‘Whatever you want,’ Alan said easily.
Jo made her mind up quickly. ‘That’s what I’ll do then.’ Perhaps she had stayed away too long. ‘Have you been all right without me?’ she fished.
‘Been too busy to pine for you, girl,’ he teased. ‘But I’ve missed you, of course.’ Jo was not sure he sounded very convincing, but at least he was no longer cross with her for dropping all her commitments and running off to the camp. Soon she would have the chance to catch up with his news and pay him some attention. She rang her father and got Pearl, who was full of concern, but relieved to hear she was safe in London.
‘How are you, Auntie Pearl?’ Jo asked.
‘Canny,’ Pearl assured her. ‘I’m getting out again and your father’s fussing round me something wonderful!’ She laughed, but added, ‘It would do both of us good to see you, mind.’
After that, Jo made plans to return north. She could not afford the train fare, so booked herself on a coach and managed to get a seat on an overnight bus on the twenty-third.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ Jo suggested to Susie, who was beginning to venture out of the flat again but was still weak. ‘See a bit of Maya and Frank.’
‘Oh, she’s not with Frank any more,’ Susie declared. ‘I thought you knew.’
Jo shook her head. ‘When did that happen?’ she asked in surprise.
‘After that time you both came down to the camp, I think.’ Susie shrugged. ‘Maya said they were just creatures of habit − should have gone their separate ways ages ago.’
‘I’m sure they came round together the last time I saw Maya,’ Jo said, trying to remember.
‘Probably did − they’re staying good friends,’ Susie said. ‘Just not living together any more. Anyway, Maya’ll be too busy with the panto over the holidays. Not much point in going there.’
‘Well, you could come and stay at Dad’s with me,’ Jo suggested.
Susie smiled weakly. ‘Thanks, but I think I’d rather just take it easy and slob around here. I don’t think I’m up to an all-night bus journey. I’ll probably invite myself over to Heather’s for Christmas Day.’
Jo knew that their friend Heather from the peace camp would spoil and mother Susie, and she could not persuade her to change her mind. On her final night in London, Jo attempted to contact Marilyn again. There had been no reply all week and Jo thought she might have already gone north to be with her parents. But just as she was about to give up, someone answered. It was a man’s voice, and Jo wondered fleetingly if she had dialled the wrong number.
‘No, this is Marilyn’s, I’ll just get her. Who’s calling?’ the cheerful voice asked.
‘Her old friend, Jo. Jo Elliot, tell her.’
There was a slight pause, and then the voice said, ‘Just hang on.’ It seemed to Jo that Marilyn took a long time to come to the telephone.
‘Hello?’ Marilyn said finally.
‘Hi, it’s me, Jo,’ Jo answered brightly. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch all week. I’m in London at Susie’s. You know, Susie? Maya’s sister, the one −’
‘I know,’ Marilyn cut in, ‘the one from the women’s camp.’
‘Aye,’ Jo said, sensing a coolness. ‘I wondered if we could meet up tonight? I’m going up north on the bus tomorrow and there’s loads I’d like to talk about.’ She held her breath. ‘It’s ages since we’ve had a proper chat.’
After a silence, Marilyn said, ‘I’m sorry, Jo. I can’t tonight. I’m going to a party.’
‘Oh.’ Jo was disappointed. ‘Does it need any gatecrashers?’ she asked hopefully. They had often just turned up at people’s houses as teenagers if there’d been a rumour of a party.
‘No,’ Marilyn said quietly but firmly, ‘it’s a dinner party, they’d notice.’
‘When can we get together then?’ Jo asked in frustration. ‘Are you coming north for Christmas?’
‘No. Mam and Dad are coming down to me.’
Jo was surprised. She protested, ‘You can’t avoid me forever, Marilyn! I’m Colin’s sister. I want to talk about him to you. You’ll have to face up to what’s happened some time, for God’s sake!’
‘I have faced it!’ Marilyn lost her patience. ‘But I’ve coped with losing Colin in the only way I know how − getting on with my life. It doesn’t mean I don’t think about him − I do. But it doesn’t help to keep thinking about what we would’ve been doing now if he had lived. And I can’t cope with you harping on about the old days as if there’ll never be any good times again.’
Jo began to shake at the harshness of her rejection. ‘I don’t harp on.’ Her voice rose. ‘But there’s so much I need to tell you − things that I’ve found out about me mam and a sister I never knew I had − that Colin never knew!’ she said in panic. ‘I need to tell you, Marilyn, because you’re the nearest thing I have to Colin. You were so close. Please don’t turn your back on me now.’
‘You’ve got to stop treating me like I’m your sister-in-law,’ Marilyn entreated. ‘I’m not and I never will be − not now!’
‘You’ve got someone else,’ Jo accused. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve already got over Colin and replaced him with someone else. That didn’t take long!’ She knew it was a hurtful thing to say, but she felt hurt too and could not stop herself.
‘Yes, I am seeing someone else,’ Marilyn answered defensively, ‘but I don’t feel guilty about it. Colin would’ve been the last person to stand in the way of me finding happiness. He was too kind and loving to begrudge me that. No one will replace Colin for me and I resent you saying that. I know that I would have made him happy and that he loved me. No one can take that certainty away from me. That’s why I don’t feel guilty at moving on.’ She broke off a moment and murmured to someone in the background. Then, ‘I’m sorry for you, Jo, if you still feel guilty about the way you fell out with Colin. But that’s something only you can come to terms with.’
‘Me feel guilty?’ Jo was indignant.
‘Yes, you,’ Marilyn insisted. ‘You just want to meet me so you can hear me say that none of the falling-out mattered, that he loved you really, despite the arguments. But I wouldn’t be helping you in the long run. Only you know what your relationship was really like with your brother. All I know is that he was angry at you for siding with Alan and patronising him and the other lads for going to war. He was hurt by the things you said. So was Mark. Brenda says you’ve screwed him up good and proper. She blames you for Mark refusing to go and receive his medal in person − says it’s all your pacifist talk that’s done it.’
‘You and Brenda talk about me like that?’ Jo gasped.
‘We keep in touch,’ Marilyn admitted. ‘We’re both of the same mind, that it’s the future that’s important − not dwelling on the past like you and Mark do.’
‘But it’s not true, Marilyn! Brenda can’t blame me for what Mark chooses to do. We’re not even friends any more − he’s more likely to do the opposite.’ Jo felt her head reeling. ‘But are you telling me that Colin was still angry with me right up until his death? I like to think I’d made it up with him − that he understood me.’
‘He loved you, Jo, but he never understood you. He would’ve been ashamed of you getting yourself arrested on television in the name of peace. He thought CND were a load of dangerous cranks. The army was his life.’ Marilyn sighed impatiently. ‘But you know all that. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to hear, but maybe it’s time you faced up to the truth. Stop trying to recreate a cosy past that doesn’t exist anymore − probably never did. Our childhood was never that great. It’s time you let go of Colin and me − and Mark and Brenda − let us get on with our lives. Your father and Pearl have moved on, why can’t you?’
Jo gripped the receiver, stunned by the attack. Although her throat felt tight, she forced herself to speak. ‘I’m trying to!’ she cried hoarsely. ‘That’s what joining the peace camp was all about − something positive to do after Colin’s death, to make his dying less futil
e. Don’t rubbish that.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Marilyn replied. ‘I think it’s great if you’re doing it for yourself − for the next generation or whatever. But don’t kid yourself you’re doing it for Colin, because he wouldn’t have wanted it. He was a soldier. He believed in fighting to protect people. The army to him was all about “fight the good fight” − like that hymn in Sunday School we were always singing. He’d have done anything for the glory of the regiment and love of his mates − as well as love of those at home. That’s what going to war was all about for Colin − love and glory. Peace came afterwards − and only if those two had been satisfied.’
Jo asked hoarsely, ‘And what do you think of peace? Does it rank a poor third with you, Marilyn?’
Marilyn dropped her lecturing tone. ‘I admire you and the others who put yourselves on the front line for peace,’ she admitted. ‘And I envy your conviction − your simplicity of view. Because I don’t see things in such a clear-cut way any more. I learnt as soon as Colin left Portsmouth that I couldn’t believe in pacifism and still support him wholeheartedly. I had to believe in what he was doing − and for him to know that.’ She added more gently, ‘That’s why I avoided coming down to Greenham Common when you asked me to. You and those other women are far more courageous than I will ever be. Don’t lose that courage, Jo, I’ve always admired that in you. But try to find some peace of mind too.’
A man’s voice called to her in the background to hurry up. ‘I’m coming,’ she said quickly. ‘Sorry, I’ve really got to go. Take care of yourself, Jo.’
‘Aye, and you,’ Jo managed to say.
Jo put down the receiver and stood over the telephone, not moving for several minutes, Marilyn’s words thumping in her head. Harping on the past…Colin would’ve been ashamed… I’m sorry if you still feel guilty…he was a soldier…stop treating me like I’m your sister-in-law…love and glory…
Susie found her staring at the wall, quite unable to move. ‘That was a weird conversation,’ she commented. ‘You hardly said a word. Is everything all right?’
Jo shook her head, unable to speak. She felt as if the floor had disappeared from beneath her and she was teetering in mid-air, groping for something solid to hold on to. The world seemed to have shifted focus during those past minutes of Marilyn’s tirade, and she felt dizzy and disorientated. Marilyn had called her courageous, but had left her feeling terrified.
‘I think you need a drink,’ Susie said in alarm.
Jo suddenly blurted out, ‘Can I stay here for Christmas?’
‘Of course,’ Susie said, puzzled. ‘But why?’
Jo’s mind echoed with Marilyn’s reproach. It’s time you let go of Colin and me − and Mark and Brenda − let us get on with our lives. Your father and Pearl have moved on, why can’t you?
She whispered, ‘I don’t think I can face going home just now.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jo cancelled her bus home and got Susie to ring her father and say she had flu and could not travel. She hated making excuses, but she was so rocked by what Marilyn had said to her that she could not speak about it. She felt guilty for not being with Jack and Pearl this first Christmas without Colin, but it would all be too painful, she realised. She was not strong enough to face it. She salved her conscience with the thought that at least they had each other.
Strangely, she did not immediately think of rushing back to Alan, which was what she usually did if she needed to feel better about something. She spoke to him on the telephone, saying she thought he would be so busy that she would hardly see him.
‘Susie is going to be on her own, so I thought I’d stay and keep her company,’ she told him. To her relief, he put up no resistance to the idea.
On Christmas Eve, Jo and Susie went on a pub crawl then on to a candlelit midnight service where they sang off-key. On Christmas Day they walked over to the house of their friend Heather and her three lively children, clutching several bottles of wine, and stayed for two days. In between drinking too much, Jo went out to the park with the children and played football, or sat and watched any film that came on television.
On the last night, her friends coaxed her into talking about what was bothering her and Jo found herself telling them what Marilyn had said. They sat up late with a bottle of port and several cans of beer, discussing peace and war and families. Jo veered between anger and indignation and confusion and guilt.
‘The only thing I’m sure of now is that I’m not sure of anything,’ she said, feeling drunk. ‘Marilyn’s made me question everything I believe in − even who I am! I thought we had a happy childhood and now I discover that me best friend didn’t think it was. I thought I was close to me brother, but Marilyn says he never understood me. She said I’m always harping on about the past. Am I?’ she asked.
Susie drew on her cigarette. ‘Well, you are at the moment,’ she teased.
Jo laughed at herself. ‘Sorry,’ she said sheepishly, ‘I’ll shut up about it.’ She lay back on the comfortable sofa, feeling overwhelmingly weary.
Heather leaned over and touched her arm. ‘I can tell you’re mixed up about it all. But it’s not surprising, considering what you’ve been through this past year. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a brother and a good friend, just like that,’ she sympathised. ‘But I think it would make me feel more strongly pacifist. Don’t let Marilyn undermine your beliefs − it’s only her opinion against yours. Who’s to say she’s right?’
Jo sighed. ‘I know. I think I am still a pacifist. But at the same time, I feel I’m letting down Colin’s memory − because he believed in the opposite. I’m belittling his sacrifice − that’s what Marilyn was getting at, I think.’
The others were silent. Jo went on thinking aloud. ‘And I keep remembering something Mark once said, about standing up to the bullies. He was always more political than Colin. I think he saw the Argentinian Junta in the same light as the Nazis or other fascists. He knew all about discrimination; he’s been on the receiving end before. Doesn’t he have a point?’ Jo questioned. ‘Where would we be today if the Allies hadn’t stood up to the Nazis?’
‘People will always find reasons for justifying going to war,’ Heather answered. ‘And I can’t blame Mark for his. He had to act the way he did because he was part of a militarised system − he had no choice. What we’re trying to do is break the mould − create a world where cooperation and peace are the norm, not a sign of weakness. We can’t look back to the past for role models; we need to build a new vision for the future where armies won’t be necessary.’
‘Yeah,’ Susie agreed, ‘and the vast amounts of defence money can be spent on health and education and pensions.’
‘All we need,’ Heather said with conviction, ‘is enough people in enough countries to stand up and say no to the arms race. We’re not alone in thinking the superpowers have got it wrong − ordinary people all over the world want to live without the fear of war. I bet there are millions behind the Iron Curtain who think the same as we do. We need to reach out to them and give them the courage to say no to Russian missiles − tear down the Iron Curtain!’
Jo grunted. ‘Can’t see that happening in our lifetime.’
‘It will!’ Heather was optimistic. ‘If a few more people have a bit more courage and faith in human nature.’
‘I wish I was like you.’ Jo sighed again. ‘I don’t feel courageous any more. Anything I do counts for nowt. I feel like a tiny ant who could be stood on and squashed at any minute.’
Susie squinted at Jo through the cigarette smoke that hung in the air like gauze. ‘You need to get your confidence back, Jo. You know what you should do?’
‘Shut up and go to bed?’ Jo suggested wryly.
‘Yes,’ Susie smiled. ‘But after that, you should do what you do best − acting. Why don’t you write down what you feel? Put it into a play and then perform it? Get to the bottom of how you feel about losing Colin.’
‘That’s a brillian
t idea,’ Heather enthused. ‘What better way to pay tribute to your brother and his friends! And say something positive about peace at the same time,’ she added with a smile.
Jo felt a spark of interest stir in her groggy head. Maybe they had a point. Right now she was too exhausted to think about it, but tomorrow…
‘Will you remind me of this conversation when I’m sober,’ she smiled, and sank back on the cushion. Within a minute she was fast asleep.
***
Jo stayed on at Susie’s all that January. While her friend went back to work for a temping agency, Jo hibernated in her flat, thinking and writing and acting out her thoughts. Some days she would be paralysed with anger and guilt as she thought about her past: the mother who had failed to love her, the sister who had inadvertently torn their family apart, the brother who had never really forgiven her for hurting his best friend. She began to accept that some of what Marilyn had said must be true.
The shock of losing Colin had been so great, and the discovery of her unhappy origins had followed on so swiftly, that her only response was to take refuge in a happier past. Steadily, her obsession with reinventing her childhood had grown. For too long she had harked back to a golden age when she and Colin and Mark had been the centre of their group of friends, deliriously happy through long hot summers that never ended.
Yet that had been a distortion of the past. They had fought just as much as they had played. She had been excluded from their games as well as included. Colin had neglected her as well as taken brotherly care of her, and many were the times when she had disappeared with Marilyn not even thinking that Colin or her father would be worrying about her. They had loved, bickered, laughed, fallen out and made up countless times.
Theirs had been an ordinary childhood. Instead of romanticising it, she should just have been thankful for its normality. And she should not be bitter about her unknown mother, Jo came to realise. Gloria had failed to love her because she was mentally ill after her birth. That was not to say that she wouldn’t have grown to love her as much as she had Joy, given time. The tragedy lay in her mother not receiving the help that she needed.
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 118
