Queen of the Mersey by Maureen Lee Page B

have to boil pans instead. You must have a bath too. You smell of paint and it’s quite disgusting. And I have a wedding dress to get ready, gloves to find, a hat. I would have liked a little nosegay too, but there’s not much chance of that. At least I’ve got the ring.’ She twisted the thin gold band around the third finger of her left hand. ‘I’ve never had this off since the day you put it on,’ she said.
    ‘It won’t be off for long. Tomorrow, I’ll put it on officially, and you’ll never have to take it off again for the rest of your life,’ Roddy promised.

Chapter 3
    The weather during August had been lovely. Day after day, the country woke to a brilliant sun shining out of a cloudless blue sky. It was hard to believe, while they luxuriated in the warmth and glory of these magical summer days, that such terrible things were about to happen to their world.
    When Laura opened her eyes on Saturday morning, Roddy fast asleep beside her, the first thing she saw was her wedding dress hanging on the wardrobe door. With a little pang, she wished she were getting married in white, with all the fuss of a proper wedding; bridesmaids, flowers, an organ playing ‘The Wedding March’, a big reception afterwards. But if that had been the case, she mightn’t have been marrying Roddy. As he was the only man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life, what did it matter that there would be no bridesmaids, no flowers, no organ, and merely lunch in a restaurant to celebrate?
    It didn’t matter a bit, nor that her wedding outfit was in fact a cream silk afternoon dress she’d bought years ago off a secondhand stall in Petticoat Lane market. It had a frill for a collar and puffed sleeves ending at the elbow in another frill. She had no idea whether it was fashionable or not. Her mother had bought Good Housekeeping every month to keep up with the latest styles, but Laura couldn’t remember when she’d last read a women’s magazine.
    She raised her head a few inches so she could see her hat, the straw boater she’d worn at school during the summer term. Ages ago, she’d removed the navy-blue band, and added different coloured trimmings to match whatever she happened to be wearing. Last night, she’d tied a cream georgette scarf around it, knotting it at the back, leaving the ends to trail. Her lace gloves had been mended for the umpteenth time. It was a pity her best shoes were brown and rather heavy, but they went with her only handbag.
    Roddy turned over and mumbled something inaudible in his sleep. She stared at the back of his neck, thinking what a beautiful shape it was, longing to touch the short, blond hairs, wake him, lie in his arms for a while in the warm sunshine that poured through the window. They only had two more nights together.
    Monday night she would sleep in this bed alone. She shivered and crept reluctantly out, let him sleep a little longer.
    In the kitchen, she opened the door wide to take advantage of the sun before it disappeared, put the kettle on, and wondered what to make Roddy for his breakfast, having forgotten to replace the bacon and eggs she’d given Queenie the day before – she liked him to have something more substantial than cornflakes. She was still wondering when Roddy came in, still in his pyjamas, and asked, ‘Where’s my gas mask?’
    ‘Under the stairs,’ she told him.
    ‘And the suitcase?’
    ‘The same place as the gas mask.’
    ‘Right.’ He disappeared, but was back seconds later. ‘I forgot, you’ll want the suitcase, won’t you? I’ll find something else for my things. I won’t need to take much.’
    ‘Why will I want a suitcase?’
    He gave her a steely look. ‘For when you and Hester are evacuated, of course.’
    He disappeared again, but this time she followed him.
    ‘Roddy, I told you before, I’ve no intention of leaving this house.’
    ‘You’re being very selfish, Laura.’ He emerged from the cupboard with a gas mask in a cardboard case. ‘Once the air raids begin, Bootle docks will be