Synopsis:
Summer 1945. The nation rejoices as the Second World War comes to an end but Banbury Street matriarch, Eva Parker, foresees trouble ahead.
Whilst her daughter, Mildred, awaits the return of her fiancé from overseas duty, doubts begin to seep into her mind about how little she knows of the man she has promised to marry. Or are her affections being drawn elsewhere?
Meanwhile, new neighbour, dancer Cissie Cresswell, hides a terrible secret. The end of the conflict will bring her no release from the horrific night that destroyed her life. Can she ever find her way back?
Under Eva's stalwart care, can the two young women unite to face the doubt and uncertainty of the future?
Extract from the book!
It was only when the pain ripped up into her body that she was snapped back to her senses. It was so intense that, for a second or two, her mind was stunned and oblivious to all else. Then she realised what was happening, and the horror and humiliation speared into her. She opened her mouth to scream, but a sweaty, iron hand came tightly over her face. She was suffocating, gasping for breath, the fight to stay alive greater than the terror of the monster thrusting into her. She felt herself passing out. The end had come. And she welcomed it.
‘Ya leave her alone!’ was the next thing she heard, the outraged voice of the other GI, the one she believed was black, who’d been knocked unconscious and kicked for good measure.
‘Too late,’ came the smirking reply. Laughing, nauseating. Just above her. His weight no longer pinning her down, though the pain still burned inside her.
‘What! Ya don’t mean ya’ve...? Ya filthy bastard!’
‘Now don’t ya go mentioning this, ya dirty nigger,’ the other voice, from further away now, threatened. ‘One word an’ I’ll put ya on a charge, an’ it won’t just be for insubordination. In fact, I’ll say it was you who did it. That’ll get ya hanged an’ ya’ll regret ever openin’ ya mouth!’
‘Jeez, what the hell’ve ya done? Ya can’t just leave her—’
‘She was asking for it, walkin’ alone at this hour. So come on. An’ not a word or ya’ll regret it!’
All went quiet then but for the scuffling of feet. Somehow, the girl found the will to lift her head. She could just make out the silhouette of a taller man dragging the protesting, struggling outline of the other soldier away down the deserted street.
Footfall fading. Then silence. Her head fell back and she sank down into soft, comforting blackness.
The music, the gentle harmonies, the crescendos, were playing again, she was dancing, spinning, her body moving with such grace, her arms floating. But her foot wasn’t working properly. She couldn’t do it. Sean frowned at her and she shook her head...
She was staring blindly at the moon. Not a sound. Not a breath of air. What was she doing there? And then she tried to move.
Her entire body seemed racked with pain, reality flooding back with all the might of a sledgehammer. Falling, her ankle on fire. And then she remembered. The men. Yankee soldiers. And she knew what had happened as something struck deep inside her like an arrow.
The brutal howl that escaped her lungs and cut through the still night was that of a wounded animal. And it wasn’t just the physical pain. The degradation, the shame, the vile humiliation of the heinous act that had been committed against her. She wanted to scream it away, rip it out of her. But she couldn’t. It was all a blur, but it had been done, and couldn’t be undone.
Oh, dear God, it was a nightmare. Couldn’t be real. Mustn’t be real. But she knew it was. With a tearing moan, she curled up on her side and waited for it all to go away.
Author Bio
Delaying her childhood dream of writing historical novels until her family had grown up, Tania eventually completed a series of published stories based on her beloved Dartmoor. She is now setting her future sagas in London and the south east.
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