We Must Be Brave. Frances Liardet
it on the board. ‘My spoon’s jumping up and down on the table,’ said Jack. ‘Look. Bang the dough again, Mrs Parr. There!’
‘Pick your spoon up and start eating,’ Elizabeth directed him through set teeth.
The telephone rang again. Selwyn said, ‘Damn,’ and left the room.
‘Hawley’s only eight years younger than you, Mrs Parr.’ Jack started to inhale his porridge, speaking between and during mouthfuls. ‘Don’t you find that strordinary? That he’s already thirteen and you’re only twenty-one, but you’re completely grown up?’
‘She isn’t. She scrapes her porridge bowl like we do. Mr Parr, now he’s properly grown up. He’s forty.’
‘Donald, I shall tell Mr Parr how rude you’ve been about Mrs Parr.’
‘Really, Elizabeth.’ I rolled up my dough and put it back in the bowl. ‘It’s no more than the truth. I’m always starving. And Mr Parr is forty-one, to be exact.’
‘Yes, Mrs Parr. But Donald’s manner.’
Selwyn returned, unsmiling. The boys, seeing it, were quiet.
‘Who rang, dear?’
‘Sharp’s.’ He sat down again at the table. ‘The fire hoses did for the grain, nearly all of it, but there’s some dry wheat left. They’re sending for people to fetch it away and grind it.’
‘Oh lord,’ said Elizabeth. ‘They got Sharp’s.’
I rubbed dough from my fingers, awed at the knowledge that, in hitting the Southampton docks, the bombers had laid waste to the largest flour mill in the South.
I followed Selwyn out to the yard where the lorry was garaged. I tried to match my stride to his; we were both tall, but he was eager to be on his way. ‘Darling, when I dashed after the constable yesterday, I did mention that we’d be happy to hang on to Pamela for a while.’
‘We haven’t got much choice, have we, in the short term.’ He spoke absently, fumbling for his keys. We were approaching the garage.
‘What I mean is, she wouldn’t necessarily have to be with a family. People are so hard-pressed now. She might do better with us and the boys …’
Selwyn unlocked the door and snapped the padlock shut. ‘Sweetheart, these past few days we’ve all been through a great deal. You’ve been absolutely marvellous—’
‘I really haven’t. I simply did what had to be done—’
‘—but I think the experience has left us, perhaps, not quite in our right minds.’
The doors gave a rusty scream as Selwyn pulled them open. I followed him into the garage. ‘What do you mean, in our right minds? Selwyn?’
‘Darling, can we talk about this later?’ He was opening the cab door, swinging himself up into the driving seat. ‘It’s hardly the most apposite moment.’
‘Well, I’m taking her to Barker’s in Waltham this morning. For clothes. So I won’t get to the office till after lunch.’ My voice was rising. ‘But she needs some things. I can get her things, can’t I? While she’s here?’
‘Of course you can. Ellen, what’s the matter?’ He leaned down towards me.
‘Nothing. I’m perfectly all right.’ I shut my eyes. ‘And I’m certainly in my right mind.’
‘I do beg your pardon. That was a stupid thing to say.’ He smiled deliberately down into my hot eyes. ‘Take Pamela shopping and don’t worry about the office. Suky and I can dash off a couple of bills between us. I must go.’
‘Of course you must.’
He drove off, to Southampton, and Sharp’s, and the undamaged grain.
I went back inside. Stared at the slowly rising bread dough. Ate my helping of porridge, half-cold, from the pan. Then I went out to the hall and lifted the telephone receiver.
‘Waltham police station, please,’ I told the operator.
Pamela appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Miss Ell, Missis Ell!’
‘Quiet, sweetheart. I’m telephoning.’
She thumped her way down, hopping from stair to stair. Six steps from the bottom her foot slipped. ‘Pamela!’ She pitched forward and so did I, catching her as she fell against my chest and knocked me to my knees. Behind me the telephone receiver cracked against the wall.
‘Be careful!’ I yelped the words as pain shot through my knee. Pamela, unhurt, threw herself on the floor and began to wail.
‘Good grief, Mrs Parr!’ Elizabeth was standing in the doorway.
‘We’re all right.’ I levered myself upright. ‘My dear, take her into the kitchen. I must telephone.’
Sergeant Moore excused himself for eating his breakfast. His thin voice worked its way through crumbs. ‘I daresay you’d be unopposed in this scheme, madam.’
‘I’d hardly call it a scheme. Just a wish. Of course I have thought it over. Let’s say, a carefully considered wish …’
Loud screams issued from the kitchen. ‘No! No! Not porridge!’
‘Do you have other children, Mrs Parr?’
‘None of my own, but we’ve got three evacuees.’ I pressed the receiver against my ear. ‘We’re used to looking after young children. We could be—’
The kitchen door opened. ‘I! Am! Not! Eating! Nasty! Porridge!’ Pamela screamed, and thundered up the stairs.
‘– like a family to her!’ I shouted.
‘Just so,’ said the thin voice, with a little clearing of the throat, as Pamela thundered down again, giving a long, roaring bellow, as far as I could see for the simple pleasure of doing so.
When I went into the kitchen she was sitting on a chair with her knees up and the singlet pulled over them. Elizabeth was stirring a pan on the range. ‘I’m just making some more porridge, Mrs Parr.’
‘I gathered.’ We both smiled. ‘I’m taking Pamela with me to Waltham to get some clothes.’
‘Look, I’m in a bag. I’m a bag girl.’
‘Yes, Pamela. Elizabeth dear, can you knock back the bread dough later?’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘I can. But you’ll have to hurry if you’re to get the bus.’
‘Let’s go upstairs, Pamela, and get dressed.’ I made my way to the door but she remained on the chair, pulling the singlet over her toes. ‘You’re stretching the fabric now. Get up.’
‘Bag girl, bag girl. I want porridge.’
‘Oh. Now you want porridge. Well, you will have porridge, but you need to get dressed first.’
‘No, porridge now.’
‘It’s not ready. You must dress while it’s cooking. Do you want to go shopping?’
‘Yes, but after porridge.’
Elizabeth was laughing. She lifted the pan from the heat. ‘You do what Mrs Parr tells you, young lady, or I’ll feed this to the hens.’
Pamela got off the chair.
Upstairs she raced into the dressing room and out again, squeezed herself under our bed. Her laugh was rattling, hysterical. I persuaded her out after three minutes or so. I brushed her hair and she seized the brush from me, tried to brush the back of her hair with the back of the brush, refused to surrender it. I pulled her nightwear off her and she lay on the floor bicycling her legs until I caught one hard little foot and then the other and forced them into the leg-holes of her clean, dry knickers.
Now