War Babies Read Online Free Page B

wide, curvaceous body in dark, old-fashioned clothes, a black skirt, high-necked blouse and, in the cold, a black
woollen shawl hugged round it.
    There were some women at Peggy’s pitch leaning down to feel some of the clothes and Rachel could see her mother watching them carefully.
    ‘Those underclothes are brand new,’ Peggy was saying to them.
    Feeling she was not needed, Rachel wandered away again through the milling shoppers, amid the smells of people’s coats, their sweat and perfume, towards Gladys’s pitch. That voice
was still coming through loud and clear. Through a gap she saw a young lad, about her own age, standing in front of Gladys’s cascades of clothing, belting out his patter. He held one hand out
like a seasoned professional. She smiled, impressed. The boy looked like a grown-up man who had shrunk. He too had striking blue eyes. He must be Gladys’s son, she thought.
    ‘Best comics!’ he bawled. ‘Come and get ’em –
Football Favourite
! Three for a halfpenny!’
    The boy’s electric energy drew Rachel in. He had a selection of comics laid out on the ground in front of him and a tobacco tin in which to keep his takings. He was a thin, wiry boy, with
thick brown hair cropped very short, big blue eyes which looked out at the world very directly and a squarish face with a strong jawline.
    ‘There’s girls’ comics as well,’ he announced, pointing rather grandly, as soon as he saw she was interested. His patter did not include the girls’ comics.
Tiny
Tots
and
The Schoolgirl
were clearly not names he saw fit to be broadcast by someone as manly as himself.
    ‘You’ve got a
lot
,’ Rachel said, impressed. She loved comics, though Peggy could never spare the money for any. There were several piles of them, some of them looking
very dog-eared.
    ‘I’ve got a good supplier,’ the boy said, folding his arms.
    ‘You tell her!’ Gladys said, laughing with another woman. ‘Good supplier – what’ll he come out with next?’
    The boy was a little taller than Rachel and had on threadbare grey shorts, one of the front pockets torn, a shirt which looked several sizes too big and a green V-necked jersey with frayed
cuffs. Rachel saw that he was wearing black
Mail
boots and that they were badly scuffed.
    ‘’E’s been off round the jumble sales,’ Gladys told her, coming round to speak to them. ‘Found himself a new line of business, ’ain’t yer, bab? Now you
give ’er a good bargain mind, Danny. You’ve got to learn to keep your customers happy!’
    ‘What d’yer want?’ the boy said gruffly. His blue eyes looked very directly at her.
    Gladys Poulter cuffed his head affectionately. ‘
What d’yer want?
What kind of way is that to speak to your customers? You tell ’em what you’ve got, you ask if
there’s anything they like the look of – and then whether there is or not, you show ’em summat they can’t resist . . .’
    The boy had such a compelling gaze that Rachel knew she could not just walk away. But she had only come to have a nose – she had not intended to buy anything.
    ‘I’ve got a farthing,’ she admitted.
    ‘Well – tell yer what,’ the boy said, folding his arms and considering carefully. ‘I’ll give you a special deal. Two for a farthing. How’s that?’
    ‘That’s more like it,’ Gladys chuckled.
    Rachel felt herself become daring. At school she found boys were easier if you stood up to them. ‘Three.’ Eyes full of mischief she looked up at him. ‘Make it three.’
    She heard Gladys let out a hoot of laughter. ‘What’s ’er saying? You driving a hard bargain, miss, are yer?’ She bent over and Rachel saw her dark lashes and the rough
ruddiness of her cheeks. ‘What’s your name, bab?’
    ‘Rachel Mills,’ she said. ‘My mother’s over there.’ She pointed in Peggy’s general direction. She saw Gladys Poulter sizing up her mother.
    ‘Oh ar – that new one,’ she said. ‘I’ve not seen much of ’er. Come on then,