‘Good boy,’ said Kathleen, reaching around. ‘Now you give it to Mummy to keep safe and you can have it when we get home.’ She didn’t want him taking big bites out of it when she couldn’t see him or he might choke.
Brian didn’t object and she turned her attention to the business in hand, buying ingredients for the next couple of days. It was a sad truth that receiving a pension as Ray’s widow meant she had money coming in more regularly than ever before. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was so much better than hoping for handouts from him, never knowing when they would come – or if at all. She and Brian had never eaten so well. Kathleen was clever at making something out of nearly nothing, having had to do so out of sheer necessity for so long, and now she found they could eat like kings if she budgeted carefully. Thanking the stallholder for his help, she loaded her bulging bag on to the wire basket beneath the pram, and made her way down the crowded thoroughfare to the stall which sold grains.
‘Shall we get some oats for your porridge?’ she asked Brian. ‘And pearl barley too,’ she said to the new stallholder. Barley stew was something she made a lot of; it was filling, and nourishing, and safe for Brian with his new teeth. She propped the big paper bag of it at the bottom of the pram. ‘Now you keep your feet away from it,’ she instructed her son, mock sternly.
The stallholder laughed. ‘He’ll be big enough to kick that soon,’ he observed.
‘It’s all your good food,’ Kathleen replied, thankful as she’d seen he had added a little extra to the bag before fastening it. That left only the fish stall. As meat was rationed, she had taken to buying fish when she could, but that meant coming more often as she had nowhere to keep it fresh.
Turning back into the fray of busy shoppers, some with small children tugging on their mothers’ coats, she became aware of a strange sensation, almost like a prickling at the back of her neck. She rubbed her scarf, hastily flung on earlier that morning. She must be imagining things. Frowning, she drew up at the fish stall and joined the small queue. Clarrie’s sister, who she knew slightly, was just ahead of her, and they passed the time while they waited.
‘And how are you getting on?’ asked the young woman, who had hair the exact same shade of red as Clarrie. ‘I heard about your husband. I know Peggy’s proper cut up about Pete, and I’m sorry you are on your own now.’
‘Oh, not too bad, thank you for asking,’ Kathleen said hurriedly. ‘This little one keeps me going. You have to carry on, don’t you?’
The woman nodded. ‘Well, I think you’re very brave,’ she said. ‘Oh, two fillets please.’ She turned to pay the fishmonger and Kathleen sighed with relief. She could not say what she really meant: she was glad Ray was dead.
She waved goodbye to Clarrie’s sister as she reached the head of the queue. The fishmonger recognised her and chatted easily as he took her order, making sure she got a good fillet and wrapping it carefully. Kathleen was pleased. That would be enough for her to eat simply grilled, with a little left over to break up and mash into potato for Brian. He wasn’t keen on fish on its own yet. She began to daydream about when he might be old enough to enjoy fish and chips as she pushed the pram back down between the stalls towards the main road.
There it was again, that strange prickling at the back of her neck. Kathleen turned round in puzzlement. A movement several stalls away caught her eye and she squinted in the bright sunshine to make out what it was. A figure had gone behind a striped awning but now appeared to be standing still. From what she could see of the person’s clothes, it was a man. He moved a little but did not step into the pathway between the stalls. It was almost as if he was teasing her.
He swayed towards the edge of the stall and then back again. This was silly, she told herself. What grown man would play games like this? She was seeing trouble where there was none. She moved to the next stall and examined the bolts of fabric, more for the pleasure of enjoying their contrasting patterns than with the intention of buying anything.
Just as she was about to turn around and resume her journey home, the man reappeared, but backlit by the sunshine she could not make out any definite details. He seemed to take a step towards her and then moved back into the shadow of the awning. It was very peculiar, to say the least.
Kathleen stood still as the crowds milled around her. What was all that about? Was he having a stupid bit of fun, or was he following her for some more sinister reason? Shaking her head, she told herself not to be fanciful. She had to get back to her dingy rooms on Jeeves Place and cook the fish before the heat of the day spoiled it. She didn’t have time to worry about men behaving oddly. She would put his strange behaviour straight out of her mind.
Yet as she pushed the pram along the main road, heavier now with all its shopping, the kernel of worry would not be dislodged.
Gladys flapped her duster out of the common-room window, careful to avoid two of the nurses who were propping their bikes in the cycle rack at the side of the yard. The dust rose in a puff, the air almost still and very warm. She glanced up at the sky, wondering if she might catch sight of any of the brave aircraft heading to the coast or Channel to defend the country from the Luftwaffe, in what was being described as the Battle of Britain. She wondered if she would have had the courage to be a pilot if she’d been a man. Sometimes she wished she could do more, something directly useful.
‘Penny for them.’ Alice stood right behind her.
Gladys wheeled around and almost banged her head on the window frame. ‘Oooh, you startled me.’ She still had to bite her lip not to call Alice ‘Miss’. Old habits died hard. ‘I was just looking for any planes. They must be up there somewhere. Going off to – what do they call them? – the dogfights.’
Alice came to stand beside her at the window and gazed into the cloudless blue. ‘Perhaps they’re further south. Or over Kent. It’s hard to say. But that’s where the dogfights are happening, apparently.’
Gladys nodded and then cleared her throat. ‘I been meaning to ask. How’s Edith? She’s so quiet around the place, I don’t like to speak to her direct.’
Alice took a moment. ‘She’s going to be all right,’ she said slowly. ‘She wouldn’t mind if you spoke to her, you know. She’s keeping going. The work helps.’
‘I can understand that.’ Gladys twisted her duster in her hands. ‘It’s so important, the work you all do.’
‘Well, so is yours,’ Alice pointed out. ‘We couldn’t manage if we didn’t have board and lodging all sorted out for us. It’s teamwork.’ She smiled but Gladys did not smile back.
‘I want to do more, Alice. I love going to the first-aid classes. I remember everything we’re taught. I wish I could read better and take exams and that.’
‘You’re improving so fast,’ Alice assured her, knowing that the young woman had hidden her shameful secret for years. Now she was finally learning she was making progress – but not enough yet to cope with nurses’ exams.
‘Anyway I can’t stop work to study. We need the cash, simple as that.’ Gladys grimaced. ‘Me ma can’t do without me wages, and I can always get home round the corner if something goes wrong with the little ones.’ It had been the burden of caring for her many younger siblings that had brought a halt to Gladys’s schooling in the first place.
‘If you keep up the reading and the first-aid course then something might come up,’ Alice ventured. ‘We don’t know what’s around the corner, but nurses will be needed even more than at the moment.’
‘Perhaps things will get easier when me sister is a bit older,’ Gladys replied, looking down at her feet as if she didn’t really believe it. ‘I was younger than she is now when I stopped everything to look after them. She helps a bit but not like what I had to. She’s a good girl though, doesn’t try to get out of her chores like some.’ She shook her head. It all seemed impossibly far in the future and gave her a headache to think about it. She tried to change the subject. ‘Oooh, what’s that you got there, a letter?’