Kay Brellend - Rosie’s War

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Copyright © Kay Brellend 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016

Photography by Henry Steadman

Other cover photographs © Alamy (children); Shutterstock.com(street scene)

Kay Brellend asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of 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: 9780007575305

Ebook Edition © January 2016 ISBN: 9780007575312

Version: 2015-11-03

This book is dedicated to all the unsung heroes who served in the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service (LAAS) during the Second World War.

Equally for the volunteers who served in other cities during the conflict.

Not forgotten.

Also, for Mum and Dad.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Kay Brellend

Keep Reading

About the Publisher

‘My mum died young so I’m a bit worried … in case I’ve got the same disease.’ The young woman sat down on the edge of the hard-backed chair. ‘Mum was only thirty-three when she passed away.’

‘You look a lot younger than that and as fit as a fiddle, my dear.’ The doctor raised his wiry grey eyebrows, peering over his spectacles at the exceptionally pretty young woman settling a handbag on her lap. Her platinum hair was in crisp waves and her sea-blue eyes were bright with nervousness. She was nicely dressed and he guessed she had a good job keeping her in such style. He was more used to seeing women with careworn faces, and toddlers on their scruffy skirts, perching nervously at the other side of his desk.

Rosie Gardiner wasn’t sure whether Dr Vernon’s casual dismissal of her concerns had cheered her or left her feeling more anxious. She’d not yet turned twenty and had a healthy glow from a brisk walk on a blustery autumn day. Or the flush could be a fever. In Rosie’s opinion the least he could do was stick a thermometer in her mouth to check her temperature instead of just sitting there tapping his pen on a blotter. Feeling exasperated by his silence she added, ‘It’s hard dragging myself out of bed some mornings. Then I spend an hour bending over the privy out back being sick. It’s not like me to feel too rough to go to work ’cos I like my job at the Windmill Theatre.’

‘Mmm …’ Dr Vernon cast a glance at the young woman’s bare fingers. In wartime women sometimes pawned their jewellery to buy essentials. An absence of an engagement ring didn’t necessarily mean that the lass hadn’t given her fiancé a passionate send-off to the front line, getting herself into trouble in the process.

‘Putting on weight?’ Dr Vernon asked.

‘Not really … no appetite … so I don’t eat much.’

‘Monthlies on time?’

Rosie blushed, wondering why he was asking personal questions like that when she was frantically worried she had the cancer that had put her mother in an early grave. Prudence Gardiner had seemed to be recovering from an operation to remove a tumour but then pleurisy had finished her off. But Rosie had only spotted a little bit of blood instead of proper monthlies.

‘You look to be blooming, my dear … might you be pregnant?’

‘No … I might not!’ Rosie spluttered. ‘I’m not married or even got a sweetheart. I’ve never even wanted to …’

‘Right … I’d better examine you then if there have been no intimate relations to cause trouble.’ Dr Vernon got up from his chair, gesturing for Rosie to stand also. ‘Abdominal fullness, you say, with sickness …’ The muttered comment emerged as he got into position to prod at her with his fingers.

Rosie stayed in her chair, the colour in her complexion fading away. Intimate relations … The phrase hammered in her head and she felt stupid for not having made the connection herself about why her body seemed horribly different. But there had been nothing intimate about that one brutal encounter with a man she’d despised.Rosie’s mind wanted to flinch from the memory but she forced herself to concentrate on the man who’d attacked her all those months ago. Lenny and his father had been her dad’s associates. They’d worked together churning out bottles of rotgut, much to Rosie’s disgust. But what had disgusted her even more was Lenny’s attention. She’d made it plain she’d no intention of going out with him but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. They’d attended the same school, their fathers were friends and Lenny thought that gave him the right to pester her for dates and then call her names when she turned him down. Rosie had hated her father getting involved in crime and had nagged him to break up his illegal booze racket but she hadn’t let on that his association with Lenny was a prime reason for her wanting him to go straight. At that time, she’d been a proud independent woman: a Windmill Girl, and Windmill Girls were able to look after themselves, whether fending off catty theatre colleagues, or randy servicemen lying in wait at the stage door. With youthful arrogance she’d believed she could deal with Lenny herself.

Then one night Rosie had met him by chance in the East End when she was feeling a bit the worse for wear. She’d discovered in just a few vicious minutes that she wasn’t as sassy as she’d thought; she certainly hadn’t been as strong as Lenny, though she’d fought like a maniac to try and stop him.

‘Ah …’ Dr Vernon had seen her stricken look and turned back towards his desk. ‘You’ve remembered an incident, have you, and think there might be reason to count the months after all?’