Rosie’s War
A compelling wartime drama from the author of The Street, perfect for fans of Pam Weaver and Kitty Neale.Rosie Gardiner is having a tough war. She’s had to leave her job as a nude at the Windmill in Soho after a horrific assault which left her pregnant, and is now living back at home with her recently remarried dad. Despite her best efforts, Rosie and her dad just can’t get along and the strain of coping as a young unmarried mother is getting to her.As the Nazis strafe the city with V2 bombs, Rosie is determined to keep her head up through the Blitz but when a direct hit to her street cripples her father, it feels like the days have never been darker. With a final burst of resolution, John Gardiner decides to leave London to escape the bombardment and to Rosie’s mixed horror and relief, he takes her baby with him. Left alone in the East End, with the spectre of the man who assaulted her rearing his ugly head, Rosie decides to join the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service to keep her busy – and to give her hope in these tough times.
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Kay Brellend 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 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
Doctor’s Surgery, Shoreditch, October 1941
‘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.
