anyway.
When they’d met for lunch today, Marjorie hadn’t exactly contradicted that idea. However, she’d insisted on taking the corner table in a quiet little café, far from where anyone could overhear them, staring at the chequered cloth as if trying to decide what to say. Finally she had looked at Kitty and given her a small smile. ‘Look, you know how it is,’ she said. ‘I’ve been given a new posting and thought we should meet up before I left. I can’t say when I’ll be going, but it’ll be sooner rather than later.’
Kitty had raised an eyebrow, desperate to know more but only too aware that you didn’t ask questions.
Marjorie shifted in her seat. She was still birdlike, seemingly tiny enough to be blown over by the first hint of a strong wind. But Kitty knew inside she was made of sterner stuff. ‘So, I realise I can’t tell you what I’ll be doing but – well, this one I really, really can’t tell you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll just have to put two and two together, Kitty, like I know you’re good at doing. Who knows, one day you’ll be putting through a call that’s a result of what I’ve been up to. That’s as much as I can give away.’
Kitty had sat up straighter. Adding that to Marjorie’s crammer courses in French and German, this was a strong hint that her friend was going to be sent abroad – and that must mean it was very hush-hush. There were rumours of young women being sent on secret missions into enemy territory. Now maybe her friend was to be one of them.
‘Really?’ Kitty was impressed and filled with trepidation on Marjorie’s behalf. ‘And you are happy about it?’
Marjorie’s chin went up and her eyes were alight. ‘Yes, absolutely,’ she’d said. ‘I can’t tell you what I’m doing, Kitty – but I can tell you I’m pretty darn good at it.’
Kitty nodded. Coming from someone else it could have sounded like boasting, but Marjorie had never been like that. For all her social awkwardness to begin with, she’d never had any doubts about her academic abilities. She’d had to fight her family for the chance to use those talents as a teacher and now she was turning them to good use in the service of her country.
Kitty had grinned. ‘Well, good luck then.’ She’d raised her tea cup. ‘And let’s hope wherever it is there’ll be some dishy airmen to fill your leisure hours.’
Marjorie beamed. ‘Suppose there might be. It’s hard to say – they never brief you on all the really important things like that. If I’m really lucky there’ll be some fair-haired ones. That’ll take my mind off work very nicely indeed.’
‘Marjorie!’ Kitty pretended to be shocked, but she knew there was nothing Marjorie liked better than being whirled around the dance floor by a fair-haired pilot, particularly if he’d promised her a martini. It didn’t hurt to dream. Though there might not be many cocktails for her friend in the near future.
They’d parted shortly after, with hugs and promises to keep in touch if possible, and neither had given in to the thought that Marjorie was going into danger and they might never see one another again. Kitty picked sadly at the bedspread now, wondering what was in store for her friend. She didn’t doubt she had reserves of courage and resourcefulness, but she had seemed so small as she’d waved her goodbye on the train platform. ‘I haven’t been able to see Laura,’ Marjorie had said. ‘I’ll write of course, but if you see her, will you tell her I was thinking of her?’
‘Of course,’ Kitty had promised. Laura was the third of the group who’d bonded so closely during the initial weeks of training. She was still in London, working as a driver, horrifying her very well-to-do family with her willingness to get her hands dirty fixing engines rather than sitting in their ancient pile in Yorkshire making polite conversation.
Clearly Marjorie was so close to being sent off to do whatever it was that she couldn’t even make it up to London; if that was the case, perhaps Kitty could go in her stead. She brightened at the thought. She’d see when she next had leave and if it coincided with Laura being able to take some time off. That would be something to look forward to.
Danny Callaghan drew the rickety wooden chair closer to the fireplace. He had lit the kindling when he’d got in from work, and now he poked it and added a few pieces of coal, just enough to take the chill off the room which had been empty all day. He warmed his hands and then reached into his pocket for the letter he’d picked up off the worn doormat. The writing was familiar, scrappy and uneven, clearly done in a hurry.
Ripping open the envelope he was curious to see what his young brother Tommy had to say for himself. Tommy wrote often but never at great length. He had been evacuated to the same farm as their neighbour Rita’s children, where he’d soon taken to the life. Seth the farmer had been delighted as, having no son of his own, he had begun to struggle with all the daily tasks once his young farmhands had been called up. Tommy had become a real help. The arrangement suited everyone. In the past Tommy had been a proper handful, and had nearly got himself killed in a burning warehouse down at the docks, where he had had no business being in the first place. His older siblings had been at their wits’ end trying to work out how to keep him safe at home, and so sending him to the farm had been the best solution all round.
Danny drew out the single sheet of paper and scanned it quickly, then looked again more carefully. He’d been expecting more of the same sort of news that Tommy had been sending for the past couple of years: what fences he’d helped to mend, if the fox had managed to get into the hen house, what treats Joan, Seth’s wife, had baked. There was some of that, but the main reason Tommy had written was he wanted to come back to Bootle.
Danny groaned. Of course his little brother was growing up. He was thirteen now and would soon turn fourteen. It hadn’t escaped Tommy’s notice that this meant he could leave school. So he thought the best thing would be for him to move back in with Danny and then see if he could help the war effort in any way – he had heard that boys of fourteen could join the Merchant Navy.
‘Oh no,’ Danny breathed, knowing full well the sort of life that would mean. Plenty of the men and boys he knew who’d grown up around the docks had joined the Merchant Navy, and of course Eddy Feeny would come home with tales of what it was like, so Tommy knew all about it – or at least the tales of adventure, dodging U-boats, mixing with seamen of all nations, all working for a common cause. It would appeal to any boy. But Danny didn’t want his little brother to be in danger like that. He groaned aloud once more.
‘Danny! Whatever’s the matter?’ Sarah Feeny pushed open the back door and set down a scratched enamel pot on the hob in the back kitchen. ‘Mam made extra stew and thought you might like some. Don’t get your hopes up; it’s nearly all potato and beans, hardly any meat in it. Seriously, what’s wrong? You haven’t taken bad again, have you?’ Her animated face was etched with sudden concern.
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ Danny shook his head and his thick black hair glinted in the firelight. ‘You shouldn’t have.’ He nodded at the pot. ‘Thank your mam for me, she spoils me.’
‘She likes to,’ Sarah said with a grin, pulling up another chair. ‘So, tell me what’s happened.’ She shivered and drew her nurse’s cloak more tightly around her.
Danny let out a long sigh. ‘It’s our Tommy. This arrived today. He’s reminding me that he’s going to be fourteen soon and won’t have to go to school any more. He says he wants to join the Merchant Navy.’
Sarah gasped. Like Danny, she thought of Tommy as the young tearaway who’d settled down once he was given responsibility on the farm, and although if she’d added it up rationally she would have known how old he was, it was still a shock to realise he was well on the way to becoming a young man. ‘It doesn’t seem possible, Danny. Surely you don’t want that.’ She tried not to let her anxiety show, not only for Tommy but for Danny too. She knew better than anyone what he struggled so hard to keep hidden. Although technically now part of the Royal Navy, Danny had never gone – and could never go – to sea. All of the armed forces had turned him down, despite his obvious courage and willingness to sign up, as rheumatic fever had left him with an enlarged heart. Any extreme