Chapter Three
They had all gone into the garden to inspect the Anderson shelter before it got too dark. The boys considered that sleeping in it would be a ripping adventure, and had to be forcefully made to understand it was for emergencies only. The adults were less enthusiastic, and there was muttering about seeking shelter in the basement or under the stairs until Peggy put her foot down and told them in no uncertain terms that they had no alternative.
She told Jim what needed to be done to make it more habitable, and, so he wouldn’t forget, handed him the list she’d made earlier before showing everyone where she’d stacked the spare blankets and pillows so they could be grabbed on the way down to the basement door. She had already placed the paraffin heater and Primus stove in the shelter along with a battered camping kettle and saucepan. A dozen candles and a big box of Swan Vesta matches were in an old biscuit tin to keep them dry.
Sally had watched in admiration as Peggy had organised everyone. Ron was to be in charge of the boys when the siren sounded, but the dog and ferrets would have to remain in the basement. She and Jim would take care of Mrs Finch, and the Pole would make sure everyone on the top floor had been accounted for, and that Sally could manage with Ernie. Once this was organised, they’d returned to the warmth of the house and the delicious aroma of stew.
The large dining room had an ornate fireplace and mantel, and bay windows hidden behind heavy velvet curtains that were lined with blackout material. Several small tables had been put together to accommodate them all, and these were covered with colourful cloths. The chairs didn’t match, the cutlery was diverse, and Ernie had to sit on two cushions to reach his plate. But none of it mattered, for the atmosphere was warm and friendly, and Sally began to feel a little more at ease.
She had been content to watch and listen as the family chatted about their day, Ernie and Charlie tried to outdo each other with tall stories, and Ron continued his argument with his son Jim that if he was going to die, then it would be in his own bed, with his animals beside him – and not in some hole in the ground with a tin roof.
Peggy was a real mother, she realised wistfully. The sort of woman who would offer comfort and advice, even a hug if necessary, and would never dream of abandoning her family for the bright lights of the nearest pub. And yet she was fully in charge of her household and plainly stood no nonsense. It was clear she adored her handsome husband, Jim, who had the same twinkling eyes and soft Irish brogue as his father – and used them to full effect. Possessed with the sort of charm that made women look at him twice, Sally suspected Peggy didn’t always have an easy time with him.
Mrs Finch was aptly named, for she was a tiny, birdlike woman who chattered away regardless of whether anyone was listening, her grey head bobbing as she consumed a surprising amount of stew and apple dumplings. The Polish airman who, to everyone’s relief, insisted they called him Alex, was quietly spoken with lovely manners, but Sally thought he had sad eyes and wondered why.
Cissy had stuck her blonde head around the door to greet everyone before disappearing upstairs. The meal was almost over by the time she returned in a cloud of perfume to announce she didn’t have time to eat because she’d be late for the theatre. Blowing a kiss to them all in dramatic fashion, she ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Anne had left soon after and, with a stiff little bow, Alex went back up to his room to study the English textbooks Anne had lent him. Mrs Finch settled down to her knitting by the kitchen fire, the dog lying across her feet until Ron took him out for his nightly walk to the pub.
As Sally had helped with the washing-up, she’d wondered what Martin Black was like. It sounded very romantic to be stepping out with a handsome and, no doubt, dashing RAF officer, and part of her wished that she too could go dancing or to the pictures. But as she said goodnight and carried a protesting Ernie upstairs, she realised that all the while she had him to care for, she wouldn’t get the chance. She felt no bitterness – it was a fact of life.
Ernie hadn’t wanted a bath; like Sally, he wasn’t used to such a big tub or so much water, and at first it had been a struggle to get him into it. She was soaked by the time he finally allowed her to wash him and, once he was clean and dry, and tucked up in bed, she’d sunk into the warm, slightly grubby water and closed her eyes with a deep sigh.
The first day was over and she felt slightly easier now she’d met everyone. But it still felt odd to be far from home, and for the first time in her life she felt a pang of something close to yearning for those cramped rooms in Bow. The Reillys seemed to be a warm-hearted and welcoming family – but they weren’t her family, and she must guard against the temptation to ever believe they could be.
Peggy had sorted out the boys, helped Mrs Finch to bed and finished the ironing. Now she was sitting beside the range with her knitting, listening to a concert on the wireless. Jim had gone back to work at the cinema for the evening session, Cissy was dancing in the revue at The Apollo, and Anne had gone to meet Martin. Sally and Ernie were upstairs, and no doubt Ron had taken Harvey to The Anchor, and was ogling the middle-aged landlady’s magnificent bosom as usual.
She chuckled as she counted stitches and changed needles. Ron had been widowed for nearly thirty years, and who could blame him for lusting after the luscious Rosie Braithwaite? He’d been at it for years with no luck at all – it seemed her determination to keep him at arm’s length was as strong as her knicker-elastic, for Ron had got no further than a peck on the cheek under the mistletoe at Christmas.
But then, she reasoned, the fun was in the chase, and perhaps they preferred to keep things as they were? She carried on knitting, but the music that poured softly from the wireless wasn’t really holding her attention. Her thoughts kept drifting to Sally and her little brother.
The boy was settling in well, thanks to Charlie and Ron, but she was worried about Sally. She looked about fourteen and was too thin and pale, far too young to have the responsibility of looking after Ernie as well as holding down a job in a factory. What was her mother thinking of?
Peggy sighed and put down her knitting. The girl had put on a brave face during the evening, and Peggy admired her spirit, but it was clear she’d been crying beforehand, and was no doubt feeling homesick and disorientated. It would be hard for her until she found her feet, and Peggy fully understood why. This large house full of strangers must be daunting after what she suspected were a mean few rooms in Bow. At least there she would have been amongst her own people who looked out for her. She’d heard about the strong community spirit in the East End, and hoped for Sally’s sake it was true. She couldn’t bear the thought that she’d struggled alone.
She had tried gently questioning her as they’d washed the dishes and put them away, but Sally was a proud little thing and had revealed very little, other than that her mother worked in a factory and her father was a merchant seaman. Reading between the lines, Peggy suspected there was little love lost between mother and daughter, but Sally’s face had lit up when she talked about her father. It was clear he meant the world to her, and was probably the lynchpin that held the little family together despite his long absences at sea.
She tucked the knitting away in its bag, turned off the wireless, and stared into the red heart of the fire. At least Sally had been given a stamped addressed envelope so she could send a note to her mother telling her where they were – but the girl’s doubt that there would be a reply was an indication of the mother’s lack of concern, and Peggy had had to resist the urge to add a strongly worded postscript. It wouldn’t help anyone – least of all Sally and Ernie.
Peggy gave a deep sigh. They were a pair of waifs, and her soft heart yearned to make things right for them during the time they were with her – but she knew she must never overstep the mark and take on the role of mother to either of them, for one day they would have to go back to where they came from, and she had her own children to look after.
‘Excuse please. I not disturb?’
Peggy gave a start. ‘My goodness, you made me jump, Mr Chemy … Chemyes …’
‘Please, you must call me Alex,’ he reminded her gently, as he stepped into the kitchen. ‘I am sorry to make you jump, but I not have the right money for meter in my room.’
She smiled up at him and got to her feet to reach for the tin on the mantelpiece. He had lovely manners and was probably the most charming guest ever to have set foot in her house. She would quite miss him when he left. ‘That’s easily sorted. Come and sit by the fire while I find some change. It must be cold up there.’
His smile creased the corners of his eyes as he perched on the edge of a kitchen chair. ‘I am used to the winters in Poland, Mrs Reilly. But with no fire to give colour and life, it is a little bleak, I think.’
She wasn’t sure if he meant the weather was bleak, or if he was referring to his room. Deciding it was just his being Polish that made it difficult for him to express himself properly, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. After all, she reasoned, he’d only arrived a couple of weeks ago. She took his pound note, stuffed it in the tin and gave him the right money back.
‘You will please explain these coins to me?’ He spread them on the table.
Peggy sorted through them. ‘This is a shilling, what we call a “bob”, and this is sixpence – that’s half a shilling, but it’s usually called a “tanner”, and these are threepenny bits. These big ones are half-crowns – they’re worth two shilling and sixpence. The sixpenny bits go in the meter.’
Aleksy frowned, clearly still baffled.
She tipped some pennies and farthings from the tin to help her explain more clearly. ‘So,’ she said, ‘there’re four of these farthings to the penny. Twelve pennies to the bob, and twenty bob to the pound – or what some call a “quid”.’
He reached into the breast-pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small notebook and a stub of pencil. As Peggy went through it all again, he noted it down before returning the pad to his pocket. ‘Thank you. It is most complicated, I think. I will learn like schoolboy, as with my English, eh?’
She liked his smile: it lit up his eyes and took the sadness away. He must be lonely so very far from home where everything from the language to the money was strange and confusing – but then her home seemed to be a magnet for the lost and dispossessed these days.
‘Don’t feel you have to go,’ she said, as he gathered up the coins and rose from the chair. ‘I was just going to make some cocoa – it will have to be powdered milk, I’m afraid; the boys finished the fresh at teatime.’ She smiled up at him warmly. ‘Would you like some?’
‘Ah, the famous English cocoa. I have heard of this. Thank you. I would like to try.’ He sat down again, his long legs stretched towards the warmth of the fire as he lit a cigarette.
Peggy measured out the powdered milk and added water to the pan before setting it on the hotplate. Stirring in the cocoa powder, she was aware of him watching her closely. ‘It won’t really taste the same without proper milk, but needs must.’
‘I am certain it will be delicious,’ he murmured.
She waited for it to thicken and carefully divided it between the two mugs. To her annoyance, her hand slipped as she was carrying it to the table, and she splashed hot cocoa on to the cloth.
‘I will clean.’
Before she could protest, he’d leapt to his feet, fetched the cloth from the sink, wiped away the spill, rinsed out the cloth and hung it over the tap. This was such an unusual sight that Peggy could only stare at him.
‘I am sorry,’ he said with a frown. ‘You not like me to do this thing?’
Gathering her wits, she gave an uncertain laugh. ‘You can do any job you like about the place,’ she said. ‘It’s just a surprise to see a man lend a hand, that’s all.’
His frown deepened. ‘Your husband, he does not do these things?’
‘It would never occur to him,’ she muttered. Realising she was being disloyal, she swiftly added, ‘But then he’s good at other things.’ What these were, she couldn’t quite recall, and she covered her embarrassment by taking the proffered cigarette from the packet of Park Drive and letting him light it.
‘I like this cocoa,’ said Aleksy, after he’d taken a sip. ‘It is very good.’
‘That’s good,’ she replied, fishing a shred of tobacco from her tongue. ‘You’ll probably get quite a lot of it if you’re staying in England a while.’
‘I am here for as long as the RAF needs me,’ he said. ‘But of course I will not always be permitted to remain in your delightful home. I will soon be sent to the airbase barracks to help instruct the Polish fliers.’
She laughed and shot a glance over the battered furniture, worn lino and draughty windows. ‘I’d hardly call this delightful,’ she replied. ‘The whole kitchen needs a coat of paint, new windows and lino – and I don’t know what else.’
His handsome face grew solemn, his eyes darkening with some inner pain. ‘It is delightful, Mrs Reilly, because it is a home. You have your family here – and that is the most important of things, I think.’
She nodded in agreement and thoughtfully puffed on the cigarette. She was certainly lucky she didn’t have sons old enough to be involved in the fighting. ‘Where is your home, Alex?’
‘Warsaw,’ he said quietly, gazing now into the depths of his cocoa. ‘My family is still there. They did not manage to escape the siege.’ He lifted his head, his eyes unnaturally bright. ‘I do not know if they are still alive. But I pray each night that they are.’
Peggy felt terrible. ‘Oh, Alex. And here’s me moaning about a bit of paint and lino.’ She took a sip of cocoa, her thoughts focused on the awful news reports that had come out of Poland in recent weeks. ‘How did you manage to escape to England?’
He seemed to pull himself together, and even managed a wry smile. ‘I was pilot in Spain during Civil War. I was shot down and taken prisoner. But I finally manage to escape and get back to my squadron.’
‘You must have been very brave,’ she murmured.
He gave a self-deprecating smile and shrugged as he threw the stub of his cigarette into the fire. ‘I am very careless, for I was shot down again. I am in hospital for long time. When I am better the war in Spain is over, but Warsaw is under siege and I cannot go home.’
He scrubbed his face with his hands, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the firelight. ‘I try so hard to reach my family, but is impossible now my country is in enemy hands. Now all I can do is wait and pray that I may see them again.’
‘I hope your prayers are answered,’ she said softly.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘It has been good to speak of them. When I am with other Poles we do not talk of families and home – it is not good for keeping mind clear for job we must do.’ He dug into the breast-pocket again and pulled out a worn leather wallet. ‘You would like to see photograph? I carry it for long time, but I look at it every night.’
She took the creased and faded photograph and regarded the sweetly pretty face of his dark-haired wife and smiling child who sat beside another young woman and an elderly couple in what looked like a sunlit garden. She felt tears prick as she handed the precious photograph back. ‘You have a lovely family, Alex. Thank you for showing me.’
‘It is I who am in your debt.’ He finished the cocoa and stood. Taking her hand, he kissed the air above it as he clicked his heels and bowed. ‘And now I return to my English books. I do not have my sister’s skill with languages, so I must work very hard I think. Good night, Mrs Reilly.’
Peggy sat for a long while after he’d left, staring into the flames, trying to imagine how it must feel to not know if your entire family were alive or dead. She had so many things to be grateful for.
‘Mum? I didn’t expect you to still be up.’
Peggy emerged from her thoughts and smiled as Anne slipped off her coat and sat beside her. ‘Did you have a good evening? Where did he take you?’
‘We went dancing at the Regency Hotel.’ She eased off her high-heeled peep-toed shoes and wriggled her feet. ‘I don’t think I’ve sat down all evening. Those RAF boys certainly know how to wear a girl out.’
‘Well, it doesn’t seem to have harmed you much,’ said Peggy with a smile. ‘Want some cocoa?’
Anne shook her head and sat forward, her expression suddenly serious. ‘He wants to take me to meet his parents,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so, but it’s all a bit soon, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose it is, but with the way things are at the moment, there’s not much point in hanging about.’ Peggy studied her daughter, seeing the battle of hope and doubt in her expression and wondered what it was that was holding her back. ‘But if you’re not sure about your feelings, I agree, it would be wise to wait a bit.’
‘He got his orders today,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s leaving Cliffehaven Monday week.’
‘Oh.’
‘He can’t tell me where he’s going, of course, but he promises it isn’t too far away, and that he’ll be able to see me when he’s on leave or stood down.’ She flicked back her hair and fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, her gaze not quite meeting her mother’s. ‘He says his parents want to meet me, and that they’ve invited me to lunch next Sunday.’ Her brown eyes finally settled on her mother. ‘I can’t really refuse, can I? It would be terribly rude.’
Peggy had watched her closely and suspected she knew the reason behind her reluctance. ‘You don’t have to accept the invitation,’ she began. ‘If they still want to meet you in a few weeks’ time, you can go then.’ She touched her daughter’s hand. ‘Are you afraid that if you go, it will give out the wrong message?’
Anne nodded. ‘We’ve only known each other a couple of months, and meeting his parents is taking things a bit too quickly.’
‘Have you told him that?’
‘Mmm. But he said he didn’t want to wait any longer, and what with him already flying missions, he doesn’t want to risk …’ Her brown eyes were tear-filled as she looked at her mother. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mum,’ she murmured. ‘I do love him, really I do, and it would be simply awful if anything happened to him. But it’s all moving so fast, and I feel I’m being pressured.’
Peggy stood and gathered her into her arms. ‘Then tell him you’ll see his parents another time, and that you need to be certain about things before you rush into them. If he loves you, he’ll understand.’
There were questions Peggy wanted to ask, but was afraid to hear the answers, so she kept silent. She and Jim had met when he was on leave during the First World War. They had rushed into things and, before she’d known it, she was expecting Anne. Jim had done the right thing by marrying her, but those first years had been tough, and there had been many a time since then that she’d doubted whether he really loved her.
But then Jim had never been a man to turn down the favours of a pretty woman and, although it broke her heart, she’d had to live with that knowledge, and rein him in when things got overheated. They were happy enough, and she still adored him, but like his father, he was a man who walked his own path.
‘We haven’t … you know … Done anything,’ said Anne hesitantly, her face reddening.
‘Good,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘Just you make sure it stays that way until you get a wedding ring on your finger.’
Anne’s blush deepened. ‘But I do love him, Mum. So much. It’s really difficult …’
‘I think you and young Martin should do your courting here,’ said Peggy. ‘You can have the dining room after tea. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.’
Anne visibly relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She kissed Peggy’s cheek. ‘I’ll tell Martin next time he telephones.’
‘You do that, love.’ She kissed Anne goodnight and began to clear away the mugs. But her hands stilled as she set the crockery in the sink. Her daughter was a vital young woman who was being forced to face a world in which nothing was certain. Perhaps she and Martin were meant for each other – perhaps it was just a momentary fling brought on by the excitement of war and the sense that every day had to be lived as if it was the last. Either way, Peggy didn’t want her daughter to get hurt – and although she couldn’t always protect her, she could at least help give her a bit of breathing space until she knew what she wanted.
Sally lay awake long after Cissy and Anne had stopped talking next door. She wasn’t used to sleeping alone, and was alert for any sound of distress coming from Ernie. He had surprised her by willingly clambering into the narrow bed Jim Reilly had carried up earlier. At six, he’d informed her, he was old enough to sleep in his own bed like his new best friend Charlie.
Sally luxuriated in being able to stretch out, to have the pillow to herself, and not be kicked and nudged throughout the night. She snuggled beneath the eiderdown ready for sleep – but it was too quiet, and she found herself listening for some sign that there was life in the streets below.
Back in Bow she’d become used to hearing the men fighting outside the pub at closing time, and had learned to sleep through the neighbours’ screaming matches, the banging of doors and the thuds of heavy boots on wooden floorboards. Those sounds had been her lullaby since childhood, and now the silence seemed to creep in on her, making her wakeful and restless.
Sally stared at the slither of moonlight that knifed across the ceiling from between the curtains, her thoughts on home and the life she’d left behind. The girls at the factory in Bow would be out on the town still, and looking forward to the weekend. She missed them, especially Ruby, and hoped she would find it easy to make friends with the girls in the factory down here. She wasn’t usually shy, and could stand up for herself, but as the new girl she would have to keep her head down and her mouth shut, until she’d worked out the order of things.
Factory life had its hierarchy, just as everyday life did. The boss sat in his office high above the factory floor, his overseer marching back and forth along the lines of machines as he barked out the orders, and organised the cutters, packers and machinists. But the real power lay with the women who sat at their machines day after day, and although Sally had only been fourteen when she’d started working there, she’d quickly learned she must stand her ground, and prove herself if she was to survive that first week.
There were always those who led, those who bullied and formed intimidating cliques, and those who simply faded into the background. Sally had firmly avoided getting roped into the sometimes malicious gossip, had learned to laugh at the smutty jokes she didn’t understand, and to get on with her work. For every item of underwear finished and passed earned her another few pennies.
She experienced a flutter of nervous excitement as she thought about her new job. Goldman’s factory had once made underwear too but, according to her old boss, they had secured a licence to make uniforms. But the best news was that the wages were higher, set each week and not reliant upon how many garments were made. Not having to pay rent here, or give half her earnings to Florrie, would be her chance to save some money, rent her own machine and get her home dressmaking business up and running again.
It had just started to flourish in Bow when she’d had to leave, and she hoped it wouldn’t be long before she could begin again, here, where people had more money. If successful, she could then look after Ernie and give him all he needed without having to rely on anyone else. With this pleasant thought, her eyelids fluttered and sleep began to claim her.
‘Sal? Sal, I don’t like it on my own. I’m cold.’
Sally dragged herself awake and reached for him. ‘Come on, luv,’ she murmured. ‘It’s toasty warm in here with me.’ She lifted the bedclothes and he crept in beside her.
But as she cuddled him close, she came fully awake. He was soaking wet.
‘Ernie,’ she whispered fiercely, as she frantically threw off the bedclothes and hauled him out of her bed before his sodden pyjamas could wet that too. ‘Oh, Ernie, no wonder you’re so cold.’
‘I’m sorry, Sal. I didn’t mean to.’ He clung to her, his legs wrapped round her waist, his face buried in her neck.
‘I know you didn’t, luv,’ she said, swiftly stripping off the borrowed pyjamas and bundling him in a towel. ‘Sit on the chair while I clean up. If you want to go again – then use the po.’ She pointed at the china chamber pot Mrs Reilly had placed under the bed, and hurried to strip Ernie’s bed. The blanket was, thankfully, only slightly damp, but the sheets and mattress were soaked.
Sally was almost in tears as she used the dry corner of one of the sheets to try and get the worst out of the mattress. It would stain, she was certain, and it had looked brand new when Mr Reilly had brought it upstairs.
Having done her best with the wet patch, she hauled the mattress over to the gas fire and fed in one of the tanners Mrs Reilly had given her. It would take all night to dry and probably cost far more than a single tanner, but she dared not let the mattress ruin. Mrs Reilly would be furious.
Ernie sniffled and shivered as he huddled into the towel. ‘I’m cold, Sal. I wanna go back to bed.’
Sally tamped down on the rising panic and dragged on her overcoat to cover the petticoat she used as a nightdress. Having gathered up the soaking sheets and pyjamas, she perched Ernie on her hip. ‘I got to wash these, first,’ she whispered. ‘You too,’ she added, wrinkling her nose. ‘God, Ernie, you pick yer moments, don’t yer? You ain’t done this for years.’
‘I wanna go ’ome, Sal,’ he whined.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she whispered back. ‘I thought you and Charlie was getting on like an ’ouse on fire?’
He shrugged and buried his head in her shoulder. ‘Will Mrs Reilly be cross with me, like Mum?’
‘Course not,’ she replied, fearing that Mrs Reilly would probably have them both out on their ears if she found out Ernie wet the bed. She tiptoed down the stairs to the bathroom and pulled down the blackout blind before turning on the light and locking the door.
Sitting him on the chair in the corner, she lit the boiler and flinched at the loud noise it made. Surely the whole house would be woken? She stood very still in the centre of the bathroom and listened. When she was satisfied no-one was stirring, she turned the taps just enough to quietly cover the bottom of the huge tub with a couple of inches of water. ‘Now, Ernie,’ she whispered with some urgency. ‘You’re not to make a noise. Not a word. You understand?’
‘But I don’t want another ba—’
‘Shush. You’ll have the whole ’ouse awake.’ She slipped off her coat and hung it on the hook at the back of the door.
He sat sullenly in the few inches of water as she soaped him, but perked up when she bundled him back in the towel and plonked him on the chair. ‘I’m thirsty,’ he declared in his piping voice. ‘Can I have a drink?’
‘That’s the last thing you’ll get. Sit there and don’t make a sound while I wash these.’ The tone of her furious whisper seemed enough to silence him, and Sally dumped the sheets and pyjama trousers into the bath. She worked up a good lather and scrubbed them as hard as she could, rinsing them under the tap, checking there were no stains left before she wrung them out.
‘I’m tired, Sal. I wanna go to sleep.’
‘In a minute.’
The sheets were dripping, but there was nowhere she dared hang them. Frantic and tearful, Sally eyed the mop and bucket in the corner. She carried the bucket across the room to the sturdy radiator, tied a corner of the sheet to one of the pipes, and began to twist it tighter and tighter, squeezing as much water out of it as she could.
Some of it went in the bucket, but most of it puddled on the linoleum. She quickly mopped the floor and repeated the process with the other sheet. Satisfied she’d managed to get them as dry as possible, she hurriedly mopped the floor again.
‘Can I go to bed now?’ Ernie asked sleepily.
‘Not until you’ve been to the lav,’ she whispered back. ‘I can’t risk you doing this again tonight.’ She put on her coat and carried him into the lavatory. When he was done, she didn’t dare pull the chain, for the noise it made could wake the dead.
Once back in their room, she dressed him in his pants and vest and settled him back in his bed, using a dry folded towel as a mattress. Covering him with the eiderdown, she kissed his cheek and smoothed back the lick of hair from his brow. He was a dear little kid, and it wasn’t his fault he’d wet the bed. But Sally feared Ernie’s bedwetting might continue – and, if it did, then Mrs Reilly was bound to find out sooner or later. It was vital she could think of some way of stopping him.
After a hasty check on the steaming mattress to make sure it wasn’t getting scorched, she hurried back down to the bathroom. Gathering up everything, she checked the bathroom was clean and tidy, and that there was no sign of the night’s escapade before closing the door softly behind her.
Returning to their room, she opened the doors on the big wardrobe and hung the sheets over them. The pyjama bottoms were suspended from the mantel above the gas fire, held in place by her heavy shoes. It smelled like a laundry, she realised, and quickly opened the window a few notches to let the cold night air in.
Ernie was fast asleep, curled like a cat on the folded towel, and seemingly undisturbed by the trouble he’d caused.
Sally took off her coat, climbed into her bed and pulled the eiderdown and blanket round her. She was cold to the bone and exhausted, but her heart still raced and she couldn’t dismiss the thought that tonight might only be the start of her worries.