by Mary Nichols
‘Not least that creep Austen,’ Stuart said with feeling. ‘He’ll not let it drop if he thinks there’s money to be made out of the situation.’
‘Seems Julie herself scuppered that by going to see Harry,’ Donald said. ‘Do you think Austen knows that?’
Stuart shrugged. ‘Couldn’t say, but it makes no difference, does it? We’ve got to get everyone out of this mess before the papers get hold of it.’
‘You think it will get in the papers?’ Jane asked, horrified at the thought.
‘I wouldn’t put it past Austen to sell them the story.’
‘Who’s going to be the guilty party in a divorce?’ Jane asked, having no interest in Ted Austen’s antics.
‘Not Harry,’ Hilda said. ‘He’s done nothing wrong.’
‘Neither has Pam.’
‘I think we’re jumpin’ the gun,’ Bert put in, fiddling with his pipe. ‘It’s up to Harry and Pam and Julie how this is resolved, not us.’
‘That doesn’t alter the fact that our daughter needs to be buried properly.’ Angela was determined to have her say.
‘She was buried properly,’ Donald protested. ‘It was a very moving service. The only thing that’s wrong is the name on the stone. I suggest we simply have that changed.’
‘And the baby?’ Hilda asked.
‘George is at peace. He is with someone who tried to protect him. Let’s leave it like that, shall we?’ He turned to Stuart. ‘I’ll undertake to have the headstone changed if you tell me what you want put on a new one.’
‘That seems to be a sensible solution all round,’ Stuart said slowly. ‘We could have another short service when it’s put in place. You’ll agree to that, Angie, won’t you?’
She sighed. ‘I suppose I must.’
‘If Harry agrees,’ Hilda said.
There was no one there who cared whether Julie agreed or not.
Not a quarter of a mile away, in Honeysuckle Cottage, Harry had arrived and persuaded Pam to talk to him. He had been summoned to the Station Commander’s office when he went back to the station after leaving Julie. Two wives turning up to see him in the space of two days was not to be tolerated, he had been told. He was to take a week’s compassionate leave and sort himself out and then get back on duty, which was no more than he wanted to do anyway.
‘Say what you’ve got to say, I’m listening,’ she said tonelessly. She had arrived home very late the night before after an uncomfortable journey on two crowded trains. Physically tired and emotionally drained, she had few words to say to her mother before she had been packed off to bed with a mug of cocoa and a sleeping tablet. Unused to it, it had felled her like a log and she was still not properly awake.
‘There is only one thing I need to say,’ he said quietly. ‘I love you. There is no one else …’
‘That’s two things,’ she said, managing a smile.
‘So it is, but they can’t be separated.’ He reached across the table and took both her hands in his. ‘I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Nothing and no one can alter that.’
‘Not even your wife?’
‘Not even Julie. Please say you believe me.’
‘I want to, but—’
‘There are no “buts”. Do you love me?’
‘Harry, you know I do. Would I be so upset if I didn’t?’
‘Thank heaven for that.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’m not angry. I thought I was married, but I’m not, am I? I am what is called an “unmarried mother”.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible phrase.’
‘You are married to me. In the sight of God and in my heart we are man and wife. Nothing can alter that. All we have to do is make it legal.’
‘How?’
‘Divorce, and after that a quiet marriage ceremony, and we’ll be back to how we were.’
‘But Julie was dead and now she’s alive. I can’t help thinking that you loved her once and if it hadn’t been for that air raid you’d be with her still.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who knows? I wouldn’t have met you. But it happened and I did meet you and I did fall in love with you. We have a future together. You must believe that.’
‘Oh, Harry.’
He stood up, went round the table to her and drew her to her feet. He put his finger under her chin and tipped her face to his. ‘OK?’
‘Yes.’
He bent to kiss her, a gentle kiss of reconciliation, but that led to another and another and to each she responded with growing passion. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said, making for the stairs.
‘But the twins … I left them with Mum. I’ll have to go and fetch them soon.’
‘The twins are in good hands. We need this time together.’
It was not until some time later that she was willing to listen to Julie’s extraordinary story. The twins had been fetched and put to bed and their parents were in their favourite position, cuddled up on the sofa. ‘Fancy Mum and Dad having to play pig in the middle to that lot,’ she said, referring to his parents and Rosie’s. ‘Do you agree with what they decided?’
‘Yes, if Julie does. I can’t see her objecting.’
The little twinge of jealousy she felt at the mention of her rival’s name was dismissed. After all, Harry had assured her Julie herself had a new love. If that was the case, she wished her well. As far as Pam was concerned she had the best of the bargain.
Julie seemed to have spent an awful lot of time on trains in the last few weeks, most of them crowded. There were mothers, babies and young children coming away from London and the flying bombs, service personnel, British and American, spending their leave looking for a good time in the capital, and others moving from one posting to another. The trains were often shunted into sidings while troop trains or ammunition trains hurtled past them. Sometimes they were diverted because the track had been damaged by bombs. And at night they went at the pace of a snail with a tiny blue light in each carriage, certainly not enough to read by. Taking a journey by train required patience. Julie had plenty of time to think while she journeyed southwards.
The emotion of the last two days had drained her. Finding an identity and then deliberately discarding it had taken all her inner strength, but she was convinced it had been the right thing to do. Harry had a family he loved and she had seen how confused he had been when she turned up, torn by conflicting loyalties. Telling him about Alec had been her way to convince him he was not breaking her heart by choosing to stay with Pam. But what about Alec?
Squashed between a mother nursing a baby and a thin-faced man in a shabby jacket, she went over all the good times she had spent with him, recalled his sense of fun, his infectious laugh, and found herself smiling. He could always make her smile. Hearing he was missing believed killed had been a harrowing time and made her realise just how much she loved him. That had somehow been overlooked in the confusion of regaining her memory and her determination to find Harry. Would Alec still want her when he knew the truth? Would he be prepared to wait while she and Harry divorced or would he reject her? If only she could see him face to face, then she might find out, but that would have to wait until he came back to England.
She left the train at Liverpool Street Station and debated whether to take the Underground or go by bus to Waterloo. She decided she was strong enough now to take the Underground. Being shut in cupboards was a thing of the past and she was a new woman. She arrived back at Manston very late and tumbled straight into her bed. She didn’t hear the string of buzz bombs that droned overhead towards the capital.
She was woken early the next morning by Florrie who had heard she was back. ‘Wake up, Eve. I want to know what happened and I’m on duty at eight. Did you see him?’
Julie rubbed sleep from her eyes and sat up. ‘Harry? Yes, I saw him.’
‘And?’
‘We’re getting a divorce. He’s got a new wife and a couple of babies.’
‘Oh. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. What’s past is pa
st.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Thank heaven for that. I was afraid you’d want to go back to him. I’ve got some news for you. Alec’s back in England. He’s been wounded.’
‘Wounded? When? How? How bad is he?’
‘He’s in hospital at St Hugh’s. He caught some shrapnel in the shoulder but it’s on the mend.’
Julie scrambled from her bed and began stuffing her things back into her rucksack. ‘I’ve still got three days of my leave left. I’m going to see him.’
‘Good idea.’ Florrie paused. ‘He knows you’ve remembered. I wasn’t going to tell him, but Mum blurted it out, so be prepared for a lot of questions.’
‘Do you think he’ll still want me?’
‘He’ll be a fool if he doesn’t.’ She paused. ‘I’ve got to pick up some bigwig from Adastral House today. I’ll take you as far as London, if you like.’
‘Thanks, that’ll be a help.’
‘Hurry and dress, then – I’ve got to leave in half an hour. You’ll have to get some breakfast in London.’
‘OK.’
Julie spent the journey telling Florrie about her reunion with Harry in minute detail. ‘He’s still incredibly good-looking,’ she said. ‘When I first saw him, my heart turned over. It was almost as if we’d never been parted, but that didn’t last beyond that first meeting. I soon realised we were strangers, and the more we talked the more I knew it had gone, that love we once had. It’s a memory, Florrie, a pleasant memory, that’s all.’
‘And Alec?’
‘I love him, Florrie, more than ever.’
‘Good.’ Florrie negotiated the traffic in Kingsway and drew up at the kerb outside Adastral House. The wall which had been built to protect the windows had been destroyed by a doodlebug and there was nothing left of it. ‘You’ll be all right from here?’
‘Yes, of course. See you later.’ She got out, fetched her rucksack from the boot and set off up the road, looking for a bus stop. Everywhere was evidence of new bomb damage. The flying bombs didn’t make craters like conventional bombs but the blast from the explosion as they reached the ground was far-reaching and terrifying. If one of those dreadful things could do that much damage, how much more could a whole lot of them do? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Before she caught the train to take her away from her youthful past for good, she had one more thing to do. She went to Highgate Cemetery. She wanted to kneel at the grave and say a little prayer for her son, and for Rosie who had died looking after him, and to say goodbye to Julie Walker who was no more. It was Eve Seaton who would finish her service as a WAAF, Eve Seaton who would marry Alec Kilby, if he would have her. Julie Walker would be among those who had disappeared during this dreadful war, never to be seen again.
She had left the cemetery and was strolling down Highgate Hill to the Underground station, at peace within herself, when she found herself walking towards the hated figure of Ted Austen. He had his hands in his pockets and was whistling tunelessly. He was some distance away when he saw her, but then he stopped whistling and hurried forward, grinning in delight. She hesitated, but realising he had lost the power to harm her, strode on, prepared to walk right past him.
She wasn’t given the chance. Above her the drone that Londoners had come to know and dread grew louder. People in the street looked up and, as the engine cut out, screamed and ran for cover, including Julie, who dived into the front garden of a villa she was passing and threw herself under a bush, curling herself up into a ball with her arms over her head.
The blast from the explosion sucked the breath from her body and left her gasping for air, her mouth full of dust. Her eyes burnt and felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets, her ears hummed painfully, filled with the sound of falling walls, breaking glass, shrieks and moans. The bush which had afforded her shelter had been completely stripped of its leaves. She lay there, covered in leaves and broken glass from the windows of the house, too winded to move, convinced that every bone in her body had been crushed. It was worse than the experience in the train because that had taken the force of the blast. It took several huge breaths to fill her lungs with air again and then she tentatively moved her head and then her arms and legs and realised she was unhurt.
It was several minutes before she was able to get to her feet and by then three ambulances, an ARP Warden and two policemen had arrived on the scene. They set to work with commendable efficiency, helping the injured and laying out the dead for removal. Julie walked down to see what she could do to help.
‘You all right, miss?’ one of the policemen asked her.
She caught sight of the body the man was dragging to the side of the road and shuddered. It belonged to Ted Austen. ‘Yes,’ she said, suppressing a shudder. ‘I’m fine. Can I help?’
It was some time later, when all the injured had been taken to hospital and those who had died had been removed to the mortuary, that she recovered her rucksack from the garden of the villa and was directed to a casualty centre and offered tea and sandwiches and, more to the point, a towel and soap and somewhere to clean herself up and change. After that, assuring everyone she was fine, she was ready to continue her journey to Oxford. She had had another lucky escape, but Ted Austen’s luck had run out. Was that God’s justice, she wondered? She didn’t wish anyone dead, but it seemed to be the final closing of the door on her past life.
Alec saw her walking down the ward towards him and his heart did a quick flip. She was in a civilian skirt, a pale green-and-white-striped cotton. It was topped with a white blouse, the outfit cinched in at the waist with a wide leather belt. Her hair curled in her neck, a little longer than he remembered it. She walked quickly towards him, a tentative smile on her lips as if unsure of her welcome.
He reached his good arm out towards her. ‘Eve. You’re back.’
She took his hand and bent to kiss his cheek. ‘I’m back.’ She meant more than just her physical presence, she meant all of her, heart and soul as well. ‘All present and correct.’ She paused to study his face. ‘How are you?’
‘All present and correct.’ He echoed her words. ‘Or I will be when they let me out of here. Never mind me. What about you? Mum said your memory had returned and you’d disappeared.’
‘I didn’t disappear exactly. I went to sort things out.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes. I can tell you the whole story now from beginning to end. No gaps – or only a few. That’s if you want to hear it.’
‘Of course I do.’
She pulled up a chair and sat close to his bed, her hand in his while she told him everything, from her first meeting with Harry right up to their last goodbye. ‘I was in such a muddle when I first remembered,’ she finished. ‘But I knew I had to find Harry. I couldn’t come to terms with it until I had.’
His grip on her hand tightened. ‘And?’
‘And we decided the past has gone, dead and buried, along with our son. There is no Julie Walker, only Eve Seaton. There are practicalities, of course. Getting a divorce for one thing …’ She paused. ‘I don’t know how you feel about that.’
‘If it means you are free to marry me, then I’d welcome it.’
‘You still want me? After all that?’
‘Of course I do, you goose. Come here.’ He pulled on her hand so that she fell across him, and gathering her in his good arm kissed her good and long to the accompaniment of wolf whistles from some of the other patients and their visitors.
‘Alec!’ She extricated herself at last and sat up.
He grinned at her. ‘You wait until I get out of here, there’ll be more of the same. How long do you think the divorce will take?’
‘I don’t know. Not long, I hope. No one is going to contest it.’
‘Then you had better be making plans for a wedding. We’ll get married in Harston Church, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Of course it is. I look upon Hillside Farm as home a
nd your parents as the mum and dad I never had.’
‘Oh, Eve,’ he said. It was inadequate for what he felt, but he couldn’t put it into words. The uncertainty of the last few days had been unbearable: not hearing from her, wondering if her old love would claim her, and being intensely jealous of the unknown man. He needn’t have worried; she had come back to him and all was well. He felt a lump in his throat and an unaccustomed wetness in his eyes. This would never do. ‘I’ve got to have some intensive physiotherapy but I’ll get leave at the end of it. With luck we should be able to get married before I return to duty.’
‘You’re going back, then?’
‘Got to, haven’t I? There’s a war to be won.’
A bell clanged loudly and the visitors stood up to leave, including Julie, who knew how strict the staff were about visiting times. ‘I’m not due back at Manston until the day after tomorrow, so I’ve booked in at a bed and breakfast. I’ll come and see you again tomorrow. We’ll talk some more, make plans.’ She bent to kiss him and trooped out with all the other visitors, treading on air. She wouldn’t forget Harry again, nor George, but the memories would be happy, not regretful. Alec was right; there was a war to be won, but they would win it and there would be peace – peace to love Alec, have his children and grow old with him.
About the Author
MARY NICHOLS has spent much of her life in East Anglia and often sets her novel in that area. She has written numerous short stories, historical romances and family sagas, as well as a biography of her grandmother.
Mary is the bestselling author of The Summer House, The Fountain and The Kirilov Star.
www.marynichols.co.uk
By Mary Nichols
The Summer House
The Fountain
The Kirilov Star
The Girl on the Beach
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
