A/N: I claim ownership to all non-series characters.
I've found writing this story was a challenge, as I'm not used to using British slang or grammar. I've done my best to use them correctly, but if I've made any mistakes, let me know and I'll correct them asap.
28 December, 1940,
Dear Peter,
I hope this letter finds you well and that the brass-monkey weather's gone in Germany. (Did you get the wool almonds(1) I sent you for Chrimble?(2) Alistair and I got the shirt and scarf you made us and they're lovely, exactly what we needed.) It's been perishing here in Stepney too. Maybe that's Hitler's plan for winning the war. I can picture him screaming at his bootlickers, "If the bombs won't stop them, the clouds and damp will!" Well, whatever his plans, they're doomed to fail. A bit of cold never stopped us. We're all behind you, Peter. We're so proud of you.
Speaking of pride, the other family darling, little Glynis, says ta for the dresses you made for her dolls (she refused to unwrap the rest of her pressies until she had a good play with them.) I think it was the best part of Chrimble for her, especially since she's getting over a stubborn cold. Last night was the first she slept through in a week, a miracle considering how the Germans have tried to blast us to bits.
Don't worry, though. Alistair heard they didn't do much damage this time. Yes, he's still working at Broadcasting House, although this is one time I wish he'd get sacked. I know what you've said about the yanks in camp with you, but I'm not sure I like the idea of Alistair spending so much time with the ones here reporting on the war. I told him he'd better be home for dinner tomorrow because I'm making something special for our anniversary, (well, as special as the ration book will allow.) Can you believe it's been three years already?
I'll never forget that mad week when you wrote me that Mr. Bloomington gave you a few days off so you could come. If that weren't good news enough, Da changed his mind and promised he'd be there too, and not be tanked up. I think he might've kept his word if he hadn't seen his mates down the pub on his way to church. Lord, how I blubbered in my daisy bouquet when the minister said we couldn't wait for him any longer because we were two hours behind.
Bless you for your level head, brother. You hugged me and whispered in my ear as I wiped my eyes. "Don't cry. I promise nothing else'll go wrong." Then, you took my hand and told the church's note-plunker to start playing. What a pair we made going down the aisle, you the dashing chap in your brown suit, me the ghost in that overgrown snot rag (3) of a dress. Promise me we'll get different pictures taken of us together when the war's over.
I love you, Peter. Come home soon.
MavisP.S. We saw Da Christmas Eve and I'm visiting him tomorrow. I know you probably think I'm a nit, but I hope you'll still wish me luck.
oOo
"Mavis. Mavis."
I groaned as my few precious moments of sleep vanished. "Mmm?"
"I'm home."
I looked up and smiled at Alistair's round, freckled face. "How was work?"
He shrugged, his broad shoulders sagging the way they did when he was tired. "The usual. How long've you been napping?"
I yawned, rubbing my eyes as I sat up. "I just put Glynis to bed."
He glanced at the gaudy grandfather clock his mother gave us when we married. "So, if you put her to bed at eight like normal, that means you've been asleep for two hours. What were you doing to make yourself nod off?" He pulled a piece of paper from under my hand. "Writing your brother?"
"Uh huh," I said, flinching as pain knifed through my shoulders. "Remind me not to be doing it again if I can't stay awake."
He frowned. "You're not serious."
"Straight up. I think I've wrecked me neck."
"No, I mean about visiting your da."
I nodded, my fingers tentatively probing my shoulders. "I'm going tomorrow."
He kneeled beside me and started rubbing my neck. "Ah, Mavis, don't do this. You know how upset you get when you see him. You won't speak to us for a week unless it's to bite our bleeding heads off."
I almost shrieked when he squeezed a knot. "I know," I gasped. "But he's the only family I've got left here. I love him."
Alistair sighed. "Alright. I don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."
I turned and kissed his cheek. "Ta, love, but I can handle it. Don't worry."
1) Cockney rhyming slang for socks
2) Christmas
3) Handkerchief
