Free Cousins at War by Doris Davidson Page A

to know that she had not been taken for granted over the past . .
. was it really nineteen years past November since their mother had died?
    Snuggling against Patsy in the three-quarter bed, Queenie forced her tears back. She had begun to like it here, having a temporary brother and sister had been fun, but at the
back of her mind there had always been the warming thought that she would be going home after the war. Now there was no home to go to; no mother and father to come to Aberdeen and take her back; no
grandmother and grandfather to exclaim over how much she had grown.
    ‘Oh, Patsy,’ she gulped, unable to bear it in silence any longer, ‘why did it have to happen? I’ve never done anything bad, and neither did Mum and Dad, so why did God
punish us? Is it because I’ve been happy here? Is it because I sometimes forgot London was still being bombed?’
    ‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t that.’ Patsy had no experience in comforting the bereaved, and wished with all her heart that she could find the proper words to soothe her
cousin.
    There was a short silence, broken only by small, hiccuppy sniffs, then Queenie whispered, ‘I suppose I’ll have to live here for ever?’
    ‘Don’t you want to live here now?’
    ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just . . . it’s going to feel different, knowing I have to.’
    ‘I’m glad you’ll be staying here . . . I mean . . .’ Patsy felt confused. ‘I’m not glad about why, but I’m glad you won’t be going away. I like
having you to speak to. Neil’s all right, but he couldn’t speak about things I wanted to speak about . . . and he’d never have let me put his hair in curlers.’
    Giving a faint gurgle of amusement, Queenie said, ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you, Patsy. You make me forget . . . for a little while, anyway.’
    ‘Good. Now, we’d better try to get some sleep, or else we won’t feel like getting up at rising time, and I’ll have to go back to work.’
    Hetty and her daughter arrived at quarter past nine the following morning. ‘Olive hasn’t got any lectures today till later on,’ she said. ‘Where’s
Queenie?’
    ‘I made her stop in bed,’ Gracie explained. ‘She’ll need a while to get over it.’
    ‘We’ll all need a while to get over it. I can hardly take it in yet myself. Will any of us have to go to the funeral? You didn’t say when you phoned last night.’
    After hearing what Mrs Bertram had written, she said, ‘It seems terrible that none of Donnie’s sisters will be there to see him buried, but I suppose it happens all the
time.’
    ‘Joe and me didn’t get much chance to speak properly till we went to bed, but he reminded me we wouldn’t have anywhere to stay if we went down there, and I couldn’t leave
Queenie just now, anyway.’ Ashamed of how she had given way when she was alone with her husband, Gracie did not describe how long Joe had held her, how he had kissed her tears away, how he
had convinced her that their duty to Donnie and Helene lay in comforting and caring for their daughter.
    Queenie came through just after half past ten, and Gracie was thankful that Hetty didn’t overdo her condolences. Olive said nothing until her mother prodded her, then she went to her
cousin, shaking hands stiffly and saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ in a not very convincing manner. Queenie did have a little weep, it was only to be expected, but she was soon talking quite
calmly about her parents. It seemed to Gracie that by airing her memories of them, she was bent on inscribing them indelibly in her heart so that she would never forget them.
    Olive sat stone-faced, and her aunt wished that she hadn’t come . . . she was still a spoiled brat even if she was at the university and should know better. Just after eleven, Hetty stood
up. ‘Raymond comes home at half past twelve, and I’ve nothing made for lunch yet. Would you like to come with me, Queenie? Olive’s to go to Medical School, and I’ll be glad
of