The Silent War by Victor Pemberton Read Free Book Online Page B

there was one particular ‘uncle’ she was interested in. Unfortunately, she didn’t yet know which one, for Aunt Louie had refused to put a name to the ‘uncle’ who might one day become her new ‘dad’.
    Once the soul of ‘John Brown’s Body’ had gone marching on, a tall, gangly man stepped forward to address the crowd. Despite the weather, there was a radiant glow on his face, and although his red and black Salvation Army cap and uniform were soaking wet, they fitted him perfectly.
    ‘Brothers and sisters – welcome!’
    Sunday hadn’t seen the officer before, so she imagined he was the bigwig from Headquarters her mum had been so excited about.
    ‘God has brought us here together to this place today,’ proclaimed Colonel Faraday. ‘Let us rejoice in His work! Let us rejoice in the Family of Man!’
    Sunday wasn’t really in the mood for rejoicing, not even for the Good Lord Himself. As for the Family of Man, she let that pass. Man? Why not Family of Woman , or Family of ‘Aunties’ and ‘Uncles’? No, she was more interested in all those Salvation Army faces spread out before her. And especially the ‘uncles’. If she was to believe the venom her aunt Louie had tried to pour into her over breakfast that morning, that her mum was getting ‘more than friendly with a gentleman friend up at the Hall’, then she had to know which one.
    Madge caught a brief glimpse of Sunday beneath her brolly, and gave her a broad smile. But when Colonel Faraday asked everyone to pray, she had to close her eyes like everyone else.
    Sunday, however, did not close her eyes. Not because she didn’t approve, but because she just had to study those faces. She knew very well how much her mum had missed her dad over the years, but was she really capable of having a ‘friendship’ with another man? Sunday stared hard along the rows of glistening, rain-soaked faces. Which one? Which one?
    ‘Close yer eyes, yer naughty gel.’
    Sunday didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing just behind her. It was Bess Butler.
    ‘You’ll never go ter ’Eaven if yer don’t listen ter wot the man says.’ Bess kept her voice low as she spoke into Sunday’s ear from behind.
    Sunday couldn’t resist stepping backwards out of the crowd to join Bess. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you, Bess,’ she said, holding her brolly over both of them. ‘I’ve had just about enough of all this for one day.’
    Bess grinned. ‘Feel like a cuppa?’
    Sunday didn’t have to be asked twice.
    When Madge Collins opened her eyes again, her heart sank as she discovered that Sunday had left the crowd. And her cherubic face soon crumpled up in disdain when she saw in the distance her daughter making her way back along the Holloway Road with their neighbour, Bess Butler.
    It never failed to surprise Sunday how different Bess’s flat in ‘the Buildings’ was to the one she lived in with her mum and Aunt Louie. Not that number 7 was any cleaner or tidier than number 84 – quite the reverse in fact – but that Bess and her husband, Alf, had managed to create a home rather than just somewhere to exist. Number 7 was a corner flat on the third floor, overlooking Holloway Road on one side and Camden Road on the other. Despite the fact that Alf was a keen do-it-yourself fanatic, none of the rooms had seen a new coat of paint since before the war, but only because home decoration materials of any kind had been hard to come by. However, Bess had managed to give the place a stylish look, for in the parlour she had frilled and looped the lace curtains, hung framed copies of old paintings which she had bought from second-hand junk shops, and placed the parlour table by the Camden Road window so that she and Alf could watch passers-by down below. All the furniture was utility-made, which meant that it was very plain, simple, but functional.
    ‘Never expected to see you spending your Sunday afternoon listening to a Salvation Army Band,’ said Sunday, who