Free Wartime Sweethearts by Lizzie Lane Page A

by about six-thirty. Even though she turned over, hugging the bedclothes around her head and willing herself to sleep, she was too excited. Her thoughts were occupied with the semi-finals and the prospect of going to Bristol and then possibly to London for the final. London was where she would seek new opportunities. Perhaps she might meet a handsome millionaire and be swept off her feet. Her plans, even though they might never reach fruition, came thick and fast.
    Sleep wouldn’t come. The clock struck eight.
    ‘Are you awake, Mary?’
    Mary sighed and rolled over on to her back. ‘Of course I am. I can hear you wriggling. The springs on that bed play a tune every time you move.’
    Ruby was already lying on her back, eyes wide open, one arm behind her head. One of the bedsprings made a twanging sound as she shifted again. She had to share what she was feeling.
    ‘If I win, I won’t come back from London. I might not even come back from Bristol – depending on circumstances.’
    Mary sucked in her lips so she wouldn’t voice what she really felt. Her sister could be both unrealistic and selfish in equal doses.
    ‘Mary? Did you hear what I just said?’
    Mary closed her eyes and sighed. ‘I must have drifted off for a minute. But I did hear you.’
    ‘You do see why I want to leave, don’t you?’
    For people who rose at four in the morning on every day but one, staying in bed on Sunday was almost compulsory. Even though Mary wasn’t feeling that tired, she was determined to stay where she was, delaying the moment when she had to swing her legs out of bed as she did on every other day of the week.
    ‘If that’s really what you want to do.’
    ‘It really is!’
    ‘Then do it. I’ll be here for Dad.’
    Ruby rolled on to her side and raised herself on her elbow. Mary’s comment had made her feel uncomfortable. ‘You sound resentful.’
    And you sound pretty displeased, thought Mary. ‘I’m just stating the facts.’
    ‘Well, so am I. I’ll be glad to go. Glad to leave the village. Sad to leave everyone behind … with a few notable exceptions …’
    ‘Especially old bastard Stead!’
    Ruby gasped.
    Mary’s eyes flicked open.
    ‘Frances Sweet! You are not to use that language in this house.’ She’d thought their cousin was still asleep. Obviously she was not.
    ‘It’s what the boys call him,’ Frances grumbled sulkily from beneath a mound of twisted bedding.
    Frances was a restless sleeper, her bedding always bundled like a small mountain by morning.
    ‘I don’t care what the boys call him. You do not!’ Mary ordered. ‘Don’t let me ever hear you using such a word again. Is that clear?’
    Frances fell silent, her scowl hidden by the bedclothes as she thought about it.
    ‘All right. I’ll call him Stinker Stead instead.’
    Ruby preferred not to hear the name Stead mentioned at all. ‘For goodness’ sake! What is it with you and Gareth Stead?’
    Frances dragged herself up into a sitting position, bending her legs so she could rest her chin on her knees. ‘I just don’t like him. Just because you do. Kissing him and all that … like this …’
    Frances smacked her lips imitating the sound of the kisses Ruby had exchanged with Gareth Stead.
    Ruby was furious. ‘Frances Sweet! Just you wait …’
    Ruby threw back the bedding and rolled out of bed, but her cousin was too fast for her. In a trice she was out of bed and out of the door, her footsteps thudding down the stairs, her voice rippling with laughter.
    ‘Sometimes I hate that child,’ Ruby murmured.
    Mary rolled over on to her back and stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. All this talk of war and friction between members of the family tried even her patience.
    She looked over at Ruby who was already brushing her hair so that a silky tress fell over the mole on her cheek. Her routine never varied. The first thing she always did when she got out of bed was to arrange her hair to hide the mole.
    ‘You used to love