A Girl in Wartime by Maggie Ford

Author:Maggie Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473503151
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

Chapter Twenty

In the middle of the family dinner a knock came at the door.

‘Oo the bloody ’ell’s that on Sunday dinner time?’ Connie’s father burst out, slamming his knife and fork down on the table, which was laid with its best cloth. ‘Bad enough ’avin’ to make do with the stuff they call meat these days for a Sunday dinner without someone interrupting it.’

These days, the main dinner of the week was nearly always a family gathering, with what few seemed to be left: Lillian and Elsie and their children, both their husbands having been called up under the government’s need for more men, married or single.

Now and again Connie’s grandparents would turn up – her mother’s mum and dad and Dad’s father – each bringing something from their larders. Food shortages were growing evermore grim with thousands of tons of shipping being sunk around Britain’s coast, and it was becoming good manners that anyone invited to dinner would contribute a little something.

This Sunday there was only Connie’s sisters, and Dorothy with her baby, little Violet, on her lap. Ron’s letters were always full of how proud he was of her. He wrote to Mum too, saying she would never know how much he appreciated her taking his Dorothy in after her own mother had spurned her, calling her a slut and asking her what would their neighbours think, and saying that they would never forgive her for bringing shame on the family. The girl must have felt it deeply but always put a brave face on it, never ever mentioning them.

That had turned Connie’s thoughts to her own dilemma – her and Stephen. Then had come that knock at the door. As her father got up to answer it, she had felt her body tense, as though those thoughts of hers had been a sort of premonition.

As yet she’d not had the courage to tell Mum and Dad about her and Stephen. He’d asked several times if she had and when she shook her head, about to make an excuse that they weren’t ready for that yet, he’d playfully half-threatened to come here one day and tell them himself. That had been last Saturday. Things had begun to become serious between them, yet she’d still not seen the inside of his bedroom, but his couch saw perhaps as much of their love as the bedroom might have – or nearly as much.

She was beginning to know what love really was as they lay together on his couch, Stephen kissing her, fondling her, until her insides screamed for him to complete what he’d begun. She would hear his breathing become excited, feel his body tensing, only to have him suddenly draw back from her, his voice laboured, saying, ‘Not yet, darling, not until we are married.’ It felt like a form of torture.

Last Saturday she had become angry, asking, ‘When, Stephen? When do you intend us to marry?’ wishing she’d asked it gently as he drew back to sit up, his expression tight.

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