Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  Now, she would give anything to go back. To be close to Evelyn in the warmth of her bed, to hold her close. Even to just eat breakfast at her side. Evelyn made the simplest of things seem pleasurable. She had thrown it away.

  Jos was not prone to tears, but she found herself fighting them now. They were not so much of sadness but of fury with herself. How had she done this again? To the best woman she’d ever met?

  She drank more whisky. It was far from a good scotch but it was starting to do its required job. There was a barrier between her and the world now. She felt removed from the lives of everyone around her, isolated in her misery but at least starting to be numb to the worst of the pain. There was nothing for her now, just a bleak, solitary future. Why not just accept it?

  Jos usually took the coward’s way out, running away rather than facing up to her troubles. As she sipped the scotch, she knew she was doing it again. If she shut herself in her flat for a few days, only going out to go to work, refused to answer the door, perhaps the mess she had made would just go away.

  But what if Evelyn came to her door? Could she ignore the doorbell, knowing Evelyn was so close? And was it better for Evelyn that she did? What sort of life could she offer to Evelyn, anyway? She drained her glass and poured another. Perhaps Evelyn would be happier if Jos just left her alone. And yet, she had talked of love. How could Jos go against love?

  She looked around the room and realised her vision had blurred slightly. It could have been the whisky or the tears, or both. Her hearing seemed to have lost its clarity too, and she heard the constant chatter of men’s voices as if they were in a separate room, through a thin wall.

  She would go to Evelyn. Not now perhaps, but in the morning. She would talk to her and she would see what response she got. She could not always be a coward. Evelyn might slap her face and send her away. If that happened, at least the decision was made for her. She would find Evelyn.

  Her new determination in mind, she tried to stand up. But she had drunk more whisky than she realised and she fell back into the chair, her head spinning. Frustrated, she cursed under her breath. Then her eyes fell on the empty glass in front of her. There was some whisky left. Why not have another, for courage? In the morning, she would see Evelyn. But tonight she was drunk and anonymous and there was an old comfort in that.

  *

  In the morning, Evelyn awoke to the sound of voices. It took her a moment to realise where she was, then all the grief of the previous day flooded back to her. She listened again to the voices in Dorothy’s sitting room, daring to hope that one might be Jos, terrified that one would be Lilian. As it turned out, it was neither. She very distinctly heard Courtney’s American accent and Clara’s rather musical tone, in conversation with Dorothy.

  Easing out of bed, finding her feet aching from the trudging of the day before, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and went through to the sitting room.

  “Good morning, Evie,” Dorothy said, with a gentle smile. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

  “I don’t know if you did or not, but I’m glad to be awake. Do you know where Jos is yet?”

  “Oh, Evie, she’s treated you in the most rotten way,” Courtney said. “I’d be furious.”

  “I just want to talk to her,” Evelyn replied, realising she was not angry with Jos at all.

  “She doesn’t seem to be home yet,” Clara said. “I was just saying to Dorothy that Courtney and I are going to try some of the pubs she’s been known to frequent in the past. She tends to take herself towards the East End, where no one knows her and the whisky’s cheap.”

  “You don’t think anything’s happened to her, do you?” Evelyn demanded, her blood running cold at the notion.

  “No. She’s done it before. Don’t worry, Evie, she can look after herself. It’s just that she doesn’t want to be found sometimes. As soon as we find her, I will make her drink coffee and I will bring her to you.”

  “Thank you,” Evelyn said. To have their support was comforting, to have their reassurances about Jos, even better.

  “Now, before you woke up, Courtney and I went to see Lilian and we collected all of your things.” Dorothy gestured to the suitcase resting near the door to the sitting room, and an additional leather bag by its side. She had not gained very much during her time in London. To see it all packed into a suitcase once again felt extremely sad, as though her time here had barely happened.

  “Thank you for fetching it,” she said.

  “The thing is, darling, the postman had just called too. And there’s some letters for you. I had a look at the postmark and it looks like they’ve come from Devon.” In her hand, Dorothy held two envelopes. Evelyn took then from her, letting blanket drop to the ground. One, she thought, looked rather like Annie’s handwriting. The other, the address written in an uneven scrawl, she knew was from Edward. That was the letter she chose to open first. It was badly written on a scrap of paper, the words difficult to make out. Yet there was still the trace of Edward’s formerly graceful handwriting.

  Dearest Evie,

  Many thanks for your letters. I wish I was well enough to write more. Only know that you have made me happier than I have been since before the war, with your news from London. I wish I could visit and see you so happy and meet your new love. Thank you for thinking of me.

  I miss you too, Evie. Always.

  Now I must go but I had to write to let you know, I will always watch over you. Remember me as I was before. Continue to live the life I cannot.

  I join my comrades. Remember me, as you do them.

  Your loving brother, always,

  Eddie.

  Tears rose in Evelyn’s eyes. It was impossible to misinterpret the letter. She cast it aside, moving on to the letter she was sure now was from Annie.

  Dear Evelyn,

  I do not know for sure that this letter will find you. I am not entirely sure if this is the correct address. I do not know if you still care about us here in West Coombe. If you have not become entirely selfish, maybe you do. I hope so.

  I am writing to tell you that Eddie is missing. Today is Christmas Eve and we last saw him two days ago. As you know, he rarely leaves the house, so we cannot help but think something serious has happened to him.

  I am writing for two reasons. The first is that I know he was closer to you than anyone, so you might know more than we do. Please do share any information you have. The second reason is to ask you to come home. Our family needs you at the moment and will, I believe, put your betrayal of us behind us, in order that we can be together.

  I expect the earliest this letter will reach you now is the twenty-seventh. I will hope to see you then, or the day after. I am currently staying with Mother and Father, since neither is feeling strong enough to run the shop or even to make sure there are meals.

  I very much hope you still care about us and can put aside your new fancy life in London to help.

  With a reminder of your duty,

  Your sister,

  Annie

  Evelyn could feel Annie’s anger in every letter. Annie would never understand. Besides, that did not ultimately matter now.

  Blindly, she handed the second letter to Dorothy. Better that she read it herself than Evelyn try to explain. “I have to go home,” she said. “To West Coombe. Today. It’s my brother, you see. Will you help me?”

  Dorothy read through Annie’s letter quickly. “Oh gosh, Evie. Darling, I’m so sorry. Do you really think—?”

  “Do I think Eddie has killed himself?” The words hit Evelyn harder as she spoke them out loud. “Yes, of course I do. How could I think anything else?”

  “I know, darling. It’s just so horrible, I was hoping it might be something else.” Dorothy had passed the letters to Clara, who was now reading them, Courtney leaning over her shoulder. Dorothy pressed an arm around Evelyn’s shoulders.

  “I need to get to Paddington and get a train,” Evelyn said. She could think of nothing else and certainly could not allo
w herself to succumb to the grief, not while she needed to organise her journey.

  “Do you need someone to come with you?” Dorothy asked.

  “Yes, to the station. To make sure I get on the right train. But I will be fine to go home on my own.” There was really no other way forward, much though she wished she could take one of them to hide behind, to defend her from her own family.

  “Come along then, we’ll go in a cab and make sure we find you a train.” This was Clara, who smiled kindly, her eyes full of sympathy.

  Just a few minutes later, Evelyn was in a cab with Clara and Courtney. Dorothy had stayed at home, vowing to find Jos and tell her what had happened. Evelyn barely had room in her thoughts to contemplate this. She certainly could not wait for news of Jos. Perhaps she would never see her again. It was decided now.

  At Paddington, Courtney made enquiries at the ticket office. There was nothing like a direct train, but Evelyn could take a fast train to Bristol, the next express to Totnes, and then change there to the next local train she could find. It would be evening before she reached West Coombe, but there was really no alternative. Clara insisted on paying for the tickets and Evelyn did not have the strength to argue. She received kisses and good wishes from Clara and Courtney with little response before she boarded the waiting train. She welcomed their kindness, but her mind was entirely on Edward now.

  Only as the train began to move out of the station did she realise what she was leaving behind and what she was going back to. She was not the same woman who alighted in this station all those weeks ago. She had been a child then, seeking an adventure. She had found a glorious, colourful Neverland but she was not really part of it. Now home called her back, inexorably, even against her will. She should have always known it would happen.

  Factories and terraced houses became countryside and market towns as the train rattled forward. London was gone, like a dream. Like all dreams, it was difficult to make logical sense of it now it was gone. She stared, unseeing, at southern England drifting past the window. She’d not seen fields since she had arrived in London, but there was nothing soothing about being in the open again. She had rather liked being surrounded by the tall, ostentatious buildings of London. At least they were something, not nothing, like these empty fields.

  The hours passed. She roused herself enough to buy a cup of tea from the buffet car and then returned to gazing out of the window. A wintery shower streaked her view with trickling raindrops, but still she stared. Her mind was too busy to register what she was seeing. She could not help the thought that came, at first just a nagging doubt and then a growing certainty the longer she focused on it. If she had stayed at home, in West Coombe, would Edward still be alive?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Darkness had fallen by the time Evelyn arrived on Main Street, West Coombe. The journey had been arduous, with a long wait at Bristol for the next Totnes-bound train. She was hungry and tired. Yet back in West Coombe, her senses came alive.

  The familiarity was almost a relief. She might have been eager to leave the place but it had been her lifelong home. Every tree, hedgerow, and building was familiar. The sour salt smell of the sea was very different to the smoky air of London. Although she could barely admit it to herself, part of her belonged here, part of her missed this place.

  She caught her first glimpse of the sea, black and smooth, reflecting the lights of the town. She’d barely even thought of the sea when she was in London, and yet here it was, the same as ever. Nothing had really changed.

  To imagine that West Coombe had simply gone on without her was almost a surprise. Of course, she was not so selfish as to imagine that she was more important than anyone else in the town. It was just that it was strange to picture the town, here, the same as ever, while she was experiencing all she had in London. Just as, she realised, it was now very odd to think that London was there, going on. Clara and Courtney, Dorothy, Vernon, James and Lilian. Jos. They were all living their lives in places familiar to them just as they had before she had arrived. The buses were still travelling London’s streets, jazz was still playing at the Orchid. She did not like to think of everything being the same, just without her there to witness it, be part of it.

  Although it wasn’t the same for Jos. She could be fairly certain of that. Now that she was off the train, her sense of her distance from Jos was very keen. Even if Jos wanted to find her, to hold her through the night, she could not. Jos was out of her reach now, and Evelyn had no way of knowing if Jos would care about that or not. Perhaps she was still out drinking whisky and seducing any easily led woman who came near her. Perhaps it was best that Evelyn believed that.

  Evelyn approached her family home slowly. Now, all thoughts of London were overcome by the tension of being home. Despite everything, she prayed there had been a mistake, that she would walk through the door and find Edward there, in his usual chair. Whatever censure came from her family, she was sure she could cope with it if Edward was there.

  At the door, Evelyn hesitated. She would never had knocked on it before but this was not her home now. Still, the idea of knocking on the door of her own family home seemed ridiculous and far too miserable to contemplate for long. Instead, she summoned her courage and went inside.

  Evelyn found her family gathered around the large kitchen table. Her mother and father, Annie and Peter were all there. With them was Annie’s husband. Edward was not there, just as she had known would be the case. At her entrance, they all looked up.

  “Evelyn!” her mother exclaimed. For a moment, she sounded relieved and pleased to see her. Then her expression changed to one of cold anger. “You’ve decided to honour us with your presence, then?”

  “Hello, Mother. And everyone.” Evelyn paused. “Annie wrote to me and told me about Eddie.” Was she supposed to fall on the floor and beg their forgiveness? Were they waiting for an apology? It was difficult to tell. “I’m sorry if I gave you all a scare, or if you thought it rather selfish of me to go off like that. I’ve come home to see if I can help with Eddie.”

  “Selfish is the word,” her father said. “And I don’t just mean that we needed the help in the shop. You disappointed a very good young man.”

  “But I didn’t want to marry him, not really,” Evelyn replied. It seemed like such a long time since she had accepted Michael’s proposal. Clearly it was still far more important to her family than it was to her.

  “You’re a very silly child,” her mother said. “Living in a fairy story. He’s a good man and you were too selfish to see it. Too concerned with what you want to be a good wife.”

  Evelyn wondered if her mother could really hear the words coming out of her own mouth. “Mother, it would have been awfully selfish of Michael to marry me, knowing I didn’t want to.” Her mother seemed about to respond, so Evelyn continued. “Besides, it’s in the past now. I wrote to him and apologised.”

  “He’s found someone else, you know,” Annie said, with a tone that suggested she wanted to hurt Evelyn.

  How little her family really understood her. “I’m happy for him, in that case.” Evelyn genuinely was. She hated the idea of Michael being unhappy because of her. He was a good man, just not one she wanted to marry. Annie looked dissatisfied with Evelyn’s equinamity. “But I don’t want to talk about that. Have you heard anything about Eddie?”

  The common grief at Edward’s loss seemed, momentarily, to unite them. Her mother gestured to the empty seat at the table and poured an extra cup of tea from the pot. Evelyn removed her coat and tried to feel at home, as she waited to hear what they knew about Edward.

  “It was like I said in my letter,” Annie said. “He was here, and then he was gone. He didn’t say anything to anyone. You know, he doesn’t walk about that much during the day. He’s just always in his chair. Since you’ve been gone, he’s been even less communicative actually. It’s like none of us are good enough for him to make the effort.” Annie said this with some resentment. Evelyn wondered why her brother�
�s feelings were her fault.

  “Anyway, Father was in the shop and it was wash day, so Mother was out the back. The next time anyone came to see if Eddie wanted a drink, or some food, he was missing. We’ve asked all around the village but no one has seen him. And you’d think they’d notice, wouldn’t you?”

  Evelyn felt the sadness creeping through her veins as she contemplated her brother’s last hours. What would he do? What would he have thought and felt? The cold, heavy certainty of what had happened settled on her chest. “And there’s been no sign of him?”

  “No,” her mother said. “We’ve had the whole village out searching. We’ve found nothing.”

  “Did he leave any clues?” Evelyn asked.

  “No,” Annie said. “But we did wonder if he might tell you something that he wouldn’t tell us.”

  Evelyn thought for a moment. Should she reveal her brother’s private communication to her? She looked at the pain in the eyes of their parents and knew Edward would forgive her. From her inside pocket, she drew the letter she had received that morning. “I think he wrote me this letter to say goodbye,” she said, her fingers trembling. “I’d have thought so even if it hadn’t arrived at the same time as Annie’s letter. I think Eddie’s was a little delayed because of how bad his handwriting is. So I got them both this morning.” With some reluctance, she handed the letter to her mother, who passed it on to her father, and then Annie. She hated to share something that was private between herself and Edward. But her family were hurting and they needed to know. Edward would understand.

  By the time they had all read the letter, Annie and her mother had tears in their eyes. Evelyn felt their pain, knew she had no right to claim this grief was hers alone. No matter that Edward had been closer to her than anyone else, he was Annie and Peter’s brother, he was the eldest son of the family. It was a different loss to each of them but it was still a loss. It was also one they had been unprepared for. Eddie had survived the war. For it to finally have its full effect on him now, a decade later, made his survival seem so futile. They thought they were the generation who had surivived the war but they were still being killed by it.