by Roberta Kray
‘What are you doing here?’
Judith flinched at his tone. She stared at him, still trying to fully absorb his presence. Her legs had turned to jelly and her heart was beating so fast she could feel its manic thump against her ribs. At first, she couldn’t answer – her mouth was dry, clogged with words that wouldn’t come out – and she struggled to catch her breath. How was this real? He was here, in front of her, but nothing was as it should be. Eventually she found her voice. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’
His lips showed the flicker of a smile. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’m your wife, for God’s sake. I’ve always known.’ She paused. ‘I mean, I knew you weren’t dead. I was sure of it. I didn’t know you were in London until last week, when …’ Suddenly, the effort of explaining felt like too much. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ she echoed with incredulity. Anger was building inside her, tears pricking at her eyes. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘What more can I say? I never wanted to hurt you.’
‘What’s happened to you? I don’t understand. How can you … You’re just standing there as if …’ She could hear her voice quavering, breaking, while her dreams fell apart. ‘How could you have done this to me?’
‘You should go home.’
The hardness in his voice made her wince. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you explain, until you tell me why. You owe me that much, don’t you?’
His gaze slid away as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. He hesitated, then gestured towards Connolly’s. ‘Shall we go to the caff?’
Judith shook her head. She couldn’t bear the thought of being enclosed by four walls, or of people overhearing their conversation. Most things were out of her control, but this she had a choice about. ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing towards the green.
As they crossed the road, she stumbled and he took hold of her elbow to steady her. The protective gesture, at odds with his coldness, filled her with confusion. She glanced at his face, but it showed nothing. Once she could have read him like a book, but now his emotions, if he had any, were locked up tight.
They walked along the path until they came to a wooden bench, where they sat down with a space between them. She could feel the sun on her skin but its warmth didn’t penetrate. Inside, a chill was creeping through her bones. She waited for him to speak, desperate to hear what he had to say but dreading it too. The seconds ticked by and he still didn’t open his mouth.
‘Dan?’ she prompted.
He took a breath, exhaled a sigh. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
‘How about with your name. Is it Dan Jonson or Ivor Doyle?’
He gave a thin, brittle laugh. ‘You’ve been busy.’
‘So, which is it?’
‘Doyle,’ he said. ‘It’s Ivor Doyle.’
Judith’s heart sank. Although it didn’t come as any great surprise, she’d been hoping that at least the name she’d known him by would be real. ‘When did you change it?’
‘I got in some trouble back in the day – I won’t bore you with the details – and decided to get out of London, head up north and make a fresh start: new name, new place, new life.’
New wife, she could have added, but she kept quiet, her eyes on his face. He was gazing straight ahead, his brow furrowed, his hands clamped on his knees. Looking at what? Just the past, perhaps.
‘I bought some fake ID papers to make sure I couldn’t be tracked down. Then the war came along and … Well, that changed everything. I got injured at Anzio, shipped back over here and spent a few months in hospital. I was—’
‘Were you badly hurt?’
‘I survived, as you can see. But I suppose I was in a bad way for a while. My ID tags had got lost, so they didn’t know who I was, and by the time I was well enough to tell them, I’d decided not to. I’d had it with the bloody war. As soon as I could walk again, I legged it out of there and came to London.’
‘Why didn’t you come back to Westport? I was there. I was waiting.’
‘For a dead man. Dan Jonson was gone for ever.’
‘I was waiting for you,’ she said. ‘Whatever goddam name you were using.’
‘For a deserter,’ he snapped back. ‘Was that the kind of man you wanted for a husband?’
‘You did your share. You’re not a coward. You went out and fought, and that’s a damn sight more than some people did. I wouldn’t have judged you.’
He gave a shrug as though her judgement was neither here nor there. ‘You’d have got the telegram by then.’
‘You could have written. You could have let me know you were alive.’
‘And then what? I couldn’t come back to Westport.’
‘I would have come to London.’
‘And done what? Turned your back on your home and your friends? Lived a lie for the rest of your life? Because that’s what it would have meant. Dan Jonson had ceased to exist. I was Ivor Doyle again.’
Judith leaned forward and rubbed her face with her hands. ‘You could have given me the choice.’
Ivor’s voice softened. ‘I know what you’re like, Judith – you’re loyal and kind. You’d have come to me out of some misplaced sense of duty, and spent the rest of your days regretting it.’
Out of love, she wanted to scream at him.
And then, as if he’d read her mind, he said, ‘The man you loved doesn’t exist any more. Don’t you see? I tried to be that man, was that man for a while, but now …’ He lifted and dropped his shoulders again. ‘You wouldn’t like Ivor Doyle much. He isn’t honest. He isn’t good or decent. He looks after number one and he doesn’t give a damn about anybody else.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said.
He took a pack of Camels from his jacket pocket, flipped open the lid, pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. His hand shook a little as he struck a match. ‘Believe what you like.’
Judith gazed out across the stretch of green, willing this to be a nightmare she would soon wake up from. She watched an elderly woman walking her dog, the mutt stopping to sniff at the base of every tree, and wondered at how other people’s lives were going on as normal while hers was being ripped apart. The sun’s rays slid through branches, striping the grass with midday shadow. She breathed in slowly. Smoke from his cigarette floated in thin wisps through the air.
‘How did you find out I was in London?’ he asked.
She opened her bag, took out the Mirror picture and handed it to him. ‘You should be careful about which street corners you stand on.’
He studied the picture, gave a hollow laugh. ‘Most people wouldn’t have recognised me from this.’
‘No, but I’m not most people, am I? I’m your …’ The word ‘wife’ died on her lips as the reality struck her with force. ‘Oh God, we’re not even married, are we? Not legally. We can’t be. Dan Jonson is just a figment of your imagination. It was … it was all a sham.’
‘Not a sham. It wasn’t that.’ He pulled on the cigarette, blew out smoke. He gave her a fleeting sideways glance. ‘I meant it, everything – at the time.’
‘At the time,’ she murmured, the words piercing deep into her heart. ‘Well, that’s comforting.’
He flinched at the bitterness in her voice. ‘You’re better off without me.’
‘It would have helped if you’d figured that out before we got together.’
He opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it again.
Her hands twisted in her lap. After a while she asked, ‘What kind of trouble?’
‘What?’
‘When you left London, you said you were in trouble.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It might.’
He dropped the cigarette butt on the ground. His gaze lingered on it for a few seconds, watching it smoulder. ‘Someone robbed me – a man called Lennie Hull – and so I helped myself to what he owed. He wasn’t happy about it. In fact
, safe to say he’d have probably broken my legs if he’d been able to find me. It didn’t seem the smartest move to hang around in London.’
‘But you still came back,’ she said.
‘That’s because Lennie’s not a problem any more. While I was away, someone did me a favour and blew his brains out. I say a little prayer of thanks every night.’
Judith watched him closely while he talked. She sensed he was deliberately trying to shock her, to speak in a fashion that would prove he wasn’t the person she thought he was. But she already knew that. He’d pretended to be dead, hadn’t he? Nothing could be as callous as that brutal fact. As she studied his profile, she noticed the network of scars running along his right temple and over his ear. From the war, she presumed, and felt a stab of pity even though she didn’t want to. She looked down at the newspaper cutting he was still holding.
‘Are you working for Alfred Tombs?’
His gaze dropped to the photograph. ‘Who have you been talking to?’
‘Everyone. At least it feels like that.’ She didn’t mention that most of them hadn’t been talking back. ‘Are you? Are you working for that man?’
‘I know him. I don’t work for anyone but myself.’
‘I suppose his sort are always in need of a good locksmith.’
He didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, he handed back the photograph and asked, ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Do?’
‘About us. You could go to the law and report me. I wouldn’t blame you. After all, I did lie to you, deceive you. I treated you badly so I presume you’d like some justice.’
Judith wondered what would constitute justice after what he’d done to her. ‘Make it all public, you mean? Let everyone know how stupid and gullible I am? Perhaps they’ll write a nice little piece about us in the paper: “Westport girl duped into marriage by East End villain”. That’ll give the neighbours something to gossip about.’
‘It’s up to you.’
‘What would be the point in me going to the police? You’ll just do another of your disappearing acts.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Judith didn’t believe him, and she certainly didn’t trust him. At this moment, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Shock had thrown her into turmoil. She knew what she wanted to say – that he’d misjudged her, betrayed her, almost destroyed her – but pride held her back. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. ‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided. I need … I need to think about it.’
‘I understand.’
She glared at him. She couldn’t bear his calmness, his lack of feeling. As if there was no passion in him at all. And suddenly she snapped. ‘Do you? Only I don’t think you understand anything. Do you have any idea what the last five years has been like for me? Getting that telegram and …’ She gulped down the lump that was lodged in her throat. ‘But I didn’t give up, despite what everyone said. I wouldn’t accept it. I carried on believing in you, in us. And now … now I can see that you don’t even care. Maybe you never did. Was that it? I was just someone to amuse yourself with until you went back to your real life.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, it was never like that.’
‘So what was it like?’
But he wouldn’t be drawn. ‘If you don’t want to go to the law, then go home. Go back to Westport and forget you ever saw me. Get on with your life.’
‘You think it’s that easy?’
‘You’ve got two choices,’ he said bluntly. ‘It’s up to you.’
Judith could feel what little self-possession she retained gradually slipping away. She was on the edge, staring over a precipice, afraid she was about to plunge into nothingness. Like those dreams she sometimes had when she was falling, falling, falling … She was losing control. She wanted to lash out, to claw and bite and batter, to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. Quickly, before she did something she’d regret, she stood up and walked a little way along the path. He didn’t follow her.
She stood taking long, deep breaths until the red mist had lifted. Only then did she turn around and walk back to the bench. There was still something she had to ask. Despite the desire to cling onto her pride, she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Is there someone else? Another wife? A girlfriend?’
He hesitated, but then shook his head.
She didn’t like that hesitation. Folding her arms across her chest, she gazed down at him and narrowed her eyes. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’d tell me if there was.’ For the first time, she noticed his clothes, a smart suit, white shirt and tie. Expensive. Her old summer dress, if not exactly shabby, felt inferior in comparison. Why on earth was she thinking about clothes? What did shirts and shoes and jackets matter when all her hopes and dreams had just been smashed to pieces? She blurted out her next question before she could properly think about it.
‘Are you happy?’
He seemed surprised by the question, baffled even. It took him a while to come up with an answer. ‘About as happy as I deserve to be.’
She snorted. ‘I don’t think you have any conscience at all. How can you? I bet I’ve barely crossed your mind in the last few years. Just some girl you used to know, safely consigned to history. A mistake you made, but one you didn’t need to worry about. If it hadn’t been for that picture, you’d have got clean away with it.’
He stood up then and faced her. There was something in his cold grey eyes that alarmed her, and instinctively she took a step back. ‘Maybe you should look at it in a different way,’ he said. ‘You know the truth now. You can let go. You’re free of me.’
Judith couldn’t see how she’d ever be free of him. He’d haunt her for the rest of her life. How would she ever trust anyone again? ‘It isn’t that simple.’
‘It’s as simple as you want it to be. Go back to Westport and leave the past where it belongs.’
She felt a perverse desire to do the very opposite of what he suggested. ‘You can’t tell me where to go. I might stay in London for a while. Yes, why not? I could do with a change.’
‘There’s nothing for you here.’
‘That’s not your judgement to make. I’ll decide what I’m going to do.’
His eyes bored into hers, hard and intense. But then, after a few long seconds, he simply shrugged. ‘Do what you like. It doesn’t make any difference to me.’
‘I will. I’ll do exactly what I want.’
‘Fine. I have to go.’
She hissed out a breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Have you got somewhere more important to be?’
‘Take care of yourself, Judith.’
He moved around her and started heading up the path towards the high street.
Judith called after him. She still had things to say, so much to say. ‘Don’t walk away from me!’
But that was exactly what he did.
18
Judith’s jaw was clenched as tightly as her fists. She might have run after him if her legs had been strong enough to carry her, but she was on the point of collapse. The awfulness of what had just happened was gradually sinking in. As Dan – Ivor – disappeared out of sight, the horror spread like poison through her body and she began to shake uncontrollably. Staggering back to the bench, she dropped down and put her head in her hands.
Anger and hate, grief and despair filled her mind. All that waiting, all those years of hope, and for what? The man she had loved had been an illusion. Dan Jonson was nothing but a name on a piece of paper. She was not convinced that he had ever loved her back. He had discarded her as easily, as carelessly as litter.
‘Ivor Doyle,’ she muttered, the name like acid on her tongue.
Tears ran down her cheeks. She found a handkerchief in her bag and dabbed at her eyes. So what next? She could go to the police and report him. There was temptation in the prospect of revenge, of seeing him punished, but that would also mean enduring her own very public humiliation. She would be the subject of gossip, of pity and scorn. For the r
est of her life she would be the woman who’d been duped by a sweet-talking con man.
She rocked back and forth, understanding nothing and everything, overwhelmed by his betrayal. A part of her wished she had never seen that photograph, never come to London, but time couldn’t be turned back. She’d been a fool in every way. She had given her heart to a liar and a cheat. She had sacrificed some of the best years of her life, convinced that one day he would come back to her.
Gradually, her body stilled. He should be made to pay, she thought, but she didn’t know how. It wasn’t fair that he just carried on doing whatever he wanted to do, after she had been devastated. She had always been taught that no bad deed went unpunished, but God seemed to have overlooked Ivor Doyle’s sins. Perhaps she should take matters into her own hands. She dwelled on this for a while, finding some satisfaction in the notion. The idea of ruining him, of wrecking his life in the same way he’d wrecked hers, brought her temporary consolation. But then another thought entered her head: wouldn’t that make her just as bad as him? Well, she didn’t care. She hardened her heart, yearning for revenge.
Time passed. Ten minutes, fifteen, she wasn’t sure how long. The sun continued to shine, its rays streaming through the trees and dappling the ground around her feet. She frowned. Even the weather seemed to be mocking her, its brightness and warmth in stark contrast to the darkness of her soul.
She jumped up from the bench, suddenly wanting only one thing – to get as far away from him and from London as she could. She’d had enough. For now, all she desired was to be back in Westport, to be in familiar surroundings while she licked her wounds and tried to work out what to do next.
She traipsed back along the high street, seeing nothing. While she walked, she replayed her conversation with Dan – with Ivor – over and over in her head. She hadn’t even asked him how he’d known she was here. The Taylor boy, probably. Her message must have got through after all. It would have been a shock when he’d got the news. She had risen from the past like a buried secret, a ghost from his previous life. He could have gone into hiding, of course, but instead he had chosen to confront her. She wouldn’t give him credit for that. It wasn’t out of any sense of decency, she was sure; more likely a wish to dispose of the problem as quickly as he could.
