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POLLY

Polly was having a good time, sharing this beautiful afternoon with her family in the garden of the place she’d once called home, especially now Christie had arrived with her little girls, Autumn and Maddie. She was glad a whole new generation was enjoying Starling Cottage.

She’d grown up here. Her schoolfriends had come to tea here on her birthday.

Her dad had grown carrots, cabbages, and potatoes in the very beds where flowers now bloomed.

In the kitchen, Polly’s mum had taught her to cook and bake, how to iron Dad’s shirts properly, and how to clean the oven until it gleamed.

She’d never minded helping her mum, though when her two brothers came along and they weren’t required to do their fair share of the housework, she did wonder to herself why that should be the case, and vowed there and then that if she ever had a son, he’d roll up his sleeves in the kitchen and no arguments.

Ray and Norman had been real surprises. Mum and Dad had thought they couldn’t have any more children, but Ray arrived when Polly was thirteen, and then four years later, in 1927, what Mum took to be the change of life turned out to be Polly’s youngest sibling, Norman.

Polly hadn’t lived at Starling Cottage for long with her brothers.

At eighteen, she married Charlie Herron, the boy next door, and the two of them moved in with Charlie’s mum and dad until a cottage became available in the village, and they’d relocated to their first – and, as it turned out, only – marital home.

The Brambles. She’d loved it there, and had polished and cleaned and cooked so Charlie would have a beautiful home he could be proud of.

‘There’s a clever girl! Look at her go now. There’ll be no stopping her, now she’s off.’

Shona’s excited exclamation drew Polly’s attention back to the present, and she stared down at little Maddie, who had tottered away from her mum and gran and was standing just a foot or so in front of Polly.

There was no doubt in Polly’s mind; Maddie could see her.

The last time the two had met, Maddie had only been around nine months old, and it had been difficult to be certain.

Now, though, she was fourteen months and it was a different story.

She stood alone, her chubby legs slightly bowed, her toes curling a little into the grass, brow furrowed as she stared long and hard at Polly, as if trying to work out who or what she was.

Then she waved her arms excitedly, causing her to lose her balance and land on the ground, where she emitted a giggle that quite melted Polly’s long-redundant heart.

‘I knew it!’ she exclaimed, as Maddie happily gurgled at her. ‘Didn’t I tell you, Shona?’

‘You’re right,’ Shona said, clearly delighted as she scooped her youngest granddaughter onto her knee and rewarded her with a kiss. ‘She can see you!’

‘How unfair is that?’ Christie groaned in exasperation. ‘My own daughter can do what I can’t.’ She cuddled three-year-old Autumn to her and said, ‘At least you’re like me, sweetheart. Though I wish you weren’t. You’re going to be as jealous of Maddie as I always was of Pippa.’

Bless her. Polly was very fond of her eldest great-niece, and often wished they could chat properly, like she could with Christie’s sister, Pippa. Christie was a lot like her mum: a kind, nurturing soul. She’d married her childhood sweetheart, Scott, five years ago, when she was just twenty-one.

Shona had worried that they were too young, but Christie had insisted that she knew he was right for her, and Jimmy had pointed out that her mum had only been nineteen when he’d married her and look how happy they’d been.

As it turned out, Shona had nothing to worry about. Scott was a good man. Like Jimmy, he was a mechanic, living and working in nearby Kingsford Wold. The whole family liked him, and he took good care of Christie and the two daughters they shared.

‘I know, love,’ Shona said with a sigh. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Who can see her and who can’t. You’d think with us all being related to her, we’d all be able to see her.’

‘It doesn’t work that way, though,’ Polly said.

‘There are a couple of ghosts in this village who have a few blood descendants who can’t see them at all, so there’s only Callie and Lawrie they can talk to.

I’m one of the lucky ones, having you and Jimmy, and Pippa, and now little Maddie.

I wish Autumn and Christie could see me, but at least I still feel like part of the family. ’

‘You’ll always be part of the family, Polly,’ Jimmy said firmly. ‘My dad thought the world of you. You know that.’

‘Aw, our Norman.’ Polly sighed. Sometimes, it all seemed such a long time ago.

Well, she supposed it had been. Hard to believe but it had been over twenty years since she’d last seen her youngest brother.

When he’d died, he’d passed over. Part of her had hoped he’d linger in Rowan Vale, as she had, but deep down, she was glad he’d got the peace he so deserved.

He’d always been a good lad, just like his son, Jimmy.

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering those far-off days when she was young and carefree – and alive.

Before the war, when everything seemed bathed in golden sunshine, and there were long days of working on the farm, cosy evenings in the bar at The Quicken Tree or by the fire at home, and so much love and laughter.

That was before 1938, when she and her mum took on the new village teashop that had opened in a formerly derelict building attached to the mill, and it became Deakin’s.

Polly had left the farm, where she’d worked in the dairy, and was made manageress in their new venture.

Mum was quite happy to use her cooking and baking skills, but she wanted no truck with the business side of things, whereas Polly was eager to learn.

Dad, meanwhile, had stayed working alongside Charlie on the farm, and when they were old enough, her younger brothers Ray and Norman had joined them.

She pushed away the familiar, hollow feeling that always swamped her when she allowed her mind to dwell on the past for too long.

It made no sense to do so. It was gone. They were gone.

There was no one in her family left alive from those times, but at least she had Norman’s son, Jimmy, as consolation. And Shona. Thank God for Shona.

She smiled over at her great-niece, who was currently smothering a chuckling Maddie in kisses. Short and curvy, with shoulder-length, dark-brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, Shona was a lovely person. She certainly hadn’t deserved the treatment she’d received from that lousy husband of hers.

Polly had to admit she’d never taken to Luke Bannerman and had been disappointed when Shona married him and moved to Birmingham.

She’d always been far too good for him in Polly’s opinion, and she’d been proved right, although she genuinely wished she hadn’t been, because knowing Shona’s heart had been broken had almost broken hers.

It had been wonderful when she’d come home where she belonged, and even better when she became manageress of the teashop, just as Polly had once been.

She kept the place immaculate, and apart from a few (well, a lot) of changes to the menu, and a far more modern kitchen, it was almost exactly like it had been back in the day.

The staff even wore vintage dresses and aprons to work, and sometimes, Polly could almost believe she was one of them, going about her business and being part of a happy team, as she’d been in life.

Shona had repainted the walls a warm cream colour, and even sourced similar green and white gingham tablecloths to the ones Polly had once bought for Deakin’s, although they now had wipe-down covers on the tabletops to make them easier to keep clean.

And all that pretty, mismatched china! Such lovely little tea sets that Shona had sourced from second-hand shops and antique markets all over the Cotswolds. Nothing had been too much trouble for her. She’d wanted Polly to feel right at home. Such a good girl.

Yes, these past twelve years had been good ones for the family. It was a shame Christie couldn’t see her, but she’d bonded well with Shona’s youngest, Pippa, and Jimmy and Shona made sure that Polly was included in family occasions, bless them. She couldn’t complain. She really couldn’t.

And now there was something else to look forward to… A 1940s weekend.

Polly leaned back in her chair and lifted her gaze to the heavens. It was a beautiful day with no clouds in the cornflower-blue sky.

July.

It had been July 1941 when she’d got the confirmation that her beloved Charlie had been killed during the Battle of Crete.

She remembered the last letter she’d ever received from him.

It was full of love, optimism, and determination.

He was coming home soon, he’d said, more with hope and longing than certainty.

And when he did, maybe they’d start that family after all, even though she was getting on a bit, having reached the grand old age of thirty.

‘Bloody cheek!’ she’d exclaimed before mopping away her tears and running her little finger down the image of his face, looking so serious in the photograph he’d enclosed with his letter.

She and Charlie had been boyfriend and girlfriend since they were thirteen years old.

She’d never loved anyone else. The whole family adored Charlie, and when the news came that he wouldn’t be coming home, it had broken her mum and dad almost as much as it had broken her.

Norman, too. Still too young to sign up, he’d been devastated. He and Ray had idolised Charlie.

Ray could have stayed home when war broke out, being a farm labourer, but he wanted to follow his hero brother-in-law into battle and had lied about his age, enlisting in late 1940 when he was just seventeen.

The whole family had hoped and prayed that both Charlie and Ray would come home safe, but it wasn’t to be. Charlie never came home. And Ray – well, Ray had been damaged during the Normandy Campaign in June 1944. Badly damaged. He was never the same again.

War, she thought bitterly, had taken so much from the Deakins. Maybe celebrating the 1940s wasn’t such a good idea after all.

And yet…

Her shoulders dropped and she thought wistfully that it hadn’t been all bad.

There had been good times when the boys came home on leave and the family was reunited.

There had been strong bonds formed in the village as everyone pulled together and dealt with the hardships and grief that came their way.

There had been new friendships forged as the women of Rowan Vale picked her up after her devastating loss and kept her going with their compassion and warm humour.

There had been – as hard as it was to imagine – laughter. And there had been so much love…

‘You know what I think? I think our Pippa ought to write about this 1940s weekend for The Cotswolds Courier . What do you think, Mum?’

Polly’s attention was caught by Christie’s question, and she mentally shook her head.

She was done brooding, remember? Fancy letting her mind go wandering back to that time and getting all maudlin like that!

If there was going to be a 1940s weekend in the village, she wanted to enjoy it.

She’d remember all the good times and put the darkness aside.

It belonged in the past. Her mum always used to say that no good ever came from wallowing, and she was right.

Shona carefully put Maddie on the grass, not letting go of her hands until the toddler had got her balance, then beamed proudly as Maddie took a few tentative steps towards her great-grandad.

‘That’s a good idea, actually,’ she said at last, turning to her eldest daughter. ‘Callie did say she wanted to attract more people to Rowan Vale, and a feature in the newspaper might be just the job.’

While Christie was happy as a wife and mum, working part-time in a gift shop, her sister, Pippa, had taken a different path.

She’d gone to university, studied journalism, and three years after graduating, was now living and working in Much Melton, reporting on local news for The Cotswolds Courier . Christie’s idea made a lot of sense.

‘More tourists, eh?’ Jimmy chuckled as he held out his arms to Maddie. ‘Reverend Silas is going to love that, eh, Polly?’

She grinned. ‘That’s what I said!’

‘Wish I could meet him,’ Jimmy said wistfully. ‘I’ve heard such a lot about him from Dad and you; he sounds like a real character.’

‘A real character’s one way of putting it. A right miserable old sod is another,’ Polly told him. ‘Amelia’s very lucky she can’t see or hear him, sharing that vicarage with him. That’s all I can say.’

‘I might give Pippa a ring,’ Shona said thoughtfully. ‘See if she’d be up for covering the story.’

‘Maybe wait until you get that newsletter, love,’ Jimmy advised her. ‘Find out if it’s definitely going ahead and what it’s going to be exactly, then I’d speak to Callie. Check she’s okay with Pippa covering it. Then put it to Pippa.’

‘I’d put it to Pippa before mentioning it to Callie,’ Christie said, smoothing Autumn’s hair. ‘She might not think it worth covering and you don’t want to get Callie’s hopes up for nothing.’

‘Of course she’ll think it’s worth covering,’ Polly said indignantly, forgetting for a moment that Christie couldn’t hear her. ‘It’s going to be brilliant. I can’t wait.’

She was going to enjoy every moment. She’d quite made her mind up on that. And she wasn’t going to let any dark shadows from the past spoil it for her.