The Summer of 66 by Dan Wheatcroft - HTML preview

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Chapter 29

Seven o'clock, he made his excuses and returned home for a shower and change of clothes, curry night at the Gate of India as a little treat. As he drove up the mews, he saw her leaving her friend's house and pulled up alongside. She gave him a big smile. It looked genuine.

"Hello, Clare. I phoned you this morning, at the Ministry. I hope you don't mind. They couldn't find you so I left a message. Did you get it?"

Unperturbed, she answered, "Oh, I took the day off and went shopping with my mum."

"How is your, mum? Fine, I hope. Let's not leave your dad out either. Is he ok?"

Her face straightened. "My dad died some years ago."

"I'm so sorry, but I had no idea. What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It's not your fault. I never told you. He was sent to Malaya and the communists shot him."

"Army man was he?"

"Sort of."

He didn't say anything, leaving a space in the conversation for her to fill. She did.

"He survived the war and then... well, things happen."

"Did he do anything interesting in the war? I mean, more interesting than stacking boxes like my dad?"

A hint of a smile returned. "I don't know. He never really spoke of it. My mum once mentioned he'd been in Yugoslavia at some time. What was your message, anyway?"

"Oh, I just wanted to let you know I wouldn't be around for a while. I've got some insurance jobs to do in the far North so it'll mean staying over, could be as long as two weeks."

"I'll get that message when I go back tomorrow." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I'll try not to miss you too much," she grinned.

"Can I drop you anywhere?"

"That's kind, Gally, but I've some food shopping to do and then my mum is going to pick me up here at half-past." She opened her handbag and briefly scribbled on the little notebook she took out, tearing the page from its spines and handing it to him. "Why don't you give me a call when you get back. Maybe we could go to the pictures. There's a film called 'The Wrong Box' I'd like to see if it's still on."

He pushed the note into his jacket top pocket. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. Look after yourself, Clare, and I'll call you, as soon as I'm back." He watched her disappear around the corner. At the end of the main street, he turned back and parked up with a view of the mews entrance and checked his watch, 'a quarter past'. Eventually, he checked again, 'ten to'. She never came back.