‘Dad?’ she called, flicking the switch to turn on the parlour light.
Her father peered around the door. He was in his pyjamas with a book under one arm, evidently getting ready to settle for the night. Bobby sagged with relief, as she always did on coming home to find him safe and sober, then instantly tried to hide it.
‘You’ve taken your time coming home,’ he greeted her in his usual gruff way. ‘Where’ve you been for t’ last hour?’
‘I stopped in at the pub after my patrol to warm up by the fire.’
‘Hmm. Not sure as I like you drinking in that place on your own.’
‘I didn’t have much choice, Dad. I couldn’t feel my fingers. It’s freezing in that little hut.’ She went to plant a kiss on his bald crown. ‘Besides, I wasn’t alone – at least, not for long. Charlie was there. He walked me back.’
‘Huh. Even worse.’ But there was a half-smile on his lips. Her father disapproved of Charlie because he felt it was his job to disapprove of young men who spent too much time hanging around his daughters, but Bobby knew he couldn’t help liking the man for all that. It was mildly irritating to Bobby that everybody did like Charlie, even when he wasn’t trying – especially women.
‘I’m home safe and sound now, aren’t I?’ She took off her ARP coat and hat and flung them on to a chair. ‘I suppose you’ll have heard the news in the village. Lizzie said you’d stopped in.’
‘Aye, I heard. Another young lad gone.’ Her dad’s expression darkened. ‘Shame. Bloody shame. Throwing their lives away, and for what? It’ll make no difference in the long run. Made none last time.’
‘This time it will,’ Bobby said firmly. ‘It has to. Otherwise it would all feel so… unfair.’
‘That’s war. Nowt fair about it.’
‘Well, let’s talk about something else. I’m sick of thinking about the damn war.’ She glanced at her father. ‘Did you stay for a few pints in the pub?’
‘Nobbut two or three.’
Bobby knew ‘two or three’ could easily mean ‘three or four’ according to her dad’s method of accounting – or even five or six or seven. He’d seemed better since the move to the country, but it was hard to keep tabs on his drinking when she was working all day and patrolling several nights a week. And yet she knew that making him feel he was being spied on would have exactly the opposite effect to the one she wanted, sending him back to the bottle in a fit of wounded masculine pride. Still, at least it was only the Hart’s weak beer he was drinking these days. It had been weeks since he’d asked her for a glass of the whisky she now kept locked in one of the cabinets in Charlie’s veterinary surgery, which adjoined the main cottage.
‘I’m glad you’ve made a new friend here anyhow,’ she said, although she wasn’t sure a rogue like Pete Dixon was the best sort of friend for her dad, who was still battling the demons created during his time in the trenches. The man was a known poacher, and Bobby had heard he was operating other fiddles on the wrong side of the law too. Still, at least it was company for him. The worst thing for her dad right now would be too much time alone, and she couldn’t be with him herself every second of the day.
‘Couple of letters on t’ table,’ he said, nodding to them.
‘Letters?’ Bobby seized on the envelopes at once. ‘Bad news?’
‘Nay, nowt to worry about. One from Jake addressed to us both and one from your sister to you. I read our Jake’s but I didn’t open yours from Lil.’
Reassured, Bobby took her youngest brother’s letter from its envelope. It was short and to the point, as Jake’s letters always tended to be – or the few letters they’d had from him since he’d left home to start his army training.
Dear Dad and Bob,
Everything all right here. Prefer army life to Butterfield’s, though all the marching’s a bugger. Good bunch of lads too. Been getting along pretty well and Sergeant says I might make lance-corporal if I keep it up. Some of the lads who’d finished their training shipped out last week. Makes you think, that, I reckon. Hope everything’s fine your end. Should get some leave Bowling Tide week. Eddie wrote that he’s fitted a new exhaust pipe to the bike – dying to see it. Going to take Nessie Tate out for a ride just as soon as I get back. Don’t know where I’ll stay. I’ll work it out some way.
Love to both,
Jake
The letter made Bobby smile, for all the little there was of it. Of course it was his precious Triumph motorcycle her brother was dying to see when he came home, closely followed by his girl. If he could fit in his family as well, that would be a pleasant but optional bonus.
She’d have to arrange somewhere respectable for him to stay though. The ever-impractical Jake was only likely to forget. Lodgings would book up quickly for Bowling Tide week, which meant her brother would probably end up sleeping rough in some friend’s air raid shelter or on a bench in the park. The family’s little terraced house on Southampton Street in Bradford was being let out as a billet for trainee soldiers, which was a good thing as it meant her father had a small private income from the rent despite being out of work. However, Bobby’s city-dwelling siblings seemed reluctant to spend their precious leave time ensconced in Cow House Cottage, many miles from what they considered to be civilisation.
Bobby’s gaze lingered over one sentence in Jake’s letter.Makes you think, that, I reckon.Nineteen-year-old boys weren’t known for their articulacy, particularly in writing, but Bobby could read between the lines. Jake was fearful about what might be waiting for him when he completed his training and went out to join the fight. It made her think again of Billy Wilcox, no older than her brother, whose body now lay lifeless on the ocean bed. The mental image made her shudder.
‘What’s the matter?’ her dad asked, noticing her expression. ‘He sounded well enough to me.’
‘Nothing.’ She forced her frown to lift. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about something else.’
She opened the letter from Lilian and glanced over the contents. In contrast with Jake’s short letter, her twin sister’s small, neat writing covered several sides of paper. Bobby could see that Lil had plenty to tell her about the new friends she’d made down in Greenwich, and new beaus too, of course. The first paragraph was about plans for her leave in August. The first word of the second paragraph wasNFDE– an old code from childhood that stood for Not For Dad’s Eyes. This, Bobby knew, meant that everything after the first paragraph was intended for her alone.
‘Owt to tell us, has she?’ her dad asked.
