LITMIR.BIZ

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– this time. An’ he said you can get up there, but only if you have a pass.’

      ‘So did you get a look at the place?’ Evie asked.

      ‘No, I didn’t, and I’m not trying it on again. I didn’t expect to get caught but they’re there, where the drive turns suddenly. Barrier across it, an’ all.’

      ‘Then it must be very secret if they’ve got guards there.’ Carrie folded the single sheet of notepaper and tucked it into an envelope addressed to Jackmans Cottage. ‘I’ve finished, now. Just quick notes to mother and Jeffrey. Maybe I’ll come with you to the post. You finished, Evie?’

      ‘Mm. Just the envelope to see to…’

      My darling,

      To let you know my new address and to tell you that I love you, love you, love you. I’ll write, tomorrow, to explain in great and loving detail just how much, and how desperately I miss you and want you.

      Take care, Bob. You are so precious to me.

      She printed the PO address on the back of the envelope then, placing it to her lips, gave it to Nan.

      ‘Bless you, love. I won’t be long from my bed. And I’m not hiking to the ablutions, either. I’ll make do with a quick wash at the kitchen tap and a walk down the garden. Don’t be too long, will you – just in case the sergeant decides to check up on us.’

      ‘I’m going to like Evie,’ Carrie said as they took the right turning to where the cluster of buildings stood. ‘Poor love. Just seven days of being married, then heaven only knows when they’ll see each other again.’

      ‘So when are you getting married, Carrie?’

      ‘Don’t ask! I’m already in trouble for not setting a date for the wedding.’

      ‘So why don’t you want to get married? And why aren’t you wearing your ring? Have you and your feller had a nark, or sumthin’?’

      ‘N-no. It’s just that everybody seems to be pressuring me into it, and I want a bit of breathing space.’

      ‘Why?’ Nan could think of nothing nicer than being married to a man who was decent enough to buy a ring, and make things official. ‘I’d like to be married – when I’m a bit older, I mean.’

      ‘And I want to marry Jeffrey, but when I want to. And I want to be one hundred per cent sure.’

      ‘And you aren’t?’ Nan sensed drama.

      ‘No. About ninety-five per cent, I’d say.’

      She wished she could tell Nan why; that she was unsure about the really-being-married side of things, and that Jeffrey hadn’t been very considerate when that happened. But Nan was little more than a child. Hardly eighteen, if looks were anything to go by. It wouldn’t be right to talk about that to her. Mind, she had the most beautiful come-to-bed eyes, though she didn’t seem aware of it; eyes that could get an innocent like Nan into trouble, if she wasn’t careful.

      ‘Then you’re nearly there, wouldn’t you say,’ Nan laughed.

      ‘Almost. Jeffrey’s next leave, perhaps. Isn’t this the most beautiful evening?’ Time to talk of other things! ‘If we weren’t in uniform, we could be forgiven for thinking that there isn’t a war on at all, out there.’

      ‘Ar,’ Nan sighed, completely captivated. ‘Wouldn’t mind stoppin’ for ever.’

      Here, in a place almost hidden from sight or sound of war, was a different life. Here, there would be no wailing sirens to send fear shivering through her; no crowded, sweaty air-raid shelters nor whole streets blasted into rubble. And no hospitals bombed.

      Here, Nan Morrissey was as good as anyone else; her uniform saw to that. Here, no one seemed to worry about her accent nor the way her Liverpool bluntness might be misconstrued as rudeness. This set-up that seemed to baffle even Sergeant James was the right and proper place for her to be. It seemed, on this evening in late August, that Nan Morrissey had truly come home.

      ‘Ar,’ she sighed again. ‘Just wish me dad could see me now. He’d be made up for me, God love him.’

      ‘I’d like to think mine could see me, too. I never knew him, y’know.’

      ‘Last war was it, Carrie?’

      ‘Mm. He was badly hurt but it wasn’t his wounds he died of. It was the mustard gas, really. A slow death, it must have been. God! I hope they never use it this time around.’

      ‘Fighting dirty, poison gas is. Do you think them bods in Heronflete are up to something like that? Secret weapons, and that kind of thing?’

      ‘Back-room boys and boffins, you mean?

      ‘Dunno. But they’re up to sumthin’ or why all the mystery? You don’t need soldiers to guard nuthin’.’

      ‘They’ll tell us, perhaps – or maybe we’ll figure it out for ourselves. And it looks like Evie has fallen asleep and left her light on.’ Carrie nodded in the direction of Southgate Lodge. ‘Reckon we’d better see to the blackout, or Sergeant James’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks.’

      The lance-corporal had not fallen asleep. She lay on her bed in blue and white striped pyjamas, writing pad in hand.

      ‘Hey up, Evie.’ Nan made for the window. ‘Time them curtains was drawn.’

      ‘Sorry. Got carried away, writing to Bob. Couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d write again – tell him about this new posting. What time is it?’

      ‘Still not quite blackout time,’ Carrie smiled. ‘And I’ve drawn all the other curtains. Couldn’t you sleep, Evie, or were you waiting for us to get back?’

      ‘No. Just got past it, I suppose. Posted the letters?’

      ‘We did,’ Nan beamed. ‘There was hardly anybody in the NAAFI – just a few soldiers, playing cards. And had you thought – we’re going to need cleaning gear. Better ask the sergeant for a chitty so we can get a brush and mop and things from stores – keep Southgate nice an’ tidy, so she can’t moan at us.’

      ‘I’ll see to it, tomorrow.’ Evie placed the cap on her fountain pen. ‘Y’know, this pen was Bob’s. It’s a good one and he didn’t want to take it with him when he went. Said I was to have it. I write all his letters with it. And oh,’ She closed her eyes tightly against tears. ‘I do miss him.’

      ‘Hey, old love, you’d be a very peculiar wife if you didn’t.’ Carrie took Evie’s hands in her own, holding them tightly. ‘And if talking about Bob helps, we’ll be glad to listen, won’t we Nan?’

      ‘Course we will. And we’ll send nasty thoughts to Hitler and that fat old Goering.’ Especially Goering, because it was him sent the bombers to Liverpool; his fault dad was dead.

      ‘Sorry,’ Evie sniffed, dabbing her eyes, forcing a smile. ‘You’ll know how it is, Carrie.’

      ‘Yes. Lousy…’

      But was it all that bad? Had Carrie Tiptree ever been reduced to tears, just to think that Jeffrey had gone to war? Sad, granted, but never the obvious pain Evie felt.

      Yet it was different for Evie and her Bob. They were husband and wife. Lovers. And that loving was good, it was plain to see by the softness in her eyes when she spoke about him. And Carrie knew when she was thinking about him, too. Perhaps Evie wasn’t aware of it, but she often fondled her wedding ring with her fingertips. Carrie Tiptree’s ring hung with the identity disc around her neck.

      Mind, she was fond of Jeffrey – always had been. They’d grown up in the same village, for heaven’s sake, and she knew almost all there was to know about him. No one would be able to say theirs was a hasty marriage.

      She shrugged and began to undress. She would get into her pyjamas, clean her teeth

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