The Way Ahead
Page 29
‘Felicity?’
‘Yes, it’s a fact.’
‘You’re going to have a baby?’
‘Yes. You and me.’
‘Who said so?’
The doctor.’
‘What doctor?’
‘Our village doctor, a few days ago.’
‘How does he know?’
‘He’s a doctor. Tim, what’s up with you?’
‘I’m punch-drunk,’ said Tim.
‘In a celebratory way?’
‘Look, Puss, am I really going to be a dad?’
‘Yes, about January.’
‘And you’re going to be a mum?’
‘Yes, about the same time.’
‘Well, we did talk about it.’
‘We did more than that,’ said Felicity.
‘And you’re sure you can cope?’
‘We talked about that too.’
‘What a woman,’ said Tim.
‘Your kind, Tim?’
‘My kind, Puss.’
My dear Polly,
I expect the radio is keeping you up-to-date with events, and you won’t need any forbidden details from me about present operations. I can tell you French wine by the case has become available to Corps headquarters, but that Scotch seems to be in short supply. Enjoyed the sea trip only up to a point, and I’ll stick to the Thames in future, or just the bath. When you’ve seen one wave as high as a house, there’s a dread feeling you’re going to see a lot more. Everyone damned glad to get ashore. Had a rousing welcome from the Jerries, but nothing like their bombardments of our other war. Had a suspicion the RAF were giving their batteries a hard time.
Corps Commander jovial about progress, yours truly not so jovial. Someone’s made off with headquarters’ last bottle of Scotch, an unspeakable crime. On the unexpected side, had a report from our forward units that when several German prisoners were being escorted out of a certain village, two young French ladies threw stones at our men. It seemed that liberation didn’t count as much with these mademoiselles as the fact that they were engaged to two of our prisoners.
Thinking of you and the twins, thinking of joining you in our post-war garden and growing marrows. They’re big but friendly. We’re all overdue for a friendlier world, and I’ve a feeling the people who’ll need it most, eventually, will be Bertha and Fritz.
Have you heard from Tim? Let me know if you have. Kiss Gemma and James for me, and tell them I hope to be home for Christmas. All my love, Polly.
Ever yours
Boots
Christmas, thought Polly, Christmas? Not until then? Doesn’t he realize I’m getting older week by week? He’ll arrive on Christmas Eve, look at me, look at the twins and say, ‘Who’s the old lady, Santa Claus’s grandmother?’
An RAF truck pulled up outside a cottage in a small Wiltshire village. A pilot-officer, sitting beside the driver, jumped down and pulled two laden valises from the back of the truck.
‘Ciao,’ he said to the driver.
‘You’ll get arrested, sir, using that kind of language,’ said the driver. The truck moved off. The door of the cottage opened, and Annabelle, expecting the caller, showed herself.
‘Hooray,’ she said, and a smile lit up her face.
‘You look good to come home to,’ said Nick.
‘Give me the bad news first,’ said Annabelle.
‘No bad news, Annabelle, I’m promoted to training duties at Cranwell,’ said Nick.
‘That’s my best present ever,’ said Annabelle, ‘so drop those valises and let’s have a cuddle. Come on, don’t just stand there.’
The valises were still on the doorstep twenty minutes later. Annabelle and Nick were making up for lost time while their children were still at school. It was that kind of a cuddle.
Sammy, home from the office, was having a word with Susie.
‘Considering things are looking better, Susie, and considering there’s benefits to be had from a change of scenery—’
‘You’re after something I’m not going to agree with,’ said Susie.
‘Susie, have I ever—’
‘Yes, frequently,’ said Susie, ‘like cornering markets, consorting with spivs and giving me a Christmas present last year of a black nightie you could see through.’
‘Well, Susie, you’re still—’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Susie, ‘but see-through nighties aren’t for respectable wives and mothers, and your mum would faint if she saw me wearing it, and I’ll have you know I only ever wear it under protest.’
‘All the same, Susie, it shows you’ve still got a lot of Hollywood oomph,’ said Sammy.
‘My oomph is nothing to do with Hollywood,’ said Susie, ‘it was born and brought up in Walworth, which I’m proud of. Anyway, I’m nearly forty and you shouldn’t talk about me having – Sammy, have I really still got a lot?’
‘Yes, both of ’em,’ said Sammy.
‘Where’s my egg saucepan?’ said Susie.
‘No, listen, Susie, I’ve been thinking about you being a deserving woman, and seeing the war’s beginning to make Hitler cry his eyes out, I’m suggesting a holiday down in Cornwall as soon as Paula and Phoebe break up.’
‘Sammy, oh, yes,’ said Susie, delighted.
‘I happened to be conversing with me contractual friend, old Blenkinsop of the Air Ministry,’ said Sammy. ‘He’s got a large cottage by the coast of North Cornwall, and says he’d be pleasured to offer us use of it for two weeks. You, me, Paula, Phoebe, Daniel, and Jimmy and Bess, plus Chinese Lady and our stepdad. Plenty of room for nine of us, Blenkinsop said. We pick up Jimmy and Bess from Devon on our way, and at the end of the holiday, we bring ’em back here, which I think would be safe to do now, especially seeing Bess had been pointing out lately in her letters that Paula and Phoebe are permanent here. She wants to come home. The holiday would be a nice change, wouldn’t it, and I’d buy you a new bucket and spade.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice,’ said Susie, glowing. ‘But we can’t all drive there in the car.’
‘I’ll ask Daniel to go on the train with his grandparents and keep ’em company,’ said Sammy.
‘I’m sure he will,’ said Susie, ‘he’s a kind boy.’
Sammy coughed.
‘I know you’re his loving mum, Susie,’ he said, ‘but haven’t you noticed he’s been wearing long trousers for a few years, that he’s a working bloke and what you’d call a young man?’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Susie, ‘don’t one’s children grow up quick, Sammy?’
‘Patsy?’ Daniel was on the phone that evening.
‘This is you, Daniel?’ said Patsy.
‘I think so,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, I’m sure it is. How’s your good old Pa?’
‘Having a ball about Normandy,’ said Patsy, ‘and I’m fine myself, thanks. That’s in case you were going to ask.’
‘Granted,’ said Daniel.
‘What d’you mean, granted?’ asked Patsy.
‘Yes, I was going to ask,’ said Daniel.
‘I like you over the phone,’ said Patsy, ‘it does things to your baritone.’
‘Hope you like me off the phone,’ said Daniel. ‘Listen, we’re off to Cornwall for the last week in July and the first week in August. Dad’s got the use of a large cottage by the coast. Would your Pa let you come with us, and if he would, would you like to come?’
‘Gee whizz, I’m really invited?’ said Patsy.
‘I pointed out to Mum and Dad I’d be sorrowful if we left you behind,’ said Daniel. ‘It’ll be beaches and sand, buckets and spades, and swimsuits. Got a swimsuit?’
‘Daniel, no, I don’t go swimming here.’
‘Never mind, make do with your bra and knickers,’ said Daniel.
‘You’d like that, would you?’ said Patsy.
‘Well, I would,’ said Daniel, ‘but Grandma wouldn’t. She’d give you a talking-to.’
‘I’ll get fixed up,’ said Patsy, ‘I’m not going to miss out on
Cornwall.’ Her Pa had agreed to let problems rest, and to wait on the outcome of the Normandy campaign. ‘Daniel, it sounds great, and you’d really like me there with you?’
‘I’d miss you if you weren’t,’ said Daniel.
‘Daniel, do you like me a lot?’
‘A lot and some more,’ said Daniel. ‘Don’t you know that by now?’
‘Oh, I guess I just need telling,’ said Patsy, ‘and now that you have, do you know where I could buy a really sexy swimsuit, if clothes rationing hasn’t sunk them?’
‘I’ll ask my dad,’ said Daniel, ‘he’s tops in the rag trade, and knows where to find stuff that’s still floating.’
‘Would you do that for me, Daniel?’
‘Ask Dad about a sexy swimsuit? Yes, when my mum’s not listening,’ said Daniel. ‘Oh, and when can I come round and measure you?’
Patsy shrieked.
Her English fun guy was a hoot.
Mid-June
At various sites along the coast of Northern France, sites that had escaped Allied destruction, German scientists were just about ready to launch a deadly new weapon at London.
The flying bomb.
THE END
About the Author
Mary Jane Staples was born, bred and educated in Walworth, and is the author of many bestselling novels, including the ever-popular cockney sagas featuring the Adams family.
Also by Mary Jane Staples:
The Adams Books
Down Lambeth Way
Our Emily
King of Camberwell
On Mother Brown’s Doorstep
A Family Affair
Missing Person
Pride of Walworth
Echoes of Yesterday
The Young Ones
The Camberwell Raid
The Last Summer
The Family at War
Fire Over London
Churchill’s People
Bright Day, Dark Night
Tomorrow is Another Day
Year of Victory
The Homecoming
Sons and Daughters
Appointment at the Palace
Changing Times
Spreading Wings
Family Fortunes
A Girl Next Door
Ups and Downs
Out of the Shadows
A Sign of the Times
The Soldier’s Girl
Other titles in order of publication
Two for Three Farthings
The Lodger
Rising Summer
The Pearly Queen
Sergeant Joe
The Trap
The Ghost of Whitechapel
Escape to London
The Price of Freedom
A Wartime Marriage
Katernia’s Secret
The Summer Day is Done
The Longest Winter
Natasha’s Dream
Nurse Anna’s War
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THE WAY AHEAD
A CORGI BOOK: 9780552147859
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446488362
First publication in Great Britain
PRINTING HISTORY
Corgi edition published 2000
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Copyright © Mary Jane Staples 2000
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