Home is Where the Heart Is. Freda Lightfoot

thought it wise not to ask for an explanation on that point, and instead gave her a consoling hug. ‘I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find other work, even if it’s only part-time. We do have considerable experience at our fingertips, after all. Surely all these years of hard work we’ve done must count for something?’

      ‘I do hope so. We should have seen this coming, of course. Those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back. I’d just never got around to thinking how that might affect me. Nor did I expect it to happen so suddenly.’

      ‘Me neither. A little warning might have helped, or better still an alternative offer of a job here in the factory, one that involved us in work we know so well.’

      According to the general conversation buzzing around them, other factories were likewise laying off women workers, so a new job might not be easy to find. And thinking of the busy week ahead in preparation for Christmas, helping with a charity event at the local Co-operative Society, and with a goose to pay for, Cathie attempted to mentally calculate how much money she had left to live on.

      As for Alex’s homecoming, her feelings were becoming increasingly muddled. Much as she longed to see him, she really had no wish to be dependent on her fiancé from the outset. In any case, war might have badly affected him too, and she had no wish to add to his distress by expecting him to be entirely responsible for earning all the money they would inevitably need. It was necessary to be practical as well as supportive and loving.

      The rest of the day passed largely in gloomy silence and, as the factory clock chimed six strokes, the women packed their bags, collected their wages and walked out grim-faced, into what they’d believed would be a brave new peaceful world, and now wasn’t looking quite as good as they’d hoped.

      ‘Have you considered asking for a job here at the Co-op?’ This question came from Steve Allenby, an old friend who had returned from the war some time ago with serious injuries. Cathie was helping him to organise a Christmas concert in the Co-operative Society rooms above the shop, and had casually mentioned the fact that she’d lost her job, although she felt she really had no right to complain too much. A V1 rocket had exploded close to an airfield where Steve was working in Holland. It had so badly damaged his leg an amputation had been necessary. He now had an artificial limb on his right leg from the knee down, and walked with a slight limp. He was making a good recovery, if still suffering from pain and post-war traumas, looking even thinner and more raw-boned than when he was a scraggy kid. But then losing a leg was far more serious than being dismissed from a job, however worrying that might be for her.

      In between blowing up balloons that were piling up all around them, she turned the idea over in her head, a little hope lighting up within. Could that be a possibility? She wondered. Cathie knew that in the past the Co-operative movement had supported workers during strikes, as well as throughout the war, keeping tally sheets for folk who couldn’t settle their household bill till their next wage was paid. Whether they would be willing to offer her a job was another matter entirely.

      ‘I’m not intending to work here for ever,’ Steve was saying. ‘I do have other plans. But Cyril Leeson, the manager, generously kept my job open and I’m proud to be employed by a business that has been in operation since the mid-nineteenth century and an important part of the community. They are expert at juggling prices to suit customers’ needs, give dividends, and run holiday clubs in which money can be saved for Wakes Week. Generally a week in Blackpool, as we know.’ He laughed.

      ‘I do approve of their Christmas club, which has helped me to finance this expensive season by saving up in it week after week,’ she said, thinking of her dream to make this the best Christmas ever for Alex. ‘Unfortunately, my skills are more concerned with checking tyres.’ She gave a dry little laugh. ‘Can’t see that being of any use slicing bacon, butter and cheese, let alone keeping track of people’s accounts. I’d be hopeless.’

      ‘Probably you would at first, but with a bit of effort you might at last learn to count, and even add up.’

      ‘Cheeky!’ she snapped, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

      He laughed as he ducked, in case she tried again. ‘I trained as a junior instructor in the army and eventually became a trainer myself, doing a lot of work with small arms. What has that got to do with cheese? You’d soon get the hang of it, Cathie. It’s plain to see that you’ve grown much more confident and capable as a result of this war.’

      Was that true? Cathie rather hoped it may well be. She had changed quite a lot over the years, gaining considerably more courage and faith in herself. Had Steve noticed that in her, or was he playing her for a fool yet again? They’d been friends from childhood, as he came from the same rough area as herself. But although he was fun to work with at these charity events, she still had her reservations about him.

      She recalled how once he’d built them a tree house down by the River Irwell, and persuaded her to climb up and sit in it. Then he’d dashed off to play with his mates, leaving her stuck up the tree, too afraid to climb down without assistance. Hours later, soaked to the skin from a downpour of rain, she was rescued by Sal who came looking for her. Steve claimed he’d meant to return but forgot. Knowing how he loved to play endless practical jokes and tricks upon her, she’d never entirely forgiven him, refusing to speak to him for months afterwards. They’d fallen out countless times over the years due to her innate caution, while Steve, on the other hand, had always been a bit reckless and impulsive, lively and ruddy-cheeked.

      Now his face was drawn and pale with a bleakness to his blue-grey eyes. Out of pity for the pain he was suffering, their friendship was slowly improving. But not for a moment could she ever feel the same way about him as she did for Alex, who was much more handsome, smart and sweetly polite. Steve would never be anything more to her than an old friend, but at least he was trying to be helpful now.

      ‘Maybe I should make a polite enquiry, just in case.’

      ‘Good. I’m sure you’ll find another job, Cathie, assuming you decide you need one.’

      She looked at him in surprise. ‘Why would I not?’

      ‘I heard that Alex will be home soon. You must be looking forward to seeing him again, and may soon be busy raising a family instead.’ He glanced across at little Heather, contentedly asleep in her pram with her thumb in her mouth.

      They both fell silent as Cathie considered this point. Was she eager to have children of her own? She hadn’t thought that far ahead, obsessed only with seeing Alex again, as well as caring for Sally’s little one. But a job could well prove to be unnecessary if they married quickly and she fell pregnant. Did she want that to happen? ‘It’s certainly true that I can’t wait see him. It’s been two years or more.’

      ‘Let’s hope he soon settles into Civvy Street. I found it difficult at first,’ Steve admitted, as he gathered the balloons into a net. ‘Once everyone has welcomed you home by buying you a pint, they tend to forget all about you. Life can feel a bit flat after that, and rather lonely to suddenly find yourself without all the mates you’ve lived and worked with for years, let alone shared untold horrors.’ He drew in a deep sigh, a frown marking his too thin face. ‘And some of them I’ll never see again.’

      Cathie was filled with sympathy as she waited for him to reveal more of his war story, but as always his mouth clammed shut. Could it be that grief overwhelmed him, the pain of remembering being too much to bear, or was he holding back some secret he wished to keep to himself? ‘It must have been very difficult for you, Steve. But I’ll be there for Alex, as I’m sure his family will too.’ Not that she knew anything about his family, never having met them.

      ‘He’s a lucky man to have you. I was not so fortunate.’

      ‘Maybe you will be one day.’ Tucking the blanket over the baby’s sprawled chubby body, Cathie decided it was time to change the subject. ‘Will Father Christmas be coming to this charity concert?’

      ‘I’ve written to invite him,’ Steve replied in all seriousness. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without him, would it? He’s promised to call in towards the end, with presents for