The Greatcoat Read Online Free PDF Page B

woman said with rough kindness, ‘He’s not a bad lad, but you want to keep your eyes open.’ Girls of twelve knew better than Isabel, when their mothers sent them out with a shopping basket and charge of the purse.
    But at the grocer’s she was safe. The grocer’s wife was a Lancashire woman, eager-tongued and playful, who missed the friendliness of her native county. She was wasted behind the counter, Isabel thought. She could turn a story better than any of the Home Service’s stiff raconteurs. It was a quiet day and Isabel gave her order lingeringly. She was the only customer in the shop.
    ‘The town must have been busy during the war, with the RAF.’
    ‘Oh, it was. The airmen all drank at the Red Dragon; it was like the Wild West on a Friday night, and then when they were on ops it was a graveyard. If a crew didn’t come back you’d know about it, someone would tell you. They would leave their things in their lockers, you know, before they flew, their private things, and sometimes they’d said beforehand which friend was to have this or that. Watches and suchlike went to the family. It wasn’t only the RAF either, there were Poles, Canadians, French and I don’t know what else besides. I had a bunch of New Zealanders in here one day, every one of them over six foot. All the girls were after them, but there was more babbies than wedding rings came out of it.’
    ‘And they were here for the duration?’
    ‘Until Hitler threw his cap in.’
    A strange excitement rose in Isabel. ‘Were there many raids on the town?’
    ‘
Your
house had a near miss. Didn’t you know that?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘If you look you can still see the crack in the side, even though it’s been filled in. Now then, the boy will be round with your order at six o’clock. He’s not been with us long and he’s as dim as a Toc H lamp, but he can find the minster, I should hope.’
    ‘My landlady never mentioned that the house had been damaged.’
    The grocer’s wife gave her a sharp look. ‘It was nothing to talk about, compared to what else went on. Besides, she wasn’t living there during the war. Not
living
, that’s to say … She was out at the farm then.’
    Isabel found she was leaning forward over the counter, like any gossiping woman. ‘I see,’ she breathed, willing the other to say more. The figure of the landlady hung in her mind, grey, taciturn, hostile. But perhaps she hadn’t always been so—
    The shop doorbell tinkled. Two women in battered tweed suits and hats entered, at their ease. Without breaking off their conversation they glanced around for service. Their gaze flicked over Isabel, as vague as it was imperious. No one would try to sell
them
a flabby herring. Instantly, the grocer’s wife was with them, inclining her head with a touch of obsequiousness that Isabel hadn’t seen in her before.
    ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Huntley-Winterton, Mrs Crosby. How can I help you?’
    Isabel was forgotten. She slipped past the women and out of the shop. For a while she walked briskly, as if she had something to do. The houses were packed close together in the narrow streets, and there, at the end, lay the looming bulk of the minster. If she had children, Isabel thought, this is what they would see when they opened their eyes. Kirby Minster would be their native place. But would they ever be at home here?
    That night she slept heavily, under the greatcoat. Somewhere in the depths of sleep she heard the phone ringing, and then felt the heave of the bedclothes as Philip snatched the receiver from its cradle. His voice came at her in waves and then cold air trickled over her body as he got out of bed.
    ‘Phil?’
    ‘Hush. Go back to sleep. I’ve got to go out to a delivery.’
    ‘D’you wan’ tea—’
    ‘Go back to sleep, Is.’ His hand was on the covers, pressing them down around her. He liked to think of her curled and warm while he drove out through the deserted town.
    It was the coat that pressed her down. She