The Runaway Children

by Sandy Taylor

  A week later I received a letter from Robert. It was in a blue envelope and my name was written on the front in capital letters that seemed to scream at me. I didn’t want to open it; I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say.

  I was more angry than sad at what he had done and I was glad about that because I didn’t feel as if my heart had been broken: it was my trust that had been broken. He had wanted me to give away something that was precious and he’d thought he could do that with a few slushy words and the promise of love, while all the time he was married with a baby. Well, I felt sorry for his poor wife, who was waiting for him to come home from the war. There was nothing he could say that would make this better. I never wanted to see him again and I didn’t want to receive any letters from him in blue envelopes, so I didn’t open it.

  Jean and I went to the café after work and I gave her the letter and asked her to give it to Eric to return to Robert.

  ‘Have you forgiven Eric?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve made him feel so bad about not telling me earlier that he’s falling over himself to make it up to me.’

  ‘And what was Robert’s reaction?’

  ‘He’s really angry with him for telling me and they’re not mates anymore but Eric says that will all be forgotten when they are sent back to the war. He says you have to put your differences aside when you are fighting the common enemy. He told me a story about a pilot who had to fly with a chap who’d gone off with his wife. The plane crashed and he held that man who had betrayed him in his arms, until he drew his last breath. He held him in his arms and he said he forgave him for going off with his wife. I thought that was a really nice story.’

  ‘I guess I can understand that, but I can’t forgive Robert.’

  ‘I’m not saying that what he did was right, Nell, but I bet it happens a lot. These boys are far from home and need the comfort of a woman.’

  ‘Yes, and then they leave and the girl’s left with a lot more than a broken heart to look after.’

  ‘They’re going soon, Nell. They don’t know exactly when it will be but Eric says it’s soon.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jean. I know how much you care for him.’

  ‘We’re going to get married, Nell, as soon as it can be arranged.’

  ‘You’re going to marry him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what if…?’

  ‘He gets killed?’

  I nodded.

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference. He’s the one for me, Nell. I know it in my heart and I’m not going to let fear stop me from marrying him.’

  ‘What does your mum say?’

  ‘She likes him and she trusts me to make up my own mind. Of course she is worried about the same thing you are, but it’s what we both want and if we only have a few weeks together at least we can be together properly.’

  I put my arms around her. ‘I’m so happy for you, Jean. I like Eric a lot and I know he’ll look after you.’

  ‘I guess I picked the lucky straw.’

  ‘I guess you did and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Where will you live?’

  ‘Eric says it’s up to me. Once the war is over we’ll go to Canada together. Eric says I’ll love it there, but I’m not sure. He is happy to live here in England if that’s what I want.’

  ‘He sounds like a great chap.’

  ‘He is. I feel as if I’ve known him all my life, and do you know what, Nell? He loves me so much that I can hardly take it in. There is something wonderful about being loved that much. I’m sorry it wasn’t like that for you and Robert.’

  ‘I’ll get over it, I had a lucky escape.’

  ‘You deserve to meet someone like Eric.’

  ‘Sometimes I think that I already have.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He’s just a boy really, a kind, gentle boy.’

  ‘Why aren’t you with him then?’

  ‘We lost each other along the way.’

  ‘Well, if you love him as much as I love Eric, my advice is to jolly well find him!’

  ‘Anyway, this is about you, not me,’ I said. ‘When is this wedding going to be?’

  ‘As soon as possible. Do you think Olive would like to be my bridesmaid?’

  ‘I think that she would love it – in fact, I know she would.’

  ‘You’ll ask her then?’

  ‘I don’t need to – she’ll say yes all right, in fact we’ll never hear the end of it. I don’t know what she’s going to wear though, she hasn’t got anything fancy enough for a wedding.’

  ‘Do you think if I bought some material someone might make her a dress?’

  ‘I’ll ask them at home, I bet they’d love to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have met Eric if it hadn’t been for you, Nell. I’ll always remember that.’

  ‘I guess you owe me one.’

  ‘Cheese sandwich do?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Nell?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You should definitely find that boy of yours.’

  I smiled, thinking of Jimmy. He might not be as handsome as Robert but I knew that he would never hurt me and he would never force me to do something I wasn’t ready to do. I realised in that moment that it was Jimmy I loved, and when the time came that I was ready to give myself to someone it would be Jimmy, and if I never saw him again then it would be someone like him. Someone kind and tender, who loved me just for myself. I didn’t care that Robert thought I was being childish, because right now I was happy to wait and I would never again let another man make me doubt myself.

  * * *

  Jean and Eric got married on Christmas Eve in an old church on the edge of the Downs. It was the most beautiful and romantic setting you could wish for. Snow had been falling all night and now it covered the rolling hills as if they’d been painted especially for the occasion.

  I’d walked up the path towards the church under a grey winter sky, between gravestones as silent as the snow that covered them. Olive looked beautiful in a white taffeta dress. Around her waist was a pale blue sash. Mrs Wright had been lovingly sewing the dress for weeks and it couldn’t have looked any better if it had been bought in Madam Eleanor’s Dress Emporium in Brighton.

  Olive ran ahead of me up the path, Auntie Missus dangling from her hand. The doll was dressed in the same white taffeta complete with blue sash, which Mrs Baxter had made for her.

  I left Olive in the porch to wait for Jean and went inside. The church was cool and dark. Motes of dust danced in the thin winter sun shining through the stained-glass window. Dark green holly and red berries, mistletoe and winter foliage were wrapped around the stone pillars and draped across the altar. Candles flickered in glass jam jars on the old stone ledges underneath the beautiful windows. It smelled of Christmas; it reminded me of home.

  I slid into a pew next to Mrs Wright, Mrs Baxter and Miss Timony. Mr Costos and Mr Philip were behind us. Eric was sitting in the front row with Bryan, one of the lads we’d met at the dance. They both looked very handsome in their blue Canadian Air Force uniforms. I guessed that Robert would have been the one by Eric’s side and that made me feel bad, as if the whole thing was my fault and I should have known better. Robert had been Eric’s best friend and I knew Eric would have chosen him to be his best man if it hadn’t been for me.

  Just then the organ started playing ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and Eric and Bryan stood up and moved to the centre of the aisle. A hush of expectancy fell over the congregation as everyone waited for Jean to appear. My eyes filled with tears as she walked slowly down the aisle holding onto her brother Bertie’s arm. She looked beautiful in a delicate ivory silk dress that fell in soft folds to her ankles. Her mother and her auntie had made the dress out of parachute material but nobody would have guessed it – she looked like a princess. She was carrying a posy of white winter roses. Olive followed slowly behind her, looking neither left nor right; she was taking her role as bridesmaid very seriously.

  It was a beautif
ul, simple ceremony full of joy. We sang Christmas carols at the tops of our voices and when Eric kissed his bride everyone clapped and cheered.

  It was late afternoon when we came out of the church, and almost dark. Someone produced a box camera and proceeded to take pictures of the happy couple under a tall oak tree, whose branches were weighed down with snow. It had been the most wonderful day and even the thought of what Robert had done hadn’t spoiled it.

  The reception was held at the Strand Hotel – it was Mr Costos’s wedding gift to Jean and Eric.

  ‘I’m the luckiest girl in the world, Nell,’ she said.

  ‘You deserve to be. I’m so happy for you both and you look beautiful, Jean.’

  ‘Do you know what, Nell? Today I feel beautiful, even if I am wearing a parachute!’

  We danced the night away to a trio playing Glenn Miller music, and even Miss Timony took a turn around the floor with Mr Costos. I did a quickstep with Bryan, who had two left feet, and a waltz with Mr Philip, who glided effortlessly around the floor as if he’d been dancing all his life.

  By ten o’clock Olive was fast asleep on one of the blue velvet couches, her arm around Auntie Missus. Mr Philip covered her gently with a blanket.

  We all waved the newlyweds off to bed at midnight; they were staying at the hotel. The rest of us started to put on our coats and gather up our belongings when an air-raid siren sounded.

  And so Jean and Eric spent their first night together as a married couple in the cellar, with all the guests and a couple of inebriated sailors who had come in off the street.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jean and Eric had to cut short their honeymoon on the Isle of White because the Canadians were moving out. The day before New Year’s Eve, Jean handed me a familiar blue envelope.

  ‘Robert asked me to give it to you,’ she said.

  I felt my tummy turn over at the mention of his name and that annoyed me because it meant that I could still be affected by him. I didn’t want to know what he had to say, I didn’t care what he had to say.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you’d say that. Look, Nell, I know he’s behaved badly and I’m not going to try and justify what he did, but I believe that he is truly sorry. I know he’s charming and he can spin a line but he has nothing to gain from this and you will never see him again. He’s going to war and he wants to make his peace with you. Anyway, I’ve delivered the letter – I haven’t a clue what it says but my guess is that he wants to see you before he goes. It’s up to you, Nell, and no one would blame you if you didn’t want to see him. I for one certainly wouldn’t blame you.’

  I took the letter and slipped it in my apron pocket. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’

  I smiled at her. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to shoot anyone today.’

  Jean looked relieved and I gave her a hug.

  All afternoon I was aware of the letter. It felt heavy, even though it was just a thin piece of paper. There was a part of me that wanted to rip it up and throw it in the bin and another part that was curious to know what he could possibly say that could begin to justify what he had done. When my tea break came round, I left the hotel and walked across the road and sat in a shelter on the seafront. It was freezing cold and I wished I’d put my cardigan on. My hands were shaking as I opened the letter, as much from nerves as from the biting wind that was blowing off the sea.

  Robert’s handwriting was beautiful, neat and even as if every word had been measured. I started to read.

  Dearest Nell,

  If you are reading this letter then thank you, that alone is more than I deserve.

  I was an idiot and I treated you badly. I don’t even have the excuse that my marriage is a bad one because it isn’t. I’ve not only betrayed you but I’ve let my wife and son down as well and I’m truly ashamed of myself. I’m not the man I thought I was.

  I don’t make a habit of deceiving women. I’ve never done it before and believe me when I say that I will never do it again.

  I have no excuses. I should have known better, I should at the very least have been honest with you.

  Can you forgive this selfish man who found himself falling in love with you when he had no right to?

  We are leaving soon and I would dearly love to see you before I go. I will be at the bar in the Grand Hotel tomorrow evening at nine o’clock hoping with all my heart that you will come.

  Love

  Robert x

  I folded the letter and put it back in my pocket. I was glad that I’d read it and I was glad that it wasn’t full of excuses. In fact, I found it to be pretty honest and it showed a more vulnerable Robert than the one I had found myself falling for. But that didn’t mean that I was ready to meet him. What if I’d given in to him? I could have been left with a baby; had he thought of that? Or had he only been thinking of himself and his needs? I felt so confused and muddled and I needed to talk to someone about it.

  * * *

  I was standing by the window in Miss Timony’s room looking down on the street below. It was a blustery day and there were very few people about. I waited patiently while she read Robert’s letter – I needed someone to tell me what to do and I trusted Miss Timony’s opinion. I knew she wouldn’t just tell me what she thought I wanted to hear.

  ‘Sit down with me, Nell,’ she said at last.

  I walked across the room and sat down in front of her on the little velvet stool. She folded the letter and handed it to me.

  ‘I don’t know whether to meet him or not, Miss Timony. I don’t know what good it will do.’

  ‘Well, I think it will do Robert a lot of good but it’s how it will affect you that matters. What is your heart telling you to do, Nell?’

  ‘It keeps changing – one minute I think I should meet him because he’s going to war and he feels bad about what he did, and the next minute I get angry and I want him to suffer. Why should I make him feel better just because he’s decided that that’s what he wants? I mean, that’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? Robert getting his own way.’

  Miss Timony took off her glasses and placed them on the table next to her. She reached towards me and held my hands.

  ‘Matters of the heart are rarely black and white, Nell. I believe Robert when he says he is truly sorry – I think there is a sincerity in his letter. It’s what you feel that worries me most. You are still carrying all this hurt and anger around with you, and that’s not healthy. You have been left with an image of Robert as a selfish, cruel man – a kind of ogre, the proverbial bogeyman – when if fact he is just human like the rest of us, with all our faults and foibles. If you don’t see him one last time that image will remain in your head and you may well judge others by his standards.’

  ‘You think I should see him then?’

  ‘It’s not what I think, my dear, I can only give you my opinion. It’s you who must make that decision. All I have done is tried to open your mind a little so that you can think more clearly.’

  * * *

  At nine thirty the next evening I found myself standing outside the Grand Hotel. I had changed my mind so many times about whether or not to come. I’d talked myself into it, then just as quickly talked myself out of it again. I still didn’t know if I was doing the right thing. When Robert asked me to meet tonight it hadn’t quite registered that it was New Year’s Eve. The pavements were packed with people so that I had to walk in the road. It seemed the whole of Eastbourne was out in force. There was a feeling of excitement in the air, maybe even a feeling of hope.

  There were people sitting on the steps leading up to the hotel entrance. They were laughing and singing and drinking beer from glass bottles. I was never going to find Robert in this mad crowd. I squeezed past them; men grabbed at me and tried to pull me down. I knew it was just high spirits and I laughed as I pulled away from them.

  The foyer was jam-packed and the bar was at least four
deep with men all shouting at the same time and holding money up to the poor barman. Then I felt a hand on my arm and I found myself looking into Robert’s handsome face.

  He said something but all I could see was his mouth opening and closing. It was impossible to hear him above the noise of the crowd. He put his hand on the small of my back and gently guided me into the lounge. There were a few people round the piano but it was a lot quieter than the bar. We sat by the window on one of the couches.

  I leaned back against the cushions. ‘I couldn’t hear what you said.’

  ‘I said I didn’t think you were going to come.’

  ‘I nearly didn’t.’

  He nodded. ‘I can understand that.’

  I looked down at my hands. I didn’t know what to say to him; I felt all wrong-footed. I looked up at him. ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ I said.

  He smiled gently. ‘But I’m glad you did.’ He stood up and held out his hand to me.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Well, if we can’t speak, perhaps we better try singing.’

  I grinned. ‘Really?’

  ‘Why not? It’s New Year’s Eve – let’s jolly well sing!’

  We walked across the room to the revellers at the piano. I was no singer but I joined in with the others, singing the songs we heard on the wireless: ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’ and ‘We’ll Meet Again’ – songs that gave me a lump in my throat so that I had to keep stopping. Robert didn’t know many of the lyrics but he hummed along with the rest of us. I looked across at him and smiled – he looked so handsome and so young that my anger began to melt and my heart began to forgive.

  As midnight approached we walked hand in hand across the road to the seafront and, as the boats tooted their horns and the church bells rang out the old year and welcomed in 1945, Robert kissed my cheek.

  ‘Happy New Year, little Nell,’ he said.

  I looked out over the dark water and thought about my family. Were they safe? Were they celebrating the New Year somewhere and thinking of me and Olive? Oh, I hoped so. I missed them so much, I wanted to see them, I wanted to be in my mum’s arms.