Sure enough the door to the office hung drunkenly from its hinges and inside lived up to his worst expectations. Even the safe had been opened – presumably Joe had given them the necessary numbers. The bookshelf, with the piles of newspapers where the envelope had once been hidden, had been tipped face first onto the floor.
If Uncle Joe had told them the numbers to open the safe then surely he would have said the envelope was in the newspapers? Jack hadn’t been able to speak to his uncle or aunt since he’d been shot. He’d tried ringing a few times but the number was now disconnected. He could only think that his aunt had moved away. He had been reluctant to contact the police in case it drew attention to himself.
Today everything had changed. He no longer felt guilty about not passing on the incriminating list to the proper authorities. If they behaved like this then they were as bad as the fascists.
It took him a couple of hours to repair the damage. He dumped the old newspapers in the back of his car. Mrs B could use them to light the fires when winter came. Paper of any sort was going to be in short supply pretty soon.
He was disgusted to see that the petty cash tin had been emptied. This was another thing to go on the long list of complaints he intended to send to the Chief Constable of Essex. He knew exactly how much had been in the tin as Gladys kept impeccable records. He couldn’t prove one of the constables had filched it. No doubt he would be told that an opportunist could have stolen it. However, if they hadn’t left the safe door open then nobody else could have taken it. So whichever way you looked at it, they were culpable.
The door was fully functioning and he doubted Gladys would even notice what had happened. It certainly looked a lot tidier now the piles of newspapers had gone. Satisfied he’d done everything necessary, he locked the office and drove back to the farm.
He was just in time to pull on his overalls and go out and feed the pigs. From the sound of it Greg and Ellie were helping out with the milking.
*
Neil arrived the following day just as Mrs B was laying the table for the evening meal. Ellie rushed over and threw her arms around him.
‘Thank goodness you’re here, I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming after all.’
He returned her hug, lifting her off her feet as he’d always used to when she was little. ‘I would have stopped at a telephone box and given you a call if there was a problem. I had to wait until the chap who lent me this car got back. As Greg and Jack are here before me, does that mean I’m sharing with one of them?’
‘You’ve got George’s room. Everyone’s changed tonight, including Dad. I don’t suppose you noticed how smart I’m looking?’
‘I can’t remember the last time I saw your legs, little sister, but very pretty they are. You should wear a frock more often.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I take it that you and Greg are now officially going out together?’
‘I suppose we are. I don’t want to get engaged or anything like that, but if we’re still together after the war then I might well marry him.’
‘I should bloody well hope so. You can’t keep the poor chap hanging on for years…’
‘Don’t say that, Neil, I couldn’t bear to think it might continue for as long as the last one.’ She’d heard quite enough of this depressing talk. ‘As the weather is still so wonderful we’ve been eating outside. Dad and Jack set up one of the trestles that were used for the party. The vicar has lent us half a dozen old chairs from the village hall so we don’t have to keep carrying them in and out every night.’
She slipped her arm through his and led him out to join the others. Greg stood up to greet his friend but Jack just waved his glass of beer and Dad did the same. Mum, if ever she returned, would be horrified at how her high standards had slipped in her absence.
‘Welcome, son, there’s a bottle of beer in that bucket of water waiting for you.’
Neil removed his jacket and tie and hung them over the back of a chair. ‘I’ll wear something more practical to help out tomorrow, Dad.’ He gestured towards Greg. ‘The uniform might be smart but it’s too hot in this weather.’
‘Are you as bored in Wattisham as I am at Hornchurch?’ Neil asked Greg.
‘Certainly am. At the moment we can’t even do training flights for reconnaissance as the navigation system is being upgraded.’
‘Are you up to strength?’
‘Absolutely, what about you? I think fighter pilots are going to be in high demand when this lot gets going.’
*
The evening passed pleasantly enough but the men wanted to talk about the progress of the war – or lack of it. She didn’t want to hear about the U-boat going into a bay in Scotland and sinking one of their ships. She tried to change the subject by waving the War Emergency information and instruction booklet that had arrived that morning in the post.
After attempting to read them a few bits from it about identity labels, evacuation, and so on she was told to find herself a book if she was bored.
‘I’m going to help Mrs B with the chickens. We lost a duck last night to a fox and we want to make sure we get all the chickens in before it comes back again.’
Greg jumped up. ‘I’ll give you a hand. Are we going to try and catch the ducks and put them in the barn as well?’
Dad laughed. ‘Good luck with that, son, the pond’s four feet deep in the middle.’
‘I’m happy to sit
