Friends and Lovers

by June Francis

  Inside Viv began to quiver. She straightened and stared unseeingly at the television screen. Highway Patrol was just finishing.

  ‘What is it? You’ve gone all pale,’ said Dot.

  ‘George,’ said Viv, her voice trembling. ‘Last time he wrote he was staying in that area.’

  Dot blinked at her and said quickly, ‘He’s probably moved on.’

  ‘I’ll have to find out.’

  ‘How will you do that? Have you got an address?’

  ‘He never gave one or I would have written back,’ said Viv, moistening her mouth. ‘I’ll go and see Stephen. He was in France during the war and has a mate who married a girl from Caen.’ She hurried into the hall and took a coat from one of the hooks.

  Dot said in a startled voice, ‘You don’t mean to go and see him now? It’s gone nine o’clock and it’s raining.’

  I’ll take an umbrella.’ Viv flashed a brief smile and without further ado left the house.

  Stephen stared at Viv and said impatiently, ‘George mightn’t be anywhere near there now.’

  ‘And he might!’ Viv ran her fingers through her hair. This was more difficult than she had thought it would be. It was only on the way here that she’d remembered Stephen had had no time for George. ‘I know it sounds daft,’ she said quietly, ‘but I couldn’t stop thinking of him last night. I kept picturing him up to his neck in water after Dot and I messed around trying to get in touch with my father. Nothing happened but …’

  ‘You daft pair!’ exclaimed Stephen in an exasperated voice. ‘What the hell were you playing at, frightening yourself to death? I suppose you’re worried now in case George is dead?’

  Viv gave a barely perceptible nod.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ he rasped, going over to the cocktail cabinet and pouring himself a whisky. He also poured a sherry for Viv.

  She accepted it gratefully. ‘Phone your mate in Caen. I know it’s miles away from Frejus but it’s closer than here. It could be that George is just injured.’

  He took a deep draught of the whisky before saying, ‘I suppose I could do that. His wife has family in the South and they could put a call through and see what they can find out.’

  ‘Yes please!’ She seized his hand. ‘Say at the least he’s lost everything. He could have no passport, no money to get home …’

  ‘All right, Viv, calm down,’ said Stephen. ‘I get the message. I was there myself once in hospital, lost, alone, with no family.’

  Her body sagged and she leant against him. ‘Thank you, thank you, Uncle Steve. You’re so kind.’

  He hugged her and sighed. ‘I’ll take you back to Dot’s because it could take some time to get through.’

  ‘Thanks. But I’ll walk back. I don’t want to waste the time you could be phoning.’

  ‘All right. But don’t expect to hear from me until the morning.’

  The next day Viv was waiting outside the works, impatiently pacing up and down, when Stephen’s car drew up.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded, as soon as he had the door open.

  ‘Be patient, Viv.’ He slammed the car door shut. ‘Do you expect me to perform miracles? The lines have been down in the South of France and it’s been raining there for five days apparently. There’s flooding in several districts. Hopefully I’ll get a return phone call by lunchtime. I gave the firm’s number. Now get inside and make us some tea. It’s cold out here.’

  ‘But it’s sunny,’ she said, attempting to smile. ‘Everywhere else in Britain there’s terrible gales raging still but we only had a few hours’ rain last night. Now we’ve blue skies.’

  ‘I still need that cup of tea,’ he said firmly, ushering her inside.

  The call came at two o’clock. Viv had started to her feet every time the telephone rang and this time was no exception. Stephen waved her back to her chair as he responded to the voice on the other end of the telephone but she stood listening as he spoke in French, recognising the words for ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ before he put down the receiver and gazed at her.

  ‘They’ve found him, haven’t they?’ Her mouth was dry.

  ‘He was wedged in the fork of a tree, half unconscious, with blood from a head wound smeared all over his face. They don’t know how he got there because he seems unable to speak.’

  Viv sat down abruptly, feeling faint, and put her head between her knees.

  Stephen came over and patted her shoulder. ‘It’s like history repeating itself, the way that lad gets into trouble. But he’s like a cat, Viv. He’s got nine lives.’

  She lifted her head. ‘How did they know it was him?’

  ‘They were able to identify him from the passport in the back pocket of his trousers. It was damp but recognisable. Which probably means he wasn’t in the water long.’

  ‘I’ll have to go and fetch him home,’ she said.

  Stephen nodded. ‘I thought you’d say that. Family ties are strong with you, aren’t they, Viv?’

  ‘I’d do the same for you,’ she murmured.

  ‘I believe you would,’ he said quietly, going back to his desk. ‘Sam suggests that you fly out to Paris and he’ll meet you at the airport. The pair of you can motor down. I said I’d ring him back with the time of the flight.’

  Relief and gratitude flooded Viv and she got up and went over to him. ‘You can’t know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me.’ She pressed her cheek against his. ‘I wish you were my father, Uncle Steve.’

  ‘You can’t wish that more than I do,’ he said. They smiled at each other, then he slapped her bottom. ‘Enough of this, young lady! It’s a good job it’s nearly the weekend. Go and pack while I do some ringing about times and a ticket. I presume you have a passport?’

  ‘Trip to Calais when I was at school.’ And pausing only to pick up her handbag, she left the office.

  The journey to Frejus had gone almost like clockwork. The only change of plan was in their having to take a boat to finish their journey. They discovered that a large part of the town was covered in a sea of brown mud and there was a faint smell of chlorine in the air. A gendarme told Sam Arkwright, Stephen’s old comrade in arms, that soldiers had sprayed low-lying areas of the town to prevent an epidemic and that people were being injected against water-carried diseases and were having to queue for their drinking water from tankers. The French Navy from Toulon had moved an aircraft carrier to an anchorage off the resort and their helicopters were still active over the area affected by the flood waters. The Netherlands Red Cross had sent blankets and Pope John had sent a message of condolence to the town’s bishop. The same gendarme pointed out to them the hospital, the school and the chapel, where some of the bodies of the dead still lay under the same roof as the homeless and injured.

  It was a relief to Viv that Sam’s French was so good because hers was only of the schoolgirl variety. He was a Lancashire man and very down to earth. He had a thatch of greying brown hair and leathery skin which creased into a host of wrinkles when he smiled. Pale-faced but composed, Viv followed him into the school where he had been informed her cousin had been placed.

  They found George in a classroom, wearing a pair of pyjamas too small for him and with a blanket about his shoulders. He looked battered and bruised, and showed no emotion when Viv knelt beside him.

  ‘It’s shock,’ said Sam in a low voice. ‘I saw Steve like this. He said he’s Tom Cooke’s son.’

  ‘That’s right,’ murmured Viv, stiffening slightly. She shot him a glance. ‘Did you know him?’

  Sam nodded. ‘The three of us ended up in the same unit after the D-Day landings. He has a look of his father.’

  ‘So my aunt always said. What did you make of Tom Cooke? I don’t remember him, you see.’

  ‘He was an okay bloke except that he liked himself too much. Same as this lad, Steve reckons.’

  Viv touched her cousin’s arm. ‘George, how are you?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Do you know who I am, Geo
rge?’ Her voice was quiet and gentle. ‘I’m your cousin Viv. We’ve known each other all our lives. We were brought up together.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘He’ll be hearing you,’ said Sam. ‘But it might take days or weeks or even months before he makes any sign of it or speaks.’

  ‘I wonder what happened?’ she whispered and addressed her cousin again. ‘George, can you remember how you got caught up in the tree?’ Silence. It was slightly unnerving. She looked at Sam. ‘He will be better at home, won’t he? I mean … familiar surroundings should trigger some memory that will make him want to talk?’

  ‘I reckon so,’ said Sam comfortingly. ‘What he needs is to feel safe, and everybody feels better when they’re with their family.’

  Most of George’s family is in America, thought Viv. But she was not going to worry about that now. Taking him back to Liverpool was the first hurdle to get over. ‘Can you ask the nurse if we can take him with us?’ she asked Sam.

  ‘Sure, lass.’ He straightened and went striding across the room among the makeshift beds. She felt confident that he would achieve what she had asked.

  She took George’s hand which felt boneless. She laced her fingers through his and held them firmly. ‘You’re not frightened, are you?’ she asked. Then thought, that’s a daft question to ask. Of course he’s frightened, that’s why he’s like this. But at least he had not pulled away which meant that he might know her. She was unsure what to do. Should she keep on talking or sit quietly? It seemed unreal having George so quiet and unresponsive.

  She decided to continue talking. ‘Do you remember where you’re from, George?’ No answer. She answered for him.

  ‘Liverpool. Remember Liverpool Football Club? You’re a supporter. They’ve just got a new manager. His name’s Bill Shankly. He wants to try and get the team out of the second division into the first. Everton are in the first division. They’re Liverpool’s rivals.’ She paused and waited, gazing into his face.

  His eyelids flickered slightly but that could just have been a reaction to the close proximity of their faces.

  ‘There’s ships in Liverpool,’ she said. ‘Big ships. Some go to America. That’s where your mother lives. In California.’ She cleared her throat. ‘They have a vinery where they grow grapes. Did you ever get to pick grapes over here, George?’

  No response. ‘What about your paintings?’ Still no response. ‘What about Kathleen Murphy?’ No response. Viv fell silent, a huge lump in her throat.

  Sam returned with some clothes over his arm. ‘We can take him,’ he said, smiling. ‘They’ve got so many injured they’re glad to be rid of him. They said to give him plenty of rest and quiet.’

  Viv got to her feet and George rose with her, still holding her hand, which pleased her. Surely it must mean he trusted her? ‘Is that it in the way of advice?’ she asked Sam.

  ‘’Fraid so. They’ve got enough problems. He’s alive and hardly injured compared to many. He’ll start talking when he’s ready.’

  She said as cheerfully as she could, ‘We might as well go then. Thanks, Mr Arkwright.’

  ‘I’d better dress him first,’ said Sam, grinning. ‘He’ll catch his death out there in just them jammies. If there’s anything you want to do, lass …’

  Viv took the hint and went to find a lavatory. When she returned George allowed her to take his hand and they left the school.

  The journey was difficult. George became agitated several times, and they worked out it was when Viv was out of his sight. Yet he seemed to accept that Sam was friendly and only wanted to help him. The mind was a strange thing, thought Viv. How was it that George knew how to eat and drink and go to the toilet but was unable to speak and showed little emotion? What else could she do that would bring back his speech? Or was it just a matter of time, as Sam believed, and his voice would come back eventually?

  She said goodbye to Sam in Paris. ‘Steve’ll meet you at the other end,’ he told her, shaking hands. ‘It was nice meeting you, lass. I hope all goes well with the lad.’

  ‘Thanks for all your help. It would have been so much more difficult without it.’

  ‘Glad to help. Give Steve my best wishes.’

  She said she would and with a last goodbye left him.

  Stephen was there waiting at the airport as Sam had said. It was raining and George held on to Viv’s arm in a grim kind of silence as they hurried to the car. Almost as if they had previously arranged it, Stephen asked no questions until they arrived home. Then, as he helped Viv off with her coat, he said, ‘I take it you’ve given some thought to what you’re going to do with him?’

  ‘I thought I’d take him to America.’ Before Stephen could come back with an answer she steered George into the sitting room and sat beside him on the studio couch.

  Stephen followed them in, a frown on his face. ‘You consider that a good idea, I take it? It’ll be strange to him. He needs the familiar.’

  ‘His family will be familiar,’ murmured Viv, smiling at her cousin. ‘You remember your mother, don’t you, George?’

  His gaze shifted from her for a moment to Stephen, then back again, but he said nothing.

  ‘What about your mother?’ said Stephen, still frowning.

  ‘My mother?’ Viv stared at him. ‘You must be joking!’

  ‘That house was his home. It would be familiar.’

  ‘Not now it wouldn’t,’ said Viv positively. ‘We’ve had it done up since George lived there. Besides, it would mean my going back to live there too and I’ve no intention of doing that.’

  ‘She could look after him. They’d be company for each other,’ insisted Stephen. ‘He is her nephew. His mother took you in. Why shouldn’t Hilda take George in?’

  ‘Can you see Mam in a nurse’s role?’ she said with a sharp laugh. ‘It takes her all her time to look after herself.’

  ‘She can adopt a very sympathetic manner,’ said Stephen. ‘I’ve been on the receiving end, so I know.’ He took a bottle of whisky out of the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a drink. ‘She might show it towards George,’ he added, after taking a sip. Then as an afterthought, ‘I wasn’t thinking. Would you like a sherry?’

  ‘Yes please to the sherry but no thanks to Mam. I think it’ll have to be America. I’ll write to Aunt Flora and ask can she pay his fare. I’ve enough for my ticket.’ Suddenly she thought of Nick and said unsteadily, ‘I always intended going to visit her one day.’

  Stephen shrugged and drained his glass. ‘If that’s your decision then I’ll have to go along with it. And in the meantime, what?’

  ‘And in the meantime, can he stay here?’ she said, unsure how he would take the suggestion.

  ‘I wonder how I guessed that was coming?’ said Stephen dispassionately, glancing at George. ‘But I don’t think he’ll care for the idea unless you stay as well.’

  Viv wrapped one leg round the other. ‘I’ll stay as well then,’ she said, adopting a cheerful attitude. ‘Although why you think he won’t care for the idea, I don’t know. He’s made no sign of knowing who you are.’

  Stephen handed her a sherry and took a mouthful of whisky, staring at the silent figure besides Viv. ‘I think he knows me all right,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be deceived by outward appearances. Something’s going on in that brain of his.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so,’ he said positively. ‘I told you, the same sort of thing happened to me during the war – but I wasn’t as lucky as him, having you. For months I stared at a wall.’

  ‘Poor Uncle Steve.’ Viv was extremely grateful for all he had done. She went over to him and slipped an arm around his waist. ‘I really do appreciate all this.’

  ‘I know.’ He smiled down at her then glanced at George. ‘There!’ he exclaimed. Viv jumped.

  ‘What is it?’

  Stephen’s smile widened. ‘He doesn’t like you making a fuss of me. I saw it in his eyes.’

  ‘Really?’ Viv gazed at her cousin who gazed
back with an unfathomable expression. ‘I think you’re imagining it,’ she said.

  Stephen laughed. ‘He’s just like his father! There’s life there. I wonder what he’s making of all this? He doesn’t know anything at all about the wheres and whyfors of how we know each other so well?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ she said slowly. ‘Unless Aunt Flo had his address and wrote to him.’

  ‘Possible, I suppose,’ murmured Stephen. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now how about some supper, then bed?’

  She agreed and went to put the kettle on.

  After the best night’s sleep Viv had had for what seemed a long time she looked in upon George and found him lying on the camp bed that Stephen had put up in the box room, staring at the ceiling. As soon as he saw her he sat up. The scratches on his face were now healing and the bruises had turned yellow. He badly needed a shave.

  ‘I’ll ask Uncle Steve for a razor for you,’ she said, sitting on the bed. Suddenly both his arms went round her. She was so surprised that she stayed motionless for several seconds before managing to release herself, which was not easy though he was still weak.

  She stood looking down at him, not sure how she felt about that demonstration of affection. ‘Stay in bed,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll bring breakfast to you.’