adding hoarsely, "Even if I have to be an old maid for the rest of me life."
Sadie gave her a pitying look. "You're only sixteen. You got lots of time to find the right bloke for you. These Yanks are all right to have some fun with, but none of them wants to get bleeding married. They'll be back in America at the end of the war."
"And that's where I'm going. Back with Sam." Polly stared defiantly at Sadie. "So there."
Sadie's scornful laugh exploded across the table. "Don't be bleeding daft. Whatcha want to go to America for? You could get your head shot off. They all got guns there. Everyone has 'em."
"No they don't." Polly fought back tears. "They have nice houses and swimming pools and mountains and everything."
Sadie rolled her eyes. "I can tell you've been watching too many of them American films. Real life ain't like that, Polly, and you'd better know what you're getting into if you go to America."
"She's not going to America," Marlene said firmly. "Ma would never let her go. She's too young."
"Well, I wouldn't want to go. Would you?"
Marlene smiled. "Not me. I got bigger plans than that."
Polly glared at Marlene. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Never you mind." Marlene turned to Sadie. "Are you going to sing in the talent show tonight?"
Sadie shrugged. "Don't know. I haven't had enough beer yet."
Polly sat back in her chair, hoping the pain under her ribs would go away. Marlene never kept secrets from her until lately. Something was up with her big sister, and Polly wanted very badly to know what was going on. It wasn't like Marlene to shut her out. They'd shared everything together, but lately Marlene seemed to be shutting herself away in a world of her own. She didn't even understand about her wanting to go to America.
Perhaps she should have another gin. Though even that didn't help when she thought about Sam going to America without her.
Throughout the rest of the evening she sat wishing she was somewhere else. Preferably with Sam, of course. Anywhere, as long as it was with Sam.
Sadie was persuaded to get up on the microphone, where she bellowed out a rowdy version of "My Old Man's a Dustman," then had everyone up to do "Knees up Mother Brown." Everyone except Polly, that was.
Having had more than her fill of the smoke, the out-of-tune bellowing and the stink of beer, Polly decided to ride back to the house on her own. Although it was getting dark now, she knew the road well enough to ride without lights, and in any case the moon was out. She just wanted to be on her own for a while and enjoy her misery.
She let the pub door swing behind her, shutting off the noise as she stepped out into the quiet car park. She'd left her bicycle with the others leaning against the back fence, away from where the Yanks parked their Jeeps.
She rounded the corner of the pub and had to pick her way through the vehicles to get to the fence. As she did so, she heard a scuffling sound off to her left, then a bunch ofhissing that sounded like steam gushing from a boiling kettle.
She stopped dead, wondering what could have caused the noise. Voices, low and muffled drifted across the silent Jeeps. Curious now, Polly crept toward the sound, bent almost double to avoid being seen by whoever was making the peculiar noise.
More scuffling, closer this time, brought her to a halt. The hissing noise sounded again, and she realized it was coming from the Jeep right in front of her. Carefully she peered around the bonnet.
There were three of them, all wearing handkerchiefs over their noses like the bank robbers she saw in the cowboy films. As she watched, she saw moonlight glinting on something in the nearest bloke's hand. It was a knife, and to her horror she saw him plunge it into one of the tires.
She drew back, terrified of being caught nosing. She'd heard about the gang from London and the damage they'd done in the village. She never expected to see them in the act.
Frantically she wondered what to do. She should go
Sadie gave her a pitying look. "You're only sixteen. You got lots of time to find the right bloke for you. These Yanks are all right to have some fun with, but none of them wants to get bleeding married. They'll be back in America at the end of the war."
"And that's where I'm going. Back with Sam." Polly stared defiantly at Sadie. "So there."
Sadie's scornful laugh exploded across the table. "Don't be bleeding daft. Whatcha want to go to America for? You could get your head shot off. They all got guns there. Everyone has 'em."
"No they don't." Polly fought back tears. "They have nice houses and swimming pools and mountains and everything."
Sadie rolled her eyes. "I can tell you've been watching too many of them American films. Real life ain't like that, Polly, and you'd better know what you're getting into if you go to America."
"She's not going to America," Marlene said firmly. "Ma would never let her go. She's too young."
"Well, I wouldn't want to go. Would you?"
Marlene smiled. "Not me. I got bigger plans than that."
Polly glared at Marlene. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Never you mind." Marlene turned to Sadie. "Are you going to sing in the talent show tonight?"
Sadie shrugged. "Don't know. I haven't had enough beer yet."
Polly sat back in her chair, hoping the pain under her ribs would go away. Marlene never kept secrets from her until lately. Something was up with her big sister, and Polly wanted very badly to know what was going on. It wasn't like Marlene to shut her out. They'd shared everything together, but lately Marlene seemed to be shutting herself away in a world of her own. She didn't even understand about her wanting to go to America.
Perhaps she should have another gin. Though even that didn't help when she thought about Sam going to America without her.
Throughout the rest of the evening she sat wishing she was somewhere else. Preferably with Sam, of course. Anywhere, as long as it was with Sam.
Sadie was persuaded to get up on the microphone, where she bellowed out a rowdy version of "My Old Man's a Dustman," then had everyone up to do "Knees up Mother Brown." Everyone except Polly, that was.
Having had more than her fill of the smoke, the out-of-tune bellowing and the stink of beer, Polly decided to ride back to the house on her own. Although it was getting dark now, she knew the road well enough to ride without lights, and in any case the moon was out. She just wanted to be on her own for a while and enjoy her misery.
She let the pub door swing behind her, shutting off the noise as she stepped out into the quiet car park. She'd left her bicycle with the others leaning against the back fence, away from where the Yanks parked their Jeeps.
She rounded the corner of the pub and had to pick her way through the vehicles to get to the fence. As she did so, she heard a scuffling sound off to her left, then a bunch ofhissing that sounded like steam gushing from a boiling kettle.
She stopped dead, wondering what could have caused the noise. Voices, low and muffled drifted across the silent Jeeps. Curious now, Polly crept toward the sound, bent almost double to avoid being seen by whoever was making the peculiar noise.
More scuffling, closer this time, brought her to a halt. The hissing noise sounded again, and she realized it was coming from the Jeep right in front of her. Carefully she peered around the bonnet.
There were three of them, all wearing handkerchiefs over their noses like the bank robbers she saw in the cowboy films. As she watched, she saw moonlight glinting on something in the nearest bloke's hand. It was a knife, and to her horror she saw him plunge it into one of the tires.
She drew back, terrified of being caught nosing. She'd heard about the gang from London and the damage they'd done in the village. She never expected to see them in the act.
Frantically she wondered what to do. She should go
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