Cockney Orphan (43 page)

Why had he survived and not them? Why hadn’t he sunk to the bottom of the ocean on that sad Sicilian shore? What or who had given him life in the face of death? He’d tried to
understand, tried even harder to justify his survival, but even the years he’d spent as a partisan hadn’t lessened the guilt he felt. Not even when he’d been repatriated and
crossed this same strip of water in a navy cruiser just after VE Day, not even then had he felt justified in walking on English soil once more. Georgie, Tommy Drew, Sammy Kite, they were all gone.
Billy too . . .

Vic looked down into the foamy white wake, a healthy sea filled only with fish and the keels of friendly vessels. His eyes skimmed the dancing water and swooping gulls, lifting to the bright
blue sky over Dover. He remembered how good it had felt nine years ago to see those liberated cliffs. To inhale the pure air and know that, in the end, the struggle for freedom had been worth it.
That Georgie and Billy and the others hadn’t died in vain.

But it wasn’t until he’d taken Connie in his arms and pressed his lips against hers that he dared to hope it was all real. That he was home again and it was finished. It was
over.

‘Darling?’

Vic swung round. Connie stood before him, as lovely as the day he’d first met her. Age had delicately added a wise beauty to her features, deepening the colour of her eyes, a thousand
shades more intense than the blue of the sea. Her blond waves blew in the breeze over the collar of her shirtwaister dress. She took his hands, placing them on her slim hips hidden elegantly under
the fashionable sheath skirt.

‘It’s beautiful up here,’ she whispered. ‘But lonely.’

He held her face in his hands. ‘Not now you’re with me.’

She gave a little tremble and he pulled her against him. ‘What’s wrong?’

She laid her cheek on his chest. ‘It’s just that I don’t want to get upset when we see his grave.’

‘We’ll be with you.’

She sighed softly. ‘I just can’t believe he’s gone sometimes. Billy was so full of life.’

Vic looked into her eyes. ‘He died a hero, Con. Imagine that. A posthumous medal an’ all. Now that’s serious business.’

Her soft mouth curved into a wry smile. ‘Hark who’s talking. You had yours pinned to your chest by the king. I still haven’t got over finding myself in Buckingham Palace in
that room with all those oil paintings in gold frames and big red velvet chairs. Mum and Dad still go on about it even now.’

‘It should’ve been Georgie and the others there – not me.’

‘They were with you, you just couldn’t see them.’

He grinned. ‘Now I can hear Gran talking.’

‘Well, she was there too, although I doubt she’d have agreed to curtsy, more like she’d have sat on one of those posh chairs and asked for a cup of tea. Served in best china,
mind.’

They laughed softly, swaying in the breeze, their arms around one another. ‘There’ll be so many other graves,’ she said suddenly. ‘How will we know where he
is?’

‘Don’t worry, they’ll show us.’

‘Is Normandy far from Calais?’

‘Not as the crow flies. We’ll stop the car halfway and find somewhere to eat.’

‘Don’t forget, we’ve got to drive on the opposite side.’

Vic chuckled. ‘Reckon we won’t be the first British to make a mistake or two. Now tell me, what’s it like being the wife of a successful businessman?’

Connie arched her fine eyebrows. ‘Hark at it! Is that what you call yourself these days? Well, don’t let it go to your head, Victor Champion. I’m still wondering when I’m
going to get those nice new shoes I asked for about a year ago!’

‘A year?’ He looked mortified. ‘Was it that long ago?’

‘No, it was only a month, actually. But I’m putting in me order before the queue gets any longer.’

‘As if I’d see my lovely wife standing in a queue!’ He shook her gently and they laughed again. If anyone had told him when he was a nipper that he would end up a shoemaker,
he’d have laughed his head off. But his Italian friends had taught him a thing or two about cobbling and making boots for the partisans, a skill that had set him up for life. He’d
opened two workshops now, in Poplar and Stepney, and planned a third near the city centre. The world and his wife wanted good shoes – they never went out of fashion. It was hard to imagine
that he’d learned his skills in the foothills of an Italian mountain range, hammering out goatskins!

‘I always thought you’d go back to sea, you know,’ she murmured as they began to walk arm in arm along the deck. ‘I thought you couldn’t resist it. The PLA wanted
you back and you loved the docks . . .’

‘I loved you and the kids more.’

She stopped and the big ship rolled gently. ‘It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?’

He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, it did.’ The silver tail on his forehead disappeared into the furrows of a frown as he spoke hesitantly. ‘Con, I know this trip is to see Billy, like
we always said we’d do when we could afford it. But coming away like this has made me think. We should have a few good holidays now the business is doing all right. What I mean is, how about
somewhere like Switzerland later this year?’

‘
Switzerland!
’ Connie gasped.

Vic nodded. ‘Kev’s been with me two years now. He knows the ropes.’

She gave a little cry of delight. ‘Oh, Vic, that’d be lovely.’

‘We could buy a tent, have a camping holiday if that’s what the kids fancy.’

She nodded eagerly. ‘Do you really mean it?’

‘Course I do. Everyone’s going abroad these days. Besides, Lucky’ll be fifteen soon. He’ll be wanting to get off with his mates. I’d like him to remember one or two
good holidays, not just bed and breakfast in Margate with the twins and Pat and the kids. I want to make special memories like this with just the four of us.’

Connie looked into his eyes. ‘You’re a wonderful dad, the best.’

‘Oh, sweetheart, I try to be.’

‘Say that again . . . our word . . .’

Slowly he lowered his head and murmured against her lips, ‘My darling sweetheart . . .’ He kissed her longingly.

‘Mum! Dad!’

A tall fair-haired young lad came bounding towards them. He was accompanied by a girl half his size dressed in a blue gingham dress. She had Connie’s big blue eyes and long, light brown
hair tied in a pony tail. His son and daughter were the apple of his eye. His adopted son, Victor Junior, more often than not still called Lucky, and his seven-year-old daughter, Alice.

‘Look in my bag!’ cried Alice. ‘We’ve bought funny cards for Grandad and Grandma, a stick of rock each for the twins. And a packet of stamps for Larry’s album. Oh,
and a bottle of eau de cologne for Grace. Now she’s got a boyfriend she wants to smell nice.’

Connie looked impressed. ‘I hope you practised your French.’

Alice looked up at her brother. ‘Lucky did.’

The handsome young man of fourteen blushed above his white, open-necked shirt. He was as tall as his mother now and dressed in smart grey flannels and a navy blue blazer. ‘I only tried out
a bit but the lady seemed to understand me.’

‘I said merci bucket,’ giggled Alice shyly.

‘Did you now?’ Her father grinned. ‘Well, even your old dad might try a word or two of the vernacular when we dock at Calais. I’ll start with a quick bonjour mademoiselle
to the nearest gendarme.’

Alice slapped her father playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t be daft, Dad. A gendarme’s not a lady. He’s a French policeman.’

Vic smirked. ‘Clever clogs.’

‘So you’ve both spent all your pocket money?’ Connie concluded ruefully.

Alice tutted. ‘No, course not, Mum. We’ve still got to get Auntie Sylvie and Uncle Kev their souvenirs. And Auntie Pat and Uncle Laurie’s stinky cheese. And then there’s
Nan and Lofty, who said they want something nice for their new house in the country.’

Connie grinned. ‘It’s not the country, love, not really. It’s called Osterley Park, in Middlesex. And it’s not a house but a flat that’s built specially for older
folk.’

‘Is that where you and Dad are going to live when you’re old?’

‘Certainly not!’ Vic exclaimed, wheeling his daughter forward along the deck. ‘Your mum and me are going to live right where we’ve always lived, in our nice big house on
the island, right by the river.’ He pulled her pony tail. ‘And as far as getting old is concerned, why, we’re only spring chickens yet. In fact, I’ll have you know
we’re off to Switzerland very soon, so there!’

Lucky turned to stare at his father. ‘You’re joking, Dad!’

‘Not on your nelly.’

‘Where’s Switzerland?’ Alice asked.

‘Turn left after France.’ Vic strolled on casually. ‘I’m taking your mum up a mountain. Now what do you think of that?’

‘What, without us?’

Vic shrugged. ‘Well you two wouldn’t be interested, not in climbing right up to the top in all that snow and getting all puffed out and moaning that we forced every step out of
you.’

Alice jumped in front of him, her freckles glowing. ‘Lucky and me never moan. We’d only do that if we was left behind.’

Vic leaned against the rail and winked slyly at Connie, who smothered a grin. Alice flung herself at her father. Squeezing him tight she burst out, ‘I knew you was joking!’

Vic hugged his daughter, kissing the top of her silky head. He glanced at Lucky. ‘Well, son, what do you say to a stroll in the Alps?’

‘Me mates are never gonna believe it.’

‘Well, you can thank your Uncle Billy for the inspiration.’ Vic glanced at his beautiful wife. ‘When we visit him, we’ll all say a big thank you.’

‘Will he hear us, Dad?’ Alice asked.

‘He’ll hear us. Gran will too. Wouldn’t be surprised if a voice didn’t boom down in reply either.’ Vic ruffled her hair and slid the Brownie box camera from its
case strung across his shoulder. ‘Now, all of you slap great big smiles across your faces and say cheese to the camera.’

Vic watched his family eagerly arrange themselves for the photograph. Behind them was a vast, clear blue day and, when the ferry dipped, a glimpse of aquamarine ink. And somewhere beyond this
was Calais and Caen and Billy’s last resting place, soon to be honoured by a long overdue visit from the Champions.

‘Right – on the count of three!’ Vic lifted the camera. His eye found the viewfinder and he saw his children standing on either side of his wife, arms linked and smiles
stretched wide across happy faces. Slowly but surely a layer of pastel colours began to appear around them. Pinks, lemons, greens and blues, a halo that trickled itself around the three people he
loved most in the world. The lights grew brighter and more exquisite, until, holding his breath, he blinked, looked again, then snapped the image for posterity.