‘I mean if Thomas—’
Ellie’s eyes widen and she clutches at her belly. ‘Oh, my word.’ She pants through the pain. ‘Tell the midwife the contractions have started. Hurry, Dottie.’
***
George skirts the bicycle around an enormous pothole in the road outside St Bartholomew’s School and brakes beside a telegraph boy on his black Post Office bike who is squinting at the headmaster’s house behind the gate.
‘Are you looking for the Burgesses?’ he asks as he parks the bike by the flint wall.
The boy’s pillboxed head shakes. ‘No, M-M-Mrs P-P-Parsons.’ He peers at the front of the telegram. ‘Mrs T-Thomas P-P-Parsons.’ He glances up at George. ‘It’s from the W-War Office. I h-hate these ones.’
‘I’m going in there now. I can give it to her.’
‘I-I’m supposed to w-wait for a r-r-reply.’
‘Why don’t you wait here by the gate, and I can let you know if there’s a reply?’
The boy’s pale face, coloured with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, floods with relief. He thrusts the telegram at George. ‘T-thank you.’
George takes the telegram and heads through the gate. Ignoring the broken doorbell, he knocks on the door and reads the address as he waits. Mrs Thomas Parsons. How did that happen? How did he ever let that happen? He’d always thought he and Ellie would be together, forever. He sighs and slips the telegram into his pocket. The War Office. My poor Ellie.
The door swings open. ‘George!’ Dottie throws her arms around George’s neck and hugs him. ‘You arrived fast! It’s a boy!’
George disentangles himself. ‘That’s wonderful, Dottie. How are they? How’s Ellie?’
‘They’re all fine. Nurse Blackmore said she’d never seen a firstborn in such a hurry to be born. He’s a tiny little thing. She had to give him a really good spanking to get him to cry.’ Dottie purses her lips. ‘Ellie’s called the baby Emmett Thomas. What kind of a name is Emmett?’
‘Emmett? That’s a perfectly nice name. It’s my middle name, after Joseph.’ Flipping open the flap of his satchel, he takes out a box of Mcklintock’s chocolates. ‘Give these to Ellie for me, would you, Dottie?’
Dottie takes the chocolates and grabs George’s hand, tugging him across the polished brass threshold. ‘Why don’t you come in, George? I’ll make some tea. Ellie and the baby are asleep but Poppy’s out in the garden. I’ll call him in.’
‘No, don’t disturb him. I just wanted to come by and give my regards. Make sure everyone was all right.’ He reaches into his pocket. ‘I bumped into the telegraph boy at the gate.’ He hands Dottie the envelope. ‘He’s waiting for an answer. It’s from the War Office.’
Dottie looks up at George. ‘Thomas?’
George nods. ‘I believe so. You might want to give it to your father.’
Dottie tears the telegram out of the envelope.
PRIORITY MRS T A PARSONS
THE WAR OFFICE REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND CORP THOMAS AUGUSTUS PARSONS HAS BEEN REPORTED WOUNDED AND HAS BEEN TAKEN AS A PRISONER OF WAR – LETTER TO FOLLOW
‘Wounded? He’s wounded? I thought he’d be d—’ Dottie bites her lip.
‘Dottie!’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’
George shakes his head. ‘Poor chap. I hope they’re decent to him.’
‘Oh, George. I hate what Ellie did to you. She’s just awful to have thrown you over for …’ Dottie spits out the name like a sour lemon pip ‘… that Thomas.’
‘She was free to make her own choice, Dottie. The best man won.’
‘The best man didn’t win at all. She never appreciated you. I appreciate you.’ Dottie loops her hands around George’s neck and presses an impassioned kiss on his lips.
Grabbing her arms, George pushes her away. ‘Dottie! Good grief. You’re a child!’
‘I’m almost sixteen, George. I’m old enough.’
‘Good Lord, Dottie.’ Spinning around, he rushes out of the door and down the path. The telegraph boy is waiting by the gate. George shakes his head as he grabs the handlebars of his bicycle.
‘No reply.’
Chapter 47
Tippy’s Tickle – 17 September 2001
Sophie pushes open the screen door to Kittiwake. Three heads turn in her direction.
She looks over at the tearful girl. ‘How’s Becca?’
Sam brushes his hand over Becca’s blonde head. Her face is flushed pink and fine threads of her pale hair stick to her damp face. ‘She’s fine.’
Ellie rises from the table and turns on the burner under the kettle. ‘Tea?’
Sophie nods and sits in a wooden chair opposite Sam and Becca.
A silence settles over the room, broken only by Ellie’s shuffling and the clink of china as she makes the tea.
‘I’m sorry, Sam.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘I should have been more careful.’
She sits back in her chair. ‘You make it sound like it was an accident.’
He looks over at her. ‘It kind of was, wasn’t it?’
Sophie stares at him. What on earth does he mean by that?
Ellie glances at the two of them sitting opposite each other like two schoolchildren having a spat. She sets a couple of teacups and saucers on the table with the teapot. ‘Let it steep for three minutes. Best to put the milk in last.’ She tugs a yellow and orange tea cosy over the teapot, and sets a small jug of milk down beside it.
‘You forget I’m English, Aunt Ellie.’
‘Sorry, my dear. Force of habit. They drink it in mugs here. An abomination.’
‘Milk in first, though.’
‘On that we’ll have to agree to disagree.’ Leaning over Becca, Ellie kisses the girl’s cheek. ‘Come on, honey. Auntie Florie’s over with Taffy in the kennels. She thinks the puppies are going to be born today. Let’s go over and have a look.’
Nodding, Becca slides off her father’s lap. She follows Ellie towards the door, turning to glare at Sophie as she walks by.
‘I’m sorry, Becca. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Sophie says as she reaches out her arms. ‘Can I have a hug?’
Becca shakes her head, her braids swinging over her shoulders, and signs something to Sophie. She takes hold of Ellie’s hand.
Sophie watches the door close behind them. She presses her fingers against her forehead. ‘She seems quite upset.’
Sam reaches for the teapot. ‘She’ll be fine. It took her by surprise.’ He pushes a teacup across the table towards Sophie. ‘It’s never happened before.’
Sophie pours in a splash of milk and watches it swirl through the clear brown tea. ‘She’s never seen you with a woman other than her mother?’
‘No. I never brought anyone home before.’
Sophie sips the hot tea and sets the cup down in its floral saucer. ‘I suppose I should feel honoured.’
She runs her finger around the rim of the teacup. ‘Ellie said it was an accident. With Winny.’