Begun by Time by Morgan O'Neill

stood watching her friend’s back, wishing she could help, but not knowing exactly what to do.
    To her relief, she entered the lounge to a chorus of laughter.
    With a grin, Susan turned to her and said, “We’re having a gab fest about men. Catherine, you’re next. You must tell us every juicy detail about Dr. Brandon—I mean Major Brandon.” She fanned her face. “We unhitched women cannot live by rumor alone. We want facts.”
    Catherine appreciated her friend’s sense of humor, but realized Poppy wasn’t joining in the fun. She quickly sat beside her, took her hand, and Poppy squeezed back, giving Catherine a tentative smile.
    The seamstress arrived, arms loaded with sample fabric swatches, pattern designs, measurement tools, a notepad, and a prim, serious demeanor. She poked and measured each girl, took notes, and offered suggestions as they weighed the pros and cons of the various styles.
    “What about our hair?” Mirin asked.
    Catherine sat back and thought about how they might create something similar to one another, especially given Poppy’s new look.
    “Victory rolls?” Susan offered.
    “Perfect!” Catherine said. “But just in the back. That way, Poppy can keep her fringe, and the rest of us can do as we like.”
    “Jolly good,” Mirin said. “And all of us must wear some mascara. My father’s aunt in the States sent me a supply of Maybelline, and I’ll share it with you.”
    “Maybelline and Victory rolls! So glamorous, which describes us to a T!” Susan said.
    They all giggled as Lily arrived with a heavily charged tea tray.
    “The apricot tarts have no sugar in them,” Lily explained, “but I grated some carrot and added honey.”
    Catherine tasted her tart. “Mummy, thank you. It’s delicious.”
    Her mother looked pleased as Vivi took over and poured a homemade chamomile tea.
    Catherine took a sip, considering. Her mum had done a good job with what she had in her pantry, the apricot and carrot flavors perfect complements to each other. She glanced at the gathering, and it struck her that the same could be said of her friends. Yes, perfect complements, each to the others.
    Mirin and Susan continued to entertain everyone with their gossip, and Poppy suddenly laughed out loud, her enthusiasm unreserved.
    Thrilled, Catherine felt a lift to her soul as she reached for another tart.

Chapter Eight
    15 August 1945, Stratford, London
    The tension England felt throughout the summer changed to a maddening mixture of abject fear and guarded optimism with the announcement of America ’ s dropping of atomic bombs on Japan, half a world away. Still, everyone held hope such devastation might bring Japan closer to surrender.
    Catherine returned from early morning shopping with her ration card, hustled inside with her parcels, and hung up her rain-drenched jacket and brolly. The skies over London that had grown peaceful after VE Day now seemed full of renewed threats, and not just from the thunderstorms. She pulled the collar of her cardigan up to her ears. It wasn’t cold outside, but the morning gloom weighed heavily, and a full week of unrelenting rain was taking a toll on her nerves.
    She checked her dad ’s desk to see if a letter had arrived from Jonnie. To her delight, she found a postcard, flipped it over, and read, No time to write. Wanted to tell you all is well and to send my love, JB.
    She kissed it and whispered, “I love you, too, Jonnie.” How she wished she could speak with him. He would explain what was going on in the world, what it all meant, and he would allay her fears. But he’d only been able to call once since the news of the atomic bombs, and he wouldn’t have a day of liberty until at least Sunday, if at all.
    Catherine went into the kitchen, unloaded the cheese, dried eggs, and bacon, and started to help her mother fix breakfast.
    She and her mum sat in the lounge and ate in silence as they listened to the drone of local and national news and weather reports that