here.’
Eric wrote every so often and told us not a lot except that he was all right and Mrs Spenser was a very nice lady, and thanked us for the letters we sent him.
‘Can he come home at Christmas, Mom?’ I asked. ‘We can’t just leave him down there – not then.’
‘Oh, I should think so,’ she said vaguely. I had this feeling when I talked to Mom nowadays that most of her mind was out to graze somewhere else.
‘Couldn’t he stay home? Lots of other kids have -come back. There’s nothing happening, is there?’
‘What?’ Her attention snapped back to me. ‘Oh no – I don’t think so, Genie. Not while there’s any danger of bombs. I mean, they keep telling us to leave the children where they are. And in any case, there’s no one at home to look after him, is there?’
I didn’t dare ask why she couldn’t just give up work. Was it that the country needed her or that she was enjoying herself far too much? After all, as she’d kept reminding us one way or another, we’d been getting in her way for the past fifteen years.
One night after work I got so fed up with doing bits of hand washing, and had a bit of extra energy for once, so I stoked a fire with slack under the copper and had a good go at it, pounding it with the dolly. When it came to mangling it I called Len to come in the kitchen and give me a hand. We just fitted into the room and he turned the handle for me.
‘Things all right at work?’ I asked him. ‘You managing still?’
‘Yes,’ he said in his slow, thick voice. ‘I like it. S’nice.’
‘Good.’ I pulled a snake of wet washing from the wooden rollers of the mangle. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, Len.’
He nodded enthusiastically, looking across at me, his eyes always appealing, somehow innocent. ‘You OK, Genie?’
‘Oh . . .’ I sighed. ‘Yes. I’m OK, Len. Ta.’
There were shirts and underclothes, the lot, draped all round the room by the time Mom got in. We heard the front door and felt its opening jar all the other doors in the house.
‘Come on through,’ I heard her say.
Len and I looked at each other. Her voice was so smooth, soapy bubbles of charm floating from it.
I saw the shock in her face as she came into the back, catching sight of her drawers hung out to dry by the fire. But she recovered herself quickly. Over her shoulder I could see his face – dark brown hair, swarthy, handsome and young – quite a bit younger than her actually. The shoulder of a copper’s uniform. He was looking nervous.
‘This is Bob,’ Mom started babbling. ‘He’s just popping in for a bit. He’s been very kind and escorted me home from the bus a few times and his shift’s finished so I thought a cup of tea was the least we could do.’ She gave a tinkly laugh. ‘This is my brother, Len. Shake hands, Len.’
Len said, ‘’Ullo,’ and did as he was told, dwarfing Bob’s hand in his. Bob coughed and nodded at him. Now he’d got himself into the room I could see he wasn’t much taller than Mom, with a stocky, muscular body.
‘Len’s not quite – you know . . .’ Mom was saying. She slid over that one. ‘And this is my daughter, Eugenie. I had her when I was very young of course. Much too young,’ she threw in quickly.
‘Eighteen,’ I added, pretending to be helpful. ‘And I’m fifteen.’ Mom glowered at me. PC Bob nodded again, even more nervously.
‘Genie,’ Mom said between her teeth. She gave a little jerk of her head. ‘The washing – couldn’t you just . . . Until we’ve finished . . .?’
‘I’ve just hung it all out,’ I said stubbornly. ‘I’ve spent the whole evening doing it.’ My hostility wasn’t lost on her. ‘You could go in the front.’
‘It’s icy cold in there.’
‘Never mind,’ PC Bob said quickly. He gave a stupid little laugh. ‘I take people as I find them in my job. And I have got a family of my own, after all.’
‘Bob’s got two kiddies,’ Mom said, seeing him to a chair. She turned up
Eric wrote every so often and told us not a lot except that he was all right and Mrs Spenser was a very nice lady, and thanked us for the letters we sent him.
‘Can he come home at Christmas, Mom?’ I asked. ‘We can’t just leave him down there – not then.’
‘Oh, I should think so,’ she said vaguely. I had this feeling when I talked to Mom nowadays that most of her mind was out to graze somewhere else.
‘Couldn’t he stay home? Lots of other kids have -come back. There’s nothing happening, is there?’
‘What?’ Her attention snapped back to me. ‘Oh no – I don’t think so, Genie. Not while there’s any danger of bombs. I mean, they keep telling us to leave the children where they are. And in any case, there’s no one at home to look after him, is there?’
I didn’t dare ask why she couldn’t just give up work. Was it that the country needed her or that she was enjoying herself far too much? After all, as she’d kept reminding us one way or another, we’d been getting in her way for the past fifteen years.
One night after work I got so fed up with doing bits of hand washing, and had a bit of extra energy for once, so I stoked a fire with slack under the copper and had a good go at it, pounding it with the dolly. When it came to mangling it I called Len to come in the kitchen and give me a hand. We just fitted into the room and he turned the handle for me.
‘Things all right at work?’ I asked him. ‘You managing still?’
‘Yes,’ he said in his slow, thick voice. ‘I like it. S’nice.’
‘Good.’ I pulled a snake of wet washing from the wooden rollers of the mangle. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, Len.’
He nodded enthusiastically, looking across at me, his eyes always appealing, somehow innocent. ‘You OK, Genie?’
‘Oh . . .’ I sighed. ‘Yes. I’m OK, Len. Ta.’
There were shirts and underclothes, the lot, draped all round the room by the time Mom got in. We heard the front door and felt its opening jar all the other doors in the house.
‘Come on through,’ I heard her say.
Len and I looked at each other. Her voice was so smooth, soapy bubbles of charm floating from it.
I saw the shock in her face as she came into the back, catching sight of her drawers hung out to dry by the fire. But she recovered herself quickly. Over her shoulder I could see his face – dark brown hair, swarthy, handsome and young – quite a bit younger than her actually. The shoulder of a copper’s uniform. He was looking nervous.
‘This is Bob,’ Mom started babbling. ‘He’s just popping in for a bit. He’s been very kind and escorted me home from the bus a few times and his shift’s finished so I thought a cup of tea was the least we could do.’ She gave a tinkly laugh. ‘This is my brother, Len. Shake hands, Len.’
Len said, ‘’Ullo,’ and did as he was told, dwarfing Bob’s hand in his. Bob coughed and nodded at him. Now he’d got himself into the room I could see he wasn’t much taller than Mom, with a stocky, muscular body.
‘Len’s not quite – you know . . .’ Mom was saying. She slid over that one. ‘And this is my daughter, Eugenie. I had her when I was very young of course. Much too young,’ she threw in quickly.
‘Eighteen,’ I added, pretending to be helpful. ‘And I’m fifteen.’ Mom glowered at me. PC Bob nodded again, even more nervously.
‘Genie,’ Mom said between her teeth. She gave a little jerk of her head. ‘The washing – couldn’t you just . . . Until we’ve finished . . .?’
‘I’ve just hung it all out,’ I said stubbornly. ‘I’ve spent the whole evening doing it.’ My hostility wasn’t lost on her. ‘You could go in the front.’
‘It’s icy cold in there.’
‘Never mind,’ PC Bob said quickly. He gave a stupid little laugh. ‘I take people as I find them in my job. And I have got a family of my own, after all.’
‘Bob’s got two kiddies,’ Mom said, seeing him to a chair. She turned up
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