by Isla Dewar
She thought about her father. The way he’d been to her. The games they’d played, the music they’d danced to. She thought, I should have done what he wanted. I should have given up flying. I should have let him know I loved him.
And he was right, she thought. Look at me, an unmarried mother. I’ve been robbed. I’ll be broke soon. I haven’t heard from Jimmy in weeks. He’s bound to be back in America, he’s forgotten about me. And my father is dead. And I didn’t make up with him. Dead, and he probably never forgave me.
She started to cry. The infant lost his grip on her breast, grappled to find it again and started to cry. Together, in the dark, they both howled. Izzy reached over for her watch to check the time. Twenty to bloody two, mourning time. She clutched her yowling child and wept some more.
Chapter Forty-seven
Time to Let Go
EARLY AUGUST, TEN o’clock at night, light fading, bats skimming round the eaves of Duncan’s cottage and Tyler leaned against a tree waiting for the old man to come home from his nightly stroll. Tonight was getting-even night. Tomorrow he was leaving the forest.
In fact, this was his stag night. He’d left the party early, saying he wanted one last stroll along the paths that had become so familiar. Friends and fellow drinkers in his hut had mocked, saying that this was his last night of freedom and it shouldn’t be wasted going for a walk. ‘You’ll be under the wife’s thumb tomorrow.’
Tyler said that if there was one place he wanted to be it was under Elspeth’s thumb. ‘She’s got lovely thumbs.’
He waited half an hour before Duncan turned up. Tyler heard him first. The old man was shuffling along, swearing at every step. ‘Bloody, bloody, bloody . . .’
When he did at come into view, his pace was achingly slow, his head down as he examined the ground watching where he placed his feet. His breath rasped in his throat. From time to time, he’d stop, breathe deeply and reach down to rub his knees and hips. ‘Bloody, bloody, bloody . . .’
The sight shocked Tyler. He hadn’t known the old man was so ill. He almost felt sorry for him.
‘I know you’re there, Tyler Bute!’ Duncan called. ‘I know you’re waitin’ for me. I can feel you there. I can smell you. There’s not a thing goes on this forest that I don’t know about. Not a single thing.’
Tyler stepped out onto the path, stood a few feet in front of Duncan.
‘Come to get your revenge for what I did to your girlfriend?’ Duncan asked. ‘Come to beat me up? Do what you will. You can’t make me sorrier than I already am.’
Tyler said nothing.
‘Just lost control for a minute, that’s all. I wanted her.’
Tyler said, ‘I know.’ He clenched his fists, walked towards Duncan, brushed against him as he passed and carried on up the path. He walked for a few yards before turning.
Duncan had his back to him, making his slow way to his cottage. His head still bent, still carefully considering the ground, choosing where to place his feet. Tyler shrugged, what could he do to Duncan that would make his life worse than it already was? The man was old before his time, in pain, lonely and bitter. Years spent working outdoors in foul weather had taken its toll on his lungs, bones and heart. But, Tyler thought, the things that would hurt him most were his regrets. Duncan had the rest of his life to turn them over in his head, sitting alone in his cottage cursing himself. Punishment enough, Tyler decided.
Elspeth rose early next morning. She put on a green tweed skirt with matching jacket, and a white blouse. It was her wedding outfit. Not what she would have chosen if she’d had the opportunity to shop, but it was smart. It would do. It was all she had. It was, also, too big for her. She’d lost weight working in the forest.
She left her uniform in Duncan’s office, and walked to the stables. Time to say goodbye to Frazer and Harry.
Frazer was grooming the horse when she arrived. ‘We don’t have nobody to take your place, yet.’
Elspeth felt a pang run through her. She didn’t want anyone else to take over the horse. Harry was hers. ‘Well, make sure whoever gets the job is good to her. She likes her food slightly warm and she’s fond of a song, especially a bit of Mozart. And a carrot, I pinch carrots for her. And . . .’
‘Time to let go,’ said Frazer. He came over, took her hand. ‘I may just miss you. And I don’t say that to many people.’ He swept his arms round her, kissed her. ‘There, a kiss for the bride. It’s lucky.’
‘Who for?’
‘For me,’ said Frazer. ‘I don’t kiss many brides these days, and I need a bit of luck.’
‘What about me,’ said Elspeth, ‘don’t I get any luck?’
‘A lass like you? You make your own.’ He kissed her again. ‘There, double luck for me.’
It surprised Elspeth how upset she felt. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, longing for. She should be jumping for joy. But she wasn’t.
On her way back to camp, she stopped and leaned against a tree. She touched her lips, still wet from Frazer’s clumsy kisses, and gave herself a talking to. This is an adventure, she told herself. Today I marry, I’ll be Elspeth Bute. She didn’t know if she liked the name. Tomorrow I set off on the journey of a lifetime. A train to Southampton, a ship to Halifax, a train – a big Canadian train with mournful whistle – to Nova Scotia, then a boat across the Gulf of St Lawrence to Port-aux-Basque and another train to Goobies, where I’ll live for the rest of my life. Elspeth and Tyler Bute – good living, kindly folks of Goobies, that’ll be us. She felt a little downhearted. Then clenched her fists, thinking, It will be wonderful. We’ll light fires to heat our house when gales and snow whip round the walls. I’ll play my accordion. We’ll dance round the kitchen, sing songs, eat cod’s roe and fresh salmon. I’ll learn to make heavy fruitcake, laden with blueberries and cherries, and bake apple pie. We’ll fry trout by the river, we’ll have four or five children, all apple-cheeked, sunny natured and full of joy. ‘Order to self,’ she said out loud, ‘I will be happy.’
As soon as she entered the dining hut, all the girls started singing, ‘Here comes the bride, fifty inches wide . . . la la la la . . .’
Elspeth told them to shut up. She took her place beside Lorna, who asked if that was what she was getting married in. ‘This jacket and skirt?’
‘Yes,’ said Elspeth. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’
‘But it’s green,’ said Lorna. ‘That’s unlucky.’
‘I don’t believe in superstitions,’ said Elspeth. ‘Besides, the wedding doesn’t matter. It’s the marriage that counts. I intend to be very happy.’
‘OK,’ said Lorna. ‘Guess what happened to me.’
‘I can’t,’ said Elspeth.
‘Duncan called me to his office and said that there were openings for girls who wanted to go to Germany. Work in the sawmills. So I said yes. I mean, it can’t be worse than here, can it? I’ll be measuring German wood.’
Elspeth asked if she was sure she wanted to do that. ‘I mean the country’s been flattened by our bombs. There’s not a lot of food. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Lorna. ‘It’s either that or stay here for years. Besides, I don’t want to be here with you gone. I’ll miss you. There’ll be nobody to have a laugh with. It’ll be an adventure. You’re always saying folk should have adventures.’
‘So I am,’ said Elspeth. She put her arm round her friend. ‘That’s both of us off adventuring.’
At eight o’clock the taxi that Tyler had ordered arrived. He and Elspeth packed it with their two small cases and the accordion, climbed in, and drove away. The girls gathered round cheering and waving. Elspeth turned and watched them till the car turned the corner, and she could see them no more.
They took the bus to Inverness, and were married at the registry office. A swift ceremony that took ten minutes, a couple booked to be married after them witnessed the occasion. Outside Tyler took Elspeth in his arms, kissed her and said, ‘Mrs Bute. My Mrs Bute.�
��
Elspeth looked down at her hands, rough, calloused – a lot older than she was. She never could get used to these hands and now there was a thin gold ring on the finger of her left one. She linked her arm in his, and said, ‘Mrs Bute, and proud of it.’
They dined at the Station Hotel, where they’d booked to stay the night. Tyler leaned over the table and hissed, ‘Let’s get this over as soon as possible and get upstairs to bed. We’ve some serious consummating to do.’
Elspeth said she was having pudding first.
But they did make it to the bedroom. Tyler peeled off his shirt, picked Elspeth up and said, ‘First time in a bed, Mrs Bute.’
This was true, so it shouldn’t have irritated Elspeth, but it did. It was hardly romantic.
‘We’ll go outside if you prefer it in the open air,’ she said. ‘It’s warm enough.’
He laughed threw her onto the bed, lay beside her and pulled her on top of him. ‘Oh, no. I’ve been looking forward to this.’
She hadn’t noticed how loudly he spoke before this. His voice filled the room. She lifted her finger to her lips. ‘Sssh, they’ll hear you next door.’
‘I don’t care. I’m happy.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her. Elspeth thought that the people next door could hear that, too.
Afterwards, he lay back, sighed and said, ‘Now we really are Mr and Mrs Bute and nothing can come between us.’
They boarded the train for London early the next morning. Tyler put their cases and the accordion on the rack and took a seat next to Elspeth. She asked if he wouldn’t prefer to sit across the aisle where there was a window seat available.
‘No, I would not like to sit there. I’m sitting here. I want to feel you next to me all the way to London.’
A woman sitting in the corner of the carriage looked over at them.
‘Just married,’ said Tyler. ‘This is my wife, Mrs Bute. We’re on our way to Newfoundland. I’m going home, taking my new wife with me.’
The woman said, ‘How lovely.’
‘Thousands of miles we’ll travel,’ said Tyler. ‘But this time next week we’ll be in my house, sitting at my table, eating good Newfie food, cods’ tongues or a tasty salt beef dinner.’
Elspeth thought the woman looked awfully glad it wasn’t her going all that way. She hadn’t realised Tyler was so hearty. She supposed he was an open-air sort of man. He lived his life with gusto. She would have to teach him new ways, or get used to him.
By the time they reached Perth, Tyler had told his story to every new passenger that came into the carriage. Elspeth looked out of the window at the familiar station, resisting the urge to get off the train and travel the few miles to her cottage. She thought it would be wonderful to see it again. But no, she was a different woman now, a new life ahead of her. As soon as she arrived in Newfoundland, she’d write to her solicitor and tell him to sell the cottage. Probably, she and Tyler would need the money, especially once the children came along.
When they reached Edinburgh, the train emptied and a fresh set of passengers got on – a new audience for Tyler. He introduced his new wife. He described his house. ‘Built it myself, with these hands.’ He held them out for examination. ‘That house will withstand all the weather God throws at it. It has stood through hundred mile an hour gales, wind so fierce it’d blow yer face away. Drifts of snow high as the roof and temperatures low as forty below.’
A ripple of ‘Goodness,’ spread through the carriage. Elspeth was thinking about Izzy. She wondered what Izzy was doing now her baby was born. A boy, Izzy had told her. ‘Looks a bit like me,’ she’d said in her letter. Elspeth wondered how Izzy was managing motherhood. It pained her to think she hadn’t seen the baby. It pained her even more to think she might never see Izzy again.
By the time the train reached York, Elspeth and Tyler had been travelling for eight hours. The platform was busy, porters rushing up and down, heaving cases and trunks on board. A man trundled a wooden trolley past the carriage window. He was selling cups of tea, sweets and magazines. Passengers could buy tea, and hand over the cup to a similar trolley-man at the next station. Elspeth stood up and said that since there was a ten-minute stop here, she thought she’d stretch her legs and go buy a magazine. Tyler, deep in conversation about fishing with a man on the other side of him, gave her a smile and said he’d see her soon.
Elspeth walked up the platform, bought a Woman’s Own and stood thumbing through it. She wondered if Tyler would like a cup of tea, but she didn’t buy one. She stood looking at the train. The guards were moving up the platform shouting, ‘All aboard!’ Slamming doors shut. The train was shuddering, heaving, steam gushing from the engine.
Elspeth would always wonder if she’d planned this, or if it was just another of her notions. A moment in her life when an unexpected decision came to her. The guard blew his whistle, waved his flag and the train chuntered slowly away. Elspeth watched it.
Everything from her forest life was on that train – her long johns, her beloved blue eiderdown, her accordion. But she stood clutching her Woman’s Own, and said goodbye to it all. Time to let go, she thought.
Chapter Forty-eight
A Stranger in a Green Suit
MR HUDSON, THE local solicitor who managed the lease on the cottage, folded his hands on his desk, peered over the rim of his specs and asked Izzy how she was.
‘Fine,’ said Izzy. ‘Actually, I was wondering if there was anywhere smaller I could rent. I’m on my own now. I don’t need all these rooms.’
He told her there was a cottage across the river from hers. ‘Very small. One of your pilots had it. He left not long ago. It’s a bit run-down. Cheap.’
Izzy said, ‘I’ll take it.’
She moved across the river into the tiny cottage that had, not so long ago, been the scene of Claire and Simon’s grand passion.
She settled in. Moved into what she called her ‘Babytimes’. She rose early, fed the child, ate porridge, did the washing in the kitchen sink, shoved it through the old green mangle that stood at the back door, watching it crumple gracefully into a tin tub. This, she found very satisfying. She felt a glow of achievement seeing her washing flapping on the line in the garden. She mastered a small culinary repertoire, she made the bed; she told herself she was happy. ‘Well,’ she said to the infant as she loomed over him – she felt that lately she did a lot of looming – ‘I am breathing. I can walk without holding on to the wall. I can keep food down. This is as good as it gets, right now.’
Afternoons, she strolled with the baby, trundling her ancient, third- or fourth-hand pram along the path by the river, or up through the village. She was returning from one of her strolls, shoving the pram ahead of her, letting go, running to catch it, when she saw a stranger – a woman in a green tweed suit – knocking at her door. She looked familiar, but Izzy couldn’t quite place her.
The woman turned, peered at her. ‘Izzy?’
Izzy peered back. ‘Elspeth?’
She abandoned the pram, ran to her friend. They hugged, held one another at arm’s length, each drinking the other in and hugged again. They went inside, both talking at once. ‘It’s been so long.’ And, ‘How did you get here?’ And, ‘You look so well.’
Izzy stood in the hall. Her arms felt oddly empty. ‘God, the baby.’ She ran to get him.
Elspeth looked at him, said hello and told Izzy he was her double. ‘Your hair and everything. Look at you, a mother.’
Izzy said, ‘Who’d have thought it.’
‘Not me,’ said Elspeth.
They went into the kitchen. Izzy put on the kettle.
Elspeth asked, ‘What about his father? Have you heard from him?’
Izzy shook her head. ‘He’ll be in Montana, I guess.’
‘Does he know about the baby?’
Izzy said, ‘Nope.’
‘Does he know where you are?’
‘He could find me if he wanted to. You found me.’
Elspeth had gone to Izzy’s old
address, knocked on the door – nobody answered. She’d peered through the windows, the place looked unlived in. She’d walked about the village asking for Miss Macleod. People had scratched their heads, looked puzzled. ‘Macleod? No, don’t know anybody of that name.’ Eventually, she’d given up and asked at the local garage when the bus for Blackpool left. Eddie had told her it would be a while. ‘Couple of hours.’ Then, because he was nosy, he’d asked, ‘Are you on holiday?’
She’d told him no. ‘My friend lived here. She was a pilot at the base, Izzy.’
‘Izzy,’ he’d said. ‘I know Izzy. Everybody knows Izzy.’ He’d taken her outside, pointed the way to the cottage. Elspeth had run all the way.
‘Such a lot of catching up to do. A whole war has happened to us,’ she said.
The catching up took days – a meandering conversation filled with laughter and memories. They spoke when they first got up in the morning, carried on through lunch, through the baby’s feeds, when they took him for an afternoon stroll, at his bath time and on till it was dark and the radio stations had stopped broadcasting and it was time for bed. Then, they’d speak some more. Elspeth, sleeping on the sofa, curled under a pile of blankets, would shout to Izzy in the bedroom, ‘Hey, Izzy, remember . . .’ And off they’d sail on a tide of memories.
Elspeth had been staying for days before Izzy asked, ‘Did you mean it? Did you just marry Tyler to get out of the forest?’
Elspeth said she did. ‘It was an impulse. I’d just heard we wouldn’t be able to leave, perhaps for years and I said, “I’ll marry you.”’
‘Just like that,’ said Izzy.
‘Just like that,’ said Elspeth. ‘But I did think at the time I’d go with him to Newfoundland. I didn’t plan to get off the train, it just happened. I realised I couldn’t go there. I would have been miserable. I’d have made him miserable. I stood there watching the train pull away, and I felt numb. It was an awful thing to do.’