Lily’s War Read Free Page A

to open that morning.
    ‘I don’t know why you do it to yourself, Dad,’ she said, putting on the kettle and reaching for a packet of Golden Stream tea. ‘Where did you go this time?’
    ‘Only Bootle.’ He sat at the table and wiped his hands over his face. ‘Fred would have been forty-four. Sometimes I see him dying over and over in my mind.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I spoke to his widow. Nice woman.’
    Lily shook her head. ‘You can’t go on torturing yourself for ever.’
    ‘Lest we forget, girl.’
    She experienced a mixture of irritation and pity. ‘Why can’t you remember the good things?’ She picked up a loaf and pot of home-made rhubarb and ginger jam; the bacon had vanished and she guessed where. Still, her mother had always said when someone was low give them something sweet to eat. She placed a steaming mug of tea and a plate of bread and jam in front of him and considered how best to cheer him up.
    ‘Nothing to eat, girl.’ Albert cradled the hot mug in his hands.
    ‘Tell me what it was like when you met Mam,’ said Lily, hoping to change the direction of his thoughts. She sat opposite him and reached for a slice of bread and jam.
    ‘What’s the point in remembering? It just makes me sad thinking of the way she went.’ His tone was glum.
    Lily persisted. ‘It was at a fair, wasn’t it?’
    He groaned and put a hand to his head. ‘Aye! But it was a long time ago now.’
    ‘So was the war but you haven’t forgotten that! Don’t you think you owe it to Mam to keep her memory alive as much as that of those soldier friends of yours?’
    He made no reply and she felt angry and irritated. She stood and placed the flat iron on the fire. She felt like a bottle of fizzy pop about to explode. He would mope around the house all day. There would be no escaping him. She needed something different and suddenly remembered Mrs Draper’s words about the missionary and India. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad? She was interested in India. It was better than nothing and cheaper than going to the pictures.
    May wriggled free of Lily’s hold and unbuttoned the top of her coat. ‘That’s too tight and you scratched me!’
    ‘If you’d kept still I wouldn’t have,’ she retorted, glancing at her own reflection in the lobby mirror as she dragged on gloves. The dark curly hair which she considered her best feature was crammed beneath a snappily brimmed blue velour hat trimmed with a feather. Her eyebrows were sooty arches. She raised them and smiled, wishing she had Carole Lombard’s looks for her own mouth was too large – and as for her chin! It was much too determined-looking in shape to be thought delicately pretty. She pulled a face and caught sight of Ronnie in the mirror. ‘Don’t forget your balaclava. You don’t want Jack Frost freezing your ears. And, May, wear your bonnet.’
    ‘I will! I like this bonnet,’ said her sister, fastening the pink plaited ties. ‘It’s better than Betty West’s new one.’
    ‘I’m glad something pleases you.’ Lily gave her reflection one last scrutiny before hurrying the children out of the house.
    She ran them down the street until they came to one of the wide entries that divided the long rows of terraced houses into three blocks, enabling them to take a short cut into the next street. Lights blazed from the begrimed red-bricked mission hall squeezed between houses which had been built during the last century like so many others in the city.
    Inside all was bustle and the rows of folding wooden chairs divided by an aisle up the middle were filling quickly. On stage a large screen had been set up. Centre back there was a table on which stood a lantern slide machine, near which several men were grouped in discussion.
    As Lily brushed past them, holding the children’s hands, one of them looked up. She did not immediately recognise him until their eyes met and held. Then she tore her gaze away and passed swiftly by despite the fluttering