Page 11 of The London Girls
Ava just shrugged. ‘Nonsense. I’ll refuse to take my coat or shoes off, that’ll add a few pounds, and I can always put some rocks in my pockets. Trust me, it won’t be the first time I’ve had to do something like that.’
By the time their drinks arrived they were all laughing, imagining Ava with her pockets full of rocks as she stood on the scales. Olivia barely knew her, yet she had a feeling she wasn’t joking about the lengths she’d go to when she set her mind to something.
‘We’re going to have the best of times, girls,’ Ava said, leaning in towards them. ‘Doesn’t it seem so much more exciting than sitting in an office, typing all day?’
Olivia grinned at Florence, buoyed by Ava’s confidence. It was most definitely rubbing off on her, and deep down she knew that her motorcycle-riding skills should make her suitable. If she could tear around on the grass after her brothers and keep up, then surely she could deliver messages by road?
‘Do you think we’d be riding at night?’ Florence asked.
‘I’d say we’ll be riding whenever they need us,’ Ava said. ‘Imagine the adrenaline, racing around in the dark!’
‘Perhaps we’ll be divided into shifts,’ Olivia said. ‘I’d say they’ll need us all the time.’
She and Florence both squeezed Ava’s hands back when she reached for them, before they all took another gulp of champagne. Olivia was still excited, but thinking about what they might be signing up for ... She sipped her drink again. It was certainly daunting.
‘To the best damn motorcycle-dispatch-riders-to-be in London!’ Ava announced. ‘Just imagine what we’re going to bedoing for the war effort. This is our chance to have the adventure of a lifetime.’
Olivia clinked her glass first with Ava’s and then Florence’s, wishing she shared some of her new friend’s confidence. But Ava wasn’t wrong; she bet theywouldhave a fabulous time together, and they would be doing something incredible for the war effort.
If we get the chance.
CHAPTER THREE
FLORENCE
‘Here, have some toast, and I still have some of your favourite marmalade left if you’d like some?’
Florence smiled at her grandma and sat down at the kitchen table. Sun pooled on the wooden top, and she reached out to touch a sprig of fresh flowers sitting in a glass jar. ‘Thanks, Grandma. I’d love that.’
She’d learned not to protest when her grandmother offered her something special; it was her way of looking after Florence, trying to feed her and lavish love on her as if it might somehow heal her broken heart. Florence looked up as her grandmother set a plate in front of her, then took one of the pieces of toast and pushed the plate away.
‘I’ll only eat it if you have half,’ she said. ‘I know it’s your favourite, so you can’t say no.’
Her grandmother threw her hands in the air but eventually took the toast, and they both sat back, eating slowly, enjoying the last of the tangy marmalade. They wouldn’t have nearly enough sugar to make it this year, so it was going to be a lot more tart than usual, even if they saved up the rest of their ration from now until next summer.
‘You know, I rode a motorcycle once,’ her grandmother said. ‘I went out with a young man and he put me on the back of one. My mother forbade me from ever seeing him again once she found out!’
They both laughed at the thought, and Florence had the overwhelming sensation of wanting to wrap her arms around her grandma to keep her safe. She was a spritely old thing, whippet-thin and with a strength that often surprised her, but she was Florence’s only remaining family member and that made her determined to protect her.
‘Your mother on the other hand, she’d be proud to see you on a motorcycle. She’d be cheering you on, I just know it.’
Florence wasn’t quite so convinced her mother would have been encouraging her, but it was a nice thought. She’d have done anything to feel her mother’s arms around her, to listen to her soft voice, feel her warm lips brush the top of her head as she passed her at the dinner table. If Florence shut her eyes, she could almost hear her voice, the way she’d sung softly under her breath as she listened to the radio in the kitchen; she could see the house she’d grown up in as if it still existed.
She quickly blinked, as if it might help to erase the memory. It never did, but for some reason she always tried.
‘Tell me about these other girls. Are they nice?’
Florence swallowed her toast, which had gone dry in her mouth as she’d lost herself in memories. ‘They’re lovely, although I’ve only met them once. Ava seems like she’s not scared of anything, and Olivia is confident too, but in her own way. They both seemed like a lot of fun.’
‘If you all make it through today, why don’t you ask them around for a cuppa? I’d love to meet them. There’s nothing I love more than company.’
Florence rose, taking the rest of her toast with her. ‘Thanks, Grandma, I will.’ She pressed a quick kiss to her grandmother’scheek, but as she was pulling away, strong fingers laced around her wrist, holding her in place.
‘Flo, are you all right, love?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m all right. It’s just ...’ Her voice trailed off and she couldn’t get the words out. ‘It never goes away, does it? Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday.’
Her grandmother’s fingers released her and she received a pat on the hand instead. ‘People tell us it’ll get easier, but it doesn’t. The only thing that we get better at is hiding our pain.’ She let out a sigh. ‘I never want to bring it up because I don’t want to upset you, but if you ever want to talk ...’
