This Time Tomorrow

by Rupert Colley

  ‘Oh blast, look what you’ve made me do.’

  ‘Arthur, really, the idea is to pour it in the cup not on the tray.’

  ‘Oh, you do it then. Look what’s become of me, Guy, can’t even pour a bloody cup of tea now.’

  ‘Arthur! Please.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your language.’

  ‘Oh, for... I think Guy may have heard worse.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re not in the trenches now, are we?’

  ‘At this rate, he’ll probably rather be back.’

  Arthur slumped into his pillows.

  ‘Arthur, are you all right, dear?’

  ‘Yes, just, just a bit tired all of a sudden.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Guy.

  ‘No, it’s not you, Guy,’ said his mother, ‘it’s my fault; I’ve caused too much excitement. It might do him good to rest.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, son, it just hits me occasionally. Quite often now.’

  ‘I can always come back.’

  ‘Listen, come, come closer.’ His eyes were drooping but he took Guy’s hand and clasped it. How bony it felt yet the grip, thought Guy, was surprisingly strong. ‘Thank you for coming; you’re a good lad, and you know what...’ His breath smelt rank, the odour of a dying man.

  ‘Go on, Father, go on.’

  ‘Jack. He was too, a good lad, such a good lad.’ His eyes closed.

  With that, Arthur’s grip loosened and his hand went limp.

  Guy turned to see his mother. She was standing over him, nodding, her eyes filled with tears, ‘I wanted you to hear it yourself, Guy, he’s found it in himself to forgive him.’

  Guy looked at his father, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He took to his feet and hugged his mother. She buried her face into his shoulder. Guy looked up to the ceiling and beyond, heaven bound, and smiled.

  He never saw his father again.

  *

  ‘Guy, this is George – your son; George, this is your father.’ Mary held the sleeping two-week-old baby a little higher so that Guy could see him properly. ‘Say hello.’

  ‘My word, he’s lovely,’ said Guy, stunned at meeting his son for the first time.

  ‘Go on, hold him.’ She carefully placed the tiny bundle into Guy’s arms. Guy was surprised how heavy the baby felt. He felt awkward, terrified of dropping the little chap but George seemed contented enough. ‘Is he really mine?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, Guy, I told you so. George is your son, believe me.’

  He looked at her, smiled and nodded. Outside, they could hear the sound of a barrel organ grinding its ugly tune. They had met in a small coffeehouse in Liverpool Road behind the Angel. With a two-year-old and a new born, the trip to Woolwich was too much now for Mary. If Guy wanted to see her, he now had to make the trip north to her neck of the woods, which, in effect, put an end to their lovemaking. ‘Dare I ask how Lawrence is?’ he asked. ‘He knows, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Of course he knows, my name may be Mary but even I’m not capable of an immaculate conception. He’s hardly talking to me. He’s working in Manchester at the moment but he’s due back some time tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Do his parents know?’

  ‘No, they think I’ve delivered them another perfect grandson. Lawrence doesn’t plan to shatter the illusion; he’d be too ashamed to do so anyway.’

  ‘I’ve bought him a little present.’

  ‘Who? Lawrence?’

  ‘Yes, Lawrence, I’ve bought him a one-way ticket to Brazil. No, George, of course.’ He handed the baby back to Mary who placed him gently in the pram. Guy fished around in his bag and pulled out an unwrapped toy soldier. ‘I expect it’s too big for him still.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s lovely. Thank you,’ she said, placing the soldier at the foot of the pram. She stared in wonderment at her baby, her creation. ‘You know, I look at him and I see both of you there. You and Jack.’

  ‘Leave him, Mary, leave Lawrence and come to me.’

  ‘I can’t, you know I can’t. Lawrence is still Clarence’s father. Please tell me you understand, there’s the three of us now, I’m more dependent on Lawrence than ever. I can’t live on love alone.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Guy sighed. ‘Bloody ironic though, isn’t it?’

  She looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For the sake of Jack’s honour, I threw away the chance to take over the business. If I had, I’d have the means to care for the person he loved most. But it’s gone now – sold. I wonder sometimes if this is what he would have wanted me to do.’

  ‘I know, you’re right, I’ve thought of that too.’

  ‘He wanted me to live a full life for him. Those were his words, his very last words to me. And of course, I promised him I would. He also asked me to look after you and I now can’t.’

  Mary closed her eyes and swallowed. ‘I know I’m denying you the chance to fulfil your promise. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. Really, Mary, it isn’t. I chose to defend Jack’s name from being expunged from our family as if he’d never existed. It’s just that in defending him, I threw it all away so now I feel as if I’m failing him. I’ve already broken my promise.’

  Part Four

  Chapter 32: The Equilibrium – April 1926

  After five years, Guy finally found an equilibrium in his life. Physically, he was fit. He’d grown so used to the artificial leg that it had become as real to him as the flesh version. Financially, Guy was also back on his feet – so to speak. His father’s will left him a little, although not so much, once all his numerous friends, acquaintances and relatives received their share. But Guy had left the Quartermaster’s office in Woolwich and, using his almost forgotten financial skills, got himself gainful employment in a bank. The experience he’d gained as a youngster helping his father held him in good stead and he soon climbed the promotional ladder to become an assistant manager in a large branch in Holborn. He enjoyed his work – it stretched him and the burden of responsibility was something he relished. Maybe, he thought, he would have made a good officer or NCO after all. With his enhanced salary, he’d been able to save up and lay a deposit on a small house in the Kings Cross area. It was nothing special, but he was more than pleased to finally move away from the successive run of lodgings. Romantically, Guy had been less successful. He had had a couple of lady friends, one of whom he almost got engaged to. But the relationship fizzled out leaving Guy wiser but not unduly perturbed.

  But it was George, now five years old, who gave him the greatest pleasure and the deepest anguish. His secret son. Soon after George’s birth, Guy and Lawrence discussed what arrangements they could agree over George. They never actually met, or even spoke by either letter or telephone. Their extended conversation was relayed from one to the other through Mary, acting as their intermediary. For the sake of avoiding a scandal, Guy acquiesced and allowed Lawrence to be named as George’s legal father. It was more for the child’s sake than Lawrence’s; Guy didn’t want his son growing up with the taboo of illegitimacy hanging around his neck. In return, Lawrence permitted Guy to see George every fortnight, but on the strict condition that no one, absolutely no one, should know that Guy was George’s father – not even George himself. Guy knew that the arrangement was as good as he was likely to get, but it hurt. There were so many times Guy had been tempted simply to yell out to the passing crowds, ‘Look everyone, this is my son.’ But he knew better than to risk Lawrence’s further wrath. In the winter of ’23, Guy's mother had died. Both his parents had gone to their graves without ever knowing that they had a grandson. The thought caused Guy pain.

  During these years of equilibrium, Guy saw Mary and George every fortnight, as arranged. But apart from the occasion of his mother’s funeral, he never saw Lawrence. It wasn’t difficult for the cousins to avoid each other, for Lawrence spent most of his time devoted to his work. He often worked weekends or was called away for days at a time to the Manchester office.

 
Guy treasured his time with his son who seemed to grow immeasurably from one visit to the next. On each occasion, he would buy George a little present – toy soldiers, wooden trains, a spinning top, books, whatever he could think of. It was only after a couple of years that Guy realised that on the rare occasion he went to Mary’s house, he never saw any of the toys he had bought for George. He pressed Mary on the subject, who finally confessed that Lawrence knew instinctively which toys had come from Guy and would immediately throw them away. From then on, Guy kept the toys at his house for George’s occasional visits to Kings Cross. Clarence was a fine lad too, very physical and brusque. Guy liked him but he reminded him too much of Lawrence, while knowing that George probably reminded Lawrence too much of him. Guy loved the way George, on first seeing him, would waddle or, as he grew up, run into his arms. One day, when George was about four, Mary had left the room, and Guy did something that earned his son’s total devotion.

  ‘George, come here; do you want to see some magic?’

  ‘Yes, please. I love magic.’ Guy adored his son’s little pug nose with its freckles, his delicate eyebrows.

  ‘Right. You see how I walk, yes? Up and down, up and down.’ George nodded, unimpressed thus far. ‘Well, if you turn around, close your eyes and promise not to peep, I’ll show you some magic. Ready?’

  George did as told and quickly, Guy undid the buckles and removed the straps, then quietly pushed the wooden leg behind the settee. ‘OK, George, you can turn around now.’

  George was distinctly underwhelmed by the sight of his uncle hopping around until Guy suddenly rolled up his trouser leg sausage-shaped. ‘Your leg! Where’s your leg?’ he shouted. ‘It’s behind you.’

  Guy hopped round in a circle. ‘Oh no it isn’t.’

  He leant against the settee, unfurled his trouser leg then waved it around in a circle.

  George laughed, running round the room, shouting, ‘Where’s it gone? Where’s it gone? I’m going to tell Mummy.’

  ‘No, don’t tell Mummy.’

  ‘Where’s your leg then?’

  ‘Do you want to know?’

  ‘Tell me, tell me.’

  ‘It’s here,’ said Guy, producing it from behind the settee.

  George gaped, opened-mouthed, as his uncle twirled about this piece of wood in the shape of a leg. ‘Are you a pirate?’

  ‘Aha, shiver me timbers, that I am for sure!’

  From that day, Guy was known as Uncle Hobbly.

  *

  In the warm summer days of July 1926, Guy and Mary rekindled their affair.

  He hadn’t meant to, neither of them had, but it happened. Guy had been increasingly tormented that he had never told his parents that he had produced a grandson. Mary had offered him a shoulder to cry on and a re-assuring kiss soon led to the bedroom, a passionate postscript to their earlier affair. After the first occasion, they both agreed it had been a mistake and that it had to be a one-off. But the more vehemently they vowed never to repeat the occasion, the more inevitable it became that they would.

  So now Guy’s equilibrium began to fall apart as he became increasingly besotted with Mary. He dreamt of making her his wife and becoming a real father to George. He saw them as often as he could. They still met officially once a fortnight, but additional visits had to be conducted in secret. Guy helped Mary invent increasingly elaborate excuses for her to disappear for a few hours. It was a risky game and Guy hated it; he knew they couldn’t go on forever, making excuses and meeting in secret. Something had to give and Guy hoped it would be Mary. She was beginning to show a defiance that she’d previously lacked and, over the weeks, Guy subtly tried to egg her on. The material gap between Guy and Lawrence was shortening; Guy too, had a respectable job now and a house of his own, albeit a modest one. With a son by each cousin, all Mary had to do was to follow her heart and to hell with the inevitable scandal – that was Lawrence’s problem. While she was in Guy’s company, away from Lawrence, she seemed almost convinced but Guy remained worried, fearing that her new-found courage evaporated the instant she returned home. But the way she enthused about a new life was deeply encouraging; all it needed, thought Guy, was a little push...

  What Guy hadn’t expected was for Lawrence to appear out of the blue. It was September, the nights had begun to draw in and Guy had just returned from work one evening when Lawrence suddenly stepped out of the shadows. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said menacingly. Guy jumped at Lawrence’s unexpected appearance. He could see from the expression on his cousin’s face that the visit was far from a social one.

  ‘You’d better come in.’ Guy led Lawrence through to his sitting-room. Lawrence glanced around at the bareness of the room, leaving Guy conscious of his lack of pictures, ornaments or plants. The only thing Guy had in abundance were his books, which filled two sets of bookshelves either side of the fireplace. Guy noticed Lawrence run his finger across the sideboard as if he was checking for dust. Sure enough, much to Guy’s irritation, he found some. Guy sat down as he watched his cousin pace around the room; Lawrence’s whole demeanour was of one deeply unimpressed.

  Guy found himself making excuses. ‘I haven’t been here long, I need to do some work on it, but it’s difficult finding the time.’ Lawrence made no response. ‘Take a seat,’ said Guy.

  ‘No, thank you, I won’t be staying long.’

  ‘Tea?’

  Lawrence cast his eyes over Guy’s collection of books. ‘You read a lot of Dickens,’ he said.

  ‘I do now.’

  With his tour of inspection over, Lawrence flung around, his voice simmering with barely suppressed anger. ‘I think you know why I’m here.’ Guy sat staring up at him, refusing to be drawn into a possible trap. ‘I’m not blind, you know.’ Guy’s continual silence merely fuelled Lawrence’s anger. ‘You must think I’m a bloody fool. Well, maybe I was first time around but once bitten, twice shy, as they say. You may have made a fool of me before but not this time, not this time...’ Lawrence paused, but Guy still refused to respond. ‘You’re breaking the terms of our agreement; from now on, I forbid you to see Mary... or George.’

  Finally, Guy spoke. ‘Your agreement, not mine,’ he said calmly.

  ‘No matter, you’re not to see them again.’

  ‘No, it’s not going to happen, you can’t stop me from seeing them. Don’t forget, George is my son.’

  ‘Not legally, he isn’t; remember, you signed that privilege away.’

  ‘For the sake of your reputation; after all, you do have your name to think of –’

  ‘Are you trying to threaten me?’

  ‘No more than you’re threatening me.’

  Lawrence leant forward, narrowing his eyes. ‘No, mine is not a threat, dear cousin, it is a promise, a guarantee if you prefer.’

  ‘The only guarantee, dear cousin, is that Mary has had enough. You can’t provide her the things she needs, the things she really needs. Money and position can only take you so far, but as for the rest... well, I don’t have to tell you, you know it, she wants to leave you.’

  ‘Quite the contrary, she’s leaving you.’

  For the first time since the start of this ridiculous posturing, Guy felt a surge of panic rise within him. ‘What... what do you mean?’

  ‘We’re leaving,’ said Lawrence lightly, relishing his trump card. ‘I’m being transferred to the Manchester office. Big step up, you know the sort of thing. We leave tomorrow morning.’

  Guy’s mind raced; surely this was some elaborate bluff, a monstrous deception to keep him away. ‘No, I don’t believe you; Mary wouldn’t take George away from me.’

  ‘Oh, but she is, she’s already packed, we all are. No, I’m afraid this time tomorrow we’ll be in our new home, albeit a temporary one, in Manchester. Our things follow us up at the end of the week. I still have to return a few times to settle things at this end and...’ Guy stopped listening as Lawrence dwelled unnecessarily on the practical arrangements of the move. ‘This time tomorrow,’ he’
d said, ‘this time tomorrow.’

  ‘But surely...’ he interrupted, but paused, not sure what he wanted to say.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘But when will I be able to see George?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to tell you about us leaving; it’s only because you are the boy’s father that I’m extending this courtesy.’ Lawrence finally sat down in a chair at right angles to Guy. He spoke in an almost sympathetic tone. ‘George is seeing more of you than he does of me, he’s always asking for you. He’s becoming confused; I think perhaps it’s for the best if you did not see George for a while. Maybe, after he’s had time to settle down, we’ll think again, but in the meantime, you are not to try and contact us.’

  ‘What do you mean confused?’

  ‘It doesn’t help when Mary lets slip and refers to you as Daddy.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well look, I’ve still got a lot of things to see to and Mary’s sister’s coming round to help, so if you don’t mind...’ He rose to his feet. ‘No need to show me out.’

  Was that it? thought Guy. Did Lawrence really think he could cut him out of his son’s life as simply as that? His mind flashed back to the numerous conversations he had had with Mary, how enthused she seemed at the prospect of leaving Lawrence and starting again. Guy could not believe that she could change her mind so easily and without telling him. ‘No, she won’t go,’ he said quickly as Lawrence was about to leave. ‘She just won’t.’

  Lawrence paused at the sitting-room door and turned to look at him. ‘Guy, I won’t deny that my wife entertains a strong attachment to you, but you know Mary, the children always come first. I grant you, you may be right, I may not be able to provide the emotional support she needs, but I can provide in abundance what’s best for her children. Clarence is already enrolled at the best school in the northwest and, when he is of age, George won’t be denied either. Think of their future, Guy; if you love your son, you’ll let him go.’ Guy stared at him, unable to respond. ‘It’s for the best.’

  Lawrence disappeared out of the room and Guy found himself alone with Lawrence’s presence still lingering in the air. Guy slumped into the armchair, his mind whirling with panic as he heard the front door close with a gentle click. He listened to Lawrence’s fading footsteps on the pavement outside. He needed to think. Lawrence was lying. There was no way she would leave him, not now. If only he could see her, speak to her. Tomorrow morning, Lawrence had said. He tried to think. What station did the Manchester trains depart from?