‘I don’t think anything of the sort,’ she said softly. ‘I know what a terrible time you must have had.’
He shook his head and at last levelled his gaze with hers. ‘No you don’t. Unless you were there, you can’t possibly understand what it feels like to see men all about you blown to bits. To wonder if it’s your own head about to be blasted off your body and left to roll around on the sand.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, doing her best not to flinch at the unfamiliar harshness of his tone. ‘But I just want you to know that I love you no matter what.’
They walked the rest of the way to Winter Cottage in a silence punctuated by their footsteps, the heavier sound of Billy’s boots and Florence’s lighter step.
‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ he mumbled when they reached the cottage and Florence produced the key from her handbag.
‘What can’t you do?’ she asked him.
‘Be here with you tonight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Perhaps it’d be better if I went home, to my parents. I should see them before I return to barracks.’
‘I thought you said you’d see them in the morning?’
He turned his head to one side, then the other, looking anywhere but at her. ‘I’m tired,’ he said flatly.
‘Even more reason to stay the night here.’
‘But … but it’ll be our first night together and I don’t think I … and you’re probably hoping …’ His voice trailed off.
She put a hand on his forearm, suddenly understanding what was worrying him. ‘It’s okay, Billy. We’re just going to sleep. That’s all.’ Before he could say anything else, she put the key in the lock and pushed open the door. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you to bed so you can sleep.’
But they didn’t sleep. Trying to put him at ease, Florence gently encouraged Billy to talk, to share with her what he had gone through in the last few days, days that he could never have imagined he’d ever experience. In the darkness, lying side by side in bed, their bodies only just touching, he told her how he and Elijah had become separated from the rest of the men; how after sleeping rough they’d managed to steal a German motorcycle. Their commanding officer had told them to head to the coast, to Dunkirk, where the rescue operation would take place. They thought they were doing well, even joking that they were escaping to Dunkirk with the aid of enemy fuel, but when they reached the coast and hid in the sand dunes along with all the other soldiers waiting to be rescued, that was when they encountered the full might of the Luftwaffe strafing the skies above them. With bombs raining down on them, they were convinced they wouldn’t make it. Even after they had waded out up to their chests in seawater and finally made it onto a rescue boat heading for England, Billy had been certain he would die.
‘What about Tommy?’ asked Florence when at last he fell quiet. ‘Did he make it home?’
Billy slowly shook his head. Then he turned and burrowed his head into her neck and cried silently, his body shaking violently within her arms.
Florence cried with him, for the boy he’d once been and for the man he now was.
Chapter Seventy-One
July 1940
On a warm and sunny morning in July, a little over a month since the night Billy and Elijah had arrived home safely, Romily was up early with Isabella. After changing and feeding the baby, she carried her outside to the garden.
At a slow, unhurried pace she walked across the dewy grass, leaving behind her a trail of footsteps. She paused to drink in the heavenly smell of the stocks and the sweet peas that were climbing rampantly up the canes she had placed in the flower bed with Bob Manners’ guidance. It was such a simple pleasure, breathing in the sweet perfume of the flowers, but one that seemed almost symbolic of everything the country was fighting to protect and preserve. The sheer loveliness of the garden on this perfectly glorious morning confirmed what Sarah had said, and what Romily had always known to be true – she could not remain here while a ruthless regime that was hell-bent on destroying all that was just and beautiful in the name of fascism marched ever nearer.
With Italy now at war with Britain and the Nazi swastika flying from the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the fight to defend themselves had escalated dramatically in the last month, and there was genuine fear amongst many in the village that a German invasion could actually now happen. No longer did anyone speak of a phoney war. Two days ago, Norwich had been bombed and one of Bob Manners’ nieces who worked at the Colman’s factory had been lucky to escape with her life.
There had been losses closer to home. Wally Bryson who used to work in the butcher’s shop hadn’t made it back from France, and Billy and Elijah had seen with their own eyes their old friend Tommy mown down by enemy gunfire. They had tried to carry him to safety, but he’d died in Billy’s arms.
Elijah had told Romily how he and Billy had been rescued on the beach at Dunkirk, and she could only wonder at the matter-of-fact way he spoke of what must have been a hellish ordeal. His stoicism had touched Romily and left her thinking how proud Allegra would have been of him.
She had tentatively asked Elijah, that night he had arrived back, if he wanted to go upstairs and see Isabella asleep in her cot. His expression had changed instantly to one of pained emotion, and she had regretted her question. Mrs Partridge had stepped in and said perhaps he might prefer to see the child in the morning after a good night’s sleep. He’d agreed quickly that that might be better, then said it was time he set off for Clover End Cottage.
He’d returned the next morning and, with what Romily could only describe as a look of heartbreak on his face, had made Isabella’s acquaintance in the garden as she lay in her pram watching the leaves in the apple tree dancing above her.
‘She looks like Allegra,’ he’d whispered. It was the first utterance he’d made of Allegra’s name.
‘That’s what we all think,’ Romily had said. ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’
He’d nodded. ‘I’ve never seen a baby so small before. Is she … you know … quite well?’
