Song of the Skylark

by Erica James

  ‘Be quiet!’ he snapped. ‘I cannot think if you make that noise.’

  Once more she did as he said.

  ‘You must help me look for the key,’ he said.

  ‘But it could be anywhere.’

  ‘No. It will be here somewhere in this ditch. I will search also. But remember, I have the gun and if you disobey me I will use it.’

  ‘I won’t disobey you,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

  He let go of the Norton, resting it on its side on the verge and switched the gun back to his right hand. He then carefully climbed down into the ditch and began hunting through the grass in the dark. Clarissa did the same, surreptitiously watching him, biding her time until he made his mistake. Which he did when he bent down with his back turned to her. In a flash, summoning every violent need in her to avenge not just Leon’s death, but William’s, she raised the brick in her hands and brought it down with a sickening smash against the back of the German’s head. At first she didn’t think she had hurt him at all; he just stood there. But then he dropped to his knees and fell with a heavy thud. Had she killed him? No time to tell!

  She took the gun, then removed her stockings; together with her scarf, they were all she had with which to tie him up. She’d just got him securely tied – his hands fastened behind his back and his legs bound together at the ankles – when he grunted and opened his eyes and gave her a look of savage fury. Summoning all her energy, she heaved the motorcycle upright and inserted the key she had earlier removed into the ignition. She tried to remember what Leon had taught her when kick-starting it, but the engine failed to respond. Frantically she tried again to get the engine to catch and was just about to give up and run for help, when it spluttered into life with a throaty roar.

  She took off hesitantly and headed for the nearest house, which was Colonel Brook’s. She banged on his front door with all her might, ringing the bell as well. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Colonel Brook stared back at her, looking far from happy in his dressing gown with an expression as rumpled as his pyjamas.

  ‘German airman!’ she blurted out before he could utter a word of remonstration. ‘I left him tied up on the Shillingbury road. Call for help!’

  She was hailed as the ‘Amazing Mrs Dallimore’ in the local newspaper, the woman who had captured a German airman with nothing but her stockings and a headscarf. The national newspapers picked up the story and all but made out that she had single-handedly taken on the might of the entire German Luftwaffe.

  She wanted none of the accolades paid her. How could she when Leon was dead? Thomas and Walter were devastated; they had lost somebody who had been father, brother, friend and uncle rolled into one. There wasn’t an empty pew to be had in the church for the funeral. Once more the village was mourning one of its own. For they had, despite some initial resistance when Leon first arrived in Shillingbury, come to regard him as exactly that.

  But then, just when Clarissa thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

  Chapter Fifty

  A knock at the door made Lizzie start. In her spellbound state it was all she could do to stop herself from telling whoever had interrupted them to go away.

  Mrs Dallimore stared at the door blankly. She then looked around her, before tilting her head and intensifying her gaze on Lizzie for the longest time, and in an oddly puzzled manner.

  ‘What is it, Mrs Dallimore?’ asked Lizzie, concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’ It was as if the old lady was looking at her while trying to figure out who she was. It was very alarming.

  ‘Shall I see who that is?’ asked Lizzie, when Mrs Dallimore still hadn’t spoken and a lengthy awkward moment had passed, followed by another knock at the door. An anxious, uncertain nod was all the response she got, and rising from her chair, she went to the door.

  It was Mr Sheridan. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ he said in a hushed voice, ‘but I was just wondering how Clarissa is.’

  ‘I think she might be a little tired,’ Lizzie said, thinking that maybe she had exhausted Mrs Dallimore and she ought to fetch matron to check on her.

  ‘Is that Mr Sheridan?’ came a voice from behind Lizzie. She turned to see Mrs Dallimore looking much more her usual self. There was barely a trace of puzzlement in her face now.

  ‘Permission to be granted entry?’ asked Mr Sheridan, leaning in to peer round the door.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Mrs Dallimore.

  Once Mr Sheridan was seated in the chair Lizzie had just vacated, she picked up the lunch tray she’d brought in earlier and offered to rustle up two cups of tea.

  ‘That would be perfect,’ said Mrs Dallimore, ‘and I do apologise if I went on for too long.’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘You didn’t at all. Far from it. I’ll be back in a jiffy with your tea.’

  After having a word with Jennifer about the confused state Mrs Dallimore had briefly displayed, Lizzie went to sort out the library. She had made the suggestion that it needed an overhaul and had been given the job. Jettisoning tatty old paperbacks that had seen better days, she set about reorganising the shelves. A number of residents wandered in while she was working, browsing the books she had piled up on the floor and lingering to chat with her. One woman came in to return a book she’d finished reading and after asking if Lizzie had read it, which she had, they had a great discussion about the ending, both agreeing that it was highly unsatisfying.

  It struck Lizzie, as before, just as her mother had said, that for many of the people here a simple chat with somebody who showed an interest made all the difference to their day. But wasn’t that true of everyone? She thought of her life back in London, of always being in a hurry, of sitting cheek by jowl with strangers on the tube and on the bus and never once communicating, other than to make it plain there was an invisible barrier in place that was never to be breached.

  When she had the shelves neatly ordered, and after saying goodbye to a group of residents in the sitting room watching Escape to the Country, she called in on Mrs Dallimore, but found her fast asleep in her armchair, her head resting against the wing of the chair. On her lap was a photograph album. It was so tempting to take a sneaky look, but Lizzie resisted and instead, very carefully so as not to disturb Mrs Dallimore, slid the album off her lap and put it on the bed.

  She cycled home, thinking of all that Mrs Dallimore had told her, in particular her extraordinary bravery in tackling the German airman. What was the bravest act Lizzie had ever done? She racked her brains but could think of nothing. Not a thing. How pathetically dull and uneventful her life was compared to Mrs Dallimore’s! What would she have to tell anyone when she was the same age? A week or so ago the thought might have depressed her, but now as she cycled home, the fields of wheat either side of her golden in the August sunshine, she had a sense of being on the cusp of some great change in her life.

  But cusp or not, she had to tell her parents about the surprise she had in store for them. She should perhaps have texted them in the day to warn them not to plan anything else for the evening, but that would have spoilt the pleasure of giving them their surprise face to face.

  She arrived home to find Freddie stripped down to nothing but a sunhat and chasing her mother round the garden with the hose. His squeals of unfettered glee made Lizzie smile. Her father appeared at the back door carrying a towel. ‘I’m not sure who’s going to need it more, your mother or Freddie.’

  ‘I’d lay odds on Mum’s need being the greater,’ said Lizzie.

  Suddenly spotting her, Freddie gave a whoop of delight and began running across the lawn. The part of the hose lying on the lawn had other ideas and tripped him up, sending him sprawling. Fortunately he didn’t seem to mind too much and Lizzie scooped up her nephew and demanded a kiss. He obliged fulsomely, and after she’d pressed her mouth against his tummy and blown the requisite number of fruity raspberries, she swung him round a
nd carried him to the summer house where her parents were now seated, Mum rubbing her face with the towel.

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ she said to them. ‘At seven thirty you’re booked in for dinner at the Great House in Lavenham.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, Mum, it’s my thank you to you both for putting up with me and the fallout of some disastrous decisions I’ve made lately.’

  ‘But you can’t possibly afford—’

  ‘Hello? Is my message not getting through? There are no buts involved, Dad. Oh, and by the way, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I have a job interview tomorrow, so think positive thoughts for me while you’re enjoying your dinner.’ Lizzie looked at her watch. ‘You have an hour to get ready. So how about you both scram and leave me to give Freddie his tea and put him to bed?’

  ‘Not bed,’ Freddie said, shaking his head. ‘Not bed yet.’

  Lizzie hugged him. ‘No, not bed yet – we have plenty of fun to get through before then.’

  ‘It really does feel all wrong accepting Lizzie’s offer,’ Tom said, after they’d handed the menus back to the waiter, the job of selecting and ordering their food now complete. They were seated at a table in the window overlooking the pretty cobbled Market Place in Lavenham.

  ‘But it would have hurt her feelings to have said no,’ said Tess, casting her gaze round the small restaurant and the smartly dressed diners. ‘It was such a lovely thing for her to have planned.’

  ‘You’re right, I know; but she can’t afford to pay for a meal here.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope her job interview goes her way tomorrow. She’s due some good luck.’

  Watching through the window a car reversing into a parking space, Tom said, ‘Have you thought what she’ll do if she gets the job? She’ll carry on living at home with us, won’t she?’

  ‘Don’t you want her to?’

  He frowned. ‘It’s not really a matter of what I want; it’s what’s best for Lizzie. Living at home with her parents at her age isn’t exactly ideal, is it?’

  Tess knew what Tom was saying, but she didn’t want to think that far ahead. Nor did she want to be the kind of parent whose help was conditional, or had its limits. ‘It’s a stopgap until something better comes along,’ she said.

  Tom didn’t look convinced. ‘I suppose I’m worried it’ll all become too comfortable for her, that she’ll settle for the easy option instead of seeking out something more stimulating and challenging. Remember how she always used to say that London was where she wanted to be, that she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else?’

  ‘Lots of young people say that, but for many of them the dream doesn’t live up to expectations. And who knows, maybe Skylark Radio will give her something she didn’t know she was looking for.’

  Tom suddenly smiled. ‘I remember a certain young girl saying something very similar to me a long time ago.’

  Tess smiled back at him, remembering the day they met and how suddenly she’d felt as though she’d found something she hadn’t realised she’d been looking for. Quite unconsciously she’d fallen in love with Tom in a heartbeat. They’d been inseparable from that day on, and everyone said they were made for each other. Having experienced such a happy marriage herself, she had badly wanted Luke and Lizzie to be equally blessed.

  She looked at her husband, seeing him not as the middle-aged man she’d snapped at so heatedly the other day, but as the kind-hearted and affectionate man she had always loved. ‘I’m sorry I was so horrible to you when Freddie fell in the pond,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean anything I said, not really, anxiety just got the better of me.’

  ‘I was just as horrible to you,’ Tom said, ‘and I’m sorrier than I can say. It’s absurd, isn’t it? We brought up two children perfectly successfully, but for some reason we fret more over Freddie than we ever did with Luke and Lizzie.’

  ‘It’s a different kind of responsibility,’ Tess said. ‘Especially with Ingrid being such a stickler for … well, for being such a stickler. Do you suppose our parents fretted the way we do when they became grandparents?’

  ‘Who knows? But one thing I do know with certainty is that the first of this evening’s culinary delights is heading our way, so I suggest we forget all about our children and grandchild and thoroughly enjoy ourselves on this rare night when it’s just the two of us. Agreed?’

  Tess nodded happily. ‘Agreed.’

  When the waiter had left them alone with their ‘comical bush’, as Tom liked to refer to the amuse bouche, he raised his glass of wine to Tess. ‘Here’s to worrying less and laughing more.’

  ‘And to Lizzie’s interview tomorrow.’

  With Freddie happily tucked up in bed, Lizzie surveyed the wreckage of the kitchen and wondered where on earth it had all come from. There were pots and pans, bowls, plates, a sieve, spoons, forks, knives, a cheese grater, an empty milk carton and the remains of an uncovered hunk of Cheddar. All this for one dish of macaroni cheese for a two-year-old, she thought.

  With nothing else for it, she poured herself a glass of wine from the open bottle in the fridge and began clearing things away, stacking the dishwasher, wiping down surfaces, sweeping up uncooked macaroni that had dropped on the floor, and all the while listening out for Freddie. When she had the kitchen looking more or less how Mum liked it, she tiptoed upstairs and looked in on Freddie who was fast asleep clutching Nellie, the knitted elephant Mum had made him.

  Back downstairs, she went outside with her glass of wine, which was actually a glass of Dutch courage.

  She had decided to make an important phone call. It was a call she needed to get exactly right, so she had to make absolutely sure she sounded one hundred per cent genuine. She would hate to be accused of insincerity. Very probably her apology would be viewed as too little too late, but it was suddenly important to her to make the attempt to put things right, as right as she could at any rate.

  When she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say, she picked up her mobile. She scrolled through Contacts, found the name she wanted, swallowed the lump of apprehension in her throat and pressed her forefinger against the screen. She heard the dialling tone and willed it not to direct her to voicemail. No way did she want to leave a message.

  When he answered, Simon’s voice was freighted with equal amounts of surprise and caution. ‘Lizzie?’ he said, the question mark clearly audible in the saying of her name.

  ‘Yes, it’s me, Simon. Have I caught you at an okay moment to have a quick chat?’

  ‘I’m just back from the gym, so doing nothing more important than contemplating what to eat for supper.’

  ‘That sounds energetic,’ she said.

  ‘The gym or the contemplating?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to decide,’ she said, forcing out a small laugh, but resisting the urge to comment on him having been at a gym, something he’d never previously been keen to do. He’d probably joined one now on a mission to shake things up and explore a world of new interests and hobbies. And to meet people. To meet a new girlfriend.

  ‘So how are you?’ he asked. ‘I heard things didn’t work out with you and Curt.’

  Ouch! Straight to the jugular, then. ‘You heard right,’ she said, mustering what scraps of dignity she was still in possession of. ‘I was an idiot to believe anything Curt said, he had no intention of leaving his wife, I see that now. But that’s not why I’m ringing,’ she added hurriedly. She didn’t want Simon to think the two were connected. ‘I just wanted to say …’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted when she hesitated.

  ‘That I’m genuinely sorry for the way I treated you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, I really don’t, but I do want you to know that I’ve come to realise that I behaved appallingly. I was so wrapped up in myself that I lost the plot on what constituted decent behaviour.’

  ‘I know you did, and that’s why it’s no p
roblem to forgive you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘What you felt for Curt was clearly so much more than you ever felt for me, so I guess I have to be thankful you discovered that before we took things any further. Like get married.’

  Lizzie should have welcomed Simon’s matter-of-fact acceptance, as well as his generous forgiveness, but his reason for it saddened her. It sounded horribly final, too, as though there was nothing else to be said. Which wasn’t how she felt. ‘I don’t think I’d ever compare what we had to what I experienced with Curt,’ she said.

  ‘That’s exactly my point.’

  ‘No, no! I meant that with Curt it was all smoke and mirrors; none of it was real. Whereas with you, it was always real.’

  ‘Just not what you wanted in the end,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Do we ever know what it is we really want?’

  ‘I think we do when we find it, yes. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you regret what you did?’

  ‘I regret hurting you.’

  ‘But not falling for Curt?’

  ‘Oh, that too. I regret every stupid, reckless second I spent in his company. I lost so much because of what I did, but, and this doubtless sounds toe-curlingly unoriginal, it’s given me pause to think about what’s really important in life.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’

  ‘What about you, what’s new with you?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘The gym’s new.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Are you asking if I’ve met somebody?’

  ‘No, course not, I wouldn’t be so crass.’ Yes, yes, of course she was!

  ‘I’ve been out a couple of times with a girl from work,’ he said.

  Lizzie had a mental picture of a work colleague doubling up as Simon’s gym buddy; she would be fresh-faced, long-legged and with a stomach like that girl from the annoying Are You Beach Body Ready? advert. ‘That’s good,’ she lied brightly.