A Ration Book Wedding by Jean Fullerton

Author:Jean Fullerton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books

Chapter eighteen

‘LOOK AT THAT little one over there, Patrick,’ Charlie said, pointing through the mesh at one of the newly hatched chicks hopping around beside its mother.

Patrick bobbed up and down in excitement and Charlie put a steadying hand on his back to stopping his son falling backwards.

It was the last Saturday in April and the day after he’d met Francesca on the bus. He was in his rough cords and old collarless shirt because, although it was Saturday, he and his father had been up early on a delivery to Mare Street. They’d got back just as his grandmother was dishing up the midday meal. His parents were now both out, as were Michael and Billy. His gran had also nipped out for a ‘few minutes’ about an hour ago, leaving him and Patrick home alone.

‘Shall we count them?’ Charlie asked.

Gripping the edge of the chicken coop, Patrick jogged about again.

‘One, two three,’ Charlie said slowly. ‘Four, five—’

The side door creaked open.

Charlie looked around to see Francesca standing in the backyard. She was wearing a very fetching flowery dress with her abundant black hair gathered into a figure-of-eight bun at the nape of her neck.

Her eyes flickered down onto his unbuttoned shirt then back to his face. She smiled.

‘Look, Patrick, Auntie Francesca’s come to see us,’ he said, his heart swelling at the sight.

Looking around, Patrick wriggled a chubby hand by way of a greeting.

‘Actually,’ said Francesca, waving back, ‘I’ve come to see your mum. Is she in?’

Charlie shook his head. ‘She gone with Cathy to a Ministry of Food cookery demonstration at the rest centre.’

‘That’s a shame. She kindly said she’d put my mother’s statue of the Virgin on her shrine for a blessing in the June church parade, so I’ve brought it over,’ Francesca replied. ‘And it’s blooming heavy, I can tell you.’

Charlie stood up.

‘Let me take that,’ he said, leaving his son side-stepping around the chicken coop.

As he took the shopping bag from Francesca, his hand brushed against hers, sending a pleasant sensation up his arm.

‘Have you got time for a cuppa?’

Francesca shook her head. ‘Not really. Olive’s gone to see her sister so I promised Dad I’d be back in time for the afternoon teas.’ An amused smile played on her lips.

‘What?’

‘Charlie Brogan making tea,’ she laughed. ‘I didn’t think you could boil a kettle.’

‘Well, two and a half years in the army has taught me a thing or two,’ he replied.

‘I bet,’ she said.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Like… How to tell when a fig’s ripe or how to joint a rabbit with a bayonet on a seven-pounder’s breach block, oh, and how to milk a camel.’

‘Milk a camel!’

‘Well, perhaps not actually milk one,’ he admitted, ‘but certainly how to drink the stuff without throwing up. I’ll just pop this inside.’

Dashing into the kitchen, Charlie carefully placed the bag in the middle of the table. He hurried out again but when he got to the back step he stopped.

Francesca was leaning over talking to Patrick but, as he took a step sideward, he lost his balance.

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