not be won yet, but everybody believed that England would defeat the Germans at all costs.

‘What shall we have to drink?’ Eliza asked, waving a ten-shilling note in the air.

‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ Doreen shouted. The pub was ever so noisy.

‘I’ll have the same,’ Queenie smiled. She’d rarely drunk alcohol in the past, would actually prefer lemonade, but didn’t want to come across as immature in front of Doreen.

When a few American servicemen strutted over and began chatting to the girls, Queenie nervously sipped her drink. Two of them were extremely handsome, and tall, but Mrs O’Leary had warned her not to have anything to do with them. ‘Lily Turner’s eldest daughter and Clara Miller’s niece both got in the family way with American servicemen. You steer well clear, Queenie. They only want one thing, and most of them probably have girlfriends and wives back home,’ were Mary’s exact words. Queenie had reassured her friend there was no way she’d have anything to do with them after having been dragged into an alley by one.

‘Let’s make our way over to the piano. That’s where the bloke I like usually stands.’ Doreen craned her neck. ‘I can’t see him in ’ere at the moment though.’

‘What’s his name? This mystery man of yours,’ enquired Eliza.

‘I don’t know. I’ve only been in here twice before, with that Roger I dumped. He’s ever so good looking and always surrounded by fluttering females. You wait until you hear him sing. He’s got a lovely voice. I do hope he turns up. I’m assuming it’s his local.’

‘Let’s get this party started, shall we?’ bellowed the jolly-looking male pianist. There were whoops of delight as ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ kicked off the evening’s entertainment. Queenie smiled. Aunt Edna sometimes used to start with ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’. Mary was always telling her to look out for signs. Perhaps this was one?

By 10 p.m., Queenie had already decided that this was the best night out she’d ever had. As much as she loved her mum, sister and Mary, it was wonderful to be able to temporarily forget about her shitty home-life and enjoy being a teenager with girls of a similar age.

‘That bloke’s looking at you again, Queenie. I bet he comes over in a minute,’ nudged Doreen. The pianist was taking a well-earned break, so they could hear themselves speak at last.

‘He’s got a kind face, Queenie. Nice eyes too,’ added Eliza.

Queenie turned her back on the lad in question. Dressed in a shirt, braces and checked cap, he reminded Queenie of one of the barrow boys off the market. ‘He’s not my type. I’m not interested.’

‘How can you say that without even talking to him?’ Eliza chuckled. She didn’t get any attention from blokes, but that didn’t bother her. Her parents expected her to marry a nice Jewish lad and had a list of possible suitors for her to meet next year.

‘He’s coming over,’ Doreen lied.

Queenie glanced around, then playfully punched her pal on the arm. ‘You fibber,’ she laughed. In her stunning red frock with lipstick to match, Doreen was getting plenty of male attention. ‘Why didn’t you like that chap who bought us a drink? I thought he was cheeky-looking,’ Queenie asked.

‘Not my cup of tea, and he’s a coalman. Imagine a man coming home every night covered in soot from head to foot. Sod that. I’d lock him out the bastard house,’ Doreen laughed. She came from an extremely rough family in Poplar, but like Queenie, was determined to better herself. She spoke nicely when working at the shop serving all those respectable Jewish women. Well, apart from that time she’d stubbed her toe in front of Mrs Rosenthal and a ‘fuck’ had accidentally flown out of her gob.

‘I’ll get us another drink. I’m having a lemonade now. What do you two want?’ asked Eliza.

‘Gin and tonic again for me, please,’ replied Doreen.

Queenie didn’t reply. She was fixated on a man in a smart suit who had obviously only just arrived, as people were greeting him and shaking his hand. His hair was black and he had a twinkle in his eyes. He was very handsome and at least six foot tall, but most importantly, he reminded her of Daniel.

‘Who you gawping at?’ Doreen asked, before turning around. She gripped Queenie’s arm. ‘Oh my God! The man. That’s him. Look, the one standing next to that chap in the trilby. He’s wearing a dark suit.’

Queenie’s heart sank. ‘What! Is that the one you fancy?’

Doreen beamed from ear to ear. ‘Yes. I didn’t think he was going to turn up. I must pop to the ladies to powder my nose. Hold my drink for me.’

When Doreen shot off, Queenie stared at the man again. She wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of snaring him if Doreen had designs on him, that was for sure.

‘I think you should have a soft drink now, Doreen, like Queenie and me. You’re looking rather tipsy and my dad will be ever so angry if you’re sick in his car,’ Eliza warned as the evening wore on.

Doreen flung her arm in the air. She felt heady with excitement since her mystery man had arrived and was trying to pluck up the courage to talk to him. ‘I’m not drunk and I promise I won’t be sick. I’ll have another gin. Honest, I’m fine.’

Queenie thought the pianist was fantastic. He played and sang along to all the songs she’d sung over and over again with her aunt. He also called others up to sing. A middle-aged lady had given a brilliant rendition of Gracie Field’s ‘Sally’, and an elderly gentleman had sung ‘The Lambeth Walk’ in spectacular fashion. He’d even done a little dance to it with his walking stick.

‘Can I have my old mucker, Albie, up ’ere to give us a song,’ bellowed the pianist. Queenie held her breath as Albie brushed past her. So that was his name solved.

‘I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter’ was Albie’s song choice and Doreen was right about his voice. There was a silky tone to it and he sang the song beautifully, effortlessly.

Doreen arrived back from the bar. ‘Told you, didn’t I? Wasn’t he just born to sing? I think I’m in love.’

‘His name’s Albie,’ Eliza informed Doreen.

‘I must talk to him. I have to find out if he’s single,’ Doreen replied. She didn’t usually get nervous around men, but Albie made her heart beat wildly.

After receiving a rapturous round of applause, the pianist played another song, then counted down from twenty, shouted ‘Happy New Year’ before handing the mike back to Albie, who sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Everybody grouped together while singing along. Queenie even held the hand of the lad in the cap and braces who’d been eyeing her up all evening. He introduced himself as Terry afterwards, and Queenie was even less impressed when she realized he was also a coalman and the hair poking out from under his hat was ginger. She certainly didn’t want ginger children. They’d get picked on at school like Sally Sharp in her class. So when he asked her out, she politely declined.

‘We’d better stand outside soon. My dad won’t want to come in looking for us,’ said Eliza. She wasn’t a regular pub-goer, but had felt comfortable in the Beehive because there were some fellow Jewish people. She’d even recognized a couple of ladies who came into the shop.

‘Just let me talk to Albie first. I have to,’ Doreen insisted, grabbing Queenie’s arm.

‘He’s talking to some men. You can’t just bowl over there and interrupt the conversation,’ Queenie warned. Doreen was more than tipsy now. She was unsteady on her feet in those high heels of hers.

Queenie didn’t have much choice in the matter when Doreen literally dragged her over to where Albie was standing. ‘Excuse me. I’m sorry for butting in, but I just wanted to tell you what a bloody good singer you are,’ Doreen slurred.

Queenie blushed. This was awfully embarrassing. But she could not take her eyes off Albie’s. They were the most powerful green she had ever seen. Striking. He truly did resemble Daniel in many ways, apart from being a bit skinny. Daniel was very stocky in comparison.

‘Why thank you, ma’am,’ Albie grinned. ‘I’m singing from nine until eleven in here next Friday, if you fancy hearing more of my dulcet tones,’ he chuckled.

‘And you have beautiful eyes,’ Doreen gushed.

At that point, Queenie cringed. She was determined to let Albie know she wasn’t drunk too. ‘Come on, Doreen. We must go now. Joseph will be waiting for us.’

‘Joseph’s my boss, not my boyfriend. What’s your name?’ Doreen hiccupped. She wanted to find out his surname.

‘Albie. Albie Butler.’

‘I’m Doreen Laine and this is my friend, Queenie Wade. We work in Cohen’s ladies’ fashion shop in the Roman Road. Have you got a girlfriend or wife? Only we sell lovely dresses if you have.’

‘Nope. I’m still up for grabs.’ Even the men standing with Albie were laughing now. They were used to their pal getting lots of female attention, but this one was so forward and inebriated, she was extra funny.

Eliza appeared by Queenie’s side. ‘My father is outside. We really have to leave now.’

‘Bye, ladies. It’s been a pleasure talking to you,’ Albie smiled.

‘We are so sorry to have interrupted your conversation, gentlemen,’ Queenie replied politely.

Albie winked at her. ‘No problem. I’ll hopefully see you next weekend.’

Queenie grabbed Doreen by the arm. Eliza grabbed her friend’s other arm, so she wouldn’t stumble.

On the journey home, Queenie felt a warm glow inside. She’d had the most amazing evening.

She glanced at her sleeping friend. Surely by being so drunk and cringe-worthy, Doreen had blown any chance she might have had with Albie? Men didn’t like lushes, they liked ladies, her mum had always drummed into her.

Albie had winked at her, not Doreen. He’d also said to her, ‘I’ll hopefully see you next weekend.’

The following day, Queenie couldn’t wait to tell someone her news. Her mum had been in a world of her own since Aunt Edna’s death, Viv was too young, so Queenie got dressed and dashed over to Mrs O’Leary’s.

‘Well, well, well, a certain young lady looks radiant today. Tell me all about him,’ laughed Mary.

‘How did you know I was going to tell you about a man?’

‘Because I’m clever. Come on, spill the beans.’

Queenie couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she gabbled the whole story of her wonderful night out. ‘And you know you told me to look out for signs from Aunt Edna. The first song the pianist sang was “Bye Bye Blackbird”. Aunt Edna often started her sessions with that song too. D’ya reckon it was a sign?’

‘Without a doubt. That’s your aunt’s way of showing her approval that you’re finally out enjoying yourself. Not before time too, might I add. We can’t change the past, Queenie, but we can certainly strive for a better future.’

‘I know Aunt Edna would approve of Albie’s voice. He sings so well, Mary.’

‘How old is Albie, would you say?’

‘Older than me. About the same age as Daniel, I’d guess. He actually reminds me a bit of Daniel. He has black hair and bright green eyes too.’

‘Sweet Jesus! Let’s hope he treats his women better than my Daniel. A roving eye, my son has, that’s for sure.’ Mary craned her neck. ‘Speak of the Devil. He’s just pulled up outside. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Usually, Queenie would avoid visiting Mary when Daniel and Bridie came by, or excuse herself and quickly leave if they turned up unexpectedly. It was time she grew up though, so she smiled as Daniel and Bridie walked in with the baby. ‘Happy New Year to you all.’

Daniel bent down and kissed Queenie on the cheek. ‘Happy New Year.’

Queenie stood up and looked inside the baby’s pram. Emily, they’d called the child, and she looked nothing like Daniel. She was fair like Bridie. ‘Ahh, she’s gorgeous. She’s got so big since I last saw her.’

‘That’s probably ’cause you usually do a runner as soon as we arrive,’ winked Daniel.

Queenie felt herself blush. ‘No. I don’t. It’s just I had to be somewhere the last time you visited,’ she lied.

‘What about the time before that then?’ Daniel goaded playfully.

‘Stop teasing my dear friend,’ Mary chuckled, putting the tea tray on the table. ‘Our Queenie went out with the girls from work last night and has met a potential suitor, haven’t you, darling?’

Queenie felt embarrassed. ‘Erm, I wouldn’t go that far just yet, Mary. Let’s wait and see if he asks me out first.’

‘Well, he’d be silly not to. He won’t be asking that lush of a friend of yours out now, that’s for sure,’ Mary grinned. ‘Men don’t like drunken women, do they, Daniel?’

‘No. That’s why I married Bridie,’ Daniel replied, slinging a casual arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘So who’s this geezer then, Queenie? Where did you meet him?’

‘None of your bloody business.’ Mary winked at Queenie. ‘You tell him nothing, sweetheart. The nosy toerag.’

Queenie drank her tea and then said her goodbyes.

Daniel saw Queenie out. ‘Who is he then, this bloke?’

‘Nobody you’d know.’

‘If he’s worth knowing I will.’

‘My love life has nothing to do with you, Daniel.’

Daniel grabbed Queenie’s arm and teasingly stared her in the eyes. ‘I still care about you, ya know.’

Queenie snatched her arm away. ‘Go back inside to your wife and child. They’re your responsibility, not me.’

CHAPTER NINE

Queenie went back to work on the Monday with a spring in her step. She’d thought a lot about Albie over the weekend, but had thought even more about Daniel. It broke her heart to see him play happy families with a woman he clearly didn’t love, but it was definitely time to move on.

Her mum had warned her not to get too carried away. ‘You barely know anything about the man, love. Wait and see if he asks you out on a date first. I rushed into things with your father and look where that got me.’

Doreen was very sheepish on her arrival. ‘Whatever did I do and say? It’s all a bit blurry. I wish you’d stopped me drinking gin.’

‘I tried to,’ laughed Eliza.

‘You weren’t that bad, mate, honest,’ Queenie lied. ‘Albie and his mates liked you, they thought you were funny, didn’t they, Eliza?’

Eliza nodded.

‘Do you remember Albie inviting us to go back there next Friday to watch him sing?’ asked Queenie.

‘Yes. But I’m not going. I feel far too embarrassed.’

Queenie’s heart sank. Apart from Daniel, she’d thought of nothing else but seeing Albie again. ‘Oh don’t be so daft, Dor. Half the bloody pub were paralytic. It was New Year’s Eve, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Why you so keen to go back there? You got your eye on someone an’ all?’

Feeling herself blush, Queenie gabbled her words. ‘There were lots of handsome men and I had such a great time, I just want to go there again. Never going to meet a man if I don’t go out, am I?’

Doreen raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ve been telling you that for ages.’

Over the next month, unbeknown to Doreen, Queenie made up with Aggie Brown, her next-door neighbour. The reason being, she needed someone to drag up the Beehive on a Friday night. A plain girl with freckles and a nose slightly too big for her face, Aggie had developed an enormous crush on Terry, the lad in the cap and braces who’d asked Queenie out on New Year’s Eve.

Queenie found out a bit more about Albie. He was twenty-four and even though he was always surrounded by females, he didn’t seem to be courting anyone in particular. He definitely liked blondes though. Queenie would study him to see who he was singing to or eyeing up. He always spoke to herself and Aggie. Albie was a very polite and an extremely popular chap. Queenie could not help but feel frustrated though. She was getting nowhere fast.

Because she worked Saturdays, Tuesday was Queenie’s day off and when she arrived at work on the Wednesday, she was in for an unwelcome surprise.

‘Guess where we’re going on Friday to celebrate Eliza’s birthday?’ Doreen grinned.

‘No idea,’ Queenie replied.

‘The Beehive! Eliza said her dad will drop us off home again. I’m gonna treat myself to a new outfit and a new hairstyle. I’m determined to make a good impression on Albie Butler this time.’

Queenie had that feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. The thought of Doreen impressing Albie was bad enough, but say someone put their foot in it and asked where Aggie was? How the hell was she meant to explain that one?’

‘What’s the matter? You don’t look too happy. I thought you’d be pleased we were going back there. It was Eliza’s idea actually, not mine. But I’m determined to get my man this time. It’s weeks since Albie saw me pissed and time is a healer, so they say,’ Doreen chuckled.

‘I am happy. It’s just I promised my friend Aggie I’d go out with her this weekend and I don’t want to let her down. We only made up recently.’

‘Bring Aggie with you, Queenie,’ Eliza smiled. ‘There’s plenty of room in Dad’s car. The more the merrier.’

The evening before her dreaded night out, Queenie sat in front of the fire with her mum.

‘What’s up, love? You’re not yourself tonight,’ Molly remarked.

Needing to unburden herself, Queenie blurted everything out. ‘I just feel like I’m wasting my time, Mum. I can’t compete with the likes of Doreen. You should see her new hairstyle and outfit. She’s even bought one of those posh cigarette holders, and she’s painted a black line in pen down the back of her stockings. She looks like a bloody film star.’

Molly put her knitting down. ‘Now, now, I’m not having any more of this defeatist talk. You’re a beautiful young woman, Queenie, with your whole life ahead of you, and if Albie Butler is too blind to see it, then that’s his bleedin’ loss. As for your mate Doreen, beauty’s only skin deep. She has a mouth like a sewer and drinks like your father, by the sounds of it. If Albie chooses her, then he was never the man for you in the first place.’

Queenie was about to reply when her father staggered through the door and collapsed in a heap on the threadbare armchair. ‘Where’s my dinner, woman?’ he slurred.

When her mum dashed into the kitchen like a skivvy, Queenie took herself upstairs.

An hour later, Queenie and Viv lay in silence as they listened to the horrid noises coming from their parents’ bedroom. Their father was grunting like the pig he was.

Viv propped herself up on her elbow. ‘I’m not sure I want to get married, Queenie.’

Queenie stroked her sister’s face. ‘I know what you mean, but when we get married it’ll be different. We’ll choose good men, not a bad one like Mum did.’

‘But we’ll still be forced to have sex with them, won’t we? I don’t think I’m going to like sex. It sounds awful.’

‘I know it does. But hopefully with a good man it won’t be so bad. We have to do it if we want to have babies.’

Vivian breathed deeply. The noises had stopped now. ‘Night, Queenie.’

‘Night, Vivvy. Sleep tight and don’t let those bed bugs bite.’

Arriving home the following evening, Vivian was peeved to see her sister all done up to the nines again.

‘You look all dirty and sweaty, Viv. What you been up to?’ asked Queenie, as she carefully applied her eye-liner.

‘Playing rounders with Mary Moggins and Nelly Brown. You’re not going out again, are you?’ Vivian snapped.

Queenie swung around and held her sister’s dirty hands. ‘I’m seventeen now, Viv. I’m too old to be playing rounders and hopscotch. You’ve got Mary and Nelly to play with, haven’t you? I know you’ve got a cob on because I’ve started going out on a Friday night. But I’m just at a different stage of my life than you. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. You’ll always be my number one best friend. Just think, in a year or so, you’ll be working and as soon as you look old enough, we can go to the pub together.’

‘Really? What, on our own? Without Doreen? I don’t mind Aggie so much.’

Queenie smiled. It was only natural Vivvy was a bit jealous. She’d probably be the same, if the boot was on the other foot. ‘Yes, really. Without Doreen. Never forget, blood is thicker than water, Sis.’

It was Queenie’s idea that she and Aggie get to the pub early, so they could get all their hellos to the regulars out of the way before Eliza and Doreen arrived.

Bagging their usual table, Aggie Brown was beyond herself with excitement when Terry Marney kept looking over and smiling, then approached her and offered to buy herself and Queenie a drink.

‘I told you he kept staring at you last week,’ Queenie said, genuinely pleased for Aggie. ‘I bet he asks you on a date before the evening is over.’

Eliza and Doreen turned up just after eight. Queenie stood up, hugged both and introduced them to Aggie. ‘Aggie comes here quite often, so knows a lot of people in here. She’s been introducing me to some.’

‘Ooh, do you know Albie Butler?’ asked Doreen.

‘Yes. He’s a nice chap. His fiancée is lovely too. He’s singing in here tonight,’ Aggie replied, repeating word for word what Queenie had told her to say.

‘Albie’s engaged?’ Doreen exclaimed.

‘As far as I know, yes. To Suzanne,’ Aggie replied.

Queenie wanted to laugh at the look of shock on Doreen’s face, but obviously couldn’t, so instead insisted she get the first drink. In Queenie’s eyes, this was payback. Doreen should never have left her alone with that Yank who’d tried to take advantage of her. It wasn’t a total lie that she and Aggie could get caught out on, as Dennis the pianist had told them only last Friday that Albie had been engaged to a lass called Suzanne and they’d broken up when Albie had gone away at the start of the Blitz.

‘Hello, treacle. Let me get these drinks,’ said a dark-haired man in a smart suit. He had a big scar across his cheek and looked a bit of a villain. ‘I want you to introduce me to your blonde mate. What’s her name?’

‘Doreen. Doreen Laine. Four gin and tonics then, please, and can you make one a double?’

The man winked. ‘My pleasure. I’m Jimmy, by the way. Jimmy Foster. She single, is she, your mate Doreen?’

Queenie forced a smile. She’d seen the way men’s heads turned when Doreen entered the pub and she was desperate for Albie not to look at her in that way. ‘Yes. Doreen’s single. Help me carry the drinks over and I’ll introduce you.’

Queenie handed Doreen the double. ‘Doreen, meet Jimmy,’ she grinned.

The rest of the evening was a success. Doreen was tipsy and seemed to be rather taken by the charming Jimmy Foster. Albie did look at Doreen a few times, but she was too engrossed with Jimmy to notice.

Queenie politely declined the offer of a lift home. Terry had finally asked Aggie on a date and Queenie wasn’t going to be the only girl left on the shelf. Even Eliza was courting now. She was sweet on a Jewish lad called Alan.

Queenie waved goodbye to Eliza and Doreen and watched intently as Albie sang his last song of the evening: ‘For Me and My Gal’. She’d drunk more gin than usual, was feeling brave. If Albie wasn’t interested in her, it was best she knew so she could move on and find another man with the right credentials. Life at home wasn’t getting any easier.

‘Where you going?’ asked Aggie.

‘To speak to Albie. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Albie was talking to a man, but Queenie marched over and tapped him on the shoulder nevertheless. It was shit or bust time. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, but could I have a quick word alone with you, Albie?’

‘Of course, lovey. It’s Queenie, isn’t it? I always remember your name as my dear departed nan was a Queenie too,’ Albie smiled, leading her over to a quiet corner of the pub.

Queenie took a deep breath and looked up into the dazzling green eyes of the man who towered over her. ‘I’m not going to beat around the bush, Albie. I like you. You seem a nice man and I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the dance that’s being held in the church hall in Stepney next Saturday evening?’

For once in his life, Albie Butler was at a loss for words. He’d been aware that Queenie was sweet on him, like many other women were. But never had one been so bullish as to march up to him and ask him on a date before. That took guts. It was always the gentleman’s duty to ask the lady.

Albie studied Queenie. Her blonde mate was far more his usual type. But there was something endearing about Queenie and he could hardly say no to her face, could he? ‘It would be my pleasure to accompany you to the dance next Saturday.’

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