Lost Angel. Kitty Neale

not being silly. Ellen needs more than soup for nourishment, and I can’t even make any bread. We’ve run out of flour, and yeast, let alone not having a scrap of meat.’

      ‘All right, we’ll go to the village, but we can’t stay long.’

      Hilda busied herself with feeding Wilfred. Yes, she had talked Gertie into going, but her feelings of isolation, of being trapped here, were growing ever stronger. Please, please, let there be a reply to her letters, because if she didn’t escape soon, Hilda feared she’d go out of her mind.

      

      Ellen was happy as they rode to the village, the sunshine warm on her back, but wished she could say the same about her mum. She was well again now, but so quiet and moody. Gertie was always giving her mum hugs in an attempt to cheer her up, but if anything that just seemed to make it worse.

      ‘Now remember, we can’t stay long,’ Gertie warned as Ned trotted along. ‘I’m not only planting, I’m weaning the piglets.’

      ‘All right, there’s no need to nag. I just want some shopping, a newspaper, and to see if there’s any mail.’

      Ellen wished Gertie hadn’t mentioned the pigs. Like last year, and the year before, she knew there’d been a large litter. All but one would be sold again, a part of living on the smallholding Ellen still didn’t like.

      Gertie took one hand from the reins, leaning across Ellen to lay it on her mum’s leg. ‘Cheer up, Hilda.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, impatiently pushing her hand away.

      Gertie then patted Ellen’s leg, too. ‘Your mum might be a bit short-tempered, but it’s nice to see her looking so well now.’

      Ellen glanced at her mother, but she was staring straight ahead, her lips tight; sensing her mood, Ellen remained quiet for the rest of the journey.

      When they arrived at the general store, Gertie made no attempt to climb down, only saying, ‘Don’t be long, Hilda.’

      ‘I’ll be as long as it takes,’ she retorted angrily.

      Ellen clambered down and inside the shop, Mrs Brandon returned their greetings. ‘Hello, and it’s nice to see you both. There are two letters for you, Mrs Stone.’

      Ellen saw her mum’s face light up as she took them. ‘This one’s from my husband, but as I only wrote to him ten days ago, they must have crossed in the post.’

      ‘What else can I get you?’ Mrs Brandon asked. Hilda passed her a list, chatting to Mrs Brandon as she gathered the goods together, while Ellen ogled the few sweets on offer, thrilled when her mum said they had enough coupons to buy some. The sherbet lemons looked sticky and clung to the jar as they were shaken onto the scales, but Ellen’s mouth watered with anticipation.

      ‘There you are, Ellen,’ said Mrs Brandon as she passed her the paper bag.

      ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay longer to chat,’ her mum said, ‘but Gertie is anxious to get back to the smallholding.’

      ‘Yes, it’s a busy time of year.’

      Calling goodbye, they left the shop.

      ‘It’s about time,’ said Gertie as they returned to the cart.

      ‘I’m going to the butcher’s, so you’ll just have to wait.’

      Ellen didn’t like his shop. Sometimes he had whole dead rabbits hanging from hooks and the sight sickened her. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she called as her mum hurried off, and then, climbing up beside Gertie, held out the bag of sherbet lemons. ‘Do you want one?’

      ‘No, you eat them. I haven’t got a sweet tooth.’

      Ellen pried one sticky sweet from another and popped it into her mouth as her eyes roamed the small village. To her it was beautiful, the thatched cottages, the stone walls behind which lay pretty gardens. She loved it here, the countryside, and living on the smallholding. She sighed with happiness, hoping they’d never leave.

      When Hilda returned again to the cart, Gertie asked, ‘Did you get everything we need?’

      ‘Yes,’ Hilda said shortly, and as the horse ambled along she pulled out Doug’s letter, anxious to read it. She smiled at first, loving his cheeky innuendoes, but when she got to the second page her expression changed. Doug must be out of his tiny mind, writing about how much he’d enjoyed working on the smallholding and going on to suggest that after the war they move out of London. No way, Hilda thought as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She’d had enough of living in the back of beyond with hardly any amenities other than a few village shops. In London you could jump on a bus, a train, or the tube and go anywhere without a problem. Here there wasn’t any transport and all they had to rely on was a flaming, cantankerous horse.

      ‘What did Dad say?’ Ellen asked again.

      ‘He misses us, he’s fine, and he sends you his love.’

      ‘When’s he coming home again?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Hilda said sadly.

      Once outside the village the road became uneven and they bounced as the cart hit an occasional hump, but despite this Hilda managed to scan the newspaper. Her mood lightened. There hadn’t been any raids over London, and she dared to hope. She wanted to be away from Gertie, to have her own home again, somewhere to settle and for Doug to return to when this rotten war was over. Keeping her thoughts to herself, Hilda folded the newspaper. She didn’t want to talk about her plans in front of Ellen, and, anyway, with the way Gertie was behaving lately, she might kick up a fuss. Hilda wondered yet again if she was imagining things; yet recalling the many times Gertie found any excuse to touch her nowadays, she doubted it. There’d been so many hugs, so many occasions when she’d caught Gertie looking at her with a strange, almost lustful expression.

      Hilda shivered. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but, just in case, she wanted to be away from Gertie; the thought of her wanting a love affair nauseating.

      

      Gertie knew that Hilda was fed up with life in the country and there’d been times when she’d talked about going back to London, yet, despite this, she wasn’t worried. Hilda was a loving and protective mother who would never put her daughter at risk, their stay with her assured until the war was over. ‘I saw you had two letters,’ she said. ‘Who was the other one from?’

      ‘Mabel. I’ll read it when we’re back at the cottage.’

      ‘Was there anything interesting in the newspaper?’

      ‘There’s no mention of bombing raids on London and, as Hitler has turned his attention to other targets, there’s speculation there might not be any more.’

      ‘You said it, speculation, and no guarantee.’

      ‘Look,’ Ellen said, pointing to a farmer’s field. ‘It’s full of Land Army girls.’

      ‘Lucky farmer,’ Gertie said. ‘I wouldn’t mind a few of them helping out on my smallholding.’

      ‘I’ve offered to get stuck in, but you won’t let me,’ Hilda said curtly.

      ‘Once you’re fully recovered, I’ll welcome it.’

      ‘I am fully recovered, and I’ll tell you something else, I’m fed up with you telling me what I can and cannot do.’

      ‘All right, calm down. It’s just that you were so ill and I’m worried about you over-exerting yourself.’

      ‘I’m a grown woman, not a child, and if I say I’m up to giving you a hand, then I am.’

      ‘Fair enough,’ Gertie said. ‘You can start tomorrow.’

      ‘I’ll start when I’m good and ready – not when you decide to give your permission.’

      Gertie shook