Lily stared out of the library window at the huge weeping willow trees dipping into the River Stour. She’d hardly slept and couldn’t concentrate. The eleven male refugees, or ‘friendly aliens’ as they were called, in the room looked at her expectantly, waiting for the conversation class to begin, but she felt lost for words. This was the first session of her new role – part-time work that would finally help her feel she was doing her ‘bit’ for the war effort – but the thought of the previous night’s devastating raid and the knowledge that Audrey was suffering weighed heavily on her mind. She was desperate to be able to help her stepsister, but she didn’t know where to start and these men, who had found themselves in Bournemouth, just as she had done, were becoming impatient.

‘Good morning?’ said a Czechoslovakian man, enquiringly.

‘Yes?’ Lily said, spinning on her heel, turning to face him, her mind whirring. There must be something she could do to make a difference to Audrey, but it would take days to clear up the mess in the bakery shop. The building would need ‘first aid’; repairing, clearing up and repainting. Everything broken would have to be fixed – they would need a number of helpers to get the job done as quickly as possible. And then, like a flower blossoming, an idea formed in her head. She grinned at the men in front of her – all fit, healthy and willing to help. ‘Today we’re going to do something different,’ she said. ‘Wait here a moment, gentlemen, please.’

Met with confused expressions, Lily dashed out of the room and checked with the supervisor that her outlandish idea was permissible, as some of the men’s movements were under controlled ‘conditions’. Making sure Joy was happy in the crèche for a while longer, Lily returned to the classroom and told the group of men that she had a friend who needed some help, explaining that it would involve manual labour, and that she would pay each of them a few pennies if they would assist.

‘Who’s in?’ she said. ‘Please raise a hand if you are.’

Those men with poorer English didn’t really understand what was going on, but as the other students translated, each man’s hand rose tentatively into the air.

‘Anything but classroom work!’ Lily said, to a bemused response, but she was galvanised by their agreement and keen to get on with helping to restore the bakery to normality. It wasn’t an entirely selfless act either – she knew she would become a hindrance if she had to stay at Pat’s house. Joy still didn’t sleep through and woke up several times a night, crying at the top of her lungs. The sooner the bakery was back up and running, the better, and who better to help than eleven fit young men?

Showing the men out of the classroom and leading them to the bakery, Lily felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: she felt useful.

When they reached the bakery, there were a couple of the neighbours, alongside William and John, leaning on the front brick wall, sawing wood to put boards up in place of the blown-out windows. Elsie was there too, dressed in dungarees, with her hair tied up and gloves on, but there was no sign of Audrey.

‘What can we do to help?’ Lily said, tapping William on the shoulder. ‘There are twelve pairs of hands here. All willing and able in return for a bit of conversation.’

---

Audrey couldn’t get the café owner’s words out of her head. Spineless. Coward. Traitor. None of them seemed apt to describe Arthur, who had just listened, with the patience of a saint, to Audrey’s tear-stained woes. What right did that woman have to condemn Arthur without knowing a thing about him? People were too quick to pass judgement, too quick to read the headline but not digest the whole story. Audrey sighed, berating herself for not giving the woman a piece of her mind.

Walking home towards Fisherman’s Road in an exhausted and emotionally drained daze, she couldn’t think clearly about Arthur right now. There were too many other things fighting for her attention. Just the thought of relaying the news about Isabel to Elsie and Lily, who had been so happy yesterday at the wedding, made her feel broken. Oh, there were no words to lighten the pain, to reduce the shock or lessen the suffering – this was the stark reality of wartime.

And then there was the bakery, she thought, approaching Fisherman’s Road, dread growing in her heart. Turning into the street, she felt her legs turning liquid and specks and stars of light fill her vision. For a moment, she thought she might faint at the prospect of viewing the wreckage of her home and business in the harsh daylight, but biting her lip, she forced herself to continue.

‘Oh, gracious me!’ she said, sucking in her breath when she saw the group of people working on the bakery. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she stood stock-still on the street, a sudden gust of wind blowing her hair up wildly, watching in amazement as men she’d never even seen before were giving the building ‘first aid’. There was a man up a ladder fixing boards onto windows, several clearing rubble, another clearing broken glass – and William, Elsie and Lily were getting stuck in too. The sight of all the people helping choked her and she bit down on her lip to suppress the tears.

Elsie was the first to see her. She waved, pulled off her work gloves and walked towards her up the street.

‘We’ve just heard the news about Isabel. Poor Maggie, however must she feel?’ she said, throwing her arms around Audrey. Lily ran over too and the three women hugged one another, weeping, before eventually drying their eyes, pulling away and walking towards the bakery with their arms linked in a daze. ‘It’s all too much to digest, I think we need time for the news to sink in. Lily brought her language class with her to help clean up. They’ve been so helpful.’

‘Thank you,’ said Audrey, standing outside the bakery, addressing the men. ‘Thank you so much. Let me get you something, there must be something left.’

Feeling unsteady and drained after the emotional outpouring, she cautiously made her way through the bakery, opening the store cupboard door to find that most of the tins were unharmed. There was a box of biscuits she’d made for Maggie’s wedding that hadn’t turned out as well as she’d hoped, so she opened the lid and took them outside onto the street, offering them round to the workmen and women, who gratefully accepted.

‘John’s out back,’ said William. ‘He’s getting the ovens going.’

‘What? But the building’s not safe yet,’ said Audrey, going through the yard to the bakehouse and throwing open the door to find John had already lit the ovens and was hand-mixing the flour, yeast and water in the trough. He didn’t look up from his work when she came in.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about that poor young girl just yet,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Instead I’m putting myself to work. I’ve thought it through and we can serve the loaves from the bakehouse hatch for a few days while the shop is getting repaired. That way people will still get their bread. They might have to do without the counter goods, but it won’t be long until you’re up and running again, Audrey.’

‘But…’ she said.

‘But nothing,’ said John, breaking out into a cough. ‘Have you read the newspapers lately? There’s a war on, you know. This is the way it’s got to be, but we will not give up.’

After his speech, he coughed and coughed. Audrey patted him gently on the back.

‘John,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re ill. I can’t let you work here with that cough.’

‘I’d rather die on the job than die in that hospital bed,’ he said. ‘Let me be, Audrey Barton. Just let me be.’