Widows

As Dolly had pulled into the grounds at around 7 a.m., it occurred to her that Bella would probably only now be getting in from her job. She worked so hard, probably for very little, and yet she was one of the strongest people Dolly had met. Linda was no doubt probably still in bed — she never listened to Dolly’s advice. Now, as for Shirley... Dolly smiled. Shirley was starting to come round to her way of thinking.

After helping the children to make their beds, Dolly had gone to the nursery to help feed the babies. As she entered the room, she’d been stunned breathless at the sight of a baby boy lying in the cot she had donated from her own nursery. She knew that her things were here and was delighted that they were being used, but she still found it very upsetting. One of the nuns had handed Dolly a bottle of warm milk and then, without a word, left the room.

Dolly had walked slowly toward her son’s cot and looked down at the unwanted child using it now. The nametag on the cot read, ‘Ben.’

‘Hello, Ben,’ Dolly had whispered, and the baby stretched and opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. They looked at each other for a few moments, sizing each other up and deciding that they’d no doubt get on. Dolly’s heart had jumped between two distinct feelings: sorrow at how anyone could not want Ben, and pride at knowing that she’d have been an amazing mum. Dolly had fed many babies at the convent since the loss of her own son, but this was the first time she’d leaned down into the very cot bought by Harry all those years ago and lifted out a perfect, beautiful baby boy. He lay content in her arms and, in that moment, all of Dolly’s feelings of loss connected to the past — her own and Ben’s — disappeared, and she focused only on the here and now. ‘I’m Dolly,’ she’d said testing the milk’s temperature on her wrist, ‘and I’m going to give you your breakfast.’

With the potatoes peeled, cut and boiling in a huge pan of water, Dolly fried up the mince and vegetables, thickening it with Bisto gravy granules before putting the lot into a large oven tray. She then mashed the potatoes, layered them on top of the mince and put everything into the oven to finish and crisp.

Dolly grated an entire block of cheese as she looked out of the window at the children playing in the garden. Beyond the garden fence, an unmarked police car with two bored-looking surveillance officers inside watched the convent. ‘Keep watching, boys,’ Dolly whispered to herself as she grated the cheese. ‘Cos I’m gonna do this... and I’m gonna do it right under Resnick’s nose.’

When Dolly finally left the convent after lunch, she drove to Knightsbridge and parked in the customer car park at Harrods. Entering the building through the main doors, she walked through various departments before stopping to try on a hat. While she turned this way and that, she looked in the mirror to see how close the officer tailing her was. She calculated she just had time to make it out of the corner door, onto the busy street and then down into the tube station before he’d be able to figure out exactly which way she went.

Once in the station, she bought a newspaper and then crossed to the ticket office and bought a return ticket to Leicester Square. She watched the reflections of people behind her in the ticket kiosk glass, but couldn’t see the officer who had been following her in Harrods, although she was still wary. Any one of the sea of unknown faces could be another plain-clothes waiting to pick up her tail.

After getting off the train, Dolly zigzagged her way to the bank, changing direction numerous times along the way to be absolutely certain that she wasn’t still being followed. She had stopped outside the Army and Navy Store on the Strand and done some window-shopping, but was more interested in the reflections than the goods. Once she was sure she was safe, she headed to the bank. She needed to check out the ledgers to see if Bill Grant was ever mentioned and she also needed some more money for the girls.

Shirley’s mum Audrey was frozen stiff; her feet were numb and even her fur-lined boots didn’t help in this weather. She stamped her feet and blew into her mitten-gloved hands. The bitter cold had made for poor trade so far today and she’d not sold a thing since ten o’clock. Audrey could murder a coffee, but didn’t like to keep drinking as it made her want to pee, which meant asking ‘Mushroom Features’ on the next stall to take care of hers. That meant ten pence for him, and then she’d have a hard time explaining to the greengrocer why the takings were low against the produce sold.

She tried occupying herself with people-watching and soon spotted Tony Fisher pull up in a flash-looking motor. She knew Tony of old — his mother and her mother had worked together down Covent Garden Market, before it was all cleared out and moved to Nine Elms. Last Audrey heard, Tony’s mum had a job cleaning for a big firm at the Aldwych.