‘That’s because of me. I’ve been hiding so the Germans don’t know where to drop them.’
‘But the Germans aren’t looking for you.’
He looked at the ground again and muttered something.
‘What?’ said Grace.
He shook his head.
‘Come on, William!’ she said. ‘Tell us.’
‘Got to be careful. That’s what they said on the wireless.’
‘Where have you been hiding?’
He shook his head again. ‘I’m not telling, Miss. Walls have ears. That’s the other thing they said.’
Grace giggled, and suddenly skimmed the water with her hand so that it splashed in his direction. It glinted in the sunlight as it flew through the air and hit him.
Now she’s done it, I thought, but I was wrong. He laughed and lifted his hands to catch the drops.
‘Nora’s from London,’ said Grace. ‘I chose her to come and live with us. Don’t you think she looks like me?’
‘Hello,’ I said.
William didn’t reply. He was rubbing water into his hands and wrists as if it were something precious.
‘Well, I think she does,’ Grace said, and dived underwater. I couldn’t think of anything to say so I dived too, swimming until my lungs felt as if they were about to burst. When I came up for air, he was gone.
We often saw him after that, in the woods where he trapped rabbits, by the lake or standing on the little hump-backed bridge on the outskirts of the village. He was always alone and would stand still for hours on end, looking into the water.
‘He doesn’t ever swim,’ Grace said. ‘He just likes to look at it. He won’t say why.’
I understood how he felt about water. At the lake, I liked the depth that went on forever, the cold sensation that rose up my body as I waded further in and the way that, if I stayed there long enough, my fingers swelled and turned white. I spent hours in the rectory bathroom, feeling a secret thrill each time I turned the hot water tap, fighting the temptation to fill the bath to the brim, past the line that Reverend Rivers had painted five inches from the bottom. He called it the Plimsoll Line and gave us a lesson on ships. We were saving water for the war effort, he said, and we must be sure never to fill the bath above it. Once a week I lay back and stared at the wobbly black line, promising myself that one day, when the war was over, I would find the biggest bath I could, fill it to the brim and stay there for as long as I wanted, never letting the water go cold.
For months there were no bombs and no invasion. The fright of the first day in church was replaced by a dull worry that one day something might happen. Nobody knew what it might be or when. The only thing to do was to wait. The long summer became autumn in a matter of days and then, almost before the leaves had time to drop from the trees, it was winter. When lessons were over we passed the time reading books or playing cards. In the evenings we sat with Mrs Rivers, listening to the sighs and whistles of the fire. She knitted, clicking her needles as surely and quickly as she played her piano. Reverend Rivers stayed in his study, smoking his pipe, the smell of it drifting under the door of the sitting room. When we were by the fire with the curtains pulled tight and the gas-lamps lit, it seemed impossible that anything could ever change. Even when the wind howled outside or rain threw itself against the windows, the rectory was solid. On those nights I curled myself into an armchair, hugging a cushion to my chest and reading a book, feeling perfectly content.
It was on one of those nights that Reverend Rivers came into the sitting room. It was strange to see him out of his study and we looked up at him, wondering why he was there. He made his way to the fireplace and stood in front of it, looking ill at ease.
After a moment he cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘I have something to tell you,’ he said, and his voice wasn’t sure and clear like it was in the pulpit on Sundays or when he was explaining algebra in the schoolroom, but stumbling and low.
Mrs Rivers, Grace and I waited, saying nothing.
He coughed. ‘What I mean to say is—’ He stopped again. I stared at him, trying to work out what was making him so uncomfortable.
‘Ah, what I mean to say is that I have received a letter from the authorities. As you know, most of the evacuees have gone back to their homes in London.’
I put down my book and sat up very straight.
‘It seems that the situation is by no means as serious as originally feared.’
A prickling sensation began to creep up my spine.
Reverend Rivers hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. ‘So the question is - ah - the question is whether Nora should go back home too.’
I felt as if a window had blown open and wind was rushing all around me. Grace leapt up and ran over to me. Her face was pale. She squeezed herself next to me in the armchair and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.
‘She can’t go.’ Her voice was fierce. ‘She belongs here with us.’
I looked over at Mrs Rivers, who had put down her knitting and was staring at Reverend Rivers as if she hadn’t understood what he had said. I looked at Reverend Rivers. His expression was sorrowful but there was something else in it too, something that I couldn’t puzzle out. He was pressing his lips together as if he were trying to stop himself from saying something. When he spoke again, he seemed to be struggling to keep his voice even.
‘Grace!’ he said. ‘I am not suggesting that I want Nora to leave. But we have been asked a question and we must give an answer.’
‘Then the answer is no. She mustn’t leave us.’
As soon as she said it I knew she was right. I knew it in every part of me, right to my bones. But Reverend Rivers looked grave and I knew there was something else he had to say. Grace’s words hung in the air as he spoke.
‘There are other considerations,’ he said slowly. ‘Nora might want to go back home. She may not want to stay here. It is a long time since she saw her mother, nearly four months. The decision has to be hers.’
I felt stupid and lost, like when I didn’t know an answer in the schoolroom. I imagined sitting on the train, leaving behind the hundred shades of green and the Forgotten Lake. In London there were no rivers to swim in, no apples to steal from trees and no books to take me to places where anything might happen. Hot tears welled up in my eyes at the thought of losing it all, and when Grace squeezed my hand they began to roll down my cheeks.
But there was another reason for my tears. Reverend Rivers’ words had made me remember Ma. In my excitement at being in this new world, full of distractions and diversions, I had stopped thinking about her. I had forgotten her just as I had forgotten my friends. It was as if London had never existed.
I could feel Grace’s fingers, tangled up with mine, and our pulses, beating together. I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
‘Please don’t leave me,’ Grace said in a small voice. ‘You’re supposed to be my sister, remember?’
A strange noise came from where Mrs Rivers was sitting. I looked over at her. She was pressing a handkerchief to her eyes. I couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting her. I loved Ma but she had let me go. She had wanted me to leave. Grace and her mother wanted me to stay.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘I want to stay here with you.’
Grace let out a yelp of happiness and squeezed my hand so tightly that I thought my fingers would break.
Reverend Rivers looked at me for the first time since he had come into the room. His lips twitched. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall write to the authorities and to your mother.’
Ma wrote back, not to Reverend Rivers but to me. Her handwriting was as I remembered it from shopping lists, small and crooked, slipping and sliding off the faint ruled lines.
Dear Nora,
I hope that you are in good helth and that your feet are not too cold in bed without me there to rub them worm. I am sending some socks that I knited for you to make sure that you don’t catch a chill. I am
sure that it is colder in the Countryside than here. Reverend Rivers wrote me a letter and he said that you were no truble to him. He said that he was happy to keep you in Kent and so was his wife. He said that you wanted to stay. The Fox boys came back. They wanted to come home. They didn’t like it in the Countryside. They said that they were always kept hungry and the lady didn’t treat them well. It was ever so nice to see them. If you are ever unhappy you must write to tell me. As soon as I have the money for a ticket I will come to visit.
Remember that I will always be with you.
Your loving Mother
Reverend Rivers was strict about spelling, making us write out corrections fifty times. I was ashamed of Ma’s mistakes, wondering what Reverend Rivers would think if he saw her letter. That night I cried myself to sleep, my hand resting on the letter under my pillow. It seemed to me that the distance between us was becoming much further than just a train ride.
Seven
THE DAY AFTER ROSE’S ARRIVAL I WOKE EARLIER THAN usual, unnerved by the knowledge that someone else was in the house. It had been many years since I had shared it and I was beginning to understand the consequences of my invitation. She would come to know the daily details of my life. She would become familiar with the little routines and rituals that filled my days.
My solitude had been hard-won, requiring constant protection. I had allowed Rose into it and now there would be an entanglement. We would not be able to confine our conversation to the present; that much was evident from her tears when I had showed her her room. There would be questions. The past would intrude, both hers and my own.
I needed to think. I took my coat from the cupboard and knotted my headscarf under my chin, then slipped out of the house. It was a sunny day, just on the turn between summer and autumn and the blue skies made me feel better. My feet fell into their usual rhythms, taking me along old routes. My mind cleared and, although it hadn’t been my original intention, I made my way to the Holloway Road.
The trestle tables outside the shop were piled high with secondhand books, their covers easy and familiar. I thought of the first time I’d gone there, remembering how long I had stood outside, gathering the courage to go in. It had been a sanctuary, a place where I learned to be different, where I became somebody new.
When I saw the tall figure putting books on the shelves, I felt a spark of mischief. I crept up behind him as quietly as I could and tapped him on the shoulder.
He jumped and spun around. A slow smile spread across his face. ‘Nora!’
Gripping my shoulders with his long fingers, he bent to kiss me on the cheek. I breathed in the smell of his aftershave. Standing back, he looked me up and down.
‘Hello Stephen,’ I said.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you.’
I shrugged. ‘I’ve been busy. You know.’
‘Have you got time for coffee?’
I nodded eagerly.
‘You can tell me what you’ve been doing all summer. Give me your coat. I’ll hang it up.’
As he disappeared into the back of the shop with it, I pushed a finger into the compost of a pot plant. It was nice and damp, well watered. He had always been good at keeping things alive. Sunshine poured in through the front window and the room seemed to hum, as if the books were calling to me, telling me that things would be all right. I felt curiously alert, exhilarated by the possibilities on the shelves.
Stephen came back, carrying two mugs, his glasses misting up with the steam. We sat at the little table in front of the fireplace.
‘I’ve got some biscuits if you’re hungry.’
‘That’s new,’ I said. ‘You never had biscuits before.’
‘It’s Lucy,’ he said. ‘She brings them in. She’s got a sweet tooth.’
‘Lucy?’
‘Your replacement. Or should I say, the new girl. You’re irreplaceable, of course.’
‘And you’re charming,’ I said, enjoying it as much as always. ‘I think I’ve met her.’
He looked surprised. ‘When?’
‘A few weeks ago,’ I said, trying to sound off-hand. I didn’t want to tell him about the time I’d come to find a shoulder to cry on. He didn’t need to know. ‘I dropped in but you were out. It was a Wednesday. She said that’s your day off.’
‘She never mentioned it.’
‘I didn’t say who I was.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re such a dark horse. You should have told her to tell me. I’ve been worried about you. I wish you’d get a phone. At least then I could call you.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘I know, I know. You don’t like to be disturbed. You can look after yourself. But I haven’t seen you since your party.’
I smiled, remembering the people spilling out onto the street, laughing and chattering. There had been music and even some dancing, right there on the pavement. I’d worn my best dress and high-heeled shoes. Stephen had made a speech and they had raised their glasses in my honour.
To Nora and her bookshop! I had been flattered.
You knew a lot of people, I thought. Why did you push them all away?
‘So what’s made you so busy that you don’t have time to see us? I thought the whole point of being retired was that you could go around paying visits.’
I didn’t know what to say. When I had first been tired, I hadn’t been able to tell him why. It was partly the shame of it. I hadn’t wanted to talk about things like that, to mention those parts of my body. But it was pride as well. I didn’t want his pity. I had taken him on years before, taught him how to run the shop, passed on the tricks of the trade. I had enjoyed it, had been pleased that there would be someone who could be trusted to do things the right way, the way that I’d been taught. But when I sold him the shop it was a terrible wrench. I had looked after it, shaped it, watched it grow. It was like giving away a child. Stephen had understood, keeping me on two days a week, an arrangement that suited us both. When I had finally realized I couldn’t do it any more, I hadn’t been able to admit that I was ill. I had blamed it on old age and he had believed me.
I didn’t want to tell him about Rose, either. I could picture his face as I told him I’d taken in someone I didn’t know, someone with a baby. He’d think that I’d gone mad.
‘Oh, this and that,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a lot to sort out.’
He knew me well enough not to pursue it.
‘Well, at least you’ll have had plenty of time to read.’
I realized I hadn’t read anything but the manuals for weeks. In the same way that I had stayed away from the bookshop I’d stopped reading, as if I were shutting myself off from the world completely. I looked at the shelves, at the names of writers who had kept close counsel with me, sitting through candle-lit dinners and sharing my bed at night. I had spent charmed hours with them. I had been drunk in their company. I wanted to be drunk again. I was tired of facts. I had been reading about the implications of my illness for long enough. I wanted to lose myself, to dive into a story that made me hold my breath as if I were swimming underwater, my body weightless, swept along by a current of words.
‘Actually, I haven’t been reading that much,’ I said. ‘Can you think of anything you’d recommend?’
He frowned, tapping his upper lip with his finger. Then he grinned.
‘I’ve got some boxes that have just come in, from someone who’s moving abroad. I bought them as a job lot, so I’ve no idea what’s in them. But we could have a look through.’
I remembered the finds we had made over the years, the thrill of coming across something unexpected. I smiled back at him. ‘That’s a wonderful idea.’
He brought out four cardboard boxes from the back room and put them down in front of me. We began to sort through them. I was happy, relishing the job, something more than household chores. We worked for half an hour and when all the books were sorted, we sat back and looked at the piles that we’d made.
‘Why don’t you take
a couple?’ he said. ‘Close your eyes and pick them out. Leave it to luck.’
I remembered Stephen’s love of taking a chance.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Why not?’
He spread out some books on the table.
‘Close your eyes.’
He took hold of my shoulders and steered me in the right direction. My fingers brushed against cloth bindings and flimsy paper-backs.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Just pick.’
I pointed at random. ‘This one . . . and this . . .’
‘Now you can look.’
In his right hand he held a novel by Thomas Hardy that I hadn’t read since I was a girl. In his left was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I was pleased. I had always felt an odd sympathy for the monster.
Stephen looked slightly crestfallen. ‘You’ve read them before, haven’t you?’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter. There’ll be bits I don’t remember.’
He saw me to the door.
‘Come again,’ he said. ‘Soon. Don’t stay away.’
I nodded.
‘Mind how you go,’ he said, waving as I set off down the street.
I felt cheered by my visit to Stephen. I made my way along the pavement, pleasantly invisible, light and free, of no interest to the shoppers who struggled past, laden with bags. But before long, Rose and the baby crept into my thoughts. Children were everywhere, being pushed along in prams or strapped to their mothers’ chests in strange contraptions. I imagined Rose waking up to find me gone. I hadn’t thought to leave a note. I began to feel guilty.
As I walked past the chemist’s I saw a display in the window, cardboard cut-outs of laughing children. I decided to buy Rose some things to make up for my sudden disappearance.
When I went inside, there was the usual shuffling as the shop assistants jostled to avoid serving me, slipping one by one into the back room where they prepared the prescriptions. I pretended not to notice and went up to the counter. The girl behind it seemed preoccupied, rearranging the boxes of medicine, brisk in her neat white uniform. I knew that she was perfectly aware of my presence.
Days of Grace Page 7