Free Polly's War by Freda Lightfoot Page B

parlour. ‘Make it myself?’
    Polly set down the ball of wool she was winding with a sigh and got wearily to her feet. ‘We thought you would’ve got something while you were out. I’ll make you some dried scrambled egg.’
    Lucy protested. ‘Mam, you’ve done enough. You look fair worn out. He can surely get it himself for once. There’s some cold sausage in the larder.’
    Benny felt as if he was still being punished for his mistake over Big Flo. ‘Cold sausage? Dried scrambled egg? Don’t I deserve a proper meal? I’ve fought in this war, not you ? I’m the one the Germans have been taking pot shots at.’
    Lucy pulled a warmed night-dress over Sarah-Jane’s head, thankfully noticing that at least the arrival of Benny, Sean’s idol, had stopped his screaming and he was listening with interest to the growing argument. ‘Don’t exaggerate. You never went overseas, not like my Tom. You had it soft. You worked in the stores for ages, and the most trouble you had was finding the right size of uniform.’
    Benny was incensed by his sister’s casual assessment of his war effort. ‘Stores is a responsible job I’ll have you know, and that were only my first job anyroad. I went on to others, training men to fire machine guns for one. I may not have been sent overseas but there were planes going over all the time, firing at the base.’
    ‘We’ve had a few bombs dropped on Manchester,’ Lucy hotly protested, determined not to let her brother have it all his own way. Hadn’t they all enough to worry over, without him adding to it. Oh, she could see how it was going to be, now he’d come home for good, arguing the whole time, selfishly thinking he could be waited on hand, foot and finger. Well, he had another think coming.
    Benny, embittered by the keenness of his disappointment over Belinda, couldn’t allow his sister to belittle his war career. ‘I was wounded once, in me leg, when the roof of our billet caved in. And you can’t even be bothered get me a bite to eat, you bl-’
    Big Flo suddenly lifted her great head and fixed him with a glare. ‘Tha’s been told once. Watch thee language, lad, if tha knows what’s good for thee. Tha’s not too old to have thy mouth washed out wi’ carbolic soap.’
    They were so stunned at the old woman’s return to the fighting talk they’d once taken for granted, that they all burst out laughing.
    ‘Listen to your gran. Doesn’t she talk sense?’
    Ashamed now, Benny went meekly to the larder and made himself a sandwich with the cold sausage. Polly placed a brimming mug of scalding tea on the kitchen table before him, and another beside Big Flo. ‘There you are, Ma. You deserve it after sorting that lad o’ mine out.’
    But Big Flo shook her head. ‘Nay, I couldn’t face one. I’m feeling a bit peculiar. I reckon I’ll go and have a lie down.’ They all tensed, ready to block the back door when she attempted, as was her wont, to go down the yard back to the shelter. Instead she opened the stair’s door and climbed wearily up to bed. They were all so startled that both Lucy and Polly ran to fill the stone hot water bottle, realising she must indeed feel poorly.
    ‘Don’t fuss, I’ll be wick as a snig tomorrow,’ she tartly informed Polly as the bottle, carefully wrapped in a flannel cloth, was slid in beside her feet.
    Polly expressed doubts on her mother-in-law wriggling like any eel the following morning, no matter how much she might protest to the contrary. ‘You’re all clammy and cold. Couldn’t I just leather our Benny for losing you. I’ll fetch you some Fenning’s Fever Cure, in case you’re getting a temperature., and you’ll stay right here, with your feet up tomorrow and no argument.’
    Big Flo gave a weak smile as Polly tucked the covers tight. ‘Thee allus manages to have yer own way, lass. Always did, I seem to recall, even against our Josh. Only one I know who ever dared to stand up to him.’
    Polly was startled. This was the