One Step at a Time

by Beryl Matthews

  ‘I know, it’s terrible!’

  She grabbed his hand when he made a move to slash a brush loaded with paint across the surface. ‘No, no! It’s fantastic.’

  The look he gave her was one of absolute disbelief. ‘Oh, come on, Amy, I can’t paint any more. It’s nothing like the work I used to do.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ She stepped back slightly to view the painting of a group of men leaning against an old wooden hut. ‘This is better.’

  ‘Don’t try to humour me.’ He tossed down the brush. ‘I was afraid when I finally got home I would have forgotten how to paint. Well, now I know I have.’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’ She rounded on him, hands on her hips. ‘Is that what this is all about? Is this why you’ve shut yourself away, trying to recapture the style you had before you went away? You can’t lose your talent, Ben, it’s part of you; it’s what you are.’

  ‘I don’t know what I am any more.’

  Her heart ached for him; for the inner torment he had been keeping to himself. Placing her hand through his arm, they stood side by side, gazing at the picture. ‘It’s better than good,’ she said softly.

  Ben ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it streaked with paint as he narrowed his eyes, studying the work in front of him. ‘All right, tell me what you see. And I want the truth.’

  She tipped her head on one side, quietly considering the painting for a few moments before speaking, then said, ‘I see strength, despair, anger, frustration; each face showing a different emotion. I see that an artist with not only skill but also a stunning depth of feeling has painted this. I see a picture that takes away my breath.’

  ‘But look at this!’ Ben spun away and jabbed at some paintings he’d done before the war. ‘It’s nothing like them.’

  He was very agitated, so she went over to him, looking up into his face. ‘Of course it isn’t. You’ve changed, grown, experienced goodness knows what. You’re not the same person – none of us is – and that shows in your work. You are now painting with more freedom, more power, and much more feeling.’ She gestured to the older paintings littering the room. ‘In many of those I can see anger, hurt and darkness of thought, but not what you are now doing. Ben, you’re a better painter.’

  Hunching his shoulders, he stared down at her, varied emotions showing in his face. ‘God, Amy, I want to believe you.’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you, or try to make you believe something that isn’t true. Let Howard see this and he’ll confirm it. What you have gone through over the last few years is reflected in your work. Stop trying to be what you were. That was the boy honing his talent. This is the mature you. You must accept that. We need you, Ben, and want you to join us for meals, just like the old times. Dinner will be ready in about another half an hour.’

  Without another word, she walked out, leaving him to think over what she had said. She had told him the truth, but he needed to see it for himself. She had done all she could for the time being. In the days he had spent shut away painting, he had found himself again; all he had to do was recognize that.

  For quite a while after Amy had gone, Ben stared at the closed door, trying to assimilate what she had said. One thing was clear, though: that wasn’t the little girl he had left behind. All she had suffered, lost and gained had changed her into a woman. A very wise one. And one who made him strangely edgy to be near.

  Walking back to the painting on the easel, he tried to see it through her eyes. Was she right? Had he been trying to recapture the talent of the boy who no longer existed? Had he been expecting to pick up a brush and paint in exactly the same way? Was this more mature artist as good as she said?

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door opening again, and a little head with a mop of unruly hair peering in. He pretended not to see her.

  She edged in quietly, a doll dangling from her hand. She was wearing a pretty pink dress with a frill round the hem and sleeves, and pink slippers with a white rabbit on them.

  When she reached him, he looked down. ‘Hello.’

  Her face was serious as she swung up the doll and clutched it to her, then declared in a hurt tone, ‘You don’t like me, do you?’

  ‘I do like you. I think you’re very nice.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. Her head was tipped right back in order to look at him. Another inch or two and she would topple over.

  ‘Then why won’t you play with me? Uncle Howard plays with me, and’ – she looked smug – ‘he lets me paint pots, like Mummy.’

  ‘Well, he’s a nice man.’

  She nodded, her hair falling into her eyes. ‘You’re not nice.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry you think that.’

  Pushing the errant strand of hair away, she huffed out a breath, turning her attention to the picture on the easel. ‘What are those men doing?’

  ‘They’re waiting for the war to end.’ He could see she wasn’t impressed; she had a very expressive face.

  ‘My mummy said you’d come back and paint my picture.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘My mummy said that you’d play with me, but you don’t. I haven’t got a daddy, but Mummy said I had two uncles who would love me, because they were nice.’

  The little girl’s words tore through Ben, hurting dreadfully. He’d been thinking only of himself, but this little scrap had been deprived of her father. She would never know him. He crouched down in front of her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been nice to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’ve been away for a long time, and wasn’t well when I came back.’

  ‘Mummy said you were a prisoner.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was fighting the enemy, and they caught me.’

  She reached out a finger to touch a blob of paint on his shirt, giving a hesitant smile. ‘Are you better now?’

  ‘Much better.’ Catching her round the waist, he surged to his feet. ‘I’ll start painting your picture tomorrow. Now, your mummy said dinner was nearly ready, so shall we go down for it?’

  She nodded and slipped a little arm around his neck, and whispered, ‘Mummy said I wasn’t to come up here and be a pest.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re a pest.’

  ‘Are you going to be nice now you’re better?’

  ‘Very, very nice.’

  Seeing her daughter in Ben’s arms, and smiling happily, Amy thought her heart would burst. They had been so worried about him since his return but, as he settled Grace in her chair, he looked more at ease. He was still too thin for his height, but regular meals would take care of that.

  Grace was still clutching her doll and giving her mother rather worried glances. Amy knew it was because she had gone upstairs when she had been told not to. But it had brought Ben down to join them, so she wouldn’t be reprimanded this time. Amy smiled at her daughter to let her know it was all right.

  As Ben settled in his usual chair, no one mentioned that it had taken him so long to begin to eat with them.

  ‘Won’t it be lovely when we can have a large roast again?’ Mrs Dalton helped Amy to cut up the pie. It had more vegetables than meat in it, but it smelt good and looked appetizing.

  ‘It certainly will.’ Amy put a small portion of carrots on Grace’s plate, along with mashed potato and pie. The rest of the vegetables were placed in the middle of the table for everyone to help themselves.

  It was lovely to be eating together again, and the conversation flowed, with Ben joining in and laughing at the light-hearted banter that was a feature of their mealtimes. But Amy could see that, sometimes, his smiles were forced. Although this was a step forward, he was by no means back to normal. It was still going to take time and patience. She had been told that some of the men handled captivity better than others, but Ben’s problems were the result of more than years of captivity. Something else had happened to him, she was sure.

  Hardly taking her eyes off Ben, Grace dutifully ate her carr
ots, which was a sure sign she was feeling guilty, because she hated them.

  ‘My goodness,’ Mrs Dalton exclaimed as she cleared away Grace’s empty plate. ‘There’s a good girl. You finished all your carrots.’

  Grace pulled a face, but said nothing.

  ‘How about coming for a drink?’ Ted asked Ben. ‘Howard’s got some money. I sold one of his sculptures in my shop yesterday.’

  ‘Have you still got your shop, Ted?’ Ben looked surprised.

  ‘Yes, I’ve managed to keep it going, just about. I’ve been putting some of Howard’s and Amy’s work in the window, and we’ve sold a few pieces.’

  Ben stood up. ‘We’d better help Howard spend his money, then.’

  His friend grinned. ‘All right, the first two are on me, and then it’s up to the pair of you.’

  As they left the kitchen, Ted turned his head and winked at Amy, and then they were gone.

  Mrs Dalton wiped a hand over her eyes. ‘He’s coming out of whatever was troubling him, isn’t he, Amy?’

  ‘He’s making an effort, but he’s having a hard job to readjust. I had a talk with him while I was upstairs, and one of the problems he’s been struggling with is that he believed he couldn’t paint any more. He’s obviously been trying to find his talent again after so long away from it, because the studio is littered with work he’s done since he came back. The one he’s working on now is nothing like anything he’s ever done, but it is full of feeling, and I think it’s fantastic. I’ve told him so.’

  Sitting next to her daughter, she turned her chair to face her. ‘Tell me what you said to Uncle Ben.’

  Grace straightened the dolly’s dress. ‘I wasn’t a pest. I just wanted to see him. I wasn’t going to speak to him,’ she explained hastily, ‘but he said hello, and we talked about things…’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I asked him if he was going to paint my picture, like yours. He said he’d been caught and shut up for a long time and he hadn’t been well and he was going to be nice now.’

  The explanation had tumbled out in one breath, and Amy watched Grace gulp in a lungful of air. She ran a hand gently over her hair. ‘I know you weren’t being naughty, darling. You’ve been a good girl, because you made him come downstairs and have dinner with us.’

  ‘And now he’s gone to the pub with Howard and Ted.’ Mrs Dalton smiled at Grace. ‘That’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?’

  Nodding as if she understood what Mrs Dalton was saying, Grace got off the chair to stroke the cat. ‘Oscar’s hungry, Mummy.’

  After feeding the animal, Grace was put to bed. She liked to hear a story before going to sleep, and as Amy found it difficult to read without long pauses, she made up tales in her head. She had a long-running story about a very kind dragon, and she had to think up some adventure for him every night. Grace loved it, and often made suggestions as to what he could get up to. They both enjoyed it.

  ‘Asleep, is she?’ Mrs Dalton asked when Amy returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Yes.’ Amy laughed softly. ‘We’ve had the dragon exploring a castle on top of a mountain, and finding another one being kept prisoner. We’ve had to free him so he could fly away with our dragon. Now I’ve got two to make up stories for.’

  ‘You ought to write down that story.’

  Amy gave Mrs Dalton an amused glance. ‘And how long do you think that would take me?’

  ‘Oh, darn it. I keep forgetting you still have trouble with words. You’ll have to get one of us to do it for you.’

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone would be interested in it except Grace. It’s partly her creation, anyway. Now, I think I’ll wait up for the men to come back.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Not used to being idle, they busied themselves with sewing and ironing while they waited.

  It was gone eleven when they heard the sound of muffled laughter. Amy went into the hall and watched the three men, shoes in hands, trying to creep in unnoticed.

  ‘Put the kettle on,’ she called to Mrs Dalton. ‘They’re plastered!’

  After receiving three sheepish grins, she ushered them towards the kitchen and guided them to the nearest chairs.

  ‘You’ve spent all of Howard’s money, by the look of you.’ Mrs Dalton tried to sound disapproving, without success.

  Ted smirked, Ben looked completely out of it, and Howard… Amy lunged forward as he began to topple sideways. Another couple of seconds and he would have ended up on the floor. And he wouldn’t have felt a thing, the state he was in, she decided.

  ‘What’s wrong with them, Mummy?’ Grace appeared in the doorway, having been woken up by the noise. ‘Is Uncle Ben sick again?’

  Amy swept her up in her arms. ‘They’re all going to be very sick in the morning, darling. They’ve had too much to drink.’

  ‘Hello, little Gracie,’ Howard slurred, holding out his arms.

  It was Mrs Dalton who caught him this time. He was having a job to sit in a chair, but appeared to be the only one capable of speech.

  ‘Whoops!’

  ‘Oooh!’ Grace’s eyes were wide as she looked at her mother. ‘Is Uncle Howard sick as well?’

  ‘They’re all right, Grace. They just need to go to bed.’ She kissed her daughter. ‘And so do you.’

  Grace was almost asleep before she tucked her up in bed again. And when she returned to the kitchen, they were all drinking tea.

  It then took her and Mrs Dalton almost an hour to guide each one to his bed, removing only their jackets and leaving them to sleep in the rest of their clothes. After that struggle, they both needed a cup of cocoa.

  ‘I think they’ve had a good time.’ Mrs Dalton shook her head. ‘And it wasn’t surprising that Ben couldn’t speak. I expect that’s the most he’s had to drink since his student days.’

  ‘A night out like that was probably what he needed.’ Amy’s grin was wide. ‘But he won’t think that in the morning. None of them will.’

  They both dissolved into helpless laughter.

  Ben squinted at Howard. ‘How much did we drink last night?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I lost count after six.’

  Ben shuddered. ‘How’s Ted?’

  ‘Still fast asleep when I looked in.’ Howard pulled a face of disgust. ‘How did we end up in our own beds? The last thing I remember was trying to get the key in the front door.’

  ‘Ah, that was a tricky operation.’ Ben was peering under his bed. ‘Where are my shoes?’

  ‘By the front door.’

  ‘What are they doing down there?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. Mine and Ted’s are there as well.’

  ‘Ah, then we were probably trying not to wake anyone.’

  ‘I don’t think we were successful.’ Howard sat on the floor by Ben’s bed, watching his friend try to stand up without swaying all over the place.

  Ben examined his crumpled shirt. ‘God, I must have been in a state if I couldn’t even undress.’

  ‘We all slept in our clothes. Go and get washed and changed, and we’ll go down for some breakfast. While you’re doing that I’ll try to drag Ted out of bed.’

  ‘Breakfast!’ Ben went quite pale at the thought of food and had to hold on to the wardrobe for support. ‘You’re joking. But I wouldn’t mind a gallon of tea. When you have a chance and can see properly, I want you to have a look at the painting on my easel. Tell me what you think, and I want an honest opinion.’

  ‘Have you ever known me to be anything else about your work?’

  ‘No.’ Ben wandered off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

  After half an hour he felt almost human again, and joined Howard in the studio. ‘Did you get Ted out of bed?’

  ‘Yep, he’s in the kitchen. I’m not sure if he knows how he got there, though.’ Howard chuckled. ‘I don’t think he’ll be doing that again in a hurry.’

  ‘Nor me.’ Ben turned his attention to the painting. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  Rubbing his chin, Ho
ward stepped back a little. ‘The style is different, but I’d say it’s the best thing you’ve ever done.’

  ‘Really?’ That was still hard for Ben to believe. ‘That’s what Amy told me, but I thought she was just being kind.’

  ‘Ben.’ Howard looked at his friend. ‘You know she never flatters us unless she really likes what we’re doing. She’s got a good eye, and if she says it’s good, then it is. Are they actual men from the camp?’

  Ben nodded. ‘I was having such a job to paint again, I thought that if I did this it might clear my mind.’

  ‘It’s certainly done that. You haven’t lost it, Ben, in fact you’re better.’ Howard’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Do some more like it.’

  ‘OK.’ For the first time in years, Ben felt a stirring of hope and confidence in his ability as an artist.

  The sound of little feet climbing the stairs reached them, and then the door burst open.

  ‘Mummy said if you want breakfast, you’d better come now. And when are you going to paint my picture?’

  Both men flinched at the sound of the high-pitched childish voice.

  Ben scooped her up, making her giggle. ‘As soon as I’ve had a dozen cups of tea.’

  39

  Three days later, it was unusually quiet in the kitchen.

  ‘Where’s Grace?’ Mrs Dalton looked out of the window. ‘I can’t see, or hear her.’

  ‘She’s still having her portrait painted. Ben started ages ago, according to her, and she keeps reminding him to get on with it.’

  ‘Ah, well, that will keep them both busy. That night out did our Benjamin good, didn’t it? But he hasn’t been out since, has he?’

  ‘No, he’s still rather withdrawn, but at least he’s eating with us, talking more, and leaving his studio now and again. We’re going to give him a few more days, and then get him involved in plans for the new shop. The sooner all three of us can get back to normal, the better.’

  ‘Mummy!’ Grace burst into the room. ‘Uncle Ben won’t let me see the picture until it’s done. It’s taking a long time.’