A Sister's War by Molly Green (best books to read for self improvement TXT) 📗

Simone said. ‘I peeled it so I think you will manage well with one hand.’

‘Thank you, Maman.’ Ronnie took the tray which her mother had laid out with her best china together with a pink rose in a tiny glass vase. Feeling moved by these small touches from a mother who found it difficult sometimes to show affection to her daughters, Ronnie impulsively added, ‘I know we have our arguments, Maman, but I do love you.’

A dot of colour appeared on both Simone’s cheeks. She bent down and kissed Ronnie. ‘I know that, chérie. Even though you find it difficult to show it to me.’

Ronnie burst out laughing. As usual, her mother got it completely wrong even though she’d used exactly the same words Ronnie had been thinking.

Simone shook her head as she left her youngest with her supper.

Ronnie finished her egg and carefully laid the tray aside. Keeping her hand resting on the two pillows and cushion as she’d been told to do, she lay on her back, her mind going over the horror of the explosion. Poor little Lucky hadn’t been so lucky after all. Ronnie’s eyes filled with tears to think she’d let Margaret down after promising to take care of the little black cat. And she’d let Sally and Jess down by leaving them to clear up the mess Hitler’s terrifying rocket had caused, the only good thing being that neither of them had been hurt. They’d both promised to visit her at the first opportunity though surely she’d be back before then. But what about Michael? That wound in her heart was a thousand times worse than the one on her hand and no amount of numbing injections would have made the pain go away. And there was nothing she could do.

You could write to him care of the police station, her inner voice argued. They’d pass it on to him.

Yes, but my right hand, the one I write with, is out of order.

You could try with your other hand. Plenty of other people use their left hand.

But I’m not used to it.

That’s no excuse. Try, at least.

With a sigh, Ronnie pulled the eiderdown back and went to the small table she’d set by the window. She opened the drawer and took out a pad of notepaper she’d bought at the beginning of the war. Hardly any sheets had been used, and she recalled how Raine and Suzy both used to tell her off for not being a regular letter writer. Trouble was, she hated writing letters and wasn’t at all satisfied with her spelling.

Michael won’t give you black marks for a letter that isn’t perfect. Just write from the heart – like Dad would tell you.

She took her fountain pen in her left hand and dipped it in the ink bottle to refill it.

Dear Michael,

Her untrained left hand shook as much with the emotion of writing his name as it did in trying to form the letters. She looked at the letters she’d tried to form. The two words looked as though an infant had written them, they were so clumsy and disjointed. Her fingers felt peculiar as they held the pen at an awkward angle. Chewing her lip with concentration, and with painstaking slowness, she started the next line.

I only recieved – no, that wasn’t right. It was ‘i before e except after c’. She crossed out the offending word and rewrote it. ‘Only received,’ she said aloud as she carried on writing, your letter of 12th February a few days ago. Somehow it had been mislaid in the motorboat. Jess found it and brought it to me. I’d just read it when the doodlebug came down. A piece of glass somehow went through my right hand. Luckily for me Sally is a nurse and made a bandage. I was in hospital nearly a week and came home this morning.

I’m sorry I was so angry and told you I never wanted to see you again. It’s not true now, and it wasn’t then. And you don’t need to explain anything that happened in the interview room. You were on duty and had to do your job. I realise that now. Please forgive me.

Your letter had fallen to the floor but it fell apart in the mess so I’m sending this c/o The Grand Union Canal Police. It’s all I can think of. I hope you receive it. If you don’t you’ll never know I tried.

Her left hand ached with the strain, but there was nothing more to say.

How to end it. Nothing seemed right that she’d been taught in school. ‘Yours truly’, ‘Yours sincerely’ or just ‘Yours’, as Michael had written, didn’t strike the right chord. When she and Lois wrote to one another they always signed ‘Love’ and whosever name it was.

She renewed her ink and wrote:

Love,

Ronnie

That sounded much too forward. She crossed out the comma after ‘Love’ and inserted ‘from your friend’. There. That looked better.

At least she’d finally written it. Quickly, she scanned the badly formed letters hoping he’d be able to make sense of them. It wasn’t a brilliant letter but it told him what she wanted him to know. It would have to do. And the walk tomorrow to the village post office with Rusty would do her the world of good. She glanced at her bedside clock with amazement. It had taken all her effort and three-quarters of an hour to fill one and a half sheets of notepaper.

Chapter Forty

The following morning Ronnie made up her mind to get up as soon as the district nurse had been. Maman expected her to stay in bed but she had no intention of doing any such thing. She needed some fresh air after her hospital stay and the journey yesterday on a crowded train. Besides, she had an important letter to post. She looked at her watch. Half-past eight. Goodness, she’d slept late. She could already hear Maman clattering the dishes in the