Книга - Pack Up Your Troubles

Pack Up Your Troubles
Pam Weaver


Connie and Eva are best friends but their families are the worst of enemies…During the VE Day celebrations, two women meet completely by chance. As Connie and Eva talk they discover they are from feuding families, the Maxwells and the Dixons. But when they both begin nurses’ training, they can’t deny their natural bond of friendship and become more like sisters.Their lives intertwine as Connie starts courting Eva’s brother, Roger, a bomb disposal expert. In her heart, Connie holds a torch for local artist and freespirit Eugene, but a dark memory from her past makes her wary of trusting any man.The two women are determined to uncover the secrets that have plagued them and kept the two families at war for so long. But can their friendship survive the shocking truth?A moving family drama for fans of Maureen Lee and Katie Flynn.









PAM WEAVER

Pack Up Your Troubles








This book is dedicated to my brother, Barrie Stainer. After a whole life-time apart, it was wonderful to discover your existence. Thank you for your warmth and generosity even though I was such a surprise!


Table of Contents

Title Page (#uccdccbaa-7328-5b01-ad25-fac06ad80ace)

Dedication (#u6e3d69c7-ddd7-5231-8706-35c7d14897a9)

VE Day 1945 (#uf124914c-f622-512f-acc8-cb3ac00b685f)

Chapter One (#ub307c2a5-0765-5693-8789-648bae12fe2c)

Chapter Two (#u15097531-343e-55eb-a0e2-7e109349f061)

Chapter Three (#ud2db3624-f141-5971-8a3f-8811a7673f43)

Chapter Four (#u5e0fbee5-4e8c-54ea-a5f4-e27a2dde0dbd)

Chapter Five (#u601cf7e8-ff79-534c-a1a9-df68165a002c)

Chapter Six (#u93d28992-48bb-5138-9cb3-aebd3b1020a1)

Chapter Seven (#u26cbeb7d-ba60-54ca-a904-9bf84da4f886)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Read on for two exclusive short stories from Pam (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)



VE Day 1945




One


By the time they reached Trafalgar Square, the sheer weight of the crowd forced the bus to a standstill. As the passengers turned around, the conductor gave them an exaggerated shrug and rang the bell three times. ‘Sorry folks, but this bus ain’t going no fuver.’

Irene Thompson and Connie Dixon had planned to go on to Buckingham Palace but they had to get off with the rest of the passengers. The bus couldn’t even get anywhere near the pavement but nobody minded. Today, everybody was happy; everyone that is except Connie who couldn’t hide her disappointment.

She had planned to be here with Emmett but he had written a hurried note, which she had stuffed into her shoulder bag as she left the billet. It was terse. ‘Can’t make the celebrations. Mother unwell and she needs me.’ She knew she shouldn’t be annoyed. Emmett was always keen to help others, and he was devoted to his aged mother but it was very galling that he should pick this moment to be noble, just when the celebrations were about to begin. He had said he would telephone her that evening but even if she got back to the barracks in time, she had made up her mind to be ‘out’ when he called. She frowned crossly. Why couldn’t he be like the others? Betty Tanner’s boyfriend brought her flowers all the time and Gloria’s man friend had given her a brand new lipstick. Emmett never did anything like that. It really was too bad.

‘Cheer up, Connie,’ Rene chided as she took her arm. ‘We’re making history. Don’t let Emmett spoil it for you. Be happy.’

As they stepped onto the road, Connie had never seen so many people all in one place. Soldiers, sailors and airmen, from what seemed like every country in the world, had been drawn here to join the people of London to welcome this much longed for day. After five years of war and hardship, peace had come at last. It was rumoured that Churchill and the King had wanted Monday, 7 May to be called VE Day, but the Yanks had insisted that it should be today, Tuesday, 8 May. Connie supposed it was because they were cautious enough to make sure that everything was signed and sealed before enjoying the victory. The German troops had capitulated and signed an unconditional surrender at Eisenhower’s headquarters at 2.41 a.m. Whatever the reason, the grey war-wearied faces had gone and Connie was met with smiles and handshakes from complete strangers. Ever since the news had broken that Adolf Hitler and his mistress had committed suicide, the whole nation finally believed what they had not dared to, that the war in Europe was over at last. The war in the Far East was still raging but the smell of victory was in the air.

The bus had come to a halt because an Aussie soldier, waving the Australian flag, his arm linked with a merchant seaman, was leading a group of revellers down the middle of the street. They were being watched by a couple of eagle-eyed Red Caps but there would be no trouble today. No one was in a fighting mood. The military police were in for a lean time. Even the US MPs – ‘Snowdrops’ as they were known because of their white caps, white Sam Browne belts and white gloves – were redundant. The joyful crowd following in the Aussie soldier’s wake was made up of American GIs, WAAFs, ATS girls and civilians all singing at the tops of their voices.

‘Bless ’em all, the long and the short …’

‘Come on,’ cried Rene as Connie held back, ‘let’s join in.’

An American GI caught Rene’s arm and pulled her into the body of moving people. ‘… this side of the ocean, so cheer up my lads bless ’em all.’

‘Oh Rene,’ cried Connie, ‘it’s really, really over.’

Picking up the lyrics, they lurched with the crowd towards Nelson’s column, the base of which was still covered in hoarding to protect it from bomb blasts even though the last air raid warning had been sounded on 19 March. Someone had stuck a poster on it with ‘Victory over Germany 1945’ on one side and ‘Give thanks by saving.’

Connie nudged Rene in the ribs and jerking her head, shouted over the noise, ‘Give thanks by saving? I should cocoa!’ and they both laughed.

After so much hardship and sacrifice, did the government really think everyone was going to keep on being frugal and sensible with their money? Some might, but not her. She was twenty-one and she’d already spent the best years of her life scrimping and making do, first in the munitions factory and then, after a spell of sick leave, in the WAAFs. Now that the war was over, Connie had no idea what she wanted to do but she was sure of one thing. She was in no mood to save for the future. Hadn’t she just blown all her coupons on her new outfit, a lovely pale lemon sweater and some grey pinstriped slacks? And then there was Emmett. She had hoped he would have asked her to marry him by now, but he hadn’t, presumably because he was anxious about his mother’s health. He’d asked her a few times to go further but Connie had told him she wasn’t that sort of a girl. Still, Rene was right. This was no time to nurse her disappointments. Today was the day to enjoy herself.

In the press of the crowd, Rene was standing on tiptoe to see if anything was happening. ‘We should have got away earlier,’ she grumbled good-naturedly. ‘There’s too many people here.’ Despite the noise all around her, Connie heard a distinct tap-tapping sound just behind her and froze. Someone was tapping his cigarette on a cigarette case. Her blood ran cold and her heartbeat quickened. A surge in the crowd made the woman beside push her and she apologised. ‘Sorry, luv.’

‘Has Churchill given his speech yet?’ Rene asked.

Connie listened hard. The person behind her clicked a cigarette case closed. It couldn’t be … could it? No, it was impossible. It would be far too much of a coincidence.

‘It was supposed to be at nine o’clock this morning,’ the woman went on, ‘but we’re still waiting.’ She rolled her eyes towards the lions. ‘They’ve been putting up speakers so that we can hear him but as for when that happens, your guess is as good as mine.’

‘You all right, Connie?’ said Rene. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

‘Three o’clock,’ said a man’s voice behind them. Connie turned sharply to look at him. Sure enough, he was putting his cigarette case into his inside jacket pocket and was reaching for a lighter. He lit the fag between his lips and took a long drag. ‘That’s what the copper on the steps told me,’ he went on. ‘Three o’clock.’

A wave of relief flooded over her. The man was old, forty or maybe fifty with greying hair and a tobacco-stained moustache. It was all right. It wasn’t him. Connie relaxed and looked at her watch. It was quarter past ten. A group of Girl Guides gathered together at the base of Nelson’s column and were turning around to face the crowd. If the authorities were planning to entertain them, the man must be right. Churchill wouldn’t be giving his speech for ages yet.

‘Rene!’ A girl’s voice rang out above the noise. ‘Rene Thompson, it’s me, Barbara.’

Rene searched the sea of faces and eventually spotted her friend waving as she came towards her. ‘Barbara Hopkins. Well, as I live and breathe. Fancy seeing you here!’

Laughing, the two girls hugged each other. Barbara, dressed in her WAAF uniform, was thickset with very dark curly hair. The girl with her was dressed in civvies and hung back shyly.

‘I haven’t set eyes on you since our training,’ Rene cried happily and Barbara hugged her again. ‘Oooh, it’s so good to see you.’

They stepped apart and introduced everybody.

‘This is Eva O’Hara,’ said Barbara. Eva was tall but with an almost elfin-like face, and a lot of laughter lines around her eyes. She wore dark slacks and a pale blue hand-knitted jumper.

‘And this is Connie,’ said Rene. ‘We share the same billet.’ The hand shaking was soon over and somehow or other the girls had reached one of the fountains in the middle of the square. The day was warm and the water inviting and while Rene and Barbara caught up with old times, Connie, unable to resist, began to roll up the legs of her slacks. ‘Come on,’ she laughed. ‘Which one of you is game for a paddle?’

After a feeble protest from the others, Eva rolled up the legs of her slacks as well. As she climbed in, a sailor gave her a hand and then he rolled up his trouser legs and stepped in. The water was cold, but not unbearable, and it came just above their knees. The sailor and his mate, who joined them, were taller than Connie and Eva so there was less chance of them getting their clothes wet. The sailors were nice looking lads. One had brown Brylcreemed hair and a ready smile and the other one had fairer hair and slightly bucked teeth. He plonked his cap on Connie’s head as they stood together. The blond one carried a knobbly walking stick and Connie wondered if he had some sort of injury, but she didn’t like to ask. They all had to hold on to each other because the bottom of the fountain was covered in algae and a bit slippery. If they weren’t careful, they’d all be under the water and soaked. The singing grew louder.

‘There’ll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover …’ The two girls swayed with the sailors as they sang and after a few minutes, the sailor’s cap began to push Connie’s rich chestnut-coloured hair out of place. She wore her hair with curls on the top of her head and pulled away from her face. When her comb landed in the water, her hair fell in attractive loose tendrils around her face. The sailor bent to pick the comb up and at the same time spotted a newspaper photographer taking pictures.

‘Here you are, mate’ he called. ‘Two pretty girls and two good looking sailors. What more could you want for the front page?’

The photographer came over and the sailor planted a kiss on Connie’s cheek as the shutter came down. Connie wasn’t offended but she gave him a playful shove before he was tempted to take any more liberties. She didn’t want Emmett or her own mother to see a picture of her kissing someone else on the front page of the paper and despite the improbabilities, she found herself scouring the faces in the crowd.

‘Which paper are you from?’ laughed Eva as the four of them posed again.

‘Daily Sketch,’ said the photographer before moving on.

Connie heaved a sigh of relief. None of her family read the Daily Sketch and with a bit of luck, her great aunt (they called her Ga) had never even heard of it.

Their legs were getting cold so the four of them climbed out of the water and Connie gave the sailor his cap back. She and Eva only had handkerchiefs to dry their legs but they didn’t care. They held on to each other because in the surging crowd it was difficult to keep a balance on one leg while drying the other. Someone shouted a name, and waving, the two sailors merged back into the crowd.

‘You in the WAAFs as well?’ Connie asked Eva. It seemed very likely considering that her friend Barbara was in uniform.

Eva nodded. ‘And you?’

Connie nodded too.

‘Did you and Rene come on your own?’

‘Actually my boyfriend was meant to be here but he couldn’t come.’

‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’

Connie shook her head. ‘He’s got a sick mother.’

‘I hope it’s not too serious,’ Eva remarked.

Connie shook her head. It was funny that Mrs Gosling always seemed to be ill whenever she and Emmett had something planned but as soon as the thought went through her head, she scolded herself for being so churlish. Nobody could help being ill, could they?

‘No doubt my lot will all be back home and listening to the radio,’ Eva said. ‘My parents are at home and my brother is in the Royal Engineers. He’s still being kept quite busy, and will be for a long time, I’m afraid. He’s in the bomb squad.’

Connie frowned sympathetically. ‘That must be tough on you.’

‘I try not to think about it,’ Eva smiled. ‘What about you? Do you have brothers and sisters?’

‘A brother two years older than me,’ said Connie with a sigh, ‘and a little sister called Mandy. She’s just coming up for six.’

‘What about your brother? Is he in the army?’

Connie shook her head and willed her voice not to crack as she said matter-of-factly, ‘We lost touch.’

Eva stopped what she was doing and looked up. ‘I’m sorry.’

Connie looked away, embarrassed. It wasn’t bloody fair. Families should be together, especially at times like this. Her emotions were all over the place. After her scare of a few minutes ago, now she was fighting the urge to cry. She looked around. ‘Have you seen my other shoe?’

Eva shoved it towards her with the end of her foot.

‘Thanks,’ Connie smiled, glad that Eva hadn’t asked any more questions. She looked at her watch. It was still only 11.30 a.m. If they stayed here, they were in for a long wait and it wasn’t as if Churchill would be coming in person. He was only going to speak over the loudspeakers. Connie blew out her cheeks. She was bored. She wanted something more memorable to happen. Something she could tell her children and grandchildren about when she was old and grey.

‘Let’s go to Buckingham Palace,’ she said suddenly.

Barbara looked around helplessly. ‘Where will we get a bus?’

‘We can walk from here,’ said Eva. ‘It’s not that far.’

They pushed their way back through the crowd and when they finally reached the fringes, all four of them struck out for Buckingham Palace. Rene and Barbara linked arms and walked on ahead so Connie walked with Eva. With a lack of anything else to say, they shared their war experiences.

‘So, where do you come from?’ asked Eva dodging a drunk man staggering along the pavement in the opposite direction.

‘Worthing. It’s on the south coast, near Brighton.’

‘Really?’ Eva laughed. ‘How weird. My folks live near there.’

They could hear the sound of a mouth organ playing, ‘When the lights go on again, all over the world …’ and all at once, an American airman grabbed Eva around the waist and waltzed her into the middle of the road. His companion held out a bottle and leaned into Connie’s face. ‘Hey babe, want some beer?’

Laughing, she pushed him away and another serviceman, this time a jolly Jack Tar, danced Connie into the street next to Eva and the two of them spent a hilarious few minutes with their newfound dance partners. As suddenly as they’d grabbed them, the two men hurried off to join their companions, blowing kisses as they went.

‘Where’s Rene?’ said Eva as they came back together, laughing.

Connie shrugged. ‘No idea,’ she said. ‘I can’t seeBarbara either.’

They stayed where they were for a few minutes but as there was no sign of either of their friends, Connie and Eva struck out on their own. All the way to the palace, they were craning their necks and calling out occasionally but it was hopeless. The crowd was every bit as big as it had been in Trafalgar Square but thankfully, because the area in The Mall was much bigger, they didn’t feel quite so much like sardines. After a while Connie said, ‘This is stupid. We haven’t a hope of finding them.’

‘I think you’re right,’ said Eva, linking her arm through Connie’s. ‘It’s time to give up and enjoy ourselves.’

‘I second that,’ Connie laughed. She suddenly liked this girl. ‘It’s a pity we never got stationed together. I’ve been in Hendon for a while, after I was re-mustered from Blackpool. Were you ever there?’

‘I was stationed along the south coast mostly,’ said Eva shaking her head. ‘Poling, Ford and Rye. That’s where I met Barbara.’

‘I was hoping to be posted to those places,’ said Connie wistfully.

Eva looked sympathetic. ‘Why? Did you have it bad where you were?’

Connie shrugged. ‘Not really.’ It wasn’t that. ‘It was closer to home, that’s all.’

‘We didn’t have too many bombs,’ said Eva, ‘but we were on the front line for the invasion. They were bombed in Poling just before I got there.’

‘I suppose,’ Connie said with a broad grin, ‘as soon as ol’ Hitler heard you were coming, he pushed off elsewhere.’

Eva chuckled.

‘What do you do in the WAAFs?’ Connie continued.

‘Telephone operator,’ said Eva. ‘Mum seems to think it’ll hold me in good stead when I get demobbed. She says I could join the GPO as a telephonist but I’d much rather join the police or something.’

‘Oh no,’ cried Connie. ‘I can’t wait to get out of uniform. I hate it. All those damned buttons to polish, no thank you!’

Eva chuckled.

‘I mean it,’ Connie said defensively. ‘When I went for training in Blackpool, our billet was so damp that every single one of my buttons was green by the morning and that was even after I’d used the button stick and a duster. I had to polish the darned things up again with my uniform cuffs before parade.’

By now, Eva was laughing heartily.

‘You may well laugh,’ Connie continued, ‘but I was forever getting into trouble. There was a constant film over them.’

‘I trained in Blackpool as well,’ said Eva wiping her eyes. ‘1942. I had the choice of factory work or the WAAFs.’

‘I was there in September 1943,’ Connie said. ‘Blowing half a gale on the seafront, it was.’

‘And if your hat blew off while you were marching, you weren’t allowed to stop and pick it up,’ laughed Eva.

‘Yes, and how daft was that?’ Connie remarked.

‘Did you have old Wingate?’

‘You, that gel over there,’ Connie said mimicking Sgt Wingate, the WAAF officer who presided over new recruits, perfectly. ‘Head up, chhh … est out.’ And they both roared.

‘So, what will you do when you get demobbed?’

‘I want to be a nurse,’ said Connie.

‘And they don’t have a uniform?’ Eva teased.

‘Yesss,’ Connie conceded, ‘but it’s much sexier,’ and they both laughed again.

Even after the long walk down The Mall, the crowd outside Buckingham Palace was every bit as good-natured as the crowd had been in Trafalgar Square. People milled about, meeting old friends and new faces with equal enthusiasm. The area around the Victoria Memorial was so overwhelmed with people, you could hardly see the mermaids, mermen or the hippogriff. People sat on the plinths beneath the great angels of Justice and Truth either side of Victoria herself. The statue depicting Motherhood was just as beautiful but it was facing the wrong way. Nobody was interested in what was happening down The Mall. Today all eyes were on the palace.

‘At least he’s home,’ said Eva, rolling her eyes upwards.

Connie turned her head and glanced at the royal standard on the roof, fluttering in the breeze. ‘Oh good-o,’ she grinned as she put on a posh voice. ‘Shall we knock on the door and ask for tea?’ and Eva laughed.

According to one woman in the crowd, the King and Queen had already come out onto the balcony four times so Connie and Eva didn’t hold out much hope that they would be lucky enough to see them. An impromptu conga snaked its way through the crowds and Connie and Eva joined in until they were breathless with laughter.

‘What do you reckon?’ said Eva eventually. ‘Do you want to wait a while?’

‘May as well,’ said Connie with a shrug, ‘now that we’ve walked all this way.’

‘What if we don’t see them?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Connie. ‘At least we were here.’ In her heart of hearts she was hoping they’d be lucky. Two disappointments in one day was too much to bear.

All at once, the cry went up, ‘We want the King, we want the King.’

As it gathered momentum, Connie and Eva joined in. The volume of noise reverberated all around and it felt as if the whole world was stilled by the cry of the crowd. ‘We want the King.’

Dodging one of the few cars still travelling in the area, they crossed the road and joined the people nearer the railings. Connie stared at the imposing building beyond the iron gates and especially at the red- and gold-covered balcony.

‘They say Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms,’ said Eva.

Connie wrinkled her nose. ‘Just think of all that dusting. You’d hardly be bloomin’ finished before you had to start all over again!’

‘Look!’ Eva nudged her arm and Connie’s heart nearly stopped with excitement when a small door within the great centre door opened and a tiny figure in naval uniform came out onto the balcony. The King! King George VI, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Empire, and here she was, looking right at him! He raised his arm and with a circular motion of his hand began to wave to the crowd. The Queen in a pale green hat and matching coat and dress had followed him out onto the balcony and when she began to wave as well, the crowd opened its throat and roared. A sea of waving hands and cheering people in front of them, Connie and Eva were carried along with the thrill of it all. In a moment of sudden frustration, Connie stamped her foot. Damn it, Emmett! You should have been here with me, she thought.

Two more figures had joined the King and Queen. Princess Elizabeth in her ATS uniform and Princess Margaret Rose, not yet fifteen and too young to join up, was in a pretty aqua-coloured dress. From where Connie and Eva stood, they were no more than tiny dolls behind the long red- and gold-covered balcony but it was enough. Connie and Eva cheered themselves hoarse.

When eventually the royal family went back inside, the two girls looked at each other with satisfied smiles.

‘I’m starving,’ said Eva. ‘Fancy something to eat?’

‘I’ve got a couple of fish paste sandwiches in my bag,’ said Connie taking it from her shoulder. ‘They’ll be a bit squashed but you’re welcome to share them with me.’

‘Thanks for the offer,’ laughed Eva, ‘but if you don’t mind, I think I can do a bit better than that.’

‘But where are we going to get anything around here?’ Connie cried.

Eva tapped her nose and pulled Connie towards Green Park. When they reached the road, they turned into a side street. Connie hadn’t a clue where she was, but she didn’t feel the least bit nervous. Presently they came across a small crowd laughing and dancing outside a café.

‘Is this where we’re going?’

Eva nodded.

‘How on earth did you know this was here?’

‘My husband’s family has been here for quite a while,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Connie was taken by surprise. Eva had never mentioned a husband. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring either. She was about to mention it when she was swept up with hugs and kisses and handshakes as the family welcomed Eva’s new friend. Someone called out, ‘Queenie, Queenie luv, look who’s ’ere.’

Queenie, a small woman, middle-aged, with a lined face, hair the colour of salt and pepper and wearing a wrap-around floral apron, came out of the kitchen. The two women looked at each other, unsmiling, then Queenie opened her arms and Eva went to her. Such was the difference in their height, Queenie had to stand on tip-toe and Eva had to lean over, but there was a moment of real tenderness and, Connie supposed, if Queenie was Eva’s mother-in-law, a sense of shared grief. For a moment, Connie felt like an intruder so she looked away. Eva and Queenie went into the kitchen and shut the door.

Another woman sitting at one of the tables touched her arm. Connie looked down and smiled thinly.

‘Why don’t yer sit down, ducks,’ said the woman indicating a vacant chair opposite. ‘They’ll be back in a jiffy.’

Connie nodded her thanks and sat down.

‘Been to the celebrations?’ asked the woman fingering a pearl necklace she had around her neck.

‘To the palace.’

The woman lifted what looked like a glass of milk stout. ‘Here’s to His Majesty, Gowd bless ’im. Did you see him?’

As they talked, Connie discovered that Eva’s mother-in-law, Queenie O’Hara, had lived in London all her life. She and her late husband, an Irishman, had taken over the small café in 1941 after their dockland home had been bombed out of existence.

‘Queenie used to clean ’ouses for the nobs round ’ere,’ said the woman, ‘but when she saw this place was up for sale, it were an hoppertunity too good to miss. He died in ’44 just before her son got married.’ She pointed to a photograph over the counter of an Irish guardsman in his Home Service dress of scarlet tunic and bearskin. ‘That’s her Dermid. The light of her life.’

So this was Eva’s husband. He was certainly a striking man.

‘How long have they been married?’ Connie asked.

The woman shrugged. ‘No more than a couple of weeks.’

Connie frowned. Only a couple of weeks and already Eva had taken off her wedding ring?

‘This damned war,’ muttered the woman. ‘The day he died the light went out of Queenie’s face.’

Connie was appalled. Dead? She looked at the picture of the handsome young man in uniform again. How could it happen? Now she realised that she’d been so concerned to avoid talking about her own troubles that she hadn’t even asked Eva about herself. Losing touch with Kenneth was bad enough but to lose a husband so soon after marriage seemed grossly unfair. And yet coming down The Mall, Eva didn’t seem to be that upset. She was more like the life and soul of the party. Was she callous or was it bravado? But when she emerged from the kitchen and came over to join them at the table, Connie could see that Eva’s eyes were red and she’d obviously been crying. ‘Queenie’s going to rustle something up for us,’ she said matter-of-factly to Connie and then turning to the woman with the pearl beads and the stout, she said, ‘And how are you, Mrs Arkwright?’

Connie’s table companion leaned over and squeezed Eva’s hand. ‘Mustn’t grumble, ducks. Mustn’t grumble.’

Someone in the café had a piano accordion. He squeezed the box and one by one, the songs, especially the one penned during the war to end all wars, the same one which had meant so much to the country for the past five years, filled the air.

‘Pack up your troubles …’

Yes, that’s what the whole world wanted but for the first time that day, Connie felt uncomfortable. The war might be over but people like Eva had to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives. Her mind was full of unanswered questions. How did Eva’s husband die? Was it really only a couple of weeks after they’d been married?

‘What’s the use of worrying?

It never was worthwhile …’

Of course, she couldn’t ask. She hardly knew the girl and it seemed far too intrusive.

‘Pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and

Smile, smile, smile …’ they sang.

Connie could hardly bear it.

All at once, Queenie bustled in from the kitchen and put two plates of meat and veg pie, mash and gravy in front of them. Despite the fact that Connie had to search for a piece of meat in her pie, it was hot, delicious and very welcome.

‘I’m sorry about your husband,’ said Connie as Queenie went off to get them both a cup of tea. Her remark felt lame but she felt she had to say something.

‘You weren’t to know,’ said Eva.

Connie smiled awkwardly and Eva looked away. ‘Not much to say really,’ Eva said, addressing the brick wall. ‘We met in Hyde Park, got married by special licence and he was killed six weeks later.’

Connie stopped eating. ‘But I thought …’ She glanced sideways at Mrs Arkwright who was stubbing out a cigarette. Two weeks or six, it was still terrible. ‘God, Eva, that’s awful.’

Eva ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair and shrugged her shoulders. ‘It happens.’

She’d only known the girl for a few hours but Connie wasn’t fooled. She might be trying to sound tough but Connie could see that Eva’s eyes had misted over. Connie had obviously reopened an old wound and now she didn’t know what to say. Rescue came once more in the form of Eva’s mother-in-law who reappeared with the tea. Planting a kiss on the top of Eva’s head she said to Connie, ‘Isn’t she lovely? My Dermid picked a real gem. Like a daughter to me she is.’

Connie nodded vigorously and embarrassed, Eva shooed her away with, ‘Get away with you, Queenie.’

‘Now that it’s all over, my gal,’ said Queenie earnestly, ‘you mind you keep in touch.’

‘Of course I will,’ said Eva, looking up and squeezing her hand.

As they finished their meal the man with the accordion struck up ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’and they all sang along. Or at least, Connie mouthed the words. Her throat was too tight with emotion to sing but the jolly songs had the others dancing and clapping and the more poignant ones brought a sentimental tear to the eye.

‘I presume you’ve got a SOP,’ said Eva. ‘If you need a place to sleep, I’m sure Queenie will put us up, won’t you Queenie?’

‘’Course I can,’ smiled Queenie.

Mrs Arkwright frowned. ‘What’s a SOP?’

‘Sleeping Out Pass,’ laughed Eva.

Connie’s jaw dropped and she gasped in horror. ‘Oh Lord, no! Since we started double summer time, these long light evenings make such a difference. Whatever’s the time?’

‘Eight forty-five.’

‘Oh hell,’ cried Connie grabbing her handbag from the floor. ‘I never gave it a thought. I haven’t even got a late pass and I’ve got to be in by ten.’

‘Where are you billeted?’ asked Eva.

‘Hendon. Can you tell me how to get to the nearest tube station? I shall be all right once I get there.’

‘Doug is going near there,’ said Queenie balancing the empty plates up her arm. ‘He’ll be here in a minute. He can take you in the pig van if you like.’

Connie raised an eyebrow. ‘Pig van?’

‘He collects pig food from all the restaurants around here,’ said Queenie. ‘If you don’t mind the smell, I’m sure he’d give you a lift.’

Connie looked at Eva and they laughed. It was hardly ideal but at least she had the chance to be back to the camp on time.

Connie stood to go. ‘Thanks Eva,’ she said giving her an affectionate hug. ‘I’ve had a wonderful day.’

‘Me too,’ said Eva. ‘We must keep in touch.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Connie.

Her new friend purloined two pieces of paper and gave one to Connie. ‘I’ve no idea where I’ll be when I get demobbed,’ she said, ‘so I’ll give you my mother’s address. She’ll always know where I am.’

‘That’ll be good,’ said Connie writing her own name and address down. ‘I guess it won’t be too hard to meet up. You started to tell me that we lived near each other.’

‘I come from Durrington,’ said Eva handing her details over to Connie. ‘It’s near Worthing.’

‘I know where that is,’ Connie smiled.

Queenie leaned over the counter and interrupted them. ‘Doug’s here, darlin’.’

‘Thanks Queenie,’ said Eva.

‘I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a minute, shall I?’

‘Thanks Queenie,’ said Eva once more. Her mother-in-law went out through the kitchen door.

‘My folks live in Goring,’ Connie smiled. ‘That’s a small village the other side of Worthing.’ She handed Eva her slip of paper and glanced down at the name and address Eva had written down.

Beside her, her new friend gasped. ‘Connie Dixon? You’re not one of the Dixons from Belvedere Nurseries, are you?’

‘Yes,’ said Connie. She stared disbelievingly at the address Eva had just given her. Mrs Vi Maxwell, Durrington Hill. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She’d spent the day with a girl her family heartily disapproved of. ‘When we met,’ she accused, ‘you said your name was O’Hara.’

‘Of course,’ said Eva, tossing her head defiantly. ‘That’s my married name. I was born a Maxwell, and I’m proud of it.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Connie quietly.

‘I can’t quite believe it either,’ said Eva. ‘And we’ve had such a lovely day.’

Connie nodded. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Tell you one thing,’ said Eva. ‘I don’t think my mother would be too happy if you turned up on the doorstep.’

Connie’s heart began to bump but she wasn’t sure if she was angry or deeply offended. How could this girl be a Maxwell? She had been so nice. ‘After what your family did to mine …’ she began.

‘After what my family did?’ Eva retorted. ‘I think you’ll find the boot is on the other foot.’

‘Now hang on a minute,’ said Connie, her hand on her hip. ‘I don’t want to get into a fight but get your facts straight first.’

They glared at each other, their jaws jutting.

‘What’s up with you two?’ said Queenie, reappearing in the café. ‘You both look as if you lost half a crown and found a tanner.’

‘She’s been buttering up to me all day and it turns out that she’s a bloody Dixon,’ spat Eva. She turned away and Connie thought she heard her mutter, ‘Cow.’

Connie was livid. ‘It’s hardly surprising,’ she said to Eva’s receding back, ‘that the Dixons and the Maxwells have nothing to do with each other, especially when one of them is so bloomin’ rude.’

Queenie O’Hara looked helplessly from one girl to the other. She seemed confused. ‘I don’t understand. A minute ago you two were best friends. How come things have changed so quickly?’

Connie recovered herself. ‘Buttering up to you all day? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know perfectly well what it means,’ Eva countered huffily. ‘My folks would have leathered me with a strap, if I’d have had anything to do with the Dixons.’

‘Would they really?’ said Connie putting her nose in the air. ‘Well, mine would do no such thing. I’m lucky enough to come from a loving family.’

‘If I had known you were a Dixon, I never would have invited you here,’ cried Eva.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Connie. ‘If I had known you were a Maxwell, I would never have come!’

‘Girls, girls,’ cried Queenie, ‘don’t let this spoil a lovely day. For Gowd’s sake, you’re like a couple of bickering schoolkids. Doug has to get going and you have to say your goodbyes.’

‘Goodbye,’ Eva snapped, carefully avoiding Connie’s eye.

Connie put her nose in the air. ‘Goodbye.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Queenie, shaking her head. ‘Here we are with the first day of peace and you two are at war. Whatever it is, can’t you bury the hatchet?’

‘After what her family did to mine? No, I can’t,’ said Eva. ‘Don’t keep Doug and the pig van waiting, Connie.’ And with that she swept out of the room.

Furious, Connie followed Queenie through the kitchen and out of the back door. Her stomach was in knots. She had really liked Eva and she’d had more fun today than she’d had in a month of Sundays but Eva was a Maxwell. Her emphasis on the word pig hadn’t gone unnoticed either. For a time back there, she had seemed really nice. She could have fooled anyone with that dear friend act she’d put on. Ah well, at least Eva had shown her true colours before it was too late and besides, Connie knew only too well that if she stayed friends with a Maxwell, there would be hell to pay. Hadn’t she been brought up with her great aunt’s stories about the Maxwells? Cheats, liars and vagabonds, the lot of them, according to Ga.

When Queenie hugged her before she climbed into the passenger side of the lorry, Connie hugged her back. It wasn’t Queenie’s fault and her full stomach reminded her that she had been more than generous. Doug turned and gave her a toothless smile as she sat down. He turned out to be a fifty-something in a greasy looking flat cap and leather jerkin.

‘Straight over to Hendon now, Doug,’ said Queenie, closing the passenger door. ‘The girl has to be back by ten.’

‘Right you are, missus,’ said Doug, starting the engine.

As the lorry moved off, Connie caught a glimpse of Eva’s pale face at an upstairs window before she let the curtain drop. At the same moment, Connie screwed up the piece of paper with Eva’s name and address on it and deliberately dropped it out of the van. Queenie’s eyes met hers and Connie felt her cheeks flame. Thankfully, that second, Doug put his foot on the throttle and the van lurched forward.

Doug wasn’t very talkative and Connie was too upset to make much conversation. What a perfectly rotten end to a lovely day. It had started out disappointingly because Emmett couldn’t be with her, but from the moment they had paddled in the fountain, she had had a wonderful time. When Eva had said her family came from Worthing, Connie had no idea of the bombshell that was to come. Her mind drifted back over the years. Now that she came to think about it, her great aunt had never been that specific about the rift between the two families. In fact, Connie hardly knew anything about the Maxwell family, but whenever Ga spoke of them, the contempt in which she held them was written all over her face. She never had a good word to say and when Ga voiced an opinion, no one dared argue. Connie had grown up believing that the Maxwells were dishonest, conniving, deceitful wretches who were to be avoided altogether. Eva was the first Maxwell Connie had ever spoken to and look how nasty she had been when she’d found out who Connie was. She’d certainly shown her true colours, hadn’t she? Ah well, good riddance to bad rubbish.

The cab smelled musty and a bit like a compost heap on a sunny day. After a while it made her feel queasy so Connie was more than relieved to see the gates of her camp looming out of the darkness. She thanked Doug profusely and walked the few hundred yards to the sentry post. She fancied that the guard wrinkled his nose as she walked by and her only thought was to have a good strip-down wash or if she was lucky, a small bath before lights out.

‘Connie! There you are,’ Rene sounded really pleased to see her as she walked in their Nissen hut. ‘Where did you and Eva get to? We looked everywhere for you both but you’d completely disappeared. I’m so sorry. Did you have a terrible time? I mean, you don’t know London at all, do you? Oh, I feel perfectly dreadful about it. How on earth did you get home?’

‘If you’ll let me get a word in edgeways,’ Connie laughed as she threw her bag over her iron bedstead, ‘I’ll tell you.’

As Rene sat on the bed beside her, Connie told her some of what had happened. Listening to her friend’s abject apologies, Connie felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been having such a good time, she hadn’t given Rene and Barbara a moment’s thought since they’d lost sight of each other on The Mall. ‘Please don’t worry,’ she smiled as Rene apologised yet again. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I had a great time anyway.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so,’ said Rene, pulling a face, ‘you don’t smell too good.’

‘Neither would you if you’d sat in that awful van,’ Connie laughed. ‘Let me go to the bathroom.’

Sitting in the regulation five inches of water, Connie sponged away the smell of the pig food, but somehow she didn’t feel clean. She’d already gone over some of the things Eva had said to her, and now she was remembering the unkind things she had said in return. She shouldn’t have been so sharp with her. After all, Eva was a war widow and being with her mother-in-law again had obviously brought back some painful memories. Hadn’t she suffered enough?

She climbed out of the bath and towelled herself dry. What could she do about it? The Dixons and the Maxwells had been at loggerheads for donkey’s years. She pulled the plug and watched the dirty water swirl around the plughole before disappearing. Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, Connie sighed. There were some stinks that needed a lot more than soap and water to wash them away. Ah well, it was done and dusted as far as she and Eva were concerned. She’d never see her again anyway.

The dream came in the early hours. It was one of those strange moments when you are asleep and you know it’s only a dream and yet you are powerless to wake yourself up. She struggled to make sense of it but as the moving forms in front of her grew darker, the overwhelming fear reached panic proportions. The tap-tapping of the cigarette on that case grew louder. Wake up, Connie. Wake up. Oh God, he was coming for her. Her eyes locked onto his and she couldn’t get the door shut. The door … the door … Now he was inside the room … coming closer and closer. She could smell his breath, feel his hand pinning her shoulders down. Connie, wake up. She was screaming but no sound came from her lips. His rasping voice filled her ears. You’ll like it … He opened his mouth and beyond his yellow teeth she saw his fat, pulsating tongue. She felt that if he came any closer, he would devour her whole. The weight of his body suffocated her. She thrashed her arms to push him away and the rushing sound in her ears grew louder.

‘Connie, it’s all right. It’s just a dream.’ The moment Rene’s voice penetrated the terrifying sounds, they vanished as quickly as someone turning the radio off. Her eyes sprang open and she saw a torch on the pillow beside her. Rene was leaning over her, her hands as light as a feather on her shoulders but she had obviously been shaking her to wake her up. Connie sat up suddenly and blinking in the half light, saw a dozen anxious faces gathered around her bed. At the same time, she became aware that her nightdress was drenched in perspiration and her hair stuck to her forehead.

‘You had a bad dream,’ said Rene. ‘You were shouting out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry I woke you all up.’

The girls began to move away and get back into their own beds.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ said a disembodied voice in the darkness.

Connie lay back on the pillow and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. It was only a dream.’




Two


As Connie staggered through the front gate of Belvedere Nurseries with her suitcase two months later, the dog opened one eye. He was lying across the path, snoozing in the early July sunshine. A mongrel, he had a black and white coat, a feathered tail and more than a touch of the sheepdog about him. When her father had bought him as a pup for her thirteenth birthday, they were told that he was a Border collie, cross retriever but his legs were too short and his mouth lopsided. Connie didn’t care what he looked like; she had loved Pip at first sight. ‘You always did go for the underdog,’ Ga had mumbled in disgust when they brought him home. As soon as the puppy was placed on the mat, he peed a never-ending stream, never once taking his coal black eyes from the old lady’s face. Hiding her smile, Connie knew that like her, Pip had a rebellious streak and they became inseparable. Later on, it was Pip who helped her get over the loss of her father and her brother Kenneth going away like that. She took him for long walks and unloaded her brokenness onto him. When she sat on the grass to cry, he would lick her tears away and wag his tail in sympathy. Although she was careful to obey Ga and never mention ‘that business’, Pip seemed to understand exactly how she was feeling. Pip was her adored companion until she was nineteen years old and joined the WAAFs and he had never quite forgiven her for leaving home. As the gate clicked shut behind her, Connie called out, ‘Here, boy. Here, Pip.’

He rose to his feet, yawned, stretched lazily and she noticed that he was getting quite a few grey hairs around his muzzle. He was nine years old, much more than that in doggie years. She watched him turn around and walk ahead of her to the front door where he waited. When she got to him, Connie reached down and patted his side before ringing the doorbell. ‘Silly old dog,’ she said softly.

As the door opened and her mother stood on the step, Pip came to life, panting and jumping in the small porchway like a thing demented. ‘Connie!’ Gwen laughed as Pip’s joyful barks obviously delighted her. ‘What a wonderful homecoming Pip is giving you.’

‘Warm welcome my eye,’ Connie laughed. ‘He hasn’t even come to my call. He’s doing all that jumping about for your benefit.’

Her mother smiled uncertainly. ‘Well, come on in, darling, let me look at you. I like your new hair.’

‘They’re called Victory curls,’ said Connie patting the back of her head. ‘I have to curl them up with Kirby grips every night and wear a scarf in bed but I think it looks quite nice.’

‘It certainly does,’ her mother enthused.

Gwen Craig was small with high cheekbones and an oval face. Her hair was still dark but Connie could see a few grey hairs and she had tired eyes. It alarmed her to see that her mother had lost weight. Her clothes positively hung on her. Gwen had married Connie’s father Jim Dixon in 1919 when she was only eighteen and bore him two children, Kenneth, now twenty-three, and Connie aged twenty-one. 1936 was an eventful year. First she’d had Pip, then soon after their father had died after a long illness, and Kenneth had left home abruptly. Her father’s illness had sapped them of all their money and because they were living in a tithed cottage, Gwen and Connie would have been homeless if Ga hadn’t come to the rescue. In exchange for housework, Gwen and Connie moved in with her in her small cottage in the same village. A couple of years later, and much to Connie’s surprise, Gwen had married Clifford Craig, a man she had thought was only a nodding acquaintance. Their union had produced Mandy now aged six and the exact image of her mother. Gwen held out her arms and, dropping her case on the mat, Connie went to her.

Behind her, a commanding voice boomed out of the sitting room. ‘Gwen? Is that Constance?’

Connie grinned and ignoring her great aunt’s calls, she deliberately stayed in her mother’s warm embrace for several more minutes. ‘It’s sooo good to see you, Mum.’

‘And you too,’ said Gwen. ‘Where’s Emmett? I half expected him to be with you.’

Connie shook her head. ‘I’m not with him anymore, Mum.’

Her mother looked concerned.

‘It’s all right,’ Connie said quickly. ‘It wasn’t very serious and we lost touch soon after VE Day.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Gwen shaking her head sadly. ‘I thought he seemed like a good man.’

Connie couldn’t argue with that. She had wanted Emmett to get in touch again but it never happened. She had eventually written to his last known address only to have her letter returned to her unopened. Someone had written in the top left-hand corner, ‘Unknown at this address’. Connie had been upset, of course, but what could she do? She had cried. She had gone over and over their last date in her mind, Saturday night at the pictures followed by a fish and chip supper on a park bench, but there was nothing to say why he hadn’t contacted her again. Maybe his mother had taken a turn for the worse, or, perish the thought, maybe she had died. Connie had no idea where she lived so there was little point in fretting about it. ‘Well, it’s all over now,’ she said again.

‘If that’s you, Constance,’ Ga called imperiously, ‘come in here where I can see you.’

Gwen kissed her daughter and let her go, the two of them rolling their eyes in sympathetic unison.

‘Come on,’ her mother smiled, ‘or we’ll never hear the last of it.’

Connie advanced but her mother caught her arm. ‘Shoes.’

Connie bent to unlace her shoes. Pip watched her and Connie patted his side again.

‘You certainly fooled Mum,’ she whispered, ‘but you don’t fool me. We’ll go for a walk later, okay?’ Ignoring her, the dog yawned in a bored way and sauntered towards the kitchen where he flopped into his basket.

‘Hello Ga,’ Connie said cheerfully as she walked into the sitting room.

‘What took you so long?’ said Ga, feigning her disapproval. ‘And what were you whispering about out there?’

‘Mum was asking me about Emmett, that’s all,’ said Connie, ‘and I was explaining that it’s all off.’

Connie kissed her proffered cheek. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry,’ she said into Connie’s neck. ‘I didn’t really take to him.’

Olive Dixon was a formidable woman. She was solidly built with spade-like hands from working the small market garden, which brought in the lion’s share of the family income. Unlike most women of her age, her sunburnt face was relatively free of wrinkles and she wore her steel grey hair piled on the top of her head in a flat squashed bun.

‘What the devil have you done to your hair?’ she frowned.

‘Don’t you like it?’ said Connie.

‘Indeed I do not,’ said Ga. ‘With all those silly curls you look like something out of a Greek tragedy.’

Connie chose to ignore her. Usually when Olive said jump, everybody said, how high. Ever since Gwen and Connie had come to live with her after Jim Dixon died, she had quickly established herself as the undoubted head of the family. When Clifford and Gwen married in 1938, he had tried to exert his authority, but at a mere five feet, Olive towered over everybody by the sheer force of her personality. They had moved from Patching to Goring to make a completely new start but because Ga had bought the Belvedere Nurseries and the house they all lived in, Gwen and Clifford were expected to run everything, while she remained firmly in charge.

‘I’ll get the tea,’ said Gwen, leaving the room.

Ga was sitting at her beloved writing bureau and Connie noticed for the first time that her right leg was raised up on a pouf. Her knee was very swollen.

‘Ouch, that looks painful,’ said Connie reaching out.

‘Don’t touch it!’ Olive cried. ‘I’m waiting for Peninnah Cooper.’

Connie took in her breath. ‘The gypsies are here?’

‘They turned up about a week ago,’ said Olive. ‘Reuben parked the caravan down by the lay-by near the field.’

‘And Kez?’

Ga pursed her lips. ‘I never did understand why you wanted to hang around with that ignorant girl. Yes, she’s here too. She’s married now, with children.’

Connie was thrilled. She couldn’t wait to see her old childhood friend. Kez a wife and mother … Imagine that …

The gypsies had been a part of her life as far back as she could remember. When the family lived at Patching, they had turned up at different times of year to work in the fields.

The Roma like Kez and Peninnah had no time for other travellers like the fairground showman, the circus performer or the Irish tinkers, because they felt they had given them a bad name. The Roma were in a class of their own. Normally they didn’t even mix socially with Gorgias, a name they gave all house dwellers, which is what made Kez and Connie’s friendship all the more unusual. They had met as children during the short periods of time that Kez went to Connie’s school. Because Kezia’s parents always kept to the familiar patterns, Connie would wait in the lane in early May when the bluebells came out in profusion in the local woods. Kezia and her family would pick them by the basketful, tie them into bunches held together by the thick leaves and hawk them around Worthing. Connie was allowed to help with the picking and tying but her father drew the line at selling what God had given to the world for free. It was always a bad time when the season was over, but Kez would be back in the autumn to harvest in the local apple orchards.

Everything changed in 1938. Kezia’s mother had died, old before her time. Then there was that business with Kenneth, after which Connie’s mother married Clifford and they had moved to Goring.

‘Why is Pen coming?’ Connie asked.

‘She’s bringing a couple of bees.’

Connie raised an eyebrow. ‘A couple of bees?’

‘For my knee,’ said Olive impatiently. Ga feigned disapproval of the gypsies until it suited her to call upon them.

Peninnah Cooper, Kez’s grandmother, was well known for her country cures and many people swore by them. They may have been part of a bygone era but funnily enough, Pen’s ‘cures’ often worked. All the same, Connie couldn’t imagine how bringing some bees could help Olive’s bad leg.

She heard the sound of tinkling cups and her mother came in with the tea trolley. Connie took off her coat and sat down. Teatime in the Dixon household was always a cosy affair and today her mother had tried to make it a bit special. She had got out the willow pattern tea service and the silver spoons Ga had kept in the top drawer. Connie appreciated her mother’s effort. ‘Thanks Mum,’ she smiled.

Whenever she was homesick, Connie used to picture this little ritual. Gwen put the tea strainer over the cup and poured the tea. When the first cup was full, Connie handed it to Ga.

‘So,’ said Olive, ‘now that you’re finally out of it, we’ll be glad of your help in the nursery.’

Connie winced. She had stayed on in the WAAFs for an extra couple of weeks because there had been a lot to do in the aftermath of the war. As well as doing her usual general office duties, her work had mainly been making sure that war-damaged RAF personnel were being followed up and getting help from the right channels. Not that there was a lot she could do. Most men were simply discharged and left to get on with it, something which left her with a yearning to do something constructive with her life.

‘Actually,’ said Connie taking a deep breath, ‘I’ve made some plans of my own. I’ve decided that I want to be a nurse.’

She knew they’d be surprised but Gwen almost dropped her teacup and Ga’s mouth fell open. ‘A nurse?’ she said in a measured tone. ‘Do you think you have the stomach for it?’

‘I’ve toughened up a lot because of the war,’ said Connie.

‘We really need another pair of hands on the smallholding,’ said Ga, glancing at Connie’s mother.

‘We’ll manage,’ Gwen smiled.

‘Manage?’ Ga challenged. ‘It’s hard enough to cope now. Your mother and I are not getting any younger and we’ll need every pair of hands we can get.’

The nurseries weren’t large by the standards of other nurseries in the area. They grew seedlings and vegetables and her mother kept hens for the eggs. There were a couple of stretches of waste ground which had never been developed but there was plenty of work to be done. Connie knew that if she stayed at home she would be expected to work in the small lean-to shop attached to the side of the house or in the greenhouse. She didn’t mind helping out, but she certainly didn’t want to do it for the rest of her life and besides, she wasn’t sure the nursery could support so many people.

Connie sipped her tea. She’d always known it would be a bit of a job persuading Ga and her mother that she wanted a career of her own. She wasn’t afraid to go ahead with or without their blessing, although she would much prefer them to be happy to let her go. She was determined to stand her ground, come what may. She was nearly twenty-two for heaven’s sake. The war had changed everything. Girls had more opportunities than they’d ever had before, and besides, now that Emmett was out of the picture what else was there? She didn’t want to leave it any longer. The training took four years. By the time she’d finished, she would be twenty-six … quite old really. Ga’s reaction was predictable but it took Connie by surprise that her mother didn’t put up more of a fight.

Pip barked.

‘That’ll be Mandy, home from school,’ said Gwen as the dog hurried outside. Connie’s younger sister Mandy had been at infants’ school for about a year. ‘Mrs Bawden, next door, and I take it in turns to take Mandy and Joan to school. It’s her turn this week.’

Connie stood up as Mandy burst through the door and threw herself into her arms. ‘Connie, Connie!’ Laughing, Connie twirled Mandy around in a circle.

‘How many times do I have to tell you, Mandy?’ Olive grumbled petulantly. ‘No outdoor shoes in the house.’

Connie let her go and Mandy slid to the floor. Obediently the little girl retraced her steps to the back door and took off her shoes, placing them next to the umbrella stand. Connie caught her breath. With her hair in plaits and wearing a grey pinafore and white blouse her little sister looked so grown up.

A couple of minutes later, Pen Cooper knocked on the door and stepped into the house. She had a jam jar in her hand. Inside the jar, an angry bee knocked itself against the glass. Pen was not only a gypsy but she was also a bit of an eccentric. She wore a long flowing dress and plenty of beads. She had make-up too, which was unusual for a traveller. Thickly layered powder and some kohl around her pale mischievous eyes. When she saw Connie she stopped and held out her arms. ‘’Tis good to see ye.’

‘It’s good to see you too, Pen,’ Connie smiled. ‘I’ll come up later and see Kez if that’s all right.’

‘You knows it is,’ Pen beamed, ‘and welcome.’ She turned her attention to Olive. ‘Now, are you ready, dear?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said Olive. ‘It’s killing me and someone’s got to get the ground ready for the calabrese and winter cabbages.’

Connie saw her mother’s back stiffen.

‘Yoohoo.’ They heard another voice call from the front door and Aunt Aggie came into the room. Aunt Aggie wasn’t really a relation but she was Ga’s oldest friend. A rather prim woman, Aggie never had a hair out of place. She always seemed to be dressed in her Sunday best and today was no exception. She wore a yellow floral dress, white peep-toe shoes, newly whitened, and she carried a white handbag. She and Olive had been friends since they were at school together. Peeling off her white crochet gloves, Aggie offered Connie a cold cheek to kiss. ‘How nice to have you home again.’

‘I’d better make a start,’ said Pen and Gwen took a protesting Mandy away from Connie’s arms and upstairs to get changed out of her uniform. ‘But I want to see, Mummy. Why can’t I watch?’ They could hear her complaining all the way to her room.

Connie watched fascinated as Pen took some tweezers from her pocket. ‘Ready?’ she said again and slid the lid from the jar.

‘Are you sure about this Olive, dear?’ Aggie asked.

‘Pen knows what she’s doing,’ Olive snapped.

Aggie poured herself a cup of tea and sat down with one leg swinging as she crossed it over the other. The bee continued to bang itself against the jar until eventually Pen caught its wings with her fingers and put it onto Olive’s swollen knee, holding it there until thoroughly enraged, it stung her. Olive winced. Pen removed the dying bee and eventually the sting it had left behind.

Gwen reappeared at the door. ‘While Mandy is getting changed, I’m going outside for a bit.’

Connie left the three women to watch Ga’s swelling knee and followed her mother outside to where she found her picking runner beans.

‘There’s so much to do this time of year,’ she said matter-of-factly as Connie made a start on the broad beans in the next row. Their smallholding was very popular and the shop was always busy. Their customers knew everything was very fresh, perhaps only just picked. Olive kept the prices down while Gwen did her best to keep the supplies from running out, in between the housework and looking after Mandy. Connie knew how hard her mother’s life was and the unease slipped in.

‘You don’t mind me not working in the nursery, do you Mum?’

‘I’m pleased you’re going to make a career for yourself, dear,’ said Gwen. ‘You’ll make a good nurse.’

‘Ga was a bit cross,’ said Connie. ‘I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ said Gwen.

The nursery was hardly making its way when Olive bought it but Clifford was such an excellent nurseryman that he had pulled it back from the brink and made it a going concern. When he was called up in 1943, the two women took over. Gwen used to serve in the shop, but these days she preferred to work on the land, leaving Ga to look after the business side of things. It was never voiced, but the arrangement was so much better since Olive’s knee started playing up. On bad days, Olive could sit in the shop, which was little more than a glorified lean-to, and let the customers serve themselves.

Although the family managed to lift the early potatoes themselves, they generally hired casual labourers to help with the main crop in September. They mostly used the locals because the gypsies didn’t often come this way. When Connie was a child and the gypsies came to Patching, she and Kenneth were invited to share in their communal meal. Connie loved it, especially when Peninnah, Kez’s grandmother, would take her pipe out of her mouth and tell them about the old days. She had an encyclopedic knowledge when it came to family and some of them sounded such wonderful people. ‘They called ’e Red shirt Matthew on account as he always wore a red shirt …’ ‘So they stuffed the two rabbits under ’is big ol’ hat and legged it all the way ’ome …’ ‘She’d stolen ’is trousers, so when ’e got out of the lake, ’e was as naked as the day he were born. He had to walk ’ome without a stitch on ’is back.’ Pen would stop to chuckle. ‘That learned him not to mess about with a gypsy girl …’ Connie and Kenneth would roar their heads off even though they hadn’t a clue who she was talking about. Nobody minded the gypsies being there back then. They were hard workers, the women and children selling handmade pegs and bunches of flowers around the centre of Worthing and the men doing any kind of manual labour on offer.

The war had changed everything. The government had created the Land Army pushing the gypsies further to the fringes of society perhaps, but the hope was that if the powers-that-be disbanded it, farmers would use gypsy labour once again. However, the fate of Kezia and her family was not Connie’s main concern right now. As they worked side by side, she noticed how tired her mother looked.

‘I’m fine,’ said Gwen when Connie remarked on it. ‘I’ve had a bit extra to do with Ga being laid up but things are easing up a bit now. We’ve taken on a local girl to work in the shop, and Clifford will be demobbed soon.’

‘Have you been to the doctor?’

‘Connie, I’m fine,’ Gwen insisted.

Connie knew better than to argue. ‘When’s Clifford coming home?’

‘At the end of the month.’

Connie breathed a silent sigh of relief. With Clifford back, he could take some of the workload off Mum and she could begin her training at the hospital in September as she had planned. She relaxed as she carried on picking. ‘What’s she like?’ Connie asked.

‘Who?’

‘The girl in the shop.’

‘Sally? She’s a bit scatty at times but a good worker,’ said Gwen, her bowl now full. ‘The runner beans have been really good this year.’

Mandy had come out of the house and begun skipping. Connie watched her half-sister and was impressed.

‘She’s only just learned how to do it,’ said Gwen proudly. ‘I think she’s quite good for someone not quite seven, don’t you?’

There was a movement by the back door and Peninnah appeared with Ga. Olive was limping and she had to hold on to the doorposts to keep herself steady but at least she was mobile again. Her leg was heavily bandaged. The two women said their goodbyes and Pen blew a kiss to Mandy.

As she watched her great aunt turn around in the doorway and walk painfully back indoors, Connie turned back to the job in hand. The two boxes were full, one with runner beans and the other with broad beans in the jackets as they headed towards the shop. As they took the supplies inside, Connie met the girl working there.

Sally Burndell was a pretty girl with dark hair and full lips who made no secret of the fact that she was going to go to secretarial college later in the year and was only in the shop for a short while. Connie liked her directness. They arranged the fresh beans underneath the beans already in the boxes to make sure the older beans picked the day before were sold first. Gwen went round picking out failing fruit and vegetables and making sure the supplies were topped up. Connie fetched some fresh newspaper from the storeroom and showed Sally how to make it into bags by folding them a certain way. She also got her to fan out the paper wrapped around the fruit in the orange boxes.

‘Press them flat and put them in a pile,’ said Connie.

‘Whatever for?’ said a voice behind them.

Connie turned to see Aunt Aggie watching them from the doorway.

‘They could be used as toilet paper,’ she said. ‘It’s a lot softer than newspaper. It’s a tip I picked up from the WAAF.’

‘Huh!’ Aunt Aggie scoffed. ‘What’s wrong with newspaper?’

‘I must go in and get the tea,’ said Gwen, wiping her hands on a towel.

‘And I’m off for the bus,’ said Aggie turning to leave. ‘Olive said I could have some beans. Not too many. There’s only me.’

Sally wrapped a few runner beans in newspaper and handed them to her. Aunt Aggie took them without a thank you.

‘See you soon, Aggie,’ Gwen called.

They watched her go.

‘When you’ve got a bum as big as hers,’ Sally said, ‘I guess you’d need a newspaper as big as The Times.’

‘Shh,’ Connie cautioned. ‘She’ll hear you.’ But she and her mother couldn’t help giggling.

Thankfully, Aggie hadn’t heard the remark because she walked on.

‘Play with me, Connie,’ Mandy pleaded as Connie followed her mother outside.

Gwen turned around. ‘No need for you to come into the house,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve made a sausage in cider casserole. All I have to do is take it out of the oven. Stay here and play with Mandy.’

The two sisters grinned. Mandy flicked her plaits over her shoulder and before long, Connie was holding the rope and they were skipping together. Connie hadn’t done this for years. She was a bit out of breath but she hadn’t lost her touch. Pip wandered outside.

‘When I was little,’ she told Mandy, ‘I used to tie the rope on the down-pipe like this and when I turned it, Pip would join in.’

As soon as she said it, and much to Connie’s delight, he joined in. Mandy clapped her hands in delight. By the time their mother called them for tea, she, Pip and Mandy had become great friends.




Three


Teatime over, Connie tucked Mandy up in bed and after a bedtime story they sang her favourite song, ‘You Are My Sunshine’. It was a precious time for both of them and one that Connie had started when her little sister was very young. Every time she’d come home on leave, Mandy had begged her to sing it as she said goodnight. Connie crept out of Mandy’s room and had what her mother would call a cat’s lick in the bathroom and changed her clothes. She put on the pale lemon sweater and same grey pinstriped slacks she had worn in Trafalgar Square and after calling out her goodbyes, headed in the direction of Goring-by-Sea railway station. Pip invited himself along with her, sometimes running on ahead, occasionally stopping to sniff something. She watched him scenting a blade of grass, a telegraph pole and the postbox and marvelled at his carefree love of life.

They reached the Goring crossroad and walked up Titnore Lane. All at once the dog stopped and motionless, sniffed the air, then he took off at breakneck speed. A few minutes later she could hear him in the distance barking joyously. Connie quickened her step and as she rounded a small bend in the lane, she saw them – the gypsies. By now Pip was hysterical with delight, jumping from one to the other, his tail wagging as he let out little yelps of pleasure. Connie was surprised. The dog had only been a puppy when he’d last seen the gypsies but he clearly remembered them.

Connie could pick some of them out even from here. Peninnah Cooper, Kez’s maternal grandmother was stirring something in the black pot hung over an open fire, and was that Kez’s cousin sitting on the caravan steps? Reuben Light, Kez’s father, his frail old body bent low with arthritis and it seemed that he had developed an unhealthy cough. Reuben spotted her and stood up to wave but where was Kez?

Connie recalled how devastated she had been when her mother and Ga moved to Goring in 1938. How would Kez know where she was? Writing a letter was hopeless. For a start, what would she put on the envelope? ‘To the gypsy caravan somewhere near Patching pond in May’ hardly seemed appropriate and besides, Kez couldn’t read. Connie had wept buckets at the injustice of it all, which was why the fact that Kez was just down the road from where she now lived after all this time was so amazing.

There was a movement by the caravan and there she was. She had a baby in her arms but as soon as she saw Connie, Kez called out her name and pushed the child into Pen’s arms. Connie broke into a run. The two women met in the lane and flinging their arms around each other they danced in circles, laughing as they went. Kezia smelled of rosemary and lavender, her flaming red hair tied untidily with a green ribbon flapped behind her as they spun together. She was wearing a long floral dress with a tight bodice and loose unlaced boots. They broke away and held each other at arm’s length to look at each other and the questions flew. How are you? You look great. Is that your baby? How long has it been since we met? It must be eight, nine years … Where have you been all this time? A little boy had joined them and was tugging at Kezia’s skirt. She bent to pick him up, settling him comfortably on her hip. As they wandered towards the caravan a delicious smell of rabbit stew wafted towards her.

‘Stay and eat with us,’ said Kez.

Connie linked her arm in Kezia’s. Oh, it was good to see her again. ‘I’ve just eaten but I’d love to share a cuppa.’ She smiled at the child on Kez’s hip. ‘And who is this?’

‘This is my son, Samuel,’ Kez beamed. ‘He’s nearly three. Say hello Sam.’ But the child turned his head shyly into his mother’s neck.

‘Pen told me you had kids,’ said Connie. ‘But two?’

‘I had three,’ said Kezia, her voice becoming flat. ‘Pen is holding the babby but my little Joseph went to be with the angels.’

‘Oh Kez, I’m so sorry,’ said Connie suddenly stricken for her.

When they reached the caravan, there were more greetings and now that she was up close to him, Connie could see that Reuben was but a shadow of his former self. All the same, he was delighted to see her. ‘It must be ten year since I laid eyes on ye,’ he smiled, his gold tooth flashing in the failing evening sun.

‘Nine,’ Kezia corrected.

‘It does seem a long time ago, doesn’t it?’ said Connie shaking the old man’s hand.

Behind Reuben’s traditional gypsy caravan, she caught a glimpse of a long motor trailer, an ex-army vehicle. Kezia explained that using his army pay, her husband, Simeon, had just bought it for the family and now he was converting it into their home.

‘He says it’s the way of the future,’ said Kez proudly.

Other members of the family, including Kezia’s husband, Simeon (how they all loved their Old Testament names) tumbled out to greet Connie respectfully. If they seemed a little surprised that a Gorgia would be joining them as they ate, they said nothing. Reuben offered Connie an upturned box and as she sat down a sullen-faced lad came out of the trailer.

‘Isaac!’ Connie cried. There was about six years between them so Kezia’s baby brother was about fifteen or sixteen now. She remembered how when he was a year or so old, the two girls had taken it in turns to hoick him on their hip as they played together. He looked a lot like Kez. He had the same flaming red hair which was tousled and untidy but he was fresh-faced. He wore a kerchief at his neck and his shirt was open to reveal his hairless chest. Isaac’s greeting was polite but nowhere near as enthusiastic as his sister’s. As always, the men ate first.

As she sat by the campfire, Connie couldn’t help reflecting how different their lives were. Kez looked much older than her twenty-two years. Her hands were calloused from potato picking and Brussels sprout harvesting in the winter. At this time of year, her fingers were already stained bright red from picking strawberries and raspberries.

As is the custom with Romani gypsies, Kez had married young. The strict ethics of their culture demanded that all girls marry between sixteen and eighteen. She had to be a virgin and according to the code, she was only allowed a maximum of four suitors. Any more and she would be considered too flighty. Simeon, Kezia’s husband, had been her one and only suitor and she’d married him just before her seventeenth birthday.

As the baby finished feeding Kez looked up, giving Connie a shy smile. She sat her baby up to wind her and then handed her to Connie. ‘What did you call her?’

‘Blossom.’

‘I don’t recall a Blossom in the Bible!’

‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Connie Dixon,’ said Kez. ‘The day my daughter first drew breath Pen told Simeon, “It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing,” and that’s in the Bible that is.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Connie gasped.

‘Isaiah 35, Verse 2,’ said Kez adopting a superior tone.

Connie burst out laughing and Kez joined in. Looking down at this pretty green-eyed baby with wisps of bright red hair, her name suited her perfectly. She was small but sturdy. She would need to be. The life of a gypsy was hard. Kezia and her family were constantly on the move. They had always gone wherever there was picking to be done, setting up camp in some field belonging to the farmer in question. As each season came and went, they went on to the next place. It sounded idyllic, waking with the dawn and hitching the horse to the wagon to head towards the next source of work, but Connie didn’t envy them.

Sam had found a ball and he and Pip began a game of toss and fetch. The gypsy dogs, tied to the fence post, could only look on enviously and the pair of them giggled and barked together. Connie sighed. If only life were always this simple, this pleasurable.

Connie had been around Kez and her family enough times to know that contrary to a commonly held belief, the true gypsy was not dirty. She watched as Kez scrubbed her little boy before getting him ready for bed. She worked so hard on him the child began to protest. After changing her baby’s nappy, one of the other women took them both inside the long trailer to put them to bed, giving the two friends time together to catch up with their news.

As soon as he had eaten, Reuben was ready to sleep. He never slept inside the caravan because that was purely to house his possessions. Instead, he crawled inside a small tunnel tent pitched on the grass verge beside it and said his goodnight. As he laced the front of the tent, Connie listened to him coughing.

‘He’s not so good,’ said Kez quietly, as if reading her thoughts. Connie nodded. What could she say? Life on the road was hard on them all. Sleeping out in the open when you’re unwell wasn’t ideal but it was no good suggesting that he should go indoors. The open air and the freedom of the road was all Reuben knew.

‘Has he seen a doctor?’ Connie asked.

‘He won’t go to a doctor,’ said Kez with a shrug. ‘He says all doctors are Gorgias and not to be trusted.’

‘Doesn’t it get any easier?’ Connie asked. ‘Being on the road, I mean?’

Kezia shook her head. ‘Sometimes, even before we unhitch the horse, the village bobby comes along on his bicycle to tell us to move on.’

‘Couldn’t you refuse?’

‘If we do they threaten to take our children away and put them in a home.’

Connie was appalled. ‘Can they do that?’

Kez shrugged. ‘So they say.’

Connie shivered. The sweater only had short sleeves and she was getting cold now. She wished she’d brought a cardigan. ‘I’d better be getting back,’ she said.

‘You didn’t get your tea yet,’ said Kez.

Connie sat back on the caravan steps and sipped the scalding hot tea. Kez must have noticed her shivering because she threw a shawl over her shoulders. As Kezia ate, Connie told her about life in the munitions factory and the WAAF. Kez told Connie about the day her mother died and the loss of her little Joseph. On a happier note, she told Connie about meeting Simeon and of their marriage. Simeon, who had joined up during the war, had only just returned to her. He had adjusted to life with the Gorgia and, she said proudly, ‘He did his bit.’

‘Simeon talks of buying land,’ Kez went on. ‘He wants us to settle down.’

Connie was sceptical. ‘But you’ve always enjoyed moving around. Will you be able to settle in one place?’

‘Simeon managed in the army right enough,’ she smiled. ‘The kids and I will get used to it. I want Sam to go to school. I want him to read and write.’

Connie nodded and the two friends looked at each other with the same unspoken thought in her head. Reuben coughed again.

‘I want a better life,’ said Kez quietly. ‘The Frenchie says Simeon has a real talent.’

Connie was puzzled. ‘The Frenchie?’

‘I don’t know his name,’ Kez shrugged, ‘but he says if I learn to read proper, we could go into business and I can help Simeon.’ She sighed. ‘We never stayed long enough in one place for me to learn at school.’

‘If you’re going to stick around here for a while,’ said Connie, ‘I could try and teach you to read if you like?’

‘Would you?’ cried Kez.

They hadn’t noticed Isaac coming up behind them. ‘What’s the point?’ he glared. ‘Waste of time, a girl learning to read.’

‘I want to read books,’ said Kez defiantly. ‘There’s some good things in books.’

‘Pah!’ said Isaac. He had some fishing gear in his hand. ‘You can’t eat books.’

They watched him walk away and Connie smiled. ‘You stick to your guns, girl.’

‘I intend to.’

‘You said the Frenchie says Simeon has a talent but what does he do for a living?’

Kez shrugged. ‘Odd jobs, scrap metal, driving, that’s all that’s on offer for the likes of us.’

‘So what is his talent?’

Kez led the way round the hedge to where the motor trailer stood. Connie gasped as she saw the beautiful wooden carvings he had put on the side. It wasn’t to Connie’s taste, too garish for that, but she could see that he had a real eye for it. Fleurs-de-lys, scrolls and arches were everywhere and Simeon was up a ladder decorating them with gold leaf.

‘This is amazing!’ Connie cried.

‘And he done the whole thing from scratch.’ Kez smiled in a satisfied way as she touched her husband’s leg and they exchanged a loving glance.

‘What about you, Connie?’ asked Kez. ‘What do you do now?’

‘Didn’t I tell you, I’m going to be a nurse?’ said Connie.

‘A nurse,’ cried Kezia. ‘Don’t you want to get married?’

Connie thought fleetingly of Emmett. ‘Maybe. When the right man comes along.’

Kez grinned. ‘Good for you.’

They went back to the fire and sat down to reminisce. It was getting dark by the time Connie made a move to go home. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right walking back on your own?’ Simeon asked as he cleaned his brushes.

‘Fine,’ said Connie. ‘I have Pip with me. He won’t let anybody touch me.’

‘Don’t forget to put the clocks back an hour,’ Kez reminded her. ‘Double summer time ends tonight.’

‘So it does,’ Connie smiled.

As she said her goodbyes and left, Connie felt loved and accepted by all of them. Everyone except Isaac. He had been less pleasant. In fact, he seemed to have a giant chip on his shoulder.

The house was in darkness when Connie got back home. She gave Pip a drink of water and the few scraps her mother had saved him from the evening meal.

‘Silly old dog,’ she said softly as she fondled his ear. ‘I didn’t abandon you, you know. I still love you.’

Leaving him in his basket, Connie crept upstairs. She had thought everyone was asleep but then she heard Ga call her from her room. Connie only ever went in there when invited. It was a cluttered place with piles of leaflets and papers all over the dressing table and the chair. As soon as she walked in the door, Connie could tell by the expression on Ga’s face that something was wrong. She was sitting up in bed, her handbag beside her and her bad knee resting on a pillow. She had a lacy bed-shawl around her shoulders and her hair was in steel pins. How on earth did she sleep in those? Connie wondered.

Olive motioned for her to sit on the bedside chair so Connie moved the mound of papers onto the floor.

‘I want to talk to you about this nursing business,’ said Ga. Connie opened her mouth straight away but her great aunt put up her hand to silence her. ‘You might not be worried about how this will affect me …’

‘And you don’t seem to be bothered that I have a right to my own life,’ Connie interjected.

‘But,’ Ga continued loudly and clearly not listening, ‘have you thought of what this will do to your mother?’

Connie faltered. ‘Mother? In what way?’

‘Can’t you see how she looks?’ said Ga accusingly. ‘The poor woman is exhausted.’ She paused as if to let the words sink in. ‘We need you, Constance. We need you to help share the workload. Gwen cannot carry on much longer.’

There was a short silence. ‘But Clifford will be coming home shortly,’ said Connie.

‘And what sort of a state do you think he might be in?’ Ga retorted. ‘Besides, he’s not getting any younger either. I already told you, we need a young pair of hands.’

Connie looked away. She felt sick with disappointment. She didn’t want to admit it but Ga was right about one thing. Her mother did look worn out. And thin. Connie chewed her bottom lip helplessly. Did she really have to give up the idea of nursing? Surely there had to be another way? It was so bloody unfair. She had a right to live her own life but if she walked out on her mother now, she would just be plain selfish.

‘You don’t have to give me your answer now,’ said Ga. ‘Just think about it.’

‘All right,’ she said quietly, loathing the look of triumph in Ga’s eyes.

Ga nodded. ‘Good girl.’

Biting back her tears, Connie stood up. ‘If I do stay,’ she said stiffly, ‘it will only be for a while. I intend to be a nurse, no matter what you say.’

Ga’s mouth set in a tight line.

‘Oh, one more thing,’ said Ga, as Connie turned to leave. She opened her cavernous handbag, and pulled out a newspaper cutting. Connie took in her breath. It was the picture from the Daily Sketch, the one of her and Eva standing in the fountain at Trafalgar Square with the two sailors. The caption above it read, Playtime for English Roses. She remembered how she’d rolled up her slacks and stood in the water before the two sailors climbed in beside them. The picture was quite flattering too. Connie grinned.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ Ga snapped. ‘I am absolutely disgusted.’

‘Why?’ Connie challenged. ‘It was only a bit of innocent fun. You were young yourself once, Ga.’

Olive’s face clouded.

‘Come on, it was VE Day,’ Connie protested mildly. ‘We were all happy. The war was over.’

‘And so you took it upon yourself to climb into a fountain with Eva Maxwell.’

For a minute Connie was thrown. She had thought she was going to get a lecture about flaunting herself with two strange men. She hadn’t forgotten the rage she’d felt herself when she’d realised who Eva was, but it didn’t seem that important now. ‘At the time, I didn’t know who she was,’ Connie said with a shake of her head. ‘She was a friend of a friend and she said her name was O’Hara.’

‘Typical,’ Olive sneered. ‘They’re all liars, that lot.’

For some reason, Connie felt the need to defend Eva. ‘O’Hara is her married name,’ she said haughtily. ‘And just for your information, I met her family. It was all very sad. Her husband was killed in the war and I didn’t know who she was until much later in the day.’

Their eyes locked together in a common challenge. Connie refused to look away but it was clear that Olive wasn’t beaten yet. ‘Perhaps that is why Emmett disappeared,’ she said cuttingly. ‘I wonder what he thought when he saw a picture of his fiancée cavorting about with other men? I should have thought you would have learned your lesson by now, my girl.’

Connie’s heart began thumping in her chest. ‘For a start, Emmett was never my fiancé,’ she snapped angrily. ‘And secondly, I have never cavorted with other men, Ga, no matter what you think.’

‘I have a long memory,’ said Ga pointedly.

Connie froze. ‘You always have to bring that up again, don’t you,’ she snapped. ‘I was only a child. It wasn’t my fault.’

Ga looked down her nose. ‘Huh. Seems to me you haven’t changed much,’ she said, waving the newspaper cutting in the air. ‘Most men can sniff out a loose woman a mile off and you’ve got Gertrude’s blood in you, that’s for sure.’

Gertrude Dixon had scandalised the family first by getting herself tattooed and then by running away with a man from the fairground. It might have only raised a few eyebrows now, but fifty years ago, it was so shocking the family had never spoken of her again. Only Ga was determined to keep her memory alive.

Connie felt her face grow hot. ‘The whole of Trafalgar Square was packed with people,’ she said from between her teeth, ‘and they simply climbed in with us.’

‘You’ve got your arms around them,’ said Olive looking at the cutting again. ‘Not to mention the fact that both of you were half undressed …’

‘We were not! We rolled our slacks up so that they wouldn’t get wet.’ Connie’s face was flaming with anger. ‘Anyway, you never read the Sketch. How did you get this?’

‘You’re right. I never look at such trashy papers,’ said Olive with a deep breath. ‘And I certainly don’t expect members of my family to be on the front page but you see, someone sent it to me.’

She pulled an empty envelope from her bag. Connie could see it was addressed to Ga and in the left-hand corner someone had printed in bold letters the words, CONSTANCE AND EVA MAXWELL.

That added insult to injury. Connie was furious but with one quick move, she snatched the cutting from her hand. It tore as she did so but she still had most of the picture. Screwing it into a tight ball, she swept angrily from the room.

Olive lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep. She glanced at the clock beside her bed. One thirty. It wasn’t her leg that kept her awake, it was Constance. How dare she cavort in that fountain with Cissy Maxwell’s granddaughter? Everybody knew how she felt about that family. Constance should have known better.

Olive turned out the light and her mind drifted back some forty years ago, to a time when she herself was twenty, and the century was only five years old. Arthur was coming home. It had been a bleak time. The Boer War hadn’t been as terrible as the Great War nor as bad as the one they’d just gone through, but war is war. The enemy may be different and the weapons more sophisticated, but being wounded far from home and facing the prospect of dying in a foreign field was just as terrible whatever the age. Damn these ambitious men and their thirst for power, she thought. Most people simply wanted to live their lives in peace and safety. Why couldn’t they do the same?

She remembered how it was when the troops came back, all that marching in the streets, the parades, the flag waving and the cheers. She smiled when she thought of Arthur. Dear Arthur. How handsome he looked, so tall, so suave with his new moustache and smart uniform. It hadn’t been easy for him. She could tell that the moment she’d looked into his eyes. There was a weariness there that belied his twenty and six years. He never talked about what he’d seen but Pa had read about the war and what was going on in the papers at the breakfast table. He must have had a terrible time.

Life for Olive and her family had gone on as usual while they were away. They had been well off. Pa’s greenhouses were renowned for their beautiful grapes and cucumbers. There had been no need for her to work back then so she had grown up taking long walks on the downs where the musky scent of wild flowers, pink and blue and yellow mingled with the dainty call of skylarks and the curlew. She still recalled the spicy scent of honeysuckle and gorse and the more rancid odour of the sheep allowed to roam free. Back then, the silence of the countryside was only broken by the sound of bleating sheep or the occasional dog barking and on Sundays, the peal of church bells. How times had changed. When was the last time she had heard the sound of the coachman’s horn as he entered the village bringing much needed goods from Worthing three times a week and in all weathers? Not since the 1930s. Now it was all army lorries thundering along the lanes and coupons and going without.

Arthur had been part of the final stages of the Boer War, a time of ignoble victory. Frustrated by the constant skirmishes and guerrilla tactics, the British had adopted a scorched earth policy, destroying farms, homesteads and poisoning wells to prevent the Boers re-mustering. Any women and children left behind on their farms by their menfolk were rounded up and put into camps and because the supplies were hard to come by, tens of thousands of them died of malnutrition and disease. Much to his disgust, Arthur and his unit were left to guard them. How he’d hated it. He had even written to say that he would have much preferred to fight the enemy rather than take it out on women and children. Peace came with the Treaty of Vereeniging. The irony was, just as he was about to embark for home, Arthur was terribly injured.

She’d carried on writing to him of course, but the thought of a man with half a leg missing turned her stomach. If she was his wife, she would be expected to look at it, or even worse, dress the wound. She had confided in Aggie and wept on her shoulder. Dear Aggie had been wise beyond her years and such a comfort. After a few months, Olive had put her mind to doing the best she possibly could. When Arthur came out of hospital, she would make herself love all that horror away. It was her duty. He would soon be better, strong again. She would do whatever he asked. This time she wouldn’t hold back. She would give herself to him … even though the thought of that leg still made her shudder, she would nurse him back to health. But it wasn’t to be and it was all that Maxwell woman’s fault. It was humiliating enough having to stay an old maid all her life but having a grandniece jumping into fountains with the granddaughter of the woman who had caused her all that heartache was too much to bear. It wasn’t right. A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away angrily before she turned over to sleep.

Sleep didn’t come easily for Connie either. She lay on her back, hot tears of anger, disappointment and frustration trickling down the sides of her face and into her ears. Anger because Ga made her so. There had always been a flashpoint between them and it didn’t take much to make Connie flare. The woman was impossible. What did it matter if Connie had been in a fountain with Eva Maxwell? Ga treated the incident as if it were some sort of treason. The feud was between Ga and the Maxwells. Connie didn’t fully understand what it was all about, so why should she be expected to carry it on? And why did Ga constantly make snide remarks about her morals?

The disappointment was because of Emmett. Life would have been so different if they had got married. It was a mystery to her why he hadn’t contacted her again after the war. They had had some good times together and she’d done all the ‘right’ things to make him like her. She’d flattered him, laughed at his awful jokes, worn pretty clothes so that he would admire her – all the things other girls did to trap their men but Emmett hadn’t responded the way he was supposed to. Now all her ex-pals from the WAAFs were married but she was still on the shelf. It wasn’t fair.

The frustration was worst of all. She had taken a long time to think about nursing and had been so excited to be accepted for training but now she was being asked to put it on hold. Of course, this time Ga was right. Her mother did look haggard and worn out and she was not yet fifty. Connie had seen the way it was but she had chosen to pretend it would be all right. Her mother was such a wonderful person. ‘I’m pleased you’re going to make a career for yourself,’ she had told her. ‘You’ll make a good nurse.’ How much must it have cost her to say that and yet Connie knew she’d meant every word. She had given her the freedom to make her own life but much as she wanted to go, Connie knew she couldn’t walk out on her.

The door clicked open and she raised her head to see Pip come into the room. He came to her bedside and laid his muzzle on the sheet beside her. Funny how he always sensed when she was upset.

‘You’ll get yourself into a heap of trouble if Ga finds you upstairs,’ she whispered and she heard his tail thump against the chest of drawers as he licked her tears away.




Four


The atmosphere between Connie and Ga remained frosty for a couple of days. They avoided talking to each other any more than they had to, although they made polite conversation whenever Gwen or Mandy were around. Left to her own thoughts, Connie went over and over what Ga had said until there came a moment when she told herself she had to stop. It was beginning to make her feel ill. If only she had a close friend she could confide in, but Rene Thompson was living in Scotland now and recently married. She would have her mind on other things, and besides, it was difficult to write everything down in a letter.

‘Clifford is coming home,’ said Gwen as she sat at the breakfast table with a letter. Her voice was choked with emotion. ‘He’s being demobbed at last.’

‘Oh Mum, I’m so pleased for you,’ said Connie. Pip was standing next to her resting his head on her lap. Connie fondled his ear as her mind went into overdrive. If he got back before September she could still go to nursing school.

Gwen pulled a handkerchief from under her watch strap and dabbed her nose.

‘About time,’ said Ga rather pointedly. ‘You and I can’t keep the place going forever on our own. And get that dog away from the table, Constance. You know I can’t stand it.’

Pip slunk into his basket but Connie ignored the jibe. Ga could be insufferable at times, making mountains out of molehills and keeping up her hostility for days.

‘It’ll be good for Mandy to have her dad back,’ said Gwen. ‘She’s missed him dreadfully.’

Being an older man, Clifford wasn’t called up until the final big push. His regiment ended up in Holland supporting the Canadian troops who had surrounded Amsterdam. After VE Day, he was sent to Germany itself.

‘Do we know when he’s coming?’ Connie tried to sound casual but her voice was a little tremulous with excitement.

Gwen shook her head. ‘“Soon”, that’s all he says.’

Connie was aware of Ga’s eyes boring into the side of her face. ‘I can pick Mandy up from school when he comes, Mum,’ Connie said. ‘That way you can meet him at the station on your own.’

‘Thank you, darling. That would be nice.’

‘And what about the shop?’ said Ga.

‘We’ll manage,’ said Connie throwing her a look and Ga jutted her chin defiantly.

‘Perhaps when he gets back, you and Clifford could have a little holiday, Mum. A bit of time to yourselves. I could look after Mandy for you.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said her mother coyly.

‘Well, think about it,’ said Connie. ‘Wait until you’ve talked to Clifford before you say no.’

Ga stood up with a harrumph. ‘People never bothered with holidays in my day,’ she announced as she gathered her plate and cup and saucer and put them in the sink with a clatter. ‘They just got on with it.’ She didn’t see Connie and Gwen share a secret wink behind her back. ‘There’s plenty to do today,’ Ga said as she limped to the door. ‘Connie, you can plant the leeks and some winter cabbage in the plot by the fence and Gwen, we need to get the carrots up for winter storage.’

The back door slammed as she left the room. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ Gwen sighed good-naturedly.

At the weekend, the pattern of life at home was slightly different. The shop closed at noon on Saturday and normally on Sunday the whole family went to church in the morning. They were Anglicans but preferred to go to the Free Church which, because the war had interrupted their building programme, met in the local school. The services were bright and cheerful and it had a large Sunday school.

‘After Sunday school,’ Connie had told Mandy when she’d tucked her up the night before, ‘if you’re good, I’ll take you to see the gypsies.’

They ate their Sunday roast, and while Gwen sat with her knitting listening to the radio and Ga sat at her writing desk, Connie and Mandy and just about every other child in Worthing set off for Sunday school. In the main it was fun and the hour was precious to parents because it was the one time that they could have an hour to themselves with no interruptions. Pip went along with them but Connie made him wait outside. The class was held in a small room at the back of the church. The teacher, Miss Jackson, was a little older than Connie but they had both gone to the same school.

‘Connie!’ Jane Jackson, an attractive brunette, was now a librarian. ‘How good to see you. Are you back for good?’

‘Looks like it,’ Connie smiled.

‘We must get together sometime,’ Jane smiled. ‘No, William, stop hitting Eddie with that hymn book. That’s no way to behave in church.’

The children sat in a semi-circle on a large mat on the floor. There were about thirty of them in Jane’s class, nearly all of them the children of church members although there were a few who had been sent along by their parents so that they could have a bit of peace and quiet and a little time to themselves. They began with a prayer and then some choruses. Jane and her fellow teachers were ably assisted by Michael Cunningham, the son of the church treasurer, a pimply faced youth who was waiting to go to university. Michael hammered out the tune on the school piano.

The choruses brought back memories of her own childhood. They were as timeless and as meaningless as they had ever been. ‘Jesus wants me for a sunbeam …’ ‘Bumble bee, bumble bee, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz …’ and ‘I am H-A-P-P-Y …’ The Bible story was based around the woman with the issue of blood. Connie wondered if five- to seven-year-olds had any idea what ‘an issue of blood’ meant, but she was surprised to see that the children listened enraptured. Apparently Jane was a gifted storyteller. One more chorus, this time one relating to the story itself, ‘Oh touch the hem of His garment and thou too shalt be whole …’ and Sunday school was over. At the end of the session, as they said their goodbyes, Jane produced a box of sweets. Each ‘good’ child, namely the ones who had sat still while they’d had the story, was allowed to take one. Connie permitted herself a wry smile. Clever old Jane. No wonder the children sat still and listened.

‘There’s a dance at the Assembly Rooms on Saturday,’ said Jane as they were leaving. ‘A few of us from the village are going. Sally Burndell comes. You know her, don’t you?’

‘She works part time in our shop,’ Connie nodded.

‘Do come to the dance,’ said Jane. ‘They’re great fun.’

A couple of days slipped by but at the earliest opportunity, Connie climbed upstairs to the attic with a torch. It was hot and musty but she’d only been there for about ten minutes before Gwen came to see what she was doing.

‘It’s chock-a-block up here, Mum!’ Connie gasped. ‘I had no idea we had all this junk.’

Her mother looked a little surprised too. ‘I suppose it’s years of saying, “Oh … put it in the attic for now”,’ she smiled. ‘What are you looking for anyway?’

‘My old school books,’ said Connie. ‘I’m teaching Kez to read.’

‘Try that box over there,’ said her mother.

The first of the boxes contained an old photograph album. Connie flicked through and smiled. The box Brownie had recorded so many happy occasions but it was a shock to see her father’s face again. Out of respect for her new husband, her mother had moved his pictures up here when Clifford came into the family. She turned a page and there was Kenneth. Her heart missed a beat and she sighed inwardly. He looked about twelve. He was bare-chested and wearing short trousers. His fair hair was tousled and he had obviously been looking for something in the pond. He was proudly holding up a jam jar tied with a string handle and something lurked in the water. She stared at her long lost brother and wished he was here. Memory is selective, she knew that. She’d forgotten the times when they had been at loggerheads, or the times when he’d thumped her for getting in his way. All she could recall were the picnics on the hill and her mother reading them endless stories, or fun and laughter at the beach and being pushed on the swings until she was so high it was scary. She ran her finger over Kenneth’s face and slipping the photograph from its stuck-down corners, she palmed it secretly into her pocket.

Her mother was rummaging through a different box. ‘These are all books,’ she said.

Putting the album down, Connie went to join her. Her mother had found an old school book but it looked very babyish. Connie didn’t want to embarrass Kez because she knew that she wouldn’t bother to practise if the book looked like it was for a child. In the end she chose two of her own books to take. Grace Darling’s Tales, a book she had been given by an aunt when she was about nine. It had two girls in swimsuits on the front cover. They were standing on the rocks with their dog. It was a bit more advanced than Connie would have liked but it was a start. The other book was her all-time favourite when she’d been a girl. She’d bought the Stories from the Arabian Nights for thruppence in a jumble sale. Connie knew she would enjoy hearing the stories again; The Porter and Ladies of Baghdad, Caliph the Fisherman and Ali Baba, who adorned the front cover. She’d always loved the romantic illustrations of the men in their flowing robes and dark smouldering looks. Now she and Kez could begin her long uphill journey to literacy.

As they pushed the box back against the wall, it was hindered by something underneath. Connie bent down and picked up a stuffed giraffe, Kenneth’s toy from when he was a baby. It was in a sorry state now, lopsided and some of the stuffing had come out of one foot. The two women stared at it in silence.

‘Do you ever think of him, Mum?’ Connie asked quietly.

Gwen straightened her back. ‘He is my son,’ she said simply. ‘There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t think about him.’

Connie could feel the tears picking at her eyes. She pushed the box right back and stuffed the giraffe down the side. That’s when she spotted her old doll’s pram. ‘Oh, look! I bet Mandy would like to play with that,’ she said deliberately changing the subject. She raised the hood and fingered the holes along the crease.

‘It could do with a bit of repair,’ said Gwen uncertainly.

‘And I know just the man,’ smiled Connie. ‘Don’t say anything and we’ll get it done for Christmas.’

Armed with her books, Connie made for the stairs. Her mother hesitated. ‘You don’t know why Kenneth left like that, do you?’

Connie froze. Her face flamed. She dared not look back or her mother would have seen. ‘Haven’t a clue,’ she said brightly as she ran down the stairs.

The nurse pulled the curtain around his bed and leaned over to undo the buttons on his pyjama top. Kenneth didn’t look down. He didn’t want to see the livid redness, the uneven skin and the scars. He’d looked at himself in the mirror once and it had turned his stomach. His own body and he couldn’t stand to look at it. They had done what they could and the ice packs on his hand relieved the awful pain. Hands. That was a joke. He didn’t have hands anymore. One of them was little more than a shapeless stump.

The doctor and his entourage swept in, each pulling the curtain closed until they were all cocooned together. Now there were six of them standing around his bed. Six and the nurse. Nobody spoke. He looked at each man in turn. He knew what they were thinking. Poor sod. Got right through the war unscathed and then, while the rest of the world is dancing in the streets, he comes down in flames to this … He thought of some of those who didn’t make it. Pongo Harris and Woody Slade and little Jimmy. At least they’d gone out intact. He might be still alive, but look at the state he was in. It would have been better if he’d died along with the rest of his crew.

The doctor leaned towards him. ‘I’m putting you up for transfer, Dickie,’ he said.

Kenneth snorted and turned away. That’s right, he thought. Out of sight, out of mind. Not my problem.

‘Listen, son,’ said the doctor. ‘We’ve done all we can for you here, but there’s a place where they are brilliant at helping boys in your position. It’s in East Grinstead, the Royal Victoria Hospital. They’ve got this man there called McIndoe and he’s pioneered some wonderful treatments for burn victims.’

‘The chaps who’ve been there are proud of what they’ve achieved. They called themselves The Guinea Pig Club,’ said one of the others.

Kenneth closed his eyes in disgust. ‘I’m not going somewhere to be experimented on. Just give me a gun and I’ll finish the job for good.’

‘That’s enough of that kind of talk,’ the doctor snapped. ‘Look,’ he added softening his tone, ‘what if I get someone to come and see you? Maybe even the big man himself. It’s up to you, but surely it’s worth a try.’

Kenneth sighed. He didn’t want this but they’d keep on and on until they had their way and he was too tired to argue. ‘All right,’ he said wearily.

‘Good man.’ The doctor leaned towards him again. ‘You know, it’s time you thought about contacting your loved ones.’

His patient’s eyes blazed. ‘No, absolutely not. I’m not ready for all that.’

Connie kept herself busy for the rest of the day and did her best to avoid working with her mother. After tea, Connie worked in the shop with Sally. They usually had a bit of a laugh together but Sally wasn’t her usual chatty self which suited Connie for now. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Kenneth. If all went to plan, she would join Kez in the evening and begin her lessons. Perhaps she should talk to Kez about Kenneth, and yet even as the thought crossed her mind she knew she wouldn’t. It was embarrassing and shameful and she couldn’t bear the thought of Kez knowing such awful things about her. She had struggled for years to put it all behind her, but what with Ga and her constant reminders and the fact that her brother was estranged from the family, what hope had she? At least by keeping busy, she wasn’t thinking about having to lie to her mother. How she wished she could just up sticks and go for her training. Being a nurse seemed to be so right for her but by being stuck here in the nursery, she’d probably end up like Ga, an old maid with nobody to love. Life was bloody unfair sometimes.




Five


It didn’t take long for Saturday evenings at the dance hall to become a routine. Connie joined up with Jane Jackson, Sally Burndell and a couple of other girls to go to the Assembly Hall in Worthing. Their dresses were all homemade. There was so little material to be had but Connie was good with a needle. She was wearing a pretty blue and white dress with a full skirt and a scooped neck with a trail of white muslin draped attractively across the shoulders. She’d found the material in another form in a jumble sale. The dress was far too big so she was able to take it to pieces and start again.

The dance was up some steps in the next road to the New Town Hall. The place was packed although as time went by, there were fewer men in uniform. Demob suits were very much in evidence. The Assembly Hall was a beautiful building. They entered a large foyer, bought their tickets and went to the cloakroom to hang up their coats. Connie loved the Art Deco reliefs, the star-shaped light fittings and the proscenium arch which was flanked by seahorses. It spoke of an age long since gone and yet somehow the building seemed as fresh and exciting as it must have done when it was built in the 1930s.

The band was already playing as they walked in and a small glass orb glittered from the ceiling. Connie and her friends found a table and sat down. The dances were done in threes. It might be a foxtrot or a rumba or a waltz when the lights were dimmed right down. As the band struck up, the men circled the seated area looking for a partner. Jane was always popular but Connie and Sally had to wait a little while before someone asked them to dance.

It had taken Connie a while before she’d got to know the other girls. At sixteen, Sally’s secretarial course was due to start towards the end of September. She may have been a lot younger than the rest of them, but she fitted into the group well. Jane was the joker. Having heard of Sally’s ambition to be a private secretary rather than ending up in the typing pool, Connie had asked Jane about her ambitions. Jane had looked thoughtful and then said, ‘I think I’ll marry a man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana skin,’ and they’d all laughed.

‘How’s your boyfriend in the army?’ said Connie making small talk while they waited.

Sally had just refused to dance with a tall, lanky man with buck teeth. ‘Terry? Fine,’ she nodded. She picked up her handbag and rummaged inside. ‘He’s still in Germany. He says he’ll be stuck there until he’s demobbed next year.’

‘What rotten luck,’ said Connie. ‘A year is a long time.’

‘I’ll wait for him,’ said Sally, pulling out a dog-eared photograph. ‘That’s my Terry.’ He looked about twenty and was tall with round-rimmed glasses.

‘He doesn’t mind you coming to dances?’

‘Well, he can’t expect me to live like a hermit,’ Sally retorted, ‘but I shall always be faithful to him.’

A good looking man with slicked-down hair came up to the table and gave the girls a short bow. ‘May I?’

‘And what the eye doesn’t see …’ said Sally, taking his hand.

Connie went back to the gypsy camp whenever she had a spare minute. Kez was a willing pupil even though some of her relatives teased her when they saw what she was doing. She had been right about the books. Kez had loved the Stories from the Arabian Nights and who could blame her. All those handsome, dark-eyed men fighting for the women they loved and looking at the girls in their pretty Eastern dress made enjoyable reading.

‘The way you two sit like that,’ Reuben remarked one day, ‘you could be sisters.’

Connie smiled. She would have liked to have had a sister like Kez. Simeon was a nice man too. He sat close to his wife and a couple of times, as Connie traced the words with her finger on the page, she caught him mouthing the words along with her. So he was illiterate too? Connie was amazed. He had created a real work of art in wood on the outside of the trailer. He clearly had a good eye because the few times she had watched him at work, she’d noticed that he didn’t have a pattern to follow. It was all in his head. Eventually Connie plucked up enough courage to ask him about the pram.

‘Bring it with you next time,’ Simeon smiled, ‘and I’ll see what I can do.’

People labelled gypsies as stupid but Kez and her family were far from that. They may have lacked formal education but their skills and knowledge in other areas were second to none. Isaac was always turning up with a river fish or a couple of rabbits, and at one time a couple of pigeons for their supper. Kez invited Connie to stay but most times she declined, preferring to be home in time to read Mandy a bedtime story.

When Connie got back home on 24 July, her mother and Ga were glued to the radio. At the beginning of the month the whole country had been full of election fever. Most people thought it a foregone conclusion that Mr Churchill would get back into Downing Street but there was also a groundswell of opinion that the country couldn’t go back to the old ways. It was time for radical change. All the same it came as an enormous shock when the final count was declared after the overseas votes had been collected by RAF Transport Command. The Labour Party headed by a rather weedy looking man called Clement Attlee had won a landslide victory.

‘God help us all,’ Ga said darkly as she turned the radio off. ‘It’s going to be just like Churchill said. We beat the Gestapo in Germany and now they’ll come here, you mark my words.’

‘I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Ga,’ said Gwen good-naturedly.

‘And you can hardly blame us for wanting change,’ said Connie tartly. ‘Look what’s on offer, full employment and a free health service.’

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Ga retorted. ‘Anyone with half a brain could see that’s all rhetoric and empty promises. A welfare state from the cradle to the grave? It’ll never happen in my lifetime.’

It had taken a bit longer than they’d thought but Clifford came home with the minimum of fuss. Connie and her mother were anxious about him because they had no idea what kind of state he might be in. Immediately after the war, the newsreels at the pictures showed some harrowing sights coming out of Germany. Whole cities flattened by Allied bombing, women and children picking their way through the ruins and of course the opening up of those terrible concentration camps. It was a lot to take in and it must have been even worse for those who saw it at first hand. Joan Hill from the village found a wreck of a man waiting on the platform when her Charlie came home and he still wasn’t right in the head.

Clifford was due to come back on a Saturday and so Connie took Mandy out for the day in order to give her mother a little space. They went to Arundel on the bus and on to Swanbourne Lake. Pip invited himself too and had been as good as gold on the bus, lying by their feet until it was time to get out. Mandy fed the ducks with some crusts of bread and then they walked right around the lake. Pip loved it. He didn’t chase a single duck but enjoyed his freedom to scent and smell as he pleased. They stayed until late afternoon and Connie treated them to tea in a little tea rooms while Pip lay on the pavement outside and waited for them.

As it turned out, Clifford had come through his experiences with little evidence of trauma. A clean shaven man with a strong jawline and firm resolve, he looked a little too small for his demob suit but he was still good looking enough to cut a dash. His Brylcreemed brown hair had retained its colour although there were a few grey hairs at either side of his ears. When he spotted Connie and Mandy walking up the road, he ran to meet them, and catching Mandy into the air he swung her up. Pip barked and jumped at his legs and Connie laughed. Clifford’s daughter was a little more reserved in her greeting and wriggling out of his arms, as soon as he put her down she ran and hid behind Connie’s skirts.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Connie whispered when she saw the look of disappointment on his face. ‘Just give her time.’

Clifford put his hand lightly on her shoulder and kissed Connie on the cheek. ‘Is it good to be back?’ she asked.

Her mother was standing by the front door, looking on. ‘I’ll say,’ he smiled, adding out of the corner of his mouth, ‘although your mother looks a bit pasty.’

‘I’ve tried to persuade her to go to Dr Andrews,’ Connie whispered as she smiled brightly, ‘but she won’t go.’

‘I’ll get her to make an appointment as soon as I can,’ he said as they turned to walk back to the nurseries.

‘She probably won’t tell you,’ Connie said while they were still far enough away from the door to be out of earshot, ‘but I’ve offered to look after Mandy if you want to go away for a holiday.’

‘Can I go on holiday too?’ Mandy piped up.

‘Oh my, what big ears you have,’ laughed Connie and Clifford ruffled Mandy’s hair.

‘Was Ga all right with you?’ Connie asked as her sister skipped up the garden path.

‘Same as usual,’ said Clifford grimly. ‘I swear that woman looks more miserable than Queen Victoria with every passing year.’

Connie put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

The rest of the weekend was good because everyone was on their best behaviour. Clifford insisted her mother go to the doctor on Monday. A touch of anaemia, that’s all it was, and she was prescribed a tonic. ‘Take a rest if you can,’ he advised and so Clifford went ahead with his plans for them to go to Eastbourne for a few days.

A week went by and slowly the family readjusted itself back into some sort of normality. Aunt Aggie turned up as usual and although she probed Clifford with questions, thankfully she wasn’t too intrusive. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about his experiences. He’d lost too many friends and three years of his life. Ga continued making her barbed remarks, the worst being one day when the four of them were in the shop.

‘It’ll be hard for you to settle down,’ Ga told Clifford. She was smiling but her eyes were bright with insincerity. ‘No pretty girls throwing themselves at the liberators here.’

‘Ga!’ said Connie, shocked.

‘Don’t tell me he didn’t enjoy the attention,’ Ga went on. ‘Sailors have a girl in every port so I don’t suppose the army is much different?’

‘Not everybody is sex mad, Miss Dixon.’

They turned to look at Sally who was clearing overripe fruit from the display. They’d all forgotten she was there. Sally straightened up and blushed deeply, realising at once that she had overstepped the mark and been too familiar with her employers.

‘And I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of other people’s conversations, Sally,’ said Ga haughtily. The girl turned back to her work and said no more.

Clifford walked away, the door banging against the wood as he left.

‘Pay no attention, dear,’ said Aggie when she saw the crestfallen look on her friend’s face.

‘Some people just can’t take a joke,’ said Ga.

As Connie walked with Mandy to the gypsy camp the day after her mother and Clifford had gone away, she already felt more relaxed. She might not have met anyone at the dance, but each week she’d had a bit of fun, something singularly lacking in her life up to now. It was incredible that Kez and her family had spent so long in the lane and there was always that sinking feeling that they might be gone when she turned the corner.

‘Susan Revel says gypsies are smelly and shouldn’t be allowed here,’ said Mandy, taking Connie’s hand as they came to the lane. Pip came bounding along to join them. ‘She said they steal people’s babies and turn them to stone.’

‘Does she now?’ said Connie.

‘And Gary Philips says they are short in the arm and thick in the head.’

Connie suppressed a smile. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t repeat what someone else says,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll tell you what, after we’ve been there, you tell me what you think.’

Mandy nodded gravely. ‘Can I share my sweeties with Sam?’

So that was why Connie had seen her squirrelling away a couple of farthing chews from her sweetie box. Mandy hadn’t asked if she could have one but Connie hadn’t said anything. Why not let her have them? They were her sweets after all. She had no idea Mandy was planning to share them with Kezia’s son. ‘I’m sure he’d love that,’ said Connie, ‘but ask his mummy first.’

Somewhere along the lane, Pip joined them again. ‘Where have you been?’ said Connie, patting his side.

The two sisters were very close. Connie adored Mandy and it was plain to see that Mandy enjoyed being with her. Kez took to her straight away especially when Mandy began to mother little Samuel.

The women spent the rest of the afternoon rubbing down handmade clothes pegs and putting them into bundles. On Monday, Kez and some of the other women would take them around the big houses in Goring and sell them. As they worked, Pen told them tales about the old days … ‘Little Mac took the tattooed lady’s mare then Abe gave Little Mac a piece of bread and a quart of ale but there was none for ’e so he died …’ Mandy listened spellbound and for Connie it felt just like old times. Peninnah always used the same form of words and if anyone interrupted her, she’d go back a bit and start again.

While Connie helped Kez with the meal, Reuben let Mandy feed the horse tethered in the field. By the end of the afternoon, they’d both had a wonderful time and it was time to go home.

‘Where’s Isaac?’ said Connie, suddenly missing him.

‘He’s with Simeon and the Frenchie,’ said Kez. She was putting Blossom to the breast.

‘What are they doing?’ Connie frowned.

‘Go and see for yourself,’ said Kez mysteriously. ‘It’s on your way home.’

Connie was curious. It was unusual for a gypsy to be working with a non-Romani. She wondered how the Frenchie got on with someone like Isaac who was so surly. They said their goodbyes and Connie and Mandy set off for home with Pip.

‘I like Auntie Kez and Sam,’ said Mandy as they walked towards Goring Street. ‘And Uncle Reuben.’

‘So what do you think about gypsies then?’ Connie asked.

Mandy thought for a bit and then said, ‘Just because you are different, doesn’t mean you’re bad, does it?’

Connie squeezed her hand. ‘I think you’ve got the right idea, darling.’

‘Can we sing my song?’ Mandy asked.

Connie smiled. ‘I’m amazed that you still like it so much.’

Mandy nodded and holding her sister’s hand, they swung their arms as they sang ‘You are my sunshine …’

The dog had run on ahead and was surprised to see them turn away from Goring Street and towards Jupp’s barn. As Connie approached Sam Haffenden’s blacksmith’s forge, she craned her neck. So where were the men? Beyond the forge and the two thatched cottages, everything melted away into farm land. It was then that she noticed a corrugated iron shed to the right of the forge. She’d never noticed that before even though it was obvious it wasn’t new. It was just off the road, and the only access was via a short lane entrance littered with old bits of wood. The potholed pathway opened out into a weed-filled yard. There was no sign of Isaac or Simeon but Connie heard the sound of raised men’s voices coming from inside the shed. She reached for her little sister’s hand and held on tight. Perhaps she should leave it for now and come back another time. She was about to turn around but Pip sped past her barking excitedly.




Six


The Frenchie’s workshop, cluttered, untidy and littered with bicycle parts, doubled as an artist’s studio. She and Mandy stopped singing as they went through the door. There were pencil drawings and paintings everywhere. Connie spotted a fantastic drawing of Reuben sitting on the steps of his caravan smoking his pipe. High on the wall she saw a watercolour of two local fishermen she recognised from the beach at Goring from where they sold their fresh fish from the jetty. She looked at their rugged faces and rheumy eyes and knew that whoever had painted them had caught their likeness exactly. Kenneth had been good at drawing but nowhere near as good as this. The room itself smelled of engine oil and paint.

As she and Mandy walked in, it was obvious that the men had reached a crucial stage of their work. There were about four of them in the large open area in the middle of the building, Isaac, Simeon and two other men. Which one was the Frenchie? They were all working together using a series of pulleys and chains to lower a large wooden frame onto a chassis on wheels.

Calling the dog to heel, Connie stood in the corner by the door and drew Mandy into a protective embrace. One man was acting as instructor and guiding their every move. ‘Steady, steady. Keep that end nice and straight. Take your time, steady … Right, that’s it.’

Someone let go of the chains and they clattered across the roof.

‘Careful,’ said the man. ‘Don’t damage the bodywork.’

Once the bulky frame was secure, Simeon began screwing it into place. It was a very solid piece of work and she could see that with the door at one end, it would be like a small house on wheels.

‘Well, I’d best be off,’ said an older man Connie had never seen before.

‘Thanks for your help, Bob,’ said the one who had been giving the orders.

Isaac grabbed his jacket and turned with a scowl on his face. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded when he saw Connie and her sister. Pip growled.

Connie jumped. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘Kez said you and Simeon were here and I thought … Sorry.’

‘That’s no way to speak to a lady.’ The instructor had come out of the shadows and into the light. Connie’s heart skipped a beat. He was broad shouldered and muscular. She could tell by the bulge at the top of his rolled-up sleeves that this man was used to heavy work and yet he moved fluidly and effortlessly. This must be the Frenchie. His brown hair was curled, not with tight curls but with more of an attractive wave. His face was streaked with perspiration. He glanced at her and Mandy and smiled. The smile transformed his whole face, revealing a long dimple on his left cheek. ‘Good afternoon, Madam,’ he said, bending to stroke the dog. His voice was like deep velvet, and he spoke like a Canadian with just a hint of a French accent. Connie felt her face flush and her heart began to beat a little faster.

‘She ain’t no lady, Frenchie,’ said Isaac bringing Connie back to the here and now.

Connie’s jaw dropped but Mandy interrupted before she could say something.

‘We came to see where Simeon works,’ she piped up.

The Frenchie waved his arm expansively and smiled. ‘And here it is!’

Emboldened, Mandy started asking questions. ‘What are you doing? What’s that for? Why did you put that in there? Is that a picture of Mr Light?’ He answered all her questions patiently and with good humour, explaining that they had just repaired the van and were reconstructing it onto a new chassis. ‘That’s a very solid looking thing,’ Connie remarked.

‘It used to be called a living van,’ he explained. ‘It was the sort of thing road menders used to use when they stayed on the job. This one dates back to the turn of the century.’ He patted the wooden sides as he looked down at Mandy. ‘Back then you would see a steam engine on the front, then the living van, followed by a cart with all the equipment and finally the water cart to top up the engine, so the old timers tell me. It was a bit like a road train.’

Connie was puzzled. ‘But what are you going to use it for now?’

‘This mush is full of ideas,’ said Simeon coming around the vehicle with a smile. ‘This is a travelling shop.’

Connie was impressed. She could see it now. They were obviously going to put shelving along the sides and with the driver’s cab at the front, it would be ready to go.

‘And these paintings,’ Connie said with a wave of her hand, ‘did you do them as well?’

The Frenchie glanced at Connie and gave her a shy smile. ‘Yes, I did. A hobby of mine.’

‘They’re very good,’ said Connie.

‘Thank you,’ he said, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

‘And now I have to go,’ he told Mandy. ‘I have to get ready to go out. It was nice to have met you and your mummy. I hope you’ll come again.’

Mandy glared at him crossly. ‘She’s not my mummy. She’s my sister.’

The Frenchie turned to Connie. ‘I apologise,’ he said quietly. ‘My mistake.’

Connie’s heart was beating fast. She had never felt quite like this before. It was both alarming and exciting. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said feebly. ‘I hope we didn’t intrude.’

As Simeon reached for his coat, she and Mandy stepped back towards the door. The artist turned his head and their eyes met once again. ‘My name is Eugène Étienne but around here they all call me the Frenchie,’ he said extending his hand. Her small hand was all but swallowed by his. The grip was firm but gentle, warm and sincere. As he released her, he apologised and took a cleaner looking rag from a nail driven into the post and gently wiped her fingers.

‘Why do they call you the Frenchie?’ Mandy asked.

‘Mandy,’ Connie scolded.

‘It’s all right. You see, I never met him but perhaps you can tell by my name that my father was French,’ he said without a trace of bitterness. ‘I was brought up in an orphanage in Québec.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Canada,’ he smiled. ‘I came over here during the war and forgot to go back.’

Connie’s eyes widened. ‘They let you do that?’

‘Not actually,’ he laughed. ‘I was ill and I decided to stay here when the army discharged me.’

‘Nothing serious I hope,’ said Connie.

The Frenchie shook his head. ‘Enough to keep me at the military hospital in Shaftesbury Avenue for a few months. I ended up falling in love with Worthing. I’ve only been here a little while but I want to make it my home.’

A shadow fell over them. Someone was standing in the doorway. The Frenchie stepped back and looked up. ‘Darling,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. Is it that late already?’

Connie was faced with the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. She was blonde and tall and wore a pink floral dress with a straight skirt and a small white belt. She had the daintiest white peep-toed high heels and she carried a small clutch bag. Connie recognised her instantly. Mavis Hampton, the daughter of one of the richest men in town and Worthing’s very own beauty queen. Pip wagged his tail and headed towards her.

‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘Don’t let that thing jump up at me.’

Connie grabbed Pip’s collar just in time and although he never would have jumped up, Mavis eyed the two of them anxiously. There was no mistaking the curl of contempt on her lip. As Simeon walked past her on his way out, she shrank away as if he was poisonous.

‘I knew it,’ Mavis said frostily. ‘You’re going to make us late.’ The Frenchie had walked towards her to kiss her cheek. ‘No,’ she trilled. ‘Don’t you dare kiss me. You’re filthy.’

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said again.

Connie took Mandy’s hand and tried to slip away. ‘Excuse me.’

Mandy turned her innocent face towards them. ‘Bye, Mr Frenchie.’

‘Goodbye,’ he said.

Mavis only scowled and as Connie reached the lane she heard her saying, ‘I know you like helping these ungrateful wretches but really darling, do you have to do it every day?’

‘For me?’

Sally Burndell was surprised when her mother came into the shop and handed her a letter. ‘I knew you couldn’t wait,’ she smiled. ‘It’s from them, isn’t it?’

‘In a minute, Mum,’ said Sally drawing her mother’s attention to the woman standing by the till. ‘I’ve got customers.’

‘Sorry, luv,’ said Mrs Burndell stepping to one side. ‘My Sally is going to college. The first girl in our family to get a real education.’

‘Mum …’ Sally protested.

‘Well, I can’t help being proud, can I?’ said Mrs Burndell turning to go. ‘See you later.’

The customer smiled indulgently and Sally rolled her eyes.

It was mid-morning before Sally had the chance to open the envelope. She had to wait until the old lady had gone back to the house and the shop was empty before she dared to take it from her apron pocket.

The letter from the college was brief and because of her tears, Sally had a job focusing her eyes properly to read it. Nine words stood out from the rest. ‘… unable to offer you a position at this time …’ Why? What had happened? They’d seemed so sure about her at the interview. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and began again. ‘We regret that due to certain facts coming to light we are unable to offer you a position at this time …’ She pushed the letter back inside the envelope and sniffed loudly. What facts? Had somebody said something bad about her? She heard the back door of the house slam. Old Miss Dixon must be coming back. Could this be something to do with her? Had the old bag given her a bad reference? Sally looked up but it wasn’t the old woman coming.

‘Time for a cuppa,’ Connie called as she walked into the shop with two cups of tea on a tray. Sally pushed the letter back in her pocket.

‘You all right, Sally?’ Connie asked casually.

‘Fine,’ said Sally a little too quickly but to Connie it was obvious she wasn’t. Her eyes were puffy and she refused to meet Connie’s gaze. She busied herself with the apple box, taking out the damaged ones and giving the good ones a bit of a polish with a duster.

‘Coming to the dance this week?’ Connie persisted.

‘No.’ Sally shook her head. ‘I’m washing my hair.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘If you’re feeling a bit down, it’ll do you the world of good.’

‘Terry’s coming home,’ said Sally. ‘People might talk.’

Connie shrugged. If Sally didn’t want to come anymore, there was little she could do.

*

The Japanese surrender came suddenly. When the announcement came over the radio, Ga called from the back door. ‘Constance, Sally … leave that and come inside.’ They closed the shop door and walked across the yard. The radio was turned up enough to let the people in the next county hear it but when Connie mentioned it, Ga said, ‘Shhh. Listen.’

‘This is London,’ the announcer Alvar Lidell began. ‘The Prime Minister, the Right Honorable C.R. Attlee.’ The radio crackled and then his deep slow voice was followed by the more reedy tones of Clement Attlee.

‘Japan has surrendered. The last of our enemies is laid low …’

It all seemed to be a bit of an anti-climax but even though she was still a little distant, Connie hugged Sally. It seemed that the horrors inflicted on Hiroshima and Nagasaki by the atomic bomb had brought a swift end to all hostilities. She took a deep breath. This was the first day of peace in the world for nearly six years.

As the day wore on, Ga insisted on listening to every news bulletin on the radio. In the evening Connie took the bus into Worthing to be with her friends. She’d asked Sally to come but she was met with the same response. Connie shrugged inwardly. There was clearly something wrong but Sally wouldn’t talk about it. Ah, well, if the girl wanted to be on her own she could but after all the misery of the past few years, Connie wanted to let her hair down. She met up with Jane Jackson near the pier. The country had been given two days’ holiday and there were to be fireworks later on but there were fewer flags than on VE Day and only the usual holiday crowd along the seafront. She was missing Kenneth again. What sort of war had he had? Had he survived? No, she wouldn’t even think about that. Of course he was alive … somewhere. Connie struggled to be glad. A grey veil of disappointment seemed to hang over everyone until a hastily formed band of amateur musicians gathered and the young people took over. The two girls gave a wonderful display of the jitterbug and before long, everyone was joining in. For Connie, it wasn’t the same as being in the crowds in London on VE Day but she and Jane had made a valiant attempt to get the party going.

Despite their high hopes, the end of the war hadn’t brought change. There were still petrol shortages, little in the way of coal and supplies and rationing had actually been increased. Aunt Aggie came to see Ga on the Thursday for their weekly game of whist but elsewhere there was little in the way of celebration at the nurseries.

‘You should have seen the queue outside Potter and Bailey’s today,’ she told them at supper. ‘Someone said there was a shipment of bacon but by the time I got there, there wasn’t a rasher to be had.’

‘I noticed that the butcher in the village has a sign in the window,’ Aunt Aggie said. ‘I can’t remember the exact words but it was something like, “Wanted: magician for next week’s stock”.’ And they all laughed.

‘So much for the Labour government,’ Ga muttered darkly.

When Clifford and her mother got back from their week’s holiday, Gwen looked rested and actually sported a bit of a suntan.

‘It was simply heavenly being able to walk along the seafront without all that barbed wire and concrete,’ she said. ‘The shops were a bit bare but we had fireworks when the Jap surrender was announced.’

They’d managed to pick up a couple of sticks of rock for Mandy, a perpetual calendar covered in shells and a present from Eastbourne on it for Ga, and a pretty headscarf for Connie.

Clifford had bought a roll of toilet paper. When he put it on the table Ga wrinkled her nose. Connie burst out laughing. It was called Nasti Toilet Roll and had a cartoon picture of Adolf Hitler on the wrapper.

‘Guaranteed non-irritant,’ grinned Clifford. ‘Good, eh?’

Gwen had even thought of Sally Burndell and Sally seemed quite touched by the box of three handkerchiefs from Woolworths.

‘They’re very pretty,’ said Sally, ‘but you shouldn’t have.’

‘You look as if you need a bit of cheering up,’ smiled Gwen. ‘That boyfriend of yours will soon be home.’

August was drifting towards September. Double summer time finished its first stage in July when the clocks went back one hour. Clifford had eased himself back into position but there was a tension between him and Ga. Even so, the nurseries were being run efficiently and smoothly. The next time Connie went into the lane, Kez and her family had gone. There were no goodbyes. When she saw the pitch was empty, Connie wondered about the pram she had given Simeon. Nothing had been said about it and she was a bit annoyed that he’d apparently taken it with them. She’d trusted him and it would have been nice to give it to her little sister for Christmas.

Mandy and Pip had played outside with her friends during the long school holiday. Connie would miss the lazy afternoons when she took her little sister down to the beach for a swim. The rough ground at the bottom of Sea Lane was ideal for hide and seek and if it got too hot, they could sit among the bushes for a picnic. There were times when her heart ached for what might have been but she knew she was doing the right thing. She had to put her family first.

‘When is it you start at the hospital?’ Gwen and Connie were changing the beds together. It was the beginning of September and Mandy was back at school.

Connie couldn’t look at her mother. ‘I’m not going.’

Gwen was putting the bolster case on. It was always a struggle because the thing was the length of two pillows and very unwieldy. ‘What do you mean, you’re not going?’

‘I thought I’d leave it a year, Mum,’ said Connie trying her best to sound casual. ‘By next year, everything will be back to normal.’

‘Everything is back to normal now,’ Gwen frowned. She stopped what she was doing and looked at her daughter. ‘This sounds like Ga talking.’

Connie picked up the dirty sheets and made for the door.

‘Connie?’ said Gwen. ‘You were so excited when you told us. What’s this all about?’

‘You looked a bit off-colour when I came home,’ said Connie without looking round. ‘It seemed best to wait a while, that’s all.’ Her hand went out to the door latch.

‘Connie, look at me,’ said her mother. ‘Look at me.’

Connie turned slowly, knowing that there was no hiding the tears already glistening in her eyes. ‘Oh Mum …’ Connie said quietly. ‘I really didn’t want to come back to the smallholding. I had already enrolled at the hospital.’

‘I know you had,’ said her mother.

‘But Ga thought …’

‘That bloody woman!’ snapped her mother. ‘Why does she have to stick her oar in every time?’

Connie’s jaw dropped. She’d never heard her mother speak like this before. Gwen smiled encouragingly. ‘Connie, it’s your life and we, Clifford and I, both want you to have the best you possibly can. The world is a much bigger place now. We all need to put the past behind us and start again. Don’t let your opportunities pass you by.’

Connie’s chest constricted. Her mother was an amazing person and she longed to tell her how much her approval meant to her. ‘I wish you had a better life, Mum.’

Gwen carried on struggling with the bolster case. ‘My life is fine,’ she smiled. ‘Now that Clifford has come home, we are making plans of our own.’

‘Plans? What plans?’

‘I can’t talk about it yet but Clifford has some wonderful ideas for the smallholding,’ said her mother. ‘One thing is absolutely certain, you mustn’t waste your life hanging around for us.’

Impulsively, Connie hugged her. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ As they parted, Gwen’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. Put the past behind us … the words echoed in Connie’s head. Ga never let her forget the past … but could she do it? Could she forget the shame and guilt that awful man had brought on her family and actually make something of her life? Could she make it up to her mother for her brother going away? Was there still time? ‘I may not be able to do it now anyway,’ Connie said uncertainly. ‘I haven’t replied to any of their letters.’

Gwen looked at her, horrified. ‘When were you supposed to start?’

‘On 10


September,’ said Connie.

‘Then you’d better leave that and get on the bus straight away,’ she cried. ‘Go down there in person. Blame the war, blame me. Say I’ve been really ill and now I’m better … say anything you like, but whatever you do, make sure you get that place again.’

Connie hesitated.

‘Go on girl!’ her mother cried. And Connie fled.

*

The bridegroom stood up and turned to see the small procession make its way down the aisle. The church was small and even in these difficult times, little used. It smelled dank and musty as he’d walked into the door. He would have preferred a registry office himself. All this preamble – the reading of the banns and talks with the Vicar made him nervous but she’d had her heart set on a proper wedding so he’d given in. The usher, some old fossil who looked as old as Methuselah, showed him to the front pew. His best man, a chap he’d met in the pub a week before, rose unsteadily to his feet as he arrived and gave him a watery smile. His teeth were tobacco stained but he had scrubbed up well enough. They sat down together and waited. After a while he said, ‘Got the ring?’ and the best man nodded. There was a rustling sound by the door of the church and the Vicar came down the aisle. ‘Please stand.’

The organist struck up the tune, ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and his heartbeat quickened. No getting out of this now. He had made a decision which had surprised even himself. He had never really had a close relationship before. Only the one with his mother. Would he be able to cope with marriage? He swayed a little at the thought and wiped his open palms down the side of his suit as he slowly turned to look. The congregation, such as it was, was already standing; only one relative on his side and a spattering of people on hers. Every head was turned in anticipation of the coming bride but his eye was immediately drawn to her. She was wearing a white satin dress with a pretty pink bow at her waist. Someone had put her hair into golden ringlets and she had a halo of roses, the last roses of the summer, on her head. He took in his breath. She was nothing short of an angel sent from heaven. She carried a posy and she watched his face as she walked purposefully towards him. She returned his smile with a gappy grin and then closed her mouth as she remembered her missing milk teeth. He laughed softly andlooked up at his bride, her mother, coming on behind her. Yes, he had done the right thing. Everything was perfect, just perfect.




Seven


It was weird. Pip had been following Connie around all day with his tail between his legs. It was as if he knew she was going.

‘I’ll be around until the 9th but after that I shall move into the nurses’ home,’ Connie told everyone at the tea table.

She had managed to see someone in management and after an hour of being moved from one person to another, had persuaded them that she was ready to start her training.

‘Why can’t you live here?’ Ga sat tight-lipped and frowning at her great niece. ‘You could catch the bus from the end of the road.’

Connie knew that was just a ruse to make her feel that they couldn’t cope without her. Before long Ga would be dumping ‘would-you-just jobs’ into her lap. Oh, Connie while you’re doing that, would-you-just pick out a few of those seedlings, or before you catch the bus, would-you-just take that into the shop for me.

‘I have to be on the ward at seven and you know me first thing in the morning, Ga,’ she said brightly. ‘It’ll be better if I’m in the nurses’ home.’

But Ga wasn’t about to give up that easily. ‘What about all the books you’re supposed to have? You needn’t expect …’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Connie, knowing perfectly well what was coming. ‘I’ve already saved enough to buy everything.’

‘Perhaps it’s just as well things didn’t work out for you and Emmett then,’ Ga remarked acidly. ‘You wouldn’t even be allowed to train if you were married.’

The mention of Emmett made Connie’s heart lurch, but then Ga had meant to upset her, hadn’t she? Why did she keep saying stuff like that? For the sake of her mother, Connie bit her tongue.

‘Why can’t you just be happy for the girl?’ Clifford snapped, ‘and for once, say something encouraging.’

‘Well!’ Ga glared.

‘It’s all right, Clifford,’ Gwen soothed.

Clifford helped himself to some more potatoes. ‘No, it’s not, Gwennie,’ he said.

‘I’m only trying to make her see that it won’t be easy,’ Ga protested.

‘I know it won’t be easy, Ga.’

The atmosphere at the table soured. Her great aunt was probably right, or she would have been right if it was still 1939. The unwritten rule for nurses had always been that women who married would give up the profession but the war had left hospitals alongside many other institutions with severe shortages of manpower. Connie felt sure that by the time she’d gained her nursing badge, the ‘no married women’ edict would be a thing of the past anyway. Not only that, but the new government was pressing ahead with a country-wide health service which would be free to all, regardless of income or status, at the point of need. Things were changing. They were indeed entering a brave new world.

Now that she was really going, Connie was thrown into a hive of activity. She’d found the list of things she was supposed to bring with her to the hospital and set off into town. Ga said nothing when Connie came back with her purchases but she shot her one of her dark looks. As a child, they had terrified her and even now they made Connie feel a little uncomfortable, but she was determined not to let the old lady spoil her excitement.

‘So you’re going to run out on your mother after all,’ said Ga when the two of them were alone in the kitchen. Connie was making a pot of tea and when Ga walked in she’d asked her if she wanted one.

‘I’m not running out on anyone,’ said Connie calmly. ‘Mum’s given me her blessing.’ Her great aunt tightened her mouth disapprovingly. ‘It’s time to think about me,’ Connie pre-empted. She hated herself for feeling the need to justify her own actions. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, but she knew what Ga was like.

‘Me, me, me,’ Ga taunted. ‘Never mind about anyone else.’

Her cheeks flaming with anger, Connie shoved the cup in front of her, slopping some of the tea into the saucer. As she poured her own cup she could hear Ga rubbing her knee and letting out little sighs of pain and discomfort. It took everything Connie had not to stalk out of the room or to round on Ga with some cutting comment but she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a fight. She wasn’t going to allow Ga to spoil her last few days at home so there would be no more rows. Ga could harrumph and disapprove as much as she liked but Connie was going to be a nurse no matter what she damn well said.

Sally Burndell blinked at the piece of paper in her hand. She turned over the envelope and looked at the postmark. Worthing 6.30 p.m. Posted last night and locally. She could feel the tears pricking her eyes as she read it again. There was no name at the bottom of course, but whoever sent them seemed to know an awful lot about her. It had been bad enough when she’d got that awful letter from the secretarial college but when she’d applied to the one in Brighton and been refused there as well, she’d been devastated. As the panic rose within her chest, her heartbeat quickened. She lowered herself into a chair. And read it again. ‘I do not wish to cast aspersions …’ What did aspersions mean? Sally wasn’t sure but it didn’t sound good. ‘Do you think it wise to flirt with other men while Terry is away?If I wrote and told him what you were up to, he’d realise you are a tart.’ They were allsigned ‘a well-wisher’. How could someone be a well-wisher and yet write such nasty things? What if this person wrote to Terry? Going to the dances had only been a bit of fun. She never even let another boy kiss her and she always went straight home after they’d finished, either with Connie or Jane. If only she knew who had written such hateful things she would have it out with them. The letter trembled in her hand and as she gave way to her sobs, she was so glad her mother was out shopping. She couldn’t bear it. How could anyone be so cruel? It was all lies. Wicked, wicked lies!

Connie missed Kez. Jane was a good friend but there was something about Kez … She walked up to the lane with Pip most days in the vain hope that they might be back, but she was always disappointed. And what about that pram? Then it crossed her mind that Simeon might have told the Frenchie about it so on her way back from the shops, she headed towards his workshop. She knocked on the door even though it was already open. ‘Hello …’

‘Nearly done,’ said a voice deep inside. He stood up from behind an upturned bicycle frame, and spun the wheel. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I thought you were the owner come back for the bike. Connie, isn’t it? What can I do for you?’

Already her heartbeat was gathering speed. His sleeves were neatly rolled up to his biceps and his shirt was open to the waist. She could see at once that he had an athletic build. He was as attractive as ever, despite his dirty clothes and oil-smudged face. ‘I – I wondered if you knew when Kez and Simeon would be coming back?’ she flustered.

He shook his head and taking a piece of rag from his pocket began to wipe his hands. ‘I don’t think they know themselves.’

Connie nodded and turned to go. ‘It’s just that I’m moving away for a bit.’

‘If I see her, shall I tell her where you’ve gone?’

Connie quickly explained about her nursing. The Frenchie seemed impressed. ‘Good for you. If I see them, I’ll tell them,’ he promised and their eyes locked.

‘There seems to be no end to your talent,’ she laughed nervously, waving her hand towards the mobile shop taking shape at last. ‘Now here you are mending bicycles.’

‘This is my proper job,’ he smiled. ‘I was only helping Simeon out. It was a good idea, wasn’t it?’

‘Your idea, so he said,’ Connie grinned.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten. Brilliant, wasn’t it?’ and they both laughed.

Connie was suddenly distracted by her old doll’s pram hanging on a hook by its handle on the wall behind him. It had been painted a lovely shade of maroon and the hood seemed new.

‘Oh yes,’ said the Frenchie following her eye. ‘Simeon said you wanted that for your little sister. Simeon painted it and put on a new hood. I’ve repaired the wonky wheel and he asked me to paint something nice on the sides. I’m afraid I haven’t got around to it yet. Sorry.’

‘No, no,’ she smiled. ‘That’s fine. I wanted it for Christmas, so there’s plenty of time. How much do I owe you?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll send the bill around to the nurseries if that’s all right?’

She nodded.

‘I suppose I’d better cover it up,’ he said. ‘In case your sister comes to the workshop.’

‘That might be an idea,’ she said. She was getting flustered again.

‘Will you call for it?’

‘I don’t want to put you to too much trouble,’ she said breathily. Their eyes met and the spell it cast was only broken when they both heard a footfall beside the door.

‘Ready yet?’ said a man’s voice.

‘Almost,’ said the Frenchie, returning to his bicycle repair. Connie turned to go and as she reached the door he called after her, ‘All the best, Connie.’

The hospital had a very distinctive smell, a cross somewhere between strong disinfectant and boiled cabbage.

Her first task when she’d arrived at the nurses’ home was to go to the central stores and be kitted out with her uniform. She was given three dresses, all pale blue, with detachable buttons which were fastened through a button hole with a split pin. She had two belts the same colour as the dresses; three white aprons, stiffly starched, two plain white caps and two pink laundry boxes each with a leather strap. The sister giving out the uniforms, a gaunt looking woman with thin grey hair, explained that laundry day was Tuesday.





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