MIRANDA AND AVRIL joined the queue for the tram, shivering and stamping their feet, for it was a freezing cold December day. Miranda, however, had more important things than the weather on her mind: namely, getting to Lime Street Station in time to meet Steve’s train, for he was coming home at last, after almost a year away.
‘Excited, queen?’ Avril’s voice was indulgent. ‘I know you won’t let me call Steve your feller, but you’ve been . . . oh, I don’t know, sort of lit up . . . ever since he arrived in England.’
That had been a week earlier, a week in which he had been too busy to telephone, for on arriving from the States he had been immediately posted to somewhere called Church Stretton, where they were taking pilots who had flown bombers – Wellingtons mostly – to retrain on to Lancasters, and had not been allowed off the airfield until he had been thoroughly debriefed, whatever that might mean.
‘Brrr,’ Miranda said. ‘It’s perishing brass monkey weather again. Thank you for saying you’d come to the station with me – it’ll be much nicer than waiting on my own, though I’m sure that if any of the Mickleboroughs are at home they’ll be on the platform as well!’
Avril laughed. ‘Well, you said his mam, Kenny and the baby were coming home for Christmas, so if they’re back by now I’m sure they’ll be there. And his gran is still living in Jamaica Close, isn’t she? So I take it she’ll be feeding Steve whether or not his mam is here.’
Miranda shrugged. ‘Who can tell? What with no trains ever arriving on time and being so crowded with members of the forces that civilians scarcely ever get a seat, you can’t say for certain where anyone will be at any given time. Tell you what, if Steve’s mam isn’t on the platform then we might as well buy fish and chips when he arrives and take him back to the flat. He can go on to his mother’s place later.’
The tram drew up beside them and the two girls got in. The long narrow bench seats were already full but the girls were used to strap hanging and continued their conversation as the tram rattled on. ‘I believe the weather in Texas is really warm,’ Miranda said with a shiver. ‘Poor Steve, having to get used to our dear old English climate all over again! Of course I told him how lovely the weather was in the summer but there was so much I couldn’t mention that I think my letters became rather stilted. And his letters were rather stilted too, because he had to admit he’d had no luck at all in finding my mother.’
‘Well, you know he tried; he sent you copies of the advertisements he’d put in the papers,’ Avril reminded her friend. ‘And if you’re talking about things like the fall of France and the evac—’
‘Shurrup, you moron; loose lips sink ships,’ Miranda reminded her. ‘But yes, the American papers will have had all the major war news in every detail. No, what I meant was the things that had happened here – the raids last month, for instance. Liverpool will seem like a foreign city compared to the one Steve knew.’
The tram skidded to a stop on the icy rails and Avril gave a squawk as the man next to her stumbled, his elbows swinging round to catch her on her upper arm. ‘Sorry, chuck,’ he said, not sounding sorry at all. ‘But it weren’t my fault, the bleedin’ tram driver needs a lesson in brakin’, if you ask me. You gettin’ off here? It’s the station.’
‘Oh, crumbs, so it is,’ Avril gasped. ‘You can’t see a thing in the perishin’ blackout, and it don’t do to miss your stop with the pavements so slippery an’ all.’ She jerked on Miranda’s arm. ‘Come on, queen, gerra move on. Chances are you’ll still be waitin’ in an hour or two, but on the other hand the train really might be on time for once.’
The girls descended from the tram, crossed the pavement and dived into the concourse. As usual it was crowded, but Avril collared a passing porter and was told that the cross-country train for which they waited was a mere forty minutes late. ‘Have yourself a cup of tea and a wad, and by the time you’ve queued for it and ate it, your feller will have arrived,’ he said jovially.
Avril sniffed. ‘I hope my feller is safely tucked up in his factory startin’ the night shift,’ she said, to the porter’s retreating back. ‘Why does everyone assume that if you’re meetin’ a train it must have some man on it what you’re busy pursuin’?’ She turned to Miranda. ‘Look, love, if it’s forty minutes behind time now, the chances are it’ll be an hour and forty minutes by the time it gets here. There’s no point in me hangin’ around waitin’ that long for a feller what’s your concern and not mine. I’ll go back to the flat, light the fire and get the place warmed through, and see if I can make some sort of meal for Steve, just in case his train don’t get in till after the chippies close. Shall I make up the bed in the living room in case he wants to stay over? It’d be no trouble.’
Miranda pondered for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, don’t bother. As you say, it only takes a couple of minutes. What have we got in the pantry if the fish and chips shops are all closed?’
The girls took it in turns to cook their main meal of the day, which was generally eaten at around seven o’clock in the evening, and since it was Avril’s week she had done the marketing, though rationing made shopping a chore. Standing on the concourse with people all around them Avril ticked the contents of the pantry off on her fingers. ‘Some sausage meat, a big onion, a few carrots and enough flour and marge to make a pastry case,’ she announced. ‘Will that do, chuck?’ When Miranda nodded, she said, ‘Righty ho; see you later.’
Glumly, Miranda headed for the refreshment room. As she went she glanced around her; how good it would be to see some member of the Mickleborough family or a friend from school, but all the faces seemed strange. Sighing, she joined the queue. At least if you bought a cup of tea you might be able to sit down whilst you drank it!
By the time Steve erupted from an overcrowded carriage it was well past ten o’clock. Miranda did not recognise him at first, seeing merely the only tanned face under an RAF cap, a tan which made his teeth look astonishingly white. He must have seen her at once, though, because she was still looking wildly around her when she felt herself seized and hugged. ‘Oh, you good girl; how I love you!’ Steve’s voice said in her ear. ‘My poor darling, you must have been here for hours, because in my telegram I said my train would be arriving at seven o’clock, not twenty past ten. Now why don’t you put your arms round my neck so that you can give me a welcome home kiss? And don’t start talkin’ nonsense about bezzies because I’m as good as a Yank, I am, and we expect kisses and hugs from every girl we see.’
Miranda obediently put her arms round his neck, but dropped her face to snuggle against his tunic. ‘I feel stupid,’ she mumbled. ‘You’ve changed. Goodness me, Steve, you’ve grown! You’re actually taller than when you went away.’
‘And broader, though it’s mainly across the shoulders,’ Steve said complacently. ‘Oh, it’s so grand to see you, Miranda. I’ve missed you something awful.’ He caught hold of her hand as she released his neck, swung it up to his face and kissed the palm, and this made her give a little gurgle of shocked astonishment, which made Steve laugh. ‘You daft kid,’ he said affectionately. ‘And my mam’s comin’ home for Christmas despite my tellin’ her I’d rather she didn’t. The Luftwaffe are bound to get Liverpool’s measure sooner or later, and when they do, believe me, honey, they’ll smash the place to smithereens. Oh, I know Churchill says we won the Battle of Britain, that two German planes were downed to every one the Royal Air Force lost, but the truth of the matter is we’re still building up our defences and retraining the BEF, so I’d rather my mother and the kids were tucked away safely in Wales.’
He bent and picked up his kitbag, which he had tossed aside in order to have both arms free for Miranda, and began to lead her out of the station. ‘Where am I spendin’ the night?’ he asked. ‘I’m quite happy to share your bed, pretty lady, if that’s the only accommodation available. As you know, my gran stayed in Jamaica Close when Mam and the kids were evacuated, and she’s there still, but she’s awful old and gets confused. A neighbour does her marketing, lights her fire and cooks her food, though Gran bustles about and helps a lot, or so she claims. But even if she was told that today was red letter day, she’ll probably have forgotten by now and won’t have so much as a sardine in the pantry to keep my strength up. So how about if I come back to Russell Street? Any chance of a bite? And I don’t necessarily mean food either.’
‘You’ve got awfully cheeky, Steve, since you’ve been away,’ Miranda said reprovingly. ‘Of course you’re very welcome to come round to Russell Street for a meal, but no biting, if you please. I had meant to buy fish and chips but I reckon all the chippies will be closed by now. However, I think Avril means to make a sausage turnover and cook some carrots and that to go with it. Then there’s the remains of a junket Avril and I had for tea, standing on the slate shelf in the pantry. What do you say to finishing that? I suppose you’ll have to spend the night, because the trams will have stopped running by the time we’ve heard each other’s news.’
Steve agreed eagerly that this was a great idea, and when they reached the flat and found Avril fast asleep in bed, but the sausage turnover still warm from the oven, he took off his greatcoat, cap and scarf and settled down eagerly to attack the plate of food Miranda placed in front of him. Whilst he ate she read him Missie’s latest letter, which was almost equally divided between pleasure at being in her own home again and apprehension for her friends across the seas. After that, she asked about America, and tried not to feel jealous when Steve described the parties, dances, barbecues and picnics which had been arranged by local girls for the entertainment of their British guests. She told herself firmly that to feel jealous was absurd because Steve was not her boyfriend, but presently, when he had eaten and drunk everything Avril had provided, they settled on the couch for a nice cosy cuddling session whilst they talked into the night, and told each other of the more exciting events which they had not been able to share in letters.
Miranda was in the middle of a description of a dog fight she had watched between a Messerschmitt and a Spitfire when something in her companion’s breathing made her stop speaking and stare into the deeply tanned face so near to her own. And not only deeply tanned, but deeply asleep. Miranda smiled and thought about what he’d said that night. He’d told her he loved her and she felt confused. Did she really think of him as a brother? Oh, she was too tired to think about it now. She closed her own eyes and wondered how much wearier poor Steve must be! He had come all the way from Texas in a troop-carrying plane, not renowned for its comfort. Then he had had a hectic debriefing session and an introduction to the Lancaster aeroplane. After that he was given a seven day pass and had undergone the hell of a cross-country journey in wartime. Meeting her must have been quite as much of a trial for him as it was for her, because he must have been as conscious as she of the changes that had taken place during their year apart. And now, well fed and warm, it had been the most natural thing in the world for him to fall asleep. But of course it would never do. They had not made up the sofa into a bed so the bedcovers were still rolled up beneath it, and soon enough the fire would go out, leaving the room as cold as the icy courtyard below. Clearly, it behoved her to wake him up and either set him on his way to Jamaica Close or get him to give her a hand to make up a bed on the sofa. Thinking of this, she realised that she was already feeling somewhat chilly and, with infinite care, reached under the sofa and dragged out a couple of blankets. She threw them over Steve, causing him to give a sleepy mutter, and then pulled them over herself. The sofa cushions would make a lovely pillow, but of course she could not actually lie on the sofa the way Steve would, once it was converted into a bed. Miranda wriggled into a more comfortable position and found rather to her surprise that her head fitted most comfortably into the hollow of Steve’s shoulder. Anyone would think we’d been married for years, she told herself sleepily. For years and years and years and years . . . and Miranda was asleep.
Steve awoke. For a moment he lay perfectly still, thoroughly puzzled. Over the past ten days or so he had woken up in so many different places that he could scarcely count them, but this waking was different from all the rest. He shifted a fraction, forced himself to open his heavy lids and looked around him. It was still dark though he could see light coming through a gap of some sort; not very much light, and not the golden sunshine to which he had become accustomed in Texas. This was a faint bluish light, as though the moon was shining directly on the outside of what he now realised must be a blackout blind. He frowned; if he was in his hut at Church Stretton then the window had got up and moved during the night, which seemed unlikely. So if he was not in his hut, where the devil was he? He remembered the long cold journey in the train and the ecstatic moment when he had descended on to the platform at Lime Street Station, and had opened his arms to Miranda . . .
Miranda! At the mere recollection of her name, memory came flooding back. They had been too late to buy fish and chips but had returned to the flat in Russell Street and found a delicious supper which Avril had cooked for him. Avril had already been in bed and asleep, so he and Miranda had moved into the living room, intending to have a goodnight cuddle . . .
Cuddle! With the word, his arms tightened around Miranda’s warm body, curled up against his chest. Guiltily he realised that the two of them must have been so tired that they had fallen asleep, and here it was, early morning, and they were still cuddled up on the sofa. Steve could not help grinning to himself. In future he would be able to claim that he and his girl had slept together, and at the very thought he felt pleasure and guilt in equal quantities assail him. She would be furious, of course, if he teased her by telling Avril that they had spent the night together, even though he would explain that it had been an accident, that sheer weariness had caused them to fall asleep. At the thought he dropped a light kiss on the side of Miranda’s face, thinking he would tell her that, as in all the best fairy stories, his kiss had wakened her, but in fact he was unable to do so since Miranda slumbered on.
Steve had half risen on his elbow but now with infinite care he lay down against the sofa cushions and let his mind go back to the very first time he had seen Miranda. She had been standing in Jamaica Close staring up at the great twenty-foot wall whilst her lips moved soundlessly. He had thought she looked as though she was reciting some magical rhyme which would cause a door to open in the wall, so that she might go through. Steve remembered with shame that he had jeered at the scrawny kid with her topping of carrot-coloured hair, had teased her by pretending she was just a dog, but a dog who had managed to slip its leash. Then they had talked about their parents and he had seen the wistful resignation in her large hazel eyes and had offered her friendship, an offer she had grabbed with real enthusiasm. There were no boys in Jamaica Close around his age so palling up with the new kid was sensible, and he very soon realised that she had spunk, plenty of it. Despite the fact that she was younger than he they got on very well, and it was not long before he was proud to consider her his bezzie. In fact, he thought now, with the soft sweet-smelling length of her in his arms, he had fallen in love with her long ago without actually realising that his emotions had changed and deepened.
Her introduction to Jamaica House had been intended as a test but all it had really proved was that she was a lot braver than he, and from the moment that the two of them had begun to help Missie he had known that being bezzies would never be enough. She might not have known it then – might not know it now – but she was his girl and always would be.
The only trouble was that she did not seem to realise that he had got past mere friendship and was floundering in a sea of love which she refused to let him show. He had envied the Grimshaws – Julian must have looked so suave and handsome in the uniform of a flying officer – but Julian was in Africa, training other men to fly fighter aircraft, whilst he, at long last, was on the spot. And he intended to make the most of it. Only the elderly partners and the two old biddies Miranda had told him about were left in Mr Grimshaw’s office, which meant that at least there was little fear of her becoming emotionally involved with a fellow worker. But he knew she occasionally saw Gerald, and the previous evening he had been dismayed when he saw pink colour flood her cheeks at the mention of his name, and her eyes, which had been staring straight into his, suddenly veil themselves in their long pale lashes. He had given a sheepish grin. ‘I think Gerald might have his eye on you,’ he said frankly. ‘If only you’d let me buy you an engagement ring – just a tiny one – then I’d know he wasn’t a threat.’
‘Oh, Steve, what a fool you are! I like both of you, but in different ways. You’ve been like a brother to me.’
Infuriated, Steve had got to his feet, crossed the room in a couple of strides and plucked Miranda out of her chair as though she weighed no more than a kitten. ‘I am not your brother, for which I thank God devoutly,’ he had said crossly. ‘I fell in love with you when you were a scrawny little stick of a kid climbing the trees in the Jamaica House garden and throwing the fruit down to me, and I’m in love with you still, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.’
He had waited for an indignant reply, and had been pleasantly surprised when Miranda had flung an arm round his neck, pulled his face down to her level and kissed first his cheek and then the side of his mouth, though she had moved back before he could take full advantage of her softened mood. ‘Look, Steve, I’m not very old and neither are you. And Gerald is a lot of fun to be with . . .’
Steve had sighed. He had been standing with her in his arms, but then he sat her down again and took his own place at the table once more. ‘All right, all right, I’m jumping the gun, but I just want you to know that you can’t go off and get yourself tied up to any Tom, Dick or Harry because you’re mine; get it?’
Miranda had pulled a face. ‘I don’t belong to anyone but myself,’ she said firmly. ‘And don’t worry, no Tom, Dick or Harry – or Gerald or Julian for that matter – is going to want to sweep me off my feet. And now let’s eat up so that we can both get to bed. I see the kettle’s boiling so I’ll make us both a hot water bottle as soon as I’ve finished my supper.’
‘If you go pouring boiling water into a rubber bag you’re liable to get an unpleasant shock in the middle of the night,’ Steve had warned her. ‘You’ll wake up, thinking you’ve peed the bed, not realising . . .’
‘Don’t be so rude. I’ve been making hot water bottles for years and always pour cold in first,’ Miranda had said reprovingly. ‘And now you can stop going on about poor Gerald and tell me more about Texas.’
Now, Steve stroked Miranda’s cheek, looking forward to the moment when she awoke and found herself in his arms, but though she murmured she still did not wake and Steve’s thoughts returned to the past. Why did he love Miranda so desperately? He had to admit, though no longer quite so scrawny and with her carroty hair darkened to auburn, she was still no beauty. She had a pointy chin, a straight little nose and a generous mouth, whilst her big greenish-hazel eyes seemed almost too large for her small heart-shaped face. Steve could think of a dozen girls, many of whom he had taken around whilst in Texas, who were twice as pretty and half a dozen times as willing as Miranda Lovage. But she had, for him, an attraction which could not be put into words, and he supposed that Gerald and perhaps many other men were also aware of her charms. The thought made him jerk back on to his elbow. He was home in England now and could arrange for her to visit his airfield once he got a definite posting; then he would persuade her to start thinking seriously about marriage.
As though she had read his thoughts, Miranda gave a soft moan and sat up. She stared around her, eyes dilating. ‘Where the devil am I?’ she said in a bewildered voice. ‘Oh my goodness, what’s the time? Avril, have I missed the alarm? Oh my goodness!’
As she spoke she heaved herself clear of the blankets and wrenched herself out of Steve’s embrace with such force that they both descended to the floor with a crash, Steve giggling helplessly and Miranda scolding. ‘Oh, Steve, I must have fallen asleep . . . I was so tired, you wouldn’t believe . . . oh, goodness, it’s morning and it was my turn to make the breakfast.’ She turned on him where he lay on the floor, still laughing, and punched him in the stomach. ‘You beast, Steve Mickleborough, how dare you let me fall asleep! Oh, and we were both wearing all our clothes . . .’
‘Not all of them; I took my tunic off so I was in shirtsleeves, but I’m afraid you’re right and my kecks are pretty crumpled,’ Steve said ruefully. ‘But I was about to wake you ’cos I hear sounds of movement coming from your kitchen. You’ll want to wash and dress and so on in your own bedroom, whilst I’ll have to make do with the kitchen sink.’ He grinned at her. ‘Do you realise what this means? We’ve spent the night together and folk will think that I must do the decent thing and marry you! What do you say?’
Miranda, trying to comb her hair with her fingers for it had got considerably tangled in the night, was beginning to tell Steve that if he breathed a word regarding where he had spent the night she would excommunicate him, when the door to the living room burst open. Avril stood there, round-eyed. ‘Wharron earth . . .’ she was beginning when Miranda, choking back a laugh, interrupted.
‘Oh, Avril, can’t you guess? We came through here to make up the couch as a bed for Steve. Only we both went and fell asleep and we’ve only just woken up.’ She stood up, stretched and yawned. ‘Thank the Lord Mr Grimshaw gave me the day off because Steve was coming home! But now we’d better get a move on because Steve will want to go back to Jamaica Close to see whether his mam really means to come for Christmas, and I intend to go with him.’ As she spoke she had been tidying away the blankets, and Steve, scrambling to his feet, went to the window, pulled back the curtains and wound up the blackout blind, then turned to Avril.
‘Much though I hate to admit it, nothing of an interesting nature occurred all night because we were so perishin’ exhausted,’ he said, grinning. ‘But if I may have a borrow of your sofa again tonight I can promise you I’ll stay awake if I have to prop up my eyelids wi’ matchsticks.’
He was relieved when Avril laughed, came over and gave him a shove. ‘Men!’ she said scornfully. ‘You’re all talk and trousers, you. I know me pal better’n you ever did and she ain’t the sort to give a feller what he wants just because she’s knowed him years.’ She looked at Miranda. ‘It’s perishin’ cold still but I’ve put the kettle on for tea and poured hot water into the big enamel jug. So if you take that to your room you can have a wash and change. You can’t wear that skirt and blouse; they look as though you’ve slept in ’em.’ She turned her attention back to Steve. ‘As for you, I’ll go back to my room while you make yourself respectable. We’ve an electric iron and an ironing board what we got off Paddy’s Market, so if you want to give your kecks a quick press you can do it whilst Miranda and meself check that our glad rags are in good repair.’ She gave him a wicked grin. ‘I take it you’re going to invite us both out for some grub, lunchtime.’ She pulled a pious face, though her eyes were still twinkling. ‘You could call it buyin’ me silence, or a spot of blackmail, whichever you prefer. If you treat me right I’ll keep me gob shut.’
Steve sighed theatrically, but said he was very willing to mug them a meal at noon and arranged to meet outside Lewis’s, though he told Avril he meant to go to Jamaica Close as soon as he’d had some breakfast. ‘I think Mam’s due to come back tomorrow, but I know Dad’s written to her absolutely forbidding her to bring Kenny and the little ’un into danger, even for the sake of having a family Christmas,’ he explained. ‘It ain’t as though you can rely on the Luftwaffe to just drop the odd bomb whilst they’re concentrating on wiping poor old London off the map. Any day now they could turn their attention to the next largest port in the country and begin to hand out the sort of punishment the Londoners have been facing. But you know women; once they get an idea into their heads it’s powerful difficult to get it out again, and . . .’
‘Shut up!’ both girls screamed in unison, Miranda adding: ‘Your mam’s really sensible and wouldn’t bring the little ’uns into danger. So shut up and give yourself a good wash whilst I do the same, then we can have some porridge and toast and start our day on a full stomach.’
Although she would never have admitted it Miranda had found waking up in Steve’s arms strangely exciting, and she had been aware of a slight sense of disappointment when he had not tried to take advantage of the situation. In fact she felt quite peeved. He said he loved her, which presumably meant he wanted her, yet there she had been, in his arms and at his mercy so to speak, and he had not tried to cajole her in any way, save to suggest teasingly that, having spent the night with him, she might want to marry him, thus regularising the situation. However, she supposed that it was really a sign of Steve’s respect and decided she should be grateful. She had heard various stories from girls in the factory about what happened when you ‘gave your all’, and it sounded rude, embarrassing, and even rather painful. Definitely not the sort of thing which one did casually, especially when one knew that the door to the room in which one lay might suddenly burst open to reveal the shocked face of one’s best friend.
Having convinced herself that all was well Miranda got on with the task in hand. Only the previous week she had treated herself to a thick and far from new seaman’s jersey in navy blue wool, for it was already obvious that they were going to be in for another very cold winter. The jersey had been shrunken, with both elbows out and holes in various strategic spots, but Avril had been taught the art of darning and sewing whilst at the children’s home and had offered to put it right. Not one hole remained, and Miranda had embellished the garment by embroidering lazy daisies round the crew neck. She put it on now with a thick woollen skirt, also in navy, and went through to the kitchen where Avril was already dishing up the porridge, and Steve, fully dressed, was turning away from the sink. He grinned at her. ‘Hello again, queen. It’s perishin’ cold out,’ he greeted her. ‘I went down to the privy for the usual purpose and there’s a big puddle frozen solid right at the bottom of the stair, so if you need to go you want to watch out.’
‘I’m all right, thanks,’ Miranda said, having shot down to the privy before going to her bedroom to change her rumpled clothing. ‘Gosh, the porridge smells good; oh, and toast as well.’ She grinned at Avril. ‘Good job bread isn’t rationed.’
The three sat down to their meal and presently, the girls clad in their thick coats and hats, they left the flat, descended the stairs and decided to go their separate ways, since Avril, who was not on shift till the following evening, still had a couple of presents to buy and Miranda wanted to go back to Jamaica Close with Steve. Her main reason for this was to learn whether Mrs Mickleborough had decided against returning to the city for Christmas. If she had, Miranda intended to ask Steve and his gran back to the flat for the day itself, but of course she would not do so should Mrs Mickleborough and the little ones be coming home. There simply would not be sufficient room in the flat for five extra people, and though Miranda had not seen Kenny since the previous September she remembered him as being lively and demanding, to say the least, whilst Flora was surely toddling about under her own steam by now.
So when they reached the main road Avril went off towards the city centre, whilst Steve and Miranda caught a tram and were presently knocking on the door of Number Two Jamaica Close. They heard Gran’s slippered feet shuffling along the front hall, and presently the old lady was exclaiming with delight and ushering them into the kitchen, where a bright fire burned in the range and the kettle was hopping on the hob. ‘Eh, it’s grand to see thee, lad, real grand,’ Granny Granger said. She beamed at Miranda. ‘And you’ve brought your young lady along! Eh, I’m honoured! Now sit down the pair of you and you shall have tea and a bit of me seed cake, ’cos it’s mortal cold out there.’ She chuckled richly. ‘When I visited the privy earlier me bum near on froze to the seat; imagine that!’ Her visitors laughed, but as soon as they were settled with tea and cake the question which Miranda guessed was uppermost in Steve’s mind was voiced. Gran, however, shook her head. ‘I dunno whether they’ll take the chance, but if her good man’s letter reaches her in time I reckon she’ll give up the idea. If you ask me she’d be downright foolish to take the risk. It ain’t as if she were unhappy in that little Welsh village, ’cos she ain’t. Her letters is full of country talk, and she says after the war’s over she means to try for a country cottage. I dunno as she’ll ever get one, ’cos her hubby has to be near his work, but it’s good that she’s goin’ to try. More toast? Another cup?’
Steve accepted, but Miranda, shaking her head, got to her feet. ‘Thanks, Mrs Granger, but I believe I ought to visit my aunt and my cousin Beth. I’ve not been round since war broke out – I’ve been too busy – but now I’m actually in the neighbourhood I really should say hello. And I’ve got a little present for Beth, and one for my aunt, so if you don’t mind I’ll just nip up the road.’
Granny Granger nodded her understanding. Steve reminded Miranda to give a knock on the door when she was ready to leave, and then he and the old lady settled down to talk of aunts and cousins he had not seen for many months, whilst Miranda walked along to her aunt’s house and knocked on the door, aware of a tiny shudder of distaste at the memory of her time spent living here under her aunt’s despotic rule.
When the door was answered, however, her aunt’s grim mouth softened a little, though she said accusingly: ‘Slummin’, ain’t you?’
‘Don’t be nasty or you shan’t have your Christmas present,’ Miranda said promptly. ‘I haven’t come all this way to be insulted, you know.’
Her aunt sniffed. ‘You haven’t come all this way very often,’ she said, but in a milder tone. ‘If you remember, young lady, you left without givin’ us your new address, so you’re lucky to get any sort of present off of Beth and meself. However, bein’ the souls of generosity, we’ve bought you a little somethin’ in the hope that you might deign to come round, bein’ as it’s the season of goodwill and all that.’
‘I’m sorry, Aunt Vi, but we’re so short-staffed at the office now that it’s all I can do to get my messages and have a sleep,’ Miranda explained. ‘Well, I reckon you must understand, because a few weeks ago I met Beth in St John’s fish market, and she told me she was working in a factory making parachutes, so I guess her time off is pretty limited too. And I did tell her I lived in a flat over a bicycle shop on Russell Street; didn’t she pass the news on to you?’
Her aunt sniffed again but stood aside, beckoning her niece to enter. ‘I dunno as she might have done,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘Fact is, Miranda, that she ain’t here all that often; she kips down with a pal when she’s on a late shift so she’s only under my roof, oh, one week in four, I suppose.’ She pulled her mouth down at the corners. ‘Truth to tell, I gets lonely, so if you’re ever lookin’ for a place to lie your head there’s a spare bed here you’d be welcome to use.’
Miranda had to bite her lip or she might have reminded her aunt of the way she had been treated when she had lived in Jamaica Close, might also have added that if the factory making parachutes was too far from Jamaica Close, her own place of work was even farther. Instead she said: ‘Thanks, Aunt, I’ll remember your – your kind offer.’ Then she rooted around in her pocket and produced the presents, both well wrapped. ‘Not to be opened until Christmas Day; yours is the one in red paper and Beth’s is in the green,’ she said, with a gaiety she was far from feeling. One glance round the dirty neglected kitchen and one sniff of the smell of stale food and rotting vegetables was enough to convince her that her aunt had not changed. She was still lazy, greedy and a bad housewife, and she, Miranda, would have to be desperate indeed before she crossed this threshold again.
Outside once more, she took a deep breath of the icy air and was approaching the Mickleborough house when Steve emerged from it, giving her his broadest grin. ‘Didn’t think you’d hang around there for long,’ he greeted her. ‘I bet the old biddy hasn’t changed at all. Did she ask you to come over and cook her Christmas dinner? I bet that was her first thought!’
‘You’re not far out; apparently even Beth doesn’t spend much time at home now. Did I tell you she was making parachutes at a big factory on the outskirts of the city? No, probably I didn’t, because of the censor. Well she is, and Aunt Vi says she kips down with a pal when she’s on late shifts. She said she and Beth had a present for me, but whatever it was she didn’t hand it over. Now, what else did Granny Granger say about your mam and the kids coming home for Christmas?’
‘Norra lot,’ Steve said cheerfully as they swung into the main road and headed for the tram stop, ‘just that Mam didn’t mean to come until the day before Christmas Eve, so she’s still got time to make up her mind. But I think she’ll be sensible; my mam is sensible, wouldn’t you say?’
‘She’s very sensible,’ Miranda agreed. ‘What’ll we do today? If you’re not too tired I’ve got some last minute shopping to do, and this evening I really would love to go dancing. It’s difficult for Avril and me, because of Gary. Those two really are in love and want to marry as soon as they’ve saved up enough money to rent a couple of rooms somewhere. Avril used to love dancing but of course Gary can’t do even the simplest steps, though he tells Avril that he wouldn’t mind if she wanted to dance with other blokes, but she won’t do it. You can understand why, can’t you, Steve?’
‘Course I can,’ Steve said at once. ‘She’s a grand girl, your Avril. But I take it she won’t mind if you and I go dancing? I’m no great shakes, but there was a girl in Texas who took me in hand and now I can waltz and quickstep with the best of ’em, though the foxtrot and the tango are still beyond me. Do you think Avril will want to come with us? Even if she won’t dance for fear of hurting Gary’s feelings, I suppose she could watch.’
‘And play gooseberry?’ Miranda said scornfully. ‘Of course she won’t, you idiot. Besides, she’s very pretty, you know, even if she is a tiny bit overweight. She’d be besieged by offers and turning a chap down can be really uncomfortable. No, if we go dancing it will just be you and me.’
They caught a tram into the city centre, Steve admitting that he had heard so much about the shortages in England that he had scoured Texas for any foodstuffs or luxuries he could afford, to give to all his loved ones as Christmas presents. ‘So we’ve no need to go shopping on my account,’ he assured Miranda. ‘Where do you want to go for yours?’ He glanced at the heavy watch on his wrist. It had several different dials, which had intrigued Miranda until he had explained its various uses. ‘Ah, but it’s twenty to twelve; we’d best make tracks for Lewis’s and a really good, pre-war lunch!’
Avril and Miranda were in Miranda’s room, Avril sitting on the bed and watching as her friend tried on a dance dress she had borrowed from a pal whose own boyfriend was on one of the ships in the transatlantic convoy and would not be back home in Liverpool for another two weeks at least. And anyway, the dress would never have fitted her, Miranda thought to herself, remembering how her plump little pal had sighed as she handed the dress over in a stout paper carrier, explaining that her mother, a first rate needlewoman, had made it herself several years before the war started, and had only worn it twice. Miranda, pulling the soft chiffon out of its bag, had gasped with pleasure. It was a smoky blue-grey shade with a low-cut bodice and floating sleeves, and with it her friend’s mother had worn delicate blue silk sandals. These were too small for Miranda, but her own white sandals looked almost as good, and when she turned to Avril her friend’s widening eyes was all the confirmation she needed that the dress both fitted and suited her. Carefully she picked up the gossamer stole with its embroidery of silver stars and turned once more to Avril. ‘Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?’ she enquired breathlessly, ‘I shan’t dare to have a drink even if I die of thirst, because suppose I dropped a spot on it? I could never replace it, not if I had all the money in the world. Oh, Avril, do you think I should just let Steve see me in it when he arrives and then change into my old green dress? After all, Steve hasn’t seen the green one either.’
But Avril, though she laughed, shook her head. ‘No way! Your pal meant you to enjoy it, and anyway the only drink they serve at the Grafton is weak orange squash. You could probably pour a gallon of that stuff down your front and it would come out the minute you put the dress in water. So stop worrying and enjoy yourself.’
Presently a knock on the door heralded Steve’s arrival and his expression, when Miranda floated into the kitchen in the borrowed dress, was almost unbelieving. ‘Oh, queen, you look like the Queen,’ he gabbled. ‘No, you look like a film star! God, I know they say love’s blind, but I’m tellin’ you, you’re bleedin’ well beautiful and I never knew it before.’
Not surprisingly, Miranda bridled. ‘They say clothes make the man, and I suppose you’re telling me they make the woman, too,’ she said frostily. ‘It’s not me or my carroty hair that’s beautiful, but my pal’s dress.’ She regarded her swirling skirts proudly. ‘It is fantastic, isn’t it? Her mother made it for a Masonic function before the war, and only ever wore it twice. My pal is quite a lot heavier than either her mum or me, so I doubt she’ll ever get to wear it, but I’m going to treat it like gold dust, see if I don’t.’ She grinned at Steve. ‘So you’ll have to learn to dance without actually laying your greasy hands anywhere on this wonderful creation.’
Laughing, Steve promised to scrub his hands within an inch of their lives as soon as they reached the ballroom. Then he and Miranda told Avril to be good and to have the kettle on the boil by eleven o’clock, and clattered down the steep iron stairway. At the foot of it they met Gary, carrying a parcel which he explained was a bag of sprouts. ‘I’ve a pal with an allotment out at Seaforth, and he told me that the sprouts are ready to eat after the first frost. It’s a cold old job cutting them, though, so he said if I’d give him a hand I could have a bag of them for our Christmas dinner.’ He stared at them inquisitively. ‘You off somewhere?’
‘Oh no, I always wear my best shoes to queue for fish and chips,’ Miranda said sarcastically. ‘I know my dress is covered by my old winter coat but surely you can see my elegant footwear!’
Gary grinned. ‘So you’re off for a dancing session, are you? Great news, because that’ll give me a whole evening to keep Avril company,’ he said at once. ‘I was supposed to be on shift this evening but because of cutting the sprouts I did a swap with Billy.’
‘Nice for you and even nicer for Avril, because she thinks she’s going to spend the evening alone,’ Miranda said. She slipped her hand into the crook of Steve’s arm and they set off across the courtyard. ‘Cheerio, Gary. See you later I expect.’
The pair of them hurried, carefully, along the icy pavement. Above them the dark arc of the sky blazed with stars, reminding Miranda of the stole around her shoulders. They reached the dance hall and joined the line of people waiting for admittance. Steve greeted a couple of old friends from school further up the queue whilst Miranda rubbed her cold hands together, stamped her chilled feet and wished she had done as other girls did and worn her boots, bringing her dancing sandals in a paper carrier to change into inside. But already the queue was beginning to move and very soon she and Steve were rushing to claim a couple of the little gilt chairs set out around the gleaming dance floor. As soon as the orchestra struck up they tipped their chairs forward to indicate that they were taken, as was the small round table, and set off. It was the first time they had ever danced together and Miranda found it a very pleasant experience, but unfortunately, without thinking, she said something which spoiled the moment for them both. ‘The last time I was here with Gerald . . .’ she began, her cheek resting comfortably against Steve’s tunic, and was astonished when she found herself suddenly pushed away from him and held at a distance.
‘Did you have to say that?’ Steve growled, giving her an admonitory shake. ‘When did you go dancing with Gerald? Why didn’t you mention it in any of your letters?’
Miranda, jerked out of her pleasant daydream, scowled at her companion. ‘Don’t be so silly, Steve. I’ve danced with all sorts of people these past months . . .’
She stopped speaking as Steve put a hand across her mouth. ‘What was that noise?’ he asked curiously. ‘A sort of wailing noise. And why is everyone streaming off the floor?’
Miranda gasped and grabbed his hand. ‘That was Moaning Minnie,’ she said. ‘In other words, the air raid warning. Sometimes the men on watch don’t see the planes till they’re almost overhead, though, so we must get a move on or we shan’t get into the shelter. If we were in the flat we could go down to the basement under the cycle shop, but it’s too far to go from here.’
They joined the pushing, jostling crowd and once on the pavement Miranda pointed at the moon, brilliant in the blackness of the night sky. ‘See that? I expect you know it’s called a bomber’s moon. Well, with luck they’ll be heading for some other destination, but you can’t take chances. Here comes the first wave. Quick, give me your hand and run like hell.’
Steve complied, saying as he did so: ‘I’ve often heard the expression bomber’s moon, and now I understand what it means. It’s as light as day, I bet those buggers up there can see us clear as clear, like ants scurrying out of an anthill when a foot comes too near the nest . . .’
He stopped speaking and Miranda, gazing up, saw that the first planes were indeed overhead. The ack-ack guns were blazing away; she saw one of the enemy aircraft stagger, then seem to recover, saw something descending to earth, and dragged Steve hastily into the shelter of a shop doorway. ‘Incendiaries,’ she told him, as the dreaded firebombs began to rain down. ‘Oh, come on, Steve, run before the next lot come over. Look, there’s a warden. He’ll tell us which shelter to make for.’
The warden, uniformed and helmeted, came towards them, and had to raise his voice to a shout above the whistle of descending bombs. Just as he reached them there was an almighty explosion somewhere in the vicinity of the Adelphi Hotel, an explosion violent enough, Miranda knew, to have caused enormous damage. The warden reached them and grabbed Miranda’s arm, then peered into her face and grinned. ‘Oh, it’s you. Not fire watchin’ tonight, then? There’s a shelter not twenty yards ahead; you’ll be all right there. Gerra move on, though. This is no night to be out on the streets.’
‘Thanks, Jim,’ Miranda said, and would have set off at once, but Steve held her back.
‘Is there anything I can do to help, mate?’ he asked as the warden turned away. ‘I’m on leave, but . . .’
The warden laughed. ‘Get into the bloody shelter and stay there until you hear the all clear,’ he commanded. ‘Once the raid’s over . . .’
Another enormous explosion rocked the three of them, and caused Miranda to give a yelp of impatience. ‘Do as the man says and get a move on,’ she commanded. ‘This war doesn’t need dead heroes. Ah, I can see the shelter and the feller in charge is beckoning us . . . come on, Steve!’ To their right a large building was already in flames, the firelight competing with that of the moon, but neither Miranda nor Steve so much as glanced towards the conflagration. They pushed aside the smelly sacking curtain at the bottom of the shelter steps and entered into the usual scene of confusion: children howling, mothers trying to quiet them, and old people, eyes dark with fright, trying to pretend that this was all part of a day’s work. Miranda glanced sideways at Steve, remembering that this was his first experience of a severe air raid – and she knew from the number of dark shapes overflying the city that this was a severe raid indeed. Steve caught her glance and grinned sheepishly, taking his place on one of the long wooden benches which lined the shelter. Miranda sat down beside him and took his hand.
‘Awful, isn’t it?’ she said softly. ‘Poor Steve, you really have been chucked in at the deep end, haven’t you? For the rest of us it’s come gradually, with each raid worse than the last. Yet somehow one never gets used to it. The kids are petrified simply by the noise, and when one of the parachute mines lands too close you get the most horrible sensation, as if your brain is being pulled out through your ears. I’m told that’s the result of blast, and apparently if you’re near enough blast can kill you just as effectively as a direct hit. If it weren’t for the fact that while we’re in the shelter we’re not makin’ work for the wardens I’d far rather be out in the open, and I expect you feel the same.’
Steve put his arm round her and gave her a gentle squeeze, then kissed the side of her face. ‘You’re right, Miranda; that’s exactly how I feel,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s an odd thing, because when I’m flying I don’t feel confined in any way, but now I feel boxed in and helpless.’
Miranda chuckled. ‘Everyone does, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry – tomorrow, when the fire service are trying to douse the flames and the wardens and anyone else who offers are digging out survivors and roping off dangerous buildings, your help will be very much appreciated. I’ve never managed to sleep in a shelter, though lots of people do, so I usually go back to the flat after the all clear has sounded, get a couple of hours’ kip and then go and offer my services at the nearest ARP post.’ She grinned at him. ‘Care to follow my example? You can have the sofa again, or you can go home to Jamaica Close and get yourself a proper eight hours.’
Steve returned her grin, then winced and ducked as a whistling roar announced the arrival of yet another high explosive bomb. ‘I’ll stick with you, babe,’ he said in a mock American accent. ‘I just hope to God my mam is still safe in Wales.’
‘You said she wasn’t setting out until the day before Christmas Eve, so the news that the city has been targeted will reach her in time for her to make the right decision,’ Miranda pointed out. ‘Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry that your first trip home looks like being spoiled. So long as the skies stay clear – and there’s a building standing in Liverpool – they’ll keep up the attack, because everyone says after they’ve flattened London it’ll be the turn of the busiest port in the country, and that’s us. Ought you to cut your leave short? I know you’re not due to go back to your airfield until Boxing Day, but you could go tomorrow. I expect you’d be more use attacking the Luftwaffe.’
But Steve was shaking his head, his expression grim. ‘I’m going to stay here and do my damnedest to help,’ he said. He glanced towards the end of the shelter where the warden in charge was trying to start a communal sing-song, though at present the noise from outside made such a thing impossible, and suggested that he might just slip through the curtain, steal up the smelly dank steps and take a look around, but Miranda assured him that this would not be allowed.
‘Once the warden lets one person go out there would be a concerted rush. And even if you don’t realise it, Steve, it’s tremendously dangerous out there. People run back into their houses to fetch a wedding photograph or a terrified cat, and never run out again. The building may collapse on them, or escaping gas from a fractured pipe catch them unawares, and there’s one more death to add to the Luftwaffe’s haul. So just behave like the good citizen I know you are and wait for the all clear.’
Steve sighed, but after another hour, during which Miranda leaned her head against his shoulder and actually managed to snooze, he gave her a shake.
‘Miranda, I’ve got to go outside for a moment. I – I need to go outside.’
Miranda stifled a giggle. ‘You want to spend a penny, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘Haven’t you noticed people getting up and going behind the curtain? There’s a heavy leather one behind it, which the warden draws across as soon as the shelter’s full. He keeps a couple of fire buckets in the space between them which can be used in an emergency.’ She saw Steve hesitating and gave him a friendly shove. ‘Oh, come on, don’t be shy! When we were kids you told me you used to swim in the Scaldy in the altogether, yet now you feel embarrassed having a pee in a bucket. It’s much easier for you men than us girls; at least you don’t have to squat on the edge of the thing whilst the warden pretends he’s got business at the other end of the shelter. Besides, why suffer? We’re all in the same boat and it may be another hour or more before they sound the all clear.’
Steve sighed but got stiffly to his feet. ‘If you’re planning to make me look a fool . . .’ he began, but before Miranda could assure him that she was telling the simple truth an elderly man in a patched army greatcoat and a much darned balaclava got to his feet and shuffled towards the warden. He was ushered through the curtain, which was swished shut behind him, and when he emerged again Steve was quick to jump to his feet and follow his example. Miranda was amused to see the obvious relief on his face as he returned to her side, but was too tactful to say so. Instead she hauled a small child, a girl of four or five, on to her lap and announced that it was story time, and that she would tell them all the tale of Timmy Tiddler, a very small fish who lived in a pond in the heart of a magic wood . . .
Soon Miranda was surrounded by tiny listeners, and though the noise from outside did not stop, it began to lessen as the roar of the aircraft overhead became fainter, though it was three in the morning before the longed for notes of the all clear reverberated through the shelter. People began to rub their eyes, for many had slept once the worst of the raid was over. Belongings were collected, children claimed by parents, and the evacuation of the shelter began.
Out on the pavement, Miranda and Steve looked around them at a scene of devastation. Fires raged, and buildings which had toppled still gave off clouds of dust. Miranda sighed and tucked her hand into the crook of Steve’s elbow. ‘It’s worse than I thought. Those dreadful incendiaries cause fires which light up the city so that the bombers have something to aim at,’ she said. ‘Steve, would you be happier if we went straight to Jamaica Close and checked that your grandmother – and my Aunt Vi, I suppose – are okay? I wouldn’t mind a bit of a walk in the open air, having been penned up in the shelter for hours.’
Steve began to brush at the shoulders of his greatcoat, then gave it up, because the very air was dust-laden. ‘There won’t be much open air as you call it, more like open brick dust,’ he observed, ‘but I do believe you’re right. We’d better check on Gran and your horrible old aunt, and once we know they’re all right we can go back to your flat, get ourselves some breakfast and snatch a couple of hours’ sleep. Then I mean to offer my services at the nearest ARP post.’
‘All right: Jamaica Close first, and then breakfast. Best foot forward! I wonder how Avril and Gary got on.’ She chuckled. ‘Poor Gary, he was so looking forward to having Avril and the flat to himself for a change; maybe the whole building if Pete Huxtable decided to trek when he realised that the skies were clear and the moon would be full. Have you heard about trekking? Londoners began it, I believe. You take some grub and a couple of blankets and as soon as your work finishes for the day you lock up your house and go as far into the country as you can get and stay with anyone who’ll let you sleep on their floor until morning. The raid is always over before the sky gets truly light again, and if you’re lucky you can catch a bus back into the city, though otherwise you have to walk. But at least you’ll have had a proper night’s sleep and be fit for work next day.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of it, and having suffered a night in the shelter I think trekkers are doing the right thing,’ Steve said. ‘I can’t imagine why the government tries to discourage them . . . well, they wouldn’t if they had to put up with the sort of night we’ve just lived through. If you ask me only a lunatic would choose to stay in a city under attack if they could possibly get away from it. But I’m just a simple sergeant-pilot.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Couldn’t you trek, queen? I’d feel a deal happier if I knew you were safe out of it before the bombs begin to fall.’
They were heading along Great Homer Street, already finding it difficult to breathe the dust-laden air, and Miranda coughed before she replied. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I’m a fire watcher. They position us on top of high buildings and give us either a messenger boy or what they call a field telephone so that we can report any fires in our vicinity as soon as they start. Besides, I don’t have any friends or relatives living in the country, so for me – and many like me – trekking is out of the question.’
Steve nodded reluctantly. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘The trouble is, queen, what I’ve seen tonight has made me realise that we really are all in it together. I thought being on my station was the most dangerous job of all, but at least we don’t simply sit there waiting to be shot at. We have the satisfaction of knowing we’re both protecting our civilians and attacking the enemy, which is a good deal preferable to being sitting ducks.’
As they neared the turning which would lead them to Jamaica Close, there were fewer and fewer people on the pavement. Out here those who had been in communal shelters had returned to their homes and others, Miranda assumed, had come up from their cellars to snatch a few hours in bed before day dawned. They turned into the Close and went straight to the front door of Number Two, where they hesitated. Steve stared at the front door, hauled the key on its string up through the letter box and looked enquiringly at Miranda. ‘Do you think it’s too bad of me to wake her? Gran, I mean?’
‘There’s no need to wake her,’ Miranda whispered, gently taking the key from his hand and inserting it in the lock. ‘You can just check that she’s safely asleep in her bed, and then write a little note telling her that you’re fine, and will come back later. Agreed?’
Steve was happy with the idea, but as it happened their creeping about was not necessary. As soon as they entered the hallway Granny Granger appeared, coming towards them from the kitchen with a big smile. ‘There’s tea in the pot,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s nothin’ like a hot cup of tea to set me up for wharrever the new day may hold, but you’re early callers, ain’t you?’ She had ushered them into the kitchen and now jerked a thumb at the clock on the mantel, whose hands pointed at ten past four. ‘Take off your coats, else you won’t feel the benefit,’ she instructed. And as Miranda obeyed she looked down at herself and gasped with horror.
The beautiful borrowed dress was torn and filthy, the stole with its twinkling stars ruined. Miranda groaned. ‘Oh, Steve, and I promised I’d take such care of my borrowed finery,’ she said. ‘Whatever shall I do?’
‘You can’t do anything, of course, but a dress is just a dress. Life and limb are much more important,’ Steve said comfortably. ‘Your pal will forgive you; she’ll know there was nothing you could have done to keep the dress immaculate.’
Granny Granger bustled out of the pantry, carrying a tin with a picture of the Tower of London on the lid. ‘There’s still some cake left and I brewed the tea not ten minutes ago,’ she said. ‘Now set yourselves down and tell me if there’s anything left of dear old Liverpool. Were it as bad a raid as it sounded?’
Reflecting on the resilience of the old, Miranda sank gratefully into a chair and accepted a cup of tea with eagerness, even agreeing to nibble a slice of seed cake, though it was by no means a favourite with her. ‘Yes, it was dreadful. There are fires and firemen everywhere. I guess when they post the casualty lists later in the day, we’ll know just how bad it was in terms of people getting killed. As for damage to property, well, the mind boggles, but it’s difficult to judge in the dark.’
Granny Granger nodded. ‘And you’ll be glad to hear, young Steve, that I had a telegram from your mam yesterday evening saying she wouldn’t be coming after all. It seems she’d had the letter from your pa, and had seen the foolishness of leaving Wales. So If you want to see her, Kenny and baby Flora, you’d best gerron a bus or train and visit them, instead of the other way round.’
They chatted with the old lady for a bit, agreed to do some shopping for off-ration food, if they could find any, and accepted her invitation to have tea with her. Then Miranda ran down to Number Six and would have tapped on the door, except that as she raised her hand to knock, Mrs Brown from Number Eight appeared on her front doorstep.
‘Mornin’, Miranda. You’re up and about early,’ she remarked. ‘But if you’ve a mind to wake your aunt, I’d suggest you think again. She spent the best part of the night searchin’ for Beth’s cat what has been stayin’ at Number Six whenever Beth’s on shift. She found it in the end because once the raid was over it come home, the way such critters do, so she shut it in the kitchen and went off to catch up on her night’s sleep.’ She chuckled. ‘And I pity anyone what disturbs her,’ she finished.
Relieved to have got out of an encounter which she knew was unlikely to bring her anything but grief, Miranda asked Mrs Brown to tell Aunt Vi that she had been asking for her. Then she and Steve trudged wearily back to the main road, and caught the first bus heading towards the city centre, though it was crowded with folk going to work so they had to stand. As always, Miranda was impressed by their cheerful acceptance of the terrible night they had endured, and saw that Steve, too, admired their fortitude. When they reached the first of the big factories the bus almost emptied and Miranda and Steve slid on to a seat and held hands as the vehicle clattered onwards. ‘I hope we don’t wake Avril and Gary,’ Miranda said absently, as she tried to stifle an enormous yawn. ‘They won’t have stayed in the flat – that would be madness – they’ll have been in the basement under the cycle shop. Pete has told us to make free of it. He gave us the key when the war started, and we’ve used it several times.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘When it starts to get noisy it seems to go to poor Timmy’s bladder and he whines at the door to be let out. We always joke that the all clear should be called the free to wee, because Timmy charges up the steps and barely reaches the courtyard before his leg is lifting.’
Steve smiled and said that he would like to see the little dog again, not having done so since before the war. ‘You ought to buy him wax earplugs or woolly earmuffs,’ he teased. ‘If he couldn’t hear the bangs he’d probably go off to sleep quite happily.’
They were still laughing over the idea of Timmy in fluffy earmuffs when the bus deposited them at their stop, and they hurried along towards Russell Street, planning the breakfast which they hoped to enjoy presently. It was too early for any of the shops in the street to be open, but that was not the only reason for the unfamiliar quiet. The air was thick with dust, and despite the householders’ precautions there were several glassless windows, and shop doors swinging wide. Miranda began to hurry. ‘I hope to God they’re all right,’ she said breathlessly as she ran. ‘Oh, I do hope they’re all right!’