‘Our marriage hasn’t worked. It doesn’t work. We don’t make each other happy.’
She looks away. She’s trembling.
‘I’ve done my best,’ she says in a whisper. ‘I’ve tried and tried.’
‘I know you have. It’s not your fault. It’s just who we are.’
‘But Larry, we’re still married. Nothing can change that.’
‘We can divorce.’
She gasps, as if he’s struck her.
‘Divorce! No!’
‘Then you can find someone you can really love. You’re young. You’re beautiful. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life here, with me. You know you don’t.’
‘But Larry. The sacrament. We can’t break it.’
‘It’s only words.’
Again that quick sharp gasp.
‘Only words! And is the Church only words? Is the love of God only words? Are we all to do as we please, and think only of our own pleasure, and live and die like animals?’
‘But Geraldine— ’
The words pour out of her in a fervent stream, overwhelming him.
‘What does it matter if you and I aren’t as happy as we’d like to be? We can bear it. We know how to do our duty. We’re married. For better, for worse, till death us do part. You swore it, and so did I. That’s real, Larry. That’s the rock on which we stand. Nothing can ever change that.’
She clasps his hands, willing him to join her.
‘We’re bound for eternity, Larry.’
‘It’s too late,’ he says.
‘Too late? How can it be too late?’
‘I’ve gone too far. I’m sorry. I just can’t go on any more.’
She lets go of his hands. Her voice changes, becomes bitter.
‘It’s Kitty, isn’t it?’
‘No— ’
‘You can never have her! She’s another man’s wife. I know you love her, I’ve always known, do you think I’m blind and deaf?’ Now in her pain and anger her face contorts, becomes ugly. ‘What do you think it’s been like for me, seeing you dangling around her, playing your childish little games? But have I ever said a word? Not one word! How do you think I feel, knowing my husband loves another woman? But have I ever told you not to insult me with her presence in my house? Never! Not once! I am your wife. I know my duty. But do you know your duty? Because believe me, at the peril of your immortal soul, you must do your duty! You can’t have her, Larry. Would you lose your immortal soul, would you burn in hell for ever, for one silly little woman?’
‘Yes,’ says Larry.
‘Oh!’ She buries her face in her hands. ‘What’s happened to you? What have you become?’
‘You’re right,’ says Larry. ‘I can’t have Kitty. Even by losing my immortal soul. But this isn’t about Kitty. It’s about me, and you.’
She waits, her face in her hands. He no longer has any doubts. Somehow his father’s death, the loss of the company, have set him free.
‘You and I must part. For my sake, and for yours. I’ll share all I have with you. I’ll give you this house. You’ll not be poor. We must each make new lives for ourselves.’
Geraldine begins to weep.
‘I’m sorry that I’m not the man you thought I was,’ says Larry. ‘I’m sorry to let you down. I’ve let many people down. I’ll try to do better in future.’
‘Please, Larry.’ The ecstasy gone now, and the bitterness. ‘Please promise me one thing. Talk to a priest.’
‘About my marriage? What does a priest know of marriage?’
‘A priest knows the mind of God.’
‘No one knows the mind of God,’ says Larry. ‘Not priests. Not the pope. Not even God. God has no mind. God is just our word for everything that is, and our hope that it has some meaning. But that’s all it is. A hope.’
‘You know you don’t believe that.’
‘Do I? Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who knows what I believe any more? Everything’s changing.’
She says nothing. He’s not been looking at her, ashamed and afraid to meet her eyes. His whole body feels knotted and hard.
‘Larry?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m frightened.’
He looks at her then. She stands with her hands clasped before her, her head bowed, like a child come for punishment.
‘There’s no need,’ he says sadly. ‘No need.’
‘What is it that’s wrong with me? Why does no one love me?’
‘That’s not true. Not true.’
‘Why am I all alone? What have I done to deserve such a punishment? Please tell me. I’ll try not to do it again.’
‘There’s nothing, sweetheart. There’s nothing.’
No offence. No remedy. The gentleness forced out of him by pity. But it changes nothing.
‘Sometimes things don’t work out. That’s all.’
40
Kitty goes ahead of the others, with the girls running ahead of her.
‘Is it here?’ shouts Pamela. ‘Is it here?’
Ed and Larry come behind, carrying the baskets with the food and the rugs. The car is parked in the lane in Glynde below. They are hunting out the place where they picnicked ten years ago.
‘No,’ calls Kitty. ‘Further on. In the trees.’
It’s a golden October day, and on all sides the tawny Downs reach rolling down to the patchwork of russet fields. Kitty is happy, because Larry has come, and because Ed is light-hearted. She looks back down the hill to see them climbing slowly after her, laughing together; just as it was all those years ago.
‘Here!’ cries Elizabeth. ‘I’ve found it!’
The little girl stands on one side of the copse.
‘It’s all nettles!’ says Pamela. ‘Yuck!’
‘A little further,’ calls Kitty.
She remembers the place exactly. Nothing has changed. The trees rise up from the sloping land, their leaves more faded than they were then, but that was June and summer had just begun. She catches up with the girls and confirms the spot.
‘I found it!’ says Pamela.
‘You did not!’ says Elizabeth.
But the girls aren’t really quarrelling. They’re happy too, excited by the prospect of the picnic, and their father’s company, and Larry’s too.
The men join them, and lay out the tartan rug. Elizabeth at once sits down, right in the middle. The food comes out of the basket to whoops of delight.
‘Treacle sandwiches! Meat!’
‘It’s cold lamb, darling.’
‘Can I have cider, Mummy?’
‘No, Pamela. There’s orange squash.’
‘Are you sure this is where we came?’ says Larry.
‘Totally sure. You were over there. I was here, with Louisa here.’
‘Poor Louisa. It doesn’t seem fair.’
‘It isn’t fair,’ says Ed. ‘When will you get it into your head that life isn’t fair?’
Larry grins at Ed.
‘What was it?’ he says. ‘Impulse and glory?’
‘Something about an arrow in flight,’ says Kitty.
‘Dear God!’ exclaims Ed. ‘Did I really talk like that?’
Larry pours them all drinks and stands to make a toast.
‘My dear friends,’ he says. ‘My dear friends’ children.’
Pamela smiles up at him.
‘You are funny, Larry.’
‘You see me now, a poor bare forked animal— ’
‘You’re not bare,’ says Pamela. ‘You’ve got your clothes on.’
‘Be quiet. That’s King Lear upon the heath. He’s lost everything, just like me. No job. No father. No wife.’
‘Did King Lear have a wife?’ says Ed. ‘I suppose there must have been a Queen Lear to produce those daughters. You don’t hear much about her.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ complains Larry. ‘Here I am baring my soul, and you keep interrupting.’
‘Go on, Larry,’ says Kitty.
‘I am the thing itself,’ s
ays Larry, waving his mug of cider in the air. ‘Unaccommodated man. Off, off, you lendings.’ He looks down at the girls. ‘In the play he actually does take off all his clothes at this point. I’ll spare you that. My toast. Raise your glasses!’
They all do so.
‘My toast is – to freedom!’
‘To freedom!’ they cry.
Then they settle down to eat their picnic.
‘But Larry,’ says Kitty, ‘it’s terrible about your job. You loved it so.’
‘Gone,’ says Larry, his mouth full of hard-boiled egg. ‘Gone with the wind.’
‘He’s demob happy,’ says Ed. ‘It’s because he’s got away from Geraldine.’
‘Eddy!’ says Kitty.
‘You know we couldn’t stand her,’ says Ed, unashamed.
‘Geraldine was,’ says Larry, waving a fork in the air. ‘Geraldine is. Geraldine will be.’
Kitty bursts into laughter.
‘So much for Geraldine.’
‘So what are you going to do now?’ says Ed. ‘Live the life of the idle rich?’
‘Not at all,’ says Larry, indignant. ‘I’m not idle enough. And actually, I’m not rich enough. I shall find work. I shall offer the sweat of my brow.’
‘Yuck!’ says Elizabeth, looking at Pamela to check she’s got it right.
‘Well, here’s an idea,’ says Ed. ‘Kitty may have told you that my labours in the wine trade appear to have reached their natural end. So why don’t you take over? You could buy me out of the partnership. I’d have money, you’d have a job.’
‘When did you dream this up, Ed?’ says Kitty, surprised.
‘When Larry told us he’d been sacked.’
‘I don’t know anything about wine,’ says Larry.
‘Much like bananas,’ says Ed. ‘Except it grows in France, and ripens more slowly.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s worth a thought,’ says Larry. ‘But what will you do?’
‘Oh, I’ll find something.’
‘Larry,’ says Pamela, climbing onto his lap. ‘Is it true you’re not married to Geraldine any more?’
‘I won’t be soon,’ says Larry.
‘Does that mean you can marry me? When I’m older, of course.’
‘I suppose it does.’
‘You have to wait till I’m sixteen. That’s only nine years.’
‘But sweetheart, won’t I be too horribly old by then?’
‘Maybe,’ says Pamela. ‘We can decide then.’
‘Yes, I think that’s probably wise.’
‘What about me?’ says Elizabeth. ‘Who can I marry?’
‘You can marry Hugo,’ says Ed.
‘No,’ says Pamela, ‘I want Hugo as well.’
Everyone laughs except for Elizabeth.
‘She always does that,’ she says. ‘She always takes everything for herself.’
When they’ve had all they want of the picnic they lie on their backs on the rug and gaze up at the passing clouds. Kitty lies between Ed and Larry, with Elizabeth half on top of her.
‘We should go to the top of Caburn,’ she says.
‘You and Ed go,’ says Larry. ‘Like last time.’
‘Would you like that?’ Kitty says, turning her head to smile at Ed.
‘Of course,’ says Ed.
‘I’m coming too,’ says Pamela.
‘Me too!’ cries Elizabeth.
‘No,’ says Larry, ‘I want all those who are going to marry me to stay here and practise.’
‘Practise what?’ says Pamela dubiously.
‘Being married,’ says Larry. ‘I tell you to do things, and you don’t do them.’
This goes down well. Both girls stay with Larry. Ed and Kitty climb the hill. As they go they hear the game begin.
‘I go first,’ says Larry. ‘Pamela, make me a cup of tea.’
‘Shan’t!’ cries Pamela joyfully.
They climb on, out of earshot.
‘That’s a good friend you have there, Ed,’ says Kitty.
‘I know it,’ says Ed.
They walk to the end of the long ridge, and down the steep side of the ditch at the top, and up the other side to come out onto the summit. Here they stand, side by side, holding hands, looking over the immense view towards the sea.
‘Remember how the park was full of huts,’ says Kitty.
‘And the harbour full of ships,’ says Ed.
‘I’ve never forgotten what you said.’
‘What did I say?’
She looks at the looping river, and Newhaven beyond.
‘You said the river’s always running, until it meets the sea and can rest.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s true enough in its way.’
They gaze over the great sweep of Downs and sea in silence. Both are thinking how they kissed for the first time, standing here in the warm wind.
‘I’m sorry you’ve not been happy,’ Kitty says.
‘Not your fault,’ says Ed. ‘Just how I’m made.’
‘It feels like my fault.’
He takes her in his arms and smiles for her, just like the old Eddy did.
‘You’re my lovely angel,’ he says. ‘I love you so much.’
‘And I love you, my darling.’
‘I want you to be happy more than I want anything.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ she says. ‘And anyway, I am happy now.’
‘Will you kiss me?’
‘Of course I will,’ she says.
He kisses her. For a long time after the kiss has ended he holds her close, his head bent over her shoulder, his eyes closed.
*
Back at the farmhouse, the car unloaded, Ed wheels out his old bike.
‘Just going for a spin,’ he says.
He follows the road to Newhaven and through sleepy Seaford, down the long hill to Cuckmere Haven and up the other side, heaving on the pedals, to the high ridge over Friston. Then down again into the forest, and up again, tired now. He gets off halfway and pushes the bike. At the summit he climbs onto the saddle again and pedals down the road to Birling Gap. It’s a long ride, the sun dropping slowly in the sky behind him, throwing his shadow before him. From Birling Gap the track runs unmade along the clifftop to Beachy Head. Here he dismounts and wheels the bicycle over the close-cropped turf. He lays the bicycle down, and takes off his jacket, and bundling it up, pushes it into the bicycle basket. In the breast pocket of his jacket there are two letters.
He stands looking round. Behind him the soft roll of Downland; before him the sea, ruffled by the wind, brownish-yellow near the land, grey-blue further out. There’s a low brick structure by the cliff edge, the remains of a Lloyd’s shipping watchtower, now converted into a viewing platform. Wooden benches are set inside its octagonal walls. On the outer wall there’s a new metal plaque.
On this headland and the surrounding Downs in the years of the Second World War between 1939 and 1945, the men and women of the Allied Forces helped defend their country.
The plaque is in honour of the Royal Observer Corps, the RAF, the WAAF, the Home Guard, the Anti-Aircraft Defences.
This plaque also commemorates the epic Dieppe Raid in 1942, which was partly controlled from the radar station on this headland. Beachy Head is once more in peace. But the devotion and patriotism of those who operated on this stretch of Downland in Britain’s greatest time of suffering will not be forgotten.
The plaque is dated October 16th 1949.
He reads, and gives a small wry smile, and moves on. He follows the cliff edge to a point where the chalkland forms a jagged projection. He stands here for a moment looking down at the red and white lighthouse. The breakers splash softly at its concrete base. The tide is in, the sea pushing against the foot of the great white cliffs five hundred feet below. He looks up, over the sea to the hazy horizon. Somewhere over there is Dieppe, and the beach where he thought he would die, but did not die.
Beachy Head is once more in peace.
He has been happy today for th
e first time in months; perhaps years. That’s something.
There’s a light wind blowing off the sea. He breathes in the salt air. He feels young again, and strong. The late afternoon sunlight gleams on the water, forming a bright broken road to the horizon.
Live like an arrow in flight. How he must be laughing, Rex Mundi, the king of the world. Only a few short steps to freedom.
He walks briskly towards the edge and jumps. As he falls, accelerating all the time, his arms reach out as if to slow his descent. Halfway down his body strikes the cliff, lacerating his side, tumbling him over. Near the bottom his flailing body hits the cliff again. So he hurtles on down to meet the yielding water and the unyielding rocks.
*
The letter to Larry reads:
Dear Larry. I’m sorry but I can’t do it any more. I’ve done all I can to provide for Kitty and the girls. Believe me, I’ve worked like a very devil. The business is in good shape. I don’t expect most people will understand, but I think you might. You’ve known me long enough. The simple truth is life has long been a torment to me. I don’t know why this should be so. The darkness is always there, waiting for me. I try to keep away from other people. I know my unhappiness is a burden and a sadness to them. In the end, this is the only way I know to keep away for ever. And dear old friend, don’t be angry with me for writing what I’m about to write. I want you to believe that I’m doing the little I can to make amends. I know you love Kitty, and have loved her from the first. I believe she loves you, without lessening her love for me. I’ve always known you could make her happy, and that I never will. In my selfishness I held on for too long. But now I know you’re free to be with her, I must go. Don’t pity me. Be happy for me. You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this. Thank you, my friend, for your endless kindness to me. You’re a good man, and a braver man than I can ever be. Love Kitty and my girls for me. You’ll make a better job of it than I’ve ever done. Goodbye, dear friend. I’m not afraid of the darkness any more. Rest at last.
The letter to Kitty reads:
My only darling. Loving you has been the one good thing I’ve done in my life. Being loved by you has been a miracle to me. But we each have to live our own lives. I won’t drag you down with me any more. Don’t believe that your duty is to save me. I know how much I’ve hurt you. There’s no remedy for that. So now I’ve decided to go. My dearest darling, you’re so beautiful, so young, you have so much of your life ahead. Why should you live in the darkness with me? I don’t do this for you, I do it for me, to be free at last. But now you will be free too. My dearest, I know you love me. I’ve known it from the start. But I know you love Larry too. No shame in that. Who could not love Larry? Now that he too is free, I can go. Love Larry, darling, he deserves your love, and remember me, and love me too, and know that I’ve found rest at last. Don’t hate me for leaving you. Don’t be angry. Just say he did his best, and when he could do no more he laid himself down to sleep. Kiss the girls from me. Tell them if there’s a heaven after all, I’ll be waiting for them. Tell them I go with my head held high, still storming the fatal beach, still the war hero. Tell them I’ll love them for eternity. As I’ll love you. If we meet again it’ll be in a place where all things are known, and you’ll forgive me. Good night, my darling. I shall fall asleep in your arms, and the hurting will be over.
Motherland Page 44