Chapter 33

I spent a little more time with the bank manager. I had questions, he had answers.

"Mom says she won't get on a boat again in her life ... Grace, my twin, and I are going to Paris where I expect her to spend money like a liberty sailor in Singapore ... clothes. I want to be sure mom has access to sufficient funds to live the lifestyle she has always wanted. Is there any way to set up an account for her."

"We can do that, Barclays takes great pride in accommodating our depositors. We can use Carte Blanche as a basis. Your prepaid card is a very good idea."

I spent fifteen minutes transferring funds from my card to an account. "I'll send mother in." I shook hands with Mr. Williamson and stepped out of his office. Mom was waiting.

"Don't lose this," I said as I handed her a bankbook. "I worry about you so I put some money in an account with Barclays. You need to go in the office and sign the signature card. Mr. Williamson will witness your transaction."

I opened the door to his office, ushered her in and closed the door. Three minutes later the shriek nearly shattered the glass, I grinned.

She came out with the biggest grin.

"David! I take back every nasty thing I ever said. Thank you."

"It's only money, mother."

"It's a million pounds ... two million eight hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Williamson suggested I invest in Consoles. They only pay 2.5% but that's seventy thousand pounds a year. I'm rich!!"

She might be rich right now, but the pound would be devalued September 16, 1992 and inflation ran rampant for years before then.

"Vera ... sorry ... Mom."

"You give me money like that and you can call me Vera anytime."

"You know about my dreams?"

"I know your dreams have made you and Grandmother Austin wealthy." She looked suspicious, "Why?"

"You're Finn."

"Hundred percent," she said proudly. "Your grandparents are both Finn."

"Do you speak it?"

"Suomi?" She actually looked regretful. "Grandfather..." and here I swear she was looking for a place to spit because she for sure hacked up a lung, " ... Came to the United States, the immigration officer asked him his name ... the translator said..." another huge and complicated clearing of her throat, "The officer wrote Bleeker on the forms. The translator told Grandpop his name was now Bleeker and not to forget it."

I had never heard this part of my ancestry. I was medium interested and asked mom about His parents.

"They didn't think it was important back then ... descent was from the mother... 'who knows who the father is? ... only God ... and he ain't telling.' She used to say that." She laughed. "When they got to Hibbing, Minnesota, Grandmother told Grandfather that they were in America now, and Americans spoke American ... they had no idea it was English. They learned the language by pointing at whatever and repeated what they were told.

"Granddad was just twenty and grandmother was turned 16 and already big in the belly ... and what she said was what got done. By the time my dad was born, the language spoken at home was American.

"Twenty years later, I was born and nobody spoke Finn ... so, no ... I don't speak it. I think I might have been ten years old before I knew the difference between British English and American." She paused, "Why?"

I couldn't tell her she might die in 1988 ... she did the first time. I couldn't tell her that the most stable economy in Europe would be Germany. I couldn't tell her of the massive influx of former bureaucrats, foreign nationals, fleeing the collapsing British Empire ... and the wrath of their neighbors. There were a lot of things she ought to know ... but I can't.

Why couldn't Grace have decided to go shopping in Australia. She might as well have. She would be an extremely successful internet developer and programer. Unable to stomach California any longer, she and her family would sell everything and move to New Zealand in 1989 ... unless I somehow changed that.

"No particular reason. Just wondering." I sighed.

This go-round was beginning to be really different ... the little things, that is. There hadn't been anything major ... yet. I was waiting for the shoe to fall.

Sergeant Major Smythe was waiting at the car ... it was time and past to go.

"Sergeant Major, where are the girls?"

"They've gone to the chippie, sir. Just round the corner. Half a mo and you can smell it."

I knew what he meant ... I'd been here before. Fish and Chips. Yum! Beer Battered Cod and thick sliced potatoes deep fried in real lard. It had been years ... lard had given way to vegetable oil because of the Muslims and health codes ... cod had given way to who knows what ... but right now... 1956 ... I drooled. The wind changed ... the smell was exactly as I remembered it.

I asked the Sergeant, "Have we the time?"

"Train every hour, sir."

"Just round the corner?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I bring you... ?"

"The ladies..."

"I see." I grabbed mother by the arm. "I've read about this, mom. Come on."

It wasn't just around the corner ... it was around the corner, down the alley and halfway up a narrow walkway. The smell was coming out of an open window. No seats ... no tables ... just an open window with a girl about fourteen leaning out chatting with Grace and Sally. In the background there was some kind of music ... not rock and roll but it had an intriguing and catchy beat.

Her face was fresh, innocent, beautiful. Red headed, green eyed, beautiful. She wore a scoop necked blouse that gave the lie to her face. Round, full and swaying with tiny pink nipples ... she was abundantly blessed and beautiful. She looked up and saw me.

'Oh--My--God!'

Did I mention she was beautiful?

She was distracted, she gaped. In a day when orthodontry and braces were nearly unknown in the United Kingdom, she had straight, even, white teeth. There must have been something in her stare that made Grace turn and see me. My condition wasn't much better.