Peggy's Letters Read Free Page A

Mum, Maud stops me. She seems to have got over her Tommy experience. A smile is back on her face,and a large brown paper bag is in her hands.
    â€œI managed to scrounge up a few nappies and some baby things,” she says. “Give these to your mum.
    â€œMaud, you’re a lifesaver,” calls Mum, when she sees the contents of the bag. “This will tide us over nicely.”
    Together, we change Tommy’s nappy and squeeze him into a romper suit, a size too small, and button on a cardigan, two sizes too big.
    I twirl him round. “You look smashing, Tommy. Doesn’t he, Mum?”
    Tommy claps. Mum just shakes her head and tries to roll up his sleeves. “At least it’s better than a coat and a nappy.” She picks up the bag. “Time we made a move.”
    â€œThanks for all your help, Maud,” calls Mum opening the door. She stops.
    â€œThere’s just one last thing.”
    â€œYes, my dear.”
    â€œDo you know anyone who could use a pram? We won’t have any room where we’re going.”
    â€œNo,” I shout. “We’re not leaving the pram.”
    â€œLook at it, Peggy. The wheels are wobbly, and all the metal bits are rusty. Anyway, Tommy’s nearly grown out of it.
    â€œBut it’s all we have left.”
    Mum sighs and the pram comes with us.

5
    We take the train to Grandad’s even though it’s only two stops. Tommy loves trains, and the pram is able to go in the guard’s van.
    â€œChuff chuff…whooo whooo,” sings Tommy as we walk up from the station. No one says “hello” to me, and the only cat we pass scoots away into the bushes.
    â€œHere we are,” says Mum. “Railway Lane.” We turn into a long street of narrow, joined-together houses. They all look exactly the same.
    â€œGrandad’s is number eighty-nine,” says Mum.
    I count off the house numbers in twos. Our steps seem to slow as we reach the eighties.
    â€œEighty-five, eighty-seven. Here it is eighty-nine.”
    This is my new home. The paintwork is gray and so are the bricks. Dingy lace curtains droop across the windows. It doesn’t feel like home.
    The sun has gone in, and a gust of wind whips my skirt hem up over my bare knees.
    â€œGo on, Peggy, knock on the door. It’s too cold to be hanging around outside.”
    I knock, and we wait. Perhaps he’s not in, I think hopefully.
    Grandad opens the door. He’s smaller than I remembered, and his hair is whiter. An old beige cardigan hangs loosely off his stooped shoulders. It reminds me of Tommy in his outfit. I want to reach over and roll up Grandad’s sleeves.
    â€œHello, Grandad.”
    Grandad doesn’t smile as he grunts back a hello.

    â€œSay hello to Grandad, Tommy.” Tommy ducks round the back of me and clutches my legs so I can’t move. I know how he feels. I want to hide too.
    â€œYou’d best come in,” says Grandad. Mum always says his bark is worse than his bite, and that is just how he sounds, like a grumpy old dog.
    â€œWhat shall I do with the pram?” I whisper to Mum.
    â€œLeave the blessed thing outside,” she whispers back crossly. Then she turns to Grandad. “It’s really good of you to put us up like this.” She gives him a peck on the cheek.
    Grandad growls again and mumbles something about duty and there being a war on.
    â€œWe’ll take our coats upstairs. Then shall I put the kettle on, and make us all a nice cup of tea?” asks Mum in her too cheery voice.
    â€œHaven’t got much milk. Hope you’ve brought your rations books,” is Grandad’s reply.
    I climb the narrow stairs with Tommy still glued to my leg.
    A large bed, a narrow bed and a dressing table with a cracked mirror are all squeezed into the front bedroom. On the wall a cross-stitched sampler declares
Home Is Where the Heart Is
. Where is my heart?
    â€œI’ll sleep with Tommy,” says