The Long Road Ahead. Rosie James

Farm and their war work as Land Girls. If it hadn’t been for the war, they’d never have met – so thanks for that, Mr. Hitler!

      And there were those lovely letters from Helena…dearest Helena Carmichael who had been Alice’s employer, and Alice’s mother Ada’s, before that.

      But most were from Samuel.

      Alice began taking the letters from the first packet, opening them out carefully, and spreading them, one by one, on her lap as she began to re-read them. Almost all of them were far too precious to share with another human being, and she had made up her mind that when she died they would go with her. She would be holding them to her heart as she was lowered into the grave, and she intended leaving a formal note about this to whoever took charge of such things.

      But of all of them, the ones from Samuel would always take pride of place.

      Samuel. Her heart’s desire. The love of her young, of her entire life.

      And the sole reason for making her burn with such ecstatic happiness, such enthusiasm for the future, such total contentment…what a flaccid word “contentment” was when talking about romantic love!…was because, two days ago, Sam had asked her to be his wife.

      His wife. The dream she had clung to.

      And Alice couldn’t help it if she was experiencing every sought-after human emotion with a passion burning more brightly than the fire in front of her. Now, nothing could dampen her spirits.

      The dreadful, debilitating weather of early 1947 still persisted, but what on earth did the weather have to do with Alice! Weather? Who cared about weather!

      Presently, having re-read all her letters, Alice was thoughtful for a second as she put them away. One or two of them had made her smile, all over again…but the penultimate one she had had from Eve had provoked a slight pang of discomfort. Because while Evie’s future with her beloved was apparently now so happily secure, Alice knew that own road ahead – despite her present euphoria – was unlikely to be so straightforward. How could it possibly be? She and Sam had come from such different backgrounds. Was she ever really going to fit in, despite their love for each other? Was she capable? Was she…was she worthy? Not so much worthy of him, but of the Carmichael dynasty? Of, in the foreseeable future, becoming one of them? And, even worse, had the war changed her into someone else? Was she the same person who’d written all those letters to Sam over the years? Alice cringed at the misgivings which had arrived, unannounced, to enter her sub-conscious…

      Evie’s letter had arrived on the 2^nd of January.

      Dearest Alice

      I wanted you to be the first one to know that something wonderful happened just before Christmas. My parents were out, and I was in the drawing room playing the piano…playing all those songs we sang at the village hall, and the Wheatsheaf, during the war. It brought back all those wonderful memories – and guess what? I didn’t realise it, but my parents had been listening at the doorway and they were PLEASED! They said they were pleased to hear me play even though it wasn’t Bach or Beethoven! I can’t tell you how relieved I was!

      And then, remembering the advice you gave me when we had lunch together the day before, in Bristol, I plunged straight in and told them! Explained about Max! The words just came spilling out of my mouth, and I was trembling like a leaf, afraid of what they were going to say. But – and I still can’t believe it – they were all right about it and said I should invite Max to tea the following Sunday! I almost fainted with amazement!

      And the best bit, Alice, is, that they actually seemed to like Max. They were kind and welcoming to him – and of course he was utterly lovely to them! Being there, the four of us, seemed to me like being in heaven! Especially when Max took his turn at the piano, charming my parents to bits – especially my mother. I think that clinched it, divorce or no divorce!

      Even though it is New Year’s Day as I write this, I must not get carried away, Alice. Things could still go horribly wrong for Max and me, but I somehow don’t think they will. I just feel it in my bones that we are meant to be together, and once he is free to marry again, and I have my parents’ approval, I feel nothing but hope for us. Sorry if I appear to be seeing the world through rose-tinted spectacles, but I have never wanted anything so badly in my life, and suddenly I feel as if my wish will come true.

      Can we all meet again soon? In Bristol? I will treat us to lunch, or afternoon tea, at the Royal Hotel. I am writing to Fay with my news. I know she will be pleased for me.

      All possible love, Alice. Evie. (No.3 wise monkey!)

      Alice gazed into the far distance as her thoughts ran on. Happily for Evie, Max’s wife had conveniently done the disappearing act, leaving the coast clear for the two lovers, while – at one time – Alice’s own situation had been as bleak as it could possibly be. Millicent, Sam’s cousin, the wonderful, beautiful, perfect member of the Carmichael dynasty, had been responsible for that. There’d been no contest. Millicent had won from the very beginning…or so Alice had thought.

      And yet, and yet…now, the unthinkable had not only become the thinkable…it had become fact! Glorious, mesmerizing fact! Samuel Carmichael was going to be hers!

      Presently, Alice began to tidy up the small sitting room, putting away her book and newspaper, and plumping up the cushions, before getting ready for bed. It was Monday night. She hadn’t mentioned her engagement to Valerie at work that day – though how Alice had managed that, she’d never know. She had been longing to shout it out to anyone who would listen, but for some reason she’d decided to keep the news to herself for just a bit longer. Valerie was Alice’s young assistant at the estate agent’s office which she, Alice, had been given sole charge of since leaving the Bristol branch eighteen months ago.

      She hadn’t slept much last night, going over and over everything. There was going to be such a lot to plan… Sam had said that it was her wedding, and that all decisions should be hers – though of course he would be ready to do, or arrange, anything she might ask of him. But the more Alice had thought about it as she’d tossed and turned, the more she’d felt decidedly panicky. A daughter’s wedding was, traditionally, the important occasion handled solely by the bride’s mother – wasn’t it? And all expenses paid by the bride’s family? And even though Sam had mentioned – in passing – that money was not important, and not the issue, and that she was not to worry about a thing, that side of her big day did worry Alice. If only her mother was still here! She’d know what to do about all the decisions Alice was going to have to make…

      But hang on a minute…there was still Fay and Evie! Had Alice forgotten those other wise monkeys? Because they would be there, backing her up all the way, she knew that.

      The only thing which had been more or less decided between her and Sam was the approximate date of the big day. Sam wanted it to be around the time of the anniversary of his mother’s recent death.

      ‘I do not want every Christmas, from now on, to be full of sorrow and heartache,’ he’d declared. ‘Christmas at Clifton was always one of the happiest times of the year, and we, you and I, Alice, are going to put joy and hope into it, not sadness and looking back.’

      But before all that, there was so much for Alice to think about…where on earth should she start?

      She woke early the following morning – glad to get up from the bed which, once again, hadn’t given her much rest. Still in her dressing gown, she went down into the kitchen to make herself tea and toast, and glanced up at the calendar on the wall above the sink. Tuesday, 1^st April 1947. April Fool’s Day.

      One good thing – so far as her situation was concerned – was that she still had this little rented house, provided by the company, to live in until she gave them the three months’ statutory notice of leaving. Alice frowned as she waited for the kettle to boil, realizing that, after that, once again she would be homeless. Even though she’d been assured, many times, that the Clifton house would always be there for her, she hadn’t lived there for years, and didn’t feel that she could go straight there after leaving Dorchester. That wouldn’t seem