The War Girls

by Rosie James

  ‘I promise,’ Abigail said, putting the note in her pocket.

  Finally, with Emily in the pushchair, strapped safely in, Abigail set off towards her destination, passing through Queen Square where small knots of sunbathers were lying stretched out, relaxing on the grass. And with her thoughts keeping time with her steps, Abigail went over and over everything which had happened since they’d left Coopers.

  What an eventful first day in Bristol they’d had. They were already getting the feel of being in a big city, they’d been introduced to the best café in town, they’d been shopping for clothes – and for shoes! And now they were on their way to meet Miss Grant and possibly find their first home.

  Abigail frowned briefly as she walked on. She would never forget how they’d almost been knocked off their feet by that speeding taxi. Poor Emily. She hadn’t been able to save herself from falling to the ground but she’d been very good about it, not making too much fuss.

  But out of the blue, she had met kind people … so different from the hateful experience she’d had last night in the station restaurant.

  She’d met two people who’d said she could call them her friends.

  Number fourteen was a neat, red brick, terrace house at the end of the row, and for a moment Abigail stood back to view it. The place looked quite nice, with white net curtains billowing slightly at the open downstairs window.

  She knocked on the front door which was opened by a short, middle-aged woman with greying dark hair tied back from her face. She was wearing a black dress and a frilly apron around her waist and, frowning slightly, she stared down at Abigail.

  ‘Have you come about the room?’

  Abigail stepped forward. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I went to the agency this morning and you … your house was highly recommended. My name is Mrs Wilson, Mrs Abigail Wilson. And this is my daughter Emily. There are just the two of us,’ she added.

  Abigail was amazed at how easily she was uttering that lie … ‘My name is Mrs Wilson.’ Perhaps that is how it is with telling lies, she thought. It gets easier if you keep doing it.

  The woman nodded, standing aside for them to enter. ‘I am Miss Grant,’ she said, ‘and the room I am offering is upstairs, if you’d like to follow me.’

  Leaving the pushchair and all their bags outside by the front door, Abigail and Emily did as they were asked, and stood just inside the accommodation they’d come to see.

  The room was very clean and tidy, and fairly spacious, with two single beds covered with blue cotton eiderdowns, the material matching the curtains. There was a dressing table with a mirror, a cabinet and a small chest of drawers. On the floor just inside the door there was a well-worn mat on the lino. Abigail stared around her. Although the room was unexciting, this would be like sleeping in a palace compared with where they’d been last night.

  ‘The bathroom and lavatory are there along the passage,’ Miss Grant said, ‘and the outside scullery is where you can swill your clothes.’ She sucked in her cheeks for a moment as she stared down at Emily. ‘She doesn’t wet the bed, does she? These mattresses are quite new.’

  ‘Emily has not wet her bed for a very long time,’ Abigail said shortly, ‘so there will be no problem there, I assure you.’

  The woman nodded, apparently satisfied with that. ‘Well, anyway,’ she said, ‘the kitchen is downstairs, obviously, and you can use it at certain times. I charge seven shillings and sixpence a week plus a three-pound deposit – returnable when you leave. As long as there’s been no damage,’ she added, glancing at Emily.

  Abigail’s early optimism began to fade. This was hardly an encouraging interview and she couldn’t help wondering whether Miss Grant really wanted to let the room at all.

  Leaning against the door jamb and with her arms folded, Miss Grant said, ‘This bedroom is normally my brother’s, but he’s working away for three months so I thought I might as well let it while he’s not here.’ She paused. ‘As you can see, it is fully furnished so I hope you don’t intend to bring much with you. I wouldn’t want the place cluttered up.’

  Abigail shook her head briefly. ‘We have very few possessions so it would only be clothes and a few books and Emily’s little games.’

  Miss Grant was clearly intrigued by this young woman with such a small child. ‘So – this is your daughter?’

  ‘Yes, and she is two and a half years old, going on three, and very well behaved. She will be no trouble, I assure you,’ Abigail said, beginning to get irritated at the woman’s unfriendly attitude. Was this how landladies treated prospective tenants?

  Her eyes narrowing, Miss Grant looked Abigail up and down. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘I do not allow gentlemen to visit – under any circumstances. I hope that’s understood.’

  For a moment, Abigail felt like taking Emily’s hand and marching back down the stairs and out of number fourteen. But this room was good enough, and there was very little time left today to find anything else. And at least they wouldn’t be here for long.

  ‘We have recently come up from the country and are new to Bristol. And we know no one,’ Abigail said stiffly. ‘So I would not be inviting anyone here, Miss Grant. Anyone at all.’

  Softening her tone slightly, Miss Grant said, ‘Well, as you will have noticed, we are in a very convenient position, being near the Centre where all the buses leave from, and Queen Square is just around the corner. Nice open place for the little one to run about. And that church over there is the famous St Mary Redcliffe. You’ll hear the bells tomorrow morning.’

  Miss Grant glanced at her watch. Time was going on, and she always went to the whist drive at St Mary’s hall on Saturday evenings. She hoped Mrs Wilson would make up her mind one way or the other.

  ‘Well,’ Abigail said, coming to the only decision she felt she was left with, ‘I think I should like to accept your terms, Miss Grant – so may we move in straightaway?’ She opened her bag. ‘I have the deposit here, together with the rent for the first month of our stay.’ As she counted out the cash, Abigail realised that first thing Monday morning she must go to the post office to change some of her sovereigns. But she was all right for now. And she must also think about finding work because her money was not going to last very long. She sighed briefly. She couldn’t do anything about it until Monday.

  Cheering up as she saw the money, Miss Grant accepted it graciously. It was going to be nice to have a few extra bob in her purse. ‘What about your things, your cases?’ she enquired. ‘Have you left them for safekeeping in the office at the Tramways?’

  ‘We have no cases, Miss Grant,’ Abigail said firmly. ‘Our belongings are outside with the pushchair. So – as you will appreciate – we shall not be cluttering up our bedroom,’ she added.

  Mystified that they appeared to be complete strangers to the town and owned nothing, the landlady shrugged to herself. It was their business, not hers, and on the face of it, it looked as though these two would be no trouble. Not like the couple of students she’d let the room to last year.

  ‘Right, I’ll show you the kitchen and then leave you to settle in,’ she said, going in front of them down the stairs. ‘And by the way, the shops are a short walk up the hill at the other end of this row because you will need a few groceries, won’t you? Milk and bread.’ She led them to a door at the end of the hall. ‘Here’s the kitchen, and the pantry is there by the window, where you can store your food. That gauze keeps out the flies,’ she added.

  Turning, she pointed to a basket of cutlery. ‘You can use those knives and forks, and the pots are on that shelf there.’ She hesitated. ‘Any breakages will have to be paid for, of course.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Grant,’ Abigail said, glancing around her. As with everywhere else, the place was immaculate.

  Coming straight to the point, Miss Grant continued, ‘Now, I have my breakfast at seven o’clock and I finish by eight. And I have my dinner at twelve and my tea at five. So you can use the kitchen either side of those times – I’m sure we won�
�t get in each other’s way.’ She actually smiled for the first time that afternoon. ‘Just as well to know where we stand, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Abigail began, but the landlady hadn’t finished.

  ‘And here’s a spare front door key so that you can come and go as you please. But the house is always bolted for the night by ten o’clock so if you come in after that you won’t be able to gain entry. Oh, and another thing – I don’t allow smoking on the premises. I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes.’

  Half an hour later, with their clothes – old and new – put safely in the chest of drawers, and with Abigail’s precious drawing materials and Emily’s toys and books in the cabinet, Abigail went across to the window and looked out at the small back garden. Very neat, with pots of geraniums placed at strategic intervals. She glanced down at Emily who was lying on her tummy drawing in her little notebook.

  ‘Well, do you like our new room, Emily? Do you think we are going to be comfy here?’ Abigail said.

  ‘No,’ Emily said, without looking up.

  ‘Oh – why don’t you like it?’

  ‘Because there isn’t a bed for us.’

  ‘But there are two, Emily – two beds,’ Abigail began, and Emily interrupted.

  ‘We don’t need two beds,’ she said. ‘We only ever have one, don’t we, Mummy? We sleep together in the same bed, don’t we?’

  That was true. They had always shared the double bed at Coopers because there was no alternative. ‘Of course we do,’ Abigail said at once. ‘So we shall sleep in one of these and cuddle up together. Which one would you prefer?’

  Emily pointed. ‘That one,’ she said.

  Abigail’s eyes softened. Emily was – always had been – such a compliant little thing, and she’d gone along with everything that Abigail had dragged them both into over the last couple of days. And she hadn’t mentioned her grazed knees since.

  Emily turned to a clean page. ‘I don’t like Miss Grant,’ she said, ‘because she thinks I will wet the bed. Only babies do that, and I’m not a baby, am I Mummy?’

  ‘You certainly are not – and Miss Grant was only asking.’

  There was a pause. ‘I don’t like her shoes,’ Emily went on. ‘They’re horrible – not like the ones you’ve bought, Mummy.’

  Abigail smiled. As usual, Emily had been taking everything in, missing nothing. Even though she’d not uttered a word while the landlady had been there.

  ‘Well, perhaps Miss Grant has sore feet,’ Abigail said, ‘and needs to wear those sorts of shoes. Black, strong and reliable ones.’

  ‘I still don’t like her,’ Emily said matter-of-factly, ‘but I like Janet and Pat and Fay, and I like Eileen and Carrie as well.’

  ‘Yes, I like them, too,’ Abigail said. ‘They were all very kind to us, weren’t they?’

  Emily looked up eagerly. ‘Can we go back to Janet’s now?’

  Abigail shook her head. ‘No, not tonight. Besides, Eileen and Carrie will have gone home, and perhaps Janet will soon be closing for the day. But we will go there again soon.’

  Presently, with Emily in her pushchair, Abigail made her way up the street towards the rank of shops the landlady had told her about. They were only going to need milk, sugar, cornflakes, tea, bread and butter, and some biscuits. And perhaps half a dozen eggs. Just enough to be going on with. Besides, Abigail didn’t want to upset Miss Grant by putting too much of everything on the one shelf in the pantry that had been allocated as Abigail’s.

  They arrived at Dawson’s the grocer’s, and the owner immediately came forward to serve them. ‘Oooh, you’re in luck because we’re nearly closing!’ he said. ‘But we are always open for special people!’ He tickled Emily beneath her chin.

  Abigail looked away quickly. She wasn’t used to this sort of reaction from anyone. ‘Thank you for staying open,’ she said as she itemised the things she’d come for, adding, ‘Oh, and perhaps a bottle of orange squash and a jar of Marmite? Thank you.’

  As he put their order into a strong brown paper bag, Mr Dawson looked at Abigail quizzically. ‘I haven’t seen you around here before, luvver,’ he said. ‘Are you just visiting?’

  ‘No, we hope to be staying for a while,’ Abigail said, ‘and for the moment we shall be living at number fourteen down the road.’

  ‘Ah – Miss Grant’s place,’ the grocer said. ‘Well, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of you. I hope so, anyway!’ He winked. ‘Everyone knows everyone else around here you d’know! And that’s the way we like it!’

  They left the shop, next to which was a small sub-post office, and on a whim Abigail went inside, thinking that it was just possible they might stock the other essentials that she and Emily were running short of. And yes – there right in front of them were drawing materials, paints, paper, pencils, colouring crayons! And all very cheaply priced. Immediately interested, Emily got out of the pushchair and began to help Abigail choose what they wanted, putting everything into one of the bags which were obviously there for the purpose.

  ‘There, I think that must do for today,’ Abigail said firmly, noting that Emily was about to add more things to the contents of their bag. The man behind the counter smiled as he took the money from Abigail.

  ‘All that’ll keep the little one quiet for a bit,’ he said cheerfully.

  Later, appearing to have the house to themselves, Abigail and Emily sat in the kitchen eating their supper. Emily had asked for a boiled egg with soldiers to dip, while Abigail needed nothing more than a strong cup of tea and a couple of Marmite sandwiches. She still felt full after the food they’d had at Robertson’s.

  And now she admitted to feeling worn out after the first day of their new lives and couldn’t wait to get to bed – even though it was hardly dark.

  Fortunately, it seemed that Emily was tired too, because she couldn’t stop yawning, and after everything had been cleared up and the kitchen left exactly as they’d found it, the two made their way upstairs.

  Fetching their toilet bag from the bedroom, they went into the bathroom, and Abigail bit her lip as she glanced around her. They could hardly use Miss Grant’s towels, all so beautifully folded over the bath, and they had only brought two small towels with them from Coopers because they just couldn’t carry anything else. But those would have to do for now.

  Presently, with all these thoughts churning in her mind, Abigail slipped into bed beside Emily who had already snuggled down.

  And lying there close together, they both slept soundly all night – though it being mid-summer, the eiderdown soon ended up on the floor.

  Much later that evening, Eileen went into her mother’s sitting room carrying a tray holding their night-time drinks and a small plate of bourbon biscuits. This was a normal ritual – to enjoy a chat together at the end of the day.

  Mrs Matthews was sitting in her armchair, her book and a copy of the Bristol Evening Post on her lap. She looked up as Eileen went in.

  ‘Is it that time already?’ she asked. ‘There was a lot to read in the paper today, and I’m trying to finish this book before it’s due back in the library.’

  Eileen put the tray down on the small table beside her mother. ‘It’s not even ten o’clock yet, Mother, but I wanted to tell you about someone Carrie and I met today when we were in town. Well, there were two of them, actually.’

  And Eileen proceeded to tell her mother all about Abigail and Emily.

  Mrs Matthews had been listening intently, and now she said, ‘And what did you think of this young woman? Did you consider her a responsible mother, a responsible adult capable of having the care of a small child? In their present circumstances, I mean?’

  ‘Oh there was no doubt about her being a responsible mother,’ Eileen said at once. ‘The close relationship between her and her daughter was there for all to see. And Mrs Wilson knows exactly how to express her point of view. Both of us – Carrie and I – took to her immediately. You couldn’t help it, Mother, apart from the fact that she is
very, very attractive. But what was just as attractive was her personality, because despite her obvious courage and determination, she has a certain naivety about her which is very appealing.’

  ‘So,’ Gladys Matthews said, picking up her drink, ‘what happened after that?’

  ‘Well, we all said goodbye and Abigail thanked us and everything, and then she and Emily went off to view somewhere to stay tonight. Apparently, Clark’s had recommended number fourteen Redcliffe Way.’ Eileen made a face. ‘I hope they did find it, and that it came up to their expectations.’

  ‘Try not to worry too much about them, Eileen,’ Mrs Matthews said. ‘It sounds to me as if this young woman has a head on her shoulders. And you can’t take everyone’s worries on yours, my dear,’ she added.

  Eileen nodded. ‘I know – but you would have liked them, Mother. And Emily is about the sweetest little thing you can imagine and seemed unbelievably grown up. She hardly mentioned her poor knees and was trotting around helping clear the cups and saucers – and spoke beautifully to us all. Not a bit shy.’ Eileen patted her mother’s knee. ‘You would have loved her, Mother.’

  ‘I’m sure I would,’ Gladys Matthews said. ‘You never know, you might bump into them again, and if you do, you could invite them here for a meal or a cup of tea, Eileen. I mean, as they have no friends they might be glad of a little hospitality.’

  Eileen nodded. ‘I thought of that,’ she said, ‘so I gave Abigail our telephone number and told her to get in touch if she needed us.’

  Chapter 9

  Next morning, with Emily still fast asleep, Abigail slipped out of bed and went across to the window. Quietly drawing the curtains aside, she gazed out at another perfect day with not a cloud in sight. She drew in a long, deep breath. This really was the first day of their new lives. You could hardly count yesterday which now seemed a kaleidoscope of strange things – new places, new people, a whole new world. And – maybe – new friends.