Free The Silent War by Victor Pemberton Page A

snorted Lennie, with a wry chuckle. ‘Not ’til we do somefin’ about it.’
    Sunday’s outburst had turned a few heads, but she was much too upset to care about what any of them were thinking. Ironically enough, it was Harry who latched on. Several times during the evening he had noticed the way Sunday had been taking sly looks at Lennie, and her outburst had confirmed to him that the guy she fancied most of all was Private Lennie smartarse Jackson. But Harry made up his mind that he was not going to let Sunday spoil Pearl’s last evening alone with Lennie, so he quickly suggested that the two couples split up and go their separate ways.
    Sunday’s farewell handshake with Lennie may have seemed convincing to her, but inside she felt like bawling her head off.
    The night air smelt as sweet as perfume. Everything was so fresh, so bursting with life, and now that the pubs had closed, the stench of beer was gradually losing its battle against the smell of freshly cut grass in the nearby park, and the distant approach of another glorious early summer’s day.
    June was Sunday’s favourite month, for the days were long and the nights were short, and that meant not having to go to bed early like a good little girl. Sunday didn’t want to be a good little girl. In fact, it was the last thing in the world she ever wanted to be, despite the fact that her mum couldn’t get to sleep whenever Sunday was out even a minute after ten o’clock at night. So she didn’t feel a moment’s guilt when, after leaving Pearl and Lennie, she had readily accepted Harry’s invitation to go for a stroll.
    By eleven o’clock, the streets became deserted very quickly. Here and there a drunk was being helped home by his mates, or a van would turn up to collect the day’s fill of pig-swill bins from some of the back streets. And as they made their way along Seven Sisters Road towards Manor House, Sunday and Harry were suddenly startled by an unseen figure shouting, ‘Put yer light out missus! Don’t yer know there’s a war on!’ Although the offending light was quickly extinguished, the disturbance set a dog barking, who in turn provoked a network of panicked messages to practically every dog in the neighbourhood.
    Although Harry strolled along with his arm around Sunday’s waist, her thoughts were miles away. They were with Lennie Jackson, who, she imagined, was probably at that very minute snogging with Pearl in some back alley, and doing things which Sunday would much prefer he did to her. A whole range of emotions flashed through her mind, from bitterness to rage, and to the dread that if Lennie were to be killed taking part in the invasion, she would never see him again.
    As they dawdled idly along the main road, Sunday and Harry could hear distant laughter coming from the RAF and Army crews in the adjacent Finsbury Park who were keeping a constant watch on the barrage of crafty silver balloons which floated silently on the ends of their steel cables in the skies above, acting as a stockade against any hostile aerial attack. On such a still night, the laughter seemed a strange sound, for it seemed to have no reason, no logic, no place in time.
    Sunday suddenly felt the urge to go into the park, but as the gates were always closed to the public at sunset, there was no way in. But Harry, excited by the thought of getting Sunday all to himself in there, told her that if she would be prepared to walk with him to the other side of the park, he knew a gap in the wooden fence that had replaced the old iron railings, which had been taken away at the beginning of the war to be used for scrap metal. Sunday agreed without hesitation, and once they had passed Manor House Tube Station and made their way down Green Lanes opposite Harringay Stadium, they soon found Harry’s gap in the fence along Endymion Road.
    It was pitch-dark down by the park lake, and the chorus of tetchy ducks trying to get some sleep on the island in the middle was a sure