for sure,’ old Mr Crawford had said.
Seeing Lizzie was like seeing a mirror image of herself, but younger, her slim body enveloped in an ill-fitting uniform. Mary Anne’s heart skipped a beat. Her little girl had become a young woman and liable to make the same mistakes she had. She remembered Peter Selwyn Kendall, son of Lizzie’s former employer, and prayed it would not be so.
‘Lizzie!’
Lizzie turned round. ‘Mum!’
They threw their arms around each other. Their affection was and always had been totally spontaneous. They had the same elegance, the same hair colouring – although Mary Anne’s was a little faded with the years.
For a moment they stood silently looking at the bombed-out ruins.
Lizzie spoke first. ‘It seems an age since we lived here.’
‘I take it you went to the pawn shop first?’ Mary Anne said wryly. She’d written to Lizzie telling her what had happened.
Lizzie nodded. ‘The bus stopped there. It made me cry to see it. An incendiary, I suppose.’
‘Apparently not, according to the fireman. He reckoned there were none dropped that night and put the blame on looters.’
Lizzie frowned. ‘You mean they start fires deliberately?’
‘I suppose so.’
She didn’t mention what the policeman had said about Lizzie’s brother, Harry. They both knew he had shady friends and moved in dangerous circles, but blaming those with no connection to their family lay easier on her conscience.
Lizzie looked into her mother’s face. ‘Have you told Michael?’
‘Yes. He was very upset and is due leave, but says he’s too busy to come right now. He’s left me to do what I think best.’
‘I see.’ And Lizzie
did
see. She could see the barely concealed disappointment lurking in her mother’s eyes. She had fallen passionately in love with Michael, enough to make her leave her husband for good. There was about a fifteen-year age gap between them, and Lizzie had always thought they’d surmounted that particular obstacle with ease. But had they? Was her mother worrying that Michael might never come back? That he’d found somebody else, perhaps someone younger? She decided it would be unwise to broach the subject. Let it be for now. Let everyone be happy. Smiling, she hugged her mother’s arm close to her side. ‘Well, go on, Mother. Tell me all the gossip.’ Together they began to walk back to the shop.
‘There’s not much to tell – at least, not from around here.’
Lizzie detected the sudden nervous dip in her mother’s voice. ‘Has our Daw been on at you?’
Mary Anne shook her head. Her eyes met those of her favourite daughter. It was wrong to have favourites. She’d told herself that a hundred times. But it couldn’t be helped. She and Lizzie were chalk and chalk. She and Daw were definitely chalk and cheese.
Lizzie’s smile stayed in place, but lessened. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘Well, she wants me out before John comes home on leave at Christmas. Only natural of course … And then there’s our Stanley. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.’
‘Oh, Mum! You’re not thinking of going back to Dad, are you?’
Mary Anne looked down at the ground.
Lizzie was flabbergasted. ‘You’re not!’
It was never easy to share inner thoughts and secrets, and very difficult when there were so few people to share them with. One thing they all knew and accepted was that her family came first.
She slipped back into the old habit of making excuses. ‘I suppose I’m feeling a little down. Nothing seems to be going right just lately. I was brought up in a time when a wife was expected to stay with her husband no matter what.’
‘Times have moved on,’ said Lizzie, stressing each word like a school teacher determined to steer her pupil through the test. ‘We’re living in troubled times. People are grabbing happiness where they can, despite the consequences. You Shouldn’t be feeling guilty. Not now.’
Mary Anne studied her daughter,
Seeing Lizzie was like seeing a mirror image of herself, but younger, her slim body enveloped in an ill-fitting uniform. Mary Anne’s heart skipped a beat. Her little girl had become a young woman and liable to make the same mistakes she had. She remembered Peter Selwyn Kendall, son of Lizzie’s former employer, and prayed it would not be so.
‘Lizzie!’
Lizzie turned round. ‘Mum!’
They threw their arms around each other. Their affection was and always had been totally spontaneous. They had the same elegance, the same hair colouring – although Mary Anne’s was a little faded with the years.
For a moment they stood silently looking at the bombed-out ruins.
Lizzie spoke first. ‘It seems an age since we lived here.’
‘I take it you went to the pawn shop first?’ Mary Anne said wryly. She’d written to Lizzie telling her what had happened.
Lizzie nodded. ‘The bus stopped there. It made me cry to see it. An incendiary, I suppose.’
‘Apparently not, according to the fireman. He reckoned there were none dropped that night and put the blame on looters.’
Lizzie frowned. ‘You mean they start fires deliberately?’
‘I suppose so.’
She didn’t mention what the policeman had said about Lizzie’s brother, Harry. They both knew he had shady friends and moved in dangerous circles, but blaming those with no connection to their family lay easier on her conscience.
Lizzie looked into her mother’s face. ‘Have you told Michael?’
‘Yes. He was very upset and is due leave, but says he’s too busy to come right now. He’s left me to do what I think best.’
‘I see.’ And Lizzie
did
see. She could see the barely concealed disappointment lurking in her mother’s eyes. She had fallen passionately in love with Michael, enough to make her leave her husband for good. There was about a fifteen-year age gap between them, and Lizzie had always thought they’d surmounted that particular obstacle with ease. But had they? Was her mother worrying that Michael might never come back? That he’d found somebody else, perhaps someone younger? She decided it would be unwise to broach the subject. Let it be for now. Let everyone be happy. Smiling, she hugged her mother’s arm close to her side. ‘Well, go on, Mother. Tell me all the gossip.’ Together they began to walk back to the shop.
‘There’s not much to tell – at least, not from around here.’
Lizzie detected the sudden nervous dip in her mother’s voice. ‘Has our Daw been on at you?’
Mary Anne shook her head. Her eyes met those of her favourite daughter. It was wrong to have favourites. She’d told herself that a hundred times. But it couldn’t be helped. She and Lizzie were chalk and chalk. She and Daw were definitely chalk and cheese.
Lizzie’s smile stayed in place, but lessened. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘Well, she wants me out before John comes home on leave at Christmas. Only natural of course … And then there’s our Stanley. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.’
‘Oh, Mum! You’re not thinking of going back to Dad, are you?’
Mary Anne looked down at the ground.
Lizzie was flabbergasted. ‘You’re not!’
It was never easy to share inner thoughts and secrets, and very difficult when there were so few people to share them with. One thing they all knew and accepted was that her family came first.
She slipped back into the old habit of making excuses. ‘I suppose I’m feeling a little down. Nothing seems to be going right just lately. I was brought up in a time when a wife was expected to stay with her husband no matter what.’
‘Times have moved on,’ said Lizzie, stressing each word like a school teacher determined to steer her pupil through the test. ‘We’re living in troubled times. People are grabbing happiness where they can, despite the consequences. You Shouldn’t be feeling guilty. Not now.’
Mary Anne studied her daughter,
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