Read Online Wives at War by Jessica Stirling - Free Book Online Page B

the kitchen.’
    April, near to tears, leaned disconsolately against the table.
    Babs picked her up.
    â€˜Have you had your lunch, dearest?’ Lizzie said.
    â€˜I’m not hungry,’ said Rosie.
    â€˜There’s soup in the pot,’ said Lizzie.
    â€˜I don’t want anything,’ said Rosie. ‘I didn’t know she’d be here.’
    â€˜â€œShe” has a name, you know,’ said Babs. ‘An’ why shouldn’t I be here, for God’s sake? I’ve as much right to be here as you have.’
    â€˜I thought you went to the farm every Sunday.’
    â€˜Well, I didn’t, not today.’ Babs put April back in the armchair.
    Rosie’s fingers trembled as she worked open the buttons of her overcoat.
    â€˜Where is he then?’ she said.
    â€˜Where’s who?’ said Babs.
    â€˜Your fancy man, your Yuh-yankee doodle?’
    â€˜Oh, so that’s it,’ said Babs. ‘You came to snitch on me, did you?’
    â€˜I thought you might have brought him along to show him how the other half lives,’ said Rosie.
    â€˜Other half? What’s that supposed to mean?’
    â€˜Fancy man?’ said Lizzie, frowning. ‘Who’s got a fancy man?’
    â€˜She has,’ said Rosie, with a cheap little smirk. ‘Couldn’t manage without a bit of the how’s-your-fuh-father so she’s found a man to move in with her.’
    â€˜If you weren’t my sister,’ Babs said, ‘an’ if you weren’t such a pathetic little bitch, I’d smash your face in, so I would. Can’t you get it into that nasty wee head of yours that Christy’s a paying guest.’
    â€˜Uh-huh, but what’s he paying for?’ said Rosie.
    â€˜Christy,’ April put in, ‘is nice.’
    â€˜See,’ Rosie said. ‘He has even got to the kid.’
    â€˜Got to the … got to…’
    Babs slapped her palm on the table, making the boxes jump.
    Lizzie was not so naïve as all that. She was prepared to accept that, in spite of Babs’s denial, there might be some truth in Rosie’s accusation. Sensing trouble, she plucked April from the armchair and carried her through the kitchen, out the back door and into the communal garden that ran behind the terraced cottages.
    â€˜What’s wrong, Granny?’ said April. ‘Why’s Mummy shouting?’
    â€˜Because Aunt Rosie doesn’t hear very well.’
    â€˜She’s deaf.’
    â€˜Aye, deaf. Do you see what Grandpa has done with the shelter?’
    April was not particularly interested in the border of broken roof tiles with which Bernard had decorated the mouth of the air-raid shelter. Eight identical shelters were humped along the length of the communal garden, all uniformly quilted with turf but individually ornamented, for it was in the nature of Knightswood folk to embellish conformity whenever they possibly could.
    â€˜Mummy’s angry,’ said April.
    â€˜I think we’ll go for a walk,’ said Lizzie. ‘Would you like to see Mrs Grainger’s cats?’
    â€˜Cats.’ April nodded approval. ‘How many?’
    â€˜Two,’ said Lizzie. ‘A daddy an’ a mammy.’
    â€˜Do they like each other?’ April asked.
    â€˜I’m sure they do,’ said Lizzie, and, taking her grandchild by the hand, led her away from the shouting match indoors.
    *   *   *
    â€˜Dear God!’ Polly snapped. ‘What’s got into the pair of you? You’re going at it like fishwives. I heard you halfway down the street.’
    Polly had arrived unannounced at the height of the argument. Babs rounded on her older sister. ‘None of your damned business. It’s all your fault, anyway. I should never have told you about Christy.’
    â€˜I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret.’
    â€˜This way. Face me, both of you,’ Rosie yelled.
    Obedient