War Baby by Lizzie Lane Page A

remembered Della saying was that she hoped Roger hadn’t got her in the family way.
    â€˜I suppose Della Pegg’s in the family way,’ Frances said to Ada.
    Ada opened one eye; she had been dozing. A whorl of smoke rose from her pipe. ‘Aye. I suppose she is.’
    â€˜Roger Peters’s for it,’ she heard somebody say.
    â€˜Before he goes off to war by the sound of it,’ shouted somebody else.
    Another voice rang through the forest, high as the sound of metal ringing against metal. ‘Won’t be the first.’
    â€˜Won’t be the last either,’ muttered Ada.
    It wasn’t a bad haul of elvers, and although Frances was delighted, she still couldn’t bring herself to eat them. They’d cooked some up in the forest once, she and the other kids. Ralphie had brought them along, a mass of wriggling in a tin can. He’d told her he’d got them from the river and that they were quite fresh. One look had been enough to turn her stomach.
    She half turned, hands still holding the net, as she informed Ada that she wouldn’t be eating the elvers.
    In the glow of the storm lantern that Ada had hung from a low hanging branch, Frances saw her eyes narrow. ‘No need to. We can sell them to people who do like eating them.’
    Just a few days later Frances was standing at the door of the little house in the forest that she’d stayed in ever since she was evacuated. There were logs piled up outside the smoke house where Ada smoked salmon poached fresh from the river. There was also a leg of ham, courtesy of a wild boar that everyone said didn’t exist in the forest. They did. It was just that you had to know where to look.
    Ada noticed her reluctance. ‘My door’s always open.’ The pipe in the corner of her mouth jiggled as she spoke.
    Frances nodded. A thought came to her. ‘Will you be coming over to visit Mrs Powell and Miriam?’
    Sadness clouded the old lady’s eyes but was swiftly hidden. ‘I visit there when I think there’s a need – like there was with you. You needed me to be there.’
    It seemed a strange answer, but then, Frances thought to herself, Ada Perkins was a strange woman, but likeable, very likeable.
    Frances grimaced. ‘I’ve never liked wearing dresses, but I suppose I have to get used to it.’
    There was a wise look on Ada’s face as she regarded her charge – not without some affection. ‘You don’t have to, but you will. You’re still a child,’ she said, patting Frances’s shoulder. ‘That’s what you are this week. But next?’
    Frances frowned. Ada sometimes talked in riddles. ‘Don’t be silly, Ada. I’ll still be thirteen.’
    â€˜And then you’ll be fourteen, and one year is going to make all the difference in your life – whether you like to wear fancy dresses or not!’
    â€˜Why doesn’t Miriam ever wear pretty dresses?’
    Ada’s eyes darkened, as though her thoughts were going somewhere she herself had no wish to go to.
    â€˜Her mother doesn’t believe in pretty dresses, so she doesn’t. She might have one, though, hidden away somewhere.’
    â€˜She just wears that old coat all the time.’ Frances wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells of mothballs and is much too big for her – or was,’ she added as a thought came to her. ‘It’s a bit tighter now. She must be getting fatter.’
    Ada Perkins heard all this and fell to silence. They’d be coming over then – her daughter and her granddaughter. They’d be coming over soon.

 
CHAPTER SIX
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    RUBY NO LONGER regarded the hard eyes and strong faces of factory workers with apprehension. She’d learned that the way they looked at her through half-closed eyes was because they were tired. They were all working twelve-hour shifts, some more than that depending on shortages and the demand for whatever