by Annie Murray
Ned pushed past his mother, gesturing for her to go inside. Jess heard him say, ‘Let me deal with this.’ Being referred to as ‘this’ wounded her more than anything else had done so far. She found herself weeping uncontrollably in the street as Ned seized her arm, leading her away from the house as the rain began to come down in earnest.
‘Tell me it’s not true. Tell me yer love me! Yer love me, Ned!’
But he didn’t speak. He pulled her along by the arm, the rain pelting into their faces, turning down towards the Infirmary, walking very quickly until they passed the gates and reached a green space under the bare trees at the end of the road where there was more shelter. Then he stopped and faced her. Jess, her face wet with rain and tears, looked up into his eyes.
‘Oh God—’ she put her hand over her mouth, feeling for a moment as if she was going to retch. She swallowed hard before she could speak. ‘It’s true – what Mary said? You’re going back to ’er?’
For a moment Ned seemed frozen, as if in those seconds he had to make the decision all over again. They heard the rain falling through the trees. He looked away from her, down at the rotting leaves under their feet, and nodded.
‘And you – you—’ Jess was panting, so beyond herself she could barely get the words out. ‘You sent her to tell me – of all people. You come to me, you tell me we’re going to have a life together, you come and love me as if I’m the only woman in the world, use me – and then you—’ She ran out of words.
‘Jess—’ He went to touch her shoulder.
‘Don’t!’ she screamed. ‘Are you going back to Mary? I want to hear it out of your own mouth.’
‘Yes.’ He sighed resignedly. ‘Yes. I’m going back to Mary. She’s my wife.’
‘But why? You don’t love her – you love me!’
He spoke dully, but she could tell from his tone that the decision had been made. He was unshakeable. ‘I do love her – in a sort of way. She’s always been there. There’s a lot in that, Jess. And there’s Ruth . . .’
A man appeared, cutting through the trees, shaking the wet off his cap, but she was too overwrought to wait until he’d passed.
Scalding tears stung her eyes again. ‘You’re a coward, Ned! You’re the worst sort of coward there is. You didn’t even have the courage to come and speak to me, after all this – all that’s happened. I’ve devoted myself to you. I carried your babby – or have you already forgotten that? And I would’ve kept quiet and suffered bringing it up alone to spare you, so’s not to force yer into anything because I loved yer that much! I was turned out of home for you – on the streets, with no one. I turned Auntie against me, I’ve waited for you and lived for you. You’re my life, Ned! I would’ve done anything for yer – and you send Mary to me. You treat me like . . . like nothing, and you didn’t even have the guts to come and tell me yourself . . .’ She could say no more, she was crying so uncontrollably.
‘I didn’t come because I couldn’t – can’t you see that? I couldn’t do it. Not after last week – seeing you. I just wouldn’t have been able . . .’
‘Because you’re a bloody, sodding coward!’ she screamed at him. ‘I hate you – hate you for being so weak that you can’t stand up to them all!’
‘Yes—’ he held out his hands helplessly. ‘Yes – I am, I know. But Jess, I’ve got a wife, a daughter – there’re my mom and dad to think of. Everyone – everyone we know – it’s like my whole life falling apart if I leave it and go with yer. You’re so good, so beautiful . . . That’s the thing. Choosing between good and bad’s not the hard thing – but how d’yer choose between two good things? Things which both feel right? When either way the choice hurts someone – lots of people.’
Jess stood quiet, feeling despair come over her like great weariness. Because for all her hurt, her anger, her love for him, she understood what he was saying, and that cut her more than not understanding.
‘It’s like the war.’ He looked at her again. ‘You kill them or they kill you. Which is better?’
‘Oh, you have to kill them.’
‘That’s where we’re different. You’re a born survivor. I don’t know how I’ve lasted this long in life.’ He looked into her eyes and she saw his, at last, fill with tears.
‘God, Jess – this is the most horrible thing. I hate hurting people, you more than anyone.’ He reached out for her but she kept back, standing stiffly. She could not bear for him to touch her. She felt as if she would go crazy, thump and kick and scratch him if he came nearer, to release her pain on to him.
‘I should’ve known I could never have you,’ she said. Her voice sounded strangled. ‘Not really. Not a proper life, happy ever after. It’s always been a dream. Just a dream.’ She paused looking up at him. ‘You won’t change yer mind – not even now? We could just go . . .’
He was solemn. ‘No. I’ve got to stay. No more lying and letting people down. I want to live decently.’
These words winded her as if he had punched her. Decently. He wanted to live decently. For a moment she closed her eyes. When she opened them he had stepped closer to her. ‘Jess – I’m sorry . . .’
‘I know.’ She looked down, tears running down her cheeks. She pressed her hands over her face to shut out the sight of him. ‘Ned – go away. I can’t stand seeing yer.’
‘I can’t just leave yer here . . .’
‘Why not? You’re leaving me anyhow. Just get away from me – leave me!’ At last she was screaming.
Ned paused helplessly for a second, then walked away under the trees without turning to look back. Jess watched through her fingers, saw the strong shape of him darken further for a moment in the shadows. Then, with his head down, moving slowly and sorrowfully, he stepped out into the rain, taking himself out of her life. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
She gave way then, her legs folding so that she crumpled forward on to the sodden leaves and twigs, sobbing in anguish. She curled into a ball, incoherent cries of grief tearing from her. Her forehead was pressed against the wet earth as she wept, arms clenched tight round her body as if to hold within herself a heart that was shattering apart.
Thirty-Nine
The fighting began again in earnest in March with a German offensive, once more on the Somme, and through the summer of 1918 the numbers of casualties on the Western Front soared again to the highest they’d ever been.
It was Sis’s turn to spend her life in a state of acute worry about Percy. Tanks were being used more and more often in the fighting to try and break through the Hindenburg Line. In parts the Germans had dug trenches so deep and well defended that the line seemed impregnable. And in the early spring it was the Germans who were pushing west, forcing a bulge in the allied front. By April though, they had still not broken through. The war had taken on a terrible, unresolved permanence and everyone was worn down with it, sickened, exhausted.
Jess did, after all, see Ned again, and quite soon. One Sunday in May, he and Mary arrived at the house, Ned carrying Ruth in his arms. It was Olive who opened the door.
‘Oh. It’s you.’ She stood firmly on the step. ‘What d’yer want?’
The cousins heard her voice from the back room and looked at each other. Ronny ran through to see.
‘We wanted to come and see yer, Auntie,’ Ned said, hesitantly.
Mary was obviously eager to take over the talking. ‘Only – Ned knows what yer’ve thought of ’im over the last years, and ’e wanted to try and patch things up, for the best like.’
Jess seemed turned to stone. For the last two months she had felt like a dead person, full of leaden despair, and her cousins were helpless in the face of her misery. For a moment, hearing his voice, hope sparked in her. He had come back for her. It was all a mistake and he loved her after all, couldn’t live without her as she couldn’t without him! But then she heard Mary speak too.
‘Dear God, no!’ She got up to escape upstairs, but it was too late. Olive had stood back, grimly, and they were alread
y coming along the hall.
‘They’ve got a bloody nerve coming ’ere!’ Polly said, enraged. Although they had always known Jess was wrong to go with a married man, her obvious love and devotion to Ned, the suffering they had witnessed in her since, had drawn all of them, even Olive, on to her side.
As Ned and Mary’s footsteps came closer, Jess stood behind the door, arms tightly folded, trying to keep her emotions closed down. As soon as Ned came into the room he shot her a look of apology, but Jess wasn’t looking at him to intercept it.
Olive didn’t ask them to sit down, though she greeted Ruth kindly enough and let her perch on a chair by the table.
‘So – what’ve yer got to say?’
The smug look on Mary’s face dropped a bit. She could feel Polly and Sis’s eyes boring into her with loathing.
‘Me and Ned want to say a few things to yer,’ Mary said. There was satisfaction in her voice.
‘Oh yer do, do yer? Why should we care, yer smug little bitch?’
‘Poll—’ Olive shushed her and looked at Ned. ‘Yer’ve made a right mess of things, my lad.’
‘I know . . .’ he looked round her and spoke to Jess. ‘I didn’t come to upset yer – I wouldn’t’ve come . . .’
‘What’re yer talking to ’er for?’ Mary snapped. ‘Don’t go crawling to ’er!’
Jess couldn’t look up or answer. Her cheeks were burning. Just go, she prayed. Please. Leave me in peace.
‘I wanted to say to you, Auntie, that I’m sorry for all I’ve done to upset you, and your family—’
‘It’s not as if things were easy for me,’ Mary interrupted, unable to keep quiet. ‘Having my husband stolen by some common little—’
Ned laid a hand firmly on her arm. ‘Mary, you said we was coming to make our peace, so just keep out of it, will yer? Auntie—’ he looked appealingly at her. ‘Can yer forgive me?’
‘You’ve got a bleeding cheek!’ Sis exploded. ‘Coming ’ere, trying to make everything awright for yerself! That’s all you ever think of, ain’t it? Never mind all the misery you’ve caused . . . you just want to go off thinking you’re bloody marvellous Ned Green again . . . Well you ain’t, I can tell yer – your name’s muck around ’ere.’
Olive waved an arm to shut Sis up. Jess seemed to shrink further into herself. There was a silence as Olive stared at him so intently that Ned had to look down.
‘I might be able to forgive yer,’ she said slowly. ‘In time. But not yet. There’s too much heartbreak round here for me to wave you off with my blessing. It takes two, Ned, and you was every bit as much to blame for all that’s ’appened. So you can put up with a heavy conscience for a bit. I ain’t handing out my blessing just on your say so. It’s Jess yer should be talking to.’
‘Well ’e ain’t doing that,’ Mary said. She looked round at them all, then announced, ‘Ned’s been redrafted.’
This stopped Olive in her tracks. Less harshly, she said, ‘You going back to France?’
‘No.’ Ned spoke quietly, almost shamefully. ‘In the Reserves. My leg’s not fit. They’re sending me to Dover.’
‘Well you ain’t going to get killed there, are yer?’ Sis said.
Mary looked as if she was about to say something that would have started a slanging match, but she thought the better of it.
‘Come on,’ Ned said quietly. ‘I think we’d better go.’
As they were shown out, Polly said, ‘I think we did well not to ’ave a proper old ding-dong with ’er. How I didn’t put my fist through ’er cowing smug gob I’ll never know!’
Jess sank into a chair, trembling like someone who’s been in an accident.
Those last months of the war were a time of mourning for Jess. She felt hollow, lost. Sometimes she confided her feelings to Polly and Sis. One evening they were standing out in the little yard behind the house, catching the last of the sunshine. The sky was a pale yellow with a few sludgy wisps of cloud across it.
‘I’ve spent four years thinking of no one but ’im. I feel as if life’s empty and it’ll be empty forever.’
‘I know yer do,’ Polly laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘And I know ’ow yer feel. Even though I’ve got John to think about now, I still feel it’s Ernie I’m married to. I can’t help it. And every time I think about it I feel really bad inside. It’s like ’e’s not dead and buried – I don’t feel I can ever believe ’e’s really gone. I mean, if John and I was to . . . well, you know – I’d feel like a bigamist.’
‘Least Bert seems to be awright for the moment,’ Jess turned to Sis. ‘And you heard from Perce yesterday.’
Sis nodded despondently. ‘But God knows how much longer they’ll be out there . . .’
Jess squeezed Sis’s hand. It was no good telling her everything would be all right. You never knew. They just had to hope.
As the months passed, the war began to turn. The Germans began many successful attacks, their artillery bombardment devastating the allied lines, but as soon as their infantry tried to move forward they lost the initiative. By September the whole Front was ablaze, and at last, the allies ruptured the Hindenburg Line. The newspapers began to trumpet successes. A breathless, almost unbelieving hope began to break through the gloom.
During that summer, Jess and Sis also honoured their promise to invite Peter Stevenson and David out with them. They spent several hot Sundays picnicking in Cannon Hill and Highgate Parks, the two boys scrapping on the grass like pups or playing ball, with Grace trying to join in and annoying them.
One hot afternoon in August they all went to Cannon Hill, taking a picnic of sandwiches and cake and some cold mutton contributed by Peter Stevenson. John Bullivant agreed to come. He was wary towards Peter Stevenson at first: a man who hadn’t been in the fighting, who was an outsider, a shirker even, so far as John was concerned. He was also mortified at his disability in the presence of a strong, able-bodied man, and it took some time to break the ice. John scowled when Peter offered to push the wheelchair and Polly indicated gently that it might be better if she did it.
They all set off, Jess and Sis with a bag each, Olive and Peter looking out for the boys and Grace riding in pride of place on John’s lap in the wheelchair. She loved it sitting up there, with John tickling her and trying to remember little rhymes to sing to her. Grace thought ‘Uncle’ John was wonderful.
For a long time, Jess scarcely noticed that whenever they went out together, Peter Stevenson always seemed to gravitate towards her. Walking down to the park that day, he appeared at her side with David.
‘Looks set fine, doesn’t it?’ he said.
Jess managed a smile. ‘Yes, nice and warm,’ she said absently.
David reached up for her hand. She transferred the bag to her left hand and took his.
‘And how’re you, young man? Getting big now, aren’t yer? You’ll be taller than Ronny, I reckon. You two can have some nice games.’
David grinned. ‘Football.’
‘You gunna play for the Blues when you grow up?’
‘Yep—’ Davey kicked an imaginary ball along the road.
‘He’s dead keen,’ Peter said. ‘Course, at that age you think you can do anything in the world, don’t you?’ Jess gave a little chuckle. Peter thought how long it was since he had heard her happy, full hearted laugh. By now he knew what had happened, or some of it, from Sis. That Jess had been let down badly, was rejected and sad. He longed to bring the smile back to her face.
They made themselves comfortable on the long sward of grass which sloped down to the pond. The grass was parched and worn from the crowds of people out enjoying the summer sun. Between them, Polly and Peter lifted John out of his wheelchair and on to the grass. He had to accept their help, but a distant look would come over his face as if to dissociate himself from what was happening. The children romped around and Jess and Sis kept an eye on them while Olive opened the bags and sorted out the food, her hat well pulled down to shade her eyes. Polly got up to chase after Grace.
> Jess felt the sun pressing on her back as she sat on the grass and the warmth made her feel drowsy. She became aware that Peter was talking to John behind her, gently asking him questions. What had happened, how had he lost his legs. Did he mind being asked?
‘I don’t mind – there’s not many ask as a matter of fact. They was blown off. A shell came down and the next thing I knew I were in a bed in a hutment hospital – that’s what they call ’em – sort of makeshift places out there. Left the rest of my legs somewhere near Plug-street – that’s Belgium.’ Jess could hear a kind of pride in his voice: he knew about the war first hand, Peter didn’t. ‘Lot of lads gone the same way. Nothing like them lads: bloody golden, the whole lot of ’em.’
‘Sometimes I think I should’ve kicked up and gone. I was fit enough, after all.’
‘No.’ John was angrily emphatic. ‘Oh no. Mind you, nothing would’ve kept me from joining up. Not at the time. But we shouldn’t’ve been there – not a single one of us down to the last man. No – you’re best out of it, pal. It’s just one long f—.’ He bit back an expletive. ‘Scuse me, Mrs Beeston . . . It’s a nightmare, Peter, that it is.’
‘Yer awright,’ Olive said. ‘Any’ow – there’s dinner ready now. Go and get the others, Jess, will yer?’
‘I’ll come and get Davey.’ Peter was on his feet as Jess got up.
‘No need,’ she said. ‘I’ll get ’em.’
‘I’d like to,’ he smiled at her.
They wove through the lazing family groups on the grass. Polly and the children were at the edge of the pond watching the ducks.
‘He’s a brave man, your friend John,’ Peter said. ‘He must be going through hell.’
‘Yes, ’e is brave,’ Jess glanced round at John. ‘But ’e has suffered such a lot and ’e feels useless. Polly was wondering if ’e could maybe get a job somewhere – get ’im out and keep ’im busy like. Otherwise ’e gets ever so down at home, thinking he’ll never do anything again.’
‘I’m sure he could. There’s munitions factories crying out . . . Tell you what, Jess. I’ll ask around.’
