by Mary Wood
Now Arthur was back, but did she want him? At this moment it seemed that the only really good thing had been meeting Harry, through her association with Arthur. And now Harry – faithful batman to Arthur, and loyal and wonderful husband to her – was gone. Oh God!
Twice in the last year Hattie had felt alone, and when Harry had collapsed again a few days ago, she had known that the final nail was being driven into the coffin of her devastation. Now, as she left the hospital, the feeling of being abandoned by all those she loved engulfed her.
Arthur had waited in his car, as he’d promised, and as she looked at him, all doubts left her. No matter how wrong it seemed – no matter how it would look – she knew she’d go to him and become his mistress again. And she knew she’d do it with Harry’s blessing an’ all.
Arthur stepped out of his car and put his arms out to her. Hattie went into them. As she did so, a draught caught her legs. A nun’s habit had caused it, and the loud ‘tut-tut’ she heard came from the wearer. Anger made her turn on the Sister. ‘Aye, you can look with disdain on us who are sinners in your eyes, but by God, you should look inside yourselves, for a lot of life’s misery is caused by the likes of your lot. I should know, being a product of one of your convents and dragged up by them like you.’
The nun put her head down and walked on. Hattie felt a moment of guilt as she remembered the love given to her and Megan by Sister Bernadette when they were young. Sister Bernadette had been different, hadn’t she? But no, in the end her lies and deceit had been the start of it all. Of Megan not being with her mother, Bridget, all those years; and how she herself had been sent to work in a place where it was known the master was partial to taking the virginity of young maids. Sister Bernadette hadn’t challenged the Reverend Mother’s decision to place her there. She probably thought that praying would be enough to keep her safe, but it hadn’t been. Memory shuddered through Hattie. No, she’d not think on Sister Bernadette as being any different from the rest of them, because in the end her true colours had come to light.
Arthur didn’t tell her off for her outburst, or try to calm her. He just asked gently, ‘Hattie, dear, has Harry gone?’
‘Aye, he’s gone. Your way’s clear.’
‘Hattie!’
‘Eeh, I’m sorry. Aye, me Harry has gone, and he gave his blessing to us. But if you hurt me again, Arthur, he’ll haunt you, and you’ll have no peace as long as you live.’
‘I won’t, Hattie. I told you. My pain at our parting equalled yours. I endured deep agony every day at not being with you and knowing you were with Harry. I would have been back sooner if it hadn’t meant hurting him. Please believe me, dear – there was nothing I could do.’
‘I will try, Arthur, but it didn’t seem to stop you when you were freed up. You came back into me life quick enough then.’
‘I only meant just to see you, and not for you to see me. I – I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Oh, well, no matter. Like I say, Harry went happy, knowing you would be back with me. But tell me: it is what you want, isn’t it? I am more than a mistress to you this time?’
‘You are much more. Much, much more, my darling. I have never stopped loving you. I admit I had a moment of joy when I met up with my wife again and she wanted me back and still loved me. It clouded my judgement. The thought of being accepted back into the only circles I had ever known, and of being myself again, all added to the illusion, which made me think it was what I wanted. Then one day, a few months after I had left you, I woke up in the night with a terrible sense of loss. My heart felt like it would break, but it was too late. You had Harry, and everything in your own and dear Megan’s life seemed so settled. You all looked so happy. Harry was ecstatically so.’
‘How did you know all that?’
‘I had people watching you all and reporting back to me. They were business advisors and friends.’
‘The business advisors! I wondered why they approached us. We were just four people setting up a small business – folk who wouldn’t normally attract the attention of advisors.’
‘I asked them to approach you, but of course Lord Crompton saw them off. I didn’t know at the time that you had such an influential banker behind you. I relaxed as regards your ventures, once I did know, and by then I had all the information I needed about you all and how well your lives were turning out.’
‘My God, Arthur, if only—’
‘No, don’t say it. I wouldn’t have wanted you to leave dear Harry. You were his world.’
‘Aye, and he were mine for a long time. Oh, right enough, you were never far from me mind, but he and I found happiness together, and I need to grieve his loss. I’m not ready, not altogether ready. Oh, Arthur, take me pain away.’
‘Hattie, my dear.’
The world turned into a shimmery haze as she looked through the tears that had filled her eyes. Her legs gave way. Arthur supported her weight.
‘Come on, my dear.’
How she got into the car she did not know, but once there she knew where she wanted to go.
As they turned into the churchyard, the sun dappled its way through the boughs of the tree laden with leaves, throwing a pattern onto Megan and Issy’s grave.
Hattie thought of what Megan had told her about the first time she’d lain with Jack. How the trees above them had thrown a shadow that looked like a lace canopy, as the sun had filtered down just as it was doing now. ‘So your lace canopy is still there for you, love. I’m glad. I hope it’s protecting you, like you said it always did. I – I’ve come to tell you . . .’ She could get no further. She sank down. The soft grass, cut and nurtured so lovingly by Jack, accepted her. Her fingers dug into it. ‘Oh, Megan, help me.’ With these words, the very heart of her – the place she’d kept so tightly bound, so that it couldn’t escape to destroy her – broke free.
Sarah’s voice came through her despair. ‘Aunt Hattie? Oh, Aunt Hattie.’ She felt Sarah’s body as she lowered herself to kneel beside her. ‘Don’t, Aunt Hattie, please don’t. If you break, what is there left?’
Sobs that weren’t her own – deep and wretched – penetrated Hattie’s misery. The sound gave her a small amount of strength. She took Sarah’s frail, thin body into her arms and they clung together. Sarah’s belly dug into her own soft middle and she felt the life within it move – a new life. Out with the old, and in with the new: that’s what people said, wasn’t it? Well, they were all being given a fresh start, with what Sarah carried, and the little mite wouldn’t have any of its grannies there for it. Well, she could do that for Megan and Cissy. She could help Sarah through this and be a granny to her child. The thought gave purpose to her life.
‘Eeh, Sarah, lass.’ Pulling herself up, Hattie helped Sarah to rise. Arthur stepped forward with a big white hanky, but didn’t speak. Wiping Sarah’s face first and then her own, Hattie said, ‘By, lass, I could do with a cuppa. I’ve sad news to tell, but I feel better for the comfort of you and Megan and Issy.’
‘Harry?’
‘Yes. Dear Harry. This two hours since.’
‘I’m sorry. Oh, Aunt Hattie, it feels as though everyone will be taken from us.’
‘I know, but it won’t happen. We have to be strong, lass. You have to find yourself again and live on for your child, and for Megan and Issy. We both do. How does Granny Hattie sound, eh? Cos that’s what I’d like to be. It would honour me if you’d let me stand in for Megan and Cissy.’
‘It sounds grand. Like I’ve been given something back. A granny for me babby! Come on, Granny Hattie, I’ll make a start by taking care of you when you most need it.’
They walked together towards the churchyard gates, arms linked, just as Hattie used to with Megan, and it felt good. ‘We can do this, lass, me and thee. We can get through, and by doing so we’ll help your dad, I know that. It won’t be easy, but if we pull together and don’t shut ourselves down, or shut each other out, it can happen.’
Holding her breath, Hattie waited for Sarah’s
reply. She prayed it would be a positive one, for she’d seen a difference in Sarah in these last few minutes. Like she had a purpose again. Please, God, let it be so.
‘You’re right, Aunt Hattie. I already feel like something has changed. As if something has opened up inside of me . . . Ouch!’
‘What?’
‘Babby kicked me! Eeh, it were a good ’un an’ all, like it were saying, “About bloody time.”’
‘Ha, Sarah Armitage, you swore! By, Issy’d have the soap out if she heard you!’
They giggled. It was a nervous sound at first, but then it became a deep belly laugh that doubled them over. Hattie thought, Harry, lad, your passing has brought about a miracle, cos I never thought to hear Sarah laugh again, but her having a purpose in looking after me has done the trick. We’re going to be all right, me and Sarah, and as such we can be a strength to Jack.
36
Richard & Mark
‘Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat’*
Richard sat back on his haunches, as did all the fellow pilots of his squadron as they waited for the signal to scramble.
Last night in the pub the talk had been of a big push by the Germans to knock out British defences in the air and at sea. Intelligence suggested it would begin any day now, and rumour had it that it would be worse than any of the missions they had flown so far, including the cover and back-up they’d given at Dunkirk.
Now and again he caught a glance thrown by one of the others, and each time he read fear – a fear that matched his own. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel such gut-wrenching terror; or at least he hadn’t at first, but each mission he flew, each time the count of those not returning went up, that terror increased. When would it be his turn? The next mission, or the one after that? What would it feel like: the flames licking at the cockpit, singeing his hair; the tumbling and somersaulting of his aeroplane; the ground, and certain death, coming ever closer? Or would he take a direct hit – a gunshot to his head or chest? What would that feel like? He imagined a burning explosion, and then nothing – a preferable way of dying, if he had to die at all.
A noise, urgent and piercing, had him on his feet, disintegrating the fragments of concern and sending adrenaline through him. He was ready – ready with a fearless urge not to let the side down, and to defend his country against the tyrant who would destroy it.
Already in his flying gear, he grabbed his helmet and goggles and pelted across the tarmac. This is it! God protect us.
Barnie and Archie sprinted past him. They were really good men: funny, loyal and dependable. Barnie had been a solicitor, in the other life they used to lead – the normal life – and Archie an accountant, with a wife and child. God, what happened to that ‘normal’ life? Where had it gone?
No time to think: chocks away, engine whirring, groundsman waving him forward; and now, like a flock of birds, they soared into the sky, eyes piercing the wisps of clouds for any sign of approaching Luftwaffe.
Christ! Coming towards him was a moving sea of planes. ‘Ready, gunner?’ he asked himself. Giving himself roles, naming those roles and talking to each person made him feel less alone. ‘Ready! One at three o’clock. Dive!’ His Spitfire responded immediately. He shoved the joystick forward, swooping down like an eagle going for its prey. The Messerschmitt appeared alongside him, the pilot’s face visible – young, stocky, with a determination woven into it as he disappeared. ‘Christ, if he gets behind me, I’ll cop it.’ Hearing his own voice urged Richard into action and, surging upwards, he avoided the barrage of gunfire. Now the plane was ahead of him. ‘God forgive me!’
The Messerschmitt couldn’t manoeuvre like his Spitfire had, and it took the burst of gunfire that he unloaded into it. The plane exploded into a ball of flames – whining to a screaming pitch as it plunged to the earth. Then it was gone. A job I had to do. Richard tried to convince himself of this. He had to, in order to carry on, but knew he would pray for the soul of the pilot and his family for the rest of his life.
Turning his plane back towards the others, he saw a Spitfire take a hit. ‘Oh God, Archie. Bail out, Archie! For Christ’s sake, bail out.’
It didn’t happen.
Tears blurred Richard’s vision, turning the blazing inferno of Archie’s falling plane into a kaleidoscope of colour. He blinked them away and refocused on the chaos around him. Planes dived and turned, spun and rolled. Others exploded, and some dropped from the sky – a dead pilot at the controls. It was a nightmare, a searing hell, and all to the sound of droning engines and the rat-a-tat of gunfire.
Doing all that was asked of him, Richard protected himself and his fellow pilots as they did him. Adrenaline carried him forward as he talked his way through. ‘One at nine o’clock! One tailing Barnie. One behind me . . . Dive!’
At last the Luftwaffe turned what few planes they had left and flew in a southerly direction, beating a retreat. Richard released his breath and, with it, the tension that had held him. ‘We made it, gunner,’ he told his imaginary other self.
Without warning, a rogue Messerschmitt came from nowhere, looming ahead, then dropping low. Richard put his Spitfire into a climb, arched over and tucked in behind the other plane. He muttered his sorrow to God, then opened fire. The tail of the Messerschmitt caught a direct hit and, like a huge firework, trailed flames as the plane dived once more. This was one pilot who was not giving up. Richard turned, rising higher as he went. ‘Where the hell is he? Christ, he’s behind me!’
Too late. A searing heat engulfed him.
In the mid-Atlantic fear beat in Mark’s heart as he scanned the horizon. Intelligence had informed them that there were U-boats in the area, but where were they? The palms of his hands sweated. His instincts told him danger was close. Yet all around him seemed as it should, as the gunboat that he served on escorted the fleet of ships carrying freight across the Atlantic.
Mark’s hand went to his breast pocket. Patting it gave him the comfort of the familiar sound of the crinkle of paper. Just knowing Sally’s letter was there calmed him. He knew its contents word-for-word:
Dearest Mark,
Ta ever so much for writing. And, aye, I feel the same as you do. It’s a feeling I never thought to experience.
I don’t know how much you know about me, and what happened to me when I was only a child, but I’m thinking you are the only person in the world I can open up to. Me saying that might not seem much to you, but when we talk, you will understand that it is.
Just knowing I can tell you of it makes me know how deep my love for you is.
Keep safe, my darling. Fight through it all, for me.
With all my love,
Sally xxx
Sally loved him!
Although the letter was months old now, that declaration never ceased to amaze him. What she spoke of, concerning her childhood, he had no idea, but it didn’t matter. He could deal with whatever it was. Nothing mattered any more, not like it used to. Not the so-called difference in their standing, or their age, for Sally was three or so years his senior. Nothing mattered. War was a great leveller.
For a brief moment his mind went to his brother, and Mark wondered how he was faring. It was rotten luck for Richard to have fallen for someone who already loved another, and having to endure her marrying someone else. Sarah would have been perfect for Richard – much better than Lucinda. Not that there was anything wrong with Lucinda, except that she could be overbearing, and he imagined marriage to her would be on her terms only. Thank God that Richard had dealt with the problem, though there was still a worry that the relationship between them was on hold, rather than over. As if they were both hedging their bets.
‘There, sir, at twelve o’clock!’ The panic-stricken voice cut into his thoughts and caused his heart to plunge. Following the direction given to him, Mark turned his eyeglass on the sea. Zooming towards them: a white torpedo.
37
Richard & Sarah
The Toll of War
‘You’re all right. A few b
ruises and some bad burns, but nothing that will take you to your maker. Must have been your lucky day, sir. Right, let’s get these dressings changed.’
‘H – how many did we lose?’
‘No official figure, sir, but we took a hammering.’
‘Archie Greaves?’
‘Don’t know any names, sir. Sorry, been too busy with the wounded.’
The medic worked with efficiency, bathing and re-dressing Richard’s wounds, chatting away in a light tone as if this was any other day. As he wiped away the tears trickling uncontrollably down Richard’s cheeks, the medic said, ‘Don’t take on, sir. They died heroes. The second wave hasn’t so many coming at them, as you lot crippled them.’
‘Is it still going on?’
‘Yes, sir. Your lot chased them back, but they returned. That Hitler seems determined to knock us hard so he can step onto our soil, but that’ll never happen. Never! Now get some rest. They’ll need you in some role or other before long.’
Need me? Oh God, when will it end?
As the medic walked away from his bed, whatever drug he’d given Richard began to take effect. His pain eased and the room spun around him, throwing images at him as it went: a ball of fire; smoke, choking smoke; the rushing of air; his cheeks billowing back towards his ears; finding the cord to his parachute; tugging it . . . then nothing. As these pictures faded, Sarah’s face came to him as clearly as if she stood in front of him. Big eyes, sad, empty – tugging at his heart. Would those eyes ever twinkle with laughter again?