Olly’s deep and raspy voice starts to sing the ballad about a young man called Willie McBride and we all fall silent. Every word, every note, hangs in the air and suddenly the men who have died and are buried here become real to us. They are all Willie McBride. They are all Joan’s brother, Johnny Robinson. I’ve heard the lyrics so many times before, but never really understood them, till now.
Evie nudges me and I look around. We’ve gathered a respectful audience, as others pause by the graveside to listen to the beautiful ballad. Olly’s eyes are closed and his voice rings out in the gentle breeze. I can’t take my eyes off him.
Now the sun shines down on the green fields of France,
A warm summer wind makes the red poppies dance,
The trenches have vanished under the glows,
There’s no gas, no barbed wire, there’s no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard, it’s still no man’s land,
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
For man’s blind indifference to his fellow man,
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned.
The words hit every one of us hard and I hear sobs from around the group. Mabel taps my arm and she motions me to link arms with her. I look around and see that everyone else is doing the same. When Olly stops singing the final note, nobody moves, nobody speaks. The sound of silence bounces off the white headstones around us. Then slowly, Fred starts to clap – and one by one everyone joins in.
Joan walks over to Olly and says, ‘That was the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. I’ll never forget that.’
People walk over to Olly and slap him on the shoulder, shake his hand and I have never been so proud of my husband as I am this minute. How have I forgotten that he is a good man? Somehow or other, over the past few months, this Olly here has been hidden from me. In his place, a shadow of his former self: difficult, prickly, uncommunicative, ambivalent. But as he sang, I saw the passion in his words and remembered the man that I fell in love with.
The last of the well-wishers has moved away, so I walk up to him and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. I mean it to be a peck, but neither of us pulls apart. I lean into him and feel his hand on the small of my back. His lips feel soft and new, almost as if it’s the first time we’ve kissed. When we pull apart, our eyes are locked on each other. I feel lightheaded and powerful all at once and take his face in my hands.
‘That was a good thing you did,’ I say. He looks a bit stunned and I’m not sure if it’s by the whole situation we’ve found ourselves in or our kiss.
Michel clears his throat to regain our attention and the moment, whatever it was, ends.
He tells us that it is sand from the beaches that darkens the faded inscriptions on the headstones. This helps family members get better pictures of the graves. It is only a temporary staining of the letters, the sand washing away again with the next rainfall.
I’m not sure why this fact gets to me so much, but it does. The sand where these brave men lost their lives, once again, touches them in the sleep of death.
I walk over to Joan and hug her close. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ Such a trite statement, but it’s true. I am heart sorry. ‘We’ll give you some privacy, but thank you for letting us share this moment with you. It was an honour.’
Olly is standing close to Evie, who is struggling hard not to cry. Jamie’s face is all scrunched up in the way he does when he is deep in thought. He walks back to the grave, rummaging in his pocket as he goes. He tugs until his Spiderman toy is free. He looks at it, his best pal, and then he places it beside the aeroplane.
‘He can have this. Johnny was a superhero just like Spiderman,’ he says.
‘I think it’s you who is a superhero,’ Joan’s voice is strangled with sorrow.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ I whisper to him and pull him in close for a hug. ‘That was a kind thing to do.’
The next hour passes by in an emotional blur as we explore the rest of the cemetery. We find Theodore Roosevelt’s grave and also the two Niland brothers, who inspired the Saving Private Ryan movie. The mood in our little group is sombre, but not morose. The tears we’ve shed feel cathartic.
I notice that Evie has disappeared and find her sitting in front of a twenty-two-foot-tall memorial. The bronze statue is entitled ‘The Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves’. Her earphones are back on again and she’s staring at the statue. She looks so sad, I want to take her in my arms and not let go till she smiles again. Instead, I walk over and sit beside her, nudging her with my shoulder lightly.
I fully expect to be ignored, but she takes her earphones out and, without taking her eyes off the statue, says, ‘I nearly died because of a stupid dare.’
My heart starts to hammer loudly. Where has this come from? I’ve tried many times to get her to talk about her near-death experience but she has remained tight-lipped about it all. What the hell does she mean, a dare?
‘Most of these soldiers were only a few years older than me. They died fighting for a cause, for their countries. And I nearly threw my life away because of a dare.’
‘Can you tell me about it?’ And when her face floods with pain, it feels like I’ve been doused in ice-cold water. I want to get Olly, but I’m afraid if I move, if I make the wrong sound, she’ll clam up again and I need to know what is going on in her head.
‘You won’t understand.’
‘I’d like to try,’ I whisper.
Her eyes don’t leave the statue for a moment and then, ‘You and Dad have no idea how unhappy I’ve been.’
‘That’s not …’ Before I can finish defending myself, she turns to me, eyes full of accusations and disappointment.
‘If you stopped fighting for five minutes, you might notice how unhappy I am!’
‘You’ve got my full attention, Evie. We’re not fighting now,’ I say. ‘Please. Please tell me.’
‘I don’t have any friends.’ She keeps her head down low and avoids eye contact. I move towards her, to touch her, but she bats me away as if my touch burns her.
‘I’m not like the rest of the Guinnesses – Pops, Dad, Jamie, you. Everyone loves you guys. Everyone wants to be your friends. It’s not like that for me.’
My head spins with her admission. She’s got lots of friends. Of course she does.
‘Martina and Deirdre,’ I say. She went through primary school with them. Countless play-dates and sleepovers flash through my mind. But now that I think of it, how long since they were over? What have we missed while we’ve been so caught up in our own stupid neuroses?
‘They have made my life hell for months now.’ She answers in a voice that seems stripped of all emotion. It makes me want to weep.
And slowly she opens up and tells me about the months of name-calling, practical jokes, being ignored – both on social media and in school – that she’s endured. Martina and Deirdre, the leaders of the mean girls, who seem to have made a sport out of making my daughter’s life a living hell. With every confession, I feel more despair and panic beginning to overtake my earlier resolve to be calm and only listen. I have a thousand questions I want to fire at Evie. They are bloody lucky I’m on another continent now, because the urge to run to their houses, drag them back here by their bloody hair extensions and demand answers is overpowering. I want them to feel my daughter’s pain. I want them to see the result of their nasty, cowardly, goddamn bullying.
‘You’ve been dealing with all of this on your own?’
She nods. ‘I was going to talk to Pops about it, but he got sick …’
So many things conspired against our lovely daughter.
‘I’m so sorry you didn’t feel you could talk to us,’ I say. ‘But you have to tell me everything now. You said it was a dare?’
‘I begged them to leave me alone. I said that I would do anything if they would just stop taunting me. Martina said she would think about it.’
She’s a piece of work. When I t
hink of her smiling at me at the school gates only two weeks ago, asking me sweetly how Evie was. The little bitch.
‘She said I had to show them that I wasn’t such a weirdo nerd after all, by drinking a pint of spirits mixed together. They watched me drink it on FaceTime.’
‘Oh my darling,’ I say, and feel tears splash down my cheeks.
‘It was the only way I could think of to make them leave me alone, Mam, don’t you see?’
‘Yes, I see, Evie. I see it all now.’ And she allows me to take her into my arms at last and hug her, hold her, and try my best to shush away her pain.
‘I n … near … ly threw my l … l … life away, Mam,’ Evie stutters out as her sobs begin to stop.
I search for the right words. ‘Yes. That’s true, but you are still here, Evie. I think that what matters now is what you do next. If you don’t learn from that mistake, well that’s something to be ashamed of. But never be ashamed of making a mistake in the first place.’
‘How can I move on from it when I don’t know what to do next? I don’t know who I am any more. My head hurts, Mam. I’m so tired of feeling like this. I want it to stop.’
I’m scared. I pull her into my arms and whisper, ‘It’s okay. You don’t need to have all the answers right now. We’ll help you figure them out, together. I promise you.’
‘Together?’ Evie says. ‘Are you sure about that? It doesn’t feel like that much any more.’
‘No, you’re right. Things have been pretty pants around here lately. And your father and I have allowed our own stresses to colour how we’ve been at home. That’s our bad. But one thing I know for sure is this. We are the Guinnesses and we stick together no matter what. Whatever happens in the future, we’ll always have each other’s back.’
I don’t want to make promises to my daughter that we can’t keep. But I know that Olly and I both love the children more than anything else. So we have to start putting their needs first.
I grab my soggy tissue and blow my nose, which at least makes her giggle.
‘Attractive,’ she says with sarcasm.
I stick my tongue out at her and say, ‘Come on, let’s go find the boys. I don’t know about you, but I need a coffee. And chocolate. Lots of it! We’ve earned some mindless emotional eating!’
By the time the tour ends and Michel drops us back at the chateau campsite, we are all exhausted.
‘Will we go to Bayeux to see the tapestry now or later?’ Olly asks. His voice tells me that he’d rather pull his nails out one by one than go anywhere.
‘Do any of you want to see it?’ I ask them. A chorus of resounding ‘no’s come in quick succession.
‘Then why don’t we just hang out by the pool for the afternoon and have a barbecue tonight? Burgers, hotdogs and chips,’ I suggest.
‘Yes!’ Jamie shouts, answering for all.
Evie opts for some time to herself in Nomad. She wants to finish her book. While Jamie splashes in the pool, I fill Olly in on what’s really been going on with her.
I can see the same horror, disbelief and fear that I felt earlier – still feel – flash across his face.
‘The little wagons,’ he finally says.
‘Yes, kind of what flashed through my head too. We’ll have to talk to their parents when we get home and the school too. But for now, our priority has to be Evie. Look, we got a second chance with her; she’s physically okay again now. But we are not out of the woods yet. We still have to watch her.’
‘Lots of things are making sense now. Conversations I’ve had with her about school and stuff.’
‘We’ve screwed up here, Olly. We’ve let our own issues get in the way of what’s important.’
He nods and we sit in silence for a long time. I’ve no idea what’s going on in his head, but can only assume he’s running through scenarios like me, where we missed the obvious with Evie.
‘I’m glad she’s talking to you,’ Olly says.
‘Me too,’ I reply. ‘Tonight, no matter what, we have a nice evening. No squabbles. She needs to relax, feel like she’s got a safe place to fall with us both.’
‘Agreed. I think we all need to relax,’ Olly says.
He’s not wrong. ‘Maybe we can have that glass of wine under the moonlight,’ I say.
‘Done. You stay here with Jamie and read your book. I’ll go be a hunter-gatherer, get food and wine from the shop for the barbecue,’ Olly says. ‘I’ll check in on Evie, too, make sure she’s okay.’
Chapter Eighteen
Dearest Olly and Mae
Are you enjoying Nomad? Is the chateau nice? Did you go to the Normandy beaches? Have you killed each other yet? Haha …
I so wish I was there to hear all your answers. But know this, if I can, I’m watching you all from wherever I am. I don’t mind telling you that just the very thought of this trip is taking my mind off the pain.
Today is your mam’s birthday, Olly. You’ve been like a coiled spring all day, in and out of my room, fussing. That’s your way, though. Don’t suppose that will change any time soon. You know, I fancy I can smell her perfume lately. The doc says it’s all the medication. It messes with your senses. You smelt it though, the other week in the hospital, didn’t you, Olly?
Arra, enough of that. You want to know where you are going next. Head south, you are going to the Loire Valley for three days. Then I have a surprise for Jamie and Evie too, because before you leave France, you’ll be overnighting in Disneyland Paris.
I’ve found the most amazing campsite for you in the Loire Valley – in the grounds of an actual vineyard. I like to think of you both, under the stars, sipping a glass of red. Talking. Listening. Sharing. I’ve not seen much of that lately.
There’s lots for the children to do too. I know that the area is famous for its chateaus, but I don’t want the kids to get bored. So here’s my challenge for this leg of the trip. You have to go horse riding. Not just for half an hour, either. I’ve organised it all, the leaflet is in the envelope.
It’s important that the kids, and you both, take some risks. Remember to always try something new and, you never know, you might find yourself growing wings and flying.
I’m thinking a lot about Evie today too. She’s young and she’s always followed the beat of her own drum, hasn’t she? Always been a little bit different and she used to be okay with that. But she’s forgotten that it’s okay to be different. You need to remind her that she’s got more to fear being the same as everyone else, following the herd, than of standing out.
But that’s not such a bad thing is it? She just hasn’t realised, yet, that she’s strong, just like both of you. She’ll get through all of this, I’m sure of it. Help Evie believe that she can walk her own path once again, with confidence.
Have fun and you can read my next letter before you leave Paris.
Love to all,
Pops x
Chapter Nineteen
OLLY
Pops is dead. I know that. But somehow or other, he’s managed to stay with us, on this adventure he’s sent us on. And my relief is enormous, because I am not ready to say goodbye yet. I’m not sure I ever will be. My hands tremble as I pick up his latest letter once again. Not from worry, but from excitement and anticipation. I hold the envelope close to my nose and see if I can smell him. Then I feel foolish when, of course, I smell nothing but paper.
It’s as if he knew that yesterday would be the day that Evie would tell us about the bullying. I glance down at his words again and scan for the bit about her.
‘You need to remind her that she’s got more to fear being the same as everyone else, following the herd, than of standing out.’ Jesus, Pops, how do you do that? It’s his fecking Wi-Fi again.
My attempt to discuss it all with Evie didn’t go too well. She claimed tiredness and was reluctant to open up. I just feel so much anger dancing its way through my body, threatening to get in the way of the job at hand right now. I can do anger some other time. Right now, I need to be a dad.
It’s so weird, but it’s as if her face has changed since I heard about the bullying. She looks younger. It feels like only yesterday that she was six years old and believed that her daddy could save her from all the bad stuff in the world.
She is still opening up to Mae, though, talking a little more about the isolation she’s felt. And at least she agreed to go with Mae and Jamie to the pool when we got back from Bayeaux this morning. I stayed behind because I wanted to read Pops’ letter on my own. Some days, the pain of my loss, of his absence, feels so acute that I want to howl in pain. And the only thing that makes it bearable is these letters. I put off opening it for ages. Procrastinating – I know I do that too much. It’s just, once it’s opened, I can’t have that moment again. With only eight letters in total and three read already, I want to make sure I savour every single word.
I keep trying to work out how he was feeling when he wrote each one. What was going through his head. How did he come up with the route? We’ll never know that, I suppose. I was full sure he was going to send us west into Germany next. But France is not done with us yet. I know that Mae is hoping for the Loire Valley and the kids for Disneyland Paris, so they’ll be happy. I tip my head in salute to Pops because he’s no doubt secured a touchdown with this next leg of our journey.
It might even elicit a smile from Evie, who is back to saying little or nothing, with that blasted iPod and earphones glued to her. Maybe the Bayeux Tapestry finished her off earlier, I think with a wry laugh. Won’t lie, wasn’t my thing. I mean, I can appreciate the hours of work that went into it, the intricate detail. The kids weren’t too impressed either, but Mae seemed to enjoy it. In fairness, we were in and out in a few hours, so nobody grumbled too much.
Last night we all ate too much barbecue food, drank some wine – okay a lot of wine – under the stars and it was the perfect end to what turned into an emotionally charged day. Some of the tension around Mae and I seems to have dispersed itself amongst those white gravestones in Normandy, and for that I’m grateful.
The Things I Should Have Told You Page 15