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( Chapter Eighteen: THE PHONEY WAR )
SO IT WAS THE SPRING OF 1945 WHEN ROBIN WINIFRED DROPPED OUT OF NURSING AT THE AUXILIARY HOSPITAL AND RETURNED SAFELY BACK TO HER HOMETOWN OF ALDBOURNE, England. Absolutely no way she could hide it anymore, anyway: all the other nurses were incredibly suspicious of her protruding stomach and her bizarre consumption and hoarding of Frances Canterbury's strawberry jam (she had no idea what had come over her, but her keening for jam was incessant and very spontaneous).
Nevertheless, Olive was overjoyed to have Robin return home without a scratch. However, she came back with a whole new burden upon her narrow shoulders. No matter how hard she tried, Robin simply could not remove the image of Tina Honeycott's spilled guts from the inside of her head. She tried not to let it get to her too much, but it often crept in when she was unoccupied and isolated in her bedroom, and pouring over some of Jim's old letters to stop herself feeling so lonely.
Olive was a brilliant help with the preparations for the new baby, though. She taught Robin how to knit: the older woman proved an awfully hospitable person for Robin's solace. Whatever the gender, the baby was bound to have an abundance of well-made clothes, thanks to the collaborative efforts of the two women. They were both beginning to unravel their old yarn jumpers in favour of the child, making the pretty woollen hats and socks that were all laid out on the kitchen table.
"It can't have been good for the baby out there, being in such a stressful situation all the time," Olive claimed, her knitting needles clicking together. A small woollen creation was taking place beneath her palms, a tiny pair of mittens for the baby coming together. Robin wondered where she'd found the pattern for that. Olive asked, "Does everything feel alright? I think we ought to go and visit a doctor, just to check that everything is OK."
"No, no, I know it in my heart. She's fine, right as rain: she's as active as ever, I feel about ready to pop," Robin assured, smoothing her hand over her stomach, "But other than that, we're just peachy, aren't we?" there was a twisting guilt inside her though, and for much of her pregnancy, she'd prioritised her work. She'd been so focused on keeping up appearances that she'd ignored the first kick and the illness and the cravings for the most part. She hadn't realised how awful she'd made things for herself until she'd returned home to Aldbourne, which seemed like paradise in comparison to her station in France.
"She?" Olive smirked, her knitting needles clicking together loudly in the small intervals of silence between them, "Do you think it'll be a girl?"
"I know so. I get gut instincts about things sometimes, and I feel strongly that it's a she," Robin responded with a soft smile, "Yes, she'll be a daddy's girl, I think," if she ever sees her father. Tears prickled in the outer corners of her eyes but she blinked them away before Olive could bring her up on it.
