by Isla Dewar
This train is orange and green and the engine is immense, bigger than your house. The dining car is all lit with tables with actual tablecloths on them. It’s all shiny at night. The coffee cups rattle as we sway along. The people serving call me ‘ma’am’, can you imagine? I get called ‘ma’am’ everywhere I go.
I love the sound of these trains, it’s like a sad song, it actually makes you want to travel somewhere. It’s mournful. Lying in my little bed, in this roomette, I hear it and I can even feel homesick for somewhere I’ve never been. No wonder people write songs about it.
All in all, though, I think I will like it here.
At two o’clock on Friday afternoon, Izzy stepped off the train at Great Falls and looked about. It was cold. She searched the crowd. Jimmy wasn’t there. People shoved past her, met up with other people, hugged, kissed, gathered their luggage and disappeared into the world beyond the station. Izzy stood alone.
Soon the platform was empty. The train shoved out of the station, hooting its mournful call. A slow wind curled round her. Izzy sat on a bench, considered the empty platform, hugged her child. Worried and wept.
Chapter Fifty-four
Grand
THREE O’CLOCK IN the morning, Elspeth woke, sat up in bed, eyes wide open, put her hands on her face and gasped. She’d had a horrible thought. A what-if scenario that had led to more what-ifs and set her mind in a spin. What if Tyler told the authorities that she hadn’t gone to Newfoundland, and those authorities – whoever they were, she didn’t know – decided that she was still fit to work in the forest, came to get her and dragged her back. ‘Oh, my God.’
Charles had planted the seeds of the worry. He’d told her she was very easy to find. ‘I just phoned the local post office and asked for your address.’
‘And they gave it to you?’ Elspeth said.
He nodded.
Charles had turned up two days ago. He’d limped down the garden path, banged on the door and grinned at her when she opened it. ‘Surprise,’ he’d said. ‘Thought I’d drop by and say hello.’
She’d told him he’d come an awfully long way just to drop in and say hello.
‘Not a lot to do these days now I’ve been demobbed. I need to be somewhere quiet where I can review my life and decide what to do next.’
Now, he was sleeping in the spare room. He’d hinted that he’d rather sleep in Elspeth’s room, in her bed, but she’d told him not to be rude. ‘I don’t sleep with men I barely know. In fact, the trouble sleeping with men has got me into, I may never sleep with one again.’
Charles had said he doubted that. ‘A woman like you is unlikely to resist her passions.’ Still, he’d limped off to the spare room without a backwards glance. All in all, though, Elspeth found him an ideal companion. He could talk about history, the relevance of Darwin’s theories, the intricacies of Bach’s music and the importance of popular music in times of trouble. He liked jazz and tapped his toes or did a shuffling dance to the catchy tunes that were played on Music While You Work. Elspeth liked him. And was pleased to note that he liked her. More than liking she did not want.
Next morning, before Charles was up, Elspeth went to see her solicitor and told him she was putting her house on the market. ‘I want you to handle the sale.’
When he asked where she was going, she told him Edinburgh. ‘I’ll find work there. And I need to start making some money.’ Then, she added, ‘I don’t want you handing out my new address to anybody. I am starting a new life and I don’t want to be easily found.’
On the way back to the cottage, she was aware of the stir she was causing. People stared at her, nudged one another as she passed by. There were whisperings – not loud enough for her to make out what was being said, but loud enough for her to know that what was being said wasn’t very flattering.
Oh, she could understand it. First, a huge lumbering man carrying a battered suitcase and speaking in a song of an accent had turned up in the village and announced himself to be her husband. Then, he’d disappeared. Now, a second stranger, this time with a plummy accent, had turned up, and he was staying with her. Elspeth wanted to stand in the High Street and shout that Charles was just a friend and furthermore was sleeping in the spare room. What good would that do? Her neighbours and fellow villagers had decided she was a loose woman. She doubted they’d allow their children to step over her threshold for piano lessons. It was time to move on.
When she got home, Elspeth phoned the letting agency her solicitor had recommended and arranged to view a three-bedroomed flat in Edinburgh’s New Town. ‘Just a step from Princes Street,’ she said. ‘Just the thing – shops, lights, theatres only minutes away.’
‘Do you have to sell this place?’ said Charles. ‘I rather like it.’
‘I’m selling,’ Elspeth told him. ‘I’m getting out of here, doing a bunk.’
‘A bunk? You? Why?’
‘I need to disappear before the police come for me.’
He stared at her, baffled. ‘What have you done? Robbed a bank?’
‘No. I married to get out of the forest. I was expected to go to Newfoundland. But I didn’t. If they find out, they might send the police to take me back up there.’
‘They?’ said Charles. ‘Who are they?’
Elspeth didn’t know. She imagined some faceless but ruthless authority that dealt harshly with people who jumped off trains and refused to go to Newfoundland. ‘I don’t know who they are. I’m just getting away from them.’
‘There has been a war. Troops are coming home. Thousands of people are being repatriated. Government departments will be flooded with bits of paper, phones will be ringing, people will be queuing in corridors, do you really think anyone is going to notice one woman who got off a train and didn’t sail to Newfoundland?’
‘Oh, it’s all very well for you to sound reasonable, it’s not you who’d be shipped off to the middle of nowhere to chop trees and sleep in a hut. I’m not taking chances. I’m doing a bunk.’ Elspeth was adamant.
‘To Edinburgh?’
‘Yes, to a city. To walk along busy pavements. To be where nobody knows who I am.’
He said he could see the appeal of that.
Next day, he went with her to view the flat. It was in Abercrombie Place, on the ground floor of a large Georgian building. Elspeth fell in love with it before she went in. ‘Look at this street, so wide, and look, there are gardens on one side. I could stroll in them, sit reading and I wouldn’t have to mow the lawn or weed. It’s perfect.’
The landlord, Mr Parker, met them at the door. He sized them both up, glancing from one to the other. He grinned. ‘Mr and Mrs Moon. Oh, I’m so glad.’ He turned to Elspeth, ‘Only, when you phoned, I got the impression you were single. You didn’t mention Mr Moon.’
Elspeth opened her mouth to explain. Charles put his arm round her, gripped her shoulder. ‘I’m afraid my Elspeth is a very independent-minded young woman.’
There was a huge living room with bay windows. It was partially furnished with a dark-blue velvet sofa in front of the fire and two matching chairs, one by the window, the other beside the sofa. There was one huge bedroom with a four-poster bed and two smaller ones along with a large kitchen that led out into a courtyard. The ceilings were high – there was light, there was air, there was room for a piano. Elspeth thought it perfect. She loved this flat. She wanted this flat.
Mr Parker smiled at Charles. Charles grinned at him. ‘I’m not too happy about letting out to a single woman. They have a tendency to run off and get married, leaving me without a tenant. And, you never know these days, I don’t want the wrong sort of person, if you know what I mean.’
Charles said he surely did. ‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said. He took Elspeth’s hand, lifted it to his lips, kissed it. ‘Be assured, Mr Parker, Elspeth is well and truly married.’
Mr Parker beamed. He asked what they did.
‘I was in the Royal Artillery. Saw action in Burma. Going to finish my PhD, then I’ll
be looking for a teaching post – history. Elspeth, here, is a musician.’
It was plain that Mr Parker thought them the perfect couple.
‘We’ll take the flat,’ said Charles. ‘Elspeth loves it.’
Outside, Elspeth sprinted along the pavement. At the corner, she stopped and waited for Charles to catch up with her. ‘What do you think you are doing?’
‘Getting us a place to live.’
‘I’m not going to live with you. I just wanted somewhere to take my piano. Teach music and reflect on my stupid past. I didn’t factor you into my future life.’
‘Well, do some factoring now. Think about it. I’m all for reflecting on your stupid past, by the way. We all should do a bit of that.’
‘You told that man we were married,’ said Elspeth. ‘What if he finds out we’re not? He wouldn’t approve of our living in sin. Besides, I hardly know you. I want to live alone.’
‘You wouldn’t have got the flat if you hadn’t had me, Mr Moon, to vouch for you. I’m going to love being Mr Moon. A new beginning for me. Meet Charles Moon.’
He said she could live alone. Only, he’d be living alone with her. ‘In the same flat sort of thing. Or, we could get married.’
‘You know I can’t. I’m already married. My husband won’t divorce me, a punishment for using him. I deserve that, I suppose. I was married for a whole day. God, I’m stupid.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not stupid, just impulsive. I like that.’ She could play the piano. She had modelled in Chelsea. She’d once seen George Orwell sitting alone in a bar, and she was married, which left her free to not marry him. ‘You’re perfect.’
He linked arms with her. ‘What do you think, Mrs Moon? Are you going to let me do a bunk with you? I think it’ll be grand.’
Elspeth thought, Here I go again, another stupid step in my life. But she said, ‘Where shall we put the piano?’
Mrs Brent took a second chocolate plum and popped it into her mouth. ‘These are good.’
William took one, too. ‘They’re Izzy’s.’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Brent. ‘But Izzy’s not here, is she? We might as well have them. Can’t let them go to waste.’
‘I don’t think it right you opened her package.’
‘Well, neither do I, really. But what would have happened? The plums would have sat there and gone off.’
‘True,’ said William. ‘Village is quiet these days.’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Brent. ‘They’ve all gone away. All the pilots. All the Americans. Everybody. I miss them.’
‘Yes,’ said William. ‘It was a grand war.’
‘It was,’ said Mrs Brent. ‘I miss Izzy. She was my favourite. Bit stupid in the end, though. You’d think a girl like that would know to use a you-know?’
‘Rubber Johnny?’
‘Yes. Lovely baby, though.’
‘Lovely baby,’ William agreed. ‘Wonder what Jacob meant when he said he owed her.’
‘Dunno,’ said Mrs Brent.
‘Do you think they were – you know?’
‘Having a bit on the side? Sleeping together? No. Not Izzy, she just had her American.’ She took another plum. Slurped at it, brandy running down her chin. ‘Grand.’
‘Well, what could he owe her?’
‘Money,’ said Mrs Brent. ‘I think she gave him all her money so he could get home to his love. She was soft-hearted.’
‘She was that,’ said William. ‘And here’s us eating her plums all the way from Poland.’
‘She wouldn’t mind. She was grand.’
Chapter Fifty-five
Come in
THERE WAS A slice of a moment when Izzy didn’t recognise Jimmy. She stared up at him and thought, Who the hell are you?
He smiled and said, ‘Izzy.’
She sniffed, wiped her nose and told him he was late. ‘I’ve been sitting here thinking I’d have to find a hotel. I was imagining I was alone in a strange country, knowing nobody and I thought I’d missed you, that you’d gone off without me.’
He wondered why she thought he’d do that.
‘I don’t know. I was imagining all sorts of things. I didn’t reason it out. I thought perhaps you’d been here and I hadn’t recognised you.’
‘Of course you’d recognise me.’
‘I might not.’ She waved her hand at his jeans, boots and blue-checked shirt. ‘I’ve never seen you in ordinary clothes. I’ve only seen you in uniform and in your underpants and naked.’
‘When you put it like that, I can see your point.’ He took Sam. ‘Is this him? My boy?’
‘Of course it’s him.’
Jimmy took him, held him up. ‘He’s beautiful. He looks like you.’ He pulled Izzy from her bench, kissed her. ‘God, it’s good to see you.’
He kissed Izzy again, kissed his son. He took Izzy’s case and, still carrying his child, led the way out to where his car was parked. ‘I got held up. Got stuck behind a truck for miles, couldn’t pass. Crawling along at thirty miles per hour, pumping my horn, panicking.’
Outside walking up the street, Izzy said, ‘Gosh, that’s a big car.’
‘A Chevrolet. We got big cars here, we got big roads here. It’s a big country.’
‘Everything’s big,’ said Izzy.
He said she’d get used to it.
She sat, Sam on her knee, in the front. He told her they had a ways to go and asked if she wanted a cup of coffee or anything.
She said mostly what she wanted was a bath.
As they bowled along, Izzy said, ‘It’s shiny here. All that sky.’
‘Yeah.’ Then, he asked, ‘How did Sam take to travelling?’
‘He was fine. He looked about and took everything in. I thought he’d cry and cry, but no. He just looked interested. Babies just accept things, I suppose, as long as they’re with someone they know.’
‘He’s a Newman,’ said Jimmy. ‘We’re adaptable.’
‘He’s a Macleod,’ said Izzy. She put her head against the window, and cried, ‘I’m tired. I am so tired.’
He reached over, stroked her hair. ‘I know. You’ve come a long way.’
‘You were late. You were late and I thought you weren’t coming and I was sitting alone and people were looking at me.’ She punched him.
‘Jesus, Izzy, I told you I got held up. I couldn’t help it.’ He pulled over, stopped the car. ‘Did you punch me? Was that a punch? Listen, if you’re going to punch someone in this country, you got to do better than that. That was like a fly landing.’ He put his arms round her. He held her, told her she was exhausted and nervous. ‘Nothing to worry about. My folks are dying to meet you and Sam. They’re so excited. My mother is cooking pork chops.’
Izzy said, ‘Actually, I quite like pork chops. But not as much as you think. I only ate so many of them that time because I hadn’t had them for ages, they kind of reminded me of home. Also, I was hungry.’
He said he guessed that. ‘Only my mother asked what you liked and that’s all I could think of.’
He started up the car again.
After another while, Izzy said, ‘Do you play much golf here?’
‘No, I’m not that much of a golfer. I only wanted to play it when I was in Scotland.’
Izzy said, ‘Oh.’
Jimmy turned to Izzy and said, ‘We hardly know each other. We spoke about our childhoods and our dreams. Well, my dreams. I don’t think you had any plans for after the war.’
‘Now you mention it, no.’
‘Mostly when we met, we f–’ He stopped himself.
‘Fucked,’ said Izzy. She put her hands over the baby’s ears. ‘Don’t want him to hear that language.’
‘Yes, that’s what we did. Now we’ve got to get to know one another. You have got to get to know my family, and I have got to get to know Sam. It’ll take time. But I think we’ll be fine. I just know we’ll be fine.’
Izzy said she hoped so.
‘Come to think about it,’ he said, ‘I’ve never se
en you angry. We’ve never had a fight. I’ve never really seen you cry. I think we should get acquainted, then we’ll get married.’
Izzy said that seemed like a decent enough plan. ‘And if we don’t like one another after we get acquainted, we won’t get married.’
He smiled. ‘Something like that.’ Then, he asked, ‘So, how do you like America?
‘I love it. Though sometimes I can’t make out what people are saying. I haven’t got the hang of the accents.’
He said, ‘Snap. I had the same problem in Scotland.’
She said she still had the Mary Queen of Scots teaspoon. He smiled.
‘I’ve got a horse picked out for you,’ he told her. ‘I’ll teach you to ride. Sam will grow up round horses, he’ll be riding almost before he can walk.’
‘What makes you think that?’ said Izzy. ‘I might not stay.’
‘Izzy, you’ll stay. I know how to make you stay. You know you’ll stay.’ Then knowing how to tempt her, he said, ‘We’ve got a plane. It’s a way of covering the ground, seeing for miles when you’re looking for stray cattle.’
Izzy said, ‘Well, you do have a lot of sky in Montana.’
Later she said, ‘I’ve been trying to work out how America smells. It smells of coffee and food in the streets, petrol and something else. I can’t decided what it is.’
‘Home smells of coffee and wood burning and usually there’s some food on the go.’
‘I can smell snow,’ said Izzy. ‘It’s going to snow. Snow smells the same everywhere.’
He guessed it did, asked how it was when she had the baby.
‘I had him at Mrs Brent’s house. She was there and the midwife. I swore a lot. But people were mostly kind. They gave me clothes for Sam.’
‘My mother has been buying toys and clothes. You should see the stuff. God, she’s excited. Her first grandchild. She can’t wait to meet him.’
Izzy said that was good. ‘Can’t say my family were enthused. My mother came round in the end. I think my father did, too. But he never did think much of unmarried mothers. We were sinners who’d given in to our passion.’