Time Passes Time
Page 38
Theresa had watched the group get out of the car from her window. She’d gone to wave, but had stopped herself when she’d seen her mother take hold of the young girl’s hand. I should be the one doing that. She is my Olivia!
Her eyes fixed on the girl’s red hair. My God! No. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live with that reminder every day. Oh, but look at my Jacques. My Pierre. Jacques is Pierre reborn. Oh God, Pierre, where are you?
Her hand groped for her pocket. Her fingers gathered the pills together that she had been saving. Reaching for her glass of water, she swallowed them down. Mother would look after her children. She herself couldn’t. They would know from the note that she loved them. Now she had seen them she would go to Pierre.
Picking up the note she sat down in a chair facing the door and reread it:
My darlings,
I am your mother and I am found wanting. I have not led all of my life in the way I should have and for that there is bound to be recriminations or answers sought by you.
I am frail; my mind goes to other places without me wanting it to and without me having control of it doing so. I know that you know my story, telling it was my need. In reading it, I hope you understand; I am a different person now.
My story isn’t always good, but I tried to make amends for all the bad I had done. And I did that because of, and for, you, Olivia – that is the name I have always called you and it is fitting that I use it here.
Because of a sin I committed, I was given you, my beautiful baby girl, only to have my soul ripped from me by having to give you up.
And for you, Jacques. Jacques, you sealed a love that was my whole reason for being. That love was my prop. My barrier to my past – your father – my Pierre. When I couldn’t find you after the war ended, Jacques, it broke my heart and my spirit.
You are both the future, but that future cannot have me in it. Tour constant need to ask questions will destroy us all. Go forward together knowing my last act was an act of pure and unselfish love, the greatest legacy I can give to you – to leave you in peace.
Be happy, love one another and let the deep love I have for you be your bond. Make a life that is good. Let go of the past and go forward.
I love you with a love that is so intense it gives you your freedom from me, to soar high without the bondage of my past. What I will have done by the time you read this will also free my troubled spirit and let me go to my beloved Pierre. He will be waiting for me. His love will manifest once more.
Know that all that is me is nothing without him, and be happy for me. Look after your Grandmama, the three of you are very precious to me. I love you, Mama. xxx
When the door opened and they stood there smiling through their tears, Theresa knew a moment of regret. But she knew too that she had done the right thing, taken the right action for them. They would not think it for a long time, but she hoped they would come to know it.
‘Mam!’
Mustn’t give in to the tears. Go away! Tears weaken resolve. They went, and in their place a huge smile came from deep within her. It reached out to these children of hers.
‘Mom. Oh, Mom, it is sure good to find you.’
Their different worlds showed in their voices. Patsy, she knew, had grown up in the East End of London and Jacques in America – so far apart, but now they had found each other. They came towards her, they had no reason to halt their tears – theirs wet their cheeks, but she was rewarded to see their smiles and the love they had for her glistened through them.
‘Oh, Mam, everything’ll be alright now. We have plans. We’ll look after you.’
‘It will, Mom. We are a family once more, Mom. We have so much to tell you.’
The love that shone from them both was a love she had yearned for – the love of her children. They were close now. She could smell the delicate perfume Patsy – her Olivia – wore, and feel the rough feel of Jacques’s jacket. As their arms enclosed her, her world completed a circle and smoothed the jagged edges that had marred it.
The sleeping pills she had swallowed chose that moment to haze her brain; her head slumped onto her children. The note fluttered to the floor.
‘Mom, are you alright, did we hurt you . . . Mom?’
‘Mam . . . Mam, what is it? Are you not well?’
‘Theresa? Theresa, my darling daughter, what is wrong?’
The concerned faces of her mother and her children, the only loves she had in this world swam around her. She wanted to hold on to the image of them, but couldn’t. A creeping, swirling darkness cloyed at her.
Where is the light? So many have spoken of the light? Pierre, where are you? No answer. No let up to the blackness. Oh, but what is that in the distance? Yes, it is there. I can feel its warmth. A voice echoed from the light, ‘Theresa, Tu es le souffle de mon corps. Le sang qui coule dans mes veines et la vie dans mon coeur.’
‘I hear you, Pierre.’ As her spirit left her body in the arms of her children and floated towards the voice, she said his words over and over: ‘You are the breath in my body. The blood that courses through my veins and the life inside my heart.’ To this she added, ‘We will be together for eternity . . .’
As his mother’s body slumped back into the chair, shock held Jacques and Patsy silent, only Grandmama could be heard, gently sobbing, ‘Theresa, my baby, no . . . no . . .’
Bending, Jacques picked up the note. Taking a deep breath he read it out loud. When he’d finished he looked at Patsy. Tears matching his own ran down her cheeks. Her distress creased her face, but she nodded and a little quivering smile played around her lips. He nodded back, and he knew, the understanding he had in him was in Patsy and they would do as their mother had asked. They would leave her to eternal peace with her Pierre and they would go forward in life, united as brother and sister.
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks to my children, Christine, Julie, Rachel and James, for their unstinting love and support. They are always there for me, as are my wonderful grandchildren and great-grandchildren and ‘Olley’ and ‘Wood’ family. I could not have completed this journey without you all.
To those who have helped me along the way, editing, proofreading and book-cover designing during my self-publishing days, thank you, especially Rebecca Keys, Julie Hitchin, Patrick Fox, Stan Livingstone and Zoe Rigley, besides many more too numerous to mention. I hope you know how grateful I am to you all.
Thanks, too, to all at Pan Macmillan, especially my lovely editor, Louise Buckley, to whom I owe so much. Her faith in me and her guidance has made all of this possible.
Grateful thanks, also, to my agent Judith Murdoch. To have you by my side has helped me tremendously. As I stepped into an unknown world, you eased the way for me – thank you.
Finally, no author can be successful without the most special people of all – readers. I am blessed to have a community of wonderful followers on my Facebook page, ‘Books by Mary Wood’, who support and encourage me every step of the way – they have been on my journey with me and I thank them from the bottom of my heart.
Time Passes Time
Born the thirteenth child of fifteen to a middle-class mother and an East End barrow boy, Mary Wood’s childhood was a mixture of love and poverty. This encouraged her to develop a natural empathy with the less fortunate and a fascination with social history. Throughout her life Mary has held various posts in catering and office roles, and in the Probation service, while bringing up her four children. Mary now has numerous grandchildren, step-grandchildren and great-grandchildren. An avid reader, she first put pen to paper in 1989 whilst nursing her mother through her last months, but didn’t become successful until she began self-publishing her novels in the late 2000s.
BY MARY WOOD
The Breckton trilogy
An Unbreakable Bond
To Catch a Dream
Tomorrow Brings Sorrow
Time Passes Time
The Cotton Mill saga
Judge Me Not
&nbs
p; Author’s Note
The characters in Time Passes Time are fictitious. Their involvement in events that took place during the Second World War is a product of the author’s imagination. No likeness to any person is intended. At all times the author had respect and admiration, and many times cried over her research, for those who served as Special Operations Executives (SOEs), especially those who were executed, and for all who fought so valiantly to bring peace to the world.
‘Lest we forget’
First published 2013 by Books By Mary Wood
This electronic edition published 2014 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-6750-8
Copyright © Mary Wood 2013
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