Dr Stilworth looks intrigued. ‘Of course. What would you like to know?’
‘Well, I noted that – at one time – Nora was diagnosed with schizophrenia . . .’
‘Yes,’ he says, frowning. ‘Although I doubt that diagnosis would be given nowadays. There was certainly a time when she was psychotic, though.’
‘Indeed. But I wondered if she might have slipped into a temporary psychotic state to escape an intolerably painful and stressful reality. What do you think?’
‘Yes, could be.’
‘She does have complex PTSD too and, of course, that can mimic so many other psychiatric conditions.’
‘We didn’t even know of such things in those days, I’m afraid, though we started to look at the results of battle stress in soldiers after the war. I have to say that I despised many of the approaches that we tried in those days – but we had to try something . . .’
He meets her eyes, and Janet is struck by the sadness and regret they hold. ‘Dr Stilworth, you were a guiding light and a point of reference to which Nora could always return. No amount of treatment can replace that.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Dr Humphreys. But I sometimes look at what we could have done better . . .’ He looks down at his tea, his hands trembling, and for the first time it occurs to her just how old he is now and how stressful her visit might be to him.
He shakes his head and meets her eyes once more. ‘I’m ashamed now of what was thought to be good treatment then. It sounds lame to say it’s all we knew, but sadly that’s a fact.’
‘I’m sure I’ll look back in the future and say the same, but we can only give what we have to give.’ She pauses, wondering if she’s asking too much of him, but she presses on. ‘You’d be so proud of her, Dr Stilworth. She’s been living independently in a flat of her own for almost two years now, and for another couple of years before that was in a group home. She still has flashbacks occasionally and there are things that she can’t or doesn’t want to remember, but she’s brilliant.’
‘She was a very courageous young woman who had a hard time,’ he says. ‘Well, that’s an understatement, of course. And none of them had it easy. The philosophy was that psychiatric patients were like badly behaved children and needed strong discipline and control. Sadly, of course, any situation where one person is placed in a position of control over another often attracts those whose aim is not to help or heal, but to dominate. Someone like that with a good brain and power can do a great deal of damage to the vulnerable in their care, and it can take a while for them to be detected and even longer to be deposed.’ He sighs. ‘Nora was pretty, bright and from a somewhat privileged background. She was also stoical and hardly ever complained. She was, therefore, a perfect target. Then, of course, there was such a rigid hierarchy that rendered those who might have helped impotent.’
He pauses and takes a sip of his tea, then he shifts his gaze and holds her eyes intensely. ‘I’m not proud of my part. For some years I lived uneasily with a moral dilemma of leaving in protest or staying and appearing to condone. I stayed because I thought that, though I couldn’t do much, I could do something. And I wondered, if I left, who would come after me and how it could possibly be even worse. That seems like an egotistical viewpoint now, but it’s what kept me there.’ He gives a weak, apologetic smile, then once again looks a little lost within his memories.
Janet controls an urge to reach out and touch him and somehow let him know she understands. Silence seems a wiser choice.
After a few minutes, he pulls himself out of his reverie. ‘So sorry. Is there anything else I can help with?’
‘Yes . . .’ Janet hesitates. ‘I thought long and hard about coming to see you. And also about the fact that I wouldn’t tell Nora that I’m here.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.’ He puts his head to one side and his white hair falls gently over his brow. Once again, he unconsciously brushes it back with his pale, veined hand. ‘As I said, Nora lives alone and works a few hours a week helping out in the local library. She loves the children’s corner and, once a week, she reads them stories. She also sings in a choir, and that’s why I’m here. She’s going with them to Berlin, where they are to give a concert in a cathedral.’
Dr Stilworth’s eyes light up and he shakes his head in gentle wonderment. ‘How splendid! How absolutely splendid.’
‘Yes, it is. She’s so excited, and I really want this to be special for her. She so deserves this.’ Janet takes a breath. ‘I would love to go, but I just can’t. I’ve been called to give a psychiatric opinion in court for another patient that week and it’s just impossible for me to get to Berlin, and . . .’ She pauses. ‘Well, I wondered if you would like to . . . I know she’d be thrilled, and it would also allow you to see the fruits of your labour . . .’ The words tumble out and, when she’s finally finished, she watches in breathless silence as he sits back and just stares, saying nothing, though his eyes become moist.
‘I would be honoured,’ he says at last, in a low, shaky voice. ‘Truly honoured. I don’t travel much these days, but I’ll make sure I’m there.’
Janet reaches across and covers his hand with hers. ‘I know she’ll be so excited to see you. Thank you so much.’
‘That is absolutely my pleasure. You’ve brought me great gifts today.’
Janet beams. ‘It’s a joy to meet you. Thank you for giving me your time.’
‘You’re more than welcome, Dr Humphreys.’
‘Janet,’ she corrects.
‘Tom,’ he says, and they share a smile.
After chatting for a while, Janet glances at her watch and is amazed by how late it is. ‘Oh dear, I need to get going. I’ll send you all the details about Berlin. I’m not going to tell Nora that I was here; I want it to be a surprise when she sees you there.’ Janet pauses. ‘I want to thank you, Tom. You kept her alive.’ They shake hands and Janet starts to turn, then impulsively turns back and gently kisses his cheek. ‘Maybe you’ll let me know how it goes,’ she says.
‘Indeed, I will.’
She slides into her Clio and sits for a moment, not wanting to drive away yet. She feels tearfully moved to have met this man about whom Nora has spoken so much. But now, sadness creeps into her chest. It’s time for her to sort out the rest of her own life. It’s time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Janet stands by the window of this favourite hotel on the coast, once a romantic haunt, her gaze drawn out towards the horizon. Last night, the drive here gave Janet amazing views of the storm that has now ceded to soft wisps of honey-pink, vaporous clouds, which drape themselves nonchalantly across the heavens like swathes of gossamer. Echoes of thunder have been replaced by birdsong. She wishes her own turbulence could be quieted so easily. Nowadays, she tries to be patient and trust that she will not be beached for ever in her melancholy.
But it wasn’t always this way. This is a hard-won peace. She thinks back to those awful days years ago when she had to hide in embarrassment lest anyone should see her in the drab plumage of grief and depression, unable to be the extroverted, brightly feathered bird they still wanted her to be.
Those days passed, of course, and she has survived. She’s here. Wiser, more balanced, more mature, with her sense of humour restored and her brain and heart working as she’d thought they never could again. Though the pain lingers, she’s strong enough to withstand it now.
She needs to walk. She slips on anorak and boots and heads for the beach.
Watching the seagulls frolicking in the lacy edges of the water and leaving crazy footprints in the sand, she remembers Martin as a toddler, testing out the shock of the cold water and giggling at the bubbles breaking over his chubby feet. The three of them searching for shells, squealing with delight at hermit crabs that scampered sideways down the beach, Ian’s hand holding hers and the occasional touch of lips or cheeks, indulgent smiles and knowing glances. Promises for later . . .
And now s
he needs to revisit the promises – not only those, but the vows they made. She’s learned much during these years they’ve been apart and, though there’s been minimal contact, she has no doubt that there’s still love on both sides. Could it be rekindled? Do they have to have lost everything for ever?
She pulls up her hood against the sand-carrying wind that tangles her hair and scratches her face, and tries to ride the wave of her sadness and grief, rather than pushing it away. Though there has been damage and interruption to both their lives, she has come to realise that it doesn’t have to be irreparable.
A beautiful shell catches her eye – pale apricot and bright orange. It will be less vibrant when it dries. She feels it somehow represents her – originally vivid, vital, colourful, now faded and dry. She pops the shell in her pocket, where it nestles against the stones she has already collected. She’ll wash and arrange them when she gets home.
Impulsively, she takes off her boots and socks, turns up her jogging bottoms and tiptoes into the water. It’s cold and fizzy and her feet sink into the sand as each wave recedes; little pebbles, caught up in the current, wedge themselves between her toes. She remembers standing like this with her mother, both of them giggling as their feet disappeared under the sand. Her mother desperately trying to protect the picnic sandwiches from the wind; the two of them running about to catch every scrap of paper, making a game out of collecting the litter.
She stops and looks out to sea. And suddenly, it’s time to go. Something feels resolved. She wants to be back in her own home. She wants to write in her journal and tease out her thoughts and make decisions. She stands for a moment. It is as it is, Janet – but you have the power to change it.
She turns and walks back barefoot, stopping to put on her boots only when she reaches the road.
Janet turns the key and enters her once-vibrant flat with its tiled hallway and paintings that she and Ian collected with such joy. Not for the first time, she wonders why he didn’t take any of these. Perhaps because he knew how much she loves them. But they haven’t given her much joy since he left. She places her keys on the dresser and glances at herself in the mirror. The woman who stares back looks sad and old; suddenly she gazes at her with loving concern, as though at last she understands. The anger is gone. It’s been gone for a while. And now she’s wiser.
Janet turns away, wanders to the kitchen and turns the kettle on, deep in thought. The faded photograph on the fridge door of her and Ian on their three-day honeymoon confronts her. Ian insisted they had those precious days together, despite the circumstances and their lack of money – he was still in university at that time. She eases it from under its little magnet and brings it to the light. She stares at their happy faces as they pose for the stranger Ian asked to capture the moment. They look in love. Of course, they were. Ian was right – he didn’t have to marry her. He always loved her. It was all her unresolved insecurities, going all the way back to her childhood, that stood between them. Tears course down her cheeks and she switches off the kettle.
She walks into her bedroom and sits down on the bed, the photograph still in her hand, her eyes on the phone beside her. Slowly, her hand moves towards it, then withdraws as though it might burn her. She forces herself to pick up the receiver.
She dials the number with a shaky hand and begs her voice not to tremble.
‘Ian. It’s me.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nora alights from the train at Marylebone and waits at the taxi rank, lifting her hand to her newly cut hair – and wonders what Janet will think about her wearing some lipstick. She’s so excited, she feels like a teenager going on her first date.
These last weeks have been a whirl of activity. The ladies of the choir took her shopping, and she’s now the proud owner of a long black skirt, a cream polyester blouse, two pairs of black tights and a pair of black leather shoes with a little heel, all of which she tries on every night before going to bed, then carefully replaces in her ‘Berlin box’. She also has two new skirts – one pleated and maroon (the colour reminds her of Mrs Lampeter’s best hat!), and one flared and forest green (when she was sixteen, she had a dress this exact colour and everyone said she looked nice in it). She’s also bought two new tops to match and a navy cardigan with gold buttons, a navy-blue dress for the evening and a green woollen coat. And what’s more, they didn’t come from Oxfam, but from Marks and Spencer. She does, however, have a new handbag that was sitting just waiting for her in the charity shop window, of which she’s very proud. It’s real leather, as she keeps telling herself while she strokes its softness.
Flights are booked, and for the last week she’s had almost daily meetings with Audrey to go through the schedule. In the evenings, alone in her little flat, except for Tuppence sitting on her lap, she thinks about how all of this has happened, and sometimes fears it will all turn out to have been just a joke, or a mistake, or a dream, and she braces herself to be brave and not complain if it turns out to be so, but to remember all the fun she’s already had by just thinking about it.
Yesterday, Alice, the lady who stands next to her in the choir, took Nora to the hair salon in her car and collected her again so that, even if it had rained, her hair wouldn’t be spoiled.
Today, she’s dying to tell Janet about all that’s happened. ‘Nora!’ Janet’s eyes crinkle in greeting, and Nora thrills at her genuine pleasure.
‘Turn around and let me look at you,’ she says, and Nora promptly poses so that Janet can see the back of her hair. ‘Oh, you look beautiful!’ Nora smiles and blushes deep red. ‘And lipstick! Oh, my.’ Janet chuckles, enjoying the transformation.
‘Can I show you my passport? It just came this morning.’
She watches with pleasure as Janet looks at it closely. ‘I wish I had a photograph of you a few years ago to compare,’ Janet says. ‘You look ten years younger now. I’m so happy for you, Nora.’
Janet hands back the passport and Nora places it carefully in her handbag, then produces train tickets, flight tickets, details of her hotel and a photograph of the red-brick cathedral in which they’ll be singing. She talks about each member of the choir in detail, while Janet seems to revel in her delight. ‘And Mrs Thorpe – she’s my neighbour just across the landing – is going to look after Tuppence,’ Nora finishes breathlessly.
‘So, Nora, have you got everything you need now?’ Janet fusses. ‘A suitcase or a travel bag?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Nora says shyly.
‘Are you sure? Is it big enough?’
Nora’s brow creases in thought. ‘I think so. It was big enough for all my shopping.’
‘Which shopping?’ Janet queries
‘My shopping.’
Janet hesitates. ‘Your clothes shopping?’
‘No. My other shopping.’
All at once, Janet understands and her heart melts. ‘Nora, do you mean your grocery shopping?’
‘Yes.’
Bless her. ‘Nora,’ Janet says gently. ‘Do you mean a bag from the supermarket?’
‘Yes, I lent my brown case to someone else and they never gave it back. But I’m sure the bag I’ve got will be big enough.’
Janet pauses, her mind whirring, and she knows she needs to tread carefully. ‘Nora. I’d like to give you a bag of mine if that’s OK. It’ll just be a bit easier and stop your new clothes getting crumpled.’
‘It’ll be all right, honestly.’
‘Well, it might be,’ she says, ‘but will you let me give you another one, just in case? If you don’t want to use it, that’s fine, and you can keep it or give it back to me next time we see each other. Will that be all right?’
Nora treats Janet to that new smile with its hint of pale pink lipstick. ‘Yes. Thank you, Janet. That would be lovely. I’ll take good care of it – and I promise to give it back.’
Janet promises to pop down on Saturday morning and leave the bag with Ellen. ‘I’m sure you’re going to have a great time, Nora. I want you to really enjoy it
.’
‘I’m sure I will, though I’m a bit scared.’
‘I’m not surprised. It’s a huge thing. Did you ever go abroad before?’
‘Never.’
They chat about Berlin – the sights, the shops, Janet’s favourite places, and the itinerary.
‘I’ve got a new navy dress for the reception on the first evening,’ Nora says proudly.
‘Nora, do you have any jewellery?’
‘Only my brown beads.’
‘Would it be all right if I put something in the bag that you can wear that night and for the concert? And you can give it back to me when you come home.’
Nora cups both hands over her mouth and her eyes fill with tears. ‘I would love that,’ she says.
Tears well in Janet’s eyes, too. ‘No problem. Now, are you sure there’s nothing else that you need?’
‘No. I have everything. Janet, I can’t say thank you enough . . .’
‘It’s going to be wonderful. I’m so sad I can’t be there. I’ll be sure to make it to your next concert.’ She holds out her arms. ‘Now, come and give me a hug and then off for your taxi.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nora can’t believe she’s here in this magnificent red-brick Gothic church in Berlin. She’s staggered by its beauty – the delicate ornaments, the sturdy pillars, the intricate decoration all wrought in brickwork, the tall tower, the belfry. The walls rising out of the paved floor leading to silent dark galleries that overhang the precept, and everywhere, the eternal presence of the legacy of music and singing spiralling upwards, lifting the energy directly to the face of God.
Nora looks down from the transept and out across hundreds of eager faces and suddenly questions her vision. Could that really be Joe? Certainly, there’s a man who looks very like him in a wheelchair in the aisle. But it can’t be. She blinks and looks away then back to him. He breaks into a broad smile and raises his hand just a little to wave, then quickly brings it back to his lap with a little apology tugging at his mouth. He appears to be wearing a suit – something she’s never seen before – and his usually unruly hair is slicked down and combed to one side. She remembers so much of their long time together, of the friendship that rose like a flower out of the desert of Hillinghurst, and her heart fills with warmth for him and with gratitude that he helped to save her. But how did he get here?
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