Simon & Flo
Adjusting to New Lives
Simon looked through the hatch of his office in Hut 6 of Bletchley Park. Before him were a dozen or so bent heads. The click-clackety noise of their machines was usually a pleasant enough background sound, but today it irritated him.
Across from his desk, Flo worked on a small table that stood against the dark-green painted wall. Her silence over the last hour reflected her absorption in trying to solve a particularly difficult coding that they were trying to get a handle on. Since Roland had introduced her to cryptic crosswords, she had become hooked on doing them and was a near-genius in the ability she’d shown for mastering even the most difficult clues. This aptitude had been a missing link in his work.
Simon watched her beavering away, scratching out columns of figures and scribbling down more combinations. He had to admit that he felt great admiration for Flo.
No, his feeling for her went deeper than that.
To say she’d replaced Lucinda in his heart wouldn’t be correct, but she had soothed some of the ache from the deep gulf in his life that Lucinda had left. The love he felt for Flo was different from that he had for his lost sister, and for his mother too, for that matter. To him, the feelings he had for them were a natural extension of their relationship and all-encompassing. But the love he felt for Flo just flowed from him.
These last four weeks had been a strange time for him. The pain in his heart was relentless. It hung like a prophet of doom. Every morning he woke feeling a dull fear, as if something dreadful was going to happen. It disorientated him. He had to sit up and think things through. What is wrong? What is going to happen? Then clarity would kick him deep in the gut: She’s gone. My precious Lucinda is gone forever.
Each time this happened, he would be assailed with fresh grief. He tortured himself with how she’d died. His imagination gave him her terror. They’d said it was instantaneous, but he couldn’t believe that – he wanted to, but he was too intelligent to be fobbed off by the kindness of it. Hanging wasn’t instant. Oh God!
‘Simon?’
He smiled over at Flo. What he would do without her, he didn’t know, though the compassion of the other girls and his colleagues had sustained him, too. There had been a difficult hurdle to surmount. He’d not been able to deny that his sister and his supposed girlfriend were one and the same. The papers had exposed the lie, with pictures of Simon being the only relative in England. He’d explained that because of the impression he gave, and the ridicule his looks always brought him, they’d made up the story of her being Simon’s girlfriend to protect him. Whether he’d dug himself a deeper hole for the future or not, time would tell.
Kitty hadn’t wanted to let up. In his hearing, she’d said, ‘I suppose we’ll be told that northern girl is his girlfriend now.’
She’d received short shrift from Jane Downing, who’d told Kitty to shut up and remain shut up, as the subject was now closed. Jane had gone on to say that Simon was one of their own, and they had his welfare to think of.
That telling phrase – one of their own – had warmed his heart. He’d felt like hugging Jane, but instead had thanked her in an inadequate way, afraid of breaking the fragile hand of friendship that she’d extended to him.
‘Are you alreet, Simon? You’ve been at staring into space this good while.’
‘Oh, you know. Just thinking.’
‘Aye, I knaw. I’ve been thinking an’ all, and it don’t help none. Look, we’ve both got two days off next weekend – well, we will have if we crack on and get this last batch sorted. Why don’t we go up to London, eh?’
‘I can’t. I—’
‘As Mrs Leary says, there no such thing as “can’t” – “can’t” means “don’t want to”. I knaw you don’t wish to, but I think you should use all of your courage and do it. I’ve sommat in mind for us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Aye. I’ve been thinking about it ever since we helped out the night we were all caught up in the bombing, and before that, if the truth be known. I’m thinking we could volunteer to help the Sallies or the WRVS.’
‘Ha, you’re priceless, Flo. You do know that the WRVS is a women’s organization, don’t you? I think it will have to be the Salvation Army – or the Sallies, as you call them.’
‘You’re not against the idea, then?’
‘No. I really enjoyed helping that night. I’d love it. But, well, Roland . . .’ He hated how he’d felt compelled to whisper Roland’s name.
‘Roland can come an’ all.’
Flo had also lowered her voice.
‘Oh, I wish, but I’m afraid he can’t get away early enough. He’s joined the ARP and he has to be on duty on Friday night through till Saturday morning.’
‘Reet. I’ll go to London then, and I’ll get things set up for us. That’s if I can stay in your flat? It has to be this weekend, as I’m going up north on Boxing Day, if I can get transport. I’ve three days off then. It’ll give me a much longer break with Mrs Leary and Kathy, and we’re planning another Christmas Day for Kathy, so she can open my presents for her.’
‘Of course I don’t mind. Flo, I was going to ask you, would you help me to clear out Lucinda’s flat when we get a couple of days off after Christmas?’
‘Aye, I’ll do owt to help you, you knaw that. I wish you could hear from your mam, an’ all. It’d settle you some.’
‘Yes, poor darling, I don’t know if she’s even received the letter I sent. I know there’s no good way to hear the news, but I do keep wishing that I could have gone to India to tell her and Lucinda’s father, myself.’
‘Eeh, Simon, it’s all very sad. I still can’t take it in. It don’t seem reet, especially as we’ve had no funeral.’
Simon fell silent.
‘By, me tongue goes away with itself sometimes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—’
‘No, please don’t be. I feel the same, as if there hasn’t been an ending. As if we’ve been told what happened, and we have to get on with it. Maybe a memorial service would help, but I’m not inclined to hold one until I hear from Mother. It would be bad cheese of me to finalize everything without her, or without giving her a chance to have her say about how the service should be conducted.’
‘How about me, you and Roland go to church next time we are all together? We could ask the vicar to mention Lucinda and ask for prayers for her soul, and then we could plant a rose tree or sommat in a pot and have it stand next to the steps of your house.’
‘That sounds excellent. Thank you, Flo. Look, I will come with you.’
‘Eeh, that’ll be grand. I feel as if I’ve sommat to look forward to now.’
‘Yes, I do too. It’s a feeling there are things we can do for Lucinda, and that helps. I think I’ll get my car out of the garage on Saturday, and we can drive out to the market gardens in Essex. I love the idea of the rose. I have a full tank of petrol, as I haven’t had Bells out for a long time.’
‘Bells?’
‘Ha, that’s my nickname for my car. I – it comes from something Lucinda said once when we drove out of London together for a picnic. It was a nice day, I had the roof off and the wind was lifting her hair. As we came to a more rural area, church bells were ringing and she put her hands in the air and shouted, “Che bel suono!” It’s Italian for “what a beautiful sound!”’
He couldn’t continue. Without him knowing it had happened, his eyes had brimmed over and wet his cheeks.
‘By, that’s a lovely memory. You knaw, I’d love to learn to speak another language – they have such lovely words.’
Simon wiped his huge white hanky over his face. Flo was right; it was a lovely memory. It had referred to the time that he and Lucinda had been in Venice and the church bells were ringing out. He had a sackful of memories of his beautiful Lucinda, and hoped that one day they would give him more joy than pain to revisit them. For now, he was grateful to Flo for changing the subject. ‘I’ll teach you. We’ll start with Italian. I have a feeling about Mussolini. I think he will be trouble in the future and we need to be ready for him. As far as I know, I’m the only one here who can translate from Italian at the moment.’
‘Eeh, that’d be grand as owt.’
A small smile curved Simon’s lips as he wondered at his suggestion. He ought to be teaching Flo to speak the King’s English, not another language, but he knew he would miss her lovely sayings and the sound of her natural accent.
At first it had worried him as to how the staff would take to her, but a lot of them had warmed to her and she had their respect. They showed admiration and trust in Flo’s work, even though some of them could be toffee-nosed. Flo wasn’t like them at all. They were highborn – the daughters of dukes, lords and the noted wealthy, and extremely well educated too, especially those working here in Hut 6. However, they recognized Flo’s intelligence, even if they fell short of actually socializing with her or including her in any of their conversations.
Flo didn’t seem to mind. He knew it mattered to her that her ability and the work she did were acknowledged, but she wasn’t one for trying to be something she wasn’t.
They stood outside Simon’s house just over a week later. The cold drizzle of the evening dampened them, but neither moved towards the shelter that going indoors would give them. Flo knew she should take the lead, but the sense of the moment strangled her ability to act.
A gloved hand took hers, seeking comfort. She peered into Simon’s devastated face and felt a moment of guilt. It’s too soon for him . . . too soon. What was I thinking?
‘Let’s do this.’
‘Aye, it’ll be good to be in the rooms that Lucinda loved so much.’
‘She did like my flat, didn’t she? I suppose I was selfish to have bagged it. She was here much more than me, once war broke out.’
‘Naw, she loved her own rooms more. And she had the run of the place when you weren’t here. She told me she often lived downstairs, and used just her bedroom when she was here on her own.’
‘That makes me feel even worse.’
‘Aw, you’re just that way inclined. She only did it as it was better than having an empty space below her in the daytime. She loved that it was yours. She wanted to keep it reet for you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry – I’m picking at everything you say.’
His arm came round her. Flo smiled up at him. ‘Reet, let’s get the blackouts down.’
‘Yes, stand where you are, so that when I close the door I don’t bump into you. It’s really dark in this hall at night.’ As Simon said this, she could hear him moving about and knew he was locating the torch he kept on the hall windowsill.
A small beam lit enough of an area for her to follow and adjust the blinds, as they moved around the flat. Once that was done, Simon flicked the switches and flooded the rooms with light.
He stood for a moment in the doorway of the front room and looked around. Flo’s involuntary shiver prompted him into action. ‘The fire’s laid – I’ll just put a match to it.’
‘Aye, I’ll go through and put the kettle on.’
It seemed to Flo that something other than the lingering spirit of Lucinda was making them stilted with each other. She daren’t give her mind to what it might be.
When she came back through to the lounge, carrying the tray holding the teapot and cups, milk and saccharine, she met Simon coming down the stairs. His face looked grim. ‘It was always going to be difficult, Flo.’
‘Eeh, I knaw. Let’s go in and settle down with a cuppa, then I’ll make you sommat to eat.’
‘That sounds like a good idea. I’ve fixed the blackouts upstairs, and Mrs Peterson, our daily, has remade the bed and left the fires up there ready. I’ve put a match to them, so it will be warm enough for you. That’s if you’ll be all right sleeping up there?’
‘I will, if old Hitler doesn’t send us any bombs tonight. Otherwise we’ll both be in the shelter anyroad.’
‘Yes, better prepare for that.’
‘I have done. There’s a flask of cocoa made. Eeh, where Lucinda got cocoa from, I don’t knaw, but I’m glad she did.’
The evening was awkward. Their conversation felt forced. In the end, after a supper of fried potatoes and fried egg, Flo – thinking that coming down here had been a big mistake – excused herself and went up to have a bath and get into bed. She was tired enough to know that she would sleep. And she would find comfort from being in Lucinda’s flat.
It surprised her, the next morning, to find that she’d slept right through the night. Why no siren had sounded, she couldn’t imagine. Maybe an early warning had thwarted the bombers, or the air force had fought them back. She could think of no other reason why the bombers hadn’t come.
‘Are you awake, old thing?’
Flo pulled the covers up under her chin. ‘By, Simon, don’t you knaw it’s rude to come into a girl’s bedroom?’
‘Yes, but I don’t care.’ He plonked himself on the end of her bed. ‘Sit up. I’ve a cup of tea here for you. It’s a peace offering. I was a pig to be with last night. I’m sorry.’
‘Eeh, naw. There’s no room for “sorry” in them circumstances. We’re friends, and I knaw how you were feeling. I’m just glad that I was here for you.’
‘I am, too.’ The tone of this lit something in Flo. She’d felt the same tension last night, but now it was tangible, as if she could touch the feeling that was passing between them.
Looking away, she sipped her tea, letting the action bring her some composure. ‘Reet, skedaddle, I need to get dressed – we’ve a lot to do today.’
‘Yes, we have, and for that we need sustenance. I’ve been out and managed to get a loaf. We have some home-made marmalade from Mrs Peterson – it’s not made of oranges, but of marrow and ginger. It’s delicious. I’ll make us some toast by the fire.’
Marrow marmalade . . . Flo hadn’t ever heard of that. She marvelled at how resilient housewives were these days. They couldn’t get oranges, but what the heck; they wouldn’t go without their marmalade and so they invented, or dug into historical recipes and made do.
The delicious smell coming from downstairs made Flo realize how hungry she was. She was dressed in no time, choosing to wear the new pair of slacks she’d bought in a little shop in Bletchley. It had felt good to be able to buy some quality clothes. The salary the Wrens paid her was far more than she needed and enabled her to buy these extra treats for herself.
She topped the navy slacks with a pink twinset. The soft wool of the short-sleeved jumper, with its wide waistband, cushioned her skin from the itchiness of the mohair cardigan that went with it.
As she brushed her hair, the low winter sun shining through the window highlighted the golden strands that peppered the chestnut sheen. After each stroke of the brush, her hair bounced back into curls, so Flo decided to leave it hanging loose. She made a side-parting and held it back from her face with a clip. Applying a light layer of lipstick and hanging a strand of cultured pearls around her neck, she stood back to admire the effect. Would Simon think she looked nice? She shook her head as if to banish the thought, grabbed her gas mask and her coat and ran down the stairs.
‘Ready for anything, sir! And reporting for duty.’
Simon turned on his haunches. He was crouched in front of the fire. The flames had put a blush on his face. He’s beautiful.
‘You look stunning, darling. Come and sit down and have some toast.’
The light voice in which Simon said this could have meant he was talking to anyone. He called everyone ‘darling’. Why it should matter to Flo, she didn’t know. But it did. Making a joke, she said, ‘By, I don’t think “stunning” is the right word, but as long as I’m presentable . . . No one with a nose like mine can be called stunning.’ She giggled at her own words.
‘It’s a lovely nose. The best bit of you.’ Simon turned back to the flames, only to lose his balance. Swinging his arm up to regain it caused the bread on the end of the fork to plunge into the flames and catch fire. This sent him into a panic. He skipped around the room screaming out, ‘Help, help!’
Flo was helpless with laughter. ‘Calm down. Simon! You’ll have the room on fire. Chuck it into the grate. Eeh, you’re an idiot.’
Simon’s laughter joined hers. The silly moment put them back once more at the level of their easy friendship. Flo felt relieved it was so. She couldn’t understand the undercurrents that had crept into their relationship since they’d arrived here. She didn’t want it to be like that. She didn’t know how to cope with it, and was glad they could sit together and enjoy the toast with lashings of the scrummy marmalade in an easy atmosphere.
Finding the Salvation Army wasn’t difficult. Although there hadn’t been an air raid around their part of London during the night, there was work to do every day for the charities that worked in the area.
Just around the corner from the church over near Vauxhall Bridge they saw some activity around a van, the type they knew was used as a soup kitchen. ‘I’ll pull up here, you go and talk to them – you have a way with you. They might think I’m a time-waster.’
Simon’s maroon Jaguar glided to a halt across the road from the van. Most people standing around the van turned and stared. Flo felt an attack of nerves as she walked towards them. One young ’un called out, ‘What’s the toffs want with bleedin’ roadside charity?’ A woman Flo assumed was his mother clipped his ear. ‘Stop bleedin’ swearing, you.’
Flo felt a giggle bubbling up. She smiled at the onlookers. ‘Hello, I’m looking to offer help and wanted to talk to the—’
‘Flo! Me lovely northern girl. Gawd love us, you’re here again.’
‘Pauline! Eeh, it’s good to see thee. I were going to pop round to yours later. So, you’re working with the Sallies now, eh?’
‘I am. I’ve had a lot of help from them, and now that I’m on me feet I wanted to give sommat back.’
Pauline disappeared from the serving hatch that she’d poked her head out of, and then reappeared from a door around the back of the van. Flo opened her arms and then felt that she’d smother the tiny Pauline. Standing her at arm’s length, she looked into the face she’d come to love in such a short time. ‘By, lass, you’re looking grand. You have colour in your cheeks, and your hair – well, I didn’t realize it was so blonde. It’s lovely.’
Pauline flushed. ‘Give over! I’ve been putting a little bleach in me rinsing water. Ha, gotta keep up appearances. Me man might come home at any time, yer know.’
‘Really!’
‘I wish. But we live in hope, and keeping busy helps. What was that you said about volunteering then?’
Flo told Pauline her plans.
‘So, you’re settled now? I’m proud of you, girl. I won’t ask you what you do – I’ve been schooled in the protocol of war by the Sallies, and you warned me last time I saw you not to do that. I’m the same with me customers. No matter who comes to me window, I serve them with a smile and a comforting word, if needed, but I never ask who they are or what’s their business.’
‘You’re very wise. It can be awkward, and dangerous, to question folk these days. I sent you a letter; did you get it?’
‘No, not yet, but everything’s topsy-turvy, and the post is taking weeks longer than it used to. Except for bleedin’ bills. They find their way through, no matter what.’
Flo laughed with Pauline and gave her another hug. ‘You knaw, you can always come to me if you need help. I put me address in the letter. Though I never did find out if it was possible for you to be evacuated with the kids. Sorry about that. I explained in my letter about me mate, Lucinda, who I was going to ask.’
‘Yer look sad, lav. Is anything up?’
Flo told her about Lucinda. ‘No wonder you’re down. Well, I reckon as this kind of work will help you, and her brother.’ Pauline reached for Flo’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Don’t worry about me and the kids. I’ve sent them off with me mum. It don’t seem so bad, her being with them. They’re in Wales. A place called Aberfan. They’ve been housed in a little cottage together and are loving it. I’m going to visit next week – I can’t wait. In the meantime, I do war work three days a week. I work at a factory that makes uniforms. Then I do this, an’ all.’
‘That’s grand. I’m reet pleased for you, Pauline.’
‘Right, back to the business of you helping us. There’s one question I will ask: how much notice do you and yer mate have, when you have time off? Only that might be a factor in whether they accept yer.’
‘Oh, usually plenty, as we have a rota system. But it can be messed with, so it might be difficult to commit to a schedule. If you tell me where to go, I can tell them in charge our position, and see how it goes.’
‘I’ll take yer, if yer like. Here, Gladys, can yer manage for a while? I’ll just be a mo.’
To this there was an answering reply: ‘Of course, you take all the time yer need.’
‘Right, come with me, Flo. The man who organizes us only lives around the corner and as much as I’d love a ride in yer mate’s nice car, we can walk there.’
‘I’ll see that you and the kids get a ride one of these days. When this lot’s all over, we’ll go for a picnic. Eeh, that’d be grand.’
‘It would. I’ll look forward to it, lav. And like yer say, it’d be reet grand.’
Flo let out a laugh that had many heads turning. ‘I’ve nearly got you speaking proper English, lass. Yorkshire English!’
They both laughed at this. Flo sobered first. ‘Eeh, it’s good to laugh, but I suppose we ought to get to see this boss of yours. I’ll just go and tell Simon what’s happening.’
Mr Jenkinson was a kindly man, who welcomed Flo and Pauline into his house. After listening to Flo, he nodded his head. ‘Of course we would like your help. And don’t worry about the rota that we normally run – we won’t include you in it. Here’s my telephone number. You just let me know when you are coming, then I will stand down someone who is tired or has done a lot of shifts. How does that sound?’
Glad that not being able to give a structured timetable was acceptable, Flo thanked Mr Jenkinson. ‘Oh, before I go, will there be any training?’
‘No. I’ll just leave someone on with you both, for your first couple of shifts. You’ll get the hang of it by then.’
‘Yer can work with me for the rest of the afternoon, if yer like, Flo. Gladys was saying she was tired and her feet are swelling. I could send her home, then.’
‘If Simon’s up for it, then I am. Are you busy in the afternoons?’
‘Can be. Them as have lost their homes are often salvaging what they can in the mornings. Then they come for sommat to eat in the afternoons. We had a load of sausage donated this morning. I’m thinking of making a big sausage stew, and then keeping some to griddle and serve on a stick.’
‘Sounds good. I make a good stew. And Simon can serve at the window while we’re busy cooking. He’s good with a teapot.’
‘Is Simon your young man then, Flo?’
Flo felt the blush sweep up from her core, before it reddened her face.
‘Right. You don’t have to answer that. I can see you’d like him to be.’
Not wanting to be untruthful, or to come across as ridiculing Simon by speaking of his homosexuality, Flo just giggled. ‘Aye, sommat like that, but all will become apparent. Come on, let’s get back to him.’
The small confines of the van, which housed two gas rings and a gas boiler, made for a few uncomfortable moments as Flo worked between Simon and Pauline. One thing she was glad of: those two got on like a house on fire, and dropped into a mode of taking the rise out of her on more than one occasion, calling her a cry-baby as she chopped the onions, and nicking her carrots as she tried to cut them into small pieces.
‘Give over, the pair of yer. How am I meant to make a stew, if you’ve eaten half of me ingredients? The next hand to come across me will have their fingers chopped off!’
Simon made a play at a couple more attempts, on one of them brushing Flo’s hand, then holding her gaze for a moment, until Pauline coughed in a meaningful way.
‘Mr Jenkinson won’t have any carrying-on, yer know.’ Pauline said this with a laugh in her voice, but it again prompted a sideways glance from Simon.
A woman at the hatch broke the moment. ‘Here, have you that stew ready yet? The smell of them onions frying is getting the whole street going.’
‘Now then, Fanny, you don’t need to come begging here. You haven’t lost your house, and your man’s in a job that keeps him at home. We’re here to look after the homeless.’
‘Oh, I didn’t see you back there, Pauline. Sorry.’
‘No, I can tell that.’
As the woman walked away, Flo thought it worrying that those not in need might come to the van when she and Simon were in charge. ‘How will we know if the folk are needy or not, Pauline? We could be giving food away to crafty folk like that woman.’
‘You’ll get used to it. Those in need have dark circles around their eyes and a haunted look. Or, if they’ve just been bombed out the night before, they’ll be shook up and obviously upset and in shock. They don’t look rounded and well fed, like that Fanny. Ha, she’s got a right name as well. They say she offers herself around a bit, even though her man’s at home, but then Dick Barker never had much about him.’
Flo exploded with laughter. Pauline looked at her, bewildered, as did Simon. This made her laugh even more. Her sides ached and her eyes streamed with tears.
‘What? What’s got into you, Flo?’ Even though Pauline and Simon didn’t see what she was laughing at, they joined in.
At last she was able to say, ‘It’s what you called them . . . Th-their names. Oh, help!’
It took a moment for Simon and Pauline to cotton on. When they did, Flo thought they would never stop laughing.
‘Well, I’m learning a lot about northerners from you, Flo. I thought us Londoners had a sense of humour, but I’ve never thought of Fanny and Dick Barker like that before. I’ll never be able to look at them with a straight face again!’
The tension that had built up between Flo and Simon melted away after this, and as the van got busier there was no more time for frivolity. A steady stream of hungry, needy people soon demolished the stew and the sausages served on long sticks. Some of the folk tore at Flo’s heart and she felt glad that she was able to help them.
Not wanting to dampen the lovely atmosphere they were working in, she didn’t mention the idea that had come to her. There were a lot of young women who were shabbily dressed. When it came to the right time, she would suggest to Simon that they brought all of Lucinda’s clothes to the Salvation Army. It would be good to see some of the women dressed in something decent.
Simon, she thought, had coped well and looked happier, and she didn’t want to spoil that by bringing up the subject, in case it upset him. He’d taken a bit of stick because of his posh accent, but she’d been glad that he’d managed to hold on to his sense of humour.
Only one incident marred the afternoon. It was just as it was getting dark and they were packing up. A group of young lads came to mess about near the van. One of them called over, ‘You nancy boys like doing women’s work, don’t yer? Yer should be fighting, but yer’d probably end up crying like a baby. Yer useless.’
Flo felt her body stiffen. Pauline looked over at Simon as if seeing him for the first time. She soon composed herself and told the boys to bugger off. This made them worse. Their name-calling was now accompanied by the throwing of stones, which bounced off the van with a sound as if a gun had been fired.
Flo was at a loss as to what to do, as the situation seemed to be getting out of hand. After a few moments Simon took off the apron that Pauline had wrapped around him, donned his uniform jacket and stepped out of the van. Flo held her breath. She’d been surprised when Simon had worn his uniform today, but thinking about it, it was like protective armour for him against these situations. A courageous man, he would hate to be thought of as a coward or a conscientious objector.
At the sight of him, the boys quietened down. Simon walked over to them. ‘In times of war, a real man will turn his hand to any work that needs doing. There isn’t a division of labour any longer. Women are doing what men would normally do, and vice versa. I hope, when you are called upon, you will step up to the board and do your bit.’
A small voice said, ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’ The others all joined in. Then one of them asked where Simon was stationed, which led to Simon sitting on the grass verge with them and explaining about asking questions during wartime. He did it in such a way, talking about spies and careless talk, that he held the boys’ interest and gained their respect.
It gladdened Flo’s heart to watch his confidence growing and to see him managing a situation she knew he’d not coped well with, up to now. She wanted to go over to him and hug him, but instead she helped Pauline pack up the van.
‘I think I see the obstacle yer have now, Flo.’
Flo just smiled. Yes, there was a huge barrier to her love for Simon ever being returned in the way she would like it to be, but it didn’t stop her being in love with him. There! I’ve admitted it to myself. I am in love with Simon.
An arm came around her. ‘Come on, lav. This won’t get the pots done. We’ve to take them back to the depot in those buckets outside and get them ready for stocking the van tomorrow. Let’s put our backs into it. There’s never a better cure for lovesickness than hard work.’
Flo nodded, then laughed as Pauline called over to Simon, ‘Come on, mate. Are yer going to leave all the work to us, or are yer waiting for the Luftwaffe to drop in for a mug of your Rosie Lee?’
The boys and Simon laughed at this. Simon got up and shook each of the lads’ hands, then saluted them. The action made Flo realize that if this war dragged on for another couple of years or so, these young ’uns would be in the thick of it. She supposed Simon had realized that too, and that was why he had treated them as if they were already soldiers. But beyond that, she felt proud of him. She knew he struggled with others’ perceptions of him, but in this instance he’d risen to the challenge.
When he rejoined them, she smiled up at him. He smiled back. She didn’t speak; she couldn’t. The tension inside her wouldn’t allow her to chat in the usual easy, companionable way they’d always enjoyed. Now there were only small moments of that. Flo wondered if it would ever return. She wished, with everything that was in her, that she hadn’t lost her heart to Simon. There was no future in it for her, she knew that. Eeh, Mrs Leary always told me to expect the unexpected, but how could I ever have prepared meself for falling in love with a man who prefers to have a lover of his own sex? She had never even thought to meet such a man, but now that she had, Flo knew her life would never be the same again.