Better Days will Come

Better Days will Come Pam Weaver When Bonnie runs away from home she leaves her mother Grace and sister Rita heartbroken. Each of their lives are in turmoil but their love for each other will see them through the most troubled of times.Worthing, 1947Widowed Grace Roberts comes home from her factory job one day to find that her eldest daughter Bonnie has run away to London. Utterly distraught she has no choice but to carry on with her life, struggling to make ends meet for her and youngest daughter Rita. Her boss, Norris Finley is a powerful and calculating man. He promises to assist Grace, but his help will come at a hefty price…Pregnant Bonnie arrives in London eager to be reunited with George so they can begin their new life together. But while she waits anxiously on the platform at Victoria station, he never turns up. Unable to return home as she can’t bear the thought of bringing shame to her family, she is left to fend for herself and her unborn baby.Disturbed by the apparent relationship between her mother and Norris, Rita flees home and meets Emilio who she marries. Yet Emilio is guarding a deep secret and when Rita uncovers the truth, she is left heartbroken.Caught in the very worst of times and separated from one another, can the strong bond of family love eventually bring Grace, Bonnie and Rita back together again? PAM WEAVER Better Days Will Come Copyright AVON 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2012 www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) Copyright © Pam Weaver 2012 Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication Source ISBN: 9781847562685 Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2012 ISBN: 9780007453283 Version: 2018-07-23 Dedication To my two beautiful daughters, Cathy and Maggie. I am blessed beyond measure to be their mum. Contents Cover (#ua5f19d5c-de03-5093-8811-65cdd3819fea) Title Page (#u6d4dbfa9-3880-51cc-b76c-0ffe8f02b12c) Copyright (#u2beab009-054b-55ef-a7f5-a44331d7769a) Dedication (#u5556f928-7cfb-5c1b-ba37-83fce805e257) Prologue (#uaa652fb8-94a5-5c47-9e25-857ffd5da2d4) Chapter One (#u63698824-af4a-5a0f-923c-1ad9ad9832bd) Chapter Two (#uc81938d3-ca05-5622-b11f-f8a433ddd420) Chapter Three (#uf7482ba9-ea26-5049-8b72-bc139dbc6f4d) Chapter Four (#u12be298c-0ab2-52d0-9b23-a29ea05fea13) Chapter Five (#uf7ba2034-b56b-511d-9c19-3e9dc24d0ec1) Chapter Six (#u65f499be-e99a-5a8c-b37a-d007cfdba4f2) Chapter Seven (#u3cb8a6f1-d8ee-55cd-acbf-9f09d9c79340) Chapter Eight (#u379a7650-d7d0-56c8-bc11-4637c4f5a2d8) 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) Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Grace’s Cut and Come Again Cake recipe (#litres_trial_promo) Giving up Baby (#litres_trial_promo) Just the Ticket (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) By the same author (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue He was fingering the chain, letting it run through his fingers. Was it time to let the locket go? Would he ever need it? After all, nobody suspected a thing. Why should they in a sleepy backwater like Worthing? He might not have the heady power of previous years but that was no bad thing. When you reached the top, there were any number of people wanting to take you out. It had been a stroke of genius living here. The best place to hide was where everyone could see you. Which brought him back to the locket and the little secret inside. Keep it, or ditch it? He held it up to the light and realised that he wasn’t ready to burn all his bridges just yet. All he needed was somewhere safe. One Worthing 1947 ‘Looks like they’re going to make a start on repairing the pier at last,’ Grace Rogers called out as she entered the house but there was no reply. She pulled her wet headscarf from her head and shook it. Water droplets splattered the back of the chair. She ran her fingers through her honey blonde hair which curled neatly at the nape of her neck and then unbuttoned her coat and hung it on a peg behind the front door. She was a small woman, with a neat figure, pale eyes and long artistic fingers. She’d missed the bus and had to wait for another, so she was soaked. Someone had said that the Littlehampton Road was flooded between Titnore Lane and Limbrick Lane. She wasn’t surprised. The rain hadn’t let up all week. She kicked off her boots. Her feet were wet too but that was hardly surprising either. There was a hole in the bottom of her left shoe. Grace pulled out a soggy piece of cardboard, the only thing between her foot and the pavement, and threw it into the coalscuttle. The two reception rooms downstairs had been knocked into one and the kitchen range struggled to heat such a large area. The fire was low. Using an oven glove, Grace opened the door and put the poker in. The fire resettled and flared a little. She added some coal, not a lot, tossed in the soggy cardboard, and closed the door. Coal was still rationed and it was only November 12th. Winter had hardly started yet. ‘Bonnie?’ No response. Perhaps she was upstairs in her room. Grace opened the stair door and called up but there was no answer. She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Almost three thirty. It would be getting dark soon. Where was the girl? It was early closing in Worthing and Bonnie had the afternoon off, but she never went anywhere, not this time of year anyway, and certainly not in this weather. Rita, her youngest, would be coming back from school in less than an hour. Grace dried her hair with a towel while the kettle boiled. Her bones ached with weariness. She’d jumped at the chance to do an extra shift because even with Bonnie’s wages, the money didn’t go far. When Michael died in the D-Day landings, she’d never imagined bringing up two girls on her own would be so difficult. Still, she shouldn’t grumble. She was a lot better off than some. Even if the rent did keep going up, at least she had a roof over her head, and the knitwear factory, Finley International, where she worked, was doing well. They were producing more than ever, mostly for America and Canada. The war had been over for eighteen months and the country needed all the exports it could get. A year ago they had all hoped that the good times were just around the corner but if anything, things were worse than ever. Even bread was rationed now, and potatoes. Three pounds per person per week, that was all, and that hadn’t happened all through the dark days of the war. Her hair towelled dry, Grace glanced up at the clock again. Where was Bonnie? She said she’d be home to help with the tea. She screwed up some newspaper and stuffed it into the toes of her boots before putting them on the floor by the range. With a bit of luck they’d be dry in the morning. Grace brushed her hair vigorously. She was lucky that it was naturally curly and she didn’t have any grey. The only time she went to the hairdresser was to have it cut. The kettle boiled and Grace rinsed out the brown teapot before reaching for the caddy. Two scoops of Brooke Bond and she’d be as right as ninepence. She was looking forward to its reviving qualities. She sat at the table and reached for the knitted tea cosy. The letter was underneath. It must have been propped against the salt and pepper and fallen over when she’d opened the door and created a draught. Grace picked it up. The envelope was unsealed. Was it meant for her or Bonnie? And who had put it there? She took out a single sheet of paper. A glance at the bottom of the page told her it was from Bonnie. Grace sighed. That meant her daughter was either staying over with her friend from work, or she’d decided to go to the pictures with that new boy she was always going on about. Grace didn’t know his name but it was obvious Bonnie was smitten. They’d had words about it last night when Grace had seen her with a neatly wrapped present in striped paper and a red ribbon on the top. Bonnie had sat at the table and pulled out a dark green jewellery box. Grace knew at once that it had come from Whibley’s, a quality jeweller at the end of Warwick Street. Although she had never personally had anything from the shop, they advertised in every newspaper in the town and the box was instantly recognisable. Before Bonnie had even lifted the lid, Grace had stopped her. ‘Don’t even be tempted,’ she cautioned. ‘Whatever it is, you can’t possibly keep it.’ Bonnie looked up, appalled. ‘Why ever not?’ ‘You’re too young to be getting expensive presents from men,’ said Grace. ‘Oh, Mum,’ said Bonnie turning slightly to lift the lid. ‘I already know what’s inside. I just wanted to show you, that’s all.’ Grace caught a glimpse of some kind of locket on a chain before closing the box herself. ‘I mean it,’ she’d said firmly. ‘You hardly know this man and I’ve never met him. How do you know his intentions are honourable?’ Bonnie smiled mysteriously. ‘I know, Mum, and I love him.’ ‘Don’t talk such rot,’ Grace had retorted angrily. ‘You’re far too young …’ Bonnie’s eyes blazed. ‘I’m the same age as you were when you met Daddy.’ ‘That’s different,’ Grace had told her. They had wrestled over the box with Bonnie eventually gaining the upper hand, and thinking about it now made Grace feel uncomfortable. She got a cup and saucer down from the dresser and sat down. As she poured her tea Grace began to read: Dear Mum, I am sorry but I am going away. By the time you read this, I shall be on the London train. You are not to worry. I shall be fine. I just need to leave Worthing. I am sorry to let you down but this is for the best. I shall never forget you and Rita and I want you to know I love you both with all my heart. Please don’t think too badly of me. All my love, Bonnie. As she reached the end of the page, Grace became aware that she was still pouring tea. Dark brown liquid trickled towards the page because it had filled her cup and saucer and overflowed onto her tablecloth. Her hand trembled as she put the teapot back onto the stand. Her mind struggled to focus. On the London train. It had only been a silly tiff. Why go all the way to London? She glanced up at the clock. That train would be leaving the station in less than five minutes. She leapt to her feet and grabbed her boots. It took an age to get all the newspaper out before she could stuff her feet back inside the wet leather. I just need to leave Worthing. Why? What did that mean? Surely she wasn’t going for good. Her mind struggled to make sense of it. You’re only 18, Bonnie. You always seemed happy enough. Grace stumbled out into the hall for her coat. The back of her left boot stubbornly refused to come back up. She had to stop and use her finger to get the heel in properly but there was no time to lace them. As she dashed out of the door she paused only to look at the grandmother clock. Four minutes before the train was due to leave. Without stopping to lock up, she ran blindly down the street, her unbuttoned coat flapping behind her like a cloak and her boots slopping on her feet. Water oozed between the stitches, forming little bubbles as she ran. There were lights on in the little shop on the corner of Cross Street and Clifton Road and the new owner looked up from whatever he was doing to stare at her as she ran down the middle of the road towards him. The gates were already cranking across the road as she burst into Station Approach. She could feel a painful stitch coming in her side but she refused to ease up. The rain was coming down steadily and by now her hair was plastered to her face. As she raced up the steps of the entrance, the train thundered to a halt on platform 2. Manny Hart, neat and tidy in his uniform and with his mouth organ tucked into his top pocket, stood at the entrance to the station platform with his hand out. ‘Tickets please.’ If he was surprised by the state of her, he said nothing. ‘I’ve got to get to the other side before the train leaves,’ Grace blurted out. He glanced over his shoulder towards a group of men, all in smart suits, walking along the platform. ‘Then you’ll need a platform ticket.’ Manny seemed uncomfortable. Grace’s heart sank. Her purse was sitting on the dresser in the kitchen. ‘I’ll pay you next time I see you.’ But Manny was in no mood to be placated. ‘You need a ticket,’ he said stubbornly. The men hovered by the entrance, while on the other side of the track the train shuddered and the steam hissed. ‘You don’t understand,’ Grace cried. ‘I’ve simply got to …’ Her hands were searching her empty pockets and she was beginning to panic. She was so angry and frustrated she could have hit him. She looked around wildly and saw a woman who lived just up the road from her. ‘Excuse me, Peggy. Could you lend me a penny for a platform ticket, only I must catch someone on the train before it goes.’ ‘Of course, dear. Hang on a minute, I’m sure I’ve got a penny in here somewhere.’ Peggy Jones opened her bag, found her purse and handed Grace a penny. As it appeared in her hand, Grace almost snatched it and ran to the platform ticket machine, calling, ‘Thank you, thank you’ over her shoulder. To add to her frustration, the machine was reluctant to yield and she had to thump it a couple of times before the ticket appeared. The passengers who were getting off at Worthing were already starting to head towards the barrier as she thrust the ticket at Manny Hart. He clipped it and went to hand it back but Grace was already at the top of the stairs leading to the underpass which came up on the other side and platform 2. Now she was hampered by the steady flow of people coming in the opposite direction. ‘Close all the doors.’ The porter’s cry echoed down the stairs and into the underpass. The train shuddered again and just as she reached the stairwell leading up she heard the powerful shunt of steam and smoke which heralded its departure. She was only half way up the stairs leading to platform 2 when the guard blew his whistle and the lumbering giant was on the move. How she got to the top of the stairs, she never knew but as soon as she emerged onto the platform she knew it was hopeless. Through the smoke and steam, the last two carriages were all that was left. The train was gone. Someone was walking jauntily towards her, a familiar figure, well dressed, confident and whistling as he came. He flicked his hat with his finger and pushed it back on his head and his coat, open despite the rain, flapped behind him as he walked. Norris Finley, her boss, was a lot heavier and far less attractive than when they were younger but he still behaved like cock of the walk. What was he doing here? Usually, Grace would turn the other way if she saw him coming but her mind was on other things. Throwing aside her usual reserve, she roared out Bonnie’s name. As the train gathered speed, she burst into helpless heart-rending tears, and putting her hands on the top of her head, she fell to her knees. ‘Are you all right, love?’ She heard a woman’s voice, kind and concerned. The woman bent over her and touched her arm. ‘Grace?’ said Norris. ‘You seem a bit upset. Anything I can do?’ Grace heard him but didn’t respond. She was still staring at the disappearing train, and finally the empty track. She couldn’t speak but she felt two arms, one on either side, helping her to her feet. Where was Bonnie going? Who on earth did she know in London? ‘Do you know her, dear?’ the woman’s voice filtered through Grace’s befuddled brain. ‘Yes.’ The man was raising his hat. ‘Norris Finley of Finley’s International,’ he said. The woman nodded. ‘I’ll leave you to it then, sir,’ and patting Grace’s arm she said, ‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think, dear.’ Norris tucked his hand under Grace’s elbow and led her back down the stairs into the gloomy underpass. ‘She’s gone,’ Grace said dully when they were alone. ‘My Bonnie has left home.’ ‘Left home?’ She was crying again so they walked on in silence with Grace leaning heavily on his arm. Norris winked as he handed his ticket to Manny Hart and steered Grace onto the concourse. ‘Is she all right?’ said Manny, suddenly concerned. He took off his hat and scratched his slightly balding head. ‘Mrs Rogers has had a bit of an upset, that’s all,’ said Norris pleasantly. ‘If you had let me go,’ Grace said, suddenly rounding on Manny, ‘I might have been able to stop my daughter making the biggest mistake of her life.’ Manny looked uncomfortable. ‘I cannot help that,’ he said defensively. ‘You know I would do anything for you, Grace. The men on the platform were government inspectors for when the railway goes national next year. Rules are rules and I have to obey.’ ‘Mrs Rogers … Grace,’ said Norris. ‘You’re soaked to the skin. Let me take you home. My car is just outside.’ ‘Your paper, sir,’ said Manny. ‘Eh?’ Norris seemed a little confused. ‘You dropped your paper.’ He handed him a rolled-up newspaper. ‘Oh, right,’ grinned Norris, taking it from him. Manny watched them go. ‘Nice man, that Mr Finley,’ the woman remarked as she handed Manny her ticket and he nodded. Outside it was still tipping with rain. ‘I’ll walk,’ said Grace stiffly. ‘It’s not far and I’m wet through anyway.’ There were still people waiting for taxis or buses. ‘Absolutely not, my dear Mrs Rogers,’ Finley insisted. ‘Hop in.’ As he climbed into the car, he handed her his folded handkerchief before they set off. He drove away like a madman but her mind was so full of Bonnie, Grace hardly noticed. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Outside her house, Grace turned to him. ‘She left me a note,’ she said hopelessly. ‘I found it when I got in from work.’ ‘Where’s she gone?’ Grace looked up at him. ‘That’s just it,’ she said. ‘I don’t know. All she said was she had to leave Worthing.’ ‘Had to leave?’ He raised his eyebrows and let out a short sigh. ‘Ah well, you can’t keep her tied to your apron strings all her life. She’s a sensible girl, isn’t she? She’ll be fine.’ Grace’s eyes grew wide. ‘Promise me you didn’t have anything to do with this?’ ‘Of course I didn’t! Why should I?’ ‘Why were you there then? What were you doing on the platform?’ ‘I’ve been in Southampton on business,’ he said irritably. ‘Did you see her get on the train?’ ‘No, but then I’m hardly likely to, am I?’ he said. ‘I travel first class. Does Bonnie travel first class? No, I didn’t think so, so why would I have seen her? Don’t be so melodramatic, Grace.’ Grace fumbled for the door handle but couldn’t open the door. ‘I didn’t expect any sympathy from you but Bonnie leaving like this … it’s breaking my heart.’ ‘For God’s sake, Grace. Nobody died, did they?’ Norris said coldly. ‘She’ll be fine.’ He got out of the car and came round to the passenger side. Just as he opened the door Grace’s neighbour walked by under a large umbrella. ‘There you are, Mrs Rogers,’ Norris said loudly and cheerfully as he stepped back. ‘Back home safe and sound. Can I help you with your door key?’ Grace shook her head. The door was open anyway. She hadn’t stopped to lock it. She turned and he waved cheerfully as he got back into his car. He drove off at speed, leaving Grace standing like a dumb thing on the pavement. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold,’ said a voice. ‘You look soaked to the skin.’ Their eyes met and she hesitated. ‘You all right, Grace?’ Her neighbour who lived next-door-but-one, Elsie Dawson, was on her step putting her key into her own door. Dougie, her son, stood behind his mother waiting for her to open it. Elsie, her middle son Dougie and daughter Mo were good friends with Rita and Bonnie, and they had all enjoyed sharing times like Christmas and Easter together. Bob, Elsie’s oldest boy, was in the army now andMo was in the same class as Rita at school but Dougie was what the powers that be called ‘retarded’, a term which made Grace cross. He might struggle with understanding, but he wasn’t stupid. Once he knew what you wanted, Dougie would put his hand to anything. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Grace said with as much dignity as she could muster. But once inside the house, she sat alone on the cold stairs and gave way to her tears once again. As the train sped towards London, Bonnie stared out of the window. She should have done this earlier in the day while she still had the opportunity. The light was going and by the time she reached Victoria station it would be dark. Never mind, George would be there to meet her. If for some reason they missed each other, he’d told her to wait by the entrance of platform 12. She had finished work a lot earlier than she’d thought she would. The people in the wages department had worked out that she was owed a half day’s holiday so rather than give her the extra in her wage packet, she had been told she could go by ten o’clock. Seeing as how she had arranged to meet George in time for the train, it meant she had a couple of hours to kill. Her case was already in the left luggage department at Worthing and she couldn’t go back home, so she went to his digs. Mrs Kerr, his landlady, was her usual unwelcoming self. ‘He’s not here,’ she’d said curtly, ‘and I have no time to entertain his guests.’ She had obviously taken her apron off to answer the door and now she was putting it back on again. ‘Do you know where he might be?’ Bonnie had asked. ‘He’s going to London.’ ‘I know that,’ Bonnie had said. ‘I just wondered if he was still here.’ Mrs Kerr shrugged. ‘As far as I know, he’s gone to the old factory.’ Bonnie had frowned. ‘But why? It’s all shut up, isn’t it?’ ‘All I know is he said he’d found something. Now I’m very busy.’ ‘Do you know what he’d found?’ Bonnie persisted. ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ Mrs Kerr snapped as she shut the door. Bonnie had stood on the pavement wondering what to do. There was still plenty of time before the train so she’d decided to walk to the factory. She didn’t have to go right into West Worthing. There was a Jacob’s ladder in Pavilion Road which was between the stations and came out at the bottom of Heene Road. Although she was wearing her best shoes, which were quite unsuitable for walking, it hadn’t taken her long to get to Finley’s Knitwear. She had met George Matthews at a dance in the Assembly Hall. He was a friend of a friend and they’d hit it off straight away. He was so debonair, so handsome and so unlike any of her other friends that it wasn’t long before she was hopelessly in love with him. He worked at the knitwear factory in Tarring Road, the same as her mother. He was a machine operator, while her mum worked in the packing room. George was getting good money but he was ambitious so when it was announced that the factory would be moving to new premises, he felt it was time to move on. ‘I don’t think the boss is a very nice person,’ he’d told her. ‘Don’t let him get too close to you.’ ‘Whatever do you mean?’ she’d asked, thoroughly alarmed. He’d hesitated for a second then changed the subject. ‘There are real opportunities in places like South Africa, and Rhodesia and Australia, the sort of opportunities the likes of you and me will never get in this country. We can get away from all the corruption in high places. It’ll be a whole new start, far away from the war and everything to do with it.’ ‘If Mr Finley is up to something,’ she’d asked, ‘should I say something to my mother?’ He’d shaken his head. ‘Your mother and all the other girls are safe enough if you keep your distance, but he’s deep, that one.’ Out of loyalty, he stayed long enough to help clear up the old place, but just lately he’d seemed even more troubled about something. ‘I’m glad we’re going,’ he said one day. ‘I really don’t want to work for Finley any more.’ Once again she’d asked why but he told her not to worry her pretty little head. ‘How will we get to South Africa?’ she’d asked. ‘Leave all that to me,’ he’d said mysteriously, and then he’d filled her imagination with sun-drenched beaches and cocktails before dinner and making their fortune. They’d made love in his digs at Pavilion Road. They had to be very careful for fear of his landlady who was a deeply religious woman, but while she was wrestling with the Devil at the prayer meeting every Tuesday night, Bonnie and George were wrestling between the sheets. And while Mrs Kerr studied the Bible every Thursday, they filled themselves with more carnal delights. Bonnie smiled cosily as she remembered those wonderful nights together. ‘Tickets please.’ The conductor on the train brought her back to the present day and Bonnie handed him her ticket. When she’d told him about the baby, George had been wonderful about it. That’s when he had bought her the locket. It was so beautiful she’d vowed to wear it all the time. He’d said she should get a job until it was time for the baby to be born and then they would set sail. Having a baby in South Africa wasn’t as safe as here in England. He’d promised to get her passport all sorted and she’d saved up the ?2 2s 6d she needed. The last thing she’d done as she’d left the house was to remember to take her birth certificate. Bonnie couldn’t wait. It was so exciting. ‘I shall need references,’ she’d told George. ‘I’m sure you can get someone to vouch for you,’ George said, nibbling her ear in that delicious way of his. ‘I think you’re a very nice girl.’ She’d giggled. He had a way of making her feel that it would all work out. Right now everything was such a mess but once they were married, it would be all right. She was sure of it. She had decided to ask her old Sunday school teacher to give her a reference. She didn’t really know why, but she trusted Miss Reeves absolutely. She didn’t tell her everything, of course, but then how could she? It was easier to be economical with the truth although it did make her feel a bit guilty. Still, it wasn’t as if she was lying to the vicar or something. All she did was tell her just enough for Miss Reeves to write a glowing reference addressed ‘To whom it may concern’. ‘I know the woman you’ll be working for quite well,’ George assured her when he gave her the slip of paper. ‘Mrs Palmer is a nice woman. You’ll like her.’ Bonnie frowned. ‘How do you know her?’ He’d pulled her close. ‘Don’t I know just about everyone who’s anyone, silly?’ When she had surprised him at his digs after the row with her mother last night, he had taken her to his room. ‘You’ll get me thrown out onto the street,’ he’d said and she’d laughed. ‘Who cares? We’re going to live in South Africa,’ she’d said, her cornflower-blue eyes dancing with excitement. George had drawn her down onto the bed with a kiss. Bonnie closed her eyes as she relived the moment. He was so good looking, so strong, so manly … She sighed. She hated doing this to her mother but she had to. If she’d told her mother what she and George were planning, she would have talked her out of it. Grace was a good mother but she still thought of Bonnie as ‘her little girl’. Bonnie smiled to herself. If only she knew. She certainly wasn’t her little girl any more. Since she’d met George, she had become a fully-grown woman. When her father had been killed in the D-Day landings, Grace Rogers had been totally lost without him. The day the telegram came, she’d sat on the stairs, hardly even aware that she had two daughters to look after. Rita was the only one able to pacify her and they sat crying together. Without their father, life had become so difficult. They never had much money even though her mother worked all the hours God gave. Bonnie knew her mother would be upset to lose her wage, but it was all swings and roundabouts. There would be one less mouth to feed and Bonnie was determined she’d send a bit of money as soon as she and George were settled in South Africa. Of course, she would write to her mother long before they got there and once they were there, Grace could hardly refuse her consent to their marriage. Bonnie stared at the name and address on the piece of paper she had been given. Mrs Palmer, 105 Honeypot Lane, Stanmore. Telephone: Stanmore 256. She couldn’t wait to see George at the station. Everything was going to be absolutely fine, she just knew it. With a smile of contentment, Bonnie leaned her head against the carriage window and closed her eyes. Rita was puzzled. When she’d arrived home from school after choir practice, she found her mother sitting in the darkness on the stairs. Rita could tell at once that she had been crying but she didn’t seem to be aware that she was wet through and shivering with the cold. Rita sat down beside her. ‘Mum?’ Grace stood up. ‘I’m going to get changed.’ She knew Rita was wondering what was wrong but she didn’t look back as she wearily climbed the steep stairs. There was little warm water in the tap and the bathroom was very cold, but Grace washed herself slowly. How was she going to tell Rita? She and Bonnie were very close, so close they might almost be twins rather than two years apart. Bonnie had left no note for Rita. The girl would be heartbroken. As she crossed the landing, a thought struck her. What if Rita already knew Bonnie was going? Maybe they’d planned it this way together. Grace felt a frisson of irritation. How dare they! By now, she was frozen to the marrow. Pulling out some warmer clothes, Grace dressed quickly; a dry bra, her once pink petticoat, and a blue cable knit jumper over a grey skirt. She sat on the edge of the bed to roll her nylon stockings right down to the toe before putting them on her foot and easing over the heel. Her clothes were shabby, the jumper had darns on one elbow and at the side, her petticoat had odd straps because she’d used one petticoat to repair another, and her skirt, which came from a jumble sale, had been altered to fit. The one luxury she allowed herself was a decent pair of stockings. She rolled them slowly up her leg, careful not to snag them on a jagged nail, and checked her seams for straightness. Fastening the stockings to her suspenders, Grace towel-dried her hair and pulled on her wraparound apron before heading back downstairs to confront Rita. ‘Something’s happened,’ said Rita as she walked back into the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’ ‘Your sister has left home,’ Grace said, her lips in a tight line, ‘but of course you already knew that, didn’t you?’ Rita’s jaw dropped. ‘Left home?’ Rita looked so shocked, Grace was thrown. ‘Where’s she gone?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ ‘Precisely what I said, I don’t know,’ cried her mother, her voice full of anguish. ‘I was so sure you’d know all about it.’ Rita seemed bewildered. Grace threw an enamel bowl into the stone sink with a great clatter. All the while that she had believed Rita knew about Bonnie, there was the hope that she could bully her whereabouts out of the girl. ‘Mum?’ For a few seconds, Grace stood with her back to her daughter, her hands clenching the sides of the stone sink, as if supporting the weight of her body, then she turned round. Rita was alarmed to see the tears in her eyes. Grace reached out for her but when Rita stood up, scraping her chair on the wooden floor behind her, she ran upstairs. Grace could hear her opening drawers, looking in the wardrobe and searching for the battered suitcase that they kept under the bed. As she listened, she relived every moment of her own fruitless search not half an hour ago. She opened the stair door and sat down. A moment or two later, Rita joined her and laid her head on Grace’s shoulder. Rita chewed her bottom lip. Left home … Bonnie didn’t confide in her much these days, but Rita was sure she would have said something if she’d known she was going away. Was she ill or something? ‘Has she done something wrong, Mum?’ No answer. ‘When is she coming back?’ ‘Darling, I’ve told you,’ Grace sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ Rita’s stomach fell away. She couldn’t bear it if Bonnie was gone. Sometimes Bonnie and her mother had words but neither of them held grudges. It just wasn’t their way. A sudden thought struck her. She lifted her head. ‘Shall I go and see if she’s at Sandra’s place?’ ‘She’s not at Sandra’s. She’s gone to London.’ ‘London?’ ‘She told me in a note.’ ‘What note?’ Grace stood up and they both went back into the kitchen. She showed Rita the single sheet of paper. ‘I shall never forget you and Rita … it all sounds so final,’ said Rita. Her mother couldn’t look her in the eye. She got the saucepan out of the cupboard, put it onto the range and reached for a couple of potatoes. ‘Let’s clear the table please.’ Rita gathered her schoolbooks into a pile. Tears were already brimming over her eyes. Why go to London? It was fifty miles away. Bonnie didn’t know anyone in London, did she? Rita opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it when she saw her mother’s expression. ‘There’s nothing we can do, love,’ Grace said firmly but in a more conciliatory tone. ‘Your sister has left home. I don’t know why she’s gone but it’s her choice and we’ll just have to get on withit.’ The potatoes Grace had cut up went clattering into the pan. She covered them with water before putting them on the range. Their eyes met and a second or two later, unable to contain her grief any more, Rita burst into tears and ran upstairs. Victoria station was alive with people. Bonnie had arrived in the rush hour. She went straight to platform 12 as agreed with George, but after waiting a long two hours, she was so desperate for the toilet, she had to leave. She wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes but he must have come and gone during that time and she’d missed him. Why didn’t he wait? Where could he have gone? She didn’t know what to do, but she was afraid to move from their agreed meeting place in case she’d got it wrong and he was simply late. As time wore on, it grew colder. The station was getting quieter. She began to feel more conspicuous now that the evening rush hour was drawing to a close, and a lot more anxious. Oh, George, where are you? She scoured the heads of the male passengers, willing George’s trilby hat to come bobbing towards her, but it was hopeless. A few passengers who had obviously been to the theatre or some other posh frock do milled around, talking in loud plummy voices. Bonnie bit back her tears and shivered. She wished she and George could have travelled together but she hadn’t expected Miss Bridewell to let her go early. She’d worked her notice so that she could get the week’s pay owing to her and some of her holiday money. The extra money would come in handy if the job in Stanmore didn’t work out for some reason. ‘I’ve got on to a mate who can put us up,’ he’d told her. ‘Save a bit of money that way. He’s not on the telephone so I’ll go up and make the arrangements beforehand. I’ll meet you at platform 12.’ She saw a party of cleaners emerge from a small storeroom and begin to sweep the concourse and then she noticed a man approaching. Bonnie looked around anxiously. Why was he coming her way? She didn’t know him. ‘Excuse me, Miss,’ he said raising his hat. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you standing there. Has your friend been delayed?’ Bonnie didn’t answer but she felt her face heating up and her heart beat a little faster. Oh, George, she thought, where are you? Please come now … ‘If you’re looking for a place to stay,’ he continued, ‘I know where a respectable girl like you can get a room at a cheap price.’ Bonnie looked at him for the first time. He was smartly dressed in a suit and tie. He looked clean and presentable. He looked like the sort of man she could take home to her mother but she didn’t know him from Adam and she had read of the terrible things that could happen to young girls on their own in London in Uncle Charlie Hanson’s News of the World. She turned her head, pretending not to have heard him. ‘Forgive me,’ he smiled pleasantly. ‘I only ask because I can see you look concerned. I don’t normally approach young women like this.’ Bonnie began to tremble. Oh, where are you, George … ‘Could I perhaps offer you a cup of tea in the tea bar?’ He was very persistent but that was what the News of the World said they were like. Men like him duped girls into going with them and corrupted them into a life of prostitution. She shook her head. Even though she was tired and sorely tempted, Bonnie didn’t go with him. She had seen the man watching her from behind a pillar for some time and she didn’t like it. She picked up her suitcase and walked towards the newspaper vendor to buy a paper. Eventually she stopped a passing policeman and after explaining that she had missed her friend, he at first directed her, then, having heard her story about the man who kept pestering her, decided to walk with her to a small hotel just around the corner. Bonnie booked a room for the night. It wasn’t until she got undressed that she realised that the locket George had given her was no longer around her neck. Her stomach fell away. Where had she lost it? Had it come off when she was in that horrible factory? What a ghastly day it had been. Everything was going wrong. Bonnie climbed into bed and cried herself to sleep. Two Bonnie woke with a start. She heard footsteps outside her door and someone was banging a gong downstairs. It took a couple of seconds to realise where she was. She glanced at the clock on the top of the dresser: 7.30. When she’d arrived here ten days ago, the receptionist had told her breakfast was between 7.30 and 8.15 and she knew she couldn’t afford to miss it. Her meagre wage packet and holiday money wouldn’t keep her much longer. She had fallen into a pattern of eating as much as she could in the morning and making do with a tuppenny bag of chips and a cup of tea at lunchtime. It was all she could afford. George had never shown up. Bonnie couldn’t understand why. Something must have happened to him. Was he ill? Had he had an accident? He wouldn’t have deserted her; he wouldn’t. Every night she worried about him and cried herself to sleep. The obvious thing was to go back to Worthing, but what if he’d just been delayed for some reason and she missed him? Bonnie had gone over and over what he’d told her, and their plans together. Everything was crystal clear in her mind – so why wasn’t he here? As soon as the footsteps had gone she nipped across the hallway to the bathroom and gave herself a quick wash. She was dressed and downstairs by eight. The dining room looked rather tired. It was wallpapered but, probably because it was so hard to find several rolls of the same wallpaper, it was a mish-mash of non-complementary paper, giving the room a rather confused look. The only empty table was next to the kitchen door and Bonnie preferred to keep herself to herself. ‘Here we are, dear,’ said the waitress as she put a pot of tea and some hot water on the table. ‘Did you sleep well?’ ‘Yes, thank you.’ Bonnie poured herself a cup of tea and when she was sure no one was looking, she palmed a couple of slices of bread into her handbag for later. The waitress came back and plonked a plate in front of her. Bonnie stared at the greasy pile and her stomach churned. She tried to force it down but even before she’d left the room she was feeling decidedly unwell. She wasn’t used to big fry-ups in the morning and right now it was the last thing she wanted to eat. Every morning as they left the dining room the guests were told they had to leave their rooms by 10am and that they couldn’t return before 2pm in order to facilitate the cleaning. Dinner was at 6pm sharp. Having forced down as much of the greasy breakfast as she could manage, Bonnie booked herself in for one more night. George was bound to turn up at the station tonight. He wouldn’t let her down. Would he? As usual, her first port of call was Victoria station where she enquired if anyone had left a message for her. It didn’t sound right for a respectable young woman to be chasing a man so she pretended she was married. ‘I was supposed to be meeting my husband,’ she told the station master. ‘Mr George Matthews.’ The station master shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’ She was bitterly disappointed. Perhaps it was time to accept the fact that George wasn’t coming. She didn’t want to think of a reason why he wasn’t coming and she really couldn’t go back to Worthing, so she’d have to make another plan. She was positive that George wouldn’t have let her down if he could help it. He wasn’t that sort of man. He loved her. He wanted their baby as much as she did. True, the baby wasn’t planned, but George was fine about it. She remembered the moment he’d given her the locket. ‘One day we shall put a picture of our baby in it,’ he’d smiled. Tears pricked her eyes but she wouldn’t give way to them. What good would that do? The obvious thing was to find Honeypot Lane and the job George had lined up for her; but then another thought crossed her mind. If he had let her down, then perhaps the job in Stanmore didn’t exist either. She hated herself for thinking like this, but should she risk going all that way and using some of her precious resources for nothing? She had to be practical, didn’t she? Her stomach churned. She didn’t want to be practical. She wanted George. Once Bonnie had lost her fight to keep her breakfast down, she decided to set off to find a job of her own. She remembered that when she’d scanned the evening paper she bought on that first night, she’d come across an advertisement for an employment agency. She had left the newspaper on her chest of drawers and whoever cleaned her room had never moved it. Bonnie now made a careful note of the address. The offices of the London and County Domestic Employment Agency left much to be desired but it was very close to the station. From the roadside, she could hear the trains thundering in and out. The fa?ade of the building was grimy with soot and, walking up the stone steps and wandering through the open door, she noticed that the walls themselves were still pockmarked with bomb damage. The paintwork was badly in need of a new coat and the colour scheme in the hallway, dark brown and cream, was from a bygone era. Clearly Harold Macmillan and his Ministry of Housing and Local Government hadn’t got this far yet. When she took her hand from the guardrail even her glove was covered in smut. Should she go in? What if they asked too many questions? How much should she tell them? After twenty minutes of pacing up and down the street, Bonnie climbed the outer steps. The London and County was three doors along a dingy corridor. As she knocked and walked in, a middle-aged woman with tightly permed hair and wearing some very fashionable glasses looked up from her typewriter. Bonnie introduced herself stiffly and handed over her references. ‘Do take a seat, Miss Rogers,’ said the woman, indicating some chairs behind her. ‘I shall tell Mrs Smythe that you are here.’ Taking Bonnie’s references with her, she stepped towards a glass-fronted door to her left and knocked. A distant voice called and the woman walked in and closed the door behind her. Bonnie looked at herself in the wall mirror, glad that she had stopped crying. If she’d turned up with red eyes and a blotchy face, it wouldn’t have helped her cause. She looked smart. Her hat, a new one she’d bought from Hubbard’s using the staff discount, suited her. It was a navy, close-fitting baker boy beret, which she wore slightly to the left of her head. Her hair had a side parting with a deep wave on the right side of her face and was curled under on her shoulders. To set off her outfit, Bonnie always carried a navy pencil-slim umbrella. She liked being smart. One of Miss Reeves’s little remarks came back to mind. ‘Smartness equals efficiency; efficiency equals acceptance; and acceptance means respect.’ She unbuttoned her coat to reveal her dark blue suit with the cameo brooch George had given her pinned on the lapel. It was only from Woolworth’s, she knew that, but it looked very pretty, especially next to her crisp white blouse. She absentmindedly smoothed her stomach and pulled down her skirt to get rid of the creases. Thank goodness the baby didn’t show yet. Turning towards the chairs, Bonnie had a choice of three, one with a soft sagging cushion, a high backed leather chair and a wooden chair with a padded seat. Lowering herself carefully onto the wooden chair, Bonnie placed her matching navy handbag on her knees, checked that her black court shoes still looked highly polished, and waited anxiously. Presently, the secretary came back with a tall languid-looking woman in a tweed skirt and white blouse. She introduced herself as Mrs Smythe and invited Bonnie to step into her office. Mrs Smythe, as would be expected of the owner of a highly respected agency, had a cut-glass English accent. She had a round face with a downy complexion and wore no make-up apart from a bright red gash of lipstick. The woman examined Bonnie’s references carefully. ‘These are excellent, Miss Rogers,’ she said eventually. ‘But shop work is very different from working in the domestic setting.’ ‘I want to train as a nursery nurse,’ said Bonnie, ‘but I am not quite experienced enough to be accepted. However, I am a hard worker and I am willing to learn.’ ‘When did you cease your last employment?’ ‘Just over a week ago.’ ‘May I ask, why did you leave Hubbard’s?’ Mrs Smythe was going back through her papers again. ‘Personal reasons.’ Mrs Smythe looked up sharply. Bonnie held her eye with a steady unyielding gaze and didn’t elaborate. ‘I see,’ said Mrs Smythe, clearly not seeing at all. She waited, obviously hoping that Bonnie might explain, but how could she? Bonnie’s heart thumped in her chest. Mrs Smythe wouldn’t even consider offering Bonnie employment if she knew the truth. Bonnie cleared her throat. ‘It has absolutely no bearing on my ability to work with children.’ Mrs Smythe stood up and went to the filing cabinet. ‘What sort of post were you looking for?’ ‘I don’t mind,’ said Bonnie, swallowing hard. ‘Anything at all.’ ‘Here in London,’ Mrs Smythe probed, ‘or further afield?’ ‘Really,’ Bonnie insisted, ‘I have no preference.’ Why should she care where she lived? Without George, what did it matter? Mrs Smythe hesitated for a second before taking a yellow folder from the drawer. ‘Tell me, Miss Rogers, would you be willing to travel abroad?’ Bonnie blinked. It took a second or two to let the idea sink in. ‘Abroad?’ Could she really go abroad without George to lead the way? Rationing was still being enforced in Britain but in other parts of the world they said people had plenty of everything. She tried to imagine herself as nanny to an Italian prince, or an American film star or perhaps nanny to the child of someone in the diplomatic service. ‘Abroad,’ she said again, this time with more than a hint of interest in her voice. Yes … abroad would be exciting. ‘Yes, I might consider that.’ Mrs Smythe laid the yellow folder on her desk. ‘I have a post here for Africa.’ Africa! Bonnie was startled. This was too much of a coincidence. The very continent where she and George had been planning to set up a new life and here was Mrs Smythe offering Bonnie a post there. ‘Kenya,’ Mrs Smythe went on. Bonnie relaxed into her chair. Not South Africa but Kenya. Yet somehow it sounded just as wonderful. Kenya. She’d heard that it was a beautiful place. Didn’t they grow tea and coffee for export and exotic things like ginger, and sugar cane, and pineapples? What would it be like to eat food like that every day! Mrs Smythe was refreshing her memory by reading the papers in the yellow folder. ‘I’m instructed to send you by taxi to meet the grandmother.’ Silently, Bonnie took a deep breath. They must be very rich. She’d never ridden in a taxi before. ‘In actual fact,’ Mrs Smythe went on, ‘the family are already out there. You would be required to escort their son from this country to his father’s house in Kenya. Do you think you could undertake that, Miss Rogers?’ Don’t be ridiculous, Bonnie told herself. How can you possibly go all that way on your own? You’ve no experience of being abroad. You’ve never even been as far as London before. And what about the baby? How on earth would you manage with a baby out in the wilds of Africa? But her mouth said something totally different. ‘Oh yes,’ said Bonnie, ‘I’m sure I could.’ ‘Any news, dear?’ Elsie Dawson poked her head over the back wall that divided their houses. Grace took the peg out of her mouth and shook her head. Though the sun was weak at this time of year, it was a fine morning and she had decided to peg out some washing. At least hanging it for a while in the fresh air made it smell sweeter. Grace was glad she lived across the road and away from the railway line. Poor old Alice Chamberlain who used to live opposite was always complaining that she could never hang her stuff outside. The trains roaring by every few minutes left sooty deposits on everything. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Grace knew Elsie was fishing for more information but there was nothing to say. Her daughter had upped and left without so much as a by-your-leave. ‘Nothing, thank you Elsie, but thanks for the offer. Pop round for a cup of tea, if you’ve got a minute.’ Grace smiled to herself. Elsie wasn’t likely to turn down that sort of invitation. She’d be round like a shot. There was a bang on the front door. Grace threw a tea towel back into the washing basket and hurried indoors. Manny Hart was walking away as she opened it. He turned around with a sheepish look on his face and raised his hat. ‘Oh, I thought you’d be out,’ he said carefully. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ He looked down and, following his gaze, she saw a newspaper parcel on the doorstep. ‘Just a couple of eggs I thought you might like,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Manny,’ she said, bending to pick them up, ‘it’s kind of you.’ ‘I’m really sorry about the other day, Grace,’ said Manny. ‘I would have let you through but those men from the government …’ Grace put up her hand to stop him. ‘I probably couldn’t have stopped her anyway,’ she said. ‘It’s a big train and she wouldn’t have been looking out for me, would she? It would have taken me ages to run the length of the train as far as the engine.’ In the long night hours which had passed since Bonnie left, Grace had gone over every last detail of that day. At the time it had felt as if everything and everybody had conspired against her: missing the bus, Manny refusing to let her go without a platform ticket, Peggy being so slow to give her a penny, the machine deciding to hiccup at that very moment … But now, thinking more rationally about it, if her daughter had made up her mind to go, nobody could have stopped her. That was the rational thought, but her heart ached something rotten. Elsie, her hair still in curlers under her headscarf, came out of her front door and followed Manny and Grace inside. Grace Rogers always had an open house. Her neighbours knew that no matter what (and they didn’t need to be asked), they could go round to her place and she’d have the kettle on. All through the war, she’d seen them through the dreaded telegrams from the war office, the birth of a baby and the joy of a wedding. Grace had also set up a couple of small agencies, one for people caring for their long-term sick relatives and the other for cleaners. For a small joining fee, the women she knew were reliable, could do a couple of hours’ sitting with the sick person or a couple of hours’ housework. The recipient paid a slightly larger fee to join and got some much needed free time. Elsie had used the service a couple of times. ‘How’s Harry today?’ Grace asked as she busied herself with the tea things. ‘So-so,’ said Elsie patting her scarf and pulling it forward so that her curlers were hidden. Her husband had survived the war but he wasn’t the same man. Once the life and soul of any party, now Harry struggled with depression. In fact, Elsie had a hard job judging his mood swings. When he felt really bad, he would spend more time by the pier staring out to sea. With the onset of winter Elsie was always afraid he’d catch his death of cold. ‘I see someone has taken over the corner shop,’ said Elsie deliberately changing the subject. Grace vaguely remembered a good-looking man watching her as she flew down the middle of the street the night Bonnie left. ‘He’s a furniture restorer,’ Elsie went on. ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was much call for that sort of thing around here,’ Grace remarked. She pushed two cups of hot dark tea in front of her guests and sat down in the chair opposite. ‘I have met him,’ said Manny. ‘Apparently he works on commissions.’ He looked up and noticed the quizzical look the two women were giving him and added, ‘He is a nice man. He gets on the train to Aroundel sometimes.’ ‘It’s Arundel,’ Grace corrected with a grin. ‘Lives on his own?’ said Elsie. She was trying to appear nonchal-ant but it was obvious she was dying to know. Grace suppressed another smile. ‘That is correct,’ Manny nodded. ‘He fought at El Alamein with Field Marshal Monty and came back to find his wife shacked up with a Frenchy.’ Grace and Elsie shook their heads sympathetically. The war had a lot to answer for. It wasn’t only the bombs and concentration camps that had changed people’s lives. The French Canadians were billeted all over the town. On the whole, they were ordinary young men, three thousand miles away from all that was familiar and, as time went on, frustration set in. They had joined up to fight the Nazis, not to put up barbed wire on the beaches in an English seaside resort. As a result, their behaviour deteriorated and Saturday nights were peppered with drunken brawls in the town. Rumours circulated, although the story always came via a friend who knew a friend of a friend … When the war ended, a lot of ordinary people were left with very complicated lives. Manny Hart was an attractive man with broad shoulders and a lean body. He had light brown hair, cut short, a strong square jaw and grey-green eyes. Nobody knew much about him except that he came from Coventry and he was a dab hand at playing the mouth organ. He’d apparently lost all his family, and considering the pasting the city had had, nobody liked to pry too much into his grief. He was very methodical, always doing everything exactly the same way, and was obviously a cut above the rest because he spoke public school English. ‘Well,’ said Manny putting his cup down. ‘I must be going. I have got a railway to work for.’ ‘Thanks for the eggs,’ said Grace as she saw him to the door. ‘He’s sweet on you,’ said Elsie as Grace sat back down at the table. ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Grace. ‘You read too many romantic novels from that shilling library you belong to.’ ‘You don’t blame me, do you?’ Elsie sighed wistfully. ‘There’s precious little love and happiness around these days.’ Mrs Smythe gave Bonnie some money for a taxi to the address in Aldford Street where she was to meet her prospective employer. It was just off Park Lane and in a very exclusive part of London, near the Dorchester Hotel where Prince Philip, the dashing husband of the Princess Elizabeth, had had his stag night the night before his wedding just a few days ago. She smiled as she recalled the newspaper pictures of the beautiful bride in her wedding dress decorated, they said, with 10,000 white pearls. Bonnie knew enough about child care to know that most people in this area employed Norlanders, girls from a very exclusive training college in Hungerford. She’d once seen an article in a magazine and when she’d made her career choice, Bonnie had toyed with the idea of applying there herself; but it was totally out of her league. Only rich girls went to places like that. The fees were huge. She wondered why she had been sent to such an exclusive place when there were other girls eminently more qualified than her who could fit the bill, but then she remembered how fat the file on Lady Brayfield was and that Mrs Smythe had mentioned more than once that Richard could be ‘a little difficult’. The house in Aldford Street was up a small flight of steps. Once inside, Bonnie was shown into a large sitting room on the first floor. ‘Lady Brayfield will be with you in a minute,’ the maid told her as she closed the door, leaving Bonnie alone. It was a pleasant room with a large stone-built fireplace flanked by a basket on either side, one containing logs and the other a pile of magazines. Bonnie couldn’t help admiring the beautiful stone-carved surround. The house was probably seventeenth century, she guessed, maybe even older. It had a large window made up of many small panes of glass which overlooked the street, but the wooden panelling on the walls made the room rather dark. A round table stood under the window with a potted fern in the middle. A snakes and ladders board was positioned between two chairs and it looked as if the players had only just left the room. The door opened and a middle-aged woman came in. She was elegantly groomed with lightly permed hair. She wore a soft dress of blue-grey material which clung to her stiffly corseted body and a single string pearl necklace. A cocker spaniel followed her in. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said crisply. ‘You must be Miss Rogers. The agency telephoned to say they were sending you.’ She lowered herself into one of the two armchairs and indicated with a casual wave of her hand that Bonnie should sit on the settee. The spaniel sat on the floor next to Bonnie, its haunches on her foot. She moved her toes slightly but she didn’t complain. It didn’t matter. The animal was quite lightweight. ‘I’m not sure how much Mrs Smythe has told you,’ Lady Brayfield went on, ‘but your charge is a lot older than the children you are probably used to.’ Bonnie’s heart constricted. What was she doing here? The whole idea was an idiotic mistake. How could she possibly work for this woman? She was pregnant, for heaven’s sake. She started to panic and tried to compose herself as best she could, but already her face was beginning to flame. She cleared her throat noisily and found herself saying, ‘I don’t envisage that as a problem.’ She couldn’t bear the embarrassment of having to admit to this woman that she hadn’t exactly been honest with Mrs Smythe. No. If she was going to have to go back to the London and County for a more suitable post, she would have to get Lady Brayfield to turn her down for some perfectly logical reason. ‘Are you used to travel?’ ‘No,’ Bonnie admitted. She was beginning to feel a bit sick. Instead of coming clean she was getting in deeper and deeper. ‘How do you feel about going abroad?’ Lady Brayfield asked. ‘It would be a challenge,’ said Bonnie. The dog placed his head in her lap. She felt almost comforted by it and smiled faintly as she placed her hand on his head. ‘You are between jobs …?’ Lady Brayfield ventured. ‘Yes,’ said Bonnie. There was an awkward moment when Lady Brayfield again waited for her to elaborate but Bonnie’s only response was to pat the dog’s head. What an idiot she’d been. It was only the lure of riding in a taxi and going to a posh address that had got her here. She had to get herself out of this and quickly. Think, she told her panicking brain, think … They were interrupted by a footfall and the door swung open. A young boy about ten years old, dark haired and in his school uniform consisting of grey short trousers, a grey blazer with the school emblem on the breast pocket, a white shirt with a yellow and black striped tie, long grey socks and black lace-up shoes came into the room. His hair looked wet, as if someone had made an attempt to tidy him up. Bonnie could see the marks of a comb running through it, although on the crown of his head three spikes of hair stood defiantly up on end. The door closed behind him. ‘Ah,’ said Lady Brayfield, ‘this is Richard, my grandson. Come and say how do you do, Richard.’ Obediently but sullenly, Richard said, ‘How do you do.’ ‘Miss Rogers is going to take you to your father,’ said Lady Brayfield. Bonnie’s heart sank. Oh no, she’d got the job. ‘I don’t want to go,’ Richard protested loudly. He stamped his foot and the spaniel began to bark as he kicked the closed door several times. Lady Brayfield tried to placate the boy. ‘Richard, darling, you mustn’t get hysterical.’ ‘I don’t want to go and you can’t make me!’ he cried. This was Bonnie’s chance to extricate herself. She rose to her feet slowly. ‘Lady Brayfield …’ she began. The boy threw himself onto the older woman’s lap. ‘Don’t send me, Granny. I’ll be good. I promise.’ ‘But your father wants you out there with him, darling,’ said Lady Brayfield helplessly. ‘What can I do?’ She patted the boy’s back and looked at Bonnie as if seeking advice. Bonnie chewed her bottom lip. ‘I’m sure …’ she began, but at the same moment Richard stood up, turned and launched himself at her, causing her to stumble backwards onto the settee. ‘No, no,’ he shouted. ‘You can’t make me. I hate it there. I won’t go, I tell you.’ Lady Brayfield was horrified. Bonnie could see at once that he was clearly very spoiled and out of control. ‘Richard,’ his grandmother demanded, ‘stop that at once!’ Bonnie struggled to her feet and righted her hat but as she bent to pick up her fallen handbag, the boy aimed a kick at the settee. The toe of his heavy lace-up shoe made contact with Bonnie. Her hands automatically went to her stomach as she cried out in excruciating pain. Lady Brayfield gasped. ‘Oh Richard, what have you done?’ They both stared in horror as Bonnie screwed up her eyes and fell back onto the settee with a loud cry. Three Rita was having a history lesson. Normally the Georgian period fascinated her. Unlike her bored and sleepy classmates, she revelled in the romance of England at the time of Jane Austen, but she would have hated to live back then. It was mainly the treatment of women which horrified Rita. That far-off time was a world of arranged marriages when women had to be submissive, obedient and above all, quiet. Despite her mother’s best efforts, Rita wasn’t a bit domesticated. She would have failed miserably at weaving, sewing and cooking, and she didn’t know the meaning of quiet either! ‘For homework,’ said Miss Rastrick as she wrote on the blackboard, ‘read pages 37–54.’ Rita found the page. ‘A wife’s duty,’ she read in her textbook, The History of the Georgians, ‘was one of absolute obedience to her husband. It was considered extremely disloyal if she was tempted to be disparaging or critical of him.’ Rita shook her head. Thank goodness things were different now. The war had meant that when the men were called up, the women had to do their work. She was confident that now that the mould had been broken, it would be impossible to go back. Her future and the future of the girls in her class was a lot more promising than her mother’s had been and certainly more than her grandmother’s. Rita lived a world away from Regency England. She had no idea what she wanted to be when she left school next Easter, but she was determined to be mistress of her own destiny. Her thoughts drifted to her sister Bonnie. She still couldn’t believe she had gone. Mum didn’t want to talk about it but she cried all the time. She tried to pretend everything was all right but every time she stood outside in the scullery, or went outside the back door to get coal or check on the washing, Rita knew she was hiding so that no one saw her tears. It had been almost two weeks and there was still no sign of Bonnie. Mum had been out all day last Saturday, but she wouldn’t say where. There were no letters from Bonnie either. ‘Rita Rogers, stop daydreaming and get on with your work.’ Miss Rastrick’s sharp reprimand brought her back to the present day and Rita went back to the text. The sort of women Rita admired were women like Hannah Penn, wife of William Penn. After the death of her husband, Hannah inherited control over the Pennsylvania colonies he founded. According to her book, Hannah held power and governed them wisely for fourteen years, even though her own son made strenuous efforts to have his father’s will nullified. There was no holding Hannah back and when my time comes, there’ll be no holding me back, Rita thought to herself. When the bell rang to signify the end of lessons, Rita’s excitement mounted. Over the weekend, she had formed a plan. She would follow it through the moment the school day ended. Miss Rastrick tidied the books on her desk and rose to her feet. There was a low rumble as twenty gymslip-clad girls rose to their feet as well. Tucking her books under her arm, Miss Rastrick said formally, ‘Good afternoon girls.’ ‘Good after-noon, Miss Rastrick,’ they chanted in unison. As soon as she’d gone, the class erupted into a wall of sound. Rita’s hands trembled as she packed up her desk. ‘I forgot to tell you,’ said Mo Dawson. ‘We had a letter from my brother Bob. He’s in Germany now. He asked to be remembered to you.’ ‘Did he.’ Rita wasn’t that bothered. Bob, Mo’s older brother, was doing his National Service. The last time she’d seen him was at the school concert last year. He had spots. ‘Are you coming to athletics practice with us?’ Mo smiled. Mo lived next door but one from Rita. They didn’t have much in common but they often walked together to and from school. Mo’s dad was a bit funny in the head sometimes but Mo was all right. Rita shoved the last of her books inside and shut the lid. ‘Can’t,’ she said mysteriously. ‘I’ve got something on.’ From her school in South Farm Road, Rita took a detour down Pavilion Road. She didn’t know exactly where Bonnie’s boyfriend lived, but it was down this road somewhere. She had followed them once, but only at a distance for fear that Bonnie would see her. Rita hoped that once she saw the gate, she would remember the house. Although they were becoming increasingly independent of each other, she and her sister had always been very close. When the news that their father had died came, their mother had retreated into a world of her own, spending hours sitting alone on the stairs, so she and Bonnie comforted each other. The sisters enjoyed the same things – walking on the Downs, experimenting with what little make-up they could lay their hands on and going to the pictures. Bonnie was what people called a striking woman whereas Rita was regarded as the pretty one. She had long artistic fingers like her mother and dimples on her cheeks like her father. Her dark hair had a hint of bronze in it and it shone. For school she pinned it away from her face but out of school she wore it like the film star Joan Greenwood. Although she didn’t have a boyfriend herself, Rita understood the unwritten rule between women that you shouldn’t interfere where a man was concerned. She’d kept her distance when George entered Bonnie’s life. She said nothing to her mother because she knew Bonnie was keeping this one under wraps. For some reason, Bonnie didn’t want Mum to know about him. ‘He’s a lot older than me,’ she’d confided in Rita one Sunday afternoon. ‘Mum will stop us seeing each other if I tell her.’ ‘What’s he like?’ Rita wanted to know. Her sister’s expression became dreamy. ‘He’s the most wonderful man on earth,’ she’d sighed. ‘He looks like Charles Boyer.’ Bonnie’s soppy expression changed as she saw her sister’s face and she added defensively, ‘Well, just a bit …’ ‘On a dark night, with his hat down and his coat collar up?’ Rita quipped. Bonnie pushed her arm playfully. ‘No, really.’ ‘What’s his name?’ ‘George.’ ‘George who?’ ‘You ask too many questions,’ Bonnie had frowned. ‘We’ve both got a half day on Wednesday afternoon and we want to go to Brighton. Will you cover for me or not?’ ‘I suppose,’ Rita pouted, ‘but what if Mum finds out?’ ‘The only way she’ll find out is if you tell her,’ Bonnie insisted. ‘Tell Mum because it’s half term, you and I are going to see if they’ve made a start on clearing the barbed wire from the beach at Goring.’ Out of loyalty and love, Rita had lied to her mother with impunity, covering for what Bonnie and George were doing more than once. She’d reached the bend in Pavilion Road but nothing seemed familiar. George’s digs must be around here somewhere. She looked over the hedge of number 131. ‘Lost something, love?’ Rita nearly jumped out of her skin as a woman carrying two heavy shopping bags came up behind her. ‘I’m looking for a friend’s house.’ The woman put one of her bags down and flexed her whitened fingers. ‘Can I help you with that?’ Rita smiled. ‘Thank you, dear,’ said the woman. ‘I live at number 187. What’s your friend’s name?’ ‘George,’ said Rita, taking the bag. ‘I don’t know his last name.’ ‘What does he look like?’ ‘He’s good looking,’ said Rita. ‘A bit like Charles Boyer.’ The woman chuckled. ‘I think I’d remember if I’d seen him. Has he lived here long?’ Rita shrugged. ‘He’s got digs on the first floor,’ she said, remembering something Bonnie once said. ‘If he’s in digs, he’ll be with Mrs Kerr. She’s the only one around here who takes in lodgers. Number 109.’ They’d reached the woman’s gate and Rita handed her bag back. ‘Thank you, dear. Number 109. I hope you find your friend.’ Rita’s heart was in her mouth as she walked back and knocked at the door of number 109. The small front garden was very clean and tidy, the path swept, and the name on the wall beside the door said Maranatha. Mrs Kerr was a small woman with round black-rimmed glasses. Her hair was completely covered in a dark brown hairnet and she wore a wraparound floral apron. ‘Mrs Kerr? I’ve come about George,’ said Rita, completely forgetting her carefully rehearsed speech. ‘About time too,’ said Mrs Kerr. She showed her into a small sitting room next to the front door. ‘I must say I’m a bit surprised that he’s sent a schoolgirl. Why didn’t he come back for them himself?’ Rita stared at her with a blank expression. ‘Sorry?’ ‘His things,’ Mrs Kerr said. ‘That is what you’re here about, isn’t it? He packed his case and left it in the hall that morning. “I’ll be back for it later”, he said. You tell him I waited up until half past ten but he never showed up. I’ll get it for you now.’ She went back out to the hall and opened the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Did George say where he was going?’ asked Rita. ‘I thought you knew where he was,’ said Mrs Kerr, coming back with a suitcase in her hand and a raincoat over her arm. ‘I don’t know where he is. He never told me. All I know is he paid his rent, gave me back the rent book and that was that. What are you going to do with his things if you don’t know where he is?’ Rita chewed her bottom lip and stared at the floor with a frown. Mrs Kerr looked at her suspiciously. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘There’s no hanky panky going on between you and him is there?’ ‘I’ve never met George,’ Rita confessed. ‘He used to go out with my sister.’ ‘Oh,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘Used to go out, did you say? Well, it’s best not to interfere, dear. If he doesn’t want to go out with her any more, there’s bound to be a reason.’ ‘My sister went to London, very suddenly,’ said Rita. ‘I was hoping George, Mr … er …’ ‘Matthews,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘Mr Matthews might know where she is,’ Rita went on. ‘Well,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘This is a mystery, isn’t it, but I can’t imagine that they’d be together.’ Rita raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Well, he’s hardly likely to have gone all the way up to London without taking his things, is he?’ Rita was forced to agree. ‘My mother is very worried.’ ‘I’m sure she is,’ said Mrs Kerr, making a big show of putting the case and the raincoat back under the stairs, ‘but I can’t help you. Now if you’ll excuse me …’ Back out on the street, Rita walked with a heavy heart towards South Farm Road and the crossing. Where could she go from here? She had been so sure she would find George and speak to him in person. If Bonnie wasn’t with George, where on earth could she be? And why was George missing as well? It was while she was waiting for the crossing gates to go up that Rita spotted an advertisement on the wall. Hubbard’s … Of course, Hubbard’s. Why didn’t she think of it before? That was where Bonnie worked. She must have confided in one of her work colleagues. Full of resolve, once the gates were wound back in place, Rita quickened her step. She had no money for the bus fare but she was good at running and it wouldn’t take long to get to town. Richard’s well-aimed kick at the leg of the settee had, in the split second she had reached for her handbag, landed in Bonnie’s nether regions. His shoes were of the outdoor type and very hard. The pain was indescribable. When Bonnie cried out, pandemonium followed. Richard was sent to his room, the sound of his heavy footsteps and wailing tears fading into the distance finally silenced altogether behind a slammed door. Lady Brayfield and her maid did their best for Bonnie who, speechless with pain, could only roll around the settee and wish she was dead. They eventually calmed her and covered her with a blanket. A doctor summoned from Harley Street arrived shortly afterwards and Lady Brayfield left the room while he examined her. His breath smelled of whisky but he poked and prodded as he asked some very embarrassing questions. When he had finished, he concluded that she was ‘fit as a flea’ and only needed a period of recovery. After he’d gone, although the pain had lessened, Bonnie lay on the settee listening to the murmur of voices outside in the corridor. Serves you right, she told herself miserably. You never should have come here in the first place. She heard the front door slam and a few minutes later, Lady Brayfield returned. Bonnie moved as if to get up but LadyBrayfield held up her hand and sat in the chair opposite. ‘How long have you been pregnant?’ Her voice was gentle but her mouth was set in a tight line. Bonnie’s face burned with shame and embarrassment. Here it comes, she thought. The lecture … the moment when she said think of the shame and disgrace you’ve brought on your family, and what about your reputation, etc, etc. Bonnie had never had ‘the lecture’ herself but she remembered the way everybody had treated her neighbour Mary Reed when she got pregnant by a Canadian soldier during the war. ‘Keep the baby?’ Mary’s mother had screamed when Mary told her. ‘Don’t be stupid. Who is going to marry you with another man’s baby?’ In the end, poor Mary had been forced to give her baby up for adoption. Lady Brayfield looked at her steadily. ‘How on earth did you expect to keep it a secret?’ Bonnie swallowed the lump in her throat. It was no use. Obviously the doctor had told Lady Brayfield of her condition. ‘I thought that if I worked really hard, by the time you found out, you might let me stay a bit longer.’ A silence trickled between them. ‘At least you’re honest,’ Lady Brayfield said finally. ‘I’m not very far gone,’ said Bonnie in small voice. ‘And the agency said it was a temporary post. I thought if I earned a little money I could …’ Embarrassment welled up inside her. It was time to go. She pushed the blanket aside. ‘You’ve been told to rest, Miss Rogers,’ Lady Brayfield said firmly. The tone of her voice was authoritative but not unkind. ‘Let us discuss the matter.’ She paused. ‘I take it that you have been deserted?’ Something rose up inside Bonnie to defend George but how could she? She’d been to the station every day for more than a week and she’d made sure plenty of people saw her looking for him, but of course he hadn’t turned up. Time and again she’d asked at the station master’s office but he’d left no message either. She had written to Pavilion Road but that was six days ago and as yet she hadn’t had a reply. She knew she wasn’t the first girl he’d slept with. How could she be? George was older than her and experienced in his lovemaking. She’d been an utter fool. How many other girls had given themselves to men only to find themselves left with the consequences? The story was as old as the hills … But she couldn’t possibly say all that, so she just nodded miserably. ‘Could you not go back to your mother?’ Bonnie’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t. My mother is a widow …’ Lady Brayfield nodded. ‘How many months are you?’ Bonnie’s voice was small. ‘Four.’ Was it really only four months since she and George had lain in bed together dreaming big dreams? He was determined to go abroad. They’d even toyed with the idea of going to the Congo. ‘The principal food crops are cassava, bananas, and root crops,’ George had told her after he’d read a few books from the library. ‘Hot and humid. The central part has rain all year long.’ ‘Sounds wonderful,’ she’d cooed. ‘No it doesn’t,’ he’d laughed, and then he’d kissed her again. Bonnie could feel her eyes smarting. Lady Brayfield pushed herself deeper into her chair. ‘I have a proposal, Miss Rogers. We shall say nothing of this to Dora or to Cook.’ Bonnie frowned. Dora must be the name of the maid who opened the door and presumably it was Cook she could hear singing in the kitchen. ‘Richard is very contrite after his outburst,’ Lady Brayfield went on. ‘He’s not a bad boy. It’s not the first time he has told me he doesn’t want to live with his father, albeit he has never been violent before. My daughter, Richard’s mother, is in a nursing home. She’s had a nervous breakdown and needs complete rest. I only want to do what is right for the child.’ She rose to her feet and stood facing the window. Whatever she was about to say, Bonnie had already warmed to her. ‘My son-in-law is an ambitious man,’ Lady Brayfield continued with her back to Bonnie. ‘He is very strict, which is probably why Richard does not want to go to Africa. Now I’m beginning to wonder if that’s why my daughter …’ Her voice trailed off but she stayed by the window, her back ramrod straight. A couple of times her hand went to her face but she didn’t turn around. Eventually, and with a beautifully composed expression, she turned back to Bonnie. ‘I was very impressed with the way you conducted yourself when Richard … er … did what he did. You didn’t retaliate or swear at him.’ She paused. ‘That took tremendous self-control, Miss Rogers. You have excellent references and Richard needs a young person, someone with drive and energy. His time is mostly taken up with prep school but at the weekends, and with the Christmas holidays coming up, he needs to be amused. Quite frankly, Miss Rogers, I am too old for party games.’ Bonnie sat up. She should say something and say it now. How much energy would she have once the baby started to show? ‘After this incident, perhaps it wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest to send him to live with his father,’ Lady Brayfield went on. ‘Not yet, anyway. That being the case, I propose that you come here until after Christmas. I really cannot be without someone right now. Quite frankly, Miss Rogers, I need help. Would you be willing to come for a short period? It would give me time to find another girl for the New Year.’ Bonnie’s jaw dropped. ‘I won’t let you down, Lady Brayfield,’ she whispered. ‘Clearly your referees had no idea you were pregnant,’ she continued, ‘so I am taking a gamble that you are not promiscuous.’ Bonnie had never heard the word before but the meaning wasn’t lost. ‘I made a stupid mistake,’ she mumbled. Lady Brayfield went to her handbag. ‘Then we shall leave it there and not talk about it again. Agreed?’ ‘Agreed,’ said Bonnie looking up with a half smile. ‘I shall pay you ?2 a week, all found. Is that agreeable?’ Bonnie’s eyes widened. This was more than she could ever have hoped for. ‘Yes, yes thank you.’ Lady Brayfield handed Bonnie a pound note. ‘I have to take Richard to the dentist this afternoon and he is waiting outside to apologise for his disgraceful behaviour. When you are fully recovered, fetch your things and Dora will help you settle in. This should cover your taxi fare. You can start tomorrow.’ With that, she swept out of the room. Bonnie could have kissed her. What an amazing woman. The place where Richard had kicked her was still painful but it was almost worth it to land on her feet in this way. She looked around the room. What a wonderful place to work. It was so warm in this house. No draughty corridors, no sitting huddled around a meagre coal fire for warmth. Of course she knew her newly found comfort wouldn’t last, but for the moment, she had been handed a lifeline. A couple or three weeks here and she could put a little more money in the post office. Lady Brayfield had given her more than a job. She had given her hope. Four Every day seemed like a week to Grace. She was on ‘Packing’ in the factory. The sweaters came off the production line and were put into boxes. It was the job of her and her colleagues to steam any creases out and fold the sweaters neatly, three in a box lined with tissue paper. They worked at a table, in pairs, facing each other. The new factory was a lot more modern than the old one. In the morning, they played Housewives’ Choice over the radio and at lunchtime they heard Workers’ Playtime in the canteen. The people around her hummed and sang as they worked but Grace wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts were where they had been for the past ten days – with Bonnie. She had waited a whole week and then she had pawned the brooch she had inherited from Michael’s mother. She had always intended to give it to the daughter who got married first. She would have given it to her before they set out for the church on her wedding day but there was no time for sentiment now. She had to find Bonnie. She’d gone to the pawnbroker along the High Street. It was a dingy little shop, dark and cluttered, and she’d taken the fifteen shillings he’d offered without quibbling. It was probably worth a lot more than that, but there was no time to argue. All she had wanted was to get on the train first thing on Saturday morning. She’d scoured the concourse at Victoria station and stopped tens of people to ask if they had seen Bonnie. She was met with blank stares, nervous frowns, some hostile reactions and a few sympathetic conversations but nobody remembered seeing her daughter. ‘There was one young woman,’ the station master had told her, ‘but she was looking for her husband.’ ‘Are you sure about that?’ Grace had asked. The station master had leaned towards her as he made a circular movement with his finger next to his forehead. ‘I think she was probably some poor sod who couldn’t get over the death of her old man,’ he said confidentially. ‘We get them all the time. Sometimes a relative will come for them but, worst case scenario, they jump under a train.’ Grace shuddered. ‘When did you last see her?’ The station master shrugged. ‘Couple of days ago?’ They were both together in his office. As he spoke, a bell began to clang behind him. He stood up and put on his jacket. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me …’ ‘My daughter is eighteen and she has lovely brown hair,’ Grace said quickly. ‘She wears it tied at the back, like this. She’s very pretty.’ The station master ushered her out of the door and put on his hat. ‘This one had a beret,’ he said as he hurried away. ‘You’ve got four on that pile.’ Grace heard Snowy’s voice but she was still deep in thought. Bonnie was a capable girl but Grace worried that she wasn’t looking after herself properly in London. Was it possible she was with that man? Who was he anyway? She never talked about him, not properly anyway. What if she’d fallen in with a bad lot? What if some awful man went for her – could Bonnie take care of herself? How was she going to live with no job? Grace realised Bonnie had taken all the money from the green tin; and why not? It was her own money; but she knew Bonnie had been saving it for Christmas. Grace had no real idea how much was in the tin, but it probably wouldn’t last long. ‘Grace, I said, you’ve got four sweaters on that pile.’ Grace looked up as Phyllis Snow, Snowy as they all called her, put a hand over hers. At the same time, Snowy jerked her head towards the door. Grace shook her head. ‘Oh sorry.’ She quickly rearranged the sweaters before Norah Fox, their supervisor, spotted her mistake. She was coming their way. The sweaters were lovely colours, one powder blue, one pink and the other an oyster white. Lovely and soft too. Pity they were all going to Canada, Grace thought. After all the hardships of war, everybody looked forward to a bit of luxury in the home markets but it was a long time coming. ‘Time for your break, girls,’ said Norah. Snowy linked one arm with Grace and the other with Kaye Wilcox as they headed for the canteen. ‘We’ve been worried about you, Grace,’ said Snowy. ‘You’ve not been yourself all week. Anything we can do to help?’ Snowy was a nice woman, about eight or ten years older than Grace, with a matronly figure and steel grey hair arranged in sausage curls around the nape of her neck. Kaye was about thirty with deep-set eyes and raven black hair. She had never married but rumour had it that when she was a young girl she’d had a fling with a married man. Snowy took a packet of Players Navy Cut from the pocket of her wraparound apron and offered one to Grace. Grace shook her head. Kaye put on some more lipstick and rubbed her lips together. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t smoke,’ Snowy smiled as they waited in the queue. ‘Now. About your problem, do you want to talk about it?’ Grace could feel her eyes already pricking with tears. She couldn’t bear to make a fool of herself but at the same time shedesperately needed to talk to someone. Kaye squeezed her arm encouragingly. ‘Come on, love,’ said Snowy taking charge. ‘You know we can keep a secret,’ Kaye encouraged. They each took their meagre portion of stew and some bread and butter and sat a little way away from the others. ‘My Bonnie has left home,’ said Grace. It took a few minutes to explain the situation and why she was so concerned but Snowy and Kaye were patient listeners. ‘How awful for you,’ said Kaye. ‘She’s not in trouble, is she?’ Grace’s eyes widened. ‘Both my daughters are good girls,’ she said haughtily. She refused to even think about such thing. Thevery idea! ‘Don’t get on your high horse,’ said Snowy. ‘If she is, she wouldn’t be the first now would she?’ Grace’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll thank you not to cast aspersions.’ ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Grace,’ Kaye protested. She glanced at Snowy for support. Snowy laid a hand over Grace’s. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Take no notice of me. Perhaps I’ve just seen a bit too much of life.’ But Grace wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness. She picked up her tray and went to join the girls on another table. She felt sick. She had refused to let herself think that. Bonnie in trouble. Dear God, that was it. Why else would she up sticks and leave like that? No, she wouldn’t believe it. Not Bonnie. Grace recalled what she had said to her when she’d reached sixteen. ‘Now don’t you go bringing trouble home.’ She’d meant it as a caution, but had Bonnie taken it as a threat? Dear Lord, what had she done? She plonked her tray down next to Poppy Reynolds who interrupted her thoughts. ‘What are you doing this Christmas, Grace?’ Her bright eyes were dancing with excitement. ‘I’m going to the New Year’s Eve Ball at the Assembly Rooms.’ ‘How nice,’ Grace smiled. She was happy for her. It was about time the girl had something to look forward to. Poppy had had a difficult war, losing both a brother and her father. ‘My auntie’s making me a smashing dress. It’s got yards and yards in the skirt and it’s so tight around the bodice,’ she leaned forward confidentially, ‘that I won’t have to wear a bra.’ ‘Better watch out for those boys with their wandering hands then, Poppy,’ laughed one of the other girls and Poppy’s face went pink. Grace picked at her food. She normally enjoyed listening to their banter, or joining in with the laughter when Gert and Daisy said something funny on Workers’ Playtime, but the ache in her chest got worse and worse with each passing day. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so harsh on the girl. She’d never met her boyfriend, but perhaps he wasn’t such a bad lad. It’s was just that giving a young girl a present so early on in their relationship didn’t seem right. If she’d met him, she might have given Bonnie her blessing to go out with him. She might have tried to talk her out of it, but she would have given her blessing in the end. Bonnie was the sort of girl who seized the moment without a thought of the consequences. Grace realised now that she should have sat her down and talked, but she’d been hasty, angry, annoyed. If only she could turn the clock back. What if she had run away with that boy? What if he had left her high and dry? What if Bonnie had come to her senses and wanted to come back home? What if she didn’t have enough money? And what if there was a baby? She hated to think of the poor girl going through all that on her own. Added to the worry about her daughter, money was really tight. It had been difficult enough before, but without Bonnie’s contribution, Grace would be hard pushed to find the rent each week. Perhaps she shouldn’t have spent all that money going up to London to find Bonnie. It was a fruitless exercise anyway. Maybe she should have kept it for more pressing things. Like many in her street, Grace didn’t have a proper rent book. The rent kept going up all the time and shewondered sometimes if that was down to the landlord or the rent collector. Without a proper record, there was no way of knowing. She’d toyed with asking Mr Finley for a rent book, and she’d asked the collector countless times, but his promises never came to anything. When Mr Chard called to collect the rent last Friday, Grace was four bob short. In the end, she’d borrowed the money from the bit she’d put aside for the coalman, but this week she’d still be four bob short and she’d have both of them to pay. Kaye stopped by another table to have a word with a friend. Grace looked up as Snowy put a cup of tea on the table beside her. ‘Grace. I really didn’t mean to offend you. Me and my big mouth.’ Grace gave her a thin smile. ‘I know, and I’m sorry I was touchy.’ ‘Touchy?’ said Poppy. ‘It’s not like you to be touchy, Grace. What’s up?’ ‘Never you mind,’ said Grace. ‘Now tell me a bit more about this ball you’re going to.’ Snowy lived in South Farm Road, and as she and Grace walked part of the way home together, Grace talked a bit more about Bonnie. ‘Listen, girl,’ said Snowy eventually. ‘If you need anything, just let me know.’ ‘Thanks, Snowy.’ ‘I mean it. I know how hard it can be having your family miles away.’ Snowy’s daughter Kate had met and married an Aussie during the war. He was a lovely man but it had broken her mother’s heart when Kate announced that she was going to live in Australia. It was 12,000 miles away and took six weeks to go by boat. Snowy knew she would never see them again, but she didn’t let that spoil her daughter’s plans. Kate had gone away with her mother’s blessing, a smile and a cheery wave. Grace squeezed her elbow. ‘I know you do. You’re a good pal.’ ‘Are you doing the Thrift Club again this year?’ Snowy, always slightly embarrassed by compliments, changed the subject quickly. ‘Oh, yes and it was so popular last year, I’ve got even more savers this year.’ The Thrift Club. Grace had quite forgotten about that money. It was meant for Christmas but if push came to shove, she could use the money she had saved to pay back what she owed for the rent and the coalman. Suddenly she felt a whole lot better. When the end of the war came, money was tight. At the beginning of 1946, Grace had had the idea that if she collected a shilling or two every week from her friends and neighbours and put it into a post office savings account, by the end of the year they would have a nice little bit of interest as well as the money they had put in. It had been so successful, she had repeated it this year. ‘Christmas would have been a lean time of it in my house if my family was still living at home,’ said Snowy pulling a face. ‘I kept meaning to save a few bob but I even had to dip into the bit I put aside for the doctor this year. I wish I’d joined.’ ‘Do it for next year,’ said Grace. ‘It’s hard enough trying to save but if you put a little bit by each week, it soon mounts up. Perhaps you could have a little holiday.’ ‘Fat chance,’ Snowy laughed. ‘With all the shortages, I sometimes wonder who won this bloody war.’ Grace nodded. ‘Mind you, according to the newsreels, Germany is having a rough time of it and all.’ ‘Yes, we’re helping them!’ said Snowy acidly. ‘But who’s helping us?’ Grace was forced to agree. It upset her to think of little children going hungry, no matter what the parents had done, but she understood why her friend felt so aggrieved. Snowy’s brother had been killed in Burma and her parents who lived in Southampton had been bombed. Fortunately, their house had been repaired, which was more than could be said for the rest of the street. Almost every other house had been obliterated. ‘I was going to ask you,’ said Grace, changing the subject back again. ‘I’m going to draw the club money on Friday 12th and count it out.’ ‘I’m sure you’ll make a good job of it,’ said Snowy. ‘You’re good at sums.’ ‘It’s not that,’ said Grace. ‘I want to make sure everything is completely above board. I’ve kept good books throughout the year and I want someone to check my records and sign that it’s all legit.’ ‘Sounds reasonable enough,’ said Snowy. ‘It protects me more than anything else,’ said Grace. ‘Could you come and help me with the count?’ They had reached Snowy’s gate. ‘When do you want me to come over?’ ‘It’s half day,’ said Grace. ‘About three?’ ‘Make sure you’ve got the kettle on,’ Snowy grinned. With a friendly wave, Grace walked on, hardly noticing that just as she passed the Beehive Tea Rooms, a car drew alongside her and the passenger door opened. It was Norris Finley. ‘Get in, will you, Grace. I have something I want to tell you.’ ‘Can’t you tell me at work?’ ‘It’s private.’ Grace’s heart leapt. Had he found Bonnie? She looked around to make sure nobody was about and jumped into the car quickly. They finished early at the factory on Fridays and sometimes, if Rita was late out of the grammar school, they walked home together. Grace didn’t want Rita seeing her getting into someone’s car. As she closed the door, Norris turned the car sharply and they headed down St Lawrence Avenue. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘We need to talk,’ he said mysteriously. ‘Let’s find somewhere quiet.’ ‘You promised me a rent book,’ she said running her fingers through her hair nervously. ‘Yes, yes, and you’ll get one.’ ‘I can’t afford another rent rise.’ He patted her leg in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. ‘I’ll make sure you get no more rises, Grace. All right?’ ‘I still want the rent book.’ ‘All right!’ he snapped. He sped up the car. ‘Norris, I have to get back home,’ she protested. ‘You’re taking me miles away.’ ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you back.’ He drove on until they’d reached Durrington where he turned into the rough track called Pond Lane before he stopped the car. She waited anxiously. This was beginning to feel unpleasant. ‘So? What is it you want to tell me?’ He turned to her. ‘We’ve always been good friends, haven’t we, Grace?’ Grace stiffened. ‘Hardly,’ she snapped. ‘You took advantage of me when I was young and silly and you were old enough to know better. We have nothing in common.’ He smiled. ‘Nothing?’ Grace felt her face flame. ‘If it hadn’t have been for my Michael, my life would have been ruined.’ ‘There you go again,’ he said, ‘being melodramatic.’ ‘Just say what you want to say and then take me back,’ she said irritably. ‘Grace,’ he said, his voice becoming gentle. He touched her sleeve but she snatched her arm away. ‘I know you’re having a hard time. Look at you. Your coat is practically threadbare, your dress is darned …’ She could feel her face colouring with embarrassment. ‘I’ve just been to work,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’m hardly going to put on my best togs to go to the factory, am I?’ ‘You deserve better. I could change all that. You know I’ve always liked you. I mean, really liked you.’ His words hung between them in the electrically charged atmosphere. She turned her head slowly. ‘It’s been three years since your Michael died,’ he went on quickly. ‘You must have needs, Grace.’ His hand was on her knee again. ‘I have needs too.’ She jerked his hand away. ‘You have a wife!’ ‘She doesn’t give me what I want, Grace.’ He was giving her that hangdog look of his. ‘For God’s sake!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not sixteen any more. If that’s all you’ve got to say, take me back.’ It was obvious he wasn’t ready to give up. ‘We could come to some arrangement. I really want to be with you, Grace. You’ve still got your looks and a bit of powder and a new hairdo would do wonders for you.’ ‘How dare you!’ She was furious. Mostly with herself for believing he had anything honourable to say but also for being stupid enough to get into his car. She should have known where this was leading. ‘I want to go home.’ ‘I could make your life so much easier,’ he went on. ‘How about I set up an account for you in the new Hubbard’s? It’s a lovely modern store and you could buy any dress you like.’ Grace grabbed the car door handle, but he held her back. ‘If you won’t do it for yourself, think about that girl of yours. I could get her into secretarial college. If she passes the exam, she could get a really good job, something with prospects. You’d likeyour girl to get on, wouldn’t you, Grace?’ ‘Now look here, Norris,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m not going to be anybody’s tart. Me and mine are not for sale.’ His hand went up her skirt and groped for her knickers. ‘Come on, girl,’ he said huskily. ‘You know you’d like it. You used to be a little firebrand when you were young. I reckon I could relight that fire again.’ She flung her hand at his face and her finger caught him in the eye. He sprang back into his seat with a howl of pain and lashed out with his arm, hitting her on the side of her head. ‘You stupid cow,’ he spat. Now Grace wasn’t sure what to do. The most sensible thing would be to get out and walk but he had brought her at least three, maybe four miles from home. In the split second before opening the door and getting out, she heard voices. Grace glanced behind them and saw a woman and her three children heading in their direction. Up ahead was a little thatched cottage. There were no other houses in the lane. The woman most likely lived there. ‘Norris,’ she said as firmly as she could despite the sickening feeling gripping her whole body, ‘are you going to turn this car around and take me home or am I going to scream blue bloody murder and let that woman call the police?’ Without another word, he started the car. They drove back in silence but as he dropped her near the crossing, he snatched her arm again. ‘Think about it, Grace. I could cut your rent if you prefer. I’ll wait to hear from you.’ ‘Then you’ll have a bloody long wait.’ As she slammed the door, he pointed a finger at the glass and shouted, ‘I’m warning you, Grace Rogers. You’d be a fool to make an enemy of me.’ Five When Grace got back home, to her surprise, Rita still wasn’t back from school. She wasn’t unduly concerned. Rita had probably stayed on in the gym for netball practice or something. Grace set about getting the tea ready. She didn’t have many potatoes left in the enamel bin. She had seen some seed potatoes in Potter and Bailey’s but if you bought them, you had to sign a paper to say you were going to use them for planting. Grace supposed they would come round to your house and check up on you in the spring so she didn’t chance it. She only peeled two. That would be plenty for her and Rita. Bonnie was the one with the big appetite. She sighed and bit back her tears. This was almost as bad as the feeling she’d had when Michael was killed. Almost but not quite. The loss of her husband was final, she’d known as soon as she’d got the telegram that she would never see him again, but the ‘loss’ of her daughter was cloaked in hope, the hope that one day she would walk through that door again. She sighed. She didn’t want to think of Bonnie ill or, worse still, lying in a ditch somewhere, but sometimes the darker thoughts crept in uninvited. She cleared her throat and swallowed the aching lump that had formed. Be rational, she told herself. There was no reason to think that any harm had befallen her. She had to accept that Bonnie had run away, that was all. Seeing Norris had unsettled her again. Whatever women saw in the man now she couldn’t think, but when they were young, he had been a lot better looking and he could charm the birds from the trees with that silver tongue of his. He’d made no secret of his desire for her when they were youngsters but why now? Why did he still want her when he could have the pick of any girl in Worthing? The years hadn’t been kind to him. These days he was a thickset man with large jowls and a paunch. The richer he became the less attractive he became but he didn’t seem all that bothered. He really thought money could buy him anything and he was ruthless. The business with the rent had been going on for years and because people were reluctant to talk about money it had taken ages for them to realise that they were all paying different amounts. There was no doubt that if he cut Grace’s rent, it would make life a lot easier, especially now that Bonnie’s wage wasn’t coming into the house, but she wasn’t going to succumb to him – even if she had to wear frayed jumpers and eat half a potato for her dinner for the rest of her life. She still had her pride and her good name, for God’s sake. As well as the potato shortage, there was a paper shortage and the butcher had said there was little hope of poultry being on the menu for Christmas, unless, of course, she wanted to use the black market. Grace had never done that. She didn’t want to do it on principle and besides, they charged such high prices. Rita burst through the door in a state of high excitement and, hardly stopping to draw breath, she blurted out that she’d been to Hubbard’s. ‘Whatever for?’ Grace wanted to know. ‘I thought someone might be able to tell me something about Bonnie, Mum.’ Grace stiffened. ‘And did they?’ ‘Not exactly,’ said Rita. ‘When I got there, the girl in the office thought I had come for an interview.’ Grace lowered herself onto a chair. ‘We always said you would leave school at Easter.’ ‘I know, Mum, but hear me out, will you? This woman – she had tightly permed hair and a big tummy like you wouldn’t believe – she rattled off so many questions, I could hardly think straight. She looked such a sight, Mum.’ Rita waved her arms and strutted about, mimicking the woman and making her mother smile, in spite of herself. ‘What sort of questions?’ ‘Was I punctual, did I have a clean bill of health, did I have clean habits, was I teachable and how would I treat a difficult customer. By the time I cottoned on to what was happening, Mum, I felt too embarrassed to say anything. So I ended up being marched up to the ladies’ fashion department.’ By this time, Grace was laughing. ‘It’s so different now,’ Rita went on. ‘There’s no trace of the fire and it looks really classy.’ The whole town had been stunned by the fire which ripped through Hubbard’s in the early hours of Wednesday 22nd August. The upper floors had been totally gutted and the damage below was extensive. The fire itself was put out in less than an hour but it took no less than twenty fire crews to do the job, some coming from as far away as Crawley. The family firm reopened the store in time for Christmas, just, and although they had paid their staff since the fire, it was rumoured that they were already short-staffed. ‘I was only there five minutes when I was introduced to Miss Bridewell, the manageress,’ Rita went on, her eyes dancing with excitement. ‘“Would you consider being a Saturday girl, Miss Rogers?”’ Rita mimicked her affected accent. ‘“The run up to Christmas can be hectic and you seem a very capable gel.”’ Grace stopped laughing and put her hand to her mouth. Rita was a bright girl. She had passed the eleven-plus and made it to the grammar school and for that reason, Grace had wanted Rita do an extra year, but she would be sixteen in February. Was it time to let her go out to work? ‘But what about your weekends at the Railway Caf??’ Rita worked there every Saturday morning, clearing tables and helping with the washing up. The owners Salvatore and Liliana Semadini, Italians, had taken over in 1945. Before then it had always been a rather dingy place and not very clean but with Salvatore’s cheerfully optimistic outlook, it had completely changed. Liliana was a brilliant cook who could make a little go a very long way. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand,’ said Rita doggedly. Her mother wasn’t about to give up so easily. ‘And then there’s secretarial college? We had such plans …’ ‘Mum, they were your plans, not mine. Oh please let me go. This is an opportunity too good to miss. I like being around people. You know me, I like talking. If I was in a typing pool, I wouldn’t be allowed to say a word to a soul all day.’ ‘But being able to type opens up all sorts of possibilities,’ Grace insisted. ‘Miss Bridewell said if I suit, I can start as a full-time shop assistant in January. January 5th. It’s a Monday.’ Grace couldn’t think straight. This was a disappointment because from the moment they were born, she had such plans for her girls. The war had changed everything. There were such good opportunities for women in the jobs market now. She knew Bonnie had wanted to be a nursery nurse, and Grace had been happy with that, but now that the girl had gone, would she get her training? She couldn’t do anything about Bonnie but she could do something about Rita. Grace knew that if Rita could get a secretarial post, she would never have the kind of worries about money that she had endured. Shop work was all well and good but it didn’t pay very well. Rita was pressing for an answer. ‘So what do you say, Mum?’ There was no doubt that having Rita at work would be a godsend. Her money would make up the shortfall without Bonnie’s wage. Grace was already behind on the coal money and if they had another winter like last year and had to cut down any more, they’d both freeze to death long before the spring came. ‘Mum?’ ‘I still want you to learn to type,’ Grace insisted. ‘I can go to night classes.’ Grace made a big thing of giving in, but in truth she was relieved. She agreed to let Rita become a Saturday girl for the whole of December and to begin in the fashion department on January 5th. Bonnie was as content as she could be under the circumstances but she missed her home in Worthing and she missed her mother and Rita terribly. As she walked around the shops in Oxford Street on her afternoon off, she was missing her friend Dinah as well. How they would have loved trying on the dresses and taking tea in Lyons Corner House together. Up until now, the full extent of bomb damage in the capital had eluded her. There had been several bombing incidents in Worthing but nothing on the scale she saw in London. Large areas were screened off but the obvious gap in the buildings told her straight away where a house or a shop was missing. Although it was strictly forbidden, the bombsites were swarming with boys playing war games and cowboys and Indians. In some areas, whole streets had been reduced to rubble. Shortages of building materials meant that rebuilding the nation’s capital was a slow business. Shortages of other commodities were acute as well. Women still found it necessary to queue for hours outside a butcher’s or a grocer’s and Bonnie was surprised to see that large areas of public parks were still given over to allotments. There were few cars on the streets either. Petrol rationing kept their numbers down to a bare minimum. Bonnie was lonely and friendless but the money in her post office account was mounting up. She was careful not to spend a shilling more than she had to. Once her waistline started to expand it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to dip into her savings in order to live. Soon she’d have to find a place where she could go to have the baby and then there was the thorny problem of what she would do after that. Where would she live? More importantly how could she take care of the baby and support them both? When these things weren’t swirling around in her head, Bonnie struggled with a terrible ache in her heart. Why, oh why hadn’t her romance with George worked out? What had she done wrong? She couldn’t … wouldn’t believe he was a rotter. Hadn’t he told her time and again how much she meant to him? He’d made plans for his son from the moment she’d told him she was pregnant. She smiled fondly. He’d been so sure the baby was a boy. ‘Of course it’s a boy,’ he’d said with a mixture of indignation and pride when she’d challenged his assumptions. ‘That’s my boy. In my family, the first one is always a boy.’ And when she’d laughed, he’d kissed her until she was breathless. It was quite ridiculous but the thing she worried about most of all was the locket George had given her. It was her first real present and when he had given it to her, George had declared his undying love. It wasn’t new. The catch looked a bit insecure but she was sure that if it did come off it would only fall into her bra. She must have dropped it in the factory because she remembered fingering it just outside the door. When she’d arrived at the old factory on that last day in Worthing, it was deserted but the door leading to the street was open. She’d heard someone moving about in a room somewhere inside and had gone to see if it was George but she was met by a man in a brown overalls she presumed was the caretaker. He had his back to her and didn’t know she was there but she’d panicked and made a bolt for the entrance, tripped and dropped her bag. She was just by the door when he spotted her and shouted. She’d been so anxious to get away she’d just stuffed everything in her bag and run. The locket must have been lost then. If only she had stopped and turned around for a minute, she might have seen it on the ground. She missed it very much. Apart from the baby, it was the only thing she had to remember George by. To ease her anguish, Bonnie began to write letters to the address in Pavilion Road. She didn’t post all of them, but every chance she got she told George about her day. Of the three or four that she did post, she wrote her address at the top of the page and begged him to let her know how he was. Through her tears, she promised not to make any demands on him. She only needed to know that he was alive and well. She did her best to make the letters upbeat. He mustn’t know how miserable she was. Once the envelope was sealed, she put her name and address on the back so that Mrs Kerr could get in touch with her and tell her if George was ill or something. Sometimes Bonnie was so miserable she thought she was losing her mind with grief but there was something within her that wanted the whole world to know how much she cared for him. She did make contact with someone – Miss Reeves. Bonnie had remembered seeing an advertisement in the local paper with a box number for replies. That gave her the idea of going to the post office and asking about it. Bonnie discovered that, for a small rental fee, she could have her own box number with a key in the local branch. It was an ideal way of keeping in touch without anyone knowing where she lived. She reasoned that she had upset her mother enough so she would not worry her again but she was desperate for news of her and her sister. Miss Reeves was the obvious choice. At Sunday school she had made much of honesty and being trustworthy, so Bonnie wrote to her, asking for information about her family. In her letter, she explained that she could not, for very personal reasons, contact them herself, and asked Miss Reeves to send her news of her mother and sister. Bonnie did her level best to stop thinking about George all the time but the bittersweet memories kept slipping through the crevices of her mind. She was careful not to let Richard or Lady Brayfield see her upset, but night after night her pillow was wet with tears. Richard turned out to be a boy with a real thirst for knowledge. After a cautious beginning, he and Bonnie quickly became friends. She did her best to keep him occupied whenever he was in the house. After a while, even she could see that Lady Brayfield was less stressed with life. It seemed that if the boy was happy, everyone else was happy. The whole household was more relaxed. Lady Brayfield visited her daughter two or three times a week. ‘She’s looking better all the time,’ she confided in Bonnie, and nothing more was said about Kenya. Bonnie was more or less left to her own devices. So long as Richard was happy, Lady Brayfield left them to it. Richard had a fairly full timetable. Bonnie made sure he ate a good breakfast and then they walked to the prep school where he was a dayboy. He was an average student but under Bonnie’s tuition, or perhaps it was her encouragement that helped him go that extra mile, his grades began to show a marked improvement. Whenever she could, Bonnie took Richard to see the sights of London. They would walk around Trafalgar Square, or go up to Buckingham Palace. Richard’s favourite place in the whole world was the British Museum. He loved looking at the fossils and stuffed animals in cases and gradually his enthusiasm sparked a similar interest in Bonnie. Back in the town house, she taught him to play whist and patience while he taught her the rudiments of chess. He beat her every time (which he loved) but gradually she got the hang of it. In the evenings, when he’d finished his homework, they would read together, do jigsaws or make Meccano models. Bonnie wasn’t so good at the model making, but it gave Richard a real sense of achievement to be able to show an adult what to do. He never talked about his father but at night as he knelt by his bed, he always prayed for his mother. ‘God bless Mummy and please help her to get better. I miss her very much but I pray she won’t miss me and be unhappy.’ His prayer never failed to bring a tear to Bonnie’s eye. What was her own mother doing now? With Christmas only three weeks away, she’d be sorting out the Thrift Club. It was only a small thing but it made such a big difference to her neighbours. Her mother was always thinking of others. Bonnie was proud of her and longed to give her a hug and tell her so. She missed her so much and the small house where they lived had taken on a romantic rose-coloured hue in her memories. Bonnie forgot about the lack of privacy, the freezing cold bedrooms and the fact that she had to wash in the scullery. All she remembered was the fun and laughter she, Rita and Mum shared together. As she tucked Richard into his bed, she was thinking about the singsongs they’d had around the piano. That piano was her mother’s pride and joy, a present from Dad when they were young. Mum was a good pianist and she could pick up a tune in no time. Her father always said she could have been aconcert pianist but Mum would push his arm playfully and say, ‘Get away with you, you daft ’apeth.’ Bonnie’s voice cracked slightly as she said, ‘Goodnight, Richard’, but the boy didn’t notice. Turning over he snuggled down under his eiderdown with a sleepy, ‘’Night.’ Bonnie’s evenings were her own. If she had no socks to darn (even the wealthy darned their socks it seemed) Bonnie could sit with Dora and Cook in the little parlour and listen to the radio or she could spend time in her own room, knitting booties and matinee jackets for the baby. Cook and Dora had worked for Lady Brayfield for years. They didn’t talk a lot but it didn’t take Bonnie long to realise that life hadn’t been kind to them. Dora was roughly the same age as Lady Brayfield. They had played together as children. ‘My mother worked in the big ’ouse,’ Dora told her with pride. ‘She cleaned the master’s rooms. Lady Brayfield says she were the best cleaner they ever ’ad.’ When she was sixteen, Dora had fallen for a smooth-talking man and been ‘put in the family way’ as Cook put it. Her baby was stillborn and Dora was so upset she had been declared mentally unstable and put into an institution. It took Lady Brayfield more than twenty years to get her out. The years of incarceration had left Dora deeply scarred. She was a slave to routine and became upset at any deviation but she was a hard worker. Grey-haired, even though she couldn’t be more than forty, Dora was a heavy woman with square hard-working hands. If Dora was chunky, Cook was dainty. Standing at less than five foot tall, Cook was reluctant to even tell anyone her name. She was an intelligent woman but she found socialising difficult. Bonnie had no idea what had happened to Cook but a chance remark from Lady Brayfield made her wonder if Cook had been the victim of child cruelty. The pair of them were quite content to live together as friends, supporting each other and devoting themselves to the care of the woman who had rescued them and given them their lives back again. They never intruded on Bonnie’s privacy but they were welcoming whenever she wanted to share her off duty time with them. But tonight Bonnie was in no mood for company. As she climbed the stairs to her room, Lady Brayfield called her downstairs into her sitting room. Bonnie’s heart began to beat faster as Lady Brayfield closed the door behind them. ‘Bonnie, I haven’t been disappointed since you came here,’ she began. ‘But the time has come … You cannot stay here in your condition.’ Bonnie nodded miserably. ‘Although you hardly show at the moment, I think you will agree that we must act before Richard has the slightest idea that you may be pregnant. Have you had morning sickness?’ Bonnie shook her head. ‘That finished long before I came.’ ‘Have you said anything to Dora and Cook?’ Bonnie shook her head. ‘When you came I proposed that you might stay until the end of January,’ Lady Brayfield continued, ‘but I overheard Dora mentioning to Cook that she thought you might be in the family way. They had no idea I was there, or I am sure they wouldn’t have said it. However, it’s left me wondering if you’ve said anything.’ ‘No, Madam,’ cried Bonnie. ‘Honestly I haven’t.’ Lady Brayfield looked thoughtful. ‘I shall start looking for somewhere to live straight away,’ Bonnie said quickly. She was struggling with her emotions. She would be sad to leave this house and her generous employer, but she had no wish to cause any embarrassment. ‘Have you any idea what you would like to do?’ Bonnie smiled wistfully. ‘I always wanted to look after children,’ she said, ‘but it’s hard to imagine how I could with my own baby to look after.’ Her eyes were brimming with tears and she willed them not to fall. ‘I would like to try and keep the baby but if I can’t, I’ll have to let him go for adoption.’ ‘It’s not widely known,’ Lady Brayfield said softly, ‘but the government has made provision for single women to keep their babies. Would you like me to make some enquiries?’ Bonnie’s face lit up. ‘Would that mean I could keep my baby?’ ‘It won’t be easy,’ said Lady Brayfield. ‘You’ll have to find somewhere to live and you’ll probably have to run the gauntlet when it comes to mean-spirited judgemental moralists.’ ‘I don’t care what people think,’ Bonnie said fiercely. ‘I made an honest mistake.’ ‘Perhaps it might be better to pretend you had a husband who was killed.’ Bonnie looked thoughtful. Eventually she said, ‘I hate lies. My mother always said a liar had to have a good memory.’ ‘Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman,’ Lady Brayfield remarked. ‘Bonnie, are you sure that you couldn’t go back home?’ ‘No,’ said Bonnie. ‘If it’s a question of the train fare …’ ‘It’s not that. It’s the shame. I could never go home and shame my mother.’ She stood to leave. ‘Then I shall make some enquiries.’ ‘May I ask one thing?’ Bonnie asked cautiously. Lady Brayfield held her gaze. ‘May I ask why you are helping me like this?’ ‘You remind me of someone I once knew,’ said Lady Brayfield turning towards the drinks cabinet. Keeping her back to Bonnie, she reached for the sherry and Bonnie knew she would not be drawn further. As Bonnie opened the sitting room door she hesitated. ‘Is there something else, Bonnie?’ ‘Thank you,’ she said, and the two women smiled. ‘By the way,’ Bonnie reminded her, ‘I’m taking Richard to buy some Christmas presents. We plan to go to Selfridges after school.’ Lady Brayfield nodded. ‘Does he have enough money?’ ‘He’s saved almost ?5 of his own pocket money,’ said Bonnie closing the door softly. As she walked upstairs, it occurred to her that she would have to use some of her precious savings to buy presents for Lady Brayfield, Richard, Dora and Cook. She groaned inwardly but the moment the thought skittered through her mind, she was eaten up with guilt. How could she resent buying gifts for the very people who had been so kind to her? Wasn’t giving to others what Christmas was all about? When the Christmas cards started to arrive at the house, Bonnie decided that she would at least send a card to her mother and sister. Woolworth’s had single cards, and she’d bought one. She didn’t have to put her address on it and even if her mother saw the London postmark, London was a very big place. Alone in her room, Bonnie got the card out again but she couldn’t think what to write inside. Was it wise to rake up all those memories? Her mother would most likely have settled back down to normal life. What right had she to upset her again? How different everything had been last Christmas when she and Rita had put up the decorations together. They hadn’t been up to much. The same things had been up and down for all the Christmases Bonnie could remember. ‘I’ll get you some new ones next year, Mum,’ she’d promised. ‘Get some pretty ones with plenty of glitter,’ Rita had said. A lump formed in Bonnie’s throat. She wouldn’t be keeping her promise and she wouldn’t see the old ones going up either. Sick at heart, Bonnie wrote a short note inside, addressed the envelope and stuck on a stamp, but she put the Christmas card in a drawer. Six As a Saturday girl, it was left to Rita to put the dresses back on hangers in the department once the customers had tried them on. It was also her responsibility to make sure each customer was given a chiffon scarf to put over her face so that she didn’t get powder or lipstick on the dresses. Most of Hubbard’s clients were happy to comply with the rule but occasionally she would get a complaint. Miss Bridewell usually handled that, and although she was politeness itself, somehow the customer knew not to argue with her if she wanted to try the dress on. As well as Miss Bridewell, there were three other girls in the department: Sonja, a petite brunette with very high heels; Susan, a rather timid girl with bitten-down nails who seemed terrified of Miss Bridewell; and Dinah Chamberlain. Dinah was a little older than the others. She had been Bonnie’s best friend when she worked at Hubbard’s. She worked as the mannequin and spent all day modelling the clothes. She only came back into the department when she wanted to change her outfit for something else. At the first opportunity, Rita was determined to talk to the girls about her sister. It was now December 6th, a whole month since Bonnie had left home. She still hadn’t told her mother about George but then what was there to tell? Bonnie had been frugal with the details. Rita hadn’t even know his last name and who knows, perhaps they had broken up anyway and Bonnie had left Worthing to get away from him. She told herself not to worry but in truth she was as worried as her mother. If anyone was likely to know Bonnie’s plans, it would be one of the girls at work. Rita found her opportunity to talk about her sister when she was called into one of the cubicles. ‘I remember her,’ said Sonja. ‘I was downstairs in the glove department when she worked here. She was going to London, wasn’t she?’ They were helping Dinah out of a charcoal grey wrap-over coat with big shoulders which was nipped in at the waist. The New Look from Paris had swept the country. After years of ‘make do and mend’, Dior had been extravagant with material. Although expensive, Hubbard’s wasn’t up to Dior standards but they were a highly fashionable store. Rita loved the flowing lines and small-waisted dresses and jackets. It was obvious that Dinah loved wearing them too. Dinah would stroll around the store carrying a card with a number on it. She frequented the restaurant where shoppers met their friends for morning coffee or afternoon tea and lingered if she thought a customer was especially interested in what she was wearing. When she got back to the fashion department, the customer would only have to remember the number on the card Dinah was carrying for Miss Bridewell to know exactly which outfit she had admired. It was Rita’s job to put the items back on display as soon as possible in case a customer had followed Dinah back to the dress department and wanted to try it on. ‘I can’t believe my sister went so far on her own,’ said Rita, choosing her words carefully. She folded Dinah’s long sage green gloves and put the matching hat back into its hatbox. ‘I heard she was going off to be with a man friend,’ Susan said, holding up Dinah’s next ensemble, a halterneck evening dress in the palest shade of yellow. As she stuffed the felt hat with tissue paper, Rita’s heart leapt. So Bonnie had been planning to run away with George. ‘Georgie Porgie pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry …’ Susan’s chant was cut short when Dinah dug her in the ribs. Rita hardly noticed. Her thoughts were back with that suitcase under the stairs at Mrs Kerr’s house. Why hadn’t George come back for it? ‘Is Bonnie doing all right then?’ Rita wished she’d persuaded Mrs Kerr to open his suitcase. Should she go back there? ‘Rita?’ She looked up sharply. The other girls had been called away to serve two matronly women and she was left alone with Dinah. The older girl was looking intently at her. ‘How is Bonnie? I was surprised that she went without a word to anyone. We were pretty good friends when she was here. Did she tell you about me?’ ‘I think so,’ she said absently. ‘She promised to write,’ said Dinah. ‘Can you help me with the buttons at the back?’ Rita wiped her hands on the side of her own dress and walked behind Dinah’s back. There were at least ten material-covered buttons. How on earth anyone was expected to get into this dress without help was beyond her. Dinah shuddered slightly as Rita began. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Cold hands.’ ‘She’s very brave going all that way,’ said Dinah, patting her hair and pushing in a stray pin. She wore it swept back with a mass of loose curls high on her head. Rita nodded. She hadn’t really thought about it but London was miles away, wasn’t it. Fifty at least. ‘Just think of all that lovely sunshine,’ Dinah sighed. ‘Blue skies and lovely beaches. All white sand, you know.’ All buttoned up, she turned to look at herself in the mirror. Rita gave her a puzzled look. ‘In London?’ ‘No … South Africa,’ Dinah chuckled. ‘That’s where she was going,’ and seeing Rita’s horrified expression she added, ‘I’m sorry, Rita. Didn’t you know?’ As she left the cubicle, the mannequin obviously had no idea of the effect her words had had on Rita. South Africa? Was Bonnie really going all that way with George? Rita felt sick. She couldn’t let on to Mum or she’d be frantic with worry. South Africa? It might as well be the far side of the moon. This bit of news had spoiled her first day. It was hard to shake off the deep foreboding and not even collecting her first ever wage packet at the end of the day could make up for it. Her sister had walked out of her life and gone to a rich man’s paradise without a backward glance at the family who loved her so much. Rita bristled with anger. How could Bonnie be so selfish? How could she have put them through all this? The following Friday afternoon, Snowy knocked on the door at three o’clock sharp. When she walked in, Grace was putting the tin bath in front of the range. ‘I picked this up on the mat,’ said Snowy coming right in. She handed Grace an envelope. Grace tore it open and pulled out a Christmas card. ‘It’s from my mother,’ she said, looking inside. ‘How is your mother?’ asked Snowy. ‘Fine,’ said Grace. ‘Getting older.’ She wiped around the inside of the bath with a damp cloth. A spider scurried away from the cloth but got swept up in it anyway. ‘Don’t mind me,’ Grace went on. ‘Rita wants a bath after tea.’ Outside in the scullery, the water in the big boiler was heating up nicely. Grace had cleared the kitchen table but she had left two cups and saucers and one of her legendary ‘Cut and Come Again’ cakes in the middle. ‘Thanks a lot for doing this, Snowy,’ she said taking the older woman’s coat. ‘Gives me something to do,’ said Snowy waving her hand dismissively. ‘Have you heard from your Kate yet?’ Grace was pouring a little hot water into the teapot before swirling it around to warm it. She tipped the water into the sink and reached up for the tea caddy. Snowy shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose I will until she reaches Adelaide.’ ‘It’s a long way,’ Grace sympathised. Grace knew that her friend struggled with the fact that her daughter was halfway across the world and now that Bonnie was gone, she had some vague idea how Snowy must feel. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ said Grace passing a cup towards her. ‘I asked the King if he could put me up but the miserable old bugger said he was off to Sandringham,’ Snowy shrugged. ‘Good,’ said Grace, ‘then you’re coming here.’ ‘No, no,’ Snowy protested. ‘I couldn’t put you out.’ ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Grace. ‘There’ll only be Rita and me. I was thinking of inviting one or two of the other neighbours in for a bit of a singsong like we did in the war years.’ ‘If I come,’ said Snowy, ‘you must allow me to contribute something.’ ‘There’s no need.’ ‘I insist.’ They gave each other a mutual smile of understanding andcarried on sipping their tea. As soon as they’d eaten somecake, Grace brought out the books. She had been a meticulous bookkeeper, recording the date and amount of money each saver had given her and then the date on which it was banked. Together they counted it out plus theinterest accrued since it had been in the post office. Each payout was put into a small envelope with the saver’s name on it. It took more than an hour to get everything done properly. ‘Aren’t you scared with all this money in the house?’ said Snowy as they finished. At that very moment the door opened and a man walked in. He was short and thickset with a boxer’s nose and cauliflower ears. Snowy leapt to her feet with a small cry, her chair scraping on the wooden floor. Grace put up her hand in caution. ‘It’s all right,’ she said with a short laugh. ‘You’ve just been saying I need protection. This is my bodyguard, Charlie Hanson.’ A look of relief flooded Snowy’s face and the man in question smiled, flashing a gold tooth. ‘Evening.’ ‘I should have told you he was coming,’ Grace went on. She reached for another cup and saucer and poured Charlie some tea. Charlie pulled up a chair, sat down and began rubbing his hands vigorously to get some warmth back into them. ‘Charlie used to be a friend of Michael’s,’ Grace said by way of explanation. ‘We’ll be going out with the packets shortly. I’ve asked him to stay for a bite of tea. Would you like some too?’ Snowy shook her head. ‘I’d better be getting back.’ ‘Why?’ Grace persisted. ‘You’ve got nothing to go back for.’ Snowy opened her mouth to say something but Grace was already putting a knife and fork in front of her. ‘Oh all right,’ Snowy laughed, ‘but only a little. You’ve already given me a piece of cake.’ Rita came in shortly after. As soon as they’d finished their meagre portions of shepherd’s pie, Grace got ready to set off on her rounds with the Thrift Club money. Rita was glad her mother was going with Uncle Charlie Hanson, and said so. ‘My pleasure,’ said Charlie giving her a wink. Charlie had plainly enjoyed himself being in a room full of women. He flattered and teased them, and they played along with him. ‘I’d best be on my way,’ said Snowy, fishing in her coat pocket for her torch. ‘See you on Monday, Grace.’ ‘Take care,’ said Grace. ‘I could do with a big strong man like Charlie to look out for me on the way home,’ said Snowy. ‘Can’t be in two places at once,’ said Charlie with a hint of regret in his voice. As soon as Snowy had gone home, Grace put her coat on and wrapped her scarf around her neck tightly. It was very cold outside. ‘Make sure you lock the door after me,’ she said to Rita. ‘Especially before you get in the bath.’ ‘Yes, Mum.’ ‘And mind you don’t scald yourself with that water.’ ‘Yes, Mum. Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.’ She waited on the doorstep until she heard Rita turn the key in the lock and then she and Charlie set off. To minimise the possibility of being attacked, the money was in a satchel bag with a strap which went over Grace’s shoulder. The bag itself had a sturdy buckle on the front of it. Grace trusted her neighbours but she was walking around with a large sum of money and in these hard times, it might be difficult for some to resist temptation. A lone woman would be an easy target, which was why she had asked Charlie to come along with her. As it was, she tried to make sure she put the money into the hands of the actual women who had entrusted her with their meagre savings. Sometimes their husbands would lie in wait in the front garden or by the gate and demand the money before she reached the house, but Grace knew if she gave it to them, most of it would disappear down the pub long before their wives saw a penny. ‘I have to do what the law says,’ she would tell them. ‘Your wife paid it in and it’s her money.’ ‘What belongs to the wife belongs to me!’ ‘Her name is on the book, so I have to pay it to her.’ Uncle Charlie was a bodybuilder, as broad as he was tall. He wasn’t a relative but the kids called him Uncle when they were young and it had stuck. Grace thought he was a bit lonely so as a woman on her own she had to be very careful not to give him the wrong impression, but there were times, such as now, when he was useful to know. Once Uncle Charlie squared up to a man, any man, there was no argument. Of course, Grace was no fool. She knew as soon as she and Charlie had gone the wife would probably be beaten into submission; but if the woman had any sense, she would manage to squirrel away a fair bit of the money in her apron pocket while the man saw Grace to the door. The round was uneventful enough but every time someone said, ‘How’s your Bonnie getting on?’ it cut Grace like a knife. The truth was, she hadn’t a clue. Every day she looked for a letter to no avail. She’d had a few Christmas cards, but nothing from Bonnie. She had bought one herself in case Bonnie wrote, but with no address to send it to, what could she do? As she made her way through Station Approach, someone called Charlie’s name. Grace turned in time to see him conversing with a man in the shadows. All at once, the man took a swing at him and Charlie retaliated. At the same moment, someone grabbed her from behind and spun her round. The sudden move took Grace completely by surprise and she stumbled. The man raised his boot to kick her. ‘Oi!’ Someone near the corner of the street shouted at the top of his voice. The robber pushed her violently and Grace felt herself falling. The sound of running feet behind him in the silent street obviously focused the robber’s mind. He made a grab for the moneybag looped over her head and across her chest, banging her head against the wall. The blow nearly knocked her senseless but even as she hit the ground, Grace knew the moneybag was gone. Seven Rita lay on her back with the water touching her shoulders. The tin bath was cramped and the edges a bit cold but it was warm in the kitchen. The fire in the range let out a fairly good heat and her clean clothes were hanging on the clothes horse for when she got out. She was brooding. Brooding on her sister’s disappearance and the unfairness of life. The more she thought about it the less she understood it. Bonnie often talked about George and Rita knew their romance was to be kept a secret but all that stuff about South Africa? Why did that have to be a secret anyway? She should tell Mum really. In fact, now that she thought about it, Rita wished she had told her mother about George in the first place. If she told her now, she would be angry that Rita had kept Bonnie’s secret. She soaped the flannel with Lux and then her arm. Mum was reasonable enough. She would have been a bit upset but if Bonnie was a married woman she would never have stopped her going anywhere with her husband. Mum would never allow any hanky-panky, as Mrs Kerr had called it, but Bonnie was a respectable girl. As they’d lain in their beds at night, she and her sister had talked about their wedding night often enough. Bonnie always said you should save yourself for the man you loved. She said Mum had done it and she would too. ‘Anyway,’ she told Rita, ‘if you give yourself to a boy, he won’t respect you and you’ll get a reputation for being flighty.’ ‘I shall save myself for my husband too,’ Rita had said stoutly. She had read a letter on the problems page in Woman magazine just the other day. A reader was worried that her fianc? wanted her to go too far. Should she give in to him or wait until her wedding day? In the reply the girl had been advised to remain a virgin. In truth Rita had no real idea what happened on the wedding night but she knew that when a man and a woman got married sooner or later there was a baby. What exactly a man did was a mystery. At school, they had biology lessons but the life cycle of a frog wasn’t much help. Life threw some very unkind things at you. It had come as a shock when her periods started. When Mum explained that this sort of thing was nothing to worry about, and that it happened to every girl, she had talked a lot about the Goodmans’ dog. ‘Poppet goes into season twice a year,’ Mum said. ‘Well, it’s the same for girls. When girls have their period, it’s a bit like going into season.’ ‘But why?’ Rita wondered. ‘Your body is getting ready to have a baby.’ Rita had been appalled. ‘But I’m only thirteen,’ she’d cried. ‘I’m not ready to have a baby yet!’ ‘Of course not, silly,’ her mother had laughed. ‘You have to get married first.’ Rita was in for another shock a month later. Poppet went into season twice a year but it seemed that girls had their period, now re-named ‘country cousins’, every month. Not only that, but Mum bought her a regular supply of Velena pads with loops which she had to fix onto a special belt. Twice a day, she had to wrap the used ones in newspaper and Mum burned them in the range. It was horrible. She was very nearly sixteen with three years of preparing her body for a baby behind her and she still didn’t know exactly how you got one. Rita swirled the flannel over her flat stomach. Dinah said she had a nice figure but Rita wished her breasts were a bit bigger. Someone tried the door latch and Rita sat up. ‘Who’s there?’ Her heart was bumping. Thank goodness Mum had told her to lock the door. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was much too early for Mum to come back – she’d only been gone for a half an hour – and besides she had her key. The door latch went up again. Rita stood up and grabbed a towel. ‘Who is it?’ she called, willing her voice not to quiver. ‘It’s me, Rita. Uncle Charlie. Open the door. Your mum’s been hurt.’ Rita felt the panic rising in her chest. She wanted to run and open the door but how could she, covered with only a threadbare towel which barely went round her? ‘Just a minute.’ With no time to dry herself let alone get dressed she flew upstairs and pulled Mum’s old dressing gown from behind the bedroom door. When she opened the door, Rita had a shock. Uncle Charlie was doing his best to hold her mother upright but Grace was like a rag doll in his arms. Together they helped her inside and onto a chair. ‘What happened?’ ‘We was robbed,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Some blighter distracted me and his mate snatched the bag.’ Grace moaned and Rita could see a big lump on her forehead. The skin was already going blue and her mother was trembling from head to toe. ‘It’s the shock,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Shall I get the doctor?’ Rita asked anxiously. ‘No,’ said Grace. ‘Yes,’ said Uncle Charlie in unison. ‘We can’t afford it,’ said Grace. Uncle Charlie dampened the end of the tea towel and then he put it over the bruise. Rita was happy to let him do it. He was a second at boxing matches and he knew what to do with a bump. Over the top of her mother’s head, he gave Rita the nod to go. ‘Will you stay with her?’ Rita mouthed. Uncle Charlie nodded. ‘Have you got any butter?’ Rita got the butter dish from inside the dropdown cupboard then, grabbing her clean clothes from the clothes horse in front of the range, she raced back upstairs to dress. A couple of minutes later she was back downstairs. Uncle Charlie was rubbing butter onto the huge egg which had formed on her mother’s forehead. Rita grabbed her coat and ran. When she got back with the doctor, Grace had been sick and Rita was told to fetch Constable Higgins. She ran down to Station Approach and the blue police box. There was a telephone on the side for the use of members of the public. It connected her straight to the police station in the centre of town. Rita explained that her mother had been attacked and robbed and after giving the sergeant her name and address, she was told to go back home and wait for a uniformed officer to attend. When she got back home, the doctor had just completed a thorough examination of her mother. As soon as she saw her, Grace was angry that Rita had sent for him, but the doctor shook his head. ‘You should be proud of her, Mrs Rogers,’ he said. ‘Head injuries can be very dangerous things. Fortunately, although you will probably have a very bad headache for a while, there is no lasting damage.’ Rita was so relieved she almost kissed him. Inside, she had been panicking. With her father dead and Bonnie gone, what would have happened to her if Mum had been seriously ill? For the first time in her life she’d realised just how fragile life was, how everything could change in an instant. She knew she was being selfish, but she resolved never to take her mother for granted again. Bonnie might have walked out on her but, from now on, Rita was going to be the best daughter in the world. After telling Grace that an Aspro and bed rest was the best thing, the doctor left with his shilling and soon after a Constable Higgins stopped by and took statements. ‘Who knew you were going on the round?’ the constable asked. They were all sitting around the kitchen table. ‘Everybody,’ said Grace. ‘They were expecting me.’ ‘And you started out from here at what time?’ Grace looked at Charlie and shrugged. ‘About seven,’ said Charlie. The constable scribbled in his notebook. ‘And the attack happened at about eight o’clock by Station Approach?’ ‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘It’s a good job Charlie suggested changing the route. If we had gone the usual way, they’d have got a lot more.’ Constable Higgins frowned. ‘How d’you mean?’ ‘I usually go to the end of road and walk up to Station Approach and back by Teville Gate and then I do Tarring Road,’ Grace explained. ‘Charlie persuaded me to go the other way round.’ ‘Why did you do that, sir?’ asked Constable Higgins accusingly. ‘I thought she should vary the route,’ Charlie shrugged. ‘For safety’s sake.’ ‘Good job you did,’ said Grace. ‘I heard someone shout just before the robber pushed me down.’ ‘Mr Warren,’ said Constable Higgins. ‘He’s only just moved into the shop on the corner. He’s already made a statement.’ ‘I think I owe my life to him,’ said Grace. ‘I’m sure that man would have kicked me senseless if Mr Warren hadn’t come running.’ ‘How much money are we talking about?’ said the constable. ‘About ?50,’ said Grace. ‘I only had a few houses to go to. Mrs Oakley, the Parsons, Miss Reeves, Mrs Clements and Mary Minty. Between them they had saved about ?7 each through the year. I’d have to look in the books to know exactly how much.’ ‘That’s a lot of money,’ said Constable Higgins giving her a disapproving stare. ‘I know,’ Grace sighed. The constable pursed his lips. ‘You’d be well advised to get everybody to come to you next time, Missus.’ ‘There won’t be a next time,’ said Grace bitterly. She leaned forward on the table and laid her head onto her arms. ‘I think my mum needs to get to bed,’ said Rita. There was a shuffling of chairs and the men got up to go. By the time Uncle Charlie had left, Grace was crying. ‘Does it really hurt that bad, Mum?’ ‘No, it’s not that,’ said her mother. ‘It’s the money. I’ve let all those poor people down.’ ‘I’m sure they’ll understand, Mum.’ ‘They need that money, Rita,’ said Grace. ‘Whether they understand or not isn’t the problem. I’ll have to pay it all back. Dear Lord above, where am I going to get another ?50 to replace it?’ Eight Grace woke with a sore head. She lay for a while going over the events of the previous night. She should have waited and gone on the rounds in daylight but she hadn’t wanted the money in the house overnight. The post office was open on Saturday morning so why hadn’t she drawn the money first thing and done the round in the afternoon? And it would have been far more sensible to do what Constable Higgins had suggested and have everyone come to her. She could see now what a fool she had been. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. It felt funny. She climbed out of bed. The room was so cold she could see her own breath. She pulled the eiderdown off the bed and around her shoulders and looked at herself in the dressing table mirror. What a sight. Her right eye was as black as the ace of spades. Her forehead was like an artist’s paint palette, a mixture of red graze and blue bruise with a hint of green and purple, although the egg-sized swelling had gone down. She had a graze at the corner of her mouth and her bottom lip, the cause of her discomfort, was slightly swollen. She looked as if she’d done ten rounds with Bruce Woodcock, the British and Empire heavyweight boxing champion. When she touched her forehead, it hurt like hell. Grace lowered herself onto the bed again and pulled the old eiderdown tight around her shoulders. Boy, was she stiff. She was supposed to go to the police station to make a proper statement but it was the last thing she wanted to do. Constable Higgins had been confident that they would catch the thief but they didn’t hold out much hope of getting the money back. ‘He’ll have put most of it down his neck long before we catch up with him,’ Higgins said bleakly. Grace sighed. She would have to go round and see everyone, explain and apologise. She’d promise that no matter how long it took, they would get their money back … not this Christmas but maybe in time for next. She shivered with cold but she wasn’t ready to face the world just yet so she climbed back into bed and tried to work out how much money she could lay her hands on. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pam-weaver/better-days-will-come/?lfrom=390579938) 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.