‘Percy said my freckles are sweet,’ she said, leaning forward.
I leaned backwards away from the sink, so I could see her in the lounge. ‘Nell, watch yourself there. Your skirt’s dangling into the fire.’
‘Do you think I look like a little girl?’
‘No, I don’t. And I really don’t think Percy does either.’
Nelly was actually beautiful. I always thought she looked like a film star. Like Vivien Leigh, perhaps, with her pale skin and dark hair. And her freckles just added to her beauty, in my opinion.
Nelly sighed theatrically. ‘All the Malones are cursed with freckles.’
‘Cursed or blessed?’ I said, rolling my eyes as I put the last plate on the drainer and, after drying my hands, went into the lounge.
‘Do you think I should grow my hair?’ Nelly twirled one of her gleaming curls around her finger and examined it closely. ‘Sure, it’s not as shiny as it used to be.’
‘That’s because you are hungry and tired and it’s full of brick dust and smoke.’
Nelly turned to me and gave me a beaming smile. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m a silly vain old thing.’
‘Not old,’ I said. ‘But vain, undoubtedly.’
Nelly grinned again.
‘Come on, let’s get ready.’ I was feeling nervy and on edge. I gave the blackout curtain at the kitchen window a tug to make sure it was properly closed.
Nelly nodded. ‘It’s still early.’
‘I know. I just feel uneasy.’
‘Bombers’ moon, isn’t it?’
‘It’s so clear tonight.’
And as if I’d made it so, the siren suddenly began to screech. Nelly and I both jumped.
‘Early,’ she said. ‘Come on, then.’ She tugged my sleeve gently. ‘Check the gas, and I’ll grab our coats.’
‘No coat needed, darling,’ Nelly drawled. ‘I’ll get my robe.’
For Christmas, Percy had given Nelly the most beautiful robe. It was made of some silky brightly coloured material with fringing on the sleeves. It was ridiculously over the top but she loved it. And I loved Percy for choosing it for her, because it was absolutely perfect for Nelly.
It was very glamorous – like something you’d see in the pages of a magazine and definitely designed for women who wafted round fabulous apartments in New York rather than maisonettes in South East London. Since Christmas she’d put it on whenever there was a raid ‘so I look glamorous if I’m ever in need of being rescued’. I thought she was mad because it was a bitterly cold winter. I preferred to wrap up warm in my coat and as many layers as I could fit underneath.
I darted into the kitchen and made sure everything was turned off. Nelly pulled on her robe and, because she was prone to boredom stuck inside the shelter for hours, collected a pile of books and a newspaper, and a pack of cards. Then we went downstairs, and I put on my coat as we went. Mrs Gold came out of her front door just as we reached the bottom.
‘Oh, girls, lovely,’ she said. ‘Mr Gold’s at work and I wasn’t sure if I’d be alone in that blasted shelter tonight.’
She was struggling holding a pile of folders full of papers, and with her coat draped over her shoulders. On top of the pile were the gloves Nelly and I had made her as a Christmas gift. Touched that she was using them, I went to her and helped her into her jacket.
As she pushed her arm into the sleeve, I noticed that severalof the documents she was trying to stuff into the folder on top were stamped “Confidential”. And one of them appeared to be in German.
Mrs Gold saw me glance at the papers and shoved them in, shutting the folder firmly. ‘Awfully boring,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I have to bring typing home from the office. We’re terribly short-staffed.’
I looked over her shoulder through her front door, which opened directly into the Golds’ lounge, and where I couldn’t see any typewriter. Mrs Gold shut the door with a bang. ‘We should hurry,’ she said.
The moon was so bright outside, it was like daylight. The bombers would have no trouble finding London tonight.
We walked round to the back of the house, then stood for a minute in the garden, feeling the sharp evening air on our cheeks.
