The Grafton Girls - Annie Groves [53]
‘Walter’s with him as well.’ Jess had no such inhibitions. She stood up and waved, calling out enthusiastically, ‘Walter, Glen, over here…’
‘Jess, you shouldn’t have done that,’ Ruthie hissed, pulling on her arm to make her sit down.
‘Why not?’
‘What if they didn’t want to come over?’
‘Then they won’t do, will they?’ Jess told her practically. ‘But they do, because look, here they are.’
It had been a long busy shift, and it was hard for Diane to switch her mind away from the grim battle going on in the Arctic that was more of a massacre than a true battle, with the helpless merchant ships being picked off with ease by the Germans at a rate that had brought a tense silence to the Dungeon and an edge of bleak despair to the voices of those calling out the names and positions of the damaged ships.
She might be walking up the Edge Hill Road in the evening sunshine that was an advantage of double summer time, her body warmed by the sun, but her mind was still numbed by the thought of the icy chill of the Arctic seas in which a man could only survive for a maximum of fifteen minutes without freezing to death. So many ships lost and so many men, and all for what? some of the girls were asking bitterly. So that the Russians could have their tanks? What about the needs of those seamen and their families? What about the needs of the British people, living with constant dread and constant hunger, not knowing what their future would be or if they even had one?
Diane had overheard a couple of the RAF men talking about the recent bombing raids on Germany and her heart had lodged in her mouth when she had heard the name of Kit’s squadron.
‘Good show, by all accounts, although they lost a couple of planes and their crews had to bale out over France,’ one of the men had told the other.
Diane had to stop herself from rushing over to beg for more details. Kit wasn’t part of her life any more. Easy words to say, but much harder to obey. How was she ever going to mend her broken heart if she reacted like this every time anything remotely connected with him was mentioned? Perhaps she should have gone to Blackpool with Myra. Perhaps only by plunging into the kind of life Myra led could she drown out the past. Maybe tonight if she had gone to the Grafton she might have been the one ordering herself a strong drink. She had seen that happen to other young women although it was seldom talked about. Young men might drink to excess to drown out the reality of war, but it was not acceptable for young women to do the same. Nevertheless they did. Diane shuddered inwardly. What was happening to her? She should be getting over Kit by now, but instead she seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into her own misery.
For once she would have welcomed even Mrs Lawson’s voluble company and her never-ending questions. The small house was pin neat but empty, her cold supper left for her in the pantry with a meat safe cover protecting it.
Spam salad. Diane looked at it without interest. The Spam, pink and marbled with fat, looked flabby and unappetising, even if the salad was fresh from the allotments. The smell of the tomatoes reminded her of her father’s greenhouse. Suddenly a wave of homesickness washed over her. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She was just about to wipe them away when she heard someone knocking on the front door.
She looked at her watch. It was nine thirty, and Mrs Lawson wasn’t due back from her WVS meeting until well gone ten. It was too early, surely, for Myra to be returning unless she had had a fallout with her GI, but anyway, they both had their own keys. Uncertainly, Diane went into the hall, and looked warily through the stained-glass panel in the front door.
A man in army uniform was standing outside. Bare-headed and dark-haired, he had his back to the door and was moving impatiently from one foot to the other.
A little hesitantly, Diane opened the door and asked cautiously, ‘Yes?