and smiled gratefully. If Mabel broke down she would too, but more tears were the last thing Ellen needed to see. Yes, Gertie would take them in, she was sure of it, and a little time in the country was just what Ellen needed.
It would be hard to leave her friends, especially Mabel, but in Somerset they’d be safe, Gertie’s home providing a haven until soon, she was sure, this dreadful war would be over.
Ellen was shaken awake when the train pulled into Crewkerne station and climbed bleary-eyed out of the carriage. It was three in the afternoon as she and her mother stood on the platform, a bitter cold wind cutting through their clothes. Only moments later a tall, big-boned woman appeared and Ellen was amazed to see that she was wearing scruffy, brown, corduroy trousers that were tucked into wellington boots, along with a dirty navy duffel coat. Not only that, she was wearing a brown flat cap with her dark blonde hair tucked up beneath it.
‘Hilda,’ the woman cried, her dark brown eyes warm as she strode up to them and her strong features softened by a wide smile.
‘Hello, Gertie,’ smiled Hilda.
‘You look exhausted. Come on, let’s get you home,’ Gertrude Forbes said as she grabbed both suitcases. ‘My goodness, is that Ellen? I can’t believe it.’
‘Of course it’s Ellen. It was her birthday last month and she’s ten now.’
‘She’s so pretty – but has it been that long since I’ve seen you?’
‘Yes, nearly seven years and you’ve been in Somerset for six of them.’
‘Where does the time go? Come on, follow me,’ said Gertie, striding ahead of them now.
‘Blimey, is that yours?’ Hilda asked when she saw a small horse and cart.
‘Yes. Ned’s the only transport I have and I’d be lost without him.’
Hilda eyed the horse warily, but Gertie urged them to climb onto a bench-like seat at the front of the flat cart. She then stowed their cases in the back before heaving herself up beside them.
‘Right, we’re off,’ she said, taking the reins, and with a gentle click of her tongue, the horse moved forward.
Ellen had never been on a horse and cart before and found it strange: the gentle sway, the clip, clop of hooves as they rode along a narrow street. Soon they were passing through a small town and she listened as her mother spoke with Gertie.
‘Thanks for this. Thanks for taking us in.’
‘It’s nothing and I’m sorry it took so long to answer your letters. I don’t get post delivered, and rarely go to the village. It was quite a surprise to find two waiting for me, but awful to hear about your parents. I should have kept in touch with your mother, but when it all came out I wasn’t sure she’d want anything to do with me.’
‘She was shocked, but you know my mum, she never had a bad word to say about anyone. Oh, Gertie, I still can’t believe she’s gone, that they’re both gone.’
‘I’m so sorry, Hilda, so very sorry.’
Ellen leaned against her mother, shivering, her teeth beginning to chatter. ‘Mum … I … I’m cold.’
‘Here,’ Gertie said as a tarpaulin-like cover was thrown over them. ‘Tuck that around you and it’ll keep you both warm.’
‘How far is it to your place?’ Hilda asked.
‘It’s a fair trot, and don’t expect too much. By the time we get there you’ll find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and as for those daft shoes, forget it. Like me, you’ll need boots and the same goes for Ellen.’
‘Gertie, I can’t believe how different you look. In London you always looked so smart, if a bit severe, and I never thought I’d see the day when you’d wear trousers and wellies.’
‘Needs must,’ Gertie said dismissively, ‘and anyway, I prefer them.’
‘You said in your letters that you’re fine, but it’s been years since Susan left. Have you found anyone else?’
‘No, and I don’t want to.’
‘Aren’t you lonely?’
‘Not really. I have my animals, and – unlike people – they don’t let you down.’
‘You sound so bitter, Gertie.’
‘What do you expect?’ she replied, eyes flashing. ‘I lost everything for Susan, my reputation, my career, then after moving here she left me.’
‘You could have returned to London.’
‘At first I wanted to lick my wounds in private, then, as time passed, I became used to the seclusion. I love it now. I’m self-sufficient and I doubt I’ll ever leave.’
‘At the moment you’re better off here. London is hell. Since September we’ve had bombing raids day and night, but mostly at night now.’
‘You’ll be safe here.’
‘Have you heard from your father?’ Hilda asked. ‘Is he still in London?’
‘I expect so, but I haven’t heard from him and doubt I ever will. You know what happened when he found out. He almost had an apoplectic fit and said I’d disgraced the family name. He’ll never forgive me.’
Ellen was at a loss to understand this strange conversation. Forgive Gertie for what? She spoke of licking wounds, and what on earth was an apothingy fit? Ellen wanted to ask, but knew better than to interrupt her mother when she was talking. She’d learned that if she kept quiet, sometimes adults would forget she was there, but one sound, one word, and they’d either stop speaking or chase her out.
They had left the town behind; the countryside they were passing through wintry and bleak. It was so quiet, so peaceful and warm beneath the cover that Ellen closed her eyes. She felt the sway of the cart and found the voices drifting, growing distant.
Hilda saw that Ellen had fallen asleep again and held her close. She sighed heavily, the tension in her neck easing. Gertie had welcomed them and at last they were away from the bombings. Surely in the peace of the countryside Ellen’s nerves would heal?
‘It’s lovely to have you here, Hilda, and yonks since I’ve seen you. Just how long have we been friends?’
‘I’ll have a go at working it out. I was about eight years old when my mum started work as a domestic in your father’s house and you were the same age. I think we saw each other occasionally, though at that time I’d hardly call us friends.’
Gertie chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember now, and my goodness I was such a stuck-up little bitch.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Hilda said ruefully.
‘When
