An Orphan’s War: One of the best historical fiction books you will read in 2018. Molly Green

him as he forced his way through the crowd.

      ‘Goodness, however many people have they packed in here?’ she asked as he took her jacket, somehow having managed to find a table to share with another couple. He draped her jacket on the back of one of the chairs and she removed her hat and balanced it on top.

      ‘They say the place holds fifteen hundred,’ Edwin said, eyeing up the floor and the people sitting high in the balconies.

      He was shouting above the cacophony and she barely caught his words. It was certainly not the right place to have a conversation.

      ‘What would you like to drink, poppet?’

      ‘A glass of white wine would be lovely, thank you.’

      After their drinks, he led her onto the dance floor. He was an excellent dancer, but she couldn’t relax, so terrified was she of making a wrong step.

      ‘Listen to the words,’ he whispered when Ivy Benson was singing ‘I’m Getting Sentimental Over You’. He gave her hand a squeeze, his breath tickling her ear.

      After two or three more dances – one being the jitterbug, which was the latest craze from America that even Edwin couldn’t master – he led her back to the table, where another couple had taken their places.

      ‘Excuse me,’ Edwin began, pointedly looking at them, pink with annoyance.

      ‘Oh, was this your jacket?’ A scarlet-lipsticked woman looked up at Maxine who nodded. ‘I had to sit down, love – my feet were killing me.’

      ‘Don’t worry.’ Maxine smiled. ‘We’ll find somewhere else.’

      ‘If you’re sure …’

      ‘Maxine!’ Edwin’s tone was a little irritable.

      ‘Come on, Edwin. People are coming and going all the time. There’s bound to be something.’

      But since they’d been on the dance floor, many more couples had come in and grabbed the few remaining tables.

      ‘Are you feeling tired?’ Edwin asked as they trailed round trying to spot a couple of spare chairs.

      ‘Not really.’

      ‘Incorrect answer,’ he said, chuckling, his happier mood seemingly returned. ‘You’re supposed to say, “Yes, darling, I’m tired out and all I want to do is go to bed – with you.”’

      Now it was her turn to flush.

      He pressed her hand. ‘Shall we go?’

      She hadn’t known how to broach the subject of Edwin wearing something to protect her, but to her relief he brought out a small packet and swiftly covered himself. It was almost as painful the second time, mainly because Maxine was tense once more, made worse by Edwin telling her to relax and enjoy it. She tried to concentrate on him and his pleasure and was thankful the searing, throbbing pain began to subside the moment he pulled out of her.

      ‘You’re still as tight as a virgin,’ he said as they lay together afterwards. ‘It’s exciting for me but probably not so much for you.’ He kissed her swiftly on the lips. ‘You wouldn’t think you’d been married to your Johnny – for how long was it?’

      She was glad it was dark in the room and he couldn’t see the warmth rise to her cheeks. She wished he hadn’t mentioned Johnny.

      ‘He was away a lot and he was killed early on.’ She really didn’t want to talk about it; it made her feel she was being disloyal to Johnny’s memory.

      ‘It must have been awful for you,’ he murmured, ‘but I’m here now.’

      In the morning he made love to her again, and finally she told herself she was almost enjoying it.

      ‘It’s our secret, poppet,’ he said more than once. ‘Let’s keep it to ourselves. There’s too much gossip by far at the hospital and we both need to concentrate on our work.’

       Chapter Twelve

      She was only five days late. It was nothing, Maxine told herself. What with the war on and everyone’s energy about to snap at any moment through lack of sleep and too few staff, she shouldn’t expect to be on time, every time.

       But you’re never late.

      They’d managed several more dates, mostly ending in his bed, but Edwin had always been careful to use something.

       Except that very first time.

      Several more days passed. Maxine tried to put the worry to the back of her mind, but however busy she was, however demanding the patients, however rude Staff Nurse Johnson, it was always there. Was it possible …?

      And then one morning before breakfast she was sick. The suspicion, now confirmed, struck her with such force she almost reeled as she pulled herself up from the toilet bowl. She was going to have a baby. She felt sure of it.

      She rinsed her mouth and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked more like a patient than a nurse – her skin pink and blotchy, her eyes anxious. Despite her fears she smiled at the image. Everything would work out just fine. She loved him and he loved her. Being fourteen years older, he’d be thrilled to become a father at last. She hugged the thought to her. A baby. A baby with Edwin. Would it be a boy or a girl? She didn’t care, so long as it was healthy. He’d probably want a boy. Most men seemed to. But perhaps he wouldn’t care either.

      Now that it was real and she’d accepted the truth, she couldn’t wait to tell him the news.

      But she had to wait two more days as Edwin had gone to see his parents. He rarely spoke of them, and when he did it was usually not very complimentary, so she was rather taken aback that he was going to spend a whole weekend with them. But they were elderly, which pleased her, really, that he was keeping an eye on them.

      Edwin looked strained around the eyes and mouth when he came back to work on the Monday. Maxine wondered if he’d had a difficult time with his parents but she decided not to question him as the subject always seemed to put him in an irritable mood. Well, she was about to change his mood completely – change his life forever. And for the better.

      She went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, hoping he would follow her. He did.

      ‘Would you like a cuppa, Mr Blake,’ she teased, loving that she had to pretend there was nothing between them in front of the others, although she couldn’t help the image of their last time in bed together. Was he thinking of it too? She felt a stab of excitement at the memory of their arms and legs entwined …