This Time Tomorrow

by Rupert Colley

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Josephine, ‘she just put on this pathetic look and you-know-who came up with the goods.’

  ‘Another word, sister, and it’ll be double sprouts for you, you mark my words.’

  ‘Can’t we do presents first?’ asked Josephine.

  Guy had been slightly dreading the moment but his sugared almonds wrapped in decorated paper seemed to go down well with both of them, and in return he exclaimed with delight at another tie and an embroidered handkerchief.

  An hour or two had passed and the sisters had retired to a settee, Guy to an armchair, their hunger sated, each clasping a glass of white wine. Conversation flowed, punctuated with frequent laughter. He noticed again the lack of ring on Mary’s finger. Guy was in mid-flow with a tale of the time his father had mixed up his orders and supplied the wrong hats to two sets of puzzled customers when the doorbell rang. ‘Who in the graces could that be on Christmas Day?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I think we can guess,’ said Josephine. Indeed, it was Lawrence, carrying a large present wrapped in bright festive paper.

  ‘Guy,’ he said on entering, ‘a thorn between two roses.’

  ‘And a merry Christmas to you too, dear cousin.’

  ‘A present for me?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘Er, no, it’s for Mary, actually.’ Awkwardly, he lunged at Mary, the package getting in the way, and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you, you’re too kind.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’

  ‘Lawrence, give me a moment.’

  Carefully, she pulled at the sticking tape while Josephine poured Lawrence a glass of wine.

  ‘I won’t, thank you.’

  ‘Ah, get away with you, this is Christmas.’

  ‘Well, OK, just the one.’

  ‘Lawrence, it’s beautiful.’

  Mary held it out for all to see – a red dress, long and flowing, pleated to the umpth degree, with a slash. It was, Guy had to admit, a striking garment and it certainly put his sugared almonds to shame.

  ‘My,’ muttered Josephine.

  ‘It’s truly lovely, thank you, Lawrence. I just have to find an occasion to wear it now. I’m not sure I move in the right circles.’

  ‘We’ll soon see about that,’ said Lawrence, allowing himself the faintest smile.

  Josephine and Guy passed a sly, knowing look; Mary blushed and for a few moments an awkward silence hung between them. Mary broke it with a cough. ‘Lawrence, I bought you a little present, nothing special, it’s just... just...’ It was a tie, the same as the one she’d given to Guy.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, no, it’s lovely, it’s, really, just right, thank you.’

  *

  For New Year, Mary and Josephine were invited to a party. They encouraged Guy to come along too, but he couldn’t face the prospect of rubbing shoulders with jolly strangers.

  Instead, he spent New Year’s Eve in his room. Just before midnight, Mrs Marenghi persuaded Guy to join her and her Italian friends to see in the New Year. Reluctantly, Guy accepted. The Italian Londoners made grand toasts that 1918 should bring an Allied victory and peace. Guy echoed the sentiment and made a silent toast to his friends and comrades still stuck in the trenches.

  A few days into the New Year, on a bitterly cold morning, Guy heard the doorbell ring two floors below and assumed it to be one of Mrs Marenghi’s many elderly Italian admirers. But seconds later, he heard footsteps jogging up both flight of stairs, across the small landing and towards his room. Guy thought the footsteps too heavy to be Mary’s, but who else could it be, it had to be her; apart from Mary, no one knew of his whereabouts. Delighted at the prospect of seeing her again, Guy closed his book and waited. On hearing the knock on his door, he beckoned his unexpected visitor to enter. There, standing in the doorway, his beard trimmed even further, was Lawrence looking somewhat anxious and carrying a large briefcase.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry for calling on you unannounced like this, but I had to come and see you.’

  Guy was intrigued. His cousin was such a self-assured man; what on earth would Lawrence want to see him about. ‘By all means, come in please.’

  Lawrence stepped in, removed his hat and coat, and hung them on the hook on the back of the door. He cast his eyes disdainfully around the small cramped room.

  ‘It’s only a temporary arrangement,’ said Guy as a way of explanation. ‘Please, sit down.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lawrence as he sat down gingerly on the edge of the armchair in the corner of the room. ‘Mary says you’re due to start work soon.’

  ‘Yes, a week on Monday. They found me a job at the Quartermaster’s Office in Woolwich.’

  ‘Not too bad a journey then, considering your...’

  ‘It’ll be fine.’ There was a pause while each thought of something to say. ‘Lawrence, forgive me, I haven’t offered you anything, would you like...’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine. Thank you all the same.’

  They sat in silence for a few awkward moments more. Guy decided that as small talk was proving too difficult, they might as well get to the point. ‘You were saying, Lawrence, you needed to speak to me...?’

  ‘Er, yes.’ He leant forward, fixing his eyes onto Guy’s. ‘It’s a bit delicate, so I would appreciate your discretion.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You see, I need your advice...’ He paused.

  ‘Advice?’

  ‘Yes, I do apologise for –’

  ‘Advice on what exactly, Lawrence?’

  ‘Well, it’s about...’ He glanced around the room, as if the cramped space was about to reveal an unexpected occupant. ‘It’s about a girl.’

  ‘A girl?’ Guy suppressed a smile; Lawrence didn’t seem to be the type to be worrying about girls. ‘I’m not sure I’d be the best person to offer advice on the subject of women.’

  ‘Well, nonetheless, I’d like your opinion. You see, I’m thinking of asking a girl to marry me.’

  ‘Oh? Do you have a particular girl in mind or just any girl?’

  Lawrence glared at him. ‘Obviously, I’m wasting my time –’

  ‘No, forgive me, I’m sorry, it’s just a bit out of the blue, that’s all. Please, carry on. There isn’t a problem, is there? She’s not already married?’

  Lawrence laughed. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Is she about the same age as you? She’s not Catholic, is she?’ Guy was enjoying this.

  ‘No, none of these things, although now you mention it, she is a few years younger than me – but only a few. Actually, you’re probably right – quite a few. Anyway, it’s just that I thought you might know whether I should ask her or not.’

  Oh no, thought Guy, the penny had dropped. ‘Why, do I know her?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Why, yes, of course.’

  ‘It’s Mary, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes! Well, Guy, what do you think; do I stand an earthly chance?’

  On the two recent occasions Guy had met Lawrence, he’d felt slightly intimidated by him, but now, as his older cousin sat in front of him, waiting anxiously for Guy’s opinion, Guy saw a pathetic insecure man who had not the slightest idea about women. What on earth made him think Mary would accept his proposal? He felt almost sorry for the poor, deluded man. ‘Well, of course she will. A man of your standing, how could she refuse?’

  Lawrence preened at the compliment, but a doubtful frown quickly returned. ‘You don’t think it’s too soon, you know, after the business with Jack?’

  ‘No, she’s young, she’s resilient.’ But, thought Guy, she’ll never marry a fool like you.

  ‘Oh, Guy, what a relief, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Maybe, I’ll stay for that drink after all.’

  Guy feared as much. Lawrence stayed for another half an hour, extolling the virtues of Mary while continually seeking and receiving Guy’s reassurance that he would be suitable for her. No fool like an old fool, thought Guy. The man was a bigger fool than G
uy remembered him to be, but it wasn’t Guy’s place to enlighten him to the fact. Eventually, Lawrence got up to leave, shook Guy’s hand vigorously and thanked him several times.

  As he was leaving, Lawrence said, ‘Oh, Guy, I almost forgot...’ He fished in his briefcase and produced a large package wrapped in brown paper. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Guy.

  ‘A late Christmas present from my mother.’

  Guy unwrapped the paper bag. Inside was the jumper his Aunt Winnie had been knitting him. He held it against himself. ‘It’s lovely,’ he said. ‘Do thank her for me.’

  The jumper was of a bright bottled-green colour with a dark red stripe across the middle. It was quite the most hideous thing Guy had ever seen.

  Chapter 30: The Marriage – January 1918

  ‘Lawrence has asked me to marry him.’

  ‘I know,’ said Guy, adding another spoonful of sugar to his tea.

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Well, I knew he was planning to.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘He came to see me two days ago and sat where you’re sitting now and asked for my advice.’

  ‘Your advice? What, on whether to ask me to marry him; what did you say?’ Mary sipped her tea.

  Guy nodded. ‘Well, it was obvious he wanted me to say yes.’

  ‘And... did you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It’s what he wanted to hear, so I said it. So, he’s asked you then? Popped the question?’ He tried to picture Lawrence proposing. Did he go down on one knee, he wondered, or a more dramatic gesture – a romantic meal with champagne or a first class trip on a luxury train, he could certainly afford it. But somehow, he imagined it was more of a hearty slap on the back: ‘You and me, girl; how about it?’

  ‘I said I’d think about it.’

  Guy was surprised. ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m going to accept.’

  Guy choked on his tea. She was accepting? That wasn’t part of the plan, she couldn’t accept. The man was a buffoon, surely she could see that. ‘You can’t,’ he spluttered.

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Mary, you know why. It’s... it’s too soon.’

  ‘Do you mean Jack? Guy, I’m almost twenty, I need to get on with my life and I want to have children; lots of them.’ Mary looked at him carefully. ‘Is that all that’s troubling you?’ she asked quietly.

  Guy gazed out of the smeary window. It was Sunday; tomorrow he was starting his new job at the Quartermaster’s Office in Woolwich. He didn’t know what to expect but it was paid employment, another step in the slow process of becoming a civilian. As much as anything else, he needed a job to get him out and face the world. He was fast turning into a recluse within the four walls of Mrs Marenghi’s box room.

  ‘Guy,’ said Mary, ‘don’t pretend to ignore me. Is that the only thing bothering you?’

  He liked it here in Mrs Marenghi’s room, but travelling such a distance over London with a false leg was exhausting, as was having a room at the top of a house. It meant each trip out had to justify the effort of climbing all those stairs.

  Mary became impatient. ‘Well, don’t talk to me then.’

  ‘You know it isn’t,’ he barked. ‘We both know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary quietly, ‘I think we probably do.’

  ‘And we both know Lawrence is a fool –’

  ‘Perhaps, but a fool with security, financial security and a... a...’

  ‘A future?’

  ‘Yes, if you like, a future.’

  Guy guffawed. ‘A future for himself maybe, but not for you, Mary, surely you know that. I’m sorry if I sound presumptuous, but you don’t... you don’t love him, do you?’

  Mary sipped her tea, avoiding Guy’s eyes.

  Guy persisted. ‘Am I wrong?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she snapped. ‘It was Jack I loved and still do, but they took him away from me. And then, I got to know you and...’

  ‘And...?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘You fell in love with me?’

  Mary placed her teacup on the table and gazed idly at her hands. ‘No,’ she said gently.

  ‘Well, I fell in love with you,’ said Guy.

  ‘I know.’ She looked at him, her eyes reddening. ‘I know, Guy.’

  ‘So why are you crying, Mary?’

  ‘Because I thought I loved you and I wanted to, believe me, I so wanted to. And maybe I do, but I can’t allow myself to love you, Guy, and I certainly couldn’t marry you. You’re Jack’s brother and you always will be. It wouldn’t be right, you’d be a constant reminder of Jack, you have the same eyes; it would be like living with his memory every day, and that wouldn’t be fair – on either of us. Please don’t think I want to forget Jack, of course I don’t and I never will and wouldn’t want to, but I need to move on. Please, Guy, tell me you understand.’

  ‘You want to move on by marrying Jack’s cousin?’

  ‘It’s not the same. You hardly knew each other as children – he told me, and you still don’t know each other – not properly. And Lawrence doesn’t look like you two. But you, Guy, you were Jack’s brother; you saw him in his last hours. I couldn’t live with that knowledge, not day in and day out.’

  Guy noticed how white her arms seemed, the blue veins breaking the monotony of the delicate pale skin. ‘But why Lawrence, why not someone entirely different? The man is still a Searight, you’d still carry the Searight name and so would your children.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t see the sadness in his eyes as I see it in yours. You may have lost your leg, Guy, but it’s nothing to what you lost inside. I need someone who doesn’t bear the scars, someone who’s settled, financially secure and still young.’

  ‘Young?’

  ‘Well, fairly young. If I married you, we’d never survive on what the army pays you. We couldn’t live in somewhere like... well, like this, but on your salary, what choice would we have?’

  ‘So Lawrence is your ticket to happiness and security, is he then? A father-figure perhaps?’

  ‘No, this has nothing to do with my father. The devil got into my father; drink took him away from me as surely as a bullet took Jack – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But Lawrence is not some form of substitute father, believe me...’

  Guy bowed his head. ‘OK, I’m sorry also –’

  ‘I know you think Lawrence is a bit of a prig, but he’s a decent man. He says he loves me and no doubt, with time, I shall develop a certain... fondness for him.’

  Guy laughed. ‘Fondness? Is that all you want from a marriage, a certain fondness?’

  ‘You may laugh, Guy Searight, but I can’t sit around all day waiting for a man who hasn’t been torn apart by the war; Lord knows, there’s not many like him left.’

  ‘I notice you don’t wear Jack’s ring any more; that didn’t last long.’

  Her nostrils flared. ‘It was getting too small for me.’

  ‘Really? Already?’

  ‘Yes. Already.’

  Lawrence’s lack of active service seemed so wrong somehow, why hadn’t he volunteered, what was so damn special about his job that made him exempt from what ordinary men had to endure? But then an idea struck him, he leant towards her, clasping her hands. ‘There is an alternative Mary,’ he said almost in a whisper.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘An alternative?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. One word to my father, that’s all it would take.’

  ‘The business? No, not while he refuses to acknowledge Jack. Never forget he cast him aside like an old newspaper. You can’t take the business from a man like that; you’d be betraying both yourself and your brother. And anyway, it would make no difference; you’d still have that sadness in your eyes...’

  *

  Lawrence and Mary married in the February of 1918. It was a grand wedding with lots of guests, a dignified service, a splendid reception, a string quartet and dancing late into the night.
Mary looked resplendent in her flowing, intricate wedding dress alongside her distinguished bridegroom. The bridesmaids were a picture, especially Mary’s lovely sister, Josephine; Lawrence’s mother, Aunt Winnie, cried throughout; the Best Man did a fine job; and Guy’s father, in the absence of Mary’s father, made a stirring, if overly long speech. In the evening, Mary wore her red dress with its slash, her Christmas present from Lawrence. Yes, it’d been a wonderful occasion – according to Guy's mother. Guy himself had been invited but declined.

  Over the coming months, the new Mr and Mrs Searight settled down to married life. Lawrence bought a fine town house in Islington and employed no less than three servants. He was doing well at work, as always, and had recently received a hefty but well-deserved promotion. And, to cap it all, Mary fell pregnant.

  Guy reluctantly left Mrs Marenghi and moved to new lodgings in Woolwich, nearer his work. His mother came to visit him frequently. ‘It’s a lot bigger,’ she remarked on her first visit.

  ‘Yes, not that I have anything to fill up the extra space.’

  After she admired the room and talked of increasing prices, she approached the subject Guy knew she wanted to talk about. ‘Isn’t it time now to bury the hatchet?’

  ‘You mean Father?’

  ‘Of course, Guy, you know that. He’s opened the curtains, you know.’

  ‘And has he let the light into his heart?’

  ‘Oh, Guy, how pompous you sound.’

  ‘Well?’

  She sighed. ‘Since you put it like that, no, his heart remains as dark as ever. He’s not a well man, Guy, all this has aged him. Please, come see him, it’d make all the difference. He can’t work any more; he needs you to take it over.’

  ‘And what about Jack? Is he still cast out, the son he never had?’

  ‘Please, Guy, come see your father; he needs you.’

  *

  On 11 November 1918, Armistice Day, exactly one year after the death of Jack, Mary gave birth to a baby boy. He was born at seven in the morning while the world was still at war, if only for another four hours. They named him Clarence Jack Searight. His mother rang him at ten. She’d heard the news from her sister-in-law. It had, according to Guy's mother, been a difficult birth, but mother and child were well and Lawrence was delighted at having a son to carry his name while Aunt Winnie was already knitting feverishly. As much as Guy was pleased for her, the thought of Mary settling down to a life of motherhood, married to that oaf, depressed him.