Now, sitting in front
of the telly, Morton was wondering how to broach the subject of a new car,
since she’d taken his previous comment so flippantly. He decided to just
come out and say it. After all, he was earning the money. ‘I’m
telling you, I’m getting a new car,’ he said as empathically as he could
muster, ‘The money will be cleared any day now, so I’ll go and get one.’
‘It’s fine,
Morton. You say it like I’m going to stand in your way. It’s your
money, do what you like with it. Maybe you can put some of it towards something for your wonderful girlfriend of thirteen months who rescued you tonight?’
Juliette said with a wry smile.
‘We’ll
see.’ Morton knew that she was alluding to her desire to flash a large
rock on her left ring finger, although, actually he knew that she would have
settled for anything on her left ring finger. Even one of those
ring-shaped jelly sweets would have got her down the aisle. She was
always complaining that she was the last of her group of school friends without
a husband – some were selfishly already onto their second – or with a brigade
of children around their ankles.
Juliette
examined her left hand. ‘Gold suits me best,’ she muttered.
Maybe he would
buy Juliette a nice piece of jewellery. He was thinking of a
necklace. A nice one, something classy. Maybe with an
inscription. Just not that particular piece of jewellery.
Not yet.
Morton’s
thoughts drifted towards a happier time when his mother was still alive and his
ignorant view of his family was still intact. Just days after his
mother’s funeral his father callously sat him down and told him that he was
adopted. He had blurted out the words, as if he was telling him that
dinner was ready or that Morton had known all along but it had somehow slipped
his mind. Well, I really didn’t think you’d react like this,
Morton. You’re almost sixteen now, man, come along. It’s all a load
of biology, chemistry and whatnot. You’re my son today just like
you always have been and always will be. But he was no longer his
parents’ child; his real parents had apparently surrendered him forty-eight
hours after he had first drawn breath. The only comfort that Morton had
taken at the time from this bombshell was the revelation that he didn’t share a
single shred of DNA with Jeremy, the natural son of his parents. He was
one of those miracle babies that infertile couples who adopt seem able to
produce all of a sudden. He’d been treated like a miracle ever since.
As the years
had passed since the adoption revelation, Morton had gradually become
increasingly dislocated from his surname and now no longer felt any connection
to it. Do you, Juliette Meade take Morton the Unknown to be his lawful
wife? It would be ridiculous for Juliette to take his name upon
marriage when it really didn’t belong to him in the first place. She
might as well dip her finger into the phonebook and take her pick. Or she
could have one of the names Morton had harvested from parish registers over the
years, for no other reason than that they sounded amusing. Proudfoot.
Ruggles. Arblaster. Stinchcombe. Catchpole.
Winkworth. Peabody. Onions. Yes, that suited her,
Juliette Onions. It would make her stand out in the world of crime
prevention. Nobody would forget PCSO Juliette Onions.
Chapter Four
5th
June 1944
Emily pulled a hand-made shawl over her
shoulders, staring fixedly through the kitchen window into the orchard.
Alarmingly high winds – stronger than she thought she had ever known –
thundered furiously through the trees, callously ripping the tiny Victoria
plums from their branches and scattering them heartlessly onto the sodden
ground. She looked, almost without blinking, though the torrential rain
to the tall, brick chimney in the distance, standing defiantly against the
squally weather. She wondered what was
of the telly, Morton was wondering how to broach the subject of a new car,
since she’d taken his previous comment so flippantly. He decided to just
come out and say it. After all, he was earning the money. ‘I’m
telling you, I’m getting a new car,’ he said as empathically as he could
muster, ‘The money will be cleared any day now, so I’ll go and get one.’
‘It’s fine,
Morton. You say it like I’m going to stand in your way. It’s your
money, do what you like with it. Maybe you can put some of it towards something for your wonderful girlfriend of thirteen months who rescued you tonight?’
Juliette said with a wry smile.
‘We’ll
see.’ Morton knew that she was alluding to her desire to flash a large
rock on her left ring finger, although, actually he knew that she would have
settled for anything on her left ring finger. Even one of those
ring-shaped jelly sweets would have got her down the aisle. She was
always complaining that she was the last of her group of school friends without
a husband – some were selfishly already onto their second – or with a brigade
of children around their ankles.
Juliette
examined her left hand. ‘Gold suits me best,’ she muttered.
Maybe he would
buy Juliette a nice piece of jewellery. He was thinking of a
necklace. A nice one, something classy. Maybe with an
inscription. Just not that particular piece of jewellery.
Not yet.
Morton’s
thoughts drifted towards a happier time when his mother was still alive and his
ignorant view of his family was still intact. Just days after his
mother’s funeral his father callously sat him down and told him that he was
adopted. He had blurted out the words, as if he was telling him that
dinner was ready or that Morton had known all along but it had somehow slipped
his mind. Well, I really didn’t think you’d react like this,
Morton. You’re almost sixteen now, man, come along. It’s all a load
of biology, chemistry and whatnot. You’re my son today just like
you always have been and always will be. But he was no longer his
parents’ child; his real parents had apparently surrendered him forty-eight
hours after he had first drawn breath. The only comfort that Morton had
taken at the time from this bombshell was the revelation that he didn’t share a
single shred of DNA with Jeremy, the natural son of his parents. He was
one of those miracle babies that infertile couples who adopt seem able to
produce all of a sudden. He’d been treated like a miracle ever since.
As the years
had passed since the adoption revelation, Morton had gradually become
increasingly dislocated from his surname and now no longer felt any connection
to it. Do you, Juliette Meade take Morton the Unknown to be his lawful
wife? It would be ridiculous for Juliette to take his name upon
marriage when it really didn’t belong to him in the first place. She
might as well dip her finger into the phonebook and take her pick. Or she
could have one of the names Morton had harvested from parish registers over the
years, for no other reason than that they sounded amusing. Proudfoot.
Ruggles. Arblaster. Stinchcombe. Catchpole.
Winkworth. Peabody. Onions. Yes, that suited her,
Juliette Onions. It would make her stand out in the world of crime
prevention. Nobody would forget PCSO Juliette Onions.
Chapter Four
5th
June 1944
Emily pulled a hand-made shawl over her
shoulders, staring fixedly through the kitchen window into the orchard.
Alarmingly high winds – stronger than she thought she had ever known –
thundered furiously through the trees, callously ripping the tiny Victoria
plums from their branches and scattering them heartlessly onto the sodden
ground. She looked, almost without blinking, though the torrential rain
to the tall, brick chimney in the distance, standing defiantly against the
squally weather. She wondered what was
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