Free When the Bough Breaks by Connie Monk Page B

won’t, will it, Den?’ In her heart she knew the answer as well as he did. If it didn’t happen this autumn it would be next spring, next autumn, sometime. The situation was like a festering wound; it would throb and throb with no chance of healing until it was lanced. He knew she wasn’t expecting an answer. ‘But, if it does –’ just to say it seemed like tempting fate – ‘it
mustn’t
, but Den, if it did and you had to go off with the Terriers, Jess and I wouldn’t need a dining room. We’d eat on the little table in the “warm room”. So we could always put a camp bed in there – and try and make it pretty – then we’d have room.’
    â€˜What rubbish the woman talks! If the chaps and I go marching off for King and Country, then you’ll have more than enough to do here without taking other people’s kids to look after. Anyway, if I have to go, I want to know that nothing is changed back here at home.’
    A cold hand of fear seemed to grip her. All thought of the evacuees was forgotten.
    By the first Sunday in September there was no way of hiding from the truth. England was at war. Jessie came indoors from playing with her ball against the side of the house to find her parents standing with their arms around each other, something so unusual that for a second or two she hesitated before she rushed at them and clasped them both around the legs.
    â€˜How long will you have?’ Kathie asked as Den stooped to pick up the little girl. That was something else that set the moment apart, for Jessie’s independent spirit usually kept her firmly on her own two feet. She snuggled her face against his neck instinctively knowing these seconds were special.
    â€˜No time at all, I imagine. Chaps with as much training as we have had will be wanted. Oh Christ, Kathie, that’s me and the boys too. What the hell will happen to the place?’
    â€˜If you think Mr Hitler’s going to get the better of this gal you can think again. If Daddy and the boys have to go away for a little while, you and I will do the work here won’t we Jess?’
    It had been arranged that, Sunday or no, the Terriers would meet that same evening. When they arrived at the hall they were all given their joining instructions which the captain in charge had had locked in the draw in readiness. The following afternoon they were unceremoniously conveyed in an army lorry to a base in Wiltshire to be turned into bona fide soldiers.
    With Jessie sitting at her side, Kathie took the vegetables to the village, thankful that she had a full tank of petrol. For days there had been talk of rationing, rationing of petrol and of food too. There would be no allocation of fuel for pleasure, so plenty of people would have to lay up their cars and take to their bicycles. She hoped her work would be looked on as essential and she would at least be able to make the daily delivery to Jack Hopkins, the greengrocer. How strange that with Den being taken further away from them with every minute she should be planning running the market garden. When war had been no more than a fear at the back of her mind, she had imagined Den going and she left alone, broken and weeping; yet now that it was actually happening none of it seemed real, it was like sleepwalking through the hours; she felt removed from everything that was normal and familiar, even the unchanging village street became remote. This time last week, even though they had known trouble was building and couldn’t be held off for long, she hadn’t let herself imagine a future when Den wouldn’t be with them.
    Back from delivering the vegetables, that feeling of unreality lingered. The sound of the water filling the kettle, the sight of her neat rows of preserves on the shelf, all these things were so much part of her everyday life that as a rule she wasn’t consciously aware of them, yet on that Monday afternoon,