Whiskey Summer

July 1941 Part I

Wednesday 2 July 

I'm finding falling in love with Jack one of the easiest things I've ever done. It's simply so...simple. He makes me laugh. He understands me. He doesn't get miffed when I bumble and trip over my words like a newborn babe. And sometimes I'll catch him looking at me like...like I'm something precious. Nobody else has ever looked at me like that.

It's been three days since he kissed me and I kissed him back. Three days of absolute bliss, in which he let me stare at his beautiful eyes for as long as I liked and he asked me to play piano for him again and, with the help of Lucy, -- she's been insisting I call her that, even in my journal, rather steadfastly -- we baked cookies together.

That was a particularly interesting endeavor. The first attempt, which involved just Jack and I, saw the oven smoking and both of us on the ground, covered in flour, having slipped on stray eggshells and laughing as if we weren't about to burn the house down. Then, in came Lucy, and upon seeing the mess she began shouting. After she had thoroughly chastisted us, she helped us up off the floor and told us to go get cleaned up, then we'd start on a new batch.

I apologized to Jack once we were back in his room, changing into clean shirts, since it was my fault we'd been trying to bake anyway -- after I'd mentioned I couldn't remember the last time I'd had homemade sweets, since England had been on rations, he'd insisted -- and he laughed and kissed me and told me not to worry about. That lead to more kissing, and quicker than I'd think, both the clean shirts we'd come upstairs to change into were on the floor.

Then Lucy was knocking on the door, telling us that we'd better get back downstairs and help her with the new batch if we wanted any at all.

We helped her bake the new batch, and then we sat in the living room listening to the Metropolitan Opera over the radio, eating the cookies with milk. Then Lucy got up because she realized Mr. Mobley would be home soon and she had to get started on dinner so it was ready before he arrived.

After she left, I turned to Jack and asked, "Do you think she enjoys it?"

"What?" he asked.

"Well, being not only mother, wife and nanny, but also cook, chauffeur, and maid? Do you think that's the life she set out for herself?"

Jack looked at me puzzlingly. "Isn't that what all girls want?"

"Not your sisters."

"Really?"

"Maybe if you'd actually have a conversation with them, you'd know that," I informed him.

"I have plenty of conversations with Daisy, she's my twin!"

"Oh yes?" I challenged with a grin. "What's the name of the fellow she's going steady with?"

"She's got a boyfriend?!"

I laughed aloud. "Jack, I love you, but sometimes you are frightlfully dense." It took me a moment to register what I'd said.

"Oh, I...wait, what?"

"I--I wonder if your mother needs help cleaning up all that mess." I stood quickly and left the room. Belatedly I heard Jack say my name after me.

When I got to the kitchen, Lucy asked me if I was feeling feverish because my face was so red.

Thursday 3 July 

There was a thunderstorm last night. London didn't get many thunderstorms like that one, but it did remind me of the air raids we'd get. Apparently very well, because a particularly booming crash of thunder woke me from dreams of bomb-dodging along the Thames. I must've flailed quite spectacularly, because the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, tangled in my sheets with an aching head and Jack was kneeling next to me, hair mussed up from sleep, eyes bright with concern in the dark.