The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  David smiled and reached for her hands. “You are a lovely girl, Helen, and so thoughtful. I appreciate your generous offer, but I really would like to take you to supper. Will you let me?” he asked gently.

  Helen nodded miserably. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You haven’t. I mistook your generosity for a rebuke of my circumstances. I’m sorry.” He smiled contritely and Helen smiled back. He wasn’t angry, and she felt tremendous relief. She’d have to be more careful how she phrased things if they were to continue seeing each other.

  “What would you like to eat?”

  Helen shrugged. She didn’t care if they went to a chippy, but saying that would imply that he couldn’t afford anything better, so she kept quiet.

  “Would a pub be all right? A friend of mine tends bar at the King’s Arms. It’s only a few streets over.”

  “Yes, that sounds lovely,” Helen replied.

  “Grand. Let’s go, then.”

  They walked to the pub, chatting about their favorite films and books, the earlier tension forgotten. And David once again held the door for her and put his hand on the small of her back as she entered the pub. It was a bit run down, but the patrons didn’t appear to mind. The pub was busy this evening, and there weren’t many empty tables. David found one toward the back and went up to the bar to place their order. Helen saw him talking to the barman, who peered toward their table and gave her a friendly wave.

  “He’ll come by and say hello later,” David said once he returned with their drinks. “He’s a bit busy at the moment.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Helen asked as she took a sip of her cider.

  “We go way back. Olly and I know each other from the orphanage. Then we enlisted together in 1940.”

  “How old were you then?” Helen asked carefully, wanting to know his current age.

  “I was twenty-two. I’m thirty-seven now,” he said, smiling at her. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Twenty-six,” Helen replied.

  “The perfect age,” David said, taking a sip of his bitter.

  “For what?”

  “For everything. You’re old enough to know your own mind, but not too old to follow your dreams.”

  “I never had any dreams,” Helen said. “I always assumed I’d get married and have a family. Then the war came, and the world changed overnight. Suddenly women were working in factories and offices and were even joining the army. I was too young, of course, but I was inspired by women who wanted to do their bit, and didn’t just cower in the country, growing turnips and knitting socks.”

  “The war’s been over for some time now,” David pointed out.

  “Yes, it has, but the world will always need nurses. Besides, there’s nothing for me to do at home.”

  David nodded, probably too polite to ask why she’d never married. She’d been too young to lose a sweetheart in the war, but by the time she’d come of age, men were thin on the ground, and the country was rebuilding, the returning soldiers bitter and angry at having no good jobs to come back to. Things had changed in their absence, and women who’d been holding their own during the war years resented being told to go back to their domestic responsibilities. Some had wanted to hold on to their jobs and put up a fight when they were unceremoniously dismissed to make room for the men. The status quo had shifted. Girls were no longer marrying as soon as they were out of the schoolroom. There were many young women in London who shared flats and held full-time jobs. Most of them still wanted to marry at some point, but they realized they didn’t have to settle down immediately. There was fun to be had, and there were wild oats to be sown.

  Helen wanted to ask David about his own situation but didn’t know how to phrase the question in a way that wasn’t prying. He was thirty-seven, an age when most men were married and had children. The war had been over for ten years, and there were plenty of single women to choose from. Why had he remained single? Or was he? Helen sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t fall into that trap again. Just because David said he wasn’t married didn’t mean he wasn’t.

  David seemed to notice her change of mood. “Is there something you’d like to ask me?”

  Helen braced herself for his displeasure, but she had to know. She had a right to ask. “Why are you not married? Or are you?”

  David smiled at her. He didn’t seem offended by her insinuation that he might be lying to her. “I’m not married, Helen. Never have been. I had a sweetheart when I joined up, but she was married to someone else by the time I was finally discharged from the Navy. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly heartbroken. Not seeing someone for years can either reaffirm how much you love them or make you realize that you’d never loved them enough. Mine was the latter.”

  “I see,” Helen said. “And you haven’t had anyone since?”

  David blushed. “There was someone, but things didn’t progress as I might have hoped. There’s been no one since.”

  “I had someone as well,” Helen confessed, “but things didn’t progress as I might have hoped,” she said, repeating his words back to him. That made him smile and he reached for her hand.

  “I believe things happen as they should, and people meet each other when the time is right. Just because something didn’t work out doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth experiencing. It’s made you and me the people we are today.”

  “You mean older and wiser?” Helen joked.

  “Yes, but also more cognizant of what we need to be happy with someone long term. I, for one, need to be with a woman who’s honest with me. You see, my lady friend turned out to be married, a fact she withheld from me for nearly a year. She no longer lived with her husband, but they were both Catholic, so divorce was not an option. She was more than happy to cohabitate with me, but I wanted to get married and have a family, so I ended it.”

  So, we’ve both been burned, Helen thought, her heart going out to David. There was nothing worse than being lied to.

  “Are you still angry with her?” Helen asked.

  “No. We were happy for a time, but life goes on. I don’t believe in looking backward.”

  “Neither do I,” Helen said, glad he wasn’t pining for his lost love.

  “Ah, here’s our food,” David said, beaming at the server. “I’m hungry.”

  They were done with their meals by the time David’s friend came over to the table. “May I?” he asked as he pulled a chair over.

  “Helen, this is Oliver Greene, or just Olly. He’s my oldest and dearest friend.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Helen said, discreetly studying Oliver from beneath her lashes. Oliver Greene was short, stocky, and balding, but he had a warm smile and eyes that shone with good humor.

  “No, it is I who am pleased. David never introduces me to anyone. You must be very special.”

  Helen’s cheeks grew hot. “We’ve only just met,” she replied.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m just so glad to see David happy. It’s been a while.”

  Helen noticed the glint of a wedding ring on Olly’s finger. Perhaps David didn’t have too many friends with whom he could spend time.

  “David was my champion at the orphanage,” Olly said. “It’s hard to believe now, but I was very small and thin. A strong wind could blow me over. I always got picked on. David looked after me, and I looked up to him. I thought he was so lucky.”

  “Why is that?” Helen asked.

  “David was one of the few children at the orphanage who had his own name,” Olly explained. “Most of us had been named by the people who worked there. They’d just take one look at an incoming child and name them based on what they thought the poor kid looked like. I suppose I reminded them of Oliver Twist,” he joked.

  “What about the girls?” Helen asked, intrigued by this naming system.

  “Same went for girls. The prettier girls always got beautiful names, like Amelia, Violet, or E
lizabeth, while the plainer girls were saddled with names like Dorcas or Ethel. The girls resented it more than the boys, who didn’t even notice until some of the girls pointed it out,” Olly said, grinning. Helen thought he might be having her on but didn’t question his story.

  “Would it have mattered if you’d known your name?” Helen asked. Greene was a good name, in her opinion. No worse than any name he might have been born with.

  “It wasn’t so much the name itself, but the knowledge that it was a dead end,” Olly explained. “David could have searched for his birth parents if he chose to.”

  “And why would I do that?” David asked, annoyance flickering in his eyes. This probably wasn’t the first time Olly had brought up the subject. “I wasn’t wanted. End of story.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re not even curious,” Olly said. “Edevane is a Welsh name. I looked it up. Not very common, either.”

  “Leave it, Olly,” David said, his tone laced with warning.

  “Sure. Sorry,” Olly said. “Well, I’d best get back to work. It was good to meet you, Helen. I hope to see you again soon. Perhaps we can all go out one night,” he suggested.

  “Olly’s wife, Alice, was one of the pretty girls at the orphanage,” David said, grinning at Olly. “I looked after Olly when he was young, but Alice took over as soon as he started showing signs of promise. She snatched him up before any other girl even had a chance.”

  “She knew what she was about, my Alice,” Olly said jovially before he departed.

  “He seems nice,” Helen said.

  “I’d trust him with my life,” David replied. “I have trusted him with my life,” he added quietly. “He’ll have my loyalty and gratitude for the rest of my days, even if he is an annoying little twerp.”

  Chapter 13

  “So, what’s he like, this David?” Sarah asked as she unwrapped her sandwich. They’d decided to take their dinner break outside, since the day was too lovely to miss out on. It had rained in the morning, but by noon, the clouds had parted, and the sun had come out, quickly drying off the bench Helen and Sarah favored.

  Helen poured a cup of tea from her thermos and took a sip. They only had a half hour for their dinner break, but it was a half hour she looked forward to all morning, since Sarah took her break at the same time. Sarah was on the maternity ward, but Helen had been moved to post-op about a year ago. She was told she radiated calm and reassurance and soothed the patients who were in pain after their operations and needed patience and understanding.

  “He’s nice,” Helen replied carefully.

  “Is that the best you can say for him?” Sarah asked her, arching a dark brow.

  “There’s something about him…” Helen replied, allowing the sentence to trail off. She wasn’t sure how to put it into words and had no desire to sound foolish.

  “Such as?” Sarah prompted.

  “Something solid, I suppose.”

  “Hm?”

  “Trustworthy,” Helen elaborated. “He seems like a man who doesn’t like to play games.”

  “They all like to play games,” Sarah replied. She bit into her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Take my Bertie, for instance. Sure, he says he loves me and wants us to get married, but if I were willing to forgo the legalities, he’d have no incentive whatsoever to rush to the altar.”

  “You reckon?” Helen asked, surprised by Sarah’s confession.

  “He’s a man, Helen. That’s what they all want—pleasure without responsibility. Unmarried women take care not to get into trouble, but as soon as they marry, all precautions go out the window. Before you know it, there’s a baby or two, and the woman who devoted herself to the pleasure and comfort of her man is now a younger version of his own mother. She’s no longer a lover, she’s a wife—the ball and chain, the noose around his neck, the woman who keeps his bollocks in her pocket,” Sarah finished dramatically.

  “And they said romance is dead,” Helen joked. “Come, surely marriage can’t be that bad.”

  “It’s not, but it’s not the bed of roses we’re led to believe it will be, your every need fulfilled by this one man who can barely pick his socks up off the floor or remember your birthday. Marriage is hard work, for both parties, but it’s the best alternative. Living your life alone is a fate worse than death, according to my mother, and I tend to agree with her. I like my job, and I like earning a wage, but I will gladly give it up for a home and a family of my own. I want children, Helen.”

  “So do I.” Helen sighed.

  “Not every man is like Neil bloody Hastings. There are some good ones out there, honest blokes who want more than a quick roll between the sheets.”

  “Yes, I’m sure there are,” Helen agreed.

  “So, tell me more about him,” Sarah invited. She’d finished her sandwich and looked wistfully at the empty wrapper. Despite her petite frame, she was always hungry.

  “He has this way of looking at me,” Helen began.

  “What way is that?”

  “Like I’m the only person he can see. The few times I was out with Neil, his eyes rarely stayed on me for long. He was always scanning the room. I stupidly thought it was part of his military training, to be aware and alert, you know, but he was probably just checking out the other women or trying to avoid being caught.”

  “But it happened anyway,” Sarah said with some satisfaction.

  “Yes, when he least expected it. David looks directly at me and pays attention when I talk. He tilts his head to the side and has this thoughtful expression on his face, like he’s really listening, and I know he is because he asks questions and then goes back to something I said hours later, as if he’d only just thought of something relevant to add. He seems like the kind of man who means what he says.”

  “You be careful, Helen. Don’t trust too soon. A man in his thirties is bound to have his secrets.”

  “We all have our secrets. I’m not about to enlighten him about what happened with Neil. I only hope my dear mother doesn’t blurt something out. You know how she relishes telling the truth, but only when it’s about someone else’s failings.” Helen hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but she couldn’t help herself. Her mother’s lack of sympathy still stung, and she was wary of sharing anything with her, even the most mundane of details.

  “Your mother is scared of being alone,” Sarah said wisely. “Same as mine. She keeps saying she’ll move into the smallest bedroom and keep house for us as long as Bertie and I don’t leave when we get married. I feel sorry for her. Bertie won’t be happy to have her living with us, but she’s my mother, and I’m the only one she’s got left. She’s lost her husband and two sons; it’d be cruel to leave her on her own.”

  Helen nodded. “I won’t leave my mother on her own either, but I wish I felt more than a sense of duty toward her.”

  “We’d best be getting back,” Sarah said as she stood. “There were three women in labor when I took my break. I wonder if they’ve delivered by now. I do envy them sometimes,” she said as they walked toward the main entrance. “I wish it were my turn. I long to hold a baby in my arms, one that’s mine.”

  “Yes, I know just how you feel. That’s the one thing I’ll really feel badly about if I never marry. I’ve always wanted to have children.”

  Sarah stopped and squeezed Helen’s hand. “You will, Helen. You will.”

  Helen nodded, hoping Sarah was right. She wasn’t getting any younger, and her window of opportunity was closing fast. Another few years and it’d be too late to think of having children.

  Chapter 14

  June 2015

  London, England

  Jo poured herself a glass of wine, took it into the lounge, and propped her feet up on the coffee table. She always felt a sense of displacement when she first returned from an assignment. There were no bombs whistling overhead, no explosions, no danger, no frightened, miserable people who reminded her how lucky she was to have a safe, comfortable home to come back to, and no desperate nee
d for sex. People tended to give in to their urges when faced with danger, and she’d found companionship nearly every night in the arms of foreign correspondents who’d been flocking to Syria since the start of the civil war.

  The sex had satisfied a physical need, but this time, Jo craved something more. Every night as she fell asleep, whether she was alone or with someone else, her thoughts turned to Gabe and she yearned for just a glimpse of him. For the first time in a long while, she wanted the man and not only what he could give her. She was like a schoolgirl who had found photos of her crush online and poured over them endlessly. She had no access to Gabe’s Facebook page, but she was friends with Quinn, and she scrolled through her photos, grinning like an idiot when a particularly sexy photo of Gabe caught her eye. If she didn’t focus on Quinn’s face, she could pretend it was her in the picture, holding a baby in her arms as she leaned against her amazing husband, whose arm was draped protectively over her shoulders.

  Jo fell asleep with Gabe’s face swimming before her eyes and woke with his name on her lips. She was sick with longing for him. Jo laughed out loud when the name for her illness became apparent to her. She was in love—truly, madly, deeply, and wrongly. She’d gladly give up her career, stay at home and have babies, and stab her own sister in the heart if she could only have him all to herself.

  How pathetic can you be? Jo had asked herself with disgust as she packed her case in Damascus, ready to return home. To lust after your sister’s husband was bad enough, but to dream of playing happy families with him was even more laughable. Gabe was in love with Quinn, in love with his children, and in love with his life. It was obvious. He wasn’t on the make, and judging by his response to her, he wasn’t interested in a one-off either. He had too much to lose, and too little to gain.

  She had succeeded in catching Gabe on his own when she’d dropped by the house, but she’d behaved like a fool, and Gabe’s lack of response made her seethe with frustration. He’d been cool and polite, and made it clear in every possible non-verbal way that he wasn’t interested. Why would he be? He had his perfect Quinny. What did Jo have to offer him that Quinn hadn’t already given him? He wanted more children; Quinn had mentioned that. God, Jo would gladly give him half a dozen babies if he’d have her. She never wanted to be pregnant again, not after that first time, but she’d gladly accept all the pain of childbirth if the child was Gabe’s and he wanted it. The thought of him looking at her with tenderness, worrying about her well-being, and supporting her unconditionally was enough to make her weep with longing. For the first time in her life, she truly understood why women wanted to get married. It was all about possession, and she wanted to possess Gabe. She wanted to proclaim to the world that this gorgeous man was hers and hers alone, and she’d eviscerate any woman who so much as looked at him the wrong way.