The Liberty Girls

by Fiona Ford

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  About the Author

  Fiona Ford is the author of the Liberty Girls series, which is set in London during the Second World War.

  Fiona spent many years as a journalist writing for women’s weekly and monthly magazines. She has written two novels under the pseudonym, Fiona Harrison, as well as two sagas in her own name in the Spark Girls series.

  Fiona lives in Berkshire with her husband.

  For the McLaughlins – true friends indeed

  Acknowledgements

  I always say that writing a book is a team effort, and I would be completely lost without the superstars in my life who make all of this possible. First of all, I’d like to say a very heartfelt thank you to my wonderful agent Kate Burke of Blake Friedmann. Generous with her time, patient to the nth degree and fabulously blunt yet kind with it, I’m so grateful for all you do Kate. The same can also be said for the ever lovely Emily Griffin and Cassandra Di Bello. Thank you, Emily, for your kindness, wisdom and exceptional talent for pointing out things that always make the story better and, Cass, your tolerance when I send stupid questions and changes your way is always appreciated.

  To everyone at Arrow: huge, huge thanks for all the hard work that goes on behind the scenes. I know just how much effort you put into everything and I’m truly grateful to everyone from Sales, Marketing, and Design, who create such wonderful covers, not to mention the always ingenious PR guru, Rachel Kennedy.

  My brilliant writer friends – Jean Fullerton, Kate Thompson, Dani Atkins, Elaine Everest, Rosie Hendry, Di Redmond and Amanda Revell Walton – it’s a great honour to have you all in my life. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than swapping stories and sharing the highs, lows and general perplexities that go hand in hand with being a writer – thank you all.

  To the incredibly patient staff at City of Westminster Archives Centre and Central Bath Library, you’re all absolute treasures. Thank you for answering my daft questions and putting up with me loitering for far too long. The terrific people involved in the Bath Blitz Memorial Project who have set up bathblitz.org to record the memories of those involved in the blitz and provide a historic record of the bombing in Bath – what a wealth of information. Special mention must also be given to the wonderful staff at Liberty’s, who yet again have allowed me to take the store’s name in vain and create my own fictional wonderland. As always, I should stress that this book is a pure fabrication and in no way bears any resemblance to what really happened at Liberty’s during the Second World War. Thanks must also go to the Facebook groups ‘I’m From SE London’ and ‘Memories of London’. Your posts are such a great source of information and I’m indebted to you all for your help.

  Finally, thanks must be given to my rather brilliant husband Chris Lobina, who never tires of helping me thrash out plot points, and to my fabulous parents, Barry and Maureen Ford, who were born during the war. Consequently they are forced to answer my ridiculously detailed questions on everything from social attitudes to old money with patience. Your help and support has not and never will be taken for granted – thank you.

  No minute gone comes back again, Take heed and see ye do nothing in vain

  Father Time quotation, inscribed into the Kingly Street arch of Liberty’s

  Prologue

  June 1930

  It was the thudding Alice Harris heard first. Then finally a large bang of what she suspected was a door being slammed in anger. Pausing on the stairs of the modest two-up, two-down she lived in with her father and sister, the fourteen-year-old listened again as the sound of angry voices being exchanged in her father’s bedroom floated down towards her.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you to do what’s right by those girls, Jack Harris?’ fired a voice Alice knew to be a friend of her mother’s, Dorothy Hanson, better known as Dot.

  ‘And how many times have I gotta tell you, mind your bleedin’ business. What goes on in this house ain’t none of your concern,’ she heard her father shout in reply. ‘Alice is old enough and ugly enough to stand on her own two feet, and take care of Joy.’

  ‘They’re a pair of kids,’ Dot thundered. ‘Their mother’s been dead ten years; it’s a father they need, even if that father happens to be you.’

  At the mention of her mother Alice winced. Even though as Dot rightly said her mum had been gone longer than she had known her, Alice still missed her.

  ‘Christ, when I was her age I’d been working for years already,’ came her father’s voice again. ‘That kid’s had it easy. I wouldn’t mind but she’s shown no interest in the family business—’

  The sound of Dot’s raucous laughter cut her father off mid-flow. ‘That’s rich coming from you. You don’t know the first thing about work; the only thing you know about is thieving, that and making money out of other people’s misery. Round here, people might fear you, tip their caps to you out of so-called respect, Jimmy, but to me you’re nothing more than a common criminal. It’s a good job you’re running off to America, because if it were down to me I’d see you land in jail for this latest stunt. Knocking off the wife of one of the Newcastle Mob? What are you, stupid?’

  There was a pause then and Alice held her breath in disbelief, worries whirling around in her head as she tried to make sense of everything she had just heard. Her father had come home covered in blood two nights ago. He’d told Alice that he’d been involved in a bar fight, but the way he had shoved his clothes in a bin and demanded Alice drag the old tin bath out so he could scrub himself clean made her think differently. Was that what had happened? Alice needed answers.

  Running up the stairs, she burst into her father’s bedroom. The wardrobe was bare and on the bed lay two open suitcases, one stuffed with clothes, the other with bank notes. ‘So you’re finally lea
ving us then?’ she snarled.

  Jimmy lifted his chin and stared at her in anger, his blue eyes the match of her own. ‘You had no right to eavesdrop, girl. What have I told you about that?’

  Alice rolled her eyes at the predictability of it all. Her father, the great King of South London, had a lesson for everything. Never let anyone take advantage; make sure you’re respected; never let anyone make a fool of you; and her favourite: an eye for an eye. Unlike her younger sister Joy, who had lapped up these lessons like a sponge, Alice knew it all meant nothing. They were just excuses for doing exactly as you pleased and, looking at the bulging suitcases on the bed, it looked as if her father was once again doing just that.

  Panic enveloped her. She might not like her father, or approve of who he was, but he was the only parent they had and he always made sure there was food on the table, clothes on her back and coal in the scuttle. ‘Dad,’ she said cautiously, ‘what’s really going on?’

  ‘Nothing to do with you,’ her father said gruffly, slamming the lid of one of the cases shut.

  ‘Please don’t leave, Dad, I’m begging you,’ she said, her voice full of fear.

  Jimmy’s lined face hardened; he had always hated weakness and Alice cursed herself for showing him her true feelings. Drawing himself up to his full height he took a step forward and towered over his daughter. ‘Don’t start whining, girl. Dot here’s going to keep an eye on you. Besides, you’re old enough now to fend for yourselves. You’ll need to clear out the house by next month, the rent’ll be due.’

  Alice turned to Dot, whose face was so contorted with anger, Alice could tell she was having difficulty speaking. ‘You’re really going away to America and leaving us without a penny or even a house?’ Alice said in disbelief. ‘Joy’s ten, she adores you, how do you think she’s going to feel? Her mum’s dead, you’re buggering off to the other side of the world and now we’re out on the streets?’

  There was a pause then as Jimmy looked at his daughter and Alice could see him thinking it all through. Relief started to flood her. He was going to change his mind; it was going to be all right.

  ‘Here you are,’ Jimmy said at last, pulling out a fistful of notes and a handful of change from his trouser pockets. ‘This ought to keep you going ’til you get a full-time job at least. Now, don’t say your old man ain’t generous. I know how to take care of me own.’

  At the sight of the money in his hands Alice knew she was supposed to be grateful but all she really wanted to do was roar with laughter at the stupidity of it all. She also knew it wasn’t the time. Not if she wanted to avoid a black eye anyway. Instead she took a step back and surveyed the man who was her father. He looked old, she thought. His cauliflower ears, scarred cheeks and broken nose made him seem more advanced in years than he actually was. Alice knew that he wasn’t running away because he was worried about retribution, or even about the police turning up at his door. He was going because he was worried about losing his position as leader of the Elephant Boys. The only thing that mattered to him was his stupid pride.

  ‘Shove your bleedin’ money,’ she said, her eyes blazing angrily. ‘We’ll be better off without you.’

  ‘Alice, love,’ Jimmy wheedled, reaching for her hand, palms still full of money, ‘there’s no need for that. I’ll write, course I will, when I can.’

  As Dot snorted in disgust once more, Alice rounded on her father. ‘Don’t bother. We don’t need nothing off you, Jimmy Harris. You’re an ageing two-bob crook who’s always let me and Joy down. I hope I never see you again.’

  At his daughter’s outburst Jimmy opened and closed his mouth. Then with an angry shrug, he shoved the money he had offered her back in his pocket, slammed the last of his suitcases shut and pushed past her without a backward glance.

  When Alice heard the front door slam, the tears started to flow. He really had gone. She might have hated him, but he was all she had. Her body heaving with sobs, Alice turned to Dot and whispered, ‘What do I do now?’

  Chapter One

  April 1942

  Twelve years later

  It was no good, Alice Milwood thought glumly as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she just wasn’t ready to return to Liberty’s, it was as simple as that. Her once bright skin was sallow and grey, her forehead had more lines than one of Dot’s string shopping bags, her blonde curls looked weighted down by life and the sparkling blue eyes she had once been so proud of looked dull and lifeless.

  Sweeping a finger under her eye, she pulled gently at the bags that hung like sacks of coal and shook her head in despair – how could she not have noticed how dreadful she looked? A cry pulled her from her self-loathing. Sneaking a sidelong glance into the large wooden cot that rested on the floor beside her bed, Alice smiled, knowing perfectly well why her appearance had been the last thing on her mind: her son Arthur. Since giving birth to him just four months ago, Alice’s own wants and needs had ceased to exist as she concentrated solely on her new job of caring for her son.

  Consequently she had thought nothing of long days scrubbing nappies by hand, and even longer nights where she would do nothing but sit in the always warm kitchen of the little terrace house she shared with Dorothy Hanson, nursing her son back to sleep. Enveloped by the lonely darkness Alice found her mind would wander between sheer happiness at her new role as a mother and extreme fear as she fretted over the kind of future her little boy would have. Born in the midst of war with his father missing in action, possibly dead, Alice had spent almost every waking hour wondering just how she would provide for him as well as herself.

  Today was the day she was returning to her role as deputy fabric manager at Liberty’s – a day she had been dreading and looking forward to in equal measure and one which she wasn’t remotely ready for, if the snug fit of her once-loose-fitting, treasured teal-and-grey skirt was anything to by. Downhearted that she couldn’t find one single dress from her pre-pregnancy days to fit, Alice gave the waistband a final tug to try and get it over her thighs, before admitting defeat.

  Sliding the skirt off, she breathed a sigh of relief before turning her attention back to the rest of her clothes. Running her eye across the few outfits that hung in the cupboard of the room she rented in the Elephant and Castle terrace, she reached for a dress she had worn before giving birth. Slipping the loose-fitting navy tea dress over her head, Alice was comfortable but looking at her reflection again felt a stab of despair. She knew it was vain, but the dress swamped her and Alice had wanted nothing more than to make a good impression on her first day back at work.

  Just then a wail from the cot beside her dragged her from all thoughts of Liberty’s and instead brought her attention solely to the cause of all that noise.

  ‘Come on then, darlin’!’ Alice beamed, reaching down to pick her son up for a cuddle.

  Arthur gave a whimper in reply as his mother rocked him gently in her arms.

  The motion didn’t just soothe her son, it helped Alice’s nerves too as she held Arthur close to her chest enjoying the weight of him. Glancing down at the precious bundle, she tried to swallow the rising sense of guilt she felt at returning to work.

  Before the war, mothers wouldn’t have been at work earning a crust to feed their family; instead they would have stayed put, looking after a home and keeping their children safe. Now they had to leave their offspring with anyone who would take them while they went out to work.

  It wasn’t right, she thought as she stared down at the little face she loved more than anything in the world. Stroking the slope of his fat cheeks she planted a kiss on Arthur’s forehead and placed him gently back in the cot. Her heart was breaking at the thought of leaving him for the day, especially when he was still so tiny, but what choice did she have?

  A knock at the door dragged Alice from her train of thought. Turning around she saw Dot, beaming in the doorway, clutching a very welcome cup of tea.

  ‘Thought you might need this.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Alice took the
cup gratefully.

  ‘I don’t suppose I need to ask how you’re feeling,’ Dot said, elbowing her way into the room and taking a seat on Alice’s bed. ‘It’s written all over your face.’

  Alice sighed. ‘That obvious?’

  Dot chuckled knowingly, a lock of greying chestnut hair falling loose from the scarf wrapped tightly around her head. ‘Let’s just hope Beatrice Claremont has the good sense to put you below stairs today until you’re feeling more yourself.’

  ‘Not a good start, is it?’ Alice smiled ruefully, perching beside Dot. ‘Not only is it my first day back but my first day with a new boss who don’t know me from Adam.’

  ‘Oh, Beatrice’ll be all right.’ Dot shrugged, her grey eyes filled with kindness. ‘She was widowed in the last war and raised her two kiddies single-handed. She’ll appreciate how difficult it is to leave your baby with a stranger while you go off to provide.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were calling yourself a stranger, Dot.’ Alice laughed, reaching down to stroke Arthur’s sleeping face once more.

  Dot gave her a playful nudge. ‘You know what I mean. But now you bring it up, you could have it worse. You’ve landed on your feet really, darlin’, what with you and me job-sharing now so I can help you out with Arthur.’

  ‘You’re right. And I owe Mary for agreeing to let me move back in here while she helps out with Rose and her dad.’ Alice set her cup down on the wooden bedside table and got to her feet, her thoughts full of her friend. Mary Holmes-Fotherington had been the last person she had expected to find friendship with when the girl with the double-barrelled name had arrived on the doorstep of Dot’s terrace last September. Homeless and jobless after being discharged from the Auxiliary Territorial Army under horrific circumstances, Mary had turned up with her fancy raven hair cut into a posh bob, an equally posh accent, and secretive past, the hurt of which her green eyes couldn’t disguise. Alice had wondered if the two of them would ever get on, but, sensing the girl needed help, she had put that aside and helped Mary get a job in the fabric department of Liberty’s, where she had become a firm favourite amongst staff and customers, as well as a very dear friend to Alice.