Jess was still on duty when May got back to High Chalk House. May paced the schoolroom, waiting for her return. She hoped Jess wouldn’t mind being dragged to the haberdashery after a long stretch in the Operations Room, because she needed her friend’s moral support.
Jess breezed in soon after, humming a happy song under her breath. There was a glow around her that made May wonder if she had been with Milan, the Czech pilot who was clearly smitten with Jess. Jess had frequently declared herself to be enjoying nothing but a harmless flirtation, but May had occasionally caught a yearning expression on her face when she looked at Milan that said otherwise.
‘I’ve got the best news,’ Jess began. ‘I’ll tell you all about it at the pub. Are you ready?’
May never ceased to be amazed at Jess’s boundless energy. She followed Jess into their shared bedroom to collect her cap and coat, while Jess applied a fresh coat of scarlet lipstick. ‘Do you mind if we go to the haberdashery on the way?’
‘Why, so you can enjoy being called a painted Jezebel?’ Jess blotted her lipstick then adjusted the seams on her definitely non-regulation stockings. But she frowned when May explained about Davey’s picture and what Mrs Bowes had said at the end of the visit. ‘This calls for full make-up.’ She picked up her compact. ‘If I’m going to be called a scarlet woman, I may as well look the part.’
Watching Jess apply powder and full eye make-up that enhanced rather than hid her bright blue eyes, May couldn’t help admiring Jess’s spirit. She had worn lipstick to the Bowes’ farm but had wiped her face clean after getting back, not wanting to give Mrs Evans any reason for criticism. Part of her wished she could display some of Jess’s defiance but she knew she would never dare.
Once Jess was satisfied, they collected their bicycles and set off for the village at a sedate pace so as not to mess up their hair. Jess was still fuming at Mrs Evans. ‘Honestly, you’d think she’d be grateful for the work we do, putting our lives on hold for the war effort. If she’d had to go through half of what we have in the past few months, she’d be changing her tune.’ Jess broke off as they navigated a series of water-filled pot holes. Ahead, the flint tower of All Saints Church could be seen above the hedgerows, marking the centre of Amberton. May’s stomach tightened at the prospect of having to face Mrs Evans. At least Jess was with her. For Peggy’s sake, she liked to think she would have faced Mrs Evans alone if necessary, but it was so much easier with company.
All too soon they arrived at the centre of the village. May usually enjoyed visiting the pretty village with its thatched cottages, flint walls and winding lanes with quaint shops, however this time she would be glad to escape to the snug of the Horse and Groom to learn Jess’s mysterious good news. They propped their bikes outside Evans’ Haberdashery. Jess peered into the diamond-paned bay window, ignoring the display of needlepoint cushions and embroidery threads, using the glass as a mirror while she smoothed an errant lock of golden hair into place. ‘Let me do the talking at first,’ she told May. ‘By the time I’ve finished, you’ll look so pure and innocent in comparison, she’ll do anything you ask. Now, remember our first lesson: stand tall and look confident even if you don’t feel it.’
May privately thought that Mrs Evans would look down on the Virgin Mary herself if she walked into the shop in a WAAF’s uniform, but she kept her mouth shut and followed Jess. Despite Jess’s instructions, she could feel her shoulders hunching; her lifelong habit of trying to look invisible was too hard to break after just one lesson.
The vicar’s wife was being served when they walked in, the bell above the door jingling to announce their arrival. They hovered by the door, examining a display of thimbles while Mrs Evans fawned over Mrs Grey in an ingratiating tone. When Mrs Grey had finished, choosing a length of woollen cloth to make skirts for the two evacuee girls in her care, she turned and smiled at May and Jess. ‘How wonderful to see you both,’ she said. ‘It really brightens up the place to see the WAAFs in their smart uniforms, don’t you think, Mrs Evans?’
Mrs Evans muttered something unintelligible.
Mrs Grey turned to May. ‘I know I’ve seen you in church.’ She paused. ‘May Lidford, am I right?’
‘That’s right.’ May was stunned how Mrs Grey could remember her name from the ranks of WAAFs who attended church parade most Sundays. Though, on reflection, she realised she must stand out, being taller than most of the congregation.
Then Mrs Grey frowned at Jess. ‘I think I’ve seen you once or twice, but I’m afraid I can’t remember your name.’
‘Jess Halloway.’ Jess shook Mrs Grey’s proffered hand. May couldn’t resist shooting a glance at Mrs Evans, who looked furious that the vicar’s wife should be paying notice to two WAAFs. ‘I can’t attend church often because I’m usually on duty.’
‘I do understand. I do so admire you girls for all you’re doing.’ Mrs Grey graced them with a genuine smile. ‘Well, I must be off.’ She departed to the accompaniment of the jingling bell.
The moment the door closed behind Mrs Grey, Jess strode up to the counter. ‘I’d like some strong cotton to match my uniform, please.’ She twitched aside her coat and pointed to her skirt. ‘I want to shorten the hemline. At the moment I’m not showing nearly enough leg.’
May had to imagine she was on parade with Flight Officer Ellerby glaring at her to stop her laughing out loud at Mrs Evans’ outraged expression.
‘Well, really,’ was the only thing the shopkeeper said. Shaking her head, she picked out a reel of cotton that was a good match for the RAF blue worn by the WAAFs. Although Mrs Evans didn’t approve of WAAFs, it didn’t seem to stop her from stocking plenty of thread the right colour for their uniforms. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’
When Jess said with a sweet smile that that was all, Mrs Evans wrapped the cotton in brown paper and rang the amount up on the till. Jess handed over the money then stepped aside for May. May approached the counter full of trepidation. She knew Jess’s plan had been to make May seem saint-like in comparison, but as far as May could see, all it had achieved was to confirm Mrs Evans’ worst suspicions of WAAFs.
‘Can I see Peggy, please, Mrs Evans?’ May asked. She made a conscious effort to keep her back straight as Jess had shown her.
Mrs Evans didn’t look impressed. ‘What for?’
‘I’ve got a letter from her brother. He asked me to deliver it.’
Mrs Evans stuck out a bony arm. The electric light glinted upon a thin gold chain around her wrist. ‘Give it to me. I’ll take it.’
May hesitated. This hadn’t been her plan at all. Mrs Evans lived above the shop, and May had hoped she would let her into her flat to see Peggy. She certainly didn’t want to hand the tatty piece of paper to Mrs Evans, as she suspected it would end up in the waste paper basket and not find its way into Peggy’s hands at all.
If Jess hadn’t been there, lending her silent support, May would probably have handed over the message and fled, but taking courage from Jess, she said, ‘He wanted me to give it to her in person.’ She wished her voice didn’t tremble so badly. Jess would have looked her in the eye and made her request in confident tones that expected no refusal, not squeaked like an apologetic mouse. She would definitely have to continue with her acting lessons. Half of her wished Jess would speak up on her behalf, but after her performance with the skirt, she doubted that would help matters.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Mrs Evans. She turned to the door behind the counter that must lead into the stock room and the living area. May went to follow her when Mrs Evans turned on her. She had to crane her neck to look May in the eye, yet still managed to give the impression she was looking down on her. ‘Wait here, if you please. I won’t have the likes of you in my flat.’ She disappeared through the door, closing it firmly behind her.
‘Cow,’ Jess muttered. ‘Probably worried you’ll see her pointed hat and broomstick.’
Before May could beg her to keep her voice down, the door opened again and Mrs Evans appeared, ushering Peggy into the shop. When May had last seen her, Peggy had worn her hair in a messy pony tail. Now it was arranged in two plaits dangling down to her shoulders, braided so tightly May was sure they must pull her scalp painfully. Her hair was parted in the centre in a line that had been combed with engineering precision. She came to stand before May, the corners of her mouth pulled down in a scowl. The only flaw in her mask of rebellion was a slight reddening around the eyes.
‘I don’t know if you remember me, but—’
‘You’re the lady who wouldn’t take me and my brother.’
‘Quiet. It’s rude to interrupt,’ Mrs Evans snapped. Then she put her hands on her hips and glared at May. ‘Well, hand it over. I’ve got work to do.’
May exchanged a helpless glance with Jess. With Mrs Evans hovering behind them, listening to every word, there was no chance of encouraging Peggy to reveal how she truly fared.
Even if she did, it would make no difference, a tiny voice said in the back of her mind. If Peggy says Mrs Evans is treating her badly, what can you do?
She forced a smile and pulled the paper from her pocket. ‘I saw your brother this morning,’ she said. ‘He did this for you and I promised to give it to you.’
Peggy’s face brightened and she took the drawing, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards when she read the message on the back.
‘Well, girl, where are your manners?’
The light faded from Peggy’s face. ‘Sorry, Mrs Evans.’ She craned her neck to speak to May. ‘Thank you, Miss.’
Before May could say anything else, Mrs Evans clamped a hand on Peggy’s shoulder and steered her towards the back of the shop. However, when she reached the door, Peggy wriggled free and peered back at May. ‘How is he, Miss?’
‘He’s really happy, Peggy. Mr and Mrs Bowes are very kind.’ It was all she had time for before Mrs Evans had pushed the girl through the door and slammed it shut.
‘What an evil woman,’ Jess growled as they wheeled their bikes to the Horse and Groom. ‘I knew I didn’t like ’er, but I never dreamt she could be so nasty to a child.’
‘I can’t bear to think what life is like for her,’ May said. ‘Did you hear how Mrs Evans spoke to her? Like she was a piece of dirt?’ Her indignation made her unusually talkative. ‘And Peggy has to call her Mrs Evans! Davey and the other boys called Mrs Bowes Auntie. I mean, it’s sad that they have to be separated from their mothers, but at least Mrs Bowes is treating them with love and kindness, and letting them treat her house like their home.’
‘Anyway,’ said Jess as they parked their bikes outside the Horse and Groom, ‘let’s forget about Mrs Evans. We can’t do anything about her, and I’ve been dying to tell you my news all day.’
When they were seated at a table in the snug, half pints of shandy beside them, May made an effort to take an interest in Jess’s news. After all, Jess was right: there was nothing she could do about Peggy at the moment. However, she made a mental promise to look out for her whenever she was out and about in the village and see if she could snatch a chance to talk to her privately and find out how she was being treated.
‘Tell me this amazing news, then.’ Probably to do with which girl in the Ops Room was engaged to which pilot.
Jess leaned across the table, her eyes shining. ‘What with us all facing Christmas away from our families, I thought we could all do with cheering up.’
‘Speak for yourself. This Christmas is going to be the best one I’ve ever had. Even if we have another bomb raid.’ All her previous Christmases had been spent cooking and cleaning. No different from any other day in the year.
Jess waved away her objection. ‘You know what I mean. We’ve all been working flat out for months and the news is getting worse, not better.’
May couldn’t deny it. Day after day, news of the bomb raids on London and other towns and cities had spread alarm among the servicemen and women of RAF Amberton.
‘I think I preferred it when they were bombing us,’ Jess went on. ‘I mean, getting trapped in that shelter…’ She shuddered, paling under her face powder. May knew how she felt. She still had nightmares of being trapped in the air raid shelter, clawing at the rubble to free their comrades who had been buried when a bomb struck near the entrance. ‘Thank God my Auntie Vera has gone with Hannah to stay with a cousin in Wales. They’re all alone now Uncle Jack is in the Navy, and I’d have been frantic if they’d still been in London, facing the blitz all alone.’
‘Who’s Hannah?’ Jess didn’t speak much about her family but May gathered that Jess had been more or less brought up by her aunt. She hadn’t liked to pry, as her own family life was something she preferred to forget.
‘My little cousin. A sweet kid.’ A faraway look came into Jess’s eyes. ‘I miss her.’
‘At least she’s safely out of harm’s way. And your aunt.’
‘True enough. Although I get terrified every time I—’ She bit her lip. ‘Well, let’s just say Ops can be a frightening place to work. There are times I wish I knew less about what was going on. It’s bad enough worrying about Mil— our pilots.’
May was sure Jess had just stopped herself from saying ‘Milan’.
‘I’m glad I don’t know what Peter’s doing when he’s flying. It must have been awful for Evie knowing every time Alex was on patrol.’ May didn’t know exactly what the mysterious ‘special duties’ were that Jess and Evie had carried out in the Operations Room, but she could make a good guess that it involved tracking the movements of Amberton’s four fighter squadrons. ‘No wonder Evie decided she had to be transferred. I wonder how she’s getting on?’ Evie had been transferred to Bawdsey Manor in Suffolk to train as a Filterer Officer.
Jess’s face brightened. ‘I got a letter from her today. We got a letter, in fact. It was addressed to both of us. She’s really enjoying her course by the sounds of it.’
‘No chance of her coming back, then?’ Happy as May was for Evie’s success, she missed her terribly.
‘No such luck, but she’s promised to visit when her course is over. She’ll get some leave before she starts officer training.’
May brightened. ‘Is that the news you wanted to tell me?’
Jess shook her head. ‘It’s even better. As I was saying, I thought everyone on the station could do with cheering up and I had a wonderful idea. I thought Hellerby would never go for it, but I asked her this morning, and she thinks it a great plan. Asked me to organise it. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. You still haven’t told me what your idea is.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Jess laughed. ‘Got a bit carried away.’ She leaned forward, shining eyes fixed on May’s face. ‘We’re going to do a pantomime for Christmas.’
‘Really?’ May had to restrain herself from clapping her hands like a child. She’d always longed to go to the pantomime when she younger, but her father would never take her. ‘That’s a wonderful idea. When’s it going to be? Who’s going to be in it?’
‘Well, Hellerby thought Christmas Day would be the best day, what with everyone missing their families. What do you think?’
‘Sounds perfect. We could do with something to put us in the Christmas spirit.’
‘I know.’ The eager light faded from Jess’s eyes, and May knew she was thinking of all the victims of the Blitz. Her thoughts drifted to the evacuees, separated from their families.
Then Jess gave a shake of the head. ‘Anyway, I thought we should do Cinderella.’
‘I love Cinderella.’ It had been her favourite story as a child. She’d often wished she had her own fairy godmother to help her escape her life of drudgery. Instead it had taken a war. At least this year she could watch it, enjoying the knowledge that she’d managed to escape her life of drudgery all by herself.
‘It’s the best one for us, considering it’s going to be an all-female cast.’ Jess chewed her lower lip for a moment. ‘It would be better if we could get a couple of men to play the ugly sisters, though. I’m sure some of the Czechs would be up for it – Jiří or… or Milan, maybe.’ Jess’s cheeks turned pink. ‘But that would depend on them getting a 24-hour pass and… well asking them to commit to a date two months away feels like… like tempting fate.’
There was a brief silence. May thought of Peter. Where was he now? Safe in the Officers’ Mess? Or was he this moment fighting for his life in the air? Jess was seemingly absorbed in studying her fingernails but May guessed she was thinking of Milan.
‘I think you should ask them,’ she said. ‘They could do with some fun, especially after everything that happened with Karol.’ In September one of the Czech pilots of Brimstone squadron had turned out to be a Nazi spy, part of a plot to get enemy parachutists into the country. The RAF had tried to hush it up, but the secret had got out. Despite the fact that Milan had had a hand in Karol’s capture, some of the locals now eyed the Czechs with suspicion. May was aware of the mutterings in the village, which infuriated her, considering they were putting themselves at risk day after day for a country that wasn’t their own.
Jess looked up and smiled. ‘It would be better to have men playing the ugly sisters.’ She snorted. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to asking Hellerby to take on the role.’ Hellerby was, in fact, Flight Officer Jean Ellerby. She had given Jess a hard time at first, but had eventually been won over.
‘I take it you’ll be playing Cinderella,’ May said.
‘Of course. The advantage of being the organiser is that I get to pick the plum role.’
‘What about Prince Charming?’ May was surprised Jess wanted to cast Milan as one of the ugly sisters. She’d have thought Jess would want him to play opposite her.
‘Haven’t you guessed?’
‘No. Well, I thought you were going to ask Milan to play one of the ugly sisters.’
‘The principal boy is traditionally played by a woman in pantomime.’
‘You’re going to ask Jean Ellerby?’
Jess flung back her head and laughed. ‘May, you kill me. You really do. Things might have improved between me and old Hellerby, but not to the point where I could face playing Cinders to her Prince Charming.’ She tilted her head. ‘Although it might explain why Cinderella did a runner from the ball and went into hiding. No,’ she went on, fixing May with a significant look that sent a trickle of unease down her spine. ‘We need someone taller than her. Someone elegant, who could carry off wearing tights with panache.’
‘I can’t think who would agree to that.’
‘Can’t you? Because I’ve got the ideal girl in mind. She’s the perfect height, has a good singing voice, although she’d never admit it, and she could command the stage if only she believed in herself and let herself try. Plus, she’d look amazing in tights.’
‘Who?’
‘You, of course, idiot. I want you to play Prince Charming.’