The girl’s eyes kindled. She had always taken a lively interest in the magazine, earnestly working on stories of her own in the hope that one day, she too could join the staff ofThe Tyke.
‘Yes, it’s the shepherd’s hut in the field behind our garden,’ she said eagerly. ‘I didn’t even know it was ours. We’ve never been allowed to play in it, because there used to be rats and stuff.’
Bobby shuddered. Rats! She hoped Reg had been thorough in evicting these former residents.
‘Can we have a look inside then?’ Tony asked Florrie, more gruffly that he probably intended.
‘I guess that’s all right,’ Florrie said. ‘I’ll take you to it.’
She led the way through the house, swaggering a little in her role as guide. Bobby tried not to smile.
In the garden, they found Jessie sitting by her little chicken coop, singing to the two young hens that Mary had given her from her brood of chicks.
Jessie, too – now all of nine years old – was growing up. This was reflected in her new fascination with what her big sister scoffingly called ‘the lovey pictures’. Jess was an avid reader of the film magazines Lilian saved for her, sighing besottedly over every big-screen romance and cutting out pictures of herfavourite stars. Her hens, therefore, had been christened Joan and Olivia, after the leading ladies she most admired.
Jessie had been convinced of the power of song to produce more and better eggs ever since she had tended Mary’s elderly biddies at Moorside, and every day spent half an hour singing earnestly to her own girls. Bobby smiled when she heard what the child was chanting.
‘Old Hitler’s a funny ’un, he’s a face like a pickled onion,’ Jess warbled in a dirge-like tone. ‘A nose like a squashed tomato, and eyes like green peas.’
‘I dread to think what flavour eggs you’ll get with that song, Jess,’ Bobby said with a laugh.
The child squealed and jumped up to hug Bobby around the waist. Bobby lifted her up to swing her around, pleased to see the girl but fearful lest Jess noticed her thickening waist. She would have to be cautious about hugs from the children if she wanted to keep her pregnancy secret.
‘It’s all right,’ Jess said when Bobby had put her back down. ‘Dad says Joanie and Livvy lay their best eggs when I sing songs about Hitler being bad. I bet they hate him as much as us human beings do.’
‘Well that’s mightily patriotic of them.’
‘Have you come for a game?’ the girl asked hopefully. She glanced at Tony. ‘You can both play.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Bobby said. ‘I promised to help Mary with the Christmas preparation after work, and then I have to make tea for your Uncle Charlie. Mr Scott and I came to take a look at your dad’s shed.’
Jessie jutted her lip. ‘Aww. You promised you’d play Spy School next you saw us.’
‘This isn’t an official seeing you. Spy School is for tomorrow at Moorside, after Sunday dinner.’ Sundays were family days, whenAthertons, Scotts and Parrys would gather for a convivial meal and an afternoon in each other’s company.
‘But a quick game though?’ Jess asked. ‘Half an hour isn’t long.’
‘I really don’t have time, sweetheart.’ Bobby bent to kiss the child’s head. ‘But I know Mary’s desperate for help with her baking, and I’m certain Lilian would let you help put Annie to bed afterwards.’
‘Ooh, yes please!’ Florrie said. ‘And may I read her a story from my book? I’ve written a new one.’
‘You’d better ask her father.’
‘May we, Mr Scott?’ Florrie asked, turning to him with pleading eyes.
Even Tony had to smile at the children’s fondness for the baby, who they cooed over as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
‘She’d like that,’ he said, in a softer, less awkward voice. ‘She loves stories and lullabies.’
‘I’ll do the lullaby,’ Jessie said eagerly. ‘I’m best at singing and Florrie’s best at stories.’
Bobby laughed. ‘All right, but nothing about Hitler. We don’t want to give baby Annie nightmares, do we? Flor, can you show us the shed?’
Florrie pointed to a building at the end of the field behind their garden. ‘That’s it. I haven’t got the key but you can look through the window.’
‘That’s all right, I’ve brought the key Reg gave me. I hope your father won’t mind if we peek in.’
‘We’ll show it to you,’ Florrie said, and Bobby and Tony followed her and her sister to the shed.
