When Neil came home on his first leave, his family listened with interest as he regaled them with tales of his infantry training, going into great detail about the rifle drill and the marching. ‘They were strong on discipline and tidiness, as well,’ he laughed. ‘A button not fastened properly was like a red rag to a bull to the sergeant, and everything had to be perfect when he came round on kit inspections.’
‘It hasn’t done you any harm,’ Gracie said. ‘It was time you learned to look after your things properly. You were an untidy monkey before.’
‘Well, you should see me now. I can box my blankets with the best of them.’
‘Box your blankets?’
‘We’ve to fold them up every morning, and set them at the foot of our beds,’ he explained. ‘It’s what they call boxing them, and if they’re not done properly, we’ve to open them out and do them all over again. Alf Melville – that’s a lad from Elgin that I’ve palled up with – well, he fell foul of the sarge the first day, and he’s been in hot water ever since. I got a bawling out sometimes as well so thank God we won’t have to put up with him any more. Four of us are going to a technical college in London when we go back. We were the only Ordnance Corps lot, so Alf and me’ll still be together.’
As he chatted on, Gracie took stock of him. She had been prepared to see a change in him, but she hadn’t expected the broadening out, the maturity. In six weeks, he’d become a man, and her heart ached for the boy who was gone for ever. When Neil’s stories came to an end, she said, ‘You’ll have to go to Rubislaw Den tomorrow. I told Hetty you were coming home today.’
‘Must I? I never answered any of Olive’s letters and I bet she goes to town on me.’
‘Oh, Neil, you should have written to her.’
‘What could I have said? “Wish you were here?”’
‘Don’t get cheeky, my lad. You’re not too old for me to give you a scud on the lug.’
Both Patsy and Queenie giggled at this, and Neil held up his hands in submission. ‘OK, then. You can phone Hetty and tell her I’ll see them tomorrow.’
When Hetty answered her door the following afternoon, she exclaimed at the sight of the khaki figure. ‘Aren’t you the handsome one?’
‘It’s just the uniform,’ Neil said, delighted but trying to appear modest. ‘The minute you put it on, you’re different. It makes you . . . I can’t explain it, but it makes . . .’
‘Makes you feel like a man?’
‘I suppose so. You’re proud to be in the British Army, to be fighting fit, to know you’re needed. It’s better to think you’ve done it off your own bat, though they order you about the same as if you’d been conscripted, but you don’t resent it . . . there has to be discipline, or nobody would care.’ He stopped, embarrassed at having been so frank.
His aunt smiled encouragingly. ‘You like the army?’
‘I wouldn’t say like, exactly. There’s times when you hate the bloody sergeant, and the corporal, and all the officers. Sometimes you even hate the man in the next bed for sleeping when you’re lying wide awake with throbbing feet, but when the square-bashing’s finished, you’ve a satisfaction in you. You made it. You didn’t break down. You’re as good as any of them. D’you see what I mean?’
‘Yes, I can understand. What about making friends?’
‘Just one, really. Alf’s from Elgin and we’re the only two Scotsmen in our platoon. That’s why we got pally, but he’s a good mate and we’ve had some great laughs.’
Neil enjoyed his aunt’s attention, and Raymond’s, when he came in, but Olive’s entrance spoiled it. He never knew what she might say. At first, it wasn’t too bad, even if she went on at him as if he’d to account to her for every minute he’d been away and he felt like telling her that what he did was none of her business, but then came the moment he had been dreading.
‘I was disappointed that you never answered my letters . . . but maybe you didn’t have time?’
‘No, I didn’t. When we weren’t drilling, we were so tired we fell asleep.’ It wasn’t exactly true, but near enough to sound honest.
‘Oh, my poor Neil.’ She laid her hand sympathetically on his arm for a moment. ‘Never mind, you won’t be so busy when you go back.’
Neil gritted his teeth. He would never feel like writing to her, whether he was busy or not. It was a great relief to him when Martin appeared and he could turn away from her.
‘Olive’s like a tiger waiting to pounce,’ he told Gracie when he went home. ‘One false move, and she’d eat me up.’
His mother’s laugh was a trifle brittle. ‘She’s not as bad as that. She’s just interested in what you do, that’s all.’
‘Well, I wish she’d interest herself in somebody else and leave me alone.’
After her son went to bed, Gracie turned to Joe. ‘I hope Olive’s not serious about Neil. They’re first cousins, and inbreeding causes imbeciles. You’ve only to think about the kings and queens of long ago to prove that.’
‘What a woman you are for worrying,’ her husband laughed. ‘You know as well as I do that Olive’s the last girl in the world Neil would think of marrying.’
‘Maybe, but it’s her that worries me. She never rests till she gets her own way and if she wants Neil . . .’
‘Ach, she doesn’t want Neil, not in that way. She likes to be made a fuss of, that’s all.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Mainly to show Joe that she had stopped worrying, Gracie made Neil pay another visit to his aunt before his leave was up, and he was pleased that Olive wasn’t so overpowering as before. Maybe she had seen how annoyed he had been or maybe her mother had said something to her, but whatever it was he could cope with her like this. He did feel guilty now for not answering her letters, but he really hadn’t had anything to say, so what would have been the point of writing?
January ended with bad storms, and ten days into February, Aberdeen had the worst snow storm of the winter. Six inches fell in two hours, and the Corporation Transport Department had difficulty in keeping tram lines cleared. ‘Lorries can’t get through from anywhere with supplies,’ Joe sighed. ‘If it keeps up for long, God knows what I’ll do.’
‘You’re always complaining,’ his wife said, tartly. ‘If it was you that had to eke out the rations I get for four of us you’d have something to complain about.’
‘You’ll get nothing at all in a week or two if the weather doesn’t clear up.’
Fortunately for all Aberdonians, and people elsewhere who were in the same dire position, the weather did clear before stocks of food ran out.
Gracie was making the girls’ bed when she heard the postman pushing something through the door. She’d been worried that Helene’s letter hadn’t come yesterday, but Joe had told her the mail had probably been held up, and she had pushed her fears aside. He’d been right, she thought, as she picked the letter off the mat. It was only a day late.
Her heart came into her mouth when she saw that it was not Helene’s rounded, backhand writing after all. It was a much older hand, an angular hand, and the envelope was addressed to her, not Queenie. She was shaking all over as she took it into the kitchen, unwilling to open it. Telling herself not to be silly, she ran her thumb along the flap, but her worst fears were to be realised. Thankfully, the letter was direct and not over-sympathetic.
Dear Mrs Ferris,
I am afraid I have very bad news to give you, and I think I had better not beat about the bush. Your brother and his wife were both killed last night when their house got a direct hit. Sadly, George Lowell (Helene’s father) died two nights before as a result of the bombing, and Ivy is still on the danger list. She has been a good friend of mine for many years, and she asked me to let you know about Helene and Donnie. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry we all are, they were a very nice couple. My husband has arranged for the funerals, George Lowell’s too, and nothing is left of the house and shop, so there is no need for you to come. You will have enough to do looking after Queenie as well as your own family. Ivy says she is glad that Helene got the poor girl away, and asks that you break it to her gently.
I know you will be upset, too, but take comfort from the fact that they could not have felt anything and try not to show your sorrow in front of young Queenie. It will be difficult for you, but, remember, God will be with you. That will make it easier to bear.
Yours truly, Dorothy Bertram
PS I have just come back from the hospital, and they told me Ivy passed away early this afternoon. Perhaps it is for the best. She would never have got over this.
The letter fluttered from Gracie’s nerveless fingers down to the table. Her heart felt frozen, her whole body felt frozen and she couldn’t even weep. If this was what it did to her, what would it do to poor Queenie? She had no one to go home to when the war ended, no parents, no grandparents. If only Helene hadn’t been so determined to go back to Donnie . . .
After several minutes, Gracie dragged herself to her feet. She couldn’t sit there all day, but how was she going to tell Queenie? While she carried on mechanically with her housework, she toyed with a few simple sentences, words which would take the sting out of what she had to say, words to help the girl to understand how quickly it had happened. As she prepared vegetables, set pans on the cooker, laid the table – tasks needing no conscious thought – phrases whirled round in her brain, but how could anybody break such bad news gently?
Joe was first to appear at lunchtime and had just read the letter when Queenie came running in, followed immediately by Patsy, who had recently been promoted to typist. ‘Miss Watt said this morning that my typing had improved,’ she said, a little boastfully. ‘I know I wasn’t very good at first. She used to hold up whatever I’d typed to the light, to see if I’d scraped out any mistypes and I usually had but I can rattle things out now without any mistakes . . . hardly any.’
Queenie smiled at this, then turned hopefully to her aunt. ‘Did Mum’s letter come today?’
Joe’s hand shot out to cover Gracie’s as she leaned weakly on the table. ‘Queenie,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be very brave. Your mum and dad . . .’
Before he could go any further, she whispered, ‘You don’t have to tell me, Uncle Joe. They’ve been . . . killed, haven’t they? I . . . knew it would happen. I just knew it.’ She turned blindly towards the door, her hands up to her mouth.
‘Oh, God!’ Gracie followed the girl, and Joe stretched out a restraining arm to his daughter who had made to go after them. ‘No, Patsy, leave it to your mum.’
Gracie sat down on the edge of the bed to take Queenie in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Your house got a direct hit, and your mum and dad . . .’ She had to swallow before carrying on. ‘They wouldn’t have known anything. They didn’t suffer at all. Take comfort from that, if you can. I was trying to think how to tell you and maybe you think Joe was cruel . . .’
‘It’s God who’s been cruel,’ Queenie said in a low, flat voice, ‘but I knew it was bound to happen. Our house was too near Croydon Aerodrome, that’s why we got so many air raids, that’s why Mum and Dad wanted me away.’ A sob started in her voice. ‘Why, Auntie Gracie, why? They were the best mum and dad in the world and what’s going to happen to me now?’
‘Listen, Queenie. Your Uncle Joe and I promised your mum we’d look after you if . . . this is your home now, and you’ll be another daughter to us. That’s right, my dear, let it all out, you’ll feel better for it.’ She rocked the girl to and fro until the harsh sobbing eased. ‘Never feel you’re alone for we love you as much as we love Patsy, and never be scared to tell me anything or ask me anything, the same as you’d have done with your mum.’
After a short, pensive silence, Queenie looked round. ‘Was it my grandma that wrote to tell you about it?’
Gracie had forgotten that the girl hadn’t been told the rest. ‘Queenie, dear, Joe was right when he said you’d have to be very brave. It was a Mrs Bertram that wrote. You likely know her – she lives beside your grandma and grandpa – well . . . their house was hit two nights before, and they’re . . . both gone, too. I’m sorry, Queenie, but I can’t hide it from you. It would have been a lot worse if I’d waited to tell you that, wouldn’t it?’
She held the girl even tighter as the frail body began to shake violently. No amount of comfort or sympathy could make up for what the girl had lost and only time would blunt the heartache. ‘You’ve had an awful shock, lass, and you need a cup of strong, sweet tea to help you get over it. Will you be all right till I go and make one?’ The nod was very weak but Gracie stood up. ‘Maybe you’d like Patsy to come through to you till I come back?’
At the second faint nod, she made her way to the kitchen, her legs weak and shaky. ‘Patsy, will you stay with her till I make a pot of tea?’
Joe waited until Patsy went out. ‘Maybe I should have left you to tell her but I was trying to save you the worry. How did she take it?
‘She took it quietly to start with but she got the tears out at last, then she asked if it was her grandma that told me and I had to tell her about Mr and Mrs Lowell. She’s in a terrible state now but it’s not surprising, is it?’
‘Poor lassie. We’ll need to be extra gentle with her for a long time.’ His face darkened. ‘Bloody, bloody war! Why do innocent men, women and children have to suffer?’
When the tea masked, Gracie filled a cup and added three spoons of sugar. ‘You’d better take your dinner, Joe, before it’s spoiled.’
‘I couldn’t eat. I’ll just help myself to a drop of tea.’
When Gracie carried Queenie’s cup through, she found her and Patsy sitting close together, arms round each other, and she was relieved to see that the younger girl’s shaking had stopped and her face had regained a touch of colour. ‘Go and get your dinner, Patsy. I’ll stay here.’
‘I’d rather have Patsy, Auntie Gracie, if you don’t mind?’
‘I don’t mind, but Patsy’s got to go back to work.’
‘Couldn’t I stay off this afternoon?’ Patsy pleaded. ‘Miss Watt would understand.’
‘I’ll phone her and explain.’ Gracie was guiltily relieved that her daughter had taken over the role of comforter. For years, Patsy’s knack of gentle reasoning had smoothed over awkward incidents in their family, had even settled quarrels between Ishbel’s two boys when they were little, before they emigrated to New Zealand. Olive was the only one who could hold out against her. Olive never listened to anybody.
‘I’ve left Patsy with her,’ Gracie told Joe after she had made her telephone call. ‘She didn’t want me.’
‘Patsy’ll cope with her. I’ve often thought she’d make a good nurse, she’s got the right touch.’
‘Oh, Joe, don’t put that idea in her head. I don’t think I could stand it if she went away, as well as Neil.’
Joe stood up. ‘I feel awful about not going to London, but there’s nothing we can do.’
Gracie poured herself a cup of tea when he went out. There was nothing they could do, but that was another Ogilvie gone now. The tears which had refused to come before rushed to her eyes now. It was terrible to think that Donnie had been the last son – the last who would bear the Ogilvie name, for it was a girl-child he’d had, and Queenie would marry one day and change it, the same as all his sisters had.
Gracie sat up. She would have to let her sisters know, but she couldn’t phone Hetty until she came to herself, and she’d have to wait until she could think straight before she wrote to Flo and Ishbel in Wanganui and Ellie in Edinburgh. Ellie, next to Donnie in age, had been closest to him, and would be worse hit than any of them. Telephoning her would be the kindest thing to do, but the call to Hetty would be as much as she could bear.
Concentrating on thinking what to say to her sisters her tears came to an end but, for the first time since their mother’s death, she felt resentful that they all looked on her as a mother-figure, even Ellie and Flo, who were older than she was. It had started because she had been living in the family home, but she had left there almost two years ago and she was as vulnerable as they were. That was exactly how she was feeling – vulnerable and alone. The tears flowed again, self-pity mingling with grief for her brother and his wife. She was saddled with Queenie . . . no, responsible for her until she had a husband to take over the duty. But the girl wasn’t sixteen till April, and she would have to stay on at school till she passed her Highers, like Donnie had wanted. That would be a year or more yet, and another two or three until she earned enough to support herself. And what if she wanted to go to the university? It would be even longer till she was working.
Gracie’s musings came to an abrupt stop. What on earth had got into her? It didn’t matter how long it was. Queenie was part of the Ferris family now, not a hated encumbrance but a beloved addition, to be cherished and loved like their own daughter, until they both married or until she herself died. She pulled out her handkerchief to dry her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let Queenie see that she’d been crying. The poor thing needed someone to depend on, not an unstable, nervous wreck.
It was almost an hour later before the two girls came into the kitchen, both faces showing signs of the trauma they had been through. ‘Mum,’ Patsy said, her teeth chattering, ‘can we have a cup of tea, please? We’re both freezing.’
Gracie jumped to her feet. ‘I should have lit the gas fire for you, but I didn’t think. Sit down and heat yourselves at this fire and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Sitting on one of the old armchairs, Queenie said softly, ‘Can I see Mrs Bertram’s letter, Auntie Gracie?’
‘Do you think you should? Maybe you should wait a while.’
‘I’d like to read it now. I want to know . . .’
‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ Gracie took the letter out of the dresser drawer and handed it over, watching anxiously as her niece read it.
‘She’s over the worst of it, Mum,’ Patsy observed.
After a few minutes, Queenie looked up with moist eyes. ‘I . . . I’d like to keep it . . . please, Auntie Gracie?’
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but . . . well, all right.’
‘Would you mind if I spoke about my mum and dad?’
‘If you think it’ll help . . .’
For the next half hour, Queenie told them how idyllic her home life had been, how her parents had always listened to anything she had to say, how they had discussed together any family decisions which had to be made. ‘They never left me out. They never did anything without asking what I thought first. When Dad wanted to change the shop round, Mum and I gave him suggestions or he told us what he was thinking and we all talked it over.’
She went on to describe the shop as it eventually was, and the house above it where they had lived. ‘It wasn’t as big as the house in the Gallowgate, but it was fine for three of us, and Mum kept it ever so nice. On my thirteenth birthday, Dad let me choose the colour scheme I wanted for my bedroom, and I went round the wallpaper shops for days before I chose the cream with teeny pink rosebuds. Dad did the papering and painting and Mum made curtains and a bedspread to match.’
The catch in her voice made Patsy say, ‘It must have been lovely. I wish my dad would do something about my room – I mean our room, but there’s no wallpaper to be had now.’ She brightened as a thought struck her. ‘Mum, would you let us paint on top of the old paper? I’ve read hints about how to make patterns on plain walls with a bit of sponge dipped in another colour. You can make flowers, or anything you like.’
‘We’ll see what your dad has to say about it.’
Patsy turned to her cousin. ‘What about painting the walls cream and using pink and . . .?’
When Joe came in, the two girls were still working out a colour scheme, Queenie looking more animated than he’d have thought possible, and he was pleased that her mind had been taken off her bereavement for a short time. ‘You can paint your room whatever way you like – sky blue and pink with magenta spots, if that’s what you want. It’s not me that’ll have to sleep in it.’
After tea, the two girls disappeared to draw up plans, and Gracie said, ‘Patsy’s worked wonders with Queenie, so I hope Hetty doesn’t come rushing here when I tell her, it’ll just upset the poor lassie again.’
‘Have you not phoned Hetty yet? Look, you can’t put it off any longer, Gracie. I’ll wash the supper dishes and you go and do it right now. Just say what’s happened, and explain it’s for the lassie’s sake you don’t want her to come. Have you written to Flo and Ishbel and Ellie yet?’
‘I won’t bother with Ishbel. Flo can pass it on to her. So I’ll write the two letters once I’ve phoned.’
Hetty burst into tears when she heard the sad news, and it took all Gracie’s tact to prevent her sister from coming to King Street there and then, but she did make her understand that it would do no good, and might even do some harm. She said that it had been Patsy who had comforted Queenie and was stumped for a moment when Hetty offered to send Olive to help, too. ‘It’s all right, Hetty,’ she murmured. ‘Queenie’s had enough for one day, and I think she’ll be going to bed early tonight, and Patsy, as well.’
Luckily, Hetty did not take offence. ‘Poor thing, both her parents killed like that.’ She had to suppress another sob. ‘I can’t believe we’ll never see Donnie and Helene again.’
‘Is Martin there with you?’ Gracie asked, gently.
‘Yes, I’ll be all right. It’s just . . . it was so sudden . . .’
‘I know, it’s been a terrible shock.’
‘Will Queenie be living with you for good now?
‘I promised Helene I’d look after her if . . .’
‘Well, remember if you ever feel you’re at the end of your tether, let me know, and I can have her here for a while.’
The offer took Gracie totally by surprise, but she said, earnestly, ‘It’s very good of you.’
‘You’ve had more than your share of looking after people, but don’t think it hasn’t been appreciated.’
Gracie felt chastened when she sat down to write to Ellie and Flo. After feeling so sorry for herself earlier, it was gratifying to know that she had not been taken for granted over the past . . . was it really nineteen years past November since their mother had died?
Snuggling against Patsy in the three-quarter bed, Queenie forced her tears back. She had begun to like it here, having a temporary brother and sister had been fun, but at the back of her mind there had always been the warming thought that she would be going home after the war. Now there was no home to go to; no mother and father to come to Aberdeen and take her back; no grandmother and grandfather to exclaim over how much she had grown.
‘Oh, Patsy,’ she gulped, unable to bear it in silence any longer, ‘why did it have to happen? I’ve never done anything bad, and neither did Mum and Dad, so why did God punish us? Is it because I’ve been happy here? Is it because I sometimes forgot London was still being bombed?’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t that.’ Patsy had no experience in comforting the bereaved, and wished with all her heart that she could find the proper words to soothe her cousin.
There was a short silence, broken only by small, hiccuppy sniffs, then Queenie whispered, ‘I suppose I’ll have to live here for ever?’
‘Don’t you want to live here now?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just . . . it’s going to feel different, knowing I have to.’
‘I’m glad you’ll be staying here . . . I mean . . .’ Patsy felt confused. ‘I’m not glad about why, but I’m glad you won’t be going away. I like having you to speak to. Neil’s all right, but he couldn’t speak about things I wanted to speak about . . . and he’d never have let me put his hair in curlers.’
Giving a faint gurgle of amusement, Queenie said, ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you, Patsy. You make me forget . . . for a little while, anyway.’
‘Good. Now, we’d better try to get some sleep, or else we won’t feel like getting up at rising time, and I’ll have to go back to work.’
Hetty and her daughter arrived at quarter past nine the following morning. ‘Olive hasn’t got any lectures today till later on,’ she said. ‘Where’s Queenie?’
‘I made her stop in bed,’ Gracie explained. ‘She’ll need a while to get over it.’
‘We’ll all need a while to get over it. I can hardly take it in yet myself. Will any of us have to go to the funeral? You didn’t say when you phoned last night.’
After hearing what Mrs Bertram had written, she said, ‘It seems terrible that none of Donnie’s sisters will be there to see him buried, but I suppose it happens all the time.’
‘Joe and me didn’t get much chance to speak properly till we went to bed, but he reminded me we wouldn’t have anywhere to stay if we went down there, and I couldn’t leave Queenie just now, anyway.’ Ashamed of how she had given way when she was alone with her husband, Gracie did not describe how long Joe had held her, how he had kissed her tears away, how he had convinced her that their duty to Donnie and Helene lay in comforting and caring for their daughter.
Queenie came through just after half past ten, and Gracie was thankful that Hetty didn’t overdo her condolences. Olive said nothing until her mother prodded her, then she went to her cousin, shaking hands stiffly and saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ in a not very convincing manner. Queenie did have a little weep, it was only to be expected, but she was soon talking quite calmly about her parents. It seemed to Gracie that by airing her memories of them, she was bent on inscribing them indelibly in her heart so that she would never forget them.
Olive sat stone-faced, and her aunt wished that she hadn’t come . . . she was still a spoiled brat even if she was at the university and should know better. Just after eleven, Hetty stood up. ‘Raymond comes home at half past twelve, and I’ve nothing made for lunch yet. Would you like to come with me, Queenie? Olive’s to go to Medical School, and I’ll be glad of a hand. I’ll take you back in the afternoon.’
Thankful for the respite from having to make conversation when they had gone, Gracie moved into a more comfortable chair and lay back with her eyes closed. She would have to get something ready for Joe’s dinner, but there was plenty time. She’d hardly had a wink of sleep last night, and she deserved a wee rest.
Only fifteen minutes later, she was dragged out of a deep sleep by someone shaking her shoulder. ‘Gracie, it’s me.’
Her brain was still a little foggy, but she sat up to find her eldest sister leaning over her. ‘Ellie?’
‘I got your letter first post and I was so upset I had to come to see poor Queenie.’
Having heard Gracie’s explanation of the girl’s absence, Ellie sat down. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about Donnie when I was driving up. He was the last of our three brothers . . . though wee James died when he was just an infant. Father was so proud when Charlie and Donnie started working with him in the shop in the Gallowgate. He got a new sign put up above the window, remember? Albert Ogilvie and Sons, it said, then the war came and they both went into the army.’
Gracie wiped her eyes. ‘I remember how angry Mother was at Father for being proud of them enlisting. I don’t think she ever got over it properly.’
‘Charlie was her favourite, of course . . .’
‘And you were Father’s.’ This fact had never rankled with Gracie. She had grown up with it, and had known that it was none of Ellie’s doing.
‘At least we know Donnie never regretted settling down in South Norwood,’ Ellie observed. ‘When they were in Aberdeen for Father’s funeral, we could all see how happy he was with Helene, and now . . . they’re both gone, too.’
The two sisters had a weep together, then went on to talk about their childhood, each remembering incidents which the other had forgotten, and they were both astonished when Joe came in just after one, Gracie jumping up in agitation. ‘Oh, is it that time already? I haven’t made any dinner yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he assured her. ‘A sandwich’ll do, if you’ve anything to put in it.’
‘There’s a bit of corned mutton left from yesterday.’
‘That’ll do fine.’
‘That’ll do me, too,’ Ellie said, rising to help just as Patsy appeared.
Hetty brought Queenie back in the middle of the afternoon. The girl was still very pale and Gracie’s heart contracted at the sight of the large, blue eyes so deeply filled with pain. Thankfully, at four o’clock, when Hetty said that she would have to go, Ellie also stood up. ‘I’d like to take a look at some of the shops before I go back.’
Gracie saw them downstairs, assuring Hetty that there was nothing else she could do, and when she went back to her own kitchen, she knelt down beside Queenie to put her arms round her. ‘You’ve been through an awful lot this past two days, lass, and you must be feeling lost, but Joe and me’ll always be here for you. Remember that.’
The girl nestled her head on her shoulder. ‘I know, Auntie Gracie. You’ve been ever so kind, and I don’t know what I’d have done without Patsy, but I wish Mum and Dad hadn’t sent me away. I wish I’d been killed along with them.’
‘Oh, lassie, don’t say things like that. You’ve your whole life in front of you, and they didn’t send you away. They didn’t want to get rid of you, don’t ever think that. They loved you. They wanted to keep you safe.’
‘I know they loved me, but . . . oh, Auntie Gracie, I’ll never see them again.’
Holding the weeping girl tightly, Gracie felt angry at her sister-in-law for not listening to reason. Helene could have persuaded Donnie to give up the shop and come to Aberdeen if she had wanted to. They shouldn’t have left their daughter to become an orphan, for they knew the danger they faced if they stayed in South Norwood. In the next instant, however, she was overcome with grief at their deaths and ashamed at what she had been thinking. As Joe had said at the time, the shop was Donnie’s livelihood, and he couldn’t give it up.
When Olive went home at teatime, she glared at her mother, ‘It made me sick the way you and Gracie fussed over Queenie. I know her mother and father are dead, but she’s not a small child, she’s fifteen. Hardly anyone spoke to me. You’d think I had the plague.’
‘If you were nicer to people, they would be nicer to you,’ Hetty barked, uncharacteristically sharp with her daughter, ‘but you sat with a face like a fiddle. Why can you not be like Patsy?’
‘I’m tired hearing what a good girl Patsy is. Patsy never complains about anything. Patsy always does what she’s told. Patsy helps her mother in the house. If you ask me, Patsy’s too good to be true, and she doesn’t like me any more than I like her.’
Hetty heaved a prolonged sigh. ‘Don’t you have any friends to go out with? That might stop you being so self-centred.’
‘The girls I know are only interested in flirting with the boys they meet.’
‘Well, what’s wrong with that? I flirted with dozens of boys before I met your dad, and it didn’t do me any harm.’
‘I’m waiting for Neil.’
A deep frown creased her mother’s brow. ‘Don’t be stupid. Neil’s your cousin.’
Saying nothing more, Olive went upstairs to her own room. She hadn’t meant to let her mother know how she felt about Neil, but she was missing him so much that it hurt sometimes just to think about him. But even if he didn’t write to her, he must be missing her, too. He must be!