‘How do you mean?’
‘You looked so pretty today, Lil, in your fur coat and that hat, but at home I never see you in anything except a housecoat and curlers. Perhaps you could dress up for Tony once in a while – I mean, not in the fur coat, obviously, but you’ve got other nice things.’
Lil gave a weak smile. ‘I was only wearing my best hat to hide the fact that it’s over a month since I was able to afford a shampoo and set.’
‘Here.’ Bobby took out her purse and held out half a crown. ‘Take this into Settle and get your hair done. My treat.’
‘I can’t take that. You’re even more hard up than we are. At least we’ve got Dad contributing to the housekeeping.’
‘But we haven’t got a baby to provide for – not yet, at least.’ Bobby pressed the coin into her sister’s hand. ‘Take it, please. I had a little windfall earlier in the week – never mind what from, I’ll tell you another time. I’ve bought Charlie some nice things for when he comes home, but I’d like to treat my sister too. I know you’ll never be able to justify using your own money.’
Still Lilian hesitated. ‘Are you sure? You’ll have plenty of baby things to buy soon enough.’
‘I know,’ Bobby said with a sigh. ‘But this is bonus money, and I’ve made up my mind to spend it making the people I love happy. Make yourself pretty and go dancing with Tony. I’ll look after Annie.’ She rested a hand on her swollen stomach. ‘I need the practice.’
‘It feels like such an effort to be pretty when I’m practically hunchbacked after hours of pumping water, with my hands chapped all over from boiling napkins.’ Lil put the half-crown away. ‘But you’re right, I ought to do more to please him. After all, what’s the alternative? I’m married to Tony and I have to make the best of that.’
Yet Lilian sounded more resigned to her fate than eager to improve her lot. Bobby wished there was more she could do.
‘If Dad moves out, that ought to help,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak to Charlie about clearing his equipment out too. Then you can have that room for storage and Dad’s old room for a nursery.’ Bobby held her sister back to look into her tear-stained face. ‘Things will get better, Lil. I promise.’
Chapter 18
Bobby supposed she ought to feel relieved after her conversation with her sister. It had contained two pieces of good news – that Lilian was no longer taking tonic wine, and that her relations with George Parry were no more than they ought to be. And yet Lil had sounded so unhappy, in her life and in her marriage. Perhaps spending more time with Tony would help, but Bobby sensed the problem went deeper than something that could be fixed by a trip to the pictures.
Preoccupied as she was with her sister’s worries, Bobby didn’t forget to stop in at the Hart on the way home and purchase a jug of beer for Charlie. There was nothing left now of the BBC’s ten shillings. She felt very extravagant at having spent so much in one day, but if it made Charlie smile it would be worth it.
She wondered how he was feeling after his emotional deathbed visit. Bobby was sure he must be craving a pair of warm arms and the soft, soothing murmurs of a wife who loved him. She wished they were together.
Tomorrow was Saturday, her half day. Bobby had an appointment with Dr Minchin in the early afternoon, but that left plenty of time to prepare Charlie’s homecoming tea. If he was lucky enough to avoid too many of the delays that were a hallmark of wartime travel, he could be home by early evening.
The last thing Bobby felt like after her sober conversation with Lilian was trying to be funny, but she hadn’t forgotten her plan to write a dozen good jokes before she retired. She couldn’t afford to waste any free time she was granted before the baby came – a visit to her sister was enough to remind her how precious a mother’s leisure hours were.
Like Lilian, Bobby felt it would be an extravagance to light a fire only for herself. Instead, after a frugal supper of bread and dripping, she carried her hot water bottle and the wireless set into the bedroom. There she put on several layers and some gloves, found her notebook and the fountain pen Don had given her when she left theCourierand tuned in to the Forces Programme. There was a new episode ofITMAon at half past eight. Bobby hoped listening to it would set her creative juices flowing.
‘Oh!’ she said, quarter of an hour into the broadcast.
It had been so fast she might have missed it. It was during one of Tommy Handley’s conversations with another character: Mrs Mopp, the eccentric, gravel-voiced charlady. And it was her joke! Thrown in among the other one-liners had been one of the gags the programme had paid her five shillings for. Even with the BBC letter, Bobby hadn’t quite believed her words could be on the air, heard by thousands of listeners.
Even the king would have heard it! Everyone said he never missed an episode ofITMA. Had he laughed at her joke? And had Charlie heard it, wherever he was?
Bobby remained in a starstruck daze, still unable to quite believe that her words, her actual words, had been broadcast across the country. But once it sank in, it did more than anything else to bolster her confidence. As soon as the programme was over, she took up her pen and started to write.
When Bobby awoke, she was still in her gloves and three warm jumpers, her notepad under her cheek. She had stayed up writing far later than she’d intended, eventually falling asleep with her uncapped pen still in her hand.
Woozily she reached for Charlie, then opened her eyes when she encountered a wet patch.
‘Oh hell!’
She jumped out of bed and yanked on the light pull, assuming her hot water bottle must have leaked, but it was her fountain pen that was to blame. There was ink everywhere. When Bobby looked in the mirror, she saw that the impression of a joke was emblazoned like a bad tattoo on her right cheek where she had slept on her notepad.
What had she written anyhow? She snatched up the notepad and skimmed the smudged but thankfully still readable writing.
There were nine jokes there. Perhaps five of them were all right. One was sheer nonsense. Bobby must have scribbled it down when she was all but asleep. The other three needed work, but she might make something of them. She would take the pad to work and type up the good ones. If they still managed to produce a smile after she had slept on them – rather less literally this time – she could send them off by tomorrow’s post.
Bobby looked at the bed and grimaced. Ugh, why had she let herself fall asleep holding the pen? God knew how she was going to get that ink out. She’d have to miss her breakfast cup of tea and get the bed stripped down so the mattress could dry off before bedtime.
What time was it anyway? Bobby glanced at the clock and her eyes widened.
