across a swathe of black velvet.
She’d expected to be in New York tonight. Eating a room service dinner as she flipped through the TV channels, the interview behind her. Debating with herself whether to spend money for the porn channel, but deciding against it when the last vestiges of Catholic guilt would prick her conscience. She might have ordered a small bottle of champagne, if the interview and her presentation had gone well. Picked up her mobile phone, and thumbed through the contacts, looking for someone to call, to let them know her good news. But there wouldn’t be anyone to tell. Not anyone who’d care.
She surveys the glittering sky and thinks of the thousands of people who’d been lost in the attacks in the United States the day before. Seeing the stars they would never again see, hearing the waves crash against the rocks below the cliff. Closing her eyes, Sophie sends them the sight of the stars and the sounds of the waves and the feeling of the cool breeze on her skin.
She doesn’t know what she is doing here, in this odd little place called Tippy’s Tickle. And why had her mother hated Ellie so much, Ellie who seems so perfectly lovely? And then there’s Florie. She’s what Poppy would’ve called a “character”. Emmett is a strange one. He doesn’t seem all that bothered about her, but, then, why should he be? She might share DNA with Ellie and Emmett and Becca, too, but they are all still strangers. Then there is Winny, the cousin she’s never heard of; Sam Byrne’s dead wife and Becca’s mother. What were the chances that she’d meet her late cousin’s widower in Gander Airport? How small is this place? And why is Sam working for Emmett? That seems like an odd set-up.
Didn’t Mavis at the airport say Sam had spent time in Boston? That’s why he sounded so different from the others, though she’d noticed the Newfoundland lilt slip in when he spoke to Wince at the garage. Such an irritating man. Calling her Princess Grace. What did he mean by that? Winny must’ve had the patience of a saint.
Why on earth had she thought seeking Ellie out was a good idea? Was it because, after years of devoting herself to her work at the expense of relationships, she was feeling … lonely? Sophie grunts. That’s ridiculous. She’s surrounded by people; her colleagues at the London practice, clients, builders, engineers, quantity surveyors, suppliers. There are a lot of people around her life, just no one in it.
She’d been curious to meet Ellie, that’s all. What’s wrong with that? Her parents were dead, and, as far as she’d been aware when she stepped off the plane, Ellie had been her only living relative. Now there were three: Ellie, Emmett and Becca.
Fate had conspired to put her down in Newfoundland. The least she could do was follow the thread, and find the answer to the question she’d wondered about all her life. What had happened between her mother and her aunt all those years ago, before Ellie left for Newfoundland? What did Ellie do to make Dottie hate her so much?
Norwich, England – 21 December 1940
Ellie jumps off the bus in front of the portico of the Samson and Hercules dance hall, where two chunky white-painted statues of the mythical figures hold up the porch roof. George waves at her from the top step, and she runs up to meet him and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek.
‘You look like a soldier in that outfit, Ellie.’
Ellie glances down at her navy uniform. ‘I’m sorry, George. It was busy over at the station. Fire over in Pegg’s Opening. It doesn’t take much for those old cottages to go up. It was just a cigarette this time that did it. I hope you don’t mind dancing with a girl in uniform.’
‘No, it’s nice. I just wish I’d known. I would have put on mine. It would have evened the balance.’
‘Don’t be silly, George. You look just fine.’ She smooths the white handkerchief that he’s tucked into the breast pocket of his brown wool suit jacket. ‘I can’t believe you managed to get us tickets. Everyone in town wanted to come to see The Squadronaires.’
‘Just lucky, Ellie. My boss was sent some tickets and his wife didn’t want to come.’
They push through the doors and through the crowd into the ballroom, the party dresses and suits of the recent past outnumbered by the khaki, Air Force blue and navy of uniforms. Paper-loop streamers hang from the ceiling and the Air Force dance band, The Squadronaires, handsome in their Air Force uniforms, are in full swing on the stage.
George squints at the room through his glasses. ‘Looks like all the tables are taken. We should’ve arrived before the interval.’
‘Oh, George, no one gets here before the interval,’ Ellie says as she bounces to the music. ‘Girls need time to get ready. Anyway, I’ve been at my desk all day. I want to dance, not sit.’
‘Fine, but I need a beer first. I’ll meet up with you over there by the stage. What would you like?’
‘Beer, please. Just a half.’ Ellie makes her way around the perimeter of the dancers until her way is blocked by the backs of a group of tall Newfoundlanders. ‘Excuse me.’ She clears her throat and shouts. ‘Excuse me!’ She pokes a broad shoulder.
The man turns around. ‘Well, there she is, after all this time.’ The smile lighting up his grey eyes. The long, handsome face. The name slips out of Ellie’s mouth before she has a chance to think. ‘Thomas Parsons.’
The smile turns into a grin. ‘You and my mam. The only two people who calls me Thomas.’ He hands his beer to one of his friends. ‘C’mon, maid. Let’s have a dance.’
***
George sweeps his gaze around the crowded dance floor and spies Ellie’s blonde head, topped by the neat navy AFS cap, bouncing to the rhythm of the swing band with a tall Newfoundlander. The soldier looks vaguely familiar, and George rakes through his brain to remember where he’s seen him before.
‘Well, what do you figure?’ A hand pats George’s shoulder. A soldier’s moon-shaped face, with a dusting of freckles across his nose, grins at him. ‘Charlie Murphy from the 57th Newfoundlanders over in Filby. You remember? I met you here with my friend Tom back in the summer. He spilt Coke all over your girlfriend’s dress. Oh, she was some vexed, wasn’t she? Could have frozen the North Atlantic with that face. I’ve been lookin’ out for you lot. Where’ve you been?’ He scans the crowd past George’s shoulder. ‘Is Ruthie with you? I’d be up for a dance or twenty with her.’
George looks at the boyish face and shakes his head. ‘Ruthie … Ruthie’s not here.’
Charlie’s face falls. ‘Don’t tell me another fella’s cut in?’
‘No. I’m terribly sorry, Charlie. There was a bomb. Her whole family … they were sleeping. They didn’t make it, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, Jaysus.’ Charlie rubs his fingers over his eyes. ‘You knows, b’y, when you joins up you knows there’s a chance … there’s a chance you might not come back. But you never figure a pretty girl you meet at a dance, in her own home …’
George looks at the young soldier. It’s like all the joy stored in Charlie’s compact, exuberant body has melted away, like the ice lolly from Mr Suckling’s
