Secrets of the Sewing Bee

The next morning and the work was flooding in thick and fast. True to her word, Vera had moved Flossy up to piecework, and no sooner had she assembled one part of a uniform than the next was hot on its heels.

‘Gotta work fast to bring your money up,’ muttered Daisy from beside her as she passed her a jacket, onto which Flossy had to sew the arms. The sassy young seamstress worked with effortless speed, displaying such a deceptively casual expertise that Flossy wondered if she would ever keep up. She had scarcely had a chance to look up from her machine, but at least it had made the time go quickly and she glanced up in surprise to see Dolly wheeling in her tea trolley.

‘Goodness, is it tea break already?’ she murmured, wearily rubbing her index finger across her throbbing temples.

Flossy didn’t know how they all did it, especially the fourteen-year-olds, but everyone was pulling their weight, even Peggy. At the thought of Peggy, Flossy hoped Dolly would make good on her promise to broach the subject with the others of letting her join the Victory Knitters. She had just had time before shift started to tell Dolly about Peggy’s visit the previous evening.

Once Dolly had served Archie and Vera, the girls all jostled round for a well-earned brew.

‘Flossy, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, only I can’t really talk to me mum about it,’ she muttered.

‘Only, I’ve got a cracking headache and I think I’ve started my “p”s.’

‘You know, me monthlies, the curse,’ she went on. ‘Only, I ain’t too sure and I’m too embarrassed to ask any of the older women.’

‘Sorry, Kathy, I see. Tell you what, let me talk to Dolly on your behalf. She’ll know what to do.’

Flossy’s heart went out to the fourteen-year-old. Poor Kathy. She might have the gift of the gab, but when it came to bodily functions, she was as clueless as she had been at her age.

Dolly was as kind and sensitive as Flossy knew she would be, even fishing a sanitary towel discreetly from her bag for Kathy. ‘Use that, love, and don’t worry about your headache. It’ll pass in a day or two.’

Just under the brightly coloured hand-stitched sign reading, Dolly’s Trolley, which the women had thoughtfully made her last year to celebrate twenty years of service, Dolly had attached a number of brown paper bags.

‘Don’t laugh, girls, but I’m going into thrift and salvage,’ she replied. ‘I heard a government appeal on the wireless for scrap metal and other remnants that can be reused for the war effort. It’s all about the three “r”s.’

‘Get away,’ Dolly said, laughing. ‘Reuse, recycle and return. This bag is for bits of iron and old saucepans, this one dead batteries,’ she explained. ‘This one is for scraps of cotton, this one old clothes and so on. I want you all to bring your leftovers in and then Vera can take them down the WVS when they’re full. Never let it be said that Trout’s has fallen foul of the squanderbug.’

‘Blimey, Doll,’ laughed Sal. ‘Never had you down as a rag-and-bone man.’

‘Believe it or not, this will all go towards the national effort. Today’s tatty old clothes are contributing towards tomorrow’s Spitfire, Hurricane or tank.’

‘Buggered if I can see how my Bill’s old drawers will get a Spitfire up in the air,’ grimaced Pat. ‘But if you say so, Doll, well, of course we’ll all do what we can to help.’

‘There is one more thing you can do to help me, actually,’ she said, putting an arm round Peggy’s shoulders and gently drawing her to the front of the group. ‘Young Peggy here would like to join our sewing bee and I told her we would be delighted to have her.’

‘Behave, Doll,’ screeched Lily. ‘After the shocking way she treated poor Lucky yesterday? Well, I say no.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Dolly sharply. ‘Peggy may not have got off to the best of starts, but she wants to join in now, and that’s what counts.’

‘We’re fighting one war already; let’s not start another,’ warned Dolly.

Peggy cleared her throat nervously. ‘Look here, I really am sorry that I behaved badly when I first arrived,’ she said, with a shake in her voice. ‘I know many of you must think I’m a . . . well, you know . . .’

‘Yes, one of those,’ she replied. ‘But I would like to try and make amends. Please would you give me a fresh start and let me join the Victory Knitters?’

‘Very well. I don’t mind,’ said Pat. ‘As long as yer give Lucky an apology for running out on ’im yesterday.’

A strained silence fell over the group, broken only by a gush of hot wind and a strange whooshing noise. Pat’s turban was blasted from her head with such force her metal curlers pinged off and clattered onto the concrete floor.

‘What the jiggery-pokery . . . ?’ the older woman jabbered. Her hair stood up in great greasy grey tufts, yet she still managed to clutch her mug of tea in her hand, and looked down in shock to see a single roller bobbing about in it.

‘What on earth just happened?’ breathed Dolly, fishing the roller out of Pat’s tea.

‘Er, sorry, Pat,’ piped up a sheepish Lucky from the far corner of the factory floor. ‘I got my hands on an old war rifle for the LDV. I was using the steam from the works’ boiler to clean it out and a pellet of grease shot out the barrel.’

Pat scowled. ‘Bleedin’ hell, Lucky, I ought to shove that rifle right up your—’

‘Yeah, well, all the same,’ she huffed, as she tied her turban back on. ‘You could have killed me. As it was, you nearly gave me a lobotomy, lad.’

There was a brief moment of stunned silence; then the whole floor fell about, helpless with raucous laughter. Even Peggy joined in, her rich, throaty laughter pealing above the others’.

‘Ooh, you wicked sod,’ screeched Pat, hoisting a beefy arm round Sal’s neck and getting her in a headlock.

The laughter only stopped when Kathy re-emerged from the toilet . . . to a stunned silence.

‘Oh, Kathy love,’ said Dolly. ‘I didn’t mean the pad was for your headache.’

Poor Kathy. In her confusion, she had looped the ties to the sanitary towel round both ears and was wearing the pad across her forehead.

‘Just when you think this place can’t get any stranger,’ said Archie, poking his head out of his office at the commotion and doing a double take at Kathy. ‘You’re certifiable, the lot of yer.’

‘You wouldn’t have us any other way, would you, Mr G?’ Daisy heckled back.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ he sighed. ‘Lucky lad, I know you take your defence duties seriously, but I’m not sure cleaning out a rifle complies with the fire regulations of this factory.’

‘Come on, girls, glug back that tea and back to your stations,’ ordered Archie. ‘Let’s get some momentum going. How about a round of my favourite song “We’re Going to Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line”? Sing as you sew, girls, sing as you sew. Let’s have a good day and give ’itler one in the eye!’

The women returned to their stations, as Dolly tactfully led Kathy back to the toilets. Flossy gazed about the room in astonishment; she truly had never encountered anywhere like Trout’s in all her life.

It was nearly dinnertime and Peggy was engrossed in her work when suddenly her machine came to a great juddering halt.

‘Botherations,’ she muttered. She had managed to get her thread stuck round the race. Usually she would just ask Flossy to help her fix it, but now she had been moved off the new-starter bench, that was impossible. She had broken five needles last week and now this! Mrs Shadwell would skin her alive, or worse, dock her wages again.

Nervously, she eyed the forelady, who was inspecting some uniforms, four benches along. She would reach Peggy’s bench in no time.

‘I’ve broken the machine again,’ she said despairingly. ‘If Mrs Shadwell sees, she’s going to blow a gasket and put me back on the steam press, and that thing plays havoc with my hair.’

‘Come here,’ smiled Lucky affectionately. Whipping a screwdriver out, he deftly unscrewed the disc, removed the bobbin case, unwound the tangled thread, pulled it out and had the disc back on in a jiffy, before giving the machine a quick oil for good measure. ‘There – good as new,’ he grinned.

‘Thanks, Lucky,’ sighed Peggy, relieved. ‘You’ve saved my bacon. That Vera could do battle with the best of men.’

‘Listen, Lucky, I really am sorry about yesterday. Your flowers truly were very thoughtful.’

‘Sorry they weren’t roses,’ he grinned, replacing the screwdriver in his tool belt.

‘I’m also sorry Gerald was a bit offhand with you,’ she added. ‘He doesn’t mean it. He’s under a lot of pressure at work at the moment.’

Lucky shrugged. ‘Nothing I can’t cope with, and apology accepted, but only if you’ll allow me to take you out for a cup of tea. As friends! I promise to put on my best bib and tucker.’

‘You never give up, do you?’ Peggy said, shaking her head, but she couldn’t help but laugh as Lucky stepped back and dislodged some bundles from the station behind.

‘Oops, proper Herbert, me,’ he grinned, frantically gathering them up. His eyes were still shining when he turned back. ‘I may be clumsy, but I’m as fit as a flea and strong as an ox – you’ll see, Peggy Piper. I’m going to keep on asking in the hope that one of these days you might just surprise yourself and say yes.’

‘Very well, Lucky,’ she whispered. ‘Just one cup, as friends, and no funny business, mind.’

‘I promise you won’t regret this, Peggy,’ he babbled excitedly. ‘How about tomorrow, straight after work?’

‘Is there a problem here?’ rang out the forelady’s shrill voice. Vera regarded them suspiciously.

‘On the contrary, everything’s coming up roses, ma’am,’ Lucky replied. He winked at Peggy. ‘Or should I say violets?’

As Lucky bounded off like an overexcited puppy, he shot a last backwards glance. ‘I won’t sleep tonight, Peggy.’

Peggy rolled her eyes despairingly, but when she turned back to her Singer, she found she was smiling.

Flossy pondered her strange day as she walked home alone after work. She had only been at Trout’s a short while and yet already she could feel herself changing. Excelling at machining and gaining the trust of the forelady was instilling in her a self-belief she had never known. Her childhood in the home had made her feel like a pencil drawing that was slowly being rubbed out, but thanks to Dolly and the girls, she no longer felt invisible.

Flossy had just wearily started to climb the linoleum stairs to her attic room when one of the mums who lived in the downstairs room poked her head out of the door.

Thanking her, Flossy raced upstairs and lit the tiny oil lamp. Without taking her coat off, she tore open the letter and started to read. She recognized the spidery handwriting instantly. It belonged to Audrey Braithwaite, her welfare worker at the home.

Miss Brown,

We note your request to see the contents of your personal files. Now that you have turned eighteen, we are obliged to supply you with them. Your files contain no information other than that you were a foundling when you were admitted at the end of June 1922. Based on an examination by a midwife, you were arbitrarily assigned a birthdate of 10 May. Flossy Brown is the name you were given by this institute to legitimize you, and you were baptized as such. Your birth name is unknown, as are those of your mother and father.

We are morally and spiritually duty-bound to urge you to draw upon the benevolence, education, cleanliness and resilience that we hope we instilled in you to achieve your full potential as a respectable and upstanding citizen.

The forelady of Trout’s garment factory has written to us to inform us of your satisfactory progress within the factory. I will take this opportunity to remind you of the words of our founder: ‘Girls who walk on a straight road never lose their way.’ I hope this serves as a timely reminder to you of the virtues of decency and chaste behaviour as we enter the most testing times in our country’s history . . .

Flossy stopped reading and angrily crumpled the letter into a ball in her fist. What rot! She hadn’t wanted a regime of resilience; she had wanted affection, love and cuddles, but cutting through her anger was a stronger emotion. Shame. She was a foundling. An abandoned child! What a very strange word that was. It suggested she had been ‘found’, when it fact it meant only one thing. Her mother had left her. Up until now, she had assumed her mother had officially signed her care over to the home, but in fact she had dumped her like a discarded wrapper and run. Her life had no more worth than a piece of rubbish.

An exquisite pain tore through her like razor blades and suddenly she was blinded by tears.

‘I’ve had enough,’ she yelled out, shaking with frustration, ‘of being ignored . . .’ Then the tears came. ‘Oh . . . oh God,’ she cried, shaking as great sobs erupted out of her tiny body.

Flossy crashed back on the bed and covered her head with a pillow, to mute the sound of her anguish. She loathed herself that even in the depths of her despair, she still did not like to upset the neighbours.

In the sudden darkness, her pain continued unabated as she turned over the possibilities in her mind. Had her mother swaddled her in blankets and left her on the cold concrete steps, or had she had the decency to hand her over to a member of staff before fleeing?

How could anyone leave an innocent baby to such an uncertain destiny? As yet another door slammed shut on her, Flossy was more conscious than ever before of being alone in the world.

Putting the pillow to one side, she dried her eyes and picked up her sailor Tommy’s letter from her bedside table. Now here was a man who understood the importance of family. His letter at least made sense.

The next day – the occasion of Peggy and Lucky’s date – dawned and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Before she had gone to bed, Peggy had prayed for a thick pea-souper to descend so that their date might be called off. But when she awoke and ripped down her blackout blinds, the morning sunshine had streamed defiantly in, as golden and sparkling as a glass of ginger beer. Never had the weather felt so at odds with the mood of the country, or the trepidation in Peggy’s heart.

It wasn’t that Peggy disliked Lucky; on the contrary, she had actually grown fond of seeing his sunny face about the factory. It was precisely these feelings of attraction she feared most of all. Her future lay with Gerald, but as she carefully eased her last pair of silk stockings over her slender ankles, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. The man was so strong he looked like he could lift a horse, and yet when it came to matters of the heart, he was as soft as a lamb. Sighing, she smoothed her cotton summer dress over her camiknickers, tied on her pinafore and got ready to leave for the day’s work.

It was still early, but downstairs, May was already in the small yard out back, pegging out the washing. When she spotted her only daughter, she carefully made her way through the sea of flapping laundry and kissed her warmly on the cheek. May smelt of lily of the valley and wore the faintest flush of lipstick the colour of raspberry jam.

‘Morning, darling,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a fine day today, so I thought I’d get the washing out early. There’s some sarnies wrapped up on the side for later, as I know how you hate the canteen food, and I’ve had the kettle steaming to freshen up your hat. I need to make a start, as . . . well, I have a job interview later in the City,’ she admitted.

‘I know, but now your father’s gone, there’s really no excuse for me to mope around the house doing nothing. Besides, I want to pull my weight. It’s only part-time clerical work in an office – typing and filing – but I do hope I get the job. The extra money will certainly come in handy.’

May hesitated. ‘In a funny sort of way, I’m quite looking forward to working. When you’re gone, I do get rather lonely.’

May’s face crumpled. ‘Your father isn’t coming back anytime soon. I’m just trying to be practical, darling.’

The factory at the end of the road hooted out a new shift and Peggy wearily turned and made to leave, resigned to her new life.

By six that evening, Peggy had snagged her last pair of silk stockings. Clothes rationing hadn’t yet come in, but silk stockings were becoming increasingly hard to come by, which meant she would have to start staining her legs with gravy browning or buying paint-on hosiery like the other girls in the factory. The thought was a depressing one.

Outside, by the high wrought-iron gates to the factory, Lucky was waiting. He was wearing a smart shirt and jacket, and his boots had been buffed to a high shine. Peggy could see he had tried his hardest to tame his thick mop of dark curls by greasing them back with some brilliantine, but already an unruly lock had sprung out of place. When he spotted Peggy, a deep flush of red spread up his neck.

‘You came. I worried you’d changed your mind,’ he said, nervously twisting his cap between his fingers. ‘You look the business, Peggy.’

Just then, a crowd of girls tottered past to start the night shift. When they spotted Peggy and Lucky, the air was filled with a chorus of wolf whistles.

‘Oooh, hello, girls! What a lark. Looks like Lucky might get lucky after all!’

Lucky flushed an even deeper red as they screeched with laughter. ‘Ignore ’em,’ he grinned, rolling his eyes. ‘Shall we step out?’

Once they were seated in a smart dining room on the Tottenham Court Road, well away from the East End, Peggy started to feel herself relax. She knew the place well from the early days of her courtship with Gerald. He used to bring her here all the time, and it felt like a place where even the war couldn’t intrude.

The dark wood tables were laid out like stalls and all sealed off from each other by high wooden sides so that a couple could sit in perfect privacy without being seen from the street. The copper countertop was laid out with all manner of delicious cakes, and the gleaming chromium tea urn was so hot the windows of the dining room had steamed up.

‘Blimey, this is a different gravy to what I’m used to,’ remarked Lucky, shrugging off his jacket. ‘Order whatever you like, Peggy. This is my treat.’

‘I’d use up a week’s wages just to buy you tea. Don’t laugh, but I feel like the cat’s whiskers to be sat opposite you.’

The arrival of tea eased the atmosphere, and as Peggy poured, Lucky chatted away happily about the East End and his work with the Repton Boys’ Boxing Club.

‘Isn’t it a bit rum – you know, encouraging boys to fight?’ Peggy ventured as she handed Lucky a cup of Darjeeling.

‘I don’t think so,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘Boxing’s in the blood for a lot of these lads from Bethnal Green: they’re always gonna fight. Rather they have a fair fight in the ring than out on the streets. Some of the lads from my building are madder than scrapyard dogs. The club is respectable; it gives them self-belief, teaches them discipline and drive.’

Lucky gave a soft chuckle. ‘I went with the mission last summer when they took a load of ’em down on a beano to Margate. It was the first time any of them had seen the sea. They all ran straight into the waves with their clothes on.’

His face lit up like a sunbeam. ‘That I am, Peggy. I love ’em like little brothers,’ he said. ‘Since my own brothers joined the Kate, the folk down the club are like family to me.’

‘You’ll get the hang of it eventually,’ he replied, slathering cream on his scone. ‘It took me a while to learn my mother’s tongue, but I got there in the end. Talking of France, I’d love to take my boys there. If they thought Margate was something else—’

‘Not that well, but yeah, I do,’ Lucky admitted. ‘My mother’s side are French, came over with the Huguenots in the seventeenth century and settled in Spitalfields as silk weavers and silversmiths. Apparently, this area was full of mulberry trees back then. I still love ’em today. They remind me of my mother. She’s passed now, God rest her soul.’

‘Well, she was an Agombar before she married my father and became a Johnstone. So beautiful she was – eyes and hair as dark as a gypsy’s. She’s been gone ten years now, but I still see reminders of her everywhere. There are French churches all over the East End – and mulberry trees if you know where to look. I miss her every single day. What’s your mother like, Peggy?’

‘Well, I suppose you could say she’s devoted to me,’ Peggy replied. ‘I’ve been a bit rotten to her lately. Perhaps I should take more time to let her know how much I appreciate her.’

‘You should,’ agreed Lucky. ‘You only get one mother, after all. What’s Gerald’s mother like? Do you get on with her?’

‘Well, I’m sure I will,’ Peggy replied, ‘when I meet her. She’s in the country for the duration of the war. Gerald wants to wait, and now he’s so busy goodness knows when that will be.’

‘If you were mine, I wouldn’t be able to wait to show you off to my family. In fact, I’d want the whole world to know you were my girl.’ As he spoke, Lucky’s eyes bore into hers and Peggy felt herself flush and look down at the tablecloth.

Peggy swung round sharply in her seat. ‘What on earth . . . ?’ she breathed.

Sliding into a nearby booth was Gerald. Peggy watched, frozen in shock as his arm snaked round his female companion’s shoulder. With a lecherous smile, he leaned over and whispered something in the young blonde’s ear. With a great shriek of laughter she picked up the menu and playfully bashed him on the arm, before snuggling back into his embrace. Peggy didn’t know what she found more shocking, the brazen way they were conducting themselves or the fact that the young lady was wearing a Lyons Corner House uniform! She was on her feet in a flash.

Gerald’s face blanched of colour and he leaped up from the table. ‘Peggy darling, it’s really not what it looks like. You’re confusing friendship with something more. Astrid here is a friend, that’s all.’

‘Don’t you “Peggy darling” me. I’m not confused. In fact, things have never been clearer. This is the real reason why I haven’t seen you. How could you, Gerald?’

She gestured to the confused-looking blonde. ‘Do you really like her, or do you just have a thing for nippies?’

Gerald recovered himself quickly, and his lips twisted into a cruel sneer. ‘Peggy, this really is frightfully tiresome. I can assure you there is nothing serious between me and this girl, but in any case, you can’t honestly think that I would marry you now?’

She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘W-what do you mean? But you said . . .’

Gerald sighed. ‘Mother could just about have accepted a waitress into the family, but a factory girl? Especially one whose father is . . .’ He raised one eyebrow tauntingly. ‘I’ll spare your blushes, but you know what I’m referring to.

‘In many ways, I’m relieved you saw me here today – saves us both a rather awkward conversation down the line, wouldn’t you say?’

Peggy felt as if she had been struck round the face, as his companion stared at the ladder in her stockings and stifled a snigger.

Up until now, Lucky had remained silent. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he stepped forward. ‘You betta apologize to the lady immediately,’ he demanded.

Gerald took one look at him and burst out laughing. ‘Aah yes, the odd-job man. Please . . . I’m not taking orders from your sort. Put your guttersnipe back on his leash, Peggy.’

‘In that case, you leave me no choice.’ With that, Lucky drew back his fist and with one blow sent Gerald crashing onto the floor.

Lucky stood over him, his shirtsleeves strained across his biceps, as a dreadful hush descended over the dining room. ‘Now apologize,’ Lucky ordered.

‘Lucky . . . what on earth are you playing at?’ Peggy gasped, reaching for a napkin and crouching down beside Gerald. ‘You could have killed him!’

Adrenaline pumping through her, she glared angrily up at Lucky. ‘I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Lucky. This is all just . . . just so humiliating.’

Gerald wiped away the blood from his nose and smiled up from the floor, his hard gaze mocking. ‘Hard luck, old chap. Punching above your weight, I’d say.’

‘Suit yourself, Peggy,’ Lucky snapped, ignoring Gerald’s jibe. Reaching for his jacket, he threw down enough money to cover the bill and stormed from the dining room. ‘You clearly don’t need help from my sort.’

The following day, Flossy tried in vain all morning to get some idea of how Peggy’s evening with Lucky had gone, but Peggy had been totally absorbed in her work. When morning tea break finally arrived, she couldn’t wait to hear the details.

‘Come on, then,’ smiled Flossy. ‘I’m dying to hear how your date went.’

Peggy shrugged and played with the red rag tied round the handle of her mug. ‘It wasn’t a date,’ she said abruptly. ‘I need to go to the lavatory. Excuse me.’ With that, she turned and hurried from the factory floor.

Flossy stared after Peggy as the door swung shut behind her; then she remembered the letter she had brought in to show Dolly.

‘This arrived from the orphanage the night before last. I’ve been meaning to show you. It’s hardly encouraging, is it?’

Dolly scanned the crumpled letter and shook her head before handing it back to Flossy. ‘Oh, love,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know what you expected. But perhaps it’s for the best. Perhaps it’s time to stop your search. I can’t bear to see you hurt even more.’

Flossy jutted her chin out defiantly. ‘I thought you understood, Dolly. I’m not giving up! I’m going to go down the records office, then the police station, then the library. Somewhere there has to be a clue as to who I am.’

Her neck gave a twinge of pain. Angrily, she rubbed at it as she blinked back tears.

‘Oh, Flossy, please calm yourself,’ soothed Dolly. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, love. I just think that your mother, if she’s still alive, well, perhaps she might not want to be found. Have you considered that?’

‘Yes . . . No. Oh, I don’t know,’ she said despairingly. ‘I just have a feeling, Dolly, a feeling I can’t describe that my mother is alive, and that she’s near.’

Dolly stared hard at Flossy, her blue eyes softened in concern. ‘I think, love, that you should get yourself down the doc’s and get that neck of yours looked at before you start hotfooting it all round the East End in search of your mother. It’s really bothering you, I can see that.’

‘It’s the new workload,’ Flossy admitted. ‘Since Mrs Shadwell’s moved me up to piecework, well, there’s more uniforms than ever. War work is punishing. I don’t know how the younger girls like Kathy do it.’

Flossy paused and thoughtfully rubbed at the soft grey rag tied to her mug handle. ‘Talking of Kathy. Poor girl, she didn’t know where to put herself when she got the wrong end of the stick over that sanitary towel, did she?’

Dolly shook her head at the memory. ‘I know. She didn’t half get some ribbing over that. She comes across so cocky I sometimes forget she’s only thirteen—’ Dolly stopped and clamped a hand over her mouth.

‘Kathy’s only thirteen?’ Flossy exclaimed. ‘I thought you had to be a minimum of fourteen to work here?’

‘Oh blimey, that just slipped out,’ Dolly mumbled. ‘I promised Kathy and her mum I wouldn’t say nothing. Kathy’s mother badly needs the extra money now that her old man’s away serving. A private’s wage don’t stretch very far when you’ve six mouths to feed. Kathy’s mum has to stitch Union Jack flags at night when all the kiddies are asleep. They’re barely keeping their heads above water as it is, and without Kathy’s wage . . . Please don’t tell Vera.’

‘I shan’t breathe a word,’ Flossy promised, but deep down she began to wonder what other secrets her friend was hiding.

Dolly looked relieved as Lucky walked past the tea trolley. ‘Lucky!’ she exclaimed. ‘Wait up, love – you haven’t had a cuppa yet.’

‘No time, Doll,’ he mumbled. ‘I gotta run the wireless batteries down the oil shop to be recharged. Pat’ll string me up if the wireless runs low.’

‘You can always make time for a nice cup of tea,’ Dolly said. ‘A man can’t go to work without a nice hot cup of Rosie inside him. Why do you reckon Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo? He ain’t had his morning cuppa!’

‘Oh, Lucky, whatever’s wrong, lad?’ Dolly asked. ‘I’ve never seen you look so down.’

‘I’ve been a total fool,’ he admitted, and the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

‘I should never have been so stupid as to believe someone like Peggy could like someone like me. Honestly, Doll, you should have seen the way she looked at me after I landed one on that Gerald. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t just stand by and listen to him insult her like that, and now she hates me.’

His voice grew thick with emotion. ‘It’s because I’m a half-crown hero,’ he whispered, running his hand despairingly through his dark hair. Abruptly, he turned and strode off.

‘How could she treat him like that?’ puzzled Flossy, staring after Lucky. ‘What a shocking thing to do when all he was trying to do was stand up for her. I had a bad feeling about that Gerald all along.’

‘Hold your horses, love,’ counselled Dolly. ‘We haven’t heard Peggy’s side of things yet.’

‘I know what it’s like to be rejected, Dolly,’ Flossy mumbled angrily. ‘Lucky’s such a lovely chap and he really doesn’t deserve this.’

By dinnertime, Flossy found her anger hadn’t abated. In fact, if anything, she was even more cross with Peggy. She had stuck up for her right from the very beginning and insisted that everyone give her a chance.

‘Flossy!’ Peggy called out as soon as she walked into the canteen, patting the seat next to her. ‘I saved you a seat. I thought I might try my hand at one of those drawstring bags you made.’

‘Never mind all that,’ Flossy muttered as she sat down. ‘I know what you did to Lucky last night.’

Peggy’s beautiful face fell, and at the mention of Lucky’s name, Lily’s head snapped up from the other side of the table.

‘However could you take Gerald’s side over Lucky’s after what that snake did to you? Lucky was only trying to defend your honour and now he’s heartbroken.’

At the sound of the girls’ voices raised in anger, the rest of the Victory Knitters stopped their sewing and knitting, and conversations tailed off.

‘Sounds like Peggy deserves what she’s got coming, if you ask me,’ chipped in Lily.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Flossy cried, ignoring Dolly and Lily, and throwing her knitting needles down on the table in frustration. ‘You’ve had such a privileged upbringing. You haven’t wanted for anything, so you think it’s perfectly all right to disregard Lucky’s feelings and trample all over him.’

Peggy’s violet eyes flashed angrily as she rose suddenly, scraping back her chair. ‘How dare you? You don’t know the first thing about my life. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.’

Flossy was aware the whole canteen was now watching, eagerly awaiting her response. She knew how the other women regarded her. Mousy little Flossy who never answered back, the forelady’s favourite because she never dared to step out of line.

‘Jealous of you? Never,’ she snapped. ‘I may not have a mother, but at least I have morals.’

‘That’s enough!’ she fumed, her cheeks drained of colour. ‘How can you be arguing at a time like this? The full might of the enemy is just across the Channel! We should be pulling together.’

Dolly’s hands started to tremble violently and she dropped her cup of tea, sending hot liquid skidding all over the floor. She ran from the room, stifling a sob.

Flossy and the rest of the group stared at each other, flabbergasted. A black cloud of uncertainty surged through her. What was happening to them?

Peggy waited a moment, then slowly gathered her sewing together. ‘I know you won’t believe me, Flossy, but the last thing I wanted was to hurt Lucky’s feelings, or yours for that matter. I’m sorry.’

Flossy looked down, shamefaced. ‘No, it’s me who is sorry, Peggy. Dolly’s right. We shouldn’t be falling out at a time like this. I know how hurt you must have been to find out about Gerald.’

She stretched out her hand and laced her fingers through Peggy’s. ‘Please don’t go. Stay and sew with us.’

‘Thanks, Flossy,’ Peggy murmured. ‘But if it’s all the same with you, I won’t. I feel like some fresh air.’

No sooner had she set foot out of the factory door than she bumped into Lucky, coming back from the oil shop. He looked so handsome and strong, his thick, wavy dark hair gleaming in the sunshine. How she longed to return to the blissful state of intimacy they had enjoyed the previous evening, before everything had gone so badly wrong.

‘I’m so sorry for talking to you like that when all you were doing was trying to protect me. Please forgive me,’ she pleaded. ‘You’re twice the man Gerald is.’

Lucky slowly raised his gaze and Peggy found she was holding her breath, waiting for his response.

‘It’s all right, Peggy,’ he said quietly. ‘I could tell you were ashamed to be seen with me, and you clearly don’t need me to fight your battles.’

‘No . . .’ she protested. ‘I was hurt and angry and confused. No one’s ever stood up for me like that before.’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry – I shan’t be bothering you again. The world’s made up of different sorts of people, see, Peggy, your sort and my sort.’

Five