She waited for a few minutes but there was no sound from upstairs except a bark or two from Rusty wanting to be let out of her bedroom. She’d better go and see if her mother was all right.
Ronnie ran up the stairs but no one was in the bathroom. She knocked on her mother’s bedroom door.
‘Entre.’
Simone was brushing her hair at the dressing table mirror.
‘Did the cocoa leave a burn mark, Maman?’
Simone turned and pulled up her nightdress, showing her shapely legs.
Ronnie stepped closer and saw a red blotch on top of her mother’s right thigh. She pushed down the spike of guilt.
‘I really am sorry, Maman, but at least it hasn’t blistered so I think you caught it in time.’
Her mother rose from the stool.
‘I am going to bed,’ she said coolly. ‘I am not at all well. You will come and see me in the morning with some tea in a cup with a matching saucer.’
Oh, dear. If her mother was being this difficult over a minor accident, she wasn’t going to be in the right mood to talk about working on a canal boat. But at least it had taken Maman’s mind off Joan Crawford’s extravagant outfits that Ronnie couldn’t for the life of her bring even one to mind.
She set her jaw. Whatever Maman said, she was determined she was going to join the canal company. But how to find out about it. Who to write to. That was the problem.
It was only the next morning when Ronnie took Rusty for a walk that she thought of looking in the library for information. She made her way to the one in the village but all they had were leaflets advertising the military forces for men and women. And that was something she definitely didn’t want to do. Like her sisters, she knew she’d hate all that marching and saluting and being shouted at. But Miss Jones, the elderly spinster on the counter, didn’t know anything about working on the Grand Union Canal.
‘Bromley library might be able to help you, dear,’ she said, looking forlorn. ‘Oh, I do dislike it if I can’t be of any help.’
‘I’ll try there … and thank you. You have been a help.’
‘We’re going to get my bicycle, Rusty,’ she told the dog, who gave her a bark of what she fondly decided was wholehearted agreement. He’d turned out to be the sweetest, most intelligent animal. When Ronnie had rescued him he’d been a pitiful creature, his ribs sticking through his mangy coat, shaking with terror in the kind ARP warden’s arms. As soon as Ronnie had taken him she’d named him Rusty for his tan-coloured but filthy ears and a few brown spots on his equally dirty coat. When Maman had set eyes on him she’d had a fit and said Ronnie had to put a notice up in the village shop to say he’d been found. No one had claimed him and somehow he’d worked his doggie way into … well, Ronnie wouldn’t go so far as to say into Maman’s heart, but at least her mother now seemed to tolerate him.
Hoping her mother wouldn’t be home and demand to know where she was going, Ronnie sneaked into the shed and wheeled out the heavy old bicycle. She picked up the dog and set him in the shopping-sized wicker basket at the front.
‘You only just fit in now you’ve put on some weight,’ she said, laughing at him, his body squashed, his tongue hanging out with pure joy that he was off on an adventure with his mistress. ‘We’re going to Bromley library, Rusty. Their library might have some more government leaflets.’
But the elderly volunteer at the counter didn’t seem to know what she was talking about either.
‘I’ll ask the librarian for you,’ she said, her whisper almost a hiss through her buck teeth as she bent her grey head towards Ronnie.
With all the notices around warning, ‘Strictly no talking’, Ronnie could see the woman took her position as library helper very seriously. She managed to suppress a giggle.
‘Miss Lidbetter will know. Wait here, dear. I won’t be a moment.’
Several minutes later Ronnie was losing patience. But the helper was back with a short stocky woman, her greying auburn hair pinned into a bun – presumably it was Miss Lidbetter.
‘Good morning, dear. Miss Ball tells me you are asking for information on girls working on the canals.’
Ronnie surreptitiously glanced behind her, sure that Maman would spring out of the shadows and confront her.
‘Yes, I saw a news clip at the cinema yesterday evening,’ she said. ‘It was about girls like me taking cargo from London to Birmingham and back again. I’d like to apply but they didn’t say how to do it.’
‘I wouldn’t think you were old enough to take part in something like that,’ Miss Lidbetter said, studying Ronnie intently.
‘I’m seventeen,’ Ronnie said, crossing her fingers behind her back, ‘and the man on Pathé News said some of the girls were my age.’
‘Hmm.’ Miss Lidbetter pursed her plump lips. ‘What do your parents say about this?’
What would Dad have said? She had no idea. But she knew exactly what to expect from Maman.
‘Oh, they know I’m looking into it, but there’s nothing definite yet,’ Ronnie said, squeezing her fingers more tightly together.
Miss Lidbetter sighed. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in your writing to them,’ she said eventually. ‘Then it will be down to your parents as to whether they give their permission.’
Ronnie sent what she hoped was a sweet smile in Miss Lidbetter’s direction. She tapped her foot while the librarian took her time rifling through a box of cards and finally pulled one out. She peered at it, then looked at Ronnie over the top of her glasses.
‘I believe you need to write to the Ministry of War Transport, dear. Would you like me to jot down the address?’
‘Oh, that would
