Lily's Journey

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Oh, no,’ I interrupted. ‘Edwin never did anything to upset me. Quite the opposite, really. It was all my own fault. I was infatuated by him. No, more than that. I truly loved him.’

  ‘In…the past tense?’ Daniel prompted gently.

  I hung my head, wondering how I was opening my heart to Daniel when I hadn’t been able to do so to anyone else, not even Wendy. But then, wasn’t Daniel doing the same to me? ‘I know I’ve got to get over him,’ I answered determinedly. ‘I took his friendship as far more than that. It was so silly of me. He’s so much older and just sees me as a child.’

  Daniel lifted his chin. ‘He’s exactly the same age as me. Twenty-seven. And I don’t see you as a child. To me, you’re more mature than Wendy, even though she’s nearly three years older than you.’

  Those incredible deep blue eyes met mine, throwing me off balance. Once again, I wasn’t sure of Daniel’s meaning. ‘I’d be happy to do some typing for you, if you like,’ I offered, pushing the uncertainty to the back of my mind.

  Daniel shook his head. ‘It’s good of you to offer, but it… Well, it doesn’t make very pleasant reading. The whole idea was to get it off my chest. All the horrible, sickening details.’

  ‘I hope you’re not treating me as a child now,’ I retorted. ‘Trying to protect me.’

  ‘And would that be a bad thing? After all, the war was supposedly to stop the spread of communism. To protect the innocent. Make life better for all.’

  ‘And has it, do you think?’ I quizzed him.

  He shrugged. ‘Not for me personally. And not for the world in general, I don’t think. That war was a shambles. I’m just writing my part in it. So people can know.’

  ‘People? I thought it was personal?’

  ‘It is. But I’ve got a publisher interested. I’ll decide whether or not to contact them again if I ever finish it.’

  ‘I’ll read it when it’s published, then,’ I announced obstinately, though why I felt like that, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  ‘We’ll see,’ was Daniel’s enigmatic reply.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I had left Daniel to his one-fingered typing, but it wasn’t long before he plonk, thudded back into the drawing room as sitting at the desk wasn’t too comfortable for him. He seemed to have forgotten our minor altercation, and I realised I shouldn’t have pressed him. But I wanted to know about the war. Or more precisely what had happened that seemed to haunt him still. And why was I so interested? I shook my head in bewilderment.

  I woke in the middle of the night, startled and with my heart thrumming nervously. For a second or two, I couldn’t place where I was, and then I heard a man’s voice. Surely we hadn’t been broken into? And as it all clicked into place, I realised it was Daniel talking in his sleep in the next room. I turned over, relieved that we weren’t being burgled and ready to go back to sleep. But Daniel’s mutterings were growing louder and more agitated, and suddenly I was wide awake.

  I sat up in the pitch dark, wondering what to do. If Daniel was having a nightmare, should I leave him to it? After all, he wasn’t a child who might need comforting. But I was concerned and, I supposed, curious. The Daniel I had once resented and avoided like the plague had hidden depths that intrigued me.

  I turned on the bedside lamp and waited. All went quiet and I was about to settle down when Daniel cried out in such anguish that I felt compelled to do something. So I left my door open so that there was enough light to see my way, and knocked lightly on Daniel’s door.

  ‘Daniel? Daniel, are you all right?’ I whispered.

  Silence. I was about to turn away when he answered.

  ‘Yes. Yes, you can come in.’

  I poked my head around the door. The room was in darkness but my vision was already adjusted to the gloom. Daniel’s ribs still didn’t allow him to lie flat and I could see his form as a shadow against the white of the pillows.

  ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’ he mumbled apologetically. ‘I think I was having another… I was dreaming.’

  ‘You called out and I was worried,’ I answered simply.

  He rubbed his hand over his forehead and then dragged it down over his mouth and chin. ‘Oh, I am sorry. Go back to bed. But thanks for coming in.’

  ‘Oh, I feel wide awake now. Would you like a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘Well, actually, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind, I’d love a tea.’

  I went downstairs, glad that the generator produced power for electric light. The spacious rooms seemed to echo even more dauntingly in the dead of night, and I was grateful when Trojan trotted up to me, tail swinging, ready for some nocturnal adventure. I wasn’t going to stoke up the range in the middle of the night, so I turned on the electric kettle, praying it wouldn’t fuse the lights. Daniel had told me to make sure as many lights as possible were off when using the kettle, so I groped my way around the kitchen by the light from the hall. But the water boiled without plunging the house into darkness, and I made a mug of tea for Daniel and one of cocoa for myself using dried milk instead of fresh. Trojan followed me upstairs and into Daniel’s room, and Daniel took the mug from me with a grateful nod.

  ‘My pleasure.’ I tipped my head on one side, feeling my way cautiously. ‘Your nightmare, was it…was it about Korea?’

  He had turned on his own bedside lamp and I saw him avert his eyes before he nodded, almost as if ashamed.

  ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea?’ I ventured. ‘I mean, doesn’t writing it down make you relive it all?’

  He shrugged slightly. ‘Maybe. But I seem to relive it all the time anyway. And it is a sort of unravelling. I really do think it’s helping me to come to terms with everything. It’s almost as if I’m writing to Aunt Marianne. She was the one person I could really have talked to, having been in the thick of war herself. No one else in the family had, you see. Just like William, my father was too young for the First World War and too old for the Second. He did his bit, of course. Worked in an aviation factory, believe it or not. But without Marianne, there was nobody I felt I could really talk to.’

  ‘You can talk to me. No one could have come closer to being killed in a war than I did.’

  ‘You! Really? I had no idea. In fact, I know very little about you at all. So, what happened, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  I could see that his eyes had somehow mellowed and I sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding his plaster-cast. So there I was, sipping at my cocoa in the early hours and telling Daniel Pencarrow how as a toddler in the Blitz I had been the sole survivor in the house next door to a direct hit, dug out from beneath my mother’s body buried in a pile of rubble. Daniel was a good listener, and I found myself relating my entire life story to him. I even confessed about Sidney not being my real father after all. So far, nobody outside the Franfield family knew, but seeing as Sidney had gone from this world leaving nothing but a diary and a few photographs to be inherited, there seemed no reason to keep it a secret any longer.

  ‘You’re so lucky knowing exactly who you are,’ I concluded with a sigh. ‘And you have that amazing portrait of your great-grandmother. You even have her eyes.’

  Daniel gave a soft chuckle. ‘Yes, I know. I might not have done, though. My great-grandfather had hazel eyes, and so did their son, the one who was killed at the Somme. But their daughters, Gran and Great Aunt Marianne, both inherited the blue. And on the Pencarrow side of the family, my Grandfather Philip was the only one of four children to have blue eyes. The others were all dark brown, so I could have looked very different. And I wonder if I’d have been a different sort of person as well?’ he mused thoughtfully. ‘So, yes, I suppose I am lucky to be able to trace my family right back. I’d never really thought about it. But you, my poor little Lily, I didn’t realise what you’d been through. I knew from Edwin that you’d had to leave London when your mother died and you came here to live with your father. But all the rest, I didn’t have a clue. And then I was so horrible to you on the very
day you found out the truth. You must have hated me.’

  ‘Yes, I think I did,’ I admitted quite openly. ‘But I don’t any more. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused for a moment before his eyes darted sideways at me. ‘You could always look at those papers again. See if they give any clues.’

  I felt my lips tighten. ‘Yes, I could. But I’m afraid they’ll only reveal some other horrible secret, and I’ve had enough of shocks.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t have to face things alone. I…I’d be there.’

  His voice was low and steady. Strong. I had no doubt that the Daniel Pencarrow who had returned from captivity a wreck, but had dragged himself through it, would be willing to support me. In some odd way, we had come to help each other.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I answered, suddenly aware how drained I felt. ‘But it’s starting to get light and I could do with some more sleep. But tomorrow it’s your turn. If I’m going to do some typing for you, I want to hear the story from you first.’

  Daniel pulled his head up sharply. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you did.’ I got to my feet, grinning down at him. ‘In exchange for the tea. If you’ve forgotten, I expect it was the concussion.’

  ‘Oh, ha!’ I heard him mutter as I closed the door.

  ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea.’

  By the time we woke up again, a watery sun had risen above the remnants of yesterday’s mist that hung over the moor in translucent white ribbons. It was a truly beautiful morning, the rays of sunlight beginning to burn away the pearly veil, though the air was sharp with the first tang of autumn. I took Trojan for a short walk, relishing that sense of liberty the moor always inspired in me, and then had set breakfast on the terrace. This was my holiday, after all, and although it was a bit chilly and we needed to wear thick jumpers, it was glorious to sit outside and enjoy such a wonderful atmosphere.

  ‘For you or for me?’ I replied as we lingered over coffee.

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘I meant for you, Carrots.’

  He threw me an enigmatic frown and I knew he was trying to antagonise me. Put me off. Make me stomp away in a strop at being called what I supposed had become his nickname for me. But the fact was that I didn’t mind being called it any more.

  ‘Look, Daniel.’ I could see by his expression that I took him by surprise when my hand closed over his and jerked it forcefully. ‘Sidney kept everything secret, and it made life hell for both of us. But once the truth came out and we understood each other, well, we became good friends. I mean, you and I are friends already, but I really want to know.’

  I watched him draw in a deep breath and only wince slightly. His face was set, lean cheeks sucked in and his firm jaw rigid.

  ‘All right,’ he conceded after several seconds’ consideration. ‘But I don’t think I can talk about the worst details. Not face to face. They’re in the book, though, but you’ll be prepared. If you still want to do some typing for me.’

  I felt he was playing for time again, but I didn’t mind. In a way, I was glad. I knew he would have some appalling tales to relate, but there shouldn’t be any barriers between us. I wanted to understand the real Daniel beneath the gruff, irascible shell.

  ‘I finished at Oxford at the same time the North Koreans invaded the South,’ he began after I had cleared away the breakfast things and we were both seated in the deckchairs on the terrace which was now warm with the September sunshine. ‘June 1950. I went back to my parents in London for a few weeks, but I felt so shut in that I was soon back here with my great aunt. My mother was fussing all the time that I’d be called up when there was a proper war to fight. As it happened, she was right.’

  ‘You’re her son, Daniel. Of course she’ll worry about you.’

  ‘Yes. You’re absolutely right. And I’m sure I’d be the same if I ever had a child. But I found it pretty irritating so I came back here, doing odd jobs around the place and wondering what to do next. A First from Oxford might sound very grand, but English Lit isn’t a very useful subject unless you want to be an academic, and I wasn’t sure I did. And anyway, I was waiting to be called up. And of course, my fiancée was back in Oxford. I tried to see her as much as I could but it’s a long way. She came down here once but she was a town girl and hated the moors, so looking back, I suppose our relationship was never as strong as it should have been. I was a fool, but it was one of the things I clung to when I was in the camp.’

  He paused, lowering his eyes, and then took another deep breath before beginning afresh. ‘Anyway, weeks passed and I didn’t get my papers. The Americans had gone charging in expecting the North Koreans to run home at the very thought of American intervention. But the Yanks soon found themselves pinned down behind the Pusan Perimeter. That was when the UN forces joined in and Britain started sending out raw, virtually untrained conscripts. Thank God I wasn’t among them. Thousands of them didn’t make it. But then the tables turned and by the end of the September, the North Koreans were fleeing back home and it looked as though it was all over. My mother rejoiced and I was pretty relieved myself. I didn’t fancy all that hand-to-hand fighting and sticking a knife or a bayonet into another human being, or having it done to me for that matter.’ He paused again, shaking his head with bitter resignation. ‘And then just as we were celebrating, that blessed General MacArthur decided that the North Korean Army should be totally crushed by a counter-invasion. And that was when I got my call-up papers.’ He bit his lip, frowning as he turned to me. ‘You don’t knit, do you, Lily?’

  ‘Knit?’ My eyes opened wide with surprise. I thought we were discussing the Korean War, and now Daniel wanted to talk about knitting?

  ‘My bloody leg’s itching like crazy. I thought if you had a knitting needle—’

  I tossed up my head with a laugh as the penny dropped. ‘No, I don’t. Besides, that can be dangerous. If you break the skin, you could set up an infection.’

  ‘I’d be very careful,’ he insisted glumly.

  ‘I’m sure you would. But knitting was one thing I could never pick up. And even if I had, I’d hardly carry a pair of needles in my pocket, would I?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’

  He looked so crestfallen that I had to smile. ‘Only another two and a half weeks and it’ll be coming off,’ I encouraged him. ‘And anyway, you were about to tell me what happened when you were called up.’

  ‘Ah.’ His face hardened again and he shrugged his eyebrows. ‘Well, at least by then they’d decided that we really should get some rudimentary training, so I had the benefit of two whole months of square-bashing and learning how to maintain guns – and how to shoot them, of course. The part I enjoyed – if I enjoyed any of it – was in the classroom, map-reading, tactics, that sort of thing. It was a complete mystery to a lot of them but to me it was like falling off a log, especially the map bit. And having spent most of my life out on the moor here, the endurance building was easy, too, even with a weighty backpack. Some of the poor chaps really struggled, though, if they were unfit. And sometimes for those who weren’t that tall, the packs could be bigger than they were. I made a good friend. Tommy.’

  A wistful smile tugged at his mouth. Yes, I remembered him muttering about someone called Tommy when he was first brought in after the accident. It had sounded like some horrific memory and I mentally braced myself.

  ‘Poor Tommy was so small you could hardly see him beneath his pack,’ Daniel went on. ‘I used to stuff whatever I could of his into mine. Highly illegal according to the military, but we were never caught.’ He gave a wry chuckle and then his face stiffened again. ‘A great kid was Tommy. Uneducated and with such a strong Geordie accent I could hardly understand a word he said at first. Just eighteen. He sort of slid under my wing somehow. And when we were only half-trained, we were suddenly told we were being shipped out because China had joined in the fight. Well, with that fool MacArthur blasting his way to
wards the Chinese border, what did he expect? An invitation to tea?’

  His voice had vibrated with stinging sarcasm and I shuddered. Daniel could be very cutting and with his bitterness fuelled by such anger, I expected him to express himself in a fiery tirade. But I was beginning to understand how the pent-up emotions from his experiences had twisted the better side of his nature, and when he continued, I was surprised how calmly he spoke. So Edwin had been right. Writing and talking about it was definitely a release.

  ‘By the time we arrived in mid-December, the Chinese had amassed a huge force on the border right under the Americans’ noses and were hitting back hard. The Yanks simply hadn’t been expecting it, and the Chinks were highly trained and experienced. But above all, they were fanatical. And they were driving southwards. They were used to hardship. I can’t tell you how bloody cold it was. You couldn’t think straight, and your jaw would freeze so that you couldn’t speak. Our Army clothing simply wasn’t up to it. Weapon-wise we were probably the best equipped of the British Forces, but the damned things jammed with the cold, and as for starting up an engine, well… The paddy fields, even the rivers, froze over. There were heavy snowstorms. It fell to thirty-six degrees below freezing at night. I was one of the few who didn’t lose a toe or a finger to frostbite. It was too cold to sleep and our rations were so meagre, we were starving most of the time.’

  I shivered at his description, the September sun suddenly seeming weak, and I pulled my cardigan more tightly about me. ‘So you didn’t see much fighting, then?’