to sit on two cushions to reach his plate. But none of it mattered, for the atmosphere was warm and friendly, and Sally began to feel a little more at ease.
She had been content to watch and listen as the family chatted about their day, Ernie and Charlie tried to outdo each other with tall stories, and Ron continued his argument with his son Jim that if he was going to die, then it would be in his own bed, with his animals beside him – and not in some hole in the ground with a tin roof.
Peggy was a real mother, she realised wistfully. The sort of woman who would offer comfort and advice, even a hug if necessary, and would never dream of abandoning her family for the bright lights of the nearest pub. And yet she was fully in charge of her household and plainly stood no nonsense. It was clear she adored her handsome husband, Jim, who had the same twinkling eyes and soft Irish brogue as his father – and used them to full effect. Possessed with the sort of charm that made women look at him twice, Sally suspected Peggy didn’t always have an easy time with him.
Mrs Finch was aptly named, for she was a tiny, birdlike woman who chattered away regardless of whether anyone was listening, her grey head bobbing as she consumed a surprising amount of stew and apple dumplings. The Polish airman who, to everyone’s relief, insisted they called him Alex, was quietly spoken with lovely manners, but Sally thought he had sad eyes and wondered why.
Cissy had stuck her blonde head around the door to greet everyone before disappearing upstairs. The meal was almost over by the time she returned in a cloud of perfume to announce she didn’t have time to eat because she’d be late for the theatre. Blowing a kiss to them all in dramatic fashion, she ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Anne had left soon after and, with a stiff little bow, Alex went back up to his room to study the English textbooks Anne had lent him. Mrs Finch settled down to her knitting by the kitchen fire, the dog lying across her feet until Ron took him out for his nightly walk to the pub.
As Sally had helped with the washing-up, she’d wondered what Martin Black was like. It sounded very romantic to be stepping out with a handsome and, no doubt, dashing RAF officer, and part of her wished that she too could go dancing or to the pictures. But as she said goodnight and carried a protesting Ernie upstairs, she realised that all the while she had him to care for, she wouldn’t get the chance. She felt no bitterness – it was a fact of life.
Ernie hadn’t wanted a bath; like Sally, he wasn’t used to such a big tub or so much water, and at first it had been a struggle to get him into it. She was soaked by the time he finally allowed her to wash him and, once he was clean and dry, and tucked up in bed, she’d sunk into the warm, slightly grubby water and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.
The first day was over and she felt slightly easier now she’d met everyone. But it still felt odd to be far from home, and for the first time in her life she felt a pang of something close to yearning for those cramped rooms in Bow. The Reillys seemed to be a warm-hearted and welcoming family – but they weren’t her family, and she must guard against the temptation to ever believe they could be.
Peggy had sorted out the boys, helped Mrs Finch to bed and finished the ironing. Now she was sitting beside the range with her knitting, listening to a concert on the wireless. Jim had gone back to work at the cinema for the evening session, Cissy was dancing in the revue at The Apollo, and Anne had gone to meet Martin. Sally and Ernie were upstairs, and no doubt Ron had taken Harvey to The Anchor, and was ogling the middle-aged landlady’s magnificent bosom as usual.
She chuckled as she counted stitches and changed needles. Ron had been widowed for nearly thirty years, and who could blame him for lusting after the luscious Rosie Braithwaite? He’d been
She had been content to watch and listen as the family chatted about their day, Ernie and Charlie tried to outdo each other with tall stories, and Ron continued his argument with his son Jim that if he was going to die, then it would be in his own bed, with his animals beside him – and not in some hole in the ground with a tin roof.
Peggy was a real mother, she realised wistfully. The sort of woman who would offer comfort and advice, even a hug if necessary, and would never dream of abandoning her family for the bright lights of the nearest pub. And yet she was fully in charge of her household and plainly stood no nonsense. It was clear she adored her handsome husband, Jim, who had the same twinkling eyes and soft Irish brogue as his father – and used them to full effect. Possessed with the sort of charm that made women look at him twice, Sally suspected Peggy didn’t always have an easy time with him.
Mrs Finch was aptly named, for she was a tiny, birdlike woman who chattered away regardless of whether anyone was listening, her grey head bobbing as she consumed a surprising amount of stew and apple dumplings. The Polish airman who, to everyone’s relief, insisted they called him Alex, was quietly spoken with lovely manners, but Sally thought he had sad eyes and wondered why.
Cissy had stuck her blonde head around the door to greet everyone before disappearing upstairs. The meal was almost over by the time she returned in a cloud of perfume to announce she didn’t have time to eat because she’d be late for the theatre. Blowing a kiss to them all in dramatic fashion, she ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Anne had left soon after and, with a stiff little bow, Alex went back up to his room to study the English textbooks Anne had lent him. Mrs Finch settled down to her knitting by the kitchen fire, the dog lying across her feet until Ron took him out for his nightly walk to the pub.
As Sally had helped with the washing-up, she’d wondered what Martin Black was like. It sounded very romantic to be stepping out with a handsome and, no doubt, dashing RAF officer, and part of her wished that she too could go dancing or to the pictures. But as she said goodnight and carried a protesting Ernie upstairs, she realised that all the while she had him to care for, she wouldn’t get the chance. She felt no bitterness – it was a fact of life.
Ernie hadn’t wanted a bath; like Sally, he wasn’t used to such a big tub or so much water, and at first it had been a struggle to get him into it. She was soaked by the time he finally allowed her to wash him and, once he was clean and dry, and tucked up in bed, she’d sunk into the warm, slightly grubby water and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.
The first day was over and she felt slightly easier now she’d met everyone. But it still felt odd to be far from home, and for the first time in her life she felt a pang of something close to yearning for those cramped rooms in Bow. The Reillys seemed to be a warm-hearted and welcoming family – but they weren’t her family, and she must guard against the temptation to ever believe they could be.
Peggy had sorted out the boys, helped Mrs Finch to bed and finished the ironing. Now she was sitting beside the range with her knitting, listening to a concert on the wireless. Jim had gone back to work at the cinema for the evening session, Cissy was dancing in the revue at The Apollo, and Anne had gone to meet Martin. Sally and Ernie were upstairs, and no doubt Ron had taken Harvey to The Anchor, and was ogling the middle-aged landlady’s magnificent bosom as usual.
She chuckled as she counted stitches and changed needles. Ron had been widowed for nearly thirty years, and who could blame him for lusting after the luscious Rosie Braithwaite? He’d been
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