‘Aye, course it does, but we’ll all get used to it, lad. I remember when our Shelly was born. At first, it seemed right weird to call that little baby Michelle . . . Must admit, I called her a few other names at night, when she was teething. They came quite natural, believe me, but honestly, you don’t want to hear them now.’

Shelly and DJ laughed.

Shelly’s chest tightened every time DJ called her Mum, and she could see her father was quite overwhelmed by his new role too. She went right up to DJ and said, ‘Look, we’re all family here, do you think you could just . . .’ She had to stop and gulp back tears. ‘Give me a hug? I’ve waited a lifetime.’

DJ, who was six inches taller than her, pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. ‘You can’t understand what this day means to me,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you.’

*

‘That went all right, don’t you think?’ Shelly said, putting the last of the dishes away.

Gordon nodded at the window, towards the old oak tree where DJ was sitting on the bench reading some of Gertie’s letters that they’d found in an oilcloth envelope in the pillow-bag. ‘He seems like a nice boy; kind, good-looking, with a sense of humour. Of course, he’d get all that from his grandad. Runs in the family, don’t it?’

Shelly laughed and marvelled at how her father’s wit had returned. Her own joy was so great she felt an urge to pull on her ballet pumps and pirouette across the table, but she hadn’t worn them since she was six years old.

‘I’m just going to pack the contents of the pillow-bag into my suitcase to take with me next week. Is there anything you’d like to keep, Dad?’

‘Well, I don’t know, we didn’t really have a good look, did we? Too busy yakkin’. Let’s go through it together shall we?’

‘Might as well finish going through the trunk too,’ she said. ‘I put the Christmas presents in my bedroom. I thought . . . well, about having a proper Christmas this year . . .’

‘I know,’ he said, way ahead of her. ‘It’s time we celebrated Christmas. I’ll do it in honour of my wife, and you do it in honour of your son, OK?’

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

GERTIE

Lemnos, Greece, 1917.