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

we have a break?’ Angela, a plain-featured, tubby girl, asked plaintively. ‘I’m knackered.’

Angela was the trainee who’d smirked, Ronnie remembered, now desperate for a drink as well as the lavatory – even a few swigs of water would be welcome, but after the canal dunking she didn’t dare draw any more attention to herself. She licked her dry lips, praying Dora would allow the trainees to stop for a while.

Dora took the pipe out of her mouth, then with her free hand drew a chain from her pocket and glanced at the watch face.

‘All right. It’s gettin’ dark. We’ll have to split in groups. From now on, you three – Angela, Sally, Margaret – will live in Persephone’ – she jerked her head towards the motorised narrowboat – ‘and Shirley, Jess and Mary will take Penelope.’

Would May dare tell Dora she was known as May, not Mary? Ronnie wondered curiously. But May said nothing.

‘My luggage is in the motorboat,’ Jessica said.

Dora grimaced. ‘Anyone who has stuff in the wrong boat can change over after we have a cup of char. And anyone who’s been stupid enough to bring a suitcase’ – her gaze fell on Jessica, who Ronnie noticed had gone pink – ‘you’ll find there’s nowhere to store it, ’cept on the roof. Take it home soon as yer can. The boat’ll be very dark inside so yous’ll need ter light the oil lamp. Then get the kettle on … use the flowered water can. I want ter go over a few things to all of yous so we’ll cram inter the butty.’

As Ronnie was the nearest one to the butty, as she’d learnt to call the seventy-foot unmotorised boat, which was to be towed behind the equally long boat with the engine, she turned without a word and climbed down the ladder-like steps to the tiny kitchen below. The others piled in behind her. It was bitterly cold and smelt dank, and so dark Ronnie wondered how she’d be able to even find the kettle, let alone make the tea for seven women. But there it was, standing next to the Primus stove. An aluminium one that had escaped the governmental plea for aluminium to build aeroplanes. As she filled it from the can and set out the mugs, chipped and with rings of old tea stains inside, she was relieved to see Dora light an oil lamp. It flickered into life but the cramped space was still gloomy. Well, what they don’t see won’t hurt them, Ronnie thought, putting the mug with the deepest stains and a crack to one side especially for Dora. She found a large brown teapot in one of the overhead cupboards but there was no sign of any tea.

‘Here, Shirley,’ Dora said, reaching up to a shelf and handing her a tin. ‘Only use three teaspoons of tea. Rationing is stricter here than home. But I take two teaspoons of sugar. Somewhere there’s a tin o’ biscuits … ah, here they are, if there’s any left.’ She took the lid off and peered inside, the smoke from her pipe wafting over the contents.

Ronnie hid a grin as she thought of Maman’s face.

‘Now we’re all here,’ Dora began, ‘I’d better go over some pointers. Yous all got yer ration books, I take it.’

The trainees nodded … except Ronnie, whose heart did a somersault. She’d had to lie about her age when she’d registered with their local grocer so she’d be given the fawn-coloured one for people seventeen and over.

‘Hold on to ’em tight.’ Dora stared at Ronnie. ‘Yous old enough ter have yer own, Shirley?’

Ronnie drew in a breath as deep as the tight space allowed her. ‘Of course, Miss Dummitt. But my name is Véronique.’ She rolled her r’s, producing a stifled chuckle from May. ‘That’s what comes with having a mother who’s French,’ she added, then gazed at Dora. ‘But except for my mother, everyone calls me Ronnie. When you call me Shirley, I don’t know who you mean.’

‘Shirley Temple, o’ course,’ Dora Dummitt shot back with her bark of laughter. ‘With all them curls.’ She grimaced, which did nothing for her plain, weather-beaten face. ‘Cocky one, her.’

‘Actually, Shirley Temple is known for her ringlets,’ Jessica, the tall young woman with wavy golden hair and brightly painted lips, spoke up.

Jessica still looked elegant after a long hard day’s training except for an oily mark on her cheek which she couldn’t know about, Ronnie thought with amusement, and her light brogues were now filthy from the towpath.

‘And she’s blonde – unlike Ronnie, who is very definitely a brunette – so calling her Shirley seems rather pointless to me,’ Jessica finished.

‘Yer seem ter know plenty about film stars, miss,’ Dora said in a sarcastic tone as she took the mug of tea Ronnie handed her without as much as a thank you, keeping her eyes fixed on Jessica.

‘Going to the pictures is one of my hobbies.’ Jessica smiled sweetly. She glanced round, still smiling at no one in particular. ‘And please, everyone, don’t shorten my name to Jess. It’s Jessica!’

Dora rolled her eyes. ‘Anyone else care to tell me how she would prefer to be addressed?’ she said, mocking Jessica’s upper-class accent.

Jessica flushed, but Ronnie was sure it was from annoyance and not embarrassment.

‘Well …?’ Dora stood with her hand on her hip. ‘Mary, you got another fancy name?’

‘Only that I’ve already told the others me mam and all me friends call me May.’

‘Well, we in’t family nor friends,’ Dora shot back, ‘though that could change for the good or bad, dependin’ how yer get on with the other wenches.’ She puffed on her pipe, then nodded. ‘All right, May it is. But I’m not goin’ to keep spoutin “Jess-i-ker”.’ She threw a look at Jessica. ‘Afraid you’ll have to put up with Jess – from me, anyway,’ she told her. ‘And while we’re on the subject, I’m Miss Dummitt to you lot. Got that, all of you?’

‘Yes, Miss Dummitt.’

‘Good. Now, if you’ll