by Rosie James
But for once, her job at this estate agency was not the most important thing. The most important thing – the vital thing – was that she was needed at Clifton.
And that is where she was desperate to be…
Alice let herself in at the back door, shutting it noiselessly behind her, and putting her overnight case down on the floor. The long passageway was always dark, and for a moment she had to adjust her eyes to make out her surroundings. The kitchen door – usually open – was closed, and there seemed to be no noise in the house at all. Then suddenly, from out of the dimness, Sam appeared. He stopped, stood completely still for a few seconds, then in one swift movement almost threw himself towards her.
‘Alice,’ he murmured. ‘Oh Alice…’
And for the first time in her life, she was in his arms, truly in his arms.
He held her to him closely, so closely that she could feel the rhythm of his heart through his light clothing. And the only sound he made was a guttural moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him…a desperate, muted howl of despair. Without letting her go, he stood back slightly so that he could look down into her eyes. And looking up at him, all Alice wanted to do was to smother his face – that dear, so well-beloved face – with kisses. Then –
‘Thank God you are here, Alice,’ he said quietly. ‘There isn’t much time…’
‘Sam,’ she whispered. ‘I had no idea…I am so sorry…so very, very sorry…what can I do? Tell me what I can do.’
They were still holding each other closely, and despite her overwhelming sense of grief, Alice was blissfully aware of Sam’s body against hers, his breath on her cheek, the subtle scent of his shaving soap. Then he buried his face in her hair as if wanting to hide himself in it. ‘The only thing you can do, Alice, is to be here,’ he said. ‘Be here with us. My mother keeps asking where you are.’
Their lips were now so close it would have taken nothing for Alice to reach up and kiss him, and that was what she desperately wanted to do. All it would have taken was a moment’s lack of dignity…but Sam belonged to someone else. Sam belonged to Millicent. She, Alice, had no right to put herself in a place where she had no business to be.
They could only have been standing there for a minute or two, but it seemed much longer. And Alice would like to have frozen the time, make it stand still. She had so often dreamed of being in Sam’s arms like this she wanted it to go on and on. But then – letting her go from him –
‘Go into the kitchen,’ he said quietly. ‘You must have something to eat first. I’ll see you upstairs when you’ve warmed up.’
Betty was there with her back towards her, and hearing Alice come in she turned around and held out her arms. And the two clutched each other, Betty’s eyes swimming with tears, and Alice desperately trying to control herself, trying to stop herself from weeping out loud.
At last – ‘Ah, there you are, dear girl.’ Betty stood away and blew her nose, wiping her eyes roughly as if ashamed that she’d been crying, and Alice said –
‘Oh Betty…it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other! And – you look so well…just like always…’
Betty sniffed. ‘Yes, well, we all survived the war, didn’t we…and now…this.’ She turned back to the table where rows of cups and saucers were waiting to be filled. On several large plates were small sandwiches, and there were cakes, too…
It was lunch time, and Alice smiled inwardly, despite her anguish. Food was Betty’s priority, and whatever the situation, she would make sure that there was nourishment there to keep everyone going.
‘Before you go upstairs,’ Betty said, ‘have a hot drink, Alice. You look half frozen. And a sandwich…a few of the others will probably be down in a minute or two. They take it in turns, see…and they’re all here.’
Alice sat down and did as she was told, glad to sip at the cup of scalding tea Betty put in front of her. But she was too pent-up to eat anything. She looked up.
‘Please – please tell me what’s been going on, Betty,’ she said quietly. ‘I only heard the news yesterday and I can’t take it in…’
Betty shook her head sadly. ‘It’s been a terrible shock to us all, Alice,’ she said. She lowered her voice. ‘It was discovered – almost by accident – that Mrs. Carmichael has breast cancer.’
Breast cancer – the killer disease! Oh no!
Alice shuddered, and Betty went on – ‘She was in hospital for a short while for tests, and they found that…that …it had spread. Gone too far. It’s in her lungs now.’ For a moment Betty was unable to continue, and Alice leaned over and squeezed her hand. ‘Anyway, after she came home she – well – took to her bed and hasn’t got up since. There’s a nurse with her most of the day…to help with the pain and the breathing…’
For a few moments there was complete silence as Alice tried to take it all in. Helena had succumbed to the disease that every woman dreaded…and her husband, an eminent professor of medicine, had been unable to do anything about it. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right!
Eventually, Alice managed to swallow just one of the sandwiches Betty had put in front of her…well, she knew she was uptight, and had eaten very little that day. She wouldn’t be much use upstairs if she collapsed in front of everyone. She drank the last of the tea and stood up.
‘Do you think it’s all right for me to go and see them now?’ she asked, and Betty nodded without saying another word, just turning back to check on the beef tea she was preparing for Helena. Even a few sips of this would give her a little strength, and providing food for whoever needed it was what kept Betty going. Always had done.
Feeling calm and more in possession of her feelings, Alice trod up the back stairs to the first-floor landing, and walked slowly along to the master bedroom – their bedroom, Helena’s and the professor’s…Alice’s fingers reaching to touch the anchor on its chain around her neck. The gift from her mother, in memory of her father, all that time ago. The gift Alice had never removed. And remembering her mother’s words… Stay grounded, Alice. Keep an even keel…
She opened the door and went in quietly. The scene was hardly unexpected. Helena was lying quite still, like a marble statue in the huge bed, her golden hair falling in gentle waves on the soft pillows… Alice had only ever seen Mrs. Carmichael’s hair dressed up on top. And her eyes were closed. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully, unaware of the others in the room… Margaret and Rose were sitting close to their mother, smoothing her hand, and the nurse was by the small table mixing something in a glass of water. Standing by the window with his back to the room, and with David and John next to him, Edward Carmichael remained rigid and silent
And then, by the side of the bed opposite his sisters, was Sam. His arms around Millicent, holding her tightly. The only sound, her weeping as she clung to him, burying her head in his neck.
Transfixed by the scene, Alice just stood there. No one seemed to have even noticed her come in. Then Rose glanced up and gave a tiny wave, and Margaret, smiling wanly, got up and went over to greet her with a hug.
‘I’m so glad you could make it, Alice,’ she whispered, and Alice hugged her in response. Then quietly, Alice went over to the bed and looked down at the beautiful face on the pillow, and the lump in her throat became so painful, that she couldn’t swallow…she just could not…
Helena, so warm and kind and thoughtful, so conscious of the needs of others – apart from the needs of her own family – was now in desperate need herself.
And no one could help her.
Then, slowly, Helena’s eyes opened – and she moved her head up slightly and looked straight at Alice.
‘Oh Alice! Dearest Alice…you’re here,’ she whispered, and Alice dropped to her knees and took the slim hand in her own, pressing it gently, before putting it to her lips. And Helena said, ‘But of course I knew you’d be coming because Ada told me she’d asked you to…that she’d asked you to come home…’
Alice stared straight into Helena’s eyes as sh
e heard the words. Then – ‘My mother…you spoke to my mother…?’
Helena’s smile was ethereal. ‘Of course I did, dear! Because Ada has been here with me all the time…we’ve been remembering things, going over things…and there’s been so much to talk about! And I begged her to make sure that you came home, and she told me that I mustn’t worry. That you’d be here. And now you are…you’re all here…my whole family…isn’t that lovely…’
After a second, Helena began to cough, wheezing slightly, and the nurse came over at once, putting something to her lips and motioning Alice to move away slightly.
And Alice did, but not before Sam had put out his hand and clung to hers for a moment as she’d passed him, looking up at her with such pain in his eyes that it was all Alice could do not to throw her arms around his neck to comfort him.
But he had Millicent there instead. She was enough.
Presently, David and John came over to speak to Alice quietly, then they left the room and Alice went over to the window, to stand next to the professor, not knowing what exactly to say but hoping that her nearness might tell him how much she cared, how much she loved them all, how much she wished she could change things.
He glanced down at her briefly, and half-smiled. And Alice realized that he was beyond tears…maybe they would come later. Much later…
For the first time ever, Alice slipped her hand into the professor’s, and he held it firmly, not letting it go. Then – as if he felt that Alice deserved some explanation, however slight, he said quietly –
‘It was all a bit too late for us, Alice., If we’d…discovered…earlier, we might have come through. But…’ he looked away to gaze out of the window for a second… ‘I am afraid that there is little that can be done to cure breast cancer.’ There was a long, long pause. ‘And I really do not have much hope for future sufferers. There is so much we have to learn, so much we don’t understand, and so little time allotted to us.’
Edward Carmichael was not to know that within a decade, American-led research would lead to the development of drug therapies which would prolong the lives of all cancer sufferers for many years. And that breast cancer, in particular, would be one of the prime beneficiaries of the new treatments. That early detection, drugs, and possible surgery, would almost guarantee that patients would go on to live full and active lives. Many lasting into a healthy old age…
But for Helena, that time had not yet come.
Helena died peacefully at home three days later. She was fifty-three years old. Her quiet funeral took place a week afterwards, with only the family present. A large memorial service for friends and admirers of this gracious woman would be held at St. Mary Redcliffe at the end of January.
Chapter Twenty-Six
As Alice had expected, there had been no difficulty in her having time off work to go to Bristol. Mr. Pennington had been totally sympathetic, telling her not to rush back. He had arranged for Rex to come to Dorchester to take over temporarily, and to support Valerie. Someone from London was going to manage the Bristol branch.
So Alice had remained in Clifton until after the funeral – coming back once to Dorchester to collect a few things and pick up some fresh clothes.
During those sad days at Clifton, she had helped in whichever way she could – receiving the numerous visitors that came and went – and she was often with Betty in the kitchen, because even in their dark bereavement everyone had to be fed. And food is often the only consolation – however temporary.
But one thing Alice knew she could not do was to accept the family’s invitation to spend Christmas at Clifton. It would be just too much to bear… Memory is a wonderful facet of the human mind, but sometimes causes such pain that to give it full reign is pointless, and too sad. Alice just knew that she needed to be somewhere else…
So, telling a little fib – well, Sam told her once, that he told little fibs sometimes – she said that she had promised to spend it with Fay.
But Fay would be with her mother and grandmother, so Alice had one more idea. She would ring Gloria and ask if she could stay at Totterdown – just for Christmas Day and part of Boxing Day. She knew Gloria wouldn’t mind, and that she’d be made welcome.
After which, Alice would finally return to Dorchester and try and pick up where she’d left off.
So, after tearful hugs from all the Carmichaels, Alice left Clifton, and found a telephone box. She put two pennies in the slot, dialled Gloria’s number, and as soon as she heard the familiar voice, she pressed button A, and was connected.
And when Gloria heard Alice’s voice, and her rather tentative request, she almost screamed in delight –
‘Alice! You know you are always welcome here! Don adored you from the moment he met you – and your room is here, the bed always aired! Oh my dear, with you here, it will be like old times!’
Picking up her suitcase, Alice left the telephone booth and headed for Temple Meads and a couple of days’ respite in Dorchester before coming to Gloria’s, Alice’s eyes clouding at the comment that it was “going to be like old times”.
Because her old times had gone for good and nothing could bring them back now. Alice knew that her past was just that…past, lost…an irretrievable thing.
As she had left Clifton for the last time, she could feel it, like unstoppable water rushing towards the distant sea, flowing relentlessly forward into eternity.
On the Monday morning after her trip to Bristol to be with Alice and Fay, Eve got up later than usual because she felt tired and drained. It had been lovely to talk things over with her friends, but nothing had changed. There’d been no miracle cure for her problem that either of them could suggest. Well, Eve knew her situation was hopeless. She didn’t need it spelt out.
Still in her dressing gown, she went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. Her parents were already up and out – well, on Mondays they always enjoyed going to Fortes, or to Sally Lunn, for coffee, and then to look around Jolly’s, their favourite shop in Milsom Street. And her mother had said she still needed one or two things to get for Christmas.
Eve went into the front drawing room, this familiar place with its velvet curtains and huge squashy, pale green sofa, the cosy smell of a tired room touching her nostrils. She put her cup and saucer down on the coaster on the small table. Then she went across to the piano.
The lid was open – it was always left open – and she let her fingers trail over the keys for a moment. She never played at home…and not quite so much at the shop, now, either. After a moment, she pulled back the piano stool and sat down. And remembered those other times while they were at the farm…the concert, and the New Year’s Eve party at the pub…how everyone had enjoyed themselves, singing along while she played all their favourites, how much she had enjoyed it…had been in her element…
And suddenly, Eve was there again…living those precious moments as her fingers began to move effortlessly up and down the keys. She could almost hear the shouting – “let’s have Roll out the Barrel” and “Keep the Home Fires Burning” and “Run Rabbit Run”…“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag.” In her memory the requests kept coming thick and fast and Eve responded, playing a long medley of all the popular songs that had helped to unite a country at war…had helped to cheer them up…make music, not war, seemed to have been the theme. On and on Eve went, playing every single one she could think of, until, in a final flourish she ran her fingers right down the keyboard, from the very top note to the bottom, in a long, continuous stream of sound, ending with the last, resounding, defiant bass note. The final declamation of sound. Then, closing her eyes, she sat quite still, resting her forehead on the music stand. And breathed a deep sigh.
And from the doorway, the sound of light clapping made her sit bolt upright, and turn around to face her parents. Then she stood up.
‘Oh – Mother, Father,’ she said, ‘I am so sorry…I didn’t hear you come back and…’
‘What are you sorry about?’ her father said,
coming over to put his hands on her shoulders. ‘We had no idea that you could play all that, Eve,’ he shook his head slowly in disbelief. ‘We could hardly believe that it was you!’ He paused. ‘You never play the piano now, at all, do you…well, if you do, we haven’t heard you…and it is so lovely to hear music in the house! So – what have you got to be sorry about?’ he said.
Eve didn’t hesitate. ‘Because I know that neither of you like this…this sort of stuff. This popular stuff. It isn’t the music you would ever want to play – and wouldn’t want me to play, either. Not when you’ve taught me all the real music, the Classics… I thought it would seem a betrayal of your wishes if I…lowered…myself by bringing it into the house.’
Mrs. Miles came over as well, then. ‘But where did you learn it all, Eve?’ she began, and Eve cut in quickly –
‘Oh – at the shop, of course…during my lunch hours,’ Eve said. ‘I’d sometimes take a pile of music upstairs and run through it all.’ She hesitated. ‘It always seemed so jolly…and cheered everyone up if they came in to watch me, and have a bit of a sing.’
‘Well it certainly sounded very cheerful to us when we opened the back door,’ Mr. Miles said, ‘and of course we recognized those pieces from the First World War. Everyone remembers those.’ He paused. ‘And by the way, Eve – there is no such thing as “real” music, my dear. Every kind of music, if played properly and with sincerity, is as worthy as any other.’ He glanced at his wife. ‘I’m afraid we don’t play much any more, Mother and me,’ he said. ‘I suppose there comes a time when every interest dies back – just a little. But – ’ he smiled at Eve – ‘to hear you just now, Eve, has inspired me to lock myself in here and remember old times.’ His voice was wistful for a second. They had known such wonderful occasions, playing to full, enraptured audiences. But that time was past and now they’d had to move aside for younger musicians to have their day. Besides, rheumatism and arthritis are not a pianist’s best friends.