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

‘Why did you leave the new team?’ Ronnie asked Sally curiously.

‘The Scot – Laura McKay – stayed a whole fortnight.’ Sally shook her head. ‘I always thought the Scots were a tough lot. Then the new girl turned up. Lily. And that accurately describes her – lily-livered. I hate to say it but she was useless. Terrified of creepy-crawlies, always losing her windlass, late every morning – you couldn’t depend on her. I can’t see her lasting.’

‘Well, the cut in’t everyone’s brew,’ Jessica said, mocking Dora. ‘Speaking of which …’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Let’s have a quick cuppa and then get going. We need to be tied up at Brentford by six o’clock latest. That only gives us a couple of hours. But I’m not cooking supper. I say we have fish and chips tonight to celebrate Sally coming back.’

Sally produced a newspaper from the basket she carried. ‘This is probably cause for an even greater celebration,’ she said. ‘Look at this.’

‘Good God,’ Jessica said, briefly scanning the leading article. She handed the paper to Ronnie. It was today’s Daily Mail, Tuesday, 6th June 1944, and the front-page headlines screamed out:

OUR ARMIES IN N. FRANCE

4,000 INVASION SHIPS HAVE CROSSED CHANNEL

BRITISH AND CANADIANS

SECURE 2 BEACHHEADS

Ronnie’s eyes travelled down the columns, trying to take in such a momentous development.

‘You know what this means,’ she said, beaming as she handed the paper to Sally. ‘We must have delivered some of the ammunition they needed. We said how we were suddenly much busier. I wish we’d known.’

‘Probably best we didn’t,’ Sally chuckled. ‘You’d have got so excited you might not have had your mind on the job.’

‘Well, I was right,’ Jessica said triumphantly. ‘I said right at the beginning when Dora wouldn’t let us go on leave that our boys could be planning an invasion – and northern France was the obvious choice.’

‘My mother’s going to be really happy,’ Ronnie said. ‘Maybe it won’t be too long before her beloved Paris is free.’

‘The war’s really turning in our favour now,’ Jessica said, checking her watch. ‘But I tell you one thing – if we don’t soon get going, we’re not going to make it by this evening.’

With exaggerated groans from Ronnie and Sally, the two of them quickly cleared the cups and threw on their jackets.

‘Who’s going to help me untie?’ Jessica asked.

‘I will,’ Ronnie volunteered. ‘Sally can be unpacking.’

‘That’ll take all of two minutes,’ Sally laughed.

By the time the three of them had moored at Brentford, Ronnie’s stomach was rumbling. Instead of tying up at six, as Jessica had planned, Ronnie’s watch showed it was coming up to nine, and getting dark. She’d seen Persephone and Penelope through a couple of locks by herself, but thankfully a surly lock-keeper for once made an appearance to open the particularly tricky Thames lock.

‘I don’t know about you, Sally,’ she said, flopping down in the butty when the two boats were safely moored. ‘But I’m too tired to walk to any fish and chip shop.’

‘Why don’t I make us all some scrambled eggs on toast?’ Sally suggested.

‘I’ll help, when I can just draw breath.’ Ronnie gave her a weak grin.

‘No, you did more than your fair share with those locks and Jess really had to concentrate getting through them, so let me.’

‘That Thames lock was a killer,’ Jessica said, coming through the hatch. ‘I’d forgotten it was tidal and had a bit of a prang. Good job Deadly Dora’s not around. She would have given me hell for it.’

‘I think we did an excellent job between us,’ Sally said. ‘By the way, Jess, Ronnie’s exhausted. We thought we’d stay in and have scrambled eggs. Is that okay with you?’

‘Suits me,’ Jess said. ‘We should have some fresh eggs in the cupboard.’ She glanced at Ronnie. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Look what I found in the motor this afternoon – addressed to you.’ She tossed an envelope over to Ronnie.

Ronnie stared at it curiously. She didn’t recognise the neat writing. It was marked ‘Strictly Confidential’. How strange. She glanced at the postmark and her eyes went wide.

‘But this was posted in February … and it’s now June.’

‘I know.’

‘Where was it?’

‘Wedged in the back of one of the drawers. I wondered why it wouldn’t open properly.’

Ronnie frowned. She fetched a knife and carefully slit the envelope. She read the first line and her heart jumped. It was from Michael!

12 Polstead Road,

Oxford

12th February 1944

My dear Ronnie,

When you told me you didn’t want to ever see me again and I saw how upset you were, I vowed not to be the cause of any more hurt. But after mulling it over I decided I must explain the difficult situation I found myself in, hoping you’ll understand. I’m one of the youngest of my colleagues and don’t have all their experience but I was completely against bringing you into the station and scaring you into thinking we were going to question you yet again. I’d already argued the day before with the same inspector you saw that you were too young and inexperienced to be put through something like that, and it wasn’t fair. He said, ‘Nor is black-marketing.’ I desperately wanted to tell him we were good friends and you would take a dim view of my role, and the police in general, but that would have made things worse as he would say I’m biased, and the police are supposed to be objective. He had it in his mind that his plan was going to work, and said, ‘I’m sure she’ll soon forget it.’ It’s not surprising that he doesn’t get on with his own daughter.

And when I saw your white face when you walked into the station, all I wanted to do was to take you in my arms and tell you everything would be all right.

Maybe it was unwise to mention his plan the other day but I couldn’t have been anything less than honest with you. I didn’t