When the Lights Come on Again by Maggie Craig Read Free Book Online Page A

point.’
    It was the tall young man who had smiled at her. He moved to stand behind the woman sitting at the desk, and Liz wondered if he was her son. While his accent wasn’t quite so refined as hers, he was very well-spoken, and their colouring was the same, his lanky frame topped with a thatch of hair the colour of a corn field. Assuming hers owes nothing to the peroxide bottle, thought Liz irreverently.
    Young lady , indeed! He could only be a year or two older than she was. What did her age matter, anyway? She was old enough to be out at work earning a living - which was probably more than this well-off chap had ever done. On the other hand, he did seem to be trying to help.
    Liz felt a spurt of amusement. To think that she, a daughter of Red Clydeside, was considering using one of the Idle Rich as an ally in her plans to join the Red Cross! Eddie would be doubly horrified.
    Mind you, what was that phrase he had used when he and Grandad had been arguing about the show trials in Russia? The end justifies the means? If this posh young gentleman could help her get enrolled, that was fine by her.
    She gave her unexpected knight in shining armour a broad smile and received one as warm and friendly in response. He had nice eyes. They were a warm hazel, a striking contrast with his fair hair.
    ‘After all,’ he said, ‘if the worst does come to the worst, Clydebank’s going to be one of the places that—’He broke off, looked embarrassed, and started again. ‘The Red Cross could do with a lot of volunteers in Clydebank...’ His voice trailed away.
    Liz knew exactiy what he had been about to say. Clydebank’s going to be one of the places that’ll get it. If war did come, the town on the banks of the Clyde, full of shipyards and factories, was going to be a prime target for enemy bombs. And all those yards and factories sat cheek by jowl with the packed three-and four-storey tenements which housed the people who worked in them.
    Unexpectedly, somebody laughed. It was one of the Bright Young Things, a pencil-slim young woman with hair the same colour and length as Liz’s. Hers, however, was beautifully coiffed, curling smoothly under at the ends.
    ‘I thought you were all conchies down there,’ she observed, her voice an amused drawl. ‘Just waiting for the Germans to parachute down and help you start the revolution. Send all us lot to Madame la Guillotine . Isn’t that right, darling?’
    Coming forward, she slipped her arm through that of the fair-haired young man. Her last comment had been addressed to him, and now she turned and looked up at him with an expectant smile.
    Eddie would have said that the Bright Young Thing’s reading of modern politics was somewhat defective. She didn’t seem to know the difference between fascism and communism. All Liz knew was that the comments had made her blood boil. How dare she?
    It was true there was little appetite for war in Clydebank, its inhabitants still pinning their hopes on the League of Nations being able to find a peaceful solution to the continuing crisis. Damning her home town as being full of potential fifth columnists was, however, too much for Elizabeth MacMillan to take. Tossing her unruly head, she prepared to do battle.
    ‘Surely no sane person actually wants there to be a war?’ she asked haughtily.
    ‘And,’ she finished up, having made her points in her usual forthright manner, ‘personally I’m of the opinion that conscientious objectors deserve our respect. They stand up for their beliefs.’ She swallowed. Eddie might be going to be one of them.
    Squashing that thought, Liz smiled sweetly at her adversary. ‘We’ve got some in Clydebank,’ she said. ‘You’ve probably even got them in Bearsden,’ she added, ‘or wherever it is that you live.’
    ‘Well, really!’ came an older female voice, the precursor to a chorus of disapproving murmurs. Liz couldn’t make out all the words, but she could guess what was really being said. The