Music of Time and Other Short Stories: Short Stories, #5

By Gail Crane

Coffee Break stories for lovers of women's fiction.

 

Music of Time

Alice is eagerly awaiting Eddie's return from the Great War, but will he be the Eddie she knew? Or will he have changed?

Breaking the News

Samantha was enjoying her course in the beautiful city of Bath, but in her heart she had never felt so alone.

Country Girl

A seaside cottage provides a welcome retreat from London for Lucy. If only David felt the same.

Chance of a Lifetime

It was the hardest decision Sally had ever had to make. Her dream? Or her dream man?

I should be so Lucky

A broken mirror. A single magpie. One thing after another. Gill couldn't help being superstitious but she was about to be married to a wonderful man and what she badly needed was a lucky charm.

The Sissinghurst Seat

Jenny wants something special for her parents' silver wedding anniversary. Could a second-hand yard and an old acquaintance provide the answer?

Some Things are Meant to Be

The for sale board outside the house stirs bittersweet memories for Jess; of a time when it had almost been hers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aller Books
• Release date: Feb 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393672883

Gail Crane

Gail Crane writes romance novels and short stories inspired by the Exmoor countryside where she lives. She is a member of The Alliance of Independent Authors and The Romantic Novelists Association and in 2014, she completed a BA degree with Open University, studying creative writing and children's literature. When not writing or reading, she enjoys walking and gardening, and is addicted to crosswords.

Book preview

Music of Time

'We’ll meet again....' The words fill the room with a promise I find difficult to believe as I listen to Vera Lynn on the wireless.

'Don’t know where, don’t know when....' Now that’s more like it; because I don’t know where or when I’m going to see my Eddie again. It’s more than two years since I last saw him.

I open the drawer in the sideboard and take out his last precious letter. How many times have I read it? So many times that the paper is becoming creased and worn where my fingers have traced the words and my lips have kissed where he has signed his name. 'My dearest Alice,' he begins. The letter doesn’t tell me much, the censor has seen to that, but every remaining word I know by heart.

I cross to the window and push back the hated black-out curtains. At least we won’t need those any more. Out in the street, people are getting ready for tomorrow’s celebrations. VE Day, they’re calling it. They tell us the war is over, but for some, like my Eddie, nothing much has changed. I press his letter against my heart and choke back the tears. What’s the point of crying? That’s not going to bring him back.

I wish Mum was here to share it with but she and Dad are miles away, trying to keep the farm going with the help of two Land Army girls. I wish I could go back home and help but, as a school teacher I, too, am in a reserved occupation and must remain where I am. Without petrol, I have no means of getting home, anyway.

I put Eddie’s letter back in the drawer and pick up the photograph he gave me before he went away.

Is it really five years ago that it all began?

*

The strains of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade fill the village hall. I rest my cheek against the rough cloth of Eddie’s crisp, new battledress jacket as we move together round the dance floor. I want to remember every detail of how it feels to be held in his arms, to feel his breath on my forehead and his body against mine, because he’s going away tomorrow and I don’t know when I shall see him again.

We’ve been at war for over a year now and Eddie has just finished his training. I’m so proud of him. He looks even more handsome than ever in his khaki uniform. He and some of the other lads from our village are on embarkation leave and this is their farewell party. We are all trying to be cheerful and happy and give them a good send-off but an air of melancholy hangs over everything.

Eddie holds me tighter as the band plays the Last Waltz, and we cling to each other in a way we would never have dared to a short while ago. There is a feeling of desperation in the air, of an uncertain future in which we must all live each moment as if it was our last.

The party’s over. It’s time to go home. We walk, hand in hand, up the hill from the village hall. We can neither of us bear to say goodbye just yet, so we stop at the top of the hill and sit on a bench. I shiver in the cold November air. Eddie puts his arm round me and I snuggle up close and lean my face against his.

'Alice?' he says.

I sense the urgency in his voice and look up at him.

'When all this is over, will you marry me?'

I answer by throwing my arms round him and kissing him. I begin to speak but our attention is caught by an orange glow that slowly creeps across the horizon and fills the night sky.

We sit and gaze in horror.

The next morning, on the wireless, we hear that Coventry has been bombed and my heart fills with fear for Eddie.

*

There’ll be Bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover...' It’s two years since I first waved Eddie off at the station and he is home on leave again.

He is a like stranger. Each meeting is more difficult than the last. We sit side by side on the sofa. We hold hands and say how much we love each other; but the words sound hollow, without meaning.

Eddie is so quiet and subdued. He’s lost weight and his face is gaunt. His eyes are glazed, as though he’s looking into the distance, seeing things he’d rather not see.

I lean across and kiss him, gently, and he smiles at me. I push back a strand of hair that has fallen across his eye and let my hand brush against his cheek. In a sudden burst of emotion, he wraps his arms round me and hugs me to him.

'Alice. Alice, my love,' he murmurs. And I hold him tightly until he eventually lets me go. There are tears in his eyes; and in mine, too, but the barrier between us has been breached and we are ourselves again: until next time.

*

This morning, the telegram came.

I sit and look at it, my hands shaking. Just at this moment, nothing in the world exists except me and this flimsy piece of paper. All my senses are focussed on it, dreading what it will tell me.  Trembling, I tear it open and force myself to read.

Relief floods through me as the words ‘captured’ and ‘prisoner-of-war’ leap off the page. He’s not dead. He’s safe; out of the fighting; for now, at least.

*

Today I’ve had a letter from Eddie; the first since the day the telegram arrived.

'My dearest Alice,' he begins. 'I miss you so much. I hope that, by now, you will have been told where I am and that I am safe. I expect that much of this letter will meet with the disapproval of the censors, however...' Then the black lines begin; ruthlessly obliterating my Eddie’s message. How dare they? On and on they go for several lines until, at last, they stop and Eddie speaks to me again. '...so I won’t be seeing you for a while, my darling, but I shall think about you every minute of every