Even Nancy had caught the excitement and lent her a rare bottle of nail polish, but Violet hadn’t wanted to use it until she’d finished in the shop in case she chipped the varnish when shifting boxes of stock. Now she realised her hands were trembling with nerves and she wouldn’t be able to paint it on properly. She would leave it. It didn’t matter in the wider scheme of things.
Now she drummed her unvarnished nails on the window frame, its once-white gloss turned cream with age and years of smoke from the parlour fireplace. What if something had happened to him at the last minute? You heard of these things. A person would be waiting at home for a loved one’s return and instead of the husband, or son, or brother, it would be the telegram boy at the door … No, she mustn’t even think it. He hadn’t said a specific time. Just that it would most likely be this afternoon.
This was no good. She couldn’t stand still here. She walked swiftly across the room, over the threadbare rug and linoleum worn by three generations of Feenys, and flung herself out of the door and into the street. She didn’t care who saw her. She caught a flash of movement in the house across the road, which must mean that Kitty was back. She had been due to return yesterday, Rita had said, but they’d heard her train got in late at night and nobody had seen her yet. Under different circumstances, Violet might have gone across to say hello to this woman she’d heard so much about but scarcely knew, but that could wait.
She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. It had been kind of Dolly to make her the bolero out of reknitted wool from her old cardie, but secretly she didn’t like it – it itched and felt wrong across her shoulders. She stood in the best angle of sunlight she could find, and for a second or two her eyes were dazzled.
So she missed the moment that Eddy rounded the corner, a bulky figure in his chunky seaman’s jumper, his kitbag slung over his shoulder. He saw her first and broke into a run, the weight of his heavy bag as nothing to him now he could see her, her hand shielding her face like a visor against the bright sunbeams. As he got close to her he flung the bag to the ground and swept her into his arms, laughing as he did so. ‘Violet! I’m back!’
Violet laughed too and then she was half crying as well, full of relief and happiness, almost unable to believe he was here at last. She broke away to push open the front door and they fell inside, Eddy remembering at the last moment to drag his kitbag into the hallway, and then they were in the parlour, on the sofa, hugging each other as passionately as when they had been young newlyweds, eager to see what the other was like close up. Violet ran her hands along his back, sensing his muscles through the heavy wool of the jumper, as he pressed her to him and she knew she was where she belonged.
Finally Eddy pulled back and looked at her, drinking in the sight of his wife. ‘I was waiting for this for all those days at sea,’ he told her.
‘Me too,’ said Violet, her voice catching with emotion. ‘It’s been like forever, Eddy.’
‘It has.’ He dropped his head to the top of hers and breathed in, sensing the warmth of her. ‘I’ve been counting the minutes. Now I’m back and it’s for a whole week.’ He faced her again, his eyes alight.
She beamed back at him, taking in his weathered face, the new wrinkles at his eyes from days out in the open on the fierce Atlantic crossing. ‘It won’t be long enough, Eddy; it will never be long enough.’
‘We’d best make the most of every minute.’ He stroked her cheek and grinned in return. ‘Where’s everyone else?’
‘Pop’s working on the salvage clearance, your mam’s gone to the victory garden to get in some fresh food for your tea, Sarah’s on her shift …’
‘Then let’s start as we mean to go on.’ He stood up, took her hand and drew her to stand beside him. ‘What do you say? Are we still in my old room?’
‘Eddy!’ Violet pretended to be shocked, but really she was delighted. ‘In broad daylight! What would your mam say?’
Eddy grinned wickedly. ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’ He began to lead her towards the stairs. ‘And you know what? Even if she did know – she’d say go right ahead.’
‘You look dead smart, our Kitty.’ Danny regarded his sister with admiration as they stood in their kitchen. He couldn’t help it – when he thought of her it was always in her old overalls from the days when she’d managed the local NAAFI canteen. Now she was in a vivid cherry red jacket and elegant dark blue tailored frock, with matching navy pumps. ‘I thought you said there weren’t any shops in your last place? Looks as if you’ve been using up your coupons all right.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘Don’t be daft. I couldn’t have got this down in Sussex. I had to change trains in London so I met up with my old friend Laura, and when she learned I was going to be a godmother, she said I had to have something smart, so she gave me this.’ She twirled around. ‘She’s not short of money and can always find a way around the clothing rations somehow. It’s who you know, I suppose.’
‘Lucky you know her then,’ said Danny, straightening his collar and checking it in the tarnished little mirror over the sink. He was going to the christening in his naval uniform, which was the smartest outfit he possessed anyway. Somehow buying new clothes hadn’t been a top priority for the past couple of years. ‘How long have we got, do you think? It won’t take us long to walk.’
Kitty thought for a moment that she’d forgotten the way to the church and how far it was, because she hadn’t been there since she’d joined up. Then she recalled how she’d always used to time the cooking of the Sunday roast around getting there, going to Mass and coming back. She did a quick sum. ‘We’ve got about fifteen minutes, I’d say. We could have a cuppa.’
Danny shook his head. ‘It’s too warm. Anyway, we’ll have tea coming out of our ears at the do after. That’s unless Jack or Eddy have brought back some rum – that would improve things.’
Kitty pulled a face.
‘Still not a fan of the odd tot then?’ Danny teased. ‘Go on, it’ll put hairs on your chest.’
Kitty picked up a tea towel and flicked it at him. ‘Away with you, Daniel Callaghan. I know you’d think it very funny if I got squiffy in front of everyone on my first weekend back home, but I don’t think so. Besides, as the godmother I’m meant to be on hand to help out for any emergency. Come to think of it, so are you.’
Danny shrugged. ‘Stands to reason they would ask you first. I’m meant to help out when she’s older, with sage advice, and by giving her money at Christmas and birthdays.’
Kitty raised an eyebrow. She knew that – while Danny was fond enough of young children – he really preferred them once they were old enough to hold a conversation. She turned her thoughts to a more pressing worry.
‘Danny, what are we going to do about our Tommy?’ she asked quietly, as their young brother was upstairs getting changed into his one clean shirt. They had insisted he did this at the last minute, or else it would be filthy by the time he got to church. Tommy had protested that he wasn’t like that any more, he wasn’t a little kid, but they’d taken no chances. To her, he was still her baby brother – although she’d had quite a shock when she’d seen him as he was now: taller, his boyish face changing into that of a young man, a new restless look in his eye. Perhaps he really had outgrown all that life on the farm could offer him.
‘I don’t know,’ Danny confessed. ‘What do you think?’
‘Danny!’ Kitty was exasperated. She’d been back home five minutes and already he expected