bloody well couldn’t. We ’ave no telephone, remember. How would we tell t’ bloke, eh? Send a soddin’ homin’ pigeon?’
‘Albert’s right, Sarah, he needs to take them pigeons and he can’t do it alone. And to be frank, I don’t think you should be going anywhere tonight. Yer still not right, not by a long chalk,’ Violet chipped in, returning to her bread and turning it out on to a floured board.
An uncomfortable silence descended, broken only by the thump, thump, thump of Violet pummelling the bread around the board. Sarah glanced out of the window and saw that the full bombers’ moon had risen above the outbuildings. And though the fire now burned brightly, a chill crept along her spine and tightened icy fingers around her heart.
John looked down at Sarah still holding his arm, shrugged and smiled sheepishly. ‘Think we better leave it till Saturday, then.’ She looked into his lovely eyes.
If I don’t do something drastic, you’ll never see Saturday
…
never see the morning.
Sarah looked at Violet. ‘Can me and John talk private, like? I’ve summat to tell ’im and then ’im and Albert can go to t’ meetin’.’
Violet stopped pummelling. ‘Well, I’m not movin’ from ’ere, not with this bread half-done. There’s only t’ parlour, cellar, or outside.’ Violet pursed her lips and pointed a floured finger. ‘There’s upstairs, but I’m not ’avin you take a man in yer bedroom, even if you ’ave gone funny.’
Sarah tried to suppress a smirk and led John towards what she presumed was the door to the parlour. Violet’s sense of morality took the biscuit; she was thirty-four for goodness sake, not fourteen.
‘And don’t take all night,’ Albert said, pointing to the teapot and raising his eyebrows at Violet. She nodded. ‘Me and Vi are ’avin’ another cuppa, and then I want to be off.’
‘Alright, Dad, don’t fuss,’ John said as he followed Sarah into the parlour.
John flicked on the light and moved Sarah to one side as he adjusted the blackout curtains. It was a small, cheerful room, but plain to see that it was only used occasionally. The items of furniture and ornaments were obviously Violet’s treasured possessions.
A green leather sofa and two wing-back chairs, all sporting antimacassars, were carefully placed around a red-and-yellow Persian-type rug. A walnut radio, or wireless as it was known then, was highly polished and had pride of place on a shelf along the back wall. The mantelshelf held a selection of china figurines and an Art Deco Bakelite clock sat in the centre. Two china dogs guarded either side of the fireplace. The fire, Sarah noticed, was unlit, which accounted for the near-freezing temperature in the room.
She also noticed that John looked a bit uncomfortable, avoiding her eyes and hugging himself against the cold. ‘I’ll turn this lamp on, John. Turn t’ big light off, and come and sit by me on t’ settee; it’ll be a bit cosier.’
John looked even more uncomfortable but turned the light off. Perhaps he thought she had turned into a loose woman! Sarah suppressed another smirk.
He sat as far away from her as was humanly possible on a two-seater sofa, leaned forward, blew into his hands and then rubbed them vigorously on his legs.
‘Why don’t you move up further to me, John? It’ll be warmer and I won’t bite you.’ Sarah chuckled. Her boldness surprised her. She would never normally have talked like this to a man she hardly knew. This situation wasn’t normal, though. It called for abnormal behaviour and she could safely say she had that in spades.
It’s just like playing a part, Sarah, just like acting really. Do whatever’s necessary.
‘Huh, you’ve changed yer tune. Last time I tried to hold yer hand I got a slap around t’ chops!’ John said, glaring at her.
‘I slapped you for trying to hold my hand?’
‘Aye, but I expect you’ve forgot that, like everythin’ else.’
Sarah sighed and nodded. ‘I ’ave,
‘Albert’s right, Sarah, he needs to take them pigeons and he can’t do it alone. And to be frank, I don’t think you should be going anywhere tonight. Yer still not right, not by a long chalk,’ Violet chipped in, returning to her bread and turning it out on to a floured board.
An uncomfortable silence descended, broken only by the thump, thump, thump of Violet pummelling the bread around the board. Sarah glanced out of the window and saw that the full bombers’ moon had risen above the outbuildings. And though the fire now burned brightly, a chill crept along her spine and tightened icy fingers around her heart.
John looked down at Sarah still holding his arm, shrugged and smiled sheepishly. ‘Think we better leave it till Saturday, then.’ She looked into his lovely eyes.
If I don’t do something drastic, you’ll never see Saturday
…
never see the morning.
Sarah looked at Violet. ‘Can me and John talk private, like? I’ve summat to tell ’im and then ’im and Albert can go to t’ meetin’.’
Violet stopped pummelling. ‘Well, I’m not movin’ from ’ere, not with this bread half-done. There’s only t’ parlour, cellar, or outside.’ Violet pursed her lips and pointed a floured finger. ‘There’s upstairs, but I’m not ’avin you take a man in yer bedroom, even if you ’ave gone funny.’
Sarah tried to suppress a smirk and led John towards what she presumed was the door to the parlour. Violet’s sense of morality took the biscuit; she was thirty-four for goodness sake, not fourteen.
‘And don’t take all night,’ Albert said, pointing to the teapot and raising his eyebrows at Violet. She nodded. ‘Me and Vi are ’avin’ another cuppa, and then I want to be off.’
‘Alright, Dad, don’t fuss,’ John said as he followed Sarah into the parlour.
John flicked on the light and moved Sarah to one side as he adjusted the blackout curtains. It was a small, cheerful room, but plain to see that it was only used occasionally. The items of furniture and ornaments were obviously Violet’s treasured possessions.
A green leather sofa and two wing-back chairs, all sporting antimacassars, were carefully placed around a red-and-yellow Persian-type rug. A walnut radio, or wireless as it was known then, was highly polished and had pride of place on a shelf along the back wall. The mantelshelf held a selection of china figurines and an Art Deco Bakelite clock sat in the centre. Two china dogs guarded either side of the fireplace. The fire, Sarah noticed, was unlit, which accounted for the near-freezing temperature in the room.
She also noticed that John looked a bit uncomfortable, avoiding her eyes and hugging himself against the cold. ‘I’ll turn this lamp on, John. Turn t’ big light off, and come and sit by me on t’ settee; it’ll be a bit cosier.’
John looked even more uncomfortable but turned the light off. Perhaps he thought she had turned into a loose woman! Sarah suppressed another smirk.
He sat as far away from her as was humanly possible on a two-seater sofa, leaned forward, blew into his hands and then rubbed them vigorously on his legs.
‘Why don’t you move up further to me, John? It’ll be warmer and I won’t bite you.’ Sarah chuckled. Her boldness surprised her. She would never normally have talked like this to a man she hardly knew. This situation wasn’t normal, though. It called for abnormal behaviour and she could safely say she had that in spades.
It’s just like playing a part, Sarah, just like acting really. Do whatever’s necessary.
‘Huh, you’ve changed yer tune. Last time I tried to hold yer hand I got a slap around t’ chops!’ John said, glaring at her.
‘I slapped you for trying to hold my hand?’
‘Aye, but I expect you’ve forgot that, like everythin’ else.’
Sarah sighed and nodded. ‘I ’ave,
Similar Books
