Mitch sighed deeply and looked past his sleeping daughter to the world beyond the small round window in the side of the aircraft. Claire followed his gaze but seeing clouds below them, she felt her tummy churn and brought her attention back to her magazine - though she wasn’t able to concentrate to read.
When she felt Mitch’s hand relax, she looked across the table at him. He was asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Claire woke to the hushed sound of Mitch’s voice. He was reading to Aimée. She wriggled down in the seat, closed her eyes again, and listened to the familiar words of The Tale of Peter Rabbit. When she was younger, it had been her daughter’s favourite book. Aimée knew it so well she could recite every word of the story, as well as the five books that followed. Hearing it now reminded Claire of her oldest sister Bess and the many times she had taken her to the lending library in Lowarth when she was Aimée’s age.
Claire bit her bottom lip remembering how disappointed she had been when, after several visits, the librarian told her The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck was still out on loan. When Bess was shopping in Rugby the following week she bought The Tale of Peter Rabbit and The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck from a second-hand bookshop and gave them to Claire as early birthday presents. From then on, Bess bought her a book every birthday which, after reading, Claire carefully placed on the shelves of an old Welsh dresser that doubled as a chest of drawers in her bedroom. The books were still in good condition and she had passed the collection onto Aimée.
‘No Daddy,’ she heard Aimée say, ‘you’re not reading it properly.’ Claire smiled to herself. Mitch had been reading Peter Rabbit stories to their daughter since they had returned to England from France in 1945. At that time Aimée was too young to read them herself, but later, as Claire had done at her age, she had memorised every word. Mitch grinned at Claire and purposely paraphrased the next paragraph.
Aimée sighed loudly, put her hands on her hips, and, looking into her father’s face, tutted. She was bright for her age and more than capable of reading books written for girls much older than herself. Mitch read to her for fun and often, as she was doing now, when he got it wrong Aimée would tell him off and make him read the passage again, properly.
A worried look crept across Claire’s face. She leant her head on the headrest and closed her eyes. Aimée had grown out of Peter Rabbit some years ago, but recently she had returned to the books, reading them at bedtime. And although she was much more advanced in her reading and had brought with her a selection of books recommended by her school teacher, she had insisted on taking The Tale of Peter Rabbit to Canada, too.
Claire had wondered if it was because Aimée was nervous about flying in an aeroplane, frightened even. She said she wasn’t - and she certainly hadn’t shown any signs of nervousness or fear. Perhaps it was the arguments that she and Mitch had been having lately that were upsetting her and she was taking comfort from something that reminded her of a time when her parents were happy. Claire hoped it wasn’t that. They had tried not to argue in front of Aimée but sometimes it was impossible not to.
Aware that Mitch had stopped speaking, Claire opened her eyes. ‘She’s asleep, again,’ he whispered. Closing the Peter Rabbit book, he passed it across the table to Claire and she slipped it into the holdall at her feet.
‘We were right to bring Aimée with us, weren’t we, Mitch?’ Leaning forward, Claire looked at her sleeping daughter. ‘Uprooting her, I mean. Were we right to take her out of school, away from her friends, and your grandmother? Taking a child half way around the world is a big step.’
‘Yes, we were right to bring her with us. It was what she wanted. We asked her if she would rather stay with Grandma Esther or go up to Foxden to live with Bess and Frank and her cousin Nancy, but she said she wanted to come with us.’
‘I know,’ Claire said. ‘She thinks she’s going to be spoiled by her new Grandma and Grandpa.’
‘And she will be. I have no doubt about that,’ Mitch laughed.
After almost a decade Claire’s heart still beat faster when Mitch laughed. He had joked and laughed all the time before he became ill. She looked into his eyes. They twinkled when he laughed and the skin at the corners creased. He hadn’t laughed much recently. He hadn’t had much to laugh about. That will change, Claire thought, when he has had treatment for anxiety and bad nerves, which the doctor at Brize Norton had diagnosed as shell shock.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, would you fasten your seat belts, please. We will be landing in fifteen minutes,’ the stewardess said, repeating the instruction every couple of rows, as she walked down the aisle of the plane.
Mitch gently eased Aimée up into a sitting position before buckling her safety belt. She slipped sideways until her head rested against him again. He eased his arm from under her and wrapped it around her shoulders protectively, cuddling her while she slept. Claire leant across the table and clicked Mitch’s belt into position, before gathering up magazine, newspaper and Aimée’s colouring book and crayons and putting them into the holdall. She then put on her own safety belt and, with the heel of her shoe, pushed the bag under her seat so it was safely out of the way.
After the customary bumps as the plane’s wheels touched down, the reverse thrust, followed by ten minutes taxiing along the
