away those nasty coughs.’
Mrs Yarwood acted as the neighbourhood’s unofficial dispensary. Everyone knew that if you were going through hard times and couldn’t afford to visit a doctor or hospital, you could send to Mrs Yarwood for some thyme and myrrh powder to ease a sore tooth, a liquorice and calendula liniment to ease a rash, or a bitter cough syrup sweetened with cinnamon so the little ones would swallow it by the spoonful. Sometimes Mrs Yarwood would keep the child at her home for a day or two until a fever had passed.
Made lively by the hearty meal, the girls were chattering excitedly around the table. Gertie’s cheeks were flushed as she recounted a ballroom scene from a play she was studying with Miss Barnes, describing the silk ball gown, billowing skirts of Juliet as she linked arms with a dashing intruder and danced at the grandest ball in Verona.
‘Can’t you just imagine a place where all the floors and walls are made of marble, and the women can wear silk gowns in any colour they like?’ she enthused.
‘I’d choose a ruby red,’ Flora declared.
‘I’d choose purple,’ said Maggie. ‘And Essie would choose blue. Bright blue.’
‘You know me too well,’ said Essie. ‘But don’t forget my diamond earrings and gold buttons—’ Essie stopped. Gertie’s button. What had she done with it? More importantly, what could they do with it? Freddie had mentioned a pawnbroker who did the rounds of the building sites. Stony someone, that was his name. She made a note to ask Freddie as a plan started to form in her mind. It might not lead to silk dresses, but it was a start.
‘I’d choose white, with green and purple ribbons,’ said Gertie with a set jaw, making Mrs Yarwood chuckle. ‘I’m sure you would, Gertie-girl!’
When they’d had their fill of soup, Mrs Yarwood carved thick slices of beef and served it with roast potatoes and fresh peas and carrots from her garden. She put another plate aside and covered it with a cloth.
‘For you to take home for Freddie. Poor fellow … all those long hours he works.’
‘Thank you. You spoil us, Mrs Yarwood,’ said Essie, grateful that her brother would not miss out on this delicious treat.
The girls devoured their meals with gusto. When they were done, Essie stood to help clear the plates, but Mrs Yarwood gently pushed her back into her chair.
‘Just you rest your feet now. I’ll take care of this washing-up when you’ve left; it will give me something to occupy myself. Mr Yarwood will be halfway through his crossword and won’t thank me for interrupting him before he’s finished!’
Mrs Yarwood smiled fondly as she gestured up the hallway and, in that moment, she was the same dreamy bride whose likeness graced a silver frame on the wall near the entrance to the kitchen. Mrs Yarwood caught Essie studying the picture and flushed slightly.
‘Thirty years next month. Posting a letter, he was. Right near the Victoria station. We both reached towards the postbox at the same time and, gentleman that he is, Mr Yarwood stepped back and allowed me to post my letter first. Our eyes locked and, well …’ Her face was as red as a beet now, and she wiped her hands on her apron.
Flora giggled and Maggie looked up at Mrs Yarwood from under her long lashes. Mrs Yarwood reached out and tickled Maggie under her chin.
‘It’s not much of a story, I know. Silly, isn’t it? Meeting at a postbox. But I could tell right in that moment that Mr Yarwood was a good man. A kind man. He came for tea at my parents’ house the following Wednesday. He then came every Wednesday, before he went to his night accounting class. We went on like that for months. Sometimes on a Saturday we’d go out for a walk around the Serpentine, followed by an ice cream. Vanilla. Or strawberry …’
Mrs Yarwood stood and picked up her plate.
‘I’m carrying on. We’re no Romeo and Juliet, but we’ve been happy enough. Saved our pennies for a year until we could marry. Made a down payment on this little place, then the garden flat where you rent. We didn’t need all the rooms in the end, since we weren’t blessed with children. So we are pleased enough to see a good family in it.’
Essie would be forever grateful the Yarwoods had rented their garden flat to the Murphys, otherwise they’d be with the rest of their kind in the