The Road To The Sands

by Anne Douglas

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

The war has brought devastating changes to the people of Portobello, a seaside district of Edinburgh. But as VE day nears, Tess Gillespie and her mother are feeling hopeful. Tess is looking forward to being able to walk on her beloved beaches for the first time since war was declared. More importantly, her father and sister will soon be back home and they can all be a family once again. However, the war has changed Don Gillespie and no longer content to settle back in to his former life. The future will bring both betrayal and heartbreak for all the Gillespie women. And it will take all their courage and resolution to rebuild their lives and find new happiness.

Release date: March 7, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 480

Sample

Dancing in the streets. That’s what they’d be doing in Edinburgh, somebody told Tess Gillespie. She thought it sounded lovely.
But would people be dancing where she lived, in Portobello? Maybe. Dear old Porty would be celebrating, anyway. The boys had
been collecting wood for a bonfire for days, ever since they’d heard that Hitler was dead.


But now it was official. This day, in May 1945, had been declared VE Day, Victory in Europe Day, and the first of two public
holidays. Tess, a tall, lanky thirteen year old, was still feeling a fool, because she’d gone to school that morning as usual
and been sent home, with Erika her friend. Their mothers had gone to work too, and they’d also been sent home. It was nobody’s
fault really, there’d been a lot of confusion. For quite some time, folk hadn’t known if they were celebrating or not. What
did it matter, though? They were all so happy, anyway.


Now, Erika and Mrs Lange had gone to church to give thanks for victory, while Tess was taking her new flag to show her mother.

Flags were out all along the High Street as she approached her home, which was at the top of King George Road, the old road
to the sands as it had once been known. That was in the days before it was a road at all really, just a track through furze
and scrub, and long before there’d been a town called Portobello. Now, of course, there were houses everywhere, and a great power station with a chimney you
could see for miles. Couldn’t walk on the sands, though; they were shrouded in barbed wire.


Tess crossed the road and let herself into Number One, the house that had been her gran’s and was now her mother’s. Though
it was as tall as the tenements that lined the rest of the street that sloped to the sea, it wasn’t itself a tenement. No,
a whole house. Tess felt quite proud of that, even if her mother had always had to let rooms to keep it going, Dad’s job at
the garage not bringing in much. He was at present a sergeant with a Scottish regiment in Europe. Would he soon be coming
home for good? Tess’s heart leaped at the thought.


Taking the stairs to the basement kitchen two at a time, she called out that she was back. Ma, having been given the holiday
she hadn’t expected, would be at home. Usually at this time she was over the road in what had been the ballroom of the Marine
Gardens, helping to make landing craft. ‘Would you credit it?’ she would laugh. ‘All us women making thae vehicles, where
your dad and me used to go dancing?’ But everything was different now, because of the war.


Yes, Ma was at home and waiting for Tess.

‘Look who’s here!’ she cried, her eyes shining, and Tess stopped short. Her sister, Nola, twenty years old and in the WAAF,
the women’s air force, was standing in the middle of the long low kitchen. She must have wangled leave to come over from Drem,
where she was stationed. And she’d be going dancing, thought Tess, if anyone would.


‘Oh, Nola!’ she cried, and the two sisters hugged each other, half laughing, half crying, with the emotion of the day.

‘Am I no’ the lucky one?’ cried Nola, catching her breath. ‘Got a public holiday, just like you. Well, a two-day pass, and
it happens to be VE Day! I’m away to meet Clark in Princes Street soon as I’ve had a cup of tea. He’s got you some fresh eggs, Ma, so you can make us all a victory cake. They’re in ma bag.’


‘That Walters fellow?’ Rena murmured, her face changing. ‘Now where on earth would a flight sergeant get eggs, then?’

‘Och, you know Clark! He can get anything.’ Nola, plump and pretty in her uniform, her tunic unbuttoned, tossed aside her
cap and pushed back her soft fair hair. ‘Think he’s pally with one o’ the farmers round Drem. But, hey, Ma, never mind thae
eggs and just give me a kiss. The war’s over!’


Rena’s expression softened, and as she went swiftly to embrace first Nola, then Tess, tears came to her narrow blue eyes.
She was thirty-eight but looked older, because she was so thin, folk said, she should get some meat on her bones, so she should.


Aye, but she’d always been thin. Couldn’t sit down, that was her trouble. Always on the go, but as she pointed out, that way
she got things done. War work, queuing for everything under the sun, cooking, washing, mending, doing all her own repairs.
But oh, how she was longing for her husband, Don, to come home, whether she could do things or not.


‘Know what this means?’ she asked, tucking her straight light hair into its roll around a ribbon. ‘Your dad’ll be safe. He’ll
be coming home.’


‘We know that, Ma,’ Nola said softly. ‘We’re waiting for him, same as you.’

Rena, blinking away tears, turned to look at her husband’s photograph on the kitchen dresser. The eyes of her daughters followed.
There he was, then, dear Don, dear Dad, in his army uniform, his forage cap at an angle on his dark curly hair, his grin lighting
his face just as they remembered it. Five years he’d been away, with only occasional leaves home, when they could never be
really happy because he was so soon to go away again. Now he would be coming home for good and as they dwelt on that, long
sweet sighs escaped them.


‘Ma, how do we know the Germans won’t keep on shooting?’ asked Tess, winding her long slender arms around Rena’s waist. She
had her father’s looks, the curly hair, the wide smile, the clear grey eyes, but was as thin as her mother, much to Nola’s
despair.


‘Of course they won’t keep on shooting,’ Rena told her. ‘They’ll want the war to end as much as us.’

‘And do you think Hitler’s really dead?

‘Dead as a doornail in his bunker,’ said Nola. ‘No need to worry about him. Let’s think about tea, eh? I’m no’ wanting to
be late for meeting Clark.’


Rena’s face darkened as she moved to light the flame under the kettle on the gas cooker. ‘You keep on calling him Clark. Thought
his name was Ralph.’


‘It’s just that he looks like Clark Gable,’ Nola answered defensively.

‘Thinks he does,’ said Tess, grinning.

‘He does! He’s got the dimples and the same sort of eyes. Everybody says he looks like Clark Gable when he was Rhett Butler
in Gone with the Wind.’


‘Ma wouldn’t let me see that.’

‘I should think I wouldn’t!’ cried Rena.

‘Well, I’m meeting Clark whatever he looks like,’ Nola declared. ‘Tess, I see you got a flag. I got one, too. Want to put
‘em in our window?’


‘And if you’re going upstairs, Tess, see if Mrs Lange’s back from her church,’ said Rena. ‘She might like to come down for
a cup o’ tea – Erika as well.’


Mrs Lange and her daughter, who was Tess’s best friend at school, were from Austria and the only ones left of the refugees
billeted on Rena earlier in the war. Soon, Rena would have to think about taking in ordinary tenants again, but for the moment
she was managing on what she earned from her war work and what Don could send her from his pay. And very nice it was, she
often thought, not to be bothered with folk wanting to use her kitchen and taking over the bathroom.


‘I’m just going to make a few sandwiches,’ she added. ‘Only got cheese, mind.’

But Tess, holding the flags, seemed to be hovering.

‘What’s up then?’ asked Rena, beginning to slice the dreary national loaf everybody had to buy.

‘If Nola’s going into Edinburgh, Ma, can we go too? I mean, Erika and me?

‘Now, what d’you want to do that for? There’ll be too many people up there.’

‘Some o’ the girls from school are going. Said it’d be exciting. Seeing the dancing, and that.’

‘I think you’ll be better off here, Tess. I’m no’ keen on mixing with that crush.’

‘But we could go with Nola.’

‘Nola will be with that young man o’ hers. And she’ll be late back, and all. Too late for you girls.’

‘I don’t mind taking ’em,’ Nola said gallantly.

‘No, I’ve said, I think we’ll be better off here. Mrs Lange and the girls and me will all go out together. Now, away with
your flags, Tess. I’m waiting to make the tea.’


‘You canna blame her for wanting to see what’s going on in Edinburgh,’ Nola murmured, as Tess went out with the flags.

‘I ken what Tess wants, and I understand, but sometimes I have to lay down the law and there’s only me to do it.’

‘Now, when did Dad ever lay down the law?’

Rena, buttering bread, smiled slightly. ‘Well, we always used to talk things over. If I was worried, I mean. Like I’m worried
now.’


‘Over Tess?’

‘Over you. Don’t get too close to that laddie you’re seeing, eh? I’ve a feeling he’s no’ right for you.’

‘You leave me to worry about that.’ Nola rose and put her arm round her mother’s bony shoulders. ‘Come on, Ma, be happy. Just
remember, Dad’ll be coming home.’


‘You don’t think they might send him to the Far East? That war’s still going on.’

‘They’ve already said that men over twenty-five who’ve had long service won’t get sent there. Dad’s fought in Italy and right
through to Germany.’ Nola smiled. ‘Before you know it, he’ll be walking in the front door and it’ll be like he’s never been
away.’


Rena’s face relaxed into a smile that took the years from her face. ‘Here comes Tess. I’ll make the tea.’

‘Mrs Lange and Erika aren’t back yet,’ Tess announced, as she took her place at the table. ‘Do you think we should’ve gone
to the kirk?’


‘We can go on Sunday. There’ll be a thanksgiving service, I expect.’ Rena shook her head. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m sending
up thanks all the time, anyway.’


‘Me, too,’ said Nola. ‘Tess, when we’ve had our tea, d’you want to come upstairs while I get ready?’

‘Like the old days?’ asked Tess. ‘Oh, yes, please!’

Tess, so much younger than her sister, had always liked watching Nola getting ready to go out. Before she joined the WAAF
she’d had a job in the box office at one of the local cinemas, and on her night off had always gone out somewhere with one
of her admirers. Maybe dancing, or to a show in Edinburgh. Something that involved changing her dress, anyway, and putting
on fresh make-up and redoing her hair, and Tess had always been there, in the attic room the sisters shared, watching and
helping.


How patient her sister had always been! For ever talking and laughing, as Tess handed the vanishing cream and watched her
rub it in, or passed the combs she needed to do up her hair. Then there’d be the lipstick to apply, with Nola making her mouth
into an ‘O’, and working in the bright red colour, pressing her lips together and smiling at herself in her mirror.


Oh, those had been good days when Nola’d still been at home! Take the times she’d let Tess and Erika sneak up the stairs into
the four and sixpenny seats at the cinema, always swearing that it was quite all right, the manager didn’t mind, and teasing
Tess because she used to fly up to the circle as though the police were after her.


Never turned down the offer of a seat, though. Nor did Erika, even though she was a little nervous, too. ‘These seats cost
four and sixpence?’ she would ask in her precise English, as she and Tess sat together, eyeing the entwined girls and young men around them, not surprised at all that they
would be kissing and such, but that they could afford to be there.


‘Whatever would Ma say, if she knew you’d let us into thae seats?’ Tess asked Nola once, but Nola only flung back her cloud
of fair hair and promised faithfully that it was OK. One of the perks of her job, see? Like when girls who worked in sweet
shops got given chocolates. Used to get given chocolates, she amended, for no one saw chocolates now. A bar of gritty ‘Blended’,
if you’d any sweet ration left, was the best you could hope for.


All this excitement came to an end when Nola was called up and opted to join the WAAF. Very pretty she looked, too, in her
air-force blue uniform, even if her tunic was always that bit tight and she was always threatening to go on a diet, but oh,
what a miss she was to Rena and Tess.


It was at the time when most of the lodgers had departed, and the shabby old house seemed echoing and lonely, with only Mrs
Lange and Erika on the first floor, Rena on the second, and Tess all by herself in the attic with no light because of the
black out. She’d lie in her bed, hugging her old doll, Alice, and keep very still so that anything moving in the darkness
wouldn’t find her.


‘Och, you’re a big girl now to be frightened of the dark,’ said Rena.

‘I just miss Nola, Ma.’

‘Aye, well, I miss her, too. And your dad.’ Rena had given Tess a hug. ‘Maybe I’ll find a little nightlight for you, then.
That’d never show, eh?’


‘And there aren’t any air raids now, even in Glasgow.’

‘Got to be careful, though. Canna be sure of anything until the war’s over.’

Well, the war was over now, or most of it, anyway, and here was Nola getting ready to go out again, and Tess watching her,
just like in the old days.


‘But can you no’ wear one o’ your dresses?’ she asked her sister, when she returned from the one and only bathroom, buttoning
on a clean uniform shirt.


‘Got to wear our uniform as usual.’ Nola sat down at the dressing table to begin the ritual of making up her face. ‘Anyway,
I want to wear it. Might as well let folk see I’ve done ma bit.’


In no time, she’d slapped on her cream and powder, smoothed vaseline over her eyelids, and applied her scarlet lipstick. Next
came her hair. First the brushing, then the combing and pinning up with nimble fingers, finally the fluffing out into a pompadour
style above her brow, in the fashion of her favourite film stars.


‘How do I look?’ she asked Tess, when she’d finished.

‘Lovely.’

‘Just give ma collar a brush, will you? Then I’ll put ma tunic on. Oh, God, I swear it’s shrunk. Now, I’m ready.’

‘I bet you’ll have a grand time, Nola.’

‘Aye, but it’ll be packed out in Edinburgh tonight, and Ma’s right, it’s no place for you. Don’t wait up for me, eh? I’m sure
to be late back.’


‘Off to the celebrations?’ Mrs Lange asked, coming in the front door with Erika, as Rena and Tess came to wave Nola off.

‘Aye, painting the town red,’ said Rena. ‘Though why you need that much paint on your face as well, Nola, I canna imagine.’

‘Come on, Ma, you use lipstick yourself,’ Nola protested.

‘No’ so much to shame the pillarbox, though. Och, get along with you!’ Rena gave Nola a kiss on her powdered cheek. ‘Have
a good time, eh? But take care, mind.’


‘You’ve no need to worry, Ma, I can look after maself.’

‘Such a lovely girl,’ murmured Mrs Lange, a sweet-faced woman, who seemed to fade into the shadows as Nola, bright as a flame,
passed her on her way out. ‘And so happy.’


‘We’re all happy today, Mrs Lange,’ said Rena, who never used her tenant’s first name and would not have expected Mrs Lange
to use hers. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk out with Tess and me, to see the celebrations? Have a cup o’ tea
first, mebbe?’


Mrs Lange glanced at Erika, pale and dark haired like herself. ‘Why, thank you, Mrs Gillespie. That would be very nice, wouldn’t
it, Erika?’


Erika, moving closer to Tess, nodded with enthusiasm.

‘And I can let you have a couple of eggs, if you’d like ’em for later,’ Rena went on, as she led the way along to the basement
stairs. ‘Nola brought some over from Drem.’


‘Eggs for tea!’ Mrs Lange’s Viennese accent was pronounced as she thanked Rena. ‘I think you are an angel in disguise, Mrs
Gillespie.’


‘Och, this laddie that’s sweet on Nola got ’em for her. ’Course, there’s nothing in it. Between him and her, I mean. Still,
a nice fresh egg’s a nice fresh egg, eh? Sit yourself down, Mrs Lange, and then we’ll have our own little celebration.’


Rena took out a packet of cigarettes and offered it to her tenant. ‘Like a Capstan? Nola let me have these. They get cigarettes
at the base, you ken.’


Mrs Lange’s dark eyes shone. She was a heavy smoker, as Rena knew, and always out of cigarettes.

‘I still don’t see why I couldn’t have gone to Edinburgh,’ Tess said in a low voice, as her mother lit her tenant’s cigarette
and her own.


‘Now we’ve had all this out already, Tess. We’re joining in with Porty folk, so make that do.’

‘You can feel safe here,’ Mrs Lange said quietly. ‘Which is wonderful.’

Rena knew that Mrs Lange herself had found it difficult to feel safe, even in Porty. That wasn’t surprising. Her husband had
been killed in Vienna by the Nazis, for ‘political reasons’, and after she and Erika had managed to get to England, they’d
had a difficult time, even though they had not been actually interned. Eventually, Mrs Lange had been given a factory job that had proved too much for her,
and it was only when she’d been found translation work at Edinburgh University that she’d begun to recover.


And now she could relax, thought Rena. Feel really safe, at last, and look forward to a new life for herself and Erika. The
war was over.


There was joy in the air in the town that spring evening, and yes, there were some people dancing. But everyone was smiling,
everyone was sharing the same feelings. It was as though they were floating on clouds, aware even then that they might never
feel quite so happy again, and that they must be sure to make the most of it. True, there was another war to be won and they
were not forgetting it, but here and now they had their own victory and it was sweet.


Joining the people milling round one of the bonfires, Rena, wearing lipstick and with her hair now loose on her shoulders,
was in her element, greeting everyone she knew, and looking suddenly so much younger that Tess was astonished.


So this was what being happy did for people, she thought, and looked with interest at other faces around her. Yes, it was
true. Everyone looked younger, except perhaps Mrs Lange, but then you could tell that her happiness was mixed with sadness.
She must be thinking of her husband who would never come back to her. It wasn’t long, in fact, before she was whispering that
she would like to go home.


‘Has it been too much for you?’ Rena asked sympathetically. ‘Aye, it’s grand there’s no more need to worry, but there’ll still
be some folk feeling sad today. Victory won’t bring back the ones that are gone.’


‘That’s true, but I’ve been very glad to be here. I’ve been glad to celebrate.’ Mrs Lange put her hand on Rena’s arm. ‘I am
a little weary, though. Don’t worry, I can let myself in.’


‘Well, you know I never look ma door,’ Rena said with a laugh. ‘If you don’t mind, then, I’ll just have a word with Vera MacFee
over there. She’ll be wanting me to help with the street party, if I know her.’


While Rena crossed to talk to her neighbour and Mrs Lange made her way home, Tess and Erika, allowed to stay out a while longer,
left the bonfire that was dying down to see what was happening on the promenade.


Here was the most beautiful part of Portobello, the long golden beach that had brought it fame. Long ago, it had been fashionable
as a watering place, a northern Brighton, with fine houses and bathing machines. Even when those days had passed and industry
had become as important as visitors, it was still a holiday destination for Scottish folk.


Before the war the lovely sands would have been packed with holidaymakers. There would have been donkeys and people selling
ice-cream and candy floss, children digging, their parents sunbathing, maybe moving on later to the funfair or the splendid
art deco swimming pool.


Now the pool was under camouflage, and the beach, behind its screen of barbed wire, rolled away to the waters of the Forth,
as quiet and lonely as when the area had been just a wilderness; a haunt of highwaymen waiting for travellers.


‘The Figgate Whins it was called, then,’ Tess had said to Erika when she’d first arrived, and had gone on to tell her the
old story of how Portobello had got its name, as her father had told it to her.


There’d been a sailor who’d helped to capture the Spanish town of Puerto Bello many years before. When he retired, he’d built
a little cottage by the sea and called it after the victory – Porto Bello. The name had taken people’s fancy, and when a town had gradually grown up, it had become known as Portobello. It was only many years later that
it had become part of Edinburgh, and Porty folk still liked to think of themselves as separate anyway, in their own place
with the beautiful name.


‘Yes, Portobello is a beautiful name,’ Erika had agreed, in halting English. ‘And a beautiful place, too.’

‘I think so,’ said Tess. ‘Even though some folk say there’s too much industry. But I’d like to see your city, Erika. I’d like
to see Vienna.’


A shadow had crossed Erika’s small pointed face. ‘Perhaps you will one day. But Mutti says we shall never go back to Vienna.’

Now, the two girls gazed again at the beach through the coils of wire that would at last be coming down, while people walked
up and down the promenade, linking arms and laughing at nothing in particular, just happy that the European war was over.


‘I don’t know why Ma always treats me like a bairn,’ Tess murmured. ‘I am thirteen.’

‘Not so very old,’ commented Erika.

She was herself so small and slight, she apeared younger than thirteen, except for those great dark eyes, which were the eyes
of someone who’d seen too much for a child of any age.


‘Folk used to go to work at thirteen, Erika. Aye, they went into service, or did errands and that kind o’ thing.’ Tess shook
her curly head. ‘I’m no’ saying I’d want to do that, mind. But I bet, if ma brother had been thirteen, Ma would’ve let him
do anything he liked.’


‘You think about your brother a lot, Tess, don’t you? Though you never knew him.’

‘I was only a baby when he died. He was the middle one. That’s why there’s a big gap between Nola and me.’

‘It’s so sad. Your poor mother.’

‘Aye, Ma’s never got over losing wee Rickie.’

‘You still have Nola.’

‘And she’s ma best friend. Apart from you, Erika.’

Erika put a thin hand on Tess’s arm. ‘You’ve been very kind to me, Tess. I’ll never forget it. When I first went to the school
and the girls thought me so strange, I think I should have done badly without you.’


‘They didn’t mean anything. They’re just like that with anybody different.’

‘You weren’t like that.’

Tess grinned. ‘Och, no! I like folk to be different. And I loved to hear you talk.’

Erika flushed. ‘My terrible English. I think I have improved, though?’

‘You’ll soon be sounding a proper Scot.’ Tess laughed. ‘Let’s walk on, eh? It’s no’ time to go back yet.’

Their way took them past the great skeleton of the funfair’s figure-of-eight railway, and the shuttered little shops that
had once sold ice-cream, seaside rock and souvenirs, all remembered fondly by Tess.


‘We used to have such good times when I was a wee girl,’ she murmured. ‘Going to Fun City, and having ice-cream at the Italian
shop, and all o’ that. When Dad had the money, I mean. Sometimes, we’d go on the donkeys. I can remember falling off!’ She
laughed. ‘You should have heard me bawl!’


‘Those good times will come back,’ said Erika firmly. ‘We can be sure of that now, you know.’

‘Aye, but when you look around, you canna believe it, can you?’

Moving on, they passed some of the grander buildings of the promenade. Elegant flats, and the Portobello Sea Water Baths establishment;
large houses with front gardens. But everything looked deserted, the owners of the houses long gone for the ‘duration’, the
baths closed. It seemed as though all the properties were sleeping, waiting their turn to be used again. Surely now, that
would be soon?


‘There’s ma favourite house,’ Tess whispered, standing at the entrance to the driveway of a stone-built house, with a portico
and gables and rows of rounded Victorian windows. It had been a fine residence once, and with attention could be again, but
now like its neighbours, it was a house in waiting. There were no longer any gates – probably they had been of wrought iron
and removed to aid the war effort – but there was a name on the stone pillar where the gates had once hung, which read ‘Pax
House’.


‘It is beautiful,’ Erika murmured.

‘Really grand, eh?’ Tess’s grey eyes shone as they rested on the house she so much admired. ‘Ma knew the housekeeper here
before the war. She said the man who owned it had a mint o’ money, but soon as the war started, he went off to Edinburgh.
Said he wasn’t going to wait here to be invaded.’


‘People thought they might be?’

‘Yes. What did you think the barbed wire was for? Loads o’ folk went away, but the Germans never came.’

‘Thank God,’ whispered Erika.

‘Better go back,’ said Tess, after a pause. ‘Or Ma’ll be after us.’

The sky was still light over the sea, as they turned in to their road from the promenade; the wonderful day was not yet over.

‘Mutti said she never thought she’d see the day the Germans were defeated,’ Erika said, as they moved homewards. ‘But, you
see, it has come.’


‘Aye, and this’ll be the road to the sands again. I told you it was once called that?’

‘Before King George came here, you said. But you have a King George now.’ Erika frowned. ‘That is confusing.’

‘This was an earlier King George.’ Tess laughed. ‘They’d have had the flags out then, an’ all. Can you see mine and Nola’s?’

They looked up towards Rena’s house and saw Tess’s Union Jack and Nola’s Scottish flag bravely flying from the window where Tess had clamped them.


‘It was ma dad told me about King George’s visit to Scotland,’ Tess went on. ‘He’s the one knows all the old stories. Sometimes,
when Ma was busy with the dinner on a Sunday, he’d take me and Nola out and we’d go round the town and he’d tell us about
the early days.’ She shook her head. ‘I do miss him, Erika.’


‘Well, he will soon be back,’ Erika reminded her comfortingly. ‘And you’ll go out with him again. Round the town, or on the
sands.’


‘And there’ll be no more barbed wire.’ Tess halted at the steps of her mother’s house and looked back down the street to the
closed beach and the sea. ‘What a grand day this has been,’ she said quietly.


Although she tried hard to keep awake, Tess was asleep before Nola came home. In the morning, though, when she sprang up,
as alert as though she’d never been to bed, there was her sister, fast asleep, in the opposite bed, her uniform jacket and
skirt draped around a chair, her shoes just dropped where she’d taken them off.


So she did come home, thought Tess, who’d wondered if celebrations in Edinburgh might have gone on all night. But Ma would
have had something to say if Nola had stayed out. And Ma would not have been asleep before she came in.


Though Tess didn’t have to go to school, she was hungry and got up anyway, trying not to wake her sister as she padded around,
finding her clothes, finally creeping out to get ready in the bathroom.


‘Tess!’ came her mother’s voice up the stairs. ‘That you up?’

‘Yes, Ma!’ sang Tess. ‘Coming, Ma.’

‘Oh, God,’ murmured Nola, opening her eyes with difficulty as Tess came back. ‘Oh, Tess, is it morning already? I didn’t get
to bed till four.’


‘Nola! How d’you get back?’

‘Taxi.’

‘Taxi?’ Tess’s eyes widened. ‘Who paid?’

‘Clark, if you’re interested.’

‘Did Ma no’ kill you when you got in?’

‘Never appeared.’ Nola struggled up against her pillows, pulling the straps of her nightdress over her plump should