Romy read her face, and announced cheerily, ‘You won’t even need a passport soon, Grandad – think how great that’ll be, we can go anywhere we like!’
‘Aye, that works both ways! You won’t think it’s so great when we’re overrun – as if we’re not crowded enough already!’
But Romy only chuckled at him, and nudged her mother as he continued with his grievances. ‘Six bloody years of my life I gave to defending this island – not that it’s an island any more with that damn tunnel – and it wasn’t so very long ago we were inundated with that Buy British campaign –’
‘A lot’s changed in fifteen years.’ Nell’s sighs grew heavier.
‘– and now we’re not even allowed to have it at the top of our passports!’
‘Yes, well, I share your disillusion!’ declared his wife. ‘But as long as they take us where we want to go, I’ll be satisfied – now, if you don’t mind, we’d like a cup of tea.’
‘Oh, sorry, love, here’s me going on in me usual pisspotical fashion … didn’t you have any luck?’ At his daughter’s shake of head, he too showed disappointment. ‘Ah dear, sit down, all of you, I’ll make your tea.’
In serving them with this, Joe was to learn of Nina’s idea about the advertisement, and, like his daughter, he projected faith that a reward would do the trick.
Leaving its execution to Nina, Nell was to watch out every night for the advert to appear in print. And, finally, there it was, giving her phone number as the one to contact, for either she or Joe were always there to answer it.
Optimistic though Joe might be, not even he had expected it to reap such quick harvest. Within a few hours of the press coming through his door, he was pouncing on the phone that was next to his chair, saying – ‘Hang on, it’s my wife you want!’ – then handing it to Nell with a look of anticipation. And within another few moments, she had learned to which part of Australia her son had gone.
‘Well?’ demanded Joe, when she had put the receiver down and was just sitting there looking bowled over.
Nell took a deep breath. ‘She can’t be absolutely certain, and she doesn’t know the exact town, so she refused the reward in case she’s wrong – but she’s certain we were talking about the same William. She thinks he went to Queensland.’
‘To Queensland we go then!’ declared Joe.
Nell felt exhilarated, but there was a problem. ‘Those tickets are for Melbourne.’
‘That doesn’t matter! If we can’t get them changed we’ll just get on another plane once we get there.’
Whilst they were still talking, Nell voicing her happiness and inability to believe such a piece of luck, they saw Mary tottering down their shared path and Joe supposed they would have to tell her. They had not done so yet for fear she would spoil it for them by comparisons with America. It would be ‘Ugh, what do you want to go there for? Why don’t you go to America …’
But no. After only a moment of surprise over their announcement, Mary said, ‘I’ve a sister who lives there!’
‘I might have known you would have,’ retorted Joe. ‘Can’t even have exclusive rights to a blasted holiday without you muscling in.’
‘I’ll get her some presents for you to take for me!’
‘You cheeky bugger,’ said Joe. ‘It’s not just like nipping to Scarborough, you know!’
‘I’ll cut your grass for you,’ came her swift bribe.
‘I know you! You’ll be sat painting your talons whilst my garden looks like summat out of Sleeping Beauty.’ However, he grudgingly said that they would take a few things. ‘But don’t go buying her anything heavy, we’ve enough to carry.’
However, Mary was to return a few hours later with a carrier laden with all manner of gifts.
‘The brass neck of her,’ Joe grumbled to his wife, as he pretended to stagger under the burden. ‘Pop in on our Millie, she says – and you say yes like a meek little lamb!’
‘Well, I know she’s a nuisance,’ acceded Nell, ‘but it’s not just to save money she’s doing it, it’s that she wants to feel a bit closer to her sister, and by using us in proxy she will.’
Joe shook his head. ‘Women and their intuition – it’s all right for you volunteering, you’re not the one who’ll be doing the lumping about – nor driving miles out of our way.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be up to it?’ cautioned Nell. ‘In a strange country …’
‘As long as they drive on the proper side, I’ll be fine,’ said Joe, who was still physically and mentally fit enough to drive quite regularly. ‘I’m quite looking forward to it, you know.’
‘Oh, me too!’ Nell clutched her heart, which had become quite jittery at the adventure of it all. Then she said in a little voice, ‘I just hope we find him, Joe. It’s a big country.’
‘Don’t worry, lass,’ said her kind champion. ‘We will.’
Due to fly out from Manchester on a Thursday morning in March, the night before they were to travel, whilst his wife went about the room re-checking visas and worrying over things she might have forgotten to pack, Joe was viewing the progress of their troops in the Gulf. ‘I wonder if those lads have got the sweets you sent them yet.’
‘Probably – have you set the alarm for five?’ she suddenly remembered to ask during her restless peregrinations.
‘I will when we go to bed,’ Joe was replying in calm manner, when Nell, in stepping backwards, suddenly tripped over the bag of gifts left by Mary, and landed hard on her bottom. ‘You dozy bugger.’ He turned to eye her on the floor. ‘What are you doing down there?’
Laughing at herself, but half annoyed with him as she rubbed her painful buttock, she reached out her hand. ‘Don’t just sit there! Get a crane …’ And, using the arm of a chair, along with belated assistance from her husband, both of them grunting and groaning, she managed to haul herself from the carpet to a chair.
‘And they call me the silly old fool,’ teased Joe with a glint in his eye as he flopped back in his chair and resumed his viewing. ‘Come and watch this with me. Stop rushing about and pretending you’re twenty again.’
‘You’d be the first to cop it if I was!’ she threatened. ‘One of us has to pack, and it won’t be you.’
‘I laid me stuff out on the bed, what more do you want?’
‘You could at least make me a cup of tea whilst I’m doing all the donkey work,’ accused Nell, but despite being harassed she was tingling with excitement at the prospect of going to look for William. ‘Now then, what the devil was I going to do before I tripped over Mary’s things?’ As much as she racked her brain, she could not remember. ‘Oh, isn’t it infuriating getting old?’
‘You? You’ll never be old,’ flattered Joe. ‘But sit down for a while, it’ll come to you.’
‘I haven’t got time to be sitting down!’ She was far too preoccupied with the thought that she might finally be going to meet her son.
‘I think I’ll have a drop of brandy,’ Joe suddenly decided. ‘I’m feeling a bit queasy. Why don’t you have one?’
Nell refused, saying she was silly enough without alcohol, and carried on with what she had been doing, leaving her husband to pour his own drink.
Eventually, it was time to go to bed. Knowing there was no way she would sleep, Nell followed his advice and downed the milk and whisky he had poured for her.
This must have worked, for the next thing she knew was that the alarm clock was beeping frantically.
‘Joe!’ With a start, Nell elbowed him, for the alarm was on his side of the bed. ‘Joe!’ she bawled at him this time, and, when it continued to beep, with a grunt of annoyance she launched herself over his immobile form to make a grab for it.
But, in doing so, she felt that his shoulder was stone cold, and so was the rest of him. No amount of shaking would help.
Her own heart pounding, whilst Joe’s stood still, she fell on him and wept.
24
Mary, too, had wept over the death of her sparring partner, though Nell suspect
ed she was crying as much from the disappointment at being handed back the carrier of gifts for her sister. Romy was heartbroken, of course, and Beata devastated to be the last one of the Kilmaster children left. And what must poor Nina be feeling with her father gone and nothing resolved?
None of them, though, could match Nell’s guilt. And if any of them had heard her on that last night, refusing to sit down with him because she didn’t have the time, not even caring to pour him a last drink, not even waking when he had died beside her … they would have despised her as much as she despised herself. Well, she had plenty of time to do whatever she needed to now. But no Joe to share it with.
Between bouts of grief, as they helped her organise the funeral, Nell issued wan regret for the loss of all that money on the unused tickets. Nina could have told her not to be so bloody stupid, what did cash matter compared to the loss of her father? But she didn’t, she just hugged her, crying her poor little eyes out.
The worst part was not the funeral, though. Nor was it the manner of Joe’s death, for it had been a blessing that he had not lingered as he had so dreaded, but had gone in a flash. No, it was after they had first taken him away, and Nell had entered the bathroom and seen all his little things spread out on the windowsill: toothbrush, shaver, comb, all ready to use … How could anyone find poignancy in a tube of pile cream? Nell did. The grief flowed in a volcanic rush that spluttered all over the basin, her body racked with sobs as she thought of the way she had treated him.
And her culpability was for so many reasons, not just because she had no time for him on his final night, but that she had made little time for him during their early years; had married him out of selfishness, neither knowing nor caring how deeply this good, kind, often infuriating man had loved her. It didn’t seem to count how much she had grown to love him. The fact that she had treated him so abominably overrode anything that had followed.
Nina had invited her to move in, or at least to stay a few nights until she felt able to cope, but Nell said no, it was best to get on with it, for she would have to get used to living alone. Unable even to touch that cold and empty stretch of mattress, she took to sleeping in the back room. Yet here were more reminders. It had been Joe’s little office, housing his computer. Even though she covered it with a sheet, pretending to herself that it was to keep out the dust, it was still there to haunt her.
Hence, when Nina bypassed her own terrible grief to issue tender sentiment, saying, ‘I just wish there was something I could do for you, Mam …’
Nell was quickly to reply: ‘There is. I’ve been sorting your father’s things out for the charity shop – best to get it over with I thought. I hate thinking of anybody else going round wearing his clothes, but if it does some poor devil a bit of good … But I don’t know what to do with his computer, it’s just sitting there, doing nothing.’ Except keeping her awake, with thoughts of its owner. ‘Would Romy like it?’
‘She’s got one, Mam,’ said Nina gently, her eyes still glazed with tears. ‘But thanks for the thought – I’ll put it out in the shed till I can arrange to have it taken away for you.’
Immediately going to do this, she added that she would check there was nothing important on the floppy disks first. Her mother settled back in listless fashion, thanking God for daytime television, but though she sat and watched, her brain hardly registered what was on.
Nina was to be upstairs for quite a time. Nell heard the dreadful racket of the printer, and finally the sound of tearing paper, but could not be bothered to shout and ask what she was doing. Her daughter was to make several trips up and down the stairs, before finally going into the kitchen to make an umpteenth pot of tea. Above the rumble of boiling water, Nell heard the sound of a nose being blown. Then Nina reappeared at the living-room doorway.
Her eyes appeared to have shed fresh tears, for they were bloodshot. She was holding a wad of paper. ‘You know you were always wondering what Dad was doing up there?’
Without saying more, she came to lay the sheaf gently on her mother’s lap.
A dazed Nell put on her glasses, then gave a little sound as she looked down at the title page – My Life, by Joseph Fitzroy Kilmaster – and she looked up to murmur, ‘Have you read it, Neen?’
Her daughter nodded and turned about, appearing that she might burst into tears if she stayed. ‘I’ll pour you some tea, then leave you in peace.’ And, after placing the mug within her mother’s reach, she gave her a kiss and left, saying she would ring later.
Joe’s life gripped between her hands, Nell wondered if it were right for her to invade his innermost thoughts. He had never mentioned to his wife what he was doing. But why, then, had he written them down? Perhaps because they were too painful, too emotional to voice, even to her. Joe had been one of the old school.
Tentatively lifting the first page, she saw that he had set his memoirs out in chapters – a proper book. Had he secretly yearned to have it published, to bolster a sense of self-worth? The account of his childhood was brief, but emotive, his mother’s death taking just one line. She had delivered a goodnight kiss, and in the morning was gone. He had hardly been given a chance to know her, yet it was obvious to Nell that this maternal influence had been so strong that it coloured his whole life – this, and the resentment Joe had felt over his brother Clem’s preferential treatment, his father’s remarriage, and the cruelty of his stepmother. What had been touched on only briefly during Nell and Joe’s years of marriage was laid out in much more depth here, for her to weep over, to see why Joe was the way he was. Or, had been.
Perhaps the most moving confession of all was his account of being a soldier, not simply the way he felt about being unable to live up to his father’s reputation, about which she already knew, but his experience of battle. Now she was to learn why he rarely watched a war film. It was because, wrote Joe, they could not possibly depict it as it really was. How could they translate a man’s horror at seeing a child being crushed under a tank? Not just seeing it, but reliving it all his life. How could the finest actor portray the love Joe had felt for his comrades, and the dreadfulness of seeing them blown apart? The guilt he felt at being alive when they were dead?
Sad and aghast at what this ordinary man had gone through, Nell was compelled to read on to the end, including the bits about Grette, and then Nina – who was, said Joe, the best daughter a man could have, and he was very, very proud of her achievements. Yes, perhaps it was a little contrived, but he had said it, which made Nell so thankful, she wished Joe was there so she could wrap her arms round his bony frame and kiss him.
But he wasn’t there.
Even when the initial shock and the grief had eased, and she was able to speak of him without crying, it did not mean that Nell’s period of mourning was over, nor that her guilt was any the less. With the long days that followed Joe’s demise, Nell was quite thankful for Mary, whose grumbles helped to break up the hours, though she could not help being cross that her neighbour would persist in harping on about the aborted trip to Australia.
‘All those presents for our Millie,’ she wailed. ‘I keep seeing them there on the sideboard and I just keep thinking of Snakehips …’
‘You could always post them!’ Nell was finally to snap one day, when Nina had popped in at the same time, and Mary was dropping heavy hints about another trip down under. ‘I won’t be going, so get over it. Now for God’s sake change the record.’
Then, after Mary had slunk home, Nina had started on her, saying, ‘I could always come with you, you know, when you feel up to going …’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t want to go!’ Asked to explain her change of heart, Nell had a hard time putting it into words, finally blurting the fear that even if she were to travel all those thousands of miles, there was no guarantee of success. ‘I’ve come to think I’m not destined to find him, Neen.’ Her face was anguished, but resigned. ‘That’s my only explan ation – your father dying, William being transported to Australia – I make him so
und like a convict, don’t I? But you know what I mean, it all seems to be a conspiracy to keep us apart. Perhaps I have to accept that that’s why he was taken away from me, because it wasn’t meant to be, because I wasn’t a suitable mother …’
‘Don’t talk bloody daft!’ spat Nina, but was too choked with emotion to say that Nell had been a wonderful mother to her.
‘No, please, don’t keep on about it! I don’t even want to think of it.’ Because it made her think of her final night with Joe, and how she had been too busy fantasising over her son even to pour her husband a drink. She didn’t deserve to find him. ‘You put your money to better use. If I do decide to go I’ve still got cash in the bank.’ But she couldn’t see herself going in the foreseeable future. Not with this pall of guilt hanging over her.
Nina yielded with a teary sigh. ‘All right, I’ll say no more.’
Nell made a grab for her hand then. ‘I’m sorry for throwing your kindness back in your face.’
Nina said she did not think that at all, and rushed to give her mother a little hug. After which they sat and cogitated for a while, till Nell sought to ask, had she found a good home for her father’s computer, to be told that it had gone to the skip. She was appalled at the waste.
‘Well, it’s obsolete, Mam.’ Nina gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Technology’s moving so quickly, things get left behind.’
‘I know the feeling.’ Nell had become very disillusioned with modern Britain.
Nina cocked her face in sympathy and said, ‘Won’t you reconsider about moving in with me? To the granny flat, I mean, then you could still have your independence.’
‘I’m sixty-eight, not a crone!’ But for a second it appeared that her mother might accept, until Nell decided with gratitude in her voice, ‘No … I don’t think so, thanks, love. I’ll stay in my own little house.’
‘You won’t be saying that when you have to mow the lawn every week!’ warned Nina, but was not going to argue with the one who had suddenly become so emotionally fragile.
An Unsuitable Mother Page 54