SWEETIE!’ Frances knew very well that Paul Martin had seen her turn down into Court Road on her way to Powells’ shop but had pretended she hadn’t. Paul brought a flush to her face, though not such an intense flush as Deacon, the boy she had met when living with Ada Perkins in the Forest of Dean. She had turned fourteen, and having left school she was now too old to be evacuated under the children’s scheme, but she had promised herself to go back there for a visit and Uncle Stan said she could once he had enough petrol coupons. Frances slowed so Paul could catch up with her. ‘You coming to the Sunday School ramble? We’re walking to Lansdown.’ He sounded desperate for her to say yes. Frances kept her chin up and her eyes straight ahead. She considered herself too old to go on rambles with the Sunday School. ‘No. I don’t think so. It’s just for kids, isn’t it?’ Paul latched on to her mood and matched his own to suit. ‘Yeah. Just for kids. That’s why I’m not going either.’ Frances knew he was lying.
