Rosie Goes to War Read Online Free PDF Page A

waves a hand. ‘Well, I don’t care. Just don’t break nothing else, all right? We ain’t got much, and what we do have we can’t afford to replace.’
    I nod, my mind spinning. Any minute now, I’m thinking, any minute now, I’ll wake up.
    But apparently not yet.
    â€˜Leave your case by the stairs,’ says the girl, ‘and go on down the passage. The kitchen’s at the back. My sister’s got the kettle on. I’ll pin this up for now and sort it out tomorrow.’
    I take a deep breath, I still want to ask her where Gran is, but some instinct is telling me to shut up and do as I’m told. I leave her muttering by the front door.
    I stop in the doorway of the kitchen, which is exactly where Gran’s is. But instead of her fitted oak cupboards and fridge magnets, this room looks like something out of a museum. There’s no one around, although it’s obvious someone has been here recently. An ancient radio – huge, with a big dial on the front – is playing loudly. Rubbish music. The sort Gran likes. The sink is a big white thing, with a wooden draining board. The window over the sink is covered by another heavy curtain, leaving the room lit by a single light bulb, hanging from the centre of the ceiling. On one wall is an old water-heater, and there’s steaming water pouring from it into the sink. The place stinks of fish.
    Opposite the sink is the cooker. It’s cream enamel, with brass dials on the front. There’s a kettle on the hob – a bit like the one my parents use on camping holidays. In the middle of the room is a table covered by a heavy brown cloth. It’s a bit bigger than the one Gran has. On it is a salt and pepper set and a newspaper.
    I step inside, and nearly have another heart attack when the kettle begins to whistle. I walk over to the stove and try to work out how to turn it off. The dials won’t turn, and the shrill whistle gets louder.
    â€˜Have you seen her?’ The girl in the dressing gown asks me as she comes in. She shoves me out of the way, pushes one of the dials in, and turns it easily to the left. The whistle fades.
    I shake my head, but the girl has turned away, running over to the sink and turning off the stream of hot water just before it overflows. ‘Blinkin’ hell,’ she says, ‘I swear I’m going to swing for that girl one of these days.’ She raises her head. ‘MAY!’
    Whoa, turn the volume down. Seriously, you need ear defenders round here. The back door opens and a dark-haired girl comes in and slams it shut behind her. No! I don’t believe it! This is getting so weird. It’s the other girl from the mirror!
    â€˜All right, keep your hair on,’ she says. ‘I was only on the lav. Where’s the fire?’
    Dressing-gown girl glares at the dark-haired girl and reaches over to turn off the radio. For a moment there’s silence. I start to relax a bit then realise – hang on, what did she call her? May? That’s my gran’s name. I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It can’t be. In that case, the blonde girl is …
    â€˜You left the Ascot on, and the kettle. This place is like a bloomin’ steam bath. We could’ve had a flood if I hadn’t got here on time.’ She nods towards me. ‘She wasn’t much help. Stood there like a lemon, she did.’
    â€˜Nelly! You ain’t supposed to talk about people like that! What would Dad say?’
    â€˜Nelly?’ I say, but they ignore me.
    â€˜He’d say sort yourself out, May Blake, before you wreck the house. Now, are you making a cuppa, or what?’
    â€˜â€™Course I am. I wasn’t hiding, you know. I just needed a wee.’
    â€˜Well wash your hands before you touch my cup.’
    â€˜All right, don’t nag.’
    â€˜Someone’s got to.’
    I want to laugh. They sound just like Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor