Spitfire Girl Read online

  Susan was hesitant about wearing a dead woman’s clothes and shoes, but her sandals were still damp from her walk in the rain, and one of the buckles had come off. Her first foray into the chaos that was Dave’s bedroom produced a pair of brogues that fitted as if they had been made for her. They were virtually brand new and could only have been worn once or maybe twice. She put them on and said, ‘Thank you,’ to Christine’s photograph on the dressing table. Despite her reservations, she could not resist a cable-knit cardigan that felt snug and warm, and would keep out the bitter cold of a December morning. The rest of the garments were of good quality, but dated, and she closed the wardrobe, shutting away Dave’s memories for a while longer at least.

  She took Charlie out into the yard and he snuffled happily amongst the drifts of dead leaves that had been blown in from the adjoining back yards. She clutched the cardigan around her and was standing with her back to the building when she heard the door open.

  ‘Chris! Christine, is that you?’

  She spun round to see Dave standing in the doorway staring at her as if he had literally seen a ghost. The colour drained from his face and his hand flew to his mouth. ‘Oh, my God.’

  Chapter Five

  Susan walked slowly towards him. ‘Dave. Mr Richards, it’s me. Susan.’

  He dragged a hanky from his pocket and took off his glasses, mopping his eyes and making strangled gulping sounds as he made an effort to regain his self-control. ‘I – I’m sorry, love. It was just for a moment …’ He broke off, blowing his nose. ‘I’d forgotten what I said and, by God, from a distance you were the spitting image of her.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I was afraid something like this might happen.’ She slipped off the cardigan, holding it behind her back. ‘I won’t ever wear it again, or the shoes.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, please. Don’t take any notice of me, Susan. I hadn’t realised that you were so like her in looks, and even then it was just for a moment. It might have been the way the light was shining on your hair. Christine’s was a bit lighter than yours, and more golden than ash blonde, but she was a real stunner. All the blokes were after her. They couldn’t understand why she picked me.’

  ‘I can see why she did,’ Susan said gently. ‘I’m really, really sorry that I’ve upset you.’

  He replaced his spectacles, crumpled up the hanky and put it back in his pocket. ‘And I’m sorry that I’ve embarrassed you, love. Please keep the cardigan and take anything else you want. It’s a crying shame to leave her things for the moths to destroy.’ He turned on his heel and disappeared into the shop.

  Susan did not take anything else from Christine’s wardrobe, but she did find an apron in one of the kitchen drawers, and she fastened it around her waist before starting on the epic job of cleaning the kitchen. She emptied the cupboards and scrubbed the stains off the oilcloth that lined the shelves. She washed and dried the dishes, pots and pans and stacked them away tidily. She cleaned the cooker and wiped the wall tiles, ending her task by mopping the floor. The strong smell of caustic oven cleaner, Vim and bleach lingered, and she opened the window to allow the fresh air to ventilate the stuffy room.

  Armed with the carpet sweeper, a tin of Mansion polish that she had unearthed from the back of a cupboard and a handful of dusters, she set about the rest of the flat, starting in the lounge. Charlie was obviously enjoying his newfound freedom and he chased the ancient Ewbank round the room. Tiring of this game, he ran off with the hearth brush, and when that was wrested from him he grabbed the end of Susan’s duster in an energetic tug of war. It was the first time that she had been able to play with him while she worked, and the sense of release was almost overpowering. Any minute she thought she might turn round and find Mrs Kemp breathing down her neck, or Virginia standing in the doorway with a sarcastic smirk on her lean features. It was almost impossible to believe that they were now part of her past. The future might be uncertain but she was content to live in the present, for the time being at least.

  Dave took a mid-morning break and invited her to join him for elevenses. In the warm fug of the scruffy little kitchen at the back of the shop they drank tea and ate the sticky buns that Dave had popped out to buy from the bakery on the corner. ‘My favourite,’ he said, taking a bite. ‘The girl in the shop puts two by for me every morning, and I fix her punctures for free.’ He swallowed and sipped his tea. ‘I’ll tell her to put four aside tomorrow.’

  Susan licked her fingers. ‘Thanks. I love them too, but Mrs Kemp didn’t believe in shop-bought cakes. I had to make them.’

  Dave’s eyes sparkled. ‘You can bake a cake?’

  ‘Yes. Providing I can buy the ingredients, but it’s getting harder all the time.’

  Plucking a ration book from the shelf, he handed it to her. ‘I’m sure I’ve got points to spare. Perhaps you’d like to go shopping and get whatever we need. My old mum used to make a fantastic seed cake.’ He went through to the shop and she could see him at the till. He returned with a ten shilling note. ‘This should be enough to get a few necessities.’

  Susan tucked it into the ration book. ‘I’ll go right away.’ She hesitated, eyeing Charlie doubtfully. At the moment he was curled up on the linoleum but he was too boisterous to take to the shops.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Dave said, apparently reading her thoughts. ‘He can stay with me. We’ll be fine, won’t we, boy?’

  Charlie opened one eye and wagged his tail.

  ‘I’ll just go upstairs and get my handbag and gasmask.’ She collected the empty cups. ‘I’ll give these a good wash.’ She stopped, biting her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Dave. I don’t mean to take over, but I can see you don’t have much time for …’ she looked round, desperately seeking the right word, ‘housework.’

  ‘I know, love. Don’t worry; I’m not offended by the truth. I’m really grateful for anything you do in the way of tidying up, but don’t feel it’s obligatory.’

  ‘I’m glad to be able to do something in return, but I’ll have to start looking for a job. I can’t sponge off you, and I must find a place to stay.’ She bent down and patted Charlie on the head. ‘You be good for Dave. I won’t be long.’

  At one o’clock Dave closed the shop for lunch and entered the kitchen sniffing the air like a Bisto kid. ‘What’s cooking? The smell has been tickling my taste buds and making my customers hungry.’

  ‘It’s only liver with onion gravy and mash,’ Susan said apologetically. ‘The butcher had sold out of everything else.’

  He gazed round the kitchen and his eyes widened in amazement. ‘You’ve worked wonders, and liver is another of my favourites.’

  ‘Good,’ Susan said, smiling with relief. ‘Mrs Kemp said that it was peasant food, but I like it.’

  Dave took a seat at the table, staring at the place setting complete with a neatly folded napkin. ‘It’s like dining at the Ritz.’ He watched Susan dish up, licking his lips in anticipation. ‘I haven’t had a meal like this since last Christmas when my sister Maida came to stay.’

  Susan set the heaped plateful of food in front of him. ‘Does she live locally?’

  ‘No. Maida lives in Hackney. She teaches maths at a girls’ grammar school, and she thinks she can boss me about because she’s a couple of years my senior. I love her dearly, but a little of her goes a long way.’ He took a mouthful of mashed potato and smiled. ‘Lovely grub, Susan. You’re a star.’

  ‘Will she be coming this year?’ Susan asked tentatively.

  ‘No. She’s decided to spend Christmas with our cousin Phyllis in Esher. She’s a widow and her son is in the Navy, so she’s on her own and not managing very well according to my sister.’ He grinned, spearing a piece of liver with a decisive stab of his fork. ‘There’s nothing that Maida likes better than to organise people, so she’ll have a field day with poor Phyllis.’

  Susan could not think of anything to say to this and they ate mostly in silence, interspersed occasionally by murmurs of appreciation from Dave. ‘I’d
lick the plate if it wasn’t bad manners,’ he said as he swallowed the last mouthful.

  Susan had already finished her more modest portion and she rose to her feet. ‘It’s only tinned pears and custard for dessert,’ she said apologetically. ‘I usually make a pie or a suet pudding but I didn’t have time today.’

  Dave leaned back in his chair. ‘I wouldn’t have scoffed the last of the mashed potato if I’d known we were going to have custard. You didn’t tell me you were a cordon bleu cook.’

  Susan laughed, but his open admiration made her feel warm inside. ‘I’m not. Anyone can follow the instructions on the side of the tin. Mrs Wilson taught me how to make proper custard with eggs, but that was before rationing. I’m not sure it would work with dried ones.’

  ‘That Mrs Wilson sounds like a good woman. I’d like to meet her and shake her hand.’

  Susan took the saucepan from the stove and poured warm custard onto the pears. ‘She was very kind to me. I don’t know how she put up with Mrs Kemp for all those years.’ She put the plate down in front of Dave. He sat staring at the food and she was suddenly anxious. ‘Is there anything wrong?’

  He looked up, meeting her gaze with a worried frown. ‘Not with the grub. It’s all this.’ He waved his hand to encompass the whole room. ‘You shouldn’t be slaving away for me. It’s not right.’

  ‘But I don’t mind,’ Susan protested. ‘I like cooking and it’s nice to see everything clean and tidy. It’s my way of repaying you for your kindness.’

  ‘It’s not fair on you, Susan. Even if it is wartime, you should be mixing with people your own age.’

  She pushed her plate away, her appetite deserting her. ‘I know it was a cheek coming here last night, but I was desperate.’

  He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You’re still very young, Susan, and I’m a sad old widower who’s set in his ways and no company for a girl of your age.’

  ‘I’ll be nineteen next August. I’m not a kid.’ Susan had to bite her lip to prevent it from trembling. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  ‘No. Of course not, love. That’s not what I’m saying. I’d be happy for you to stay here until you’ve decided what you want to do next, but I don’t want to take advantage of your situation.’

  ‘You aren’t, and I never expected to stay here for long. I’ll find myself another place as soon as possible. Maybe I could get a job in a shop and rent a room somewhere round here.’

  ‘Haven’t you got anyone of your own, Susan?’

  She shook her head. ‘No one. But that’s not your problem. I’ll move on as soon as I can.’ She was about to leave the room but he jumped up, pushing his chair back so that it scraped on the linoleum.

  ‘No, wait. I’m just thinking of what’s best for you, but it’s too close to Christmas. You won’t find a decent job until the New Year.’ He scratched his head, frowning. ‘Perhaps we could come to some mutually agreeable arrangement.’

  She hesitated in the doorway. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Maybe you could work for me until you find something that really suits you. I could pay you a wage every week.’

  ‘You mean like Mrs Kemp did?’

  ‘Yes. Although it wouldn’t be very much, and you’d probably earn a lot more working in a factory, but it will tide you over until you decide what you really want to do.’

  ‘I’d like to stay here with you. That’s if you don’t mind me keeping Charlie.’

  At the mention of his name, the puppy leapt up, wagging his tail.

  Dave reached down to pat his head. ‘Of course not. Charlie’s a fine fellow, even if he did rip one of my slippers to bits while you were out.’

  ‘He didn’t.’ Susan frowned at Charlie, shaking her head. ‘Bad dog.’

  ‘Don’t scold him. He doesn’t know what he’s done. Anyway, all puppies chew things. We’ll be good mates and I can help train him. I could take him with me when I go out at night and you can stay in the warm and toast your toes by the fire, or read a book, or whatever young ladies of your age do.’

  Susan smiled. ‘You make it all sound so easy.’

  ‘Where’s the difficulty? If we’re both happy with the arrangement I can’t see why it shouldn’t work perfectly well.’

  During the next few days Susan worked hard, cooking, cleaning and generally tidying up after Dave, who had grown used to living in total chaos. Having sorted out the flat she made a start on the shop kitchen and she even tackled the unsanitary conditions in the outside lavatory. With Dave’s blessing, she had already sorted out the jumble behind the counter. His idea of keeping accounts was to simply toss receipts, bills and order forms into a wicker filing basket until it overflowed onto the floor. When he was knee deep in papers he would attempt to make sense of the books, and this was how he spent his Sundays.

  Susan had been forced to answer for every penny she spent in the Kemp household, and she volunteered, somewhat shyly, to relieve Dave of this onerous task. It had taken her several evenings to complete the bookwork, sitting by the fire in the lounge after supper while Dave undertook his nightly pilgrimage to Primrose Hill accompanied by Charlie. Several times she had to pack up the papers and hurry down to the air raid shelter, where she continued to work in the light of an old bicycle lamp. She worried about Dave, but she knew that he needed the quiet time alone with his memories, and she did not offer to go with him. When the raids ended she returned to the flat and made cocoa, which she reheated when he returned from his walk, cold and emotionally exhausted.

  She felt comfortable with Dave. He made her feel needed, and was grateful for everything she did in the flat. Even though she had only been with him for a short time, it was almost as though they were family, but not quite. She could not conquer the fear that one day all this would end, and she and Charlie would have to leave. With the constant threat from the air, and the dire news broadcast by the BBC of cities as far north as Liverpool being devastated by the Luftwaffe, it was altogether a frightening time. Southampton had received a pasting in November and a number of incendiary bombs had fallen on the airfield. With this constantly on his mind Dave was a bundle of nerves until a phone call from Tony put his fears at rest. Susan also breathed a sigh of relief. Her memories of Tony were vivid and growing more romantic by the day. He was her idea of a perfect man, although she dreaded to think how he would react when he found out how she had deceived him.

  ‘He’ll be home on Tuesday,’ Dave said beaming as he replaced the receiver after a telephone conversation with Tony in the run-up to Christmas. ‘He’s been saving up his leave and he hopes to get a thirty-six hour pass.’

  Memories of her last meeting with Tony came flooding back and with them the inevitable feelings of guilt and embarrassment. ‘What will he think when he comes home and finds me living here?’

  Dave eyed her curiously. ‘What’s up, love? You and he got on like a house on fire. Why should be mind?’

  ‘I lied to him, Dave. I told him I was Susan Kemp and that I lived in the big house. He’ll think I’m awful.’

  ‘He won’t, and he doesn’t.’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘I put him in the picture from the start. We don’t keep secrets from each other, love. He won’t hold it against you. My Tony’s not like that.’

  ‘You mean he doesn’t mind me being here?’

  ‘Not at all. In fact I think he’s glad that I’m being looked after. It means he doesn’t have to worry about his old man. So don’t you fret. We’ll be one happy family.’

  Susan swallowed a lump in her throat that was threatening to make her cry from sheer relief. What she felt for him was probably just a childish crush, and Tony would be like a brother to her. She hoped that there would be no ill-feelings or embarrassment. She forced her lips into a smile. ‘We’ll have the best Christmas ever. Even with rationing, I’m sure I can make a few treats.’

  ‘That’s right, love. We’ll have a turkey and all the trimmings. Do you think you could make a Christmas pudding? Maida served up a shop bought one last year,
but it wasn’t the same.’

  Susan nodded emphatically. ‘Mrs Wilson showed me what to do. If I can get the sultanas and currants it would be lovely, but if not I’ve read in a magazine that you can make the dried fruit go further by adding grated carrot.’

  Dave scratched his head. ‘Carrot pudding? Well, I’m blowed. What will they think of next? Anyway, love. Do your best. I know whatever you cook will be smashing.’

  With the prospect of Tony coming home for Christmas, Susan put an extra effort into making preparations for the festive season. She made a pudding, adding grated carrot to the mixture, more in hope than certainty that the recipe was going to work. She managed to eke the ingredients out far enough to make a cake using dried eggs and liquid paraffin, and supplementing the currants, raisins and sultanas with the ubiquitous carrot and grated apple. It smelt all right when it came out of the oven, and it looked appetising enough. She could only cross her fingers and hope that the taste and texture did not let her down.

  She decorated the lounge with paper chains and sprigs of holly, and she bought a small Christmas tree from a street vendor, which she dressed with baubles and slightly tarnished tinsel she had found in a box at the bottom of Christine’s wardrobe.

  Dave kept telling her to help herself to his late wife’s things, but Susan had not touched the clothes hanging there since the episode with the cardigan. However, with Tony’s visit in mind she had blown her first week’s wages on a cherry-red woollen dress from a second-hand shop further along the street. In the same shop she had found an almost new woollen scarf which she bought for twopence, intending it as a present for Dave. He had insisted on paying her an extra half a crown for sorting out his feeble attempt at bookkeeping, and this she put aside to buy a special present for Tony.

  She had thought long and hard about a suitable gift for him, and with only a few days to go before Christmas she stopped to look in the window of the bookshop where Pamela worked. Until now she had always hurried past, but a book that she would love to own herself had caught her eye. Her imagination had always been fired by aircraft and this edition of Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft was apparently second-hand, but in mint condition. She knew instinctively that it would be something that Tony would appreciate and cherish. There was no sign of Pamela in the shop, but even so Susan had to pluck up all her courage to open the door. The bell jingled on its spring and the girl behind the counter glanced up briefly before going back to writing something in a ledger. She seemed so preoccupied that Susan did not like to interrupt her, and she wandered around studying the titles on the shelves. The telephone rang and the assistant answered it with a resigned sigh. The conversation was brief and monosyllabic and she replaced the receiver shaking her head and muttering something beneath her breath. Susan was about to claim her attention and ask for the book in the window when the door opened, and to her horror she saw Pamela breeze into the shop.