As Rosie started rummaging around in her handbag for her keys, she heard her neighbour’s door swing open. Mrs Jenkins appeared seconds later, her hair in curlers, winceyette dressing gown wrapped tightly around her.
‘Rosie! You’ve got a visitor!’
Rosie’s heart leapt.
Peter!
As though reading her thoughts, Mrs Jenkins quickly added, ‘No, sorry, pet, it’s not Peter.’
She dropped her voice.
‘It’s a young girl. She says she’s your sister. I hope you don’t mind, but I let her in. Didn’t know what else to do. She was just standing there shivering in the cold and it’d gone midnight.’
Rosie stood staring at her neighbour, not quite wanting to believe what she was hearing.
‘Of course, I quizzed her,’ Mrs Jenkins added quickly. ‘Seemed like she was telling the truth and she was wearing a school uniform … She didn’t look like she was trying to have me on, so I let her in.’ Mrs Jenkins pulled the spare key from the pocket of her dressing gown by way of explanation.
Seeing Rosie’s lips purse, she asked, ‘Was that all right? You do have a sister, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, I have a sister, Mrs Jenkins,’ Rosie said through gritted teeth. ‘You did the right thing.’ She got her own key out as she spoke. ‘It’s just that she wasn’t exactly expected.’
She looked at Mrs Jenkins, who was gripping the top of her dressing gown around her neck. ‘Please, get yourself in, Mrs Jenkins. You’ll catch your death.’
Rosie turned the key and pushed open the door.
‘Thank you so much. I’m lucky to have you as my neighbour.’
Mrs Jenkins beamed. She was just opening her mouth to speak again, but Rosie had already gone in and was shutting the door.
Standing in the tiled hallway, Rosie took a deep breath. This was the last thing she needed after the night she’d just had. A meal out at the Palatine with Lily, George, Kate, Maisie and Vivian had turned into bedlam when the east end was bombed. After the all-clear, she and Maisie had run to Tatham Street, terrified that their friends and family had been buried alive in their homes. Thankfully, they’d escaped. But only just. Others living on the street hadn’t been so lucky.
‘Charlie!’ she shouted, letting out the anger that had risen to the surface as soon as Mrs Jenkins had warned her of her unexpected visitor. Walking into the living room, she saw Charlotte curled up on the sofa, still in her school uniform. She’d already made herself at home. The fire was only just starting to dwindle and there was an empty mug and crumb-strewn plate on the coffee table.
‘Rosieee …’ Charlotte sang in a sleepy voice as she turned her face up to her sister, who was standing with hands on hips, glowering down at her.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Rosie spat the words out.
‘I thought I’d come and see you.’
Charlotte pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling the blanket she’d taken from the airing cupboard around her shoulders.
Rosie stared at her in disbelief.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Charlotte burst out laughing.
‘Eee, you sounded just like Mum. “I beg your pardon.”’ Charlotte put on her mother’s voice. It was one of the few distinct memories she had.
Rosie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was actually speechless.
‘Come, sit down next to me,’ Charlotte cajoled. ‘It’s so cosy here. I love the house.’
As she spoke, she looked around. Her eyes lingered on the fire.
‘Shall I put another shovel on?’ She looked at Rosie. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’
She looked at her sister more closely.
‘Gosh, looks like you’ve been out picking coal yourself. Your clothes are filthy.’
Rosie looked down at her cashmere jumper and skirt and realised for the first time that she did, indeed, look a state.
‘Never mind about me, Charlie.’ Rosie sat down and stared at her sister. ‘Explain yourself!’
Charlotte looked at her sister and knew there was no way round this.
‘I’m not going back!’ Charlotte declared. Her face was set. Her tone determined.
Rosie let out a bark of laughter that did not hold one iota of mirth.
‘I think you’ll find that you are going back.’
‘You can’t make me!’ Charlotte bit back.
‘I jolly well can.’ Rosie laughed again. ‘I’ll drag you all the way back there myself if I have to.’
‘Please, Rosie, don’t make me go back. I want to be here. I’m homesick.’
Rosie looked at her sister.
‘Charlotte, you’re wasting your energy giving me the puppy-dog eyes. They might have worked on Mam and Dad when you were little, but I’m not them and your poor me act doesn’t wash either.’
Charlotte straightened her back and looked her sister directly in the eyes.
‘Please, Rosie, please, just let me stay a while. You won’t even notice I’m here. I’ll be as good as gold. Promise.’
Rosie sighed.
‘I’m too tired to argue with you, Charlie. It’s been a long day.’ She stood up. ‘You can either sleep down here or in the spare room. It’s up to you.’ She looked around the room and spotted Charlotte’s holdall. It was bursting at the seams.
‘I’m guessing you’ve brought a change of clothes.’
Charlotte nodded.
‘Just as well,’ Rosie said, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing at the lounge doorway with a glass of water. ‘If you’ve got an alarm clock in there – ’ she nodded over to the bag ‘ – then set it for six. We’ll need to be out the door by seven, and not a minute after.’
Before Charlotte had a chance to ask why, Rosie had turned her back on her and was making her way up the stairs.
A few moments later Charlotte heard the bedroom door shut.