The Silent War by Victor Pemberton Page B

wireless set switched on for too long in case it wasted the valves. Yes, life for a teenager during wartime was not only hard, it was unnatural. Unnatural because she was forced to act and think like an adult, and thinking things out for herself was something Sunday was always reluctant to do. It was like being asked to make a decision. Why should someone of her age be expected to do things like that. Surely decisions were the responsibility of old people, like her mum. She couldn’t bear being told by people to ‘grow up, and stop behaving like a child’. If making decisions was being ‘grown-up’, then Sunday wanted no part of it. Anyway, the war had deprived her of her childhood, a fact which she deeply resented. Most times she was at war with the world, and that included her own friends.
    Oddly enough, however, Sunday did occasionally feel remorse, and after two weeks of almost totally ignoring Pearl , she tried – and failed – to find a way of making it up with her. Not that Pearl was even remotely responsible for any bad feeling between them. After all it had been Sunday who had taken umbrage when Lennie Jackson had turned up at the Athenaeum that Saturday night. The reasons for Sunday’s jealousy were plain and obvious: Sunday wanted Lennie; Lennie wanted Pearl. That’s all there was to it. Of course, deep down inside, Sunday knew who was to blame, but she would never have the strength to admit it. And so, as always happened when she went quiet on someone who had upset her, it was left to Pearl to make the first move.
    ‘’Arry Smike was askin’ after you, Sun.’
    At first, Sunday pretended that she hadn’t heard Pearl talking to her. ‘Oh – sorry. Did you say something?’
    It was the morning teabreak at Briggs Bagwash, and most of the ‘Baggies’ were outside in the stable-yard, taking the opportunity of a few minutes’ fresh air in the warm sunshine.
    Pearl tried again. ‘’Arry Smike. Yer know – that Air Force boy down the Afenaeum that night. The jitterbug – remember?’
    Sunday paused a moment, as though that evening was no more than a distant memory. ‘Oh –
him
,’ she replied, grandly. ‘Where d’you see him then?’
    ‘Turns out he lives in the next street ter me. Lives wiv ’is mum and dad and ’is two bruvvers.’ With only a few minutes left to spare before Ma Briggs terminated the teabreak, Pearl blew at the tea in her chipped white mug to cool it. ‘Sounds like ’e really fancies yer,’ she said, peering at Sunday over the cup as she sipped the tea.
    ‘Oh yes.’ Sunday was determined to show indifference.
    ‘’E wants us ter go out wiv ’im. You an’ me. An’ I can bring Lennie.’
    Sunday froze.
    ‘Apparently ’e’s got an aunt who works as a part-time usherette up the Finsbury Park Empire. ’E says ’e can get us some tickets for Tuesday week.’
    Sunday sipped her tea. ‘What’s so special about Tuesday week?’
    Pearl looked up with a surprised start. ‘Yer mean yer don’t know? It’s the broadcast. It’s comin’ live from the featre.’
    ‘What broadcast?’ asked Sunday. ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘’
Enry ’All’s Guest Night
!’ Pearl looked at Sunday as though her friend had been living on another planet all her life. ‘Didn’t yer read about it? It’s been in all the papers – well, the
Islington Gazette
anyway.’
    Sunday was suddenly interested. Henry Hall at the Finsbury Park Empire! A chance to see not only a real band on the stage, but to be present at a broadcast performance of one of the most famous programmes on the wireless. ‘How much are the tickets?’ she asked, trying not to sound too eager.
    ‘Fer free!’ said Pearl. ‘’E says ’e can get us seats downstairs in the stalls. Just fink of it, Sun. I’ve only ever bin upstairs in the gods. I’ve never been down in the posh seats.’
    And neither had Sunday. By the time Ma Briggs appeared at the back door, she had agreed to make up the foursome with