This Lovely City. Louise Hare

him into strife before they’d been a full day on dry land. He’d known as soon as they’d walked into that pub that it was a bad idea. They weren’t welcome, no matter what that newspaper article said.

      Sonny stopped by. ‘You comin’ out tonight, boys?’

      Aston laughed. ‘You only just met me?’

      ‘No thank you,’ Lawrie replied. ‘I had enough excitement last night.’

      ‘Boy, don’t be like that. Come on out. We goin’ to Soho. Johnny say there might be work there. They lookin’ for musicians.’ Sonny reached up and poked Lawrie in the side, making him squirm.

      ‘You serious? He’s still on about forming a band?’ Lawrie sat up.

      Sonny shrugged. ‘Worth a look. If not then we go back to the labour exchange tomorrow, nothing lost.’

      It was tempting. To earn a living from playing music… well, it was a dream that Lawrie had never thought might come true.

      ‘Let me get my eye fixed up first but yes, then I’ll come.’

      ‘No problem.’ Sonny winked as he saw Rose walking towards them. ‘Man, I wish I get punched in the face if I get a woman like that tending to me.’

      Lawrie ignored their sniggers and followed Rose into the first aid station, set up in what had been a makeshift infirmary during the war. Rose told him this as she sat him down on a wooden stool, turning to grab her standard issue first aid kit.

      ‘Did you come down here then?’ he asked. ‘During the bombing?’

      ‘No. We were living on the other side of the Common back then. We had our own shelter out the back, before we got bombed out. Not a direct hit, thank goodness.’ She tilted his head up to the light. ‘Did you make any attempt to clean this? It’s a right mess.’

      ‘A little.’ His head had been throbbing and it had been so late when they’d arrived back the night before that even the rickety bunk had been too enticing. A splash of cold water after using the lavatory had been the extent of it.

      ‘You could have fooled me. Hold still.’ She held onto his head as she applied iodine to the cut.

      ‘Jesus Christ!’ That innocent ball of cotton wool felt like a poker straight out of the fire. ‘What the hell is that?’

      ‘Language! My mother would have given you a right piece of her mind if she’d heard you talking like that.’

      ‘Mine too,’ he admitted. He took a deep breath and held it as Rose carried on, making sure that the wound was clean before releasing him.

      ‘So where were you last night?’ she asked. ‘Not round here surely.’

      ‘Yes, actually. Just in that pub down the road, on the left.’

      ‘I know the one. What did the man look like? The one who punched you.’ She dabbed cool cream on his eye, the chill of it making him jump once more.

      He thought about it for a moment. ‘Shorter than me but not by much. Dressed pretty smart. Black hair. Sort of like Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story. And he wore a ring on his right pinkie. That’s what cut me.’

      ‘Cary Grant, eh?’ She busied herself tidying the supplies away. ‘I don’t know about him but there’s quite a few chaps with dark hair round here.’

      ‘True,’ he agreed. ‘And you lot all look the same to me.’

      She laughed. ‘Yes, well, I shall remember that when you walk past me in the street next week and don’t give me a second glance.’

      ‘As if that could happen!’ Was he flirting with her? He’d never been much good at it before but she was smiling. Maybe some of Aston’s charm was rubbing off on him.

      ‘Have you found anywhere to live? After you leave here, I mean?’

      ‘Not yet. I need to find a job first.’

      ‘What job did you have back home?’

      ‘Nothing. I mean, I was studying.’ He glanced up at her, wondering if she thought him just a child. He wasn’t sure how old she was. Probably older than his nineteen years if she was married. ‘My mother wanted me to go to university but money was tight so, you know, here I am. Come to London, seeking my fortune.’

      Rose giggled. ‘You sound like Dick Whittington. And I’m sorry but these streets are more likely paved with rubble than gold.’

      ‘I noticed.’ He sighed. ‘Still, a few of the fellas think maybe we can actually get a band together and earn money from it. I play clarinet. My father always wished he’d become a professional musician instead of working in an office. I suppose I’d like to fulfil his dream now that he’s gone.’

      ‘You’re lucky,’ she told him, ‘to have something like that, something you love. I worked in a factory during the war, believe it or not, and I loved it. We had a right laugh and I felt like I was doing something proper, you know? Something useful. But Frank, that’s my husband, he wanted things to go back to normal when he came home. Married women don’t work, he says, not unless they need the money, it’d look bad on him. He doesn’t even like me doing this only I insisted. So long as his tea’s on the table when he gets home from work I reckon he can’t really complain, and he’s in the pub most nights anyway.’

      ‘You don’t look old enough to be married, you don’t mind me saying.’

      She smiled. ‘No? I suppose not. We got married straight out of school. Frank was heading off to war and we knew there was a chance that…’ Her voice trailed off.

      ‘You were lucky,’ Lawrie said. ‘He came back.’

      ‘Yes.’ She took a step backwards, away from him. ‘Anyway, you’re all done. Pop up in ten minutes if you want feeding before you head out. And curfew is midnight so don’t be late back.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He held out a hand and she shook it.

      ‘D’you think you’ll stay long?’ she asked. ‘In England, I mean.’

      ‘I should think so,’ he replied. ‘Don’t you read the paper? This is our home now.’

      ‘Then welcome home,’ she said.

       13th March 1950

       Dear Aggie,

       I do hope all is well? I just got your letter and I have to say you’ve got me worried about you, darling sister.

       If you want my advice, and your letter implied that you did, I think it’s time to let Evie stand on her own two feet. She’s eighteen after all. We weren’t still living at home at her age, were we? And she won’t have it half as bad as you did! She’s got you and that young friend of hers – Delilah or whatever. That boy next door, when’s he going to come good and get down on one knee? You should have a word with him, like Ginny Leyton’s dad did to her young chap years ago. He was down that aisle faster than a whippet round the track at Wimbledon! Of course, nobody would be foolish enough to mess with old Leyton but I reckon you could give him a run for his money.

       Besides Evie and all that, how are you? Is everything all right? We shouldn’t leave it so long between visits, you and me. I did love seeing you so last year, both of you, and it does get a bit lonely out here on my own. Who’d have thought I, city girl through and through, would end up living alone at the bottom edge of a Devonshire village? You should come down this summer, stay as long as you want, there’s plenty of room. Don Waters was asking after you when I saw him last. You remember him? Bought you a half a shandy that night we went to the pub?

       Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you soon.

       Gertie xx