Tara Read Online Free PDF Page B

father had never shown any interest in her hobby. More than once he'd swept her bits and pieces off the table and told her to do something useful, like getting the coal in or making him a sandwich. Harry and George both loved clothes and they applauded Anne's talented attempts at dressing her doll.
    'Your mum used to make fabulous frocks back before you was born,' George told her. 'I remember seein' her standing in the window of Modern Modes up in Aldgate, just after the War ended. She was only about sixteen then, as pretty as a flower, dressing a dummy. It was a red evening dress, all beads and stuff; she told me that she was the one who did all the fancy work.'
    'Yeah, she used to do it at home, too,' Harry chimed in. 'I went to see her one day when your Dad was in nick. She was sewing hundreds of sparkly things on to this frock. I never saw anything so lovely.'
    Anne knew that her mother was a first-class needlewoman; Amy often told her stories about her days in the workshop. But until now Anne had never considered that she herself could actually make a career out of doing something she loved.
    'How do you get to be a designer?' she asked Harry.
    'Dunno' exactly.' He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling at her. 'I guess you go to art college, or maybe get an apprenticeship wiv one of the top shops. Just you keep on drawing and sewing, Anne, and remember to think big.'
    George and Harry thought big about everything. They weren't scared to branch out with new lines on the market stall, they loved challenges, deals and living a bit close to the edge. Life to them was a series of poker games. Some they won, some they lost, but skill and keeping their cool kept the odds more often than not in their favour.
    But now this mysterious phone call in the middle of the night reminded Anne her new-found happiness could only be precarious while her father was still out there.
    'Was it about Mum?' Anne came out of her door and switched on the landing light as she heard George coming back up the stairs.
    George looked at the Anne and a lump came to his throat. Mostly he saw her as a young woman because of her practical nature, her adult poise, but now with her face rosy from sleep, hair tousled, she was a small child.
    'No, it ain't yer mum.' He tried to sound light-hearted and hide his rising panic. 'Just a problem down at the warehouse. I've got to go there now.'
    'What's happened?' Anne could see tension in George's face and she knew he was hiding something. 'Who telephoned?'
    'Now, now,' George turned her back towards her bedroom. 'It's nothin' serious, just a few louts making a bit of mischief, I expect.'
    'Is it Dad?'
    George's stomach heaved. Anne was perched on her bed now, eyes like two big toffees. Although he didn't like to lie to her, he knew this time he must.
    ' 'Course not.' He forced himself to laugh. 'Now back to sleep,' Arry's here to look after you, and I'll be back in two shakes.'
    Anne did as she was told but she still pricked up her ears when George came out of his room again dressed. As she expected, he went straight to up to Harry's room on the next floor. Unable to hear anything more than a low rumble of voices, she got out of bed again. Sound carried easily in the tall, thin house and, with Harry's door open, George's voice drifted down the narrow stairs.
    'Stay in the lounge,' she heard him say. 'It could be a trick to get us out of the house. Keep your eyes and ears open!'
    Anne peeped round the door as the two men went downstairs. George led the way, rotund in his sheepskin coat and a woolly hat. Harry had pulled on jeans; his shirt was in his right hand. But as he reached the turn of the stairs she saw something was concealed beneath the shirt, something long and thin.
    A shiver went down her spine. She knew that shape could only be a shotgun!
    She wasn't exactly surprised to find George and Harry owning such a thing, they were ten-a-penny round the East End. But the fact Harry was arming himself with it meant he