there.’) Maurice, who was learning to shoot in the junior ATC at school, had spent all of last summer’s long holiday taking potshots at them from his bedroom window with Hugh’s neglected old Westley Richards wildfowler. Pamela was so furious with him that she put some of his own itching powder (he was forever in joke shops) in his bed. Ursula immediately got the blame and Pamela had to own up, even though Ursula had been quite ready to take it on the chin. That was the kind of person Pamela was – always very stuck on being fair.
They heard voices in the garden next door – they had new neighbours they were yet to meet, the Shawcrosses – and Pamela said, ‘Come on, let’s go and see if we can catch a look. I wonder what they’re called.’
Winnie, Gertie, Millie, Nancy and baby Bea, Ursula thought but said nothing. She was getting as good at keeping secrets as Sylvie.
Bridget gripped her hatpin between her teeth and lifted her arms to adjust her hat. She had sewn a new bunch of paper violets on to it, especially for the victory. She was standing at the top of the stairs, singing K-K-Katy to herself. She was thinking of Clarence. When they were married (‘in the spring,’ he said, although it had been ‘before Christmas’ not so long ago) she would be leaving Fox Corner. She would have her own little household, her own babies.
Staircases were very dangerous places, according to Sylvie. People died on them. Sylvie always told them not to play at the top of the stairs.
Ursula crept along the carpet runner. Took a quiet breath and then, both hands out in front of her, as if trying to stop a train, she threw herself at the small of Bridget’s back. Bridget whipped her head round, mouth and eyes wide in horror at the sight of Ursula. Bridget went flying, toppling down the stairs in a great flurry of arms and legs. Ursula only just managed to stop herself from following in her wake.
Practice makes perfect.
‘The arm’s broken, I’m afraid,’ Dr Fellowes said. ‘You took quite a tumble down those stairs.’
‘She’s always been a clumsy girl,’ Mrs Glover said.
‘ Someone pushed me,’ Bridget said. A great bruise bloomed on her forehead, she was holding her hat, the violets crushed.
‘Someone?’ Sylvie echoed. ‘Who? Who would push you downstairs, Bridget?’ She looked around the faces in the kitchen. ‘Teddy?’ Teddy put his hand over his mouth as if he was trying to stop words escaping. Sylvie turned to Pamela. ‘Pamela?’
‘Me?’ Pamela said, piously holding both of her outraged hands over her heart like a martyr. Sylvie looked at Bridget, who made a little inclination of her head towards Ursula.
‘Ursula?’ Sylvie frowned. Ursula stared blankly ahead, a conscientious objector about to be shot. ‘Ursula,’ Sylvie said severely, ‘do you know something about this?’
Ursula had done a wicked thing, she had pushed Bridget down the stairs. Bridget might have died and she would have been a murderer now. All she knew was that she had to do it. The great sense of dread had come over her and she had to do it.
She ran out of the room and hid in one of Teddy’s secret hiding places, the cupboard beneath the stairs. After a while the door opened and Teddy crept in and sat on the floor next to her. ‘I don’t think you pushed Bridget,’ he said and slipped his small, warm hand into hers.
‘Thank you. I did though.’
‘Well, I still love you.’
She might never have come out of that cupboard but the front-door bell clanged and there was a sudden great commotion in the hallway. Teddy opened the door to see what was happening. He ducked back in and reported, ‘Mummy’s kissing a man. She’s crying. He’s crying as well.’ Ursula put her head out of the cupboard to witness this phenomenon. She turned in astonishment to Teddy. ‘I think it might be Daddy,’ she said.
Peace
February 1947
URSULA TRAVERSED THE street cautiously. The road surface was treacherous – crimped
They heard voices in the garden next door – they had new neighbours they were yet to meet, the Shawcrosses – and Pamela said, ‘Come on, let’s go and see if we can catch a look. I wonder what they’re called.’
Winnie, Gertie, Millie, Nancy and baby Bea, Ursula thought but said nothing. She was getting as good at keeping secrets as Sylvie.
Bridget gripped her hatpin between her teeth and lifted her arms to adjust her hat. She had sewn a new bunch of paper violets on to it, especially for the victory. She was standing at the top of the stairs, singing K-K-Katy to herself. She was thinking of Clarence. When they were married (‘in the spring,’ he said, although it had been ‘before Christmas’ not so long ago) she would be leaving Fox Corner. She would have her own little household, her own babies.
Staircases were very dangerous places, according to Sylvie. People died on them. Sylvie always told them not to play at the top of the stairs.
Ursula crept along the carpet runner. Took a quiet breath and then, both hands out in front of her, as if trying to stop a train, she threw herself at the small of Bridget’s back. Bridget whipped her head round, mouth and eyes wide in horror at the sight of Ursula. Bridget went flying, toppling down the stairs in a great flurry of arms and legs. Ursula only just managed to stop herself from following in her wake.
Practice makes perfect.
‘The arm’s broken, I’m afraid,’ Dr Fellowes said. ‘You took quite a tumble down those stairs.’
‘She’s always been a clumsy girl,’ Mrs Glover said.
‘ Someone pushed me,’ Bridget said. A great bruise bloomed on her forehead, she was holding her hat, the violets crushed.
‘Someone?’ Sylvie echoed. ‘Who? Who would push you downstairs, Bridget?’ She looked around the faces in the kitchen. ‘Teddy?’ Teddy put his hand over his mouth as if he was trying to stop words escaping. Sylvie turned to Pamela. ‘Pamela?’
‘Me?’ Pamela said, piously holding both of her outraged hands over her heart like a martyr. Sylvie looked at Bridget, who made a little inclination of her head towards Ursula.
‘Ursula?’ Sylvie frowned. Ursula stared blankly ahead, a conscientious objector about to be shot. ‘Ursula,’ Sylvie said severely, ‘do you know something about this?’
Ursula had done a wicked thing, she had pushed Bridget down the stairs. Bridget might have died and she would have been a murderer now. All she knew was that she had to do it. The great sense of dread had come over her and she had to do it.
She ran out of the room and hid in one of Teddy’s secret hiding places, the cupboard beneath the stairs. After a while the door opened and Teddy crept in and sat on the floor next to her. ‘I don’t think you pushed Bridget,’ he said and slipped his small, warm hand into hers.
‘Thank you. I did though.’
‘Well, I still love you.’
She might never have come out of that cupboard but the front-door bell clanged and there was a sudden great commotion in the hallway. Teddy opened the door to see what was happening. He ducked back in and reported, ‘Mummy’s kissing a man. She’s crying. He’s crying as well.’ Ursula put her head out of the cupboard to witness this phenomenon. She turned in astonishment to Teddy. ‘I think it might be Daddy,’ she said.
Peace
February 1947
URSULA TRAVERSED THE street cautiously. The road surface was treacherous – crimped
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