Epilogue
October 1946
Fitz lifted Peter into his pram. ‘Gosh, you’re getting heavy,’ she said, tucking the blankets around her eighteen-month-old son.
The clock in the hall of Badcombe House struck the hour and eight chimes rang out. Fitz went to the foot of the stairs. ‘Yvette! Come on. You’ll miss your bus.’
The young teenager trotted down the stairs, with her satchel hanging from her shoulder. ‘Sorry, I was looking for my gloves.’ She held them up in the air. ‘Found them.’
The autumnal air of early October was already on the chilly side and Fitz fastened the button on Peter’s knitted hat. His blue eyes looked even darker against the white of the wool. He looked so much like his father. Sam’s mother had sent some photographs of Sam when he was a baby and they looked like two peas in a pod. Fitz hadn’t yet been able to meet Sam’s parents but now the war was over, they were hoping to be able to travel across the Atlantic the following year.
‘Where’s Michael?’ asked Fitz as she slipped her hands into her own gloves.
‘I’m here!’ he called, coming through from the kitchen, biting into an apple.
‘And eating as always,’ sighed Camilla, following him out into the hall. She picked his cap up from the table and put it on his head, adjusting it and then making sure the collar of his blazer was turned down. ‘There, that’s better,’ she said. ‘Have a good day at school both of you.’
Both Yvette and Michael attended the local grammar school. They really had become firm friends. Yvette had grasped the English language with ease. There was no trace of a French accent, although they still often spoke French at home. She had thrived at school and had passed the Eleven Plus with flying colours.
‘Isn’t it wonderful how they’ve become such good friends?’ said Camilla, leaning over the pram to smile at Peter and tickle him under the chin. ‘They will miss each other when Michael goes to university next year.’
Camilla had turned into the most doting step-grandmother a person could wish for. Her love for children was glaringly apparent and Fitz had often wondered over the past few years why she had never seen it before. Maybe she hadn’t been looking for it or hadn’t wanted to find it.
Camilla delighted in having them at Badcombe House. When Fitz had first moved back, their relationship had most definitely improved, and then, once Fitz was married, Camilla had taken a step back and allowed her to be the grown woman she now was. Fitz couldn’t deny her experience in France in the December of 1941 had changed her.
Taking care of Yvette hadn’t come without its challenges, but Fitz found herself echoing the position Camilla had been in. She had become a mother to a child she hadn’t given birth to. A child who already had a mother and didn’t know what had happened to her. There had been resistance, tears, anger and confusion but no matter what, there had always been love.
It wasn’t until then that Fitz really appreciated how much of a challenge it had been for Camilla to take her on. And just as Camilla had gone on to have her own child, Michael, Fitz had become pregnant and had Peter.
It was a chain of events no one could ever have predicted, and Fitz had grown very fond of Camilla, even seeking her out for advice on how to handle certain situations with Yvette. She regretted having made Camilla’s life so difficult. Motherhood was no mean feat.
Their relationship now sat somewhere between parent and friend. Fitz didn’t try too hard to define it, rather she tried to enjoy it for what it was.
Life had been full of challenges since Fitz had got back from France. Not only for her and Yvette but for Sam, too.
When Sam had been discharged from hospital, they had moved into Badcombe House, where there was space enough for his wheelchair, and for the first six months, they lived on the ground floor, using one of the sitting rooms as their bedroom.
Sam had approached his new life with the same gusto and enthusiasm as he did everything else in life. Never one to be half-hearted about anything he did, he faced everything head-on, with a fearless and contagious zest for life. He was never going to let being an amputee hold him back.
As Fitz had predicted, Sam had soon mastered the art of walking with his prosthetic leg, but he wasn’t going to stop there. Sam had been back in an aeroplane within months.
Fitz had been so proud of him when they had adapted a plane for him to fly and he had joined the ATA. It wasn’t his dream job, of course, but he had accepted his new circumstances with grace. Being at Badcombe House meant Fitz was able to work for the government in translating conversations enemy prisoners had among themselves. It had been fascinating work. She had only stopped once Peter was born, and now that the war was over, they were all adjusting to a new way of life.
With that, of course, came her promise to the doctor in France to find Yvette’s mother or at the very least, close family. Samhad been in contact with the Red Cross, and they had given as much detail as they could about Yvette’s mother in the hope the charity could locate her. Now they were waiting for any news.
Fitz fastened the top button on her coat and fussed with the blanket to make sure Peter was warm enough. The wind was colder than she expected. ‘Do you want to walk with us to the bus stop?’ she asked Camilla.
‘I won’t today,’ replied Camilla. ‘I’m speaking at the WI meeting this afternoon and I need to go over my notes.’
Since the end of the war, Camilla had become involved with a charity supporting war widows and their young families. Fundraising and speaking to local groups filled a lot of her time.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Fitz, remembering Camilla had mentioned it at breakfast. ‘Not that you need practice. I’ve been to your talks, and you are a wonderful speaker.’
Camilla waved them off from the doorstep and Fitz followed on as Yvette and Michael kicked through the fallen leaves that littered the grass verges of the drive. Peter was enchanted by the trees blowing giddily in the wind and squealed in delight as a large horse chestnut leaf floated down and landed on the apron of the pram.
They had just reached the end of the driveway when the sound of a bicycle bell caught Fitz’s attention. She looked up to see Alf, the village postman pedalling towards them.
‘Mrs Carter!’ he called waving at her.
