by Carol Rivers
‘Jean, you’re always a breath of fresh air. And I should do what Dennis told me, count my blessings.’
‘That’s easier said than done when your whole life has been uprooted overnight.’
Molly felt a shudder inside her and at last the tears escaped from her eyes. She heard the laughter of the children playing in the front room and smiled despite her distress. ‘They sound happy enough,’ she mumbled, wiping her wet cheeks. ‘I should follow their example, big softie that I am.’
‘You spent all your life at the store,’ Jean commiserated, patting her arm. ‘And then you and Ted took over the business. No wonder you’re upset.’
Molly gulped down a sob. ‘It was just the shock of seeing—’
‘I know. Are you ready for another?’
Molly blew her nose and grinned. ‘After today, I hope it ain’t a bad one. I don’t want to end up bawling my eyes out.’
‘You might, it depends. Follow me.’
Molly heaved a sigh, her mind spinning around in a daze. What kind of home would she and the children be allowed? Would it be far from the East End? How would they settle in a new district? A new school? Did she have enough strength to make all these enormous changes and, most of all, see to it that Mark and Evie were happy? After all they had been through, the responsibility of their care now seemed even more daunting.
‘Right, here we are,’ Jean said, taking her hand and drawing her to the kitchen window. ‘There’s your surprise. I hope you like it.’
Molly blinked the wetness from her eyes. There were three figures standing in a group just beyond the patch of scrubby grass in the yard. Dennis was lighting the cigarettes of the other two, cupping the match in his hand. The tall, thin man with a short haircut, wearing a dark-blue uniform, bent towards his outstretched arm and sucked in a breath, causing a brief red glow at the end of the cigarette. Molly gasped in confusion. ‘Bruce?’ she murmured incredulously. ‘That’s Bruce Jefferson, isn’t it?’
Jean nodded, her red lipstick emphasizing her wide smile and twinkling eyes. ‘And of course, the man standing with his back to us is someone a little more familiar.’
Molly squinted her eyes, moving closer to the window. When the answer came to her, she felt as though she was dreaming, or perhaps it was the after-effects of seeing the ravaged store. ‘But it can’t be,’ she whispered, gripping the sink to steady herself. ‘It’s impossible!’
‘No,’ Jean said quietly, ‘not impossible.’
‘But the Avenge went down – Bruce said—’
‘It sank all right,’ interrupted Jean, sliding her arm around Molly’s waist. ‘But Andy survived and was washed up on the beach. He was picked up by German snipers who carted him all the way across the countryside as a prisoner of war. They were heading for Nancy, a town on the Siegfried Line, but unknown to them, the town was liberated. In September an American combat unit found them.’
Molly couldn’t take her eyes from the shape of the man she knew so well. Thinner and just a little stooped, Andy slowly moved to light his cigarette. Like Bruce he wore his naval uniform, and also like Bruce, his dark hair was cropped, though nothing could change the essence of the man she had fallen in love with and thought she had lost.
‘Simon and Susie have instructions to keep your two occupied for a bit. Give you a chance to—’ Jean began to laugh slowly. ‘Just look at you! Yes, it is him, love. It is your Andy. Now go on, get out of that kitchen door. And give him the homecoming he deserves.’
Molly felt Jean push her gently forward. Her legs were ready to fold at the knees and her heart – it might easily jump right out of her body if there wasn’t muscle and bone to prevent it. But when she took a step into the yard and Andy turned round to look at her, she had wings on her heels.
Wings that flew her into the arms of the man she loved and where home truly was. The only home she had ever really needed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was Christmas Day 1944, and Molly, dressed in a pale-lilac suit she had bought from the market, looked around the gaily furnished room that she and Cissy had decorated with the children last week. Chinese lanterns hung side by side with handmade paper chains; gold, red and green drapes bearing fiery dragons hung from the windows adorned with sprigs of holly, overlooking Narrow Street.
The Christmas tree, the first the children had ever enjoyed, was centre stage in the vast room, with presents wrapped beneath it for the after-dinner celebrations. Attempting one last addition to the green branches, Andy, his tall frame attired in a pressed white shirt and tie and casual dark trousers, tied a red ribbon to a small glass tree light. Beside him Mark, Evie and Harry, in their dressing gowns, pressed close to the gifts, eager to see inside. Nibbles sat watching, his nose wet and twitching, regarding the proceedings with a tolerant air.
‘What’s this one say, Dad?’ Mark asked his father. ‘Can’t read all them funny squiggles.’
Andy grinned as he ruffled his son’s thick dark hair. ‘You’ll have to ask Uncle Spot. Ain’t got me diploma in Chinese yet.’
‘Where’s mine, Dad?’ demanded Evie, pushing her brother aside and stabbing a finger into her father’s thigh. ‘What’s in that one?’
‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ Andy laughed, swinging her up in the air and back down again.
Harry lifted his arms and Andy repeated the movement, landing him carefully on his small feet. For a fraction of a second, Molly’s eyes travelled to meet the dark, glimmering gaze turned towards her. As usual, her heart raced and a wonderful feeling of closeness without words filled her. Her handsome, dark-haired Andy, and bright-eyed Mark and golden-haired Evie, her family, the people she loved most in all the world, here together at Christmas only six weeks after Andy had been repatriated.
Her own Christmas miracle. For who would have thought, that day when she had returned to discover the shop in ruins, that life could present her and the children with a gift far more precious than bricks and mortar?
The fact that they didn’t have a home, and had been staying with Cissy and Spot for the last few weeks, didn’t seem to be of any significance now. To have friends like Jean and Dennis who had looked after them all so well for the first fortnight after Andy’s return, and Cissy and Spot who had made them so welcome at the Narrow Street flat until the council found them a house, was more precious than gold. And though Molly missed the store and the rooms above, she had her memories to treasure.
It was, she understood, the presence of loved ones, healthy and happy, in her life, that brought completeness. She had said her goodbyes to Ted and Emily the day they left Roper Street, as nature must have intended.
And she had not looked back since. Why should she? The love that filled her would take her on to unknown horizons, something she had never had the courage for before. Her dad would be happy with Lyn, for he too had his family around him and was living the life he so richly deserved.
‘My old gran used to make a new lantern for every Christmas.’ Spot broke into her thoughts as he placed tiny lights on the expansive table, already laid with paper flowers that the children had made. Looking fitter than ever and sporting a multicoloured waistcoat and red bow tie, he continued, ‘Then she’d string them up at the Chinese New Year, sometime between January and February, and make us all duck and dumplings, like Cissy’s cooking today.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever tasted duck,’ Molly said, smiling. ‘It smells delicious.’
‘You don’t see ’em around much, but a cousin’s cousin managed to coax a couple into his garden.’ He looked at Molly with his crossed eyes and straight face. Suddenly they burst into laughter.
‘Oh, Spot, this is a wonderful Christmas!’
‘Course it is, your other half is home.’
‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘Here, have one of these to celebrate.’ He crooked his finger and led her over to the sideboard. An oriental jug and tiny glasses were placed on a gilded tin tray. ‘Knock it back slowly,’ he warned
.
Molly sipped and gasped. ‘What is it?’
‘Rice wine.’
‘Also made by your gran?’
Spot grinned. ‘How did you guess? Here, take a glass to the wandering hero and send the kids over to me. I’ve got a nice bottle of fizz in the kitchen for them.’
‘Tell Cissy I’ll be in to help her.’ Molly took the two glasses and walked slowly across the room.
‘Is that for me?’ Evie asked, licking her lips.
‘No, Curly Top, for your dad. There’s fizzy in the kitchen for you.’
In the blink of an eye the three children were gone and Molly gave Andy the miniature glass. ‘Happy Christmas, darling.’
He drew her close and whispered, ‘I love you.’ Kissing her softly, he raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s this you’re giving me?’
‘Spot says it’s his gran’s rice wine.’
Andy laughed, his white teeth gleaming in his lovely smile. ‘I know what to expect, then.’
They lifted their glass and drank, and Molly felt the world whirl around her. She was in the arms of the man she adored, and this strange and wonderful sort of Christmas made up of Cissy’s world, a mixture of cultures and colours and homespun hospitality, felt like heaven.
They kissed again, listening to the laughter echoing from the kitchen and drifting out onto Narrow Street through the open window.
Molly knew there would be many more Christmases ahead, full of the wonders of this new, brave world that was just around the corner. A war almost over, nations ready to pick up the pieces after the futility of conflict, returning the prospect of peace to all their lives once more.
And her family . . . the best Christmas gift of all.
Acknowledgements
As always, I’d like to thank Jo Dickinson and the team at Simon & Schuster, and my agent Judith Murdoch for their help and advice with Molly’s Christmas Orphans. During the writing of this saga I’ve listened to many people who have both sweet and sad memories of the 1940s. I marvel at the spirit, fortitude, and sacrifices of men, women and children who lived through the Second World War – which unbelievably, followed the First World War a mere twenty years later. But my deepest gratitude goes to those souls who lost their lives during the bloodshed, yet live on in our hearts and memories.
For more information on my books, newsletter and freebies, please go to www.carolrivers.com or join me on Facebook and Twitter where I love to hang out.
Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset. Visit www.carolrivers.com and follow her on Facebook and Twitter @carol_rivers
Also by Carol Rivers
Lizzie of Langley Street
Bella of Bow Street
Lily of Love Lane
Eve of the Isle
East End Angel
In the Bleak Midwinter
East End Jubilee (previously Rose of Ruby Street)
A Sister’s Shame
Cockney Orphan (previously Connie of Kettle Street)
A Wartime Christmas
Together for Christmas
The Fight for Lizzie Flowers
A Promise Between Friends
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2017
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Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2017
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Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-5487-4
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