by Annie Murray
And yet . . . There was the Dave she knew the best of, the man she loved. There was all their past and what they’d shared, their growing up together. There was Amy . . . By the time the taxi drew up outside Wendy’s little house (the Wendy House, as they all called it) she felt more confused than ever.
Wendy came out, not dolled up today. She did have her make-up on, but was wearing grey tracksuit trousers and a pink jumper, which clashed with her coppery hair, but made her look more motherly. She paid the driver, then touched Joanne’s shoulder.
‘Just go up to him, love,’ she urged. ‘I’ll look after Amy. I don’t see enough of her as it is, bless her. I’ll bring you up some tea. Don’t worry about anything else. Just go and talk to him – please.’
The house stank of smoke and air freshener. Joanne knew where to find Dave. There were only two bedrooms. She climbed the pink-carpeted stairs and stood outside the door, her heart pounding. In the end, she knocked and went in.
Dave was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in jeans and a navy jumper. It seemed odd to see him dressed. He was leaning forward, arms resting on his thighs, and he looked up at her.
‘Jo . . .’ He sat up, naturally polite, but was then at a loss. His face crumpled and he clasped his hands over it. His shoulders started to heave with sobs. The sound wrenched her inside.
Unsure what to do, she closed the door and sat beside him on the bed, feeling both tender and guarded. He wept loudly for a few moments and she did not touch him. Gulping, he removed his hands and tried to speak.
‘I can’t seem to stop bloody crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me . . .’
She noticed that he didn’t seem to be blaming her, that things had gone beyond that, and somehow that was a help.
‘Don’t you know?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you have any idea?’
His face wet, he shook his head. After a pause he said, ‘Maybe, if I’m really honest . . .’ A little calmer now, he turned to her. ‘God, Jo – I don’t know. When the police came . . . I mean, I felt like a criminal. Me, a wife-beater. And Amy . . . The way they looked at me.’
Again, his hands went to his face and he broke down, shaking his head as if to chase the memory of it away. It was some time before he looked up at her again, his expression humble and begging.
‘Look, will you give us a cuddle? Lie here with me a bit? It’s been so long.’ He saw her hesitate. ‘I shan’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you again.’
‘You’ve said that before.’ Her own hurt spilled out.
‘I know.’ He was still weeping and she relented, her tenderness winning.
‘Come here,’ she said, slipping her trainers off to climb on the bed behind him. She drew him into her arms and then they were both crying. She wept and wept, her head held against his chest, and for the first time in a long time things started to feel a little bit right.
‘Thing is,’ he said, when they were calmer, tissues scattered round the bed. ‘I s’pose I’ve never been any good at facing up to things. You know, really obvious stuff like Dad dying suddenly, the way he did. That lady in the hospital – she only asked me a few things, really basic like, about Mom and Dad and whether I was married and all sorts, but she seemed to be able to see things I couldn’t even see about myself. And she told me the best thing is to be really honest with yourself, if you can, and own up to what you really feel . . .’
‘Like what?’ Joanne asked. She didn’t want him to stop talking.
‘Well, it came out about the football – and Dad. I mean, I can’t think about it all at once, but . . .’ She felt him start to dissolve into tears again. ‘It was like . . . my world ended,’ he sobbed. ‘My whole bloody world. With both – but I never . . . didn’t let myself . . .’ He let out a long, shuddering breath. ‘It didn’t seem right to, you know, make a fuss. And I don’t think I’d’ve known how. It’s like – well, now, as if it’s all coming out at once. And look what I’ve done! I’m so scared, Jo. I don’t want you to leave me . . . And what if they come and take Amy away?’
Joanne stroked him, held him as he cried.
‘They won’t. We’ll have to make sure they don’t.’ She knew Megan would be round to see them, though. She stroked his shoulders and said sadly, ‘I suppose it had to come out somehow. I just wish it hadn’t been like this.’
She could see it all, had wondered sometimes. But how were you to be sure about someone else’s feelings? She felt so sad for him, but for herself there was still a part of her that was wary and standing back from him.
When he’d cried for a while and more tissues were scattered, she said, ‘What about us? What happened to us, Dave?’
‘I think . . .’ He hesitated. ‘I dunno. I s’pose I didn’t realize how small I felt inside – after the Villa and everything. Like I’d failed and wasn’t good for much. But I s’pose I felt I had you, and back then it was more like – well, you sort of looked up to me . . .’ In a moment of humour he added, ‘Maybe I was just imagining that!’
‘No, I did. You were older, for a start. And I’d’ve gone anywhere with you. I was mad about you – you know that.’
‘Yeah,’ he said sadly. ‘I s’pose. It’s just, after we had Amy, everything felt different. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d never be without her. I love her to bits. But somehow . . .’
‘She got all the attention?’
‘No – well, yes, maybe a bit. But that wasn’t really it. I think it was you: you seemed to grow up a lot all of a sudden. You were a mom – you’re good at it. You knew what you were doing. It was as if you’d overtaken me, and I started to think: she’ll just keep on like that, going on and past me, and she won’t want me any more; I won’t matter. And then when you started talking about work, or about doing more exams and that – A-levels – I dunno. It does something in my head. It’s like a great big . . . panic. Like I’ve done nothing, got nothing, and there you are, all set to just speed off into the distance – without me. I never really knew that was what I was feeling because, well, I’m crap at that sort of thing. I just started to feel all tense and angry because I couldn’t control any of it. I wanted to lash out. It was weird – the way it’d just come over me at odd moments. After you left, I was blind with it, to start with. As if I had to smash everything, try and control everything . . . And then I realized I couldn’t even control myself.’
‘I never wanted to leave you, ever,’ she said miserably. ‘Not even when you started on me, or not at first anyway. But it was when you went for Amy . . .’
‘I know, I know . . .’
They held each other in silence, each of them in tears.
Feet approached up the stairs, cups clinking.
‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea,’ Wendy said from behind the door. It was like something breaking in from another world.
Joanne got up and opened the door, wiping her face. Wendy eyed her warily.
‘All right?’
‘Yeah, thanks Wendy.’ She took the tray from her mother-in-law. ‘Is Amy okay?’
‘Oh yes, she’s fine. Good as gold. She’s got the cartoons on, and she’s had a drink and a biscuit.’
‘Thanks,’ Joanne said, trying to smile before she shut the door. ‘I’ll be down in a bit.’
They sat on the edge of the bed sipping tea. Neither of them wanted the Bourbons that Wendy had brought up.
‘Mom’s all right, isn’t she?’ Dave said. He looked like a little boy, his face blotched from crying.
‘Yeah, she’s great.’
‘Jo?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Are you going to come back? I mean, can we . . . ?’
‘I’m already back,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s you who’s not there at the moment.’
There was a long pause. She knew she could not just say ‘yes’. Not just like that. She still felt cold inside, detached, as if something needed to grow back.
‘Let’s take it slowly.’ She saw anger flicker across his face for a moment. He stared at her
, then looked down. She could see his disappointment. He had wanted her to make everything better.
‘You did something too big, Dave. I don’t know if I can trust you. And it’s not just us – there’re other people involved now, social workers and everything. You need to get better. We need to get better. I just don’t know yet if I can live with you again.’
Fifty-Four
The librarians ushered them enthusiastically towards the circle of chairs.
‘That’s it; do sit down wherever you want!’
Margaret hesitated, more accustomed to the idea of chairs in rows, where she could hide at the back, but seeing the librarian’s eager smile, she picked one as far away from everyone else as possible. Joanne sat beside her, with Amy on her lap.
‘Is it all right: me bringing her?’ Joanne asked the librarian in charge, a homely lady with neatly coiffed brown hair and pink lipstick. She was wearing a badge that said AUDREY. ‘I’ll take her out if . . .’
‘I’m sure it’s perfectly all right,’ the woman said, leaning down to talk to her. ‘She’s lovely – and people will be happy to see her.’
Margaret kept her handbag on her lap, gripping its familiar brown handles in case her hands got the shakes. She longed for a cigarette. What the hell am I doing here? she thought grumpily. Her enthusiasm for starting a new life had dwindled now that she was faced with the reality of it. But she wasn’t going to back out, now that she’d said she’d come. And she saw it as a way of trying to make it up to Joanne.
It was good that it was Joanne here with her today, now that she had done the sensible thing and come home. Margaret had felt a sense of amazement, as she walked along the street beside her, that her daughter could have done such a thing. Shameful! Yet timid little Joanne – who would have thought she’d have the nerve? You didn’t do that, up and leave like that. It was unthinkable; yet Joanne had done it! She still didn’t approve, not of running out on your husband. But the lad had evidently been out of order. And she had to admit, the thought of it gave her a prickle of excitement, like a window being blown open on a view of things that was new to her.
Then there was this group thing. It’d be old folk who should know better maundering on, she had said to Karen. But she was here, wasn’t she? Though she’d lowered her dosage of Valium, she was still never free of a variety of symptoms, which had built up over her years of dependence on it. Would she ever sleep properly or feel normal again? But in one way she did feel a bit better – just a bit more here, in the world, instead of standing on the outside looking in. Now she was ready for a dose of new life.
And the truth was, she was curious. The war was long ago, dead and buried – so why were they suddenly digging it all up again, when for years no one had wanted to hear it? What was there to say? She’d certainly got nothing to say about it. But as Karen had pointed out, she didn’t have to say anything – she could just listen. All right then, she’d do that.
The room was filling up, so much so that the librarians were scurrying about finding extra chairs.
‘All right, Mom?’ Joanne asked.
‘Yes, ta. Why wouldn’t I be?’
She felt Joanne looking at her. She could tell her daughter wanted reassurance of some kind, to know that her mom hadn’t really turned against her. But she was here with her, wasn’t she? What else was she supposed to say about it all?
Audrey, the librarian, opened up the session. Beside her was a flipchart, a list written on it in green: The Day War Broke Out, Evacuation, The Blitz, Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major, Joining Up, Smiling Through on the Home Front, The Day it was All Over!
‘We’re delighted to see so many of you’re here today. As you can see, we’ve planned a few sessions ahead to give you an idea of what you might talk about . . . But these are only suggestions. This is your session, for your memories. We’re very aware here, especially as librarians, that there’s a lot of interest in the war and in the memories of well, real, people.’ She laughed. ‘Not just of people who write the history books.
‘So many people in this city were involved in the war, one way or another, and went through a lot of things that the younger generation can’t understand, or haven’t heard about. Your memories are very precious – you can help people get a sense of what it was really like. At the end of all these sessions we’re hoping to put together a little booklet, with your permission of course, to pass your memories on so that they’re not lost. Now, after you’ve all had a chat, there’ll be refreshments, which Pat is looking after.’ She smiled at a blonde woman who was carrying a tray of cups across the back of the room.
Oh, get on with it, Margaret thought, then wondered why she was so irritable all the time, so nasty about people. It occurred to her that she wasn’t a very nice person and she ached to be a better one. A painful throbbing had begun in her right temple and her right hand was trembling. She clenched it. Her thoughts drifted.
When she came to, a neat-looking woman across the room was talking. ‘. . . I remember my father was out the back, filling sandbags, and he was in a proper temper: “Here we go again! Those bloody Krauts, we should finished ’em off for good last time . . .” I was twelve then, and we’d heard it that morning on the radio – well, we called it the wireless then. Our next-door neighbours had one – course my father bought one soon after; nearly everyone had one, once the war got going. So we’d gone round and stood in the front parlour . . .’ She sat up straighter and recited, ‘ “. . . and, consequently, this country is at war with Germany.” ’
There were murmurs of recognition as she talked. ‘Ooh, it makes me go cold thinking about it now – more than it did then. I was too young to remember the First War, even though I heard it talked about. And you saw the men selling matches, with a trouser leg pinned up . . . But I don’t think I really understood much about it – not then. Course nowadays no one wants to hear about it . . .’
Margaret started to regret coming. The last thing she wanted to be reminded of was the morning war broke out. That, and the day her father came and dragged her away from everything she knew and loved in Buckley, had been two of the worst days of her life. But despite herself, she was drawn in. She found herself listening avidly, hungry to hear what had happened to other people.
Everyone seemed to want to speak at once now. ‘One at a time, please!’ Audrey called out.
Memories poured out, people speaking who had been at varying ages when the war broke out – some adult enough to go straight into munitions work or join up; others who were children. One after another, voices piped up, eager to be heard. Quite a few said that their families weren’t interested, and they never really talked about it much.
After a time a quiet, thoughtful voice spoke: a man among a group made up mainly of women.
‘That day was different for me: I was evacuated the very day the war was announced.’ His voice was tentative at first. ‘We were taken to the station and put on a train to south Wales . . . Course no one told us where we was going. Loads of us – some were quite young, poor little buggers—’
‘I don’t really want to stop you there,’ Audrey cut in, gently, ‘because I know we’d all love to hear what you’re going to say. But we’re hoping to have a whole session on evacuation next week. Would you be able to save it for us?’
‘Oh, well, the thing is, I can’t come next week – I’ll be at work.’ He was a stocky, kindly-looking man with dark eyes and a shock of bristling brown hair, cut in a short, neat style. ‘I had to take the day off special today. To be honest, it’s no good really, putting this sort of thing on in the day when there’s so many people at work. I’ve got my own little firm, so I managed a morning off, but I don’t know why you don’t put it on in the evening, so more people can come.’
Audrey looked stricken. ‘Well, I suppose we could . . . It could be on a Thursday, when we open late. What do other people think?’
There was a buzz of voices. Quite a lot of the ladies were pleased with the daytime session, bu
t all agreed that it wasn’t fair on people who were at work – it ruled out a lot of men. Audrey said they would see if they could rearrange it, and soon afterwards it was time to break for tea.
‘Just in time,’ Joanne said, releasing Amy, who cavorted around joyfully. ‘Madam was just beginning to get restless.’
Margaret turned to her. She had almost forgotten Joanne was there. ‘She’s been ever so good,’ she said vaguely. Her mind was still involved with the stories she had heard. She felt a bit queer and swimmy in the head.
‘I think I’ll take her over to the children’s books while we’re having a break,’ Joanne said.
Margaret crossed the room to where the blonde librarian was making teas and coffees from a silver urn. There was a plate of custard creams and she helped herself to one. She had a strange feeling, amid all this talking, a need rising in her so urgent that she felt she might burst. She kept an eye on the man who had spoken, whose name she gathered was Alan, and when he’d got his coffee he looked up and caught her gaze. He hesitated, then smiled and walked over to her. She was so caught up in her thoughts and her need that for once she wasn’t conscious of her bad eye, or what he might think of her.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘This is a nice idea, isn’t it? What d’you think of it so far?’
‘I . . .’ Margaret hadn’t known she was going to say it, or anything like it. Words just seemed to gush out of her mouth. ‘I was evacuated too – same day as you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I was only five, and it was terrible. They took my brother away and I never saw him again; well, only twice, but that was that . . . Oh, my name’s Margaret by the way,’ she said, trying to recover herself. She was blushing and confused now, but somehow relieved.
Alan’s face creased into a pained expression. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘I know it was terrible for some people. My wife had some rough times where she was sent. I suppose I had quite a good experience really. But what happened to your brother?’
