The Clockmaker's Wife

by Daisy Wood

  His face lit up. ‘That’s marvellous. You see, darling, sometimes things work out, despite our worst imaginings. And look, Alice has dropped off.’ She was lying on her back in the pram, her thumb in her mouth and the muslin cloth she liked to hold nestled against her cheek.

  ‘Don’t despair,’ Arthur said. ‘The Germans can’t go on bombing us like this forever. As soon as it’s safe, you can come back and we’ll find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘And Christmas is coming, so you’ll have some time off then,’ Nell said. A flicker of doubt crossed his face; quickly supressed, but not quite quickly enough. ‘Arthur? You will, won’t you?’

  He shifted uncomfortably on the chair. ‘I hope so. I shall have to be back in London by New Year’s Eve, though.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ Nell spoke more sharply than she intended. Of course there had to be a clockmaker on duty that night; the whole country would be waiting for Big Ben to ring in 1941 and nothing could be allowed to go wrong. She and Arthur would never be celebrating New Year’s Eve together, but surely seeing him at Christmas wasn’t too much to expect. And yet, plenty of other families would be spending the day apart. Why should theirs be any different? ‘Sorry to be scratchy,’ she added. ‘It’s been rather a night, that’s all.’

  ‘I really must go.’ Arthur frowned as he put on his coat, already preparing himself for the day ahead. He gave her a brief, distracted kiss. ‘We’ll have a meal somewhere special this evening. I’ll meet you at the Abbey at six.’

  ‘That’ll be lovely. I might go back to the house and see if there’s anything to be salvaged.’

  ‘Try not to worry,’ he said, listening with only half an ear. ‘Everything will be fine, I promise.’

  Chapter Three

  London, November 1940

  Hathaway Road was swarming with people by the time Nell returned to it, pushing Alice in the awful pram. Four or five men were standing around in a crater in the middle of the street, inspecting the exposed pipes for damage. Nell glanced in herself as she went past. It was fascinating to see the complex arrangement of channels and cables that lay under one’s feet, hidden in the normal run of things by hard core and asphalt. There was no privacy anymore, not even for Hathaway Road. London was being torn apart and people no longer averted their eyes: they peered into their neighbours’ houses, stared at passers-by in pyjamas and dressing gowns, took buses to view the more spectacular bomb sites. Was it just nosiness? Nell wondered, manoeuvring around a lump of fallen masonry. Perhaps it was more a need to convince themselves this destruction was real, because it seemed so unbelievable – even when the evidence lay in front of one’s eyes.

  The elderly couple at number 19 were standing in their front garden, watching a workman fix a flapping tarpaulin over the roof. ‘Oh, thank goodness you and the baby are safe,’ said the woman, putting her hand on Nell’s arm. ‘We were so worried.’

  They’d never spoken to each other before; Nell had no idea her neighbour even knew Alice existed. She smiled and walked on as though in a dream. There were a couple of wardens knocking on people’s front doors, and as she approached her house, she could see the bossy one she’d never liked stooping over a heap of rubble on what used to be the front path. Mr Blackwell was there, too, taking off his cap to wipe his forehead before bending back to the job in hand. They were flinging bricks about and calling to each other in a brusque, manly way.

  ‘There you are, dear,’ Mr Blackwell said, catching sight of her. ‘If we can salvage anything, we’ll be sure to let you know.’

  ‘Thanks awfully. I’m rather worried about the pram, and Arthur’s bicycle. They were both in the hall.’ Although looking at the heap of pulverised stone, Nell didn’t hold out much hope. So she was officially ‘dear’ now; not that she minded. She wished suddenly that she could have had a jolly, uncomplicated father like Mr Blackwell, despite his maxims.

  ‘Why don’t you take the baby round to ours?’ he said. ‘Sit down and catch your breath for a while.’

  The Blackwells’ house looked exactly as it had on the few occasions Nell had visited in the past, which seemed odd, given the devastation next door. She had always sat in the kitchen before but now she was shown into the parlour, a small room crowded with uncomfortable furniture.

  ‘If only I could offer you a cup of tea.’ Mrs Blackwell hovered in the doorway. ‘Looks like we won’t have gas before tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m awash with tea,’ Nell said, perching on one of the high-backed leather chairs that stood either side of the fire. ‘Well, this is cosy.’

  A fire roared in the grate behind a fender and the temperature was almost tropical; somehow the Blackwells always seemed to have plenty of coal. She took off the grubby cardigan Alice had been given at the rest centre and set her down on the floor, where she made a beeline for the coal bucket.

  ‘Oh no, dear.’ To Nell’s surprise, Mrs Blackwell scooped the baby up and swung her into the air, pretending to drop her without actually letting go. Alice looked astonished, too, and then she laughed, grasping one of Mrs Blackwell’s iron-grey curls in her chubby hand and tugging it. Nell was horrified but Mrs Blackwell didn’t seem at all put out.

  ‘I’ve found you something that’s better to play with than dirty old coal,’ she said, reaching into her cardigan pocket and producing an ivory teething ring with a silver bell attached. She put it in Alice’s hand and set her down on the hearth rug.

  ‘What a beautiful thing!’ Nell exclaimed. ‘It looks like a family heirloom.’

  ‘Our Susan used to love that ring when she was teething.’ Mrs Blackwell smiled, watching Alice gnaw on it for all she was worth.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a daughter.’ The Blackwells had never mentioned children; Nell had always assumed they hadn’t any.

  ‘She died when she was six,’ Mrs Blackwell said briefly. ‘Pneumonia. These old houses aren’t fit for kiddies.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Nell’s eyes filled with tears. She’d managed not to cry so far that day, despite everything, but this revelation was too much. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘How could you? It’s not something I care to talk about.’ Mrs Blackwell clamped her lips in a thin line, indicating that her feelings hadn’t changed.

  Eventually, Nell managed to compose herself. ‘Thank you for all your kindness,’ she was able to say. ‘We couldn’t have asked for better neighbours. We shall miss you both, very much. I’m taking Alice to my parents’ house in the country, you see, while Arthur stays in London. He can’t leave his job. I hate the idea of us being separated, but—’ She spread her hands and shrugged.

  ‘But what choice do you have?’ Mrs Blackwell said. ‘You’re doing the right thing, Mrs Spelman. The baby has to come first.’

  The conversation was interrupted at that point by someone knocking on the window. Mrs Blackwell pulled aside the net curtain to reveal her husband, standing on the pavement with a broad grin as he displayed the Ambassador – dented, filthy, but more or less in one piece.

  ‘Now there’s a first,’ she said. ‘Don’t think my Stan’s ever touched a pram before.’

  Nell pressed her face against the glass, unable to believe her eyes. It was a miracle. ‘How on earth …?’

  ‘The front door blew against it and kept off the worst of the damage,’ Mr Blackwell called. ‘The hood’s been torn and one of the wheels is bent, but I can probably knock it back into shape.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you so much.’ It felt as though an old friend had been brought back from the dead. She couldn’t wait to tell Arthur. ‘Any sign of the bicycle?’ she added, but Mr Blackwell only shook his head.

  ‘Once the pram is ready, I shall take this little one for a walk to the park.’ Mrs Blackwell had picked up Alice again. ‘You go upstairs and have a rest, Mrs Spelman, while you’ve the chance.’

  The temperature plunged as Nell climbed up the stairs. She kicked off her shoes and crawled under the eiderdown in the Blackwells’ spare
room. In contrast to the parlour, it was sparsely furnished with a bed, a chair and a wash stand. The walls were papered in a pretty rose print and the curtains were pink. This must have been Susan’s room, Nell thought as she closed her eyes. Oh, the sadness of the world! She could hardly bear it.

  ‘Good heavens!’ Arthur exclaimed as Nell approached, wheeling the pram with Alice sitting up in state like a queen restored to her throne. ‘That thing really is indestructible.’

  ‘Mr Blackwell dug it out,’ Nell said. ‘Oh, Arthur – I have so much to tell you. Where are we going for supper?’

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he replied. ‘Follow me. Alice is well wrapped up, isn’t she?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that a new cardigan she’s wearing?’

  ‘And a new bonnet, and new mittens, and a blanket for the pram. I’ll explain once we’re settled.’

  They walked out of the Abbey into a cloudy night, past the barbed wire enclosing Parliament Square, across Westminster Bridge, and down the ramp to the Embankment. The Thames flowed silently past, the ripples on its surface occasionally revealed by a roaming searchlight. Nell had come to think of this stretch of the river as theirs. She and Arthur had done their courting here the previous year, as winter turned to spring and the avenue of plane trees burst into bright green leaf. And now a year and a half later, here they were: a family. Arthur turned to smile at her; there was no need for words. He led the way to their favourite bench with a view across the water to the golden clock face, its hands ticking their precious hours away. The time they had spent together back then seemed to fly past; there had been so much to learn about each other. Arthur had been a stranger whom she’d happened to notice on Westminster Bridge as she walked home one afternoon from the school where she taught in the back streets of Westminster. A dark-haired young man walking towards her had paused, staring for a moment with his hand on the balustrade as though he recognised her. Something in his expression made her smile at him, then blush furiously. A couple of days later, she was crossing the bridge again when he overtook her, walking in the same direction, then turned back to look. This time, he was the one to smile. She dropped her gaze immediately, her cheeks burning; when she looked again, all she saw was his back, disappearing into the crowd. It was surprising how disappointed she’d felt.

  She found herself looking out for the dark-haired young man every afternoon after that – she never saw him in the morning – until, one day, a gust of wind sent her hat flying through the air. He happened to be walking behind her and had only to reach out a hand to catch it; she couldn’t have timed the mishap any better had she been trying on purpose. They fell into conversation quite naturally, walking together across the bridge, and from then on, they saw each other every weekday. ‘I can spot your crimson coat from the clock tower,’ he confessed. ‘Don’t ever forget to wear it.’ As the evenings grew lighter, they would stroll together beside the river, and soon they were meeting at weekends: going to the pictures, or for bicycle rides along the river to picnic in Richmond Park. Arthur told her about his work at Westminster; she told him about the battles she had with her unruly class and the occasional triumphs that made these battles worthwhile. Soon they were talking about everything: their childhoods, their families, Arthur’s heritage – his German parents had moved to London at the turn of the century, where he’d been born – which naturally led to the worrying situation abroad. Hitler and Mussolini were becoming increasingly belligerent; the Prime Minister’s policy of appeasement clearly hadn’t worked. Across the water in the House of Commons, the call for action was intensifying. At the end of March, Chamberlain promised that Britain would come to the aid of Poland if that country were invaded, and the French government backed his pledge. War seemed inevitable.

  Nell and Arthur were walking arm in arm by then, and that evening he kissed her on their favourite bench, the one with the best view of the clock tower. It felt wrong to be so happy at such a frightening time, but Nell couldn’t help herself. She had fallen deeply in love. It seemed a miracle that this extraordinary man should feel the same way about her, that he should have recognised her from a crowd of strangers. Yet somehow they had found each other, and now she would never let him go.

  ‘Here we are.’ Arthur led her to that very same bench. They parked the pram beside it and sat in their accustomed places, Nell with her head resting against his shoulder. ‘Warm enough?’ he asked, stroking her hair.

  She nodded, her heart full. The tower was shrouded in darkness on the other side of the river but still, she knew it was there. She liked to imagine the clock face watching over them: a reassuring presence that anchored her, keeping her steady.

  ‘You’re probably wondering about supper,’ Arthur said, ‘but fear not. I’ve brought a picnic.’ He disengaged himself and took a parcel wrapped in newspaper out of his rucksack.

  Nell inhaled the tantalising smell, suddenly ravenous. ‘Fish and chips? Perfect!’

  ‘Not quite as hot as they should be, but they’ll have to do.’ He laid the parcel on the bench between them, then produced a bottle of beer and a china mug from which to drink it, two linen napkins and a bar of chocolate for pudding.

  ‘You’ve thought of everything.’ Nell speared a chip with the little wooden fork and held it out to Alice. ‘This really is a treat.’

  ‘I didn’t want to sit in a crowded restaurant,’ he said. ‘It should be just the three of us tonight: me and my two best girls.’

  Nell felt the tears pricking at her eyes and was grateful for the cover of darkness. There was no point in making their parting more agonising than it had to be; she would be strong, too, and show him he had no need to worry. She managed to tell him how marvellous the Blackwells had been without crying, and about the loss they had suffered, and even about the bag of baby clothes that Mrs Blackwell had given her.

  ‘Such lovely cardigans and leggings, and some dresses with the most gorgeous hand-smocking. There’s even a christening gown.’

  ‘I can’t take this!’ she’d told Mrs Blackwell. ‘It belongs in your family.’

  ‘There’s only Stan and me left now,’ Mrs Blackwell had replied. ‘What’s the point in us keeping a christening gown locked away in a suitcase? It’s not as though we’ll be having any more babies. You’re a young couple, just starting out. And I should like to think of you having something nice, given what you’ve lost.’

  ‘But—’ Nell had begun, then stopped, unable to put into words what she was thinking.

  Mrs Blackwell had seemed to understand. ‘I’ve held on to the past for long enough, dear. It’s time to let go.’

  Nell didn’t trust herself to repeat those words to Arthur.

  Soon they had eaten every last greasy, delicious scrap. Arthur parcelled up the newspaper and empty bottle to throw away, then took a small package wrapped in tissue paper from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, unwrapping the paper but unable to see its contents clearly in the dark.

  ‘Just a watch. I thought it might come in handy.’

  Not ‘just a watch’, Nell discovered by the light of her torch, but the most exquisite piece of jewellery. It hung from a ring on a long chain so she could tuck it under her jumper and feel its ticking close to her heart. ‘Oh, Arthur!’ she said wonderingly, ‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to you. It’s been in the family for a while but I’ve cleaned it up and engraved your initials on the back.’ He hung the chain around her neck and kissed her upturned face. ‘Just think: every second that passes will be a second nearer the moment we see each other again.’

  She couldn’t speak.

  He jumped to his feet. ‘Right, on to the next adventure! I’ve found somewhere special for us to sleep tonight: the crypt at Westminster Abbey, no less.’

  ‘The crypt?’ Nell repeated, overcome by a sudden wave of dread.

  Arthur laughed. ‘Don’t worry,
nobody’s buried there. It’s actually rather cosy. You’ll love it.’

  Nell felt so faint that she had to sit down again on the bench and take a deep breath. Her stomach lurched. It was ridiculous to be superstitious, she told herself; Arthur was delighted with his plan and would be desperately hurt if she objected. Yet the fears that had been plaguing her all day now coalesced into a terrible certainty: this would be the last night they’d spend together. After they had said their goodbyes in the morning, he would turn and walk away, and she would have lost him.

  Chapter Four

  Westchester County, November 2021

  ‘You mustn’t worry about me,’ Alice said, knotting her fingers. ‘I’m perfectly happy here. Why wouldn’t I be? Waited on hand and foot with more food than I could possibly eat, and the staff all such nice girls. So pleasant to talk to.’

  Ellie felt ashamed that her mother should regard staying in a nursing home as such a treat; it was a sad reflection on her as a daughter. She should have visited Alice more often, should have taken her out shopping, for lunch or dinner – should at least have called more regularly. Yet her mother had always seemed so self-sufficient. She wasn’t one for chatting on the phone, and she was so horrified by the cost of eating out that she always chose the cheapest thing on the menu, even if she didn’t like it, which drove Ellie insane. They would end up fighting before the meal had even started.

  ‘Have you made friends with any of the other residents yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t have much to do with them,’ Alice replied. ‘They’re far too old and decrepit.’

  ‘Says the woman who’s in her eighties.’

  Alice flapped a dismissive hand, then wrapped the paisley shawl more tightly over her sunken chest. She looked like a gypsy queen, sitting in the high-backed chair with a red silk scarf wound in a turban around her head, her dark eyes snapping and the skin taut over her cheekbones. She might not care to acknowledge her age, yet it was becoming harder to ignore: she’d fallen and broken her hip a few weeks before, and was taking a while to get back on her feet. The bones were healing but her confidence seemed to have been shaken. She certainly didn’t seem in any hurry to go back to her second-floor apartment. Ellie had been visiting the nursing home every Sunday, and sometimes after work if she could face it, taking the commuter train out to the suburbs where she had grown up. It was strange, spending this time with her mother in the impersonal, sparsely furnished room. There was a television on the wall but Alice preferred to read or listen to audiobooks, or simply sit and stare out of the large picture window. They’d had longer conversations than ever before – sometimes more than once. Ellie had been shocked when Alice occasionally launched into the same story again, word for word, only an hour or so after first telling it. Most of the time, she was recognisably herself, but sometimes Ellie would catch a blankness in her mother’s eyes that terrified her.