The Gunner Girl Read Online Free Page A

Mary. She had just finished her training with the Auxiliary Territorial Service. There was a picture of her
at a depot in London. She was smiling in the photo, her face soft and pale as dough above the darkness of her uniform.
    Mary Churchill had been in the year above her at finishing school. It was Pop who had suggested sending her to Queen’s College in London after taking her school-leaving certificate. Of
course, going to Paris was out of the question these days. Queen’s College was in Harley Street, very near Pop’s office. They travelled in together every day, along with Marjorie,
who’d also enrolled. As well as French and English literature at Queen’s, there were piano lessons and modern dance classes and the dreaded domestic science. Marjorie had had driving
lessons, too, but Mummy had drawn the line at that. So while Marjorie crunched gears and learnt about three-point turns, Edie had extra French. She’d had a French nanny as a child, and her
maternal grandmother was French, too. Even Madame Cavelle admitted her accent was spot on, although she never really could get to grips with Molière.
    A few times before the summer holidays, they had managed to meet up with Marjorie’s brother Kenneth, who was on pre-deployment leave. They went for tea at the Ritz, walks in Hyde Park and
to the cinema. Once, during
That Hamilton Woman
, when Marjorie had to go to the loo, Kenneth sat next to her. He put his hand on Edie’s knee and then she felt his hot breath on her
neck, under her hair. On the screen, Laurence Olivier was kissing Vivien Leigh as if he couldn’t stop. Edie slowly turned her face and felt Kenneth’s lips move up, over her cheek. They
were so warm and soft and they were just about to connect with her lips when they heard the scuffle and jostle of Marjorie’s return. Kenneth quickly pulled away and Edie was left breathless
in the darkness.
    â€˜Golly, have I missed the best bit?’ whispered Marjorie, and Edie thought, no, it’s me who’s just missed the best bit. After that, whenever she looked at Kenneth, his
eyes flashed, and there was an unspoken understanding between them that when he came back . . . but then he didn’t come back. And she could hardly confide in Marjorie; it would have felt like
a betrayal.
    Edie went to her mother’s sewing basket and took out the little silver scissors that were shaped like a heron. Snip, went the scissors. Snip, snip. And Mary Churchill’s faced wavered
and slid out from the newspaper. Edie took the rectangle of newsprint and laid it out on the table. The article talked about the recruiting office where Mary joined the ATS, and her work helping
out alongside the men in an anti-aircraft unit. It all sounded thrilling. There was a hole in the newspaper now. But with both her parents out, there was nobody to notice, or to care. She checked
her watch. The minute hand crawled around like an insect trapped under glass. It would be hours until Mummy got back. Edie picked up the sliver of paper and took it upstairs to her room.
    The pink dress lay discarded on the floor, a dying rose, with last night’s silk stockings like worms on the scalloped petals. She stepped over it and opened the doors to the wardrobe. On
the top shelf was her new handbag, a present from Grandmaman Redette. The bag was boxy, patent leather: glamorous and serviceable. She snapped it open. It was lined with apricot satin, with a
little zipped pocket on one side. Edie put the newspaper cutting in the pocket and zipped it back up.
    Over by the bed, her piggy bank sat on the bedside table, next to the lamp, and her copy of
Gone with the Wind.
She unstoppered the cork in the pig’s stomach and emptied the
contents onto the eiderdown. She counted it, put the whole lot into her old brown purse and put the purse inside the handbag. There was more than enough for the train fare, and plenty to spare. She
picked up