Home Front Girls

shoulders.’
    ‘Well, it don’t seem to bother her none, Glad,’ Fred pointed out as he took a seat at the table and lifted his knife and fork.
    The woman sniffed. She knew how much Lucy was worrying about Mary, and she was dreading her going away herself; the little scrap had kept her sane since her own children had been evacuated. But the child would be five years old in the New Year and then Lucy would have no choice but to have her evacuated too – if the war wasn’t over, that was, but there didn’t seem much chance of that any day soon. But then, at least Lucy would have more time to herself afterwards and perhaps she would start to have some sort of a social life?
    ‘’Ow do yer think young Lucy will cope when little Mary gets sent away?’ she asked her husband now and he swallowed a mouthful of boiled spud before answering. His Gladys had a heart as big as a bucket, and if she wasn’t fretting over their own children she always seemed to be fretting about someone else’s.
    ‘Thing is, she ain’t like other kids her age, is she?’ she went on.
    ‘Kids are a lot more adaptable than folks give ’em credit for,’ Fred replied, pushing a piece of bread around his plate to mop up the gravy. ‘Mary won’t really understand what’s goin’ on an’ that won’t be a bad thing.’
    ‘I suppose yer right,’ Mrs P conceded, knowing he wanted to put her mind at ease, then she bustled away to get him his pudding. She’d done him his favourite tonight – jam roly-poly steamed in a basin – and custard so thick it clung to the spoon. If that didn’t put a smile on her Fred’s face, nothin’ would!
     
    Next door, Dotty was looking around admiringly at Lucy’s little home. The back door opened directly into a small scullery, and they passed through that into another room that served as a kitchen-cum-sitting room. Lucy was relieved when she saw that Mrs P had popped round to light the fire for her again and had drawn the blackout curtains across the window. She motioned for Dotty to take her coat off while she settled Mary in a chair by the fire. Mrs P had already got her into her pyjamas and the little girl was yawning now.
    ‘Make yourself comfortable while I get Mary some warm milk, then when I’ve tucked her into bed I’ll make us both something to eat.’
    ‘Oh, don’t get worrying about me,’ Dotty said hastily. ‘I don’t want to put you out of your routine.’
    Ten minutes later, Lucy set off upstairs with Mary in her arms and while she was gone, Dotty took the story she was currently writing out of her bag and began to work on it. She was so engrossed that she didn’t see Lucy appear from the stairs door that led up from the room and she started when the other girl asked, ‘So what are you doing then? Writing a letter to someone?’
    ‘Oh no.’ Dotty squirmed uncomfortably. ‘It’s just another story I’m writing. It helps to pass the time when you live alone.’
    Lucy went to fill the kettle at the sink and set it on the stove to boil. ‘I’m absolutely useless at that sort of thing,’ she admitted. ‘Although I think I told you, I do love to read when I can find the time. To be honest, since my older brother Joel went away, the most I’ve managed are bedtime stories to Mary, and I don’t even know if she understands them really. I think it just soothes her to hear my voice. May I have a look at it?’
    ‘Oh no!’ Dotty rammed the sheets of paper haphazardly back into her bag. ‘They’re really not that good.’
    ‘How do you know, if you’ve never let anyone see them?’
    Dotty shook her head adamantly, then hoping to change the subject, she asked, ‘So how long have you lived here?’
    Now it was Lucy’s turn to become flustered. ‘Oh, since shortly after Mary was born.’
    ‘Is that when you lost your parents?’
    Lucy gulped deep in her throat. This was exactly the reason why Joel had always insisted that they keep themselves to themselves. Thankfully the kettle began to boil just then and she was saved from having to answer, although Dotty was eyeing her curiously. The girl was wondering how Lucy’s parents had died. Lucy obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but then it was probably too painful. She promised herself that she would never ask again. Hopefully, if they did become good friends, Lucy would tell her in her own time one day – and if she didn’t? Well, at the end of the day it was really none of her business.

Chapter Seven
     
    On a