Family Divided

by Allen, Anne

  tables. Some in the sun were empty and Charlotte said she’d prefer outside, and headed for one of them. Andy

  went inside to order the coffees while she people-watched. The other customers were in a relaxed mood,

  sharing jokes as they planned their day, and small children ran around tables under the watchful eyes of their

  parents. Charlotte found herself unbending in the laid-back atmosphere, in spite of the memory of the

  conversation with her mother forcing its way to the surface. There was nothing she could do except wait for the

  phone call. Today she had to let go.

  Taking a deep breath of the ozone-laden air, she experienced a frisson of anticipation at the day ahead. It had

  been so long since she had been on a date – or whatever this was – not since she first met Richard, ten years ago.

  A lifetime. Or so it felt. Pushing to one side the obvious complications of living across a stretch of water and their

  different backgrounds, she thought she might as well enjoy any time she spent with Andy. As the thought

  flittered across her mind, the man in question appeared from the pub bearing two mugs of coffee.

  ‘You look lost in thought. Everything okay?’ Andy asked as he sat beside her.

  ‘Absolutely. I was thinking what a lovely day it is and how happy everyone looks. It’s such a shame summer’s

  officially over. Does the island close down for the winter?’ She had no intention of sharing her real worries with

  him. It would make her more vulnerable.

  ‘Not completely. The White House Hotel near the harbour will close next weekend until spring, but the self-

  catering cottages are rented out through the year. And the Mermaid and the shops open for shorter hours in the

  winter. So there’s usually someone staying here, along with the inhabitants, naturally.’ He sipped his coffee

  before adding, ‘You know Jeanne and Nick were married here?’

  ‘Yes, what a fab place to choose. I expect all you Guerns know the island well.’ She stirred the froth on her

  drink as, not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to live on a small island.

  ‘For many of us growing up in Guernsey, Herm was where we went for holidays. Getting off the island to go

  abroad was too expensive but it always felt like being in another country coming over here. My parents hired

  frame tents in the Seagull campsite above Manor Village and friends would join us and we had a whale of a time.

  Nick was one of them. It’s a children’s paradise, as you’ll see when we go round.’ He rubbed her arm. ‘Warmer

  now?’

  She smiled, enjoying the touch of his hands. ‘Yes, thanks. This place is a real sun trap and the coffee was just

  what I needed. Shall we go?’

  He stood up and offered his hand as she stepped over the bench. ‘We’ll head towards the common first and

  continue round the coast until lunch time. I’ve booked a table at The White House for one thirty, if that’s okay?’

  She nodded and they joined the coastal path outside. A minute later Andy unfolded a map and explained their

  route, first pointing out Fisherman’s Beach on their left. ‘The island has several great beaches which is why they

  never get crowded. The best, in my view, is Shell Beach on the east coast.’ He went on to tell Charlotte a little

  more about Herm and she listened avidly as the island gave itself up to her gaze. A small boy, rushing around a

  bend, bumped into her and she had to hold onto him to steady them both. His parents caught up and mumbled

  an apology before grabbing his hand. Charlotte smiled. It was lovely to see children running free, even if they did

  nearly knock you over.

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  The Family Divided

  As they continued on the path the number of walkers thinned until they found themselves alone on the sandy

  track leading to the common – home, according to Andy, to Neolithic burial grounds. Warming to the theme of

  Herm’s history, he became more animated, waving his arms in the way of those of Latin blood, and she smiled

  inwardly, recalling his French ancestry. He was definitely more passionate than she had guessed and wondered

  idly if the French blood would out in other ways too. She felt her face grow hot at the thought and when he

  brushed her hand, she pushed it in her pocket, worried he was going to hold it. Looking puzzled he carried on

  with the story.

  Charlotte enjoyed listening to Andy’s tales of Normans, monks, pirates and Prussian princes, all former

  occupants of Herm. But, for her, the biggest surprise was learning the writer Sir Compton Mackenzie, whose

  work she admired, had leased the island in the 1920s. At this point in his tale they had reached Shell Beach and

  the glimmering expanse of sand – actually crushed seashells carried by the Gulf Stream – looked too inviting to

  resist. Pulling off their trainers they ran along the shore edge, laughing as the sea lapped at their ankles. At one

  moment they came to a stop to avoid a dog splashing in the shallows and Charlotte lost her balance. Andy

  grabbed her and she found herself staring into his eyes. He leant down and kissed her. Charlotte closed her eyes

  and allowed herself to melt into the kiss. Coming up for air, she pulled back slightly and smiled.

  ‘That was some kiss! What brought that on?’

  ‘You looked so carefree and happy and…and beautiful. I couldn’t resist. Did you mind?’ he asked stroking

  tangled hair off her face.

  ‘Nooo…Although we do appear to have an audience,’ she said, pointing.

  He turned round and saw three small faces gaping at him, goggle eyed.

  ‘Are you two married, then? That was so soppy!’ declared a freckle-faced lad of about seven, building

  sandcastles with what appeared to be a younger brother and sister. He pulled a face in disgust.

  Andy laughed.

  ‘No, we’re not married, just friends. Don’t you like seeing people kiss each other?’

  The boy shook his head.

  ‘Nah, not in public, anyways. Suppose it’s okay if you’re on your own. My mum and dad never kiss in front of

  us kids,’ he said, nodding towards a couple sitting fully clothed on a mat about a hundred yards away. Charlotte

  glanced towards them, noting they appeared to be arguing and felt a pang of sympathy for the boy and his

  siblings.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry if we offended you, young man. We’ll move away and let you build your sandcastle

  undisturbed,’ Andy said solemnly. Charlotte saw his mouth twitching and had to stifle a giggle.

  The boy nodded and turned back to his digging while Charlotte and Andy ran a few yards before collapsing

  into helpless laughter.

  ‘Well, that told us, didn’t it? Public displays of affection are a no-no if there are kids about,’ Andy spluttered.

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  Charlotte allowed him to hold her hand as they continued up the beach, away from critical eyes. Coming

  across a sheltered spot, Andy suggested they sit down and they snuggled up together, feeling the sun’s warmth

  on their faces. Charlotte was content to sit quietly, every fibre of her being tingling. In spite of her reservations

  about the wisdom of allowing Andy to get under her skin, his kiss had woken something in her and it felt good.

  Very good. Like coming out of hibernation after a cold, long winter to find the sun and warmth on your body

  once more. Even if it was likely to be short-lived.

  ‘You look as if you haven’t a care in the world. Do you?’ Andy asked, stroking her face.

  Instantly she was snapped into reality. Her
mother. Groaning inwardly at the thought of what might lay

  ahead, Charlotte replied sharply, ‘Of course I have cares! Doesn’t everyone? And it’s something I’d rather not talk

  about.’

  He leaned back, frowning. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. Shall we make a move for the restaurant? All this

  walking is building up my appetite.’

  She let him help her to her feet and they walked side by side, but not holding hands, as they retraced their

  steps to the harbour village and The White House.

  The conversation over lunch in the Conservatory Restaurant was initially stilted and Charlotte, aware she had

  ruffled Andy’s feathers with her sharpness, tried to defuse things by encouraging him to tell her more about his

  work.

  He appeared to regain his earlier humour and they spent the afternoon exploring the rest of the island, or at

  least a good part of it. Charlotte continued to be enchanted with everything she saw, declaring the tiny Norman

  chapel of St Tugual to be one of the ‘sweetest chapels I’ve ever seen’.

  Andy kept an eye on the time, saying he needed to catch the high tide to float the boat from its temporary

  mooring. As they made their way from the Manor Village in the centre of Herm he announced there was just

  time for a quick look round the shops if she wished.

  It proved to be an expensive ‘quick look’ as Charlotte ended up buying a couple of tops to see her through the

  cooler weather and three paperbacks to replace those she had finished reading. Pleased with her purchases, she

  allowed Andy to hold her hand as they strolled the few yards to the harbour.

  He left her on the jetty while he waded out to the boat and brought it back to the steps. Minutes later

  Charlotte was safely aboard and gazing wistfully at Herm as they sped away.

  ‘You can always come back, you know,’ Andy said, glancing at her. He frowned, adding, ‘You’re not planning

  on leaving for a while yet, are you?’

  ‘No, but I can’t stay forever. Perhaps another two or three weeks tops, depending on whether or not I can

  discover the answers you need. I…I might have to go home for a while.’ She chewed her lip.

  He grunted and appeared lost in thought as he held onto the tiller. Charlotte, reliving the day, could not help

  wondering where they both stood in terms of a relationship. Were they becoming closer – or not?

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  The Family Divided

  chapter twelve

  Andy was in thoughtful mood on Sunday morning as he left his cottage in St Peters. His parents had invited him

  for Sunday lunch and as he drove up to St Sampson he could not get the thought of Charlotte out of his head.

  He was falling for her and he knew he shouldn’t. It was hopeless. She was way out of his league and apart

  from anything else, lived on the mainland. Hardly conducive to a romantic involvement even if there wasn’t such

  a social gulf between them. The thought was depressing but at the same time his heart skipped a beat at the

  memory of their kiss on the beach. And their goodnight kiss when he dropped her off at Louisa’s.

  In the heat of the moment Andy had invited Charlotte round for lunch on the following Saturday and now he

  wondered if it was a mistake. Should he back off before he got in deeper? But he couldn’t withdraw the offer

  without looking like a complete pillock so…The sound of a blaring horn brought him up sharp and he just

  managed to stop at a junction as another car drove past. Get a grip, man! Andy told himself, shocked at the near

  miss. Resolving to forget about Charlotte for the moment, he focused on arriving at his parents’ house in one

  piece. Twenty minutes later he pulled into the drive of their tiny cottage.

  ‘Hello, son. Good timing, your mother’s just about to serve up. Fancy a lager with your dinner?’ his father said

  as he ushered him into the dining cum sitting room. Andy thought Jim looked tired and hoped he’d not been

  overdoing things again.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll get them, Dad, you sit down.’ Andy walked through into the kitchen, barely big enough to hold

  two people, and gave his mother a hug as she stood dishing out portions of vegetables to accompany the meagre

  amount of roast pork on the three plates. The memory of the meals he had enjoyed with Charlotte in the last two

  days made Andy feel guilty. As his mother turned to give him a kiss, he slipped a twenty pound note into her

  apron pocket. ‘Hello, Maman, looks delicious. Hope you made your incomparable apple sauce to go with it?’ he

  asked, returning her kiss.

  Yvette smiled. ‘But of course. Your father would not forgive me if I do not! You take the lagers and wait while

  I bring in the plates in one little minute.’ She patted her pocket and mouthed “thank you” before turning back to

  the task in hand. Andy collected a couple of cans from the fridge and returned to the dining room.

  ‘How are you, Dad? How’s the physio going?’

  Jim took the proffered can before replying, ‘Not too bad, son. That girl Louisa’s been making me do lots of

  exercises at home and it seems to ease the pain. Not as stiff as I was, for sure.’ He took a sip of the lager before

  adding, ‘The only thing is she wants me to cut down on the fishing for a bit. Said it wasn’t helping. But you know

  I love going out in the boat and we enjoy the fish I catch. Bit of a bummer, really,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘It’s a pity, but if your back improves won’t it be worth it in the long run? Did she say you could get back to

  the fishing one day?’ Andy was concerned. Not only did his parents need the fish themselves, but his father

  earned good pocket money from the extra he sold.

  ‘She didn’t say one way or the other. I guess it depends how well the treatments work and I’m not sure how

  many they’ll let me have.’ Jim stared at Andy. ‘You know I can’t abide charity. I prefer to pay my own way, always

  have–’

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  ‘But do not go on at the boy, Jim. You should instead be glad one thinks so well of Andy’s work to wish to help

  you,’ Yvette said, coming into the room with a plate in each hand. Andy stood up and fetched the last plate from

  the kitchen.

  His mother flashed him a smile as they sat down to eat. Jim grunted before tucking into his food. While they

  ate, Yvette asked Andy about his latest projects and the meal passed off pleasantly as he described a barn

  conversion he was designing. While they were eating the pudding of French apple tart Andy had an idea.

  ‘Dad, you remember Nick’s wife is a writer?’ Jim nodded. ‘Well, she’s planning to write a novel set during the

  occupation and wants to get hold of as many first-hand accounts as she can. As you know, she’s not long had a

  baby so can’t get out and about much and asked me to pass the word around,’ he said, before taking a final sip of

  his lager. ‘I remembered you saying once that your mother kept a diary during the war and wondered if you still

  had it. It’d be just the kind of thing Jeanne’s looking for.’

  Jim pursed his lips. ‘I don’t rightly know if we have. It was with some bits and pieces we kept after she died,

  but could have been thrown out long ago.’

  Andy turned to his mother, who looked thoughtful. ‘We kept all the old family photos and various papers, I

  am sure. If it is there the diary will be in the attic in the box with those other things. Do you want to have a look

  while you are here?’

  He looked at his father, shifting in
his chair.

  ‘Is it all right with you, Dad?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Don’t like the thought of other people poking about in our private business–’

  ‘ Mais, c’est bete, Jim! After so long a time, it cannot do harm for this nice girl Jeanne to read Madeleine’s old

  diary. And if it may help with her book, why not? There is nothing to hide, no?’ Yvette laughed.

  Andy held his breath. If the diary was in the attic why was his father reluctant for anyone to read it?

  Jim seemed to do battle with himself, before finally saying, ‘No, there’s nothing to hide. Suppose you can see if

  it’s still there.’ He stood up and, rubbing his back, stretched a bit before stomping off to the sofa.

  Yvette raised her eyebrows as she shot a glance at Andy, who shrugged. He helped clear the table before

  going upstairs to check out the attic. Access was easy thanks to the inbuilt ladder attached to the hatch and the

  attic was both floored and well lit. As a boy he had played in there with a battered train set passed down by

  friends of his parents. Nick had joined him on occasion and he smiled now at the memory of happy times

  pretending to run a railway. Shoved towards the shallow part of the eaves he found the boxes his mother had

  suggested he search first. Kneeling down, he remembered years ago looking idly through old photos stuck in

  albums and wondering who everyone was. His curiosity at the time had not been strong enough for him to

  question his parents, which he now regretted. But this was not the right moment to ask, and he concentrated on

  looking for the diary.

  A couple of boxes later he pulled out a likely contender, a thick, brown hardback book bearing the title

  Journal in faded gold lettering. Andy held his breath as he looked inside. He let out a long sigh. The inscription,

  To my darling wife, Madeleine, on the occasion of her birthday, was written in heavy script across the page. The

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  The Family Divided

  original book must have consisted of blank lined pages and Madeleine had filled in the dates of her diary entries.