‘I have things to do before I close.’
‘I thought we could chat some more.’
Rose was taken aback. No one wanted to talk to her. ‘It’s late. I need to go home.’
‘Then perhaps you will allow me to walk you home?’
She glanced at the dark winter sky outside. The other shopkeepers were emerging from their shops to turn off the gas lights above their doors. As each light dimmed, the street grew darker. It would be nice to be escorted home for once. She thought of Sam.
‘Not tonight.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have plans.’
‘I see.’ Nicholas stood too and put on his hat. ‘Then after the weekend. On Monday.’ He beamed. ‘I will meet you when you are ready to leave.’
Before Rose could reply, Nicholas was walking out the shop. The copper bell above the door tinkled as it shut, a fitting end to the parrying of his suggestion. He had won — and strangely, she realised that she did not mind.
* * *
Monday, 8th December, 1919
Rose stood by the counter, her hat, coat and gloves already on. She saw him first, silhouetted against the gas lamp outside Mr William’s Co-operative store. She watched him cross the street with long, jaunty strides. He was tall, slim and well-proportioned and looked very dapper in his uniform. Sam had a longer torso and shorter legs, although she hadn’t realised that until now. He was five minutes early, so she couldn’t blame him when he seemed surprised to find her ready.
‘Am I late?’ He closed the door behind him.
‘No. I had a quiet day so decided to finish early.’ Rose fiddled with one of her gloves as she spoke. She felt her cheeks burning as she tried not to think of the elderly couple she had hustled out of the tearoom a few minutes before.
‘Then it must be my lucky day.’ He held the door open for her. ‘Shall we go, Miss Gribble?’
‘You can call me Rose, if you like,’ she replied as she passed him.
‘I like Rose. It suits you.’ He followed her out of the door and after waiting for her to lock it, fell into step beside her.
‘What do you mean?’
Nicholas appeared to reflect for a moment. ‘Well Rose sounds gentle, feminine and . . . nurturing.’
‘You mean it sounds boring.’
He laughed. ‘Believe me, after spending several years in the company of men, those qualities are anything but boring.’ He gave her a mischievous glance. ‘But I also think it sounds as if there is a fun side hiding away.’
Rose wasn’t sure she had a fun side anymore — once, perhaps, but not now. They left the shops behind them and stepped onto the stone bridge which spanned the river. A single gas lamp, located in its centre, cast a limited pool of light which they had yet to reach.
‘Look at the moon in the river,’ remarked Nicholas, pausing in one of the pedestrian recesses which allowed traffic to pass. He looked over the side and Rose felt duty-bound to join him. It was only natural for him to take delight in such commonplacethings after what he had experienced. She briefly peered over at the reflection in the water.
Nicholas leaned forward and rested his forearms on the stone wall. ‘See how the light of the moon catches the ripples around it. They look like silver ribbons blowing in the breeze.’ Out of politeness, Rose followed his gaze. ‘I would often gaze up at the moon and wonder if my family could see it too.’ Nicholas smiled, a little embarrassed at sharing such thoughts. ‘It seems fitting that now I have finally come home, its reflection in Blighty should look like its celebrating.’
He fell silent and continued to stare at the glinting lights below him. The slight smile on his lips lingered on, captivating her interest in a confusing way. She wanted to experience the same delight and leaned forward too so she could get a better view. They watched in silence and, gradually, she felt the magic too as it shimmered below them.
She straightened. ‘I need to go home.’ She pretended to shiver. ‘My parents will be wondering where I am.’
Nicholas followed her lead and they continued on their walk, stepping aside when a car trundled by. The road led away from the river and towards a row of terraced houses. They turned around to view the town as a whole. Numerous windows, from small cottages, shops, to large elegant buildings, shone back at them, offering glimpses of warm cosy lives within. Some lights shone brighter than others, depending if the gas and oil lighting had been changed to the private electricity supply which had entered the town just before the war.
The lights reminded Rose of candles on a Christmas tree, and it must have reminded Nicholas of something similar, for he asked, ‘Apart from the holly, you haven’t decorated your tea shop. Will you?’
Rose shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
