LITMIR.BIZ

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look at me,’ said Ivy. ‘I’ve got to take Neville to the clinic. Lil can do it. It’s her morning off.’

      Lily was making a list of arrangements for the funeral tea. ‘I was hoping you’d all come to give me support.’

      ‘Take Walter with you then,’ snapped her sister-in-law.

      ‘You know the seat in the van gets to his bad back.’

      ‘That’s not our fault, Lil. If he got off his backside a bit more…’ sniffed Esme, reaching for the aspirin bottle.

      ‘Don’t start that again. Leave him alone. He can’t help it.’ There was no getting out of this taxi service now.

      ‘What you see in that lad—’

      ‘I’m not listening.’ Esme could be so cussed when one of her heads struck without warning, but with this terrible blow none of them was on top of the job.

      ‘I’ll go on one condition-that you tell this girl…I’m not. Poor lass’ll be wondering why he’s not there to meet her.’

      ‘You’d better not wear black then,’ suggested Ivy, looking her up and down with dismay.

      ‘I’ve never worn black, not even for Dad, and I don’t intend to now. I’ve no coupons left,’ Lily replied, knowing her suit was looking shabby.

      ‘I bet you’ve squandered them on that Brownie show again. You’ll never get a trousseau together at this rate. I had to beg, borrow and steal to get mine.’

      ‘No one’s thinking about weddings,’ said Esme, putting another spoke in that wheel.

      ‘Who said anything about trousseaus? Walt and me just want a simple do, no fuss,’ Lily snapped.

      ‘Just as well, for the Platts will be too tight to fork out much when it comes,’ Esme continued, wiping her glasses on her apron.

      ‘I’m not listening. You don’t know him like I do,’ Lily replied, making for the door and out of the gloomy atmosphere. Why couldn’t they all pull together in their sorrow, not keep picking at each other?

      ‘Fetch us a cup of tea before you disappear,’ Esme yelled from her chair.

      ‘Ivy can do it. I’m off! Mustn’t be late.’ Lily was out the front door and down the steps, not waiting for reply.

      * * *

      ‘Come on, Gertie, old girl, don’t you let me down,’ she urged the van to start, rocking back and forth. ‘I’m coaxing you gently so no explosions.’ She didn’t want passers-by scurrying in all directions for cover. Time was getting on, and she prayed there was enough petrol in the tank to get to Ringway Aerodrome. Levi had a habit of running the van on empty.

      Thank goodness the war was over and road signs were back up again or she’d be in trouble. Still ten miles to go and no petrol coupons left for emergencies. It was a good job there was an inborn magnet in her nose that knew when she was heading in the right direction. This was no drive for the faint-hearted. Why did she always land the worst jobs?

      Driving would give her time to sort out her thoughts, to catch her breath, to mourn her brother. She still couldn’t take it in. It seemed like only yesterday that he was born and she’d seen him in the Moses basket. He was her own toy, better than any dolly; she was always the one to push him, pick him up, carrying him to school, kicking and screaming, when he wanted to run home. Miss Sharples had called her into the infants’ room when he’d wet himself and refused to sit in the chair.

      She smiled, thinking of the time she’d shoved her exercise book down his backside when he was outside the Head’s door waiting for a caning. He’d bunked off to play football in the park. One scrape after another but she was always there to cover for him.

      That precious vow of silence, one for all and all for one, was their secret code. No telling Mother and Dad when Levi and Freddie met girls in the park instead of going to Sunday School. She always managed to sneak three stickers for their attendance card so no one was any the wiser.

      Football was always there somewhere in the mischief. It was forbidden to play on a Sunday but that never stopped their practice matches with Pete and Clive down the field by the dell. Everyone assumed Lil Winstanley was a Goody Two-Shoes, the white hen who never laid away, but she knew that if ever she had needed a favour, they’d be quick to honour the bargain. The trouble was it was too late now. There was no one on her side, not even Mother.

      In normal times, being at the wheel was fun but being the only available driver today was a thankless task. How did you break such terrible news to a total stranger who was coming halfway across the world full of hope and expectation? Who was going to tell this poor bride-to-be that she was already a widow?

      She hoped she looked the part. No one could accuse her of being a fancy bandbox but she did try to be neat and tidy. This was no ordinary errand. These were not ordinary times.

      The bucket seat was low down, bagging her skirt, and the bit of rust by the door had kept snagging her lisle stockings the last time she was out in the van. How many times was Levi asked to get it seen to?

      There was a pile of other mail addressed to Freddie waiting at home, letters from foreign parts that none of the family had the heart to open yet. It was years since they had waved off the youngest son. Lily could hardly recall his gruff voice except when she read his cheery letters.

      Tears were rolling down her nose again. It was hard to drive. Now she must tell lies to a total stranger. No wonder Polly Isherwood looked so pinched. She carried her grief with pride but it was etched into the lines on her face.

      How did people survive such loss? Walter lost his own dad in the Great War and his mother clung to him like a limpet. There are always those who’re worse off than you, she sighed. But now war was over and the streets were full of demob suits, it was so painful.

      At least Gertie, usually slow to warm up, was purring gently while Lily was daydreaming. Where were the peppermint chews in her handbag? Dash it! She swerved, missing the turning to the left.

      ‘Where on earth’s the aerodrome, Dolly Daydream?’ she muttered. Talking to herself helped to pass the time, but she needed to concentrate.

      The Winstanley family was a right box of liquorice allsorts. Mother was a sherbet lemon-sharp on the outside but soft and fizzy inside, after a glass or two of Wincarnis in the evening, and took a bit of softening up. Dad had been a bar of Fry’s Chocolate Cream. Ivy was definitely an acid drop and Levi was a brazil nut cracknel, sweet one minute and tough the next. Walt was her favourite, a Cadbury’s Chocolate Caramel with the squidgy centre.

      As for her own attributes, a Fox’s Glacier Mint, plain, serviceable, good in an emergency, would just about sum her up.

      Sweets were something special now, being so carefully rationed. Neville got everyone’s ration in his ever-open mouth. He liked dolly mixtures…Sweets, food…no time to think of such stuff now.

      Rationing was worse than in the war these days. Levi had hollow legs to fill but he somehow managed to scrounge a few extras from the U.T.C.-‘Under The Counter’-brigade. Not easy when there was always Ivy’s sweet tooth to satisfy. Her big brother needed to have his comforts when he was married to such an ambitious woman. Ivy was always making big plans for them.

      They were living rent free in Division Street so the couple could save for a new house across town, one day. Ivy had her son, her husband and a dream of living on the south side, close to the golf club. She knew where she was heading.

      If only life was that simple, Lily mused. It was two steps forward up the slippery slope to the pinnacle and one step backwards most of the time.

      Esme blamed Ivy’s scheming on going to the pictures. ‘It might cheer you up for a few minutes but it gives simple girls like Ivy big ideas, American dreams,’ she explained.

      It wasn’t as if Lily didn’t have dreams of her

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