The Memory Box

by Kathryn Hughes

  She lifts her head to meet my gaze. ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘Sometimes circumstances can push you in the wrong direction and you end up making bad decisions. Sometimes decisions are taken out of your hands and fate intervenes.’ She clearly has no idea what I’m talking about, and I’m not sure she cares, but I press on. ‘When I heard Nico was being sent away, I was devastated. Our relationship had barely got going but I knew that I was in love with him and he’d made it very clear he loved me. I was fond of Lorcan, but not in the same way. With him I was comfortable, happy in his company even, but he was just so normal and a little bit boring, I suppose.’ I give a snort. ‘Never underestimate normal and boring, Candice.’

  ‘Beau’s certainly neither of those things,’ she says. ‘Quite the opposite; he’s exciting, unpredictable, dangerous even.’ To my amazement, her eyes are positively shining.

  ‘And I can see how attractive those traits can be at first. But is that what you want for the rest of your life?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nods determinedly. ‘I love him and I know he’d do anything for me, for us, for our relationship. Look how he took control of our money. If he hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have been able to save enough to take the eyebrow course.’

  I rub my fingers over my chin in a classic thinking pose, but don’t say anything.

  ‘It’s not like you to be quiet, Jenny.’ Her smile says she clearly thinks she’s won the argument.

  ‘There’s one word in what you just said that worries me.’

  She tuts towards the ceiling and mutters under her breath. ‘I might’ve known. Come on then, let’s hear it.’

  ‘Control. You said he’d taken control of your money.’

  ‘So? Did you also not get that I was grateful to him.’

  I steeple my hands and bring them to my lips, taking a deep breath before continuing. ‘It’s like when a drop of water seeps through the roof of a cave. It’s hardly noticeable at first and seems harmless, but over time, it’s there for everyone to see.’

  ‘What is?’ she sighs, clearly impatient.

  ‘A massive stalactite. Everybody can see it. It can’t be ignored.’

  Her expression suggests she thinks I’m crazy. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Then one day it becomes so heavy that it snaps off. And if you happen to be standing underneath . . .’ I lift my eyebrows. ‘Well, you can imagine.’

  I can tell she’s mad at me now, because she stands up so suddenly her phone tumbles to the floor. Obviously I’m not quick enough to retrieve it before she does, and she stuffs it back into her pocket. ‘I’m going now, Jenny. I’ll be back to tuck you in later. I’m here all night again.’

  With that, she stomps out of the room, leaving me alone with only memories for company.

  29

  1940

  The sun hovered just above the horizon, turning the sky pink with the promise of another warm and cloudless day. The town square was just coming alive as people opened up their businesses, determined to carry on as normally as the war allowed. Jenny glanced across at Bernardi’s Gelateria, but the shutters were still down, the chairs stacked under the canopy. In the four days since Enzo had returned, there had been no further news of Nico.

  She entered the newsagent’s to find Nerys with her elbows on the counter, her head resting in her hands as she scanned the newspaper. ‘Morning, Nerys.’

  Visibly startled, the flustered woman folded the paper and shoved it under the counter. ‘Morning, Jenny.’

  Jenny eyed her suspiciously. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes you do. You have a sheepish . . . no, a guilty look on your face. And your neck has gone all red. That’s a dead giveaway. What are you hiding?’

  Nerys reached under the counter. ‘Not much gets past you, does it?’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.’

  ‘A bit of a problem seeing as you’re the newsagent, wouldn’t you say?’ Jenny reached for the paper. ‘What bad news anyway?’

  Nerys turned the Daily Telegraph round so Jenny could read the headline.

  ARANDORA STAR SUNK BY U-BOAT.

  The first stirrings of dread lodged in her stomach as she read on.

  1,500 ITALIAN AND NAZI INTERNEES IN PANIC. FIGHT FOR LIFEBOATS HAMPERS RESCUE.

  In a daze, she grabbed the paper and stumbled out of the shop.

  Nerys called after her retreating figure. ‘I’ll put it on your slate, shall I?’

  Jenny banged on the Bernardis’ front door, her knuckles bearing the brunt of her impatient effort. ‘Enzo, Lena, wake up.’

  She took a couple of steps back and shouted in the direction of their bedroom two floors above. ‘Enzo, Lena, you need to get down here now.’

  She could hear Enzo struggling to open the sash window. ‘What’s all this noise at this time in the morning?’ he called.

  ‘Enzo, thank God. Please come down and let me in.’

  She waited for what seemed an eternity for him to find his dressing gown and descend two flights of stairs, Lena huffing in his wake. She tried to control her impatience as he struggled with the bolts on the front door, until finally they were face to face.

  ‘What is this all about?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  Jenny prodded the newspaper. ‘Look at this. A ship has been torpedoed. A ship carrying Italians to Canada.’ She struggled to take a breath. ‘I’m worried Nico could’ve have been on board.’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘Hundreds of them have died.’

  Lena grabbed the paper. ‘No, no, this cannot be true. Why would they do that to innocent people?’ She turned to her husband. ‘Enzo, they cannot do that, can they?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Lena. It’s a war, people don’t always follow the rules.’

  Lena handed the paper back to Jenny. ‘Read it to me, please. Every word, don’t leave anything out.’

  Jenny cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue uncooperative. She swallowed hard before continuing. ‘A panic among one thousand five hundred German and Italian internees being taken to Canada in the fifteen-thousand-five-hundred-ton Leyland liner Arandora Star heavily increased the death toll when the vessel was torpedoed and sunk by a German submarine three hundred miles off the west coast of Ireland. About one thousand scantily clad survivors were landed at a Scottish west coast port yesterday from a British ship.’ She stopped, her heart pounding in her ears. ‘I need a drink of water, Lena.’

  Lena scuttled off, returning seconds later with the tepid glass. ‘Survivors?’ She clutched at Enzo’s elbow. ‘Did you hear that, Enzo? There are survivors.’

  ‘Carry on, please, Jenny,’ Enzo urged. ‘What else does it say?’

  She looked at the paper again, trying to find where she’d left off. ‘Erm . . . the liner was not in convoy at the time she was sunk. The owners state that a considerable proportion of the crew were saved. The greater part of the drowned internees appear to have been . . .’ She stopped and pressed her hand to her mouth, as though not saying the words would prevent them from being true.

  Lena moved closer. ‘Jenny, tell us . . . please.’

  She took Lena’s hand. ‘The greater part of the drowned internees appear to have been Italian.’

  ‘No!’ Lena’s scream was chillingly primeval. Her limp body slid to the floor, her face buried in the hem of her nightdress. ‘Not my Nico,’ she wailed. ‘Please not him. Enzo, do something.’

  Enzo turned to Jenny, dry-eyed, his features frozen in shock. He could only manage a hoarse whisper. ‘I need to know if my son was on that ship.’

  Sergeant Williams looked up as Jenny burst through the door of the constabulary once again, his expression immediately hardening. ‘I thought I told you—’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with the petition.’ She slammed the newspaper down on the duty desk. ‘Look at that.’

  He took his time to read the headlines before blowing out a
long, slow breath. ‘That’s tragic that is, I tell you.’

  Enzo puffed his way up the steps and through the door, standing breathlessly next to Jenny. ‘Can you help us, Sergeant?’

  ‘Well now, I’m not sure what you expect me to do. I’m really sorry and all, but . . . I don’t know, what about the Italian embassy?’

  ‘Can we use your phone then?’ Jenny asked. ‘Please.’

  The sergeant pushed the telephone across the desk. ‘I suppose so.’ He pointed at Enzo. ‘Now that he’s been released, I’m sure it won’t be construed as helping the enemy.’

  ‘Pathetic,’ Jenny muttered under her breath as she dialled the operator.

  She handed the receiver to Enzo. ‘Here, you’ll have to talk to them. I’m not family and I don’t speak Italian.’

  Enzo nodded, taking the receiver in his shaking hand as he waited for the connection.

  After a short conversation, he hung up. ‘The Italian embassy closed down. There is nobody left to help us.’

  ‘What do we do now, Sergeant Williams?’ asked Jenny.

  The policeman shook his head. ‘How the hell should I know?’

  A full week passed before the official news finally reached Penlan. Lorcan was in the yard, a hay bale slung across his shoulders.

  ‘Lorcan!’ shouted Enzo. ‘Where is Jenny?’

  ‘In the kitchen,’ he replied, dropping the bale. ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

  His breathing ragged, Enzo took out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘That hill, it nearly kill me.’

  ‘Are you all right, Enzo? Come over here, have a sit-down on the bench.’

  ‘No, I need to speak to Jenny.’

  ‘Fine, as you wish. I’ll go and get her.’

  Jenny appeared then, her footsteps faltering.

  ‘Any news?’

  Enzo dug into his pocket and pulled out a letter. His voice wavered. ‘This. It come this morning.’

  She took it and read aloud the words that had no doubt shattered countless families.

  ‘It is with deep regret that the Secretary of State directs me to inform you that since a certain D. Bernardi No. 456098 appears on the lists as sailing on the Arandora Star on the thirtieth of June 1940 and has not been subsequently recorded on the embarkation lists of internees who have left this country for Canada or Australia, or among those detained in internment camps in this country, he must be presumed missing and probably lost.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Enzo,’ Lorcan said. ‘That’s tragic.’

  ‘But it doesn’t mean he’s dead, does it?’ insisted Jenny. ‘He’s only missing. It only says he’s probably lost. We mustn’t lose hope, Enzo.’ She clutched at his arm. ‘If we lose that, we’ve got nothing.’

  30

  She lay huddled under the eiderdown in the foetal position, Nico’s letter clutched in her fingers. How was it possible that the world still turned when he was missing? Somehow five months had slipped by since that terrible day when the news had arrived by telegram. She tortured herself with images of him drowning, imagining his panic as the frigid Atlantic Ocean filled his lungs until all the fight was squeezed out of him and he sank to his watery grave. She didn’t know it was possible to miss somebody so much. Their fledgling romance had barely begun, and now their future had been snatched away. The memories they would have made, the children they would have had, none of it would happen now.

  She could hear Lorcan arguing with Louis downstairs about when he should go to bed. She tucked Nico’s letter under her pillow and reluctantly heaved herself up.

  Louis was standing in front of the fire, his arms folded in defiance. ‘I want to stay up to see Father Christmas.’ He pointed at Lorcan. ‘But he won’t let me.’

  Jenny kissed the top of his head. ‘Lorcan’s right, Lou. You need to get to bed. Father Christmas doesn’t come to children who are still awake, everybody knows that. You don’t want to be the only little boy in Penlan who doesn’t get any presents.’

  Lorcan agreed. ‘You need to listen to your sister, Louis.’ He pointed to Bryn’s old sock nailed to the beam over the fireplace. ‘If you want to find anything in there in the morning, I’d go to bed.’

  Louis nodded towards the fire. ‘But won’t he get burned when he comes down the chimley?’

  Jenny pulled him onto her knee, revelling in the scent of his freshly washed hair. ‘Ah, my little Lou-Lou. It’s chim-ney,’ she emphasised. ‘You always have to find something to worry about, don’t you?’

  ‘We’ll make sure the fire is out in plenty of time,’ said Lorcan. ‘Now come and give me a hug, and then be off with you.’

  ‘And keep the noise down,’ warned Jenny. ‘Mammy Del and Tad are in bed already. Cows still need milking on Christmas Day.’

  ‘Eggnog?’ asked Lorcan, once Louis had gone. ‘It’s not Christmas Eve without it.’

  ‘Aye, go on then. Do you want me to do it?’

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘No, let me. It’s always been my job to make the Christmas Eve eggnog.’

  She laid her head against the back of the chair, her face tilted up to the beams. Lacing her fingers across her stomach, she closed her eyes. She didn’t think she would ever get over the agony of losing Nico. It just wasn’t possible to fix a broken heart. Like a shattered crystal vase, the pieces could be glued back together but it would never function the same again. There would always be the fine cracks where the water seeped out. She constantly replayed their last meeting in her mind, agonising over whether she had conveyed her feelings for him adequately enough. She couldn’t bear the thought of him not knowing how she felt.

  ‘Penny for them,’ said Lorcan a few minutes later, as he handed her the frothy eggnog. She blew into the mug before taking a sip of the warm cinnamon-infused drink. ‘Oh, I . . . um . . . I was just thinking about Lena and Enzo, that’s all. Terrible how they were all but forced to go back to Italy. It must be agony for them not knowing what happened to their son.’

  He laid his hand gently on hers. ‘Nico’s dead, Jenny.’

  She stared into her mug, unable to meet his pitying gaze. ‘I know,’ she whispered.

  He patted her knee. ‘Let’s see what’s on the wireless. Maybe a play or some carols. Get us in the festive mood.’ He fiddled with the knobs as he spoke. ‘This war has already caused no end of tragedy, and who knows how much more we will have to suffer before it’s over, but I’m grateful because it brought you and Louis here. I can’t imagine never having met you.’

  Poor Lorcan. The pain of unrequited love. She was fond of him, no doubt. But she knew what love felt like now, and this wasn’t it. It never could be.

  The newsreader was coming to the end of his recap, his clipped nasal tones interrupting her thoughts. ‘. . . after suffering a second night of heavy bombing. The town in the north-west of England was bombarded with almost two hundred tons of high explosives, with heavy loss of life and catastrophic damage to buildings.’

  Jenny sat up, eggnog splashing down the front of her skirt. ‘Did he say a town in the north-west of England?’ She grabbed at Lorcan’s sleeve. ‘You don’t think that could be Manchester, do you?’

  ‘I . . . I’ve no idea, Jenny.’

  She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her coat off the hook. ‘I need to go into town and place a call to my mother.’

  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s too late now. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Isn’t Manchester a city, anyway?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she conceded. ‘Bloody censorship rules. Why can’t they just be honest with us?’

  She picked up the Christmas card their mother had sent and pressed it to her nose. She had long forgotten what her mother smelled like, and disappointingly, the card offered up no reminders.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ said Lorcan gently. ‘I know she will. Please try not to worry, and don’t say anything to Louis.’

  A week later, the news was confirmed by the dreaded telegram. Instead of dispatching the te
legram boy on his bike, the postmistress had delivered it herself, her expression confirming Jenny’s worst fears. She hadn’t even needed to read it. Connie Tanner had spent Christmas buried under the rubble of their smouldering terraced house. She had been right to send her children away after all.

  31

  2019

  Candice had spent most of the night in between rounds checking her phone for further messages from Beau. There had been none. She had repeatedly texted him, could see he had read the messages but was ignoring her. No, worse than that, he was torturing her. He had somehow discovered that her red lace thong was missing, assumed this meant she must be wearing it for work and had got it into his head she must be having an affair. She quickened her pace as she rounded the corner and then ran down the street to their front door. She was later than usual because there had been a bit of a kerfuffle during the night with one of the residents, an elderly gentleman, getting confused and climbing into bed with another resident, who was not best pleased at finding a man in her bed after an absence of forty years. It had taken Candice a long time to calm her down and explain it was all just an innocent mistake.

  Beau was out of bed and sitting on the settee with a fag and a mug of tea the colour of rust.

  ‘Morning,’ she ventured. ‘How are you?’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘What sort of a question is that? How do you think I am?’

  ‘Why haven’t you answered any of my messages?’

  ‘Couldn’t be arsed, Candice, to be honest. I wasn’t all that interested in your pathetic excuses.’

  She dumped her bag on the sofa, removed her coat and began to unbutton her trousers. She pulled them down to her ankles and stared at Beau. ‘There.’

  He gave a cursory look. ‘Proves nothing. You could’ve changed them.’

  ‘Beau,’ she said, flopping down next to him, ‘why would I go to work in a skimpy red lace thong, eh? It’s not even that comfortable.’