Francis looked relieved and Bobby realised he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.
The orchestra began to tune up. A schoolboy wearing a German infantry cap poked his head through a gap in the stage curtains and seemed to assess the size of the audience. Francis laughed. ‘Poor mite.’
‘Yes, he did look scared’
‘And having to play the German too – such an ignominious part!’
‘Do you know the play?’
‘Well, it is very famous.’
Bobby was silenced. Somehow he’d imagined that Francis wouldn’t know Mick Morgan’s work, that living abroad it would have passed him by. He had wanted him not to know the play; Francis should be untainted by it, totally separate. Hesitantly he said, ‘Do you know Morgan’s poems, too?’
Francis looked at him. He seemed to consider his answer before saying, ‘I know some of them, the early ones. The good, true soldier in the poems is Patrick, the man I live with, and I know he can’t bear to read a single one of them.’
Before he could say anything the headmaster walked on to the stage and announced the evening’s entertainment.
As the curtain came down on the first act Bobby said, ‘Apparently there’s tea and biscuits in the refectory.’
Francis said, ‘Would you mind if I stayed here and minded my own business? Listen, why don’t you go back-stage and tell your brother what a good job he’s doing?’ He nodded towards the stage. ‘Looks like someone’s trying to catch your attention, anyway.’
Bobby followed his gaze and saw Mark signalling to him. He breathed out, anxiously aware of how much Mark resembled him when he played Captain Palmer.
Francis touched his arm gently. ‘Tell him from me I think he’s doing brilliantly.’
Bobby went over to the boy. Mark said breathlessly, ‘What do you think? Are they enjoying it?’
Bobby smiled at him, wishing he had a cigarette to distract himself with. A few yards away Jane was directing boys shifting scenery. She caught his eye and looked away quickly, pushing a strand of her hair from her eyes. She looked hot and flustered; patches of sweat darkened her dress beneath her arms. She had become a school marm, not the lithe, sexy woman who made love to him so astonishingly. He found himself watching as she bossed the boys, wanting to see more of this side of her, until Mark said, ‘Bobby?’
He turned to him. ‘You’re doing very well – everyone’s enjoying it.’
‘Do you think so?’ Mark took off his captain’s cap and wiped his brow. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Bobby took an envelope from his pocket. ‘Here, this is for you, to read after the play.’
Mark frowned at the envelope, then at him. ‘You’ve written me a letter?’
‘A note, to say what a good brother you are.’
Mark laughed, embarrassed. ‘What else does it say?’
‘Read it after the play, when you get home and you can’t sleep because your head’s buzzing. Will you remember to?’
Mark thrust the letter into his pocket. ‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘You don’t have to write to me, you know.’ He glanced over his shoulder as Jane approached them. ‘Miss, Bob thinks everyone’s enjoying it so far.’
Jane said, ‘Hello again, Mr Harris.’
‘Hello.’ He must have looked at her too adoringly because she said sharply, ‘Redpath, would you go and help Anderson and Smith?’
When he’d gone she said anxiously, ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. I’m sorry about last night. I don’t cry normally.’
‘It’s all right! You don’t have to apologise.’ She glanced towards the boys moving scenery. As if they could hear her, she lowered her voice. ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’
‘Don’t worry about me.’
She frowned, still concerned after the show he’d made of himself last night after Francis had gone. Gently she said, ‘I have to go – I’ll see you after the play.’
Before the end of the final act, Bobby whispered his excuses to Francis and went outside, unable to watch the closing scene in which Palmer gives his grand speech and goes out to die on the wire. Morgan had written it so that Palmer was seen to suffer and Bobby knew his own weakness in the face of such pain. He had a feeling he would cry and he’d done enough of that lately.
That afternoon he’d agonised over his letter to Mark. In the end he’d written, I hope that you won’t be too angry at my leaving like this, so suddenly. I seem always to be going away, never getting the chance to get to know you as well as I would like. But recently I’ve felt that we’re becoming friends as well as brothers – can we remain friends, no matter how many miles there are between us? I’m sure we can, with all the practice we’ve had. For now, though, I need to go before I become too scared to do anything and become so odd and eccentric in my odd, eccentric house that no one will want to come anywhere near me, not even you. I’ll send you postcards. When I come back you can buy me a beer. (I’ve left the key to the back door under the plant pot – would you take care of the little cat?) My fondest love, Bobby.
Bobby sat down on the school steps and lit a cigarette. He thought of Jane and the way she smiled after she kissed him as though he was particularly delicious; she would touch his cheek and smile into his eyes and he’d have such a feeling of happiness that he would laugh. He laughed more when he was with her than he could ever remember, making him realise all the joy he’d missed out on by being too serious and afraid. He thought of asking her to go abroad with him and was terrified. He hoped she would see it as a way out of their predicament, and not think of how bizarre it all was.
Behind him, Jane said ‘What are you doing out here?’
He stood up at once. ‘I’m sorry – the ending …’
‘Yes. It is rather emotional.’
‘All the same, I should go back inside, now – I shouldn’t let Mark down.’
‘He’ll understand. Stay out here with me.’
‘Don’t you need to be watching from the wings or something?’
‘They can manage.’ She sat down. ‘Who’s that man you’re with?’
‘A friend.’ He sat beside her. ‘Do you think the play’s gone well?’
She looked at him. ‘Why are you going away without telling me?’
‘I’m not –’
‘Please don’t lie, Bob. Mark read your letter, he told me. He was upset.’ She laughed tearfully. ‘I had to comfort him! Buck him up so he could go back on stage! I wanted to bawl my eyes out! How ridiculous, eh? What a silly woman you must think I am!’
He frowned at her. ‘Why are you so willing to think badly of me? Do you really think I would just walk away from you after everything I’ve said?’
‘I don’t know –’
‘Tell me who you think I am, Jane. Tell me honestly.’
‘I don’t know you well enough. That’s the point.’ After a moment she said, ‘I think of you during the war, if you want me to be honest. I think of all the girls you must have known. I think of you dancing with them. In bed with them … I think you must miss all that.’
He thought of the few girls he had actually been to bed with before Joan was born; for most of them he had been one of a number. There had even been one particular girl who seemed to have slept with him for a bet. She had laughed afterwards as they’d dressed. ‘Everyone said the only thing that made your heart beat faster had two wings and an engine. Well, I think we’ve debunked that particular piece of misinformation, don’t you?’
It seemed ironic that Jane should think he was a womaniser. He thought of Joan falling asleep in his arms as he read to her. She hadn’t allowed him to change out of his uniform but had thrust her storybook at him the moment he walked through the door. As he’d gathered her into his arms she’d taken his cap and placed it on her own head so that it fell over her eyes. He exhaled sharply against the pain of missing her.
Jane sat down beside him. He looked at her. ‘Nina and I had a child,’ he said. ‘Her name was Joan. Her real father w
as a Canadian pilot, Nick – he was killed before she was born so I was the only father she knew. She called me Daddy. She died, a little while before I was shot down.’ He laughed painfully. ‘Joan made me forget myself. Whenever I was with her I was just her Daddy and that was that. At the beginning I used to think about Nick and try and keep a small distance from her because she wasn’t mine and Nick deserved to be remembered and not have me fill his place in her heart so completely. But I found that I couldn’t hold myself back like that. She was mine, my little girl and I was her father. I felt guilty but I couldn’t help myself. Nothing mattered but Joan. Everything that has happened to me feels like nothing compared to losing her.’ After a moment he said, ‘So I wasn’t out dancing or bedding women. I spent most leaves with Joan and her mother, idiotically not realising how happy I was.’
Jane took his hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I should have told you earlier. Such a huge thing to come out with, there never seemed to be the right, proper moment. It’s only been lately that I could bring myself to talk about her.’
‘You must miss her.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Nina, too.’
He touched her face, gently making her meet his gaze. ‘There’s nothing between us any more. Memories, I suppose, that’s all. I love you, Jane.’
‘But you’re going away.’
‘I want you to come with me. Tomorrow.’
She stared at him. ‘I can’t –’
‘Can’t? Why? What have we to stay here for?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Tangiers.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s where he lives – that man who’s with me tonight. He’s an artist, he wants to paint me.’ He thought of Francis, how he would have to explain the truth to her eventually, but not tonight, not until he was used to the truth himself.
‘Jane, I know this is sudden –’
‘Sudden! Why can’t you wait? A few days, that’s all, let me think about it …’
‘Do you need to think about being with me?’
‘No!’
‘Then come with me.’ He took her hands. ‘I love you.’
‘I know you think you do –’
He let go of her at once. ‘I think I do?’
‘Bob – it’s been such a short time. You don’t know me or I you, really …’
‘You’ve changed your mind about me.’
‘No – it’s not that. It’s just … my job, my whole life …’
He looked away, afraid to push her too quickly into making a decision. He saw that the moon was full, clouds scuttling across its bright face. He remembered the song he used to sing to Joan, Paper Moon, a song about make-believe and pretence and longing. He wished he could banish it from his memory forever.
He turned to her. ‘I can’t stay in Thorp, Jane. I thought I’d feel safe here but I don’t, I feel more of a freak show than ever. At least in London …’ Realising how self-pitying he must sound he said briskly, ‘Anyway, it’s best I stop hiding away and face up to things.’
‘If you stayed here I would help you …’
He smiled, resisting the urge to beg her to come with him. He would seem pathetic, she would say yes out of pity for him. Taking the programme for Theory of Angels from his pocket he wrote down an address on its back and handed it to her. ‘It’s a flat above a photographer’s studio. I’ll wait for you there for two weeks.’
She took the programme. From inside the school hall came the sound of applause. Jane turned towards it. ‘I should go in – they’ll wonder where I’ve gone …’ She shoved the programme into her pocket. ‘Bob –’
‘Don’t say anything now.’ He touched her face. ‘I’ll wait for you to make the right decision.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Two weeks later
BOBBY HIRED A RED MG and tied white ribbons from its bonnet to the windscreen. The sun shone and so he put the car’s top down and as he pulled up outside Nina’s flat children left the bomb site they’d been playing on and gathered around, exclaiming and begging rides. He handed out sweets and told them to wait as a guard of honour to see the bride off. The children agreed solemnly.
Bobby looked up at Nina’s flat. She had promised to be ready and waiting when he arrived, reassuring him she wouldn’t be late. But Nina was never on time, always infuriating him with her lateness. He worried about Hugh waiting in the church, afraid she had stood him up.
Hugh had said, ‘I’d ask you to be my best man, Bob, but Nina wants you to give her away.’
Bobby laughed. ‘I’ve never been so popular.’
Hesitantly Hugh said, ‘You don’t mind, do you? No hard feelings?’
‘I’m happy for you both.’
He was happy for them. Nina looked more radiant than he had ever seen her, her excitement as always bringing out the remnants of her Irish accent and making her indiscreet. Taking both his hands she’d laughed. ‘I think I might be pregnant, Bobby! It’s marvellous, isn’t it?’
He had only just arrived in her flat, hadn’t even taken off his coat. He’d smiled, wanting to hide his shock and the sudden, surprising bitterness he felt. He’d hugged her. ‘Congratulations.’
Too quickly she had stepped away from him. ‘Don’t say anything to Hugh. I haven’t told him yet.’
Bobby ran up the stairs to her flat and knocked on the open door. At once Nina’s neighbour’s baby was thrust into his arms.
Irene said, ‘Thank Christ you’re here! Hold Cathy while I fix madam’s hair.’
Cathy patted at his face amiably. She smelt of turning milk and rusk and he kissed the top of her head where a ribbon tied up her limp curls. Nina sat at her dressing table in a satin slip. She smiled at him in the mirror.
‘I’ll be two minutes. Honestly. Two!’
‘You’re not even dressed, Nina –’
She laughed. ‘You look handsome.’
He was wearing a new suit and a dark blue tie. There was a cream rose in his buttonhole. Cathy closed her hand around the flower and he gently lifted it away again. ‘Should I wait outside?’
Irene looked at him. ‘You’ve seen it all before, Bobby. Besides, if you put Cathy down she’ll scream blue murder again.’
‘I’ll take her down to the car.’
‘No – I’m ready!’ Nina stood up. She took a pale blue dress from its hanger and slipped it over her head. She smoothed the silk over her hips and thrust her feet into pale blue shoes. ‘There!’ She grinned. ‘How do I look?’
Irene took Cathy from his arms. ‘I’ll go and wait downstairs.’
When they were alone Nina said, ‘Will I do, Bobby?’
‘You know you will.’
‘Thank you for being here today, for doing this …’
He picked up her bouquet of cream roses and blue silk forget-me-nots. Holding it out to her he said, ‘Come on, let’s not keep Hugh waiting.’
The wedding reception was in the church hall. After sandwiches and cakes the bride and groom were toasted with champagne. Bobby made a speech, an ordinary, short speech about how lovely Nina was and what a perfect match she and Hugh were. He had been applauded loudly, as though everyone was relieved he had got through it. He supposed they expected him to be as shy and nervous as he looked. As he’d sat down beside Nina he had caught Mick Morgan’s eye. Bobby had held his gaze steadily before Morgan looked away.
He had expected Hugh’s father to be at the wedding, but he hadn’t expected Henry Vickers to be with him. As he’d walked Nina down the aisle he had seen Mick’s wheelchair at the front of the church. The man standing beside it, just like the rest of the congregation, had turned to watch the bride, and Bobby had recognised him at once. He had almost stopped, almost turned and run away. Sensing his hesitation, Nina had smiled at him, no doubt presuming he felt intimidated by so many strangers. He forced himself to carry on escorting her to the front of the church, to stand a few feet away from Vickers.
At the reception Irene s
aid, ‘Hold the baby, Bobby love, while I nip to the loo.’
Once again Cathy was thrust into his arms. She smiled at him from chewing on Blue Bunny and he used one of the rabbit’s floppy ears to wipe away the teething-drool from her chin.
‘That’s a pretty child.’
Startled, Bobby looked up. Mick Morgan tore his gaze from Cathy to him. ‘How are you, Bobby?’
Bobby felt his as though his legs might give way. Ashamed of his cowardice he said curtly, ‘Fine.’
Morgan nodded. ‘Good.’ He held out his hand to Cathy but she buried her face in Bobby’s shoulder.
‘She’s shy,’ Bobby said.
‘She’s not yours, is she?’
‘No.’
Morgan cleared his throat, ‘Bobby, Hugh told me how you looked after him when he was in Thorp. I’d like to thank you for that. You always were a good friend to him.’
Desperate to get away, Bobby shifted Cathy to his other arm. ‘Would you excuse me? I feel Cathy and I should be circulating.’
‘Bobby –’ Morgan sighed. ‘I just wanted to say –’
‘I’m sorry. I really should go and talk to the other guests.’
Vickers approached them, smiling, a champagne glass in hand. Bobby found himself holding Cathy tighter so that she squirmed and protested. She dropped Blue Bunny; flustered, Bobby crouched to retrieve the toy.
As he straightened up Vickers smiled at him and held out his hand. ‘Hello. We haven’t b…b…been introduced. Henry Vickers.’
Bobby turned to Mick. Hotly he said, ‘Didn’t you tell him I’d be here?’
‘I didn’t know – Hugh thought you’d stay in Thorp…’
Bobby felt a physical pain from the effort of not looking at Vickers, his whole body tense and ready to run. The baby squirmed in his arms, sensing his anxiety.
Mick Morgan said, ‘Henry, why don’t you go and talk to Hugh?’
‘What’s going on, Mick?’ Turning to Bobby, Vickers said, ‘I don’t think there’s any need for rudeness, young m…m…man.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Henry!’ Mick looked at the man angrily. ‘This is Bobby Harris! I thought you might have had the wit to recognise him!’
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