Free Summer Loving by Rachel Ennis Page A

bitter, demanding, miserable woman who never saw a happy day.’
    ‘Don’t hold back, Annie.’ Claire croaked, wiping her eyes. ‘Say what you really think.’
    Annie’s mouth twitched. ‘Always do.’ She turned to Morwenna. ‘You were a wonderful daughter to her, far better than she deserved. But that’s in the past. You should be thinking of the future and marrying Ben.’
    ‘Annie’s right,’ Jess said as the others nodded their agreement.
    ‘Do you want to know what else they said?’ Viv demanded. ‘That he’s disrespecting their mother’s memory. The cheek of it! Two years she been gone. And for that first year he looked ill, dear of ’n.’
    ‘If I wasn’t clinging to restraint,’ Claire said, ‘I might be tempted to say they’ve got a bloody nerve.’
    Viv nodded. ‘I already did, and a lot more besides. ’Tisn’t nothing to do with respect. What it is, they’re afraid he might change his will.’
    Jess’s gaze met Mor’s. It was only after her mother’s death that Mor had learned the cottage they had been living in was actually hers, left to her by her grandfather.
    Annie’s brief laugh held little humour. Claire shook her head.
    ‘Families,’ Viv said. ‘Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em off.’
    ‘And on that cheery note ...’ Claire turned to Morwenna. ‘Mor, I talked to Paul and he would be happy to conduct your wedding to Ben if you would like to have it in the church. He does already have a wedding booked for 11.30 a.m. on Sept 3 rd . But you could have yours at two.’
    Morwenna turned pink with pleasure. ‘Oh, that’s some kind of him. Ben and me wanted to say our vows before God and get married in the village. Nothing against the register office,’ she added quickly.
    ‘It’s all right, Mor,’ Jess touched her shoulder as she went to refill the kettle. ‘We know what you mean.’
    ‘Right, ladies,’ Claire drained her mug and set it on the table. ‘The next issue of the magazine.’

Chapter Nine
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    S aturday morning brought a change in the weather. Jess opened the curtains and saw grey cloud blanketing the sky. By the time she had showered, dressed, and made the bed, rain was falling. It spangled the grass, darkened the dusty earth, and freshened the air.
    After a breakfast of fruit, toast, and coffee, she washed up and tidied the kitchen, opened her laptop, and logged into the local history archives.
    On June 1 st 1944 the build-up to departure began. Convoys of heavy lorries and tank transporters stretched for miles, all headed for the loading areas on the Fal and Helford rivers. The throb of engines and rumble of tracks and tyres continued day and night.
    As Jess read, the words transformed into images and she could picture it like watching a film.
    For the final two days of loading only military traffic was allowed on the roads. Men going to work, children to school, and housewives trying to reach shops all had to walk along narrow paths between field hedges and growing crops.
    On the night of embarkation one terrified black GI deserted. Caught at a crossroads outside the village he was ordered to return to his unit. Out of his mind with fear he fought his captors, desperate to escape, and was shot. Jess felt sorry for him. He was as much a casualty of war as those who had perished during the disastrous beach-landing rehearsal.
    What of the man ordered to shoot a fellow soldier? What had he felt? Pity? Anger? Disgust? Left unchecked, terror would have spread like a virus. Shooting the deserter was both summary justice and a warning to the others.
    Ten LSTs crammed with men, tanks, guns, vehicles, and other equipment left from Trebah Beach, another twenty-three from the Fal. By June 7 th  – after days and nights of constant deafening noise – the south Cornish coast was silent. Harbours and rivers that for many months had been hives of activity now lay empty.
    The phone rang, making her jump. She lifted the receiver.