Читать книгу An Orphan in the Snow - Molly Green - Страница 10

June opened her eyes and for a few moments wondered where she was. Then she smiled. She now lived in a grand country house all the way up north in Liverpool. If her mother could see her she’d be amazed. But grand house or not, the room still felt deadly cold. She sat up, wrapping the extra blanket she’d found in the wardrobe last night around her shoulders, and let her mind drift over the last twenty-four hours. Bingham Hall was certainly a different world from her last two years living with Stella and her three boys in Wisbech. She pictured them all and suddenly felt a stab of homesickness. They were the only family she cared about now, besides Aunt Ada. A tear trickled down June’s cheek and she quickly brushed it away. She had a new life now, and she was determined to make a difference to these children’s lives.

Well, she wasn’t going to make a difference in anyone’s life by sitting here thinking. She scrambled out of bed and pulled back the short velvet curtains, which were spotted with age. She peered through the glass panes, pleased she’d cleaned them yesterday, though she could still smell the traces of the vinegar she’d used. The fog had cleared and everywhere was white. Snow, like giant bales of cotton wool, lay over the fields and trees as far as her eyes could travel. Thick and white and silent.

She couldn’t see another house in sight. She’d never lived anywhere this remote in her life. But standing there looking out of the misted-up window at a fairyland view, she felt a sense of calm seep through her bones. Her mother, bless her, was finally at peace. June had been grateful Stella had given her a home, but it hadn’t been easy looking after the three boys while her sister’s husband had been away fighting. Stella had had little control over her sons, leaving them to June. ‘I’m better to go out to work,’ Stella told her sister, as she left each morning to work in the munitions factory. ‘And I need the company,’ she’d added, never thinking her sister might occasionally like to be with people her own age too, June had thought at the time. After her husband was killed Stella had gone out dancing or to the pictures most nights, and six months later she’d found herself a new boyfriend. She’d been astounded when June told her she’d been offered a job up north.

‘What will I do without you?’ she’d said. ‘The boys need some stability and you know how fond they are of you.’ Her eyes pleaded with June.

June wasn’t at all sure that was true – it was much more likely that Stella wouldn’t have the freedom she’d enjoyed lately – but it didn’t stop her feeling guilty that she was leaving her sister in the lurch.

It had been a shock to June when she’d moved from sleepy Wisbech and stayed with her aunt in London those last three days. When she’d lived there while training to be a nursery nurse there’d only been rumours of a war. This time she’d seen whole streets reduced to a pile of rubble, and the bombs at night had left her tired and jumpy. She had no desire to live in London again. How had the Londoners gone through bombing, night after night, day after day, with such bravery? Was she being a coward to escape it all? But surely vulnerable orphans and evacuees at Dr Barnardo’s needed help just as much as wounded soldiers and citizens.

Now June gave a sigh but it was more of contentment. Whatever lay in store for her, for once she hadn’t been manipulated or made to feel guilty. This new life was of her own making. She’d take the consequences whatever they were.

Feeling more sure of herself she washed and dressed and half ran down the four flights of steps. Iris was the first person she spotted.

‘Bet you haven’t seen snow like this in London.’

‘I must admit I’ve never seen it as thick.’

Iris glanced at June’s shoes that Aunt Ada had bought her. ‘You need boots for our northern winters,’ she said. ‘Those shoes won’t do at all.’

‘I didn’t bring any.’ And had no money to buy them, June wanted to add.

Iris considered for a few moments. ‘We need to fix you up with some proper footwear right away so I’ll have a word with Matron. What say we go into town this morning? I have a few hours to spare as I’m on evening shift this week. But you’ll have to brace yourself. We had a very bad raid in May and parts of Liverpool are in a terrible state. They usually aim for the docks but I think they enjoy giving the civilians a good fright as often as they can as well.’

‘Don’t worry about me – I’m used to London, which you wouldn’t believe the terrible hammering it’s taken …’ She stopped, realising she sounded as though she was making light of Liverpool’s hardship. ‘Though I read Liverpool is a close second,’ she added quickly. ‘I suppose it’s because it’s a port.’

‘A major one,’ Iris said. ‘The docks have taken the brunt of Hitler’s planes because its position is convenient for American ships to bring us crucial supplies. Not just American but Canadian and Australian ships deliver here as well. If the Germans have their way and smash the docks to pieces we’ll have had it. Nothing will get through – food, fuel, arms – everything we depend on. It’d be a disaster.’

June shivered. She could tell by Iris’s upset expression that her friend was not exaggerating.

‘Anyway, enough of that,’ Iris said smiling. ‘Are we on? Our jaunt into town?’

‘But what about the twins in the sick bay?’ June asked. ‘Don’t you need to see to them?’

‘Kathleen’s here to look after them.’

‘I don’t know …’ June hesitated. It might not look right if she wasn’t there to learn the ropes on her first full day and she felt guilty that Matron still hadn’t appeared after she’d finished cleaning her bedroom yesterday. She’d spent the rest of the time until supper in the library. ‘Matron hasn’t told me yet exactly what she wants me to do. I thought she’d have given me a list of jobs by now.’

‘She’s not the most efficient,’ Iris said. ‘But I’m sure she’ll let you know soon enough. But as far as going into town, leave it to me. We might be able to get a lift with Harold – he’s the only one here with a car and more or less acts as a chauffeur. We have to take advantage when he goes in, which is usually only once a week as fuel’s rationed, of course. Anyway, I’ll have a word with the Fierce One.’ With a chuckle Iris vanished.

June had told Iris not to worry – that she was prepared for a city that had borne the brunt of constant bombing attacks – but she hadn’t expected the sights that met her. Whole streets were razed to the ground, and when they turned a corner they saw flames burning in what had obviously been a sizeable commercial building. They watched a group of firemen trying to bring it under control.

‘Jerry were busy last night,’ said one of the firemen, nodding in their direction.

‘Lewis’s department store,’ Iris said with dismay. ‘It’s my favourite shop – or was. But that’s nothing compared with so many of the wonderful old buildings – our landmarks – vanished or standing like empty shells. Most of it happened in May when they blitzed us. They even managed to hit the cathedral but it wasn’t damaged too badly so if it comes through the war, they’ll repair it. It’s so ghastly.’ She turned her face to June, her eyes moist. ‘Let’s go, June. It makes me feel sick looking at it. Oh, I’m so fed up with this bloody war.’

The scene was so terrible that this time June didn’t even cringe at Iris’s swear word. And it was bloody. Men and women were dying in England, in France, and of course in Germany, and though she couldn’t feel quite so sympathetic about the enemy, it was still a tragic waste of lives. A shiver of horror ran down her spine as she saw an old man lying on his back by the side of the road, still and pale, his eyes open. A woman came out of one of the shops and put a blanket over the figure, pulling it right over his head.

‘Don’t look,’ Iris said. ‘He’s dead. Probably had a heart attack. It’s happening quite a bit to the elderly. I had to give some first aid to an old lady the last time I was in town. Thank goodness she came round but there’s nothing we can do here. Someone will see to what needs to be done.’ She took June’s arm and moved her away.

‘So many people have lost their homes,’ June said, her eyes pricking with tears. ‘Look over there – those poor people picking through all those bricks for their belongings.’

Her stomach sickened at the sight of houses where their owners’ once precious belongings had been proudly on show to their visitors, and now spilled out of blown-out walls and down smashed-up staircases – beds, mattresses, tables, washstands, stoves, pictures, clothes – all looking as though they were ready for the rag-and-bone man.

‘We’re not going to be sad,’ Iris said firmly. ‘We’re going to get you the best boots you’ve ever had. And then we’ll go and have tea in one of the cafés.’

Iris led her down one street and then another, June’s feet becoming colder by the minute. She wished she had a street map to see where she was going. Maybe she could pick one up in a stationer’s or a bookshop.

‘Here we are,’ Iris said. ‘One of my favourite shoe shops – they don’t have quite the choice these days but they’re bound to have something suitable.’

‘They’re too expensive,’ June said, peering in the window at the price tags.

Iris laughed and practically pushed her inside.

‘Try these.’ Iris held up a pair of sturdy leather boots with a fur lining. June could tell at a glance they’d be dear.

‘They’re too big.’ June shook her head but Iris ignored her and asked a smartly dressed lady if she would measure her friend’s foot.

‘You have very small feet, Miss,’ the saleswoman said, scrutinising the measurement. ‘Only a three-and-a-half. I’ll see if I have them in your size.’ She unbent with a wince and threw back her shoulders. ‘Back in a jiffy.’

True to her word she was back with another box and a shoehorn. When she was satisfied June’s foot was in the correct position she said, ‘Now try walking in them.’

They felt as though they’d been made for her.

‘How do they feel, June?’ Iris looked down and gave a satisfied nod.

‘They’re lovely and comfortable, but—’

‘But you can’t afford them,’ Iris finished. June reddened. ‘I’ll lend you the money. Pay me back when you can. You just need six coupons. Have you got your ration book with you?’

‘Yes, but—’ She didn’t want to admit she’d used up most of her yearly allowance of sixty coupons already when she’d been offered the job. Aunt Ada had insisted she buy a desperately needed coat, and the shoes that she’d just taken off, as well as a skirt and blouse, camiknickers and stockings. June bit her lip, mentally adding them up. Six more for the boots. That would only leave eight to last until the end of May.

‘We’ll take the boots, thank you.’ Iris walked over to the lady at the till and fished out her purse.

‘But—’

Iris put her hand up. ‘Stop! Those shoes you’re wearing will let in all the wet. In fact’ – she turned back to the lady at the till – ‘my friend will wear the boots straightaway.’

There was nothing June could do. She could tell Iris was determined and used to taking charge. She had to admit the boots were warm and the soles thick enough to practically skim over the snow.

‘Thank you, Iris. I’ll pay you back soon, I promise.’

‘See that you do,’ Iris said with mock firmness. She looked at June and grinned. ‘You’ve got some colour in those pale cheeks now. You’re pretty, but I expect you know that. Bet you’ve got all the boys after you.’

‘I haven’t got a boyfriend at the moment,’ June said, a sudden image of the tall, broad-shouldered man in the greatcoat with the mocking smile making her go pink.

‘You will soon, what with the RAF station nearby.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Speke. The RAF station. It’s only a few miles away. The boys there go to dances. And we go to dances. There’s never enough girls so we’re never short of partners. You’re coming with me to the next one.’

‘I’ve never been to a dance.’

‘Well, now’s the time.’ Iris slipped her hand through June’s arm as they left the shop. It felt nice. It had been a long time since she’d had a real friend. ‘Are you ready for a cup of tea, Junie, or what would you like to do?’

Junie. The only person who had called her that was Clara. June swallowed.

‘Do you mind me calling you Junie?’ Iris asked as though she’d read June’s thoughts.

‘N-no, not at all,’ June stuttered. The pain was always close enough to burst out at any moment. She blinked back the tears. ‘I was wondering if there was a second-hand bookshop anywhere.’ She looked around vaguely as though one might spring out at her. ‘I could do with a map of Liverpool and I’d love a new book to read.’

‘I’d have thought there would be plenty of books in the library at the home,’ Iris said.

‘I had a look yesterday but they’re mostly what I’d call scholarly. I just want something light to read in bed before I switch my light out.’

‘Lucky you to be able to see to read,’ Iris said grimly. ‘My light’s awful. Maybe I’ll see if I can find a stronger bulb … buy it myself ’cos Matron will never give me one.’ She stopped, her forehead puckering. ‘Let’s see … there are two second-hand bookshops near here … more or less the same, except one has a bad-tempered owner and the other one is just the opposite – polite and helpful.’

‘Could we go to the polite and helpful one?’ June smiled. ‘I don’t think I’m in the mood for bad temper today.’

‘They’re both up in the High Street, on the right-hand side as you go down. Only a couple of shops in between so I’ll leave you to it. I won’t tell you which one’s which,’ she added with a wicked grin. ‘I need to pick up some things from the chemist and I’d like to have a wander, even if there’s nothing much in the windows. Shall we meet over there at the fountain’ – she looked at her watch – ‘say, half-past eleven? Will that give you enough time to poke around some dusty old bookshop?’

‘That would be perfect,’ June said, delighted. It would be fun to go to both bookshops and have a browse. She wondered if she would be able to tell which owner was which.

The snow was already beginning to melt and June wished she wasn’t wearing her beautiful new boots. They’d be ruined through all this slush. Then she smiled. They were made for that exact purpose. She’d give them a good clean and drying-out when she got home.

Home. Dr Barnado’s. Who would have thought it?

She crossed the road, narrowly avoiding a car coming at a pace along the slushy high street. Further along, the damage the Luftwaffe had done on their air raids made her sick to her stomach again. A whole row of terraced houses had been turned into a mountain of rubble – except for the end one, which didn’t look as though it had acquired even a bruise. Horses towing carts carrying the remnants of people’s homes patiently picked their way through the debris. Several shops had their windows boarded up but most of them had a notice on the door saying: ‘Open for business as usual’.

‘Usual’. June grimaced as she slowly walked along the pavement wondering how people could manage to run a business in such chaos.

The first bookshop she came to was simply called Brown’s Books. She opened the door and from somewhere within a bell clanged.

An RAF officer, his back towards her, was talking to an older man behind the counter.

‘We don’t keep maps any more since the war started,’ the bookseller was saying. ‘You ought to know more than most they could end up in the wrong hands.’ June saw him glare at the man in the blue coat, who turned at June’s approach. She gave a start.

The officer smiled and removed his peaked cap, then his blue eyes sparked with recognition. He beamed at her, showing strong, creamy-white teeth. She hadn’t been able to see his hair before. It was tawny-coloured.

‘Well, if it isn’t the independent miss who wouldn’t let me give her a hand with her luggage,’ he said, smiling.

June flushed. ‘I really didn’t mean to be rude but I was trying to …’ she trailed off, wishing her heart would stop pumping in her ears.

He chuckled. ‘It’s all right. I forgave you straightaway when I looked into those green eyes of yours.’ June felt her face go even redder.

‘Looking for anything in particular, Miss?’ The man behind the counter tipped his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

‘Not really,’ June said. ‘Do you mind if I just have a browse and maybe I’ll see something?’

‘You go right ahead, Miss.’

‘What sort of books do you read?’ The officer made the question sound as though her answer was important to him.

His eyes were even more blue than she remembered.

‘Oh, whatever I can get hold of,’ June said, a little disconcerted. What a stupid answer. He would think she had no taste. ‘I enjoyed Monica Dickens’ book Mariana, and I tried to get her previous one from the library but they didn’t have it.’ It sounded just as feeble.

‘That’d be One Pair of Hands,’ the bookseller put in. ‘I should have a copy somewhere. One of my regulars brought it in a few weeks ago. Let me have a look.’

He tottered from behind the counter. ‘I think I’ll need those steps.’

‘Allow me, Mr Brown.’ The officer set them beneath the overladen shelves.

Mr Brown was up the ladder in a flash. ‘Ah.’ He triumphantly pulled out a book and clutched it with one hand as he backed down the steps. ‘You can have this for one-and-six, seeing’s how the jacket’s torn a bit.’

He made to hand it to her but the younger man was too quick for him. Forehead creased as though he was inspecting a valuable document, the officer flicked through the book, bending back some of the corners on the pages that had been turned down. ‘What about a shilling from the young lady?’ he asked Mr Brown, then looked up and sent June a wink and a smile.

Put out somewhat by his flirtatious manner, she frowned, which caused his smile to widen even further.

‘Seems fair to me when several pages are quite grubby and creased,’ he added, then handed the book to June, who removed her gloves and leafed through a few pages. The book was actually in a very respectable condition, she thought.

‘I’ll take it if a shilling is acceptable,’ June said, wanting to escape as quickly as she could.

Mr Brown frowned. He looked at the officer, then nodded. ‘All right, then. This young man here has twisted my arm. It’s yours. Shall I wrap it?’

‘No, don’t bother. It doesn’t look like rain.’

‘More snow, more like,’ Mr Brown said with a grimace.

The officer reached in his pocket and brought out a ten-shilling note. ‘As we’ve already met, I’d like to buy it for you, if I may – as a small gift.’

This was a pick-up, no doubt about it. June shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I would prefer to pay for the book myself.’ Her voice was sharper than she’d intended.

Disappointment spread over the officer’s face.

‘I’m sorry – that sounded awfully rude,’ June said, conscious of Mr Brown gazing curiously at the two of them. ‘It’s very kind of you but really I don’t—’

‘You don’t know my name,’ he finished. ‘Then let me introduce myself. Flight Lieutenant Murray Andrews. RAF Speke.’ He gave a mock bow. ‘At your service.’

Of course. A pilot. And cheeky with it. Not that she knew any but she’d been told often enough. Apparently they all had that charm. And he was at the station Iris had mentioned.

She offered her hand. ‘June Lavender. It’s been very nice to meet you again, Flight Lieutenant Andrews. And thank you for helping me to decide on the book.’

He took her hand. She hadn’t put her gloves back on and it was as though the warmth of his skin flowed between them. ‘I wouldn’t mind reading it after you.’ He finally allowed her hand to drop but kept his gaze on her.

A little shaken, she gabbled, ‘I don’t think it’s a man’s kind of book if the other one’s anything to go by.’

‘It’s a true story, isn’t it?’

June turned the book over. Monica Dickens smiled from the jacket cover. ‘Yes, it’s her autobiography.’

‘Then try me.’

By the look of his grin he was flirting with her. Willing her cheeks not to burn and trying her best to ignore the nearness of him, June handed over a shilling and said goodbye, but Murray Andrews reached the door before her.

‘Can I at least take you for a cup of tea, Miss Lavender? That wouldn’t be too forward of me, would it?’

His hand on the door frame. A strong, capable hand. Only moments ago her own hand had been lost in it. An image of him in his flying suit in the cockpit, blue eyes fixed firmly ahead … that same hand on the controls … Look away. Her eyes roved to a clock on the wall above Mr Brown. Oh, no. It was already five minutes over the time Iris had given her.

‘I’m really sorry but I’m late meeting someone.’ And with that June rushed out.

‘I’m ready for that cuppa,’ Iris said, holding the café door for June, who thumped her new boots up and down to kick off the snow.

The café was heaving. Iris pulled a face. ‘Ugh, I hate the horrible smell of dandelion they’re all using now instead of coffee. Camp. Who thought of a name like that? And who do they think they’re fooling?’

‘I suppose they can’t help it with the rationing.’ June looked about her and spotted a table. ‘Oh, that couple by the window are just leaving. And it doesn’t look quite so smoky.’

‘Did you go to both bookshops?’ Iris asked, when they’d settled in the still warm seats.

‘No, only Brown’s. He was very helpful so he must be the nice one.’

Iris smiled. ‘I’m glad you got on well with him.’

‘He found me exactly what I wanted. Maybe because I bought a book it cheered him up … even though a customer knocked him down from one-and-six to a shilling – on my behalf.’

‘Oh? Who was that then?’ Iris gazed at her, curiosity sparking in her sapphire-blue eyes.

‘Just some man.’ Blast. She hadn’t wanted to mention Murray Andrews.

Iris immediately pounced. ‘What man? Another old boy?’

‘No. He was an officer – a pilot at that RAF station you mentioned.’ June hesitated. Might as well give the full account now. ‘Actually, I first saw him on the Liverpool train. He offered to help with my case but I wouldn’t let him.’

‘Gosh, it doesn’t take you long to get yourself a boyfriend.’ Iris laughed.

‘Don’t be daft. I doubt very much I’ll ever see him again. Anyway, he was nothing special.’

‘Then why have you gone pink?’

June put her hand to her cheek. ‘Because it’s so hot in here. I’m going to take my coat off.’ She was relieved to see a waitress hurrying over.

‘Tea for two, please, and two scones and jam,’ Iris said. She leaned across the table and gazed at June, her eyes full of mischief. ‘Don’t think you can change the subject. I want to hear all about your pilot. Every detail.’

‘He’s not my pilot and there’s nothing to tell,’ June said, annoyed with herself for starting all this. ‘He was after a map but Mr Brown told him in no uncertain terms there was a war on and a map could end up in the wrong hands. So of course I couldn’t tell him I was also after a map.’

Iris chuckled. ‘Well, you’re bound to bump into him again at one of the dances. Maybe he has a nice friend.’ She patted June’s arm. ‘It’ll be fun going with you. Sometimes a couple of the maids come and we catch a bus together but they giggle over nothing and have no conversation except boys and moaning about Cook. Course, they’re still wet behind the ears.’

The waitress set a tray of tea and the scones on the table.

‘No butter.’ Iris wrinkled her nose at the margarine. ‘But at least we’ve got a teaspoon of jam.’

June was relieved the conversation had taken a turn away from Murray Andrews. Iris chattered on about her family, then said, ‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’

It was the question June was dreading.

She swallowed. ‘I had two sisters, but one – Clara – died when she was only eight.’

Iris covered June’s hand with her own. ‘I’m so sorry, Junie. That’s awful. How long ago?’

‘More than five years but it still seems like yesterday. That’s why I’m here – to help children who need me.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘Mum died two years after Clara’s accident, when I was sixteen. She was broken-hearted and became … ill.’

‘Oh, poor you. And your father?’

‘I … he …’

‘Don’t tell me if it’s painful.’ Iris looked over at the wall clock opposite and shot to her feet. ‘C’mon, kid, we’ve got to get back. Harold won’t be able to take us home as he’s got to take the car in for repair. But we can get the bus if we hurry.’

‘This is my treat.’ June got out her purse and left the coins on the table. She dipped in again and drew out a thruppenny bit, hoping it was enough for a tip, and buttoned her coat. She picked up her bag and the shoebox with her old shoes and hurried after Iris.

An hour later they were back at the home. Just as Iris put her hand out to pull the bell cord the heavy oak door swung wide. Matron stood there, her face red and perspiring, eyes wide as though she were about to burst.

‘Have you heard the news?’ Matron threw her hands in the air.

June and Iris glanced at each other, puzzled

‘No, we’ve been—’ Iris began.

‘The Japs have bombed one of the American naval bases in Hawaii!’ Matron’s voice rose a decibel. ‘That means the Americans will be over here in droves, you’ll see! With all their money and fancy goods.’ She gave a contemptuous twist of her lip and shook her head with such force her cap hung at a precarious angle.

Iris shouted in delight. ‘But that’s wonderful news, Matron. They’ll be here to help us win the war – and not before time.’ She grabbed hold of June, who was trying to take it all in. ‘Isn’t it exciting, Junie?’ Iris whirled her so hard June’s head swam. ‘Junie, say something.’

‘I bet Mr Churchill’s relieved,’ June gasped, laughing as she nearly lost her balance when Iris suddenly let her go. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Matron’s grimace before she disappeared inside. June suddenly thought of all the boys and men and women who had already died. How many more would have to die before the world came to its senses? But at least it looked as though Mr Churchill would finally have help.

‘He’ll be dancing for joy like us,’ Iris said, this time pulling June into another spin. ‘The Yanks are coming – they’re really coming,’ she sang out. ‘Oh, thank God! We’re going to win this bloody war, you’ll see. This time next year it’ll all be over.’

Even the welcome news about the Japs invading Pearl Harbor wasn’t enough to stop Murray Andrews thinking about the girl in the bookshop. Fair enough, she was pretty, but he’d known loads of pretty girls. So what was so special about June Lavender? Was it her quiet determined manner? Or the hint of mischief behind those grassy-green eyes? Was it because she shared a love of books? Was it simply because she hadn’t shown the slightest interest in him when she’d tried to get past him in the corridor of the train? Her polite but firm reply when he’d offered to pay for her book? He was so used to women being impressed with his being a fighter pilot that it was odd not having to fend off yet another pretty girl.

He grinned. If he wasn’t careful he’d get the reputation of being a cocky sod. And that was best left to the likes of the handsome, full-of-himself Yank, Captain Charles (‘Call me Chas’) Lockstone, who’d breezed in six weeks ago along with a handful of other American volunteer pilots by going over the border and joining the Royal Canadian Air Force. It was inevitable that today’s news would bring the Yanks into the war and a lot more of them would soon be over here. No question we need them, Murray thought, lighting a cigarette, even though he couldn’t work up a lot of enthusiasm. He’d heard too many stories about them – many of them not very favourable – to look forward to their arrival. But Churchill would be ecstatic as he’d tried so hard and for so long to convince Roosevelt to enter fully into the war, so surely now the tide would turn in the Allies’ favour.

Murray tried to concentrate on his newspaper but it was impossible. Everything was bound to change now.