The Woolworths Girls

by Elaine Everest

  Maisie nudged Freda. ‘A penny for them?’

  ‘Sorry – I was miles away. Perhaps you are right and I should stay at Woolworths. I promise that if I change my mind, I’ll let you both know first.’

  Sarah patted her hand. ‘I’m so pleased. Oops, mind how you go – the pavement is rather slippery. Thank goodness we are almost home.’

  The girls turned into Alexandra Road, thankful to be almost out of the cold weather.

  ‘It looks as though there’s someone waiting on the doorstep,’ Maisie pointed out.

  ‘I hope Nan hasn’t forgotten her key. It’s too cold to be waiting outside.’

  ‘Surely Mrs C. would have popped to Woolies and borrowed a key from us?’ Freda asked.

  ‘It’s most likely Vera come to tell us she’s spotted some more German soldiers,’ Maisie laughed.

  ‘Oh my goodness. It can’t be!’ Sarah pulled away from her two friends and ran towards number thirteen. ‘Alan! It’s Alan!’ In the darkened street, she could just see the outline of the man she loved.

  She reached the gate as Alan turned and saw his wife and swept her up in his arms. They were locked in an embrace, only parting as a polite cough from Freda and Maisie brought them back to earth.

  ‘Good to see you, Alan,’ Maisie said as she held out her door key. ‘Let’s get ourselves inside before we freeze to death.’

  ‘How long have you been waiting on the doorstep? I thought Nan would have been home,’ Sarah asked her husband as she ushered him into the front room, closing the curtains before switching on the light. Freda and Maisie had discreetly gone through to the kitchen, leaving the young couple alone.

  ‘Not long. I went to Mum’s house first, but it was locked up and empty. I thought I’d find someone here, but all I’ve seen is a dog. I didn’t know your nan had one. He seems friendly enough, even though he finished off my sandwiches.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘Nan doesn’t have a dog. Perhaps it’s that stray that’s been hanging around. You know what Nan’s like with waifs and strays. I reckon she’s been slipping it some food, even though Dad has chased it off a few times.’

  ‘That sounds like your nan all right. Is Mum still at work?’

  ‘Maureen’s gone away for Christmas to visit your aunt Joan in Ipswich. I did mention it in my last letter. It’ll probably be waiting for you when you get back to Scotland.’ Sarah started to remove her coat, wishing she was wearing something prettier than her maroon Woolworths overall and comfortable old shoes. ‘Shall I light the fire?’

  ‘No, don’t bother. We may as well go into the living room with the others.’

  Sarah felt a stab of disappointment. She thought Alan would have preferred some time alone with her, as they hadn’t seen each other since September. Perhaps he was tired. ‘Did it take long to travel down from Scotland?’

  Alan looked away as he removed his overcoat. ‘I’m no longer in Scotland.’

  ‘But . . . but why didn’t you tell me? Where are you based now?’

  ‘I’m not really supposed to say, Sarah.’

  Sarah felt impatient. ‘For heaven’s sake, Alan. I’m not likely to tell the enemy.’ She thought of Vera and her ‘Germans’ and felt a nervous giggle escape from her throat.

  Alan looked annoyed. ‘It’s no laughing matter, Sarah. It’s all right for you women, staying home and not having to train to fight the enemy. You can go on as if life is just the same, but for us men, it’s different. Damn you. Men are going to die and all you can do is stand there and laugh.’

  ‘Alan?’ Sarah didn’t recognize this man standing in front of her. Had he changed so much in three months? His face was thinner, and there was a guarded look in his eyes.

  Alan ran his hands through his short hair. ‘For your information, and please don’t share this with your friends, I’m based in Kent.’ He raised his hand to silence Sarah as she was about to say how pleased she was that he would be close to home. ‘Don’t say a word. From the little I know, it’s likely that this part of the country will take a pounding, and it will be our air force that will stop an invasion.’

  Sarah frowned as she looked at her husband. He had never spoken to her this way before. ‘Alan, all I want is for you to be safe. Please let’s not argue.’

  Alan sighed. ‘I’m sorry, my love. It’s been a long day and I expected to find Mum home as well as you. Come here.’ He held out his arms and Sarah stepped gratefully into them. This was more like the Alan she knew and loved. She traced the lines on his face before pulling his lips down to hers. His face was more lined than she remembered, and his eyes didn’t shine quite as much, but once their lips met, none of that mattered anymore.

  ‘Cooee! I’m home!’ Sarah pulled away from Alan as Ruby let herself into the house, closely followed by Vera. ‘My goodness, is that you, Alan? Come here and give me a hug. It’s so good to see you, lad. You look a sight for sore eyes in that uniform.’

  Alan hugged Ruby and shook Vera’s hand.

  ‘Now, have those girls offered you any food yet? . . . I thought not. You come along with me and we’ll sort that out right now.’

  Alan followed Ruby without a backward glance to his wife.

  For the next hour Sarah sat quietly and watched as Alan chatted to the women about his life in the RAF and told them things he had not mentioned in his letters to her. I may as well not be here, she thought, as she went to the scullery to wash up.

  She didn’t hear Maisie come up behind her until she whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t look so glum. I reckon your husband’s a little bit shy after being away for so long. Come with me.’

  Sarah wasn’t sure that Maisie was correct in her assumptions but followed her upstairs to the room the girls were sharing over Christmas.

  Opening her wardrobe, Maisie pulled out a parcel. ‘I suppose you’ll be going back to Maureen’s tonight?’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t given that a thought. I suppose we will, as there’s no room here, is there. Not with Mum and Dad arriving tomorrow evening.’

  Maisie laughed at her friend’s innocence. ‘Here, this is your Christmas present. I think it’ll be a good idea if you open it now.’

  Sarah took the parcel. ‘But it’s not Christmas yet. I’d rather wait until Christmas Day.’

  ‘No, open it now. You’ll thank me later.’

  Sarah untied the ribbon and pulled back the wrapping paper. Beneath a layer of tissue was a confection of fine lawn and lace. Lifting the garment, she found herself looking at the most beautiful nightdress she’d ever seen. ‘It’s adorable. Did you make this?’

  Maisie nodded. ‘I thought that it would come in useful once that husband of yours returned home.’

  ‘Won’t you be needing this yourself, Maisie?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, my love. My fingers haven’t been idle. My Joe will see me in something equally as alluring.’

  ‘Alluring?’ Sarah felt her cheeks turn pink. ‘My goodness,’ she spluttered. Now she did feel shy.

  Maisie delved back into the wardrobe and pulled out her second-best dress, of green velvet, and held it up to Sarah. ‘Hmm, that’ll do. Now, get yourself ready and take that husband of yours back to Maureen’s. You have the place to yourself. We don’t want to see you until Christmas Day.’

  ‘But that’s—’

  ‘Yes, it’s the day after tomorrow. Don’t worry about the potatoes and the sprouts. Freda and me’ll help Ruby. You just get to know your husband again before he vanishes up into those blue skies for months on end.’

  Sarah hugged Maisie. ‘You are the best friend a girl has ever had.’

  ‘Don’t go saying that in front of Freda or she’ll never forgive you. Not that I can see Freda running up a nightdress like this and giving it as a Christmas present.’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s late, so you get dressed and I’ll go tell Alan to wait for you at the front door. Oh, and there’s some of my perfume in the top drawer. Help yourself.’

  ‘Cheers, Maisie. I don’t know what to say.’


  Maisie paused at the door. ‘Just name the first baby after me.’

  Sarah cuddled up to Alan and watched as the night sky turned to dawn through a crack in the curtains. They’d not bothered about the blackout, as there had been no time to turn on a light. Maisie’s gift had worked its magic, but Sarah felt as though the man she was lying next to was not the person she had married. It was Alan who had held her close. It was Alan who had covered her body in kisses, but where was the Alan who would whisper tender words to her and cuddle her close until they fell into a deep sleep? She could see his uniform jacket draped across the seat by the dressing table. It was alien to her, as was the way he now held himself, upright and proud. No doubt this was the RAF’s doing, but she felt there was more. They needed to talk, and it had to be before he returned to his duties.

  She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. Her hand fell upon the nightdress that Maisie had sewn with such care for her friend, but instead she reached for her normal attire. Pulling the dressing gown tight, she slipped her feet carefully into her slippers and crept from the room. A good breakfast would put matters right. Maureen may be away, but she always kept the larder well stocked. Perhaps they could go for a walk afterwards. That would be nice, she thought, as she put the kettle on the stove and lit the gas beneath. Humming happily to herself, she cracked eggs into a pan and sliced bread ready to fry to a crispy brown just as she knew Alan liked it.

  ‘That smells good.’

  ‘Oh, Alan, I was just about to bring it to you.’

  Alan stretched his arms above his head and yawned. He was wearing just the bottom part of his pyjamas. Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as she saw strong, well-defined muscles that hadn’t been there three months ago flex across his broad chest. She resisted the urge to trace them with her fingers, instead pouring milk into his cup. They needed to talk. She had to keep her head clear.

  ‘Sit yourself down, Alan, before it gets cold.’

  Alan tucked into his breakfast. Sarah watched him as he ate hungrily.

  ‘You don’t know how much I’ve missed decent grub these last months. I’ve thought about nothing else all the way home on the train.’

  Sarah felt her heart sink. ‘Haven’t you missed me at all?’

  Alan’s eyes never left his plate as he mopped up the last of his egg with a piece of bread. ‘Goes without saying, don’t it?’ he muttered.

  ‘I don’t think it does, Alan. I’ve missed you like hell. I was missing you before you’d reached the end of the street. Now you’re back, I’ll tell you again. I miss you, Alan Gilbert, and if I had it my way, you’d never leave me again. As it is, bloody Hitler is stopping us being together and I’m not happy about it. Now, tell me all about your life these past months and the people you’ve met.’

  Alan sighed. ‘You know I’m not supposed to talk about things, Sarah.’

  ‘I don’t mean the war. I want to know if you’ve made friends. What are the people like you are living with?’

  ‘They’re just chaps. Nothing to write home about.’

  ‘But I’m interested, Alan. I want to be able to imagine what your life is like when you are off duty. Are these chaps like us? Do they have wives and children? Did they work at Woolworths or in factories?’

  Alan laughed. It wasn’t his usual carefree laugh but harsh and cynical. ‘For Christ’s sake, Sarah, of course they aren’t like us. I’m the odd one out, if you must know. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth like many of my fellow pilots. I never went to the kind of school one boasts about that opens doors for the rest of one’s life. No, Sarah, they aren’t like us . . . me.’

  Something inside Sarah died at that moment. Looking back, she could pinpoint the time, the room and even the remains of breakfast on the table at the moment she realized her husband had changed.

  She reached across the table to take Alan’s hand, but he pulled away. ‘Alan, it’s what’s inside us that matters. You wouldn’t be a pilot if the RAF didn’t think you were good enough.’

  Alan rose to his feet. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not just about flying planes. I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘If you wait until I’ve washed up and tidied around a bit, we could go together. It would be lovely to walk down by the river and get some fresh air.’

  ‘I’d rather be alone,’ he said, walking from the room.

  Sarah collected the empty plates and headed to the scullery. She’d clear up and then make herself presentable. Perhaps when Alan came back, he would be in a better frame of mind and they could make a fresh start with the day.

  Sarah put her knitting to one side. It was starting to get dark outside, even though it was only mid-afternoon. She needed to check the blackout curtains were secure before turning on the light. Her fingers felt numb from knitting for so long, but it helped stop her from pacing the floor worrying about where Alan had gone and why he had not returned. Freda had popped round earlier with a basket of food from Ruby, so at least she didn’t have to think about what to prepare for their evening meal. Slices of roast beef with vegetables would see them through until they went to number thirteen on Christmas Day. Freda had not questioned Sarah about Alan once she explained that he’d gone for a walk. Thank goodness Maisie had not accompanied her, as she would have seen through Sarah’s bright smile and Alan going out alone.

  Knowing that she would be away over Christmas and that Sarah would be staying at Ruby’s, Maureen had not bothered putting up her few decorations or bringing in the tree from the garden, where it had been planted the previous year. The greetings cards on the mantelpiece did not make the room look at all festive and Sarah switched off the wireless with a sigh. The carol service that had been playing had done nothing to lighten her mood.

  She’d just picked up her knitting when she heard a key turning in the lock of the front door.

  ‘Alan, is that you?’

  There was no response. Surely it wasn’t Maureen come home early from her visit to her family. Sarah prayed it wasn’t, as she was bound to notice the difference in her son and Sarah could not face the questions. She picked up the poker from the hearth and crept into the darkened hall. The door had swung open. Sarah jumped as she spotted Alan sitting on the floor.

  ‘Alan, whatever are you doing down there?’ She pushed the door closed, retrieving his key, which had been left in the lock. Flicking on the hall light, she tried not to laugh at the state of her husband.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he slurred, finding it hard to form his words. ‘I bumped into young Ginger and we stopped off at the New Light for a pint. He’s home for a few days before he’s shipped out. Look, I won the raffle.’ He held up a rather bedraggled-looking chicken. ‘It needs plucking.’

  Sarah helped him to his feet and he staggered to the over-stuffed horsehair sofa, sitting on Sarah’s knitting, which she’d left when she went to investigate the intruder. ‘I’ll make you some food and then I think you should lie down for a while,’ she said, retrieving her knitting and checking that Alan hadn’t knocked any stitches from the needles. ‘I’ll take this as well,’ she added, prising the chicken from her husband’s arms. He lay in an untidy heap, his head dropping onto his chest as he started to doze off. She had no idea what to do with the bird, or if it would remain fresh for when her mother-in-law returned home. She’d leave it in the pantry and ask Nan for advice.

  Returning to the front room ten minutes later with sandwiches made from the beef that Freda had dropped off earlier in the day, Sarah found Alan snoring loudly on the sofa. She pulled off his shoes and jacket, retrieved his cap from the floor and made him more comfortable. Despite the way she had to roll him over to get his arms out of the jacket sleeves, he didn’t wake. It was pointless making a proper meal, as it was unlikely Alan would wake for a few hours and it would be wasted. It was better he slept off his excess of ale. She frowned. She’d never known him drink this much before.

  Sarah topped up the coal fire and picked up her knitting. Christmas Eve woul
d be quiet for once, but at least Alan was home and safe.

  18

  ‘Happy Christmas, darling. Where is that handsome husband of yours?’

  Sarah hugged her mum and pulled off her coat, checking her hair in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘He’s chatting with Dad in the garden.’

  ‘I just hope they are seeing off that mangy dog that’s been hanging around. I read in the newspaper the government are putting down all dogs so they aren’t a burden on the country while we’re at war. Someone should do something about that animal before we all catch something or he attacks us in our sleep. Now, shall I pour Alan a sherry, or do you think he would prefer a glass of beer?’

  ‘Mum, I don’t think the dog is a danger. He’s quite sweet really.’

  Irene frowned. She didn’t look convinced. ‘I’ll have a word with your father about it. Now, how about that sherry?’

  ‘Perhaps wait and ask him when he comes in?’ Sarah doubted Alan could face alcohol today. After trying unsuccessfully to wake him the night before, she’d covered him in a blanket and spent the night alone in their large double bed. It had taken some urging the next morning to have Alan pull himself together enough to wash and shave, let alone eat the breakfast Sarah placed in front of him. He’d picked at the poached eggs and toast before turning rather green and heading to bed for another hour. By the time he materialized, Sarah was ready to walk the short distance to number thirteen and start the Christmas festivities.

  Alan had gone back into his shell and was as uncommunicative as he had been the previous day. Sarah had hoped that by letting his hair down at the pub, he would return to his old self, but no, Alan was a stranger once more.