The Gunner Girl Read Online Free

But she’d hoped she might be treated as a bit more grown up, at least. She
watched her mother and smelled the smoke that was torn from her in the breeze.
    Her mother took a final drag and flicked the cigarette butt into a flowerbed. She’s forgotten we don’t have a gardener to clear away her debris any more, thought Edie. She sighed.
Her mother shot her a look, and then disappeared back inside. Edie followed her in, closing the door behind them.
    Mummy was already in the hallway, brushing dust off her tweed skirt and getting her coat from the hook.
    â€˜I’ve promised to meet Mrs Carson to discuss what the WVS ought to plan for over Christmas,’ she said, picking up her handbag. ‘Do come along, darling.’
    â€˜No, thank you,’ said Edie.
    â€˜But I worry about you. What are you going to do all day on your own? Will you go and visit Marjorie? Shall I call her mother?’
    â€˜I’m quite tired after last night, actually,’ said Edie. ‘Would you, send Mrs Carson my best wishes?’
    â€˜Yes, of course. And you’ll be fine on your own?’ She was already halfway out of the door.
    â€˜Don’t worry, Mummy, I’ll be fine. I’m eighteen, remember!’
    The front door slammed shut. Edie wandered around the house, trailing a finger along dusty windowsills, remembering last night. What could one expect from an eighteenth birthday in wartime,
after all?
    There had been a small fruit cake, and she was allowed the tiniest glass of champagne. They danced to the gramophone, except that the music hadn’t been anything modern, like Glenn Miller.
Marjorie had a Glenn Miller record at her house: the ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’. They used to play it when Edie went over, trying to dance like they did in the films, until they fell over
each other, laughing, on the Parquet floor. Marjorie’s brother Kenneth had brought the record when he came home on leave. Edie had known Kenneth for ever – well, since she had known
Marjorie – and she’d been almost as proud as Marjorie when he joined up and got accepted as an officer in the Intelligence Corps. And the Kenneth she had always associated with conkers
and chemistry sets suddenly became something else, and she had half hoped . . . but now Kenneth was MIA – missing in action – shot down in a plane over France, apparently. When
she’d asked why he was in a plane over France – it wasn’t as if he were RAF or anything – nobody knew. And Marjorie had stopped asking her over to listen to Glenn Miller.
She hadn’t even come to the party. Her mother had called at the last minute to say she had a head cold. So Edie had celebrated with some of the other girls from Queen’s College, and
they’d danced with each other for the lack of boys – except for cross-eyed Teddy Cowie, who was only fifteen and didn’t count. All the boys had gone now. They hit eighteen and
–
pouff
! – evaporated.
    Edie paused by the hallway mirror and blew on the glass. The cloud of breath condensed on contact, obliterating most of her face, leaving behind just her high eyebrows and a whispering of
freckles on her forehead. She pulled away, drawing a heart in the condensation and writing a ‘K’ in the middle of it. Then, she hastily rubbed it out, wiping her damp fingers on her
dress. Buck up, she told herself, sniffing and knowing that she had no right to weep. The grandfather clock ticked on, its painted sunshine face rising genially upwards, as if nothing mattered.
Today is my birthday, she thought. I am eighteen, now. I’m not a child. And I’m bored as hell.
    She went back into the dining room and looked at the paper. It was the usual mixture of gloom and false hope. She sat down and began to leaf through. The pages were dry as dead skin and the ink
came off on her fingertips. There on page five was Churchill’s youngest daughter,