“Would you like some of my chocolate grandma?” I looked at Ben and smiled.
The last time I’d had a bar of chocolate must have been before the war started, before the rationing came and there was no time, or money for things like sweets.
I remember my mother staring at me in horror when Mr Greaves came to the door to tell her what I’d done.
“I really don’t know you Lucy”, she’d said.
And I, shame-faced, had fiddled with one end of my hair, eyes filling with tears.
She’d handed over the money and pushed me forward to apologise. “Go on Lucy, apologise for what you’ve done; and Mr Greaves, if she’s ever in your shop again, you send her home immediately”.
There was no smack, not like some of the other kids would have had, rather the feeling that somehow I would never be quite good enough again. Her punishments had always been on the lenient side, according to Father, but they were effective.
“I’m very sorry Mr Greaves, it won’t happen again, promise”. I remember my voice was wavering, the words stuck in my throat as they fought with my breath to make it to the surface first.
He smiled back at me, I think he realised that essentially I was OK. “I’m sure it won’t Lucy”.
When mother closed the door firmly I knew it was time to head to bed. She looked at me and said quietly “did you enjoy the chocolate?”
The truth was I didn’t, and I’ve not touched a piece since.
“Thank you for offering Ben, but I don’t really like it so you enjoy it yourself”. He smiled back at me and stuffed the first piece in his mouth.