the box. ‘In this instance, I’m prepared to make an exception.’
They raised cups and glasses, and Jim made the toast.
‘May the winds of fortune sail you,
‘May you sail a gentle sea,
‘May it always be the other man,
‘Who says the drink’s on me.’
He drank the vodka down in one. ‘God love your soul, Alex, and may you be flying with the angels tonight.’
The level on the bottle of vodka had been lowered quite substantially by the time the all-clear finally sounded two hours later, and it was with some difficulty that they managed to get Ron and Jim out of the shelter. It was decided they could both sleep in the cellar so their snoring didn’t disturb the rest of the house. The boys would go in with Anne and Peggy.
Sally carried Ernie upstairs. Unlocking her bedroom door, she gently laid him on the bed and pulled the blackout curtains before turning on the light. He was fast asleep, so she carefully stripped him to his underwear and tucked him in.
Once she was certain he wouldn’t wake, she got the chair and looked for the precious jar. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, and she frowned as she discovered it had somehow slid further back and was now out of reach. But at least it was still there – the room looked as tidy as she’d left it, and there was no evidence that Florrie had been through her things. If she had, the room would have been a tip, for Florrie was the untidiest person she knew.
With a deep, grateful sigh of relief, she replaced the chair and began to hunt through the drawers for a clean blouse to wear for work the following day.
Her hands stilled as she realised her best skirt had been folded neatly in the drawer instead of being hung in the wardrobe, and the lovely sweater she’d been given for Christmas was in with the blouses. She knew in that instant that Florrie had been in her room, and that Peggy must have tidied up behind her.
She sat there for a long time staring at that skirt and sweater, the shame flooding through her at the thought of Peggy knowing Florrie had no qualms about rooting through other people’s things. Had she gone into any of the other rooms? Sally felt beads of cold sweat run down her back at the thought.
‘What’s the old saying?’ she whispered. ‘Like mother, like daughter, that’s it. Now none of them will trust me ever again – especially after that to-do at the factory. No wonder Peggy couldn’t look me in the eye when she handed out those keys.’
Sally waited for an hour after she’d turned off the bedside light before she crept across the room and opened the door. The house was silent but for the groans and creaks of the timbers and the faint gurgling in the water pipes. She tiptoed to Florrie’s room and tried the door. It was unlocked, so she stepped inside and pulled the curtains.
Switching on the light, she looked at the pile of clothes and shoes in the middle of the bed, and the make-up and cheap jewellery strewn across the dressing table. Then she turned her attention to the chest of drawers. Her heart was thudding against her ribs and she was finding it hard to breathe as she eased out the bottom drawer. The cavity beneath a bottom drawer had always been a favourite hiding place of Florrie’s, and Sally prayed with all her might that she wouldn’t find anything as she steeled herself to look.
Her prayers had come to nothing, and her hands trembled as she took out three of Mrs Finch’s lace-edged handkerchiefs, and one of Anne’s good blouses. There was a belt of Cissy’s too – the one with the glittering buckle that was her favourite, and an almost unused lipstick she’d bought from Woolworths only the other week.
Sally felt such a rage it was like a huge mass growing inside her as she placed the stolen things on the bed. She used that rage to remain focused as she continued her methodical search through the rest of the drawers and the wardrobe – and when she was certain there was nothing else that shouldn’t be there, she swept the pile of Florrie’s clothes off the bed and sat down to wait.
The town-hall clock had just struck two when she was woken from her doze by the sound of stealthy but unsteady footsteps on the