The True Heart

by Helena Halme

  Kaisa placed the heavy sheet of paper back in its envelope and put the letter on top of the others in her bedside drawer and climbed back into bed. She tried to rekindle the dream, just to feel Peter’s hands on her and his breath close to her skin again.

  Thirty

  London, September 1992

  Kaisa was lying on her bed, waiting for Rosa to wake up. It was nearly six am, and she knew it would be a matter of minutes before she heard her daughter call out for her. It wasn’t quite light yet, but Kaisa hadn’t slept well, and around five am had given up and begun reading a new book that Ravi had given her, A Secret History by Donna Tart. Ravi had become Kaisa’s new supplier of fiction, as well as her best friend, an excellent cook and her private fashion adviser. Kaisa would be starving and in rags if it wasn’t for Ravi. She sighed. She’d miss him dreadfully.

  She was so grateful for everything he had done for her; especially now she knew about his secret. She worried for him, because after the accident, he had been with her night and day, and he didn’t seem to have a steady boyfriend. She’d wanted to ask him if he had casual relationships and to urge him to be careful, but each time she approached the matter, even in a roundabout way, he’d change the subject.

  Once, when they’d been sitting at the kitchen table, a few days after Rosa’s birth, and the radio was playing ‘These are the days of our lives’ by Queen, Kaisa had been brave enough to speak honestly with him. Ravi had been holding Kaisa’s hands between his, and Kaisa had looked at the few dark hairs growing between the knuckles on the back of his fingers, fighting the memory of Peter’s beautiful long fingers, which had hairs growing on them in exactly the same way. Ravi’s skin was a shade darker, and his fingernails looked almost feminine in their paleness and cleanliness. Kaisa looked up at Ravi’s dark brown eyes and said, ‘Ravi, you are being careful, aren’t you?’

  The death of Freddie Mercury the year before had brought back the memory of Duncan struggling to breathe as he lay in the iron bed in Dorset.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to lose another …’

  Ravi had straightened up and looked startled. ‘Of course.’ He dropped Kaisa’s hands and ran one of his own hands through his black, shiny hair. He’d grown it longer, Kaisa now saw, and wondered if it was because he didn’t have time to go to the barbers anymore. She knew he didn’t want to leave her at home in the afternoons, so each day he hurried back from his job in the City.

  ‘Ravi, I’m just worried about you,’ Kaisa had added.

  ‘Oh Kaisa,’ he’d said and leaned back on the ancient pine chair, which creaked slightly under his weight. ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  Kaisa had hugged Ravi, and at that moment they’d both heard Rosa stirring. She got up and said, ‘Just promise you’re careful?’

  Ravi had looked down at the table and nodded.

  ‘I promise.’

  * * *

  Kaisa was feeding Rosa her morning porridge in the kitchen when she heard the doorbell go. She looked at her watch; it was only just gone eight so this had to be Peter’s parents. She wiped the little girl’s mouth, marvelled at her beautiful dark green eyes, which were the exact shape and shade of Peter’s, and lifted her up.

  ‘Shall we go and say hello to Granny and Grandpa?’

  Rosa giggled and said, ‘Ganny, Ganny!’

  The girl, who looked almost nothing like Kaisa, having inherited the dark hair and eyes of the Williams family, loved her ‘Ganny’. Peter’s mother, Evelyn, or ‘Evie’ as everyone called her, had turned out to be a real rock; after the accident, she and Peter’s father had rushed up to London from their home in Wiltshire.

  Kaisa had never been very close to Evie, mainly because of the events in Scotland, which had caused so much heartache for her son, not to mention the harm it had done to Peter’s career. Kaisa fully understood how she felt; if it had been her, she too would have been sceptical about a daughter-in-law who cheated on her husband after only six months of marriage.

  But since the terrible accident, Peter’s mum had been an angel, visiting Kaisa often after her own mother had gone back to Finland, initially shedding tears with her, sharing her grief, which, after all, to her, must have been even worse. Now a mother herself, Kaisa could only imagine how much Evie suffered from losing a child.

  Kaisa didn’t want to think about what she had to tell them later that day.

  When Rosa was born, Evie, together with her own mother, were once again at Kaisa’s side, holding her hand as Kaisa cried and screamed her way through the labour. Now Evie popped up to London once of twice a month, babysitting for Kaisa as often as she could, and saving on Rosa’s nursery costs.

  Sometimes when Kaisa was saying goodbye to Rosa, as Peter’s mother held the little girl on her lap, singing nursery rhymes to soften the blow of her mother’s departure, she wondered if there was criticism in Evie’s voice when she told Rosa, ‘Mummy has to go to work, darling, doesn’t she?’

  She’d often have a look in her pale eyes, a look that said, ‘How can you leave this little girl, a gift you were so desperate to have, and all you have left of Peter?’ But true to her English manners, she never voiced those criticisms and Kaisa was too tired and too afraid to hear the truth to begin a discussion on the matter. And perhaps she was imagining such criticism.

  Kaisa knew she didn’t have to go to work, because of the generous pension she was getting from the Navy. Lieutenant Commander Crowther, who still wrote to her and even telephoned to ask how she was, and if there was anything he could do for her, had organised all the paperwork regarding the pension and the death certificate. He had also put Peter’s affairs in order, including the mortgage, which was paid off with a life policy. He had communicated all the details to Ravi. A month or so after the funeral, Ravi had sat Kaisa down and told her that she was quite a wealthy woman.

  ‘Peter certainly made sure you would be alright, and the Navy are being very generous.’

  Kaisa had nodded. What was money compared to having Peter alive and with her? But she had thanked Ravi and thought about what Mrs D kept telling her: Think of the positives. Peter had loved her and had made sure she would not have to worry about money if he died before her.

  She knew she was being selfish for staying at the BBC, but she needed time away from her home life and the dreadful longing she had for Peter. Sitting at home alone with Rosa, she would, she was sure, obsess about Peter. She wanted to see him just once more; to hear his voice; to feel his lips on her; and his body pressed against hers. She needed an escape from that longing, even if it lasted only as long as her news broadcasts on John Major’s new, flailing government, or the IRA terror attacks in London and elsewhere.

  It was her job at the BBC that had saved her from going crazy after Peter’s funeral. She knew the only way she’d keep herself sane was to get back to the work she loved, the only place that hadn’t changed.

  Thirty-One

  It was a sunny day on the second anniversary of Peter’s death. As if to mock her grief, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Her psychiatrist said she needed to ‘let go of her guilt’.

  During the sessions she’d taken with the grey-haired analyst, Kaisa had learned more about herself than she thought possible. How she blamed herself for Peter’s accident; how she couldn’t accept that it was just a random event with disastrous consequences; how she fretted about having no control over it.

  Although Kaisa now saw Mrs D only every two months, she had insisted on weekly sessions during the month before the anniversary. Before making Kaisa do the customary relaxation exercises, she’d reminded Kaisa that the only thing she could control was how she spent the rest of her life. Did she want to find the negative, and be sad on the second anniversary of Peter’s death, or did she, for her own sake as much as for her daughter’s and Peter’s family’s sake, want to celebrate her late husband’s life? Did she want to feel grateful for the love she had shared with Peter and the love she now had for her daughter and her family and friends?

/>   Kaisa had cried and wanted to mourn. She wanted to be sad, she wanted to cry until it was all over, and Peter walked through the door of their little house again, carrying his Pusser’s Grip, smiling at her before he bent down and kissed her lips.

  She wanted to howl at the unfairness of it all. She wanted to scream and shout at Mrs D, tell her how unfair it was that her memory of Peter’s kisses was fading. If only she’d had the chance to take more pictures of him, to record the sound of his voice. All she had was the wedding video made by her uncle, which didn’t include Peter’s voice. But deep inside, she knew Mrs D was right; she couldn’t let Rosa grow up in a home that was sad, and she needed to consider Peter’s family too.

  * * *

  Peter’s parents drove Kaisa to Kensal Green cemetery in their new Ford Mondeo. Kaisa still had Peter’s old Golf GTi, but if it was a sunny day she’d often visit Peter’s grave by walking to Westbourne Park Tube station and taking the number 18 bus from there, pushing Rosa in her pram when she was a baby and later in her buggy.

  She still hated driving in London, even though she’d done it for years. The traffic around Notting Hill seemed only to get worse and finding a space to park near her home was becoming more and more difficult.

  As she fixed Rosa into her car seat, and watched her kick her feet in excitement at being with her grandparents, ‘Gampi’ and ‘Ganny’, she resolved that she would heed Mrs D’s advice and celebrate Peter’s life rather than mourn him today. But she was also worried about how Peter’s parents would react to her news. Kaisa decided not to think about that now; she’d tell them later when there was a quiet moment before the guests arrived. She knew she was putting it off, but she needed Ravi’s support when she told them what she knew would be a great blow to them.

  ‘Alright?’ Evie said from the front seat, turning around to smile at Kaisa and Rosa.

  Kaisa nodded quickly, feeling caught out by the older woman’s straight gaze. Rosa kicked and waved her hands, pulling her body towards her granny, so that her seatbelt cut into her tummy.

  ‘We’ll soon be there, lovey,’ Evie cooed and stroked the little girl’s stubby fingers.

  Kaisa gave her daughter a stick of carrot to suck at. She was teething and would chew at anything Kaisa gave her. ‘Ready to go,’ she said, and Peter’s father started the engine.

  * * *

  Once the four of them were out of the car, and walking underneath the tall arches of the cemetery entrance, Kaisa felt a longing so severe in the pit of her stomach that she had to gasp. Evie was next to her, with one hand resting on Rosa’s buggy. She put her other hand behind Kaisa’s back, supporting her during their walk towards Peter’s grave. Kaisa gave her mother-in-law a grateful smile. She pointed at a flower stall set up to the left of the chapel where they had attended the short ceremony two years ago.

  ‘Let’s get some flowers,’ Evie said.

  Kaisa nodded, unable to speak. Although she came here almost every week, and always made the same purchase of a single red rose to put on Peter’s grave, today the ritual felt more poignant, more final. She felt tears well behind her eyelids when she remembered the very first time Peter had given her a red rose at Helsinki airport, just before he boarded a plane to London.

  Kaisa had cried all the way home on the bus, desolate that she had to say goodbye to her beloved Englishman. How she wished she’d understood that those were the happy times. How lucky she had been then! To be able to look forward to seeing Peter again, to be able to count the weeks and days until she could feel his lips on hers, his body pressed against hers.

  Now the counting was backwards; how long since their last conversation on the telephone, how many days, weeks, months and years since they’d made love, how long since she’d seen his smile, or smelled his familiar scent of coconut aftershave and something else, something musky and manly.

  She needed to remember all these things, and yet she was afraid that little by little she was forgetting them. She had the photographs of him smiling next to his yellow, open-top Spitfire, another one in which he is dressed up for a wedding, from the time before she knew him. There were pictures from their own wedding in Finland, and the first hastily arranged registry office ceremony in Portsmouth. There were a few photographs of Peter and Kaisa together on various submarines and ships, at parties and naval dances, holding each other close, smiling into the camera.

  Kaisa often examined her own face, as well as that of Peter, and wondered who that smiling woman was, and how Peter felt about her. She regretted each row they’d had, and they had had many. Too many.

  She couldn’t comprehend how she had been so stupid to sleep with another man, and then foolish enough to leave Peter alone in Scotland, a decision that had parted them for nearly a year. Her head had been full of feminist rhetoric, of pacifism, and opposition to the Navy. The Royal Navy that had been Peter’s first love. How remote those beliefs now seemed! But Kaisa knew – as Mrs D had helped her remember – that they’d also had many happy times, as witnessed by the smiling couple in those pictures.

  Yet she didn’t recognise herself in those photographs; in spite of all the sessions with Mrs D, she had to work hard to find joy in life since Peter’s death. If it hadn’t been for the pregnancy, and for Rosa, this wonderful, beautiful girl – Peter’s daughter – Kaisa didn’t know what would have happened to her. She sighed and paid the florist for her rose.

  ‘Here you are, Mrs Williams,’ the woman said kindly. She had messy grey hair, which was trying to escape from a stripey scarf tied around her head. She knew Kaisa, and knew what she would order. ‘Special day today, is it?’ she said, nodding with a smile at Peter’s mother and father, who, holding onto the handlebar of Rosa’s buggy, were standing a little further away, looking at the buckets of flowers on the other side of the stall.

  ‘Two years today,’ Kaisa managed to say.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said, and then lifting her brown eyes at Kaisa, added, ‘It gets better, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kaisa said and turned away. Kindness, or kind words, were almost the worst, she’d found. Although it was better than the silence many people offered when they heard about what had happened to Peter. It was strange to her how many people were afraid of the word ‘death’ and preferred talking about ‘passing away’ or ‘loss’, as if by simply being careless, Kaisa had let Peter slip away.

  * * *

  Now, two years later, Kaisa had learned to fight the images of the accident running through her head, how Peter must have fought to try and get breath as his body was pulled under the dark waves. After Lieutenant Commander Crowther, or Stephen, had told her the gruesome details, she’d tried to ask Nigel, who, after all, had been there, how Peter had fallen into the water. It was during a phone call months afterwards, but Nigel had only said, ‘He slipped up.’ His wife, Kaisa’s friend Pammy, had told her of Nigel’s breakdown after Peter’s death. Neither of them had been able to come to the funeral. Nigel had been on strong medication for six months and was now on permanent sick leave from the Navy.

  At the graveside, or at the memorial stone as it was correctly called, since what was left of Peter had been cremated and wasn’t in the ground, Kaisa remembered how she hadn’t been able to take any tranquillisers after the accident, due to the baby. She had been almost jealous of the oblivion Nigel’s drugs had given him. Pammy had told her over the telephone that he seemed to do nothing but sleep at the unit he’d been taken to. For weeks he hadn’t even recognised Pammy or their two daughters.

  ‘Gampi is going to say a few words,’ Evie said, now at her side, bringing Kaisa back to the present day.

  She nodded and saw that Rosa was sitting still in her buggy for once, staring at the small patch of grass where Peter’s mother had placed the pot of bright red geraniums she’d bought, next to Kaisa’s red rose, which she had placed in the vase she’d bought a few weeks after the funeral. The green, plastic vial stood in front of the stone, with the inscription:

&
nbsp; Peter, My Beloved,

  Our Dearest Son

  Brother and Uncle

  We Love You Always

  Born 10 April 1960

  Died 30 September 1990

  Thirty-Two

  Ravi was already standing by the door when Peter’s father double parked in front of the house to drop everyone off. Kaisa removed the sleeping Rosa from the car seat and Peter’s mum went to get the buggy out of the back. Evie suffered from back pain, but the older woman straightened herself up and said, ‘I’m fine.’ Kaisa smiled. Evie wanted to be useful.

  ‘I’m early,’ Ravi said, walking up to the car. He still held keys to the house and had obviously let himself in. He kissed Kaisa on the cheek.

  Peter’s father wasn’t used to parking in small spaces, so Ravi got into the driver’s seat and smartly manoeuvred the Ford into a space a little way along the road.

  ‘Thank you very much, young man,’ Peter’s father said when Ravi handed him back the keys.

  Kaisa smiled, theirs was an unusual friendship. From what she knew of Peter’s parents they were not exactly racist, but at the same time they were not used to seeing anything other than white faces where they lived. The only immigrants were the Free Polish who’d come over during and immediately after the Second World War.

  ‘Brave people, brave people,’ Kaisa had heard Peter’s dad say about the Poles in their town.

  Apart from the race issue, Kaisa also knew her friendship with Ravi could be misconstrued, especially as she knew Peter’s parents had no idea about Ravi’s sexuality. However, both parents seemed to be grateful to Ravi for all the time he spent looking after Kaisa and Rosa.