Three's a crowd

VE Day 1945, England

Just visible on the eastern horizon, the sun rose in a glorious explosion of pink and gold, the morning light stroking the hedges and dew-soaked leaves. Pippa watched from her bedroom window as the streets of London were washed in a ghostly, silver light, emanating an almost ethereal glow. London – what had once been a colourful, cosmopolitan city dotted with street markets filling the air with amazing smells, was now a ghost town of deserted houses, crawling with mould and damp. She gazed around her own home, where ivy clasped the walls and curled through the roof. Despite her best efforts to keep her little, terraced house as pristine as it had been, the years of unabated war and suffering had left its mark.

The singing of the kettle snapping her back to reality, she rushed down into the kitchen, coughing and flapping away the steam that coiled from the spout. Adding a splash of milk, she wrapped her hands around the piping hot concoction and made her way into the reception. The curtains at the side of the great bay window were tattered and yellowed with age; only ragged traces of glass remained in the windows, still patiently waiting to be fixed. She sank down into the armchair, the numerous cushions enveloping her in a velvety embrace – they reminded Pippa of her mother, a soft-spoken, nurturing individual, whom she hadn’t seen in nearly two years. A breeze from the gaping holes of glass brushed against her face, causing her teeth to chatter incessantly. She drew the mug up to her lips and shivered as the warm, rich liquid trickled down inside her throat.

She drained the cup within minutes, desperate for warmth that she hadn’t felt in over six years. Adjusting the knobs on the radio, she let her head fall back and shut her eyes, listening to the smooth tones of the newsreader. The fatigue was gnawing at her, but just as she was about to zone out, four little words instantly caught her attention.

“THE WAR IS OVER. VICTORY FOR BRITAIN!”

The smash of the mug, as it fell against the marble floors, sliced through the air, like a knife through freshly-baked bread. Pippa did not even glance at the broken china and splashes of tea on the polished, white floors: she had something much bigger on her mind. Victory. Uttering the word itself felt foreign on her lips, as she struggled to comprehend the idea of no more war. Newspaper images of soldiers in trenches and bomb-ridden cities flashed through her mind, like a broken record on a loop.

Victory.

She glided through the house, chanting the word over and over again under her breath, as if it were some kind of incantation. Breaking into a sprint, she charged upstairs and into the master bedroom.

“Arthur, Arthur! The war is over! We won! I know you might not believe me but-“

“Pippa, I was just coming to find you! Look, here it is printed on the front page of The Daily Herald!”

She snatched the paper from his hands, devouring the article with her eyes. It was true – the war was over. As Pippa glanced up into Arthur’s eyes, she found a glimmer there that she hadn’t seen since they had first met. The golden flecks in his caramel-brown eyes sparkled like jewels and his deep laugh echoed through house as he pulled her into a fierce hug. Pippa felt the strong arms around her and she could not help the tears that spilled down her cheek; she finally felt safe. Cries of laughter and the sound of trumpets from the street broke their embrace – both of them raced down to the bay window, stopping in their tracks as they watched the mesmerising scene unfold before their eyes.

Front doors of houses were flung open, as people took to the streets to celebrate the news. Children shrieked at the tops of their voices, racing on their bikes and weaving in and out of the crowds of people. Women were clutching each other, in tears, as men tossed their caps to the sky, shouting triumphantly. Flags of red, blue and white were draped proudly out of windows and on the backs of little boys as they wore them like capes. A band of trumpets and drums were set up in the middle of the street, blasting ‘God Save the King’ at top volume. Pippa relished in the smell of hot, buttered toast and Victoria sponge, as the street filled up with more and more people. She locked eyes with Arthur and the same thought ran through their heads; hand in hand, they opened the front door, to a world of laughter and safety.

Pippa joined the throng of people, marching together as one towards the town square. Trapped in by people from all directions, she desperately clung on to Arthur’s hand, only to feel it slip away seconds later. She turned scanning the blur of faces, but he was lost among the carefree crowd, who were continuously driving ahead. Pippa knew that Arthur would be safe and so took her place in the great army of people and marched with them. She felt her hands being taken hold of and then crushed: strangers either side of her linked arms, and she watched in disbelief as they surged ahead, red-faced from shouting and singing. As they approached town square, the clamour of voices intensified as returning soldiers from their town lined the outskirts of the parade, their heads held high in their uniform of khaki green.

One particular khaki-clad individual caught Pippa’s eye – it couldn’t be… She thought he was dead, but there he was right in front of her on the street, grinning at her. She furiously rubbed at her eyes, convinced her mind was playing tricks on her; he was still stood there, his eyes shining with delight.

Freddie.

He dropped his rucksack on the ground and jogged to her, slowly at first, then faster until he was sprinting at full speed. In the time it took Pippa to compose herself, he was standing there, in the flesh, before her. He gazed into her eyes, his lips nervously tugged upwards, and then pulled her close into his chest. Pippa was paralysed in shock: she could feel his steady heartbeat thumping against her own, a reminder that he was in fact real.

Burying his head into her hair, he whispered softly into her ear: “Pippa, I have missed you so much. I- I love you.”

As soon as those three words were uttered, the memories came flooding back.

August 1939

“Please Freddie, don’t go. Don’t leave me here all alone!”

“Pippa I promise you, I will be back before you even realise I am gone. I have to do this, for the Queen, for the country.

“B-but what about-“

“I love you Pippa, and I promise that when this is all over, I will come back and find you – I will always find you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She was brought back to the present when a series of shouts came from behind her.

“Pippa! Oh, I am glad you are not hurt. The crowd was so forceful that I just had to let go – isn’t this just the most marvellous feeling in the world!”

Arthur bounded into view, brandishing a flag in one arm and two slices of cake in the other. He stopped in his tracks, his brows knitting together as he watched her in a stranger’s arms. She released herself from Freddie’s grip and made her way to Arthur. Pippa watched as Freddie’s eyes pierced through Arthur, finally dropping down to the sparkling ring on her finger. His face changed from radiating love, to disbelief, then finally to a mask of no emotion.

Pippa struggled to find the words: “Freddie, meet Arthur, m-my fiancé…”