Keep the Home Fires Burning

by S Block

  Frances was the first to step forward to shake his hand.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Lakin. I trust you had a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Pleasant enough,’ said Lakin stiffly, offering no embellishment whatsoever to his answer. Sarah steeled herself for a tricky visit and stepped forward as Frances reintroduced her.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Lakin,’ she said, offering her hand. His hitherto expressionless face broke into a thin smile when he turned to her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Collingborne. A pleasure to remake your acquaintance.’

  Frances glanced at Sarah archly. Lakin was clearly delineating between the two sisters.

  Very well. No matter. Sarah and I are of the same mind so it’s immaterial which of us he feels more positively disposed towards. The same argument will come from each of us. And she is no more a pushover than I am.

  Greetings over, Frances and Sarah offered Lakin a cup of tea to revive himself after his journey, and then proceeded to escort him around the village. They showed him Great Paxford’s thriving High Street, with its post office and telephone exchange, as well as its few beauty spots, and areas where children could play. They passed several villagers who wished Frances and Sarah ‘good day’.

  After they’d walked around the village, Frances and Sarah took Lakin down to the canal to meet Noah. Claire and Spencer had spent the morning with him on a rowing expedition. They arrived to see Noah noisily playing football with Spencer as Claire laid lunch out on a soft tartan blanket on the canal’s grassy bank. When he saw his grandfather, the boy stopped in his tracks for a moment, as if his eyes might be deceiving him, and then delightedly cried, ‘Grandad!’ and broke into a sprint towards Lakin. When Noah reached his grandfather he ran straight into Lakin’s outstretched arms, buried his face in his chest and hugged him tightly.

  ‘Careful, lad,’ said Lakin fondly, kissing the top of Noah’s head. ‘You’ll squeeze the puff out of me!’

  ‘I missed you!’ said Noah.

  Lakin glanced at Frances and Sarah, his eyes moist from the strength of the reunion. He placed his hand lightly on top of Noah’s head and gently ruffled his hair.

  ‘Having fun?’

  Noah lifted his head and looked up at Lakin.

  ‘Playing football.’

  ‘I can see.’

  ‘Spencer thinks I could play for England one day.’

  ‘Does he now.’

  ‘At either football or cricket.’

  ‘Which would you prefer?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Of course. No point setting your sights low.’

  ‘Before the outbreak of war, Great Paxford had a very good cricket team,’ said Frances, seizing another opportunity to sell the village to Lakin. ‘Something Noah could aspire to as he gets older.’

  Lakin looked at her coldly. He didn’t take kindly to anyone pushing him to think anything he didn’t want to think when he wasn’t ready to think it.

  ‘Lots of cricket teams all over,’ he said. ‘If the same happens to this generation of young men as happened after the last shout, I can’t think he’ll want for a place in a team, wherever he is.’ He looked up and down the canal. ‘Is it safe down here?’ he asked. ‘With the Luftwaffe targeting canals.’

  ‘They seem more focused on our industrial and port cities,’ said Frances.

  ‘They’ve been dropping incendiaries and high explosives on Chester a fair amount,’ chipped in Spencer, who had followed Noah over. ‘Probably mistake it for Liverpool.’

  ‘Spencer is a member of the local auxiliary fire service,’ said Frances, keen to show off the upstanding citizenry Noah would be growing up amongst.

  Lakin held on to Noah, turned to Spencer and gave him a nod of respect. Spencer smiled back.

  ‘Claire is his wife,’ Frances continued. ‘They live in private quarters in the house.’

  Throughout lunch, Lakin watched his grandson with Frances and her staff, noting the great affection – perhaps even love – that passed between them. The boy was clearly at ease with these people, and they, equally clearly, revelled in his sparky confidence and familiarity. Nevertheless, neither Frances nor Sarah believed that Lakin’s reservations would be swept away over high spirits and a few sandwiches in the sunshine.

  As Claire packed away the picnic things, Frances and Sarah took Lakin to their final destination of their tour of the village – the school. Teresa had been happy to open her classroom on a Saturday morning, and had been briefed by Sarah to present the school’s very best face. If Teresa felt any irony at being asked to be the school’s greatest advocate barely a week after being told it no longer required her services, she was far too professional to show it. She knew how well an inquisitive, bright boy like Noah would thrive within its classrooms and ethos, and, knowing something of his recent ‘adventure’, emphasised how much pastoral care took place there.

  ‘This is a small community, Mr Lakin. Every child is known to us before they arrive. We know their parents. I’ll almost certainly know their mothers from the WI as a friend. Nurturing the children sits at the heart of what we do.’

  Lakin bridled.

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t have an opportunity to know Noah’s mother. She’s dead.’

  Teresa looked momentarily aghast, but quickly regained her footing.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr Lakin. Knowing that, we would keep an extra eye on Noah to ensure he fits in with the other children, and doesn’t feel left out in any way.’

  Frances nodded at Teresa appreciatively. Lakin nodded too and moved on, giving little away. If he had been impressed by what he had seen of the school, and by Teresa, he didn’t reveal it.

  They walked back to the house in silence, Frances and Sarah letting Lakin take in the bucolic rural atmosphere that settled on the village and surrounding countryside in the late afternoon. Neither of the sisters had been native to Great Paxford, but each had experienced its recalibrating, restorative effects following lives in London and Oxford respectively.

  ‘It’s very peaceful,’ said Lakin, as he watched a small group of wood pigeons striding around a field in search of dropped berries and seeds.

  ‘It’s deceptive,’ said Frances. ‘It is peaceful when you want it to be. But when you need activity and company they’re very easy to locate.’

  ‘As true for children as much as adults,’ chipped in Sarah. ‘If Noah were to come and live in Great Paxford he would never want for company his own age, nor peace and quiet should he want time alone to think. And the countryside is the most wonderful playground.’

  Lakin looked at them and kept his counsel. When they arrived at the house they sat down to a tea of scones and a Victoria sponge cake in the dining room. Over tea, Frances had told her sister, was where the nitty-gritty of Noah’s future would be decided. To end Lakin’s visit on as high a note as possible, Frances had instructed Claire to be as generous with their cream and jam as they could be. She wanted to give the impression of simplicity yet plenitude, subtly suggesting that Noah wouldn’t have his head turned by fancy things if he remained at the house, but neither would he want for anything. She was pleased to observe that Lakin enjoyed both a healthy appetite and an appreciation of good cake.

  As Lakin worked his way through two scones and a slice of sponge cake, Frances glanced across at Sarah and nodded, signalling that it was time for the negotiations to begin.

  ‘You’ve seen the house, the village and the school, Mr Lakin. What are your thoughts?’ Sarah began.

  Lakin looked up at the two women regarding him intently, and finished chewing his current mouthful. Eventually he swallowed and took a sip from his teacup.

  ‘I think it’s very nice,’ he said, offering no more than the basic truth.

  ‘I meant, as an environment for Noah to grow up and be schooled in?’

  ‘I’m aware of what you meant, Mrs Collingborne. I think . . . it’s very nice.’

  After a long day of taking Lakin around the village and subtly b
uttering him up to the idea of Noah remaining in Great Paxford, Frances was eager to put her cards on the table. ‘When you say the village and the school are “very nice”, Mr Lakin, does that mean you give your approval to Noah both living and being schooled here?’

  He looked at Frances as he chewed another piece of scone.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ he said.

  ‘That is the purpose of today, is it not?’ said Sarah. ‘To resolve once and for all where Noah lives and goes to school?’

  Lakin swallowed the scone and looked at Sarah.

  ‘I dare say that’s what you’d both like. But . . . I dare say it’s not as straightforward as you would like to think.’

  ‘Because of Helen and Peter’s wishes?’

  ‘Exactly so, Mrs Collingborne.’

  ‘We went through this on the telephone, Mr Lakin. Both Helen’s and Peter’s desires for Noah’s education may well have changed had they seen the effect boarding school had on him.’

  ‘Likewise . . . they may well have not.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But with all due respect, we will never know what they would have wanted. They are not here but we are. We have seen the effect. We have lived through three days of torment. And I can honestly say that I vehemently—’ Frances caught Sarah’s eye. Her expression said ‘too much’. ‘I strongly believe,’ Frances corrected herself, ‘that Noah’s best interests will be served by my proposal.’

  Lakin set his plate on the small table at his side and looked solemnly at Frances.

  ‘Brass tacks?’ he asked.

  Frances nodded.

  ‘Brass tacks, absolutely.’

  ‘All this,’ he said, looking around the beautifully appointed dining room, and then through the window at the garden. ‘It’s very nice . . .’

  ‘You keep saying that, Mr Lakin—’

  ‘But Mrs Lakin and I can’t help thinking Noah is just a temporary replacement for you.’

  Both Frances and Sarah failed to understand what Lakin was driving at.

  ‘A temporary replacement for what?’ asked Frances.

  Lakin paused for effect, before continuing.

  ‘Noah is your little piece of Peter, isn’t he? We understand that. He’s our little piece of Helen. And while he’s small and unspoiled you want to have him around, as would we if we could. He brightens up the place, I can hear it in your voice. Brightens up your life, Mrs Barden. Fills a space.’

  ‘Is that such a terrible thing?’ asked Sarah, stepping in to advocate on her sister’s behalf. ‘Doesn’t it suggest the deep connection my sister feels to the child?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Lakin. ‘But what happens as he grows older?’

  He fixed his gaze on Frances.

  ‘Small children become big children, Mrs Barden. What was winsome and winning one year can become obstreperous and recalcitrant the next. What then, when you can no longer see your Peter in him? Cast him out of a life he’s got used to, job done for you?’

  Both Frances and Sarah looked at Lakin with considerable trepidation. Evidently, he and his wife had come at this from a completely different perspective to the one propelling Frances. It momentarily threw Sarah. But not Frances.

  ‘I have wondered the same, Mr Lakin,’ said Frances, her tone soft and thoughtful, devoid of any of her earlier dismissive impatience.

  Sarah snapped round to look at her sister, clearly taken by surprise by her placatory words.

  ‘I have questioned whether my desire to have Noah at Great Paxford is a consequence of a desire to keep Peter’s flesh and blood in my life. I have asked myself the same questions you have just asked. What might I think of Noah once I am able to continue my life in full? Would he continue to be part of it? Might he have served his purpose? How might I regard him once he has changed from the delightful little child he is now into an independent-minded adolescent, and young man?’

  ‘And your answer, Mrs Barden? In all honesty? Brass tacks.’

  ‘Brass tacks, Mr Lakin. My answer is that I believe I have grown to love the boy in his own right, for himself, and not for the resemblance to Peter I see in him. And I shall continue to love him as he grows up. And, I believe, for as long as I live. It only truly became clear to me when he ran away from school, and I had to engage with the unutterable terror that I might never see him again. The thought was unbearable.’

  Her voice cracked with a resurgence of the fear she had experienced during those dark days of Noah’s disappearance. Nevertheless, Frances looked at Lakin with a steadfast gaze, unblinking, despite the film of tears that glossed her eyes. It was a gaze of utmost sincerity with which Sarah was all too familiar. She had never heard Frances speak like this about Noah, nor reveal quite such a depth of feeling for him. Until now, Frances had only spoken of what would be in Noah’s best interests, not in her own. Noah’s grandfather also seemed taken aback by the intense declaration Frances had just made. He opened his mouth to speak, but Frances hadn’t quite finished.

  ‘Which is why I propose I formally adopt him.’

  Lakin’s face seemed to freeze with surprise.

  ‘Adopt?’

  ‘With all the will in the world, Mr Lakin, you and Mrs Lakin won’t be here for ever. By my formally adopting Noah he would have additional security when you eventually pass. In the meantime, it would formalise my relationship with him, his with me, and mine with you and your good wife. Any major decisions concerning Noah would be taken with your agreement. I’m not proposing adoption to whisk him away from you. But to properly connect us all, once and for all – and give Noah the firmest platform on which to move forward. In the absence of his true parents, adoption seems to me to be the best solution all round. Don’t you?’

  Frances fixed her gaze on Lakin once more, and waited for his answer. Lakin looked back at Frances, clearly blindsided by her proposition.

  ‘Frances,’ Sarah said quietly, ‘why don’t we step outside and give Mr Lakin some time to consider your proposal?’

  Frances turned to Sarah, a flicker of irritation passing across her face, a saleswoman interrupted at the point of closing arguably the most important deal of her life.

  ‘I really don’t think that’s necessary, do you, Mr Lakin?’

  Lakin looked from Frances to Sarah, his mind turning over Frances’s words.

  ‘Actually, I think that might be a good idea, Mrs Barden. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. A very great deal indeed.’

  When she and Sarah left the room, Frances turned to her sister.

  ‘Why did you say that? I had clearly wrong-footed him with my proposition.’

  ‘Wrong-footed us both,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I was about to press the advantage.’

  ‘But there’s no need.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Didn’t you see how he was? You’ve already won him round. It was in his face the moment you mentioned adopting Noah.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  ‘His instant reaction was surprise, not antagonism. He’ll agree. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘He really should. It’s the best solution all round.’

  ‘You didn’t think to discuss it with me?’ Sarah chided, gently.

  ‘You might have tried to change my mind.’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t, you stupid woman! I think it’s an utterly brilliant idea.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Frances. ‘Good.’

  Sarah turned and looked at the closed door to the sitting room, behind which Morris Lakin was weighing up Noah’s future.

  ‘Do you think Noah would ever call me “Aunt Sarah”?’ Sarah asked nervously, glancing at Frances.

  ‘Would you like him to?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Very much.’

  ‘Then I’ll absolutely insist on it.’

  Sarah’s face broke into the broadest smile.

  ‘And “Uncle Adam”, when Adam gets home,’ Frances said.

  ‘If he ever does . . .’ Sarah replied. ‘I have so litt
le news. I’ve called and written to every government department I can think of. Other than the reassurance I’ve received from the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Families Association about the treatment of prisoners at Dunkirk, I’ve had no news. Sometimes—’

  ‘He will come home, Sarah. I’m certain of it. You must be too. Adam is simply too sensible to allow anything to prevent him from returning to you.’

  Sarah looked at Frances, momentarily unable to speak, trying to absorb some of her sister’s certainty by a form of spiritual osmosis.

  Frances gently brushed an errant strand of hair from her younger sister’s face.

  ‘I can see Noah and his new uncle Adam getting on like an absolute house on fire.’

  Chapter 53

  Laura Campbell sat in the observation post on the southern outskirts of Great Paxford, and scoured the sky through a pair of large, regulation binoculars. She was searching for enemy aircraft, all of which she could now identify as accurately as any aviation-obsessed schoolboy. Laura wasn’t aviation-obsessed in the slightest, but had volunteered for the Observation Corps to fulfil a desire to do her wartime duty – a desire that had previously been met by joining the RAF. For a time, the RAF had more than met Laura’s ambition to serve her country. But after finding herself ruthlessly scapegoated then cashiered by an RAF tribunal for her part in a brief affair with a philandering wing commander, Laura had eventually sought another way she might play her part. With Tom’s gentle nudging, she had eventually found it in the form of the Observation Corp. Not only was the work important, the observation post offered Laura shelter from the prurient public gaze that followed her citation in the local paper as a co-respondent in the wing commander’s divorce. Laura’s name had been unceremoniously dragged through the mud. She had been unable to walk through the village without feeling a dozen pairs of narrowed eyes upon her.