Home Front Girls

her. They had been so different from Annabelle’s usual choice of company and yet Miranda had warmed to them immediately. There was Dotty, so plain and shy, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Then there was Lucy, so protective of her family and so guarded when it came to speaking of her personal life. And now it seemed that Annabelle was in love with Lucy’s brother and poor Lucy felt as if she was standing between them. Everything was so complicated . . . Miranda just wished that she could put everything back to the way it had been before the war. Of course she couldn’t do that, so she poured herself another large scotch. It seemed to take the edge off all the sad things – and that couldn’t be a bad thing, surely?

Chapter Thirty-Eight
     
    ‘You’re an early bird, ain’t yer?’ Mrs P said the next morning as Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway with Harry. She was raking out the dead ashes before setting the fire and cooking breakfast, and she stared at Lucy curiously. ‘An’ ain’t that yer best coat yer wearin’?’
    ‘Is it?’ Lucy answered, looking flustered. ‘Oh, it was the first one I grabbed from the cupboard under the stairs. Never mind though. I don’t get to wear it much any more. I dare say an airing will do it good.’
    ‘Hmm.’ Mrs P stared at her more closely through narrowed eyes. The girl was as jumpy as a kitten and looked ready to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. But then that was nothing new lately. She lit the paper beneath the faggots of wood and held a newspaper over the hearth to create a vacuum and let the fire draw. Then she threw some coal onto the flames. Once she was sure that it had caught she rose off her plump knees and asked, ‘Seein’ as yer so early, do you want a cuppa afore yer go?’
    ‘No thanks, I won’t if you don’t mind. We’ve got some training on at work and that’s why I’m early.’ No need to light the fire today – I’ll be back in time to do it myself.’ The girl fumbled for a hankie.
    It sounded plausible enough so Mrs P nodded as she bent to stroke Harry. ‘In that case then, you’d best be off. This one here’ll be fine wi’ me, won’t yer, matey?’
    Lucy seemed to pause, but then she strode towards the door before turning to say quite unexpectedly, ‘You’ve been really golden to me, Mrs P. Almost like a second mum. And I really appreciate your kindness. I just wanted you to know that.’
    Mrs P blushed and chuckled as she waved her hand at her. ‘Get away wi’ yer. I’ve just been a good neighbour, that’s all. Now get off while me an’ Harry here have our breakfast before me old man comes down.’
    Lucy’s eyes lingered on the dog for a moment then with a little sigh she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. There was something not quite right – Mrs P could feel it in her bones, though she couldn’t for the life of her put her finger on what it was. Her eyes strayed to the photographs of her children and they suddenly brimmed with tears. It was so long since she had seen her younger son Barry and the ‘baby’, Beryl, and sometimes she wondered if the bloody war was ever going to end. But then with her usual resilience she sniffed and swiped the tears away with the sleeve of her dressing-gown. Sitting there feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to solve anything, so she might as well get on with things the same as everyone else was having to do.
     
    It was seven o’clock that night before Mrs P started to get really worried. Fred had been in from work for some time and having had his toad-in-the-hole and junket for afters was now snoring softly in the fireside chair with his feet stretched out to the flames and the Daily Mail in a heap on the rag rug beside him. Lucy should have been back hours ago, but there was still no sign of her.
    Moving into the front parlour, Mrs P tweaked the blackout curtain aside and gazed out for a sign of the girl, but the street was deserted. It was dark and miserable, and rain was lashing against the windows as if trying to find a way in. Shuddering, Mrs P dropped the curtain and scuttled off to the warmth of the back room. Perhaps she’s decided to go straight from work to visit Miranda Smythe, she thought, but then dismissed that idea almost immediately. Had Lucy been planning to do that, she would have told her. The girl was very thoughtful that way.
    ‘Fred, I’m just gonna pop round next door to check that young Lucy ain’t back,’ she said to