Homefront by Barry Jill

Author:Barry, Jill [Barry, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2013-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

Three days later, the postman brought a letter card for Charlotte. She recognised the familiar handwriting immediately and tore at the perforated strips to read her father’s words, realising just in time her fingers still bore the marks of the oil she’d measured and poured for the last customer.

“Bother,” she said, hearing another car pull up on the forecourt. She tucked the letter into her pocket and set off to greet whoever was outside. She’d need to wait until she could wash her hands, making sure first that Jack could take over the pumps for her. He was assisting George in the workshop and she didn’t want to interrupt his training session.

As soon as she could, she rubbed her greasy hands with a cloth then visited the lavatory and rinsed her hands under the cold top, using carbolic soap and wrinkling her nose at the same time. This wasn’t her favourite smell but her father and Don would have laughed their heads off if she’d suggested placing a tablet of Camay beside the washbasin.

Charlotte peered into the workshop. Jack caught her eye. “Do you want a break, Charlie?”

George straightened up. “Jack’s quick to learn,” he said. “We don’t want him getting a swollen head though.”

Charlotte laughed. “No chance of that here,” she said. “I’ll pop round home and put the kettle on.” She tapped her pocket. “Letter here from the real boss waiting to be read.”

“Our Robert’s not been in touch yet,” said Mr Costello. “His mother’s on the fidget. I’ve told her not to fret – he’ll not have a minute to himself except when he’s sleeping.”

Charlotte stared at him. She longed for a letter. How could she have failed to remember Mrs Costello might too be pining for news of a certain young man? Aware of her cheeks turning pink and relieved not to be quizzed by Robert’s father in front of the apprentice, Charlotte turned away. “Tea’s up in a few minutes.”

How many pots of tea will I have made for the men by the time this war’s finished, she wondered. How many letters were being written at this moment to sweethearts, sons and sisters? In the meantime, news of her father would be very welcome. This evening, she’d find out whether Eleanor too was the recipient of a letter from Raymond. How strange it was to think of her godmother’s heart lifting in anticipation as she, in her turn, ripped open a letter card or envelope. This war heralded change in more ways than one.

Charlotte forced herself to fill the kettle and set it upon the stove before sinking down at the kitchen table. The house was always quiet at this time of day so it didn’t seem odd to be alone. By contrast, reading the words ‘My dear Charlotte’ seemed very strange when they were on the page in her father’s surprisingly clear for once, handwriting.

Greedily she scanned the close-written lines, looking for anything that might stand out as a major problem. She hadn’t realised how protective of her father she’d become since the loss of her mother.

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