‘Just like me,’ Sybil thought to herself. ‘Another foolish girl to add to the list.’

Alice lit a cigarette, which she exhaled before adding, ‘This one got pregnant and made no secret about who the father was. I can’t imagine the Brig’s family didn’t get wind of it – just about everybody knew. The blighter simply couldn’t get the girl out of the building fast enough,’ Alice giggled. ‘Sent her off to some smart nursing home in Hove, where, I assume, she’s still lingering, awaiting the birth of his illegitimate child.’ Alice gave a melodramatic shiver. ‘The man’s a beast. All of us girls stay well clear of him.’

Sybil smothered a smile. If Monty carried on in this manner, he would very quickly dig his own grave; all that she and Rosie had to do was to add a few finishing touches.

‘I’m rather relieved you’re not coming back; he’d be on your case in no time,’ Alice warned.

‘I’ve no intention of returning to the War Office,’ Sybil told her firmly. ‘If I pass this maths examination, I’m going to apply to train as a radar operator.’

Alice’s eyes all but rolled out of her head. ‘RADAR? You’ll be posted to the middle of nowhere!’ she shrieked.

‘That’s the general idea,’ Sybil smiled.

Rising to go, Alice stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Good luck, darling. I’d die if I weren’t within spitting distance of Knightsbridge.’

Sybil surprised herself when she spoke the next words. ‘I have to admit I’ve got rather fond of the country.’

45. On a Mission

Though Rosie’s memories of leaving Gladstone Gardens were pretty grim, the reality she walked into early the next morning was horrific. Ronnie and Sally had told her in graphic detail of the bomb-site that was their former home, but seeing the decimation first hand took Rosie’s breath away. Dodging precarious sagging gable ends that threatened to spew their contents on to the street, she stepped over leaking pipes and smashed concrete slabs as she made her way to the few landmarks that remained upright. The corner shop (which had provided them with ‘the tick’ for months) was long gone, replaced by a bustling WVS food van. Luckily Mick’s favourite pub on a busy street corner was still in business. Not used to entering a pub on her own, Rosie blushed as she stepped inside, but the old men spinning out their pints while playing cards barely noticed her. The landlord certainly didn’t recognize her, but he did recall Mick’s name when Rosie mentioned it.

Cleaning a pint glass mug with a grimy cloth, he said, ‘Yeah, he was a weekend regular.’ Suddenly he stopped cleaning to ask sharply, ‘Hold on a minute – what did you say your name was?’

‘Rosie Pickles, of Gladstone Gardens.’

‘I think I might have something for you, wait a minute.’