lack of
interest in his soldiering could only be deliberate. He asked, ‘So how long you been back?’
She paused to work it out. From this angle her hair seemed richer and darker than he remembered, though it might have been the way she wore it, smooth and silky, with a side parting and soft
waves over the shoulder. Her skirt and jumper were simple but well fitting. Her poise terrified him.
‘Just over sixteen months,’ she said.
‘And before that?’
‘Plymouth. I had a job there till the end of the war.’
No mention of the husband, he noticed. No ‘we’ plural living at Spring Cottage. He began to wonder if she was like some of the women he’d met in London who in the cold light of
peace had got to think better of their wartime marriages. Then she added, ‘I lost my husband in the war. It seemed best to come back.’
He said immediately, ‘Sorry to hear that,’ and he was; though the part of him that was still attracted to her felt the unmistakable itch of sexual opportunity. ‘On active
service, was it?’
She moved towards him and for a moment he wasn’t at all sure what she was going to do, tell him to mind his own business or go to hell, or both. As it was, she gave a small nod before
scooping up the basket from the table and taking it through into the larder. As she swept past him he caught a waft of perfume that took him straight back to Belgium and a couple of girls he and
Ernie had met in a bar. The memory, like the smell, excited him.
‘It was a shock to see Flor,’ he called through to her. ‘Wish someone had told me.’
‘Would it have made any difference?’
‘To what?’
She came out of the larder and closed the door. ‘To how long you were going to stay.’
He stared at her, then shrugged because he had no answer.
‘They could do with some help, you know.’
‘Well, that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?’ he said, bristling suddenly. ‘The place is a right bloody mess.’
‘You couldn’t give them a couple of weeks?’ she said. ‘Just to get them started.’
‘What, and lose this job? They’re doing me a favour as it is, holding it for me till I get back. There’s a dozen blokes who’d grab it off me as soon as look at
me.’
‘I hadn’t realised.’
Something in her gaze drove him to add, ‘Two weeks isn’t going to make a blind bit of difference anyway. It’ll take a lot more than that.’
‘I see.’
‘Besides, there’s all these Polish refugees he can have. The doctor was telling me he only has to ask.’
‘He’s not too keen on the idea.’
‘No, he wouldn’t be, would he? That’s Stan all over. Nothing’s ever going to be right.’
‘He’s frightened, I think.’
Billy laughed. ‘Him? Frightened?’
‘Of strangers.’
‘Of people who aren’t prepared to put up with his nonsense, more like.’
Annie gave him a tiny frown of rebuke, and for the second time that day Billy had the feeling he had revealed himself in a bad light.
She took her basket and made for the door. ‘Best be on my way.’ She paused, the silky head swung round. ‘I forgot – the shop has dropped off a bag of coal, just to keep
things going. It’s up by the gate.’
‘I’ll fetch it now.’ He sprang forward and they reached for the door handle at the same time. She withdrew her hand before it touched his. As he held the door for her, he
thought he saw her mouth tighten.
She walked quickly away up the yard and he had to stride out to catch up with her.
He said, ‘For what it’s worth I’ll have a go at Stan about the Polacks.’
‘Good idea. He’s more likely to listen to you.’
Billy scoffed, ‘He never did before.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’
‘I would. All he ever did was yell at me.’
‘He just got into the habit.’
‘Some habit.’
She had a bicycle by the gate. As she wheeled it out, he said, ‘I’d try to stay longer, you know. If it wasn’t for this job.’
‘Of course,’ she said with a bright