Jubilee Read Free Page A

Martha made it sound like a contradiction.
    ‘I should be getting back. Philippa needs the plates cleaning.’ She was gabbling.
    ‘I saw you up on the hill earlier on, Evie. Didn’t you want to watch the ceremony on television? Matthew bought you a set, didn’t he?’
    The last sentence made it plain what Martha thought of such uxoriousness. ‘He thought his mother would like to see it.’ She felt her cheeks burn and turned her head so that Martha
wouldn’t see and forced herself to stare at the trees and the distant lettuce-green Cotswold hills to the north. But the older woman simply stared at her for another second before drifting
away towards the tables.
    Evie stayed where she stood, giving herself another minute, just until the worst of the pain subsided. Should she tell Matthew now? He looked so happy, sitting with his mother at the trestle
table, enjoying the celebration. If she told him, he’d worry. Wait another day.
    She should have told him this morning, when it had started.
    She’d come inside to join Matthew and Mrs W. She wasn’t really that bothered about watching the Coronation but it had started to rain again. Just like D-Day had been, cold and wet,
not like early summer at all. Matthew moved up on the sofa so there was room for her, grimacing slightly as he moved his left foot. ‘Tea’s just brewed, Evie. Here, let me pour you a
cup.’
    ‘No, you stay there, I’ll do it in a moment.’ She looked at the square wooden cabinet, received with such pride and anticipation just days ago. The picture wasn’t bad,
smaller than the cinema but you could make out the shining brass on the horses’ harnesses and the details on the carriages. Shame you couldn’t see the colours, though. So many people on
the streets: thin faces, and tired-looking, still, some of them. The war had only finished eight years ago, after all. Perhaps the cheers and shouts were a release of emotion. People looked at that
young woman in the carriage with her smooth skin and they thought she was drawing a line under it all.
    Evie considered whether this would ever be possible. She gave her husband another little smile and looked back at the television screen
    ‘Just look at those arches they’ve put up over the Mall,’ Matthew marvelled. ‘It’s like something from ancient Rome.’ The Queen’s coach was coming
closer. The camera angle changed and Evie saw the backs of the spectators’ heads, then the sides of their faces as the camera moved round to get a clearer shot of the monarch. What did she
feel, this young woman, as she saw all those people? Perhaps she was flattered, gratified. Or perhaps she was secretly terrified, longing to run away and spring on one of the horses they said she
adored.
    How many tens or hundreds of thousands of them were in London to see this procession? Little children, old people, middle-aged women in their best hats, soldiers in uniform. Happy, smiling
faces.
    Mrs W’s shawl had fallen off her lap. Evie rose to retrieve it for her, moving closer to the television screen just as the camera changed its angle, focusing on the crowd instead of the
coach, so their faces were close to Evie’s eyes. How extraordinary that she could look at these excited strangers while sitting in their own parlour, eighty miles away from the Mall.
    A cramp squeezed her abdomen. And she felt the back of her neck prickle with cold sweat even though the coal fire was lit in the grate.
    A cool tingle ran down her spine. It was going to happen again and there was nothing she could do to stop it, to hold on to what might have been a child. Somehow she managed to pick up the shawl
and tuck it round her mother-in-law’s lap.
    ‘Robert.’ Evie had to strain her ears to pick up the word. The old lady raised a finger and pointed towards the screen. Evie glanced at the television and saw only the blurred black
and white faces of thousands of strangers. A quick glance at Matthew’s relaxed expression told