Read Wives at War for Free Online Page A

your uncle.’
    The child nodded, and Kenny said, ‘Aunt Rosie’s my wife.’
    â€˜Uh-huh,’ April said.
    She squared herself on his lap, steadied herself with a hand on his arm and gave a comfortable little wriggle as if to say that she was prepared to let him amuse her and, if required, amuse him in turn.
    Kenny sighed.
    Uncle Kenny, not Inspector MacGregor.
    Babs, he realised, had effectively spiked his guns.
    *   *   *
    After ten it seemed that the city really came to life. Pubs emptied, buses and trams were packed and the streets bustled with wardens and special constables. It was ten thirty before Kenny reached Cowcaddens. Mr McVicar was already patrolling the pavement outside the tenement and a group of four or five elderly gentlemen from the neighbourhood, only two of them completely sober, were gathered in the close mouth, endeavouring to assemble a stirrup pump by the light of a hand torch. There had also been a delivery of sand that afternoon and two young women and a boy, armed with coal shovels, were filling fire buckets at the entrance to the backcourt.
    â€˜Have you seen Rosie?’ Kenny asked the warden.
    â€˜She’s fine,’ Mr McVicar replied. ‘Been home all evening.’
    â€˜I don’t care for the weather. It’s too clear for my liking.’
    â€˜Aye, one of these nights we’ll be in for a pasting.’
    â€˜No doubt about it,’ Kenny said, and wearily climbed the darkened stairs and let himself into the flat with his latchkey.
    To his surprise Rosie hadn’t waited up for him.
    A 40-watt bulb burned wanly above the kitchen table, spotlighting his supper: three slices of Spam, some diced carrots and two cold potatoes dribbled over with salad cream. He felt uncharacteristic annoyance then, but reminded himself that Rosie had also had a long day of it, patiently took off his coat, washed his hands, sat down at the table and, in a matter of minutes, finished his meagre supper. He took the plate to the sink and rinsed it under the tap, then, with a cup of Bantam coffee and a cigarette, seated himself at the table again and bleakly contemplated the blackout curtains.
    â€˜Aren’t you guh-going out tonight?’
    He hadn’t heard her enter the kitchen. She was so thin these days that she seemed to waft about the flat like a ghost. In lieu of a dressing gown she wore an old trench coat, pyjama legs flapping beneath the hem, and a pair of his old socks. Her hair was unwashed and she wore no make-up.
    He turned to face her. ‘No, I have to be up early tomorrow.’ She didn’t ask why he had to be up early. He lifted his cup. ‘Want some coffee?’
    â€˜Nuh.’ He glimpsed her breasts beneath the pyjama top before she tugged the lapels of the overcoat across her chest. ‘You didn’t go to Babs’s, did you?’
    â€˜Matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I did.’
    She hauled out a chair and seated herself at the table, facing him. ‘What happened?’ she said loudly. ‘Tell me.’
    â€˜There isn’t much to tell,’ said Kenny.
    â€˜Did you meet him?
    â€˜Yes. He is what he says he is, a photographer from New York.’
    â€˜Name, what is his name?’
    â€˜Cameron.’
    â€˜Is she sleeping with him?’
    â€˜I doubt it,’ Kenny said. ‘In fact, no.’ He repeated the word, shaping it emphatically. ‘ No , he is not sleeping with her.’
    Rosie threw herself back. ‘Nuh-not yet.’
    She folded her arms and seemed to be sulking. He longed to touch her but knew that she would only rebuff him.
    â€˜Nice chap. Christy. His first name’s Christy.’
    She frowned, and experimented. ‘Cuh … Cus…’
    â€˜Kuh-riss-tee.’
    â€˜Christy?’
    â€˜That’s it.’
    â€˜How old?’
    â€˜Thirty-five, thirty-six.’
    â€˜He spoke to you?’
    â€˜Yes, we had a long chat. Told