For Grace the days crawled painfully past. At times she felt so unhappy she thought she couldn’t stand it another moment; at others a kind of peace, a dull acceptance settled on her. She was not even in a state of indecision, she could not dignify her zombie-like condition with so active a label, she had no idea what she thought and felt about her future. Still depressed from her miscarriage, she was also desperately lonely. She missed the boys; the land girls were all going home (or marrying farmers or GIs); and her only occupation, apart from running the silent house, was the dancing afternoons at school and the music lessons. Florence was spending a lot of time in London, looking at houses, at schools for Imogen. Clarissa, about to be demobbed, was full of plans for her secretarial agency. Grace was painfully aware that Florence and Clarissa probably saw a lot of one another, discussed their new futures, sorry for her but unable to help, and so putting her out of their busy agendas; she did not resent it exactly but it added to her depression. She was aware too, more painfully still, of Ben waiting, silently patient, for her decision: the decision she had neither the strength nor the ability to make.
Clarissa phoned, as if on cue: did she want to come and stay for a few days? She would be so welcome, it would do her good.
‘Charles won’t like it,’ said Grace cautiously, feeling guilty at her grudging thoughts.
‘Charles can lump it,’ said Clarissa. ‘You come.’
She went.
‘I don’t think you should stay with Charles,’ said Clarissa carefully, ‘if you can only offer him second best.’
‘Well, at the moment that’s all I can offer him,’ said Grace fretfully, ‘but who is to say it won’t get better? I know it’s what I ought to do,’ she added, ‘I just don’t know if I can.’
‘Is it right in the long run, though,’ said Clarissa, ‘if it stays second best?’
‘Drink?’ said Jack. They were sitting in the little courtyard at the back of the house, waiting for Clarissa’s return: she had been looking at offices with May.
‘Yes, that’d be lovely. I’ve taken to drink lately.’ She smiled at him weakly.
‘I’m not surprised. Very, very tough, what’s happened to you.’
‘I’m sure I’m not the only one.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘And think of the other poor woman, the one who thought her husband was alive, and he was actually dead.’
‘Yes. indeed.’ He handed her a glass. ‘G and T, that all right?’
‘Lovely. Nice and weak, I hope. I thought I’d go and see her. Mrs Barlowe, the other man’s wife. Do you think that would be nice?’
‘Very nice. Quite brave of you, I’d say, but very nice.’
‘Well, I think I owe it to her. I feel responsible in some peculiar way. Jack—’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh – it doesn’t matter.’
‘No, no, go on. There’s obviously something worrying you.’
‘Well, there is a bit. Not worrying exactly, but puzzling. I always thought the Red Cross were pretty good about informing families about prisoners. Didn’t you?’
‘Oh they were, very good. With the prisoners in Germany, at any rate – the Germans stuck to the Geneva Convention pretty well. Picture was a bit different in Japan, I’m afraid.’
‘Yes, of course. But don’t you think if they’d held Charles all those months, he could have got word to us, somehow?’
‘Not necessarily, no,’ said Jack easily. ‘The kind of conditions Charles was held under, moved twice, army in retreat, fighting as they went, oh no, absolute bloody chaos. No puzzle there, I’d say, Grace.’
‘Oh I see,’ said Grace humbly.
Florence said the same as Clarissa: ‘You mustn’t stay with him if you don’t love him.’
‘Well,’ said Grace, and she could hear the carefully cool note in her own voice, her unfamiliar voice, ‘what’s love, Florence? After a few years would I feel for Ben what I do now, do you think. In five years’ time? Charles is still my husband, I know I ought to stay with him. And he’s had such a ghastly time.’
‘He’s been telling you that, I suspect.’
‘Yes he has. It’s true though, surely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Florence, ‘I suppose it is.’
She went home feeling rather more cheerful, without knowing why. She supposed it had just been good to be with other people. Charles met her off the train; he kissed her slightly awkwardly on the cheek. ‘You look better.’
‘So do you,’ she said, studying him, and it was true. He had put on a little weight since coming home, his hair had grown.
‘I thought we might go out for supper,’ he said, ‘go to the Grosvenor, our old haunt.’
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised, ‘yes, that would be nice.’
The dinner was really very good; not pre-war standard, but well cooked and with an unexpectedly wide selection of vegetables. Charles ordered a bottle of wine. He’d had a good day, arranged to go back to the office. ‘Old Jacobs has let things slide,’ he said. ‘Hardly surprising. He’s retired now. I can’t wait to get my hands on it all. Father seems pretty pleased about that too. Well, here’s to us,’ he added, still rather awkward. ‘New beginnings, and all that.’
‘Charles, I can’t—’
‘No, I know. I’m sorry. We could drink to the past, perhaps, to what we had. Would that be all right?’
‘Yes, that would be all right,’ she said. She felt oddly touched.
‘I just want to get back, you see,’ he said later, ‘to normality. To things being right, in order. That’s what I long for.’
‘Yes. Yes, I can see that.’
Suddenly she heard Clifford’s voice: sad, remorseful, the night she had found him so drunk, mourning his loneliness.
‘There is great value in the old order, in remaining true to what you have always known.’
When they got back, the house was cold. ‘Better go straight to bed,’ he said.
‘Yes. I’ll just see to Charlotte and the puppies. It was good of you to look after her while I was away. Thank you.’
‘Oh, I know where my duty lies,’ he said lightly. She looked at him sharply but he appeared to be quite relaxed, smiling pleasantly.
‘I’ll bring you a hot drink if you like,’ she said.
‘That would be nice, thank you.’
She went into the guest room; he was reading. He looked up, said, ‘Grace, I’m – well, I’m sorry about the other night. Wrong of me. Won’t happen again.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘understandable. As you – as you said.’
She lay awake almost all night; and in the morning her mind was made up. She wrote to Ben.
Chapter 32
Summer–Autumn 1945
The letter came almost by return of post, as if he knew it must be done and done quickly.
My lovely Grace,
I find it very hard to say thank you for your letter, but I know I have to. I also find it very hard to say I understand, but I do. I think I knew this is what would happen. You are too honest, too loyal to do anything else. I just wish I’d had a bit more time with you. It has all been so lovely and so sweet. I shall never forget it, ever. I love you, Grace, and I don’t love you any less for taking this decision. More if anything. It must have been so hard. I don’t think I could have done it.
I will do everything I can to help you now. I won’t come to the house, or try and see you. It is very good of your parents to have the boys. I have spoken to my CO and it seems I can get accommodation for us all here. It will be difficult for them, but they were going to have to move anyway, and at least the three of us will be together. I’m sure we can work something out.
I don’t feel too bad yet. I know it’s going to come, I’m waiting for it, it’s a bit like waiting for a burn to start hurting. Just at the moment you seem still with me and that’s getting me through. What you look like, what you sound and feel like.
Loving you has been such a big thing in my li
fe, and for a long time now. It will be strange without it, like losing a leg and still thinking it’s there, still feeling it. I spend a lot of time just remembering, things we said, and the first time I kissed you on Christmas morning, and the day I knew you were pregnant, and when I woke up in that hospital and you were sitting there, the flowers in your lap, and I thought I was dreaming.
I am so sorry about the baby. You were so brave. I sat there with you, watching you, and I knew I could never be as brave as you were then.
Tell Sir Clifford to look after you for me. I shall miss him a lot, and the boys will, miss him too, he was such a good friend to us. It helps to think he will be there with you at least.
I can’t bear to finish this letter, it feels like putting you out of my arms for the last time. Thank God I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.
I love you, Grace. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you.
Ben
Clifford, come over from the Priory with some papers for Charles about the business, found her sitting at the bottom of the lawn, by the fence, gazing towards the woods, tears streaming down her face, holding the letter. She looked up at him, her face almost unrecognizable, so distorted was it by pain.
He understood at once. ‘It’s all right,’ he said gently, ‘you don’t need to say any more. Here, come and let me hold you.’
He eased his stiff old body down onto the grass, took her in his arms; she clung to him, as if to life itself, sobbing, gasping with grief. Finally she stopped, said, choking, ‘I couldn’t do anything else, could I? Not really.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘no, not really. You being you.’
‘We don’t like it here,’ said Daniel.
‘Shut up,’ said David. ‘That’s rude to Grace’s mother.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Grace wearily. ‘I understand. She is a bit irritating. But she does mean to be kind. And it really isn’t for very long. Your father will be – will be taking care of you very soon. He’s getting a house, over by the barracks.’
‘Well, why can’t we come home till then? Doesn’t your husband like us or something?’
‘Of course he likes you,’ said Grace, ‘but you see, it’s awkward. He knew I was going to marry your dad. That I’ – she swallowed – ‘that I loved your dad. It would be very uncomfortable for him to have you living in his house. Surely you can understand that.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Daniel. Then he looked up at her, his small face working as he tried not to cry. ‘But we miss you. We miss you a lot.’
‘I miss you too,’ said Grace, ‘I miss you terribly. But we all have to be brave. All of us.’
‘So what’s happened?’ said Daniel. ‘Don’t you want to marry Dad any more? Don’t you love him any more?’
‘I – can’t marry him,’ said Grace carefully, ‘because I’m not free to marry him. It’s quite simple. I thought I was, and now I’m not. I have to stay with my husband. That’s the right thing to do.’
‘Do you love him then? Instead of Dad?’
‘I do love him,’ said Grace, speaking with great difficulty, ‘but not instead of Dad, no. Not instead.’
She didn’t know quite what to expect when she told Charles; she supposed in some small shred of her being was a hope that he might tell her he didn’t want her back after all, that it wasn’t going to work, that he had decided that it would be best to make a clean break. What seemed more likely and indeed more appropriate was that he would tell her how very happy she had made him, and that he would work very hard to make her happy too. What she didn’t expect was a slightly cool nod, a quick kiss on the forehead.
‘Good,’ he said, retreating to his own chair – they were sitting in the drawing room after supper. ‘Good.’
‘Yes,’ she said, totally taken aback, ‘well, I thought I’d better tell you. As soon as I – as I knew.’
‘Indeed. Well, I don’t need to tell you how pleased I am, I’m sure. Now we can go forward together, plan our life properly. Which reminds me, darling, I have to go to London again in a couple of days. I really must get some decent clothes, and there are various other matters to deal with. My demob papers and so on.’
‘Oh,’ she said. She was so astounded by his calm, his detachment, she felt physically breathless. ‘Oh I see.’
He looked up at her. ‘You all right?’
‘What? Oh – yes. Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Sure?’
‘Well – yes. I thought – I don’t know what I thought. Quite.’
‘Look, Grace,’ he said, his voice determinedly level, ‘this has been a bloody awful business. For us both. Now it’s over, please God, and I think the least said the better, really. It’ll be easier for us both to put it behind us that way.’
‘But you are – pleased?’
‘I said I was pleased, darling. And I know you’ve made the right decision, and I think you know that too. I just don’t think we should make a big drama out of it now. Look, why don’t you come with me to London? You could do a bit of shopping, we could even see a show. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘no, I don’t think so. Not this time. Thank you.’
‘Fine. Another occasion then.’
She cried herself to sleep that night, her head buried in her pillow, to muffle the sound.
‘I’d like to get some work done on the house,’ he said.
‘What sort of work?’
‘Oh – in the kitchen mainly. It’s awfully rundown-looking in there. I’d like to take out that awful old boiler, I always meant to anyway, get a new one in, an Aga probably, take down all those shelves, have cupboards put in. And if we can get hold of some fabric, I know it’s difficult, it would be nice to get the chairs and sofas covered in the drawing room, don’t you think? It all looks so shabby.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ she said dully, thinking of the happiness that had been contained in that shabby room, on those shabby sofas.
‘Well, darling, you’ve lived with it for too long. And while we’re on the subject of the house, Grace, I really think those dogs should go outside now. Preferably in a kennel, but at the very least in the utility room. It’s absurd having them all in the kitchen.’
Mr Blackstone was set to work on the garden. The boys’ football posts were pulled up, new beds made on the lawns. The tennis court was to be built. Flossie was sold to Mr Dunn. Grace, who had never thought she would live to see the day when she felt the remotest affection for Flossie, shed tears as she was driven off in Mr Dunn’s trailer.
But at least the dogs stayed in the kitchen.
‘Charles,’ said Grace, ‘don’t you think it would be nice if we contacted Mrs Barlowe. She must be feeling so dreadful, and at least you could tell her what happened, as far as it went.’
‘Oh, she will have been given a full report by now, I’m sure,’ he said, ‘and I’m not at all certain it’s a good idea to keep going over things in that way. Raking things over.’
‘But she won’t have been given a full report, because nobody knows quite what happened. Not even you. And surely she would like to hear from you, as you were the last person to—’
‘Grace,’ said Charles, ‘that’s exactly the point. Not even I know what happened. And I personally don’t think it would be at all helpful for her if I suddenly turned up. I should think it would be rather distressing, as a matter of fact. Now can we leave it please?’
Sandra Meredith was out shopping when Corporal Meredith got home. It happened a lot, men arriving home looking for a hero’s welcome and finding an empty house. Unlike most of them, Brian Meredith understood. He could quite see that with only the vaguest information about his demob, and them not having a phone, or her mother, or any of her friends, and her not being psychic, it was unreasonable for him to expect her to be there.
When she did come in, weary, laden with heavy bags, little Deirdre trailing behind her grizzling, having wet her pants in the Co-op, she found the kettle on, the t
able laid for tea, and Brian sitting reading the Daily Mirror as if he had never been away.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘oh my God—’
‘No,’ said Brian, smiling cheerfully, ‘not God. Brian. Your husband. Hallo, San.’
Sandra dropped all her bags and flew into his arms.
‘Who that man?’ said Deirdre, suspicious and jealous.
‘It’s your dad, Deirdre,’ said Sandra, crying and laughing at the same time. ‘Your dad, what you’ve never even seen.’
Much later, as she got rather reluctantly out of bed to see to Deirdre, and to make them both a restorative cup of tea, she said, ‘What’s this ring doing here then, Brian? With your things.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I found some poor bloke who’d copped it. Died escaping, looked like. I thought his wife’d like it, if I ever got home, so I took it. Shouldn’t have, of course, but – well, no one saw. I thought I’d try and find her, send it to her. In the fullness of time, that is.’
‘How you going to find her?’
‘Well, I got his name. Through the War Office I suppose. In the gunners he was.’
‘You’re a good-hearted bugger, aren’t you?’ said Sandra, smiling at him.
‘Not so much of the bugger. You keep a civil tongue in your head, Mrs Meredith. Now are you coming back to bed of your own free will, or do I have to come and grab you?’
‘How nice,’ said Charles. ‘How very nice.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Darby-Smiths have asked us for dinner. Big party, black tie. Celebrate Norman’s return and Diana’s birthday. That’ll be fun, won’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Grace.
‘I always liked Diana. Jolly pretty, and very gutsy. Did you see much of her, darling, while I was away?’
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