Two weeks after her first trial day at the bakery, Betty was officially the new shop girl and was beginning to find her feet at Barton’s, learning her penny buns from her teacakes and her fresh scones from her stales. The customers had welcomed her with open arms, many of them seeming to relish the opportunity to talk to a new person about their family goings-on. It was funny how, as a shop girl, you were privy to so much personal information – Audrey said that one of the most important things to remember was to give every customer your personal attention, to offer a bright smile and a warm shoulder and never judge a person, whatever they said, until you’d walked a mile in their shoes. This came naturally to Betty and she rather enjoyed finding out about people’s lives – a little selfishly, perhaps, because their stories of heartache or suffering made her feel less awful about her own embarrassing situation.

Every morning, on her way to catch the bus from her room in Lansdowne to the bakery in Southbourne, Betty walked past the tall, grand Metropole Hotel, where hundreds of Canadian airmen were billeted. Often there would be a group of uniformed men smoking outside the hotel, preparing to go out on their morning drill. She tried not to, but she knew that when she passed one airman in particular – a young man with a warm smile, a shock of white-blond hair and dark brown eyes – she walked a little taller and held her chin a little higher. This morning was no different.

‘Morning, beautiful girl,’ the blond airman said in his alluring Canadian accent. Unable to stop a smile creeping onto her lips, Betty silently reprimanded herself.

You’re still a married woman, for goodness’ sake, she thought, trying not to blush.

‘Can I walk with you?’ he said boldly and walked alongside her for a few steps, keeping in time with her pace, so close that their sleeves brushed. Without slowing down, she turned and looked at him, realising that, up close, he was even more handsome than she’d thought.

‘Those red lips and pink roses on your cheeks can’t be real, can they?’ he said in mock horror. ‘You must be wearing some blush,’ he added with a cheeky smile, to which she raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t – and he knew as much.

‘I’m Sam, by the way,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

She didn’t reply, so he pushed her. ‘Go on, tell me, what’s your name?’ He laughed. ‘Or is it a national secret?’

Seeing her bus pulling up at the stop, she increased her pace, leaving him behind on the pavement, but not before finally muttering; ‘Betty. I’m Betty,’ and giving him a little smile that she couldn’t suppress, despite knowing better.

‘Good to meet you, beautiful Betty!’ he hollered after her in the street, which made her cheeks burn. She wasn’t used to compliments and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one. ‘Maybe we could meet up some time?’ he shouted, running his hand through his hair and grinning.

Hastily stepping onto the bus and knowing that he was still standing in the street as it pulled off, she tried not to look back at him, but just as the bus was about to swing round the corner and disappear out of view, she couldn’t resist glancing back. He was still standing there, his hands pushed into his pockets, a big grin on his face. He raised his hand and she waved a little wave in return – such a simple action, but it suddenly felt too intimate.

‘Gracious,’ she whispered, holding her cool fingers against her hot cheeks. She flicked her eyes around the faces of the people on the bus, but nobody seemed to have noticed that she was burning with a combination of shock, pride and embarrassment, thank goodness. Sinking into a seat, she folded her hands on her lap and tried to calm down her frantic thoughts.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him my name, she thought. What was I thinking?

They could never be friends. For one, she was married and secondly, the fewer people she knew in this new life she was forging, the safer she was. Since arriving in Bournemouth she’d managed so far to avoid too many questions about herself, apart from when Christine had recognised her, of course. The customers were satisfied with her first name and only really wanted to tell her their news and, thankfully, Betty hadn’t seen Christine again since that first night. She hoped the girl had forgotten all about her. Secretly, she found the thought of Sam quite thrilling, but she knew she should avoid him. Men were not to be trusted, she knew that only too well. Why would he be any different?

Thinking of untrustworthy men and staring out of the bus window, her thoughts turned to Robert. She wondered how he was coping without her, and realised with a sinking heart that he might actually be pleased that she’d disappeared without a trace. Perhaps she’d made life simpler for him. Now he could focus on Doris and his kiddies, without the obligation of being married to Betty. Perhaps everyone in Bristol thought she’d died in an air raid – people did disappear. Shaking her head in dismay, she felt a rush of anger towards him. ‘I’m better off without you, Robert Mitchell,’ she muttered, then realised she was at her stop and jumped up from her seat, ready to disembark.

---

Arriving at the bakery, where the delicious aroma of warm bread drifted into the street and the sing-song voice of Audrey chatting to Mary lifted her spirits, Betty put all thoughts of Robert and Sam firmly from her mind. The bakery was her life now, her rented room her home.

‘Morning!’ she called to Audrey, who, helped by Mary, was polishing the shop window where BAKERY was written in elegant gold lettering. Despite being pregnant, Audrey never rested – the woman was a workhorse!

‘Morning, love,’ said Audrey, smiling at her. ‘There’s a pot of tea and a warm bun in the kitchen if you want a bit of breakfast before you start. You’re looking lovely today! The Bournemouth sea air must be doing you good. Beautiful day, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s going to be a warm one, I think,’ said Betty, smiling appreciatively at the bright blue sky. She felt great warmth for Audrey, who had welcomed her into the bakery without interrogating her about her past and whose cheerful manner was good for the whole community’s morale. Inside the shop, Betty put on her bakery overall and quickly helped to put the baskets of fresh buns and loaves in the window. She realised, as she handled the hot bread, that she loved her new job.

‘I’ll make this new life work, no matter what,’ she told herself, preparing to serve the first few customers, women who shopped early so they could still get to their war jobs in factories on time.

Mid-morning, when the queue had died down, Pat arrived with a WVS overall for Betty. Handing it over the counter, she regaled her with the numerous WVS jobs that needed doing, and Betty felt pleased for the opportunity to become more involved and be more helpful. The busier she was, the less time she had for agonising over Robert – or dreaming about Sam.

‘When you’re done in the bakery this afternoon there’s an important job that needs doing,’ said Pat, resting for a moment in the bakery chair. ‘It’s the Bournemouth book scheme. We’re collecting unwanted books and magazines for the waste paper drive, but we’re also taking books to the military personnel billeted here, to give them something to do in their hours off. Keep all those young men out of trouble! Can you help me distribute them to some of the hotels that the men and women are staying at? I’ve had so many donations, I can’t possibly do it alone.’

‘I’d be happy to help, Pat,’ Betty agreed, smiling. But on seeing Lily and Christine enter the bakery, her smile faded and she froze. ‘Oh, I just need to go outside for a moment. Excuse me…’

Betty rushed past a confused-looking Pat, Lily and Christine out into the street. Not knowing what to do, she started to cross the road and headed towards the post office. Christine called after her.

‘Betty!’ she yelled. ‘Come back here, will you? I’ve a question for you. It’s important.’

Betty wished she could run away up the street, but knowing Pat and Lily’s eyes were also on her, she couldn’t. Sighing, she returned slowly to where Christine was standing outside the bakery, making a performance of lighting up a cigarette. Just from the expression on her face, Betty knew her cover was blown and that Christine was going to take great pleasure in telling her as much.

‘I know who you are, Betty Mitchell,’ Christine said, blowing smoke in her face. ‘You’re my husband Dick’s friend, Robert Mitchell’s wife, aren’t you? Have you done a runner from Bristol? I’m going back there today. Just called in to say farewell.’

Betty folded her arms across her chest and chewed the inside of her cheek.

‘Don’t say anything to anyone in Bristol, will you?’ she said. ‘Don’t say you’ve seen me. Please don’t tell Robert. I had to get away. It was… difficult.’

‘Why?’ Christine pushed, her interest piqued. ‘What are you hiding? My Dick has a lot of time for Robert, thinks he’s a fine, hard-working sort. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear that I’ve seen you.’

Betty blanched. People in Bristol did think Robert was a good man. If only they knew the truth. Betty could quickly set Christine straight, but something stopped her from bad-mouthing her husband. Was it loyalty to him, or embarrassment on her own part?

‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Betty said, feeling irritated. ‘I just don’t want him to know where I am. It’s complicated and I don’t want to go into it really.’

‘Does he beat you?’ said Christine, her eyes open wide. ‘Cos if he does, then I’ll let him know what I think of him.’

‘No,’ said Betty, sighing. ‘It’s not that. He’s never hurt me.’

‘Then what is it?’ she said. ‘Have you got another fella or something? Have you done the dirty on him?’

‘No!’ said Betty, feeling increasingly annoyed by Christine’s nosiness. ‘Why are you so interested? It’s nothing to do with you! Can’t you just forget you saw me?’

Christine glared at her and Betty returned the glare. What if she told Christine the truth and she reported Robert to the police? Even though he had treated her so badly, she didn’t wish that on him.

‘I’m just wondering why you’re lying to these good people at the bakery,’ said Christine. ‘That’s what it’s got to do with me. They’ve done nothing but show you kindness and you’re not telling them the truth. You told them you’re called Smith and that you’re from Portsmouth, so what are you hiding?’

‘I needed some time to think,’ said Betty, her heart pounding. ‘Why don’t you just leave me alone to get on with my own life?’

But Christine wouldn’t leave it alone. In fact, the more Betty insisted, the more interested she became.

‘What’s it worth then, your secret?’ she said, changing tack. She glanced through the bakery window and gave Lily, Pat and Audrey an innocent little wave before moving closer to Betty. ‘It must be something pretty big if you’ve run all the way to Bournemouth and you’re lying to Audrey Barton, who has a heart of gold.’ She paused and narrowed her eyes, as if devising a plan. ‘You can buy my silence,’ she continued, ‘but I’m expensive. Half your bakery wage or I’ll go down the docks today and tell Robert what I know.’

Betty pushed Christine away from her. Christine shoved her back, hard. Suddenly enraged, Betty shoved the other woman up against the wall.

‘I’m not paying you a penny,’ Betty said. ‘That’s blackmail.’

She got as close to her face as she dared, desperately trying to intimidate her, but Christine just laughed a bitter laugh.

‘Liar!’ said Christine. ‘Fake!’

‘Shut up!’ Betty said, holding on to her wrist. ‘You’re a bitch! Why do you even care about my life? Just do me a favour and shove off!’

Suddenly there was a hand on Betty’s shoulder, and she spun round on her heel to see Audrey’s disapproving expression.

‘Betty,’ Audrey said, in a serious, hushed tone, ‘what on earth is going on? As a representative of Barton’s bakery, this is no way to conduct yourself in the street! Christine, are you all right?’

Betty glared at Christine, who had started to whimper and was massaging her wrist as though Betty had been too rough with her. With her eyes open wide, she blinked innocently at Audrey, shaking her head.

‘She attacked me, Mrs Barton,’ said Christine. ‘I only came in to say that I remembered where I’d seen Betty before. She’s not from Portsmouth. As her employer, you should be aware that she’s not who she says she is. She’s on the run from Bristol and has secrets she’s not willing to share with us.’

In that moment Betty despised Christine. What would she gain from blowing Betty’s cover? Just when she was beginning to love her job, too.

‘Is this true?’ said Audrey, hands on her hips. Betty opened her mouth to answer but couldn’t find any words. Feeling cornered and diminished by the disappointment in Audrey’s questioning gaze, she quickly pulled off her bakery overall and cap, stuffed it into Audrey’s arms and ran down Fisherman’s Road towards the sea.

---

‘I can’t believe she attacked me. I feel ever so shaken up,’ said Christine dramatically, batting her eyelids and straightening the collar of her dress. ‘I only called in to say goodbye and look what happened!’

Audrey studied Christine’s features and found her to be quite unconvincing. There was something about the girl’s tone she didn’t trust – but she’d seen what had happened herself. Despite being the size of a sparrow, Betty had thrown Christine up against the wall and was clearly threatening her, though she wouldn’t really call it an attack. Always instinctively wanting to defend the underdog, Audrey was tempted to insist that Betty must have had a reason to behave so out of character, but she bit her tongue and shook her head.

‘I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll find out,’ she said, before taking Christine’s hand and gently shaking it. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you, Christine. I wish you luck returning to Bristol. This war has torn apart some of our most beautiful cities but in time hopefully they will be rebuilt. I do hope you can get on with your life there now you’ve had some respite here.’

At the change of subject and mention of her home, a wave of emotion passed over Christine’s face, and Audrey’s heart went out to her. Wartime was hard on everyone. Bidding her farewell, Audrey’s mind returned to Betty. After checking that Lily and Pat could watch the shop, she set off in the direction Betty had dashed off, walking as quickly as her pregnant bump would allow.

‘She didn’t get far,’ she muttered to herself when she spotted Betty sitting in the long grasses on the clifftop, her chin leaning on her knees. Pausing for a second to admire a common blue and clouded yellow butterfly, Audrey felt heartened – they carried on fluttering about despite the ugly sea defences, pillboxes and rolls of barbed wire on the beach below. As she continued towards Betty, she was hit once again by a pain in her lower back so sharp that she had to pause, close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. After a few moments the pain eased and she reached Betty, who turned to face her with tear-stained cheeks.

‘Dry those tears,’ said Audrey, lowering herself to the ground with difficulty and resting her palm on Betty’s shoulders, ‘and tell me what’s troubling you.’