The Postmistress

by Maggie Sullivan

  Roger thought back to the beginnings of their friendship. Was it only three years ago that their paths had crossed so dramatically? He was transported back to another time when the three of them had been closeted in the same small room as they had been tonight, locking horns over life and death issues. But what they had discussed then had never been referred to since, not by any of them. And when Roger saw Vicky in the Post Office as he so often endeavoured to do, she showed no signs of wanting to rekindle any of the personal connection he felt they had forged on that day. She treated him no differently to any other customer, no matter how hard he tried to engage her in more personal conversation and he wondered if she knowingly misinterpreted his advances.

  Was she really not aware of how he felt? He had often asked himself that question. Or had life changed for her so radically at that time that she wanted to shut out all memories of her former connections and the decisions she had made? There was no question that she had changed in the few years he had known her. She no longer had the youthful bluster, the almost cocky self-confidence she’d had when he had first known her. A layer of sadness now lurked behind her gentle grey eyes but he put that down to life experience and the maturity of her twenty-five years. Her dark hair was no longer cut short the way it had been when he had first set eyes on her, but when she swept it back off her face he could clearly see the fine lines of her delicate features. She was still a beautiful woman. And as he watched her stroke her father’s hand, he wondered how much the inner Vicky had changed. But that was a question she had never allowed him to ask.

  He watched her face and couldn’t help his lips spreading into a smile. Despite her determined efforts to appear so capable, so completely in charge, she was unable to mask the compassion that she obviously felt for her father, and in that moment Roger knew that on the inside she was the same kind, empathic Vicky he had first known. He wished he could tell her how much he admired her, had always admired her, but he wasn’t sure she would believe him. Yet he couldn’t help but respect how she had handled this difficult situation, just like she had once before when she herself had been the subject of his ministrations. That was one of the things that he— He stopped, afraid to shape the word ‘love’ even in his own head, knowing how futile it was to dwell on the past. He looked over to where she was gently stroking her father’s hand and he knew that it was important for him to refocus his thoughts on the present.

  ‘Did you have any warning that that was what Henry was intending to do?’ It was Roger who broke the silence. Arthur seemed to be sleeping.

  ‘Yes, we both did. Henry told us last week that he was going to sign up,’

  ‘And what was your father’s reaction?’

  ‘Dad seemed genuinely proud – even pleased. It can’t be that that’s triggered this attack, can it?’ Vicky said.

  Roger shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to say but I doubt it. With damage such as your father suffered to his lungs, it doesn’t have to be anything you can put your finger on. There’s any number of things that could bring on such an attack.’

  ‘So we can expect something like this to happen again? At any time?’ Vicky asked. She turned to look at Roger and though she was dry-eyed there was a sore-looking redness round the rims.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Roger said, ‘if I’m brutally honest.’

  ‘I don’t understand my brother,’ Vicky said. ‘I’d have thought after he’d seen what two wars had already done to this family, volunteering for a third would never have been on his agenda.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘He knows what could happen.’ Her voice was muffled. ‘But he doesn’t seem to care. That, I suppose, is typical Henry.’

  ‘And did you try to dissuade him from going?’ Roger asked. ‘Did you point out your position regarding …?’ He nodded towards Arthur who was now breathing deeply and steadily with only a slight wheezing sound as he exhaled. ‘He must know how difficult things are for you trying to cope with it all.’

  Vicky gave a sardonic laugh. ‘It seems that when you’re the prodigal son you don’t have to care; you can get away with anything.’

  ‘I suppose in a strange way you should be flattered,’ Roger said. ‘Henry sees you as his big, capable sister who doesn’t need help.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘the sister who picks up after him and who deals with everything he leaves behind.’

  Roger smiled. She was being so brave, taking on whatever life threw at her, he thought.

  ‘I’m sure you must worry about not being able to cope in an emergency and I know things could change very quickly, but I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.’

  ‘You mean I shouldn’t have called you tonight?’ she interrupted. ‘I’m really sorry; it won’t happen again.’

  ‘No, no, I’m not saying that it wasn’t appropriate to call me out tonight.’ Roger was regretting what he had said now. ‘Really, you mustn’t hesitate to call me day or night if you’re worried. I totally trust your judgement on that one.’

  They sat in awkward silence for a few moments before Roger asked, ‘Will you be seeing Henry again or has he already been sent away for training? I don’t suppose there’s any possibility of making him change his mind?’

  ‘There’s still a few days before he says his final goodbyes, though Dad could find that upsetting, don’t you think? But I believe he’s actually signed up now so there’s no going back.’

  Roger looked at Vicky, not wanting to ask what Henry’s reappearance might do to her. Vicky sighed and stood up. ‘But you don’t want to be spending what should be your evening off hearing about our family nonsense. I do appreciate you coming out, especially when you’re having to use your bike, and I’m sure Dad will want to say thank you too when he wakes up to what’s happened.’ She moved towards the door and Roger moved with her.

  ‘Vicky,’ he said, ‘I want you to know that you’re not completely alone with this, although I can see how it might feel like that sometimes. I am here for you.’ Without thinking, he clasped her arms and was pleased when she didn’t shy away. ‘I want you to look at me,’ he said, and she looked up, startled. He removed his hands. ‘I’m here for you, always,’ he said again.

  Vicky looked away and nodded.

  ‘I’m hoping things will settle down for a while now. I honestly think your dad will be all right for now at least, but you mustn’t hesitate to call me if he does have another episode.’ Roger looked around the tiny room. For him, this was often an awkward moment with patients, and in this instance he was glad Arthur was part of the GPO’s Health Insurance scheme which would cover his bill. He always felt uncomfortable charging patients when he knew they were having to pay the bills for his visits from their own pockets.

  Roger felt confident that Vicky had everything under control and he made a move to open the door before the two of them stood together for a moment. It took some willpower on his part not to put his arms around her completely and offer a more concrete form of support. Instead, he clenched his fists, holding his arms stiffly by his sides, and then settled for parting with a firm handshake.

  All the way home, as he pedalled through the deserted streets to the outskirts of the town, Roger worried about Vicky and tried unsuccessfully to erase the vision of her sad eyes from his mind. She was a grand lass, as local people were always reminding him – still young enough to look pretty, and interested enough in things going on around her to be good company. But right now there was no doubt she was facing an almost impossible situation as she juggled her various roles and he had no easy solution to offer. When would Arthur wake up to the fact that he was undervaluing her contribution and that without her the whole household, including the Post Office business, could fall apart?

  When he finally reached home he rode up the path and dismounted, then wheeled his bike to the gable end of the house where he parked it with the rest of the family’s bikes under the tarpaulin that protected them from the elements. His mother must have been watching out for him for
he could see that she had opened the side door before he’d even had time to unhook his bicycle clips.

  ‘You must be worn out,’ she said as he wiped his feet vigorously on the coconut matting. ‘Julie was sure she would still be awake when you came in because she wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten your promise to take her to the park fishing tomorrow. She made a valiant effort to keep her eyes open, I must say, kept insisting I read her one more story, but in the end she gave in.’

  ‘Is she awake now?’ Roger asked.

  ‘No, she fell asleep in the middle of one of her favourites second time around – or maybe it was the third – and thank goodness she’s stayed that way. I’ve just looked in on her now.’

  ‘I hate to say it but I’m glad to hear that, for I’m afraid I’d have had little patience for reading stories tonight,’ Roger said. ‘And I must admit, I had forgotten it was tomorrow I said we might go fishing. I’ve had a lot of other things on my mind.’

  ‘A difficult visit?’ Freda said.

  Roger paused to think for a moment as the events of the evening replayed in his head, leaving him with a clear image of Vicky’s face. ‘You could say that,’ he said. He patted his mother’s hand. ‘But it will all still be there tomorrow – and right now I could murder a cup of tea.’

  Chapter 6

  Sylvia Barker whipped off her apron and ran into the shop when she heard the ping of the doorbell. It had been a slow day. In fact, it was already mid-morning and this was her first customer, so she was disappointed to find it was only the postman delivering the second post of the day. By the time she came through he had deposited several envelopes on the counter and turned to leave.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you that I’m not a customer, Mrs B,’ he said, as she appeared behind the counter, ‘though I’ll be back later to buy something when I’ve finished my rounds. I promised the wife I’d pick up some darning wool.’ He leaned over the counter confidentially and Sylvia was frightened for a moment that all the letters and small packages from his heavily laden sack would spill out and upset her carefully balanced displays of wools and knitting needles. ‘You might not believe it, but I’m wearing through the toes in my socks like there’s no tomorrow and my missus says I’ll have to go without socks if I don’t bring home some darning wool today as she certainly can’t afford to keep replacing them.’

  At that Sylvia laughed. ‘Don’t worry, if all else fails I’ll darn them for you. I don’t charge much.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ he said, and with a mock salute he left the shop.

  Sylvia picked up the post, mostly large brown envelopes addressed to Archie that she knew must be bills, and she tossed them to one side. She was more interested in the one smaller white envelope that looked more personal, though from the thickness of the contents it seemed to enclose an unusually long letter. She wasn’t used to seeing such good quality paper and she rubbed the thick vellum between her finger and thumb.

  ‘This is nice, I must say, much better than I ever use. I wonder who it could be from?’ She spoke the words out loud, something she often did when she was on her own though she never owned up to it. The occasional letters she sent were usually written on the flimsy onionskin paper stenographers used for copying. Archie brought piles of it and packets of brown envelopes home with him every time he visited his company’s main office. Sylvia weighed the letter in her hand, noticing the London postmark, then turned the envelope over but there was no return address on the back. She took it into the room behind the shop where her cup of tea had grown cold and searched out the slim dagger of a letter opener that Rosie had bought her for Christmas one year while she was still at school.

  Sylvia wasn’t sure she recognised the handwriting, but as soon as the pages tumbled out from the torn envelope she realised who it was from. She felt her hands turn cold as she was clutched by a sudden fear, though she knew it was silly. How could she be affected by someone she hadn’t been in touch with for years? Not that Sylvia didn’t think of her sister often, but they hadn’t exchanged letters for such a long time that she couldn’t imagine why Hannah would be writing to her now – unless it was to tell her some bad news.

  She stood for a few moments staring at the familiar scrawl that filled the small pages. If it was bad news she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Her hands shook as she tried unsuccessfully to refold the papers and put them back into the envelope. She brewed a fresh pot of tea and sat down to sip it slowly as she pulled the envelope towards her and settled her half-moon reading glasses halfway down her nose.

  She had only got as far as, Dear Miriam, I hope this finds you as well as it leaves me here … when a mist clouded her vision. If she had needed confirmation regarding the letter’s sender, her sister Hannah was the only person apart from her mother who had ever called her Miriam and the shock of seeing it written like that brought a lump to Sylvia’s throat. Certainly no one in Greenhill knew that was her real name. She rubbed her eyes and tried to read on, but she was interrupted by the ping of the doorbell and she went scurrying once more into the shop.

  There were several more interruptions after that – mostly for the collection of items that had already been put aside to be paid for each week on the never-never – and Sylvia only just managed to finish reading the letter through to the end before Rosie came home from work. When Sylvia heard the thud of her daughter’s heavy work boots and the click of the back-door latch announcing Rosie’s arrival, she quickly wiped away the watery accumulation that had pooled in the corners of her eyes and stuffed the sheets of paper back into the envelope. She looked round urgently then slipped the bundle into the table drawer. She took several deep breaths as she heard Rosie’s voice ring out, ‘It’s only me!’

  For a few moments she stared down at the drawer, unsure what to do next. Archie would be home soon as well. He had telephoned from the warehouse where he had gone to collect a van full of new shoe samples and she expected him back shortly. She would have to tell both him and Rosie about the letter as decisions would have to be made, though she didn’t want either of them to actually read it because there would be too much to explain. She didn’t want to tell her daughter the whole story right now, or to fill in for Archie the details about her family that he didn’t yet know. She decided to leave the letter where it was for now and to tell both her husband and her daughter about the main thrust of its contents while they were having their tea, then she hesitated, but the shop doorbell tinkled and she knew it was too late to change her mind.

  It was Archie, for once returning home in time to join them to eat, though Sylvia had to admit he was such a stranger at the dinner table these days that his presence felt like that of a visitor. Unfortunately, like an uncomfortably fidgety visitor who had already been to the local pub and downed several pints. She could smell it on his breath almost as soon as he set foot in the room – and when she recognised the unsteadiness of his gait, she suddenly felt fearful.

  ‘And how are my lovely girls tonight?’ Archie slurred his words slightly as he slid his arm round Sylvia and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. Rosie managed to duck out of his grasp and slipped into the kitchen to wash her hands.

  ‘Your tea’s up if you want to sit down,’ Sylvia said, following Rosie as quickly as she could. She returned with a plate in each hand and put one of them down in front of Archie. It was piled high with beans surrounded by thick chunks of toast smothered in margarine.

  Archie frowned as he glared down at it. ‘What’s this muck supposed to be?’ he said. Despite the crudity of his words, for a moment his voice sounded reasonable, although from the way he screwed up his nose as he bent to sniff the beans, Sylvia realised with trepidation that what would follow would be anything but reasonable.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve had no time to do any serious shopping.’ She flapped her hands uselessly in the air. ‘You didn’t give me much warning that you’d be coming home today and the local shops don’t have very much choice anymore. There�
��s very little meat or fish and hardly any eggs or cheese on the shelves, not now that it looks as if there really will be a war. I don’t know if it will be easier or harder if they actually do start rationing things.’ She punctuated her comments with a nervous laugh but even to her own ears it sounded more like a whimper.

  Archie acted as if he hadn’t heard her at all. ‘You mean you expect me to eat that rubbish after a hard day’s work? Are you kidding me, woman? When I’ve been stocking up the van, then driving to Derbyshire and back, and God knows what else today?’ His voice was getting gradually louder and Sylvia felt cold shivers throughout her body, as if her blood was turning to ice. She wasn’t sure whether to sit down and try to brave it out by eating her own portion or to disappear into the kitchen and wait till he went out again as she knew he was bound to do. In the event she did neither, for he was too quick for her. His response was to pick up his plate and throw it hard against the wall, narrowly missing Rosie who was about to sit down. ‘That’s what I think of your so-called bloody tea!’ he yelled.

  Shards of china flew in all directions and Sylvia watched helplessly as clumps of beans and globs of tomato sauce were glided slowly down the loose flaps of faded sunflowers – all that was left of the wallpaper. Sylvia could see Rosie’s knuckles turn white as she gripped the table; her jaw was clenched too and she uttered no sound. She never did intervene when her father was in one of his moods and Sylvia didn’t blame her, for they both knew what he was capable of, particularly when he had had a few like he had now.