in his crate,” she mumbled, and quickly left the room.
When she returned, Poppy was telling Angus about their planned activities regarding the pub and Scotland Yard.
“May I come along?” Angus asked. “I dinna have any other plans for the day. I’ve a need t’ do something, and that will be a good place to start.”
Catherine readily accepted his offer, and as soon as they were done with breakfast, the three of them were off. Everyone remained quiet as they rumbled along on the train. Once they emerged from the Underground, the gloomy skies did nothing to lighten the mood.
The streets were deserted as they made their way to the narrow alley that housed The Crook. As soon as they turned in, they all stopped short. The pub was dark, and they saw an official police sign posted on the door. Crime Investigation. No Entry Allowed .
Catherine stood stock-still. Crime Investigation. The words hit her hard. She felt hopeless and filled with dread.
“Come on, then. There’s nothing for us here,” Angus said. He turned her away from the pub, and they quickly left the alleyway.
Scotland Yard proved no better for gathering information. Since it was Christmas, there was only a skeleton staff working, and the clerk who manned the front desk had no idea about the investigation.
Tired and dispirited, the three finally arrived at Nigel’s home. Neighbors and friends of the Brandons stopped by with food and condolences. Poppy intercepted and thanked them at the door, while Angus stayed with Nigel. Her dad and Aunt Vivian put lunch on the table to be eaten as hunger struck, and Catherine and her mother made phone calls.
Endless, heartbreaking phone calls.
Chapter Thirteen
New Year’s Eve, 1945
Catherine opened her eyes. It was the morning of her wedding day, or rather, her non-wedding day.
She felt strangely unemotional, distant. She pushed back the covers and got out of bed. The cold air in her room quickly chilled her as she shoved her bare feet into slippers and donned her robe.
Where are you, Jonnie?
Her wedding outfit hung from a hook on her door. She stared at it, numb from a week of pain, heartache, and the unknown.
Are you alive?
A light tap on her door, and her fingers, stiff with cold, made her realize she’d been blindly staring, thinking, wondering for quite some time.
Catherine heaved a sigh and opened the door.
Her mother stood there, dark circles beneath her eyes, looking as worn down as Catherine felt. “Dad got up early to fix us all a nice breakfast.”
Breakfast? She didn’t want food.
“You do remember everyone’s coming by for an early supper?”
Catherine nodded. “It will be horrid, everyone weeping.”
“Nobody wants you to bear this alone, especially not tonight.” Her mum gently touched Catherine’s cheek. “You mustn’t become bitter, darling. You mustn’t. It will taint your whole life. Be strong for Jonnie’s sake. We all know his fate was not his choosing, so please, honor him by holding tight to the joy he gave you, all the wonderful memories. Allow yourself to cry until the tears run out. Don’t bottle them up. Cry, darling.”
The ice encasing her heart shattered. Jonnie …
Lily nodded. “Don’t be ashamed. This is a day for tears.”
The pain was unbearable. Catherine gulped in air and, with a great, anguished sob, she folded into her mother’s loving embrace and wept.
…
Vile, despicable hope flared when Catherine heard the rap at her front door. She had come to loathe feelings of hope in the week since Jonnie left their lives. Every knock, every phone call, every glimpse of a uniform or rumble of a baritone voice, and every single one of Duffy’s mad dashes to greet callers, set her heart to thumping, to leap with hopeful joy, only to be sent plummeting once again into the black void of pain and grief.
She heard her mother answer the door. Another neighbor come to pay their respect? No, she could hear Poppy and Susan greeting her parents. Her
When she returned, Poppy was telling Angus about their planned activities regarding the pub and Scotland Yard.
“May I come along?” Angus asked. “I dinna have any other plans for the day. I’ve a need t’ do something, and that will be a good place to start.”
Catherine readily accepted his offer, and as soon as they were done with breakfast, the three of them were off. Everyone remained quiet as they rumbled along on the train. Once they emerged from the Underground, the gloomy skies did nothing to lighten the mood.
The streets were deserted as they made their way to the narrow alley that housed The Crook. As soon as they turned in, they all stopped short. The pub was dark, and they saw an official police sign posted on the door. Crime Investigation. No Entry Allowed .
Catherine stood stock-still. Crime Investigation. The words hit her hard. She felt hopeless and filled with dread.
“Come on, then. There’s nothing for us here,” Angus said. He turned her away from the pub, and they quickly left the alleyway.
Scotland Yard proved no better for gathering information. Since it was Christmas, there was only a skeleton staff working, and the clerk who manned the front desk had no idea about the investigation.
Tired and dispirited, the three finally arrived at Nigel’s home. Neighbors and friends of the Brandons stopped by with food and condolences. Poppy intercepted and thanked them at the door, while Angus stayed with Nigel. Her dad and Aunt Vivian put lunch on the table to be eaten as hunger struck, and Catherine and her mother made phone calls.
Endless, heartbreaking phone calls.
Chapter Thirteen
New Year’s Eve, 1945
Catherine opened her eyes. It was the morning of her wedding day, or rather, her non-wedding day.
She felt strangely unemotional, distant. She pushed back the covers and got out of bed. The cold air in her room quickly chilled her as she shoved her bare feet into slippers and donned her robe.
Where are you, Jonnie?
Her wedding outfit hung from a hook on her door. She stared at it, numb from a week of pain, heartache, and the unknown.
Are you alive?
A light tap on her door, and her fingers, stiff with cold, made her realize she’d been blindly staring, thinking, wondering for quite some time.
Catherine heaved a sigh and opened the door.
Her mother stood there, dark circles beneath her eyes, looking as worn down as Catherine felt. “Dad got up early to fix us all a nice breakfast.”
Breakfast? She didn’t want food.
“You do remember everyone’s coming by for an early supper?”
Catherine nodded. “It will be horrid, everyone weeping.”
“Nobody wants you to bear this alone, especially not tonight.” Her mum gently touched Catherine’s cheek. “You mustn’t become bitter, darling. You mustn’t. It will taint your whole life. Be strong for Jonnie’s sake. We all know his fate was not his choosing, so please, honor him by holding tight to the joy he gave you, all the wonderful memories. Allow yourself to cry until the tears run out. Don’t bottle them up. Cry, darling.”
The ice encasing her heart shattered. Jonnie …
Lily nodded. “Don’t be ashamed. This is a day for tears.”
The pain was unbearable. Catherine gulped in air and, with a great, anguished sob, she folded into her mother’s loving embrace and wept.
…
Vile, despicable hope flared when Catherine heard the rap at her front door. She had come to loathe feelings of hope in the week since Jonnie left their lives. Every knock, every phone call, every glimpse of a uniform or rumble of a baritone voice, and every single one of Duffy’s mad dashes to greet callers, set her heart to thumping, to leap with hopeful joy, only to be sent plummeting once again into the black void of pain and grief.
She heard her mother answer the door. Another neighbor come to pay their respect? No, she could hear Poppy and Susan greeting her parents. Her
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