‘Can’t,’ Florrie said shortly. ‘Got to wash some things before Dad gets back.’
‘I thought Mrs Wilcox took in your washing.’
‘Not all of it.’
‘I only wanted five minutes,’ Bobby said, smiling as warmly as she could. ‘I just wondered if there was anything you might like to speak to a grown-up about.’
Florrie shook her head, her eyes fixed on the floor.
‘Nothing that’s upsetting you?’ Bobby persisted. ‘Anything bad at school, or worries about the war? You look ever so tired, Flor.’
Once more, Florrie shook her head. Bobby tried again.
‘Because if you did want to talk to someone, I’d always listen,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t tell your dad or anyone without your permission.’
That was at least a half-fib. If the child was really concealing some sort of illness, then Bobby would tell whoever she had to to get Florrie what help she needed. But it was obvious the girl was struggling to open up, and Bobby had to earn her trust.
The promise not to tell Captain Parry seemed to produce a glimmer of hope in Florrie’s eyes, but this quickly died.
‘Don’t matter,’ Florrie said gloomily. ‘You couldn’t help.’
‘Help with what, sweetheart?’
‘It don’t matter,’ the girl said again.
Bobby sighed as she admitted defeat. She wasn’t going to give up until she’d got to the bottom of the mystery, but she couldn’t force Florrie to confide in her. Mary was the person the girls were closest to, other than their father. Perhaps she would know what to do.
‘Bobby?’ Florrie said in a small voice as she turned to go.
‘Yes, my love?’
Florrie hesitated, then blurted out, ‘Do you know about the law?’
Bobby blinked. ‘The law?’
‘Yes. I read how journalists have to know about the law.’
‘Well, yes, I know a little,’ Bobby said, feeling puzzled at the abrupt change of topic. ‘When I worked as a newspaper reporter, part of my job was to cover court cases. Did you want me to teach you about it?’
‘No. This is for… summat else.’
‘What is it?’
Florrie started rummaging in a chest of drawers. Bobby watched her, wondering what this was all about. Could the child believe she had committed some sort of crime?
After a moment Florrie thrust out a piece of paper, covered in her handwriting.
‘Will you make this proper on your typewriter?’ she asked Bobby. ‘I mean, will you make it proper like with the law? And don’t tell Dad, please. You promised you wouldn’t.’
Bobby frowned as she took the thing. It looked like a list of Christmas presents. Her own name jumped out as she scanned it.
Bobby – story book with the monkeys’ tea party story she loved.
‘I can type it, yes,’ she said.
‘And you won’t tell Dad about it?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to.’ The list looked innocuous enough, so Bobby felt no responsibility to take it to the captain. ‘What’s it for, Florrie?’
