Letters to Alice

by Rosie James

  Without saying very much, they walked together over the long, silent fields. It was a warm evening, and still not quite dark. Alice looked up at him – quite a long way up, because the soldier was very tall – and said –

  ‘My name’s Alice. What’s yours?’ Well, since she’d been honoured by being told something very important in his life, the least they could do was to introduce each other! And as they’d be walking together for the next thirty minutes or so before reaching Home Farm, to know what to call each other would be useful! Alice had explained to Mabel that the soldier had asked if he might walk her home, and Mabel had agreed that that was a lovely idea! She’d known that Alice would find something nice to say to the boy, and she was obviously cheering him up!

  Now, he glanced down at her. ‘I’m called Marvin,’ he replied at once. ‘A family name,’ he added.

  ‘Tell me about your family, Marvin,’ Alice said.

  And for the next few minutes she learned that he came from Boston, that his father was in the regular army, and that his mother was a teacher, and that he himself was in the middle of a graduation course in International Politics. And he readily answered all Alice’s questions about what America was really like…was it as glamorous as she thought it was, was everyone very wealthy – and all very beautiful! And did the sun always shine, and was the food amazing? Was it really the land of plenty?

  And Marvin answered all her questions, seeming to enjoy transporting himself back home for a few minutes. Alice listened eagerly, her eyes shining. He was from another world – a completely different world. And he made it all sound so glamorous!

  And then he listened carefully to what Alice had to say about her own life…that her parents were dead and that she had a secretarial job in Bristol which would be waiting for her when she’d finished her war work as a Land Girl. And that, no, there was no man in her life.

  They had been walking side by side all the time, not touching, and soon they could see the farm ahead. But not before they reached the small brook with its home-made tree-trunk bridge, and with Marvin going first, reaching out his hand to help Alice, they crossed over together.

  Presently, with both instinctively slowing their steps so as not to complete the journey too soon, he said, ‘Alice – you have been so kind, but…may I ask you one more favour?’ He hesitated. ‘Would you…would you untie your hair?’

  Without hesitation, Alice did as she was asked. She unpinned her plait, then ran her fingers through her hair for a few moments, letting it fall in long waves until it reached her shoulders. And, tentatively, he put out his hand as if he wanted to touch it…but withdrew quickly. And looking up at him, Alice’s heart missed a beat. He was gazing at her in a way which told its own story. This must be as his girl did her hair. And although he had wanted to see it, it was paining him, torturing him.

  After a moment – ‘I’m so sorry…Marvin.,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry that I’m not Patsy.’

  ‘So am I, Ma’am,’ he murmured.

  Then, to her own utter amazement, Alice reached up, put her hands on his broad shoulders, and lifted her face to offer him her lips.

  It was a long, long kiss. Not hurried, nor demanding, but soft and slow and meaningful, sending Alice’s pulse racing. She had never been kissed like this! Had never felt like this! It was like a scene in the pictures, and for a few seconds, behind her closed eyes, she was starring in a fantasy, make-believe world!

  How long they stood there Alice would never know, but Marvin was holding her closely in his arms, drawing her into him, his lips still locked onto hers, until finally, reluctantly, he let her go and stood back, gazing down at her with such emotion in his eyes that Alice had to choke back her tears.

  ‘Thank you – Ma’am – thank you, Alice,’ he murmured. ‘Thank you so very much. For listening, for understanding. Just for being…here.’

  But Alice wanted to shout out – No, thank you! Thank you! Because he – this stranger from another world – had given her her freedom! Because at last she knew that she could feel desire, real, sensuous desire, for someone else…that life does not have to begin and end with one person! And at that moment Alice wished with all her heart that she was his Patsy!

  They held hands on the short distance to the farm. And Alice, with no inhibitions left, said –

  ‘Marvin, will you do me a favour? Will you promise that you won’t spend the rest of your life longing for something, someone, you can’t have? Please, please promise me! Because…I have first-hand knowledge of how pointless that is. And I also know that someone else…some lucky girl…is out there, waiting for you.’

  He didn’t answer for a moment, then he dropped his head to kiss her again. One last time.

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ he said.

  It was late as Alice went upstairs to their bedroom. Eve was fast asleep, but Fay was sitting up, smoking. Her quick gaze took in Alice’s flushed cheeks, her hair loose, and ruffling around her shoulders.

  ‘You dirty stop-out,’ she said cheerfully. ‘When I popped back from the pub with a message for Mabel from Roger, I saw you making hay with that bloke in the corner…and Mabel told me, later, that he was walking you home! Well, well, well.’ She looked searchingly at Alice. ‘He was a good-looker all right, wasn’t he? I tried my luck with him, but he wasn’t interested.’

  Still feeling the American’s arms around her, still feeling his lips on hers, Alice only smiled in response as she started getting undressed, and Fay said – ‘Hey – you didn’t, did you, Alice? You know…?’

  ‘No…I didn’t,’ Alice said, trying not to sound too regretful that she hadn’t.

  Fay stubbed out her cigarette and leaned forward. ‘Alice, I’d like to preach a sermon for a minute…for heaven’s sake be yourself! Go for what you want! Take life by the scruff of the neck and get on with it! Make the most of every single opportunity and to hell with what everyone else thinks of you!’

  Alice looked across at her fondly. ‘I wish I could be a bit more like you, Fay,’ she said.

  Fay took all compliments as patronizing insults. ‘Oh shut yer gob,’ she said, flopping back down on the bed. ‘You’d be daft to wanna be like me!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  My dear Alice

  Today, I assisted at an operation on a little girl who could have been one of the twins when they were that age. Her little face was almost a replica. When she was wheeled in, it took me by surprise and I wanted to bend and kiss her forehead! But don’t worry, I resisted the impulse!

  Alice, the skill of the surgeon was breath-taking. He was so completely focused, so intent on what he was doing, it was a privilege to be there, and I am happy to say that the procedure was a complete success. Now all we have to do is to monitor the patient’s recovery – which we know will take some time. But there is every hope that she will be returning to school next year, when her lovely curly hair will have grown back again.

  Although my own part of the event was minimal, I felt completely exhausted afterwards. As if it had been me who had wielded the knife. That is such a stupid thing to admit, and I am pathetic, aren’t I.

  I long with all my heart for us to spend time together again, when we can just talk and talk…like we used to. Talk about other lovely, ordinary, less stressful things…be normal again.

  Please write to me soon…what bit of which animal are you dealing with at the moment?

  Love, as always. Sam.

  Alice folded the letter thoughtfully. This was the very first time that Sam had expressed himself in such personal terms – or at least addressed himself to her as “his dear Alice”, and sending her his “love as always”. It should have thrilled her – and it would have done, normally, but Alice could read Sam better than anyone else ever could. He had obviously been involved in something which had touched him deeply and he’d needed to tell someone, to get it off his chest. And she had always been his first choice in such matters, Alice knew that. This time, he was obviously experiencing a b
rief bout of homesickness and had looked to her for comfort. Though why Millicent couldn’t provide that was a mystery.

  She put the letter in her case with all the others, honest enough to admit that her somewhat casual reaction to his words, and her introspection at interpreting them, was far more to do with Marvin.

  Her American.

  And the unforgettable feel of his mouth on hers.

  Roger drew the van up to the Halt, and he and Fay got out and walked over to the tiny platform. The train was due in five minutes.

  ‘I hope things aren’t as bad as you think, Fay,’ he said, looking down at her. He paused. ‘But don’t worry about coming back too soon…Dad told me to tell you to stay until things settle down. And the rest of us can hold the fort…but we’ll miss you,’ he added.

  The train arrived, and he helped her into the carriage, waving her off until she was out of sight. And after Fay had put her small overnight bag onto the rack above, she sat back, half closing her eyes.

  It was August, the same month, three years ago, that the three wise monkeys had arrived on the farm. And once again, it was hot.

  After a moment, Fay opened her bag and took out the letter which had arrived in the post that morning. It was from her gran.

  Dear Fay.

  I know how it is between you and your dad, but I think you should know that he’s been taken really bad. Away from work for more than three weeks – doctor wants him in hospital, but he won’t budge. The thing is – I know your mum would like to see you – though she hasn’t said so, mind. I go down there, of course, but it would be lovely for her to have you there – just for a few hours.

  Always thinking about you, our Fay. Lots of love, Gran.

  Fay leaned back thoughtfully. She had to admit that their visits home had become few and far between lately – for various reasons. The year seemed to have taken on a different perspective since the Americans had unexpectedly turned up at their village, giving everyone plenty to talk about.

  And as Mabel had expected, the young soldiers had been taken to the heart of the village community, fussed over by the older generation, and made especially welcome by all the young women.

  And then, quietly, almost slyly, in the middle of the night in early June, the Americans had left. Simply disappeared. And in the morning, there was barely a trace that they’d been there at all, leaving the village with mixed emotions as everyone stared at the emptiness which had for several months been full of life and activity.

  Now, Fay’s eyes clouded as she recalled all that had gone on, recalled the long talks she had had with Clint. Clint from Philadelphia was twenty-two years old, and all he wanted was to get back home safely to his wife and tiny daughter. He had handled the treasured photographs of his young family with as much care as if they had been there in his arms, and Fay had held them just as carefully, listening as he told her about them, about their lives and hopes.

  She stared out of the window as the small train lumbered along the track. Had Clint survived the D-Day landings two months ago? And was he still managing to survive, somehow? Fay could hardly bear to think about it, to think about that earnest young man and his precious photographs which were, perhaps, lying with him somewhere…trodden into the ground beyond recognition.

  And she didn’t want to think about other things either. About the pointlessness and stupidity of war, about alienating people of a different colour. The black soldiers hadn’t been seen in the hut or the pub, but they’d been strolling around the village in twos and threes.

  There, but not there.

  But whatever the rules and regulations, nature will have its way. Next year, many half-caste babies would be born to English girls.

  The bus from Temple Meads to the suburb of Brislington took about eight minutes to reach the stop where Fay would get off in order to reach the house where her parents had lived all their married life. And where she’d spent much of her childhood.

  The bus conductor came up the aisle to take her fare, and she gave him the fourpence for the ticket which he stripped from the machine hanging around his neck.

  Pensively, Fay stared out of the window as they travelled along. Everywhere appeared to be fairly normal, with little damage evident here, anyway, from the last raid on the city in May. There were to be no more raids in Bristol after that.

  Presently, Fay made her way along the quiet street of neat, semi-detached houses, none of which had been affected by the air raids. Theirs was the last but one, No.30, and she strode up the path and gave the bell two short rings. She hadn’t had a key for ages – well, why should she? She didn’t live here any more.

  Almost immediately the door opened and her mother stood there. Fay’s mother was of medium build, with cropped, grey hair and a permanently worried expression on her lined face – and without saying a word, she put her arms right around Fay’s neck, and hugged her tightly.

  ‘Oh Fay…Gran said she’d written to you,’ Mrs. Reynolds said quietly, ‘and I knew you’d come. So come inside, my dear girl, come in.’

  She stood aside, and then Fay saw her gran coming down the stairs – and for the next few moments they all stood there in the hall and embraced, before going into the dining room. The French windows were open, the strong sunshine causing shafts of light to splay across the beige and brown patterned carpet.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ Fay’s mother began, ‘but your gran thought you should know…’

  ‘Know what?’ Fay said.

  Her mother sighed. ‘It’s quite bad, dear,’ she said. ‘It’s your dad’s heart – which has given him a bit of trouble in the past, we know that – but you know, it’s the war. He’s been overworked at the bank, what with half the men away…often coming home late. And you know what he’s like about his civic duties…never misses a meeting – and that raid in May, well that got all the wardens going again, because you never know when the next one might be.’ Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. ‘Anyway, your gran and I think it’s all been a bit too much for him, but he won’t listen to any advice and then ten days ago he had a…had a mini stroke, the doctor thought…and his heart’s been affected.’

  ‘So,’ Fay said, ‘what treatment is he having?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, dear,’ Fay’s mother said, ‘the doctor says he should be in hospital, because he could have a heart attack at any time and he should be looked after where there’s proper nursing care and where there’s emergency equipment to deal with sudden…problems.’ Mrs. Reynolds took out her hankie to wipe tears from her eyes. She was worried sick, but she knew her husband would get his own way. ‘But he won’t hear of it,’ she went on, ‘won’t take any advice. Says he intends resting here, upstairs in bed, with me and your gran looking after him. Oh, he’ll take the medicine he’s been given, and lets the doctor give him an injection when he visits – but he thinks it’s all a fuss about nothing and that in a week or two he’ll be up and about again.’

  As she stood there, seeing her mother’s obvious distress and anxiety, and seeing her grandmother’s concerned face, Fay knew that she could not share in their emotions. Because the feelings she had for the invalid upstairs, lying in his bed, determined to have his own way, as usual – were hardly the same as theirs. And would never be the same. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Well, does he sleep much? Is he asleep now?’ she said. ‘Will I disturb him if I go up?’

  ‘He was asleep a few minutes ago when I looked in,’ Fay’s gran said, ‘so why don’t we have something to eat first?’ It was 12.30. ‘I brought over some eggs,’ she added. D’you fancy a boiled egg, Fay – and some soldiers?’

  Fay definitely did fancy a boiled egg and some soldiers, and soon the three sat around the dining room table and enjoyed their lunch, accompanied by a good pot of strong tea. Then Mrs. Reynolds said, ‘It’s good you’re here, Fay – because next door’s first grandchild is visiting. They said I could go in this afternoon for a peep – and Gran too – the little mite only came out of hosp
ital with his mum yesterday. So you could keep Dad company for half an hour while we’re out, couldn’t you, dear?’

  Fay nodded. ‘Of course, Mum,’ she said. ‘What time does he have his next dose of medicine? I imagine he’s got all that worked out – he won’t need any help from me?’

  Mrs. Reynolds shook her head as she stood up, and started clearing the lunch dishes. ‘The doctor gave him his injection this morning so he should be OK, but if he should get taken bad, there’s a little tablet for him to put under his tongue. Life-savers, they are, act like magic if he has a sudden attack The bottle’s on the bedside table.’

  After her mother and grandmother had gone next door, Fay stood quietly outside her parents’ bedroom. There was no sound from inside. Then she turned her head and glanced briefly at the door opposite…the one that opened into what had once been her own room. She gritted her teeth. A very long time ago since she’d slept there…

  Without giving a tap, she opened her parents’ door and went in, closing it quietly behind her. And what she saw almost made her reel, because she barely recognized the patient.

  Her father was lying propped up on two pillows, and he turned his head wearily to look at her. His eyes were sunken, his normally strong features seemed to have collapsed into themselves and his skin looked flabby and waxen. And apart from one or two locks, his usually dark hair had turned completely white. Even though her mother had said that he didn’t look too well, the transformation was so unexpected that Fay had to grip the end of the iron bedstead to steady herself. This deterioration must surely have been happening for some time, she thought, before anyone realized what had been going on.