Chapter 66
Norwich – 2 August 1953
Dottie slides Ellie’s card with the birth announcement back into the envelope and sets it down on the green leather blotter on George’s desk where he’d left it that morning. Winnifred Agnes Mary Parsons. She purses her red lipsticked lips. Quite the mouthful for a baby. Still, their mother would be pleased to have a namesake, though why Ellie had thought Agnes was a good choice for a name was beyond her. She wrinkles her nose. The girl will end up being called Winny or Aggy. She wouldn’t make that mistake with her babies.
She runs her hand over the round bump under her navy and white polka-dot maternity smock. So much for her career as a concert pianist. Those tedious hours of lessons and practice, the auditions and the recitals. She’d wanted fame and success. She’d been well on her way, too. Now, look at the state of her. She didn’t even have a baby grand to play, let alone the Steinway grand piano she’d become so used to in the London practice rooms and the concert halls. All she had was her mother’s old upright. Right back where she started.
She’d almost got away from Norwich. From provincial life. A European tour with the London Philharmonic had been booked for the autumn. But she’d had to go and sleep with George, hadn’t she? He’d resisted at first, of course. He still seemed to nurse some misplaced affection for Ellie. George was really quite wet sometimes.
She’d had to make him want her. If she were honest with herself, it was possibly because he was the only man she’d met who hadn’t fallen at her feet. She’d learned a lot of things in London. How to wind a man around her finger was one of them. She’d had to pull out all the stops with George, but she’d got him in the end.
Dottie flicks her swollen belly with a sharp, red-painted fingernail. Now I’m stuck, aren’t I? I’m a good little Catholic so I’ve got to have you. Of course, George insisted on the marriage as soon as he knew. Good old reliable George. Boring, earnest, dull George. What choice did I have? None, that’s what. She wished Ellie could have been there. She would have loved to have seen Ellie’s face when George placed the wedding ring on her finger.
She takes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket of her maternity top. Sticking a cigarette between her lips she lights it and inhales deeply, blowing out the smoke in a long stream. She peers down at her belly, already swollen so large that the women at the hospital auxiliary have been telling her how lucky she is to be having summer babies.
Ha! Summer babies my arse! I’ve got three more months of swollen feet and an aching back and breasts that hang like two balloons from my chest. You two are going to make it to the top of Norwich society, if it kills me. If I couldn’t get there myself, I’ll make sure you get there and pull me up with you. And I’ll kiss every girdle-constrained backside of every Norwich grand dame to help George become the husband I deserve. Then, I’ll swan over to Newfoundland and rub Ellie’s nose in our success. With George on my arm.
Serves her right for abandoning me and Poppy, and dumping poor, love-sodden George for that Newfoundlander with his ridiculous accent. Running off to be a free spirit with not a care in the world. Leaving me all on my own. Everybody leaves, eventually, don’t they? Mummy, then you, Ellie, then Poppy. You’re not dead, Ellie, but you may as well be to me. Well, I hope for your sake leaving us all behind was worth it. At least you got to make a choice.
Stabbing out the cigarette on George’s green blotter, she grabs the card off the desk. She tears it and lets the pieces fall until they litter George’s desk like white confetti.
Chapter 67
Tippy’s Tickle – 16 September 2011
A door slams. Sophie opens her eyes and turns over in the bed. The white curtain flutters in front of the window, settling back into stillness before it is caught again in a gust of wind. Outside the window, a veil of fog obscures the sky, though a soft light glows behind it, promising a sunny day.
‘Good morning.’
She looks over her shoulder. ‘Good morning to you, too. I heard a door slam.’
Sam smiles back at her, his dark eyes shining with warmth. ‘Becca. She likes to go for a run first thing.’
‘She’s not going to be happy if she finds me here. You’d better hide anything breakable.’
‘I’ll talk to her later.’ He reaches across Sophie’s body and pulls her against him, trapping her with his leg. ‘I hope you’re not intending to go anywhere this morning.’
‘Hardly. I think I’ll hide out here for the day. I don’t think anyone in Tippy’s Tickle’s speaking to me since the vote yesterday.’
Sam kisses her neck, trailing soft kisses along Sophie’s nape. ‘I have absolutely no objection to that, Princess Grace.’
Sophie reaches behind her head and brushes her hand over Sam’s cropped hair. ‘Come here. I want to see you.’
He rolls on top of her. ‘Hmm, you’re comfy.’
Sophie pokes at his shoulder. ‘You’re crushing me, you big oaf.’
He props himself onto his elbows and examines her face. ‘Your eyes are the same colour as a stormy sea. The same as Winny’s.’
Sophie’s smile fades. My divine, beautiful cousin Winny. Is Sam only interested in me because I connect him to Winny?
She squirms out from underneath him. ‘Look, Sam, I actually should go. I’ve got to email Richard my report before his meeting this afternoon. He’s been hounding me for it. He’s not going to like what I’m going to tell him.’
‘Hold on, Sophie. Just a minute ago, you were saying you’d like to hide out here all day.’
‘I
