Free Secrets of the Singer Girls by Kate Thompson Page B

closed her eyes and sighed
contentedly. Perhaps, just perhaps she had made a friend for life, someone with whom she could share her dark past. Not tonight, but maybe in the foreseeable future. Over the soap flakes and elbow
grease, Poppy knew she had made a friendship to treasure.
    Opening her eyes, she glanced down at her watch. ‘Good grief, look at the time,’ she said with a start. ‘Here’s me yattering away. I’m keeping you from a warm
bed.’
    Vera yawned and slowly got to her feet. ‘You’re a terror, Poppy Percival,’ she teased. ‘Keeping me up talking half the night – I don’t know.’ Smiling,
she stifled another yawn. ‘It’s nice to have some company, though. I’m glad of it. Just don’t be shocked if I’m not so familiar with you on the factory floor.
Don’t want the other girls accusing me of playing favourites.’
    Poppy smiled to hide her sadness. Was Vera lonely? Goodness only knows she’d felt enough of that herself after spending hour after wretched hour alone in a scullery.
    ‘I quite understand,’ she reassured her. ‘You’re a professional with a reputation to uphold.’
    Vera nodded approvingly. ‘Very good.’ As she spoke, she touched her heart pendant necklace and pensively rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. ‘I wonder if Daisy’s
back yet.’
    Wearily, Poppy rose and took their teacups to the tiny sink.
    ‘Don’t worry – I’m sure they’ll be fine,’ she said as she softly set down the cups in an enamel bowl. ‘And thanks. Thanks for everything you’ve
done for me tonight. I know Mother would be worried sick if she knew I was living in a place like this,’ Poppy said, frowning. Actually, deep down she wondered whether her mother cared where
she was at all.
    ‘Course she would, Poppy – you’re right,’ smiled Vera reassuringly as she shrugged on her coat. ‘All any mother wants is for her daughter to be safe. That’s
all our mother worried about when she was alive. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’ Vera paused and her smile grew wistful. ‘Or as mine and Daisy’s mother – God
rest her soul – used to say, “Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire and I’ll come up and tuck you in.’”
    Poppy smiled. ‘That’s sweet. She must have loved you very much.’
    ‘That she did,’ Vera replied sadly.
    Poppy saw her to the door and instinctively the two women moved towards each other, arms outstretched. When they had finished hugging, Vera hurried out into the night.
    ‘Night-night. Sweet dreams.’ Poppy’s soft voice sang out into the darkness, and yawning, she padded back to her room.
    Once she heard the front door bang shut, she hastily double-locked her bedroom door, then ran to the fireside. Taking the small wooden chair beside it, she wedged it firmly up and under the
doorknob. Poppy frowned and tested the doorknob, rattling it hard to make certain she was safely barricaded in. She knew it was daft, dangerous even, to lock herself away like this. What if an
air-raid siren went off in the night and she had to escape in a rush? But even the very real threat of bombing attacks paled into comparison with the terrible haunting fear she felt in her
heart.
    Climbing into bed, she quickly pulled the covers over her head and snuggled down under her eiderdown, hoping and praying that tonight would bring respite from the nightmares.

Four
    Earlier that night, four miles across town, Daisy stepped off the bus at Charing Cross Road and looked into the gloom of Leicester Square eagerly. Sal hesitated behind her, her
bum firmly placed on the bus’s slatted wooden seat.
    ‘Oh, do come on, slowpoke,’ Daisy urged impatiently. ‘At this rate it’ll be time to turn round.’
    ‘Coming,’ Sal sighed, gingerly feeling her way through the darkness and onto the pavement.
    ‘Where’s your arm, Dais?’ she called out. ‘I don’t want to break my neck on a crater.’
    Daisy reached out to her friend, and arm in arm they teetered