Free Lover by Laura Wilson

was, at least, but that was a revelation. Quite different from Frank. I suppose I am turning into the most awful tart, but B made me lose my head completely, and I suddenly understood what Frank had been talking about. And it does seem unimportant, when you think that we might not be here tomorrow. Mums wouldn’t think it unimportant, though, and the way she was looking at me this evening made me think she knew , somehow. But in a way, these restrictions only go to make it more exciting…what a dreadful thought! It’s all very odd. Nothing makes sense or matters much any more, and I don’t seem to care what happens to me.
    I spent the rest of the evening concentrating jolly hard on Ethel M. Dell, and continued under the table when the raid started.

Friday 20 th September
Rene
    M y Tommy’s had his heart broken, poor lamb. I went over to see him this morning and he was sitting on the kerb with this pretty curly-headed little thing, and holding a telephone. Not working, of course, because it wasn’t attached, but it wasn’t cracked or anything.
    I said, ‘Where did you get that?’
    â€˜Bomb site.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t just take things, you know.’
    â€˜Everyone does.’
    â€˜I know, but it’s naughty. Stealing.’
    â€˜But nobody wanted it, Auntie Rene.’
    â€˜Well, you don’t know that.’
    â€˜They didn’t! They’d have taken it, wouldn’t they?’
    â€˜Maybe, but you shouldn’t do it.’
    I couldn’t really blame him; it’s a big temptation, stuff left lying about. I suppose it’s not as if he’d broken into a bombed house or something, or gone hunting round the West End for bombed shops with wristwatches and fur coats and what-have-you, but still… And he’s right, everyone’s at it, wardens and rescue men and firemen, and if they just pick up a packet of tea or a pipe, it’s a bit much to call that looting , but all the same, I don’t want him turning into a little thief.
    I said, ‘Well, now you’ve got it, what are you going to do with it?’
    â€˜It’s a present.’
    â€˜Who’s it for?’
    â€˜Her,’ he whispers, and points at the girl, all shy.
    I said to her, ‘Is he your boyfriend, then?’ and this little madam tosses her head, and says, ‘Oh, no, not him ,’ and she grabs hold of the telephone and starts dialling up a number. When I ask what she’s doing, she says, ‘I’m telephoning my boyfriend.’ Heaven knows where she picked that up—all of seven years old!
    I said to her, ‘Why are you doing that?’
    â€˜Oh,’ she says, ‘I’m making a date with him.’ Makes you wonder what the world’s coming to, doesn’t it, kiddies growing up so quick. A few years’ time and she’ll be a proper caution.
    Tommy snatched the phone. ‘You don’t even know how to do it. You’re using it all wrong.’
    â€˜No, I’m not. I know how to do it. You’re silly .’ And she’s jumped up and gone flouncing off down the road.
    I said, ‘Oh, dear. Do you like her a lot?’
    â€˜I don’t like her at all . She’s a pig . Anyway, I don’t want to play with girls. They can’t even do wars.’
    â€˜Why can’t they?’
    â€˜Because the war’s not for girls .’ Very scornful. ‘It’s only for boys . Girls are stupid.’
    â€˜Never mind, darling. You come home with Auntie Rene and have some cake instead.’
    But he wouldn’t—he shoved the telephone into my hands and ran off down the street. Oh, well. He’ll get over it, bless him. There’s plenty more where she came from, after all.
    Good business tonight. I started early, and by ten o’clock I’d made eleven pounds, so called it a night. Bumped into Lily on the way back. She’d had a bit of a time with one man who