‘Hang on, children,’ he said, turning back and searching the garden for something to use to extinguish the fire. Thank goodness for Pat being prepared in case of incendiary bombs – there were several buckets of sand lined up outside. In many streets housewives had emptied the buckets and used them for spring-cleaning, but thankfully Pat had done the right thing.

  Hurling the buckets of sand onto the flames, William wrapped his jacket round himself and charged into the kitchen. He scooped up the crying babies in both arms, gathered the children and took them to safety in the garden, before half-carrying, half-dragging Pat, who was murmuring incoherently, out as well and putting her into the recovery position on her side.

  Running back inside through billowing grey smoke, he called out to Betty, who he could hear hammering on the other side of the kitchen door. Turning the key in the lock, he flung it open to find Betty in a hysterical state. Throwing her arms around William, she burst into tears, sobbing while he led her outside to safety too.

  A neighbour was there. ‘I’ve sent a message to call for an ambulance for Pat,’ she said. She had covered Pat with a blanket. ‘Are the rest of you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, yes, I think so,’ William said, turning to Betty, who fell down onto the grass. ‘What happened, Betty?’

  ‘It was my fault,’ said Cyril, his huge eyes brimming with tears. ‘I locked the doors. I thought, when there was a fire, you were supposed to keep windows and doors closed, in case the flames got out.’

  ‘But not when you’re inside!’ William said, but quickly softened his tone. ‘Don’t worry, little man, it’s not your fault. You were only trying to help. It’s not easy to get things right when you’re in a panic. I know that better than anyone.’

  Cyril gave William a sad little smile and William ruffled his hair.

  ‘Pat was stoking the fire so we could toast some teacakes and she had a faint,’ the boy explained. ‘She knocked the guard over and some of the fire fell onto the rug and it started to burn, so fast, and then the flames caught onto the curtains.’

  ‘I was in the other room,’ said Betty. ‘When I smelled fire and heard the children crying out I went to help, but the door was locked. I didn’t know what to do. Thank heavens for you, William.’

  By now, the ambulance and fire officer had arrived to put out the fire and a first aider was giving Pat medical attention. Though she was woozy and complained of pains in her chest, she was able to hobble to the ambulance to be taken to hospital for a check-up. After she had gone, William and Betty checked over all of the children to make sure they hadn’t inhaled too much smoke but, out in the fresh air now, they seemed well.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Audrey, who had appeared at the garden gate, her face stricken with panic. ‘Has there been a fire? Where’s Pat?’

  Rushing over to the children, she threw her arms round them and then checked the twins, who were happily cooing. When Betty explained what had happened, Audrey’s jaw dropped in horror.

  ‘Gracious me, what a shock for you all,’ she said. ‘William, thank goodness for you!’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ said Betty. ‘If it wasn’t for William I dread to think what might have happened. He caught it just in time. He’s a hero.’

  ‘I’m no hero,’ said William, paling as the enormity of the situation began to sink in. What if he’d walked the other way? Would he have made it in time?

  ‘Yes, you are,’ said Audrey, ‘and I won’t hear otherwise. Come on, everyone, let’s get you back to the bakery, get you cleaned up and give you a slice of cake. I’ll come back later to sort out Pat’s house. She won’t want to arrive home to singed curtains and black walls.’

  ‘I’ll help too,’ said Betty. ‘It’s the least I can do. I should have made sure she was feeling well when I noticed she was getting tired. I hope she’ll be all right.’

  ‘That I’m sure of,’ said Audrey. ‘My mother-in-law is a strong woman. She always puts up a good fight, whatever life throws at her.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Pat was discharged from hospital two days later, diagnosed with low blood pressure. Betty was one of the first to visit her at home, bringing her a small bunch of wild flowers picked from the clifftop. When she arrived, Pat was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea.

  ‘Looks better in here,’ said Betty, admiring the work Audrey and Uncle John had done at lightning speed. Audrey had replaced the curtains and Uncle John had given the smoke-damaged walls a lick of paint and opened all the windows to air the rooms.

  ‘Bless them,’ Pat said. ‘I don’t often say this about my brother, but he’s a good egg. He always looked out for me when we were children and nothing has changed.’

  Betty filled a small vase with water and placed the flowers in it before joining Pat at the table.

  ‘So how are you feeling?’ she said. ‘Did the hospital give you anything?’

  ‘Look at these,’ said Pat, lifting the hem of her skirt to show Betty the sturdy knee-high compression stockings given to her by the hospital, along with a tonic to take daily. ‘Aren’t they dreadful? It’s a good job that my husband is a long time dead! They’re to avoid me having a pulmonary embolism, would you believe. Apparently, they’re being given out to some older folk now as people have died after sitting for too long in air raid shelters!’

  Betty grinned at Pat. She was a remarkable woman. She never showed any weakness and kept a stiff upper lip, forging on with energy and determination.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting all the children in the house again any time soon,’ said Betty as Pat poured her a cup of tea.

  ‘What?’ replied Pat, outraged. ‘Codswallop! Of course I do. I’ll be right as rain in no time at all. While I’m recuperating, I can read to the children and tell them stories. I might need some naps, when they have their naps, and in time perhaps we can get someone else involved for a few hours during the day. I know a lovely girl who helps with the WVS. She’s got a little one too. Come on, Betty, where’s your determination? Let’s not fall at the first hurdle! You need some help with Robert’s children too. You can’t shoulder that all on your own.’

  Betty shrugged and sighed. There was still no sign of Robert, and no word from him. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

  ‘I admire you for looking after his kiddies and I can see you’re attached to them and them to you,’ said Pat, ‘but what will you do if he comes back?’

  Betty had no idea what she’d do. Though she endlessly played the scenario through in her mind, she didn’t know how she’d react if it happened for real.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, staring out of the kitchen window at the bright flowers growing in Pat’s garden. ‘It’s not something I can plan for. Part of me thinks he’s not fit to take care of them, but another part thinks he loves his kids and I fear that the reason he hasn’t come back is because something must have happened to him. Whatever the truth is, those children need someone. In my mind they’re orphans, just like I was when I was a child. I went into an orphanage in Bristol when I was three and it was a cold, unloving place. I couldn’t do that to them.’

  Pat gently placed her hand over Betty’s and patted it.

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ she said, ‘with a kind heart, and I’m glad to know you.’

  Betty looked up from her tea and smiled, warmth and gratitude filling her heart. Getting up to put the cups in the sink, she remembered what she had in her bag. Pulling out the Bournemouth Echo newspaper, she turned to the right page and placed it on the kitchen table in front of Pat, smoothing down the pages with her hand.

  ‘Pass me the magnifying glass, will you?’ Pat said, pointing at the dresser. ‘It’s in the drawer.’

  Betty opened the drawer and saw the magnifying glass on top of a bundle of photographs. On quick inspection, she realised they were of Audrey and Charlie’s wedding – with both bride and groom looking elated, about to cut an intricately iced cake, no doubt made by Audrey herself. Gently closing the drawer, she handed Pat the glass. Standing over the other woman’s shoulder to reread the article, she smiled as Pat tutted and exclaimed, the words and image magnified by her glass.

  ‘Whatever next?’ Pat said, turning to Betty and raising her eyebrows spectacularly high. ‘This is one for the family album.’

  Uncle John handed Elsie the newspaper article that he had cut out.

  ‘Get that framed,’ he told her, ‘and hang it above your bed, so William is reminded of the good man he is.’

  Elsie smiled. Taking the newspaper clipping, she scanned the words and images. Under the headline ‘Hero rescues women and children from burning building!’ the article went on to describe William’s heroic act, as witnessed by Pat’s neighbour, who was heavily quoted throughout the piece. Pat, described as a ‘forthright woman with high standards’, was reported as collapsing in the kitchen with an undiagnosed health problem, while six children aged five and under almost perished in the fire.

  ‘Brave wounded soldier Private William Allen, discharged from active service after having his right foot amputated, acted heroically when he broke into the burning building, battling flames to rescue the women and children,’ Elsie said and grinned at John, who was nodding in agreement. Next to the article was a photograph of William in his military uniform – they must have requested it from his regiment.

  ‘What’s this?’ said William, coming into the bakehouse to start work mixing the dough.

  ‘It’s about you being a hero,’ said Elsie, handing him the clipping. While William scanned the words, John busied himself with going up into the flour loft to shift the sacks of flour. Lost in a cloud of flour dust, he didn’t see William’s eyes glass over.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he said, quietly. ‘I’m not a hero, Elsie, I just love all those kiddies and the babies. My niece and nephew were in there. I had to get them all out – anyone would have done the same thing.’

  ‘They wouldn’t,’ said Elsie. ‘You were a brave man. You deserve this praise.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for the praise,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves, preparing to work.

  ‘I know,’ Elsie said. ‘You did it for the children, which is why I’ve been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, about us having one of our own.’

  Instantly, William stopped what he was doing and looked up at Elsie with hope in his eyes.

  ‘What are you saying?’ he said. ‘I thought this wasn’t the time.’

  Elsie shrugged and smiled at him.

  ‘When is the right time?’ she said. ‘There’s nothing stopping us trying, at any rate.’

  Leaning against the bakery table, he hugged Elsie and lifted her up off the floor, squeezing her in a tight embrace. In a fit of giggles their lips met and their long kiss was only interrupted by a cough from Uncle John, who, back down from the flour loft, looked embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ he mumbled, making to leave the bakehouse, but William laughed and put Elsie back down on the floor.

  ‘Come on, John,’ William said, grinning. ‘We better get this dough mixed and the ovens fired up before Elsie here gets me too distracted.’

  Picking up an empty hessian sack, William gently whipped Elsie’s bottom with the soft fabric, making her laugh. She picked up a handful of loose flour and threw it over William’s head, giving his hair a pale coating.

  ‘You young things!’ said Uncle John, shaking his head in mock despair. ‘I don’t know.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was the middle of August when a letter for Lily arrived at the bakery. Reeling from the news that 6,000 mostly Canadian troops had attempted to seize the German-occupied port of Dieppe, and almost seventy per cent of them had been killed, the bakery family were trying to keep their spirits up. Lily, who had been motivated by the United Women’s Recruiting Campaign, which was encouraging women to join one of the three services, was trying to discover whether she could join up or do more war work while also looking after Joy when the letter came.

  When Freda the post lady handed the letter to her, with an apology because it had fallen onto the floor of the post office and almost got lost, one glance at the handwriting told her it was from Jacques. Her heart pounded in her chest in anticipation of reading his words.

  ‘Can you spare me for a few minutes?’ she said to Audrey, who she was helping in the shop. ‘It’s from Jacques. I’d like to go to the clifftop to read it, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course, you go,’ said Audrey. ‘Take your time, we’re not busy.’

  Walking towards the clifftop, clutching the envelope to her chest, Lily’s thoughts turned to the letter she’d sent to Jacques weeks earlier, revealing the truth about her pregnancy and decision to lone-parent Joy. She’d also written about her dreams of leading an adventurous, exciting life, be it during wartime or, indeed, when peacetime hopefully came again. In no uncertain terms, she’d told Jacques that if they were ever to have a relationship, they needed to get to know each other properly first. Heavens, if her experience with Henry Bateman had taught her anything, it was not to rush into anything with a man. But had her words been too harsh? Knowing that Jacques had been to hell and back, the last thing she wanted to do was destroy his hopes and plunge him into despair. Arriving at the bench on the clifftop, she sat down on the edge of the seat.

  ‘Gracious me,’ she said aloud, her stomach doing somersaults and the letter burning a hole in her hand. ‘What on earth will he say?’

  Her hands trembling, she opened the envelope, her mind drifting back to the day she’d applied Germolene antiseptic ointment to the cuts and grazes on Jacques’ tanned back, and the way he’d held her that night as they danced at the Bournemouth Pavilion. Finally opening the letter, she scanned his words, a joyous smile breaking out onto her lips as she read.

  Dear Lily,

  The day that I met you in Bournemouth, when you so kindly bathed my painful feet at the rescue centre, I fell in love. I fell in love with your spirit, intelligence and good heart, which shines through in your recent letter. It’s this same spirit that has led to your brave decision to have your baby and look after her alone despite being abandoned by that philanderer. It’s this spirit that craves adventure. It’s this spirit that puts me in my place and tells me to be patient and to get to know you before proposing marriage. I admire you and long to be a part of your life. When the war is over I want to see you again and meet Joy. I do not want to own you or control you. I do not wish to dilute your life – only enhance it.

  During this war I have lost my best friend at Dunkirk, as well as many other men I grew to know and respect. Their losses make me want to live bolder and brighter than I ever dared. Please, write to me of your dreams and ambitions, and I will write to you of mine. In these desolate war years, I cannot think of anything lovelier than that.

  Yours,

  Jacques.

  ‘Oh Jacques,’ she gasped, reading the letter through again and sitting back on the bench, staring out at the view of the sea and Old Harry Rocks in the distance. She couldn’t have hoped for a better reply. He was accepting of everything she’d said. Unlike her stiff, strict and disapproving father, Jacques didn’t judge her actions or think of her behaviour as shameful – he seemingly wanted her to be nobody else but herself.

  With a grin on her face and joy in her heart, she stood to return to the bakery, excited about telling Audrey her news and writing a reply to Jacques to tell him of her hopes and dreams. Walking away from the cliff through the yellow gorse, back to the path, she looked up at a seagull soaring through the clear sky, wings fully outstretched. And just like that gull, after reading Jacques’ letter, Lily too felt she was flying.

  ‘Do you know what one of the customers told me today?’ said Audrey to Elsie as they worked together in the yard. ‘That a woman in Belfast keeps a baby elephant in her garden, not much bigger than this one! The zookeepers thought the elephant was at risk of being killed in a raid, so they evacuated her from the zoo and this kind lady offered to take her in. That does tickle me. I can’t stop thinking about it. Imagine looking out of the window and seeing an elephant in your yard, drinking out of a tin bucket!’

  The bakery was now closed, and the two women were out in the yard, Elsie running sopping-wet overalls through the mangle and Audrey pegging them out on the line to dry, the sea breeze whipping up their hair and skirts like boat sails.

  ‘How funny!’ said Elsie, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear. ‘I wonder what they feed it?’

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ said Audrey. ‘Vegetables and fruit, I suppose? Broken biscuits? Do you think it has a ration book?’

  Audrey chuckled as Elsie collapsed into fits of giggles, but her attention was grabbed by Lily suddenly bursting through the garden gate, clutching a letter in her hand. From the expression on Lily’s face, the letter held precious good news. Audrey couldn’t stop from beaming herself.

  ‘What is it, Lily?’ she said. ‘You look like the cat that got the cream!’

 

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