Free Wartime Family by Lizzie Lane Page B

voice made her jump. Gertrude didn’t seem to notice.
    ‘Depending on what standard of accommodation you happen to be looking for, there is no problem at all! I have just the thing. Come on. Follow me.’
    Mary Anne did as ordered. It occurred to her that Gertrude might have been in the army herself at some time, or perhaps a matron in a field hospital. She certainly knew how to give orders and make people jump to attention.
    Gertrude’s sensible shoes clumped up an uncarpeted wooden staircase and eventually on to a small landing.
    ‘That’s the storeroom,’ said Gertrude, indicating a room to her right. ‘That’s the usual offices,’ she said, pointing ahead to a small bathroom. ‘And this is one room, and this is the other. There’s also an attic’
    She swung two doors open, one after the other. The first room was quite large with a bay window overlooking East Street. The other was smaller, its window overlooking the yard at the back.
    ‘The kitchen’s down in the shop, of course, but I’m quite happy for you to use it. Well? What do you think?’
    Mary Anne realized that her jaw was hanging slack, but she couldn’t help it. ‘I think it’s …’ She shook her head and snatched at her throat. It was almost impossible to get the words out. She was so grateful, so overwhelmed.
    Used to making snap decisions, Gertrude took her hesitation the wrong way. ‘Well, if it’s a little beneath you,’ she said indignantly, ‘most people would jump at it.’
    ‘I think it’s wonderful! I can’t thank you enough …’ She shook her head and couldn’t stop her eyes turning moist. ‘But there is one little problem I think I should mention. I have a son, you see. He’s ten years old.’
    Gertrude looked at her aghast. ‘And he’s living above the pub too? That’s terrible!’
    ‘No,’ said Mary Anne, shaking her head. The right words rather than the truth tumbled from her tongue. ‘I’d never allow a child of mine to live above a pub. He’s staying with my husband – my husband’s friend. It was all I could do for now.’
    The lies came easily. Just little white ones, she told herself, knowing instinctively that Gertrude would not approve of her being married but not living with her husband. Her subterfuge worked. Gertrude showed unaccustomed sympathy.
    ‘My dear, your son is welcome here. Make arrangements to move in as soon as you like.’
    Feeling fit to explode, Mary Anne tried to say a simple thank you, but her emotions wouldn’t let her. ‘Mrs Palmer! Mrs Palmer! What can I say?’
    She grabbed the ample woman and planted a kiss on her cheek. Gertrude Palmer’s look of astonishment turned to discomfort as a tear tumbled down Mary Anne’s cheek.
    ‘There’s no need to overreact,’ she muttered.
    It was odd to see Gertrude looking uncomfortable, suddenly aware that she had touched someone deeply.
    Mary Anne smiled through her tears. ‘Mrs Palmer …’
    ‘Gertrude. Call me Gertrude.’
    ‘Gertrude, I can’t thank you enough …’
    Faced with such sentimentality, Gertrude’s gruffness returned. ‘Think nothing of it. We needed a caretaker, what with all these looters around, and you’re very good at mending and alterations. It’s a very good arrangement to my way of thinking.’
    ‘The only thing is,’ said Mary Anne, wandering from the front room to the back and back again, ‘is that all my furniture was destroyed in the fire.’
    ‘Is that all? My word, I have a whole houseful of unused items in my old stable. You can take your pick of that. You’ll find a bed, a three-piece suite and a dining set at least. I trust you can deal with curtains yourself – not that you really need them with the blackout curtains in place.’
    Mary Anne touched the heavy serge required to hide the brightness of the room from enemy bombers. A smile radiated across her face. ‘Oh, I think I can find something a bit more feminine to lighten things.’
    Going to the pictures, walking, talking or