Julietteignored his comment and instructed him to try the key and keep his foot on theaccelerator. Predictably, the car sprang to life. After a moment ofdelving into the engine, she shut the bonnet and told Morton she would see himat home.
He had followed her back, matching herreligious obedience to the speed limit all the way. Now, sitting in frontof the telly, Morton was wondering how to broach the subject of a new car,since she’d taken his previous comment so flippantly. He decided to justcome out and say it. After all, he was earning the money. ‘I’mtelling you, I’m getting a new car,’ he said as empathically as he couldmuster, ‘The money will be cleared any day now, so I’ll go and get one.’
‘It’s fine,Morton. You say it like I’m going to stand in your way. It’s yourmoney, do what you like with it. Maybe you can put some of it towards somethingfor your wonderful girlfriend of thirteen months who rescued you tonight?’Juliette said with a wry smile.
‘We’llsee.’ Morton knew that she was alluding to her desire to flash a largerock on her left ring finger, although, actually he knew that she would havesettled for anything on her left ring finger. Even one of thosering-shaped jelly sweets would have got her down the aisle. She wasalways complaining that she was the last of her group of school friends withouta husband – some were selfishly already onto their second – or with a brigadeof children around their ankles.
Julietteexamined her left hand. ‘Gold suits me best,’ she muttered.
Maybe he wouldbuy Juliette a nice piece of jewellery. He was thinking of anecklace. A nice one, something classy. Maybe with aninscription. Just not that particular piece of jewellery. Not yet.
Morton’sthoughts drifted towards a happier time when his mother was still alive and hisignorant view of his family was still intact. Just days after hismother’s funeral his father callously sat him down and told him that he wasadopted. He had blurted out the words, as if he was telling him thatdinner was ready or that Morton had known all along but it had somehow slippedhis mind. Well, I really didn’t think you’d react like this,Morton. You’re almost sixteen now, man, come along. It’s all a loadof biology, chemistry and whatnot. You’re my son today just likeyou always have been and always will be. But he was no longer hisparents’ child; his real parents had apparently surrendered him forty-eighthours after he had first drawn breath. The only comfort that Morton hadtaken at the time from this bombshell was the revelation that he didn’t share asingle shred of DNA with Jeremy, the natural son of his parents. He wasone of those miracle babies that infertile couples who adopt seem able toproduce all of a sudden. He’d been treated like a miracle ever since.
As the yearshad passed since the adoption revelation, Morton had gradually becomeincreasingly dislocated from his surname and now no longer felt any connectionto it. Do you, Juliette Meade take Morton the Unknown to be his lawfulwife? It would be ridiculous for Juliette to take his name uponmarriage when it really didn’t belong to him in the first place. Shemight as well dip her finger into the phonebook and take her pick. Or shecould have one of the names Morton had harvested from parish registers over theyears, for no other reason than that they sounded amusing. Proudfoot. Ruggles. Arblaster. Stinchcombe. Catchpole. Winkworth. Peabody. Onions. Yes, that suited her,Juliette Onions. It would make her stand out in the world of crimeprevention. Nobody would forget PCSO Juliette Onions.
Chapter Four
5thJune 1944
Emily pulled a hand-made shawl over hershoulders, staring fixedly through the kitchen window into the orchard. Alarmingly high winds – stronger than she thought she had ever known –thundered furiously through the trees, callously ripping the tiny Victoriaplums from their branches and scattering them heartlessly onto the soddenground. She looked, almost without blinking, though the torrential rainto the tall, brick chimney in the distance, standing defiantly against thesqually weather. She wondered what was being discussed in the house aboutthe current war situation. Did they know what was coming? She had been strictly forbidden to leave the confines of the house in theorchard – it was part of the deal – but two nights ago, shortly after midnight,curiosity had driven her to determine the source of the constant, deeprumblings emanating from the village. What she saw took her breathaway. Dozens and dozens of lorries, jeeps and tanks, over-spilling withAllied troops, clattered down the main road. Silent villagers peeredthrough their black-out curtains at the spectacle before them. Emilyguessed where they were heading – towards the coast ready for an imminentinvasion of France. What did this mean? Was the war finallycoming to an end? What about Hitler’s secret weapon that she had heardmurmurings of? This wasn’t supposed to be how it all went. Thiswasn’t the plan…
Emily shudderedas a sudden gust of wind violently shook the window. She turned to thebaby to see if it had disturbed him: he was still sound asleep in hiscot. She wondered what would happen to him with the war’s latest twist,but couldn’t bear to follow her train of thought to its obviousconclusion. Moving away from the window, Emily quietly sat at the large oaktable and picked up the only photograph she had of her and the baby boy. Apart from only one other photograph of her, she had destroyed all other imagesof her family, burning them in a memory-erasing pyre in May 1940. She setthe photograph down, took a pen and a pad of notepaper and began to write theletter that she had hoped she would never have to write.
With painfultears cascading down her cheeks, Emily signed the letter and tucked it insidean envelope. There was little sense in sealing it. If what shesensed was going to happen actually did, then they would tear this place apartpretty soon.
Emily carefullyplaced the letter and the photograph of her and the baby inside the beautifulcopper box, which had been created for the wedding that would now never takeplace.
