direction of her gaze. ‘What about Harry’s flat?’
‘Edgar’s there.’
‘Oh!’
The two women fell to silence. Both knew how it was with Harry, but it wasn’t a subject they felt comfortable discussing – even with each other. Two men living with each other as brothers was one thing, but Harry and Edgar were closer than that, closer than friends.
Mary Anne turned to her daughter as a sudden thought occurred to her. ‘Where are you staying, Lizzie?’
When Lizzie smiled, deep dimples appeared in her cheeks. ‘Above the Lord Nelson in East Street.’
‘That’s opposite the Red Cross shop.’
‘Is it? I suppose it is. I suppose you could come there with me. We’d have to share a bed of course, but it’s better than nothing.’
‘I’m going to have to do something – at least for the short term. Daw wants John and her to have their place to themselves. I can’t say I blame her. We all need a place of our own. And then there’s our Stanley to consider.’
Lizzie eyed her mother. The expression in her eyes was hidden, and yet she guessed what her mother was thinking.
‘I won’t offer you a penny for your thoughts; there’s too many of them. Number one, you’re wondering when or whether Michael will come back. Number two, you’re considering moving back in with Dad for our Stanley’s sake. You mustn’t think like that, Mum.’ Lizzie squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘Michael
will
come back. And you don’t love Dad. You love Michael.’
Mary Anne raised her eyes and looked at her daughter. ‘Is that enough? I’ve grown older since he’s been away. He may have met someone, someone younger who doesn’t have a grown-up family.’
Lizzie was adamant. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head so vehemently that her hat nearly flew off. ‘Don’t even say that. He’ll be back, Mother. He’ll be back.’
Deep in conversation, they’d hardly noticed that they were stopped by the pile of rubble that used to be Biddy’s house. Both fell to silence, eyeing the upstairs fireplace on the party wall of what had once been the bedroom.
It was Lizzie who broke the silence. ‘I suppose Daw’s put the kettle on.’
‘I expect so. She’ll be glad to see you.’
It could never be taken as read that Daw would be pleased to see anyone, but Mary Anne told herself that it would be so. Two sisters together.
Lizzie’s chatter returned to normal. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing little Mathilda again. It seems an age since I saw her last.’
They turned and strolled back towards the little shop where the goods were spread out to make it look as though they had more in stock than was actually the case. They still had lots to talk about, but for the moment each was lost in thought. At last Lizzie said, ‘Let me speak to Dad, Mum. I promise I won’t lose my temper. I’ll put things simply but honestly. Leave it to me. Don’t go round there yourself. Promise?’
Mary Anne looked at her beautiful daughter. Unbidden, a terrible fear took hold of her – not fear of Lizzie getting killed or maimed in this dreadful war, but fear that she too might end up marrying the wrong man. Her long lashes brushed her cheeks. ‘I’ll promise you something as long as you promise me something in return.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘If I have to promise, I will. Yes.’
‘Promise me that you’ll only marry a man who’s good to you.’
Lizzie gazed at her mother, wondering what secrets she held that she had never told. Her father, Henry Randall, had treated her mother badly. And yet her mother was an intelligent woman, so why hadn’t she married a man who was good to her? She decided not to ask any questions. Her mother’s past life was her own, and she should talk about it only if she really wanted to.
You’re taking the coward’s way out
, she told herself. But she wouldn’t admit to that and other secrets, not to her mother. Instead her laughter was light and lit up her face. ‘Never fear, Mother. I’ll end up
‘Edgar’s there.’
‘Oh!’
The two women fell to silence. Both knew how it was with Harry, but it wasn’t a subject they felt comfortable discussing – even with each other. Two men living with each other as brothers was one thing, but Harry and Edgar were closer than that, closer than friends.
Mary Anne turned to her daughter as a sudden thought occurred to her. ‘Where are you staying, Lizzie?’
When Lizzie smiled, deep dimples appeared in her cheeks. ‘Above the Lord Nelson in East Street.’
‘That’s opposite the Red Cross shop.’
‘Is it? I suppose it is. I suppose you could come there with me. We’d have to share a bed of course, but it’s better than nothing.’
‘I’m going to have to do something – at least for the short term. Daw wants John and her to have their place to themselves. I can’t say I blame her. We all need a place of our own. And then there’s our Stanley to consider.’
Lizzie eyed her mother. The expression in her eyes was hidden, and yet she guessed what her mother was thinking.
‘I won’t offer you a penny for your thoughts; there’s too many of them. Number one, you’re wondering when or whether Michael will come back. Number two, you’re considering moving back in with Dad for our Stanley’s sake. You mustn’t think like that, Mum.’ Lizzie squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘Michael
will
come back. And you don’t love Dad. You love Michael.’
Mary Anne raised her eyes and looked at her daughter. ‘Is that enough? I’ve grown older since he’s been away. He may have met someone, someone younger who doesn’t have a grown-up family.’
Lizzie was adamant. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head so vehemently that her hat nearly flew off. ‘Don’t even say that. He’ll be back, Mother. He’ll be back.’
Deep in conversation, they’d hardly noticed that they were stopped by the pile of rubble that used to be Biddy’s house. Both fell to silence, eyeing the upstairs fireplace on the party wall of what had once been the bedroom.
It was Lizzie who broke the silence. ‘I suppose Daw’s put the kettle on.’
‘I expect so. She’ll be glad to see you.’
It could never be taken as read that Daw would be pleased to see anyone, but Mary Anne told herself that it would be so. Two sisters together.
Lizzie’s chatter returned to normal. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing little Mathilda again. It seems an age since I saw her last.’
They turned and strolled back towards the little shop where the goods were spread out to make it look as though they had more in stock than was actually the case. They still had lots to talk about, but for the moment each was lost in thought. At last Lizzie said, ‘Let me speak to Dad, Mum. I promise I won’t lose my temper. I’ll put things simply but honestly. Leave it to me. Don’t go round there yourself. Promise?’
Mary Anne looked at her beautiful daughter. Unbidden, a terrible fear took hold of her – not fear of Lizzie getting killed or maimed in this dreadful war, but fear that she too might end up marrying the wrong man. Her long lashes brushed her cheeks. ‘I’ll promise you something as long as you promise me something in return.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘If I have to promise, I will. Yes.’
‘Promise me that you’ll only marry a man who’s good to you.’
Lizzie gazed at her mother, wondering what secrets she held that she had never told. Her father, Henry Randall, had treated her mother badly. And yet her mother was an intelligent woman, so why hadn’t she married a man who was good to her? She decided not to ask any questions. Her mother’s past life was her own, and she should talk about it only if she really wanted to.
You’re taking the coward’s way out
, she told herself. But she wouldn’t admit to that and other secrets, not to her mother. Instead her laughter was light and lit up her face. ‘Never fear, Mother. I’ll end up
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