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Back When We Meet Again Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  52. POPULAR BOOKS FROM THE ERA
  53. When We Meet Again
  54. A Conversation with Caroline Beecham about When We Meet Again
  55. Discussion Guide
  56. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  57. What’s next onyour reading list?

No, she could feel it in each aching tendon and the viscera of her body, in the thickness of her womb. Eadie had been born weeks early; Alice’s mother hadn’t arrived by the time the baby came squalling into the world, so her aunt had taken charge, calling the doctor. He had stitched Alice with unsympathetic detachment before telling her to rest and that any questions should be saved for the nurse who would come the following day.

Her aunt had been on hand, helping with hot water and the constant supply of towels, until the other guests complained there was no supper on the table.

That was it: her aunt must have taken Eadie downstairs.

Alice relaxed as she gathered the white crocheted blanket between her fingers and lifted it to her nose, breathing in her daughter’s scent.

Then she saw the handwritten note.

I’m sorry, Alice, but this really is for the best.

She recognized the handwriting.

One

London, November 1942

Five months earlier

The baby’s face was scratched and dirty, the blanket barely covering its pale unwashed skin. But the haystacks looked as if they could provide some warmth and comfort, as did the Three Wise Men standing nearby—even though one was missing his head. Alice stared at the nativity scene a fraction longer, a smile broadening her lips as she gazed at the infant, fear and excitement blooming inside her.

Shopfronts glistened with Christmas decorations and seasonal greetings, the frosted windows strewn with multicolored tinsel and sprigs of holly, handmade decorations and signs: defiant gestures by Londoners determined to get on with their lives. Alice wished she had time to stay awhile longer, but she had to hurry; it was Monday morning, so they would all be assembled for the weekly meeting, and she would make the speech that she’d been practicing for some time.

More shops and offices were opening as she hurried by, their entrances and doorways crowded with the morning rush. She carried on past a line of steam-filled cafés, only slowing when the storefront of W.H. Smith & Son came into view. A sign above the entrance read, blacked-out evenings—take home some books, and a familiar poster stood propped against the end of the bookstand:

IMPORTANT

Newspapers and Magazines Supplied to order only.

The only way to make sure of regular supplies is to give a standing order for all newspapers, periodicals and magazines required, whether these are to be delivered or bought over the counter.

Please give your order NOW.

Alice buttoned her coat as she read, trying to even out her breath, the brutal sting of cold air reawakening her nervousness over what she was about to do. There was no time for second thoughts now, no chance to turn back the clock, so she placed her hand protectively across her belly and carried on into Russell Square.