Leaves Before the Storm

by Angela Arney

  But today she had other worries; the meeting of Henry and Adam. They arrived at the appointed time. The Priory was a long, single-storey building, its ecclesiastical history evident from the structure. It had whitewashed walls with small windows set into them at regular intervals and the whole building curved round to one side, where there were open cloisters, that looked out across a steeply wooded valley. At the end of the cloisters was a squat building which looked as if it had been a Norman chapel. It had a huge heavy oak door, studded with great iron nails; the whole place gave a sense of antiquity and peace. Megan and Henry entered through the great door into the matron’s office.

  The matron, an elderly woman with thick grey hair drawn back in a bun which nestled beneath her frilly white cap, greeted them. She wore a dark-blue uniform, cinched in at the waist beneath her ample bosom by a navy-blue belt with a large silver buckle. She came straight to the point. ‘I must warn you both,’ she said, ‘that Squadron Leader Myers is very disfigured by the burns he received when his plane went down.’

  ‘It will make no difference to me,’ said Henry. ‘I’m blind.’

  But, although warned, Megan was shocked to the core. It was difficult to equate the figure in the bed to a man, let alone Adam Myers, the once handsome heartthrob of the theatre. A hunched creature lay there with clawlike, red-raw hands, looking at the world from a skeletal face with staring eyes. He had no ears, just red holes on either side of his head. His eyes were the same, the hard brilliant eyes she’d always feared, but now they peered at the world through tattered, frilly fleshy folds. His face was a patchwork of different-coloured pieces of flesh, white, brown and scarlet, with no trace of his lips, just the skin finishing in a lopsided ragged line over his teeth, giving the appearance of a perpetual leering smile. When he spoke his voice was different. It was hoarse, and every now and then he stopped and gulped back air that was almost visible as it passed down his throat because the flesh was stretched so tightly across his larynx. Megan did her best to hide her horror, but it wasn’t easy.

  Once she had greeted Adam and explained Henry’s situation and settled him beside the bed, she said, ‘I’ll leave you two to talk. We are hoping, Adam, that you will be able to help Henry get his memory back. Maybe you can talk over old times.’

  ‘One thing’s for certain, we’re hardly likely to talk about the bloody future,’ Adam replied harshly. ‘We haven’t got one. Either of us.’

  There was nothing to say to that bitter truth, and Megan left the room. At the door she paused and looked back. Adam had taken Henry’s hand and raised it to his jagged, scarred lips, and the expression on his grotesque face was so full of love that Megan turned away quickly, not wanting to intrude. Once outside hot tears welled up, and she leaned against the rough stone wall and closed her eyes. Nothing in my life has prepared me for any of this, she thought. Everything is wrong. We all love the wrong people and I don’t know what to do.

  Hunching her shoulders miserably she walked through the cloisters to a wooden seat in the garden. As she sat down she felt the crackle of paper. It was the letter she’d intended to return. She’d forgotten about it in the shock of seeing Adam, but when, full of trepidation, she handed Adam the letter on her return, and told the lie she’d prepared, he was not interested.

  He crumpled the envelope containing the letter and threw it in the waste-paper bin at the side of his bed. ‘It’s not important,’ he said. ‘Henry doesn’t know me now. I’ve lost him.’

  Megan understood. ‘He’s lost to both of us now,’ she said, and the myriad of emotions she had felt about Adam all dispersed into nothingness, submerged by the tragic truth of what the war had done to both men.

  Marcus was summoned to a Church of England meeting at Lambeth Palace. Not something he’d expected, as he was an unimportant parish priest.

  ‘Old Jeremy Pointer over at Burley told me it’s to prepare us old ones to face the chop after the war,’ he said gloomily. ‘When all the servicemen come back they won’t want us any more.’

  ‘Well, you’ll get a pension,’ said Lavinia brightly. ‘It won’t be so bad.’

  But Marcus refused to be cheered and didn’t want to go. ‘Supposing I get bombed?’ he said. ‘London is a dangerous place.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Lavinia. ‘We haven’t had any bombs for ages now. You are going to go, and for a treat Megan and I will come to London with you. It will do Megan good to have a day off. We can go out for a meal; the London restaurants always have plenty of food, and maybe we can pop over to Hackney and see Rosie while we’re up there.’

  So it was settled. They took the train from Stibbington to Southampton, and from there up to Waterloo. Megan was excited at the thought of seeing Rosie again.

  But the visit was a disaster. Mrs Barnes, Rosie’s mother, was far from welcoming, and was in fact very hostile.

  ‘I don’t want my Rosie seeing you again,’ she told Megan. ‘You’ve been giving her ideas above her station. Piano lessons indeed! And all this reading! She can’t waste her time reading storybooks. She’s going to work in Woolworths as soon as she’s fourteen. My friend has got a job lined up for her. Already she’s started doing Saturdays to get her hand in.’

  ‘But she’s only a child,’ cried Megan.

  ‘And she’s a gifted pianist,’ said Lavinia.

  They were both horrified at the thought of Rosie working. But there was nothing they could do to persuade Mrs Barnes, who shut the door in their faces. They didn’t even get a glimpse of Rosie.

  ‘Maybe when she’s older and free of her mother she will contact us,’ said Lavinia hopefully. ‘Until then we’ll have to try and forget her.’

  ‘I’m going to keep in touch,’ Megan replied stubbornly. ‘No matter what her mother says.’

  The meal in Lyons Corner House with the piano tinkling in the background didn’t cheer either of them, and eventually a very despondent Megan and Lavinia met an equally despondent Marcus and caught the train home. They sat in silence most of the way.

  After passing Winchester Marcus spoke. ‘Jeremy Pointer was right,’ he said morosely. ‘As soon as they can get a younger man for the parish I’m being put out to pasture. I don’t know how I’ll manage. The pension I’ll get won’t feed a grasshopper, let alone Arthur and me.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about Arthur,’ said Megan. ‘He’s earning a little money with his concerts and piano lessons, and that should continue.’ For a moment she thought back to the days when she’d dreamed of being able to persuade Henry to fund Arthur at the Royal Academy of Music. The war had changed all that.

  ‘And I’m sure Henry and Megan won’t want any rent from you for living at Folly House,’ said Lavinia, ‘and if they do, you can always move in with me when I go back to the dower house after the war.’

  ‘That would provide gossip for the village,’ said Marcus, cheering up a little.

  But would they still be at Folly House? Lavinia said it was illogical for Megan to worry about not having an heir, as Gerald and Violet didn’t have a child either, and the whole purpose of the original will was to keep Folly House in the family. But that didn’t comfort Megan. Logic wouldn’t stand in Gerald’s way. He wanted Folly House and that was that.

  At the end of May Megan hadn’t seen Jim for nearly two weeks. The weather was bad: clouds, rain and high winds every day. Silas and George had made up their minds to try and get in the first crop of hay, but no sooner had they cut and baled it than heavy thunderclouds came over and soaked everything. Megan worked with them, desperately trying to cover the bales with as many sheets of old tarpaulin as she could find. Buying new was impossible; the WD had commandeered everything for camouflage. She worried about the hay; if it got too wet they’d be in trouble when the winter came and they needed it for feed. The longer days meant everyone at Folly House who could, worked, picking the first of the peas, digging the early potatoes as well as helping with the hay whenever it stopped raining. Even Lavinia did her share of pea-picking.<
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  By now it was impossible to move without bumping into battalions of soldiers, and moving around in the area became more and more difficult. Even Megan was not allowed to venture far with her vegetable round; military exercises were taking place day and night all along the coast. The invasion of fortress Europe must surely be near, thought Megan. She wondered where Jim was and worried.

  ‘I feel so useless,’ said Arthur miserably. ‘Here we are in the middle of an army, and there’s nothing I can do.’

  Henry nodded. ‘I feel the same. Adam is keeping me up to date as he can read the newspapers. We both wish we could do something.’

  Megan kept silent, but she felt sick with worry about Jim. She’d organized a rota to take Henry to the Priory Hospital to visit Adam, and sometimes she thought he didn’t enjoy the visits, although he never said anything, and his memory remained as elusive as ever.

  As each day passed she knew that the time Jim must leave was coming nearer and nearer, and still they hadn’t been able to meet. Their last day came on Friday, 1 June. Jim arrived in the late afternoon, as clouds were rolling in from the west and a strong wind was blowing. She was in the stables giving Horace a much needed grooming.

  He looked weary and came straight to the point. ‘It’s time to say goodbye.’

  Megan paused, her hand resting on Horace’s warm flank. ‘When do you leave?’

  Gently Jim took the grooming brush from her hand and started brushing Horace in slow rhythmic strokes. ‘I can’t tell you that.’ He kept his eyes averted. ‘But this is the last time I shall come here. I’ve made arrangements with Captain Eugene Morgan at HMS Mason to let you know if …’ He stopped and drew a photograph from his pocket. ‘I’ve got one of you on the beach,’ he said, ‘and this is me. In case you forget.’

  Megan flung herself into his arms. ‘Don’t say that,’ she cried. ‘I’ll never forget, never, never. Oh God, I can’t bear it.’

  ‘You must.’ Jim’s voice was firm. ‘We all must because it’s the only way.’ He tipped her face to his. ‘Let’s saddle the horses and go out into the forest. Let’s go to our special place one more time.’

  Megan made her excuses at Folly House. It wasn’t difficult. Henry was at The Priory, and Lavinia and Marcus were in the church, organizing the flowers for the Sunday service. The horses were saddled and together they sought the solace of the broadleaf forest. As if to celebrate the sun came out from behind the storm clouds; late evening bees hummed amongst the brilliant broom flowers, and silly young baby rabbits scattered before the horses as they made their way into the depths of the forest.

  Their secret place was waiting, unsullied by soldiers’ boots scrambling through on military exercises. It was tranquil, and the horses knew where to stand, not even needing tethering.

  They made love slowly, gently, savouring every moment. Words were not necessary. The knowledge that this might be the last time lay unspoken, too painful to be put into words. Not even when the final goodbye came. After stabling the horses, they walked to the edge of the garden where the forest began, and touched hands briefly, then Jim walked away into the night.

  On the six o’clock news on Tuesday night, 6 June, it was officially announced that Allied naval forces, supported by strong air forces, had begun landing Allied armies that morning on the northern coast of France. Mr Churchill, the Prime Minister, said that the operation ‘is proceeding in a thoroughly satisfactory manner. Many dangers and difficulties which appeared extremely formidable are now behind us.’

  There was no mention of casualties, but everyone knew there must be many, and everyone at Folly House thought of Jim who they knew was somewhere in France.

  That night Megan opened the bedroom window and looked out across the dark sea. It was just light enough to see the outline of the hills on the Isle of Wight against a grey, cloud-strewn sky. A strong breeze was blowing, dashing the shingle against the breakwaters. It was a cold, lonely sound, as if someone was down on the beach sighing heavily.

  ‘God help them,’ said Henry, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘They will need every bit of help they can get.’

  Megan suddenly remembered that Henry had been in the disastrous evacuation of 1940. She went and sat beside him. ‘It must be terrible,’ she said.

  Henry reached out and grasped her hand. ‘That’s the bloody awful part. I can’t damn well remember. There’s still a bloody great hole where my memory ought to be.’

  CHAPTER ELEVE

  Summer 1944

  The morning after he’d told Megan he still couldn’t remember anything about the war Henry awoke with a strange feeling. He lay beside the still sleeping Megan and wondered what it was that was different. Then suddenly it began. A series of brilliant colours all jumbled together which slowly formed into different pictures. As he lay there Henry realized that his memory was coming back in a series of vignettes, like an amazing movie newsreel. Scenes from his life. Not the brief flashes he’d had before, but longer now and more complex: memories of his thoughts about Megan, his brother, the house. Then quite suddenly he felt exhausted and fell asleep.

  Later, when he awoke again, he realized he still retained some of the memories, but nothing new came. At first he was bitterly disappointed, but then consoled himself with the thought that the memories were definitely there. Maybe it was just a case of relaxing and letting them come. He decided to say nothing; he would wait until more came and he was sure that they wouldn’t disappear again.

  A week after the D-day invasion it seemed perhaps that the war might finish soon and Henry began to worry. What was the future for the family at Folly House? Memory was not the blessing he’d thought it would be, because now he started to understand just how little money he actually had; and worry about the fact that he’d given Gerald permission to reinvest what shares he’d had left in different foreign investments. Was it really true that his original investments had been unsound? However, he didn’t mention either his memory or his doubts to anyone. Not even Megan.

  Without mentioning it to anyone at the house he took a taxi into Stibbington on the pretext of having a medical check-up, but in reality visiting his old friend, an accountant named Angus Penny.

  After their meeting, Angus, with Henry’s signed permission, undertook a thorough overhaul of Henry’s investment portfolio. But it was too late. Gerald had made the changes and there was nothing Angus could do. He suspected that the present bonds were worthless and forced a confrontation between Gerald and Henry in his office. Gerald then admitted that the bonds had now been declared worthless. His excuse was that the Eastern European countries involved had now been absorbed into the Soviet Union, as the Russian army pushed across Europe. Everything had been frozen or the assets removed to Russia.

  ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. It’s the luck of the draw. You gambled and lost,’ said Gerald, and left the meeting.

  Angus Penny advised Henry to tell the rest of the family. The loss of his small inheritance would affect everyone. They had to decide what to do for the future.

  As Angus wryly pointed out to Henry, ‘Materially the Lockwood family is still rich, but you can’t eat bricks and mortar, or pay the bills with poultry, cattle and carrots.’

  When Henry asked Megan to call a family get-together because he wanted to discuss the organization of their finances, Megan was surprised. He’d never taken any interest in how things were run before; why could he not just talk to her?

  ‘Yes, everyone,’ Henry said firmly. ‘And that includes your father Marcus, and brother Arthur.’ He waited for more questions, but Megan remained silent. ‘Perhaps I’d better tell you that I’ve got my memory back,’ he said. ‘I remember everything now.’

  So that was it. The moment Megan had been dreading. She looked across at the tall man sitting opposite her. A stranger compared to the man who had left Folly House to go to war. Then he’d been so broad and handsome in his captain’s uniform. This man was thin with deep lines in his face and the once shining bl
ond hair was sparse and tinged with grey. His flickering blind eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, and gave an air of blankness, which she couldn’t penetrate. This was not the man she had married, but then, neither was she the young woman he had married. Then she’d been selfish and naive, thinking she could manipulate everything in their lives in the way she wanted. Now she knew that life itself picked people up and tossed them around, so that certainties became uncertain and nothing was the same as before.

  Eventually she blurted out, ‘Then you remember me as your wife, not just Megan, the woman you met Christmas 1943.’

  Henry smiled hesitantly. ‘Yes, I remember the young wife, the child we lost, and the fact that we hardly knew each other before I went away to war. Looking back, I don’t think I was a very romantic husband. If I remember correctly, I was too tied up with my work in London to pay much attention to you.’

  ‘Yes, with work and with friends like Adam.’ Megan couldn’t refrain from mentioning Adam. She watched his reaction.

  ‘Yes, work and friends like Adam,’ replied Henry carefully. He knew he would have to deal with Adam, especially since he now remembered that last awful quarrel before either of them got injured. But at the moment the problem of money had to be dealt with first.

  The meeting was arranged for the following afternoon, and Gerald would be present. Henry heard Megan make a small surprised sound and raised a hand to silence her. ‘Gerald has to be there. He is very involved.’