Molly Green - An Orphan in the Snow

‘Thank you, Iris. I’ll pay you back soon, I promise.’

‘See that you do,’ Iris said with mock firmness. She looked at June and grinned. ‘You’ve got some colour in those pale cheeks now. You’re pretty, but I expect you know that. Bet you’ve got all the boys after you.’

‘I haven’t got a boyfriend at the moment,’ June said, a sudden image of the tall, broad-shouldered man in the greatcoat with the mocking smile making her go pink.

‘You will soon, what with the RAF station nearby.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Speke. The RAF station. It’s only a few miles away. The boys there go to dances. And we go to dances. There’s never enough girls so we’re never short of partners. You’re coming with me to the next one.’

‘I’ve never been to a dance.’

‘Well, now’s the time.’ Iris slipped her hand through June’s arm as they left the shop. It felt nice. It had been a long time since she’d had a real friend. ‘Are you ready for a cup of tea, Junie, or what would you like to do?’

Junie. The only person who had called her that was Clara. June swallowed.

‘Do you mind me calling you Junie?’ Iris asked as though she’d read June’s thoughts.

‘N-no, not at all,’ June stuttered. The pain was always close enough to burst out at any moment. She blinked back the tears. ‘I was wondering if there was a second-hand bookshop anywhere.’ She looked around vaguely as though one might spring out at her. ‘I could do with a map of Liverpool and I’d love a new book to read.’

‘I’d have thought there would be plenty of books in the library at the home,’ Iris said.

‘I had a look yesterday but they’re mostly what I’d call scholarly. I just want something light to read in bed before I switch my light out.’

‘Lucky you to be able to see to read,’ Iris said grimly. ‘My light’s awful. Maybe I’ll see if I can find a stronger bulb … buy it myself ’cos Matron will never give me one.’ She stopped, her forehead puckering. ‘Let’s see … there are two second-hand bookshops near here … more or less the same, except one has a bad-tempered owner and the other one is just the opposite – polite and helpful.’

‘Could we go to the polite and helpful one?’ June smiled. ‘I don’t think I’m in the mood for bad temper today.’

‘They’re both up in the High Street, on the right-hand side as you go down. Only a couple of shops in between so I’ll leave you to it. I won’t tell you which one’s which,’ she added with a wicked grin. ‘I need to pick up some things from the chemist and I’d like to have a wander, even if there’s nothing much in the windows. Shall we meet over there at the fountain’ – she looked at her watch – ‘say, half-past eleven? Will that give you enough time to poke around some dusty old bookshop?’

‘That would be perfect,’ June said, delighted. It would be fun to go to both bookshops and have a browse. She wondered if she would be able to tell which owner was which.

The snow was already beginning to melt and June wished she wasn’t wearing her beautiful new boots. They’d be ruined through all this slush. Then she smiled. They were made for that exact purpose. She’d give them a good clean and drying-out when she got home.

Home. Dr Barnado’s. Who would have thought it?

She crossed the road, narrowly avoiding a car coming at a pace along the slushy high street. Further along, the damage the Luftwaffe had done on their air raids made her sick to her stomach again. A whole row of terraced houses had been turned into a mountain of rubble – except for the end one, which didn’t look as though it had acquired even a bruise. Horses towing carts carrying the remnants of people’s homes patiently picked their way through the debris. Several shops had their windows boarded up but most of them had a notice on the door saying: ‘Open for business as usual’.

‘Usual’. June grimaced as she slowly walked along the pavement wondering how people could manage to run a business in such chaos.

The first bookshop she came to was simply called Brown’s Books. She opened the door and from somewhere within a bell clanged.

An RAF officer, his back towards her, was talking to an older man behind the counter.

‘We don’t keep maps any more since the war started,’ the bookseller was saying. ‘You ought to know more than most they could end up in the wrong hands.’ June saw him glare at the man in the blue coat, who turned at June’s approach. She gave a start.

The officer smiled and removed his peaked cap, then his blue eyes sparked with recognition. He beamed at her, showing strong, creamy-white teeth. She hadn’t been able to see his hair before. It was tawny-coloured.

‘Well, if it isn’t the independent miss who wouldn’t let me give her a hand with her luggage,’ he said, smiling.

June flushed. ‘I really didn’t mean to be rude but I was trying to …’ she trailed off, wishing her heart would stop pumping in her ears.

He chuckled. ‘It’s all right. I forgave you straightaway when I looked into those green eyes of yours.’ June felt her face go even redder.

‘Looking for anything in particular, Miss?’ The man behind the counter tipped his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

‘Not really,’ June said. ‘Do you mind if I just have a browse and maybe I’ll see something?’

‘You go right ahead, Miss.’

‘What sort of books do you read?’ The officer made the question sound as though her answer was important to him.

His eyes were even more blue than she remembered.

‘Oh, whatever I can get hold of,’ June said, a little disconcerted. What a stupid answer. He would think she had no taste. ‘I enjoyed Monica Dickens’ book Mariana, and I tried to get her previous one from the library but they didn’t have it.’ It sounded just as feeble.

‘That’d be One Pair of Hands ,’ the bookseller put in. ‘I should have a copy somewhere. One of my regulars brought it in a few weeks ago. Let me have a look.’

He tottered from behind the counter. ‘I think I’ll need those steps.’

‘Allow me, Mr Brown.’ The officer set them beneath the overladen shelves.

Mr Brown was up the ladder in a flash. ‘Ah.’ He triumphantly pulled out a book and clutched it with one hand as he backed down the steps. ‘You can have this for one-and-six, seeing’s how the jacket’s torn a bit.’

He made to hand it to her but the younger man was too quick for him. Forehead creased as though he was inspecting a valuable document, the officer flicked through the book, bending back some of the corners on the pages that had been turned down. ‘What about a shilling from the young lady?’ he asked Mr Brown, then looked up and sent June a wink and a smile.

Put out somewhat by his flirtatious manner, she frowned, which caused his smile to widen even further.

‘Seems fair to me when several pages are quite grubby and creased,’ he added, then handed the book to June, who removed her gloves and leafed through a few pages. The book was actually in a very respectable condition, she thought.

‘I’ll take it if a shilling is acceptable,’ June said, wanting to escape as quickly as she could.

Mr Brown frowned. He looked at the officer, then nodded. ‘All right, then. This young man here has twisted my arm. It’s yours. Shall I wrap it?’

‘No, don’t bother. It doesn’t look like rain.’

‘More snow, more like,’ Mr Brown said with a grimace.

The officer reached in his pocket and brought out a ten-shilling note. ‘As we’ve already met, I’d like to buy it for you, if I may – as a small gift.’

This was a pick-up, no doubt about it. June shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I would prefer to pay for the book myself.’ Her voice was sharper than she’d intended.