The Grafton Girls - Annie Groves [106]
She had her bath first, scrupulously making sure she didn’t use more than the allowed depth of water. Had Myra been here to witness this she would have laughed at her, Diane knew, having seen the clouds of steam billowing from the bathroom on those occasions when Myra had made use of Mrs L’s absence to sneak an extra bath.
A few drops of the carefully hoarded Essence of Roses scent that had been one of her pre-war twenty-first birthday presents made the water smell heavenly, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was twenty-one again, that there was no war, and that she was at home in her parents’ comfortable semi, the smell of her father’s favourite steak-and-kidney pie supper floating upstairs, along with the gentle hum of her parents’ voices. But there was a war, and somewhere across the Atlantic, Eddie’s parents would be going about their own lives, not knowing as yet that their son was dead. Diane tried to imagine how she would feel in Eddie’s mother’s shoes but it was almost impossible.
She gave a small shiver. Her meagre allowance of water was going cold already, or was it yesterday’s memories that were chilling her skin and acting like a leaden weight on her spirits?
Climbing out of the bath, she wrapped herself in a towel and started to wash her hair, carefully rationing the hot water for two thorough washes, and then using cold for the rinses. Only when she was sure that she had removed all the soap did she fill the basin again with cold water and add some of the cider vinegar, wrinkling her nose against the pungent smell.
At least it was effective, she told herself five minutes later as she made her way to the bedroom, her squeaky-clean hair wrapped in the towel she had tied turban-style around her head, a faint dusting of talcum powder giving a soft pearlised sheen to her skin. Despite her fair hair, her skin tanned easily and the summer had given her legs a good colour, which was just as well because she certainly didn’t have the money for black-market stockings, even if she had been prepared to overcome her scruples in order to buy them.
Of course, there were other ways of obtaining them now that the ‘Yanks’ were here, and all the girls had heard tales of GIs waving one stocking in front of a girl and then telling her that she could have the other to go with it in return for a kiss or two. And then, of course, there were her uniform stockings, dreadful thick lisle affairs that itched like mad in the summer heat.
Half an hour later, dressed in a pre-war sundress of white cotton overprinted with yellow buttercups, Diane went to sit in the garden to let her hair dry off in the sunshine, determined to lift her spirits.
Myra let out her breath in a private sigh of relief as the guard started to slam the train doors, in preparation for it leaving. They were on their way at last. Now, nothing could stop them from reaching London. She glanced at Nick, who had thrown himself into the window seat next to her. She had been furious with Nick for fighting with Walter, fearful when the police had arrived that it would mean an end to their trip, but he was a quick thinker, she admitted, and he had certainly managed to convince the police that the incident was nothing to do with them. She hadn’t been too pleased, mind, when she had discovered that she might not be allowed to travel on the train with him because it was reserved for the American forces, but again Nick had dealt quickly with the problem. He’d been angry at having to part with a five-pound note, from the thick bundle he had produced from his pocket, in order to get her on the train. And once they were on it he had complained loudly and angrily that he had already traded a favour to have a blind eye turned to her presence. His good humour had returned, though,