by Molly Green
When Marjorie Drake had suddenly announced to Lana’s father that she was joining the WAAFs and would be leaving in a week’s time, Lana had felt a spurt of envy. She’d decided then and there to join the ATS. To fight Jerry. For Dickie’s sake. But she had come up against a brick wall.
‘The library was shut early today,’ Lana grumbled to her father after supper a few days later, when her mother had retired early. ‘Staff shortage, I suppose. It’s so annoying. I’ve finished my book and I’ve got nothing else to read.’
‘Try these.’ Her father put down his newspaper and tossed a couple of magazines over to her. ‘Mrs Randall-Smith dropped them in this afternoon when she came to see your mother. You might find something of interest.’
They were sitting in opposite easy chairs in the parlour, which they used more these days since her mother had been ill. Lana had lit a fire but the room was still chilly even though the ugly blackout curtains were disguised by a second thick pair of richly flowered ones. Lana shivered. All the curtains did was give the impression the room was cosier than it felt.
Lana flipped through one of The Lady magazines her mother’s friend had left, then looked up. ‘No response yet for an assistant?’
‘Not yet. Everyone seems to have joined up.’ He looked suddenly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, love. That was a bit tactless of me.’
Lana gave a rueful smile. ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m all growed up now.’
Her father’s face broke into a grin. ‘You certainly are, Topsy. I’m hoping it won’t be long before we have some replies – then you’ll be free to continue your own life.’
It was her father’s old nickname for her when she was still a child. Impulsively, she sprang to her feet and kissed her father’s cheek. ‘You’re the best father in the world,’ she said, ‘but you’re encouraging me to be the most selfish daughter.’
‘Not at all,’ he said, giving her an affectionate kiss back. ‘You haven’t had an easy time with this war and—’
‘No different from thousands of others,’ Lana interrupted, her expression grim. ‘I so badly want to get back at the Germans for what they took away from me, Dad, but Mum thinks I’ll end up a bitter and twisted old maid.’
‘Did she actually say that?’ Her father looked at her in surprise. ‘Doesn’t sound like your mother.’
‘Not in those words exactly, but that’s what she meant.’ Lana grimaced. She went back to her chair and picked up the magazine again, but she couldn’t concentrate. She sat thinking while her father quietly read his paper, until he folded it and yawned.
‘I think I’ll turn in,’ he announced.
He’d been a handsome man, she thought, as she watched him struggle to his feet, but the strain of another war – the first one where he’d lost a brother, and now two sons away at sea – had begun to tell on his features. His mouth had lost some of its fullness and his cheeks were a little sunken, but his eyes still held their teasing sparkle. A lump came to her throat.
‘G’night, love.’ He dropped a kiss on top of her head.
‘Night, Dad. Sleep tight.’
‘And don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ he finished, smiling.
It was how they’d always finished saying goodnight when she was a little girl.
She grinned back.
In bed, she opened the magazine and read a couple of articles, wrinkling her nose at the ‘Let’s Make Do & Mend’ article. If this war went on much longer she’d need to improve what little sewing skills she had. Idly, she turned to the Situations Vacant pages and her eye roved down the columns. Her attention was caught by one, enclosed in a box.
Urgently seeking temporary headmistress for village school in Bingham, nr Liverpool. Must be an experienced teacher and willing to supervise small team while headmaster is abroad fighting. Pls reply to Mr G. Shepherd, Box 3032 at The Lady.
Lana’s heart turned over. Dickie’s home port had been Liverpool. She’d been there once to see him off and had been horrified at the devastation in the city. It had looked every bit as bad as London, having only just suffered its own blitz. Beautiful buildings turned into heaps of rubble and debris, people picking their way through it, children playing games amongst it, and the animals that had once been people’s pets looking dazed by the way their world had changed in an instant, ribs sticking through their unkempt coats, foraging for scraps. Lana shuddered, remembering how every bombed building, every church destroyed, every ship struck had all brought it home to her – the danger Dickie faced every day. She’d caught the train home on the same day, not only sad at parting from Dickie but frightened on his behalf, and thoroughly depressed with the ruined areas of the city that he and his friends seemed almost to accept as part of war.
Safe in what had been her old bed at home, she pulled the blanket up further so she could tuck the ends around her shoulders. The room was so cold it was difficult to think straight, but she knew that was true for most of the nation. She wondered how far Bingham was from Liverpool, and for the children’s sake she hoped this place was miles out in the sticks. She shook herself. Why did it matter how far the village was from the city? She wouldn’t dream of applying. A headmistress was different altogether from a teacher. It would be far too big a leap and she wasn’t going to put herself through more humiliation by being rejected – this time for not being experienced enough. A pity, really. If they’d been advertising for a teacher she might well have been tempted to apply.
War rages, but the women and children of Liverpool’s Dr Barnado’s Home cannot give up hope.
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About the Author
MOLLY GREEN has travelled the world, unpacking her suitcase in a score of countries. On returning to England, Molly decided to pursue her life-long passion for writing. She now lives and writes in Kent. Following her debut novel, An Orphan in the Snow, this is the second book in a series set in Liverpool during the Second World War.
Also by Molly Green
An Orphan in the Snow
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