uncomfortable-looking chairs pushed under Spartan rectangular tables. Hazel led the way into the kitchen at the back and filled the kettle at a deep china sink. Having rummaged in a cupboard for some cups and saucers she turned to give Rosie a searching stare.
‘Got a man in your life?’
Rosie shook her head, having noticed that Hazel was glancing at her fingers, probably searching for a ring of some sort. Her mother’s wedding ring was wrapped in tissue in her handbag. ‘You got a boyfriend?’ Rosie always turned a leading question on its head. Her home life wasn’t up for discussion.
‘Mmm … he’s a sailor. Chuck’s due back on leave soon.’
‘Lucky you,’ Rosie said with a friendly smile.
‘Lucky him … if you know what I mean,’ Hazel winked a weighty eyelid, lewdly puckering up her scarlet lips. She cocked her head. ‘Can’t believe you’ve not got a feller.’ She tutted. ‘Sorry, that was a bloody stupid thing to say, all things considered. There’ve been so many casualties in this damned war.’
‘No, it’s all right; I’ve not lost anybody over there or here. Just not got anybody special in my life … a man that is …’
Rosie’s private smile as she thought of Hope went unnoticed by Hazel.
Hazel spooned tea into a small enamel pot. ‘Best get this down us before the hordes descend. Teatime at four thirty.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, got half an hour to spare.’ She poured boiling water onto the leaves and stirred. ‘Come on, while that brews I’ll show you a bit more of the set-up.’
Hazel was tall and solidly built. From the young woman’s forthrightness Rosie reckoned Hazel was no shrinking violet when it came to cleaning up the human wreckage left behind after Hitler had dropped his calling cards.
‘This is the common room.’ Hazel waved at a young fellow who was filling some hurricane lamps ranged in front of him on a table. In response he called out a cheery hello.
‘New recruit, Tom,’ Hazel informed. ‘Tell Miss Rosie Gardiner she’s barmy; go on, she won’t believe me.’
‘Listen to Hazel,’ Tom called with a rather effeminate wave. ‘Scarper while you still can.’ He then turned his attention to the funnel he was using to drip oil into the lamps.
‘Tom Anderson is a conchie,’ Hazel said quietly. On seeing Rosie’s bemusement she explained, ‘Conscientious objector. We’ve had a few of those sent here. He might not want to fight but he’s a bloody godsend with the ambulances. He’s a driver and knows a thing or two about mechanics. He used to drive a tractor on his dad’s farm.’
Rosie hoped Tom was unaware that Hazel had been gossiping about him. His boiler-suit-style uniform made him look more like a plumber than an ambulance driver.
‘Table tennis …’ Rosie had spotted the net shoved into a corner, bats and balls scattered on the top. ‘I used to be pretty good at table tennis.’
‘I’ll give you a game if we end up on the same shifts,’ Hazel offered. ‘What did you do before this damned war buggered us all up?’
‘Worked in a theatre a few years back.’
‘Me, too!’ Hazel burst out, delighted. ‘Which theatre?’
‘The Windmill …’ Rosie started examining the table tennis bats. She never volunteered the information that she’d worked as one of the theatre’s famous nudes. But neither did she deny what she’d done, if asked directly.
The Windmill Theatre had stayed open throughout the war. But Rosie had never felt any inclination to go back for old times’ sake and see a show, or look for the few old colleagues who might remain working there.
‘I worked as a magician’s assistant,’ Hazel informed her. ‘He was always trying to have a fiddle down the front of me costume so I dropped him and went out on my own. I could do a bit of singing and dancing but never made much of a name for myself.’ Hazel click-clacked a few steps with toes and heels, hands jigging up and down at her sides. ‘I was in the chorus at the Palladium once when one of the girls went sick at the last minute.’ She sniffed. ‘Never got asked back, though. They said I was too tall for the chorus line.’ She gazed at Rosie admiringly. ‘The Windmill! Now why didn’t I try there!’ She grinned. ‘What’s the place like? Bit racy, ain’t it, by all accounts? All the servicemen flocked there. Chuck and his navy pals used to race to get a seat at the front. Bet you had a few followers, being as you’re so pretty.’
‘Take a look at an ambulance, can I?’ Rosie asked brightly. ‘I’d better see what it’s all about just in case I’m lucky enough to get to drive one.’
‘You think that’s lucky? Oh, come on, the tea’ll be stewed.’ Hazel led the way back towards the canteen. ‘Getting behind the wheel of a meat wagon is no picnic, I can tell you. Gilly Crump had held a motor licence for years yet she drove an ambulance straight into a wall in the blackout. Knocked herself sparko and ended up in the back of the blighter on a stretcher.’ Hazel chuckled. ‘Gave in her notice shortly after when she got out of hospital. You’ll need to do a few practice runs under instruction before they’ll let you loose on your tod with an assistant.’
‘You won’t put me off, you know.’
Hazel poured the tea then held out a cup, grinning. ‘You look like the sort of girl that does all right whatever she turns her hand to. Some people just have that sort of luck. Whereas me … I bugger up everything.’
‘I bet you don’t!’ Rosie returned, thinking ruefully that if Hazel knew her better she’d be revising her opinion.
Rosie rather liked her new colleague’s droll manner. She knew already that she’d chosen well in applying to the service; it didn’t feel like home yet, but it did feel right being here with Stella Phipps and Tom Anderson and Hazel Scott. In fact, she was itching to get started.
‘Didn’t know if you’d still come over for a picnic after what’s gone on,’ Gertie called out as soon as she saw Rosie rounding the corner.
‘’Course I’d come for a picnic. Been looking forward to it. Take more than a load of flying bombs to keep me away from our day out.’ Rosie grinned although she wasn’t feeling quite as chipper as she sounded. While heading to their rendezvous spot Rosie had also wondered if she was making a fruitless journey. She wouldn’t blame Gertie for wanting to stay day and night right by an underground shelter after losing three children in the Blitz.
‘Head off towards the park, shall we?’
Gertie nodded. ‘We had a couple of close shaves in our street. Get any blasts your way from those damned rockets?’
‘Where I live they’re always coming too close for comfort,’ Rosie replied with feeling. ‘Thankfully, no hits in the street. I saw the first one come over, though.’ She shook her head as she recalled that night. ‘Couldn’t believe my ears … or eyes.’
That first doodlebug had come down in Bethnal Green, blowing to smithereens the railway line and several houses. Unfortunately,
