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her door behind her. It should only take her ten minutes, if she hurried.
She had reached the landing below when a door opened and a harassed-looking woman appeared clutching a wailing baby in her arms.
‘Ah, I thought I heard yer comin’ down the stairs, luvvie,’ she said. ‘You ain’t off to the shop by any chance, are yer?’
‘I am actually,’ Dotty answered.
‘Ooh, then yer couldn’t do me a big favour an’ fetch me a loaf back, could yer? This ’un’s been yarkin’ her head off fer the last ’alf an ’our. I reckon she’s hungry an’ I ain’t been able to get out ’cos the other two are down wi’ the measles. Poor little mites. Still, I suppose I shouldn’t grumble. At least it’s stopped ’em from bein’ evacuated, fer now at least.’
‘Of course I will, Mrs Cousins,’ Dotty responded kindly. She felt so sorry for the poor woman. Her husband had been one of the first victims of the war, being killed in an accident just four weeks after joining up. Mrs Cousins had been forced to leave their home then and had ended up here with three small children to care for and barely tuppence to rub together, from what Dotty could make of it. It seemed such a shame, but then she was only one of many who were suffering because of the war, and Dotty supposed she should think her own self lucky. There was some compensation to being alone: at least she had no one else but herself to worry about.
Taking the money that the older woman held out, she smiled and hurried on her way, grimacing as she passed the bathroom. The smell that issued from it was appalling and she wasn’t surprised that no one ever used it. All the residents preferred to go to the outside privy, which at least had the benefit of a strong flush and fresh air coming through a broken window. Dotty thought it was probably her turn to cut up squares of newspaper to hang on the string there.
The frost on the pavements had thickened now and her breath floated in front of her like lace, but soon the corner shop came into sight and she hurried inside to get the bread and milk.
Once back at the house she toiled up the first two flights of stairs and tapped on Mrs Cousins’s door. The baby was still crying as Dotty thrust the loaf towards the woman, along with the half-a-crown she had given her.
‘But you’ve not taken anythin’ for it,’ the woman protested. She was dressed in an old pair of men’s trousers and a baggy Fair Isle jumper that Dotty supposed might be her late husband’s, the only thing she had ever seen her in, and a scarf was tied turban-like around her hair.
‘Oh, the shopkeeper let me have it for nothing because it’s yesterday’s and a little stale, but I’m sure it will still be all right if you eat it tonight. Oh, and there’s a bottle of milk here too that he was going to throw away. He was just about to shut.’
Mrs Cousins looked puzzled as she squeezed the bread. ‘Well, it feels fresh enough to me. Are yer quite sure it didn’t cost yer nowt?’
‘Absolutely.’ Dotty began to move away, clutching her own pint of milk. Her feet felt as if they were going to drop off after being on them all day, and all she wanted was to settle down by the fire for the night with the wireless for company. She didn’t want to give Mrs Cousins an opportunity to question her too closely either. She had treated the poor woman to the milk and bread, but what was the harm in a little white lie if it was doing someone a kindness? As she hurried on, she realised with a little start that Mrs Cousins was the only person who had spoken to her all day, apart from Mrs Broadstairs when she was issuing her orders, of course, and the customers she had served.
The flat was warm when she got back up to the top floor, which was something at least, so she turned the heat back on under the soup and sighed with pleasure as she kicked her boots off, sat down and stretched her feet out by the fire.
‘Now then, Miss Kent, there’s
She had reached the landing below when a door opened and a harassed-looking woman appeared clutching a wailing baby in her arms.
‘Ah, I thought I heard yer comin’ down the stairs, luvvie,’ she said. ‘You ain’t off to the shop by any chance, are yer?’
‘I am actually,’ Dotty answered.
‘Ooh, then yer couldn’t do me a big favour an’ fetch me a loaf back, could yer? This ’un’s been yarkin’ her head off fer the last ’alf an ’our. I reckon she’s hungry an’ I ain’t been able to get out ’cos the other two are down wi’ the measles. Poor little mites. Still, I suppose I shouldn’t grumble. At least it’s stopped ’em from bein’ evacuated, fer now at least.’
‘Of course I will, Mrs Cousins,’ Dotty responded kindly. She felt so sorry for the poor woman. Her husband had been one of the first victims of the war, being killed in an accident just four weeks after joining up. Mrs Cousins had been forced to leave their home then and had ended up here with three small children to care for and barely tuppence to rub together, from what Dotty could make of it. It seemed such a shame, but then she was only one of many who were suffering because of the war, and Dotty supposed she should think her own self lucky. There was some compensation to being alone: at least she had no one else but herself to worry about.
Taking the money that the older woman held out, she smiled and hurried on her way, grimacing as she passed the bathroom. The smell that issued from it was appalling and she wasn’t surprised that no one ever used it. All the residents preferred to go to the outside privy, which at least had the benefit of a strong flush and fresh air coming through a broken window. Dotty thought it was probably her turn to cut up squares of newspaper to hang on the string there.
The frost on the pavements had thickened now and her breath floated in front of her like lace, but soon the corner shop came into sight and she hurried inside to get the bread and milk.
Once back at the house she toiled up the first two flights of stairs and tapped on Mrs Cousins’s door. The baby was still crying as Dotty thrust the loaf towards the woman, along with the half-a-crown she had given her.
‘But you’ve not taken anythin’ for it,’ the woman protested. She was dressed in an old pair of men’s trousers and a baggy Fair Isle jumper that Dotty supposed might be her late husband’s, the only thing she had ever seen her in, and a scarf was tied turban-like around her hair.
‘Oh, the shopkeeper let me have it for nothing because it’s yesterday’s and a little stale, but I’m sure it will still be all right if you eat it tonight. Oh, and there’s a bottle of milk here too that he was going to throw away. He was just about to shut.’
Mrs Cousins looked puzzled as she squeezed the bread. ‘Well, it feels fresh enough to me. Are yer quite sure it didn’t cost yer nowt?’
‘Absolutely.’ Dotty began to move away, clutching her own pint of milk. Her feet felt as if they were going to drop off after being on them all day, and all she wanted was to settle down by the fire for the night with the wireless for company. She didn’t want to give Mrs Cousins an opportunity to question her too closely either. She had treated the poor woman to the milk and bread, but what was the harm in a little white lie if it was doing someone a kindness? As she hurried on, she realised with a little start that Mrs Cousins was the only person who had spoken to her all day, apart from Mrs Broadstairs when she was issuing her orders, of course, and the customers she had served.
The flat was warm when she got back up to the top floor, which was something at least, so she turned the heat back on under the soup and sighed with pleasure as she kicked her boots off, sat down and stretched her feet out by the fire.
‘Now then, Miss Kent, there’s
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