Free Far From Home by Ellie Dean Page A

coming grandchild warmed her heart as she entered the kitchen, and she smiled down at Anne who was sitting at the cluttered breakfast table with Mrs Finch. She had too much to lose, and divorce had never been an option, she acknowledged, as she placed the bottles of milk on the stone slab in the larder. She would knuckle down and carry on – deal with Jim and his peccadilloes, and ensure the smooth running of this household as she always did: quietly, determinedly and without histrionics.
    ‘Will you be able to stay for a while?’ she asked Anne.
    She shook her head, making her lovely dark hair bounce against her shoulders. ‘Sorry, Mum. I’m expected back before one, and it takes a bit of time cycling up all those hills.’
    ‘Should you be using that bicycle now? I mean, it’s not very comfortable, and what if you fall off?’
    Anne laughed and took her hand. ‘The last time I fell off a bike I was eight,’ she said. ‘Don’t fuss, Mum. I’m pregnant, not unbalanced and feeble.’
    The three of them turned as June, Suzy and Fran clattered down the stairs and shouted their goodbyes before hurrying out of the front door. ‘They seem a lively bunch,’ said Anne, returning to her cup of tea.
    ‘They certainly keep me on my toes,’ agreed Peggy, ‘but I like having them around. The house seemed so empty once you and Sally and the boys left.’
    Anne patted her hand in sympathy, and then glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece above the range. ‘Shouldn’t Cissy be back by now?’
    Peggy looked at her watch and frowned. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I wonder what’s keeping her?’
    As if on cue, Cissy’s key turned in the lock and she hurried into the kitchen. ‘Sorry I’m late. There was a bit of a flap on because the costumes had been left out during the raid, and half a ceiling of plaster fell on them. I’ve just spent two hours trying to get them clean enough to wear tonight.’
    She smiled at Mrs Finch as she pushed back the blonde hair she’d styled like Dorothy Lamour’s and sat down. ‘Hello, Anne,’ she said through a vast yawn. ‘Good to see you. You’re looking well. Any more tea in that pot? I’m parched.’
    ‘Anne’s got some lovely news,’ said Peggy as she added more water to the pot and swirled the leaves round, hoping it wouldn’t be too weak.
    ‘Oh, yes?’ Cissy clearly wasn’t really listening as she scrabbled in her handbag for a handkerchief.
    ‘I’m expecting a baby,’ breathed Anne.
    Cissy’s blue eyes widened momentarily. ‘Congratulations,’ she murmured, dabbing the handkerchief under her nose. ‘When’s it due?’
    ‘Sometime in February,’ replied Anne with a frown.
    ‘That’s nice.’ Cissy balled the handkerchief in her fist and stared into her cup as she stirred the spoon round and round in the weak, sugarless tea.
    Peggy could see she was distracted, Anne’s happy news hardly registering. Her youngest daughter had always been rather self-centred, but she and Anne had been close despite their different aspirations, and it was most unlike Cissy to be almost dismissive of such momentous news. Deciding she was probably tired and out of sorts, she let it pass for now. ‘How did the show go last night?’
    Cissy shrugged. ‘Okay. The air raid didn’t help, of course.’
    Peggy surreptitiously watched her daughter as she continued to stir the tea. Cissy was almost nineteen, and she and Jim had reluctantly agreed to her joining a travelling troupe of artistes on the understanding they didn’t go further than the county borders. It was all Cissy had ever dreamed of – although it was a very small troupe, with no famous names attached to it, and it was unlikely to provide the fame and fortune Cissy had craved ever since her first dance class at the local church hall. But the enthusiasm and ambition for show-business life seemed to have waned over the past few weeks, the cheery, breathless excitement that had always been such an intrinsic part of Cissy