Another face floats into his mind. Sophie. She’s nothing like Winny. Nothing like Winny at all. But, she makes him laugh with her odd, uptight ways. That only irritates her more. Which amuses him even more. It’s like being on a carousel. She keeps him on his toes.
He rubs his head. Why’d you have to go, Winny? And now there’s Sophie, and I just don’t know. I just don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He looks down at his sleeping daughter. I’m sorry Winny. I’m so sorry.
Chapter 28
Norwich, England – 27 April 1942
The sound took her by surprise. It’d been so quiet since August, almost like the war had decided to pass them by. Now, the roar of the plane, like a zipper through the sky, coming on suddenly, then, in an instant, so loud it’s shaking the bed. Her mirror falls off the wall over her dresser and crashes onto the Persian rug, imbedding slivers of glass into the faded tufts.
The siren screams awake, and another plane thunders over the house. Heading west. They’re ours. Something’s coming.
She drops her new Daphne du Maurier novel onto the bedcovers and jumps out of the bed. Throwing back the blackout curtain, she sees the sky ablaze with searchlights. The ack-ack guns come to life, throwing black flak into the moonlit sky. Then she sees them, the silhouettes like insects in the angry sky. Growing larger, louder. Then the whistling and the explosions as the bombs fall over the unsuspecting city.
‘Dottie!’ Stumbling over her discarded pumps, she pulls open her door. ‘Dottie!’
Dottie stands, pale and shaking in the doorway of the old nursery that she’d reclaimed as her bedroom the previous year. She hugs the struggling cat against her flannel nightgown. ‘Where’s Poppy?’
‘He has his Red Cross meeting tonight. He was meant to be back by ten. He’ll find a shelter, don’t worry.’
A bomb screams through the air nearby then goes silent. The sisters freeze. Then, an enormous explosion as the bomb ploughs into the back garden, shaking the house and blowing out the fanlight over the staircase. Glass showers the carpeted steps like silver confetti. A second bomb whistles through the air. A dull thud as it lands in the garden. Silence.
‘It didn’t explode, Ellie.’
Ellie grabs her sister’s arm. ‘Hurry, Dottie. We’ve got to get to the cellar.’
***
The sisters huddle together on one of the cots in the cellar. The cat is curled up beside them, seemingly oblivious to the devastation raining down on the city. The room is narrow, with a brick ceiling only just high enough for them to stand under. A faint mustiness sits in the cool, damp air, tinged with the tang of drying onions. Ellie draws the grey blanket around them, tugging the folds around their heads to muffle the cacophony of the aerial battles being waged overhead.
‘It’s dark, Ellie.’
Ellie squeezes her sister’s quivering body. ‘I know. But we can’t put on the light till this is over.’
‘I wish Poppy were here.’
‘He’ll be fine. He got through the last war in one piece, didn’t he? He’s indestructible.’
‘Do you suppose George is on one of the ack-ack guns tonight?’
‘I expect so. Helping at least. They won’t let him be a gunner because of his eye.’
‘How did he hurt his eye, Ellie? It doesn’t look any different from his good one.’
‘Conkers.’
‘What?’
‘He was playing conkers with Joey Fisher at school recess when he was nine. George’s conker was a six-er so he was pretty confident. But when it hit Joey’s conker it smashed apart and a long splinter flew into George’s eye. Nurse got the splinter out and wrapped a bandage around his head. The next day half his eye jelly had leaked out. They patched him up at the hospital but his eye was blind after that.’
‘Poor George.’
‘They found out Joey had baked his conker. It was hard as a rock.’
‘That’s cheating.’
‘People cheat sometimes, Dottie. They do it to get ahead, I suppose. Life isn’t always fair.’
‘You mean sometimes cheaters win?’
Ellie shrugs. ‘Sometimes they do.’
Dottie’s dark eyebrows draw together. ‘But isn’t winning what we’re meant to do?’
‘Yes, but … you shouldn’t be selfish about it. It’s not nice.’
‘Ellie? Do you think Mr Churchill cheats sometimes? To help us win?’
‘Oh, Dottie. I don’t know. Maybe. Winning the war is important. You don’t want that nasty awful Hitler over here, do you?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘So, there. Needs must.’
‘Like Milly’s mum and the beet juice lipstick.’
‘Milly’s mum didn’t steal the beet juice, did she, Dottie?’
‘I didn’t steal your lipstick that time! I don’t know how it got in my drawer. Honestly, Ellie. Maybe you put it there by accident. You’ve gotten all dreamy lately.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘You have.’
They fall silent as the bombs whistle and crash and the anti-aircraft guns shoot their flak into the sky. Dottie thrusts her hands over her ears. ‘I hate the whistling. I hate it.’
Ellie clutches the blanket under her chin. ‘Me too.’
‘I wish George were here.’
‘Why?’
Dottie leans her head on Ellie’s shoulder. ‘I’d feel safer. Like nothing could happen to us.’ She squints at Ellie through the cellar’s gloom. ‘Why didn’t he come here for Easter supper? He’s always come before. He didn’t even come to the Easter concert, and I really wanted him to hear ‘Clair de Lune’ I’ve been practising for months.’
Ellie chews her bottom lip. ‘Dottie, George and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.’
Dottie pulls away from her sister, the blanket dropping around their knees. ‘What? Why?’
‘It just wasn’t working out.’
‘But why?’
‘Dottie, sometimes people just … sometimes people just fall out of love.’
‘You don’t love George anymore?’
‘Of course I do, but just not that way. I met someone else, and I’ve fallen in love.’
‘You’ve fallen in love with someone else? Who?’
‘Thomas Parsons. You met him last summer.’
‘The one who went to Holkham with us last summer with his friend?’
‘Yes. That Thomas.’
Dottie winds the memory of the day at Holkham Beach through her mind. It had been so much fun. She peers over at her sister, at her hair glowing silver under a thin finger of moonlight that has slipped past the cellar window’s blackout fabric. She’d had George and Charlie all to herself that day at Holkham Beach because Ellie had gone off with Thomas. It had been wonderful.
‘How could you do that, Ellie? George’s only ever been lovely to all of us. You were supposed to get married. I was going to be the bridesmaid.’
‘You can’t help it when you fall in love. I loved George, but I wasn’t in love with him. I didn’t know that there was a difference until I met Thomas.’ Ellie grabs the blanket and pulls it up over their knees. ‘It just happened, Dottie. I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even want it to happen.’
‘So, stop it.’
‘I can’t. I don’t want to.’
‘Are you going to marry him?’
‘I don’t know.’
Dottie slaps the blanket. ‘But you’re engaged to George!’
‘We were never really engaged. We just assumed we’d get married someday. But he never asked me, Dottie. He never gave me a ring.’
Dottie reaches over and picks up the cat, nestling it against her. She pulls the blanket up over the cat, tucking it in like a swaddled baby. A soft purr wafts into the room, barely audible amongst the noise from the bombing assault outside.
‘Dottie, Thomas asked me to marry him last autumn.’
Dottie’s eyes widen. ‘He did?’
‘I said no.�
�� Ellie looks over at her sister who is clutching the cat against her chest like a doll. ‘I said no because I couldn’t bear leaving you and Poppy. That would be an awful thing for me to do. Imagine us never seeing each other ever again. I couldn’t do that to you and Poppy, not ever.’
‘I’d never forgive you if you went, Ellie.’
‘Don’t say things like that.’
‘I don’t care. I hate Thomas. I hope he dies.’
‘Stop it, Dottie. That’s no way to talk.’
The wooden stairs creak. The girls look up as their father steps down into the cellar.
‘Poppy!’ Dottie throws off the blanket and shoves the cat into Ellie’s arms. Running over to her father, she flings her arms around him. A cloud of silvery dust rises from his jacket. ‘Ellie’s broken up with George and she loves Thomas and I thought we were going to die!’
Henry coughs, his shoulders shaking as he gasps for breath. He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief and clears his throat. ‘Well, I can see you’re both in one piece.’
‘But, Poppy! What about George?’
Henry runs his hand over Dottie’s smooth brown hair. ‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.’
‘What?’
‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, pet. It’s not for us to interfere with Ellie’s romantic life. She’s a grown woman and she can make her own decisions. Now, let’s light a candle and play Whist.’
Chapter 29
Tippy’s Tickle – 16 September 2001
‘Daddy!’
Sam looks up from the wooden chair he’s sanding as his daughter runs over to him. She throws her arms around his neck, and he gives her a hug and a kiss on her cheek.
‘Hi, Becca-bug. What are you doing here?’
A young woman in a loose cotton dress printed with pink rosebuds follows the girl into the store and sets a small paper bag on the workbench. The scent of warm pastry and dates wafts into the room.
‘We’ve been helping Nanny make date squares,’ the woman says as she pulls her long, blond hair into a ponytail. ‘I think Becca ate half the filling before it made it into the squares, isn’t that right, honey?’
Becca reaches into the bag and lifts out a date square, the crumbly oat topping spilling out onto the planked floor as she bites into the treat. ‘They still taste good, Daddy,’ she says as she wipes the crumbs around her mouth.
The woman walks over to Sam and gives him a quick kiss on his lips. He pulls her closer and kisses her. Pulling away, she laughs and ruffles his hair. ‘You’d think we were just married.’
‘That’s wrong, Mommy,’ Becca says as she chews. ‘I’m eight, so you married Daddy before that.’
‘You’re right, Becca-bug.’ Sam reaches into the paper bag. ‘Daddy married Mommy ten years ago, then we moved to a big city called Boston. That’s where you were born.’
‘Why did we move here, Daddy?’
‘Well, because … Because …’ Sam looks at the woman and frowns. ‘What are you doing here, Winny?’
The woman laughs, the sound floating on the air like petals. ‘Of course I’m okay, silly. I’m healthy as a horse. In fact, I’m so hungry I could eat one.’ She plucks the date square from Sam’s hand and takes a big bite.
Becca giggles, her laughter as light as the trills of the puffins on the cliffs up the coast. ‘You can’t eat a horse, Mommy. That’s impossible.’
Sam presses his fingers into his forehead. ‘But, Becca and I came here after—’ He jerks his head around to his daughter. ‘You’re talking, Becca.’
Becca rolls her eyes behind her glasses. ‘Of course I’m talking, Daddy.”
‘You can hear me, sweetie?’
‘Daddy, you’re being very silly.’
A rap on the store door. It swings open, the rusty hinges protesting with a ragged squeak. ‘Sam? Ellie sent over some scones and blueberry jam for you since you missed breakfast.’
Sam looks over at the woman in the green velvet suit that looks like it has been dusted with a fine coating of sand. ‘Sophie?’
Sophie smiles at Winny and sets the basket of scones on the workbench beside the paper bag of date squares. ‘There you are, Becca. Did Florie give you those squares? Ellie was wondering what happened to them. We need them for her birthday party tonight. You might have to help me make some more.’
Becca claps her hands. ‘Oh good! I know how. I can make chocolate chip cookies too. Mama taught me.’
Sophie extends her hand to Winny. ‘You must be Winny. Ellie’s told me all about you. It’s nice to meet another cousin. I’ve got you and Emmett now, and Becca. Only a few days ago I thought I didn’t have any!’
Waving aside Sophie’s hand, Winny gives her a hug. ‘I was hoping to meet you, Sophie. It’s why I came.’ She smiles at Sam. ‘I have to go, now, darling.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘For a walk.’
‘A walk? Wait and I’ll come with you.’
‘No, not right now, darling.’ Kissing Becca on the top of her head, she heads to the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. ‘Why don’t you have one of those scones with Sophie? They smell delicious. Ellie makes the best on the island. Have them with some of Florie’s blueberry jam. That was my favourite.’
Sam opens his eyes. The room is heavy with the black night. He turns to look at the empty pillow on his right. Four years next May. An age and a moment.
Chapter 30
Norwich, England – 11 September 1942
Rampant Horse Street is a shadow of the bustling shopping street that had been part of the beating heart of Norwich just a few months ago, before the Baedeker air raids of the spring and summer. The elegant frontages of Bonds department store on the south side of the street and Curls on the north have been reduced to mounds of rubble and mangled iron, though Mr Bond has entrepreneurially set up shop in three damaged buses in the parking lot.
Ellie picks her way over the bomb-pitted roads and up Timberhill. She hesitates in front of the nondescript red-brick façade of The Gardeners Arms – known locally as The Murderers owing to the unfortunate death of a previous resident. Surely no one will know her in there. It was far enough away from the fire station and Mcklintock’s, in a part of town that she’d usually only hurry through to get to the bus station. The Murderers was known as a drinkers’ pub, and the newly arrived American soldiers and airmen had adopted it as their own. It wasn’t the kind of place she’d ever been, nor had ever been curious to enter. It wasn’t the kind of place she’d bump into George. Which made it perfect.
She pushes the door open and finds herself amongst a mass of broad, khaki-uniformed shoulders. She presses past the soldiers, who answer her apologies with offers of a drink, a dance, and less salubrious suggestions. She spies Thomas at a table hidden in a niche under a medieval brick arch. He waves at her and she pushes through the last phalanx of soldiers.
Thomas gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Good thing you made it when you did, m’love. I’ve had to buy six Yanks a round to keep them from chucking me off the table.’
Ellie lifts the strap of her satchel over her head and sits on the bench beside Thomas. ‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s been a madhouse at the fire station. They’ve been over at Magdalen Street knocking down the walls of the shops that were bombed last week. I’ve been back and forth all day with tea and sandwiches.’
Thomas pushes a glass across the table. ‘I gots you a gin and tonic. No ice though. The bartender looked at me like I’d asked for milk and cookies when I asked for ice.’
Ellie reaches for the glass and takes a sip. The tonic bubbles rasp down her throat. ‘Thank you, Thomas.’ Setting down the warm glass, she gazes into his grey eyes as he smiles.
‘How is it you get more lovely every time I sees you, Ellie Mae?’
‘Is everyone in Newfoundland as full of baloney as you are?’
Thomas chuckles. ‘Newfoundlanders are made of baloney. That doesn’t
mean that what I says isn’t true.’ He leans in and kisses her on the lips. A catcall from the bar. Ellie sits back against the brick wall, heat flashing into her cheeks.
‘We probably shouldn’t do that here.’
‘You’d be a test for the Angel Gabriel himself.’ Thomas reaches for his pint glass and takes a long draught of the dark ale. Setting down the glass, he looks at her, his eyes clouding. ‘There’s some news.’
‘News? What kind of news?’
Sitting back, Thomas examines Ellie’s face. ‘They’re movin’ us out.’
Ellie intakes a sharp breath. ‘They’re moving you out? Where?’
‘Don’t know. They won’t say.’
‘But, when? Not before Christmas, surely?’
Thomas reaches over and cups his hand over Ellie’s. ‘They’re sendin’ us down to London next week and shippin’ us to the show sometime in October, far as I knows.’
‘You’re leaving next week?’
‘Next Thursday. Ellie, m’love. It’s a war and I’m a soldier. It’s what I signed up to do.’
She pulls her hand away and folds her arms against her body. ‘Yes, of course.’ What had she thought? That nothing would change? That Thomas would be here, safely and happily in reach until this horrible war was over?
‘Ellie, marry me. Come down to London and marry me before I go. I loves you, maid. You know I loves you.’
Ellie stares at Thomas’s long, handsome face, at his grey eyes stormy with emotion. ‘Oh, Thomas. How can we? We haven’t time. We have to post the banns a month in advance.’
‘We don’t need to marry in a church.’
‘But I’m Catholic, Thomas.’
‘We can marry in a registry office and have a church weddin’ later. Here, or in Newfoundland. Wherever you like.’
‘Are you suggesting we … elope?’
‘Why not? We could go now. Tonight.’
Ellie shakes her head. ‘You have to apply for a wedding licence a month in advance, too. I … I’ve looked it up.’
‘You’ve looked it up?’ Thomas frowns. ‘For me or for George?’
‘For you. Of course, for you.’
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