Sara hadn’t heard from Bette in ages, not since the baby had been born, which was causing her some concern. Then just the other day she’d got a postcard to say that she was now living in Savannah. No explanation, no details of any sort about her new life in America. She’d been deeply disappointed, and not a little concerned.
But then Bette had always been a bit scatterbrained. Perhaps her little sister was simply busy learning to be a new mother, growing up at last.
Sara had to admit that she too had slipped out of the habit of regular correspondence, allowing herself to sink into depression because of her difficult situation. Now that she’d brought herself to put pen to paper she would write again to Bette each and very week from now on, starting by giving her cheerful news about the parade and peace celebrations. It was no good feeling sorry for herself. She’d made her decision and must live with it, even if it broke her heart to see the joy of other couples starting life afresh.
Men were returning home, every day bringing happy reunions. Prisoners of War were being released, some men turning up on the doorstep of a wife or mother who had believed them to be dead. Happiness was everywhere, permeating the entire town, except here, in Sara’s new home on the Esplanade.
Not for one moment had she expected such a reunion for herself, but then it happened, right out of the blue. She came home one afternoon from the hospital, collected the children from her mother as usual, and the three of them were having tea in the garden in the lovely May sunshine when a voice quietly remarked: ‘I think what I’ve missed most have been your Cornish pasties.’
Drew squealed, ‘Charlie,’ and leapt from his seat, sending his glass flying, spilling orange juice everywhere as he flung himself into his friend’s arms. Sara simply stared, quite unable to believe her eyes, heartily wishing she could do exactly the same.
Jenny laughed with delight and ran to hug Charlie fiercely about the waist. ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you back safe, Charlie. We’ve been so worried about you.’
Sara blinked back tears, thinking that it had never crossed her mind to imagine that her children would be worried too.
‘Have you any gum, chum?’ Drew cheekily asked.
‘I certainly have, old buddy.’ Charlie fished a couple of packets out of his pocket then stood grinning from ear to ear as the children ripped off the paper, stuffing the gum into their mouths and jiggling up and down with coos of delight. But his gaze remained fixed on Sara.
She tried his name, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming all of this. ‘Charlie?’ Then went over to put out a tentative hand, to touch his face, his cheek, his strong jaw, trace the outline of his mouth. He grasped hold of her exploring hand and pressed it quickly to his lips.
‘It’s me. A bit battered but still all in one piece.’
Sara longed to fall into his arms, to kiss him for all she was worth, but the children were watching with wide, innocent eyes. Relief washed through her in a warm tide of love. Charlie was here. He was safe, and that was all that mattered.
‘We’ve missed you,’ Jenny said, her little face suddenly serious. ‘Mummy has ‘specially. She’s cried for you, I heard her.’
Charlie’s gaze locked with Sara’s again. This was dangerous territory which must be traversed with care. Children were vulnerable creatures and had a happy knack of bluntly coming out with the absolute truth, sharing secrets you’d much rather keep quiet. He gently ruffled the children’s hair, one hand on each small head, making them giggle and squirm. ‘I dare say your mom has only been crying when she gets tired, like after spending hours picking up the mess that you terrible twosome make, or when you won’t go to bed on time.’
‘That’s not true, is it Mummy?’ Jenny said, outraged. ‘I’m very tidy. Daddy inspects our rooms every morning and if they’re messy we’re not allowed to play out. Or he puts us on what he calls fatigues, which means we have to scrub the kitchen floor or wash his car or something. Daddy is horrid sometimes, like a sergeant major inspecting the troops. Drew’s room is always a mess though and Daddy lets him off, ‘cept that he says if he doesn’t clear it up this time, he’ll take the telescope away.’
Drew tried to stick out his tongue and Jenny giggled because the rude gesture turned into a chewing gum bubble.
Sara knew she should scold them, try to sound stern and tell them not to be naughty but she couldn’t seem able to do so.
‘Did you fight many battles, kill loads and loads of Germans?’ Drew wanted to know and Sara hushed the excited little boy, finally finding her voice to remind him that Charlie must be tired and wouldn’t want to talk about all of that right now.
‘I’ll tell you another time,’ Charlie agreed. ‘Maybe one day when you come out to the States to visit me.’
The two children gasped, then looked at each in delight. ‘Wow, is that a promise?’
Once again Charlie’s eyes were on Sara. ‘If your mom will bring you.’
Sara swallowed. It was unfair of him to use the children to try and reach her. Yet somehow she couldn’t bring herself to blame him. She saw that he longed for her as much as she longed for him, and what did she owe Hugh after all he’d done to her? The thought of going to America with Charlie was delicious, wonderful, although quite impossible. She simply couldn’t do it. Mustn’t even think of such a thing.
‘Drew, Jenny, go and play on the swing for a little while. Lieutenant Denham and I need to talk about war business for a moment.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mummy. The war is over.’
‘Yes, I know, darling, but there are still things to . . . sort out. Please, do as I say.’
‘Here, I brought you some comics too,’ and Charlie handed them a brown paper packet.
‘Gosh thanks, I mean, aw gee, thanks,’ said Drew, trying to copy Charlie’s American accent and sound big and important.
When her children had skipped away, arguing robustly over who was to read Superman and who Batman comic first, Sara turned to Charlie with anxious eyes. ‘You should go! What if Hugh were to suddenly arrive home. What excuse could we possibly give for your being here? Oh, but it’s so wonderful to see you.’
‘I wish I could touch you again, hold you, kiss you.’
‘We’d best sit down before you do.’
‘I just might, kids or no kids.’
They sat together on the garden seat, not quite touching, not speaking and yet Sara’s head was bursting with words, her arms aching to hold him.
He’d taken off his forage cap and now he ran his fingers through brown hair even shorter than before, and Sara wondered if a part of it had been shaved off and was just starting to grow again. She could make out a few scars here and there, patches of raw, red skin that might once have been burns or blisters, although nothing too serious. His face was pale and gaunt, lines etched at the corners of those lovely, warm, brown eyes. He looked like a man who had known pain, a soldier who had suffered.
Unseen by the children she slid her hand into his. Instantly, his fingers curled about hers. ‘You still don’t look well. Are you truly recovered? How is the leg?’
‘My leg is fine, got a few dents and cracks in it but nothing that won’t heal in time. My heart, however, is another matter. I doubt that will ever heal, not if I have to live the rest of my life without you.’
A tear slid down her cheek, fell on their joined hands, ran over her thumb. Neither of them wiped it away.
‘You know that I can’t leave him. I must stay. I have to, because . . .’
‘Of the children, I know. It’s okay, I understand. At least, it’s not really okay. I don’t like it one bit, but I do understand.’ Another small silence and then, ‘Yvonne wrote me. She’s found someone, another guy. She’s happy to agree to a divorce. There won’t be any difficulties. Would it help if I talked to Hugh, promised to look after the kids as if they were my own. Because I would, you know.’
‘I know you would, Charlie, but no, that wouldn’t help at all. He’d be furious. It’s not that Hugh is part
icularly interested in the children. He’s never spent much time with them but they belong to him, do you see? They are his children, just as I am his wife, and he intends to keep us, like possessions. Trophies on his wall.’
‘Hell’s teeth, the man’s a creep.’
‘Perhaps one day, when the children are older . . . but no, that’s not fair. You must find someone else, not hang around waiting for me.’
‘I don’t want anyone else, Sara, I want only you.’
‘Don’t be silly, you didn’t survive this terrible war to spend the rest of your life alone. I want you to marry, to be happy, to have children of your own.’ Emotion caught in her throat and she gave a little hiccupping sob.
‘Don’t ask me to do that. I couldn’t begin to even think of looking. You’re the woman for me, and always will be, Sara. I love you.’
‘Don’t . . . When do you leave?’ As if it mattered.
‘Day after tomorrow.’
Not much time then to change her mind. Sara was openly crying now, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks, her emotion quite beyond her control, and he was gripping both her hands now, so hard that she felt sure her fingers might snap in two. She dragged her hands away, slapped at the tears, aware of the children not too far away. ‘You must go. Now, this minute, before Hugh comes home. Before I beg you never, ever, to leave me.’
‘Sara, please come with me. It’s not too late and . . .’
She stood up quickly, half turned away while she fished for a handkerchief up her sleeve. ‘No, please don’t touch me again, Charlie. I love you so much, too much. I’m going to call the children in a moment so they can say bye-bye, and then I want you to go, as if you and I were simply friends wishing each other well for a peaceful future. Will you do that for me?’
‘You think they’ll be fooled? You have sharp kids.’
She pushed back her hair, resolutely turned up her mouth into a parody of a smile. She looked so brave in that moment, Charlie’s heart clenched with love for her.
‘Drew, Jenny, come and say goodbye. Lieutenant Denham has to go now.’
‘Can I write to you?’
He was standing beside her, so close she could sense the warmth from his body. Sara kept her eyes on her children as they came bounding over. They would reach her any second. She glanced at the kitchen door. Hugh had still not appeared. If she was going to change her mind, it must be done quickly, now, before he walked out of her life for good. ‘No, please don’t write.’
He hugged both children, went through the motions of urging them to come visit him in America, promising that he’d be sure to call in on them, next time he was in Blighty. But their little faces were sad, knowing that he lied.
When he turned to Sara she had herself back under control again. She held out a hand for him to formally shake, a polite smile of dismissal carefully in place. ‘Thank you for taking the time to call and see us and let us know that you’ve fully recovered. I wish you every happiness for the future.’
He ignored her outstretched hand completely. ‘Kids, shut your eyes for a moment. I’m going to kiss your mom.’ And he did. He gathered Sara close in his arms and he kissed her, long and hard. Seconds later, he was striding away across the lawn. A door banged, and then he was gone.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Chad? I don’t believe it.’
‘I can’t quite believe it myself. Can I come in?’ He stood in the doorway, shuffling his feet, his awkwardness all too plain to see.
Bette’s first instinct was to run to him, to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him. It quite alarmed her how badly she wanted to do that, but she stiffened her resolve. He’d let her down. His family had turned her out. He’d rejected her, and his son. Walked away without so much as a backward glance. ‘If you like.’
Fortunately she had no one in at present, so she went and put the closed sign on the door. Glancing across at Big Fat Josie serving coffee behind the counter, she jerked her head in the direction of the salon, indicating her unexpected visitor. Josie got the message all right and nodded.
Back in the salon, Chad was standing by the pram, peeping in at Matthew. Bette’s heart gave a little jump. Why hadn’t he shown an interest earlier? The baby was six months old and growing into a fine little chap, no thanks to his father. She felt suddenly possessive of him, as if she somehow didn’t want Chad poking his nose in. It was far too late.
‘I’d best move him, so we don’t wake him.’ She opened the back door and wheeled the pram outside, parking it in a dry, sunny spot where she could easily see it, then turned to face her husband, chin high and her expression cool.
Chad looked different. All tidy and smart, for one thing, instead of the rough working clothes she’d grown used to seeing him in. But there was something more, something different. At first she couldn’t make out what it was, and then it came to her. Both sleeves of his jacket were filled, and from one protruded a piece of metal apparatus she couldn’t quite make out clearly. He was wearing a false arm. A rush of sympathy came instinctively to her but she tried to harden her heart against it. Pity had always been the last thing he’d wanted.
Noting the direction of her gaze he gave a small grimace. ‘It’s new. Not got used the darned thing yet.’
She offered him one of the chairs she used to cut client’s hair. Made tea, and Chad tried to hold the cup with the metal clamp that served as a false hand.
Bette quietly watched him struggle, didn’t rush in to offer either assistance or sympathy. Then with a sigh of exasperation, he used his good hand instead.
‘Sorry about the pot arm. I’m supposed to spend hours each day learning to use the darned thing, getting my balance, trying to hold a cup or some such, breaking most of ‘em. It’s okay for the doctors to tell me it’ll be fine, they don’t have to try and operate it.’
‘I dare say it’ll take a bit of practise,’ Bette coolly remarked and saw him push back his shoulders, seeming to welcome her brisk acceptance.
‘Sure! I’ll get the hang of it in the end. Anyway, these last months have been mighty lonely without you, Bette, arm or no arm.’ He set the cup and saucer aside, the tea largely untouched. But then Bette had forgotten that he preferred it iced, as all southerners did.
She had to ask him. It was the one question that had haunted her from the day of Matthew’s birth. Even so, a part of her didn’t expect, or even want an answer. Bette had no wish to hear his excuses. But then another part was desperate to know, and to understand.
‘Why didn’t you come?’
There it was, out in the open. She had said it. Striving to keep her expression neutral as their eyes locked, Bette was shocked to discover that she did still have feelings for him, and nothing to do with pity at all. ‘I waited and waited for you, but you never came. Did you hate me so much?’
‘We’ve both made mistakes.’
‘Is that meant to be some sort of apology, or an excuse?’
Chad drew in a deep breath. ‘Neither, it’s a fact, that’s all. We messed up, both of us. I thought you’d gone back home, Bette. Mom said you had. Only recently did I discover that she’d lied. I found a letter from Sara, so realised you couldn’t have gone home.’ He handed it to her. I’m sorry about that.’
Bette stared at the envelope in her hand, then set it down on a table, to open later.
‘I searched the cabin, Carreville, every place I could think of. Been looking for weeks. Finally chanced upon a little place called Kitson Point, talked to a General Store keeper called Joe. Said he rescued you one dark night and took you to his sister’s in Savannah. So here I am.’
‘Yes, here you are.’ Bette didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know if she could forgive him for rejecting her child.
As if reading her thoughts, he cleared his throat and went on: ‘I don’t know why Mom got it into her head that the baby wasn’t mine, that he wasn’t a Jackson, and all because of the shape of his chin. Hell, I would never have given it a thought if she hadn
’t planted the doubt in my mind, but then you confessed about Barney and I went off in a huff to do me some hunting and think on things for a spell. By the time I got back, you’d gone, and I believed her when she said you’d returned to England.’
He was leaning both elbows on his knees, rather awkwardly, admittedly, but he looked good. She’d forgotten how attractive he was, how kind his eyes. ‘She lied to me too, said you were waiting for me in the cabin.’
‘God, how you must have suffered all alone out there, and you had a fire? I saw the mess.’
‘We were unhurt, Matthew and I, even if the kitchen wasn’t.’
‘Matthew. That’s a fine name. If only I’d known . . . ’ A small silence fell between them. Bette was the one who ended it, softening a little as she recognised the genuineness of his emotions.
‘You’re right, we did both mess things up. I’m sorry about Barney. It was never meant, it just happened. He’s an attractive bloke, quite the charmer, but we behaved badly and I’m sorry about that. You deserved better from me. But however unwilling, he was prepared to stand by me, when we both thought you were dead. That says something for him I suppose, though he was glad enough to be relieved of the responsibility once we found out you were alive, after all.’
Chad gave a wry smile. ‘That’s Barney all right. Real pain in the ass but stands by you when the going gets tough.’ And then, after a long moment. ‘I made mistakes back then too.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I lied too, Bette.’
‘Seems to be a family trait.’
‘I made out I was this well set-up guy, with land and plenty of dollars in my pocket. When I said all of that stuff, trying to impress you, I never thought it’d come to this. But then I fell for you real bad, and by the time you got out here I realised that I’d nothing to offer you at all, not any of the things I’d promised, not even a whole man. I was half a man, not able to cut my own steak, or tie my own shoes. I hated that, to be beholden, needing you to help me with everything.’
For All Our Tomorrows Page 36