Chapter Six
Eight weeks had passed since Sally and Ernie had come to live with them, and now it was almost Christmas. The pair of them had settled in well and, as Peggy regarded them as her own – even though she knew she shouldn’t – she’d dispensed with the formalities and insisted they call her Peggy or, in Ernie’s case, Aunt Peg.
She sat in front of the kitchen range, knitting yet another sweater as she listened to the BBC Light Programme. Her own boys were growing like weeds, and although Ernie could have their cast-offs, he too was beginning to fill out and grow stronger, and she liked him to have something new now and again, even if it was from an old sweater she’d unravelled. Good new wool was hard to find these days, just like most things, what with all the shortages.
She glanced across at the kitchen table. Jim was home for once as the Odeon was shut while the projector was being repaired. He and Alex were playing cards and drinking vodka. Nasty, strong stuff that burnt the throat and could do no good to the stomach in her opinion – she couldn’t understand why they drank it at all. But it was good to see Alex at ease again; he’d been far too quiet since getting that awful letter from his sister, and she’d worried he’d never pick himself up from it. The human spirit never failed to amaze her.
He was out of the house more often now the airfield was almost fully operational, and would be leaving them in a week’s time to move into the barracks. She would miss him terribly, but knew it was what he needed. He’d been restless, hanging about the place, and now the planes had arrived he could teach the young, inexperienced pilots and feel useful again.
With her attention only partially fixed to the play on the wireless, she picked up the sound of the whirring sewing machine from the other room. Sally was busy filling the orders that had come from the factory as well as from some of the neighbours. Word had spread fast, and Peggy was worried the girl would work herself to a standstill. Yet she seemed energised now she knew Peggy was happy to look after Ernie. She’d settled in well, both here and at the factory, and had made new friends. Little Pearl Dawkins had become a fairly regular visitor now her sweetheart had joined the Naval Reserves, and Peggy had been delighted to hear them chattering like sparrows in the dining room after tea.
She gave a deep sigh as she counted the stitches. She just wished Sally would go out once in a while and have some fun – but it seemed she was determined to make her home-dressmaking business succeed. Which it would, thought Peggy with a certain amount of pride. There was no doubt the girl was talented, and the dress she’d made Peggy only last week from a bit of old silk counterpane was something to behold. She would wear it tomorrow night when her sister Doris came round for tea.
The thought of her sister stilled her hands. Doris was the eldest of the three Dawson sisters and, to Peggy’s mind, had ideas above her station. She was married to Ted Williams who managed the Home and Colonial Store in the High Street, and they lived in a large detached house in Havelock Gardens on the smarter side of town. Doris didn’t work at anything except on her clothes and her looks, and when she came to tea, she always made Peggy feel uncomfortable as she rolled her eyes at the faded, worn furniture and tired rugs.
Peggy got up from the chair and filled the kettle. She was parched and suspected Sally might be as well. Waiting for it to boil, she turned her thoughts to her other sister, Doreen, and couldn’t help but smile. Doreen and Doris were chalk and cheese, and she supposed she was something in between – strange how that was.
‘What are you smiling at?’
She turned, startled, to find Jim leaning back in his chair, his handsome face wreathed in a grin, blue eyes twinkling. ‘I was thinking of how different we Dawson girls are,’ she replied. ‘What with Doris being hoity-toity and Doreen being … well, Doreen, I suppose.’
‘I like Doreen,’ said Jim with a chuckle. ‘There’s no sides to her – you get what you see. As for Doris …’ He pulled a face and shrugged.
She grinned back. Jim always flirted outrageously with Doreen whenever she visited, and it had become something of a game between them – a safe bit of fun that was never taken seriously. ‘She’s coming to tea tomorrow – Doris, that is.’
‘Then I’ll be finding something else to do while she’s here.’ He took a sip of vodka and picked up the cards Alex had dealt him.
‘You could make a start on the list of jobs I gave you,’ she said dryly. ‘They’re still here, pinned to the wall.’
‘Jim and I will make start tomorrow morning,’ said Alex, his voice slurring. He thumped Jim on the back. ‘Is that not right, my friend? We must do all we can to help the little women, eh?’
Jim suddenly looked shifty. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘I’ve a fair few things I have to be doing tomorrow. Perhaps after work on Monday would be better?’
Peggy caught Alex’s eye. They both knew Jim wouldn’t lift a finger, and that it would be up to Alex and Ron to complete the jobs that were now becoming rather urgent – like the broken guttering and cracked pipe, the loose tiles in the bathroom and the damp in the basement. Without bothering to offer them tea, Peggy poured water over the tea-leaves and left them to steep.
‘Speaking of Doreen,’ she said, after putting the knitted cosy over the pot. ‘I’m surprised we haven’t heard from her lately. You’d have thought she’d want the children out of London.’
‘That sister of yours is a law to herself, so she is,’ muttered Jim, eyeing his hand of cards without enthusiasm. ‘She’ll turn up if she needs you for anything – she always does.’
Peggy acknowledged the truth of this statement without ill-feeling. She loved Doreen and knew that her younger sister needed a helping hand now and again and didn’t begrudge her. Doreen was divorced, with two young girls, and held down a secure job as secretary to the owner of a machine factory. She was a woman of the world, who enjoyed life and the company of many admirers, but she had always been a caring, loving mother who put her children first.
Yet Peggy fretted over their safety. Doreen had sent the girls to Wales before war was declared and then, several weeks later, demanded they returned home. If the war escalated – and there was no reason to expect otherwise – then the three of them would be in the thick of it.
Peggy poured the tea and sighed. No doubt Jim was right. She’d turn up sooner or later.
Sally carefully snipped off the loose ends of thread and held up the dress she’d made from a rather dreary outsized frock she’d found on a second-hand clothing stall in the town centre.
After she’d unpicked the seams, harvested the belt, buttons, collars and cuffs that would be useful for something else, she’d given it a good wash and iron before marking out the pattern. It was soft beige, and she’d tailored it to fit her customer’s slim figure with discrete darts front and back, and a little kick-pleat that would show the cream lining when she walked. To liven it up, she’d added a cream Peter Pan collar and matching cuffs which came to the elbow, and had added cream piping down one side of the buttoned front. She’d managed to find eight buttons that matched the material perfectly, and had made a soft belt to finish it all off.
With a sigh of satisfaction, she leant back in the chair and stretched. There was only the hem to do now, and she could take it into work tomorrow afternoon to sort that out and get paid.
Thinking of the money she’d been saving in the jar under her bed made her feel even more satisfied. It was adding up, and when the jar was full, she would ask Peggy to help her open a savings account at the bank where it might even earn a bit of interest. She’d been talking to Mrs Finch, whose late husband had been a bank clerk and knew about these things.
She eyed the pile of clothes that were still to be finished and delivered. Brenda and Peggy had been brilliant at drumming up business, and life would have been very pleasant but for Iris.
Sally’s success in making friends as well as a bit of extra money had had an unfortunate effect on Iris, who never lost an opportunity to spoil things. There had been the incident when ink had been poured over a skirt she’d left on her chair, broken needles in her machine, and scurrilous gossip – which, thankfully, no-one had believed. It was unsettling to have to keep watch for her next trick, and she hoped Iris was getting as tired of it as she was.
‘Here you go, love. Get that down you.’
Sally smiled up at Peggy and took the cup. ‘Thanks, I’m parched.’
She watched as Peggy admired the dress and began riffling through the pile of things on the chair beside her that still had to be finished. ‘That’s for Cissy,’ she explained, as Peggy held up a confection of lavender tulle.
‘It’s a bit much,’ Peggy sighed, turning it this way and that, and making the sequins sparkle in the electric light. ‘Where on earth did she manage to find this much tulle?’
‘She brought me a dress she’d worn for another show and I adapted it. The sequins take a bit of time though, cos she wants the whole bodice covered in them as well as sprinkled through the skirt.’ She eyed it with pride and pleasure. ‘She’ll look ever so lovely in it,’ she sighed.
‘I hope she’s paying you the going rate,’ said Peggy sternly. ‘She gets paid well at Woolworths, you know – and earns a fair bit prancing about on that stage.’
‘Well, I give ’er a discount of course, cos she’s your daughter, but yeah, she pays me.’ She saw a look of mulish determination cross Peggy’s face. ‘Please don’t say nothing, Peggy. I love making ’er pretty things.’
Peggy still looked mulish, but made no further comment.
The wailing siren shattered the peace, screeching like a banshee and echoing right through the house as it grew louder and faster and more chilling.
Peggy left without a word as Sally threw a sheet over the needlework and quickly slammed the lid over the Singer before racing upstairs to the bedroom. Ernie was already stirring – he knew the drill by now, and was trying to put on his coat.
‘Come on luv, time we got into the Anderson shelter, even if it is another blooming false alarm.’ She yanked on his coat and wrapped him in a blanket, grabbed her coat and their gas masks, and hurtled down the stairs.
Anne and Cissy were out, but she met Jim halfway up the stairs on his way to get Mrs Finch, who was as deaf as a post once she’d taken out her hearing aid and slept through everything.
‘You’re getting heavy,’ she panted, running into the kitchen. Plumping Ernie unceremoniously on the chair, she rammed her feet into her shoes, tugged on her coat and reached again for her brother.
‘I will take boy. You help Mrs Reilly.’ Alex was dressed in his uniform, the leather and sheepskin flying jacket buttoned to the chin. He snatched him up and ran down to the cellar, their gas-mask boxes bouncing on his hip.
The siren was still wailing, filling the night like some demonic animal howling in pain. Sally tried to ignore it as she gathered pillows and blankets, and helped Peggy add extra tea and the milk to the box she always had ready to take with them. Everything they might need was in that box, from comics for the boys, to extra matches and cigarettes for the grown-ups.
Jim came hurrying into the room, tiny Mrs Finch in his arms, bleary and confused with sleep. ‘Come on, girls, move, move.’ He chivvied them in front of him, turned out the lights and shut the door before following them down the stairs and out into the darkness of the garden.
Ron was already opening the shelter door and bustling the boys inside. Sally could see the clouds of her breath as she ran down the path in that cold, starlit night. The siren sounded even louder now, and she could hear the ARP warden shouting at someone in the street to find shelter immediately. Searchlights cleaved the black sky, moving back and forth in great sweeps as they hunted for enemy planes.
She waited for Jim to carry Mrs Finch into the Anderson shelter and handed out the blankets and pillows. It was a routine they’d come to know, even though all the alarms since that strafing of the seafront had been false. She settled calmly beside Ernie, fully expecting the all-clear to sound any minute.
‘I must go to the base,’ said Alex.
‘The warden won’t let you on the streets while the siren’s going.’
‘I have my pass,’ he replied. ‘Goodnight. God be with you.’ He pushed through the door and hurried through the gate to the air-force jeep he’d parked at the end of the street.
They looked at one another and smiled as they heard Wally Hall shout and the answering roar of the jeep’s engine and squeal of tyres as Alex drove off.
‘Da! Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I’m fetching me animals, so I am. I’m not leaving them in there.’
‘You’ll sit down, you silly old eejit,’ shouted Jim above the wailing siren.
‘Call me a fool if you want, boy, but I’m not leaving me animals.’ Ron shoved his way out of the shelter.
Peggy had lit the hurricane lamp that swung from a hook on the metal ceiling. It threw eerie shadows over their faces and up the cold, damp walls, making their hideaway seem even more dank and cave-like. ‘I hope the girls are all right,’ she murmured, her eyes dark with worry.
‘Of course they are,’ soothed Jim, putting his arm round her waist. ‘Sure, they’ve got to the shelters in time before. It’ll be no different tonight.’
‘I don’t like them being away from home when the sirens go. You never know what might happen.’
‘Now, Peg,’ he said firmly, ‘don’t let that imagination of yours run riot. They’ll be fine, so they will.’
She didn’t look convinced, but she busied herself with sorting through the box of tins and jars, and found her knitting. But Sally noticed it lay untouched on her lap.
Ron returned wearing his poacher’s coat and a tin helmet, the Enfield rifle slung over his shoulder. Harvey was howling as he crawled under the bench and licked the back of Charlie’s leg. The ferrets were squirming and restless in the deep pockets of Ron’s coat, and he sat down, pulled them out one by one and hypnotised them by softly stroking their bellies before he carefully put them back again.
‘For the love of God,’ sighed Jim. ‘What the divil have you got on your head, old man?’
‘It’s me tin hat,’ he retorted. ‘Sure, and I’d have thought that was obvious.’
‘But what good will it do if a bomb drops on you, tell me that?’
‘I won’t be caring if that happens,’ he replied, fastening the strap under his chin and grinning at his son. ‘But till then it’ll keep me ears warm, so it will.’
‘And what in heaven’s name are you doing with that old t’ing?’ Jim pointed to the rifle. ‘It’ll blow your head off, so it will – and then where will you be?’
‘Without a head,’ giggled Charlie.
Ron shot him a grin, and reached down to pat the dog’s head and comfort him.
‘Now we’ve got that settled,’ Peggy shouted above the awful sound of the siren, ‘would anyone like a biscuit?’ She passed the tin round.
Ron settled down to munch his biscuits, Charlie and Bob on either side of him, the dog behind his legs foraging for crumbs.
Mrs Finch didn’t seem to realise what was happening. She nibbled hers and asked if there was any tea to go with it, and why no-one had put on the electric light. She had the only chair – a canvas beach chair they’d managed to wedge into a corner to stop her falling out of it when she went to sleep – but it didn’t always work, and Peggy had to keep a close eye on her.
Jim finished his biscuit and opened two bottles of beer he’d brought in his coat pocket, handing one to his father. Lighting a cigarette, he leant back on the bench and looked for all the world as if this was an everyday occurrence, and nothing to get het up about. But then he’d already survived the trenches in one war – he knew what to expect.
It was cramped even though the girls weren’t here, and Sally was finding it hard to breathe – it was as if the walls were closing in on her, and the awful wailing siren didn’t help one bit. She almost wished she could howl like Harvey.
* * *
The welcome sound of the all-clear came half an hour later. Stiff and cold they left the shelter, the heavy silence ringing in their ears. All the boys were asleep, and Sally carefully carried Ernie back to their bedroom and tucked him in with a stone hot-water bottle and an extra blanket. Weary and cold from the prolonged stay in the shelter, she was soon snuggled down and fast asleep.
The enormous explosion came without warning. It rocked the house, splintered glass, and sent clouds of plaster and dust raining down.
Ernie screamed and Sally rushed to him, dragging him from the blankets and on to the floor beneath the bed. ‘They’ve come to get us,’ he yelled, clinging to her, his tears hot against her neck.
Sally cowered under the bed, holding him beneath her to shelter him. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, her voice betraying the terror that tore through her. ‘They won’t get us under ’ere.’
‘I don’t like it, Sal,’ he whimpered, burying himself into her.
‘Neither do I,’ she murmured, kissing his cheek. ‘We’ll just have to be brave together.’ But her thoughts were on Peggy and the others in the house. How bad was the damage? Had anyone been hurt? And why weren’t the sirens going?
‘Sally?’ Jim came thundering into the bedroom, trousers and sweater hurriedly pulled over his pyjamas. ‘It’s all right, girl. It’s not a raid, but a gas explosion.’
She crawled from beneath the bed, still holding a sobbing Ernie. ‘Gas?’
Jim nodded as he drew back the curtains to reveal a smoke-laden sunrise. ‘At the other end of the street.’ He cocked his head at the sound of the fire engine bells. ‘Looks like the fire brigade is on to it, but the neighbours are going to need help, Sally. Come down and settle Ernie with the other boys. Peggy’s already gone to see what she can do, and it’s all hands on deck.’
Ernie seemed to be over his fright and was quite happy to be with Bob and Charlie in the basement. Sally left them all wide-eyed and excited by the fuss and went to quickly check on her machine and the needlework. She was thankful she’d covered it all, for the dust was thick on everything.
Ron was in the kitchen – still wearing his tin hat – making tea and scraping margarine on bread. ‘Where’re Jim and Peggy?’
‘Jim’s gone to help clear the damage. Peggy’s out rounding up everyone who might or might not need help, and to check on next door. I’m on cookhouse duty.’
Ron slopped boiling water into the teapot, and Sally stopped him pouring it into the cups until the leaves had steeped. She placed the cosy over the pot and gave it a bit of a swill to help it on its way. ‘Is the damage very bad? Was anyone killed?’
‘There’s three of them in hospital, but only with minor injuries,’ he replied, eyeing the empty milk bottle. ‘Let’s hope the milkman isn’t late, or we’ll have to go without.’
Sally hurried outside and was met by the stench of burning, and the pall of thick smoke that stung the eyes and the back of the throat. It was barely dawn, but even in this twilight, the scene was stark and made her gasp in horror and disbelief.
The two houses at the end of the terrace were gone – a gaping hole full of smoking rubble the only reminder they’d ever been there. Glass had shattered in most of the windows nearby, and the lovely lanterns at the bottom of the steps were ruined.
The end of the street was made impassable by the rubble that had fallen across it from the house opposite the explosion site. Its chimney stood like a forlorn sentinel over the exposed bedrooms and stairways where furniture stood incongruously in place and pictures still hung from the walls. There was even a vase of flowers on a table which was still covered in a cloth that fluttered in the breeze.
As she stood on the pavement and watched the frantic efforts of the firemen and wardens who were clearing rubble and searching for victims, she could see that a streetlamp had been bent by the force of the explosion so that it almost kissed the rubble that lay strewn beneath it, and black cables had been exposed which now twitched and sparked like fat electric snakes.
Sally wondered by what miracle no-one had been killed. The devastation was shocking, changing the streets for ever – but this must be nothing compared to the damage caused by an actual air raid, and the thought terrified her.
‘Sally, can you help me, dear?’ Peggy was clambering over the rubble, her arms around two women. ‘They need to be indoors and getting warm.’
Sally could see that both women were in shock, and she gently helped them up the stairs and into the kitchen, settling them by the fire. ‘Can you make more tea?’ she asked Ron, who was sitting down cleaning his rifle. ‘Only, Peggy’s on a rescue mission and there’s at least five more people to bring in – and that’s without the firemen and the men helping to clear the rubble.’
She dashed back out again and coaxed the shell-shocked, bruised and battered people to leave the ruins of their street for the warmth and comfort of Peggy’s kitchen.
‘I’ll set up a couple of trays of tea and take it out to the men. They must be exhausted.’ Sally found as many cups and mugs as she could and poured the tea. ‘We’re out of milk,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to use the powdered stuff.’
‘We haven’t any sugar either,’ said Peggy, glaring at the empty bowl in front of Ron. ‘How many times have I told you, Ron? The sugar’s hard to come by – you can’t keep putting four teaspoons in with every cup you drink.’
‘Comes to something when a man can’t have a decent cup of tea,’ he grumbled.
‘No sugar, you say?’ Jim had appeared in the doorway, his face already streaked with soot and sweat. ‘I’ve a solution for that.’
Peggy gasped as he returned from the cupboard under the stairs with two full bags in his hands. She snatched them from him before her neighbours could see and quickly stowed them on the marble shelf of her walk-in larder. ‘Where did you get them?’ she hissed, her tone furious, her glare accusing.
‘Sure, and they were given me in return for a bit of a job I was doing,’ he muttered, not quite meeting her gaze.
‘And what job was that, Jim Reilly?’
‘A bit of heavy lifting for old Mrs Smith down at the grocer’s.’ He winked at her and tapped his nose. ‘It always pays to make friends in the right places, Peggy. Especially when there’s a war on.’
‘I hope you’re not lying to me,’ she whispered furiously.
‘As if I would, me darlin’ girl.’ He grabbed her and planted a sooty kiss on her cheek.
She shook him off. ‘If I believed that, I’d believe anything. I’ve got my eye on you Jim Reilly, so be warned.’ She quickly topped up the sugar bowl and picked up one of the trays. ‘Come on, Sally, let’s get this tea outside before it grows cold.’
Sally saw the swift, knowing look pass between Jim and Ron, and knew Peggy was right to be suspicious. But she said nothing and, with the other tray of cups, followed her outside.
‘Well,’ breathed Peggy, ‘that’s what I call perfect timing.’
The milkman was at the end of the street, his large horse patiently waiting as he took the crates off the back of the dray and carefully placed the bottles on each doorstep. ‘Morning, missus,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Want me to take these in for you as you’ve got your hands full?’
‘Thanks Alan. Ron will make you a cuppa if you want one.’
‘Nah. I’m a bit behind this morning. What with all that racket with the sirens last night, the cows took a while to round up and get into the dairy to be milked. Skittish they were, and I can’t say I blame ’em.’
Peggy nodded and smiled and hurried away. ‘Alan Jenkins would talk the leg off a donkey if you let him,’ she muttered, as they picked their way over the rubble. ‘But he’s a nice man and works hard. I hope his cows are all right.’
Sally grinned and balanced the tray as she made her precarious way over the rubble to the knot of men who were trying to clear it and repair the water pipe that was shooting a fountain over everything. She and Peggy were greeted enthusiastically, tea was gratefully drunk, and cigarettes lit as they took a well-earned break.
There were two cups left on the tray and Sally sidestepped a large boulder in an attempt to reach the old man who’d refused to leave his shattered doorstep.
He came from nowhere, knocking into her legs so she lost her balance, the tea tray flying out of her hands to crash on the concrete. Sally teetered and would have fallen hard on to the treacherous masonry if a strong, filthy hand hadn’t grabbed her coat and yanked her backwards. She landed in his lap, and into a steely embrace.
‘Looks like the tea’s gone for a burton, and I was looking forward to that,’ he murmured in her ear. She recognised his voice immediately, could feel his arms tightening round her, pressing her back against his chest – but she seemed to have lost the ability to move, and her focus remained on the shattered china and dented tin tray.
‘I seem to be making a habit of rescuing you, Sally Turner,’ he drawled, his voice deep and pleasant against her cheek, his breath stirring her curls.
‘I wouldn’t need rescuing if you didn’t barge into me,’ she replied, trying to wrest herself from his grip.
‘How was I to know you were standing in my way?’
‘You should look where you’re going.’ She finally managed to stumble from his embrace, dusted down her coat and angrily turned to face him. The fury died as she became mesmerised by the intensity of those laughing blue eyes sparkling in that dirty, smoke-streaked, ridiculously handsome face.
‘Well, I would have,’ he replied, dusting himself off and getting to his feet, ‘but it’s difficult when you’re trying to crawl backwards out of a hole.’
She looked at where he was pointing. There was indeed a hole she hadn’t noticed before, and it seemed to go beneath the rubble to the basement of one of the ruined houses. ‘Do you always have an answer to everything, John Hicks?’ she said, cross that once more he’d got the better of her.
‘Ah, so you remember my name,’ he said, and grinned.
Sally noticed how his smile merely intensified the blue of his eyes. ‘Don’t let that give you no ideas,’ she muttered, the heat rising in her face as she realised everyone in the street was watching them. She bent to pick up the shards of china and the tin tray – she couldn’t think straight with him looking at her like that.
‘Let me carry this,’ he said, taking the tray. ‘I don’t trust you to get to the end of the street without an accident.’
‘I’m perfectly capable …’
‘I’m sure you are, but I’m the fireman in charge of this area, and my word is law.’
She looked up at him and tried not to giggle. ‘You really think you’re something, don’t you?’
‘I have my moments,’ he replied. ‘Here, take my arm, and watch out for that bit of rusty wire sticking out of the concrete.’
She refused the offer of his arm and carefully picked her way over the rubble. ‘I can take that from ’ere,’ she said firmly, grabbing the tray and making the broken crockery rattle.
‘Before you go,’ he said hastily, ‘I have something for you.’
‘I don’t accept presents from strangers.’
‘But this is special, and not really a present – and we’ve met twice, so we’re not really strangers now, are we?’
Intrigued, she turned back to him. ‘Go on then,’ she said, the smile tugging at her lips. ‘Show me.’
He reached into the inside pocket of his black uniform jacket and pulled out the colourful headscarf with a flourish. ‘Recognise this?’
She balanced the tray on her hip and reached for it in delight. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘It had blown across the road. I found it just as you were disappearing round a corner.’ He smiled. ‘I would have brought it sooner, but I didn’t know where you lived.’
She couldn’t quite look at him, for the knowledge that he’d carried it with him for at least eight weeks meant he’d hoped to see her again. ‘Thanks, ever so.’
‘Am I forgiven for manhandling you?’
She nodded shyly, suddenly overcome by the nearness of him and the way his voice seemed to touch something deep within her.
‘Then will you let me take you to the pictures tonight?’
‘I’m working,’ she replied.
‘Tomorrow, next night – the week after?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she murmured, and almost ran back to the house and up the steps, slamming the front door behind her.
She put the tray on the hall table, stood there for a moment to catch her breath, and then peeked through one of the broken coloured panes at the side of the door. He was standing at the bottom of the steps now, talking to Peggy; as she studied him he seemed to know she was watching him and looked up, smiling straight into her eyes.
‘Oh, Gawd,’ she breathed, moving swiftly from the window. ‘What’s ’appening to me? I ain’t got a thought in me ’ead worth a light, and me ’eart’s going nineteen to the blooming dozen. And all because of some bloke who thinks he’s ’andsome.’
She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms round her waist, recalling how it had felt to be held so tightly and safely in his embrace. Could it be that he really liked her, and that this wasn’t a game?
‘Sal! Sal, where are you?’
Ernie’s piping voice brought her to her senses and she hurried to see what he wanted. It was all very well to have these silly moments, but there were more important things to worry about than John Hicks.
Anne and Martin had been with a group of other airmen and their girls, eating supper and dancing to the very good eight-piece band, when the word came from the airbase that there was a flap on. The men left hurriedly in the cars they’d managed to borrow for the night and, deciding she didn’t want to stay without Martin, Anne had begun the long walk home.
It had been as dark as pitch outside, with no street lighting and every window blacked out so tightly that not a chink of light showed to help her on her way. The stars had twinkled coldly, but the moon had been only an eyelash curve in the sky.
The sirens had gone off just as she was passing the school and was halfway home. Dithering over whether to make a run for it, or use the public shelter beneath the school playground, her mind was made up for her by the ARP warden, who insisted she used the shelter.
She’d hurried to where the stacks of sandbags shielded the door, and went down the concrete steps to join the residents of the nearby blocks of flats, and hoped it was another false alarm and that she’d soon be tucked up in bed.
Anne helped soothe the children she knew from the classroom, telling them stories and making shapes on the wall with her fingers. Once they’d calmed down, she comforted herself with thoughts of Martin.
They had been courting for several months now, and their feelings for one another had not diminished. They were meant for one another, and soon, very soon, they would be engaged. She’d huddled against the cold brick wall of the shelter, her coat wrapped tightly over the lovely black velvet evening dress Sally had adapted from a cloak they’d found in a basket in the attic. It might be damp and chill down here amongst the crying babies and whining children, but Anne was warm inside, her smile soft and full of affection as she’d recalled their evening together.
Martin had told her he wanted to do things properly – and that meant her meeting his parents before he asked her father for her hand. She’d hugged her delight to her, and done her best to ignore the nervous flutter that always came when she thought about the lunch tomorrow. She wanted so badly to make a good impression, and for them to take to her. Martin had assured her there was absolutely nothing to worry about. His sister and his parents were nice ordinary people who couldn’t fail to love her as much as he did. But, try as she might, the niggling doubts would not be denied.