Free Wives at War by Jessica Stirling Page A

concerned?’ said Polly.
    â€˜Kind of,’ Babs said.
    â€˜It has nothing to do with morality.’
    â€˜Be a hoot if it did, comin’ from you. You an’ your lawyer boyfriend.’
    â€˜Well, Fin’s hardly a boy,’ said Polly, ‘but you do have a point.’ She glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Look, if I calm Rosie down will you do me a favour in return?’
    â€˜Dependin’ on what it is – sure.’
    â€˜If your lodger ever suggests that he and I meet, telephone me at home.’
    â€˜Not at the office?’
    â€˜No, at home.’
    â€˜Will do,’ said Babs.
    *   *   *
    Babs left her mother’s house later than she had intended to and April feel asleep on the tram. She carried her daughter piggyback from Paisley Road to Raines Drive, April’s head bobbing gently against her shoulder. Fortunately the cloud had blown off, moonlight gave shape to rooftops and hedges and there were still plenty of folk out and about for it was only a little after nine o’clock.
    Babs was relieved that she had made peace with her sisters, for it seemed that the hatchet had been buried, at least for the time being, and all in all Babs felt that the visit had been profitable in all sorts of ways.
    She toiled up the steps of the bungalow and rang the bell.
    Christy opened the door. He detached April from Babs’s back, carried her through to the bedroom and laid her gently on top of her bed.
    The bungalow was filled with delicious smells. Christy had made doughnuts. April wakened up enough to eat one and drink a glass of warm milk while Babs popped her into her pyjamas. With the child settled Babs returned to the lounge. Christy had made chips and fried up thick slices of Spam. They ate at the coffee table, while Jackie’s big wireless set droned in the background.
    â€˜So,’ he said, casually, ‘you got together with your sisters?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Babs. ‘All three of us.’
    â€˜What did you all talk about? Old times?’
    â€˜We talked about you, actually.’
    â€˜Really!’
    â€˜My sisters are worried in case I’ve strayed from the straight an’ narrow.’
    â€˜Both of them?’
    â€˜Rosie, Kenny’s wife, in particular. Polly, less so,’ Babs said. ‘Polly’s pretty much a woman of the world.’
    â€˜I’d like to meet up with your sister Polly,’ Christy Cameron said. ‘Think that could be arranged?’
    â€˜I don’t see why not,’ said Babs.
    *   *   *
    Polly lay awake in the big double bed and listened to the silence. The bed was the only warm spot in the house. She spent as much time there as possible. She had no children to pack off to school, no husband to get off to work, no real job to go to, no one to cook for except herself. She even resented having to share her bed with Fin on Saturday nights for he would be up with the lark, baying for breakfast long before she was inclined to face the day.
    The threat of air raids didn’t trouble her much. The big larder in the basement had been strengthened with wooden beams and was equipped with a cot, candles and a supply of ginger beer, even an ambulance kit and a policeman’s whistle. So far there had been no raids, only false alarms.
    She was barely awake when the telephone rang that Monday morning.
    She reached for the alarm clock, saw that it was four minutes after nine and, throwing back the covers, leaped out of bed and dashed downstairs.
    The telephone rested on a carved chest in the hallway.
    She snatched up the receiver. ‘Babs?’
    â€˜Yep, it’s me. Were you still in bed?’
    â€˜As a matter of fact, I was.’
    â€˜Lucky bloody you,’ Babs said.
    â€˜Where are you?’
    â€˜Where do you think I am? I’m at work.’
    â€˜Is there a point to this phone call?’
    â€˜Nope, just thought I’d give you