‘It’s all right, love. I’m here. You’re safe.’
She rubs her eyes and stretches her arms above her head. ‘What time is it?’
‘Quarter past eight. You had a good sleep?’
She blinks several times. ‘Not bad . . . under the circumstances.’
‘Coffee?’ I ask, pressing down the plunger.
‘Yes please. You’re up and dressed early. I never heard you.’
‘Aye, well, dead to the world you were.’ I hand her the cup of coffee. ‘Let me look after you for once.’
I pick up the tray and carry it out onto the balcony. Candice trails behind me and rests her elbows on the railing as she gazes across the flat sea at the five trees on top of the peninsula.
She takes a sip of her coffee before turning to me, a questioning look on her face. ‘And how do you feel now?’
‘After seeing Eva again?’ This brings a smile to my face. I think it always will. ‘It was wonderful, Candice. She lived the best life she could in the end. She’s happy, and for that I’ll always be grateful to Nico.’
She sits down opposite me and picks at the bunch of grapes before speaking with her mouth full. ‘There’s something else I’ve been thinking about.’
‘Go on.’
‘If Louis is your son, who is his father?’
I top up my coffee. I haven’t told anyone about this except for my parents, all those years ago.
‘I brought shame on my family, Candice. What you’ve got to realise is that things are different today than they were in the thirties. To have a baby out of wedlock back then was sinful; no one could ever speak of it. Some poor girls were even locked away. Nobody thinks anything of it nowadays – that’s called progress. Louis’s father was a boy I’d courted on and off, but we weren’t particularly serious. I’d first met him in hospital when I was recovering from the polio. He’d had scarlet fever and we were the oldest kids on the children’s ward, so we gravitated towards each other.
‘I was only fifteen when I got pregnant with our Louis, and certainly had no intention of marrying Herbie. A family conference was called. Herbie came round with his parents and we all sat at the kitchen table, the mothers all pursed lips and folded arms. There was absolutely no question of me keeping the baby. It was decided it would have to be put up for adoption. I remember glancing over at Herbie, but he was slumped in his chair studiously inspecting his fingernails, obviously wishing he was anywhere else. I put up a spirited fight against adoption, mainly because I didn’t want to appear heartless, but I knew I wasn’t capable of raising a baby. I was still recovering from the polio. Then my mother had the bright idea of raising Louis as her own. At first we all scoffed, but as she explained how it would work, it seemed like the perfect solution. The baby could stay with our family, and Connie and Fred Tanner, my mother and father, would be named as the parents.’
‘And Louis never suspected anything?’
‘Why would he? As far as he was concerned, Connie was his mother, and I promised her I would never, ever tell him the truth. It’s easier to believe a lie you’ve heard hundreds of times than the truth you’ve only heard once. So no, he never suspected anything.’
‘But when Connie died, why didn’t you tell him then?’
‘Apart from breaking a promise I’d made to my mother, imagine telling a little kid that his mother hadn’t died but was in fact masquerading as his sister.’ I shake my head. ‘No, that was never an option.’
Candice seems to be having trouble getting her head around it all. ‘But when Louis wouldn’t go with you to Italy, why not tell him then?’
‘Oh no, that would’ve been the worst time to do it. Del would never have believed me anyway. She would have seen it as the grossest form of manipulation, and she would’ve been right.’
‘How did she manage to adopt him, though?’
‘He was an orphan. There were death certificates for his named parents. There was nobody to dispute it, and I assume Louis would have been all for it.’
‘What happened to him?’
I feel the familiar rush of blood to my head when I think about that. ‘After the war, after Nico . . . you know . . . I wrote to Louis again. Told him Nico was gone. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but he wrote back and told me he was sorry to hear that but he didn’t want me contacting him again. He would’ve only been about ten years old at the time. He told me he was happy and that I shouldn’t worry about him any more. Del was his mammy now and he loved her.’
I lower my eyes and stare into my lap. ‘I can’t lie, Candice. That really stung, but it was no more than I deserved.’
‘It must have been a comfort to you, though? You knew he’d always be safe.’
‘Yes,’ I concede. ‘And to be fair to Del, she also wrote reassuring me that if Louis ever changed his mind about seeing me, she wouldn’t stand in his way, but it had to be his choice. I think she’d mellowed a bit, because she told me he was settled and doing well at school. He could speak fluent Welsh too. She even sent me a photo.’ I rifle through my handbag and bring out the faded black and white photo of Louis standing outside the front door of Mynydd Farm.
Candice takes it and cocks her head to one side. ‘Ah, bless.’ She stares at it for a moment before adopting an apologetic tone. ‘He does look happy, Jenny.’
I feel a flutter of relief, so grateful that she has noticed. ‘It was reassuring.’ I nod. ‘Del was just as good a mother as Connie, and a far better one than I would’ve been.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You would’ve made a wonderful mum.’ She hands back the photo. ‘I wish I’d had a mum like you.’
‘Thank you, love. You’re very sweet.’ I heave a deep sigh.
She pauses before asking her next question. ‘Why did you never have any more children?’
I manage a mirthless snort. ‘Max and I tried for years, but—’
As everything falls into place, she slaps the heel of her hand into her forehead. ‘Of course, Jenny Fischer. God, I’m so dense. You married Max, didn’t you?’
I’d forgotten she’s yet to hear the details of that part of the story. ‘We kept in touch after the war. He visited me in Italy, helped me get back on my feet. I had no one, don’t forget, and without Max, I don’t know what would’ve become of me. After what happened with Eva, we had a special bond, and he was easy to fall in love with. So uncomplicated, such a kind man, everything a husband should be. I moved over to Germany in 1950 and we got married. I picked up my dressmaking business and he went into engineering. We had forty-four happy years together before he died.’
‘But no kids?’ Candice asks.
‘No, and it turned out it was my fault after all.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Max had all the tests; there was nothing wrong with him. Nico was right all along.’
‘But you’d already had a baby.’
‘That was my punishment, I suppose. I just couldn’t conceive again. Unexplained infertility, they said.’
Candice reaches for my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Jenny.’
I shrug. ‘I wasn’t exactly a textbook mother for the child I did have. Save your pity for Max. He definitely deserved better.’
‘When did you move back to the UK?’
‘After I was widowed, twenty-four years ago now.’
‘Don’t you ever wonder what became of Louis?’
I can see Candice is having trouble understanding it all, and who can blame her? I often doubt my actions myself.
‘Louis was fine without me,’ I say eventually. ‘He’d already had two mothers; he didn’t need a third.’
‘Hey.’ Candice speaks so forcefully I actually jump. ‘We could get you on that long-lost family thing, you know, with Davina.’ She claps her hands together, her eyes suddenly brighter. ‘I bet they’d be able to trace him.’
From the look on her face, it’s clear she thinks this is one of the best ideas she’s ever had, but there’s no way I’m airing my di
rty laundry on national television. ‘I don’t think so, Candice. I’ve long since come to the conclusion that if Louis wants to find me, he will.’
65
I’ve been back at Green Meadows just over a week now. The trip has left me so exhausted I can barely lift my head off the pillow. I have no regrets, though. How could I? Learning that Eva was still alive and has led a long and happy life was balm to my soul. It has even made me think about Candice’s idea of tracing our Louis.
When we got back from Italy, Candice didn’t want to return to the flat she shared with Beau. Luckily, Mrs Culpepper has come through for her and is allowing her to stay in one of the vacant rooms here at Green Meadows until she finds her feet. She’s a different girl since she escaped the controlling clutches of that boyfriend of hers.
It’s not like me to still be in bed at this hour, but I can’t seem to find the energy or inclination to do anything but stare at the ceiling. Perhaps my race is run.
My memory box is next to me on the bed. I’ve been having a sort through it. I need to make room for the new memories I’m going to make. My birthday card from Her Majesty is in there now, and Eva’s promised to send me photos of her family. I smooth my hand over the box, marvelling at the craftsmanship that went into making it. And the love, too. It deserves a careful guardian after I’ve gone. I’m going to give it to Candice so she can fill it with her own treasures. I have a feeling life’s going to be wonderful for her from now on.
There’s a gentle rap on the door.
‘Come in.’
Frank pokes his head round. ‘Are you up to a visitor?’
I wriggle into a sitting position. ‘I’m always ready for you, Frank.’ I pat my duvet. ‘Get yourself over here.’
He sits down on the bed and takes my hand, running his thumb over my mountainous veins. ‘I don’t like seeing you like this.’
I waft away his concern. ‘Frank, I’m a hundred years old. I’m allowed to lie in.’
He casts a look at the clock on my bedside table, but is too polite to point out that it’s almost lunchtime.
‘Candice is wondering if you want a tray bringing in.’
This does spur me on a little. ‘No, I don’t, Frank. Lunch in bed is only for old people.’
He laughs as he gets up and wanders over to my dressing table. He leans in towards the mirror, fiddling with his already immaculate cravat, then picks up the framed photo of me in my youthful glory. I notice his wistful smile in the mirror, but he says nothing.
‘I’ll see you for lunch then.’ He leaves without a backward glance.
I manage to get myself out of bed and dressed before Candice pops her head round.
‘Frank says you’ll have lunch in the dining room. Is that right?’
‘Yes, love. I’ll just sort my hair out.’
I sit down at the dressing table and Candice comes up behind me, taking the brush. ‘Here, let me.’
I stare at her reflection as she concentrates on brushing my hair. ‘How are you doing, love?’
She rests her hands on my shoulders. ‘Better. I’ve spoken to Beau a few times, and he’s still begging me to go back, promises things will be different, but I’m managing to stay strong.’
The worried knot in my stomach loosens. ‘Good for you, love.’
Her gaze shifts from my face to the dressing table, and I notice a quizzical look in her eyes. ‘Oh, you had it all along then,’ she says.
‘Had what?’
‘The missing carving of the little boy. The one that slots into the girl’s arms. It’s complete now.’
My scalp suddenly feels hot and prickly as I stare at the carving. Candice is right: both parts are there; the girl’s arms are no longer empty. I’m too stunned to speak as the years roll back and I remember giving the little boy part to Louis, saying he could bring it back to me when he was ready to forgive me. It was the last time I ever saw him.
My hands are shaking as I pick up the carving and turn it over, feeling the smoothly honed contours of the wood, remembering how proud of his creation Louis had been. I stare into the mirror as realisation dawns. ‘It’s him.’
‘What’s him?’ asks Candice as she fusses with the back of my hair.
‘Louis Francis Tanner.’
There’s a shuffling noise at the open door, and we both turn to see Frank leaning against the frame, a tattered teddy bear clutched to his chest. He dips his head towards the bear, burying his nose in its fur, before holding it up to me. ‘You never did make a skirt for Mrs Nesbitt.’
Candice looks from me to Frank and back again, her forehead creased in confusion. ‘C . . . Candice,’ I stammer. ‘Could you leave us alone for a while?’
‘What about your lunch?’
‘Please, Candice.’
She trots out, giving Frank an exasperated look as she brushes past him.
He comes fully into the room and sits down in the armchair, crossing his legs.
I can only shake my head. ‘Why, Frank? Why didn’t you say anything?’
He gives a deep sigh and steeples his hands under his chin. I wonder why it’s taking him so long to answer. Presumably he’s known who I am since the day he moved in here. It’s me who should be lost for words.
‘It was Ernest’s idea to track you down,’ he begins. ‘It wasn’t that difficult really. You’d had the foresight to leave forwarding addresses in Italy, Germany and here. Ernest said it was so simple, you must have wanted to be found.’ He does his trademark one-eyebrow lift and I’m not sure if he’s expecting me to answer. I don’t say anything. For once, I just need to listen.
‘Mammy Del and Tad died within a few months of each other back in 1975. Lorcan and Rhiannon carried on with the farm—’
‘Rhiannon?’
He gives me a hard stare, which I probably deserve. ‘His wife.’
My mind flashes back to mine and Lorcan’s wedding day, and my pulse quickens. The pain I caused him has haunted me ever since. ‘Did she make him happy?’ I’m surprised by how much I want the answer to be yes.
Frank affords me a smile as he nods slowly. ‘Married for fifty-one years until he died in ’97. She was a sweet girl, hard-working too. Mammy Del adored her. She gave Lorcan everything he ever wanted, including three kids.’
A whoosh of relief escapes my lips and my conscience is eased a little. ‘I’m glad, Frank, truly I am.’
‘I think Lorcan forgave you a lot sooner than I did. I know I was only a little boy, but I really hated you for what you did to us.’
His words sting. ‘I don’t blame you, Frank. Part of me wishes I’d stayed. It would’ve saved a lot of heartbreak, but then I wouldn’t have met Eva or Max.’
‘That’s the trouble. We can’t cherry-pick the parts of our story we’d like to keep. Our lives are a melting pot of regrets, triumphs, sorrow and joy. You have to accept it all.’
He’s not wrong there.
‘You came to Green Meadows because you knew I was here, though?’
His expression is blank. ‘I did it for Ernest. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of me all alone after he died, so I promised him that I’d contact you. He was a much more forgiving person than I am. A much better person altogether, in fact.’
I stare at his face, searching for traces of the little boy I left behind a lifetime ago. ‘I doubt that, Frank.’
‘Once Lorcan and Rhiannon had passed on, I had no family left. Oh, I know they weren’t my blood relatives, but that didn’t matter to me. The only blood relative I’d had let me down badly.’ He looks at me to make sure I understand.
I can’t help but bristle, and there’s a tightness in my chest. ‘I tried to get you to come to Italy. Surely Del gave you my letters.’
‘She did, but I didn’t want to go. I was happy at Mynydd Farm. Why would I want to travel to some foreign country to be with a sister who cared more for her lover than for me?’
He’s not making this easy, and I can’t blame him. ‘Why did you wait so long before te
lling me who you were, though?’ I do a rough calculation in my head. ‘I mean, you’ve lived here for ten months.’
‘It was never my intention to actually move to Green Meadows, but after Ernest died, I couldn’t stay in that house without him. I knew you were here and I came a few times for a look round. You probably won’t remember, but we did actually meet on one of those occasions. Mrs Culpepper introduced you to me as their oldest resident.’ He gives a little laugh. ‘We actually shook hands.’
He’s right, I don’t remember. Mrs Culpepper is fond of introducing me to prospective residents. She sees me as a good advert for the place, as though my living at Green Meadows is the sole reason I’ve survived to such a great age. She likes to take the credit for that.
My brain feels particularly sluggish as I try to make sense of everything. ‘But you still haven’t said why you didn’t tell me who you were.’
He gives a resigned shrug. ‘I suppose I wanted to find out if you were worth getting to know. I had to make sure you wouldn’t disappoint me again. My last memory of you was in the kitchen at the farm, when you handed me my half of the carving. I stared at the door for a long time after you’d gone. I couldn’t believe you would actually leave me behind. I thought you were just teaching me a lesson and would reappear, but no, you’d really gone and you never came back. I vowed there and then never to let you back into my life.’
‘I think you’re being a bit harsh, Frank. We’ve become best friends over the past ten months. I thought you liked me.’
‘I do, which is why we’re having this conversation now.’
‘But . . . but . . .’ I stop as tightness takes hold of my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
Frank notices. ‘Jenny?’
I close my eyes and try to focus on breathing in and out, but there’s a sharp pain now that causes me to wince. He goes to press the buzzer by the side of my bed, but I raise my hand to stop him. ‘I never stopped loving you, our Louis.’
He halts at the mention of his childhood name.
‘You are so much more to me than my little brother. More than you will ever know.’ It’s as far as I dare to go without breaking my promise to our mother. A bolt of pain shoots through me and carries my words away. Everything goes dark and all I can hear are Louis’s panicked tones as he gently pats my face. His voice, high-pitched and unbroken, sounds as though it’s coming through a tunnel, and I’m being pulled towards it. I can see him as a boy, running through the wheat fields, his skinny tanned arms flailing as he bats away the flies. I can see him diving into the pool beneath the waterfall, disappearing below the surface before rearing up again and shaking the droplets of water from his hair, his face glowing with delight. I can see him with two rabbits slung over his shoulder, proudly walking next to Lorcan, carrying his rifle like a seasoned soldier.
The Memory Box Page 32