A/N: I love this chapter. This is a great chapter.
Chapter Fifty-Five: March 1948
John looked at the crumpled scrap of paper as he let the car idle on the side of the road. The directions, given to him by a man in a shop only twenty minutes beforehand, were almost as intelligible as the accent they had been given in, considering the penmanship was bad and the street grid was worse. It was beginning to get dark, and he wanted to find where he needed to go before sundown necessitated further help via an embarrassing phone call. Putting the car into gear, he pulled back into the street and carefully went on his way.
Before long, he found the street he needed. He parked in front of a particular house and got out, walking up to the door. A few short knocks and he stood in silence, rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Who is it?" called a voice from inside. The door opened and John found himself face-to-face with his rather surprised father-in-law. "Oh… why hello there. I didn't know you were coming. Is Clara…?"
"Would you believe that your darling daughter kicked me out?" John sighed, scratching the back of his neck. Dave paused, processing the information.
"…and if my darling daughter kicked you out, then why should I let you in?" he asked. John frowned and avoided eye contact.
"Would it help if I said that she should come around soon, and that my being here will make things a thousand times better?"
Dave nodded and stood aside, allowing his guest entry. "I was just putting on some tea if you go into the kitchen. You got a bag with you?"
"No… had to make a quick exit, hate to say," John said. He took off his shoes and followed Dave down the hall to the back of the house where the kitchen sat. Taking a seat, he waited patiently for his father-in-law to finish putting together tea before he said anything else. "Thanks for letting me in—I really appreciate it."
"My hospitality comes at a steep price," Dave replied, pouring John a cup of tea. The teapot he had was tiny, definitely only intended for one person as every remaining drop went into their cups. "You have to tell me why you and Clara are fighting."
"We're not… fighting, per say…"
"Then why else would she kick you out—biscuit?" Dave opened the shortbread tin and placed it between them on the table. "I mean, speaking mate-to-mate, there are few other reasons as to why a wife tosses her husband out on his arse."
John took an experimental sip of his tea and pondered his answer. "If we're speaking mate-to-mate, I have to say it's just a misunderstanding and nothing more."
"What did you say?"
"Only that… well… she looked radiant."
"What…?" Dave blinked. He bit into his biscuit and arched a brow. "That sounds an awful lot like a compliment to me."
"It doesn't help that I haven't called her that in years," John explained. He downed a long gulp of tea, allowing the warmth to creep down his throat and pool in his stomach. "I haven't called her that… since she was pregnant."
The only sound that could be heard for a long while was the heavy tock-tock-tock of the large clock in the hall. Dave put down his cup and folded his hands on the tabletop.
"When was this?" he asked, voice much too level to be anything but unsettling. John turned his gaze down into his tea and shivered.
"Back during the war—we waited to tell people until she showed, but…"
"Victoria never made it," Dave replied. He watched as his son-in-law's eyes went wide and his brows rose into his forehead.
"You knew…?" he marveled.
"I did; it wasn't that difficult to figure out," Dave said. He stood up and disappeared into the doorway to the front sitting room, returning moments later with a copy of Kittens Come Home. It was opened to the first page, which he read from as he sat back down. "'For Ruby and Gwen, who can always come home—for Victoria, who nearly did.' You told me all about the girls you hosted for those couple weeks, but nothing about a Victoria. Knowing the two of you, how you don't have any kids from earlier, and considering how this looks like a dedication to a child lost during the war, I could only assume Victoria was supposed to be my granddaughter."
John stared at Dave guiltily, amazed at how composed the other man was. "We never meant to keep her from you… not forever, anyways. Not until the wound was better. It's not wholly better, and it probably never will be, but at least being in the open is better overall."
"How old would she be now?" Dave asked.
"Four, in June," John replied without hesitation. "A friend of ours has a son that age and, well, they could have been schoolmates. Cousins, more like, since I don't really have family anymore and Clara only has you. They… they don't know though, our friends. No one really knows. We don't talk about her freely."
Closing the book and placing it on the table, Dave took a sip of tea and frowned. "So Clara reacting poorly to a compliment prompted you to make the drive all the way over here to confess about someone I already knew existed? It's got to be something more than that." He sat silently, waiting for John to reply in his own time.
"I… I said she was radiant because she honestly does look that way to me," John said, "and she looks radiant because, well, she's pregnant again. I think her shouting at me to leave was just her being scared, with the odd hormone mixed in."
"You mean it? Are you sure I'm going to be a granddad this time around? When?" Dave beamed. John nodded quickly in reply, running a hand through his hair nervously despite a greatened sense of ease.
"September. The doctor in Glasgow back then said that there was a greater chance we couldn't have kids now, but this entire time the doctor in London says she's fine and yet I can't help but worry. Dave… she's all I've got left."
"With a name like Smith? I highly doubt that…"
"Everyone I grew up close to is either dead or has been on non-speaking terms for so long I can't find out whether they're dead or not," John admitted. "The point is that Clara's it for me—you're my mate, but, it just isn't the same."
"I think I understand that better than you think," Dave said. He poured them both more tea and took another biscuit for himself. "Still, you have any questions about being a dad, just come to me. You're scared now, you both are, and that's natural. The trick is to not let it get the best of you, or else you'll burn through more petrol than you've got coupons for when a phone call will do."
John downed more of his tea, sighing. "This isn't the conversation to have over the phone, let alone without Clara here."
"Then why isn't she here now? Barring the obvious reasons."
"I promised I'd tell you—I promised back when I showed her the first test print." He gestured with his mug towards said book before taking another sip. "You and potential siblings: that was the price for springing that on her. It was a split-second decision to include Victoria in the dedication, but I don't regret it, not one bit."
"When do you think you'll talk to them?" Dave wondered. John shrugged.
"When they learn to read, probably, or when they figure out there's names in the front of the book they don't recognize. I don't even know if we're going to tell them that's my work until they're a bit older, now that I think about it." He blinked as tears escaped his eyes and began to stream down his cheeks. "I still can't believe it… I'm gonna be a dad."
"It's a great feeling, isn't it?" Dave chuckled. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to John, who took it thankfully and wiped off his face. "You're going to be a natural, I can tell."
"Yeah…?"
"Yeah." He was about to continue when the phone just outside the kitchen door rang, cutting him off. "Excuse me; let me get that." Dave stood up and walked over to the device, picking up the receiver and putting it to his ear. "Oswald."
"Dad…?" It was Clara's voice on the other end, hoarse and choked with tears. Her dad gasped in an attempt to hide his chuckle.
"Clara? What is it, dear?" he asked.
"I'm in trouble…" she admitted. "I… I kicked John out for something stupid and now I can't find him. He's not at the pub or visiting the neighbors or at the park and the car is gone and…" She breathed jaggedly, betraying the fact she was still in the middle of her cry. "Dad, I think I might have cocked it up."
"You've been married nearly eight years, Clara. Usually by this time cock-ups are things like forgetting to pay a bill or accidentally having too much wine at a social event." He glanced at John sitting at the table and they exchanged a nod. "What did you do?"
The other end of the line was dead silent for a solid minute before Clara's voice squeaked out, "I had a row at him when he gave me a compliment."
"Ah. That is a pretty big cock-up. Now why would you do that?"
"It scared me."
"Did he scare you? Was it something backhanded?"
"No, no, no! It wasn't anything like that!" Clara cried into the phone almost a bit too loudly. She caught herself and tried to steady her voice again. "It's just… it was something he hadn't said for a long time, and it reminded me of something else. I got into a state for nothing and now… now he's gone."
"What, do you think he's not coming back?" he asked. At that, John stood up quickly and joined him by the phone, his brow knotted in worry.
"I don't know. I said some pretty foul things to him," she replied. "We haven't fought like this in years and… he'd be within his right to leave."
"That sounds a little harsh," Dave frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Y-Yeah. If we are, you know, in trouble, can I come home?"
"Of course you can. You always can."
"Thank you." She paused for a moment and Dave could hear her swallow. "Um… Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Do you… do you still have my cot?"
"Now why would I still have your cot?" he asked. He took the pad of paper sitting by the phone and scribbled a note for John: it's in the attic. "Clara, is there something you're not telling me?"
"…you're going to be really cross."
"Well, if I'm going to be really cross, then I better put the kettle on. Just a moment." He held out the handset towards John and whispered, "Take it."
"I can't… not now…"
"Yes, now."
John gingerly took the handset from his father-in-law and slowly put the receiver to his ear. "Clara…?" He tensed up, immediately leaning on the wall for support. "No, Clara, don't cry! It's okay, it's okay… I'm not going anywhere."
Dave nodded and went back into the kitchen, where he indeed put more water on for tea. He tried his best not to listen, but he did anyways.
"No, I didn't tell him what you said; just call it payback for Round One. It takes more than a couple little words to betray my trust," John chuckled weakly. He paused and ran his free hand through his hair. "I came straight here. Now's a good a time as any, so I… I told your dad about Victoria… you know, as context." Another pause, shorter this time. "Pretty well, actually—he figured it out on his own based on the dedication and was just waiting for us to come forward. Your dad's a smart man, you know."
The man in question nearly laughed at the compliment, instead focusing his efforts on finding the teapot he kept in the cupboard for company. He found it only to catch John standing in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, receiver still to his ear and the telephone base in his other hand.
"Hey, Dave, is it alright if I…?"
"Yes, of course. You're the father of my grandchildren, aren't you?"
John nodded in thanks before turning his attention back to the phone. "Yeah, he said I can stay the night." He paused, grimacing slightly. "You heard that? Sorry, but, I told him that too… again, as context. I couldn't exactly say you're being hysterical for no reason at all. You're pregnant, not a mental patient." Wandering back into the hall, he only returned after the phone was hung up.
"…and…?" Dave asked, taking another biscuit. He had turned off the kettle and abandoned his large teapot sitting filled with hot water, though no leaves. John just shook his head.
"Me being here made things only about nine hundred times better," he said. "She wanted to be the one to tell you about the new baby… so… I cocked it up."
"Well then, I propose that we go down to the local and grab a pint to celebrate your good fortune of having the best cock-up imaginable," Dave said. "My treat, and I can introduce you to my mates."
"…as your mate from out-of-town or your son-in-law?"
"Both sounds nice; c'mon."
A/N: This chapter, historically speaking, is a little bit of a stretch, since the basic petrol ration for civilians was put on hold in mid-1947, only to be restored in June the following year. At around the same time petrol rations were brought back (to a third of the previous size!), it was mandated that some fuel have red dye put into it and only be sold to commercial vehicles, limiting what the average person could access. Not only could a private driver lose their license for a year if dyed petrol was found in their vehicle, the station that sold it to them could be shut down.
So, tl;dr: John should have taken the bus.
