by Anna Jacobs
The doctor tapped the papers on his desk. “I reckon it’ll take a couple of weeks to get the paperwork sorted out, so you may as well continue working here until we hear from the powers that be.”
“That’s all right, sir. As long as I know it’s in the pipeline.”
It wasn’t all right, of course. Having made the decision, what Aubrey desperately wanted was to get the hell out of here and find this Tinsley place, see if he could retrieve his past. He’d looked at the town on the map so many times. Why didn’t he remember what it looked like, for heaven’s sake, if that was where he came from?
He went off to find his friend and tell him the latest news. As the days passed, he had plenty of time to say his goodbyes and plan what to do. The Army didn’t make it easy for you to get away from them and even with a doctor’s recommendation, you had to wait on their convenience.
A month later Aubrey said goodbye to Jim and left the convalescent home, driven to the nearest main line station by one of the lady volunteers from the village. He listened to her gentle prattling with one ear, saying “Mmm” and “Yes” at intervals while trying to get used to the idea that he wasn’t ever going back again. That thought was both terrifying and exciting.
When she left him at the station he felt bewildered for a moment or two, so unused was he to making his own decisions, but a fatherly porter seemed to sense his uncertainty and quickly directed him to the correct platform.
The train was quite full, so he got into a compartment with a group of four soldiers sprawled about in it. As they made room for him, one of them cocked an eye in his direction, noting the Army greatcoat over civilian clothes. “Just been demobbed?”
Aubrey nodded. “Yes. Released from the convalescent home today, actually.”
“Going back to your family, son?”
“Lost my memory. Don’t even know who I am.” He’d decided to be open about this. Well, he’d only give himself away if people asked him for details of his background.
“Bad luck, that. Where are you going, then?”
“Place called Tinsley, in Lancashire. I remembered the name so I’m going to find out if I come from there.” And suddenly he could see the town in his mind’s eye—well, see the main street anyway. He caught his breath and sat very still, letting the vision roll through his mind, his head beginning to throb, as it did whenever he remembered something important.
“You all right?”
He summoned up a smile. “Just remembered something else. It always gives me a bit of a headache to remember, but that’ll soon pass. I’d put up with any number of headaches to get my memory back.”
He wasn’t sorry to part company from them and have the compartment to himself, friendly as they had been. It was good to watch the peaceful English countryside, with fields, farms, small towns and villages passing in quick succession. The neatness of it all gave him a sense of sanity after the madness or war.
By the time he got out of the train at Tinsley, Aubrey was too exhausted to care about anything except finding a bed for the night. It was dusk and outside the station people were hurrying home from work. The gas lamps along the street made pools of light, seeming feeble at the moment as they competed with the last of the daylight. Rain was falling straight down from a leaden sky.
He found a cab and asked if the driver knew where he could find a room for the night. “I’ve just been demobbed. Don’t have any family to come back to.”
The cab driver took him to a pub where a motherly landlady no sooner discovered he was a returning soldier than she gave him a right royal welcome. Aubrey let her show him up to a bedroom, tried very hard to answer her well-meaning questions, but wanted only to lie down and sleep.
She seemed to understand how he felt. “Look at me, nattering your head off like this, Mr Smith.” Don’t go to sleep quite yet. I’ll bring you up a cup of tea and a sandwich. I’m betting you’ve not eaten for a while.”
He blinked and tried to remember when he’d last had a meal. “You’re right.” He opened his knapsack and found the package. “They gave me some ham sandwiches, but I forgot to eat them.
Maybe you could toast them for me?”
“Yes. We mustn’t waste good food, must we? But don’t go to sleep yet. You’ve got to eat to keep up your strength.”
He wasn’t hungry, but he was desperately thirsty so he sat upright on a chair and waited for her to come back. He’d recognised the main street near the station, at least he thought he had, so surely he was in the right place? If he was very lucky, during the next few days or weeks, someone in the town would recognise him.
Or would that be unlucky? What if he was coming back to turmoil and trouble?
The landlady returned and stood over him while he drank two cups of tea and ate the sandwiches, which she’d fried up nice and crispy. Then she looked at his white, exhausted face and unpacked his pyjamas for him, laying them ready on the bed.
“I’ll wait outside the door, Mr Smith, and you can pass me out your dirty clothes. It’ll be my pleasure to wash them for you and dry them overnight.”
He was touched by this. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I lost my son in the War. So whenever I can help someone else’s son, I do.”
He hugged her. That made her tears flow in earnest and she hugged him convulsively before pulling away and smiling mistily at him. “See you in the morning, Mr Smith. Breakfast can be served any time you wake up.”
“Yes. And thank you, Mrs Beamish. For everything.”
He had no trouble getting to sleep, woke once to use the chamber pot under the bed, then slept right through until ten in the morning by the wristwatch Jim had given him as an early Christmas present. Aubrey hadn’t felt so wonderfully rested for months, if not years, and lay there for a few moments, enjoying the simple luxury of not having to jump to it at someone else’s bidding.
When he went downstairs he found the landlady talking to her cellar man, who looked old enough to be her father. She swept her lodger off with her to the kitchen and cooked him a large breakfast. As he ate, she sat companionably across from him, sipping a cup of tea, and he found himself telling her his story.
“I’d not be much help to you because I’m not from round here and I only took over this pub at the beginning of ’16. You should go to the newspaper, the Tinsley Telegraph it’s called, and ask them to publish your story with a photo. Someone’s bound to recognise you then.”
He stirred his tea, watching the whirlpool in the centre of the cup, thinking over her suggestion. “I’m not sure I like the thought of making a public spectacle of myself. I’d rather have a poke round then if I find some relatives, it’ll be my choice whether to approach them or not.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“The doctors say I may have an unhappy past and that’s why I don’t remember, so I’m not rushing into anything.”
“Eh, lad, I hope there’s no trouble waiting for you here.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll cope. Anyway, I just want to stroll round the town today and see if that wakes up any memories. All right if I stay on with you here for a day or two longer? I’m not short of a bob or two.”
“Stay as long as you like, love. I’m happy to give you a weekly rate and it’ll be nice to have a young fellow around. This pub is on Yorkshire Road, which is the main street, so you’ll have no trouble finding your way back here. It’s not a big place, Tinsley.”
Aubrey stood outside the pub and stared down the road. From what he could see from here, the town was long and narrow, built on one side of a valley on the edge of the moors. Shops lined the main street and there were one or two larger buildings. The terraced houses on the uphill side of Yorkshire Road zigzagged from side to side up the hill, buttressed by solid retaining walls, looking as if stubbornness was the main thing that kept them there. Those streets cut off from the main road at sharp angles.
On the other side narrow streets led down a much gentl
er slope, set at right angles to the main street. The next street along from the pub had barely room for one vehicle and the pavements on either side were only wide enough for one person. He knew, with another of those blinding flashes, that these streets led down to a river. A name dropped into his mind, the Tinnen.
He followed the street downhill to check that out, not even considering seeking shelter, though it had begun to drizzle and was a miserable, grey sort of day. His old army greatcoat kept him warm and dry, shabby as it was. He fingered the front of it as he buttoned it right up. Its rough wool was familiar and comforting to the touch.
At the bottom of the hill he found he’d been right. A narrow strip of public garden ran alongside the river, and there was a painted wooden sign standing on two legs in the bare earth of the flowerbed that said, “Merry Christmas To All!” It had painted holly at each corner, so badly done he smiled. After a quick calculation of dates, he realised there was only a week or so to go to Christmas. He wished he’d thought to get a present for Jim before he left, wondered when he’d see his friend again.
Further along the river there was a shelter for cabbies and the man who’d driven him from the station the previous day was sitting there, staring out at the weather.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest.”
Aubrey sat down.
“I picked you up at the station yesterday, didn’t I? Took you to the Weaver’s Arms?”
“Yes. Good place to stay. Thanks for that. I’m Aubrey Smith.”
“Vic Scott.” He shook the hand Aubrey offered. “Which regiment were you in?”
“I don’t know. Got blown about by a shell and lost everything, including my memory.”
“Rotten luck.”
“Worse things happen.”
“Yes.” Vic looked down at his leg. “I lost the bottom half of this. I don’t know which is worse.”
They both sat silent for a minute or two, then Vic asked, “What brings you to Tinsley, then?”
Aubrey shrugged. “The name of the town seemed familiar and I do have a northern accent, so I thought I’d have a look round, see if anything rang a bell.”
“And does it?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
The cabbie looked at his watch. “Have to go now, picking up some friends of mine at the station. Good luck with your hunt.” He glanced up at the sky. “Can I give you a lift back to the town centre? The rain seems to be setting in. You’re going to get soaked if you walk about.”
“Thanks. Is there somewhere I can get a cup of tea?”
“Rose’s Tea Rooms just along Yorkshire Road from the station. I’ll drop you off there.”
“No, don’t bother. I’ll get out at the station and walk along, look in the shop windows.”
Chapter 10
The cab drew up just as the train chugged into Tinsley station and Aubrey got out, calling
“Thanks for the ride!” He hurried across to get out of the rain and buy a newspaper from the lad huddled near the main entrance, then stood watching the few passengers come out of the station.
He was in no hurry to get anywhere, which felt strange and unsettling, but he enjoyed watching people—ordinary people—going about their business. It was another of the things that made peace seem a reality.
A young woman and a man with a scarred face walked past him arm in arm, and he turned his head to look at the woman again. Did she look familiar or was he just imagining things? At that moment she turned sideways to smile at the tall man beside her and Aubrey sucked in his breath sharply. It was such a charming smile, so . . . familiar. Could she possibly be the woman he’d remembered a couple of times? Her hair was different, but then of course it would be. A lot of younger women had had their hair cut short in the past few years.
The two went across to the cab he’d just left and he heard the driver, who sounded to be a friend rather than a hireling, exclaiming at her appearance, not just her hair but also her clothes.
Aubrey took a step towards them then stopped. He’d promised himself to be cautious, not to rush into anything.
The driver stowed their luggage and asked if they wanted to go straight back to the Hall.
Aubrey couldn’t make out their answer, but it didn’t matter. He knew now where she lived, could find her again if he chose. Lost in thought, he stayed where he was as the cab pulled away and then was rudely jostled aside by two men who were staring after the cab.
“Did you see ’em?” one asked the other.
“Aye.”
“I didn’t recognise her for a minute, Mr Hudd. What’s she done to hersen?”
“Had her hair cut. We’d best go and tell Mr Fleming them two are back.”
Aubrey let them walk away, leaning against the wall as pain washed through his head.
“You all right?” A man carrying a big parcel stopped to look at him in concern.
“Just a dizzy turn. I’ve been doing too much, I expect.” He rubbed at his temple.
The man looked at him shrewdly. “Just come back from the war?”
“Yes. Does it show?”
“The greatcoat rather gives it away.”
Aubrey tried to dredge up a smile, but he was still feeling sick and dizzy and the attempt failed.
“You’re not well. Come and have a sit down in my shop. It’s just over there.”
Aubrey wanted to be on his own but his body was still betraying him. His head was throbbing and great waves of dizziness were washing through him. The world didn’t steady around him till he’d been sitting down for a minute or two in the shop, then slowly he got in control of himself again. “Sorry.”
“Have you had any other turns like that?”
“One or two. I got caught in an explosion, lost my memory. Every now and then something comes back to me and then this happens. I’ve not had it as bad as this since the early days, though.” He looked round with pleasure. “A bookshop.”
The man nodded. “New books and old, stationery and pens, whatever will turn a penny into twopence. It’s the second-hand books that make the most profit, strangely enough. People who won’t pay out two bob for a new book will happily give threepence or sixpence for an old one, and the ragged books on my penny tray sell like hot cakes.” He stood up as the shop door tinkled.
“Ah, Mr Redway. Come to pick up your new book? I bet it’s in this parcel that just arrived.” He removed the wrapping, folding it carefully, and looked at the titles of the books inside. “Yes, here it is.”
An older man with silver hair and a thin, intelligent face picked up the book, eagerly scanning the cover. “Yes, this is the one. Thanks for that, Ted. How much do I owe you?”
He paid for it, nodded farewell to Aubrey, frowning slightly and hesitating by the door as though he wasn’t sure whether he recognised him or not, then shook his head as if to dismiss the idea and left.
Aubrey didn’t try to detain him, didn’t want to be recognised at the moment because he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d recognised the name the two men outside the station had used. Fleming. Well, of course he’d recognised it. It had been his own name once. He knew his own name! Well, his surname anyway.
But something had held him back from speaking to them, maybe the sort of men they were—
both had brutal faces, though one was quite well dressed. Fear of their employer that had shown in the way they spoke about him. This Fleming fellow didn’t sound like the sort of person you’d want for a friend and Aubrey intended to be very careful whom he claimed as a relative.
“Here you are, lad. That’ll perk you up. You can’t beat a cup of hot tea on a rainy day.” The bookshop’s owner set down a steaming cup on the counter and smiled at him.
“Thanks.” Aubrey picked it up, enjoying its warmth as he cradled it in his hands. “It’s a raw day out there.”
“Yes. There’s no hurry for you to leave. You look chilled to the marrow and you’re not in my way.” He poked the sm
all fire next to which Aubrey was sitting.
Suddenly a woman burst into the shop bringing with her a whoosh of cold, damp wind. “Ted, your Margaret’s had a fall. You’d better come quickly.”
“She’s all right?”
“Yes, but she needs your help to get home from the Infirmary.”
Ted looked across at Aubrey. “I wonder if you’d mind keeping an eye on the shop for me? I had a delivery yesterday as well and once word gets round customers will be coming in to buy Christmas presents. All the prices are marked inside the books in pencil, same in the second-hand ones. It’s only the ones I’ve just picked up that aren’t marked.”
“I’m happy to look after things,” Aubrey called after him, getting a wave of the hand in reply.
He stayed where he was till he’d drunk the tea, took the empty cup through to the kitchen, saw the teapot and peeped inside. The tea in it would only go cold and stewed, so he poured himself some more and walked slowly round the shop with it in his hand. The place had electric lighting, so it was very bright inside. There was a small counter, a section near the entrance for stationery and pens and everywhere else shelves and shelves of books. Paradise! The new books were near the front and many of them had bright covers; the rest of the wall space was taken up by used ones, which looked much duller, and there were piles of books on the floor in a corner, as well as on the edges of the steps that led to the next floor.
He walked down the side wall, reading a few titles, taking one off the shelf because it had been an old favourite of his. It was ragged and well-worn, but was holding together well enough. He looked inside and saw that it contained a book plate inscribed “Frank Fleming”. His head throbbed again and he stumbled across to the chair near the counter and collapsed on it.