A Family Affair

by Nancy Carson

  She did so as she was standing at the sink preparing dinner at his house in Salop Street.

  ‘Ned’s been killed in action, Tom.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’

  ‘I had a telegram this morning.’ She stopped what she was doing and looked into his eyes disconsolately. ‘Presumably he was shot down.’

  ‘I could see something was on your mind. I didn’t like to ask. Leave off peeling those potatoes, my flower, and come and sit down. Tell me about it. Tell me how you feel.’

  She dried her hands and went to sit by him. ‘I don’t know how I feel, Tom…No, that’s not true. I do know how I feel, but I don’t like myself for it one bit. The trouble is, I don’t know how I ought to feel. I’m sad – of course I’m sad, I’ve lived with him years and known him even longer – but I’m relieved as well. You know how much I regretted marrying him, you’d expect me to feel relieved – wouldn’t you? Tell me you would, Tom. Tell me I’m not a wicked, unfeeling woman.’

  He put his arm around her. ‘Of course I expect you to feel relieved. You’re free of him. It’s what you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘But I didn’t want him to die…I didn’t want him to die.’ As yet she had shed no tears, and she had not really expected to. But now tears welled up in her eyes. ‘When I think of how he might have died, how he might have suffered, I blame myself. I keep thinking it’s all my fault, that he didn’t have to go to the Front, that I drove him there.’ A tear rolled down her cheek and she mopped it up with her handkerchief. ‘God,’ she sniffed, ‘these are the first tears I’ve ever shed over him…He was such a mundane creature, Tom. So unassuming.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Clover. There’s no sense in blaming yourself.’ He hugged her tight and her tears flowed the more. She cried for some time, drenching her handkerchief while the children were playing in the back yard, oblivious.

  Eventually, Tom said: ‘Have you told his mother and father?’

  ‘Oh, yes…’ She rolled her eyes. ‘As soon as I knew myself…But he wrote to Florrie…less than a week ago. Obviously just before he got killed. He told her everything about our marriage. Everything. I don’t have to spell it out. Now she blames me for his death.’

  ‘And that’s why you blame yourself, because Florrie blames you.’ He sighed with exasperation. ‘But that’s ludicrous, Clover. It’s not your fault. He was a flyer. He would have gone to the war whether or no. Even if you’d been lyrically happy with him, he’d still have gone.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Hope returned to her eyes.

  ‘It’s obvious. And if Florrie thinks otherwise she’s living in cloud-cuckoo-land.’

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes again, red now. ‘You make me feel so much better, Tom. So much better.’ She forced a smile. ‘I hope Florrie comes to realise it as well.’

  ‘Don’t count on it. She obviously perceives him as being a victim of your indifference. You’ll always be the villain in her eyes. But never in mine.’ He smiled at her lovingly.

  ‘So…I’m a widow now…Don’t you think I’m a bit young to be a widow?’

  ‘I’ll tell you something, Clover. There’ll be thousands more widows your age and younger before this war’s over. On both sides.’

  ‘There already are,’ she said. ‘Just think – when it’s all over there’ll be thousands of women, all seeking new husbands, and only a handful of men to go round. Still…I won’t need to, will I? I’ve got you.’

  ‘So, you’ve already got me marked down as your new husband?’

  ‘You know I have. Wasn’t it always on the cards if anything happened to Ned, or he divorced me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Was it?’

  She smiled uncertainly. It seemed a strange response. As if he didn’t already know. She looked at him curiously, alarm bells ringing inside her head. This was definitely not the reaction she’d expected.

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? You know very well. Did you think all this time that I was just a lie-by? Somebody you could have your way with, then send packing and forget about till the next time? Did you think I was not serious about us, Tom, after all we’ve been to each other?’

  ‘Not at all, Clover,’ he asserted. ‘You’re jumping to conclusions. It’s just that you must let me get used to the idea first. I didn’t expect you to be available so soon. If ever.’

  ‘No, let’s get this straight. Are you saying you don’t want to marry me – after a suitable period of mourning for Ned?’

  ‘It’s not that simple a matter, Clover. There are a lot of things to consider. I think that…that it’s something we should talk about…After a suitable period.’

  ‘So you’re saying you don’t want to marry me after all? Now the opportunity is there?’

  ‘I’m not saying that at all. You’re trying to put words into my mouth. What I’m saying is that there are many things to consider…Many things…Not least of which are our children…’

  Clover was staggered by his hedging. After all this time, after all the happiness he’d brought her since their reconciliation, after the promise of perpetual happiness in the future, she could not believe his reticence now – now that he was blessed directly with the prospect of marriage; now that she was available.

  She got up from the sofa in a huff, called Posy and collected her coat from the back of the scullery door. She would not stand to be so humiliated, especially on this of all days, when she needed, desperately needed some support, when she was so highly susceptible to negative emotions after the awful news of Ned.

  ‘If that’s how you feel, Tom, you’d better cook your own dinners. Today and every day.’

  She called Posy and quickly put her cardigan on while the child complained bitterly at being dragged away when she was enjoying herself so much.

  ‘Why are we going?’ she screamed. ‘I want to play with Daniel.’

  ‘Evidently, we’re not wanted here either,’ Clover said touchily, wiping more tears from her eyes.

  Chapter 31

  Tom’s attitude left Clover in ferment, tortured by uncertainty. She could not think why he had manifested this lack of commitment when all the time, apart from a hint when they went walking in the castle grounds, she had believed it was his dearest wish that they marry and spend the rest of their lives together. She contrived one reason after another as to why, and felt inordinately sorry for herself that this trauma had come on top of the dreadful shock of Ned’s death. Just when she needed comfort and support from him there was none. But hadn’t her life always been like that?

  She and Posy alighted from the tram at the corner of Priory Street and Stone Street in the centre of Dudley town. Posy, in a juvenile huff that she’d been hauled away so rudely from her playmate, was still complaining sulkily. To pacify her, and to try to take her own mind off events, Clover waltzed her around the shops. They gazed into shop windows and Clover said wouldn’t it be nice if they could afford this dress or that piece of furniture? She bought Posy a quarter of dolly mixtures which, little by little, put a smile back on her face. From the market Clover bought fresh vegetables and two pork chops from a butcher for their dinner tomorrow, for it was certain they would not be asked to the Briscos’.

  As they walked home, past Tom’s studio, Clover never even deigned to look in his window, reminded of the misery of those times they had become estranged before. Emotionally, she was back where she started; she was single all over again and had just had a another massive disagreement with Tom. Would fate always confound them? Would they never get together? Would they always have to suffer an on-and-off relationship?

  That night she went to bed and could not sleep. As the climbing moon traversed the slit in the curtains, casting a streak of eerie, silvery-blueness that moved obliquely across her counterpane, the devils of night distorted all her thoughts, all her fears. Ned was gone. Ned, who would have moved heaven and earth to have her love. Tom was gone too – yet again. Tom, who possessed her love but seemed not to know what to do with it. Her tho
ughts drifted incessantly between both. She began to wonder what must happen next. Where would Ned be buried, assuming they had some remains to bury? What would happen to his things? Would somebody issue a death certificate? She had visions of being swamped by his superfluous unwashed underwear and smelly socks, of grubby handkerchiefs sticking together disgustingly, of his sweaty shirts. Thoughts of clothing reminded her that she had better find something black to wear. Also, she must remember to keep the curtains shut for a week.

  She listened to the heart-rending yowls of a cat in one of the yards close by, sounding more like a distressed baby than any baby. The moon hid behind a cloud and an even darker gloom pervaded her. A dog barked irritatedly, as if offended by the presence of a cat in his personal back yard, and then she heard Posy in the next room mutter something unintelligible in her sleep. Posy had taken the news of Ned’s death exceedingly well; but maybe she was too young to understand, too young to understand even the concept of death.

  Ned is dead, she kept telling herself, trying to convince herself of the truth and the significance of it.

  Ned is dead. Ned is dead.

  Mere words. If you keep repeating them they sound funny and have no meaning.

  They had no meaning anyway. She tried hard to feel something appropriate to the awful circumstance, to the loss. But she could not. She felt no emotion, no sorrow; no sorrow that induced her to weep at least, and she berated herself for being so contemptible. A life had been lost; her own husband’s life. But while he had been away she had not missed him. While he had been away she had felt released from the constrictions of a marriage she did not cherish. So why should she feel sorrow now?

  Had she left Tom’s house a bit too abruptly, giving him no chance to explain? Maybe she had, but only because she wanted to make a show of her indignation at what appeared to be his rejection of her. But Tom could be just as awkward, matching fire with fire. Even though she had received that terrible news, she was sure he would oppose his natural inclination to sympathise, just to prove he would not be manipulated by womanly guiles, even though it might hurt him to do so.

  The following morning, Sunday, she kept inventing little jobs to keep herself occupied. She would occasionally peer behind the curtains in the front room to see if she could see Tom walking up the street, come to claim her as his bride. Conscious of her role as mother despite her heartache, she gave Posy lots of hugs and read her several stories between the necessary tasks of preparing their dinner. Later, she tickled Liquorice’s soft, furry belly for some time afterwards, deep in thought, while the cat purred with unconcerned pleasure. Again, she peeped from behind the closed curtains, but there was no sign of Tom.

  Next day, washing day, presented something of a dilemma, since it was her custom to take the laundry round to the Briscos’ and work on it with Florrie. But, after she had taken Posy to school, she returned home and did the laundry herself. She nattered over the wall to Mrs Bellfield next door and related the bad news about Ned. Tom could not come today; he would be at work, and then would have to collect Daniel from his mother’s house.

  On Tuesday she ran into Zillah Bache and told her the sad news.

  ‘So what’n yer gunna do about money?’ Zillah asked, typically.

  Clover shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know whether I’m entitled to anything as a war widow or what. My allowance for his military service will stop. I’ll have to find a job, I suppose.’

  ‘You could always work at the Jolly Collier.’

  ‘Never,’ she scoffed.

  A week went by and still no sign of Tom. Clover’s yearning to discover what was wrong turned to impatience, then from impatience to animosity. Well, if he ever did come now, she would be so cold and indifferent towards him…She was fed up with his deliberately avoiding her, fed up with his lack of care and consideration.

  The postman delivered a parcel with Army markings on it. She signed for it. Ned’s things, obviously. Half-heartedly, she cut the string that was wrapped around it and broke the seal. Gingerly, she opened it. There was a letter inside addressed to herself. She opened that first and read it. It was from a Major Camplin, Ned’s Commanding Officer. It told of his bravery in battle, of his natural flair for aviation and expressed deepest regrets at the beastly loss of a beloved husband and father. His remains would be interred in a military cemetery in France. The letter was rather more personal and rather more poignant than the telegram she had received a week earlier. Major Camplin went on to say how Ned’s belongings had been hastily assembled and despatched as soon as it had been expedient, and he trusted she was comforted to have his personal effects returned.

  Clover put down the letter and looked into the cardboard box. There was nothing of any significance except for the japanned metal money-box he’d taken with him, which she took out and tried to open. It was locked. A lot of small change was rattling about inside, albeit rather restrictedly. She rummaged through the cardboard box for the key but there was no key. Of course, he would have been carrying it with him when he was killed. It was lost now. A thought struck her; there might be a spare key in his tallboy. She trotted upstairs, scavenged the backs of its shelves and then the drawers in his chest until she came across a small metal key. If this failed to open the box then she would have to ask if Mr Bellfield next door could prize it open. Downstairs again she went to the table and offered the key to the japanned box. It slid in easily. To her surprise, it turned easily too. She opened the lid.

  Inside lay a small pile of envelopes all tied together with white fabric tape. Letters from Florrie, no doubt. There were coins and bank notes, a whole treasure-trove, money he must have saved. She was aware that, as a flyer, his pay was many times that of an ordinary soldier, so he was evidently able to save. Well, he neither gambled nor drank, nor smoked either. She counted out the money. Forty-five pounds; enough, with the money she had herself saved, to pay off that damned loan. At last. Thank God she would be free of it. She would deliver it next week. But she was so ashamed it had taken so long to repay, she didn’t feel brazen enough to show her own face. She would send Zillah to Julian Oakley at the Dudley Herald with the money and her apologies – and ask him for a receipt, of course. She put it all in the loan jar.

  She turned her attention again to the envelopes. Just what did Florrie have to say to her absent son? She opened one, withdrew the letter and was struck by the sweet scent of a pleasant perfume…Florrie’s?

  My dearest, darling Edward,

  It has been three long months since you went away from me and I am counting the days till you return in May. May is always a delight in Hampshire and I so look forward to your leave, (you can’t imagine how much) when I can show you more of it…

  With a perplexed frown, Clover glanced at the address; Fareham. He had been sent to Hampshire for his training – and he’d evidently been due to return there for some leave; leave Clover knew nothing about…

  The monkey!…

  She realised she was smiling. So, he’d found himself a lady friend. Good for him. She read on…

  Violet Lingfield came to see me yesterday complete with three incredibly energetic and friendly dogs which much cheered me up. She was kind enough to bring me chocolate which I find such a comfort on these long, lonely days and nights. All in all she and the dogs had an enormously cheering effect on me. She believes her husband is presently in the Dardanelles on his battleship, Albion. She’s missing him terribly and is so worried that they might get torpedoed. Thank God Rodney is in the Pacific. He might get torpedoed too, but even if he doesn’t, at least he won’t be home before May when you return to me, my love.

  Oh, my true darling, I am so longing to see you, to feel your arms about me…

  A married lady, Clover reflected, a Navy wife, and no mention of any children. Well, wasn’t Ned a dark horse? She read on, picking up more and more of Ned’s intimate secrets. The letter was signed, Evelina. Clover smiled again to herself, not out of disdain, but out of pleasure. It made her fe
el so much better knowing that Ned had found love at last, however fleeting. He deserved some devotion in his life.

  She sat down and opened another letter…Full of love and yearning, the intense, recorded feelings of somebody who had found a true soulmate and who was acutely missing him. Clover began to feel unutterable sadness for Evelina, and for Ned. She finished that letter and opened another. The sentiments were the same. This time Evelina referred to his last letter when she told him how reassuring it was to read his expressions of love and to note how much he was missing her. Another letter confirmed that they had spent time together in May and referred to romantic incidents that meant something special to them both. Well, it was quite developing into something of a love story.

  Clover read them all. The sadness that had eluded her over Ned’s death hit her now like a forge hammer. Poor, poor Ned. He had found love at last, albeit with a married woman, but he had not lived long enough to enjoy it. Life was too short. That fact had been pointed out to her before when Ramona died. All that mattered was being happy. All that counted was finding your one true love and making the most of the joy you brought each other, not the heartache. Avoid the heartache, whatever it took. If only Tom could realise that. Poor, poor Evelina.

  It struck her that maybe poor Evelina would be wondering why she had received no mail from Ned over the last week or so. So she was moved to take her writing-pad from the drawer in the sideboard and her pen and ink.

  Dear Mrs McMichael,

  It is with very great regret that I write to inform you that my husband, Edward Brisco of 14 Squadron, Royal Flying Corps, was killed in action over Champagne on the 15th of July. I am aware of his relationship with you, and I do not mind one bit. I am beholden to you for giving him the love and affection he deserved that I could not give him. I am only sorry that he has been snatched from you too soon.