elephants for their tusks. And it’s cruel. That’s from an endangered species.”
“No, silly. It’s from an African elephant. I just told you that! I didn’t kill it either!”
“Well, you could go to prison for having it.” Pete wrapped the little elephant away.
“Report me then,” Beth sniped back. “Get me locked up. Keep me here, that would. Mummy could visit.” She rolled her eyes at Pete. “So since you don’t like my elephant, look at my postcards instead.”
Beth shoved a bundle into Pete’s hands and untied the bow around it. “They’re from all over the world. From my Uncle Robert. He’s in intelligence,” she whispered as Pete flicked through the bundle. Most of the pictures on the front were black and white, though one or two – Central Park, New York, the Eiffel Tower – had been hand-touched with flashes of colour.
Fair missing your honest sauncy face xxx … was written on all of them. Nothing else.
“Sho ish shish Uncle Robert a shpy, Mish Moneypenny, like Bond, Jame-sh Bond? And ish shish meshage a code, perhapsh?” Pete closed one eye and squinted at Beth.
“Huh?” Beth was cutting Pete one of those looks he used to get from girls at school whenever he asked them if they liked Elvis Presley. He felt himself blush, bent over the box and picked up an old sepia-coloured photo.
“That’s Mummy and Daddy on their wedding day. She was a flapper.” Beth pointed at the woman who looked about his mum’s age – though a lot more glam, Pete had to admit – smiling out of the photo. In one hand she held the end of a long string of pearls and in the other a long cigarette holder. More ivory , Pete suspected, although he didn’t think it would be wise to challenge Beth about it a second time. The woman’s arm crooked round the sleeve of a tall thin man.
“Why’s your dad got a stick?”
“Left his foot in the Great War,” Beth said. “Got an iron one now.”
“Your dad was in the First World War?” Pete knew the dates this time. “He must be ancient .”
Beth nodded. “Forty-three. Ten years older thanMummy, but he was only nineteen when he was shot.”
“Wow. I mean that’s terrible.” Pete didn’t know what else to say.
“No; means he can’t be called up and sent off to fight.” Beth shrugged and smiled at Pete, as though she could tell he was uncomfortable and didn’t want him to be. “I hardly see him, though. Works in the Western Infirmary in Glasgow. Won’t drive home after the blackout.”
Pete was puzzled now. “But if your mum and dad are still here, why are they sending you away?”
“Because Mummy’s helping wounded people all hours,” Beth shrugged, “and she’s not happy leaving me on my own any more. Too many air strikes.” Beth was tucking the wedding photo back in the shoebox, laying the other items on top, replacing the lid.
Any more , Pete was thinking. His mum had never left him alone in the house.
“She’s right,” Pete said. “She can’t leave you alone. It’s a crime.”
“I’m eleven, not a tumshy!” Beth scrunched up her face in disgust. “I can run into Aunty Mary next door if there’s a problem. Been doing that since I was…” Beth put out her hand to the height of the shoebox and looked at Pete, her eyes filling again. “But Mummy says the war makes things different and Aunty Mary’s got enough to worry her with wee Jamie. Right enough.” Beth scrubbed at her eyes. “He’s aye greeting.”
You’re one to talk , Pete could have said. “D’you mean Jamie Milligan?” he asked instead. “If it is, he’s tall, big-shot Jamie, my dad’s boss. And old. I mean really old. Like seventy-something. Crazy hair.”
Pete tried to straighten the top half of his torso up as best he could in the low tunnel, so he could thrust Beth a Mr Milligan-style handshake. “Don’t get up. I’m Jamie, and who might you be, young lady?” Pete boomed.
Beth was giggling before he finished. “That’s not the mummy’s
“No, silly. It’s from an African elephant. I just told you that! I didn’t kill it either!”
“Well, you could go to prison for having it.” Pete wrapped the little elephant away.
“Report me then,” Beth sniped back. “Get me locked up. Keep me here, that would. Mummy could visit.” She rolled her eyes at Pete. “So since you don’t like my elephant, look at my postcards instead.”
Beth shoved a bundle into Pete’s hands and untied the bow around it. “They’re from all over the world. From my Uncle Robert. He’s in intelligence,” she whispered as Pete flicked through the bundle. Most of the pictures on the front were black and white, though one or two – Central Park, New York, the Eiffel Tower – had been hand-touched with flashes of colour.
Fair missing your honest sauncy face xxx … was written on all of them. Nothing else.
“Sho ish shish Uncle Robert a shpy, Mish Moneypenny, like Bond, Jame-sh Bond? And ish shish meshage a code, perhapsh?” Pete closed one eye and squinted at Beth.
“Huh?” Beth was cutting Pete one of those looks he used to get from girls at school whenever he asked them if they liked Elvis Presley. He felt himself blush, bent over the box and picked up an old sepia-coloured photo.
“That’s Mummy and Daddy on their wedding day. She was a flapper.” Beth pointed at the woman who looked about his mum’s age – though a lot more glam, Pete had to admit – smiling out of the photo. In one hand she held the end of a long string of pearls and in the other a long cigarette holder. More ivory , Pete suspected, although he didn’t think it would be wise to challenge Beth about it a second time. The woman’s arm crooked round the sleeve of a tall thin man.
“Why’s your dad got a stick?”
“Left his foot in the Great War,” Beth said. “Got an iron one now.”
“Your dad was in the First World War?” Pete knew the dates this time. “He must be ancient .”
Beth nodded. “Forty-three. Ten years older thanMummy, but he was only nineteen when he was shot.”
“Wow. I mean that’s terrible.” Pete didn’t know what else to say.
“No; means he can’t be called up and sent off to fight.” Beth shrugged and smiled at Pete, as though she could tell he was uncomfortable and didn’t want him to be. “I hardly see him, though. Works in the Western Infirmary in Glasgow. Won’t drive home after the blackout.”
Pete was puzzled now. “But if your mum and dad are still here, why are they sending you away?”
“Because Mummy’s helping wounded people all hours,” Beth shrugged, “and she’s not happy leaving me on my own any more. Too many air strikes.” Beth was tucking the wedding photo back in the shoebox, laying the other items on top, replacing the lid.
Any more , Pete was thinking. His mum had never left him alone in the house.
“She’s right,” Pete said. “She can’t leave you alone. It’s a crime.”
“I’m eleven, not a tumshy!” Beth scrunched up her face in disgust. “I can run into Aunty Mary next door if there’s a problem. Been doing that since I was…” Beth put out her hand to the height of the shoebox and looked at Pete, her eyes filling again. “But Mummy says the war makes things different and Aunty Mary’s got enough to worry her with wee Jamie. Right enough.” Beth scrubbed at her eyes. “He’s aye greeting.”
You’re one to talk , Pete could have said. “D’you mean Jamie Milligan?” he asked instead. “If it is, he’s tall, big-shot Jamie, my dad’s boss. And old. I mean really old. Like seventy-something. Crazy hair.”
Pete tried to straighten the top half of his torso up as best he could in the low tunnel, so he could thrust Beth a Mr Milligan-style handshake. “Don’t get up. I’m Jamie, and who might you be, young lady?” Pete boomed.
Beth was giggling before he finished. “That’s not the mummy’s
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