Free When the Lights Come on Again by Maggie Craig Page B

something flicker in her father’s eyes. It was gone so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.
    His lack of response was making Sadie more and more nervous. She dropped the teaspoons on the floor and had to run them under the tap. When she put the cups and saucers out, they rattled noisily. Her husband sat waiting to be served, breathing heavily and tutting whenever she did something wrong. It made Liz so angry ... but if she or Eddie stood up for their mother it only made matters worse.
    Her own escapade tonight hadn’t helped. Liz laid the milk jug and sugar bowl on the table. Her father glanced up at her.
    ‘You look like a hoyden, Elizabeth. When did you last brush your hair? And you’ve torn your skirt.’ He pointed to the threads which had been pulled by the nail as she had hurtled round into the lane. ‘That’s sheer carelessness.’
    What was she supposed to say to that? Yes, Father, I probably do look like a hoyden. Thanks for the compliment. Nice of you to take an interest in my appearance.
    ‘Well?’ he demanded.
    ‘Sorry, Father,’ she mumbled as she slipped into her seat. She hoped that would do. She should have known better. The tirade began with ‘Sorry’s all very well, my girl.’ It went on through the cost of clothes and the necessity for a young lady like herself - especially now that she was the daughter of a shipyard manager - to look neat and smart at all times. Ye gods!
    The tongue-lashing ended as it usually did, with a shaking of the head over Liz’s ingratitude - to him for providing her with a roof over her head and to her mother for all the cooking and cleaning she did for her children. That was the only time he ever said anything remotely complimentary about his wife - when he was using her as a stick to beat Liz over the head with.
    Liz had learned a long time ago not to answer back. Not out loud, at any rate. She suspected her father knew that very well. There was something in her character which infuriated him. He called it a rebellious streak. She called it survival - a refusal to be bullied.
    Last week she had read an article in the Evening Citizen about how so many girls didn’t fancy nursing because of the discipline of nurses’ homes. It couldn’t be worse than this. She’d happily submit herself to it.
    The possibility was there. The Voluntary Aid Detachment nursing auxiliaries were to be split into mobile and non-mobile. If you were mobile, you might be sent anywhere. Away from here.
    She shot a swift glance across the table at her mother. Listening to her husband lambasting their daughter, Sadie was white-faced and drawn.
    Liz experienced a huge flood of guilt. She was putting her mother in a difficult enough position as it was. There was no way she could apply to become a mobile VAD. It was completely out of the question. She couldn’t leave Sadie to cope with him on her own, or to deal with the ructions which would inevitably follow her own departure.
    Funny to think that her parents had once loved to dance with each other. Almost unimaginable. Not because they were old. They weren’t. Sadie wasn’t forty yet, and her husband had reached that milestone only a few months before. The MacMillans had married young.
    The wedding photograph hung on the wall in the front room. Liz had always found it difficult to relate the smiling young couple to the people her parents had now become. They had loved each other once, she supposed.
    Her father was still going on at her. All this for a few pulled threads and some music that was a bit too loud? How was he going to react when she announced that she was going to become a volunteer auxiliary nurse in her spare time? Liz’s stomach lurched.

Eight
    ‘The thing is,’ said the extremely large young man with the extremely large dog, ‘we go everywhere together.’ He stretched down and patted the huge grey beast which lay at his feet. ‘My faithful companion on the hill. He and I have brought home a good few rabbits for