Time Passes Time

by Mary Wood

  They all smiled and nodded at this. Patsy stood and put her arms around Sarah and said, ‘Thanks, Mam. It was a good day that I came to Breckton, despite everything that it caused.’ Sarah hugged her back, a real hug that held no reservations, and as Patsy looked at the others and saw tears in their eyes, she thought: Yes! Yes! I’ve pulled it off. None of them suspects a thing.

  Nine

  Meetings of Significance

  Lizzie – 1963 and Theresa – 1943

  With Rita out, the house took on a cloak of unease. Lizzie felt as if there was a time-bomb ticking, and the feeling tightened her throat with fear. It had been several days since they’d seen Ken, and her sixth sense told her something was wrong and that something really bad was about to happen. She shifted her bottom a little as she tried to ease the pain of the sores that had developed, her grubby baby-doll nightie stuck to her body. She hadn’t left her bed since Ken had given her that first injection. Her body gave off a stale odour. Her teeth were coated, but she had no energy to do anything about it. The odd time she did sit up and was faced with her reflection in the mirror opposite, her despair deepened at the sight of herself: hair matted and lank, sores pitting her mouth, red, dry eyes, and bones protruding where they never had before.

  Rita had tried to encourage her to get up, but she couldn’t – even going to the toilet was too much, and she’d resorted to using the bed-pan, which she hated. It was as if putting that stuff into her, then depriving her of it, had killed everything that she was. The only thing she wanted to do was to read about Theresa’s life. Sometimes she felt some of Theresa’s courage seep into her, and at those times she’d resolve to do something about the state she was in. But the lack of energy and the fight inside her against the need of the injections thwarted any plans she made.

  Reaching for Theresa’s books, she opened the first one near to the end – there were only a few pages left in this one to read. She’d learned about Theresa’s training: armed and unarmed combat skills from former inspectors in the Shanghai Municipal Police; Commando training in Scotland; security and demolition techniques, and then, Morse code telegraphy; and parachute training at RAF Ringway in Cheshire. Throughout all of this, Theresa had gradually become more confident in her own abilities, and less afraid. Soon she would be leaving England’s shores and flying to France to begin her mission – something she dreaded less than her forthcoming visit home . . .

  Theresa – January 1943

  As the train pulled into the station, Theresa sighed. Nothing in her wanted to alight onto the platform. The small mining town of Breckton, and Hensal Grange, their mansion-like home on the edges of it, now seemed like another world and alien to her. Had she ever been that woman that had taken all that life gave? That selfish creature that had everything and indulged in every pleasure as it occurred to her? Her cheeks reddened at the thought of some of her behaviour, and once again her mind sent cringes through her nerve ends as images came to her of lying with Rita and with Terence. But even though they were now abhorrent to her, these incidents weren’t without some tingle of desire for the pleasure they had given her.

  A few moments ago the train had passed the woodland where the summerhouse nestled . . . Oh God, the pain that had stabbed her . . . Remnants of it still churned her heart. What had occurred in the summerhouse with Billy Armitage would never leave her, though it sometimes felt as though the pregnancy and birth had never happened, and she had been able to put her child out of her mind while her body had taken the onslaught of this or that training. But in the dead of the night she hadn’t been able to, and the ache of loss had twisted her soul.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood and lifted her rucksack from the overhead luggage rack. It was the only luggage she carried. Through the window she could see Terence, anxious in his movements, his head searching the first-class carriages. Well, she hadn’t travelled first-class – another sign of how different she was to the girl who’d left almost immediately after Terence’s wedding to Louise fifteen months ago. It had been a long fifteen months. Now she just had the hurdle of this twenty-four-hour leave to get over and she would be on her way to France. What would that be like? Would she coper Something in her told her she would.

  ‘D-darling!’

  ‘Why the surprised look, little brother?’ Older than Terence by only a few minutes, she’d often tease him by calling him this.

  ‘Well, I – I didn’t expect to see you dressed like that . . .’

  ‘We have to. It’s the rule. When travelling around we have to wear our uniforms at all times. Besides, the coat is handy. Keeps out the cold.’

  ‘But I didn’t think you were in the Army now.’

  ‘Oh, yes I am. An officer, no less . . . Look, aren’t you going to greet me properly?’ She hadn’t been able to resist saying this. Some of Terence’s discomfort was down to being faced with the reality of her going to war, but most she knew wasn’t. His life had changed too – drastically. Now running a stud farm as well as the vast arable and dairy farm, and being married with a baby on the way, it was all very different for him, too. And she knew he hated what she represented to him – a past he wished he’d never had.

  ‘Of course. Come here, old girl.’

  His arms encircled her. The closeness of him stirred something inside her, and she knew it did in him too when he jumped away from her. ‘Right, let’s get you home. You don’t have long and we mean to make the most of it.’

  ‘We can hardly do that, dear brother . . .’

  ‘Theresa, don’t . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m only teasing. I’ll be a good girl, I promise. How are Pater and Mater and Louise? Oh, and that Penny. Is she still a Land Girl with you?’

  ‘Pater, Mater and Louise are all fine, as you will see. But it’s bad form of you to mention Penny.’

  ‘Sorry. I know. Sometimes I think the bitch in me will never go, no matter what I do.’ Poor Terence. His past kept staring him in the face at every turn, but then, some of it he deserved. He had turned to Penny, their other Land Girl, for his pleasure after he’d got rid of Rita.

  ‘Penny isn’t any longer with us. She chose to leave. Gone to do factory work, I believe. We have others, though – three new Land Girls – but before you start to speculate, I am not having an affair with any of them. I am a very good boy now. I love my wife and I’m very happy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad someone is . . . No, sorry. Oh dear, I keep putting my foot in it . . . Sorry again, that was unfair. I can’t keep punishing you. I love you too much, and I was as much to blame. We have to put it behind us. I promise I will. Everything will be alright. No barbed comments to embarrass you. You don’t deserve that; you’ve paid your price emotionally if not in any other way. You need to get on with your life as I do mine.’

  ‘Are you “getting on” with it, darling . . . really getting on with it, or is this all a game you play to cover up?’

  ‘You have no idea, do you, Terence? A game? Bloody hell, I’m parachuting behind enemy lines the day after tomorrow. I’ve undergone training that would have killed many . . . nearly did some . . . and you have the audacity to ask if I am playing games! You take the bloody biscuit sometimes, little brother!’

  ‘Sorry, old thing. Just trying to find out how you really are. All that other stuff . . . well, don’t you think I know? Don’t you think I worry every day about you? It is why you are doing it that hurts.’

  ‘Oh, it has long ceased to be a way to forget. I will never forget. Never. I need to do my bit. I want to feel that my rotten existence thus far is vindicated. I want to hold my head up high once more . . .’

  They had reached his car. The top was open, and she threw her rucksack into the small back seat. ‘Bloody hell, Terence, it’s freezing! Besides, I’d have thought You’ll have to get rid of this sporty number, won’t you? You will need room for your family.’

  ‘Oh, I already have another car. I just thought you’d enjoy riding home in this. Blow some of the cobwebs away.’
/>
  She hadn’t realized she had ‘cobwebs’ clinging to her, not until the train had reached familiar territory. Then she’d felt them all descending and clogging her up with memories.

  The drive home helped; they couldn’t talk above the rush of air and the noise of the engine. Besides which, her face and lips tingled. An exhilarating feeling.

  Places that had been so much a part of her other life whizzed by at such a pace she had no time to dwell. She didn’t want any. Instead she tried to prepare herself for the moment she would see Mater and Pater and Frobisher, the old butler. God, he’d been part of their lives for ever . . . She’d missed them so much, but hadn’t realized how much until now. And the rest of the staff: Cook and the maids and the farm-hands. None had meant anything to her when she’d lived here, but in a funny way they did now. Not that she would see many of the farm-hands, as most had gone off to war. One had lost his life – a young chap with a mop of dark hair. She couldn’t ever remember speaking to him, but he’d been there, part of life as it used to be. Oh, it was all so unfair! One wretched man had ruined everything they knew. Suddenly she couldn’t wait for these twenty-four hours to be over. She needed to fight back. She was ready.

  Tears prickled her eyes at the sight of Mater and Pater as they came running down the drive towards them. Terence stopped the car and she got out to greet them. Their embrace warmed her, reaching the coldest part of her and splintering her resolve. Her face dampened, her body racked with sobs.

  ‘You’re home now, darling. Oh, my dear, my darling, girl . . .’

  As the sobs subsided, she pushed them away gently, smiling a watery smile. ‘Well, I didn’t expect to give a show like that . . . Sorry, old things. I’m meant to have toughened up, and here I am blubbering like a baby. But it’s so good to see you both.’

  Her father took hold of her and pulled her to him. The feeling was unbearable, as it held so much anguish and so many unspoken questions. He knew. He held guilt too – must do. No! She mustn’t think like that . . . She must not! He’d done what he’d done to help her. He couldn’t know how much hurt and pain it would cause. She’d wanted rid. She hadn’t known how she would feel afterwards either . . .

  They walked up the drive arm in arm, one parent on either side of her, their feet crunching on the icy pebbles. The house came into view: beautiful Hensal Grange. Could anything ever change it? The First World War hadn’t, although it had changed the then occupant, her beloved Aunt Laura, as she’d been left a widow at a young age and after losing her only child. Dear Uncle Jeremy had been killed at the very end of the conflict. Laura had floundered for a while, and had then had the misfortune of falling in love with her groom, Jack Fellam.

  Theresa had once felt disgust at Jack Fellam’s treatment of her aunt – having an affair with her, then dropping her and ultimately benefiting from her will – but she didn’t any more. He’d been through so much before and since, and she now knew that a lot of what happened was caused by her aunt, including the near-death of the woman Jack really loved. He’d gone to prison for a murder he hadn’t committed – a murder done by Billy Armitage even though he was only a child at the time. Christ, she mustn’t start to think of Billy Armitage either . . . not now . . . not ever . . .

  Seeing Louise again hadn’t been the ordeal she’d thought it would be. Louise, oblivious to all that had happened between herself and Terence, took her at face value and showed admiration for the work she was about to undertake. They chatted amicably and easily. Terence’s relief at this had her feeling sorry for him and wanting to try once more to release him from his guilt. The moment they were alone she took his hand. ‘Darling, I told you. Let go of the past. A lot has gone on that shouldn’t have. We were both to blame. Put it behind you. We can’t change the past; we can only make an impact on the future. Carrying it around with us won’t help either of us.’

  His eyes held hers for a long moment. When he kissed her cheek his breath fanned her face as he whispered, ‘I love you, darling.’ His sigh spoke volumes. ‘Our love isn’t a natural feeling, but we couldn’t help it. It just happened. But thank you. Knowing you can put it behind you and not hold me to blame helps. I love Louise very much and I know we can be happy. I want you to be happy. And, I want you to be safe. Please take care in whatever it is you are going to do. Please, darling.’

  ‘I will. I don’t intend to get myself killed. I am very highly trained, and know that I can do what is going to be asked of me. I will have a network of dedicated people around me. I promise I will be safe and I will contact you whenever it is possible to do so. By the time I come back, you will be a daddy. Louise looks very well. I’m glad she is making you happy. She . . . she will make a lovely mother.’

  ‘I am sorry for your loss, darling. I feel it too. I’ll never forget her.’

  ‘No. Neither will I. I wish there had been a way to keep her, but I left it all too late. I didn’t want her until I had her. Well, that’s not true. There were moments when she was growing inside me when I felt a surge of love for her, but I denied it. I let things take the course we had planned. I deeply regret that, but there is no going back. She has probably been adopted by now, and I am committed to something I cannot, nor want to, get out of. Come on. Let’s go and dress for dinner.’

  It had been a long time since she’d ‘dressed for dinner’, and a silly tingle of anticipation went through her as she climbed the stairs. Her room was as if she’d never left it. A fire flickered and danced up the chimney, warming and sending shadows that enhanced the magic of being back here. She took a moment to run her fingers along the beautiful mahogany dressing table, pick up perfume sprays and flick open the lid of her jewellery box. The light from the low but strong sun caught the diamonds and gold nestling inside, setting up a kaleidoscope of colour glittering out at her and awakening more memories of her other life. Opening her wardrobe sent joy tingling through her. How had she lived without her fashionable clothes, smart suits, cashmere scarves and sweaters, tweeds and sensual silk and satin gowns?

  The sound of her bath water running reached her ears, followed by a tap on the connecting door and the familiar tones of her mother’s maid. ‘I’ve ran your bath, miss. If you choose what you want to wear, I’ll lay it all out for you. I’ve been through and freshened everything up so as you have the choice of everything. And I’ll be glad to help with your hair if you need it an’ all, miss.’

  She was about to refuse all of this pampering, but stopped herself as she caught a glimpse of her profile in the mirror. She would need help to turn this frump of a girl with weathered, coarse skin and unkempt hair back into the glamour girl she used to be. Besides, why not indulge herself? It would be a long time before she could again.

  ‘Thank you; I will wear the grey silk gown. I’ll leave you to choose what to go with it for me. Are you good with hair?’

  ‘Aye, I am, miss. It’s a talent I have and I like doing it an’ all.’

  Another joy she didn’t know she’d missed: the sound of the Yorkshire accent.

  The time went too quickly. Theresa tried to store up as many memories as she could: the walk around the garden, wrapped up against the cold with their breaths dancing like smoke in front of them; cobwebs like delicate lace clinging to the bushes; finding a snowdrop; watching a robin bobbing from the bird table to the hedge; playing poker afterwards, and winning; listening to Louise playing the piano whilst they sipped a nightcap of hot cocoa with a small drop of brandy; and singing daft songs after Mater and Pater had retired to bed. And the happy feeling that Mater had kept well and had seemed a lot stronger. Usually frail in her mind, she hadn’t spoilt one moment by dwelling on petty worries, and Theresa was proud of her – proud of the effort she’d made for her sake, and for how her bravery had helped the time pass without too many episodes where they might have all become sentimental.

  Saying goodbye wasn’t easy. Like all families sending off a loved one to war, there was an underlying feeling of wondering whether they would ever
see each other again. But she had to remain positive, and left with a smile, keeping the tears for when the train had left the little party of her family waving in the distance.

  All seemed alien to her now as she looked around her. No one spoke – not that you could have made yourself heard without shouting above the roar of the aeroplane engine, though she knew it wasn’t the effort it would take to make yourself heard but fear that was holding most of the occupants quiet. To her left and around the floor of the plane sat five of her colleagues – men and women she had trained with. All were being deployed. She was the first to be dropped. Her deployment was to the area of Marseille, where she was to work undercover in the bakery of a man she was to know as her uncle, Monsieur Ponté, and his wife. She was to join the Carp Resistance group under the leadership of Pierre Rueben, who would meet her when she landed and take her to Monsieur Ponté’s house.

  When the officer in charge of the operation opened the door of the plane, the inward draught took her breath away. She wanted to shout, ‘No, I am not ready!’, but she swallowed hard, looked once more at her colleagues, and acknowledged them as one by one they nodded at her and gave her a smile of encouragement. Lifting her body into position, she awaited the command, ‘JUMP!’

  Her landing was smooth. Rolling over, she clung onto the silk parachute, trying to control it in the strong wind. Two arms came around her and helped haul it in. Looking round, she found herself sinking into the deep, dark eyes of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Not a moment for such thoughts, but she could not stop the involuntary skip of her heart. He smiled. ‘Mademoiselle Crompton? I – I mean, Olivia Danchanté, of course . . . I am Pierre. Pierre Rueben. Welcome to France. Come, we must hurry, for it is dangerous to hang around. Someone may have spotted or heard the aircraft, and if they did, we will be in peril of capture.’

  His accent was lovely. She’d say he was from Eastern Europe, which gave his French a special sound . . . or was it just that she was hanging onto his every word?