Wartime for the District Nurses. Annie Groves

But you’re right – the first thing anyone notices is his looks. Not that they’ll be much use to him at the moment.’ She drew out the letter and reread it. ‘He’s back from France, thank goodness, and survived more or less in one piece. Now he’s somewhere near Southampton at a guess, as he can’t say exactly, but hints that it’s not too far from where he was before. He’s got his hands full with casualties from the fighting overhead. Those dogfights that you were talking about, I expect.’

      ‘See, he’s doing something useful,’ Gladys said.

      ‘So are you,’ Alice reminded her. ‘Who knows, we might make a nurse of you yet.’

       CHAPTER SIX

      Peggy was sure her mother-in-law suspected something. The older woman hadn’t been waiting up for her when she’d come in late from the pub that time, hardly able to remember what she’d been saying or doing after all the port and lemons, but ever since then she’d been on the alert, even more keen to point out the smallest mistake. She always claimed it was for Peggy’s own good, so that she wouldn’t make the same error in the future, but Peggy was permanently on the verge of screaming.

      She knew she’d given her address to Laurence before eventually leaving the pub, but vaguely recalled he was on leave and so might not be around for long. She hadn’t worried too much. It had been a fun evening and she would have loved to repeat it but, if it wasn’t to be, then that was that. She wasn’t going to pine away if he didn’t get in touch. That wasn’t what she’d been looking for.

      Perhaps she should have made more of an effort to talk to Edith, Peggy thought with a flash of guilt. That was what the evening was meant to have been about. But Edith had brought two other nurses along and then they’d bumped into Billy with all his friends – it had grown into something else entirely. She vowed she would see Edith again on her own and then they could have the heart-to-heart she dearly wanted. The pain of missing Pete never left her, and whatever she now did or said didn’t begin to touch it. That sense of overwhelming loss was at her very core; everything else was on the surface, far away from what really mattered. Perhaps Edith would understand.

      She’d been on the point of scribbling a message to leave at the home on Victory Walk when the letterbox opened and an envelope landed on the doormat. Swiftly she moved to pick it up. It was for her, in handwriting she didn’t recognise, loopy and forward-slanting. Peggy hurriedly jammed it into the handbag she’d left on the stairs, ready to take to work. She would read it when she got to the factory. Despite the scores of people there, it was easier to find a private moment than here in Mrs Cannon’s house.

      Right on cue Pete’s mother called out from upstairs. ‘Was that the post, Peggy love?’

      Peggy gritted her teeth but made her voice as neutral as she could. ‘I can’t see anything. It must have been the wind.’

      There was a brief pause. ‘I could have sworn I heard something,’ said Mrs Cannon, appearing at the top of the stairs, a fresh print overall on to greet the new day.

      ‘There’s nothing there,’ Peggy assured her truthfully. ‘Were you expecting anything?’

      Mrs Cannon’s face fell. ‘No, dear. Not any more.’

      Peggy immediately felt a rush of new guilt. She knew Mrs Cannon missed her son dreadfully and yet she couldn’t bear to think about it or it would open the floodgates of her own grief. Pete’s letters had been something they had been able to share, but there would be no more of them.

      The older woman visibly pulled herself together, straightening her shoulders and smoothing down the cotton of her overall. ‘Well, I’ll see you later then,’ she said, in a voice that must have been intended to sound bright but which was so full of sadness that Peggy couldn’t bear it.

      ‘Yes, I’m just going to write a quick note then I’ll be off to work,’ she said, grabbing her bag and ducking around the corner of the corridor so that she wouldn’t have to witness Mrs Cannon’s brave attempt at normality, because it was all too painfully close to her own.

      ‘We gave Jerry’s planes a pasting last night,’ said one of the sailors as he made his way up the gangplank to board his vessel. ‘Sent ’em back where they came from good and proper.’ He waved to the dock workers who were lined up ready to deal with the cargo.

      Billy rolled back his sleeves and prepared to move the first lot of crates. Sometimes his leg gave him trouble when he had to deal with heavy weights, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He was dog tired after having been on shift half the night but he wasn’t going to admit that either.

      ‘That’s good news, then,’ said Ronald, coming up beside him. ‘Help me with this one, will you?’

      Billy grunted in assent and took one side of the big crate, while Ronald manoeuvred his corner onto the trolley to drag it towards the warehouse. ‘Suppose so,’ he managed, as they set the big wooden box down.

      ‘Warm one today,’ Ronald went on, wiping his forehead with his dusty hanky. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be sitting around on me arse doing nothing. Like that lot.’ He tipped his head towards a small group of men who weren’t even bothering to watch all the activity, let alone come across to help. Ronald spat onto the sawdust floor. ‘Makes me sick. They might as well join up; they’re a fat lot of use round here.’

      Billy looked up at his taller friend. ‘It’s true, you got a point there.’

      Ronald shrugged. ‘That one – what’s his name, Bertie – seems to have it in for you.’

      Billy laughed grimly. ‘It’s cos he got drunk and drove into me leg, and almost killed me friend and her little boy. Then he blames her for him being slammed in the nick for a bit. Not for long enough, if you ask me.’

      ‘Longer the better,’ agreed Ronald, pushing his hanky back into his trouser pocket, frayed where it had caught on the rough wood of the crates. ‘All the same, he don’t half bear a grudge. He was going on about her the other day, nasty piece of work that he is.’

      ‘He’s just trying to make himself sound more important than he is – and that’s not hard,’ Billy said.

      Ronald thought about it for a moment. ‘Could be – he likes to strut about like he’s cock of the walk, and for no good reason,’ he conceded. ‘All the same, he’s up to something. Wish I could say what but I can’t.’

      ‘Should I warn Kath?’ Billy asked. ‘I can’t very well go worrying her if we don’t know what it’s all about, can I? That would be no help at all.’

      Ronald spread his hands. ‘Wouldn’t hurt to go round and check on her, would it? You seen her recently?’

      ‘No,’ Billy admitted. He’d kept to his resolution to give her some space, to let her grieve for that bastard Ray Berry, and not to pester her, even though the effort of staying away had cut him to the quick.

      ‘Why not pop round, just friendly like, and don’t say anything in particular, just see if she’s doing all right,’ Ronald suggested. ‘Look, there’s the boss. We’d better get to that next crate.’

      Billy nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ His mind was racing. He could not let Bertie attempt to hurt Kath again. He’d be doing her a favour if he dropped round, just like old times. It was a happy coincidence that it matched what he wanted to do more than anything.

      Peggy hummed to herself as she put away her overall in her locker and shook out her hair from its protective scarf. When Pete had been alive she used to lighten it with lemon juice in the summer, but lately she hadn’t bothered. Now maybe she might start again, if there were any lemons to be had. She brought out the little mirror she kept tucked in the side zip of her handbag and pouted at herself in the reflection. Not looking too bad, she decided, given what she’d been through recently.

      ‘You’re