Will You Remember Me?

by Amanda Prowse

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  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to the man who believes that family is everything. He would give me his last penny (and often has!) and I know that no matter how old I am or where I am in the world, I only have to pick up the phone and he will come running. With a safety net like that, it is very easy to climb mountains… My dad, Ken x

  Prologue

  I often think about the day we got married, replaying the best bits in my head. I picture us laughing as we walked to the pub afterwards and the way he held my hand, tightly, possessively, stepping slightly ahead as if leading me. I was happy to follow. It felt safe and comforting. The bloke that owned the local café drove past in his van and shouted out of the window, ‘Oi oi! It’s Mr and Mrs!’ It was the first time we’d been called that and we exploded with giggles. I thought I looked very average – dreadful, really. It wasn’t like I had the posh frock and all the trimmings. But when I look at the pictures now, of the younger me, I can see that I looked far from dreadful. I was glowing, as if my joy shone out of me; no fancy dress could match that.

  Later that night I climbed into the rickety bed alongside my husband. The gas heater hissed, doing its best to take the chill off the damp room. My face ached from all the laughing and the permanent grin I’d worn. We were both tired. I was about to drop off. My eyelids were drooping and I was really, really comfy, when suddenly he flicked on the lamp and sat up. I opened my eyes, wondering what was wrong, thinking that maybe those seven pints of Guinness and the kebab on the way home had finally caught up with him.

  He lay back down and turned over, positioning himself on his side, with this head propped up on his elbow. And then he said, ‘I love you so much. I want to give you the moon with a bloody big bow tied around it. My wife! I’ve got a wife and not just any wife but the best bloody wife in the whole wide world!’

  I laughed as flames of happiness flickered inside me.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you want and, one way or another, I’ll get it for you.’ He reached out and knotted his free hand with mine.

  I remember looking at the bumps of our knuckles side by side, with our little wedding bands sitting next to each other, shiny and new. ‘I don’t want anything, only you,’ I whispered, which was the truth.

  He shook his head. ‘Nah, that’s not the answer, girl. If you could have anything, and everything was possible, what would you want?’ His expression was bright, hopeful and child-like.

  I lay back and closed my eyes, trying to picture a world for us where I could have anything, and everything was possible. ‘Well…’ I swallowed. ‘I’d like two kids, a boy and a girl, who are happy and secure. I want them to be like us, but smarter and cuter.’

  ‘Well that wouldn’t be too difficult!’ He laughed.

  I didn’t open my eyes; I stayed in that world that he’d created for me. ‘And I’d like a swimming pool shaped like a kidney—’

  ‘Why like a kidney?’ he interrupted again.

  ‘Because, apparently, rectangular pools are the cheapest design, but a kidney takes some doing, with all them curves. Costs more. So everyone would know how much dosh we’ve got, just by its shape.’

  ‘Gotcha. What else?’ He moved closer. I could feel his minty breath against my face.

  ‘I’d like a diamond ring. Not just any old diamond, mind, but one the size of an ice cube. And I’d show it to everyone from school and on the estate who has ever laughed at me or made me feel like I was nothing.’ I felt his lips graze my neck and a shiver of joy travelled down my spine. ‘And I want to lie on a tropical beach and feel the soft powdery sand slip through my fingers and the hot sun on my face.’ This was the wish of a girl who had rarely left the postcode of her childhood.

  ‘So, not Southend?’ He kissed me again.

  I opened my eyes and turned to face him. ‘No, not Southend.’

  ‘Are you done?’ he asked as his hand travelled up under my nightdress and rested on the flat of my stomach.

  ‘Nearly.’ I placed my hand on top of his. ‘I want to dance with you in the rain, wearing a lovely dress, and I want it to be a proper dance, like a waltz, old fashioned and romantic.’

  He rolled over then until he was lying on top of me, resting on his forearms. He smoothed the hair from my forehead and kissed me gently on the mouth. ‘Then a dance in the rain you shall have.’ He covered my chest and neck with tiny kisses, making my heart beat faster.

  ‘And what about you?’ I managed. ‘What would you want if you could have anything, and everything was possible?’

  His expression was suddenly solemn. He looked into my eyes and spoke in a soft voice. ‘I want us to live in the countryside, just like we’ve always wanted, and I reckon if we lived somewhere nice, everything else would fall into place.’

  I nodded agreement against his shoulder. The countryside was our dream.

  He wasn’t finished. ‘And I want to give you everything that you’ve asked for. That’d be enough for me: to make you happy. That’s a world I’d like to live in.’

  ‘Well, congratulations!’ I beamed. ‘You do make me happy, so maybe we’ve arrived there already!’ I laughed and wiggled down the bed with my arms wrapped around him.

  ‘There is one more thing…’ I added softly into his ear.

  He paused his kissing and gave a small sigh. ‘You’re sure it’s the last?’

  I nodded. ‘I’d like to know who my dad is.’ I had felt the absence of this special man on this, my wedding day. Unexpectedly, a tear found its way to the surface and trickled down my cheek, which he kissed away.

  ‘Don’t be sad,’ he whispered. ‘Not tonight.’

  I sniffed and smiled. He pulled the duvet over our heads and it felt like we were in our own little bubble, sheltered from the world; like no one could get to us and we were safe. And I remember thinking, if I get to feel like this every night of my life, lying in bed with the man I love, knowing that nothing can touch us, then we have arrived at that place, we really have. And I was right.

  One

  ‘Bye, Granny Claudia!’ Peg waved her hand over her head, ensuring her farewell would be drawn out until the last possible moment, and watched as Granny Claudia got smaller and smaller in the rear window. ‘I’ve had the best Christmas ever!’

  These were the words they wanted to hear from their daughter every year.

  Peg settled back on her booster seat with her baby brother, Max, dozing in his seat by her side.

  Poppy smiled at her husband as he turned the car out of Clanfield, the Oxford village where they had spent the festive holiday in the dear company of the mother of their late friend Miles. Gracious and well-educated, Claudia was a surrogate grandma for the children and a welcome voice of guidance for Poppy and she relished the role. Her only son, Miles, a journalist, had been killed by a car bomb some years earlier, and she had been widowed for a long time now.

  Poppy closed her eyes and pictured the Christmas Day just passed: a golden turkey with all the trimmings, a brisk walk with the kids in the snow as dusk bit on the day, and dark port in crystal glasses that had sent her into a glorious sleep in her husband’s arms as they sat in front of the roaring log fire. Peg was right; it had been the best ever.

  ‘What’s the best Christmas you ever had, Mum?’ Peg whispered.

  ‘Ooh, I think this one will take some beating.’ She squeezed her husband’s thigh across the central console of their Golf. The joy of his surprise return, early from tour, still lingered.

  ‘What’s the best present you ever had?’

  �
�Definitely Daddy coming home.’ Poppy beamed.

  ‘What about when you were little?’ Peg shook her head to get her toffee-coloured fringe out of her eyes; it needed a trim.

  Poppy looked out of the window at the snow-spattered hedges and the wheelie bins crammed full of Christmas packaging, awaiting collection. She only ever gave her daughter diluted accounts of the deprived conditions in which she had grown up, not wanting to upset her with the image of her mum wanting.

  When they were children, Poppy and Martin had routinely gone to bed on Christmas Eve in their respective damp flats with tummies full of butterflies and expectancy. Neither knew whether, the next day, all their dreams were going to come true, or whether it would be a rubbish day like any other. It was nearly always a rubbish day like any other, but that didn’t stop them being excited. There was always the smallest possibility that the rumours were true, that if they had been good, they would get lots of great stuff. Poppy was a smart child, quickly learning that the whole Santa thing was a rotten lie, but for an hour or two before bedtime, the anticipation would be almost painful. She liked the possibility that there might be some magic, somewhere.

  The disappointment of waking on Christmas morning to find it was just another shitty day, albeit with a bit of cooled turkey, a couple of roasted spuds and a string or two of balding tinsel thrown in for good measure, didn’t wane. That was until she married and had kids of her own. Now she and Martin could give Peg and Max the sort of Christmases they could only have dreamt of for themselves, erasing the miserable memories in the process.

  Poppy turned to face her daughter. ‘Well, I don’t remember too much about my presents, but one year, when my nan and grandad were asleep in their chairs—’

  ‘Nanny Dot and Grandad Wally?’ Peggy interrupted to show she knew who was who.

  ‘Yep.’ Poppy smiled. ‘Anyway, my mum had gone out somewhere.’ An image flashed into her head of Cheryl arriving home, giggling as she slid down the wall with a defunct paper blower between her lips and the smell of booze hanging over her in a pungent cloud. ‘I curled up on the sofa and watched the movie Miracle on 34th Street. It made me feel very Christmassy and I remember thinking how lovely it would be to have your wishes come true. That was quite a special day for me.’

  ‘I think wishes do come true. I wished my dad back and he came!’ Peg clapped.

  ‘That’s true,’ Martin confirmed over his shoulder.

  Poppy tucked the shoulder-length layers of her hair behind her ears. ‘Well, as I said, that film was very special for me.’

  ‘I like that movie too, Mum.’ Peg beamed.

  ‘I saw the black-and-white version though, Peg. The original.’

  Peg considered this. ‘Black-and-white films make me really sad.’ She spoke to her hands, folded in her lap.

  ‘Why’s that, Pickle?’ Martin asked in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Cos everyone in them is dead.’ This she delivered with her palms upturned and her voice doleful, as if she was standing on a West End stage.

  For some reason this struck Poppy as funny. She snorted her laughter into her palm and Martin followed suit.

  Peg folded her arms across her chest. ‘You two drive me crazy!’

  This was fuel for their already giddy state. The two of them laughed until their tears spilled and they wheezed for breath.

  ‘I really missed you.’ Poppy gazed at her husband, the one person who could make her giggle even harder just by giving her a well-timed glance.

  ‘I missed you too.’ He grinned at his wife, who reclined in the passenger seat.

  ‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ Peg stated.

  ‘Yes, love, it is, and tomorrow is a whole new year! It’s exciting, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are we going to have a party?’ Peg sat forward, eyes wide.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, we are far too boring.’ Poppy pictured a night alone with her man, the kids tucked up, a glass or two of wine, and hours and hours in which to make up for their long, lonely months of separation. She felt a stab of excitement at the prospect. Her soldier was home.

  ‘Jade McKeever says her mum and dad always have a party and they drink champagne and beer and cocktails. Last year, her dad’s friend got drunk and weed in the downstairs cupboard because he got mixed up and thought it was the loo.’

  ‘Well, that certainly sounds like fun.’ Poppy grinned at her husband.

  ‘We don’t have to have a party, Peg. I could just wee in the downstairs cupboard anyway.’ Martin winked at her.

  ‘Oh, Dad, that’s gross!’ Peg stuck out her tongue.

  ‘You started it.’ Martin laughed. ‘Is Jade McKeever Ross’s girl?’ Martin had worked with Ross, a fellow mechanic, in the past.

  ‘Yep, and Jade is Peg’s new life-coach, apparently.’ Poppy rolled her eyes.

  ‘We never have parties. I’d like you to have one so I can sit on the stairs and watch everyone getting drunk!’ Peg was on a roll.

  ‘You don’t have to get drunk at a party, Peg. Sometimes it’s nice to go and have a dance and chat to your friends—’

  ‘Wee in the cupboards,’ Martin interjected.

  ‘Yes, that too.’ Poppy slapped his arm. ‘We didn’t even have a proper wedding reception, did we, Mart?’

  ‘Nope. Didn’t need all that fuss, I was just glad to get my girl.’

  Poppy pictured Jenna and a couple of Martin’s mates from the garage singing ‘Ta da da da…’ repeatedly to the tune of ‘Here comes the bride’ as they arrived at the back bar of their local.

  ‘Who caught your bouquet then, Mum, and tied ribbons and tin cans to your lovely white car?’

  Poppy smiled. Peg had definitely seen too many wedding-themed movies. ‘I didn’t have a bouquet or a fancy car. It was just Daddy and me and a few of our mates in the pub near where we lived. I had a lovely day, even without the fuss.’

  ‘Would you have liked all that – tin cans and a fancy bouquet?’ Martin asked, his face now serious.

  Poppy considered this. ‘Sometimes I think it would have been nice, but if I picture a reception or a big party, then I see the kids there, so I guess I didn’t miss not having one. But maybe a party one day would be good. We could do it for our silver wedding or something?’

  Martin nodded. That sounded like a plan and was sufficiently far off not to send him into a panic over finances and organising. ‘Am I really your best present?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘Yep. Although when I’m rich and famous and have my kidney-shaped swimming pool, am wearing a diamond on my finger the size of an ice cube and have danced in my evening dress in the rain, that might change.’

  ‘You’ll still need me to pick you up and carry your bags though, right?’ He leant towards her.

  ‘Always. That’s your job, to pick me up when I fall and carry my bags.’

  ‘And kill baddies!’ Peg piped up from the back. They’d quite forgotten she was listening. It set them off giggling again.

  Finally, as Peg dozed and Max snored, Poppy turned to her husband. ‘How was it? Out there?’ She looked straight ahead.

  Martin exhaled through bloated cheeks. As usual he would spare his wife the reality of life on tour, the crushing loneliness, the boredom. ‘Oh, busy. Hard work, a shitty place, the usual. I’ve had enough, really, Poppy.’ He ran his hand over his face and rubbed his chin.

  She nodded. Me too. ‘Well, if you can stay here for a bit, that’ll be okay, won’t it?’ She tried to offer a small flicker of consolation.

  ‘That’ll do me, mate. It’s all I want, to come home to you and the kids every night. Trouble is, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I’m off again, and it’s the uncertainty I don’t like.’

  ‘I know. I know.’ She placed her hand on the back of his and thumbed his tanned skin.

  ‘I hate being away from you and the kids, but it also makes me realise how lucky I am. Imagine all those blokes like me who are away and don’t have our heartstrings.’

  Poppy smiled and
squeezed his hand. It was their thing and always had been, the belief that they had heartstrings that joined them across time and distance. Linking them as one, no matter what.

  Poppy gave a long yawn.

  ‘Am I keeping you up or are you just bored?’ he joked.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m permanently knackered.’ She sank back into the seat.

  ‘Ha! It’s me that’s travelled across the globe, hopping on and off planes and sitting up half the night and it’s you that’s yawning!’ Martin tutted.

  ‘I know. I think I’ve found it harder work than I realised, having you away this time. But you’re back now and that changes everything.’ She grinned, wrinkling her nose in the way that Peg had inherited.

  An hour or so later they were back in the rolling Wiltshire countryside.

  ‘It’s bloody beautiful here, isn’t it?’ Martin grinned, leaning forward against the steering wheel to take in the bright sky and snow-covered fields.

  Poppy nodded. They’d traded the concrete of East London for all this green, open space and the novelty was still acute for both of them.

  As she stepped out of the car, Poppy looked across at their army quarter, one of twelve identical houses that had been built in the 1970s for the MoD. It was flat-fronted and rather ugly on the outside, but inside, the lounge/diner was quite spacious, the large windows let in lots of natural light and the kitchen was a useable square. There were two good-sized bedrooms and a third that people used either as a study or, like Poppy and Martin, allocated to their second or third child.

  Martin lifted the bags from the boot of the car. ‘God, it’s bloody freezing! Hope you left the heating on.’

  Poppy tutted. ‘Of course I did. Can’t risk a pipe freeze in this weather. I do manage, you know, when you’re not here. It’s a case of bloody having to!’

  Martin smacked her bum as she walked past and made her way inside.

  Jo, their neighbour, ran down her front path in her slippers, blushing as she patted her hair, which had been hastily shoved into a band. ‘Mart! Oh God, wasn’t expecting to see you. What you doing home? Thought you had another couple of months to go?’