When Destiny Calls

By Tricia McGill

From one crazy period in history to another.

Whisked by some unseen force from the Covid-19 ridden world of 2020 in Australia, to an equally horrific time in the past, carer Chloe Simpson finds herself in North London during the Blitz of 1940. Could be that Chloe became too immersed in the stories related to her by Minnie, a woman in the Australian nursing home where she cares for elderly people. Stories about the dreadful days and nights endured during the Blitz.

Engrossed in the stories surrounding photographs in 98-year-old Minnie Clacton’s cherished album, back in time Chloe meets up with the young Minnie plus her own Great Great Grandmother Aggie.

In the midst of an air raid, Chloe is discovered, wet and confused, by a man and his dog. A man and his canine companion who coincidentally appeared prominently in the photo album alongside the young Minnie and Aggie. Did Chloe simply answer the call of Destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228617662

Book preview

When Destiny Calls

By Tricia McGill

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-1766-2

Kindle 978-0-2286-1765-5

PDF 978-0-2286-1764-8

Print ISBNs

LSI Print 978-0-2286-1762-4

B&N Print 978-0-2286-1761-7

Amazon Print 978-0-2286-1763-1

Copyright 2021 by Tricia McGill

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

Dedication

To women who, like my mother and sisters, faced tough times with strength and dignity.

Chapter One

Victoria Australia, May 2020

I tapped gently on the half-open door of the old lady’s room before entering. Minnie lay, as usual, with a well-worn book open on her chest, her blue-veined hands gripping its cover. That book was seldom far away from her. Gentle snores emanated from her open mouth, no competition for the television that blared out the evening news, the announcer relating the day’s disasters and triumphs.

As if sensing that I stood there Minnie’s eyes shot open, and a smile worked its way across her time-wrinkled face. Oh my, come in Chloe my dear, she said as she tried unsuccessfully to push herself into a sitting position. Must have nodded off. I was watching the news. Did you see our dear Queen doing her duty at the VE celebrations held yesterday? Seventy five years ago since victory in Europe—and it seems like yesterday. With a small sigh, she waved a hand.

A staunch royalist, Minnie liked nothing better than talking to me about her early days in London, and how they all coped during World War Two—especially her adored Queen Elizabeth. By now, I could probably write a book about the war years and the hardships endured during what historians term The Blitz. Off home dearie?

Soon. No hurry. There was little for me to rush home to—my no-hoper of a boyfriend would likely be watching a football replay on the television or be on his laptop playing one of the noisy games that he and his mates relished. On the other hand, perhaps he would be looking at the porn he thought I didn’t know about. Just wanted to ask if you would like me to fetch you in anything tomorrow. I plumped her pillow and assisted her higher in her bed.

You can get me a nice bar of chocolate if you wouldn’t mind dear, you know the one with caramel in the centre that I can suck and then chew with these dodgy old choppers of mine. A cheeky wink accompanied that request, for we both knew that chocolate was out of bounds and not good for her health. Without answering I laughed and Minnie said, Don’t suppose there’s a lot you can do with this dreaded virus thingummy bob still going its rounds.

That’s a fact. I considered myself lucky as my job in the nursing home required I continue to work, unlike many unfortunate people who were marking time until the Covid-19 crisis ended. I had originally applied here for the vacancy of receptionist, but much preferred spending time with the old folk, so had taken the required path to becoming a fulltime carer. I waved the small device I held and asked, Didn’t you have an appointment with your granddaughter, Jasmine—it is Sunday.

And so it is. I clean forget what day it is at times. She laughed as if this was of no consequence—which it wasn’t when all was said and done. One day was much like another in this place, where many of the patients could not even remember their names, let alone what day of the week it was. Even though her hundredth birthday was just two years away, Minnie was one of the rare ones who could recall her early years as if they happened a day or two ago. Are you sure you have time, dear? When I was your age I would have been off gallivanting, even though there was a war going on—not wasting time with an old duck like me.

Nonsense—I have plenty of time. I switched on my tablet in readiness, and secured a connection to the home’s internet.

She closed the book that I knew was an album of photographs, and patted the coverlet at her side. I guess Jasmine will not be going anywhere either. It’s just as bad over there in good old London town. For a brief moment, she seemed pensive. Mind you, I think she perhaps has a lot to contend with apart from the virus thingy, what with that useless bundle of tripe she has lumbered herself with. That assessment was accompanied by a noise resembling a raspberry.

I made no comment, for hadn’t I lumbered myself with just such a useless bundle, as Minnie put it. Taking the album with its tattered cover, I placed it gently on the bedside table, close enough for her to reach, as it was never far from her side. Move over then and I will connect you. It’s about the usual time, as she should be just getting out of bed. I glanced at the clock on Minnie’s bedside table. It was one of those old-fashioned alarm clocks—she said it was a relic from her youth so it was likely older than her. Ready?

Minnie shuffled her bottom about and grinned. Always ready—that’s me. Did I tell you they said that about me in my hey-day? And the same could be said for my best mate, Aggie Blackwater, your lovely old Gran. I miss the old devil so much. Momentarily, her grin disappeared.

My Great Grandmother had been here in this home, her memories all gone well before she died last year. One of the reasons I chose this home was to be with my dear old Gran. Minnie gave me an insight into their years together before they immigrated to Australia with their respective husbands, scores of years ago.

Yes you did, amongst other things. Like most of the residents in the home who still possessed memories, Minnie spent a lot of time dwelling in the past. According to her, those hey-days as she put it were filled with fun and excitement, even while a war raged. I envied the fun and friendship they enjoyed at times in a period when social media was an unknown quantity and life so much simpler.

I handed her glasses to her and then sat beside her. It only took a moment or two before Jasmine appeared on the screen. Her beauty was the rare-seen kind. If you looked closely, you could see that Minnie still possessed the same perfect bone structure beneath the wrinkles. Unfortunately, Jasmine did not make the most of that attribute and today looked world-weary and tired as she pushed her hair back and yawned. At twenty-six, she was just three years older than me, but looked more like a forty-year-old woman who had burnt the candle at both ends far too often. Of course, I kept these opinions to myself.

Hello darling girl, how are you? Minnie waved furiously at the screen where Jasmine sat on her bed, still wearing her nightgown covered by a cardigan that had seen better days. It astonished me that she never made the effort of getting up and combing her hair before coming online to speak to her Grandmother.

She gave another yawn before answering, and a man’s voice could be heard grumbling somewhere in the background. After her arrival in London last year, she no sooner landed than acquired a job in a bar, and unfortunately acquired this useless boyfriend along with it. How well I knew the story—why do us women get ourselves in such relationships where romance soon fizzles out like morning mist?

Sadly, Minnie’s daughter Betty had passed away two years ago. Apart from Jasmine, Betty had a son who would have been about thirty if he hadn’t wrapped his car around a tree after a drunken binge one wintry night. I surmised that was one of the reasons Minnie liked my company—she only had Jasmine now who was currently on the other side of the world.

After the customary hellos and queries on the weather had been dealt with, Jasmine suddenly said, Hey guess what Nanna—I met a very old lady yesterday—probably slightly older than you. When it came up during our chat that I was Australian, and said that you live there, this woman suddenly said that she knew Australia well. However, that is not the funny part, Nan. The girl who was with her—a sister of someone I’d met at a friend’s house—she was the old lady’s great granddaughter—reckoned the old dear had always lived in London, and she wasn’t sure how her Nanna would know much about Australia. As she let out a small laugh while wiggling a finger at her forehead Jasmine added, I think the old girl has lost her marbles, Nan.

Minnie ignored the rude gesture and remark. I noticed that her eyes were sparkling, as she asked, What was her name Jas? Perhaps I met her in my youth. And where did she live, did this girl say?

Well I met them near your old stomping ground of Highbury that you were always talking about, but not sure if that’s where they live. The old lady’s name was Chloe. Jasmine shrugged. Seemed like an odd name for a really old woman. Most women around your age Nanna have tags like Elsie, Minnie, or Aggie like your old mate you were always talking about. Isn’t that the name of your friend there in the home?

I poked my head into view beside Minnie’s and waved, saying, That’s me. Jasmine returned my wave.

What was she doing out with this girl, did you ask? Minnie now seemed deep in thought as if trying to retrieve a memory that had long faded.

No, but I think they were shopping or something. The old lady was in a wheelchair. The boyfriend called out something from the next room and Jasmine shrugged as she said, Look, have to go Nanna, speak again next week—love you. With that final word, she was gone.

Minnie flapped a hand and said on a huff, Does it every time. What does she put up with it for?

I had no answer for that, so asked, Do you recall a woman named Chloe from your younger days, Minnie?

Pass my album, dear, she said as she wriggled further up on her pillows. I’ll see if anything in there reminds me. Mind you, the woman is probably losing her mind by the sound of it. Must admit it was strange, eh, to have the same name as you? As Jas said, it is an odd name for an old duck.

I switched off the tablet and placed it on the top of her television, and then passed the album to her. Its dog-eared cover testified to its many hours and years of use. I had noticed that a few pages were loose, so offered, Let me take it home and see if I can fix it for you.

Thanks dear. Perhaps later. She settled back and began to turn pages with extreme care. When she found what she was obviously looking for, she pointed to one photograph and said with a grin, There’s me and Aggie your dear old Gran, Chloe. Oh the fun we had, Aggie and I. So sad she couldn’t remember our good old days in the years before she went up there. A finger pointed to the ceiling. It seemed that she had forgotten about this other Chloe.

I sat on the bed and looked down at the faded sepia photo. You were a good looking pair, Minnie, no wonder all the boys in Highbury were chasing you. I pointed to a man who stood just behind my Gran, and asked, Who’s the good-looking hunk there? Is he one of the boys who was after you? The hunk in question must have been about six feet tall and as far as I could tell, had a good body on him and a thick mop of dark hair brushed back from a very handsome face.

Minnie rearranged her spectacles on her nose and peered closer. Oh, that’s good old Bill—William McGrace—all the girls hoped he would choose them, but he always said Aggie and me were his best mates and more like sisters to him, so we had no chance. We were a bit younger than him anyway. A huge sigh accompanied this statement. I told you didn’t I that we all lived nearby in the same street—good old Merriweather Street. Bill’s family lived at number eighteen, and Aggie and her family at nineteen across the road from us. We were at number twelve. I guess Bill was right as we all went to the same primary school, although he was about six years older, so moved on to high school long before we left primary. He always had time for us girls and played tracking and cricket with us up against the big wall at the end of our street, and then later we all went to the local dances together. My brothers Tom and Maurie came along too, until the boys went off to war.

For a moment she seemed pensive, before saying, Bill had a nasty fall when he was about fifteen, but that didn’t stop him from dancing. The ambulance was called at the time and they carted him off to hospital. Lord knows what they did to him for he always had a bit of a limp after that. Minnie thought about that for a while before adding, Kept him out of the war later on, but didn’t stop the girls chasing him though.

Pointing to a black dog that I had just noticed sitting in front of this Bill, I asked, Who owned the dog, was it yours?

Minnie laughed. Old Tiger? Well at first he belonged to all of us. He turned up one day when he was little more than a pup, looking bedraggled and so skinny he probably had never been fed properly in his young life. We reckoned someone had dumped him overnight, as one foggy morning not long before this picture was taken, Bill found him just behind the low wall in front of their house. We all claimed we wanted him but Tiger, as we named him, followed Bill like a slave from then on.

Minnie went off into one of her personal journeys into the past, so I stood. I’ll be off now. See you tomorrow. She waved and as I was about to turn she pulled at my hand.

Chloe, dear, she said low. In case I am not around when you come back, I want to thank you for all your kindness.

I sat on the bed again and pulled her into my arms. Now you just stop that. You will be around to see your centenary at least—I have no doubt about it. I brushed her silver hair back and noticed her eyes had moisture in the corners.

Just saying—at my age who knows what tomorrow may bring. She gave me a gentle nudge. Go on home with you to that man of yours. I hope he deserves you.

I had no answer for that so just picked up my tablet from the top of the television and went to the door. When I turned, her eyes were already closed, but I blew a kiss her way anyway—just in case.

I glanced at my watch to see it was nearly six thirty. Not that I was worried. I had long since stopped thinking about rushing home to Grant. Where other men were fretting over losing their jobs during the pandemic sweeping the world, I swear he was happy as a lark sitting there at home with his feet up on the coffee table. His lack of initiative was what set me to thinking seriously about ditching him.

The apartment that I had bought with my hard-earned money plus some my dear Gran left me was situated in a small complex of six units not far from the beach, and I loved it. When Grant moved in with me a year ago, he had a full time job. I should have had my suspicions about his laziness when he began to talk about throwing the job in soon after that, after moaning continually about the long hours. I talked him out of it but he seemed to begrudge that. In hindsight, that was when I should have told him it would not work for us.

It was a short drive home, and when I parked my car in the carport beneath the building, I sat for a moment contemplating my life. I guess I had loved Grant when I met him—or why else would I have invited him to move in with me? Thinking back on that time, I now realise he had begun to give sly hints—and before I knew it, I blurted out the invitation. Of course, he jumped at it and before the week ended was ensconced in my home. I sighed—guess it served me right for being so gullible.

My parents both died in a car crash when I was just ten and I went to live with Gran, who did her best to give me a good life. I often wished I had a sister to confide in—but my closest relatives now were distant cousins from Dad’s side of the family. My memories of my father are rather blurred, for he didn’t seem to be around a lot when I was small—I was told he was a travelling salesman. Mum only had one brother, who moved to New Zealand years ago and we lost touch with him.

Sighing I climbed from my car, and used the lift to the second floor. My next-door neighbour, a kindly man in his fifties, shared the lift with me and asked after my day. As expected Grant was asleep in front of the television, his bare feet propped lopsidedly on the table in front of him as soft snores came from his mouth. What on this earth had he