The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,113

nights.’

‘Oh, how thrilling! And so romantic, too.’ Millie sighed.

‘Love among the bedpans. That’s dead romantic, that is,’ Dora put in dryly.

‘Oh, do be quiet, Doyle. Just because you have no poetry in your soul.’ Millie turned to Helen, her blue eyes shining. ‘So when are you seeing him?’

‘I’m not. It was just silliness, really. I expect he’s forgotten me now.’ She blushed, feeling their eyes on her. ‘He was probably just being polite,’ she added lamely.

Millie laughed. ‘Young men don’t bother sending flowers and writing love letters if they’re just being polite! No, if you ask me, I reckon he’s smitten.’

‘Do you think so?’ Helen paused for a moment, enjoying the warm glow it gave her inside. Then she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t possibly go out with him. My mother would never allow it.’

‘Why does your mother have to know?’ Dora asked.

Helen stared at her, dumbfounded. Her mother knew everything. Even if Helen didn’t tell her, she would find out somehow.

And if she discovered her daughter had done anything so daring as going out with a boy, her wrath would simply know no bounds.

No, it was too big a risk to take. And Helen would never be that brave.

Would she?

Chapter Thirty-Six

GRIFFIN STREET DID His Majesty proud for his Silver Jubilee. Church bells were ringing all over the city as Dora left the hospital early on that sunny May morning. She turned the corner into Griffin Street to find neighbours hanging out of the windows high above her, shouting to each other as they strung colourful bunting across the gap between them. On the street, women were busy arranging long tables, laughing as they tried to stop the tablecloths fluttering away. Children darted in and out around their feet, into everything, already over-excited.

‘Dora!’ Bea rushed up to her, dragging Little Alfie behind her. His chubby legs could hardly keep up with her long strides. ‘Have you seen it? Isn’t it grand? Mum’s made a jelly and fairy cakes and sausage rolls, and later on we’re going to have races and games, and look what they gave me . . .’ She opened her palm to reveal a small silver medal on a burgundy ribbon. ‘Everyone at school got one but mine’s the best.’

‘That’s smashing, love. Be careful you don’t lose it.’ Dora scooped her baby brother into her arms. ‘You look very pretty, too. Is that a new dress?’

Bea nodded. ‘Mum made it for me. She says everyone’s got to look their best for the King’s Jubilee.’ She tweaked her pigtails, tied up in fancy new ribbon. ‘Nanna says she’s going to wear her fur coat, but Mum says it’d look daft. And our Josie’s shut herself in her room and won’t come out,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Has she now? It doesn’t sound like our Josie to miss a day of fun and games.’ Dora hitched Little Alfie on to her hip. Except he wasn’t so little any more, and weighed heavy in her arms. When did he grow so big? she wondered. ‘Come on, let’s go and find out what it’s all about, shall we?’

The kitchen table was crammed with plates of sausage rolls and dainty little iced cakes as fancy as anything from Lyons’. In the centre a large bowl of scarlet jelly glistened like a jewel. Nanna Winnie sat at a corner of the kitchen table, making fishpaste sandwiches. She had fetched her best green coat with the fox fur collar out of the wardrobe, and the smell of mothballs filled the tiny kitchen.

‘All right, Mum?’ Dora greeted her mother with a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you? It all looks lovely.’

‘She’s done enough to feed an army!’ Nanna Winnie grumbled. She pointed the end of the butter knife at her daughter. ‘You just be sure to bring back more than you take, that’s all.’

‘That’s hardly the party spirit, is it, Nanna?’ Dora grinned.

‘Party spirit indeed! I don’t hold with parties,’ Nanna grunted. ‘Never have, never will.’

‘Come on, Nanna, you love parties! Bet you’ll be the first up and dancing when the music starts.’

‘Not with my back, I won’t. I’m a slave to my lumbago.’

Dora set Little Alfie down on the floor and turned to her mother. ‘Anything I can do to help?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks, love, it’s just about done now. Besides, you don’t want to ruin your nice dress, do you?’

‘I thought I’d make a bit of an effort.’ Dora looked down at her cotton dress. Her