The Orphan's Secret

by Shirley Dickson

Genres: Historical Fiction; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

The tear-jerking wartime tale of an orphaned baby who needs a home, and the woman who risks everything to provide it. Fans of Before We Were Yours, Wives of War and Diney Costeloe will be utterly swept away by this heartbreaking – yet beautifully hopeful – World War Two page-turner.

England, 1941: Life has always been cruel to Ethel. Raised in an orphanage by a merciless mistress, she never knew the meaning of love. And now she has fallen for the one man she who is forbidden to her – Karl, a German held captive in the local prisoner of war camp. He might be the enemy, but he has her heart.

When Ethel discovers she’s pregnant, she is labelled a traitor and shunned by all. The love of her life is torn away from her, but she vows to protect their precious daughter. She gives birth as bombs rain down, to the sound of ear-splitting shrieks and explosions in the distance. But then the planes fly over the house, and the unthinkable happens…

A baby girl lies in the rubble, surrounded by broken glass and crumbled brick. The odds are against her, until a woman, Lily, picks up the child from the wreckage. Will she be saved from her mother’s fate or will she forever be a helpless orphan?

Readers absolutely love Shirley Dickson:

‘I was gripped from the very first page… It was heartbreaking… I smiled through these happy times with them but also shed tears… I could not put it down… Will undoubtedly pull at your heartstrings. Just make sure you have a box of tissues ready!’ Stardust Book Reviews,⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Absolutely fabulous… Had me hooked from the very first page… Took me on a rollercoaster of emotions and had me in tears.’ Goodreads Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘I absolutely loved it!… An emotional, heart-wrenching story of love and loss amidst the horror of war... Will tug at your heartstrings… Will have you reaching for the tissues… Wonderful.’ Goodreads Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘A beautiful story! Had me in tears from the very beginning. I couldn’t put this one down.’ A Book With Review, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Outstanding… I absolutely loved this superb page-turner.’ Goodreads Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Make sure you have tissues handy… The story is heartbreaking… Worthy of 5* and more.’ Goodreads Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Promises to keep you turning the pages as your heart attempts not to break…

Release date: November 9, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

November 1953

Joy Radley’s small hands covered her face.

‘Seven, eight, nine…’ she called out.

She peeped between her fingers. She could see Dad, sitting in the comfy chair in front of the fire reading the Sunday newspaper.

She heard creaking noises coming from the staircase.

‘Ten!’ Joy took her hands from her eyes. ‘Ready or not, Freddie, here I come.’

She looked up as a sound came through the ceiling above.

Leaving the kitchen, Joy headed for the carpeted stairs, treading on the sides so they wouldn’t creak. On the landing she crept to the back bedroom and opened the door, stepping inside. She gazed around her bedroom at the bed with its pretty pink eiderdown, and the white chest of drawers in the alcove by the cast-iron fireplace – but there was no sign of her younger brother.

Hide and seek was Freddie’s favourite game, and his idea of fun was to pounce out of his hiding place and give his sister the fright of her life.

She checked behind the chest of drawers and behind the curtains, then made her way across the landing, dim in the light of a snowy November afternoon, to Freddie’s smaller bedroom. Stepping over the scattered books, toy soldiers and handmade wooden cars, she went to the bed and sank to her knees, pulling up the overhanging bedspread and staring into the blackness.

No Freddie.

Joy chewed a thumbnail in consternation. Then, flicking her chocolate-brown pigtails over her shoulders, she stood and made for the front room. With its cream wallpaper peppered with bunches of pink flowers, and despite the large and heavy-looking wardrobe, the high-ceilinged room with its tall window looking down on the street below had an airy feel.

She eyed the unmade bed and Daddy’s brown overalls slung over a chair, then her attention was drawn to the open compact and face powder strewn over the dressing-table top. It took a moment for Joy to register the squeak from the wardrobe door. A spooky feeling enveloped her. Freddie was inside. She crept stealthily towards the wardrobe, grasped the ornate metal handles and flung the doors open.

‘Caught you!’

But apart from Dad’s suit and coats, and the frocks hanging from the rail, there was nothing to be seen at first. Joy stared at the clothes, sniffing a faint smell of perfume, and saw the arm of one of the coats move. She looked down and spotted feet below the coat, small feet wearing black scuffed shoes.

Freddie.

She pulled the coat aside, then recoiled as a ghostly white face stared at her.

‘Boo!’ Freddie yelled.

‘It’s not funny,’ Joy said indignantly.

Laughing fit to burst, Freddie emerged from the depths of the wardrobe. ‘You should’ve seen your face.’

Joy frowned. ‘You think you’re funny now but wait till they find out you’ve been playing with the powder compact when you’re not even supposed to be in here.’

That stopped Freddie laughing. ‘You won’t tell, will you?’

Joy, older than her brother by two years, considered herself smarter. Like now, when she had a brainwave. ‘Only if you promise never to scare me when we play hide and seek again. And I’ll help you clean up the mess you’ve made with the powder.’

Freddie looked glum. ‘I promise.’

Joy wasn’t sure he was to be trusted. ‘Cross your heart.’

‘I said, didn’t I?’

She raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Oh, all right,’ Freddie said begrudgingly.

It was then that Joy’s attention was drawn to what looked like a blanket he was holding.

‘Where did you find that?’

‘On the bottom shelf of the cupboard.’ Freddie’s tone was cross and Joy knew it was because he hadn’t got his own way.

She looked at the blanket in his hand. It was made up of different coloured squares of material stitched together. One of the squares showed what seemed to be a flag while another had flowers embroidered on it.

Freddie clutched the blanket protectively.

‘You can’t keep it,’ Joy told her brother. ‘Because they’ll know you’ve been in here.’

Freddie wavered, then, pouting, he handed the blanket over.

Joy felt bad but the real reason she wanted the blanket was to study the squares herself.

Later, before he switched off the bathroom light, Joy’s dad took a moment to look around the newly built bathroom, taking in the cast-iron claw-foot bath, surrounded by white tiles, porcelain sink, flush toilet, all complemented by a black and white linoleum floor. He gave a satisfied smile; no longer would his family have to traipse down the yard to use the outside lavatory.

Switching off the light, he moved to the half landing and, looking up the stairs, noticed light shining from the gap at the bottom of his daughter’s bedroom door.

He checked his watch. Quarter to ten. Joy should be asleep by now as she had school in the morning. He sighed; his daughter, at ten, was growing up too fast for his liking. It had been many a year since Joy had asked for a bedtime story and he missed that special time with his little girl.

Opening her bedroom door, he expected to see her, book in hand, head collapsed back on the pillow, sound asleep. But instead Joy was sitting bolt upright in bed, staring intently down at something.

She started guiltily, and grabbed whatever it was that had captured her attention, attempting to hide it beneath the bedcovers. ‘Daddy, I’m sorry. I should have asked but—’

‘Joy, lights-out time was ages ago.’ He walked over towards the bed. As he came closer he could see better what she was clutching and, recognising the patchwork material, he clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise and shook his head.

‘What is it, Daddy? I’ve never seen this blanket before.’

He slowly slid his hand down from his mouth. He owed Joy the truth. ‘It’s not a blanket, sweetheart.’

‘What is it then?’

‘A memory quilt.’

Her brow crinkled. ‘What kind of memories?’

He studied her face: those cute bow lips, her snub nose and brown, questioning eyes. He didn’t want to continue this conversation for he knew where it would lead. ‘Usually treasured memories. People choose a theme before they start: people they love, or happy times.’

Joy’s troubled eyes looked at him. Anticipating what was coming next, his stomach clenched.

‘Who made it?’

He knew the time had come to reveal the secret he’d kept for so many years. He took a deep breath. ‘Your mother.’

Joy’s eyes grew round in astonishment.

‘Let me explain, sweetheart.’ He sat on the edge of the bed.

As Joy snuggled down to listen, he began telling the story, and he knew it would irrevocably change his relationship with his beloved daughter.

North-east town of South Shields, early March, 1940

Lily Armstrong finished speaking, inhaled deeply, and waited for the onslaught from Mam.

It was Monday. The pair of them had finished the weekly wash and, the tub emptied, backyard swilled, they were now warming their red and frozen hands in front of the range fire.

Mam, as Lily had expected, was outraged. ‘Married next week. I’ve never heard the like. And without a thought to ask your dad.’ Her slight body quivered in annoyance.

With a sigh, Lily leant against the kitchen table. ‘I’ll be twenty-one in two weeks, Mam, and then I won’t need permission to marry. Besides, John and I have been courting for eighteen months now.’

Pursing her lips, Mam shook her head in disgust. Moving to the range, and taking a knitted cloth from the mantlepiece to protect her hand, she lifted a bubbling dish of mince that had been cooking all morning from the range oven. Placing the dish on a table mat, Mam picked up a wooden spoon and, stirring the dish’s contents, a mouth-watering meaty aroma pervaded the room.

Then she stopped and pointed the spoon, dripping with hot liquid, at her daughter. ‘Everyone knows it’s common courtesy for the man to ask the father’s permission to marry his daughter.’

Knowing there was no use arguing, Lily tried placating her. ‘There was no time, Mam. John says in his letter he’s expecting to be posted abroad after his training’s finished.’

The letter from John had been lying on the mat behind the front door that morning. Lily had raced to her bedroom where she’d torn the envelope open. Reading the letter’s contents, her heart palpitating, Lily had gone weak with happiness.

Sweetheart, I know this isn’t the way to go about things. As you well know, I’m not an articulate man romantic-wise, or for that matter on any occasion when I’ve to express feelings, but I do love you with all my heart, Lily, and want to share the rest of my life with you. The rumour is that after training the battalion is to be posted abroad. I know we’ve talked this over before but I can’t wait to get hitched and want you to be my wife before I go. Please say you’ll marry me now and make me the happiest man.

A grin that couldn’t be contained split Lily’s face as he went on to say:

I want for us to know each other in every sense of the word. I respect that you wanted to save yourself for your wedding night…

This wasn’t strictly true. Whenever the couple’s petting got to fever pitch, it was the thought of Mam looking over John’s shoulder that brought Lily back to the cold light of reason.

John’s letter had ended:

I’ve got four days’ leave from Friday. Is it possible, darling, to arrange a wedding in that short time?

Lily had thought about it; was this what she wanted? To forget the dreams of the past where she’d be as good as her brothers, finding a job and paying her way, before settling down? But she loved John and the idea of anything happening to him before they were man and wife was too terrible to bear.

‘Anyways’ – Mam, now rolling a floury dumpling in milk, plopped it beside the rest to form a ring on the top of the mince – ‘what lass wants to be proposed to by letter?’

Before Lily could reply, the backstairs door slammed. Dad, still wearing his brown work overalls and carrying the sticks he’d chopped in the backyard, appeared in the kitchen-cum-living-room doorway.

He looked from one to the other of the two women. ‘What’s going on?’

Carrying the dish of mince over to the range and placing it back in the oven, Mam slammed the door.

‘That John Radley lad has proposed to our Lily and it’s without your approval.’ She folded her arms over her bosom in a way that suggested, what was Dad going to do about it?

Dad’s reaction was typical. Putting the sticks in the hearth to dry, he eased his lanky frame into his favourite wooden, high-back rocking chair with its plumped floral cushion and, taking his pipe from his jacket pocket, he clenched it between his teeth and lit it with a match.

He knew better than to interfere when his wife was in this contentious mood.

‘Arthur! Have you nothing to say on the matter?’

His cheeks sucked in and a cloud of smoke billowed from his mouth.

Mam gave a snort of disgust. ‘So that’s it. You’re just going to ignore the fact the lad’s got no respect.’

Lily, knowing Mam was gunning for a fight, intervened. ‘John isn’t like that. He’s—’

‘Lily, be quiet. This is between your dad and me.’

Lily sighed resignedly. This should have been a happy moment but instead the proposal was causing havoc in the Armstrong household.

Dad glanced at Lily and must have seen her misery. He took the pipe from his mouth. ‘Ida, hold your tongue. Lily’s old enough to know her own mind.’

‘Arthur Armstrong! What kind of man lets some whippersnapper make a fool of him and over his own daughter?’

Dad’s face darkened. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, woman.’

The terraced upstairs flat in Fawcett Street was usually Mam’s domain and Dad was happy to let her get on with it. But Dad ruled the family and whatever he said was law. A fair-minded man, Dad had a short temper, which, normally, he kept under control, but Lily knew that Mam in this mood could drive him over the edge.

He barked, ‘That Radley fella’s off to fight for king and country and that’s enough credentials for me to allow Lily to marry him.’

Lily’s parents glared at one another, the atmosphere charged. Then Mam, lowering her gaze, turned and, stomping from the kitchen, banged the scullery door and made off down the stairs.

Dad, heaving a big sigh, clenched his pipe in his teeth. A mystified expression on his face, he gazed off into space.

Dismayed at the ructions she’d caused, it dawned on Lily why Mam was so upset. Though she’d never admit it, Mam would be fretting because, if Lily married, she would have to run the upstairs flat on her own.

Lily was her parents’ second child and the only girl out of five children. Harry, the eldest, was married to Jean and lived over the lane. After Lily came Sam, two years later Ian, then Mam had had two miscarriages before Jimmy, now eight, was born.

When Lily left school, Dad had discouraged her from finding work as she was expected to help Mam in the house. For Mam, by then, was struggling, and Lily now understood that having all those babies, plus the work involved in looking after a household full of men, had taken its toll on her health.

As an aroma of dumplings cooking wafted from the oven and Lily set the table, washed the dishes left in the sink and swept the crumbs from the floor, she noticed, as she glanced through the sash window, it was raining. She headed outside to bring the washing in from the line, glancing up and down the lane for signs of Mam – her mother wasn’t dressed for such inclement weather as she’d been in her slippers when she stormed out.

Lugging the wicker washing basket up the stairs, Lily knew she wasn’t resentful towards Mam about her reaction to John’s proposal, but worried and disheartened. For Mam was a proud woman and it would go against the grain to rely on Lily to share the load around the home. Lily knew it would concern her to think her daughter was putting her life on hold for the sake of her family. Lily was at a loss to know what to do.

Plonking the basket she carried onto the kitchen floor, Lily looked over towards Dad, who, after working a night shift at the shipyard, should have been in bed, but was sound asleep in the chair – head lolling and open-mouthed.

It was different for menfolk, Lily thought as she hung a line on hooks screwed into opposite walls of the kitchen. They worked hard but their shift finished when they came home and then they didn’t lift a finger for the rest of the day.

As she hung the sodden sheets on the makeshift line, the feeling of being second best returned. Years ago she’d overheard Dad tell a neighbour, whose wife had recently delivered a son, ‘A man isn’t worth his salt till he’s fathered a son.’

‘Aye,’ Mam, standing at his side, had chipped in, ‘you can rely on sons to bring a healthy pay packet in.’

Lily never doubted that her parents loved her and Dad would protect her till his dying breath, but still she couldn’t help feeling second best. Determined to prove herself, to show her parents she was as good as any boy, Lily’s competitive spirit kicked in and her ambitions went beyond the expectations of most girls, of becoming a wife and mother and what Lily considered a drudge like Mam. Lily wanted more out of life.

But despite that, looking round the kitchen – at the tabletop that Dad sanded and varnished every year, the round-faced clock that had been in the same place on the mantlepiece since her parents married a lifetime ago – Lily couldn’t deny the secure feeling of belonging the place gave her.

At that moment, she heard footsteps on the backstairs and a door close. Mam appeared from the scullery, her slate-grey hair wet and bedraggled, dress clinging to her skinny figure.

‘Mam, you’re soaked through.’ Lily hurried over to the range and, grabbing a towel hanging on the range’s brass rail, handed it to Mam.

‘It’s me own fault.’ Mam vigorously dried her hair, then wrapped the towel turban-style around her head. Removing her slippers, she pulled up the black ankle-length skirt she wore and, undoing her suspenders, she rolled down her lisle stockings and padded over to the range to hang them on the rail. ‘They say pride comes before a fall.’ Her grey eyes, serious, met Lily’s. ‘I’m sorry, lass, for the way I reacted.’

Lily shook her head. ‘It was a shock for you and—’

‘No excuses, I was only thinking of meself. Then devilment got into me as it sometimes does and I got carried away and didn’t think what I was saying. You know what? When I cooled down, I thought of your da’s words.’

‘What words was that?’ Dad’s sleepy voice said as he sat up in the chair.

Mam removed the towel and her hair, frizzled curls, framed her thin face. She turned towards her husband. ‘Remember Aunty Winnie?’

‘Your mam’s older sister?’

‘She was like a second mother to her siblings. Like you are, our Lily, to Jimmy.’

‘What are you bringing Winnie up for now?’ Dad shook his head as though he couldn’t keep up with his wife’s train of thought.

Mam, ignoring him, told Lily, ‘She never married. Just stayed at home and looked after your nana.’ She pulled a face. ‘Your nana had some kind of arthritis in her blood, so they say.’

Dad said, ‘As I remember it, Ida, Winne wasn’t given a choice.’

Mam nodded. ‘She had a caring nature and was put upon.’ Her grey eyes met Dad’s. ‘You are right, Arthur, it is time Lily had a life of her own.’

‘Holy Moses. This is a first. Can I have that in writing?’

A look of intimacy passed between her parents and a catch caught in Lily’s throat. They might argue, be at odds with each other at times, but theirs was an enduring love.

Lily was surer now than ever that that was what she wanted for her and John. She wanted to get married, but she also needed to prove herself and have a career – and if that meant putting off starting a family for a time then so be it. John, the dear man he was, who always saw the other person’s point of view, would understand.

Mam broke the spell by making a move toward the door. She sniffed. ‘The dinner smells cooked. Our Lily, I don’t want the mince burning. Meat’s another precious commodity these days.’ She pulled a disgusted face. ‘This new allowance of one and tenpence worth per person’ – she folded her arms – ‘is barely a pound of meat. It’ll go nowhere with three starving men in the house.’

‘Aye, but that’s not the case if you’ve the money to splash out on a restaurant meal,’ Dad chipped in, his face relaxed now his wife was herself again. ‘They can serve meat without asking folk for coupons. Lucky buggers.’

‘It’s all right for some,’ Mam agreed. ‘Lily, the lads will be home from work soon. Take the dinner out of the range while I get changed.’ She opened the door to the front landing, then turned to face her daughter. ‘After dinner we’ve a wedding to arrange.’

First thing the next morning Lily sent a telegram with a single-word reply to John.

Yes! Xx

Returning home from the post office in Mile End Road, Lily was turning the corner into Fawcett Street when she realised she hadn’t taken her gas mask with her. Most folk thought the war a nuisance so far, with rules about blackouts meaning curtains were drawn so that not a chink of light was allowed to shine out at night, kiddies being sent to the country for safety, and bacon, butter and sugar rationed. When the annihilation from the air hadn’t happened, folk had been quick to call it the ‘phoney war’.

Arriving at the front door, Lily entered and took off her coat and slung it over the banister rail. Mam was out getting the shopping in and Lily’s two younger brothers were working a shift at the pit, while Jimmy was at school. By rights, the bedroom the lads shared (the two youngest in bunks while Sam had a slim bed of his own) was in dire need of being cleaned, but with stiff and sweaty socks littering the floor and the sniffy smell of tobacco, she decided against mucking out the room today.

Emptying the ash pan in the bin in the yard outside, which they shared with the elderly Simpson couple living in the downstairs flat, Lily filled the bucket from the coalhouse. Heaving the bucket of coal upstairs, she banked the kitchen fire. Then she threw a sheet over the table, and put two flat irons on the hob over the fire to heat.

The scullery door opened and Mam appeared, weighed down on one side with a shopping bag.

‘What a carry-on this rationing is,’ she declared, removing her hat pin and taking off her hat. ‘I stood in the queue that long me legs ache something rotten.’

‘Sit down, Mam, I’ll put the rations away.’

Mam eyed the ironing. ‘You can forget that.’ Taking off her worn coat, she sank into the saggy leather seat of a dining chair. ‘There’s work to be done making a wedding list.’

Later, as they sat side by side at the table, cups of tea in front of them, Mam pencil in hand writing in a jotter, Lily realised she hadn’t a clue just what it would entail to organise a wedding.

Mam, in her element, made a list of things to do. ‘I’ll only be mother of the bride once and so, by gum, I’m going to make the most of this wedding.’

She wrote, see the vicar (Mam was a keen churchgoer), flowers, rings, car.

‘Car!’ Lily exploded as she peered over Mam’s shoulder.

Mam gave an affronted look. ‘I’m not going to be a laughing stock by having me only daughter walk to the church on her wedding day.’

‘I thought there was a petrol shortage.’

‘There is but surely a short drive to the church will be permitted.’

Lily inwardly smiled. Mam would be in her glory stepping out of the house into a motor car for all the neighbours to see.

‘What about the expense?’

Mam drew herself up. ‘It’s the bride’s parents’ responsibility to pay for the wedding and your dad and me won’t shirk our duty.’

Lily’s throat tightened and she felt tears prickle her eyes.

‘Besides, we’ve only got one lass to cater for. Dad and I’ve got a spare bit of cash put by for a rainy day and having your brothers’ pay packets in the pot helps.’

There it was again: the reminder the menfolk were the providers. Lily would have given anything to have the chance to work and contribute.

She’d had a job once at the Chichester (Chi for short) picture house, two years ago.

A ‘flea pit’, Dad called it, when she told him excitedly about her intended place of work. ‘I won’t have a daughter of mine working there.’

It had been a chance meeting outside the butcher’s shop with June Lloyd, a friend from Lily’s schooldays, that had got her the job.

June, married and expecting, had been delighted to see Lily. ‘What about you? Any sign of wedding bells in the future?’ She’d made a point of looking at Lily’s third finger for a band of gold.

‘Not likely. When am I going to meet anybody? I’m hardly ever out of the house.’

Lily had laughed, even though she was aware it sounded a pathetic excuse. Everyone she knew was getting wed and it was a well-known fact that if you passed twenty-one and weren’t married then you were doomed to be a spinster and left on the shelf.

Lily, at the time, wasn’t looking for a husband and felt she was only waiting for the chance to begin life proper. Though there was no hope of that with Jimmy only eight, two brothers working at the local mine, and Dad and Harry at the shipyard – the workload was never done. But Lily didn’t grumble because working in the mine and the shipyard were considered reserved occupations, which meant Dad and her brothers weren’t called up and sent off to war.

The menfolk often worked different shifts, which meant meals had to be served up at all times of day. Lily loved her grub, and couldn’t resist a portion when she served each meal. Hence her sturdy and curvy figure, which she despised because up until her teens she’d been a tomboy.

June had said, ‘That’ll be me never crossing the front step when this bairn’s born.’ She pulled a long face. ‘I did love me job.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I was an usherette at the Chi. Then when I got in the family way, I had to work nights as a cashier because when I sat in the kiosk me bump didn’t show.’ She blew out her cheeks in a disgusted fashion. ‘Then me mother-in-law poked her nose in and told hubby it was indecent for a pregnant woman to be working and that was the end of that. I finished last weekend.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Dick, me hubby, wouldn’t hear tell of me working till they found someone else.’

An idea formed in Lily’s mind. ‘What does the job involve?’

June shrugged. ‘Selling tickets and working out the change. Squaring up at the end of the night. And taking some lip from cocky males who think they’re God’s gift. Why? Are you interested?’

‘Is it only nights?’

‘Yes. I used to stay behind till the last showing to help tidy the place but the manager said it wasn’t appropriate.’ She made big eyes. ‘Honestly, you’d think I had a deformity rather than just being pregnant.’

‘Is the post still open?’

‘Ask to see the manager, Mr Matthews. Say you’re a friend of mine. Not that he’s fussy, mind. Working at the Chi isn’t most folks’ cup of tea.’

So that’s what Lily did before she told Dad.

‘I’ve already got the job and the manager says I’ve to start straight away,’ Lily had babbled before Dad could get a word in edgeways. ‘I’ll make sure everything’s shipshape at home and put the milk bottles out.’

Dad opened his mouth to speak.

‘Arthur, there’s nothing for the lass to do here nights except listen to you menfolk argue over a card game.’ Mam folded her arms. ‘Where’s the harm?’

Dad put on his annoyed face. ‘You’re just like your mother, headstrong. All right, but on one condition. Me or one of your brothers will come and collect you after you’ve finished. You’re not walking home by yourself in the dark.’

Mam had winked at her.

Now, as they planned Lily’s wedding, Mam told her, ‘While I’m on about money. When you’ve a home and husband of your own, make sure from the start you see his pay packet. That bugger, your dad, has never shown me a single pay envelope since the day we wed. I’ve no idea how much he earns, then there’s the overtime. Mind you, not that he’s stingy with the housekeeping.’

‘Or the Walnut Whip he brings for each of us every payday,’ Lily said drolly and they both laughed.

‘I could have done worse than your father.’ Mam’s tone was defensive. ‘Many’s the man who goes straight to the pub and spends all his pay on drink while his bairns starve. Your dad’s a man with principles, no doubt because his own dad was a drunkard. Though he enjoys a pint, your dad knows when to stop. And woe betide those lads of his if they spend all their hard-earned cash on booze.’

There was a moment’s silence, then Mam surprised Lily by saying, ‘I’ve been thinking about your wedding dress.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘This is the only chance I’ll have to be mother of the bride and I’ve always dreamt me daughter would have a white wedding.’ Mam gave a warning look that said, heed what I’m going to say and there’ll be no arguing. ‘This rationing hasn’t affected clothes yet. But I bet it’s only a matter of time. Meanwhile, everything’s difficult to get and I was thinking…’

‘Go on.’

‘There’s that wedding dress of Harry’s wife hanging in the wardrobe and it’s only a year old and she’s about your build…’

‘And?’

‘There’s shoes and a veil.’

When Lily didn’t reply, Mam prattled on. ‘Many would have had their wedding attire sold but not Jean, sentimental lass that she is. I suspect she’ll be saving her dress for when her first bairn is born so she can have a christening robe made out of it.’ Mam’s expression softened. ‘I wish the pair of them would get a move on.’

Lily made it easy for Mam. ‘Do you think I should ask Jean if I could borrow her wedding dress?’

‘The whole rig-out,’ Mam corrected.

Was it such a bad idea? A white wedding had never been Lily’s dream but borrowing Jean’s dress would save money and time – which was getting shorter by the minute.

‘She mightn’t want anyone getting married in her wedding dress.’

Mam’s face expressed self-satisfaction. ‘You never know till you ask.’

She crossed ‘wedding outfit’ off the list.

Two days later, Lily and Mam were sitting next to one another on the front seat of a trolleybus, making their way up to Mrs Radley’s house to inform her about the wedding.

‘So, John’s dad was a dentist.’ Mam’s tone held a note of incredulity.

‘Yes.’ Wearing her Sunday best black-and-white checked swagger coat and pancake beret (which Mam insisted she wear for the occasion), Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

‘And it was his own business.’

‘So John says.’

Mam’s expression was one of reverence. ‘Well, I never. Why didn’t you let on before?’

‘Because you never asked.’

Mam’s brow wrinkled. ‘So why didn’t John follow in his dad’s footsteps?’

‘He didn’t want to.’

‘Or he didn’t have the brains.’ Mam pursed her lips.

‘Mam! If you must know, John is good with his hands. And working for a builder suited him better.’

Mam looked unconvinced. ‘I bet his folks weren’t too pleased.’

Deciding she didn’t wish to carry on with this conversation, Lily, who was sitting in the window sea