Free The War Widows by Leah Fleming

two at a time.
    Esme, winded by the news, sat down in a heap. Ivy had no tea strainer between her brain and her mouth, Lily sighed. Freddie couldn’t help them now. She stood in the hall, not knowing which way to turn. ‘At least they do speak English of sorts, one better than the other,’ she offered. ‘Poor souls had no idea about each other. Both sat there waiting for the same soldier to pick them up. You could cut the ice in the back of the van. What was I to do? I couldn’t leave them, not with little kiddies in the middle of winter.’
    ‘Levi, come up here. We’re keeping out of this mess!’ shouted Ivy from the top of the landing.
    ‘You’d better calm your wife down.’ Esme took a deep breath and rose again, her chest heaving under the gold link chain she wore when expecting company. ‘I suppose I’ll have to deal with this mess myself.’
    ‘Perhaps I should get Walter over to help us,’ Lily offered, feeling in need of some support.
    ‘Whatever for? He’d be neither use nor ornament, Lil. Leave him be.’
    There was nothing to do but follow Mother down those steps, throwing prayers to the Almighty, hoping for once that she would find the right words to calm the frightened passengers and not have them running through the dark streets in fear of her fury, Lily thought. Better to push in front and get the first word in herself.
    ‘This is Freddie’s mother, Mrs Winstanley. She wants to speak to you,’ Lily mouthed as if to a child. ‘We have tea for you inside and milk for the little ones, yes?’
    The two girls looked at each other and then at the grey-haired matron who hovered over them, gold chains clanking above a smart grey two-piece jersey suit.
    At least her face softened at the sight of these waifs and strays taking the sting out of her bite momentarily.
    ‘Come in, ladies. We must talk to you and outside is not the place. There’s obviously been some terrible mistake.’ Esme pointed the way, looking up and down the street to see if there was an audience.
    Were the curtains twitching across at number nineteen? Doris Pickvance, the local ‘News of the World’ was going to get an eyeful if she spotted the little procession of refugees, babies and baggage squeezing out of the black van. It would be all down Division Street by chucking-out time at the Coach and Horses that the Winstanleys were opening a hostel for displaced persons.
    Slowly the girls edged themselves out of the back, crumpled and forlorn, unravelling their clinging toddlers. Lily picked up a fallen doll as they made their way up the steps.
    ‘Where is my Stan? Why is he not here to greet me? I wrote him many letters. What is wrong?’ Susan was clutching her struggling child, who was draped over her shoulder, her eyes on stalks as faces peered down the stairwell.
    ‘Come inside and sit down,’ said Esme in a soft voice, moved by the plight of these orphans of the night.
    They sat down shyly, not looking at each other.
    ‘Lil will get you a drink.’
    ‘No, thank you,’ replied the Burmese woman, sittingupright like a ramrod. ‘Please, where is Stan? I wrote and he said I should write to you. No one came to the ship to meet me.’
    ‘You are Miss Brown still, or did my son make you his bride before he left?’ Mother was looking down at her ringless finger. Lily didn’t know where to look so she bowed her head.
    ‘It was our wish to marry but the Army, it said there was no rush to “marry foreign”. I told them straight, no beating bushes, Mister Stan made promises and he gave me a gift.’ She unlaced her shoe and fiddled in the toe, bringing out a pair of solid gold earrings studded with bright rubies. ‘I kept them safe with our precious baby.’
    ‘That’s as may be, Miss Brown.’ Esme glanced briefly at the jewels, trying to look unimpressed by the size and depth of their colour. Then it was the other girl’s turn for a grilling.
    ‘We don’t even know your name…Miss…? We had no letter from my