by Molly Green
‘That was close,’ Mr Rubenstein said, addressing the audience. ‘And we would have completely understood if you’d left for the shelter, so I want to thank you for having such faith that we would all come through this latest attack together.’
‘It was a bit like the Titanic,’ someone at the back called out. ‘The band kept playing even when it was going down, so we thought we’d better stay on, too.’
There was laughter and cheers and more clapping, until the musicians sat down again and began to play the first notes of the National Anthem. Immediately, the audience sprang to its feet and sang with even more gusto than usual.
The concert was deemed a great success – everyone said so as they trooped out of the village hall into the cool early April night.
‘Wasn’t that lovely?’ Suzanne heard Mrs Holmes, one of their neighbours, say to her friend. ‘Something beautiful to listen to … and almost spoilt by those dreadful Nazis. But they have us all wrong if they think we’re scared of them.’
‘Yes, I’m glad we stayed till the end,’ Mrs Holmes’s friend agreed, ‘but I wonder where those bombs dropped. What damage they’ve done. It’ll be more misery, that’s for certain.’
‘Maman’ – Suzanne turned to her mother who was gripping her arm – ‘Constable Peters is over by the door. I’m going to have a word with him.’
‘I would prefer to go straight home.’
‘I want to ask if he’s seen Ronnie, so just wait a moment – please, Maman.’
She broke from her mother’s grasp and hurried over.
‘Constable Peters, was anyone hurt in that raid just now? I’m so worried about Ronnie – you know, my young sister.’
‘No one hurt, miss, as far as I know. They all got safely into the shelter – except all of you in the village hall,’ he added. ‘You want to think yourselves lucky you didn’t come to no ’arm.’
‘Did you see Ronnie?’ Suzanne said anxiously.
‘Not that I remember.’ PC Peters stroked his chin, making a rasping noise. ‘Mind you, they was all packed in tight so I might have overlooked her. She’s shorter than you and your other sister, isn’t she?’
Suzanne nodded. ‘I can’t help being worried because she was supposed to have come to the concert this evening.’
‘I ’aven’t ’eard nothing to the contrary,’ the constable said. ‘Fortunately, the bombs all dropped in the field, so no real damage, thank the Lord. Even the cows and horses were spared, so I shouldn’t worry too much.’
Suzanne thanked him and turned to see Maman hovering behind her, impatiently tapping her foot.
‘What did he say?’ Simone demanded. ‘Has he seen Véronique?’
‘No, but he said everyone got into the shelter and no one was hurt.’
As far as I know, PC Peters had added. Suzanne swallowed. She wouldn’t alarm her mother, but she wouldn’t feel happy until she saw her sister, unharmed, with her own eyes.
‘That is a relief.’ Maman dabbed her eyes with a pristine handkerchief. ‘You made me worry for a moment. Let us go home and put the kettle on.’
‘You sound like a real Englishwoman,’ Suzanne said, smiling, as she tucked her arm through her mother’s for the short walk.
‘That is not a compliment for me,’ Simone admonished, somehow making the cloth bag holding her cushion look elegant as it dangled from her wrist. She stepped along the pavement, her high heels making a rhythmic tap.
‘Just teasing, Maman. You’re French through and through, and could never pretend otherwise.’
Her mother flashed her a smile of forgiveness. ‘I do not understand teasing, as you well know, Suzanne, but if you say it was only a joke, I will believe you.’
Oh, dear. Maman was so touchy these days.
‘Ronnie told me she was coming with you.’ Suzanne couldn’t push down that niggling feeling that all was not right with her sister. That something had happened.
‘She told me the same.’ Simone pursed her mouth. ‘And I do wish you would call her by her proper name, Suzanne. How many times do I ask you?’
‘She hates being called Véronique,’ Suzanne said. ‘You know what a tomboy she is, and she doesn’t feel it suits her. In a way, she’s right, but she’ll change when she’s a bit older and starts to notice the boys.’
‘She should be proud of her name,’ Simone said. ‘I gave you all beautiful French names and she and Lorraine refuse to use them.’ She flicked a glance at Suzanne. ‘At least you do not call yourself Suzy like your sisters do. If you did, I would be very upset.’
‘Did you see her before you left?’ Suzanne asked, wanting to change the subject about their names that Maman brought up time and time again, and trying to work out what could have happened to Ronnie.
‘She came in from a walk. I told her to wash her face and change into something presentable, but that I must leave so I am not late.’ She threw a glance at Suzanne. ‘Sometimes I cannot believe she is my own daughter, that it is so hard for her to find anything suitable. I expect she decided to remain at home.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Suzanne said worriedly. ‘She doesn’t really care about whether she’s dressed appropriately or not.’
‘Well, she ought.’ Simone’s tone was non-compromising when it came to fashion and appearances.
‘I do hope she found somewhere safe in the air raid.’ Suzanne bit her lip. ‘But if she’d started out for the village hall and heard the siren, she didn’t go into the shelter – at least, Constable Peters couldn’t remember seeing her there.’
‘She knows to go under the dining table,’ her mother said firmly. ‘That is where we will find her.’
Suzanne gripped her violin case closer to her side and, unable to ignore the knot of anxiety growing in her stomach, prayed silently that her mother was right.
If you enjoyed A Sister’s Courage, why not curl up with the first heart-warming saga from Molly Green?
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War rages on, but the women and children of Liverpool’s Dr Barnardo’s Home cannot give up hope …
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Even when all seems lost at Dr Barnardo’s orphanage, there is always a glimmer of hope to be found …
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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 writes in a cabin in her garden on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells, Kent, ably assisted by her white rescued cat, Dougie.
Also by Molly Green
An Orphan in the Snow
An Orphan’s War
An Orphan’s Wish
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