The Heart Beats in Secret
Page 11
Afterwards, I didn’t call Felicity; I couldn’t, and anyway, it was Mateo who mentioned abortion first and asked me if that was what I wanted. We hadn’t planned this. We weren’t going to. I said yes.
Is it love to want what your lover wants? That’s love, right? I can’t remember. The women at the clinic were professional and I felt foggy all through June, like the drugs weren’t wearing off. I felt thin. I woke late at night and too early in the morning, feeling bruised, remembering things I wanted to pack for Europe or the smell of summer flowers at the camp, the names of children.
In Barcelona, I found Margot in a Catalan palace. According to the plaque on the wall, she was a woman of many names. The Wait, Pierreuse, Red Woman, The Made-Up Woman. She sat in Gallery 7, crowded with visitors, her scarlet dress striking against the flush of her skin. All around, her artist’s early work stared out through clear, unfamiliar faces, suspended in the time before everything broke apart into his familiar shards.
While Mateo met with colleagues, I sat in a sun-bleached square, drank coffee and read the guidebook. I planned our hike at Montserrat. There had been a medieval monastery; Napoleon demolished it, but it was rebuilt, and now there was a wonderful museum there, with more Picassos, El Grecos and Dalís. More faces to face. We would take a narrow-gauge railway up the hillside – the cremallera – and, at the top, choose one of the hiking trails that led back down to the houses below. Local children once saw visions of angels there, and now pilgrims visit, but the way was clearly marked for hikers, too. I folded a napkin and slipped it into the guidebook at the photo of these serrated hills, then spent the rest of the afternoon exploring small city streets thinking of mountains and Margot.
In the evening, a restaurant in another square, a table with a white cloth, chairs and the tourist sounds of violin. I was tired from walking, the skin on my heel rubbed raw under my sandal strap. I drank a cold glass of water and noticed the buildings. Old windows, old shutters and chimneys, the plane trees with solid trunks the height of church towers and an impermeable hide, their leaves impossible hands. Mateo bought a costly bottle of wine and the air was heavy with roses.
‘We never would have had all this, of course,’ he said, with a soft smile. ‘We might have been at home right now in the humidity with morning sickness. And loud bars on Elgin Street. Not a pretty thought, is it?’
I smiled. In the night, I was awake again as Mateo slept, his beautiful face turned towards me, and I remembered the roses and their cultivated perfume. At the camp, evening primroses bloom at night. I remembered that, too. And that night is when wild orchids are most fragrant. That pennyroyal is fragrant all the time, and it smells like peppermint tea laced with turpentine.
And a year passed and now I sat here.
The next morning, the post brought another heavy envelope, filled with folded information about the condo. Mateo wanted to go ahead and buy. He wrote that he’d spoken with the agent and with the bank. He needed my signature. He also wrote about the weather. Told me it was hot in Ottawa. 28 degrees yesterday. He’d had his dinner on a patio in the Market. The fish was good, I would have liked it – just the right amount of lemon. I should sign the documents and return them via courier to ensure both our names were on the agreement. He wanted me to read everything first. If I had any questions, I should call him – even at work. He wanted this to move quickly.
PART TWO
1
JANE: 1940
WE DECIDED TO MARRY IN THE VILLAGE KIRK. STORIES end with marriage, but ours doesn’t. It starts here instead.
The young minister was surprised when we asked him.
‘Won’t you be married from home, then?’
‘No,’ Stanley said, though the question was clearly for me. ‘We want to be married in the church we’ll attend together. You’ll know my mother, I think. Mrs Hambleton down near the bend in the road.’
‘Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of a cup of tea. A kind woman, your mother. It’s good that you and your wife will be living nearby. I hear that you have been called up?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that isn’t why we’re getting married,’ I said, quickly.
‘No, no, I didn’t think so.’ He looked at us with kindly eyes, and pencilled our names in his diary. ‘April is a lovely month for weddings, I’ve always thought. You will need witnesses, too. Will that be arranged, or shall I convince my wife and a friend?’
‘My mother will be with us, and Jane’s parents as well,’ said Stanley.
I smoothed my gloves between my hands, chocolate brown with two buttons.
‘That’s lovely, then. I will see you in time.’ He stood and shook Stanley’s hand, and I stuck mine out as well. ‘Lovely to meet both of you. I’m sure you will enjoy the village, Jane. And Connie will be glad to have another young wife nearby. She’s a grand one at putting together ladies’ gatherings. You will have plenty of company here.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and hoped my voice sounded warm.
At the house, Stanley’s mother had prepared egg sandwiches, which Stanley carried out to the garden. We sat on kitchen chairs set on the grass with small plates balanced on our laps. I found that the top of my sandwich was spread with butter, which made my fingers and my mouth greasy, but there were no napkins to be seen so I pressed my lips together and hoped they weren’t shiny. Stanley caught my eye and smiled.
‘I should bring a table out,’ he said. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it, Mother? A little table for our plates.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. We’re fine like this, I should think. You might scratch the doorframe.’
‘I think I could manage. Just the small table from the sitting room. I’ll set the aspidistra on the floor by the fire, and have the table out here in no time. Careful as can be.’
‘If you must, I suppose. But we really are fine like this, aren’t we, Jane?’ She sat with her feet firmly together in her husband’s old Oxfords. She had told me they were too good for the cupboard. Quality calfskin with ventilated inner soles. The brown leather looked waxy, and she wore them with the laces tucked away inside. I wondered if she would wear them to the wedding. Not that it mattered. Of course it didn’t.
I offered to brush her clothes for her, if she liked, when the time came. I could pop down to the house whenever it was convenient. ‘I have a good new clothes brush. It works a charm and I’d like to help, if I could.’
‘Oh dear, you must think I’m looking shabby. It is hard, you know. On my own and with my eyes. You will forgive me, hen, won’t you?’
I reached out to take her hand, but she kept holding her plate, so I laid my fingers on her skirt instead. ‘That wasn’t what I meant, Mum. I only meant to offer a kindness.’
‘Of course. Of course.’
‘I’ll be here, Jane,’ Stanley said. ‘I can help her get ready.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He can help me.’
‘You will have enough to do. Your hair and your parents and everything.’
‘I hope they come. My mother only said that she would try. I’m not sure what that might mean. We shall see, I suppose.’
‘All will be well,’ he said, smiling again.
‘I suppose it will. And what will be, will be.’
I decided I would wear my mother’s fox fur on my wedding day. Warm for April, perhaps, but it would look smart. I’d had an old jacket and skirt adjusted instead of a dress because they would be serviceable afterwards for Sundays. The Edinburgh dressmaker had been surprised at my choice, but did not push after I dropped a few references to my husband’s training duties. When I stopped by my parents’ flat to pick up the fur, Mum’s lips were thin, and she looked tired. ‘I might have brought all that down to you on the bus,’ she said. ‘How is that little house? Is it damp? You’ll need paper to wrap up the fur, if there is a chance of damp.’
‘It’s lovely, Mum. Small, but you’ll like it. I have been papering the drawers in the kitchen and the wardrobe is already seen to.’
‘There is a reason. We promised to occupy the house immediately. That was the condition of renting it. Only Stanley’s mother shouldn’t be alone, so he’ll be with her for a few more weeks and I’ll be in the rented house. She needs him.’
‘And she won’t need him after the wedding? Or will you still be living alone then?’
‘Oh, Mother. Don’t be awkward. I’ve told you: we’ll be in the rented house until he goes and then I’ll see if she’d like me closer or if she can manage on her own. Everything has been arranged.’
‘I’ve been worrying about your degree, too. You’re not going to leave it, are you?’
‘No, of course not. I couldn’t. I just need to see how Mrs Hambleton settles after Stanley goes. If she needs me, I’ll stay and read out there. If not, I can come back to the city. I can find digs somewhere else if you’re worried about the space.’
‘No, no, don’t be silly. There’s always space here. This fuss must just be nerves. I’ve never had a married daughter before, you know.’
‘I know. But, we’ll be fine, won’t we?’
The day before the wedding, Mother sent word that Father was not feeling well. Sadly, they would not be able to join us. Well, these things happen. Stanley suggested that maybe it was a long way out from Edinburgh, after all.
I got ready on my own at the rented house, looking in the rented mirror. Brushed and set my own hair, wiped my shoes clean. I’d forgotten about flowers, but that didn’t matter. My coat was a smart one as well as serviceable, and I swung Mum’s fox around my shoulders. There. All set and ready. The small green glass eyes glittered at me, bemusedly.
‘Right then, chap. What do you say we swagger off to the church and find a husband to bring home? I think the two of us can land a looker, if anyone can.’
Stanley and his mother were to meet me there. I hoped that he would have mentioned about my parents to the Reverend Thomson so that we wouldn’t have to go out into the street to find another witness. I was sure he would have. He was sensible. But when I got to the church, he stood alone by the door, looking worried.
‘She isn’t with you, then,’ he said, in a resigned tone. The church door opened behind him, and the minister emerged. ‘She’s gone. She … she got ready early and she was sitting out in the garden when I had my bath. I assumed she’d come down here, but the minister hasn’t seen her.’
He was walking towards us now, his dark robe catching in the wind. ‘She’s nowhere in the kirkyard. My wife is out looking along the paths,’ he said.
‘Shall I go and look at the rented house?’ I asked. ‘Maybe she’s in the garden? She might have come for the clothes brush?’
‘No, you stay here,’ Stanley said. ‘I’ll look. And then I’ll check again back home. Perhaps she’s gone home again and is waiting at the house.’ I held out my hand and he took it, giving my fingers a quick squeeze.
‘She’ll turn up, love. She can’t be far.’
‘You look lovely.’ He met my eye, and I watched as he turned and walked away.
The minister cleared his throat. ‘Is there anywhere she likes to walk? Somewhere she may have gone, perhaps to calm her nerves before the ceremony? She may have fallen somewhere and be in need of help.’
‘She doesn’t go walking,’ I said. ‘She’s very much a stay-at-home lady.’
‘I suspected so, but she will be somewhere. You and I can wait here until my wife returns, and then we’ll have a think about the next best place to look.’
But thinking and looking did very little, as Stanley’s mother did not appear. The minister knocked on doors and found others to help in the search. They wouldn’t let me look; I could only sit and wait. The minister’s wife, Connie, installed me in her sitting room. She couldn’t have been much older than me, with black curly hair and skin as pale as milk. She asked me about the rented house and about wedding gifts. Then she made tea and stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into my cup without asking. Morale-boosting, I thought. She’ll do this regularly. Maybe ministers get extra sugar rations.
I looked at the photographs on the piano, each one placed on a lace doily.
Much later, Stanley came into the room and he, too, was handed a cup of sweet tea. The minister gathered a few more men, and Stanley told them everything he could think of that might be useful.
‘She was wearing her good clothes,’ he said. ‘A bead necklace, too, and … and her hat. A grey hat. With a green band. She’d washed her face this morning, there were towels on the rail and she looked all clean and ready.’
‘We’ll find her, lad. We’ll keep looking and we will.’
The sky was high and cloudless, and the sun lingered into a long, warm evening, the kind of evening for garden parties and cool wine, music on the lawn. My skirt was creased with sitting. I took the fox off and placed him on the tea table, my shoulders light and damp under my blouse.
It was almost dusk when they found her in the woods east of the village. Someone had seen her on the road nearby in the afternoon, but the searchers hadn’t looked over the wall or into the woods until the light was beginning to fade. Among the trees, old stones sat moss-covered, marking the foundations of a medieval priory. There was a strange pond in those eerie woods, bright with green algae, and the searchers worried about its depth, but the algae on the surface was undisturbed. They found Stanley’s mother sitting on the ground with her back to a skeleton tree and a skein of yarn on her lap. She held a single knitting needle between her fingers and wound the yarn around it again and again, mindlessly. That was how it was described to me and, yes, that was the right word. Her mind had slipped away, and it did not return. Later, in the manse sitting room, I saw her soiled dress, her hands still clutching the muddy yarn, her tired smile, but it was her vague gaze that would haunt me. Connie wrapped her in a bright shawl and more tea was made, poured out into good cups, drunk quietly while the mantel clock ticked on. Before the searchers could leave, Stanley asked the minister to marry us.
‘Another day, surely. That would be best. You will all want to get home and rest.’
‘If we wait another day, Jane will return home alone. I do not want that for her. Today has been enough.’
‘She could stay here,’ Connie suggested. ‘I have sheets on the spare-room bed. It would be no trouble at all.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. Stanley gripped my hand, and I looked up into his face, worn and weary. ‘Thank you, but no. I think Stanley is right. We should be married now. Here, perhaps. We don’t need to go into the church.’
‘Very well, then,’ the minister answered, blinking. ‘Let me get my book. And wash my hands. I will only be a moment. If this is what you wish.’
Stanley nodded and squeezed my hand again. Some of the searchers agreed to stay to serve as witnesses, and Connie went out to the garden to fetch some flowers. She came back with cuttings from the horse chestnut tree.
‘So you’ll have something to hold. The daffodils looked past it, but aren’t these lovely and green with the candles just starting. Let me settle that fur for you. He is a lovely one, isn’t he? Just perfect with your complexion. Wonderful. Don’t you look the bride now? Would you like to step into the hallway so that you can enter?’
‘I shouldn’t think that’s necessary,’ I said. ‘Seems a bit silly to leave only to return again. Let’s just stay together.’
Stanley’s sister arrived from Stirling a week after the wedding. We had sent her word about her mother’s health, but she arrived on the arranged day all the same. Her name was Violet and she did not want my help. Such a delicate name, I thought, as I watched her rough hands sort through her mother’s clothing.
‘She will be safe with me,’ she said. She folded skirts and placed them in the suitcase. ‘We won’t be staying long in this house – I’ve arranged for a cottage further north. I don’t expect to
be in touch, but I will send a note at New Year’s to let you know how we are.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll write from the south,’ Stanley said. ‘As I can.’
‘Naturally,’ said Violet. ‘As you can.’
There were planes over Glasgow a few days later – in broad daylight, too – though little damage, which was a relief.
‘They must have passed right over the village. Can’t think why we didn’t see them,’ Stanley said, winking at me.
We read about them in the newspaper as we drank tea in our garden. The Germans were getting bold, which was why Churchill needed more pilots. Stanley was scheduled to leave at the end of May. Until then, we spent every moment together, talking, touching, lying in bed laughing, and working in the garden in the bright spring sun.
‘It will be just like school, won’t it? All this training to go through,’ he said, standing with his hands on his hips, looking down at the soil. I was on my knees beside the onions, weeding out the thistles. ‘It will be exercise and games and all boys together.’
‘Sounds dreadful,’ I said, brushing my forehead with my arm.
‘Yes, but that’s war. We don’t get to choose. I’ll be fine.’
‘I know.’ I pulled off my gloves and sat back on my heels. ‘What can you take with you? How many books can you fit in a duffel bag? Do you have a packing list? And where do you get a uniform?’
‘Your mother might recommend Jenners, but I suspect the army will provide. That will be interesting. I’ve never been anywhere where they give you clothing before. All dressed alike – I’ll lose myself in the crowd.’
‘Like a school of fish.’
‘A shoal of herring.’
‘How will I choose when you all march home?’
‘Just pick the handsome one. That will be me.’
‘Always.’
‘And forever, my love. And forever.’
That evening, we walked out to the ancient priory. A giant tree lay shattered among the ruins, its complicated roots heaved into the air, still clutching handfuls of earth and the broken shells of oysters. Stanley said that medieval builders mixed shells with mortar to give it strength. Beneath our feet, more ancient stones lay broken. Most of the building had long since fallen away, but one low arch remained, sheltering a large stone coffin. The coffin was cracked and broken, a dark emptiness exposed inside, and the carved knight on top was time-worn, his features erased, the stone surface coined with lichen. I traced the shape of his face with my fingers.