THE FORGOTTEN ORPHAN
Glynis Peters

Copyright

One More Chapter a division of

HarperCollinsPublishers

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Glynis Peters 2020

Glynis Peters asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008410742

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008363284

Version: 2020-09-28

Dedication

For Charlotte Ledger

Thank you for fulfilling my dream

You are more than just my publisher

x

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Acknowledgements

Also by Glynis Peters

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

1940

Maisie Reynolds peered through the grubby window of Holly Bush Orphanage. Another child turned and waved to her from the driveway below. Maisie waggled her fingers in a half-hearted response and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. Another heartbreaking moment for her. She knew the little boy’s adoptive parents lived in Yorkshire and she doubted he would ever return to Southampton. His long lashes, gentle smile, and willing personality made him the perfect child to adopt, even at the age of eight.

A familiar ache of want and need burned through her body and Maisie allowed the tears to fall. She wanted the world to stop turning, for familiar faces to stay with her, for people to give her the love and affection she saw the boy receiving from his new parents.

When she was his age, Maisie had known she was not a trophy to parade around the parlour as the new member of a family. With her long, frizzy ginger hair, freckled face, and gangly limbs, many a time she’d been passed over by potential adoptive parents. She’d often been told she was too old and lacked the cute qualities most potential parents sought from the residents.

She noticed some women visibly cringe when she walked in the room, and once a man had questioned her parentage, likening the redness of her hair to that of an ape he’d seen at London Zoo. Maisie had rushed from the room and into the hallway and no amount of cajoling from Matron had made her return. Maisie had suggested it was a waste of everyone’s time her being there, and Matron had given a slight nod and released her to kitchen duties. She’d not offered comforting words or reassurance that all would be well. The woman had simply treated the event as she always did, with a bland ‘what will be, will be’. From the age of four, Maisie had listened to nothing else but potential parents and their rejection of her.

For the rest of that particular day, Maisie had not been able to concentrate. All she’d heard were the sneering words of the upper-class city businessman swirling and raging around her mind. She’d avoided as many people as she could, not wanting to subject herself to any more torment and teasing about her stick-thin body. On some days she shook it off, but on others, like today, it tore her apart.

Matron had chosen to ignore such attacks, and so resentment had built a wall around Maisie, a protective barrier, which had also earned her the reputation of having a sullen streak.

Around the age of fifteen, she’d snuck downstairs during the night and found the large kitchen scissors in the drawer by the sink. Without hesitation, but with a steady determination to complete her mission, she’d cut her hair close to her head. When finished, she’d bound her head in a scarf so she looked like a nun she’d once met. It had given her a sense of security, and Maisie had felt sure no one would ever be allowed to see or ridicule her hair again. She’d slipped back upstairs to bed and spent several hours tossing and turning, thinking of ways she could run away. Eventually sleep had taken over, and the following morning the clang of the bell to announce the start of another day had echoed loudly from downstairs. A nervous Maisie had made her way into the toddler room to assist with the washing and dressing of eight children.

When she’d pushed open the door, the nursery attendant Norah Bately had glanced her way and laughed, making snide remarks about the scarf. Maisie had responded with a shrug of her shoulders, and no smile. She’d kept her face as expressionless as possible; it was the only protection she had against the woman. If she’d reacted to the laughter, Norah would have found another way of humiliating her, so Maisie had chosen the safest option: no reaction.

There was no love lost between Maisie and Norah. The woman had never approved of Maisie remaining at the orphanage, an opinion made loudly and clearly during each assessment period. Anyone who would listen to her bitter words was told Maisie was a waste of precious funds.

After many years of watching other children leave, Norah had never stopped to think that the distraught fifteen-year-old had resigned herself to the ranks of the unwanted. During a meeting with Matron one afternoon, Maisie had wept as she declared she’d be forgotten and would end up dying at the orphanage. She’d never be loved and would remain an old maid. Matron had said her personal view was that if a child needed a home, she would always endeavour to find one, no matter how long it took … but she couldn’t force people to like someone. She’d told Maisie to accept her lot in life.

Even after witnessing Maisie’s distress, Matron had made no attempt to hold her close, to comfort her and reassure her she’d never be forgotten. As always, Maisie only experienced indifference. From the day her twin brother Jack walked away holding the hands of a new mother and father, Maisie noticed the matron had a deepened coldness towards her and no matter what she did to try and please the woman, Gloria Mason only found satisfaction in treating her as her personal lackey. Years of pleading with the woman to find her brother, to send her to him so they could be together again, fell on deaf ears. Quite often it earned her a slap or two, hidden beneath Gloria’s loud assertions that Maisie had become hysterical again and therefore deserved her punishment.

Over the years, Maisie had begged people to write letters on her behalf, and as soon as she could write for herself, she’d written endless letters to Jack, pleading for him not to forget her, and to write back. She begged Matron to address them and forward them to him, but she suspected they never got sent.

As the second world war was announced in 1939, the more she pleaded with Matron to check he was still alive. They were seventeen and with war on their doorstep, Maisie wanted to reach out before it was too late. Each time she asked for news, Matron would tut with impatience and firmly state there was none, and that Maisie should move forward and forget he existed.

But Maisie found it hard to think that Jack could forget her, or the day they’d arrived as new residents of the orphanage, scared and desperate. For hours they’d clung to each other for comfort before they were separated into their new living quarters. She refused to believe he’d forgotten he had a twin sister. She certainly could never forget the day five weeks later when Jack was dragged to a small van screaming for her as she screamed for him. She’d bitten and clawed at Gloria and the staff who held her back, not one offering comfort to a child so distressed she didn’t eat for a week. From that day, Maisie drew up a wall of survival as she mourned the loss of her brother. She went to school, spoke with only a handful of children, and allowed life to spin her into its web, tying her to a life of misery. She fell into a pattern of existing and the years melded together, one after the other. As she reached her teenage years, she tried to make plans to run away but with no money and no one to turn to outside the orphanage, Maisie let the ideas slip away.

The only time she’d known affection was when she turned twelve. Life before the orphanage had faded into memories she struggled to cling onto: a woman shouting at her and Jack to be quiet; a man making the woman scream. Neither she nor Jack knew if she was their mother. She was just a woman who threw bread with dripping scraped over it their way whenever she appeared in the small room where they slept.

Often, when a child at the orphanage wet the bed, the smell dragged Maisie back to that room, to its dank smell and the damp feeling against her skin as she and Jack huddled together in fear. These were memories Maisie pushed to the back of her mind as swiftly as they appeared. As she grew older, some days were a struggle of loneliness and loss. The world around her seemed cruel and unkind, black and steeped in sadness.

During these dark times, Maisie drew upon the only memory of affection she had – someone giving her a warm hug and a tender kiss on her lips.

It had been her twelfth birthday. Her friend Simon had held her in a clumsy embrace under the walnut tree and placed his lips on hers. Simon never commented on her tangled hair, or her inability to walk gracefully. He told her he saw her as a special girl in his life. She was bereft when he left the orphanage to live with old family friends. He’d written a few times, telling of the wonderful life he enjoyed in Scotland, but to her distress he never wrote again, and Matron mentioned that his guardians had spoken of leaving the country due to whispers of another war.

She had never forgotten Simon, or their tender kiss – the impact of such tenderness and affection could never be swept from the mind of someone so desperate to be loved.

Every day from then on, Maisie had made it her duty to comfort the other orphans by embracing them from the day they arrived, and offering them friendship instead of the official efficiency Matron was apt to prefer. Her days became busier as she comforted more and more victims of the second war who had been deprived of parents in the most dreadful ways. The orphanage took them in until relatives claimed them or until they were evacuated to safer towns and villages.

Maisie knew their willingness to embrace her in return wasn’t genuine affection on their part, but of the necessity of comfort during confusing times. But Maisie didn’t care; she took what was on offer. Her only regret was that no sooner had she inhaled sweet baby perfume, or shared a giggle and clutched the chubby hand of a toddler, they were snatched away into large cars by women wearing fur collars, and swept into a new life.

Today, Maisie’s mood was dark. Envy had snuck into her heart and no matter how she tried to suppress her envy, she found it hard. She chided herself for begrudging an eight-year-old boy a new life, but she resented the time she spent in hope, and the hours she was worked to the bone without thanks. Envy wormed its way inside her gut, and she clamped down on her emotions in order to protect herself yet again. She wiped away the tears, drew back her shoulders, and headed out for another round of chores. Each day she asked to be released from the orphanage to enable her to join up in a wartime unit of some description, but each day Matron gave her reasons as to why she couldn’t. Closeted in the orphanage for so many years, Maisie believed all she was told and accepted she was to remain a resident until she received her call-up papers or reached twenty-one. Neither could come soon enough for Maisie. She found it unbelievable that it was 1940, and at the age of eighteen her life was no different from when she was nine, always looking out of a window waving goodbye to yet another child.

Walking along the corridor of the baby and toddler home she tried to find something positive in her life but failed miserably. Just then, her thoughts were interrupted by Norah.

‘What a face on you. Miserable mare, what’s eating you?’ Norah taunted.

Maisie felt no reason to explain her sadness so ignored her and the other unkind taunts the woman threw her way.

Maisie walked towards a baby girl holding out her arms from the confines of her cot.

‘Hello Deedee,’ Maisie said and lifted the child into her arms for a cuddle.

Norah gave a loud tut.

‘Her name is Deidre.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, Miss Know-it-all, call her by her given name, not by some ridiculous pet name you’ve invented. Go and wash her. She stinks.’

The tiny blonde child snuggled close into Maisie. Norah was right; the urine-soaked nappy gave off a strong whiff of ammonia, but the touch of another human being was worth the nose tingle to Maisie, and she staved off the dark thoughts that threatened. Deedee had the attributes Maisie wished had been bestowed on her – a tiny, pert nose, rosebud mouth, and snow-white hair which dropped into curls around the child’s neck. There was something angelic about the baby. She was a child who’d not live at the orphanage forever, but one who’d be adored by doting parents and Maisie feared it wouldn’t be much longer before she had to say goodbye. She was the kind of child Maisie dreamed of having of her own one day – not Deedee herself, but one exactly like her. Gummy smiles and chubby fingers to brighten a gloomy day.

‘She should have been called Angel,’ Maisie said softly as she walked to the bathroom.

‘And your parents should have named you Freak. No wonder they left you here. Your poor mother must have died with shock seeing you slide out.’ Norah’s vicious words were followed with a cruelly cackling laugh.

Maisie, not giving in to the taunt nor the pain inside her chest at the mention of her parents, retorted in a voice loaded with venom, her hatred towards Norah spilling out.

‘And you should have been named Witch or Devil to match your evil tongue.’

With force, Maisie slammed the bathroom door behind her to block out the sounds of cursing and more snide comments.

The time had come to for her find a way out of Holly Bush. Norah’s nastiness was getting worse each time she spotted Maisie. It was time to find a life that matched her dream of a husband and family. To find comfort and happiness, to have children of her own to nurture and never let them out of her sight. To hold someone and share with them the abundance of love she held inside.

Although Maisie had dreams of life away from the orphanage, she didn’t know where to go to find it – or if she ever would. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. She imagined holding a child much like Deedee and feeling the love of a man prepared to protect them both. The more she sank into the dream, the stronger her determination to leave grew. She could not allow the likes of Gloria Mason and Norah Bately to destroy those dreams.

CHAPTER 2

The next day, Maisie received a request from Matron to see her in her office promptly after chores. She straightened her dress before knocking on the office door and entering.

‘Matron, you asked to see me?’

‘Maisie. Yes, sit down.’

Over the years, Maisie had grown to judge the moods of the woman she’d known most of her life. Stern, sharp, insensitive, and cold, all words Maisie felt summed up Gloria Mason. There was nothing matronly about the woman. Today, her body language spoke of disapproval.

‘It appears you have put in a request for an evening excursion to attend the cinema, and the money from your allowance to fritter away on such a waste of time,’ Matron said.

Maisie fidgeted in her seat. This was the first time in months she’d asked to spend an evening in Southampton and she knew she’d have to sit and listen to the same lecture as always. But it would be worth it because her friend Charlie and his girlfriend Joyce had asked her to join them, and they were always good fun. There were also rumours swirling around that hinted the orphanage could be closing, which would mean Maisie would be made homeless and her future would be even more uncertain. She knew she’d go to the cinema regardless of Gloria Mason’s decision because she was determined not to miss out on happier times.

Matron gave a loud huff and puff. Her plump cheeks swelled, as did her over-large bosom. She plonked herself down onto her seat behind her desk.

‘Just this once. I’ll not have you gallivanting around town and giving the orphanage a bad name.’

Maisie gave a false smile of gratitude as Matron counted out the coins from her allowance.

‘Your ticket money and bus fare. Be home on time.’

Maisie scooped up the money before Matron had the opportunity to take it back.

‘You know I always do my best to get home on time and never gallivant around town. I’m not a child anymore,’ she said.

Gloria gave another disgruntled huff and pointed to the door.

‘I repeat, be home on time. No alcohol or servicemen, understand?’

‘Yes, Matron.’ Maisie sighed out her reply. She resented the suggestion that she brought trouble to the orphanage’s door. Her behaviour was, and had always been, impeccable. She was wise enough not to antagonise Matron, as the woman found enough faults already in her good behaviour, so goodness knows what she’d do if Maisie did break the rules.

Walking to the bus stop later that evening, Maisie took in the shadows around her and longed for springtime when the world always looked brighter. Pretty flowers were now replaced by vegetables in most gardens, but many wildflowers still grew along the hedgerows. She preferred living semi-rural rather than the city, but always enjoyed the excitement of a visit to the cinema. Matron never allowed her to attend dances, but Maisie promised herself that the first time she was a free agent, she would dance the night away as often as she could.

As she stepped off the bus, she spotted her two friends, Charlie and Joyce, waiting for her outside the cinema and waved to them. She received a warm smile back from them both.

‘Hello, you two lovebirds, how are you both?’ Maisie gave them both a hug. ‘It’s been ages. Old Moaning Mason gave me the usual third degree about coming out, but I was going to break the rules this time anyway. Quick, let’s get inside where it’s warm.’

Maisie and Joyce linked arms and waited whilst Charlie bought their tickets.

Her friends were an odd-looking couple, Joyce short and petite with a thick thatch of jet-black hair which she styled into a quiff fringe that framed her olive-skinned face, against Charlie’s height, pale skin, and white-blond cropped style; prior to shaving his hair to fit under his ARP cap, he’d had a thick crown of blond curls. Charlie always made Maisie feel short, even though she was nearer five foot ten than five feet, like Joyce.

She envied Joyce, not for being the girlfriend of Charlie – he was more of a brother figure to Maisie than boyfriend material – but she envied her for even having a boyfriend. Maisie had never experienced that joy. Just the thought of sharing her hopes and dreams with someone who wanted the same, who wanted her in his life, lit a flame inside Maisie. She wanted to experience the secret hand touch in public, the snatched kiss and loving whispers in her ear as she’d witnessed so many others experiencing. She longed to dream with someone about the life they would lead together. Maisie didn’t have a clue where or when this desire would ever come into fruition. Stuck in a rut at Holly Bush certainly didn’t offer any opportunity for that. In the meantime, her dreams would have to be her companions.

‘Well, that was fun,’ Joyce said and giggled as they left the cinema together after the film.

‘It was marvellous. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in ages. Thank you both for inviting me along.’

Charlie stood between them and took Joyce’s hand.

‘How’s it going at the big house?’ he asked.

Maisie gave a soft sigh.

‘There’s a whisper about that the orphanage is closing down. Holly Bush is to be taken over for the war effort. I’ll have to leave.’

Joyce swung away from Charlie and grabbed Maisie into a firm embrace then stepped back.

‘That’s dreadful news. Oh, Maisie, you’ve lived there nearly your whole life. You’ve got nowhere to go. What will you do?’ she asked.

Charlie stood quietly. Maisie saw the smile leave his face and she felt guilty for ruining a pleasant evening.

‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ she said, flipping her right hand in a dismissive wave. ‘I’ve got plans to enlist. I’ll have to do something. Probably as a nurse, using my skills with the children. Or I’ll find another orphanage or evacuee programme as a placement. Don’t be sad for me. It will be my opportunity to get on in life. No more being dictated to by a grumpy matron. And I’ll get to leave Holly Bush.’

Maisie wished her inner feelings were as sound as her words of bravado. She hated to admit out loud that she was scared of what her future looked like. Homeless and penniless: two words that churned over and over in her mind. She had a background of nothing and a future of the same. And if she did get to leave, would it be a better life or a repeat of the one she was so desperate to leave? Looking at Charlie, she knew she could confide in him but it wasn’t up to him to resolve her situation, it was her task alone. Maisie knew the closure of Holly Bush would mean she would have to take control of her own life and make her own decisions. The thought scared her as she was fully aware that there were people out there ready to take advantage of a naïve girl.

‘It’s for the best. Don’t worry about Maisie Reynolds. I bounce back, right? I’m a survivor.’

Charlie nodded and Joyce rubbed the top of Maisie’s arm in a reassuring way.

‘Whatever you do, you will do it well, Maisie. I do hope you don’t leave the area though; we’d miss you. Wouldn’t we, Charlie?’

Charlie gave another nod. His face still showed disappointment.

Maisie gave them both a beaming grin. ‘Let’s go. I’ve a bus to catch.’

After they’d said their goodbyes, Maisie watched the lovers walk away into the darkness. She spent the time waiting for her bus watching people leaving the cinema hand in hand, arm in arm, and sneaking kisses when they felt they were safe to do so. Soldiers, sailors, uniformed men and women, families, friends, all enjoying each other’s company. Another pang of envy washed over her, and she huddled deep into the collar of her coat. She was convinced her limited social life meant she’d never find a partner in life. Charlie and Joyce had met at a dance, and a couple of the women who worked at the orphanage had met their husbands at social functions held by the church. The desire for a family unit of her own overpowered her thoughts of a single life. She knew at eighteen that she’d not witnessed much of life outside the orphanage, but she’d read enough books to know she wanted a hero to ride in and whisk her away. Books were her escape; they were the place where she had learned that love could overcome cruelty, and Maisie wanted all the love she could find.

‘Excuse me ma’am. What time is the next bus to Aldershot?’ A soft voice cut into her thoughts.

Maisie turned to peer at a uniformed man outlined by a faint light from his cigarette. His accent wasn’t local. She doubted it was British, although she wondered if it was perhaps just a regional accent she’d not heard before.

‘It’s late. Ten minutes already. My feet are freezing.’

The moment she said the words about her feet, Maisie regretted them. Drawing attention to her thick woollen stockings was the last thing she wanted. They were plucked and had seen better days. The man stood beside her, not as tall as Charlie but still taller than her. She could see he was broader than Charlie and although not too close to her, he smelled pleasant – a hint of masculine soap, clean and fresh. His cigarette had a woody fragrance which blended with the damp night air and added to his attraction. She felt the urge to sidle closer, to benefit from the shelter of his body against the wind but remained rooted to her spot for fear of making a fool of herself. The man drew on his cigarette again, puffed out the smoke which spiralled into the night sky, and tugged the collar of his coat around his neck.

‘Time for me to walk it then. See you around.’

‘It’s a long way,’ Maisie said, in the hope he’d wait it out for the bus. ‘To Aldershot. A long walk. They’ve taken down the signposts to confuse the enemy. I take it you know the way?’

The man gave a slight laugh. ‘I do, thanks, and I’m used to hiking. I’ve got good boots on and capable legs,’ he said and slapped his thighs.

‘I could do with a pair of them – boots, not capable legs. Not that I intend to walk home. I’m sure the last bus will be through soon. Be careful in the dark.’

Maisie saw the outline of his hand touch his cap. The farce of them chatting in the dark made her giggle.

‘Are you laughing at me, young lady?’

‘No. At myself. Telling a soldier to be careful in the dark. And who knows, I might not be so young,’ Maisie replied.

‘You were thoughtful, thanks. Goodnight Gran’ma. See you around.’

She saw his outlined arm sweep upwards into a salute. It frustrated Maisie that she couldn’t see his face. His voice was soothing and friendly and he sounded young.

The clip of his boots echoed into the night and Maisie turned her attention back to the delayed bus. With no one else waiting at the bus stop, she was beginning to suspect that the service had stopped running. She hesitated, debating whether to call out to the soldier to wait for her, to ask if she could walk with him part way. Her sensible side told her to get home sooner rather than later and to stop daydreaming about strangers.

With a sigh, she took herself off through the dark side streets back towards Holly Bush House, all the while thinking of the soldier and envying his boots the more her feet ached. Her shoes were sturdy and sensible – something she’d always hated – but now appreciated far more as she had another few miles to walk.

Slipping in and out of the treelined pathways across the common, a familiar wail ripped through the silence of the night. Maisie froze and listened. Sirens screamed out their warning, and unidentifiable outlines of people moved towards each other, forming a small crowd on the common ahead of her. Maisie turned full circle; there was nowhere to hide. Not a safe haven in sight. Male voices barked out instructions above the droning sounds of the approaching enemy planes and Maisie’s breath came thick and fast. What was she to do? They were closer than she’d anticipated and as the first of the bombs slammed their target with mighty force, Maisie’s body shuddered with fear. Inhaling until her head spun, Maisie decided to turn back to town and run to Charlie’s house from there, rather than walk any further. Disorientated by the blasts, she had no idea where the bombers were dropping their loads, though she could hear the defensive rat-a-tat sound of the local guns fighting back. Maisie started running. A plane screamed across the sky above her, low and menacing. Another revved its engine and was so low she felt the rush of wind as it skittered across the sky. White pellet-like flashes flicked where clouds had once been, and Maisie realised the sky had cleared, leaving them exposed. The German pilots were off-loading their unused bombs from an earlier raid, saving fuel for their return journey.

‘Go away! Drop in the ocean and die!’ Maisie screamed out as she ran faster. The pain in her calves and thighs told her she would have to find shelter and rest them a while. A stitch formed in her right side but she dared not stop running.

Another explosion brought her to her knees, and Maisie cursed the bus that had never arrived. She looked towards the night sky. It was now bright like daylight, alive with pilots twisting their planes in and out of the firing line, focused on gaining victory, determined to destroy the enemy.

Lying as flat as she could, Maisie waited for a break in the return fire. She crawled forward, dragging her bag alongside her. She was exposed – out in the open and in danger. A spray of bullets pounded the floor nearby and she let out a scream.

‘For Crissakes, there’s someone out there! A woman,’ a male voice shouted out to his companions in the distance.

‘Sounded like a girl,’ another called.

Maisie staggered to her feet and waved her arms. The lights from the ack-ack guns flickered around her and she yelled out, ‘Here! I’m over here!’

More bullets skimmed around her.

A floating sensation followed by waves of nausea caught Maisie unawares. Her legs lost strength and as she tried to compose herself, another round of enemy fire rebounded against what sounded like metal. She listened to the cacophony surrounding her and clamped her hands over her ears.

Eventually the lights receded and the sky activity calmed. Maisie lowered her hands. A bright orange glow highlighted the city and vast plumes of smoke hurtled towards the sky until Maisie could no longer see anything beyond the smoke. The group of men in the distance no longer called out to her. All she could hear were orders about helping the wounded and she knew their attention was no longer focused on the distant scream of a female. She was on her own. For the first time, the thought of returning to the orphanage seemed a welcome reprieve.

More large clouds of white-grey smoke billowed from the left side of the common and she pulled on her gasmask, the stench of rubber making her gag. Maisie’s thoughts flew to the remaining young children and babies of the orphanage. With her gone, the task of putting the babies in their protective chambers and persuading the little ones that Mickey Mouse on the side of their masks made them magical, would take much longer than normal. Norah would be rougher and harsher than ever before.

Suddenly, the ground shook and another loud explosion erupted a few yards away. Maisie could feel her body flying backwards but she could do nothing about it. She thudded to the floor, landing on her right hip. She sat up, and could make out the mound of her bag several feet away, but she was completely disorientated. She pulled off her mask and wiped away the beads of sweat underneath.

Once she caught her breath, she started her journey again. This time she left off her mask. She needed to take deeper breaths and the mask hindered her attempts as she ran. Moving fast towards the edge of the common, she maintained a steady pace, avoiding the open areas.

The freezing temperature burned her lungs which made walking hard and a cold wind made the skin sore around her lips. The natural instinct to lick them was instantly regretted. She dried them with the cuff of her sleeve, wincing at the pain.

The closer she got to the residential side of the common, the more she became aware of the commotion that lay ahead.

Where the bombs had fallen in the distance, they’d started many fires and Maisie found herself yearning for the heat from the flames they produced. Her thoughts overrode the guilt she felt for thinking that deadly flames could, or would, be a comfort.

‘Pull yourself together, Maisie Reynolds, you wicked, wicked girl.’

She sat on a wall to rest her legs, rubbing at her bruises with shaking hands. She was just debating which route to take back to Holly Bush when a voice disturbed her concentration. ‘Maisie? Is that you?’

Maisie turned her head towards Charlie who rushed towards her, flicking his flashlight on and off as he tried to find his way towards her in the dark. She noticed he was no longer dressed in his tweed suit but in the uniform of the Auxiliary Fire Service. He smiled down at her.

‘I’m fine, Charlie. Not hurt. Just resting. Catching my breath. I can’t stop shaking.’

‘Resting? Lucky you. I’m on my knees.’

‘Really? I’d hate to see you when you’re standing,’ Maisie quipped. ‘Joyce get home safely?’

Charlie yawned and rubbed his eyes.

‘Yes. Just before this lot fell. How come you’re out walking? No bus?’

‘Last one must have been the eight o’clock,’ Maisie said.

‘I had to rush home and change. If I’d know I could have— Down! Get down!’ he yelled and pulled Maisie to the ground.

A burst of bomb blasts shook the ground and Charlie grabbed her hand and held it until the attack subsided.

‘Get yourself gone, Charlie. I’ll be fine. Don’t let me stop you going home to rest,’ she said, her words rushed and her voice full of concern.

‘Rest? Can’t go until I’ve been down there.’ He pointed towards the city where the flames licked even higher. ‘Buggers dropped on the airplane factory. They’ve missed it the past few nights but got a couple home tonight. Firefighting has to be done. You heading back to Holly Bush? I’d take you, but …’ Charlie gave a fleeting glance towards the city again.

Despite the duty that drew him away, Maisie sensed his friendship, his concern. They’d been friends since school when he’d saved her from a teasing gang of children. Several of their old school friends now worked in the factories and her heart gave a jerk-flip of anxiety.

‘I’m holding you up. I’m heading back to the children. They need me. You’ve an important job to do. I’ll be fine, honestly.’

Maisie nudged him forward.

‘You treat those little ones as if they’re your own. Lucky to have you, they are. It looks as if it’s getting worse down there. Stay safe, Maisie. If you don’t think you’ll make it home, head for Glebe Court, over there.’ He pointed across the common. ‘It’s where the public shelter is and much safer than here. Head down that road, past the large shed, see it?’ He pointed out to his right. ‘Highfield Lane. But be safe, not foolish. See you soon.’ Charlie bent and gave her a peck of a kiss on the cheek. ‘Take care, and get home safe.’

‘Will do, and you do the same. Night, Charlie.’

Maisie heard him whistle his way down the road and his tune remained with her in the darkness. Ahead of him, the flames flickered higher and the smoke grew thicker and darker. Maisie sent a small prayer to the sky asking for safety for the whole of Hampshire, and beyond. She then switched her thoughts to her own predicament as she made her way home. The war had hindered so many things, destroyed so many lives. Was it about time she settled for what she had – a roof over her head and food to eat? Or was it time to find out more about how she could help the war effort? The children in the home had others to help them, and Matron only used her as an extra pair of hands. Maisie glanced around and wondered about those caught in the bombings. Who helped them? How could she find out about supporting the victims of the raids?

Another rain of bullets and bombs fell and a frightened Maisie upped her pace. Adrenalin raced through her body as she ran, her mind focused on survival as she made it to the quieter area of the allotments just behind the orphanage. With a determined stride to safety, Maisie told herself there were more urgent things to think about than how she could escape the city and follow her daydreams. She needed to find a way of being useful instead of used. She made up her mind to start the very next day.

CHAPTER 3

‘And there she is, the laziest girl I know. Enjoy your holiday?’

The sarcastic tone of Norah Bately grated on Maisie.

She was tired and not in the mood for Norah’s snide remarks. Rather than disturb the house, she’d spent the night curled up on two chairs pushed together.

Sliding off the chairs and onto her feet, Maisie stretched her body. She ignored Norah and went to the sink to fill the kettle. She lit the stove, keeping her back to the woman still ranting on about her night away.

‘Sleeping around town with the soldiers, were you? Trying to earn your way out of here? Ungrateful. That’s what you are: ungrateful.’

Norah often tried to goad Maisie, but Maisie tried her hardest not to rise to the bait. But, exhausted after all she’d been through last night, Maisie wasn’t in the mood for listening to the spiteful tirade. Finding new courage, she bit back.

‘I’ve never, never been ungrateful. You know that, so why are you so horrid? You make my life so miserable. Just leave me alone!’

A snort of indignation was the only reply from Norah, and the woman pointed to the door.

‘Stop snivelling and get back to the job you were given to do before you chose to gallivant around town. I cannot abide the sight of you. Go and clean yourself up and stay out of my way.’

Maisie stood her ground and sipped from her mug, all the while staring at Norah over the brim.

‘I’m speaking to you, madam,’ Norah said.

Maisie raised a daring eyebrow at her, and it was Norah who eventually left the room.

Determined not to be browbeaten by Norah ever again, Maisie gave herself a virtual pat on the back for finding the courage to stand up to the woman. The previous night had scared her into rethinking her life. Although she’d been fired up to seek out a war-effort position this morning, she decided it best to wait a day or so before throwing out innocent questions about where people went for help after losing their homes. It would give her a clue about where she could apply. She would also speak to Charlie about where she would be best placed, and even where she’d find a wage and accommodation. Getting caught up in the bombings had changed her mindset. The enemy frightened her far more than the likes of mean old Norah Bately.

When she’d finished in the kitchen, Maisie headed for the dormitory and bathroom. Once freshened up, she went to collect her chore list from Matron.

Tapping on the door, she waited for the usual trumpet sound of Gloria Mason’s firm voice, but all she heard was a mellow, ‘Come.’

Puzzled, Maisie cautiously opened the door.

‘I’ve come to collect my worksheet, Matron,’ she said.

Gloria beckoned her inside and Maisie stood waiting in front of the large desk for whatever Matron had in store for her. Quite often she received instructions for jobs no one else could be bothered to do; she pondered on which delight she’d be given today. Washing windows? Scrubbing toilets?

‘I didn’t hear any banging at the door so I assume you arrived home on time. Today I need you to help me. I’m not feeling well and it’s something you can handle alone,’ Matron said as she rubbed her hand across her brow. She slumped back in her chair with a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as if in an attempt to ease a pain somewhere.

Maisie was taken aback. In all the years she’d known Matron, the woman had never had a day’s illness. Today, Maisie had to agree that she looked pale with dark rings framing her eyes. She was also grateful Matron hadn’t heard her arrive home but she knew Norah wouldn’t miss the opportunity to mention she’d slept downstairs. She thrived on telling Matron awful tales about Maisie.

‘I was a little on the drag as the bus didn’t arrive and I had to get home during the bombing raid. It was horrible. I didn’t want to disturb you all so I slept in the kitchen,’ she said, keeping her voice calm and steady.

‘Stop your chatter. As I said, I’m unwell and my head won’t cope with your voice chipping away all day,’ Matron said, putting her hand to her head again and rubbing at her temples.

‘What’s the matter? Do you need the doctor? I’ll fetch him,’ Maisie said with genuine concern in her voice.

‘You will do no such thing. It’s my business. You will spend your day emptying the filing cabinets in here in readiness for our departure. As I understand it, the new residents will take over the moment we leave,’ Matron snapped back at Maisie and rose to her feet. She brushed Maisie’s hand aside when she swayed momentarily.

‘I’m going back to my room to rest. Hopefully this headache will disappear in an hour or so. In the meantime, pack away the files into the boxes over there.’

Maisie turned to where Matron pointed and saw several wooden packing crates.

‘Keep everything in alphabetical order.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘The children and I will be moved on. You? I’m not sure. You’re too old for me to be worrying about anymore.’ Matron gave a dramatic wave of her arm. ‘I’m too ill to even think about you. Just do as you’re told.’

Matron slammed down a set of keys onto her table and left the room. Maisie simply stared at the back of the door.

The rumours were true! Her home was to be ripped out from under her and Matron did not care one bit. She’d kept control of Maisie’s life for eighteen years and now she was walking away without a single thought of where Maisie was to go. Anger bubbled inside Maisie, but it was followed by sadness, and the feeling of being discarded like an unwanted cat or dog. She meant nothing to Matron … to anyone.

Unable to face that while she was still shaken by the previous evening’s near-miss during the bombing raid, Maisie opted to work her way through her crisis. She had a mammoth task ahead of her. Not only did the files need organising, but she could see the room needed a declutter and thorough clean too. If the freezing wind weren’t howling around the windows, she’d have lifted them all open and blown fresh air into the room.

Maisie prepared a large crate and opened the first of the large cabinets. Perhaps she could turn this into an opportunity? With Matron out of the room, she’d finally get the chance to find answers to the questions she’d been asking for years. Where had she come from? Who were her parents? No matter how often she asked the questions, Matron had always ignored her or found a reason not to answer. It was part of the insidious emotional torture that had long frustrated Maisie. Why, when records were to hand, couldn’t Matron find time to answer her questions? If her mother had never wanted her and Jack, and if she were unmarried, then so be it, but Maisie could never understand why her requests were met with hostile responses. A sudden thought came to her. With access to the files, she’d be able to find Jack’s paperwork and in it would be information relating to his new home. Maybe she could find him! She tugged open another drawer and flicked straight through to the R section until she found the file bearing her name: Maisie J Reynolds.

The J confused her. She’d only known herself as Maisie Reynolds; a middle name had never featured in her life. She pulled the folder from its resting place and opened it to the first page. It bore her name and age on entry to the orphanage.

Where the family name had once stood out as clearly as the first name, the page was rubbed and smudged. She held the paper up to the light in the hope of seeing the surname more clearly. Was this her mother, or simply the person who’d handed her over?

Then it hit Maisie. Was it wrong to forget the face of the person who gave birth to you? As hard as she tried, she could not bring her mother’s face, the woman who’d fed her scraps of food, to the fore. Why couldn’t she remember her? Had she ever loved her mother as a child should? Maisie simply couldn’t remember having feelings for anyone other than Jack and the thought sat heavily in her chest, like a bulky mouthful of bread trapped in the gullet.

A creaking floorboard alerted Maisie to someone coming along the corridor. She snatched up the file and moved towards the crate in the hope of hiding it, but time was against her. Matron re-entered the room and looked at the papers Maisie held in her hand.

‘Have you finished?’ Matron demanded.

‘It’s going to take longer than five minutes if you want me to do a good job,’ Maisie replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She placed the file on top of the cabinet.

Matron walked over and Maisie placed her hand back onto the file. Gloria’s face creased into a disapproving frown.

‘Hold your tongue girl. Your file, I assume?’

Maisie nodded. ‘There’s not a lot of information in there but I think I’ll keep it as it is mine. There’s nowhere else for it to go. You never know, I might need it for the future. I’ve not received call-up papers yet, but might need this when I do,’ she said.

Matron took a step forward and stared Maisie down, her teeth grinding beneath her jawline.

‘It is government property to go to the local council and of no use to you. Now, hand it over. As regards to call-up papers, you won’t need to worry about those. Your work here is important enough for them not to want you.’

Not wanting to antagonise the woman, but frustrated by her attitude, Maisie spoke again, this time more forcefully. ‘But the file is mine,’ Maisie said, holding the file closer to her.

With a hissing reply of impatience, Gloria balled her fist and shook it at Maisie. ‘Don’t be childish. It is not yours, and nothing in there reflects your life as you know it. It is my file, or rather, the property of the orphanage.’

‘It has my mother’s name inside,’ Maisie whispered, unable to raise her voice. The pain of having to battle to find out such meagre scraps caused her throat to tighten against a pending screech of indignation.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It has a smudge. It does not mean anything to you personally.’

Matron had been known to strike hard when her temper was roused, and Maisie could see the Matron’s face reddening, a sure warning sign, but still she clutched the file to her chest.

‘If it is of no importance, why are you so het up about it?’

With a forceful step towards her and a push, Matron launched herself at Maisie, knocking her against the cabinet. She wrenched the file from Maisie’s hands and with a triumphant roar held it high.

‘There’ll be consequences for this, Maisie Reynolds!’ she yelled and went to sit behind her desk. Maisie stepped forward and stood with her arms out in question.

‘Why? Who would know? Tell me, who would care?’

The pleasure in seeing Gloria flinch when she slapped her hand onto the table in response, gave Maisie a thrill. She repeated the act.

‘Don’t make out I’m a fool. I know I had a mother, and I know she’d be named on official papers when she brought me here. This can’t be all you have on me! Where are my true files?’

‘You were not brought here by your mother, and this file sums up your paltry life.’

‘So, who did bring me here? Why has my mother’s name been rubbed out in the file? Who would be able to help me find my family? You’ve never liked me. Never tried to find me a loving family or home to go to. You tore Jack and me apart. Can you be any more unkind? You destroyed my life and now you use me as an unpaid skivvy.’

Frustration clutched around Maisie’s throat and she choked on her words as they rushed from her mouth. Maisie was no longer prepared to take the scraps she was offered, to have her past hidden from her by the people who should have protected her. It was her right to know who’d given birth to her, to know what had been so ruthlessly hidden from her.

She stared Matron down as the woman crossed her arms over her bosom in a defensive gesture. Maisie knew she held the trump card and also that if she stopped her onslaught now, she’d never learn the truth about where she came from.

‘You always pushed me to one side, never praised me. When people wanted a child, you held me back, or pushed me into the faces of people who’d no intention of taking on an older child.’ Maisie snatched in a breath, giving Matron no time to intervene. ‘I was a four-year-old child and you were all I had. I trusted you. How could you treat an innocent child in that way? Call yourself kind, I—’

Maisie stopped her verbal attack when she saw Matron’s hands go to her chest and clutch her blouse close to her, her face scarlet, and her lips blue and twisted with pain.

‘Matron? Gloria?’ Maisie called as the woman slumped to the floor.

Unsure whether to run for help, or run to Matron, Maisie faltered for a few seconds before rushing to Gloria’s side to check she was still breathing. On hearing rasping noises from her mouth, Maisie ran to the door. At that moment, the dreaded sound of the enemy-pending siren burst out over the town. Outside the window, Maisie watched the figures of staff members running towards their allocated units. Maisie looked back at Matron. Her twisted face with one eye staring back told her something was seriously wrong, but there was nothing Maisie could do. Gloria was too heavy to lift, the staff were needed to get the young ones to safety, and deep inside, Maisie couldn’t deny that she wanted Matron’s cruelty gone from their lives. However, instinct told her she must do all she could to save her and so, with renewed strength, she dragged Matron into the hall.

‘Help! Norah! Help! Somebody?’

The ground shuddered as the bombs dropped around them, near enough to suggest they were a sitting target and they needed to get to safety.

‘Norah!’

The silence inside the house was deafened by the screams of retaliation from planes outside. Maisie sank to her knees. This was it; this was the end of her life. A life of struggle and loneliness. A forgotten life. A forgotten daughter. As the high-pitched sound of a bomb homing in on its target sounded outside the window, Gloria groaned and Maisie crawled over to her. Now was not the time to abandon someone in need, but to offer them comfort. No matter their past deeds. She muttered words of reassurance to Matron, despite the rising fear that she would never get out alive.

Was this really how her life was meant to end, lying on a floor with a sick woman who’d shown her nothing but unkindness? Who’d refused to help her move forward into a safe and happy future? The file! If she did get out of this alive, Maisie was determined to have her file, even if there was nothing of importance inside but a scratched-out name; it was part of her – a record that she had existed.

She scrambled to her feet and rushed back to the office where Gloria had dropped the file. She rolled it up and pushed it into the elastic of her skirt. Now for Jack’s. She returned to the cabinet and flicked with speed through the R section but was met by disappointment. Jack’s file was not there. She ran back to Matron.

‘Where’s Jack’s file? What have you done with my brother’s file? Where is it? Maisie shouted and railed at the woman who lay staring back at her, her eyes blank. It was too late; Gloria Mason had passed away and Maisie yelled out her frustrations until Norah Bately and other members of staff pulled her away. Maisie was convinced the woman had died holding on to secrets about her and Jack’s background. Was it to save herself from having to explain why she split up twins? Or was the simple truth exactly what she’d always told Maisie: she was not desirable enough to be someone’s daughter?

By the time Gloria’s body had been removed and Norah Bately had stepped into the chaos, Maisie had resolved to find Jack’s file, to find out the truth about who they were, and where they’d come from. And there was nothing Norah could do to stop her.

CHAPTER 4

‘How’s it going up there?’ Charlie asked, referring to Holly Bush Orphanage.

He called across the hut to where Maisie was laying out cups and saucers in readiness for the first batch of firefighters taking a break. Many had been drafted in from other areas to support the local teams. The city refused to buckle under the ferocious attacks but the struggle to survive wasn’t easy.

‘Oh, Norah enjoys whipping me with that spiteful tongue of hers, but I’ve found a trick. If I get on with the ironing, she leaves me alone. So, as you can imagine, I do a lot of ironing.’ Maisie laughed for the first time in a long time. Her life had become a living hell since the authorities had asked Norah to step in and run the home until its closure. Today, Maisie had ignored requests to clean toilets and instead announced she was off to carry out her war duties by making and serving refreshments for the firemen and others working to beat out the fires in Southampton. She knew Norah could not refuse Maisie permission to join Charlie and his team, so no argument was offered on her part. The offering of tea was the least Maisie could do and it helped give her a feeling of being useful. She was happy to be in a place where she could hold her head up with pride and not suffer constant putdowns.

She took jugs from a shelf and filled them with watered down milk. With a small smile, she produced a small bag of sugar from her basket. It was her personal ration. She’d grown used to drinking tea without it, and instead of surrendering her share to Norah, she wanted to give it to people who she felt deserved it more.

‘You coming to the dance on Saturday? Providing that lot,’ Charlie pointed to the sky, referencing the enemy bombers that wreaked havoc on their lives, ‘leave us alone. Over 600 bombs dropped in two nights, according to my dad. The docks are a right mess – all the food storage areas are destroyed. Butter melted across the docks, coal went up in flames. A true disaster. And we’ve not enough firefighters if anything like that happens again. Dad reckons there’ll be more. We need something to cheer us up!’

‘I can’t get away, Charlie. You know that. Not to a dance. I can come here, yes, but for me to have fun … God forbid. Norah would never let it happen. It’s like a prison up there since she’s taken over.’

Charlie pulled out a chair and stood on it, rearranging a blackout curtain across a window.

‘Get away from the place. Look at the state of you. White as a ghost and old before your time. Move out, Maisie. Why stay?’

Shaking a teacloth open, Maisie stared at him, then laughed.

‘Really? Why stay? Well, for one thing, because it’s the only home I’ve ever known.’

Charlie jumped from the chair and stood in front of her. ‘Open your eyes, girl. They get money from you for food and board, don’t they?’

Maisie nodded.

‘How many times have you been to the cinema and used that allowance? Four times? They’re cheating you, Maisie. Don’t shake your head, it’s true. Think about it.’

‘You’re probably right, but where do you suggest I go, Charlie? How do I find an alternative life?’

Charlie pushed a stack of chairs against the wall, their screeching feet on the floor making Maisie wince. Her head ached from lack of sleep and the constant nagging of Norah.

‘Well, all I’m saying is get away as soon as you can. Have fun.’

‘I do. I come here, to be with friends. This is fun.’

‘Yes, and we appreciate that, but it isn’t a life for a girl like you. You should be dancing on a Saturday night,’ Charlie said, before unlocking the hut door to let in a stream of tired, dirt-streaked faces in of sustenance.

‘If only, Charlie. If only.’

Looking around the room at the many people who worked tirelessly to fight fires, rescue people from the rubble, and support the city in so many ways, it was hard for Maisie to feel sorry for herself. These people never had time for self-pity; they fought demons every second of every day. They fought the enemy by surviving – and by helping people like herself to survive. She refocused her mind and started serving tea to those who deserved her attention. Charlie had a point about going out and having fun, but Maisie’s free time was precious, and she chose to spend it where she received gratitude and friendship.

Since Norah’s promotion, more and more of the orphanage’s staff had left and Maisie had no choice but to take on the extra workload. Norah lounged around the office pretending to be busy with administration and other important tasks, but Maisie suspected she took advantage of the privacy to sleep. For all Charlie’s encouragement about leaving, Maisie knew she had to stay a while longer for the sake of the children. This was her duty and contribution to the war effort – keeping orphans safe, making sure they didn’t experience the bullying and cruelty she had.

No sooner had Maisie stepped back into the orphanage later that day, than the sirens sounded out around them again. She sighed. There was no respite from the war and its restrictions. The constant attacks were taking their toll on everyone and no matter how many times the bombs dropped, the fear was the same.

Maisie rushed to the children and gathered them about her. She heard the voices of the other staff and children from the other houses making their way to the shelter.

‘Get them moving faster, Reynolds!’ Norah shouted from over her shoulder.

Maisie noted the woman carried a flask but no child. Unlike Maisie, Norah always put herself first.

Increasing her pace, Maisie bustled about her small group giving words of encouragement for them to run and see if they could catch Matron. Their little legs wobbled as they ran, and her arms ached with the weight of Deedee and another tiny baby.

The children screamed at each shuddering thud and flashing light around them. They ducked beneath the bombers much like mice under the shadow of an owl or hawk.

Another blinding light flashed across the courtyard and appeared to bounce away from the gardens. Maisie continued to urge the frightened children to run and followed on behind them, but their walking speed never increased. They were toddlers in the new stages of walking and were not able to run, even when it was for their lives. Maisie inwardly cursed Norah, but was grateful to see another member of staff run to the aid of the little ones. Norah stepped to one side to let them pass just as another white flash of light blinded them, and Maisie heard Norah mutter the Lord’s prayer. Even the hard-hearted feared death. Another flash lit their pathway and this time the explosions were closer to home. Too close.

As they reached the entrance, a woman rushed forward and took a child from Maisie. From the corner of her eye she spotted a dark shadow on the ground ahead.

‘Norah! Quick Jane, take Deedee. Norah’s fallen over.’

Maisie ran to the static mound and found Norah’s body twisted on the floor. She knelt by her side and encouraged her to get back up on her feet. Norah gave no sign of moving and when Maisie tried again, she knew there was nothing she could do for her.

A woman in charge of one of the other houses ran to Maisie’s side. ‘You need help? Oh, there’s a sorry sight. Where’ll we put her? What’s the plan?’ the woman asked in a rushed voice.

Maisie turned to her and stared in disbelief. The woman stood with her legs squarely planted and her hands on her hips. Another plane droned overhead, and Maisie wasted no time in realising what the situation required. She had to take charge. There was no Norah to ensure their safety and standing in front of her, Elsie gave no sign of taking control. It occurred to Maisie that they were all used to receiving daily orders and during her years in their company they were never required to make the decisions. No amount of standing around would make Elsie do anything different. Taking a deep breath, Maisie realised it would be up to her now. This was her opportunity to show them she was not one of the children, and Maisie Reynolds might be young, but she was capable. This was her time to step up and make them see her for a change. It often felt as if they moved around her as they would a piece of furniture, knowing it was there but not really noticing its presence. Well, now, no more. Keeping her voice calm but firm, she touched Elsie’s arm.

‘We’ll move her over there, to …’ Maisie was going to add, to safety, but realised the foolishness of her words. She pointed to the smaller building to their right. It was used to store old beds.

With difficulty, they lifted Norah’s body, flinching at each flashing light as they came, and placed her body onto a damp mattress in a dank room. Maisie shivered with the cold and shock.

‘That’s that then. It looks like a stray incendiary. There’s bad luck for you.’

Maisie, amazed at the matter-of-fact way that Elsie spoke, just nodded.

‘We’d best go rescue the others. The kiddies are a handful at the best of times,’ she said, but before she’d finished speaking Elsie had disappeared.

Maisie turned back to look at Norah, reassuring herself that she was definitely dead, then turned and left the room. As much as she disliked Norah, dying as she had was not what Maisie would have wished for anyone.

Loud chattering noises from inside the basement shelter were a welcome distraction and Maisie settled into a seat. After a while, she noticed the four staff in the shelter were chatting to each other and completely ignoring the children, several of whom were shaking with fear. Using the same commanding voice she’d used with Elsie, Maisie spoke over the noise of the children.

‘Might I suggest we try and get them settled? Calm them down a bit? Lessen the noise perhaps?’ The noise of children never bothered Maisie, but the sounds of their sobs did; these women had a duty of care, and she was going to ensure they carried it out. No more slacking when it came to the safety and wellbeing of the children. None of the women seemed to have the foresight to understand their situation, to realise that there was no one in charge, so Maisie tested the waters with her suggestion. All four women broke off their chatter and began moving amongst the children, patting heads and muttering words of reassurance. Maisie couldn’t believe her eyes. An eighteen-year-old girl had made four women more than twice her age listen. Could she do this?

‘Jane, Elsie, the two of you get some sleep, and I’ll wake you in a couple of hours to take over from,’ Maisie pointed to two women sitting side by side, ‘Lil and Mo. There’s a large bag of darning on the end of the bench – Norah told me to put it in here this morning – so we’d best get it done.’

Again, she stared in amazement as the women carried out her instructions. She took up a small pair of socks herself, one with a hole in the toe and stretched it onto the small darning mushroom. She sat back, fighting off her own drowsiness. Now was not the time for her to fall asleep.

For seven hours they huddled in their safe space, occupying the time with naps and nursery rhymes. The room smelled of body odours and mould, and Maisie hugged Deedee to her chest during feeding time, crooning soothing words over her head. Maisie dreaded the day when the baby would be adopted or moved on to safety, though she knew it would be for the best. Holly Bush was no place for a child to grow up – Maisie knew it firsthand – and the war only made matters worse. She recalled being locked in the shelter as a punishment even before the war, when it had been used as a storeroom. She’d managed to avoid entering it again until Matron had made her clear it out in readiness for the start of war. It had been a cruel and endless task of clearing and scrubbing. Once, the door had closed on her and she had stood frozen with fear. Her heart had pounded and bile had threated to rise. The ghosts she’d imagined as a tiny child had returned. Even now, when the room was filled with people, the flickering shadows on the wall taunted her. If it wasn’t for the war, she’d not be sitting there recalling some of the darkest days of her life. Maisie longed to be one of the names on the evacuee list she’d seen that morning, to find somewhere safe and start afresh, but there were children in the shelter who would need her now more than ever. The children who weren’t listed for adoption, waiting for their turn. In the days to come, Maisie vowed, she would write down the qualities of each child before they were packed away for fostering or onto another orphanage. She wanted to be the one who wrote something of their character in the hope it would lead to a better life.

When the all-clear siren sounded, a great squeal of delight from the children filled the room. Instructions were bellowed out by the adults and once again it fell to Maisie to bring order to the situation.

‘Take all the children back to their own houses and feed them. I’ll deal with the babies and toddlers in the main house. I’ll make a call about Norah to the police station, and we’ll take it from there. Is that all right with everyone?’

The other women nodded in agreement and Maisie could see the relief on their faces. The burden of Holly Bush was not theirs; someone else had stepped into the breach and let them off the hook. She doubted they even cared about her age or capabilities, but they were not Maisie’s concern; the children were her priority.

Back in the kitchen, the warmth of the gas stove flames underneath the kettle filtered across the room, but Maisie was convinced she’d never be warm again. She rubbed her hands together and blew into them. She’d busied herself feeding the children and putting them to bed for a nap and, to her joy, they’d settled down to sleep. This had given her time to freshen up and make the telephone call which could not be put off any longer. Norah’s husband would be expecting her home in an hour.

‘What a start to December. How about you, Maisie? How are you dear?’

Startled by the sudden appearance of Mo, but mainly by the fact that anyone had taken her feelings into consideration, Maisie glanced at her and gave a slow nod.

‘Tired, as we all are, but managing. I’ve just got to make that telephone call and then I can relax a little. Will you keep an ear out for the little ones upstairs please?’

Half expecting the older woman to take over and say she’d make the call, Maisie’s heart sunk when the woman headed for the stairs. It was now her place to restore order to Holly Bush House and for the sake of the children, she would do all she possibly could.

‘Of course, dearie. You carry on. You’ve a lot on your plate. Losing Norah must be such a shock. You’ve known her all your life, poor lamb.’

Thoughts tumbled around Maisie’s head, and none were charitable. She could not shake off the fact that she felt nothing but relief at the death of Norah.

Is there something wrong with me? Why am I thinking like this? Am I going mad?

The kettle let out a hiss of steam and Maisie walked to the stove. She went through the motions of mashing tealeaves and poured out a cup of tea.

‘Thanks. Here, take this up with you. I’ll be in the office.’

She turned back to the teapot and poured herself a cup, taking it to the office and placing it on the desk. Composing herself, she telephoned the police station to explain their situation.

After the call, she went upstairs to relieve Mo in the nursery.

‘I spoke with the police about Norah. I wasn’t sure who needed to know. The undertaker will come when they’re free. Norah’s husband will be informed. It was definitely a stray bomb; the target was the spitfire factory and docks … again. A tragic accident. We’ll have to make a few—’

Mo jumped to her feet and stretched her arms above her head interrupting Maisie.

‘Right, that’s me done. The little ones are still asleep, so catch a nap for yourself. I was going to tell Norah today that I’m not coming back. I’ve got a cleaning job in the hospital, better hours and pay. As she’s not around, I’ll tell you. Good luck, Maisie. You’re going to need it by the bucket load. You handle the babies well enough, so I’m sure you’ll cope.’

Caught unawares by Mo’s statement, Maisie took a moment to think – this was not the right time to lose another member of staff.

‘The little ones rarely wake, and the only baby for overnight milk is Deedee. I just hope they get a replacement for Norah soon, especially now you’re leaving. I don’t suppose you could—’

Mo raised her hand. ‘Not a chance. I’ve had my fill of little boys running riot. It was bad enough bringing up my own. I took this as a temporary job. I’ll come by for my wages at the end of the week; you should have them ready by then.’

She smiled and waved goodbye. Maisie stared at the children and envied their lives: sleep and eat. What she’d give to have that life again. Or would she? Had she ever had a life where she slept as soundly as these little ones?

Sitting in the office with the door open and one ear trained for the sound of a baby’s cry, Maisie sat staring at the worksheet for the days ahead.

With Norah dead, a new rota needed to be drafted and the council informed. She explained to the remaining three staff members that they were now one down, and someone needed to be with the undertaker when he came. With no volunteers, which didn’t surprise her one bit, Maisie found herself in the unenviable position of signing official papers and paying her respects to a woman she had despised. She tried to explain that legally she was not considered adult when it came to official duties because she was still only eighteen, but the undertaker wasn’t interested. So long as he had a signature to release the body, he was happy. He’d got several hundred more to deal with, thanks to the endless bombing raids.

Once Norah’s body had been taken away, Maisie gathered the remaining staff to discuss all that needed to be done. To make their job more manageable with such a skeleton team, she suggested moving all the children into one house. But Maisie began to grow more and more disheartened by their lack of willingness to engage with the children. Unlike during her own childhood, these children were now free of two cruel dictators and Maisie was determined to improve things. She took it upon herself to write out a routine for the day for the twenty remaining children and their carers. At first the women grumbled when Maisie explained what she’d like to happen each day, but once they noticed an hour’s break for each of them, they relented. Neither Gloria nor Norah had granted the requests for longer breaks. They had kept to the fifteen-minute morning and afternoon regime. She also reminded the women that a temporary matron would probably arrive any day and they’d revert back to the old routine, so they’d best make the most of hers.

Pleased with her efforts, Maisie took herself upstairs to check on the children. The room was cold – freezing cold. Breath vapours rose from the mouths of the children and something snapped inside Maisie. For years the conditions in the orphanage had favoured only the residential staff – mainly Matron – and the bedrooms with their high ceilings were cool even in summer. The children had been through a tough night and Maisie decided to leave them to sleep rather than follow the usual rigid routine. Chills wouldn’t leave her body, and she shivered. A short nap in the warmth was all she craved. She tiptoed from the room and into Gloria’s old bedroom next door. A welcome rush of heat where the coals still glowed out a golden warmth in the hearth wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. With a shovel and coal scuttle, Maisie transferred the hot coals into the fireplace in the small dormitory. The warmth soon spread, and after she’d dragged her mattress into the room to keep watch over the children, Maisie fell into a more relaxed state and finally settled into a guilt-free sleep.

CHAPTER 5

‘Do you really dish out the orders, Maize?’ Charlie asked as he blew into his cup of Bovril, his hands wrapped around the tin mug for warmth.

‘I do,’ Maisie replied, and winked as she sipped her own drink.

They stood in the kitchen of the orphanage, enjoying a rare visit together. Charlie had sent a message saying he hoped all was well and Maisie had invited him to visit when he could.

It had all come about when a member of the council telephoned the house and asked if she would be happy to remain in charge of the orphanage with its few remaining staff until someone new was found to take over. The man had gone on to say that he understood if she refused but would be grateful if she’d take into consideration their desperate situation in the city. Finding a new manager and the capacity to train them in the running of the place at short notice, and for such a short time, was more than they were able to achieve at present. Maisie, with her newfound confidence and wanting to be of use, did not hesitate to agree. The man on the telephone had also told her to keep a record of all spending and to add her name to the salary book; she was to draw her own salary, which would be whatever Gloria or Norah had recorded for themselves. He couldn’t remember the exact sum but felt sure it would be a satisfactory wage for a girl of her age and she deserved it with such commitment to duty. He’d asked if she understood the workings of the ledger, and although Maisie had never seen it, she’d replied that she was more than capable of working it out. Mathematic problems were a passion of hers. She’d crossed her fingers when telling the white lie; although she enjoyed mathematics, she much preferred English lessons. She mulled over the words ‘commitment to duty’ and a warm glow of pride shimmied through her body.

Running Holly Bush was a new experience for her, and certainly kept her busy, but she thrived on it, as did the staff. They seemed happier in their work and the children loved the attention they now received. The council sent word that they were working on the official closure date, including the date when the children would be moved. In the eight days since Norah had died, Maisie had waved off one baby and four toddlers. With each adoption, she tried to feel happy that the little ones would be taken to safety, but there were times her feelings overwhelmed her. She missed the children, even though they’d only had a short time together, because they made up the pieces of her patchwork family. Occasionally, she imagined that Deedee was her own child, and wondered what would happen if she kept her name from the adoption list. The cost of being found out was too great and more importantly, she would be standing in the way of Deedee being adopted by a real family that would love and care for her which was, after all, what the precious little girl deserved.

‘I bet they gave you hell the first time you told them what to do.’ Charlie’s voice cracked with laughter.

‘I was so surprised when they didn’t. I was waiting for one of them to start bossing me about but it never happened. For some reason they looked to me for guidance. I think because I know the place so well, they assumed I’d be happy to step into Norah’s shoes. I think they’re just happy someone else is taking the bulk of the work. And if I’m honest, it’s best to be in control rather than controlled.’

‘True enough. You’ll be able to save to get out of here when the children have gone. Any idea where you’ll go?’

Maisie shook her head.

‘I’ve heard a rumour that the place is to be used as a medical centre for army personnel,’ Charlie said.

Maisie looked at him wide-eyed. ‘Really?’

‘Yup. You might be drafted to stay here seeing as you know the place so well. Be prepared, Maize, you might not get away until the war finishes, but at least they’ll treat you right.’

Maisie worried over his words. If the rumour was true and she was drafted to stay there, what would she do? She had no medical skills, nor would she want to tend wounds. Scraped knees were one thing but war wounds were quite another. Surely Charlie had it wrong; they couldn’t make her stay.

‘By the way, I heard a bunch of Canadians have moved in to the Aldershot barracks. My chief is taking a few of us to get information about who does what and where they can get help whenever they’re off camp. Easy job for me after this week. We want them helping, so we must make them feel at home. According to my dad, there’s a new lot arriving in a couple of months.’ Charlie grinned at her as he moved to the back door. ‘I’ll let you know when and you can come along to share your smile with our chums from abroad.’

Maisie threw a dishcloth his way.

‘Actually, I might shock you and say yes,’ Maisie joked.

‘I’ll remember. I take it you won’t be joining us for Christmas Day now?’ Charlie asked.

Maisie gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. ‘I can’t. I’ve arranged our shifts so everyone gets time at home. The only person who doesn’t get time off is me. The children need a happy day before they leave. Forgive me?’

Charlie gave her a bear hug and she squealed. It felt so good to laugh again.

‘Of course, you’re forgiven. Just don’t forget to rest. If I get five minutes I’ll come up and see you, but I’ve got to visit Joyce’s family, too. I’ll try.’

Maisie shook her head. ‘You concentrate on Joyce and your family. I’ll be far too busy to stop. Enjoy your day and come see me another time.’

‘Righty ho, don’t work too hard. Good luck with this place,’ Charlie said, moving his hand in a sweeping motion around the room.

‘What are you like at dusting ceilings? It will save me climbing a ladder!’ Maisie said with a laugh.

‘Cheeky. See you soon. Don’t be a stranger. Joyce misses you.’

‘Send her my love and be careful out there.’

Returning to the office, Maisie made a start on clearing the filing cabinets and stacking the filing boxes to one side.

‘Is it all right to mop in the kitchen now? I didn’t want to disturb you earlier, what with your young man visiting. I’ve finished over in the other houses.’

Maisie looked at the cleaner Val, poking her head around the door. With the busy days running into one another, she’d forgotten Val came to do a deep clean once a week.

‘He’s not my young man – more like a brother. Charlie and his girlfriend are the only friends I’ve got. They mean the world to me.’

‘Do you have a young man?’ Val asked.

Maisie giggled. ‘Do I look as if I have time for courting?’

‘May I just say that the others are impressed with you. When they told me it was you running the place, well you could have knocked me over with me feather duster. The last time I came in this room and Matron Norah was on duty, I had a paperweight thrown at me!’

‘She didn’t hurt you, did she?’ Maisie asked.

Val shook her head and Maisie gave her a gentle smile in return.

‘Good. And I promise I don’t throw things. I’m just grateful for the help.’

‘How are you managing all of this, Maisie? It must be hard work,’ Val said.

‘I haven’t got to cope alone for too long. It won’t be long before the children are moved and this place is taken over for the war effort. I just have to keep a level head until then.’

‘Makes sense to ask you to take the helm, but if we weren’t at war you’d probably be away from here, am I right? This war is madness, thanks to the Germans and politicians with loud voices.’

Maisie smiled. She knew nothing about government and wasn’t prepared to get into a conversation about politics when there were more pressing items on her agenda.

‘We’ve a week until Christmas and I want to try and give the children a gift each to take away with them. We orphans don’t have many possessions, and Christmas was never celebrated here when I was a child. Matron didn’t believe in frivolities. We sang carols, said our prayers, and were sent to bed as normal. I remember one year we were treated to a visit from some dignitaries who brought large baskets of food and delicious cakes, which they handed out willy-nilly. Most of us were sick because of all the rich foods and she never allowed them to come again.’

Val stood listening and Maisie saw sympathy in her eyes – the kind which embarrassed her.

‘I forgot you were a child of Holly Bush,’ she said.

‘I still am, Val. My name is still listed as a potential adoptee.’

Val grinned. ‘Well, I’ll adopt you. How about that?’

‘I’m a handful, according to notes I’ve read about myself. A nuisance child, unruly and wild,’ Maisie said and burst out laughing.

Val laughed with her.

‘Who the heck wrote that? Were you unruly and wild?’

‘Matron hated me for some reason, and no, I was a reader and loved learning. I’m the quiet one in the corner. If she riled me, I’d answer back, but other than that, I thought I was one of the good ones.’

Val leaned against her mop. ‘Listen, my girl has far too many things and she’s not using them. I’ll get her to have a clear-out and we can wrap them up for Christmas and maybe you can hand them out. I’ll have a word with my friends; they’ll donate, I know it. Leave it with me. I’ll take charge of the presents. One less thing for you to worry about. Now, I’d best finish my floors and head home.’

Val moved closer and looked Maisie in the eye. ‘You have a big heart and will be rewarded for this one day.’

Maisie gave a shy smile and watched as Val left the room. The day was off to a good start. She sat at the desk preparing lists of things to do and worked through the salary ledger with a lifted spirit. Things were looking up and she was enjoying the newly calm environment at Holly Bush, despite her organisational skills being tested to the limit.

Though the bombers disturbed their evenings and their sleep, adding to Maisie’s workload, Christmas Day brought nothing but happiness to the home and all the sleepless nights were soon forgotten.

Val and five neighbours arrived to hand out gifts, causing a joyful racket that Maisie had never heard in the main hall before, especially when homemade biscuits were shared around. Two of the staff brought along large hampers donated by the Women’s Institute filled with meat jellies, jams, and small loaves. In the afternoon, one member of staff arrived with the mayor and his wife to deliver six large bags of clothing. Maisie stood back watching each event with tears in her eyes. The tears turned into sobs when she was handed a Christmas gift of her own. It was a box containing a tortoiseshell hairbrush and two small combs for dressing her hair. It was an adult gift, and a thing of beauty. Val patted her back.

‘I thought you’d like it. You deserve it, girl.’

‘I’ll treasure it forever. It’s beautiful. Thank you,’ Maisie managed to whisper in reply.

1941

As the days progressed into January, it became obvious there would be no new matron and, gradually, fifteen children were reduced to ten. New parents eagerly snatched the hands of their adopted child, and not one questioned Maisie’s age or authority to deal with their case, all keen to leave the dreary place behind and enjoy their new family member.

Fortunately, all the adoptions were completed with minimal fuss but the day Deedee was adopted was always going to be painful. Maisie couldn’t be happier for the child, but she would miss her terribly. The mayor and his wife had fallen in love with Deedee when they’d visited at Christmas and knew she was the perfect child for the mayor’s sister and brother-in-law from a rural village in Cornwall. They were both teachers and lived quiet lives a short distance from the sea. The mayor contacted them and put the wheels in motion with the correct authorities, and a process which would normally take months took less than three weeks. The handing-over day arrived and Maisie dressed Deedee in the prettiest outfit she’d found in the bag of clothes. The mayor’s sister beamed when she met Maisie and cried when she held Deedee for the first time.

‘She’s the sweetest thing. We think her nickname suits her, and we’ll call her by it rather than Deidre. We’ll write and send pictures. My brother told me how fond you are of her, Maisie. She’ll be told of you, I promise. My husband has brought his camera and if you like, we can take a photograph of you together and we’ll send you a copy.’

Maisie smiled at the woman who she knew was the perfect choice as a mother for the baby. ‘I’d love a photograph of us together. You will be so happy together. She looks a lot like you; I can see why your brother got in touch with you. Christmas Day was a wonderful occasion here and Deedee got the best present an orphan could ever wish for, believe me.’

Deedee’s new mother smiled up at her. ‘Thank you, Maisie. I promise we’ll give her the best life and protect her always.’

After posing for one or two photographs, and allowing them to take pictures of what was once Deedee’s home, the couple gathered her few belongings in readiness for their journey home. Gathering in the driveway, the family hugged and rejoiced together, and Maisie could clearly see the love they shared. Deedee was a lucky little girl. Her new parents brought her to Maisie for one last goodbye, and she bit back the tears of parting. She shook her head when the mother held her new little daughter out for Maisie to hold.

‘It’s best I don’t,’ Maisie said, her voice cracking with emotion.

‘Please, come and visit us one day so we can prove she’s got a good home. We’d love it, wouldn’t we, darling?’

The woman’s husband nodded as he took Deedee from her arms and headed for their car. It was the moment Maisie had dreaded for over a year, but somehow the usual sadness of saying goodbye was helped by meeting the new parents of her precious little friend.

‘Thank you. I’ll take you up on it when I can. It’s a long way to travel but the journey will be worth it. Take care of yourselves. Stay safe.’

One by one the children left Holly Bush, and when the last child left at the end of January, Maisie cried with relief. Each one of the children had a new home or had an evacuee placement; not one had entered another orphanage. The only name remaining on the list was her own. She left it there for several days before inking it out forever. Maisie Reynolds remained an orphan but no longer held out hope for a new set of parents. Those days were behind her. What she wanted now was to follow a new path of happier days. The mayor had agreed to speak to the council about Maisie remaining at Holly Bush as a housekeeper until the handover, after which she was free to leave. He signed formal papers releasing her from the status of a resident of the home under council care and wished her well.

It was over and at last Maisie felt she’d stepped into adulthood.

CHAPTER 6

1941

In a hand-me-down dress from Val’s daughter Edith, and with her hair freshly washed, Maisie walked to the bus stop. Val and Edith had arrived in the afternoon to keep her company and help her get ready for the dance. Back when Charlie had first mentioned it, it had seemed impossible that she might get to attend, but so much had happened to change her circumstances since then. Fortunately, they were chatterboxes which left Maisie to concentrate on the evening ahead. Her nerves twitched with nervous excitement.

Val’s persuasive manner had enabled her to convince Maisie to help man the refreshment table at the dance. Although it wasn’t the night out Masie had imagined, she realised it would give her something to do rather than standing around looking lost.

Val had offered for Maisie to stay over with her after the dance so she didn’t have to battle with the restricted bus service; Since she would be back home first thing in the morning, Maisie had agreed. She ensured Holly Bush was securely locked up and looked forward to her first night away from the orphanage since she had arrived fifteen years previously.

The bus rattled its way past bomb craters and endless trails of rubble. A ripple of guilt shimmied through Maisie’s mind. How could she be heading for a party when others had lost so much – their lives included?

Music drifted from the hall where Maisie was used to serving tired firefighters their tea, and she soon forgot her qualms. Val grabbed the girls by the hand and ushered them inside via the side door, where Maisie put her bag to one side and waved to Charlie. He stood by the entrance doors and, along with other colleagues, shook the hands of their guests. Val was not shy about expressing her opinion that some of the guests were very handsome indeed, and Maisie agreed. A few stood out in the crowd, especially the younger ones. She was surprised to see so many young faces had travelled so far. Then she reminded herself that the majority of young British men were away fighting so it was no different. Charlie left the welcoming committee and headed over to greet her.

‘Anyone seen my friend Maize? Tall, skinny, red hair?’ he teased.

‘Stop it, you.’ Maisie gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

‘Seriously, Maize, you look lovely. I can’t stop long. I promised I would take over from Dad on fire watch. This lot will be gone in an hour. Friendly group. Enjoy yourself. Happy Valentine’s,’ Charlie said and gave her a wide smile.

Maisie had forgotten that the previous day had been a day for lovers. It had never featured in her life before, and therefore meant little to her beyond foolish, hopeless dreams.

Everyone moved around the room and many new friendships were formed with each new song that was played. She watched couples whisper and laugh together. The Canadian servicemen had a swagger about them, an air of confidence she’d not noticed in men before this evening. They treated everyone as their friend, and she lapped up the attention they lavished on her as they approached the refreshment table. Maisie stood eavesdropping on conversations just to hear their soft accent.

At one point, Maisie scolded herself, and Edith, for comparing Charlie’s lean physique to that of one or two of the more muscular soldiers of the supporting forces. To Maisie it felt disloyal. A betrayal. Yet, she still giggled and had her say whenever a young serviceman glanced their way. The giggles and comparisons increased and neither girl could help themselves. Maisie thought it was just as well Charlie was out of earshot; he might not have enjoyed hearing some of the girlish thoughts they shared.

‘Behave, both of you. I’m heading out to welcome them to England, and you’d better ensure they are fed and watered. No leaving the table area or underage drinking, understood?’ Val waggled a finger at both her daughter and Maisie and teetered off in the direction of a group of servicemen ready to embrace the female company.

‘There she goes, doing her duty,’ Edith said, her scathing, sarcastic tone not lost on Maisie.

‘She’s kind-hearted. I’m sure they appreciate her friendship,’ Maisie said, but no sooner had the words left her mouth than she realised what Edith meant. Val was over friendly where the men were concerned.

‘My dad probably appreciated her friendship but I’ll never know. From what I gather, he visited the canteen at the docks for a week, and by the end of the year she’d lost her job and gained me. Who knows how widely my mother spread her friendship. I’m off to have fun. See you later. If she asks, you can play the innocent.’ Maisie was shocked at the way Edith spoke about her mother. Maisie was left bewildered by both women. She was certain Edith had snuck in a dig at her at the end there but she wasn’t sure.

Taking a moment to study the room, she noted that the majority of the occupants were soldiers in uniforms of varying descriptions. There were also a few uniformed girls, and several women decked out in civvies. Everyone was chatting and smiling. All except one. A Canadian soldier. He stood leaning against a wall to Maisie’s left and stared into space. His face never bore a smile, and no one pulled him into conversation. With only a slight hesitant glance towards Val who was now giggling with two soldiers, Maisie made her way over to the serviceman.

‘Hello. Welcome to England,’ she said and held out her hand.

She gave him widest smile.

‘Thanks,’ came the reply, but no smile followed.

‘You look a little lonely,’ Maisie said, determined to make him feel welcome.

‘I like my own company and listening to the music.’

‘Your voice is familiar. Have we met before?’ she asked. ‘Not that I go anywhere, so it was a silly question really,’ Maisie said, rushing her words with an awkward shyness.

The soldier never replied and instead returned his gaze to staring at the roof.

‘Well, forgive me for trying. I’ll leave you to it.’ Maisie didn’t hold back her indignation and with a huff she turned away from him. She returned to the refreshment table and joined the others who were all busy offering jugs of weak orange squash. She’d seen some people pull small silver flasks from pockets or bags and pour the contents into their cups. She guessed it was alcohol of some sort since the dancing and chatting increased along with the noise levels.

‘I’m sorry.’

A voice cut in to a quiet moment between songs. Maisie turned her attention away from laying out cups on a tray, to acknowledge the speaker. She knew it was the young man she’d spoken to earlier by the softness of his voice.

‘Sorry for being rude or for liking only your own company?’ Maisie asked tartly. She didn’t need to retaliate in any way, but she wasn’t going to let him walk away so easily. He was not many years older than her, possibly two or three, certainly no more. She liked that his complexion was fresh-looking, not spotty like Charlie’s, and it was free from facial hair. Trying to avoid eye contact, Maisie glanced across his shoulder, and out into the crowd.

‘Lots of company out there for you to enjoy. Here, have a squash.’ She thrust a glass towards him and realised her mistake. Now she’d have to look at him, to see those large blue eyes stare back at her. Something about them made her want to know more about him. They invited her to ask.

His hand took the glass, but his eyes never left her face.

‘Thank you … um?’

‘Maisie. Maisie Reynolds, I—’

‘Maisie from the orphanage who has to go home now. Goodnight, soldier boy,’ Val’s slurred voice cut into the conversation and Maisie jumped guiltily.

With a dismissive flick of her hand towards the Canadian, Val followed it with raised eyebrows and he laid down his glass, turned heel, and left.

The burning of embarrassment scorched Maisie’s cheeks. She looked at his back hoping he’d turn around, but when he didn’t, she swung around to Val.

‘Why did you do that? You treated me like a little girl! And why tell him I’m from the orphanage?’

‘Well you are. Nothing to be ashamed of, is there? Anyway, you’re too innocent to be flirting with the likes of him. Mind you, he’s not that much older than you girls by the looks. Talking of girls, where’s the other one? Mine.’

Maisie shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t prepared to tell Val where Edith was – not that she really knew, but Val had annoyed her by saying she’d been flirting.

Flirting?

Maisie didn’t know the first thing about flirting, and it angered her to think that her being friendly to a stranger would be seen as such. He could have become a friend. Then it dawned on her … he was the man at the bus stop in Southampton. His voice was so familiar, and it was the only place she’d heard a different accent. She wanted to go to him and tell him. To ask if he remembered.

Shake away the thought, Maisie. Why on earth would he remember?

The sound of Val’s voice berating Edith cut into her thoughts, and Maisie sighed. Tonight was not turning out as she’d imagined. Singing, dancing, laughter – all things she’d never really experienced – were happening in front of her, rather than to her.

‘Get your coat,’ Val’s voice demanded, and Maisie grabbed her belongings, taking one last look across the room. She saw the young Canadian back in the same place, his leg propped onto the rim of a chair as he stared at the roof.

Was he as lonely as her? Did he want more from life too?

Don’t be daft. He’s already crossed the world to be in another country. He’s busy fighting a war. What more could he ever want?

Maisie’s inner thoughts challenged her. She wanted to ignore Val and stay longer, to enjoy the evening as she’d imagined – and if she was to be honest with herself, she wanted to speak with the Canadian again. He intrigued her. He made her experience feelings she’d never felt in the past. His quiet, almost moody personality drew her into wanting to know more about him.

Go with Val and forget tonight. Forget the stranger. He’s not interested in you.

Charlie had long gone and she’d only Val and Edith for company and their squabbling irritated and embarrassed Maisie as she headed out of the door behind them.

They continued to bicker on the walk home. As grateful as she was for the overnight stay, once inside Val’s home she suddenly felt suffocated. The rooms were small and filled with photographs and bric-a-brac. Laundry was draped on a clotheshorse in front of the fire, steaming up a large mirror on the wall. The fresh laundry smell reminded her there would, without an ounce of doubt, be a pile of ironing waiting for her the following day. As she climbed the stairs in the small terraced house, she realised she’d spent the majority of her life inside a mansion. Turning the corner onto the landing, she had a flashback vision of doing much the same as a little girl. She stood still and let the memories flood her brain. Edith was yelling at her mother from inside one of the rooms, and it brought back memories of two other women shouting in much the same way. She recalled hearing loud screeching voices inside a small room. She remembered thuds when objects hit the adjoining wall and the deep voices of men bellowing at them to be quiet. A flashback of a hand slapping her face made Maisie shudder. Her earliest memory was crying due to hunger and the noise around her – and then a stinging slap across her face with instructions to keep her mouth shut. For a moment, Maisie screwed her eyes shut against Val’s voice berating Edith’s. She took breaths to control the shock of the memory until eventually, her breathing settled into a calm rhythm.

The small box room where she was to spend the night was crammed with knickknacks and spare bedding. Maisie undressed and snuggled under the red and gold paisley eiderdown, far more luxurious than the coarse blankets of the orphanage. Her mind drifted back to the welcome party and she wished Charlie had stayed longer, but she knew he’d rushed off to see Joyce when she finished work. Joyce’s job was somewhere in the city outskirts and something so secret to the war effort that she was not allowed to speak about it. Although curious, Maisie and Charlie knew not to pressure her into telling them. Both Joyce and Charlie worked hard and deserved fun in their lives. She loved seeing him smile. He was a popular lad amongst the ARP team and Maisie felt fortunate to have him in her life.

She thought again of the young serviceman wanting to be alone. He and Charlie were two different young men possibly wanting different things, but the war had interfered with both their lives. Maisie drifted off to sleep knowing that she wanted a different life from the one she had, and soon the opportunity to find it would present itself. She curled under her covers but the strangeness of the room held her back from falling asleep. For so many years she’d shared a room with many others and always under the roof of the orphanage. To tempt sleep her way she tried making up names for the young Canadian she’d spoken with at the dance. It amused her to think he’d made such an impression when all he’d done was ignore her attempts to befriend him. Perhaps she was too young for him, or her hair colour and style were off-putting; perhaps she had come across as pushy. She pondered these and many other scenarios as to why he hadn’t considered her worthy enough to talk to, and, if Val hadn’t interrupted his apology, whether he and Maisie might have made it to the dancefloor.

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