“There’s a big old key on a red ribbon in the bottom left hand drawer of my wardrobe. It’s right at the back, hidden under a pile of scarves. It’s the key to the wooden chest at the bottom of my bed. Inside, all wrapped in bundles with date labels, are mine and Arthur’s private love letters. Our first contact was a note. Arthur slipped it into my coat pocket, asking me if I’d meet him on the Saturday night outside the church gates at 6pm. I wrote on a scrap of paper that I would and as I handed over the key to the supply shed I pressed it into his hand. After that we wrote each other notes often. It was a way to communicate in working hours without raising suspicion. We both knew how possessive and jealous Mary was over him, right from the start. In fact, that’s how she discovered our relationship. She’d been rummaging through my bedroom and found the notes. Mother never scolded Mary for going through my private things, just hurled abuse at me and hit me several times with an umbrella as I walked through the back door.”
“That’s dreadful, Aunt Bea. Mary is going through your stuff and lying about her having a relationship with Arthur and yet you are the one punished.”
“Mary was mother’s blue-eyed girl. She could do no wrong. Mary could lie, cheat, steal and bully but mother would chastise anyone but Mary. It was just how it was. Mother lost all her friends over Mary. As for Mary herself, she had no friends. She was just a nasty, scheming bully. Everyone gave her a wide berth.”
“But grandad! Why didn’t he stick up for you?”
“Oh, he did when he was home, but then he was away for the biggest part of the war. By the time dad returned, I’d been cast out of the family home, sent away. I wanted to write and let dad know I was okay. To tell him I was safe and at last I’d got my Arthur. But those two would have found the letters and I couldn’t risk my happiness, my Arthur’s happiness again. Harry was afraid for all those years that they’d find out he was in contact with me and our lives would be turned upside down again. So, he never spoke to Dad either about it.”
“Grandad has changed so much since he left gran.”
“Not changed, Janie. He’s just the man he used to be before the war. The man who I grew up with. Happy, kind and thoughtful. I just hope this Rose Whittaker doesn’t turn out to be a wrong’un.”
“He seems quite taken with her, doesn’t he? Dad says she’s quite shy and follows grandad around like a lost sheep. Charlie says she’s a hell of a good cook and you know how fussy he is with his food!” They both laughed at how Charlie would push his food around his plate, inspecting every last thing on it before daring to put it in his mouth.
“Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed for grandad, eh? Now, back to these letters.”
“Okay,” replied Janie, then she snuggled up closer to Bea.
“Arthur and I wrote to each other from the moment we meet. Even whilse we were apart, we wrote to each other. Obviously, they were never sent to one another but when we found each other we both presented one another a bundle of unread letters. We wrote and sent letters to each other throughout our marriage as well. Then, after Arthur died, I continued to write letters addressed to him. It helped me cope with my grief, my loss. It was like, by writing down my thoughts, my fears, my days to him, he was still here with me. A way to communicate with him, somehow. I still write to him to this day. I’ve told him all about you, Megan, Harry, Charlie. About your mum, about poor Freddy’s untimely death. I asked him to take Freddy under his wing for me. It was Arthur I told first, in one of my letters, about the cancer. Now I’ve told him that I’ll be joining him soon. That I’m not afraid because I know he’ll be there waiting on the other side for me.” Bea looked across at Janie and saw the tears streaming down her face. She took her lace hankie from under her pillow and gently wiped away the tears from her niece’s face. “Don’t cry, Janie, please. I’ve had a good life. Coming to stay and take of you all filled the enormous void in my life left by Arthur dying. But soon I’ll be back in his arms for all eternity. That’s why you mustn’t feel sad. I’m going home Janie. Home to my Arthur. Tell me you understand.” Janie snuffled back her tears.
“I do, Aunt Bea, but I’m sad because I won’t have you anymore. I’m sad for all the time you and Arthur were apart. For him being taken away from you so suddenly. For the loss of your child and all those years you should have had as happy, loving parents.” Bea could feel the tingle of her own tears beginning, so she took a deep breath.
“I want you to sit and read those letters once I’m gone, Janie. When it’s all over and you’re alone, I want you to sit down and read those letters. I think your future lies in those old love letters. I think you have the ability to turn them into a wonderful story of two people’s love for one another.”
“But, Aunt Bea, aren’t they private?”
“Not once I’m gone, Janie. I want you to tell the world of how love can conquer all. How it can make you strong. Make you feel like you’re walking on air. That it can get you through all manner of tough times and things. You’ve always had a way with words. A natural talent for storytelling. Tell our story, Janie. Maybe it’ll help you to forgive Josef too.”
“Oh, Aunt Bea, how could the love you and Arthur shared help me to forgive a selfish pig like Josef? He’s a—”
“A product of his upbringing, Janie.” Bea stepped in. “When you used to go to Josef’s house, what was his mum doing?” Janie gave her aunt a puzzled look. “Just answer the question, Janie.” Janie shrugged her shoulders before answering.
“She was always doing one chore or another. Either cooking, cleaning or sewing. Always something about the house.”
“And his dad?”
“He was either at work, watching TV or having a pint down the pub. Why?”
“Did his parents ever go out together, regularly?”
“Not that I can remember, no. WHY?”
“And what about his sister and his elder brother?”
“Sofia was always in trouble for something or other. Usually for wearing make-up and mixing with the wrong girls. Michal was always fighting and falling out with his wife and running back home to mummy, as Josef would say. But I still don’t understand what any of this has got to do with forgiving Josef!”
“Am I correct in thinking that his dad is Polish and his mum Maltese?”
“Yes. They were both evacuated over here during the war. What has this got to do with—”
“Everything, Janie, everything. Josef’s parents come from different backgrounds to ours. In their countries, women are second-rate citizens. Women are not equal. Josef’s dad goes out and earns the money. His mum stays at home and looks after the family. His dad comes and goes as he pleases. His mum stays at home. That is her place. Sofia has grown up here and wants to be like the other girls. English girls. Wearing the latest fashions, make-up, being independent, but that isn’t how her parents believe she should be. Hence why she is always in trouble. Michal has an English wife. She was brought up as his equal. I know his wife, Susan’s mother, Carol. She told me how much they fight and fall out because he doesn’t like the fact that Susan has a good job and earns good money. He wants her to give it up. To stay at home, to have his children and look after them all. Carol said that Susan wants kids, but she also wants to return to work afterwards. Michal refuses to allow this to happen. He says a woman’s place is in the home.”
“But what does this have to do with Josef? He’s always been happy for me to work.”
“What were you working so hard for, Janie?”
“So, we could travel round the world. You know that.”
“Josef didn’t mind you working while he benefited from it but—”
“Now, wait a minute, Aunt Bea. Josef was happy for me to pursue a career of my choice.” Bea cut in again.
“Really, Janie? Weren’t you going to write a travel book on those travels and Josef take the photographs?”
“Yes, but then the b
and asked him to be their official photographer so he—”
“Changed your plans. But how come you were only going to be the chief cook and bottle washer, Janie? How come you weren’t going be their official writer? Why weren’t you going to write the story to go with the photographs Josef was taking?”
“Because they’d already got someone doing that…” Bea watched as finally Janie was putting it all together piece by piece.
“He didn’t want me to write, did he?”
“I don’t think he did, sweetheart. Josef wants a woman just like his mum, deep down, as does his brother. He loved you for being you, don’t get me wrong, but at the same time he wants you to be what he wants. You’re supposed to go along with whatever he decides. He’s the man. He makes the decisions about your future together, not you. It’s what he’s been brought up to believe, Janie. You unknowingly decided to defy his plans. That was wrong in his eyes. You didn’t know you were defying him. You were just doing what you’d been brought up to do. To care about your family and help them out in times of need. You weren’t aware that you needed to ask Josef’s permission. You didn’t know that he thought he owned you. You just did what was second nature to you. You decided to help me. You thought Josef would understand. Different upbringings, Janie, different cultures. Neither of you took these things into consideration. You saw Josef as you see your dad, as you see Charlie. Josef saw you as he sees his mum, how he believes Sofia and Susan should be. They’re not joking when they say love is blind, you know. When you fall in love with someone you see only what you choose to see and nothing else matters. But, at some point, you have to open your eyes and see the whole story. You’re going to start doing that right now, Janie, as we speak.
I should have seen what was going on way back when Josef changed your plans, but I was too consumed with my diagnosis to see beyond my own fears. Josef doesn’t have an Aunt Bea to point these things out. He only has his dad and mum pointing out you were in the wrong. If you love Josef the way I believe you do, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive him. To find a way of making it work. Just don’t give up on him, on you both so easily.” Bea lay back further into her pillows. All the talking, all the conjuring up of old memories had drained her. She was so tired now. Her eyes just wouldn’t keep open.
“Aunt Bea,” whispered Janie. “Do you really think that’s why Josef acted so out of character? I remember how upset he’d been when you’d come clean about the c…” Bea couldn’t find the strength to open her eyes as she spoke.
“Josef came to me, not long after you’d been told. He said he’d asked his mum, a devout Catholic, why God had been so cruel to me. She’d told him that God must have a greater plan for me. He’d replied that God hadn’t ever been kind to me and if that was how God treated good, innocent, caring people, then she could take her God and stick him where the sun doesn’t shine. I told Josef that I believed that God had dealt me all these things because he believed I was strong enough to deal with them. That I held no malice towards God. He’d taken my hand in his then and gently kissed it. He said he wished he had an ounce of the courage and grace I had. That’s why I know Josef is deep down a good soul. He’s just a misguided one, that’s all.”
“I didn’t know about that; he never said. Did he ever come to you about anything else?” asked Janie. Bea gently shock her head. She was so tired now. Janie went to speak but Bea squeezed her hand.
“No, he didn’t. I’d like to have a nap now if you don’t mind.” Bea felt Janie stir on the bed beside her then a gentle kiss was placed on her forehead before Janie alighted from the bed. And, as she fell asleep, her thoughts were once again filled with her darling Arthur.
GWEN, MAVIS & JANIE
Wednesday, 30th March 1983
Kneeling beside the sleeping Janie, Gwen brushed a stray curl of hair that had fallen across her eyes. Janie stirred. It didn’t take a fully qualified nurse like herself to diagnosis that this poor child was both physically and mentally exhausted. Gwen hauled herself back up onto her feet and turned to enter the kitchen.
“Are you off now?” asked a sleepy Janie. Gwen turned to face Janie. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes and uncurling her legs, stretching them out before her.
“Only for a short while, sweetie.”
“I don’t understand,” began Janie as a yawn gripped her and forced her to stop talking and stretch out her upper body.
“I’m only popping home to fetch a few personal items and to collect Bea’s medication from the chemist. They rang earlier to say it had arrived. I’ll be back shortly Janie and I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.” Even within her cloudy, sleepy head, Janie knew what that meant. It had been discussed when they’d first arrived at the cottage.
“You mean…”
“Yes,” replied Gwen perching herself on the arm of the couch. “Bea’s entering the final stage of her illness. I need to be here around the clock to manage her meds and pain relief.” She leant forward and placed a motherly hand on Janie’s knee. “I’ll ring Harry and the others to come as soon as they can.” Gwen rose to leave. The act of saying it out loud cut like a knife through both their hearts. Gwen had been friends with Bea since she’d taken over as district nurse for this area. Her first assignment had been Arthur. Their friendship had started with the untimely death of Arthur and now it was to end with Bea’s own untimely death. Two wonderful people cut down in the prime of their lives. Life had a nasty habit of being cruel.
“H-h-how long?” stammered Janie.
“A few days, no more, a week tops,” she whispered.
“I always thought she’d make it to the summer,” began Janie. “I imagined she’d make it down onto the sand. That she’d be in a deckchair, the sun warming her face and a gentle sea breeze ruffling her hair. She’d have one of those big beautiful smiles on her face while she looked out to sea. I thought there would be more time.” Janie began to cry and as Gwen rushed to hold the poor girl in her arms she felt the sting of her own tears. They held onto each other and let all the pain and the strain of the last few months wash over them.
Mavis Banford popped her head round the living room door to find Janie and Gwen huddled together on the armchair. It was obvious they were crying. Fearing the worst, she tiptoed across the room and up the stairs to Bea’s bedroom. The door was wide open. Mavis strained to see if Bea’s chest was moving up and down beneath the bed covers. In what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only mere moments, she spied the light rise and fall of her best friend’s chest. She crept into Bea’s bedroom and without a sound she closed the curtains, shutting out the darkening sky. Re-crossing the room, she flicked on the standard lamp in the corner. It cast a pink, hazy glow around the room. Mavis took one last peek at the fall and rise of the covers, then as quiet as a church mouse descended the stairs. As she entered the lounge she found Gwen, who was now perched on the couch, and the two of them busy drying their eyes and blowing their noses.
“Just been to close Bea’s curtains. Noticed they weren’t drawn as I came across the driveway.” Neither Gwen nor Janie mentioned their mini breakdown or that they really knew why Mavis had gone upstairs. It was obvious to them both that she’d feared the worst and had hastened to see for herself.
“Right,” began Mavis as she strode across the room and off into the kitchen. “I’ve brought round a pot of home-made chicken and vegetable soup and some fresh crusty bread to go with it. One of you can wash their hands and butter the bread, the other can lay the table. It won’t take me five minutes to warm this soup back up,” Mavis spoke as she busied herself warming up both the soup and the bowls.
“I’ll butter,” offered Gwen. “So, you set the table, Janie. A bowl of hearty soup will do us all the world of good.”
“But I’m not really hungry,” protested Janie.
“Nonsense, child,” remarked Mavis as she stirred the pot of soup. “You’ll have a
bowl of soup and a thick slice of bread with lashings of butter on it, then while we clear up in here you can go get yourself a nice soak in a hot bath.”
“But, really, I’m—”
“Fine,” Gwen finished off for her. “But you’re clearly not. Now, do what you’re told. You’ll be of no use to Bea or anyone else for that matter unless you start eating and taking care of yourself. Now get and lay that table.” There was authority in Gwen’s voice, but it held a hint of tenderness in it. Janie resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to at least try and eat a little of what was on offer.
Janie had not only surprised herself by polishing off two large bowls of the delicious soup and three rounds of bread and butter but Gwen and Mavis also.
“I don’t know where you put it all,” teased Mavis as she began to clear the table.
“We could have polished off just as much in our day,” remarked Gwen.
“Eh, I suppose we could,” admitted Mavis. “Now go get that bath and we’ll have us a nice cup of cocoa ready for when you’re done. We’ll get that fire up and roaring in the lounge too. I reckon it’s going to be a cold one tonight.” Janie rose from the table and headed upstairs. Both Gwen and Mavis knew she’d check in on Bea before running her bath. Gwen left the table and grabbed her coat off one of the hooks on the back door.
“I’ll have to leave the pots and fire to you, Mave,” explained Gwen as she donned her coat. “I need to catch the chemist and pop home for a few things.” That meant Gwen would be staying here full-time now. The knowledge of what that implied filled her with dread.
“You’ll be here when I get back, won’t you?” asked Gwen. Mavis cleared the table as she spoke.
“Eh! Take your time, Gwen, and go safe: there’s fog out there. I’ll be here no matter what the time, watching over them both.”
Cutting the Cord Page 18