A Stitch in Time: Sisters facing love, loss and triumph in wartime London by Beryl Kingston

Author:Beryl Kingston [Kingston, Beryl]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Agora Books
Published: 2018-11-22T00:00:00+00:00

How could he refuse?

Chapter 21

As the Manchester express set off from Euston through a complication of rails and a clatter of freight trains, Rose Jeary couldn’t help feeling excited. It had taken her a long time to persuade a loan out of her bank manager, but she’d done it at last and now she had enough cash for three rolls of cloth, the train fare and even a bit extra, and she was on her way. In every sense of the words, she was heading in a new direction, looking for new materials in a town she’d never seen before. I’ll have a root round in the department stores up there, she decided, and see what sort of things they’re selling. That might give me ideas too.

Being on her own with time to think was an unusual experience for her. She was so used to living in the demanding chaos of family life that she’d forgotten what it was like to sit and dream. Or to sit and remember.

As the train gathered speed through the green fields of Hertfordshire, memories of Jack Jeary suddenly filled her mind — walking her home from the Halls, kissing her in the Kennington twilight, comforting her when Bertie was killed, singing in the pubs in Dover, warm and loving in the bed they’d shared for such a short, short time. Dear Jack, she thought. I did love him. So much. It was ages since she’d thought about him like this, but time and distance still hadn’t dulled her yearning for him.

The train whistled into an unfamiliar world of canal barges, endless fields and slag heaps as big as hills. How odd life is, she mused. When I was a littl’un, I always thought I’d marry and have lots of kids and live happy ever after — more or less — like Mum and Dad. And now here I am, an old maid with an illegitimate son, living with three other old maids. It ain’t exactly happy ever after. But then it ain’t unhappy ever after either. We’ve made a good life for ourselves despite everything. We get on well together — most of the time — we understand each other. You can’t ask for more than that.

One canal was following the railway as if there were an underground link holding them together. She watched the brown water idly. At Stoke the red brick station was dark under a glass roof, grown opaque under years of grime. At Macclesfield she had a glimpse of narrow streets hemmed in by giant buildings, mottled black and pink like shrimps. There was an ornate pub, grand on a corner, and a church as black as coal. Then they were out in the countryside again and passing a narrow river as it frothed through bleak fields.

Now that she was close to her destination Rose offered up a private prayer for success. But she didn’t bargain. That seemed childish to her now — and futile. Whatever happens today, she thought, as they pulled slowly into Manchester Piccadilly, I shall make the best of it.

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