Moonlit Eyes

by Emma Blair

Genres: Family Life; Historical Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

When Pee Wee Poston and his wife Beulah are offered the chance to swap New York for London, they jump at the chance. Pee Wee, a highly talented saxophonist, has been asked to help launch a new jazz club in Soho. By accepting, the couple can be close to their son Julius, a high-flying diplomat at the American embassy. The Postons settle in Islington, only to find that some locals dislike having a black family in the area. But from their new neighbours - Albert and Jess Sykes, their daughter Ellie and son Paul - they receive the sort of warm welcome Londoners are known for. Before long, they are firm friends - a commodity which, with war looming, grows more precious by the day. As Hitler launches his bombing campaign on London, Pee Wee and his band play on, resolute in their defiance of the air raids. And then, in the middle of the tragedy and suffering, a moment of rare beauty blossoms. Julius plays one of his father's records, 'Moonlit Eyes', and asks Ellie to dance . . .

Release date: November 24, 2016

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 512

Sample

‘Black!’

Jess Sykes almost laughed out loud at her husband’s dumbfounded expression. She might have announced that the couple who’d moved in next door were from Mars.

‘As the ace of spades I’m told,’ she added.

‘Bloody hell,’ Albert muttered, giving a shake of his head. He was dead beat having just come off shift after a long and particularly hard day. ‘So you haven’t seen them yourself yet?’

‘I have,’ their son Paul piped up.

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full,’ Jess admonished. ‘How often have I told you that.’

Albert eyed his ten-year-old. ‘What are they like?’

‘She’s big and fat while he’s got grey woolly hair and funny eyes.’

‘Why are they funny?’ Jess queried, intrigued. ‘Did the man have a cast, or what?’

Paul shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They just are.’

‘I’ve never seen a black person in the flesh,’ Ellie, Paul’s older sister, declared. ‘In films, yes, but never in real life like.’

‘They arrived this morning,’ Jess explained. ‘A huge van was there for hours. Mrs Diamond across the street saw it, and them. As did old Ma Jenkins whom I spoke to earlier.’

‘Black eh?’ Albert mused, scratching his chin.

‘Are you going to want any more steak and kidney?’ Jess asked him. ‘There’s plenty left. That and mash.’

‘I’ll have some,’ Paul volunteered eagerly. ‘It’s scrummy.’

‘You’ve already had enough to fill an Irish navvy. Don’t be greedy,’ his sister rebuked him. ‘You’re a right guts and no mistake.’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes you are.’

Jess sighed. These two were always getting at one another. If she hadn’t known better she’d have thought they hated each other. ‘He’s only a growing lad,’ she declared eagerly to Ellie.

Ellie snorted. ‘At the rate he eats he’ll be eight foot tall and five wide before he’s finished.’

‘Enough,’ Albert growled, glaring first at Ellie, then Paul. ‘I haven’t come home from work just to listen to you two going at it hammer and tongs. Understand?’

Both Ellie and Paul nodded that they did.

‘Good.’

Albert turned his attention again to his wife. ‘I won’t have any more, thanks.’

Paul’s face brightened and he looked expectantly at Jess who steadfastly ignored him.

‘I wonder what he does?’ Albert queried, more to himself than as a question to the others.

‘Who?’ Jess frowned.

‘The black chappie. He must work, presumably.’

‘No idea.’

‘Maybe he’s a cannibal,’ Paul said, suddenly a little frightened that it might be true.

Jess laughed. ‘Don’t be daft! There aren’t any cannibals in England, far less London. They’re all in Africa.’

‘But if the man is black he must have come from Africa,’ Paul argued.

‘You saw him, did he have a bone through his nose?’ Albert asked.

The lad shook his head.

‘Then he isn’t a cannibal. All cannibals have a bone through their nose.’

Paul’s eyes were wide. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Albert stated matter-of-factly, though he was mickey-taking. ‘I read that somewhere once.’

Ellie glanced over at the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. ‘Can I get down?’ she requested urgently.

Friday, of course, Jess thought. ‘Are you seeing George tonight?’

Ellie nodded. ‘I’d better get a move on or he’ll be knocking the door and I won’t be ready.’

‘It won’t do him any harm to wait,’ Albert declared. ‘When I was courting your ma I always had to wait. Many’s the long hour I’ve spent kicking my heels while she titivated herself.’

Jess smiled in memory knowing that to be true. It wasn’t something she’d done intentionally, it had simply happened that way.

‘Please, Ma?’ Ellie pleaded.

‘Where are you off to?’

‘The flicks probably and then back to The Florence for a drink afterwards, I should imagine.’

‘What’s on?’

‘A new Greta Garbo. Should be good.’

‘Oh, I like Greta Garbo,’ Jess enthused. ‘Especially when she’s with John Gilbert. Now there’s a handsome man for you.’

Albert pushed his plate away and yawned. It would be a sleep in the chair for him when Ellie had gone out. He could hardly keep his eyes open and the warm food had made him feel even more tired.

‘Maybe we could go one night?’ Jess suggested to him.

‘Maybe,’ he replied vaguely.

‘It finishes tomorrow,’ Ellie pointed out.

‘It’ll come round again. They always do,’ Albert replied.

Jess hid her disappointment. But Albert was right, films always did. Or nearly always anyway.

‘On you go then,’ Jess nodded to Ellie who immediately left the table and hurried from the kitchen.

Paul was still thinking about the remainder of the steak and kidney. ‘Ma?’

‘What, son?’

‘Don’t forget what you say about food being wasted. That it’s a sin when so many folk go hungry.’

Jess smiled. He was a persistent little bugger, you had to give him that. And he was right, it was a saying of hers. ‘Oh, all right then, give me your plate,’ she conceded.

Paul beamed as he handed it over. ‘Thanks, Ma.’

Albert slumped into his comfy chair by the side of the fire. Black people coming to live in Islington? he mused. Whatever next?

When Jess spoke to him a few minutes later he was already fast asleep.

‘Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner …!’

Albert recognised the voice as belonging to Mike, one of the Pratts who lived just down the road from them in Florence Street. ‘Sounds like Mike’s enjoying himself,’ he commented to Jess as they went through the doors into the pub. Being a local they knew more or less everyone present so the usual nods and waves were exchanged.

Jess glanced around, spotting Ellie and George sitting in a corner. ‘Shall we join them?’ she asked Albert.

He noted they were deep in conversation. ‘No, they’re all lovey-dovey. They don’t want us old folk spoiling it for them.’

‘Speak for yourself. I don’t consider myself old,’ Jess retorted sharply. At forty-one she thought herself in her prime. Old! Why, she didn’t have a single grey hair on her head.

Albert smiled at her protestation. ‘You know what I mean. To them we probably seem ancient.’ Then, as a sop, ‘Though you and I know better, darling.’

That mollified Jess, delighted that he’d called her darling. Terms of endearment from Albert were few and far between. Oh, he loved her, there was no question about that, but his acknowledging it in any way, shape or form was almost like getting blood from the proverbial stone.

‘Usual?’ he queried.

‘Please.’

There was one table recently vacated, so Jess headed for that while Albert went up to the bar.

Mike Pratt finished his song to loud cheers and clapping. He then broke into ‘Roll Out The Barrel’.

Albert ordered a port and lemon for Jess, considered having a pint of mild and then decided on bitter instead. It was his weekend off so there was no worry about getting up in the morning, or having to wake with a clear head. When you were a fireman hangovers could be lethal, not only for yourself but others as well. Your mind had to be fully concentrated on the job.

‘Nice to see you, Albert,’ declared Hazel, the guv’nor’s wife, who was dealing with his order. She was a tarty woman, brassy as anything with a razor-sharp wit. The customers all loved her, the men never failing to appreciate the low-cut blouses she invariably wore, blouses she more than amply filled.

‘Hello, Mr Sykes. You were sparko when I called by earlier.’

Albert turned to find George standing beside him holding empty glasses. Albert liked and approved of George whom he considered a steady young man. ‘Hello, son. How was the picture then?’

George pulled a face. ‘Mushy stuff, romantic nonsense, not my taste at all. But Ellie enjoyed it and that’s all that matters.’

‘Let me get these,’ Albert said, taking the glasses from George. ‘My treat.’

‘That’s kind of you, Mr Sykes. Thanks very much.’

George was an apprentice who didn’t earn a lot. He had a year to go till he was time served, at which point his pay would jump considerably.

‘A pint and a port,’ George informed Albert.

‘Right then.’

‘Are you going to give us a song tonight, Albert? I think you should,’ Hazel wisecracked. It was a longstanding joke between the pair of them, Hazel well aware that Albert couldn’t hold a note to save his life.

‘I’ll sing when you start giving out free beer,’ Albert riposted with a grin.

‘Would that just be one for yourself, like?’ she replied, laughter in her voice.

‘No, everyone in the pub. Through till closing time.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t afford that, ducks.’

‘Get on,’ he teased. ‘You’re the richest woman in the street. Everyone knows it. This place is a little goldmine.’

‘Well, they know more than I do.’ She sniffed. ‘Richest woman indeed, as if!’

Their banter continued until she’d finished serving him and he moved away, George having already returned to Ellie.

‘There you are then,’ he declared, setting their drinks on the table and sitting beside Jess.

‘I saw you with George there. Did they enjoy the picture?’

‘Ellie did. George thought it mushy, romantic nonsense. Not his cup of tea at all.’

Sounds rather nice, Jess mused. There was nothing wrong with a bit of mush after all, even if it did embarrass men like her Albert. He was a big softie really, just undemonstrative, that’s all.

It was about half an hour later, Albert and Jess on their second drink, when the pub suddenly fell silent. Albert looked round in surprise, wondering what had caused that to happen.

Everyone was staring at the newcomer who’d come in moments before. Jess hadn’t been exaggerating, Albert thought. The chap was as black as the ace of spades.

The black man, a little older than himself Albert reckoned, slowly made his way to the bar where customers moved aside to let him in.

‘Can I have a beer, please?’ he politely asked a bemused Hazel.

‘Pint or half?’

The man clearly didn’t understand. ‘One of those,’ he said, pointing at a pint pot further along the bar.

‘Coming up. A pint of best.’

People started to speak again, but quietly, almost in whispers. It didn’t take a genius to work out what the subject of conversation was.

The black man placed a ten-shilling note on the bar then glanced nervously about. Jess could see then why Paul had said he had funny eyes. They were pale blue which appeared incongruous in such a black face.

‘Are we going to allow niggers in here?’

The belligerent voice cut through the low hum of conversation like a knife, causing the black man to wince. The speaker was Taffy Roberts who was universally disliked in the street. A self-styled tough guy, he boasted of once having boxed professionally. No one knew whether or not that was true.

‘Enough of that, Taffy!’ Hazel snapped, wishing her husband Harry was there but he’d nipped out earlier on an errand and hadn’t yet come back.

Taffy swaggered over till he was next to the black man. ‘You’re not welcome here, nigger, so why don’t you just piss off.’

‘I said enough, Taffy. This gentleman is as welcome as anyone else who minds their manners and behaviour. Neither of which you are at the moment.’

‘Well, I’m not drinking with the likes of this scum. And I’m a regular don’t forget, someone you’re never shy to take money off.’

‘I’ll go,’ the black man said. ‘I don’t want to cause no trouble. That’s the last thing I need.’

Taffy poked him in the chest. ‘And that’s exactly what you’ll get if you try and stay.’

Albert would have admitted to having many faults, but intolerance wasn’t one of them. He also had a very strong sense of fairmindedness. He watched as the black man reached for his ten-bob note.

There and then he made up his mind. This was obviously beyond Hazel who looked frightened, for once lost for words and unable to deal with the situation. Well, Taffy didn’t frighten him, not by a long chalk. If no one else was going to interfere then he damned well would. He slowly rose to his feet.

‘Albert, be careful,’ Jess whispered.

‘Why don’t you shut it, Roberts!’

Taffy wheeled to face Albert. ‘What’s this got to do with you, Sykes?’

A grim-faced and determined Albert walked over to Roberts and the black man. ‘This chap has come to live next door to me, I believe, so I’m going to ask him to sit with the wife and myself, neighbours getting to know one another like. If you have any objections to that then we’ll step outside and discuss the matter further.’

Taffy’s eyes narrowed, he hadn’t expected this. There was an air about Albert that made him uneasy. It dawned on him it was the air of someone supremely confident in his capabilities. For the first time ever he became aware of how fit he looked and some instinct warned him it would be a big mistake to take on Albert Sykes.

‘Well?’ Albert queried, steel in his voice.

Taffy sneered. ‘If you want that sort of company that’s up to you. Just keep him away from me, that’s all.’

Albert stood his ground, he wasn’t going to be the first to move. There was a few seconds’ hiatus, then Taffy turned away and made for the other side of the bar.

Hazel nodded her appreciation to Albert. When Harry returned she’d have him speak to Taffy. She didn’t want a repetition of what had just happened. Loud-mouthed Welsh bastard, she thought to herself.

‘Will you join us?’ Albert asked the black man.

‘My pleasure, sir.’

Albert smiled to be called that.

Hazel served the black man and quietly told him the pint was on the house, going on to emphasise he’d be welcome back any time he wished.

Jess had been holding her breath throughout the confrontation, as had many others. She was proud of Albert for what he’d just done. None of the other chaps present had been prepared to stand up to the Welshman.

‘I’m Albert Sykes and this is my wife Jess,’ Albert said when they reached the table.

‘And I’m Pee Wee Poston.’

Jess frowned, recognising the accent from the movies. ‘Are you an American?’

‘All the way from New York City, ma’am. I’m right pleased to meet you folks and thanks for getting me out of a tight corner.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ Albert replied, and gestured Pee Wee to sit.

Not only a black man but an American into the bargain as a neighbour! It was just one surprise after another.

‘So what did you think?’ Albert asked Jess later as they were getting undressed for bed.

‘I liked him. And so courteous too. He couldn’t have been more polite or charming.’

Albert shook his head. ‘The last thing I expected was a Yank.’ He suddenly laughed. ‘So much for Paul worrying about him being a cannibal!’

Jess smiled as she struggled with her corset. That was funny, especially after having met the man. ‘Strange name though. I found it difficult to call someone Pee Wee.’

‘Lots of jazz musicians have nicknames,’ Albert declared knowingly.

‘And what would you know about either jazz or musicians?’ she teased.

‘You’d be surprised at what I know,’ he replied, kicking off his shoes. ‘Don’t forget I get lots of spare time at the station between call-outs, time I often spend reading. Why, at the moment I’m working my way through a stack of National Geographics that was brought in. All interesting stuff.’

Jess never knew whether or not Albert was fibbing, mickey-taking again. He could be a terrible mickey-taker when he had the mind. That was a side of him she’d always found endearing.

‘I wonder what it means, Pee Wee, that is? I thought it would be rude to ask him.’

Albert shrugged his shoulders. ‘An American expression of some sort no doubt. We’ll find out in time.’

‘He talked so strangely, there were so many words I didn’t understand.’

‘It’s probably the same for him, listening to us that is.’

Jess stopped to stare at Albert. ‘That was a brave thing you did tonight. No one else had the gumption to speak up against that horrible Taffy. Dreadful man.’

Albert could see the pride in her face which made him feel good inside. ‘Someone had to do it,’ he replied softly. ‘Couldn’t let Pee Wee get bullied like that. It isn’t his fault he’s black. And, as you said, look how nice he turned out to be.’

‘You were still brave.’

‘Perhaps. It was just a pity Harry wasn’t there at the time. He would have sorted it out without me having to intervene. Anyway, he’s had a word with Taff and that sort of thing won’t happen again. If Taff tries it he’ll be barred.’

Jess wriggled into her nightdress. ‘I’m tired and all that port has gone to my head rather. I had far too much.’

‘Go on, you enjoyed yourself. Nothing wrong with that. It’s good for you once in a while. Anyway, it’s a lie-in tomorrow.’

Jess laughed. ‘For you that is. When do I ever lie in? You know I don’t. Can’t with a family to take care of.’

He considered that, appreciating how conscientious she’d always been. ‘Then I think tomorrow we should change the pattern. Paul is old enough to get his own breakfast and Ellie certainly is. It’s high time you stopped waiting on them hand and foot. An extra hour out the week isn’t going to hurt after all. They can do for themselves for a change.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t, Albert!’ Jess protested. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Who says?’

She didn’t have an answer to that. But it wouldn’t feel right; as a wife and mother it was her duty to be up and about before the rest of the family.

‘So?’

‘We’ll see,’ she prevaricated.

He’d talk her into it, he told himself. Persuade her somehow. And that’s what they’d do from here on in every time he had a weekend off, a lie-in both days.

Now in his pyjamas Albert slipped into bed and a few moments later, having switched off the light, Jess had too.

‘You know something?’ she whispered in the darkness.

‘What?’

‘I’m glad I married you.’

That touched him. He grunted in reply.

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘Aren’t you going to say the same?’

‘That I’m glad I married me?’

She giggled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ And with that she pinched his thigh.

‘Ouch! That hurt.’

‘It was meant to.’

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I think you know how I feel.’

‘But you could say it nonetheless.’

‘I’m glad I married you too,’ he replied in a low, gruff voice. ‘Now let’s get some sleep, for God’s sake. You’d think it was you and not Ellie who’d been to see that romantic guff of a picture. Now, good night.’

She smiled. ‘Good night.’

Jess felt gloriously, wondrously at peace. But then, she always did when in bed with Albert. It was one of the joys of being happily married.

Hell and damnation, she was going to be late! Ellie thought as she slammed the front door behind her. Miss Oates, the head of her department, would give her a right finger-wagging. The old cow!

At least it was Saturday which meant she’d be finished by dinnertime. And that evening she and George were going dancing at the Roxy, the Poxy Roxy as it was locally known. Still, it was cheap and the bands they had weren’t all that bad.

She stopped in amazement to admire the car parked at the kerb. A car in Florence Street! That was a turn-up for the books. Usually the only car to be seen parked round here belonged to the doctor.

A smart machine too, she noted, all nicely polished with comfy-looking leather upholstery. It was outside the new people’s house so it must belong to them. Funny, it hadn’t been there when she’d come home the night before. It must have arrived after that or earlier that morning.

Maybe those black people were rich? But if so why come to live in Florence Street? It didn’t make sense.

No time to spend dawdling, she berated herself, and hurried on her way to the bank in Upper Street where she worked as a clerk and where an irate, if she was any later, Miss Oates would be waiting for her.

Jess wiped her hands on her pinny, the apron she, and most housewives, habitually wore during the day, before answering the knock at the door.

An extremely fat black lady beamed at her, exposing the most amazing set of gleaming white teeth.

‘Are you Mrs Sykes?’

‘I am.’

‘I’s Beulah Poston, Pee Wee’s wife. I’ve come round to personally thank you for what you and your husband did last night. Pee Wee’s told me all about it.’

Beulah? Another peculiar name. ‘Think nothing of it. We were glad to help.’

Impossibly Beulah’s beam became even broader. ‘I was wonderin’ if I could speak to you, Mrs Sykes?’

‘Of course. Of course,’ Jess replied hurriedly, standing aside so Beulah could enter. ‘And the name’s Jess, by the way.’

‘And I’s Beulah.’

Jess ushered her through to the kitchen. ‘I was just about to put on the kettle. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Beulah hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have coffee?’

Jess smiled. ‘Yes, I do.’ She didn’t always have coffee in the house as it was something of a luxury due to the cost. But right then she did.

‘How are you settling in, Beulah?’

‘Just fine. Jim dandy. Though I must say England is going to take a deal of gettin’ used to. It’s so different from back home.’

‘This is your first trip here then?’ Jess probed, opening a cupboard to get the coffee. She’d use the best china, she decided.

‘It’s my first trip outside the good ole US of A. Same for Pee Wee. We’re both absolutely thrilled to bits.’

Jess wished she had some cakes or scones to offer, but hadn’t. Not even a plain biscuit, Paul having scoffed the last of those the previous night when they were out at the pub.

‘He mentioned he’s here to play in a band?’

‘That’s right. He jumped at the chance when offered as it means we can be with our son Julius for a spell. He works in London and has done for nearly a year now.’

‘Really?’ Jess thought that interesting.

‘Yeah, he’s with the State Department currently posted to our Embassy here. He sure was pleased when we wrote him the news about our comin’ over. He thought it was a great idea.’

Embassy! Jess was impressed. ‘And is he living with you?’

‘Has an apartment in town, comes with the job, but is givin’ it up to be with us. Says he sure misses his old ma’s home cookin’.’

Jess laughed.

‘No offence to your English food, Jess, but Julius says it just ain’t the same.’

Jess put out the cups and saucers, again wishing she had something else to offer.

‘Anyway, the other reason I came by is Pee Wee and me was wonderin’ if you and your family would care to come to lunch next Sunday, a week tomorrow that is? We’d sure like that.’

Jess was taken aback to say the least, this the last thing she’d been expecting. Lunch at an American house, and with a black couple at that. What on earth would Albert say?

‘I eh …’ Oh dear.

‘Maybe you want to ask your husband before answering?’ Beulah said, a trace of disappointment in her voice.

Jess made up her mind. A refusal would be downright rude. And it would be different. Yes, certainly that. Bound to be. ‘We’d love to come, Beulah.’

The broad beam returned. ‘Excellent. Now, just tell me how many of you are there?’

‘Four,’ Jess replied. ‘We have a boy of ten and a daughter of nineteen.’

‘Then four it is,’ Beulah declared, smacking meaty hands together.

‘If you’ll just sit here, Jess, and Albert you there.’ They’d all come through to the kitchen where a splendid table had been laid. A frankly gawping Jess did as she was instructed.

‘It’s meat loaf,’ Beulah declared from the newly installed electric stove where she was busying herself. ‘I hope you folks like that.’

‘What’s meat loaf?’ a frowning Paul queried.

Beulah laughed. ‘Is that new to you? Well it’s just what you would call mince, done in a sort of loaf shape and covered in tomato sauce. It’s real traditional where we come from. Ain’t that right, honey?’

Pee Wee nodded. ‘Sure is.’

Jess stared about her in astonishment, she’d never in her entire life seen a kitchen so well equipped. ‘It’s amazing the transformation here in just a week,’ she commented.

‘We got Julius to thank for that,’ Pee Wee replied proudly. ‘Workin’ as he does at the Embassy that boy can get almost anythin’. And quick too.’

‘Is that a refrigerator?’ Ellie inquired, pointing.

‘You got it,’ Beulah beamed. ‘Though out of habit I still call it the ice box.’

‘I’ve noticed vans outside your house all week long,’ Jess said. ‘Now I know what they were delivering.’

‘And installin’,’ Pee Wee added. ‘All thanks to Julius.’

Don’t be envious, Jess chided herself. But she’d have given anything for a kitchen like this.

‘How about another beer there, Albert?’ Pee Wee offered.

Albert shook his head. The bottle he’d had on arrival, something called Schlitz, had tasted foul, and so cold! The refrigerator explained the latter.

Jess couldn’t help herself. ‘I presume that’s a washing machine in the corner?’

‘Uh-huh!’ Beulah confirmed, placing a large plate of vegetables on the table. More vegetables followed that then a plate of yellow-coloured bread.

‘Can I get you anythin’, Jess? A glass of wine perhaps? We got lots.’

She was about to say no, then changed her mind. She needed a drink after the shock of all this.

‘Red or white?’

‘Red please.’

‘And you, Ellie?’

‘The same, thanks,’ she answered, almost as bemused as her mother.

Pee Wee delved into a cupboard to produce a bottle which he proceeded to open.

‘Don’t forget me there, honey. I’d like one too.’

Pee Wee smiled hugely at his wife. ‘I ain’t forgettin’ you, Mama. How could I ever do that?’

Beulah laughed almost girlishly as she placed the meat loaf alongside the vegetables. ‘I should hope not.’

‘What instrument do you play, Mr Poston?’ Ellie inquired politely.

‘The saxophone. Alto sax actually.’

‘And real sweet music he plays too,’ Beulah chipped in. ‘When I listen to him play I swears I’s in dreamland.’

Pee Wee preened at the compliment. ‘Do you know anythin’ about jazz?’ he asked Ellie.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘I don’t think any of us do,’ Albert said, having finally relaxed and now beginning to enjoy himself. He hadn’t been at all sure about this but Jess had accepted the invitation so he’d had to come. More than anything the food had worried him, he was used to plain, no-nonsense, English fayre and the thought of anything exotic or … horror of horrors … spicy filled him with dread. Still, this meat loaf didn’t look too bad. Mince was mince after all and he was well used to that. Though not with tomato sauce plastered all over it!

Beulah eased herself into the chair at the bottom of the table, facing Pee Wee at the top. ‘Will you say grace, honey?’

That startled the entire Sykes family who weren’t used to such niceties, Jess indicating for Paul to bow his head.

Pee Wee said a few short words followed by a hearty amen. ‘Now let’s eat, folks, I’m starvin’.’

Albert refused the bread when it was handed round, thinking he didn’t like the look of that, but Jess and the children had some. It certainly wasn’t like any bread Jess had ever come across before. It was coarser than she was used to, and why yellow? She slowly buttered her piece and then gingerly tasted it.

‘Interesting,’ she commented after she’d swallowed.

‘You never had corn bread before?’ Beulah queried.

Corn bread, that explained the colour. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t.’

‘So what do you think?’

Jess considered that. ‘I like it. It’s certainly different.’

‘And what about you, Paul?’

He shrugged non-committally.

Minutes later Jess watched Albert tentatively taste the meat loaf, then smiled to herself in relief as he took a full mouthful. It had met with his approval, thank God!

Every so often, the conversation never flagging, Jess found her eyes straying to the stove, refrigerator, washing machine and various other paraphernalia that she wished she owned. Beulah didn’t know how lucky she was.

‘And when do we get to meet Julius?’ Albert asked at one point, on his second helping of meat loaf which he’d found delicious. He’d already made a mental note that Jess should get the recipe for their own use.

‘Hopefully before you all leave. He’s out on business I’m afraid,’ Beulah replied.

‘He works Sundays?’ Albert queried with a frown.

‘Sure. Though not every week. There’s always a skeleton staff at least at the Embassy,’ Beulah explained.

‘And what exactly does he do there?’

Pee Wee laughed. ‘No idea, Albert. That boy sure is closemouthed about his work. Ain’t allowed to tell anyone anythin’ apparently. It’s all a big secret.’

‘Is he a spy?’ a wide-eyed Paul asked.

‘Naw, nothin’ fancy like that,’ Pee Wee assured him. Then, seeing the boy’s crestfallen expression, ‘Though, who’s to say? I don’t know. Maybe he is at that.’

‘Gosh!’ Paul exclaimed softly. Just wait till he told his pals at school!

‘Here, let me help you,’ Jess offered when Beulah began clearing the table.

‘You just set where you are, Jess. You’re a guest here which means you just set and enjoy yourself.’

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