Bonfire Memories

by Sally Quilford

  Cara sat with Peg Bradbourne and her mother, sipping lemonade. Eric Black stood a little away from everyone, looking completely lost.

  “Come and join us, Eric,” said Peg, kindly.

  “If I’m not intruding,” he said. Gone was the bravado that characterised him. He had thrown away all pretence, having had his hair cut and his sideburns shaved. Instead of his usual inappropriate fashions, he wore a sensible dark suit, over a V-neck sweater and white shirt.

  “No, of course not,” said Cara. Rather than turn against him, the villagers mostly felt sorry for him. They could hardly do otherwise, considering Barbara Price had fooled everyone. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Black?”

  “Eric, please.”

  “Eric.”

  “Yes, go on. It can’t be any worse than the questions the media have been asking me. I suppose I should understand, running a newspaper.” He laughed humourlessly.

  “When we came to dinner, you seemed uncomfortable when Guy talked about the report in the newspaper. The one about the woman spy. Did you suspect Barbara then?”

  “Yes and no. What can I say, Cara? I more or less lived with the woman for twenty years and I trusted her with everything. But when she said if I’d been away she would have hired an outside editor, she lied. She was in charge in my absence.” He took a sip of his tea. “The thing is, running a small town newspaper, you don’t always have to be rigid about your sources. People believe anything if it’s written down. You’ve probably all realised that much of what was written about my exploits in the Home Guard was made up. Barbara said it was to improve my image, because I hadn’t fought in the war. I had to be seen to be brave, even if I wasn’t.” He sighed. “But it meant that we could publish just about anything, and as long as we didn’t libel people or give too many details, we could make up stories. I think Barbara made up the story about the spy just in case people had seen Greta Mueller around town. Or maybe just in case young Sammy said anything. All she had to do was point to the story in the newspaper, and no one would question it.”

  “What will you do now?” asked Martha Potter.

  “Well, standing for office is out of the question now that it’s known I have a criminal record. But I’ve still got the newspaper and my other business interests. They are legitimate by the way. I really did want to change my life, and Barbara told me she could help me do it. I sometimes felt like a marionette, with her pulling the strings, but as I didn’t have a clue how to reach out to people, I let her do it. And now she’s escaped we’ll probably not see her again.”

  “And now she’s run away,” Peg Bradbourne repeated. They’d had word that morning that Barbara Price had somehow managed to get out of the sanatorium. Her whereabouts were unknown. “It’s probably for the best. I can’t help feeling a little bit sorry for her.”

  “Peg!” Cara exclaimed. “She killed people. She killed Nancy. I’m sorry, Eric,” she added, turning to Black. His face was a mask of pain.

  “No, you’re right, Cara,” he said. “I know she did terrible things.”

  “Oh, I know she’s a murderer, sweetheart,” Peg said. “I’m not saying what she did was right. But from what I’ve heard she was desperately in love with Greta Mueller. We live in unforgiving times, even though everyone is supposed to be more open about sex nowadays. They are, but only about what they see as ‘normal’ sex. Anyone who doesn’t fit into the neat little boxes that society builds for them is ostracised and, in the case of men, prosecuted. Do you know that the only reason lesbianism isn’t against the law is because Queen Victoria did not understand how it could happen and no one wanted to explain it to her? I don’t think we can begin to imagine what it must feel like to have to hide one’s feelings.”

  “It doesn’t excuse murder,” said Cara. She lowered her voice in case anyone else was listening. “After all, Mrs. Abercrombie and Miss Watson are rumoured to be lesbians, but they don’t go around murdering people.” She would not feel sorry for Barbara Price, no matter what Peg said. Barbara, or Lotte, had killed Guy’s sister, and taken the lives of three more innocent people, and all to hide the fact that she was really a Nazi spy.

  “Point taken,” said Peg.

  “Well, I’d better get going,” said Eric Black.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Eric,” said Cara. “I know this is hard for you, and I am sorry for you really I am.”

  “It’s something I’ll have to get used to, Cara. People will be talking about this for a long time to come. I’d rather they did it to my face than behind my back.” He gave a tight smile and left them. A few seconds later, he left the village hall.

  “Do you think he’ll be all right?” Cara asked her mother and Peg.

  “It’ll take time, but he’ll survive,” said Martha. “He’s a fighter, that one.”

  The Guy Fawkes competition was just about to begin when Guy Sullivan entered the village hall.

  “I was asked to judge,” he explained to Cara and Meredith, who had the children lined up.

  “Are you sure you want to?” asked Cara. “After everything that’s happened?”

  “Like I said when you offered to cancel the party, I don’t want the children to miss out.”

  “Thanks.”

  The atmosphere became lighter, mainly because Guy made such a point of enjoying himself looking at all the different Guy Fawkes that the children had made. There was laughter when heads and arms fell off various Guys and mothers and fathers realised for the first time that their best clothes had been utilised.

  “It’s a good job we’re not having a bonfire,” said one mother, rescuing her Sunday dress from one of the effigies.

  “Oh come on,” said Guy, “You’ve got to have a bonfire on bonfire night.”

  “We thought…” Cara started to say.

  “Never mind that. It’s for the children, remember?”

  He awarded a prize – which was a voucher to buy sweets from Mr. Fletcher’s – to one of the children, and then insisted on organising the building of a bonfire up on the village green. People brought out old chairs and other furnishings, along with tons of newspapers and other junk that they’d been longing to get rid of.

  Cara could not imagine what it must have cost Guy to put aside his own pain in order to make sure that everyone in Midchester had a good time.

  As the bonfire took hold and flames filled the night sky, she was suddenly aware of his arm around her shoulder. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “It must be hard for you.”

  “There’s been too much unhappiness over the past few weeks,” he said. “This should break the spell. Hopefully next year you won’t all be thinking of Greta, Nancy and Sammy when you hold your bonfire night celebrations.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to manage that,” she said. Her eyes stung, but she did not know if it was tears or the smoke from the bonfire. And I won’t be able to forget you either. “Where is Brigitte?” she asked, hoping to hide her emotions.

  “She’s packing to leave. And when Brigitte packs it’s a military operation. We’re going back to America this week. We’re flying Greta’s body back to be buried there. I’ve nothing against Midchester, but I think my mother will want to be able to visit her grave.”

  “Of course.” Cara’s heart plummeted in her chest like a stone. She always knew he would leave, but the thought of it killed her. “She must be devastated.”

  “I think she always knew that Greta was dead, but I still want to see her, so she knows she still has family.”

  “She’ll be glad to see you both, I’m sure.”

  “Cara, I’m sorry about the way I behaved at the hotel. And for the awful things I said to you last week.”

  “Forget it. You had a lot on your mind, and I was being selfish.”

  “No, you weren’t. You’re never selfish. You’re the kindest person I know.”

  “I’m glad that you’ve finally found out the truth,” she said, biting back tears. “Even if that truth was terrible. You’ll be ab
le to move on now.” If nothing else, she and Guy could part as friends. Even if it was breaking her heart.

  “Strange,” he said, looking down at her. His handsome face was illuminated by the light from the bonfire. “I don’t particularly want to move on.”

  “I suppose you’ve lived with this for so long that it’s hard to realise it’s all over.”

  “I’m not talking about Greta,” he said. “I’m talking about you. Cara, I could have kicked myself when I was so unkind to you the other day. You didn’t deserve it. Then when I heard that Barbara Price had nearly strangled you...” He put his arms around her and pulled her in close. “I wanted to kill her on that score alone. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times how I feel about you, but I kept putting it off, because I was afraid my feelings for you would get in the way of finding Greta. I didn’t want to forget about her again.”

  “Of course not. I understand Guy. As I said, it was selfish of me to…”

  He stopped her with a kiss that took her breath away. “And I told you you’re not selfish,” he said, when he had pulled away from her. “You’re wonderful and beautiful and kind. I love you, Cara, and I want you to come to America with me. We can be married before we go. We’ll get a special licence. I don’t want to leave Midchester without you.”

  “Marry you?” Though Cara’s throat had healed, she suddenly found herself unable to speak again.

  “Yes, if you’ll have me.”

  “Of course I’ll have you!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “I thought I’d never see you again, and I love you so much.”

  As they kissed again, a volley of fireworks exploded, lighting up the night sky.

  Cara pulled away, smiling ecstatically. Before she could say another word, there was a shout of alarm from the crowd. She turned and saw someone hurtling towards her.

  For a horrible moment, Cara thought that one of the effigies on the bonfire had come to life. The creature coming towards her had dishevelled hair and waved her arms wildly like some grotesque scarecrow.

  “You!” The creature screamed holding what looked like a knife. “You little witch!”

  Cara had no real thoughts of harming Barbara Price. She simply responded to the attack by holding up her hands and pushing the madwoman away from her.

  Barbara Price staggered, her arms windmilling as she struggled to balance. She fell back into the bonfire and was engulfed in flames.

  All anyone could do at first was watch in horror. Then what seemed like ages later but was in fact only a few seconds, men rushed forward trying to pull her out. The flames were too strong. Someone had the idea of grabbing her feet and pulling her out that way.

  Herbie Potter took off his coat to try and douse the flames surrounding Price’s body, but it was too late. Barbara Price was dead.

  Guy held Cara in his arms as she sobbed. “Shh, darling,” he said. “Now it really is over.”

  The End