‘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.’
‘Yes. There was a fire.’
‘Oh. I’m so sorry, Sam.’
Sam pushes away from the table. ‘I guess we need to get you to Gander.’
Sophie nods. ‘The plane’s leaving at five. I checked when you were in the shower. I need to be there by two at the latest. It won’t take me long to get ready. I don’t have much.’
She pushes the teacup away. ‘Look Sam, if you drop me at Wesleyville, I can get a taxi from there. You don’t have to go all the way to Gander.’
‘No. I’ll take you. I promised, didn’t I, Princess Grace? I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.’
‘Sam, what did Becca sign to me?’
He pauses at the door. ‘Oh, Sophie.’
‘Please, what did she say?’
‘She said, You’re not my mother.’
***
‘Fill her up, Wince. Taking Sophie down to Gander later to catch her plane.’
‘Ah, b’y, she’s finally on her way, then.’
Sam turns off the bike’s engine and gets off the bike. ‘Your coffee machine working?’
‘Yes, b’y. Only tinned milk though.’
Sam takes off his helmet and runs his hand though his hair. ‘No problem. Black’s fine.’
‘It’ll take the hair off you, b’y, if you drinks it black. Throw in some milk.’
Inside the garage, Sam finds a paper cup and pours out the sludgy black coffee. He takes a sip, screwing up his face at the bitterness. He walks over to the garage opening and leans on the wall. ‘What do you think of her?’
Wince peers at Sam from under his baseball cap. ‘Of Miss Julie?’
‘No, b’y. Sophie. What do you think of Sophie?’
Wince shrugs his thick shoulders as he waits for the gas nozzle to click off.
