The War Girls

by Rosie James

The woman waited before replying. Of course, they seldom had any vacancies, especially at this quiet time of year when the university was on its summer break. During termtime the shop was always crowded with undergraduates waiting for the books they’d ordered. But there was something about this young woman’s straightforward way of speaking, of her obvious sincerity, that held the shop owner’s attention. She smiled at Abigail and glanced down.

  ‘You have a very pretty little daughter, Mrs Wilson,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Abigail replied, ‘and if you were able to offer me anything, Emily would be no trouble. She is used to entertaining herself while I am otherwise engaged.’

  The woman shook her head quickly. ‘Oh, I’m afraid that does put a rather different complex on the matter.’

  Just then, a man who’d been hovering behind one of the tall units, put his head around. ‘What is it, Mother – can I help?’

  ‘This young lady – Mrs Abigail Wilson – is looking for employment, Martin, but I don’t think we have anything, do we? Especially as she has to bring her little girl with her.’

  He came forward and gazed at Abigail with unashamed interest. An attractive young female like this behind the counter at Blackwell’s would not be bad for business – especially when the students returned! But his mother was right, they had nothing at the moment.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Wilson,’ he began – then he paused. ‘But wait a minute, we begin stocktaking next week after the shop has closed for the day.’ He looked at his mother. ‘We really could do with some help, couldn’t we, especially as Dennis doesn’t feel up to staying late this time. He’s not getting any younger.’ He turned to Abigail. ‘Does the tedious task of sorting, cataloguing and indexing appeal to you, Mrs Wilson?’

  Abigail’s eyes shone. ‘That would certainly appeal to me,’ she said at once. ‘It is what I am quite used to, though not in quite so auspicious surroundings as this,’ she added.

  The man looked pleased at that. ‘Well then, would six o’clock until about eight each evening suit you?’ He paused. ‘Though that would be very late for your daughter’s bedtime, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Abigail said. ‘The busy life we led in the country always meant getting up very early and going to bed rather late. Emily is quite used to unusual hours.’

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ Martin said. ‘Stocktaking usually takes two or three weeks, so it would hardly be long enough for you to get sick of!’

  For a full ten seconds Abigail was speechless. She’d done it! She’d got herself a job – another job! Even if it was only going to be for a few hours. And this one in a bookshop!

  ‘That would suit me perfectly,’ Abigail said. ‘Thank you so much. And I promise you I would never find the job tedious – and Emily will be happy enough reading and doing her drawing and colouring. She will be no intrusion at all and you’ll hardly know she’s here.’

  The two looked down at Emily who hadn’t made a single sound. ‘Good, then that’s settled,’ the man said, smiling. ‘Of course, you will be given an overall to protect your lovely clothes – stocktaking is a dusty old business. Let me have your details, Mrs Wilson, where you’re living and so forth, and we’ll look forward to seeing you straight after the shop has closed next Monday.’

  The early days of August were turning out to be humid, with frequent claps of thunder echoing around the city, often accompanied by sudden gusts of rain. Abigail gazed out of the window for a moment. It was obviously going to be another wet day and they hadn’t brought their mackintoshes with them when they’d left Coopers all those weeks ago. They couldn’t possibly have carried anything else.

  Looking briefly into her own eyes in the dressing-table mirror, Abigail couldn’t help wondering about Aunt Edna and hoping she was all right, even though she knew her aunt would not care tuppence about what may have happened to her niece and great-niece. If you were no more use to her, she’d wipe you out of existence. How cruelly indifferent Edna had been to her own ailing brother when he’d no longer been able to work at Coopers.

  Abigail turned away decisively. Today, Monday, she was going to buy them both a pair of Wellington boots. Emily loved splashing in puddles.

  As usual, Emily was engrossed in her books, lying flat on the floor on her tummy. She looked up at Abigail. ‘Can we go to the café today, Mummy?’ she asked. ‘Because we haven’t seen Eileen and Carrie for a long time, have we? They don’t seem to come in when we’re helping Janet, but they may come in today.’

  Abigail smiled down. ‘Oh, we have seen them, Emily … even though it’s usually been for just a few minutes, because we’re so busy. But we did all go for a lovely walk on the Downs the other Saturday, didn’t we, and took a picnic.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, you and I are going shopping today – for new macs and wellies!’

  That put a smile on Emily’s face and she immediately got up to put her books neatly on the side of the cabinet which had become her desk.

  Abigail finished making the bed and tidying up their room, realising how content she was feeling. She’d loved the little job at Blackwell’s. Stocktaking had been tiring but very straightforward, and it had been the end of July before it was completed. Then, totally unexpectedly, she’d been offered the chance to serve at the counter from twelve o’clock to two-thirty each day so that Martin’s mother could have a proper dinner time. Martin was always there too, in case Abigail got confused, but she’d proved so quick to learn and to remember where everything was, he’d once said he thought she was after his job.

  But those two and a half hours of employment turned out to suit Abigail perfectly because afterwards, on Wednesdays and Thursdays, she and Emily would go straight down to Robertson’s where they were given something to eat before starting to help Janet. So from three o’clock to five, as well as often working behind the scenes in the kitchen, Abigail served tea and coffee, buttered scones and fancy cakes to their regular customers, with Emily clearing up the used dishes and wiping down the tables. People seemed to like chatting to the new employee and her little daughter, often insisting on buying them tea and ice cream, so that in the end, Abigail felt that she and Emily were part of Janet’s family of friends.

  Not only that, but – despite Emily’s complaints – Eileen and Carrie did manage to pop in from time to time to catch up with all the news, and to perhaps make plans to go out together. They’d mentioned several times that Emily would love going to the swimming baths or to Weston-super-Mare where you could have donkey rides on the sands.

  So how much more could she want from life? Abigail asked herself as she and Emily left the house that morning. From a very shaky start in those first few weeks, things seemed to have settled in her favour – even though part of that was due to the fact that she was living a lie, pretending that she was married. And it did weigh heavily on her heart. Again and again, Aunt Edna’s words tormented her – ‘Be sure your sins will find you out!’ But she’d been forced to lie, to pretend, hadn’t she? To ensure that she and Emily were accepted as decent and respectable human beings. Abigail would do anything to protect her little girl from vicious tongues.

  ‘What the ’ell are you doing home, Ronald?’

  Miss Grant stared unbelievingly at the man who’d just let himself in at the front door.

  ‘Well, that’s a nice way to treat your brother, Iris!’ He slung his bag down on the floor. ‘It’s just that the contract ended early, that’s all.’ He tutted. ‘And who forgot to slip the bolt on the door last night, eh? I didn’t know whether I could get in without ringing the bell!’

  Miss Grant ignored the reprimand, though she knew she did forget to lock up properly now and then.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I’m home for a bit of a holiday before things get back to normal in September.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be able to stay in bed until dinner time if I d’feel like it!’

  The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a full head of red hair and a moustache to match, and now he went
across to give his sister a kiss on the cheek. ‘I know it’s early, but I hope you’ve got some breakfast for me, Iris.’

  Miss Grant, her arms folded, looked anything but happy to see the newcomer. She came straight to the point.

  ‘You’ll have to sleep in the box room, Ronald,’ she said, ‘because we’ve got visitors and they’re using your bedroom.’

  Ronald took a step back. ‘What d’you mean? What visitors?’

  ‘Shh, keep your voice down. They’re not up yet.’

  It was only five-thirty and the landlady had come down for some aspirin – which she kept in the kitchen cupboard – because she’d woken with a headache. ‘You’d better let me make you something,’ she said reluctantly, ‘before they come down for their breakfast at eight.’

  Presently, enjoying his plate of bacon and eggs, sausages and black pudding, Ronald Grant looked up at his sister. She wasn’t eating anything, just looking at him stony-faced. ‘So what’s this all about?’ he asked between mouthfuls. ‘New friends I don’t know?’

  ‘No, they are my tenants,’ Miss Grant said flatly, and before he could interrupt, she went on. ‘I thought it’s such a waste having that lovely bedroom with no one in it, so I decided to make myself a bit of extra money while you weren’t here.’ (She wasn’t going to admit that she’d done this once before.) ‘I don’t charge that much, but it’s nice to have more money in my purse.’ She watched as her brother mopped up the grease on his plate with the last of his fried bread. ‘And I must say, they’re quite nice – a young woman and her little girl. They’ve caused no trouble at all. They’re out quite a lot and keep themselves to themselves,’ she added.

  Ronald finished his meal and reached for his mug of tea. ‘Well, I’ll look forward to meeting them,’ he said easily. ‘What’s the young woman look like?’

  Iris Grant glared at her brother. He’d never married, but he’d always been one for the ladies. ‘It doesn’t matter to you what she looks like!’ she snapped. ‘So keep your eyes off. Anyway, she’s married, though I haven’t seen anything of her husband.’

  ‘Gets better and better,’ Ronald Grant said. ‘While the cat’s away the mice can play! And you’re only young once! I could take her to the Landogger with me – you’d look after the kid for a couple of hours while we’re gone, wouldn’t you, Iris?’

  Miss Grant almost threw the dirty dishes into the sink. ‘I would not, Ronald!’ she snapped. ‘You keep me out of this – and another thing,’ she added, ‘they’re here for another three weeks until the beginning of September, which is when I thought you’d be back. They’ve paid in advance, so I don’t want you upsetting things.’

  Stirring restlessly, Abigail turned over, pulling the pillow closer beneath her chin. Then she glanced at the small clock beside her. It was only six so there was plenty of time before they needed to get up. Emily had hardly moved a muscle since going to bed last night, and was still deeply asleep.

  Abigail frowned briefly. Something had woken her just now; it had sounded like subdued voices, but to Abigail’s knowledge Miss Grant never had visitors in the house – and if she ever did, it would not be at this time of the day. But all seemed quiet now and Abigail closed her eyes again.

  Now that she’d started letting her thoughts wander, Abigail knew she’d never get back to sleep. The main thing on her mind was that their agreement with Miss Grant was a very temporary one and then they’d have to start looking for somewhere else to live. And although the landlady had given them a rather cold welcome, things were working out well on the whole. Abigail had made sure that every demand had been met, and Emily had never once given Miss Grant a thing to complain about. Perhaps … perhaps, Abigail thought now, the lease might be extended – because this room had become their home and they were comfortable enough here. It would be unsettling for Emily if they had to pack up and go on somewhere else.

  Abigail yawned. Anyway, as far as today was concerned, she’d promised Emily that they’d walk to Woolworths to buy sweets and perhaps a little toy or book before going on to Blackwell’s. Emily was so good at amusing herself at the shop while Abigail was busy at the counter. In fact, Martin often stopped what he was doing to talk to the little girl and watch what she was doing. And a couple of times he’d let her help him unpack one of the huge boxes of new books which were regularly delivered to the shop.

  A couple of hours later, washed and dressed, Abigail and Emily left the bedroom to go downstairs to the kitchen. It was eight o’clock, so Miss Grant would be nowhere around. She always stuck to the rules. But while they were still on the landing, a man’s deep voice made them turn and look up, startled.

  ‘Oh, good morning!’ he said, going forward to stand beside them. ‘I am Ronald Grant and I’m very pleased to meet you.’ He smiled at them both in turn, not bothering to hide his admiration. ‘Well, you are certainly a very picturesque pair to enhance the place, I must say,’ he said smoothly.

  Abigail stared at him for a moment. His shock of red hair, brushed upwards, made it look as if he was on fire, and he had the strangest blue eyes Abigail had ever seen on anyone. His parted, rubbery lips made him look like a hungry fish about to leap for its next meal. He held out his hand to Abigail – who coloured up at once as she extended her own.

  ‘Oh, good morning, Mr Grant,’ she said, ‘I am Abigail Wilson – Mrs Abigail Wilson – and Emily is my little girl.’ She paused awkwardly. ‘We have been staying with Miss Grant for a couple of months, and as I understood it, she let us rent your room while you were away.’

  He nodded, not taking his eyes from Abigail. ‘Yes, I was told that this morning,’ he said, unperturbed, ‘but it’s no problem, because we do have somewhere else for me to rest my head.’ He nodded towards the room at the far end. ‘The box room will be sufficient for me, for the time being,’ he added.

  Feeling thoroughly embarrassed, Abigail took Emily’s hand and began leading her down the stairs. The landlady, who’d heard all that had been said, was standing by the kitchen door looking unusually flustered.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Wilson,’ she said, ‘I had no idea my brother would be returning home so early. But don’t take any notice of him,’ she added quickly, ‘because, as we agreed, that room is yours until the end of the month. Now, go in and have your breakfast. I expect you’re longing for a cup of tea.’

  Well, that was a surprise, Abigail thought later as she buttered some slices of toast. But – she shrugged inwardly – it didn’t matter to her whether he’d turned up or not because Miss Grant had said the room would still be theirs until the date agreed, though it did mean that they would definitely have to leave then, and find somewhere else.

  On Wednesday afternoon during an unusually quiet few moments at the café, Abigail told Janet about Ronald Grant having turned up at number fourteen.

  ‘It did take me by surprise,’ Abigail admitted, ‘but when he introduced himself he seemed quite, well, friendly. And Miss Grant assured me that, as agreed, the room is still ours until our arrangement comes to an end.’

  ‘What’s he look like?’ Janet asked curiously as she poured Abigail and herself a cup of tea and passed Emily a cornet.

  Abigail thought for a moment. ‘Rather odd,’ she said. ‘Not a bit like Miss Grant.’

  Janet sipped from her cup. ‘Oh well, never mind,’ she said. ‘You won’t have to look at him for ever.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘No, but now I must start thinking about other accommodation,’ she said. ‘And I hate the thought of unsettling Emily.’

  On Saturday morning, Abigail, Eileen, Carrie and Emily took the bus to Jubilee Road swimming baths in Knowle. The venue had been Eileen’s idea because Abigail had once mentioned that neither she nor Emily had ever been near deep water – certainly not water deep enough to swim in – though they’d sometimes paddled in their shallow river. Today’s outing was quite a treat, because Eileen and Carrie sometimes had to work on a Saturday morning, but for once they were both free.

  ‘We’l
l see whether Emily Wilson is a little water baby or not,’ Eileen teased as the bus reached their stop, ‘or whether her mother is, for that matter!’

  Retrieving the pushchair from the conductor’s hatch, they began walking up towards Jubilee Road and Abigail admitted to feeling excited at the thought of experiencing something entirely new. She’d bought herself and Emily bathing costumes and swimming caps – which had proved very uncomfortable when they’d tried them on at home.

  ‘This is horrible!’ Emily had declared, staring at herself in the mirror. ‘It’s squashing my face! Look, Mummy! I look silly!’

  ‘We’ll have to get used to them,’ Abigail had said, ‘because Eileen says everyone must wear a cap when they go into the water at the baths.’

  As it turned out, Emily loved being in the water – which was quite nice and warm – and loved even more being passed to each of the others as they swam around, holding her up. Eileen and Carrie both tried to demonstrate what you did with your arms and legs in order to stay afloat, and Abigail did try taking her feet off the ground once or twice, but ended up staying fairly close to the side. This needed practice, and she hadn’t had any.

  Eileen swam towards her. ‘You’d soon get used to the feel of the water taking your weight,’ she said, trying to catch her breath. She’d just swum two lengths of the baths.

  ‘What I’m pleased about is that Emily doesn’t seem at all afraid of being in water when she knows her feet can’t reach the bottom,’ Abigail said, nodding over to where Emily, holding on to the side, was splashing Carrie. ‘She’s loving it and is going to want to come here again!’

  Eileen nodded as she turned around and prepared to swim back to the deep end. ‘She’ll be worn out after this,’ she said. ‘Just look at her! But it wouldn’t take long for her to gain the confidence to swim, I’m sure of it.’

  They spent a whole hour in the water before getting dressed and leaving the baths. It was a really warm and pleasant day, and although they were quite near West Road, Eileen did not suggest that they call in at number six because she felt her mother was not yet well enough to receive new visitors. Especially damp visitors smelling of chlorine. So, after buying buns and fruit and soft drinks from the shops in Broad Walk, and with Emily happy to have a ride in the pushchair, they waited for the bus which would take them to the Downs to have their picnic, where their wet bathing things would soon dry spread out on the warm grass.