Through the Storm Read Free Page A

queue outside Costigans when Kitty arrived . There was always a queue outside any sort of shop that sold food – some women came well before they were due to open in order to be first – but this queue seemed unusually long, which meant there must be something special on sale.
    ‘What have they got?’ Kitty asked the woman at the back.
    ‘I dunno, luv. Look, keep me place a mo, and I’ll pop up to the front and see.’
    Kitty willingly agreed. ‘Okay.’
    ‘I hope it’s biscuits,’ another woman said. ‘I haven’t had a biscuit in ages.’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind biscuits either, custard creams.’ Kitty’s mouth watered at the idea of dipping a custard cream in a cup of tea. It hadn’t exactly seemed a delicacy before the war, but now … ‘On the other hand, me dad was only saying the other night he really fancied sardines on toast.’
    ‘Aye, sardines’d be a nice treat.’
    The first woman returned to reclaim her place. ‘It’s baked beans,’ she announced excitedly. ‘One for each ration book.’
    Two more women had come up behind Kitty. ‘What’s the queue for, luv?’ one asked.
    ‘Baked beans.’
    Kitty waited for nearly an hour, praying all the time the beans wouldn’t be sold out before her turn came. She emerged, triumphant, with three tins, one for Nan Wright, together with some other rations; tea, sugar and half a pound of nice lean bacon. They could have bacon and beans for dinner today.
    She then queued for bread, queued for potatoes, and decided not to bother with the butcher’s when she discovered there was only the hated whalemeat on offer. Perhaps Nan would like a few slices of the bacon? Several women were waiting outside the shop as there was a rumour sausages might be available soon. The butcher didn’t dare announce the sausages were definite, else word would flash round like wildfire, and he’d end up with a queue a mile long and a possible riot on his hands if there wasn’t enough to go round.
    On the way home, Kitty called in the newsagent’s shop to collect the
Daily Herald
. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any ciggies?’ she asked hopefully.
    Ernie Johnson, a middle-aged man with a severe squint, gave her a suggestive wink from behind the counter with his best eye. ‘Give us a kiss, and I’ll let you have ten Woodbines.’
    ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ said Kitty indignantly. ‘Have you really got Woodbines, Ernie? Me dad hasn’t had a smoke in weeks.’
    ‘Can I pinch your bum, then?’
    ‘No you can’t!’
    ‘In that case, what’ll you give me for ten Woodbines?’
    ‘The money!’
    Ernie sighed as he produced the ciggies from underneath the counter. ‘There’s some women’d dance round me shop stark naked for them.’
    ‘I’m not sure if I’ll come in here again once the war’s over,’ Kitty said threateningly.
    ‘Can you imagine it being over, Kitty?’ Ernie’s face grew serious.
    Kitty thought, then shook her head. ‘No. It’s funny, but it feels as if we’ve always been at war and it’ll never stop. I’ve even got used to the bomb sites. I can hardly remember Marsh Lane all built up like it used to be.’
    ‘I feel the same.’ Ernie seemed to be looking at Kitty with one eye and the door with the other. She remembered he had two sons, both in the army, though he was always good-humoured in a crude sort of way. ‘I wonder if things’ll ever be normal again?’
    The door opened and a man poked his head in. ‘Any ciggies?’
    ‘No, mate,’ Ernie shook his head.
    ‘Ernie!’ Kitty said reproachfully when the door had closed.
    ‘Well, I’ve never seen him before. I keep the ciggies for me favourite customers – and there’s none more favourite than you, Kitty.’
    He smacked his lips and made to come round the counter, and Kitty quickly escaped. She was never quite sure if Ernie was joking or not.
    ‘Kitty!’
    A pretty, harassed-looking woman pushing a black pram containing two rather large children came panting up when Kitty