An Orphan in the Snow

by Molly Green

  She’d continue going through the files of the rest of the children tomorrow.

  Meanwhile she’d stroll over and look at the cottage – her new home … and Freddie’s.

  Lizzie would be able to visit Freddie every single day. She hugged herself at the thought.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ‘Dr Barnardo’s at Bingham Hall.’

  ‘Junie?’

  There was only one other person who called her that besides Iris. His voice melted her insides. She squeezed the receiver as though it might steady her.

  ‘Junie – are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here, Murray.’ Saying his name made her heart swell with love. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I had to go to a rest home for a bit, but now I’m back at the camp. They’ve already got me busy, though only light jobs at the moment.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you, Murray.’

  There was a pause. ‘Junie, I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

  June clung to the sound of his voice. It was making her tremble. The line crackled and she thought she heard the word ‘meet’.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ June said. ‘I didn’t quite hear.’

  ‘Can we meet somewhere?’

  ‘All right.’ It was her turn to hesitate. Then she added, ‘I’d like that.’

  Was it her imagination or did she hear him sigh with relief?

  ‘What about at Brown’s Books?’ he suggested. ‘Then whoever’s first can be inside, as they say there’s going to be a storm. It’s certainly a scorcher, so just right for one.’ The pips went and she heard the clink of coins. ‘Are you still there, Junie?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘Can you manage tomorrow afternoon?’

  A bomb would have to strike to prevent her being there.

  ‘Yes,’ she told him, her voice on the edge of shaking. ‘What time?’

  The pips went again as Murray said frantically, ‘I haven’t got any more change, Junie. Tomorrow at—’

  The line went dead. It didn’t matter. She’d be at Mr Brown’s shop as soon as she’d helped clear away lunch. She’d wait all afternoon if she had to.

  By a stroke of luck Harold stuck his head around the dining-room door, asking if anyone needed anything or would like a lift into town.

  ‘Oh, Harold, yes, please,’ June said, scrambling up from her chair.

  Barbara, who was sitting a few feet away, raised her eyebrow but June pretended she hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Sorry I can’t hang around – need to go in ten minutes.’ Harold’s head disappeared from view.

  ‘Sounds as though you’ve got something important to do,’ Barbara said, a gleam in her eye. ‘And by the looks of that pretty dress I haven’t seen before …’

  June felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Trying to sound as casual as she could, she said, ‘I just need a new library book and I hate it if I haven’t anything to read.’

  ‘We have a complete library here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ Barbara sounded amused.

  ‘Um, yes, I know, but …’

  ‘It’s obviously a young man’ – Barbara grinned – ‘and you’re not letting on. All right, go on. I’ll clear up for you.’

  It was raining – not heavily, although the sky was black with cloud – but June put her umbrella up. She spotted him quite some way away, striding towards the bookshop from the opposite direction. She was sure he hadn’t seen her yet as his head was slightly bent as though deep in thought. His left arm was in a sling, but it didn’t seem to be any deterrent to several girls whose heads turned as he passed by.

  ‘Cor,’ June heard one of them say to her friend in a voice loud enough for the whole street to hear, including Murray, ‘he’s not half a looker. Been through the wars, too, by the look of him.’

  June felt a stab of satisfaction that he hadn’t even given them a glance. She pretended to be looking in the bookshop window, where raindrops were running down the panes so it was difficult to make out the titles. Her umbrella bumped against the window pane and her heart beat wildly against her ribs. This lovely man was coming to see her. What was he going to say? She remembered the letter she’d written explaining about Chas; the letter she’d never sent. It weighed heavily on her mind that she’d never spoken to Murray about him. She’d been going to on her third visit to the hospital, but he’d already been moved. Nor had she told Murray of her rage with Billy Lavender when she’d put him in hospital. What would he think of her doing such a thing? It was an act of violence. She shuddered. She’d often used that very word for Billy when he’d been cruel to her mother and Clara. Desperately, she tried to push such thoughts away. She’d face it when it came.

  ‘Junie!’

  She turned.

  His smile lit up his face. ‘I can’t believe you beat me here. I didn’t even tell you what time before the pips went.’ He made to kiss her cheek but it landed somewhere above her ear as she slightly turned, and she suspected he felt just as awkward.

  ‘We met once before at half-past two, so I went by that time.’ She was stumbling with her words, not knowing what she was saying now that he was so close she could smell the fresh musky scent of his skin, the tang of mint and cigarette smoke on his breath.

  ‘I hoped that’s what—’

  ‘I thought it was you two outside,’ Mr Brown interrupted as he appeared in the doorway of his shop. ‘Why don’t you come in and shelter for a few minutes? It looks as though it’s going to bucket down. And I’ve had something in which might be of interest to the young lady.’

  As he spoke a crack of lightning lit up the High Street and a few seconds later a roll of thunder broke around them.

  June instinctively jerked towards Murray and she felt his arm slide around her waist, drawing her in. She mustn’t – no, she mustn’t read anything into it. He was just being a gentleman, that was all. She was grateful for Mr Brown’s interruption. What a nice man he was, offering them shelter.

  ‘You’ve got me curious, Mr Brown,’ Murray remarked when they’d dashed inside and June had put her dripping umbrella in the stand. ‘You have something which might be of interest to Miss Lavender, you said.’

  ‘Yes, yes, now where did I put it?’

  While Mr Brown was busy opening drawers and cupboards at speed, June glanced around, surprised to see a couple of tables covered with gingham cloths along the right-hand wall, already set with cups and saucers and plates.

  ‘Ah, here it is.’ Mr Brown placed a book on the counter. ‘Came in yesterday. I thought of you at once, Miss – Miss Lavender, did I hear your young man call you?’

  ‘Yes.’ June blushed furiously. ‘But he’s not—’ she started to say. She was conscious Murray’s arm was encircling her waist again.

  Murray tightened his grip and smiled at Mr Brown. ‘Do the teacups mean you’re serving teas?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. The missus says people like to stop and browse and then they get thirsty so they go off for a cup of tea and don’t always come back. She says we might as well make them a pot, and keep them in the shop.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Murray grinned. ‘And sell them an extra book.’ He looked at June. ‘Shall we have tea while we’re sheltering and you can have a look at the book Mr Brown’s been saving for you?’

  ‘Um … yes, that would be nice.’

  The rain swept the shop window viciously and a crack of lightning lit up the dismal shop for a few seconds, turning Mr Brown’s face yellow. Another rumble of thunder made her jump.

  ‘Here – give me your coat. I’ll put it on the back of the chair,’ Murray said, helping her out of the wet raincoat.

  ‘Let me hang it up for you,’ Mr Brown said, taking it. ‘I shan’t be a mo. Will that be a pot of tea for two? And what about two nice scones that the missus made this morning, with some of her homemade strawberry jam?’

  ‘Junie?’ Murray was gazing at her.

  She allowed herself to raise her eyes directly to his. Although they w
ere still the same intense blue as the first time she’d bumped into him on the train to Liverpool, his right eyelid was visibly scarred and the shape a little distorted. Still, the dark circles had practically disappeared and it was more difficult to tell from a quick glance that one of his eyes had been so badly injured. She wondered if she dared bring the subject up.

  Mr Brown cleared his throat, reminding her she hadn’t answered his question.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you, Mr Brown,’ she said.

  Mr Brown nodded and disappeared through a door at the back, and she heard him call out to his wife to put the kettle on.

  For something to do, June took the book he’d saved for her and turned it over to see the title.

  ‘Oh, it’s another Monica Dickens book,’ she said, pleased and touched that Mr Brown had thought of her. ‘One Pair of Feet.’

  ‘That’s two of hers I’ve got to read,’ Murray said, gesturing to the table furthest away from the counter. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘How is your arm?’ she asked, as he pulled her chair out with his good arm and took the one opposite.

  ‘Healing well.’ Murray gave her a rueful smile. ‘It’ll never be like the other one. It’s very scarred and raw-looking. I can’t remember if I told you but the surgeon at the Queen Victoria did a skin graft on it. It still doesn’t resemble the old arm but it’s a damn sight better than it was.’ He straightened his back. ‘Sorry, June, I don’t usually swear in front of ladies and compared to Shorty I’m bl— I’m very lucky.’

  ‘How is Shorty?’

  ‘Still where I left him. He tells me he’s in the Guinea Pig Club and seems quite proud of it.’

  June’s brow puckered.

  ‘They call the burn patients’ – he paused and momentarily closed his eyes – ‘guinea pigs because the surgeon, Archibald McIndoe, practically admits he’s experimenting on them – rebuilding their faces. But the boys don’t care about being guinea pigs. They love him. Apparently he works miracles on the most terrible cases.’

  ‘I hope they can work a miracle on Shorty,’ June said quietly. She couldn’t bear to think of him and all those other young men who were so badly burned. Murray had once told her that some were unrecognisable even to their own mothers.

  Murray put his hand on hers, which had been resting lightly on the table. His touch sent a tingle up her spine, so strong she thought he must have felt the same quiver of shock. His eyes sought hers and she noticed a smudge of anxiety.

  ‘And your eye?’ she blurted before she realised what she was saying.

  ‘That’s the main problem.’ He lowered his eyelids to show her the red angry scar on the right-hand one.

  ‘Can you see anything out of it?’

  He covered his good eye with his free hand. ‘Something hazy – like an outline.’

  ‘Have they said it will improve even more?’

  ‘Just that it needs time to heal properly. They’re optimistic. But I do have some news. If it improves even just a bit more, and everything else goes to plan, I’ll be allowed to teach fighter pilots. At least I’ll be doing something worthwhile still … and what I love.’

  ‘Oh, Murray, that’s wonderful.’ Without thinking she raised his hand to her cheek and held it there for a few seconds before she realised what she was doing. Overcome with embarrassment she abruptly let his hand drop from her fingers.

  He must be thinking how forward she was. She was about to chide herself when his voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘How is everyone at Bingham Hall?’

  ‘Oh.’ She caught his gaze and smiled. ‘I don’t think I told you – Matron’s left – for good.’

  ‘Thank the Lord. Let’s hope her replacement is someone more suitable, though anyone would be better than that dragon.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll consider that I’ll be better than the dragon.’

  Murray gave a start, then beamed. ‘Junie, that’s marvellous. I’m so pleased for you – proud of you. You’ll be a fine matron. You’re just what the children need.’

  ‘Thank you, Murray. I’m going to do my very best but it’ll be a challenge, no doubt.’

  ‘You’re a natural. You’ll do an extraordinary job.’

  She fell silent, and stole a glance at Murray. He was looking away and she was sure he was thinking of Chas. She’d have to explain but not in Brown’s teashop, surely. Tears filled her eyes. He’d never believe her. She heard him clear his throat as though ready to ask her the dreaded question. He turned his head towards her, rubbing the back of his neck, and she made a play of peering at her watch.

  ‘I don’t have time for tea after all,’ she said, not daring to catch his eye.

  ‘June – Junie, why are you so upset?’

  He got up too, and pulled her close but she resisted. A flash of lightning lit up the shop, and then an almighty boom. She clung to him and with one strong arm he pulled her closer. She felt the material of his tunic against her cheek, felt his mouth on hers … like that first time … no, it wasn’t like the first time at all. This time his lips were firm and warm, his breath coming unevenly. Her lips parted under his and she could feel the solid beat of his heart. The kiss ended and Murray began to kiss her eyes, her nose, along her jaw, until he found her mouth again. She felt she was drowning and never wanted to come to the surface … to the real world.

  ‘Well, if it takes a thunderstorm to allow me to kiss you, let it roll,’ Murray said, and laughed.

  She couldn’t help laughing too. ‘You must think I’m one of those pathetic women who are scared of storms, but I’m not. I like thunderstorms, but these days it always sounds like a bomb going off.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re pathetic at all,’ Murray said, not letting her go. ‘If you really want my opinion, I think you’re the most wonderful, sweetest, dearest girl in the whole world.’

  She put her finger to her bruised lips. Her mind reeled.

  ‘Junie, I—’

  ‘Don’t say anything, Murray.’ She buried her head in his shoulder. The dear comforting feeling of being held so tightly against him she could smell the hint of spice on his skin. She’d stay here a minute longer. Just one more minute before she told him what she knew she must … She’d relish the closeness of him, feel his heartbeat for just a few more precious moments before she was forced to see the look of dismay on his face.

  ‘Murray, I want to explain—’

  ‘Junie, I think I know what you want to say. I should never have brought it up just as you were leaving the hospital. You want to explain about Chas. You don’t have to. Chas was showing off, boasting he’d made love to you in his hotel bedroom, though he made out the bomb had fallen at the wrong time and interrupted everything. So, yes, I’m sorry to say that at first I believed him. But I still gave him a punch on the jaw. Told him to stay away from you. But later – later when I had time to think about it, I knew his version couldn’t possibly be true, though I’ll never forgive him for trying to seduce you.’

  Her eyes went wide. ‘You hit him? Over me?’

  Murray gave a rueful smile. ‘It was no more than he deserved.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Did he tell you he had a fiancée back in the States?’

  She took a step back. ‘No, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I think the English girls are a challenge to him. He told me they were very different from anyone he knew at home but if he’s really got a fiancée I’m sure he’ll settle when he goes back to America.’

  ‘You sound as though you’re sticking up for him.’

  ‘Not really. But he did finally apologise for his behaviour, and he was the one who rang to tell me you were missing – presumed dead,’ June added with a shudder. ‘I would never have known, else. And he had the decency to let me know that you’d been found. That’s not the action of a bad person.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Murray didn’t sound convinced. ‘The sooner he goes back to the States the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Is he good at his job?’

&
nbsp; ‘He’s an okay pilot, I suppose.’ Murray sounded reluctant to give the American any sort of compliment.

  ‘Then be grateful to have him at the station. He’s offering his life as well as you and everyone else.’

  It was easier to talk to Murray once she’d begun, but there was a burning question she felt compelled to ask.

  ‘Why did you think it wasn’t true that I’d been with Chas in that way?’

  Murray lowered his eyes. ‘I was sure … when I thought about it, that you couldn’t love him.’

  That word. It made her heart twist. ‘Why were you so sure I couldn’t?’ June’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  He leaned forward and ran his finger over the little silver winged RAF brooch she’d managed to pin on her dress before running down the stairs at Bingham Hall just as Harold started the engine.

  ‘Because I knew how you felt about me.’

  By the time Mr Brown struggled through the back door, levering it open with his foot as he wheeled a tea trolley, June and Murray had taken their seats demurely at the table, though Murray kept his fingers warm and firm around her hand as though he couldn’t bear to lose contact with her.

  ‘I’m afraid I have another confession,’ she said, feeling a little less scared of his reaction.

  ‘Oh, no.’ His eyes were teasing. ‘Well, you’d better tell me everything. Get it over with. I might as well know the worst about my angel.’

  ‘You won’t think me one of those when I tell you what I did.’ She told him about Billy Lavender, quickly and without sparing herself.

  ‘He deserved it, Junie,’ Murray said. ‘He should be behind bars. But the best news is – he’s not your real father.’

  ‘I’m not claiming him as anything, not even my stepfather. He was never any kind of father to me. I just wish I could see my real dad. Talk to him.’ A tear trickled down June’s cheek and Murray wiped it gently away with his napkin. ‘But the funny thing is that when Billy told me he wasn’t my father, I remembered a man whom my mother sometimes took me to meet. I called him Uncle Thomas. He used to pick me up and put me on his shoulder. And all the time I never knew he was my father. And he and Mum took me to the fair once. We went on a ghost train. Well, Uncle Thomas – I mean Dad – he and I went. Mum waited for us by the gate.’ How strange to be calling someone who was so hazy in her memory her dad. ‘I’ve remembered other times when I saw him. He was always smiling.’