Letters To Alice. Rosie James
getting desperate.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Eve said at once. She got off the bed and opened Fay’s handbag, then took a cigarette from the packet and struck one of the matches. ‘Shall I light it for you?’ she said. ‘Because your hands are wet, aren’t they…’
Alice raised an eyebrow slightly, and Fay said – ‘Yeah, go on…Thanks, Evie.’
Eve put the cigarette into her mouth, touched the end with the lighted match, then drew in gently, just enough for the cigarette to glow, following it with one or two brief puffs. Then she went across, bent down, and put it in Fay’s mouth.
For once, Fay was almost lost for words, and Eve said – ‘Thanks. I’ve always wanted to see what smoking was like.’
‘Well –as you didn’t inhale, that wasn’t really smoking,’ Fay said, smiling, ‘but if any of mine go missing, I’ll know who’s nicked ’em.’
At last, with the candles snuffed, they were all ready to lie down and go to sleep. And perhaps it wouldn’t take her quite so long tonight, Alice thought, perhaps she was so tired the bed might even begin to feel comfortable…
By now, they’d all stopped talking, and her gaze slid across to the others. Fay still had her eyes wide open, and aware that she was being watched, she turned her head and gave Alice a quick smile.
And as Alice smiled back, she couldn’t help thinking about Fay’s life behind the counter at Woolworths, and about her father, and why she wanted him killed. What a dreadful thought that was!
And Alice couldn’t help being sorry for Eve who seemed to feel guilty at being alive. That, too, was a dreadful thought…
All this introspection was reminding Alice of her own life, and that she’d promised to write to Gloria as soon as she could. She hoped that Gloria was OK, living in the house by herself.
And now, almost drifting off, Alice thought about Helena… Helena had no idea that Alice was in the Land Army doing her bit, because she hadn’t told her. (The call-up had all happened rather quickly.) In fact, she hadn’t told any of the Carmichael family. All their letters had become a little less frequent lately. But she would write to Helena soon, Alice assured herself. She knew Helena would be interested.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Eve sat up and got out of bed, pulling out her suitcase for something inside. Then she moved over to the others, holding out her hand.
‘I’d forgotten about these,’ she said softly – even though there was no need to whisper – ‘And once they’d entered my mind, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep without one. I hope they haven’t melted too much.’ She passed a small bar of Fry’s milk chocolate to Fay and Alice, then tore off the paper of her own and began to eat, her expression ecstatic.
Without the slightest hesitation the others did the same. Was there anything more delicious in the whole world than a bar of milk chocolate…whatever the circumstances…
‘We can call this our first midnight feast!’ Alice exclaimed. She knew all about midnight feasts! ‘We’ll have to think of something to have for tomorrow…’
‘And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’ Fay agreed, finishing her bar and licking the paper until it was completely clean. ‘Thanks, Evie!’
‘I just can’t believe that I had room for another thing after that supper,’ Alice said, as she finished hers. ‘And I didn’t think to pack any sweets…..
‘Oh well, – I’d actually bought these bars for my parents, but they told me to put them in my case instead,’ Eve said.
‘Well then – thanks very much, Evie’s mum and dad!’ Fay exclaimed, flapping the empty wrapper about in the air like a flag. ‘Not my usual night-cap – but it’ll do nicely for now!’
Bristol 1930
‘Well, I hope you’re counting your blessings, Miss!’
The maid’s flat-toned voice intruded unpleasantly on ten-year-old Alice’s thoughts as she unpacked her small bag of clothes and began putting them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
‘I’ll remember to do that, Lizzie,’ she said calmly, glancing up at the young, uniformed figure standing in the doorway of Alice’s new room – the room she would be sharing with her mother from now on.
‘Humph’, Lizzie snorted. ‘Anyway, you and your Ma were only asked to live in because of your Pa being killed. That’s what Cook said.’ A thin smile played on the pale lips. ‘A stroke of luck that he was, then, eh?’
Alice straightened up, tossing her thick, dark plait over her shoulder angrily, her green eyes flashing with savage indignation. Although her father had never been a constant member of the family – well, how could he be, with his job – Alice had always loved him dearly and the thought that anyone should think it was a good thing he was dead was obnoxious. She moved purposefully towards Lizzie – who involuntarily took a step back, realizing she’d gone too far.
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Alice said quietly. ‘My papa was a valued member of the crew – the captain told my mother. And they were sorry that he’d died. Everyone was sorry.’ Alice bit her lip hard. She was not going to shed even one tear in front of the maid, even though the lump in her throat was nearly killing her. ‘What you just said Lizzie was…despicable!’
‘Ho! Hoity-toity! Des…des…picabubble…am I? What sort of word is that?’ Lizzie retorted.
Well, if you read some books you might know what the word meant, Alice thought.
Reading had been Ada, Alice’s mother’s solace during her lonely hours, and she’d instilled the love of literature in her daughter. Alice could read fluently by the time she was six, and she was seldom away from school.
‘Oh, just go away, Lizzie, I’ve got things to do,’ she said airily, turning away.
Alone at last, Alice sat on the edge of the big double bed for a moment, her eyes welling up with the tears she’d managed to hold back. Although her father had only ever been back for one week at a time, and then gone again for six, Alice always looked forward to his home-coming, for them to be together again, just the three of them, in the two-bed terrace house they rented in Hotwells. And Alice’s father would always bring them little presents from wherever he’d been, and tell them how much he’d missed them while he’d been away.
And Ada never once complained about the fact that her jovial husband spent much of his leave down at the pub with his friends, often coming home so drunk she had to put him to bed to sleep it off. And when, one day, Alice had commented on this fact to her mother, she had been gently rebuked.
‘It’s the way with some people, with some men, Alice,’ she’d said. ‘Your Pa needs to have one or two drinks when he’s ashore. God alone knows how he – how his ship – survived the Great War. He…he deserves to be able to relax when he’s ashore.’ But Ada herself never touched a drop of anything, and refused to have alcohol in the house.
‘It’s the devil’s medicine, Alice,’ she said once. ‘Remember that.’
Ada was a spare- framed woman, prematurely grey, with shrewd eyes and a nature to match. She’d always known that the man she loved was not the sort to be relied upon, so three years ago she’d applied for the post of nanny to the five children of Professor Edward Carmichael, the eminent Bristol surgeon. And she couldn’t have known that the day she was ushered into the vast, high-ceilinged morning room at the big house in Clifton for her interview with Helena Carmichael, it was to change her and her daughter’s life for ever.
Mrs. Carmichael was a classically elegant woman with aristocratic, high cheek bones, widely spaced blue eyes and a perfect, sculptured mouth. Her blonde hair was