until this war is won.’
Sally nodded, calmer now. ‘I’m sorry for making such a fuss,’ she said, balling the handkerchief in her hands. ‘But Ernie’s all I got till Dad comes ’ome, and I promised I’d look after ’im.’ She looked at the two kind faces and felt the tears rise again. ‘I’m frightened,’ she whispered.
‘We all are,’ soothed Anne, ‘but there’s nothing like a nice cuppa to perk us all up. I don’t know about you, Sally, but I’m parched.’
Chapter Five
Ernie had helped Ron and the boys feed the animals, groom the dog and fetch fresh vegetables from the garden. He was still overexcited about the adventure of the day, and talked non-stop through tea until he abruptly fell asleep with his head resting on the table.
Sally had carried him upstairs, woken him enough to use the lavatory, and put him to bed, the towel firmly tucked beneath him. She returned downstairs to help clear the dishes and put the kitchen straight, but the trauma of the day had taken its toll and she’d gone to bed soon after, clutching Peggy’s spare alarm clock.
Sleep came swiftly, but it wasn’t restful. The possibility that Ernie might wet the bed again was always with her, and the knowledge she dared not oversleep because of work in the morning kept waking her. Yet even her dreams made her restless, for they were of enemy planes, of small boys lost in the wilds of the hills and of bullets whining and thudding all around her – but, most disturbing of all, were the dreams of strong arms holding her, and of a pair of laughing blue eyes that seemed to know her every thought.
When the alarm clock startled her awake, she lay for a moment, groggy from lack of a proper sleep and loath to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed. She’d been up with Ernie twice in the night to ensure his bed remained dry but, as she clambered reluctantly out of bed and checked on him, she felt the dampness and sighed with weary despair. She simply didn’t have the time or energy for this, but she supposed she should be thankful it was only the towel and his pyjama trousers she would have to wash this time.
Swiftly pulling on her clothes and brushing her hair, she carried him, protesting, down to the bathroom where she gave him a quick wash. While he dressed, she rinsed out the towel and the pyjama trousers. The radiator was hot, but she wouldn’t have dared to use it anyway. Peggy Reilly would take one look and know what had happened, and she couldn’t afford to upset her.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said, as she fixed his boot and calliper. ‘Can I go down and ’ave me breakfast?’
‘Are you sure you can manage?’
‘Course I can,’ he said indignantly. ‘I got me bum, ain’t I?’ He slid from the chair and made his way out of the bathroom and on to the landing, where he grabbed hold of the banister to help maintain his balance as he hobbled towards the stairs. With a wide grin, he sat and bumped and slid his way down.
Sally grinned back at him and, on hearing a door open nearby, hurried back to their room. With the towel and pyjama trousers draped over the top window, she closed it just enough to anchor them firmly, and pulled the curtains together to hide what she’d done. She just had to hope no-one from the house looked up from the pavement.
Deciding she should try and make a good impression on her first day, she changed into the pencil-slim skirt and white blouse she’d finished sewing two nights before she’d left London. The blouse had been made from an old tablecloth she’d found in Petticoat Lane. The body of the blouse was linen, hand-sewn with pin-tucks that emphasised her slender figure. From the sweetheart neckline, the rest of the blouse was lace, with tiny pearly buttons at wrist and throat, and a Peter Pan collar. The skirt was plain navy blue, cut from a dress her mother had discarded as too dowdy.
With a dark blue cardigan to keep her warm and protect the blouse, she parted her hair down
Sally nodded, calmer now. ‘I’m sorry for making such a fuss,’ she said, balling the handkerchief in her hands. ‘But Ernie’s all I got till Dad comes ’ome, and I promised I’d look after ’im.’ She looked at the two kind faces and felt the tears rise again. ‘I’m frightened,’ she whispered.
‘We all are,’ soothed Anne, ‘but there’s nothing like a nice cuppa to perk us all up. I don’t know about you, Sally, but I’m parched.’
Chapter Five
Ernie had helped Ron and the boys feed the animals, groom the dog and fetch fresh vegetables from the garden. He was still overexcited about the adventure of the day, and talked non-stop through tea until he abruptly fell asleep with his head resting on the table.
Sally had carried him upstairs, woken him enough to use the lavatory, and put him to bed, the towel firmly tucked beneath him. She returned downstairs to help clear the dishes and put the kitchen straight, but the trauma of the day had taken its toll and she’d gone to bed soon after, clutching Peggy’s spare alarm clock.
Sleep came swiftly, but it wasn’t restful. The possibility that Ernie might wet the bed again was always with her, and the knowledge she dared not oversleep because of work in the morning kept waking her. Yet even her dreams made her restless, for they were of enemy planes, of small boys lost in the wilds of the hills and of bullets whining and thudding all around her – but, most disturbing of all, were the dreams of strong arms holding her, and of a pair of laughing blue eyes that seemed to know her every thought.
When the alarm clock startled her awake, she lay for a moment, groggy from lack of a proper sleep and loath to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed. She’d been up with Ernie twice in the night to ensure his bed remained dry but, as she clambered reluctantly out of bed and checked on him, she felt the dampness and sighed with weary despair. She simply didn’t have the time or energy for this, but she supposed she should be thankful it was only the towel and his pyjama trousers she would have to wash this time.
Swiftly pulling on her clothes and brushing her hair, she carried him, protesting, down to the bathroom where she gave him a quick wash. While he dressed, she rinsed out the towel and the pyjama trousers. The radiator was hot, but she wouldn’t have dared to use it anyway. Peggy Reilly would take one look and know what had happened, and she couldn’t afford to upset her.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said, as she fixed his boot and calliper. ‘Can I go down and ’ave me breakfast?’
‘Are you sure you can manage?’
‘Course I can,’ he said indignantly. ‘I got me bum, ain’t I?’ He slid from the chair and made his way out of the bathroom and on to the landing, where he grabbed hold of the banister to help maintain his balance as he hobbled towards the stairs. With a wide grin, he sat and bumped and slid his way down.
Sally grinned back at him and, on hearing a door open nearby, hurried back to their room. With the towel and pyjama trousers draped over the top window, she closed it just enough to anchor them firmly, and pulled the curtains together to hide what she’d done. She just had to hope no-one from the house looked up from the pavement.
Deciding she should try and make a good impression on her first day, she changed into the pencil-slim skirt and white blouse she’d finished sewing two nights before she’d left London. The blouse had been made from an old tablecloth she’d found in Petticoat Lane. The body of the blouse was linen, hand-sewn with pin-tucks that emphasised her slender figure. From the sweetheart neckline, the rest of the blouse was lace, with tiny pearly buttons at wrist and throat, and a Peter Pan collar. The skirt was plain navy blue, cut from a dress her mother had discarded as too dowdy.
With a dark blue cardigan to keep her warm and protect the blouse, she parted her hair down
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