‘But, Charlie, you’ll be alright,’ Nellie had soothed when he had returned withthe insurance in place. ‘You’ve been in the army now for four years.’
Nellie remembered how adamant Charlie had been. He had shaken his headand spoken simply and clearly. ‘This is different, Nell. This isgoing to be like nothing we’ve ever seen before.’
‘But the papers…’ she had begun.
‘Forget the papers,’ Charlie had interjected, a slight quiver in hisvoice. ‘They’re just saying what the government wants them to say. Look at what’s going on: the whole world is lining up to fight, building tanksand war ships, like they’ve never done before, calling up men in theirthousands. This will be a war like no other.’
Nellie had begun to cry and Charlie had leaned in and held her. What hadworried her more than anything in her life, and still now worried her was herfirst sight of Charlie’s tears, as he quietly sobbed on her shoulder.
A loud crack from somewhere over the seas jolted Nellie back to her precariousplace on the cliff-top. She looked down at the waves breaking their whitecrests on the great chunks of rock so far below her. The narrow band ofbeach, that had accepted the lives of so many helpless souls, looked strangelypeaceful and tranquil. For the briefest of moments, Nellie considered howeasy it would be to take one step forward and make all the agony, sitting soheavily on her heart every minute of every day, simply disappear. Shethought of little Alfie and took a step back. She couldn’t do it to himand she couldn’t do it to Charlie.
Nellie took another step back and chastised herself for being so weak. ‘We will get through this wretched war,’ she shouted out to the horizon. ‘Me, you and Alfie—we will get through this.’
Taking in a long, steady breath of air, Nellie whispered goodbye to Charlie andbegan the descent from Beachy Head. She walked slowly at first, reluctantto put distance between her and her husband. Then her thoughts turned toAlfie, whom she had left in the care of Gwen and Dorothy, and her pacequickened. Although she had only been gone for an hour, the time wasamplified by her lamenting Charlie’s absence. She could do nothing to becloser to Charlie, but she could get home quickly, hold her baby tightly andpray.
ChapterFifteen
29th August 1974, Westbere, Kent, England
Nelliewas sitting on her white cast-iron chair in the shadow of the two large eldertrees at the bottom of her garden. The mid-morning sun had just risenabove the cottage roof, promising another blistering day. She stared atthe vacant chair beside her and thought of her dear Len. It had been sixweeks now since his passing. Well-meaning widowed friends from thevillage had passed on clichéd thoughts about her life gradually getting betterwith time. But she didn’t have the kind of time left that could evenattempt to repair the gaping hole his death had left in her life. Thepractical, everyday chores and responsibilities that had been solely Len’s—driving,dealing with finances, reading the meters, tending to the allotment—could beovercome, but there was not sufficient time left in the world to overcome theemotional chasm created by sixty-two years of marriage, friendship andcompanionship.
A flash of movement caught Nellie’s eye. She looked up and watchedMargaret tottering down the garden path, carefully clutching a tray, her bumphaving grown considerably in the short space of time that she had been withher. Nellie smiled. Two weeks had passed since her arrival and herson’s transparent plan of dumping Margaret on her as a means of distractionfrom her grief was working. Nellie had made it her mission—one finaladventure—to drag her granddaughter out of herself and to prepare her for lifein the world after the event.
‘Oh, Granny, I hope these are okay. I don’t think they’ve risenproperly,’ Margaret moaned, as she set down the tray containing two cups of teaand a plate of freshly baked scones.
‘Nonsense, they look perfect,’ Nellie remarked, taking one from the pile.
Margaret grimaced whilst she waited for her grandmother to take a bite.
‘Goodness me, you’ve got the knack,’ Nellie said. ‘Cooked to perfection.’
Margaret smiled and took the empty seat beside Nellie.
Nellie sipped at her tea and nibbled the scone, aware that something wasbothering Margaret. She watched as the girl stared fixatedly at thepurple smoke tree at the garden’s perimeter, her mind elsewhere. ‘Thinking about the baby?’
Margaret shot a mournful look at her and nodded. ‘Sort of. There’ssomething I haven’t said…’
‘Go on.’
Margaret returned her focus to the tree and, after a few seconds’ pause,mumbled the words that were troubling her. ‘I wasn’t attacked.’
Nellie set down her teacup and wrapped her fingers over Margaret’s tremblinghand, considering what she had just heard. It was obvious why she hadsaid that she had been raped: to remove some of the judgement and prejudicethat she had still faced at being
