Eva’s hand shook a little as she locked the front door. She smiled at her own nervousness. It was to be expected. It would be strange if she wasn’t nervous. Well, excited really. That was the real emotion.
Door closed, she adjusted her hat and smoothed down her frock – her special frock, the one she’d bought in the January sales in anticipation of this day – whenever it would be. She hadn’t realised then she’d have to wait until August before she could wear it. 20th August to be precise. Her red-letter day. Their red-letter day.
As she reached the gate she saw her neighbour Dolly Pearson returning from a shopping trip.
‘Good heavens,’ Dolly cried. ‘You look the bees’ knees. You off to the palace or something?’
Eva grinned. ‘It’s Tom. He’s coming home today. Home on leave. I can’t wait.’
‘Oh, my dear, that’s wonderful. How long has it been?’
Eva’s smiled faded a little. ‘Over a year. He’s been out in the desert.’
‘Well, you look a picture, I must say.’
Eva glanced down shyly. ‘I wanted to look my best. Anyway, I can’t stop, I’m late already.’
‘Off you go, my dear, and give that gorgeous hubby of yours a hug from me.’
‘I will,’ replied Eva, her smile returning as she hurried off down the street.
Good heavens, thought Eva, as she pushed her way along the crowded pavement, it seemed as though the world and his wife were in London today. They really were hampering her progress. She glanced at her watch. She was five minutes late already. Oh, how she ached to see Tom again. She loved him so much. And she knew he felt exactly the same about her. What had her sister, Beatrice, said to her? ‘Oh Eva, it’s a marriage made in heaven.’
And so it was.
With growing excitement, Eva made her way to the edge of the pavement and stepped out into the road. The large red omnibus hit her before she knew it.
The crowds around the entrance to King’s Cross Station were even denser. But she spotted Tom straight away. His tall frame and bright blonde hair made him stand out from the rest. Eva ran towards him, crying his name. When he saw her his worried features broke into a grin and he flung open his arms to receive her. They hugged tightly for a moment and then their lips met in a long passionate kiss.
‘There’s no one at home,’ said Dolly Pearson, standing on her doorstep.
The postman looked disappointed. ‘I’ve got a telegram for a Mrs Eva Braden. It looks official. Needs signing for.’
‘She’ll be back by dinnertime.’
‘I can’t wait around ’til then, I’ve got a bunch of others to deliver.’
Dolly hesitated for a moment. ‘Here, give it to me, I’ll sign for it.’
Dolly looked at the buff envelope lying on her kitchen table. It was official. From His Majesty’s Armed Forces. What could it say? Her hand strayed towards it. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. Curiosity got the better of her. Gently she pulled back the flap of the envelope and extracted the telegram within. The message was simple: ‘… we regret to inform you of the death of Thomas Braden on August 1st, 1943 during an encounter with the enemy …’