Her Frozen Heart

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Really?’ Fred smiled at her. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  On the train to Oxford, Tommy and Fred were in a carriage with three old ladies and a vicar, who chatted together very amiably and without stopping all the way. Fred raised his eyebrows at Tommy and she got a terrible fit of the giggles, which she had to hide by taking a book out of her bag and pretending that she was laughing at that. Fred lit a cigarette and smoked serenely while he gazed out of the window, apparently oblivious to the chatter going on around him.

  The journey was a short one, and from the station they took a bus into the city centre. The weather was bitterly cold and Tommy shivered even inside her coat as they climbed out at the junction of George Street and the Broad, where the wind was whistling up Cornmarket.

  ‘I’m looking for Ship Street,’ Fred said. ‘That’s where my artist supplier is. I can buy what I need and ask him to hold it until we go.’

  ‘Good idea. Ship Street is just down there, second on the left past the church.’ Tommy looked over at the elaborate frontage of Elliston & Cavell with its huge plate-glass windows, scrolled ironwork and gold letters. ‘I need to buy wools and silks for mending. And I’d like to go into Woolworths too. And I promised to get some cakes for the children.’

  ‘Let’s do our errands first and then meet for lunch at Elliston’s at one. I’ll see my doctor at two and we’ll be all ready to catch the four thirty home.’

  ‘Will that give you enough time?’

  ‘Plenty.’ He touched the rim of his hat. ‘See you later.’

  Tommy found herself alone, standing at the top of Cornmarket among the bustling crowds, and wondered what had happened to her pleasant dreams of spending the day with Fred.

  Come on, Tommy. Shopping. Off we go. The sooner you’re in the warm, the better.

  The shops that once groaned with their supply of luxuries were barer now but it had been so long since the days of plenty that it was hard to recall them exactly, or to believe that they’d ever come again. Tommy even felt embarrassed to be in her best suit, despite its age, and her fur coat looked almost sinfully comfortable, when most of the people around her were distinctly shabby, their clothes worn and their faces tired. The euphoria of peace had been replaced by a weariness as the grind went on with no obvious end.

  This cold weather isn’t helping. She pulled her coat around her and tried not to meet too many eyes as she walked. Surely things will get better in the spring, but it’s only the end of January now. That seems an age away.

  Tommy found some good cheap cotton and soap in Woolworths, but decided to get her quality silks at Elliston’s. Then she went into Marks and Spencer to see if they had anything her ration book would be good for.

  She was browsing through the knitwear when she heard her name.

  ‘Tommy, Tommy Whitfield – it is you!’

  She turned and looked to where the noise was coming from, and saw two women nearby, one of them waving at her excitedly. She smiled and walked towards them, recognising the one in the headscarf and camel wool coat. ‘Goodness, Veronica, I can’t believe it. I talked about you only today.’

  ‘What a coincidence, we were just talking about you – well, you know Barbara, don’t you?’ Veronica indicated the woman next to her, a thin pale-faced blonde in a large-shouldered navy coat, a plain brown hat and fur muffler.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Tommy said smoothly. ‘But it’s been years. Hello, Barbara. How on earth are you?’

  ‘Just about bearing up,’ Barbara said, smiling a small, tight smile. Her voice was high and girlish and her eyes a striking pale blue. She was elfinly pretty, her clear complexion only marked by a pale pink mole on her chin. ‘I’m homeless but Veronica is kindly keeping me and my daughter while we get ourselves sorted out.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Tommy tried to look sympathetic but her mind was roaming back to the days at school when she, Veronica and Barbara had sat together in the same classroom. She remembered Barbara sitting behind her, and a small shower of ink-soaked paper pellets landing on her clean notebook, on her blouse and in her hair. But when she turned around, Barbara was innocently working away, engrossed in her lesson, holding her pen in such a way that her fingertips were hidden and any ink stains concealed.

  ‘Do you have time for a cup of tea?’ Veronica said eagerly. ‘We can’t let you go, just like that!’

  ‘I’m meeting someone for lunch at one,’ Tommy said, looking at her watch.

  ‘Well, we’ve just got time if we go to the cafe at Carfax. It’s only over the road. Come on.’

  The next moment she was being chivvied out of the shop and across the road to the cafe. It was warm and steamy, fragrant with the smell of tea and toasted muffins. The waitress took them to a table and Veronica asked her to bring tea quickly as they were in a hurry, then told Tommy how she was putting up Barbara and her daughter Molly in her house off the Banbury Road.

  ‘But I’m ever so guilty,’ she said, ‘because I can’t keep her for long. Can I, Barbara?’

  Barbara shook her head, gazing at Tommy. ‘She’s got her sister-in-law coming.’

  ‘I can’t manage too many people,’ Veronica said plaintively. ‘It’s just too much. But Barbara has no family to go to.’ She made a face of sudden inspiration and Tommy felt sure that it was something that had been on Veronica’s mind since the first moment she had spotted her in Marks. ‘But Tommy, you have an enormous house, don’t you? You must have room for two little strays! Why don’t Barbara and Molly come to you?’ Veronica clapped her hands with excitement at the wonderful idea that so obviously let her off the hook. ‘This is a stroke of luck, it’s meant to be.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Tommy felt ambushed, caught suddenly in the invisible but deadly strong cage of manners. ‘Of course we’d love to have you. But I shall have to ask my mother. My brother already has a friend living with us, recuperating from his war wounds. It might not be possible—’

  ‘Oh surely,’ cried Veronica, ‘they’re no trouble at all. Molly is like a little mouse and Barbara is such a help—’

  Barbara put out a pale hand and rested it on Veronica’s arm as if to restrain her, but her light blue eyes stayed fixed on Tommy. ‘Please, Veronica, it’s too much to ask Tommy to take us in. It’s an imposition.’

  ‘I . . . well . . .’ Tommy stumbled, feeling even more constrained by the chains of her manners.

  ‘Please,’ Barbara said firmly. ‘I won’t hear of it. It’s far too much to ask. Let’s talk about something else.’

  Tommy closed her mouth and blinked hard at the table, then she murmured, ‘Well, I shall ask my mother what she thinks.’

  But Barbara wasn’t listening. ‘So who remembers that awful mam’selle and her terrible smell? I can’t speak a word of French without thinking about it, even now!’

  Tommy arrived a little late and saw Fred waiting for her in front of Elliston’s, gazing anxiously up the street and smoking as he stood by the door. As soon as he glimpsed her, he threw down the cigarette and ground it out.

  ‘Ahoy,’ he cried, waving. ‘I was afraid I had the wrong place.’

  ‘No, no, I’m late, I’m so sorry. Let’s go in.’

  She was hot as soon as they were in the restaurant. I went too fast from cold to warm to cold and now into the warm again. Beads of sweat broke out across her nose. The anxiety at being late and at meeting Barbara had not helped. So much for my powder. I suppose I look a fright now.

  ‘I say, are you all right?’ Fred said, regarding her keenly after the waitress had taken their order.

  Tommy picked up the menu card and waved it in front of her face, an improvised fan. ‘I’m so terribly warm all of a sudden.’

  ‘Days of freezing ourselves silly and now we’re sweltering.’ Fred smiled. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get accustomed to being indoors in a moment.’

  ‘I suppose I’m in a slight state. I just met my old friend Veronica, the one I told you about, and she had this girl Barbara with her, and Veronic
a as good as told me to have Barbara live with us.’

  ‘Rather a cheek,’ Fred remarked. ‘On what grounds could she ask this?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. Mostly because we have room, I suppose, which strictly speaking we do. But the house isn’t exactly comfortable and I barely know Barbara.’

  ‘You were at school together?’

  ‘Yes. But Barbara . . .’ Tommy felt helpless and she looked away, anguished. ‘I never liked her. I just couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say I didn’t like her! You see, I remember what she was like at school. Sly. She told lies. She sneaked on others when most of us would have taken the rack rather than do that. She wasn’t exactly wicked . . .’

  ‘Just a bad egg.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tommy took off her gloves. ‘I saw her in London once or twice, and I liked her even less then. I don’t know how to describe it – it was nothing I could put my finger on. She would greet me as though we were the best of friends, and seemed to want to worm her way into my life. She was blatant about asking to be invited to things. She did things like . . . help herself to bottles of wine on someone else’s table. Oh dear, it sounds so lame when spoken out loud like this.’

  ‘No. I know what you mean. She was on the make.’

  ‘Yes. Then she got married and went to live in India. But really, she never did anything to hurt me.’

  ‘Will you turn her down then?’

  ‘I don’t know. It seems rather harsh, and she has a little girl. She said her husband was killed in Burma, so she is widowed. She’s homeless, apparently.’ Tommy felt a little ashamed. ‘I shouldn’t judge her on the past. I’m sure she’s changed.’

  ‘Perhaps. I suppose people deserve another chance. It is possible to change, especially when life provides challenges like those. Ah, here are our luncheons. Excellent. I’m ravenous.’

  After lunch, while Fred was at his doctor’s appointment behind a blue and brass door on St Giles, Tommy wandered up and down; she looked in a bookshop window and peeped down Little Clarendon Street.

  ‘How was it?’ she asked when he came out, walking a little gingerly down the front steps to where she waited on the pavement.

  Fred lit up a cigarette and offered her one, which she took. They smoked together as they walked back in the direction of the art shop where Fred could collect his purchases. ‘I’m healing all right. He took off my dressing and had a prod about. Rather painful but he said it looked fine.’

  ‘What was your wound? I know it was a burn, but Roger never said exactly what happened.’

  ‘A large and awful burn on my side. I got soaked in spilled petrol that ignited. It was a bad accident that could have been a lot worse. They did a big skin graft all around here.’ He gestured vaguely at his side. ‘It’s not pretty. I had no idea how long burns could take to heal or what ghastly pain they could inflict.’

  They were passing the Martyrs’ Memorial and Fred pointed at it. ‘It makes you think hard about what those poor blighters suffered, burned alive like that. They say that Ridley had the worst of it. Some relative tried to help by throwing on wood to make the flames burn brighter and only succeeded in making it more excruciating. They’d tucked gunpowder under his arms to take him off, but it didn’t work.’

  ‘How barbaric!’ exclaimed Tommy. ‘I don’t know how they could stand to watch it.’

  Fred shrugged. ‘I would have thought so too once. Now I’ve seen worse. It only astounds me that we manage to live in peace at all.’ He smiled at her. ‘I count every day I don’t see death as a good one.’

  They walked on in silence towards Ship Street.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Caitlyn was awakened from a heavy doze by knocking on her front door. Crawling out from under the duvet, she saw her bleary reflection in the dressing table mirror and groaned. She was tempted to ignore it but the knocking went on, so she stumbled out of bed and downstairs to answer it. Her neighbour Jen was standing there, smiling brightly, dressed this time in jeans, trainers and a long, sky-blue polo-necked jumper.

  ‘Hi! Ouch, you look rough. Heavy night, was it? I had a feeling you must have forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten what?’ Caitlyn said, blinking in the morning sunshine that raked the street outside. She had been up late, looking through the boxes in the spare room, and after taking Max to school, she’d gone back to lie on her bed and had fallen asleep. She was still groggy and couldn’t work out what Jen was on about.

  ‘That you’re coming to my place for coffee of course. Come on, it’s ready. Follow me!’ Without waiting for a reply, Jen turned and strode off.

  Blast, she’s right, I’d forgotten. There didn’t seem much choice about it now, though. She checked she had her keys and then went after Jen, pulling the door to behind her.

  Jen waited for her just inside the bright red front door of the peppermint-green house next door. It was a bit shabby on the outside, and even shabbier inside, but bursting with colour and innumerable objects.

  ‘I’m a magpie,’ Jen said cheerfully as Caitlyn came in, looking around her. ‘I just love collecting things. I’m a vintage nut – anything Edwardian, Victorian or art deco . . . that’s my bag. We’ll have coffee in the kitchen, it’s lighter there.’

  Passing an open door, Caitlyn caught a glimpse of a small dark sitting room, packed with antique brown furniture and glinting with the jewel colours of Tiffany lampshades. The kitchen was brightly painted in egg-yolk yellow and adorned with handmade mosaics instead of tiles. On the scrubbed pine kitchen table were two roughly made mugs next to a cafetière. Jen ushered her to a chair and sat down opposite to pour out the steaming coffee.

  ‘Milk? I like loads. Here, it’s very good. Not pasteurised. Just as nature intended.’ She sloshed milk into both their cups. ‘So. Are you all right? You really do look a bit tired.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Sorry I forgot about our date.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Lots of people would have sat here, maybe getting angry, maybe worrying about how to handle it. But I’m not like that – never let anything stew, that’s my motto. Just get it out there. If you’d said get lost Jen, I’m not interested in having coffee with you, leave me alone – well, that would have been fine. I’d have released you back into the universe and gone on my own path.’

  ‘Okay,’ Caitlyn said cautiously, half wishing she’d known that before now.

  Jen leaned in towards her, looming through the steam rising from her cup. ‘But I knew that wouldn’t happen. I don’t think that’s your way, Caitlyn. And I can tell you’re in a bad way. I think that’s why you’ve ended up here.’

  ‘Really? Why?’ Caitlyn couldn’t help smiling at Jen. Her face was childlike in the way expression flooded over it, swift and changeable. Her round button eyes and small rosebud mouth were earnest one moment and merry the next. Hers was the kind of face that could be any age between sixteen and forty, and would probably look no different at sixty: plump, heart-shaped with a soft, clear complexion.

  ‘Because,’ Jen said in a solemn voice, ‘I can teach you, if you like.’

  ‘Teach me . . . pottery?’ Caitlyn said, half teasing and glancing down at her mug, with its slightly wonky handle and uneven lip.

  ‘Well, I could if you wanted – that’s my studio in the garden. You can probably see it from your kitchen window. But I didn’t mean that. I am a bird of many feathers, if that’s the right expression. I’m a potter in my spare time, but I’m also a counsellor, hypnotherapist and yoga practitioner.’

  Oh God. Caitlyn felt her smile freeze.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not a weirdo! I’m not going to start oming or going into trances. The truth is, I can sense that you’re in a bad place. Honestly, I can help if you want me to. Or not if you’d rather I didn’t.’ Jen sat back and regarded her, beaming from her round face.

  Caitlyn was touched. It was a while since she’d felt such pure kindness and it was like a soft blanket falling lightly around her and comforting her. Everyone else’s kindness – Ma
ura’s, Sara’s, the rest of the family’s, her friends’ – seemed to be mixed with something that she’d identified as discomfort or fear, though she didn’t know what they could be afraid of. Maybe that she’d start losing it, or go utterly deranged, begin screaming and tearing her hair out, and then she’d become their problem.

  That’s probably really unfair. Maura is always desperate to help me.

  But she also knew it was true. And here was Jen, a stranger, able to offer her something sweeter and purer. She felt suddenly drawn to her, wanting to open out to her and win more of this comforting kindness.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not in a great place. My husband was killed in a traffic accident several months ago. I’ve moved here to start a new life with my son.’

  Jen’s eyes went round again and her mouth made a small ‘o’ as she reached out a hand and put it over Caitlyn’s. ‘Sweetheart, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thank you. It was – it is – terrible. It was so random. A driver texting at the wheel of his lorry so he didn’t see the traffic in front was stationary until it was too late, and . . . pow. Patrick was snuffed out, just like that. All his energy and power and life force and determination – it was all nothing in the face of that bit of random bad luck. If his flight had been delayed by ten minutes, or he’d been in a different place in the taxi queue, he’d be alive. But everything that happened took him inexorably to that moment, that point, where he was the one in front of that lorry driver. And he was killed.’

  Jen rubbed her hand over Caitlyn’s. ‘What an awful story. You’re right. It seems meaningless and unfair.’

  ‘So pointless. Such a waste.’ Caitlyn shook her head sadly. ‘Patrick was robbed of so much. I hate that.’

  ‘Yes. And you and your son lost him. That must be very painful.’

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  Jen said gently, ‘A lot of people believe there is a purpose, though. They think that maybe Patrick’s journey was supposed to end that way. Maybe he’d done what he was supposed to do.’