Chapter 3: The Plunge—GeorgeGeorge didn’t know what had possessed him. The chap looked all right, though. And Polly was a good judge of character. He supposed he was just done with treating other people like they were the enemy. He’d only been home twelve months himself. He’d been lucky he’d had somewhere to come back to, a place he already fitted.
He’d grown up here, and Mother and Father had turned the place from flowers to vegetables when the war began. George had joined up. When they’d been killed in a bombing raid in the summer of ‘42 on a rare trip to visit friends in London, the nursery had just ticked along without him, everyone knowing what they were doing, turning out lettuce and tomatoes for the local military camp.
He’d come home and slotted back into the well-oiled machine a
