Survivor by Lesley Pearse Read Free Book Online Page A

Mog to emigrate to New Zealand after the war ended.
    Vera had moved away to Wellington back
     in 1924, and had since got married and had three children, but Mog had remained a
     close friend to Peggy, Vera’s mother.
    Don, Peggy’s husband, was serving
     in the shop as Mog came in, and his face broke into a cheerful grin. He was over
     seventy now and looked as if he’d shrunk to half the size of the portly,
     energetic man she and Belle had met on their first day in Russell. His youngest son,
     Tony, was the baker now – Don was no longer strong enough to lift the heavy trays of
     loaves or to knead the dough.
    ‘Peggy’s out the back in the
     wash house. Go on through, if you want to see her. She’ll be glad to have
     someone to moan to,’ he said.
    Mog thanked him and went through the
     doorway that led to both the bakery and their home. The wash house was justoutside their kitchen; the heat from the
     boiler, the smell of carbolic soap and the steam hit Mog before she even got to the
     wash-house door.
    If Don had shrunk, Peggy had expanded.
     Always plump, she was now very fat and her hair was snowy white. She was standing at
     the copper, prodding the washing with the copper stick, perspiration running down
     her fiery red cheeks. But her big face broke into a toothless smile at seeing her
     friend.
    ‘Come to watch slave
     labour?’ she said.
    ‘I bet you can’t wait for
     the day the electric comes to Russell,’ Mog said. ‘I know I’m
     never going to miss lighting the fire under our copper, or trimming and filling
     lamps.’
    Peggy pulled up her pinafore and wiped
     her face. ‘Too right. I’m too old for all this drudgery. Our
     Vera’s got one of those new-fangled electric boilers, it’s got a mangle
     that turns by itself. What I’d give for one of those! But let me get us a
     drink and we’ll sit outside for a chat, shall we?’ Peggy got two glasses
     of lemonade for them, and they sat down in the yard under the shade of a fig
     tree.
    They chatted about this and that for a
     little while, Peggy saying she was planning a little holiday with Vera soon.
     ‘Why don’t you and Belle come too?’ she asked. ‘Vera’s
     got plenty of room, and she’d be thrilled to see you both.’
    ‘I could come, but Belle
     won’t leave the boys,’ Mog said. ‘You know how they are – up to
     mischief if you don’t stand over them.’
    Peggy nodded. ‘I remember what
     mine were like – little sods, they were – and Vera was no better than the boys. But
     when they were all away in the war, I’d have given anything to have them back
     playing me up. I reckon that’s why I’ve got so fat. Nothing to worry
     about any more!’ She cackled with laughter, making her many chins quiver.
    ‘Just
     between ourselves, have you heard any tittle-tattle about Mariette?’ Mog
     asked. ‘She’s been seeing a boy, but won’t tell me who he is.
     That’s always a bad sign.’
    Peggy thought about it for a moment.
     ‘There was a mention of that Australian. You know, the one who was part of the
     crew on the boat that came in for repairs last year?’ she said.
     ‘He’s hauling timber now, but he comes here every now and again. Avril
     Avery claimed she saw them out for a walk, holding hands. But then she’d
     accuse the Pope of giving poisoned lollies to Shirley Temple!’
    Mog laughed at Peggy’s joke about
     Avril Avery, who was the eyes and ears of the little town. Yet although she was a
     gossip, Avril was not a liar, so she must have seen Mari and that man together.
     ‘I dare say Mari will tell us when she’s good and ready. But I’d
     better collect the bread and go on home. Thanks for the lemonade, and I’ll let
     you know about going to see Vera with you.’
    Mog was too disturbed by what Peggy had
     said to go straight home. Instead, she went down on the Strand and sat for a while
     looking out to sea to reflect on it. She had seen the man in question several times,
     hanging around