The Pearl Locket: A page-turning saga that will have you hooked

The Pearl Locket: A page-turning saga that will have you hooked Kathleen McGurl We’ll Meet Again…When Ali inherits her great-aunt’s house she immediately moves her whole family in, despite the warnings that there is something strange about the place.Unfazed Ali begins redecorating, going through the rooms, making each one her own with the help of her daughter, Kelly. But when under the wallpaper in Kelly’s new room they discover a scrawled message from 1944 Ali begins to question the history of the house as she knows it.Her family has always seemed so picture perfect, not a blemish or a secret to be found. Yet, this discovery throws her into confusion and Ali begins to question exactly what she knows about her family and the mysteries they have kept hidden…Perfect for fans of The Emerald Comb, Rachel Hore and Kate MortonDon't miss Kathleen's new book - The Girl from Ballymor out in 2017!Praise for Kathleen McGurl'There were twists and turns galore that had me gripping my Kindle to within an inch of its life…' - Becca's Books on The Pearl Locket'An engrossing family saga' - cayocosta72 on The Pearl Locket'If you want a book that is exciting, fast-paced and impossible to put down, with plenty of twists and turns, then you need to buy this book! I can't wait to read more of Kathleen's novels.' - Emma's Book Reviews on The Emerald Comb'The Emerald Comb is fantastic.' - Books & Baby'An edge of your seat read, that is a page turner and griped me from page one.' - Comet Babe's Books on The Emerald Comb We’ll Meet Again… When Ali inherits her great-aunt’s house, she doesn’t expect to end up moving her whole family in. Ecstatic to finally own her own home, Ali begins redecorating, going through the rooms, making each one her own with the help of her daughter, Kelly. But when, under the wallpaper in Kelly’s new room, they discover a scrawled message from 1944, Ali begins to question the history of the house as she knows it. Her family has always seemed so picture perfect, not a blemish or a secret to be found. Yet, this discovery throws her into confusion and Ali begins to question exactly what she knows about her family and the mysteries they have kept hidden… Moving between 2014 and 1944, The Pearl Locket is a darkly emotional story that will stay with you long after you have turned the last page. Perfect for fans of Rachel Hore and Kate Morton. Praise for The Emerald Comb (#ulink_6fb06b36-3662-5f9f-97b9-c513ff1e2f4c) “…exciting, fast-paced and impossible to put down…” – Books Reviews by Em “Two stories: one historical, the other contemporary, cleverly interwoven with conflict, mystery and passion…an absorbing read” – Jane Hunt “Infuriatingly well-written…an intelligent and refreshingly different read” – Read Reviewed “Totally worthy of five of my cupcakes, and more. I cannot recommend this book enough!” – Becca’s Books “An edge of your seat read, that is a page turner and gripped me from page one” – Comet Babe “…beautifully written and left you wanting more. More of everything.” – Feed Me Into Books Also by Kathleen McGurl (#ulink_4da2aced-8e27-58f3-91d4-99a809f28c7b) The Emerald Comb The Pearl Locket Kathleen McGurl www.CarinaUK.com (http://www.CarinaUK.com) KATHLEEN MCGURL lives in Bournemouth with her husband and teenage sons. She always wanted to write, and for many years was waiting until she had the time. Eventually she came to the bitter realisation that no one would pay her for a year off work to write a book, so she sat down and started to write one anyway. Since then she has written several books and sold dozens of short stories to women’s magazines. She works full time in the IT industry and when she’s not writing, she’s often out running, slowly. For more information or to get in touch, please visit kathleenmcgurl.com (http://www.kathleenmcgurl.com) or follow @kathmcgurl (https://twitter.com/kathmcgurl) on Twitter. Firstly, enormous thanks to my wonderful sons. Fionn McGurl once again acted as beta reader, and Connor McGurl gave me some extremely valuable boy perspective for ‘Jack’s chapter’. I could not have written that part without his help. And to my husband Ignatius, who is always there, putting up with me rambling on about my work-in-progress at every possible opportunity. Thanks also to my editor Victoria Oundjian for her expert help and guidance shaping the final version of this novel. Writing is a solitary pursuit, so finally I’d like to thank my groups of writer-friends, in particular the Write Women and the Carina UK authors, for their continuing friendship and support which keep me going when times are tough. For Mum, my greatest fan Contents Cover (#u67fc8827-851c-5679-a29a-4eacac662ca7) Blurb (#u2fefd39a-b485-5d98-8d5e-2bf4d61445dc) Praise (#u0db9c1da-edf5-58c1-946f-d998e0dc0c09) Book List (#ud3dadc47-0786-576c-a995-f7990c715225) Title Page (#u156fb587-69bc-57db-be60-2b16d8adb10e) Author Bio (#u607210e2-98eb-59f5-92c9-eec65acb07ff) Acknowledgement (#udb53a062-9c79-56b0-a097-b90c9ffcbb59) Dedication (#u059ee500-88ef-5085-b17e-a9bd00bc9243) Chapter One (#u5754e8d9-6361-505f-a953-3e6d4276f583) Chapter Two (#u3a947d69-c15e-52fe-8755-74410df5bb07) Chapter Three (#u22871aa1-b187-5502-a74f-88c02491453a) Chapter Four (#ua42838ca-4b49-598e-823c-f0fc8bd7dd8b) Chapter Five (#u8a08831e-13b8-57f5-b000-663048cd663e) Chapter Six (#ub793115b-4512-5d62-91f1-50eb2273b0b1) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Extract from The Emerald Comb (#litres_trial_promo) Endpages (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#ulink_62bdc932-f2af-5c28-823f-829700d034f7) July–August 2014 ‘So, this is it,’ Ali said, gazing up at the house. ‘It’s smaller than I remember. But I was just a child when I was last here.’ She had only vague memories of being here before—muddled images of an imposing, double-fronted art-deco-style house, with bay windows, a large garden and, best of all, the beach just a couple of minutes’ walk away. It had been her spinster great-aunt’s house, and the childless Betty had left it to Ali in her will. ‘Smaller?’ said her husband, Pete. ‘It’s huge! Well, compared with everywhere else we’ve ever lived.’ Ali nodded. She couldn’t argue with that. But the size didn’t matter, as she was going to put the house on the market immediately. They had no intention of living in it. ‘I suppose we should have a look round inside, now that we’re here.’ ‘Well, that was the point of the visit,’ Pete said, smiling. He took Ali’s hand and led her to the front door. She was grateful for the gesture of support. It was strange being here. Although the house now belonged to her, it didn’t feel like it did. She’d never owned a house before; they’d always rented. She felt like an intruder. The front door was stiff—Betty had spent the last couple of years of her life in a nursing home, and apparently very few people had entered the house in that time. A pile of junk mail lay on the doormat. Ali gathered it up and placed it on a dusty sideboard in the hallway. She glanced around. ‘What a state. I guess we’ll have to clear everything out before we can sell it. What’ll we do with all the furniture? I suppose we might want to keep a few pieces but not much.’ She opened a drawer in the sideboard. It was full of pens, coins, elastic bands, buttons, old receipts and other odds and ends. ‘And we’ll have to sort all the contents out as well. Gran might want to keep a few things. It’s going to be a huge job.’ Pete had peeked into a room on the left—the sitting room as far as Ali recalled—and was now crossing to the room on the right, the dining room. He turned back to Ali with shining eyes. ‘Fantastic rooms, those two. Great proportions. They’d look amazing if they were done up. Come and see the kitchen.’ He pulled her to the back of the house where they entered a large but very dated kitchen. Probably last fitted out some time back in the sixties, Ali thought, wrinkling her nose at the musty, unlived-in smell. ‘Imagine it, Ali, with a run of units along that wall, an island there, an American-style fridge-freezer there, granite worktops and Shaker-style cupboard doors. This house could really be something special.’ It could; she could see that. Someone else with money and the time and energy for an awful lot of DIY would have a lot of fun with this house. She just wanted her hands on the money they’d get from selling it. With Pete’s redundancy money fast running out and their landlord about to put up the rent, they could certainly do with it. She was already working full time, and as yet Pete had had no luck finding another job since Harrison’s had laid him off. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Pete said, again reaching for her hand. She followed him up. The stairs turned on a half landing, a grand newel post supporting the oak-panelled banisters. There was a cold draught as they turned the corner. Ali shivered. ‘There’s a crack in that window,’ Pete said, nodding at the bowed and leaded window on the half landing. Upstairs were four double bedrooms, a box room and a bathroom. As a child Ali had never been up here. She’d only ever paid a few duty visits to her great-aunt, with her father, so many years ago. As they gazed out of the front bedroom window, from where you could just about get a glimpse of the sea, Pete turned to Ali. ‘What if,’ he said, with a glint in his eye, ‘we didn’t sell up? What if we cleared it out, then moved in?’ ‘Pete, it’s in a horrible state! And we need the money from the sale. You know we do.’ ‘We could use the rest of my redundancy money to do it up. And if we didn’t have to pay rent, we could easily live off your salary for a while. Think about it, Ali! If this place was modernised and redecorated, it’d be worth twice as much. Then we could sell it, if we still needed the money, and buy somewhere smaller. But with luck I’d get a job then, and we could just stay here.’ Ali opened and closed her mouth a few times. So many thoughts were racing around her head she didn’t know which one to articulate first. ‘But, Pete, the risk! What if the property market goes downhill and we can’t sell it? What if we run out of money before we’ve finished doing it? What if you get offered a job but it’s away from here and we need to move to another town?’ Pete smiled at her and shook his head. ‘Don’t just look at the negatives. There are loads of positives. The kids would love this house. Ryan could kick a football around in that garden. And look how close we are to the beach—Kelly would adore that! But at least you didn’t say no. Does that mean you’ll consider it?’ Ali sat down on the bed. It had a pink candlewick bedspread neatly placed across it. A puff of dust rose up around her and she flapped it away. ‘The safe option is to sell. Some property developer would probably snap it up quickly, at the right price. And then we could buy a smaller, cheaper house, perhaps a little further from the sea. We’d be rent and mortgage free, and wouldn’t have a big mess of a house to do up. And we’d have a big pot of money in the bank to add to what’s left of your redundancy. Then you could concentrate on finding another job.’ ‘You’re right.’ Pete sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. Ali was surprised he was giving in so quickly. Usually once he had an idea in his head he’d keep at it, trying endless different angles, until she either gave in and agreed or threatened to cut up his prize Munster Rugby shirt signed by the entire team of 2008 if he mentioned it even one more time. ‘That would indeed be the safe option. And the boring option. Ali, you only live once! This would be a fabulous house to live in, even if it’s only for a year or two while we do it up. And we could make a fortune on it. If we sell it as it is, we’d barely have enough to buy another place big enough for the four of us. There’d certainly be none left over. But if we do it up and then sell it, we could buy a smaller place and have stacks of money spare for holidays or cars or a new handbag for you or whatever you’d want. Or—’ he looked sideways at her ‘—to help finance the kids through university.’ Ali smiled wryly. He always knew which buttons to press. The thought that they might not be able to help first Kelly and then Ryan with their university living expenses had always tormented her, especially since Pete had been made redundant. They’d never had enough to be able to put some by for that purpose, but she was determined that the kids would go to university if they wanted to. Even if she had to ask her parents, who’d retired to Spain, for financial help. Great-aunt Betty’s will had meant they’d be financially secure, buying a house and living off Ali’s salary until Pete found a job. But now, this plan meant that in a year or two there could be a lot more money on top. Did they dare take the risk? Another thought struck her. ‘But Pete, who’d do the work? This house would need so much doing and we’d be living in a building site for months.’ ‘I’d do it. Except for the electrics—I’d get a professional in for that. But I’m quite handy, you know. And we could go room by room, so some of it is liveable while we do up other rooms. I’d do some of it, the really disruptive stuff like the kitchen, before we move in. We’ve got to give a month’s notice to the landlord anyway. And as probate’s complete and this house is yours already, there’s no reason I can’t start tomorrow. If you agree, of course. It’s your house…’ He was giving her that puppy-dog look, the one that always made her melt. Ali still had misgivings about the project but there was some sense in what he said, and maybe it would work out. ‘I suppose—it’s not as if the decision is irreversible—we could give it a go. We could always put it on the market later if things changed or the work was too hard for you.’ Pete flung his arms around her and kissed her. ‘I love you, Mrs Bradshaw! The work won’t be too hard for me; I’m a man not a mouse! Right then, I’ll get started today. First things first, I’ll need to hire a skip. Can you go through and mark all the things you want to keep? Wow, the kids are going to be so excited when they hear we’re moving in!’ ‘I can’t believe how unlucky we are with the weather today,’ shouted Ali to Pete, over the noise of the lashing rain, raging wind and swearing removal men. She pushed a strand of wet hair out of her eyes and stood aside to let two men past her into the house, carrying sodden boxes. Of all the days to get a huge summer storm, why did it have to happen on their moving day? It was just a month after they’d visited the house for the first time. Things had started well that morning. The van had arrived on time and everything was loaded into it within four hours. The keys had been handed back to the landlord. Both the family and the removal men had gone for lunch then met outside number nine at three p.m. to unload. But as soon as the van had pulled up outside it had begun to rain, and now it was coming down in sheets. ‘Bugger!’ The sound of smashing glass and swearing sent Ali running out to the back of the van. One of the removal men was standing amid a pile of broken wine bottles, with a wet bottomless cardboard box in his hands. ‘Er, sorry love, the box got wet and the bottom just gave way. Saved one. Look.’ The man held out one bottle, which had stayed in the box. Ali took it and sighed. There goes our wine cellar, she thought. At least there was one left intact to celebrate their move later this evening. ‘Don’t worry; it wasn’t your fault. I’ll find a broom and clear this lot up.’ She went inside in search of the cleaning equipment. Maybe it was still on the van, but she thought she’d seen someone come in with an armful of mops and buckets earlier. Inside, Pete was shifting boxes around in the newly fitted kitchen to make way for those yet to be unloaded from the van. ‘Who’d have thought we had this much stuff?’ he said. ‘The rented house was half the size of this one, but I’m wondering where on earth we’re going to put everything.’ ‘It’ll be OK when we unpack. Seen the broom?’ ‘Downstairs loo.’ ‘What’s it doing in there?’ ‘Removal bloke thought it was an under-stairs cupboard and just dumped it and a pile of other stuff in there. We’ll sort it later, I thought.’ Ali shrugged and went to collect the broom. Passing the bottom of the stairs she came across seventeen-year-old Kelly, who was sitting on the third step, phone in hand, composing a text. ‘Kelly, love, you’ll be in the way there. Can’t you go up and start organising your bedroom?’ ‘Yeah, Mum. Will do. Just updating Matt on progress. Is it cool if he comes round tomorrow? He said he’d help sort out my new room.’ Ali nodded. She liked her daughter’s boyfriend. He was a pleasant, steady lad and a good influence on Kelly. ‘Of course he can come. But you’ll have to do some of the sorting out tonight, or you’ll be sleeping amongst piles of boxes.’ Two men pushed past carrying a chest of drawers destined for thirteen-year-old Ryan’s room. Ali grimaced as she saw how the rain had caused the veneer to lift off around the front edge. Well, it was only a cheap thing. They’d probably have to buy some better furniture more in keeping with the house. She turned back to Kelly. ‘Come on. Out of the way. Go up and make a start.’ Kelly stood up and slipped her phone into her jeans pocket. ‘OK. It’s such a nightmare up there, though. I don’t know where to start.’ ‘You and me both, love,’ Ali said. It was exciting moving into a house they owned, but daunting as well. And she still had occasional misgivings about whether it had been the right thing to do. She shooed the thoughts out of her mind and went back outside into the rain with the broom. Eventually, after hours of chaos, the removal men left, and the family were sitting in the living room on a jumble of sofas, chairs and boxes, eating take-away pizza. Ali had managed to find the box containing the wine glasses, and was opening the only unbroken bottle of wine. ‘Can I have some, Mum?’ Kelly asked. ‘Why not? We’re celebrating,’ Ali said, smiling, as she poured out three glasses. Ryan made a face. ‘Ugh, wine’s disgusting.’ ‘None for you, anyway,’ said Pete. ‘You stick to your lemonade.’ ‘Well, cheers, family,’ said Ali, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to our new home. I hope we’re going to be really happy here. It’s twice the size of our old house, close to the beach, nearer Ryan’s school, nearer the station for Kelly to get to college, and renovating it will give your dad something to do until he finds a new job. Everyone’s a winner!’ ‘Cheers!’ said Pete, clinking his glass against the others. ‘Which room shall I decorate next?’ ‘Sitting room,’ said Ali. ‘So we have somewhere nice to bring guests into. I can’t bear this worn out, stained carpet.’ ‘Mine,’ said Ryan. ‘I love how big my room is but I hate that flowery wallpaper.’ ‘Well my wallpaper is already peeling off, around the sink in the corner,’ said Kelly. ‘Also I’ll be moving out in another year and a half when I go to uni. So it makes sense to do mine first so I get a chance to enjoy it.’ Pete laughed. ‘Looks like I’m going to be a busy boy, doesn’t it? Well, you can all chip in and help me get it all done.’ Ali smiled. She wouldn’t be chipping in to help. She was the breadwinner in the family at the moment, and the chief cook. It would be exciting as Pete worked his way through the house, renovating each room. He’d done a great job on the kitchen, though it wasn’t completely finished yet. He’d also managed to get an electrician to do most of the rewiring before they moved in, but they needed a new central heating system and a new bathroom as well as all the general decorating. They’d done the figures and it looked as though the remains of the redundancy money would just about cover the work. It’d be tight, but if they budgeted carefully, and if Pete got a new job quickly after the work on the house was done, they’d manage. After everyone had finished their pizzas and the boxes had been put out in the recycling bin, Kelly and Ryan went upstairs to sort out their rooms or—more likely, Ali thought—text their mates. She and Pete stayed in the living room, finishing the bottle of wine. Pete was on the sofa in the middle of the room, and Ali went to join him, curling up beside him. Outside the rain was still lashing down. ‘Once we’re sorted, we’ll have to get that chimney swept so we can have a real fire in the winter,’ Pete said. ‘Mmm, that’d be nice,’ Ali replied. She could picture the room, decorated, with new curtains and a blazing fire in the grate. It was a big room but well proportioned and she was sure she could make it look cosy. ‘The kids seem happy with the move. I’m glad about that. You never quite know how they’ll react.’ ‘What’s not to like, here? It’s not as though we’ve taken them away from their friends or schools or anything. And with the beach just down the end of the road, they’ll have a fabulous time all summer. You’ll be forever sweeping up sand and washing beach towels, I bet.’ Ali laughed. ‘They can sweep up their own sand. Anyway, tomorrow shall we call on our new neighbours and introduce ourselves?’ ‘Good idea.’ Pete kissed the top of her head. ‘And when do you want to bring your gran round? It’ll be quite a surprise for her that we’ve moved here, after you’d told her we were going to sell it.’ ‘Next weekend, I think, once we’ve got everything straightened out. I think she’ll be delighted we’ve moved in and are bringing the house back to life again. It’s been empty so long. This is where she grew up, of course.’ ‘She must have such happy memories of living here,’ Pete said. ‘Shame Margaret didn’t get on with Betty in her later years.’ ‘I’m not sure she ever got on very well with her,’ Ali replied. Chapter Two (#ulink_9ef5eb97-7f7e-5e2f-bef4-0a3e5aa71063) January 1944 There was no jam for tea. No cake, either. Just plain bread and margarine, and one rich tea biscuit each. Joan craved something sweet, anything sweet. She poured herself a cup of tea, dipped her teaspoon in the sugar bowl and tried to heap it up as much as possible without being noticed. ‘Put that sugar back at once! No more than a quarter teaspoon per cup of tea. You know the family rules.’ Father glared at her from the other end of the table. Joan shook the spoon so that most of the sugar fell back into the bowl, and meekly stirred in the remaining quarter. She tasted her tea and grimaced. Her sister Mags, who was sitting next to her, winked in sympathy, and whispered, ‘You’re sweet enough already.’ They were sitting in the dining room, the second-best lace tablecloth spread over the table. War or no war, Father insisted on sticking to traditions and doing things ‘properly’, as he put it. They were firmly in the middle class, and he refused to let standards slip. Joan thought it all a complete waste of time and effort. Why couldn’t they just eat their tea at the kitchen table? So much less fuss and work! ‘Mother, when do you think rationing will end?’ she asked. Her mother smiled weakly and looked at Father. Just like Mother. She wouldn’t dare answer a question like that herself. She would always defer to the head of the household. That was why Joan had directed the question to her mother—just to stir things up a bit. ‘Not until this war’s over. We all have to put up with it until then, so stop making such a fuss. You’re not a baby any more.’ Father gave her a stern look, and tapped the side of his cup with his teaspoon. Joan sighed as her mother immediately leapt into action, pouring her husband a second cup of tea. Why was she such a doormat? If Joan ever married she liked to think she and her husband would be on a much more equal footing than her parents were. ‘Would you like more bread and margarine, Father?’ asked her other sister Elizabeth, pushing the serving plate towards his end of the table. ‘Thank you, Betty,’ he said. Stuck up Elizabeth, sucking up to Father as always, thought Joan. Another doormat. Well, it was now or never. She knew what the answer would be, but she had to ask anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as Mags would say. ‘Father, may I ask a question?’ ‘Not if it’s anything more about rationing, child.’ ‘No, it’s something else. The thing is, there is a dance on at the Pavilion tomorrow evening, to celebrate the New Year, and I would rather like to go.’ Father put down his teacup and stared at her over the top of his horn-rimmed spectacles. Joan forced herself to keep her eyes on his. If she looked away she’d lose her nerve. ‘You? But you’re far too young to be attending dances. You’re only sixteen.’ ‘I had my birthday yesterday. I’m seventeen, Father.’ ‘Don’t contradict me! You’re too young. I forbid you to go.’ ‘But Father, Elizabeth and Margaret went to their first dances when they were seventeen.’ ‘Are you arguing with me? I’ve said no, and that’s that.’ ‘Mother, Mags is going and she said she’d look after me. Please, may I?’ What was the point? Her mother just shook her head gently and looked again at Father. Of course she would never go against anything he said. ‘Mother agrees with me. You are not to go. And Margaret, you will be home by ten o’clock. There’s an end to it.’ He picked up his newspaper and flicked it open, signifying that the topic was closed. ‘Please may I leave the table?’ Joan asked. Not waiting for an answer, she pushed her chair back and began gathering up plates and cups for washing up. Mags quickly joined her, and the two girls took the dirty crockery through to the kitchen. ‘It’s so unfair. Why can’t I go? He’s always stricter with me than he ever was with you or Betty.’ Joan turned the tap on full blast, spraying water everywhere. ‘Watch out, you’re making me wet!’ yelped Mags, as she jumped out of the way, brushing droplets off her skirt and blouse. Joan turned off the tap and clattered some plates into the sink. ‘And now you’re going to chip those plates. Let me do it. You’re too cross.’ Joan stood aside and let Mags take her place. Mags was right; she was cross. ‘Elizabeth’s not going, is she?’ she asked. ‘No. She’s going to the cinema to see some worthy French subtitled film. So I’m going to the dance on my own. But Mary and Noreen will be there, and some of the other girls from the WVS, so I won’t be alone.’ Joan picked a plate from the draining board and began wiping it roughly with a tea towel. She liked Mary and Noreen. It would be such fun attending a proper, grown-up dance with them and Mags. ‘I wish I could go. I feel like Cinderella, having to stay home while my sisters go out and enjoy themselves.’ Mags flicked soapsuds at her. ‘Are you calling me an ugly sister, Joanie?’ ‘No.’ Joan giggled. ‘Betty’s the ugly one.’ ‘Just think,’ said Mags, ‘if there was any way you could come to the dance, you might just meet your own Prince Charming.’ Both girls giggled uncontrollably at this, until Mother appeared at the kitchen door and told them to shush. They were annoying Father. Washing up completed, they went upstairs to Joan’s bedroom. It was only four-thirty but already dark, and time to close the blackout curtains. Although their coastal town hadn’t suffered many air raids, unlike London, it had still had its fair share. Besides, Joan knew Father would be angry if they didn’t draw the blackout blinds before putting on any lights. And she’d annoyed him enough already for one day. ‘Mags,’ she said, as they flopped down onto Joan’s bed, ‘do you think I could sneak out and go to the dance? Without the parents finding out?’ ‘How on earth could you do that? Father would expect you to be downstairs after supper, to listen to the news on the wireless.’ ‘What if he thought I was out but somewhere else? Maybe, I don’t know, volunteering at the WVS? The soup kitchen’s open tomorrow night isn’t it? I could say I’m working there…’ ‘Ooh, Joanie, there’s an idea! But what if he checked up on you?’ ‘He wouldn’t check. Well, at most he might ask Noreen or Mary. Do you think they would cover for me?’ Lie for me, Joan thought. It was probably a bit much to ask, but she knew the other girls sympathised with her and Mags over their draconian father. ‘I’m sure they would. You know, I think that’s a plan! I’ll see Noreen this evening anyway—I’m doing a shift at the soup kitchen from six till eight. I’ll get her to put your name down on the rota. You were about to start volunteering anyway, weren’t you? He agreed to you doing it after Christmas, and we’re already into the New Year. Won’t he be suspicious though—first you ask if you can go to the dance, then when he says no, you announce you’re starting at the WVS?’ ‘I’ll mention the WVS tomorrow at teatime. He’ll have forgotten I asked about the dance by then. You know he never takes any real interest in what you or I do. Not like Elizabeth. He’ll be asking her about every detail of the film she’s going to.’ Joan clapped her hands with excitement. ‘Now then, what shall I wear?’ ‘Well, you can’t pretend you’re going to the WVS if you’re in a party frock,’ Mags pointed out. ‘Unless you put your coat on over it, and don’t let him see what you’ve got on underneath. And no lipstick, until you’ve left the house. Tell you what, I’ll ask Noreen if we can meet up at her house and you could get ready there.’ ‘Perfect! And shall I wear my blue frock? It’s my newest.’ ‘You look lovely in that one. I’ll help you do your hair at Noreen’s,’ said Mags. Joan hugged her. ‘You’re definitely not an ugly sister. More like a Fairy Godmother, saying, “Joanie, you shall go to the ball!” ’ ‘But I wouldn’t recommend wearing glass slippers. It’s a long walk home.’ Both girls dissolved into giggles at this, and continued laughing until Elizabeth came into the room. ‘What’s so funny? Father’s really cross at you both again. He says if you can’t stop your silly giggling you’ll have no supper. And it’s rabbit stew with dumplings tonight. I made it.’ ‘All right, we’ll stop laughing. No fun allowed in this house. We should have remembered,’ said Mags. Joan stifled more giggles. ‘What was so funny anyway?’ asked Elizabeth again. ‘You two always leave me out of things. It’s not fair.’ ‘It’s only silly little girl jokes,’ Joan said. ‘You’re too grown-up to find them funny. Mags has almost grown out of them, too.’ ‘Hmm, well. I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t annoy Father any further. That would be my grown-up advice.’ Elizabeth turned on her heel and left the room. ‘I hate rabbit stew,’ said Mags. Joan had to stuff a pillow in her mouth to stop herself guffawing aloud at that comment. She felt so happy. She was going to the dance, and no one could stop her! Everything went according to plan. At teatime on the day of the dance Joan announced Noreen had put her on the WVS soup kitchen rota, and that she would be starting that evening. Father just grunted in reply from behind his newspaper. Mother opened her mouth as if to make some comment, but after a glance at Father presumably thought better of it. Elizabeth appeared not to have heard, and chattered happily about the film she was going to see with her friend from work. After supper, Mags and Joan washed up quickly then ran upstairs to get ready. They left the house separately, and reconvened at the corner of the street before going together to Noreen’s, and then on to the Pavilion. Joan was buzzing with excitement. Every time they saw someone else heading the same way she couldn’t help herself asking the older girls whether they knew the person, whether they were going to the dance as well. It was a long cold walk along the seafront to the Pavilion and Joan giggled to herself as she found herself being thankful she hadn’t worn glass slippers. At last they arrived and went quickly inside out of the biting wind. Joan gazed around in awe as she handed her coat to the cloakroom attendant. There may be a war on but the Pavilion was glittering. The Christmas decorations were still up, as it was not yet Twelfth Night. Tinsel and baubles hung from the ceiling, and boughs of holly garlanded the hall above head height. Joan followed Mags to the bar and bought herself a lemonade. Young men in various uniforms stood in groups, trying to catch the eye of any girl who passed. Mags and Noreen found their friend Mary, who immediately began to regale them with a long, funny story about her last WVS shift. Joan listened at first, but soon found her attention wandering. The band had started up—a ten-piece swing band playing Glenn Miller’s hits. She couldn’t help but jiggle around to the music; she was most definitely ‘in the mood’. There was a group of Canadian airmen standing across the room, their loud voices and raucous laughter at times almost drowning out the music. All of them were tall and handsome. One, especially, was very good-looking—with sandy hair, broad shoulders and a mischievous look in his eyes. Joan wondered whether she would manage to catch the eye of any of them. She supposed not. After all she was probably too young, and not pretty enough for them. But just imagine, if one of them asked her to dance, how exciting that would be! As couples began to take to the dance floor, Joan noticed a shy-looking young man in civilian clothing watching her. He had dark, floppy hair and wore a pair of spectacles that had one broken arm, held together by tape. His jacket looked worn but clean. He raised his glass in her direction, but Joan gave him a small, non-committal smile. He was no Prince Charming, though he had a kind and gentle look about his eyes. ‘Hey, beautiful, why are you standing on your own?’ Joan turned to find the sandy-haired Canadian airman beside her. This was more like it! She felt her tummy flip over as she smiled encouragingly at him. ‘I was just waiting for the right person to come and sweep me off my feet,’ she replied. ‘And here I am,’ the airman said, winking at her. He took her glass out of her hand and put it on a nearby table, then scooped her into his arms and whirled her onto the dance floor. Joan laughed and gasped, trying desperately to keep up with his lightning-fast dance steps. She couldn’t believe this was happening—she was dancing with the best-looking man in the room! ‘What’s your name?’ he asked her. ‘Joan. What’s yours?’ ‘Ah, Joan, Joan you’ll make me moan,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m Freddie, and always at the ready.’ She giggled, and he pulled her in tighter. She saw Mags, Noreen and Mary dancing with a group of soldiers. Mags caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. She looked as though she disapproved of Joan’s dance partner. Well, it wasn’t up to her, was it? Joan was enjoying herself. Freddie was handsome and funny, and seemed to really like her. She was determined to make the most of her evening out. The music ended, and Freddie let her go. ‘I’ll get you some refreshments,’ he said. ‘Don’t go away.’ A moment later he was back with an iced drink for her. She sipped it gratefully. ‘What is this?’ ‘G and T,’ he said. ‘Mostly T though, so don’t worry. I’m not trying to get you drunk.’ Joan had never had an alcoholic drink before. It was quite pleasant, she thought. She gulped it down. ‘Nice, eh? Here, have mine as well.’ Freddie handed her his own glass. ‘Let’s dance some more,’ Joan said. ‘It’s such fun!’ ‘I’ve a better idea,’ he said. ‘We’ll dance again later but for now let’s find somewhere quiet where we can sit and get to know each other better. Finish that drink quickly. I know where we can go.’ He took her hand and pulled her towards the cloakrooms. Joan giggled as she knocked back her drink and followed him. He pushed open a door that led into a narrow corridor with other doors leading off. ‘Where are we?’ she asked. ‘Backstage of the theatre. There’s nothing playing tonight. Come on, in here.’ He opened a door and pulled her into a dressing room, flicking on the light switch. ‘That’s better. We can properly get to know each other now. Come here, beautiful.’ Joan looked around her at the tatty room, with its smells of greasepaint and powder. There was a worn sofa against one wall, opposite a dressing table. Freddie sat on the sofa and pulled her gently down beside him. He put an arm around her shoulders, and with his other hand, stroked her cheek. ‘There, now. This is cosy, isn’t it?’ he said. He leaned towards her and kissed her gently. She was being kissed! Her first time, and by such a handsome fellow! But what would Mags say? Was she being too forward? She tentatively kissed him back, and he must have taken this as encouragement because his kiss became more urgent, and his hand slid down from her face, over her neck and shoulder, and onto her breast. Suddenly he thrust her roughly back on the sofa and lay on top of her, kissing her harshly. No, this wasn’t what she wanted! She turned her head away and tried to push him off, but he was too heavy and strong. ‘Stop it, Freddie, oh please stop it. Can’t we go back and dance now?’ ‘Aw, sweetheart, I only want a kiss. That’s not too much to ask, is it? My leave finishes tomorrow then I’m back to the war. You wouldn’t deny a poor airman his last bit of fun, would you? Not when he’s putting his life on the line for you?’ He kissed her again, his mouth hard against hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. ‘Stop it! I shall scream!’ ‘Aw, no you won’t. Just relax; enjoy it,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ But he was hurting her. He was lying on top of her, his elbow digging into her ribs and his stubble scratching her cheeks as he continued to kiss her. ‘Get off her, you thug! Get off! Off!’ It was the boy with the broken glasses, his hair flopping over his eyes as he burst through the door, hauled Freddie off her, and landed a punch on his nose. ‘Ow, you little shit. What did you do that for? Me and my girl were just getting comfortable.’ Freddie clutched at his bleeding nose and spat on the floor. ‘She didn’t look very comfortable to me. Get out, and leave her alone.’ ‘Oh yeah? Who’s going to make me?’ ‘I am. Now get out before I hit you again!’ The boy squared up to Freddie. He was a little taller, but not as well built. Nevertheless there must have been something in his eyes that made Freddie think the better of taking him on, for he spat again and took a step towards the door. ‘She’s nothing but a tease. Maybe you’ll get more out of her, mate,’ he said, as he slammed the door behind him. ‘Are you all right?’ said the boy, extending a hand to pull Joan up from the sofa. She nodded, stood and straightened her clothing. ‘Thank you. I shouldn’t have come with him.’ ‘I saw him pull you out of the dance hall and thought you might be in trouble. Are you sure you’re all right? Can I get your friend for you?’ Mags. How would she tell her how stupid she’d been? She wouldn’t. Not unless she had to. If Mags hadn’t seen her leave with Freddie maybe she could get away with not saying anything. ‘She’s my sister. But it’s all right. You’ve been very kind. I’ll freshen up now and then go back to the dance hall. I hope that airman has gone home.’ The boy nodded. ‘I hope so, too. But I’ll keep an eye out, just in case.’ He held the door open for her and followed her back along the corridor towards the cloakrooms. Joan ducked into the ladies room, and when she came out, he was no longer around. She felt a pang of guilt—he’d rescued her but she hadn’t even asked him his name. Chapter Three (#ulink_cdae1a46-9bd7-51e2-9437-3674f00be220) August 2014 The day after moving day, a Saturday, dawned fresh and clear, cool for the time of year but sunny, with the promise of warmth later on once the sun was higher. Thank goodness for that, thought Ali. They could get on with sorting out the house, emptying boxes and filling cupboards. Though if it got too hot she knew she would just want to take a picnic rug and a book down to the beach for the afternoon. Well, maybe if they made good progress she could do that—start as she meant to go on, now that she lived so close to the sea. Might as well make the most of it while they lived here, however long that would be. She was busy in the kitchen, unpacking endless boxes of kitchen utensils and deciding which of the many shiny new cupboards they should go in. Pete certainly hadn’t skimped on cupboard space when refitting it. He’d done a great job. Now, he was trying to get the TV and hard-disk recorder to work and the kids were upstairs organising their respective rooms. The radio was on, playing cheerful Saturday morning music, the sun was shining in through the window and, all in all, life was pretty good. Kelly came downstairs. ‘Hi, Mum. My room’s sorted, as much as I can do right now. Did you know the wallpaper’s peeling off, behind that god-awful blue sink in the corner? There’s a bit of a smell of damp in there as well.’ ‘The house was tested for damp, Kelly, when we had the survey done. There’s no damp in your room.’ Pete had come into the kitchen and heard her comments. He pushed his way past piles of boxes and grabbed the kettle. ‘I need more tea. Anyone else?’ ‘Yes, please,’ Ali said. ‘Even if it’s not damp, will you do my room soon, please?’ said Kelly. ‘I want something really cool and classy. I had to put up with that Barbie wallpaper in the old house for far too long.’ ‘Ha, well you chose it,’ laughed Ali. ‘Yeah, when I was, like, six. I grew up, Mum, or hadn’t you noticed?’ Kelly gave her a playful thump on the arm. She was right, Ali thought, she had grown up. So quickly. At seventeen she was almost a woman. What had happened to their little girl? ‘As soon as Matt gets here is it cool if we go out for a bit?’ ‘Yes, it’s, er, cool. It’ll do you good. Go down to the beach or something. Make the most of the day.’ Ali gave her daughter a quick hug. She was glad they had a good relationship. Many of Kelly’s friends seemed to barely ever speak to their parents. The doorbell rang. Ali glanced at her watch. It was too early for Matt to arrive, surely? Kelly went to answer it. ‘Hi, are your parents in?’ Ali heard a male voice in the hallway. Not Matt. She brushed cardboard-dust off her T-shirt and went out to see who it was. Standing on the doorstep was a man in his forties, tanned, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of loose denim shorts. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Sorry to interrupt your unpacking. I’m Jason Bergmann, your new neighbour from number seven.’ He held out his hand. Ali shook it. ‘Lovely to meet you, Jason. I’m Ali Bradshaw; this is my daughter, Kelly. Do come in. It’s a mess but we can offer you a cup of tea or coffee.’ She stood aside to let him pass. ‘I was just calling to welcome you to the street. And if you’re free this evening, come round about eight for a glass of wine in my garden? You’ll be sick of unpacking by then, I’d say.’ He had a nice smile. Ali warmed to him instantly. ‘Thanks, that would be lovely.’ ‘What would be lovely?’ said Pete, coming out of the kitchen with his mug of tea. ‘Oh, hello.’ He shook Jason’s hand. ‘Jason Bergmann. From next door. Bottle of wine round at mine this evening? To celebrate your move.’ ‘Sounds good to me,’ Pete said. ‘I’m Pete. We also have a son, Ryan, around somewhere. He’s thirteen.’ ‘Kelly and Ryan are most welcome, too. I’ll leave you to your unpacking, and see you later, then.’ ‘Seems like a nice chap,’ Pete said, after Ali had closed the door. ‘It’ll be good to get to know a neighbour so quickly.’ Kelly went back upstairs. The new neighbour seemed nice, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to go round to his drinks party this evening. Sounded a bit dull. She was barely in her bedroom when the doorbell rang again. This time it must be Matt! She raced down the stairs, almost tripping on a loose corner of carpet on the half landing, and got to the door just as her mother was opening it. It was Matt. She launched herself into his arms before he was even over the threshold. ‘Steady on! What a welcome. Hi, Ali. Settling in OK?’ ‘Hi, Matt. Yes, thanks. Lots of unpacking to do, but we’ll get there. Tea?’ ‘No, Mum. We’ll be going out in a few minutes,’ Kelly said. ‘Er, no thanks then, Ali. Kells, can I at least have a tour before we go out? I can’t wait to see the house. It’s huge!’ ‘OK, a quick one, though. I’m desperate to get down to the beach.’ Kelly took him by the hand and dragged him on a whistle-stop tour of the downstairs. ‘Living room. Dining room, though I think it’s going to be more of a library cum playroom cum office, whatever. Kitchen. Dad’s already done that up. Big enough to have a table and eat in. There’s a coal shed out there. Mum wants it converted to a utility room. Downstairs loo under the stairs.’ She pulled him upstairs. ‘Ryan’s room, Mum and Dad’s room. Bathroom, spare room. My room.’ ‘It’s big!’ Matt stepped inside and spun around. ‘Ryan’s is bigger.’ ‘This is way nicer than your old room. I like it!’ ‘What? Seriously? With this hideous wallpaper?’ ‘Better than Barbie. And look at the size, the space and hey, the view!’ He crossed to the window and gazed out at the garden. ‘A view of the coal shed roof.’ ‘And that oak tree at the end of the garden. Love it!’ Kelly grinned. His enthusiasm was infectious. She put her arms around him from behind and nuzzled her face into his back. ‘Dad’s going to decorate it soon. I’m going to have cream walls and aubergine curtains, with some hot-pink accessories. It’ll be gorgeous.’ ‘Like its inhabitant, then.’ He twisted around to face her, and put his arms around her waist. ‘Charmer.’ She reached up and kissed him, full on the mouth. ‘Hey, slow down. Your mum and dad are in the house! Thought you wanted to go to the beach?’ ‘I do. Let me grab my bikini and stuff and we’ll go.’ She let go of him and started rummaging in the drawers she’d so recently filled, looking for her beach gear. ‘You’ve got a sink in your room.’ ‘You’re so observant.’ ‘Useful.’ ‘Horrible. I want Dad to take it out. Look at the peeling wallpaper around it!’ Kelly grabbed a loose corner of paper above the skirting board and pulled. The paper came away in a huge long strip to halfway up the wall. Matt gasped. ‘God, you’ll get in trouble for that!’ ‘No, I won’t. It’s all got to come off soon anyway.’ She tore another strip upwards, screwed up the paper and stuffed it in her bin. ‘Hey, there’s something written on the wall, here.’ Matt moved closer to get a better look. ‘A love heart—how sweet! What’s it say? Joanne, no wait, Joanloves Jack. Aw! Joan and Jack. Wonder who they were? Give us a pencil, Kells. I’ll add our names—Kelly 4 Matt, hey? What do you think, babe?’ Kelly felt a shiver go down her spine. Joan, Jack. Who were they, indeed? One of them presumably lived in this bedroom before her, and had written this on the wall. Mum had said that her great-aunt Betty had lived here alone for fifty years, so it had to be before then, unless it was a visitor. But a visitor wouldn’t write on the wall. It had to be someone who’d lived here. Joan, whoever she was, was probably dead by now. A picture flashed into her mind of a young girl, her own age but from a time way back, with blonde hair caught at the side in a Kirby grip. That was the problem with old houses. They were full of the ghosts of past occupants. ‘Kelly? Are you OK?’ Matt’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Fine. Let’s get out of here. I need some fresh air.’ She grabbed her beach bag and ran down the stairs. ‘You’ve got the window wide open. How much air do you need?’ Matt called after her. But Kelly felt she just needed to escape from the house for a while. ‘See you, Mum. We’ll be back for tea.’ She dragged Matt after her. ‘Er, bye, Ali—see you later.’ He waved as Kelly dragged him out of the front door, down the garden path. She banged the garden gate closed behind them and took a deep breath. Better already. ‘What’s the matter, Kells? You seem really wound up.’ ‘I am. Joan loves Jack. That really creeped me out, you know.’ ‘Why? It’s only a couple of names.’ Kelly shook her head and began walking down the road towards the clifftop and beach. ‘I don’t know, Matt. I just thought, what if they were, like, our age when they wrote that, and maybe that was like fifty or sixty or seventy years ago, before Mum’s great-aunt had the house. They’d be ancient now. Or dead. And it’s just weird to think of kids like us, being in love and everything, and then getting old and dying.’ ‘Babe, it happens to us all, you know? Everyone gets old and dies sometime. Unless they die young.’ ‘Dying young would be better than fading away.’ ‘Bet you won’t say that when you’re fifty.’ Matt playfully punched her arm. ‘Fifty’s already old.’ ‘You should try to find out who that Joan and Jack were,’ Matt said. ‘Like, if one of them lived in the house, maybe your great-gran would know. Maybe one of them was some relative of yours. You might not feel so creeped out about them if you knew who they were. My mum’s into the whole genealogy thing, you know. She spends hours online, trying to fill in gaps in the family tree. It’s kind of interesting, in a way.’ Kelly considered this. Maybe it would be a good idea to do a bit of research and find out who they were. Joan was such an old-fashioned name. It had to be someone from long ago. But who? A week later, Ali and Pete had unpacked everything and flattened the hundreds of boxes, which were now stacked in the garage waiting for the removal company to come and collect them. They’d arranged the furniture and hung curtains, and the house looked respectable enough to entertain visitors. It was beginning to feel like home, though Ali could still not believe they actually owned the house outright, after their years of renting. They’d met several neighbours as well as spending a pleasant evening with Jason from next door, the day after moving in. He seemed to be a thoroughly pleasant chap. In some ways he reminded Ali a little of her father. She had invited her grandmother to tea that afternoon and was busy making preparations. Kelly was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and texting. ‘Kelly, will you help me make a cake for your great-gran?’ Ali asked. ‘You know what a sweet tooth she has. Dad’s collecting her this afternoon. She’d love a home-made cake.’ ‘Aw, Mum. I hate baking. I’ve got loads of homework to do as well. We’ve started a module in history about life for ordinary people during the Second World War. I’ve got a stack of reading to do for it.’ ‘Oh. All right then, I’ll do it. You should go and get on with your homework now. Get it out of the way before she comes, so you can spend some time with her. Remember it’s going to be a lovely big surprise for her, that we’re in this house where she grew up.’ Kelly looked up from her phone and frowned. ‘I don’t get why you didn’t tell her we were moving.’ Ali began collecting together the ingredients for a Victoria sponge cake. ‘Well, I did tell her we were moving house, just didn’t say we were moving here. She knows we inherited it from Betty, but I’d let on that we were planning to sell it. I thought it’d be a lovely surprise for her to find that we’ve actually moved in, and are bringing the house back to life. I can’t wait to see her face when she arrives.’ ‘Hmm, well. I’ll go and do my homework now, then,’ said Kelly. She picked up her phone and tea mug, scraped back her chair and left the room. At ten to three Pete was despatched to collect Margaret Eliot from her nursing home. Gran was eighty-nine, and as Ali’s parents lived in Spain it had fallen to Ali to make arrangements for her when she’d become unable to cope in her own home any longer. She’d also had to sort out a place for Great-aunt Betty, who’d spent the last couple of years of her life in a different nursing home. Ali had always felt it was sad that the two sisters didn’t get on, but Gran had never said much about why that was. Anyway, it was too late now. Ali bustled round, putting plates, cups and saucers ready on a tray, filling the kettle, and sprinkling icing sugar over the top of the Victoria sponge. It had come out well. She wasn’t much of a baker herself but it was worth making the effort for Gran, who would certainly appreciate it. She went into the living room, the window of which looked out onto the street, to await Gran’s arrival. A couple of minutes later, Pete’s car pulled into the driveway. Ali rushed out to the front door, calling up the stairs to Kelly and Ryan as she went. Outside, Pete was wrestling with Gran’s Zimmer frame, trying to pull it out of the boot, while Gran remained sitting in the passenger seat. He was swearing quietly. ‘Darn thing went in all right. Why won’t it come out?’ Ali went round to open Margaret’s door. ‘Gran! I’ve been so looking forward to bringing you here. What do you think of our new house? Of course, you know it well. I’ll hardly need to give you a guided tour!’ Margaret’s face was stony. ‘Hello, Alison. I think you’ve got a bit of explaining to do. Why didn’t you tell me you were moving into this house?’ ‘I thought it would be a lovely surprise for you,’ Ali said. Oh no. Don’t say Gran was upset by it. Had she got it all wrong? ‘Well it’s certainly a surprise, but not a lovely one. I’m here now. May as well come inside, I suppose. Never thought I would have to set foot inside this cursed place again.’ Pete, standing by with the walking frame, raised his eyebrows at Ali. She gave a small shrug in response. ‘Come on then, Gran. Let me help you out of the car.’ Inside, Kelly and Ryan came running down the stairs. Each of them hugged Margaret tightly, and Ali was relieved to see her grandmother smile at them. Whatever had put her in a bad mood, she still seemed delighted to see the children. Kelly took the old lady’s arm and led her into the sitting room. Gran sat down in an armchair and looked about the room. ‘It’s strange. This room feels so familiar but so different. It must be ten years or more since I was here last. Yes, it was back in 2002, after my poor Roy died. Betty came to his funeral and then a week later invited me for tea. Just a duty invitation, it was. She didn’t really want to see me, but I suppose she thought she ought to. And I didn’t really want to come, but felt I should. Alison, I thought you were going to sell this house?’ ‘We were, but, we thought if we modernised it first it’d be worth more. And it seemed sensible to live in it while we did the work, rather than pay rent,’ Pete said. Margaret nodded thoughtfully. Ali was glad at least that their reasoning seemed to make sense to her. ‘Great-gran, which room did you have when you lived here?’ Kelly asked. ‘Well now, it was the one on the left, next to the bathroom,’ Margaret replied. ‘That’s mine, now,’ Ryan said, triumphantly. ‘I got the big one.’ ‘I’m in the smaller one at the back, over the kitchen,’ Kelly said. ‘Whose was that? Was it Betty’s?’ ‘No,’ Gran said sharply. ‘It wasn’t Betty’s. She had the one at the front of the house. The back one was…just a storage room.’ ‘Who was…’ began Kelly, at the same time that Ali said, ‘Tea, Gran? I’ve been baking. I know how much you like a home-made cake, and though I say it myself, I think I’ve done well.’ She brought in the tray with the Victoria sponge, and smiled as Gran’s eyes lit up. ‘Alison, that looks magnificent. I shall have to visit more often. Though I can’t help but wish you’d sold this house as you said you were going to. You could have bought a lovely modern one with all the money. This house looks so dated. I don’t believe Betty did a thing to it for years.’ ‘It is certainly in need of some TLC,’ Ali replied, pouring a cup of tea. ‘But that’ll be half the fun. We can really make it our own. We’ve already done the kitchen. I’ll show you when you’ve finished your tea. And with Pete off work, he has plenty of time to do it.’ ‘They’re going to work my fingers to the bone, Mrs E,’ Pete said, rolling his eyes. ‘They’ve already told me I need to do the sitting room, Ryan’s room and Kelly’s room all before next weekend.’ ‘You’d best get on with it, then, Peter. Maybe there’ll be a better feeling in this house once it’s been brought up to date. Perhaps it’ll then feel like a home.’ ‘It feels like a home now,’ said Ali. ‘To us, anyway. I thought it would to you, as well, as you grew up here.’ Gran took a bite of the cake Ali had passed her, and chewed it thoughtfully before answering. ‘I’m sorry, Alison. I hate this house. I always have done, ever since…ever since I left. I didn’t have a very happy childhood. My father was a tyrant; I think I told you that before. I couldn’t wait to leave home. I’d have gone into digs if I could, but then I met my lovely Roy and he took me away from here. I was so happy to move out. Things happened here. Things you don’t know about and I don’t want to talk about.’ ‘Ooh er,’ said Ryan. ‘Is the house haunted or something?’ Ali glared at him, and glanced at Gran. Thankfully she seemed not to have heard. ‘Why did Betty never move out?’ Ali asked, steering the conversation onto a safer track. ‘She never married. And when our parents died, as the eldest she inherited the house and stayed on. She was still in her twenties then. She’d always been Father’s favourite in any case. Whatever he said, she would agree with. That’s one reason I didn’t get on with her. She was too much like him.’ Ali nodded. Gran had told her before about her bully of a father. She watched as the old lady ate the rest of her cake. Gran was looking tired and frail today. Ali hoped it hadn’t all been too much for her—the trip out, the shock of finding out where they’d moved to, and the emotional upheaval of visiting this house. She cursed herself inwardly. She should never have kept it secret. She should have discussed their move with Gran before, rather than springing it on her like this. ‘I’m sorry, Gran, for not telling you we were moving here. I should have done. If you’re not comfortable here, next time we’ll take you out to a caf? somewhere, or we’ll visit you at The Beeches.’ Gran smiled weakly. ‘Don’t you worry, Alison, dear. I’m just a little tired today. Another slice of that lovely cake might help perk me up a little. And it is lovely to see you all. I’ll get used to the idea of you living here, I’m sure. It’s time I moved on and forgot about it all. It was all so long ago, after all.’ ‘Forgot what, Great-gran?’ asked Kelly. ‘Just—the way things were back then. The war. Everything that happened. Ah, thank you, Alison.’ She tucked into her second slice of cake, as Pete began chatting about his plans to knock down the coal shed at the back of the house and rebuild it as a utility room. ‘What do you think your gran meant, about things that happened here?’ asked Pete, as they sat together watching TV later that evening. Ali shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I feel so bad about the whole thing, springing that surprise on her like that. I should have thought it through a bit more.’ ‘You weren’t to know. She’d never said before that she hated this house, had she? Not even after Betty died and you told her you’d inherited it.’ ‘No. But I think I said that we’d just sell it straight away. Now I can’t help but wonder what happened here that made her hate the house so much.’ ‘You’ll have to ask her. Maybe she’ll talk about it when she’s away from here.’ ‘I’d be afraid of upsetting her. She looked quite unwell by the time we took her back to The Beeches. I’m worried about her, Pete.’ He hugged her. ‘She’s a tough old bird, your gran. She was just a bit tired, that’s all. And probably it’s just the memories of her bullying father that makes her hate the house. I doubt there’s anything more sinister than that.’ Ali leaned her head on his shoulder. He was probably right. But she was concerned about Gran. She hadn’t been on good form at all today. Chapter Four (#ulink_e993fd96-dbbf-533a-8093-0b9c018a85a4) January 1944 Joan made her way back into the dance hall to look for Mags and the others. ‘There you are. We wondered where you’d got to,’ Mags said, clasping Joan’s hands. ‘I was scared you’d got caught up in that fight.’ ‘What fight? I was in the ladies’ room. Oh, Mags, I’ve done something very silly.’ Joan felt her eyes well up with tears. But Mags had turned her attention away. ‘Oh look, there’s that Canadian airman. They’ve pulled him off the boy. Looks like he came off worse anyway—that’ll be quite a shiner he’s got there. He started it. Did you see? He just went for that poor boy with glasses, totally unprovoked, from what I could see. Joanie, did you see any of the fight?’ ‘No, not at all. Mags, I think I’d like to go home now,’ said Joan, trying to hide behind her sister so that Freddie would not see her. He certainly did look a bit of a mess. She hoped the other boy was all right. Mags pulled a face. ‘Aw, Joan, I’m not ready to go yet. Things are just beginning to get lively. What’s happened? You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier. Weren’t you dancing—oh, you were dancing with that Canadian who was in the fight!’ ‘You stay, Mags. I’m going home.’ ‘On your own?’ ‘I’ll be all right. Don’t worry. See you later.’ Joan kissed her sister on the cheek and hurried away before Mags’s sense of sisterly duty got the better of her. She retrieved her coat from the cloakroom and gratefully stepped outside into the fresh night air. She breathed deeply, two shuddering breaths, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Next time she’d know better. ‘Are you all right?’ Joan turned to see who had spoken, and gasped. It was the boy with broken glasses. They were even more broken now—he was holding them in his hand. He had a split, bloodied lip and his shirt collar was torn. Despite all this, his eyes were full of concern for her, and she felt touched by his care. ‘I am, yes. But you look in a bad way. I heard you were in a fight with that horrible chap. What happened?’ ‘I thought I’d seen him off, but he grabbed me as I went back into the dance hall, and managed to land a punch on me.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his lip. ‘That looks sore. I’m so sorry.’ ‘What for? It wasn’t you who threw the punch. Besides, I got a good right hook in and I think he came off worse.’ Joan bit her lip. To think this boy had taken a beating and all because he had tried to protect her. And she still didn’t know his name! ‘But it was all because of me, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Joan.’ The boy smiled. Despite his swollen lip his face lit up when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled and his eyes shone. He held out a hand. ‘I’m Jack. Jack McBride. I suppose circumstances weren’t really right for us to be properly introduced in there.’ She shook his hand. It felt warm and strong. ‘Hello, Jack McBride. I’m pleased to meet you. And thank you for defending me.’ He made a formal bow. ‘At your service, my lady.’ She smiled. ‘Wish I was a lady. With a horse and carriage waiting here to take me home.’ ‘I’m no horse, and I have no carriage, but if you are going home now I will walk you. With your permission, of course. I shall understand if you’ve had enough of young men’s attentions for one evening. Though I can assure you, I am nothing like that thug in there.’ Joan had little experience of boys, but she could already tell there were at least two types, and that Jack and Freddie were polar opposites. She also knew which type she preferred, by far. She felt safe with Jack. ‘I should very much like you to walk me home. But I must warn you, it is quite a long way. I live on the east side of town, near the beach.’ ‘That’s no problem at all. I’m going that way myself. Is your sister coming?’ ‘She’s staying for a while longer.’ ‘All right. Shall we walk along the promenade?’ ‘In the dark?’ ‘Nonsense, it’s not dark. Look, there’s a full moon tonight.’ He gestured upwards, and Joan noticed the moon for the first time. The streetlamps that usually lit the promenade had been turned off due to blackout restrictions, but the moon was providing more than enough silvery light to show them the way. ‘All right then, why not?’ Jack crooked his elbow and Joan slipped her hand through, as he led her down to the pier entrance then along the promenade. The pier was closed, of course. Its middle section had been removed at the start of the war to prevent it being used by invading forces. Thankfully the beach had not been mined, although there were anti-tank obstacles poking out of the sand throughout its length. It felt so natural to be walking along with Jack, holding on to his arm like this. Natural, grown-up and very pleasant. She put all thoughts of the repulsive Freddie out of her head. Thank goodness not all boys were like that. She’d found a good one in Jack. Or rather, he’d found, and rescued, her. She smiled up at him as they walked, hoping he liked her as much as she was beginning to like him. ‘Look. Do you see the moonlight reflecting off the sea?’ Jack pointed across the bay. ‘It looks like a silver path, leading over the horizon. I wonder where you would end up if you could follow it.’ ‘France, I should think. Or maybe somewhere magical, where you would never be found.’ Jack led her to a bench under a Victorian wrought-iron shelter on the edge of the prom and they sat down, gazing out over the silken sea. The tide was high, and the anti-invasion defences were only just visible. ‘It’s so beautiful. Maybe in the land at the end of the moonlight road there is no war.’ Jack nodded. ‘Mmm. Everyone lives in peace there. No bombs, no guns, no one dying or being hurt.’ ‘If only it could be like that here. I can scarcely remember how things were before the war. It seems as though it’s been going on for ever.’ She moved a little closer to him for the warmth. ‘It’ll be a while longer yet,’ he said. ‘But maybe this year the tide will turn.’ ‘Why have you not joined up? Do you mind me asking?’ ‘I don’t mind at all. I’ve only just turned eighteen, that’s why. I’ll probably be joining up quite soon now. I’m not a conchie, if that’s what you thought.’ ‘No, I didn’t think that, although I wouldn’t mind if you were. Nobody should be forced to fight. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, aren’t they?’ He turned to look at her, and nodded seriously. ‘Yes. I wish everyone thought like you. The world would be a happier place if only people would live and let live. But I do want to do my bit. Maybe there’s some little thing I’ll do as a soldier that will be the start of a chain of events, and the end of that chain will be that Britain wins the war sooner and thousands of lives are saved. Or maybe I’ll save the life of someone who goes on to be important to the whole human race. We can’t know what’s ahead of us, or where our actions will take us. All we can do is follow where our hearts lead, and act upon our beliefs.’ He had turned to look at the shimmering sea again. She watched him, as a small muscle in his jaw clenched and relaxed. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, not feeling the intensity of her gaze upon him. She considered his words. How right he was! Follow your heart. Act upon your beliefs. Stay true to yourself, even in this time of war. She let her eyes follow his across the water, towards the dark distant horizon, and then up to the night sky, to where the moon hung, huge and full. That was where the moonlight trail led. Off this planet, away from its wars, and across the universe to a peaceful, untroubled world. She wished she could step onto the sea and follow it. ‘Where will your heart lead you, Joan?’ His voice broke into her thoughts. She leaned back on the bench, and his arm slipped around her shoulders. She nestled into his warmth. ‘To tell the truth, Jack, I don’t know. I’m only seventeen. My life is ahead of me. The only thing I’m certain of is that you are right—we must all follow wherever our hearts lead. When my heart calls to me I shall follow. I promise you that.’ He smiled at her. For a moment she thought he was going to try to kiss her, and she wondered how that would feel. Not like Freddie’s rough, urgent slobberings, she guessed. Jack would be gentle and considerate. But he turned his face away, and she felt an unexpected shiver of disappointment. ‘You’re cold. Here, take my coat.’ He shrugged off his thin tweed jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. She pulled it close around her neck. The collar smelt of wool and spice, as though his aftershave had rubbed off on it. ‘Thank you. You are very kind.’ ‘It’s my pleasure.’ They sat in silence for a few minutes more. Joan was still considering what he had said about doing his part in the war. Could it really be that a small action from one person could change the whole course of the war? She supposed it was like dominoes—as a child she had spent hours standing her set in a row up on their ends, then gently flicking the first one and watching as the whole series tumbled down. Maybe what Jack meant was that he might be the first domino. Some action of his in the future could be like the toppling of that first domino, and could lead ultimately to the toppling of Hitler. It was the most compelling reason she’d heard yet for why a man would want to join up. ‘I wonder if perhaps I should take you home, now?’ Joan wished she could sit there on the bench gazing at the moonlit sea, with Jack’s arm around her shoulders, for ever. But no doubt he was cold without his coat, and it must be getting late. She nodded, and stood up, handing him back his jacket. ‘I shan’t need that while I’m walking, but thank you so much.’ He slipped it on, and she held out her hand to him. After a moment’s hesitation he took it. His hand was surprisingly warm despite the chilly evening. They walked in step along the prom, under the cliffs, and finally up a zigzag path that led to the clifftop. ‘This is my road,’ Joan said, as they turned away from the sea. ‘I’d better say goodbye to you here,’ said Jack, stopping on the corner. ‘In case your parents are looking out of the window. I don’t want you to get in trouble for walking home with a boy.’ He let go of her hand and stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘Goodbye, then, and thank you, again, for saving me from that horrible thug.’ On a whim she put her hands on his shoulders, reached up and kissed his cheek, before turning and running along the street and back to her house. At the garden gate she looked back. He was still standing there on the corner, shoulders hunched, watching her. He lifted a hand to wave. She waved back, and darted into the house by the back door into the kitchen. Mother was sitting at the kitchen table. She wagged a finger at Joan. ‘There you are! Margaret was back ten minutes ago. I know you were at the dance with her and not at the WVS, so you needn’t try to pretend you weren’t. Thankfully your father went out to his bridge club and isn’t home yet, or you’d be in real trouble, my girl. You’re very lucky.’ ‘We walked back separately. I came along the prom as it is such a beautiful evening. I stopped to look at the moonlight on the sea.’ Best to be as truthful as possible, Joan reasoned, but no need to say she’d walked home with a young man. Mother would only suspect the worst. With a shudder Joan realised that Mother would suspect Jack of being like Freddie, trying to take advantage of innocent young girls. ‘Are you all right? You look frozen half to death. I don’t know, wandering along the prom on your own at this time of night. Anything could have happened to you! There are bad people out there, Joan, bad men who will hurt girls like you.’ ‘I’m all right, Mother. I’ll go to bed now, I think.’ Joan left the kitchen and ran up the stairs, before she found herself blurting out that she knew all about the bad men Mother was talking about. With Jack she had felt safe and secure, but back home the horrors of the earlier part of the evening were catching up with her, and she felt like sobbing. She took a deep breath before entering her bedroom. She didn’t want to explain any of it to Mags, either. It was strange. Until this evening she’d always told Mags everything of importance that happened to her, and a lot of things that weren’t important as well. But the events with Freddie and then Jack had changed her. She felt as though she’d crossed some kind of line between girlhood and womanhood. Or at least taken the first steps towards crossing it. And it felt like a journey she would need to make on her own, without her sister. Chapter Five (#ulink_c468b660-809a-5b46-b9b5-455f298bd040) September 2014 ‘Ali, give us a hand with this,’ called Pete from the hallway. Ali put down her magazine—it had been too much to hope that she might get a few minutes’ quiet reading time with a cup of tea—and went to see what he was up to. He was half inside the under-stairs cupboard, in which a downstairs loo had been installed at some point in the house’s history. They had agreed to rip out this cloakroom and replace it with one in a planned, back extension, beside a new utility room, which would replace the old coal shed. ‘What do you need doing?’ she asked. He’d made good progress since she last checked, and the old toilet was now in the driveway awaiting a trip to the tip. ‘I’m trying to pull off this old wooden cladding,’ he said. ‘It’s just so tight working in this confined space. If you can stand there and pull at the boards as I wrench them off, then stack them out in the hallway—that’ll halve the time it takes.’ ‘Sure. Will do.’ Ali positioned herself, and they began work. He was right. It was a quick job with the two of them working, now that Pete didn’t have to keep squeezing in and out of the tiny space. Soon they had all the cladding off and neatly stacked in the hallway. More for the tip, thought Ali, although maybe it could be used as firewood in the winter, after they’d had the chimneys swept. ‘Interesting,’ said Pete, who was examining the newly uncovered wall. ‘What is?’ Ali poked her head inside the cupboard. ‘That cladding covered up a door.’ Pete picked up his crowbar and began forcing it into a crack. ‘A door? Leading where?’ ‘Let’s find out. I’d imagine it leads to an under-floor space.’ ‘A cellar?’ Wow. So perhaps this already enormous house had a cellar as well? Ali felt a little rush of excitement. More to explore! There was a huge crack as the door splintered open. Pete put down the crowbar, kicked his toolbox aside and took hold of the door with both hands to pull it open further. Ali looked inside. Beyond the door were steep steps leading downwards—it was a cellar! ‘Bloody hell! As if we needed any more space!’ exclaimed Pete. ‘Fetch the inspection torch, will you? It’s hanging up in the garage.’ Ali ran to get the torch, and plugged it in a nearby socket in the hallway. Carefully, Pete made his way down the crumbling concrete steps. Ali followed, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. The inspection torch was bright, and lit the space well. ‘Mind your head,’ said Pete, bending double to dodge the joists from the floor above. ‘It’s not full height, sadly. I’d hoped we could put a games room or home cinema down here.’ Ali laughed. ‘Typical boy stuff. I had in mind a storage area for Christmas decorations and camping gear. Probably easier to get it from here than going up in the loft.’ The loft wasn’t boarded. If they could use the cellar instead it’d save a big job. ‘Sounds like a good idea. As long as it’s not damp down here. And we’ll need to do some clearing up.’ Ali looked around. He was right. There were several disintegrating cardboard boxes, a pile of empty glass bottles, evidence of mice infestation, a roll of mildewed old carpet and numerous other abandoned items. Nothing they couldn’t sort out with a bit of hard work though. ‘What’s in that box?’ She pointed to a wooden crate that stood centred on a piece of old carpet. Pete knelt beside it, and pulled away the piece of cloth that was draped over the top. ‘Papers, photos, a few books. All a bit the worse for wear.’ ‘Can we take that box up? I’d love to have a rummage through. Maybe it’s something my great-grandparents put down here and forgot about. Or Gran’s schoolbooks or something.’ ‘I think you’re right,’ said Pete, pulling out a framed photo from the top of the box. ‘Isn’t that your grandmother? I’m sure I’ve seen a photo similar to this one in your album of old family pictures.’ He passed it to her and angled the light so she could see. The photo was a black-and-white snap of three young girls. Two were laughing, and one looked more serious. They were all wearing school uniform blouses and pinafore dresses, and the photographer’s mark at the bottom gave the date as 1938. Ali recognised her grandmother at once. She had another photo, of just her grandmother in school uniform, presumably taken on the same date by the same photographer, in her album. One of the other girls was probably Great-aunt Betty. The serious, elder girl, she thought. So who was the other one? She looked younger than Margaret or Betty. She was giggling, and there was a mischievous look in her eye. Some masonry dust fell on Ali’s head, and she coughed. ‘Let’s go back up. I think we’ll need to wear masks when we clean out this place. Bring up that box, will you please?’ Pete nodded, and handed her the torch. He lifted the box and carried it up, followed by Ali. She was glad to be out of that dusty, musty place. It was a bit creepy down there, knowing no one could have touched those items for decades. Maybe they would just throw away the rubbish and board it back up again. It wasn’t as if they needed the space anyway. ‘Spread some newspaper on the kitchen table,’ Pete said, ‘and I’ll put the box on there.’ Ali did as he suggested. How wonderful if there were old family documents in the box! She’d always felt she should ask Gran to tell her more of her childhood memories. Once Gran had gone there would be no one left from that generation who could remember the war years and before. Maybe this box would be a good starting point. There was a thundering of feet on the stairs, and Kelly and Ryan burst into the kitchen. ‘Mum, Kelly won’t lend me her laptop. I need it for homework.’ ‘He’s been really annoying me, Mum. I’m trying to do my own homework and he just stands by my door telling me I have to lend him it. He should buy his own. Took me years to save up for this, didn’t it?’ They were like toddlers, Ali thought. Soon they would have to get a computer for Ryan. They’d resisted it so far, as he was only thirteen and they wanted to be able to control how much time he spent online. But increasingly it seemed he needed to do his homework on a computer. ‘You can use mine for today, Ryan. Let Kelly get on with her own work.’ ‘Cheers, Mum. What’s that old box?’ Ryan peered into it. ‘We found a door to a cellar in the under-stairs cupboard. That box was down there,’ Pete explained. ‘Cool! Can I go down and have a look?’ ‘Sure. Come on.’ Pete left the kitchen followed by an excited Ryan. ‘I knew this house would have a cellar. I just knew it,’ said Kelly. ‘Seems you were right. Want to help me sort through this stuff?’ ‘Yeah! More exciting than homework.’ Kelly sat down and began pulling things out of the box. There were some old school exercise books, a moth-eaten teddy with a loose arm and one eye missing, a handful of hair ribbons, a small bundle of letters rolled and tied with a piece of string, and another framed photo. This one was of a young man in army uniform. ‘I wonder who he was?’ said Ali. ‘Jack, I expect.’ Ali glanced at her daughter. ‘Who’s Jack?’ Kelly shook her head as if to bring herself back to the present. ‘You know, on my bedroom wall it says Joan loves Jack. I bet this is Jack.’ ‘And who was Joan, I wonder?’ Kelly picked up the photo of the three girls and considered it. She pointed to the youngest. ‘That’ll be Joan, I reckon. That’s Great-gran, isn’t it? And your great-aunt Betty was older, so that must be her. The youngest one must be Joan.’ ‘But who was she? My great-grandparents only had two daughters. Elizabeth—that’s Betty, and Margaret—that is, my gran. There wasn’t a third daughter. I think this third girl in the photo must be a friend of theirs. A close friend—that will be why they had their photo taken together. Or maybe a cousin. I must take it and show Gran, the next time I visit. I’ll ask her about it.’ Kelly was staring at the photo of the young man. Ali watched as she ran her fingers over the image, tracing the outline of his face. ‘Can I keep this, Mum?’ she asked. ‘Of course. I’ll want to borrow it to ask Gran about him, but if you want to keep it in your room till then that’s fine by me.’ ‘Thanks.’ Kelly picked up the old teddy and stroked its head, fondly. ‘This old thing looks well loved. He deserves to be cleaned up and looked after in his old age, rather than left to rot in a cellar, poor darling. I wonder if this belonged to Joan?’ Ali continued pulling items out of the box. Right at the bottom was a small leather box, its surface covered in a fine layer of mould. Inside was a gold locket on a chain. The front was inlaid with mother-of-pearl in an intricate design of flowers and leaves. ‘Look at this, Kelly. I wonder why it was put in this box along with all the other stuff.’ Kelly gasped as she saw the locket. ‘It’s gorgeous. Really pretty. May I try it on?’ Without waiting for an answer she took it from Ali and fastened it around her neck. ‘I’d like to keep this, too.’ ‘Well, I suppose so, though again I’d like to ask Gran if she knows who it belonged to.’ ‘Joan, I expect,’ said Kelly, as she went upstairs with the teddy and photo. Ali watched her leave, then looked again at the photo of the three girls. The little one must be a cousin. She’d never heard Gran mention any cousins but that wasn’t surprising. You tended to lose touch with more distant relatives as you get older. Not that she knew. Ali had no cousins, neither had her father. They were both only children. Her mother had a brother but he’d never married. It must be nice to have siblings and cousins. The three girls looked so happy. At least, the youngest one and Gran did—Betty looked as though she was disapproving of whatever the other two were giggling at. Gran always did say Betty had been the serious one, who took after her father. It was sad to think that just a year or so after this photo was taken, Britain was plunged into war. It had changed everything. All three girls would have spent the rest of their childhood and teenage years in a war-torn country. They’d have had to grow up fast. It was so sad. The current generation of teenagers was so much more lucky, Ali thought. They had so many more opportunities, and freedom to do whatever they wanted. It was a shame they didn’t always realise it. Kelly came downstairs again an hour or so later, while Ali was peeling potatoes for the Sunday roast. She was still wearing the locket, and had tonged her hair into waves, held at the sides with Kirby grips. ‘I like your hair,’ Ali said. ‘Very retro.’ ‘Thanks. I was kind of copying Amelia Fay.’ ‘Who?’ ‘The singer. She does forties and fifties stuff, only updated. She’s cool.’ ‘Ah, OK. Get me a roasting tin out of that cupboard, could you?’ Kelly handed her the tin. ‘I was thinking, Mum, we should definitely ask Great-gran about those photos, and find out who the third girl really is. I mean, I’m sure it’s the Joan who wrote her name on my bedroom wall but I guess only Great-gran would know for certain. But more than that—I’d like to research the whole family tree. Ask her about her parents and grandparents. She’d probably remember her grandparents, and wow, just think about it—they’d be my great-great-great-grandparents. That’s way back! So, like, can we go and see her, and ask her stuff?’ It was an interesting idea. Ali had often wondered about researching the family tree. So many people did it these days, and there was lots of information online, but nothing beat starting with your own elderly relatives and capturing their memories before they were gone for good. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea, Kelly. But your great-gran’s not been too well lately. She’s had a chest infection, which has laid her low. We’ll need to wait a bit, until she’s stronger, before we go bothering her too much. I won’t be able to help you with it—I’ve not enough time as it is, what with having to work full time since your dad was made redundant.’ She tipped the peeled potatoes into the tray, drizzled olive oil over them and popped them into the oven. ‘There. Right then, what other veg shall we have?’ ‘Dunno.’ Kelly shrugged. ‘Hey, I know. Now we’ve got a decent-sized garden, can we grow our own? We could put a vegetable plot down the end, and plant carrots and beans and stuff. I bet Great-gran’s family had a veg plot during the war. All that dig for victory stuff.’ ‘That’ll be one more thing to ask her, then. Perhaps you should start a list.’ Ali began peeling and chopping some carrots. ‘But remember, she didn’t get on with Betty or her father much, so she might not want to answer all your questions.’ ‘Can try though, can’t we, when she’s better?’ Kelly grinned, stealing a chunk of raw carrot before waltzing out of the room, singing a jazzed-up version of ‘White Cliffs of Dover’. Presumably an Amelia Fay song, Ali thought. Chapter Six (#ulink_d69dfb75-233b-535a-af36-b32f4fd72818) January 1944 ‘You wash; I’ll dry,’ said Joan. She tugged a tea towel off the drying rack hanging over the kitchen table and stood ready to deal with the breakfast dishes. Elizabeth began running water into the sink. ‘Are you helping at the WVS today as well, Betty? Mags and I are.’ ‘No, my next shift isn’t until Monday,’ answered Elizabeth. ‘I’m not sure I’d want to be there when you two giggling schoolgirls are around. Pass me those dirty plates.’ ‘We’re hardly schoolgirls. Mags has been working for two years now. Even I’ve left school. Besides we work really hard at the WVS. You ask Mrs Atkins. She’ll tell you.’ Joan rubbed at a plate and stacked it with the others in a cupboard. ‘You’ve left school, but you’re not yet earning. That makes you no better than a schoolgirl, in my opinion.’ It was just like Elizabeth to try to put her down. Joan pouted. ‘It’s not my fault I haven’t got a job. I wanted to go and be a land girl last harvest time but Father wouldn’t let me. Even now he won’t let me go out to look for work. He says I’m too young.’ ‘You should have stayed at school as he wanted, and learned to type.’ Elizabeth sniffed as she placed a teacup on the draining board. ‘Then you might have got a proper job.’ ‘Who wants a proper job?’ said Father. ‘I’m in need of my second cup of tea. Is there any more in the pot?’ ‘Sorry, Father, no. I emptied it, just now.’ How was Joan to know he hadn’t had his second cup? He usually poured it before leaving the breakfast table at the weekend, and took it through to his study to drink while he read the paper. ‘You threw it away? Aren’t you aware there’s a war on, and tea is rationed along with everything else, girl?’ ‘Yes, Father; sorry, Father. I thought you’d already—’ ‘Well, I hadn’t, and you didn’t think to come and check. Now what about answering my question? Who’s wanting a proper job? Elizabeth my dear, I assume it isn’t you, for you already hold a splendid position at the bank.’ ‘No, Father,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘We were talking about Joan and that time she said it was her dream to join the land army.’ Father glared at Joan. ‘No daughter of mine is going to work in the fields. There are far better jobs to be had than that. Besides, dreaming is a waste of time, as I’ve told you before.’ Joan tried to stop herself from answering back but it was no good. She’d always been the defiant one, and it had always got her into trouble, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. ‘But Father, what job could be more important than raising crops and gathering in the harvest? England has to feed herself. The men are all at war so the women and girls must step in to help on the land.’ ‘Let the workingclass girls work on the land. You are not of that class, and I won’t have you doing that sort of work. Look at Elizabeth—she does a useful job at the bank, which is befitting of a girl of her station. Elizabeth, ask at the bank if they can find a position for your sister. Not as a counter clerk—I won’t have her dealing with the public. But perhaps there’s something she could do in the back offices.’ ‘I will. I’ll ask on Monday.’ ‘Thank you. I suppose I shall have to do without that second cup of tea.’ Father dropped his cup in the washing-up water and left the room. Joan carried on drying up in silence. She could think of nothing more dull than working in a stuffy bank, with stuck-up Betty breathing down her neck. Well, maybe something else would come up. But it would be nice to have a proper full-time job, rather than just staying at home to help Mother with the housework. And if she was earning money, she’d be able to go to more dances, like the one last week. She had put the incident with Freddie out of her mind. She would never let herself get into that situation again. The rest of the evening had been fun. For a moment she found herself wondering what that boy, Jack, who’d walked her home, was doing now. Half an hour later Joan and Mags arrived at the church hall, which was currently home to the WVS. Mags was put to work in the kitchen making huge pots of soup to sustain the air-raid wardens who would be on shift that evening and Joan was asked to sort some bags of donated children’s clothes. She followed the ample girth of Mrs Atkins through to a small room off the main hall, where several piles of clothes stood waiting. ‘Sort them by age and sex,’ said Mrs Atkins. ‘Then we can send them out to the county villages that took in evacuees. They’ll be needing more warm items now the weather’s turned so cold.’ She turned to go. ‘Oh, and anything that’s dirty, put it in a pile over there and I’ll take it home to wash before we send it away.’ ‘All right. Thanks, Mrs Atkins. I’ll get this done quickly.’ Joan spread out the first pile on a trestle table and began sorting through. It was easy work, though she hadn’t much idea of children’s sizes or what clothes would fit each age group. She wondered about the evacuee children. There were none in the town itself but the outlying farms and villages, away from the danger of bombs, had all taken some children who’d been sent down from London. It must be awful to be sent away from your family like that, especially for the little ones. Although she had to admit, she wouldn’t have much minded being sent away from her father. He was just so bossy and controlling. It was all right for Betty, his favourite, but life with him was hard for herself and Mags. He never let her do anything or go anywhere. She was holding up a girl’s smock and deciding whether to put it in the five-to-six pile or the seven-to-eight pile, when she heard Mrs Atkins’s strident tones in the main hall. ‘Miss Perkins is busy at the moment. I’m afraid she can’t come out right now. Besides, you haven’t even given your name. I’m hardly going to let her come out to meet a young man who won’t even give his name.’ Joan strained her ears to hear more. Which Miss Perkins did the young man want? Her or Mags? ‘I’m so sorry, ma’am. My name is Jack McBride. I met Miss Perkins last week and I just wanted to see her again to check she was all right. She’d had an upset, you see. I remember she told me she was going to begin working here, so I was hoping…’ Joan suppressed a gasp. He’d come looking for her! She put down the child’s dress, dusted off her skirt and patted her hair. ‘That’s better, young man. A little politeness will get you far. Joan, dear? Could you come through?’ Mrs Atkins pushed the door open and nodded to Joan. ‘There’s a young man here to see you. You may have a five-minute break.’ Joan thanked Mrs Atkins and hoped she didn’t notice the blush she could feel rising up her neck. For that matter she hoped Jack couldn’t see it either. ‘I didn’t dare call at your house,’ he said, as they crossed the large hall towards the entrance. ‘In fact I wasn’t sure which number it was, anyway.’ He held a battered tweed cap in his hands. ‘Father would have turned you away so it’s just as well.’ She smiled gently at him. He had a sweet, kind-looking face, now she saw him in daylight. ‘The truth is, I wanted to see you again, to ask you…well, to ask you whether perhaps you might like, well… What I mean to say is, I’d like to take you out for tea. Today, perhaps, when you finish here?’ Joan had nothing to fear from her own blushes compared to Jack’s. His face was cranberry red and his hands were shaking as they twisted his cap round and around. ‘Yes, Jack. I would like that very much. I finish today at four o’clock. Will you meet me outside?’ She smiled to see delight and relief wash over his face. ‘Four o’clock, yes. I’ll be waiting outside. Wonderful! Thank you, Joan.’ He grinned, and waved at her as he skipped down the steps and out of the hall. Joan went back to her task, passing Mrs Atkins who unexpectedly winked at her. She looked at her watch. Three hours to go until four o’clock. She soon had all the children’s clothes sorted, re-bagged and labelled. Mrs Atkins came to check. ‘Excellent job, young Joan. Now then, we’ve got the playgroup to run this afternoon and I wondered if you wouldn’t mind helping with that until four o’clock.’ ‘Of course, I’d love to,’ Joan said. She went into the main hall where the usual playgroup leaders were just getting ready for the children. There were boxes of donated toys to take out of cupboards, and chairs to arrange in a circle. The children were supposed to stay inside the circle. Joan had seen it in action before and had thought it looked like a fun job. She had barely finished arranging the chairs when the first children arrived. A flustered-looking woman pushed a small boy and a smaller girl into the circle. ‘I need about forty minutes,’ she said to Joan. ‘Depending on whether I can get hold of any sugar. It’s her birthday tomorrow—’ she nodded at the little girl ‘—and I must make some sort of a cake. You’ll be all right now, children? This nice lady is going to play with you.’ With that the woman hurried out of the hall. As soon as she’d gone the girl began crying. Her brother ignored her and sat down to play with a wooden train. Joan knelt beside the crying child. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Her name’s Patricia’ said the boy, not looking up from his game. ‘What a pretty name, Patricia! How about we dry those tears and see if we can find a dolly to dress?’ Joan pulled out her handkerchief and gently dabbed at the child’s face. To her surprise it worked; little Patricia’s sobs quickly subsided. She took her hand and led her over to a box she knew contained a couple of grubby old dolls. One was a rag doll, sewn into her dress, but the other had a removable outfit. Joan sat on the floor with Patricia and helped her undress and redress the doll. ‘You don’t need to actually play with them—just let them play on their own. You can sit up here and just watch.’ The woman running the playgroup was a thin-faced woman named Valerie whom Joan judged to be around thirty. She was sitting on one of the chairs in the circle, with a magazine in her hand. ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind,’ said Joan. She looked up and caught Mrs Atkins’s eye. The older women smiled and nodded encouragingly. Three more mothers arrived with children. One child was crying, not wanting to be left, so Joan picked up the sniffling boy. ‘Mummy won’t be long, and while she’s away, you and I can play with a brum-brum car. How about that?’ ‘Oh, I am grateful to you,’ said the boy’s mother. ‘You’ve no idea how useful it is to have somewhere to leave them for a little while. The queues can be so long and little ones just get fed up. It’s all very well if you’ve older children to stay at home with the little ones, but when you haven’t it’s a problem. You do seem to have a knack with them. Look, Georgie’s stopped crying already. I’ll be back in an hour. Bye-bye, Georgie! Mummy will see if there are any biscuits at the baker’s for you.’ Joan settled down to play cars with the boy. Patricia’s brother and another little lad joined in, and soon they’d made a garage from one of the boxes, and had an assortment of vehicles parked within it. Valerie peered over the top of her magazine and sniffed with disapproval from time to time. Halfway through the afternoon it was time for the children to have a drink of squash each. Mrs Atkins brought out the tray and Joan helped each child to a drink. ‘You’re really rather good with the children,’ said Mrs Atkins. ‘And I’d better whisper it, you’re more natural with them than poor Valerie there. How do you like doing that job?’ ‘I’m really enjoying myself, actually. Once they got over their mothers leaving they settled down quickly. I like playing with them. I’m sure I’ve a few old toys at home, and some colouring books I could bring in as well.’ Joan bent to take an empty beaker from Patricia and put it back on the tray. ‘Play with dolly?’ asked Patricia. ‘Yes, of course. You fetch dolly while I finish chatting with Mrs Atkins.’ The little girl ran off happily to find the doll. ‘Well, Joan, if you would like it, I think there’s a permanent job for you running the playgroup. I’d like to open it every weekday morning from ten till twelve, and again in the afternoons from two till four. Could you take it on, do you think?’ Mrs Atkins dropped her voice again. ‘There are other jobs that might be more suited to Valerie’s talents.’ ‘Oh, I’d love to!’ Joan grinned at Mrs Atkins, delighted by the prospect. ‘Wonderful. So can you start from tomorrow?’ ‘Of course. I’ll be here by half past nine to set things up. Now I must go and play with little Patricia, as I promised.’ She turned to the little girl who was tugging at her skirt. Mrs Atkins nodded and left her to it. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Joan wondered whether after the war was over, she might be able to get some kind of paid job looking after children. Perhaps she could even train as a primary school teacher? Would Father accept that as suitable employment for one of his daughters? Probably not, unless it was a private school for children from rich families. He wouldn’t want her mixing with children from the working classes, would he? She put the thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on the children and their games. One by one each child was collected and Joan was gratified to discover that some of them didn’t want to leave her. Mrs Atkins informed each mother of the new opening hours for the playgroup as they left, while Valerie scowled and packed up early. Jack was waiting outside for her at four o’clock, as he had promised. She smiled shyly as she came down the entrance steps and took his arm. ‘Did you have a good afternoon?’ he asked. ‘Oh yes! I have a new job, running the playgroup. From tomorrow morning I’ll be in charge of it. I have all sorts of ideas—rather than just play with the same toys every time I think the children could draw, or make things, or play party games.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kathleen-mcgurl/the-pearl-locket-a-page-turning-saga-that-will-have-you-ho/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.