‘Beauty is duty, eh?’ said Christine to Lily, as they stood next to one another in the gardens of the convalescent home in Southbourne, where Christine and her baby Aggie were staying, and dahlias and geraniums bordered a green lawn. Christine was referring to the government’s instruction that girls and women should stay pretty in wartime to boost morale, but was jokingly applying the phrase to baby Aggie and Joy, who were sitting on a blanket, pretty as new roses.

‘A beautiful face is a brave face,’ said Lily in reply, and both girls laughed. They’d seen the posters and advertisements in magazines, aiming to encourage women to keep up their appearance, no matter what troubles they faced.

Audrey had told Lily about Christine and that she might need a friend, so she had visited the home, with Mary in tow and instantly liked her. They sat in the grounds of the grand white villa on Viewpoint Avenue now and played with the baby girls, who were picking up and dropping, or trying to chew two wooden cubes. Mary’s face was smeared with blackberry juice stains, since she’d spent the afternoon collecting blackberries from the hedgerows. The Ministry of Food were offering threepence per pound of blackberries for preserving – and scouts and schoolchildren were making the most of the offer. Mary, it seemed, had probably eaten her fair share too!

‘Talking of beauty, I think we better clean you up, Mary,’ Lily said, wiping her hanky over Mary’s face, rubbing at the stains. At that moment, an aeroplane roared over the roof, terribly low, and Aggie burst into tears.

‘Oh, it’s okay, baby girl,’ said Christine, quickly picking up her daughter and holding her close to her chest, covering her ears with her hands and rocking her gently from side to side until she calmed down. ‘It’s part of the treatment programme,’ she told Lily. ‘The babies here are traumatised by the sound of aircraft, so we have to sit outside and expose them to the sound, but make them feel safe afterwards so slowly they don’t see the aircraft as a threat.’

‘Poor little thing,’ said Lily, gently rubbing Aggie’s back as she sobbed. ‘Was it bad then, in Bristol?’

Christine nodded and seemed unable to speak. She swallowed and looked up at the clouds, as if to stem the tears.

‘Five months of bombing,’ she said. ‘The houses in my street were decimated. Hundreds of people were killed. We knew we’d be a target as an industrial centre, but I never expected it to be like it was. And poor little Aggie was frightened to bits. Even in our cupboard under the stairs, she just couldn’t stand the noise. Some of the babies here were stuck in rubble for twenty-four hours before being rescued. They’re properly traumatised, poor lambs.’

Lily shook her head sympathetically and picked up Joy, kissing the top of her head. Her gaze dropped to Christine’s hands, where she saw an engagement ring and a wedding ring. ‘And where’s Aggie’s father?’ she asked. ‘Is he fighting?’

Christine’s eyes filled with tears, which she wiped away quickly, before putting Aggie down on the grass again and busying herself with unbuttoning the tiny cardigan.

‘He’s a prisoner of war in Germany,’ she said, without looking at Lily. ‘He went missing in Crete but was reported as being in Germany. He was my best friend my whole life. We always said we’d get married when we turned eighteen, but then he was called up. We organised a wedding in forty-eight hours and managed to get married before he left. He was home on leave from military training for a week and that’s when I got pregnant. He’s never met Aggie and I’ve no idea when he’ll come home again. People have been so kind, sending their sympathies and enquiring over my anxieties about him. How about you? What about Joy’s dad? Is he fighting?’

Thinking of Henry, who hadn’t been in touch since their awful meeting at the hotel, Lily found herself blushing and her pulse quickening, wondering how judgemental Christine would be. She never knew how to answer this question and though sometimes she was tempted to lie and pretend she did have a man overseas, she always told the truth and hoped that people would understand.

‘He’s a clot!’ she said and Christine laughed. ‘He’s married to another woman. He wasn’t at the time I knew him, but anyway, I think you can probably guess the rest. I was very foolish and made a mistake.’

Christine nodded. ‘Did your parents support you?’ she asked. ‘I know lots of girls who have been in the same situation but their family wouldn’t have anything to do with them.’

‘My father didn’t like the idea of me being unwed, so I came to stay with my stepsister, Audrey, the lady you met at the bakery,’ explained Lily. ‘She’s been so kind to me and made me so welcome. My father has recently been to visit and I think he was bowled over by Joy. He wants us both to go and live with him when the war is over, but even though that’s what I’ve always wanted, I’ve started to feel part of the community here and now I have a new job teaching English to refugees at the local college. I’m happy here.’

She fell silent, thinking that she loved her family at the bakery more than she could say and also enjoyed teaching her students – men from all over the world who found themselves in Bournemouth. Teaching them English made her feel as though she was doing something really useful.

‘Christine!’ said the matron of the centre, interrupting Lily’s thoughts. ‘Please come in now!’

Christine rolled her eyes discreetly at Lily. ‘The other people here are lovely, but that one’s an old cat,’ she whispered, making Lily giggle.

‘Why don’t you come to the bakery for your tea?’ Lily suggested. ‘Audrey asked me to invite you.’

‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

Chrisine cleared it with the matron and the young women left the home. As another plane roared overhead, prompting Aggie to burst into tears again, Christine comforted and kissed the child until she calmed down, and Lily was struck by the ability and power of women. Carrying their baby daughters in their arms towards the bakery, she realised what an important job she and Christine had to do – get on with life in spite of the war, while making sure they brought up their daughters to do exactly the same.

---

‘Savoury onions,’ said Audrey, placing a casserole dish on the kitchen table. ‘Onions that I had to register for, stuffed with breadcrumbs, of which I have plenty, egg, a little bit of cheese and crushed sage from the garden. Help yourself to bread and cabbage and hopefully this will keep the wolf from the door. There’s pudding, of course – flaked barley cake, Mary’s favourite.’

Mary smiled at Audrey, from under her fringe, and tucked into a slice of bread spread thinly with margarine. The news of her father’s death had devastated her, but shown plenty of love and patience: she seemed stronger. Now, one of her front teeth was wobbly and she was having to shove the bread into the side of her mouth and into her cheek to chew it properly, making Audrey chuckle.

‘Mary, I think we should tie a piece of cotton to that tooth and tie the other end to the door handle, then slam it shut, don’t you?’ she said. ‘It needs to come out!’

‘But then I won’t be able to eat the barley cake!’ said Mary.

‘You know what they say about pudding, don’t you?’ said Christine, putting her petite shoulders back as if ready to make a speech. ‘Reflect, whenever you indulge, it is not beautiful to bulge. A large, untidy corporation is far from helpful to the Nation. It’s from the Ministry of Food – I saw it in the paper.’

Everyone at the table – Lily, Elsie, Mary and Christine – laughed, and Audrey was heartened by the fact she was back in her own homely kitchen, putting a meal on her own, albeit fire-damaged, kitchen table. Finally, after help from the Assistance Board and with favours from friends and neighbours, they had been able to move back into the bakery, leaving a quietly relieved Pat to get on with her life. Now, with the shop about to open again, she felt as if she was getting back to ‘normal’ – as normal as life could be in wartime – and that she could finally concentrate on Elsie and William’s wedding.

‘We’re preparing for a wedding, Christine,’ said Audrey, serving up the onions. ‘Elsie here is marrying my brother William. You’re more than welcome to join us for the reception.’

‘Thank you,’ said Christine, grinning at Elsie, who yawned an enormous yawn.

‘Excuse me!’ Elsie said. ‘I’ve been working long hours. I look and feel exhausted! My skin looks grey, doesn’t it?’

Audrey laughed and shook her head: ‘No, Elsie love,’ she said. ‘You look lovely.’

‘You should use used tea leaves in muslin bags as a face mask,’ said Christine. ‘And if you’ve any lard, it works a marvel on the skin, instead of cold cream. And do you have any lipstick? If you melt the pieces you have and mix it with lard, you’ll have a new blusher. Then you’ll look and feel brighter.’

‘Oh, you know all the tricks!’ Audrey said. ‘You’ll be a useful girl to have around. How long are you staying in Bournemouth, Christine?’

‘A month or two, I think,’ she said. ‘It depends on Aggie. I’m not sure what we’ll go back to, but I do want to go back. Being here is lovely and thank you for the welcome, but Bristol is my home. Makes me realise what all the little evacuee children must feel like. Homesick, I should think.’

Audrey checked Mary’s reaction, but she was too busy eating, thank goodness. She was doing everything she could to protect Mary from upset at the moment – she just wanted her to feel at home at the bakery, not to be reminded of feeling homesick. But, of course she knew exactly what Christine meant. In the mass evacuation of children from the major cities, Bournemouth had received thousands of evacuees – from Southampton, Portsmouth and London – and while some, she knew, were content, others missed their parents immeasurably. Who the children were billeted with made a difference too: some local women loved their evacuee visitors like their own children, enthusiastically introducing them to life on the coast, while others treated the city children with disdain, complaining of fleas, foul mouths and bad manners. Audrey shuddered at the thought of any child being neglected, wishing she had a house big enough to take care of them all. It was a cruel irony, she thought, that she loved children so much, yet she wasn’t able to have one of her own. Motherhood, it seemed, was out of reach.

‘Audrey…?’ Lily said, smiling and waving a hand in front of Audrey’s face to attract her attention.

‘Hmm?’ said Audrey, blinking. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was just thinking. What did you say?’

‘I said I think someone’s at the door,’ Lily said. ‘Shall I get it, or are you expecting someone?’

Audrey slid back her chair, suddenly flustered. ‘No, no, I’ll get it,’ she insisted. ‘You carry on with your dinner and make Christine feel at home. Find out all her beauty tricks!’

Quickly making her way to the door, Audrey took off her apron and tucked her hair behind her ears. Expecting a neighbour perhaps, she didn’t let her mind go to the dark, dreadful place that feared the arrival of a telegram reporting on Charlie’s whereabouts. The tension slipped out of her when she saw Arthur standing on the doorstep, holding a bunch of roses. His eyes were twinkling as he smiled at her and presented the flowers.

‘I hope you are feeling better now, Mrs Barton,’ he said. ‘I wanted to wish you luck for the shop opening tomorrow. I’ve seen the repair work going on and I’m impressed by how quickly you’re back up and running.’

‘Thank you,’ said Audrey, accepting the flowers with a smile. ‘Will you come in for some pudding? We’re about to have barley cake – there’s plenty to go around. I’ve a new girl stopping in for dinner. She’s from Bristol, I’m sure you’d like her.’

Arthur laughed and held up his hand in refusal, just as the memory of Pat’s story popped into Audrey’s mind. She touched his sleeve and left her hand there for a brief moment.

‘Arthur,’ she said, seriously, ‘I should be giving you flowers, not the other way around. I heard about the incident off the Head and how brave you were. Lesser men would have turned away. Everyone is talking about you and they’re so grateful – you’re a hero.’

At this he burst out laughing and shook his head. ‘One minute I’m a coward and the next, I’m a hero – I can’t keep up,’ he said.

Audrey felt her face redden. ‘No, I didn’t mean—’ she started.

‘It’s all right,’ he replied, kindly. ‘I’m used to it, Mrs Barton – the gossip, the hard stares, the mistrust. I rescued that man because he was in trouble, not because I want to be considered a hero or to get people to like me.’

He gave a slight bow, and left, walking away down Fisherman’s Road, leaving Audrey holding the bunch of flowers, with the uncomfortable feeling she’d been misunderstood. She longed to call him back and correct him, but wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to say. Watching him disappear into the distance, she was struck by a thought: I liked you anyway, Arthur, I liked you anyway.