A Sister's War by Molly Green (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

she was a real person – a girl who risked her life rescuing a little cat – not just another unknown victim of the canal.’

‘If only I’d—’

‘No “if only”s,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t help. You did your absolute best. More than anyone you tried so hard to save her.’

‘What did Dora say when you told her?’

‘She said it was a pity but it was one of those things.’

Ronnie turned her head and began to cry again, still holding on to Michael.

‘Come on, Ronnie. Poor Margaret’s at peace now.’

She gulped, then sniffed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her raincoat. Michael found her a handkerchief and held it to her nose.

‘Blow,’ he said, as though she were a child. ‘Good.’ He studied her. ‘Are you feeling better?’

She couldn’t speak.

He nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You’ll remember her for the kind girl she was, but she wouldn’t want you to be miserable on her behalf.’

Suddenly Ronnie looked at her arm and then with horror at the ground. The meat pie had been flung into the snow. He followed her gaze and picked up the basket, then crouched down and rescued the pie.

‘Here, it’s not broken up too much. You should be able to piece it together but it might need a little more time heating up, that’s all.’

She knew he was trying to lighten the moment and smiled weakly. ‘Thank you … Constable,’ she managed.

‘I’ve told you before – Michael will do when we’re off-duty.’

‘Michael,’ she repeated, and took the basket from him. ‘Thank you for taking the trouble to come and tell us.’ Without another word she climbed aboard Penelope, somehow comforted by his warmth and understanding.

To her relief Jessica was the only one in the butty. She was making tea and turned when she heard Ronnie’s step.

‘Did you just this minute bump into Constable Scott?’

‘Yes.’ Ronnie flushed with embarrassment remembering how she’d blubbed on his coat. Whatever must he have thought? ‘He told me about Margaret.’ She sat down. ‘I can’t believe it. She was improving – the hospital said so.’

‘These things happen.’ Jessica poured her a mug of tea. ‘Drink this, Ronnie. I offered our lovely Constable Scott a cup but he wouldn’t stay. He was bent on finding you and telling you in person – I suppose he thought he should as you knew her better than the rest of us.’ She looked at Ronnie closely. ‘Unless, of course, he had another reason.’ She gave a knowing smile.

‘Stop it, Jess. I’m not in the mood for your nonsense.’

‘Look, Ronnie, you can’t keep this up. We’ve got a job to do.’

Jessica left without another word. Ronnie put her hands round the hot enamel mug, trying to draw some comfort from its warmth. How kind Michael had been when she’d made such a fool of herself. It was almost as if he’d gone out of his way – surely beyond what would have been considered his normal duties. If it were true, then why?

It wouldn’t sink in. No matter how Ronnie told herself it was true, she still couldn’t quite believe Margaret was dead. Nothing to do with the war but something that could so easily have been avoided. Going for a walk by the canal when it was pitch-dark was madness. Whatever had made her think of doing such a thing? How much easier it would have been to have learnt that a bomb had killed her. She bit her lip. That was a terrible thought as well. It didn’t matter now how she’d died. Nothing could alter the fact that Margaret, a young girl with all her life before her, was dead.

Ronnie swallowed her tears.

‘The officer told me Margaret’s ma and pa are comin’ to collect her things,’ Dora finished when she appeared in the butty a few minutes later, puffing more furiously on her pipe than usual. ‘They should be here termorrer mornin’ so we’ll be tyin’ up until they’ve done their business.’ She looked at Ronnie for the first time. ‘What’s the matter with you, miss? Yer eyes are all red and swollen.’

‘It’s such a shock about Margaret,’ Ronnie gulped.

‘Yes, most unfortunate.’

Is that all the woman can say?

As if Dora read her mind, her expression softened a fraction. ‘Like I keep tellin’ yer – the cut’s a dangerous place. Yer have ter learn to respect ’em. Let this be a warnin’. An’ it’s not worth rescuin’ some poor creature what’s fallen in.’

Bob, who’d turned out to be the landlord of The Crown, had kindly offered Dora and Ronnie shelter in the pub while they waited for Margaret’s parents to arrive.

‘Miss Dummitt, I think that’s them. They’re both carrying suitcases.’

‘Go and see,’ Dora said. ‘No good both of us freezin’ to death.’

Ronnie stood outside, banging her arms together to keep warm. She watched as the couple slowly walked from the bus stop towards the pub.

‘Mr and Mrs Webb?’ she asked. Mr Webb nodded. ‘I’m Ronnie.’

‘Pleased to meet you, my dear. This is my wife.’

Mrs Webb’s face was set as though she was determined to hold herself together, but Ronnie noticed Mr Webb had tears rolling down his cheeks which he wiped away, coughing loudly into his handkerchief as he did so. Ronnie remembered how fondly Margaret spoke of him.

‘It’s a sad day all right,’ Dora said, coming up to them. ‘Yous’d better come on board and one of the wenches will make a cuppa.’

‘No, thank you,’ Mr Webb said. ‘It’s very kind of you but we want to be on our way as quickly as possible with this snow.’

‘Ver-ron-eek, here, has packed Margaret’s things,’ Dora said, briefly touching Ronnie’s arm to show Margaret’s parents who she was. ‘She was the one what found yer daughter.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Mr Webb exclaimed. ‘The nurse told us a friend visited her in hospital a couple of hours before we got there. The weather held the bus up. Was it you, my dear?’ Ronnie nodded. ‘Margaret said you’d been a good friend and she was sorry to have put you