little shaken, she gabbled, ‘I don’t think it’s a man’s kind of book if the other one’s anything to go by.’
‘It’s a true story, isn’t it?’
June turned the book over. Monica Dickens smiled from the jacket cover. ‘Yes, it’s her autobiography.’
‘Then try me.’
By the look of his grin he was flirting with her. Willing her cheeks not to burn and trying her best to ignore the nearness of him, June handed over a shilling and said goodbye, but Murray Andrews reached the door before her.
‘Can I at least take you for a cup of tea, Miss Lavender? That wouldn’t be too forward of me, would it?’
His hand on the door frame. A strong, capable hand. Only moments ago her own hand had been lost in it. An image of him in his flying suit in the cockpit, blue eyes fixed firmly ahead … that same hand on the controls … Look away. Her eyes roved to a clock on the wall above Mr Brown. Oh, no. It was already five minutes over the time Iris had given her.
‘I’m really sorry but I’m late meeting someone.’ And with that June rushed out.
‘I’m ready for that cuppa,’ Iris said, holding the café door for June, who thumped her new boots up and down to kick off the snow.
The café was heaving. Iris pulled a face. ‘Ugh, I hate the horrible smell of dandelion they’re all using now instead of coffee. Camp. Who thought of a name like that? And who do they think they’re fooling?’
‘I suppose they can’t help it with the rationing.’ June looked about her and spotted a table. ‘Oh, that couple by the window are just leaving. And it doesn’t look quite so smoky.’
‘Did you go to both bookshops?’ Iris asked, when they’d settled in the still warm seats.
‘No, only Brown’s. He was very helpful so he must be the nice one.’
Iris smiled. ‘I’m glad you got on well with him.’
‘He found me exactly what I wanted. Maybe because I bought a book it cheered him up … even though a customer knocked him down from one-and-six to a shilling – on my behalf.’
‘Oh? Who was that then?’ Iris gazed at her, curiosity sparking in her sapphire-blue eyes.
‘Just some man.’ Blast. She hadn’t wanted to mention Murray Andrews.
Iris immediately pounced. ‘What man? Another old boy?’
‘No. He was an officer – a pilot at that RAF station you mentioned.’ June hesitated. Might as well give the full account now. ‘Actually, I first saw him on the Liverpool train. He offered to help with my case but I wouldn’t let him.’
‘Gosh, it doesn’t take you long to get yourself a boyfriend.’ Iris laughed.
‘Don’t be daft. I doubt very much I’ll ever see him again. Anyway, he was nothing special.’
‘Then why have you gone pink?’
June put her hand to her cheek. ‘Because it’s so hot in here. I’m going to take my coat off.’ She was relieved to see a waitress hurrying over.
‘Tea for two, please, and two scones and jam,’ Iris said. She leaned across the table and gazed at June, her eyes full of mischief. ‘Don’t think you can change the subject. I want to hear all about your pilot. Every detail.’
‘He’s not my pilot and there’s nothing to tell,’ June said, annoyed with herself for starting all this. ‘He was after a map but Mr Brown told him in no uncertain terms there was a war on and a map could end up in the wrong hands. So of course I couldn’t tell him I was also after a map.’
Iris chuckled. ‘Well, you’re bound to bump into him again at one of the dances. Maybe he has a nice friend.’ She patted June’s arm. ‘It’ll be fun going with you. Sometimes a couple of the maids come and we catch a bus together but they giggle over nothing and have no conversation except boys and moaning about Cook. Course, they’re still wet behind the ears.’
The waitress set a tray of tea and the scones on the table.
‘No butter.’ Iris wrinkled her nose at the margarine. ‘But at least we’ve got a teaspoon of jam.’
June was relieved the conversation had taken a turn away from Murray Andrews. Iris chattered on about her family, then said, ‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’
It was the question June was dreading.
She swallowed. ‘I had two sisters, but one – Clara – died when she was only eight.’
Iris covered June’s hand with her own. ‘I’m so sorry, Junie. That’s awful. How long ago?’
‘More than five years but it still seems like yesterday. That’s why I’m here – to help children who need me.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘Mum died two years after Clara’s accident, when I was sixteen. She was broken-hearted and became … ill.’
‘Oh, poor you. And your father?’
‘I … he …’
‘Don’t tell me if it’s painful.’ Iris looked over at the wall clock opposite and shot to her feet. ‘C’mon, kid, we’ve got to get back. Harold won’t be able to take us home as he’s got to take the car in for repair. But we can get the bus if we hurry.’
‘This is my treat.’ June got out her purse and left the coins on the table. She dipped in again and drew out a thruppenny bit, hoping it was enough for a tip, and buttoned her coat. She picked up her bag and the shoebox with her old shoes and hurried after Iris.
An hour later they were back at the home. Just as Iris put her hand out to pull the bell cord the heavy oak door swung wide. Matron stood there, her face red and perspiring, eyes wide as though she were about to burst.
‘Have you heard the news?’ Matron threw her hands in the air.
June and Iris glanced at each other, puzzled
‘No, we’ve been—’ Iris began.
‘The Japs have bombed one of the American naval bases in Hawaii!’ Matron’s voice rose a decibel. ‘That means the Americans will be over here in droves, you’ll see! With all their money and fancy goods.’ She gave a contemptuous twist of her lip and shook her head with such force her cap hung at a precarious angle.
Iris shouted in delight. ‘But that’s wonderful news, Matron. They’ll be here to help us win the war – and not before time.’ She grabbed hold of June, who was trying to take it all in. ‘Isn’t it exciting, Junie?’ Iris whirled her so hard June’s head swam. ‘Junie, say something.’
‘I bet Mr Churchill’s relieved,’ June gasped, laughing as she nearly lost her balance when Iris suddenly let her go. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Matron’s grimace before she disappeared
