bags of shopping stacked around their chairs, Edith could hear her brother’s snide comments in her head even before he turned up.
In for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself, smiling at the nearest waitress and ordering a toasted teacake. She could pretend sugar and butter wasn’t rationed for once. Might as well enjoy the place before her brother arrived to ruin it. Then she berated herself. Everything might be all right. He might just surprise her.
Edith’s thoughts turned to the night before, when she’d met Peggy in the Duke’s Arms. She’d tried not to look shocked when Peggy had confessed to getting blind drunk with Laurence, but any disapproval had melted away when Peggy described what had happened next.
‘I don’t know how we went from having a lovely time to him behaving like a pig,’ she’d said, quietly so nobody else in the busy beer garden could hear. ‘It was like he was a different person altogether, more like a filthy animal than the bloke we all met in here. I couldn’t do a thing to get away. Truth was, I was afraid to try after a bit, I thought he’d really hurt me.’
‘Oh, Peggy.’ Edith had put her hand on her friend’s arm and squeezed it gently, but even that made her wince.
‘Sorry, it’s the bruises,’ Peggy said. ‘They’re coming out all over me, I’m blue and purple from head to toe. It’s a proper palaver hiding them from Pete’s mum.’ Her lip trembled.
‘Peggy, you should report it,’ Edith said. ‘Who knows, he might try to do it again.’
Peggy had laughed off the suggestion. ‘And say what? That I had too much to drink and agreed to go into his room? They’ll say I was asking for it, you know they will. It’s not as if I’m completely wet behind the ears. I thought we were going to have a bit of fun. I just didn’t realise what his idea of fun was.’
Edith shook her head. ‘All the same …’
Peggy was resolute. ‘No, there’s nothing to be gained by complaining. All that will happen is I’ll get a reputation for being fast. Who knows, perhaps I deserve it.’
Edith tutted. ‘Don’t say such daft things. Of course you don’t.’
Peggy glanced away, suddenly unable to meet her friend’s eyes. ‘Perhaps it’s my punishment. You know, for going out when Pete’s not long dead. That’s what everyone will say, and maybe it’s right. You aren’t going out gallivanting; you’re staying in and mourning Harry like he deserves, aren’t you?’
Edith shrugged. ‘I don’t feel like going out, that’s true. It’s different coming here and seeing you. But, as for the thought of meeting another man … no, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right to me. But I’m not saying you shouldn’t. We’re not all the same, are we?’
Peggy sighed. ‘That’s right. Thanks for not blaming me, Edith. I feel terrible, like I’ve disrespected Pete’s memory in some way, and yet whatever I do won’t change the fact that he’s gone. I don’t want another husband, there ain’t ever going to be anyone like him, but I just can’t sit in and do nothing cos that makes everything a thousand times worse. I’ve got to cope in my own way, just like you have.’
Edith had raised her glass. ‘That’s all we can do, isn’t it? You can talk to me any time, Peggy, you know that.’
Peggy had let slip a tear and dashed it swiftly away before anyone else could notice. ‘Thanks, Edith. You’re a mate. I might take you up on that. I really hope he hasn’t got me up the duff – that would be more than I could stand.’
Edith had looked her steadily in the face. ‘Well, tell me if that happens.’
Peggy’s lip trembled. ‘I know you’d help. Well, I only ever got pregnant once with Pete and I admit we took lots of risks before we got married, so it probably won’t happen. But I’ll be sure to tell you either way.’
Now she spread the butter on her teacake, watching the golden liquid melt onto the plate, almost like before the war had started. She shut her eyes as she took the first bite. Pure heaven.
‘Very fancy.’ She was woken from her moment of bliss by a familiar voice. ‘You must be doing all right for yerself, hanging round places like this.’
Edith forced herself to smile, though her heart sank at the tone of the greeting. ‘Mick. You look well.’
Before her stood a young man in uniform, smarter than she remembered, who bore a striking resemblance to her and, she remembered with a pang, their dead sister Teresa. They shared the family characteristics of wavy hair, almost black, dark eyes and small stature.
He bristled. ‘No thanks to you.’ He pulled back the chair opposite her and took a seat.
Edith didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
Mick looked at the neat menu. ‘You got to be joking. Not at these prices.’
Edith sighed. ‘It’s on me.’ It wasn’t as if she’d taken him to the Ritz, or one of Mary’s favoured haunts, but her brother was trying – as always – to make out that he was the injured party. So much for the notion of the army making a man of him.
‘Suppose I will, then,’ he accepted grudgingly. He sat back, taking a good look at her. ‘Nursing suits you, then.’
Edith nodded. ‘I still like it. No, it’s more than that, I really love it.’ She bit her lip, cross with herself for saying so much. Childhood had taught her to give away as little as possible, or Mick would take anything that was dear to her and try to ruin it in one way or another. Still, she thought, she wasn’t a child any more. She was a woman, in a profession, who had briefly been the unofficial fiancée of a wonderful man – a champion boxer, what was more. She had status. It would not be so easy for her brother to knock her down.
‘Love it, do yer?’ Mick sneered. ‘Got yer eye on all the doctors, have yer? Better not let them get their highfalutin hands on you.’
He paused only because the waitress brought the tea.
‘Oh, leave it, Mick,’ said Edith, pouring from the neat little pot. ‘If that’s all you’ve come to tell me, we can say goodbye now.’ She glared at him, refusing to back down. She was heartily glad she had never mentioned Harry to any of her family. At least Mick couldn’t use that to taunt her.
‘Suit yerself,’ he muttered, slurping noisily, at which several of the customers nearby turned round to look. He smiled at them, pleased to have been a source of annoyance. ‘Well now, seeing as you can stand me a cuppa in a swanky place like this, seems like my humble little request will be no bother at all.’
Edith raised her eyebrows. Of course, there was going to be a request. She could make a very good guess what it was going to be.
‘Yes, see, we got to look after our Frankie,’ Mick went on. ‘He’s been in all sorts of trouble and he thinks the best way out of it will be to follow his big brother,’ at this he puffed out his chest a little, ‘into the army. He’s got some vicious types on his heels saying he owes them money, so he reckons his best way of staying safe is to scarper down to enlist.’
‘Mick, he’s sixteen,’ Edith pointed out. ‘They won’t have him.’
Mick snorted. ‘Since when did you grow so keen on playing by the rules? You was the one who said they was there to be broken.’ He pointed his finger at her. ‘They’re signing up all sorts and no questions asked.’
Edith shook her head. ‘I can understand it if a lad looks eighteen. Come off it, Mick. None of us Gillespies looks older than we are; we’re too short, we stand absolutely no chance of passing. You barely look old enough to wear that uniform now. There’s no way on God’s earth a recruitment officer will accept Frankie.’
Mick pulled a face. ‘Prepared to risk it, are you?’
‘What’s the alternative?’ Edith thought they might as well get to the crux of the matter.
‘Glad