Polly's War Read Free Page A

old woman, and go home at least with a sense of pride that she was doing her bit without complaint.
    She’d made more money when she was working in munitions with Sal her sister-in-law, but that had meant leaving the children on their own too much. With cleaning, she could always take them with her if they were a bit off colour. And though it was hard work, she’d done all right, got a bit put by for a rainy day. Even so, she’d be glad enough for Tom to come home and take over this bread winning lark, so that she could tell Minnie Hopkins to stick her job and settle down to enjoying her children. What a treat that would be.
    ‘So where did you find money to pay for a party, eh?’ Minnie pulled out the bucket and cleaning materials that Lucy had just stowed away, and put them all back again in a different order. ‘Or have you a fancy man wi’ deep pockets tucked away some place?’
    ‘Oh, you badmouthed old ...’ Lucy stopped, seeing the glint of satisfaction in the old woman’s eyes. There was nothing Minnie Hopkins liked better than to stir up trouble but unlike many, Lucy had remained faithful to her husband throughout the duration so she refused to defend herself to this nasty minded old woman. ’We’ve all put in coupons. Which is more than you have, you mean old bat ,’ she finished under her breath.
    ‘Go on, what am I?’
    ‘Nothing.’ Drat the woman for only being deaf when it suited her. Lucy yanked the curtain across the sink, nearly breaking the wire that held it. Her colour was high, though not nearly so high as her temper as she strode away, spine rigid.
    Minnie Hopkins, not one to be outdone, or miss the opportunity to have the last word, galloped after her for several paces along the passage. ‘Don’t you give me any lip, madam. You’re that sharp, you should take care not to cut yerself in the knife drawer. You can collect your cards for that bit of insolence, so don’t bother coming in tomorrow. There’ll be no job to come to.’
    ‘Well that suits me fine,’ Lucy staunchly replied, flinging her apron aside and slamming the vestibule door so hard the glass panel rattled. Once outside, all the fury drained out of her, leaving her weak and shaking with emotion. She had to go and sit on the kerbside for a minute and put her head in her hands while she wished, not for the first time, that her temper wasn’t quite so hot; inherited from her Irish mother, Polly Pride, no doubt. Oh lord, she’d done it now. What would her mam say?
    ‘By heck, a chap has to watch where he puts his feet on his own front doorstep these days. It’s that clean I could eat me dinner off it.’
    Lucy turned to greet the newcomer with a ready smile. She liked Michael Hopkins. He was a big, well-set-up sort of chap with a friendly open face, and a thatch of reddish-brown hair that hinted at a streak of Irish blood somewhere in his veins, descended no doubt, as her own family was, from one of the immigrant Irish who had come to work in Manchester during the last century. Not that he sounded Irish. He was as Lancashire as hot pot, and never short of a jokey remark.
    ‘Your aunt’s got a bit of brawn for your dinner,’ Lucy told him. ‘And you’d best take care you eat it all up.’
    He pulled a wry face. ‘Happen she thinks I need it,’ and with the last traces of her ill temper gone, Lucy laughed, tidying her bangs and wondering if she had any lipstick left on, for she hated to be caught looking anything less than her best.
    ‘If that’s the way of it, she must be blind as well as...’
    ‘Deaf? Daft? Or just plain cussed?’ He stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling down at her. ‘You and she been having another barny?’
    ‘I’ve been given me marching orders.’ Lucy screwed up her small face and rolled her eyes in a wicked parody of her employer.
    ‘Again?’
    ‘I reckon she means it this time. Says I’ve to collect me cards.’
    ‘I don’t think we’ve any cards to give you, have