Wartime Family by Lizzie Lane

of which leaned precariously against their neighbours. Eventually he would duck his head beneath an oak beam and enter the Swan, an ancient hostelry of bulging walls and a thick, thatched roof. Tonight was no exception.
    Lizzie sighed and settled into the warm leather of her seat. Her stomach rumbled on cue. She wondered whether the Swan offered anything to eat. Some of these old inns offered bed and board. It certainly looked big enough to do so.
    Hunter wouldn’t like it if he saw her sneaking off, but she was starving! She surveyed the length of the old building. What if there were a back entrance where she could sneak in and ask for a hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese? Her stomach rumbled encouragement.
    ‘Dammit!’ she muttered under her breath.
    She swung her legs out of the car, careful not to snag her army-issue stockings. They were thick and of the type grannies wore. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of silk stockings, or even the new nylon range. Sheer luxury!
    The street was deserted, the moon outlining the cobbles, houses and nearby church tower with a slim line of silver.
    She moved cautiously along the front of the inn and around the side. Small windows looked out over a side garden and yard. There were dustbins and pig bins. The latter gave off the recognizable pong of food waste. The pigs had to eat. Nothing was wasted in this war.
    A sliver of light showed from beneath the ill-fitting back door. No doubt the blackout curtain was a little short. She would point it out to them. They’d be much obliged and might even insist she stayed and ate something, she thought.
    They did exactly that.
    ‘What do you do then?’ asked the landlady when Lizzie had got herself settled.
    ‘I’m a driver. Mostly I just sit and wait.’
    ‘For ’im in the bar?’
    ‘Yes.’ Her stomach chose that moment to churn like a tractor engine. Everyone heard it. ‘I’ve had nothing to eat since breakfast,’ she explained.
    The landlady gasped. ‘That’s terrible. I shall be ’avin’ a word with that man!’
    ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Lizzie, seeing her leave evaporating at the thought of it.
    A little while later a plate of freshly made bread, local cheese and butter was placed in front of her.
    ‘You get that down you,’ said the landlady, and Lizzie instantly obeyed. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Soon her stomach stopped rumbling.
    ‘Something to drink?’
    Lizzie swallowed the crust of bread she’d been chewing, aware that her lips were smeared with butter. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind …’
    Half a pint of pale-green cider was poured from a wooden barrel. Lizzie eyed the pea-soup colour with some misgiving and deftly took a sniff of it before she sipped.
    She checked her watch. Hunter was a man of habit. Another ten minutes and he’d be back in the car.
    ‘I have to go,’ said Lizzie getting up from the wooden stool she’d been sitting on.
    ‘Of course, me dear.’
    ‘Can you settle my curiosity before I go?’
    The landlady had a broad face that broadened further when she smiled. ‘If I can.’
    ‘What does he do in there?’
    ‘Drinks two pints.’
    ‘Does he meet anyone?’ She’d thought perhaps that was why he insisted on being there by a certain time. She’d surmised that someone – a woman of course – might be waiting for him.
    The landlady shook her head. ‘No. He’s a bit of a loner. Doesn’t talk much except to order drinks and bread and cheese. Just like you, though ’e likes pickles as well.’
    ‘He eats?’
    Lizzie could hardly believe her ears. She was livid. The blasted man ate and drank inside while she waited in the cold dreaming of her evening meal!
    Anger warmed her cheeks despite the chill evening air. Grim faced, she marched back to the car, her fists clenched. She wanted to punch him – impossible of course, as it was probably a court-martialling offence. She must fix her thoughts on going on leave. She must!
    She sat in the car seething,