by Mary Wood
Theresa’s terror gave way to the awareness of every movement, every sound. Her gun, cocked and ready, felt heavy in her hands. Sweat dampened her body. Tonight must go well. Please, God, they didn’t have to open fire, as that would alert the troops who were garrisoned in the town.
With their mission accomplished, they made their way back to their nearest safe house. They would rest tomorrow and travel during the night back to Caen for their next assignment, leaving the German division in chaos. She, Pierre and Andre went first, hurrying along the side of the track and following it westward. Ahead of them were the garrison and more guards. The route was dangerous, but they were to make it safer for the others by killing the guards.
Pierre hadn’t wanted her to go with him. He had wanted her to hang back while they made the way clear, but could not dissuade her. Her inner voice niggled away at her; her fear for Pierre’s safety had increased. He was well known now, and anyone captured and tortured might give him away. She had to stay with him, trusting only herself to protect him. In this she knew she overstepped her remit many times over, as her job was often only to carry out the reconnaissance, report back to Command and to make sure she had supplies on their way in plenty of time and in the quantities they needed. But she was highly trained – much more so than most of the men she fought alongside. She had better hand-to-hand combat skills and stealth killing techniques, so she knew she was much more useful to Pierre in the field, fighting alongside him, than she would ever be by just doing her assigned duties. Besides, she could take the liberty of doing so under her remit to do whatever it took to help the success of planned missions.
The next night didn’t see them travelling, but all huddled together in a bunker where their contacts had directed them. They were safe, but shattered mentally, and doing what they could to try to come to terms with the reprisals – men, women and children, herded into the church and burned alive! My God, the SS were animals! Killing was always an abhorrent but necessary evil of war, but to kill innocent civilians in such a cruel, calculated way? That was immoral and debauched.
Lizzie – 1963
As the thought of what it must have felt like to be burned alive, and the horror of such a thing really happening, sank into Lizzie, she let the book drop onto her knee. She thought of all those frightened people, like those who’d been forced into Monsieur Ponté’s bakery. She imagined them and their wails of terror and their excruciating agony as their flesh melted from their bodies. As she did so, the sick feeling she’d had earlier came back to her, shaking her to the core and making her want to stop reading for now.
Rolling the book up and tucking it down the side of her, she remembered that it was the last but one book. What she’d do when she came to the end, she didn’t like to think, because reading them had helped her get through everything. It was like leaving her life today and entering another world, because she could feel all that had happened in Theresa’s life then as if she was there and as if it was happening to her.
What must it have been like for Theresa to have it actually happen to her? To feel the terror, experience the horror, and then to lose her son and the love of her life? A deep compassion settled in her. No matter what Theresa had done when she was younger, she didn’t deserve to pay so heavily for it. If only Patsy could see that, but she wondered if she ever would, because now Patsy seemed to be going down the same path of mental illness that her father and her mother had, though it sounded as though Theresa was getting better now that they’d moved her to a convalescent home. She was glad of that. Really glad.
Twenty-nine
Lizzie and Jacques
1963
Feeling the chill of the sun having moved and left her in the shade, Lizzie decided to make her way nearer to the house and call out for Sarah to help her back indoors. As she turned her chair she looked into the face of the young man who’d been in the lane that morning. He was walking up the drive towards her. He halted his progress when she looked in his direction, and now he stood about ten feet from her. ‘Oh, how long have yer been there?’
‘I just came through the gates. You turned as I reached here.’
His face had an expression of someone who’d been caught out. He must have thought she was accusing him of watching her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but yer startled me! Did yer want to see Sarah? I mean, Mrs Chesterton?’ Her heart raced, making it difficult for her to keep her voice steady. Her cheeks warmed under his gaze.
‘No, I came to see you. I . . .’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. I . . . well, I wanted to say hello, and thought I’d like to get to know you.’
‘Oh!’ She didn’t know what to say. No one had ever said such a thing to her before. He’d probably had the usual feeling of pity when he’d seen her earlier, and wanted to make himself feel better by helping her. That bitter thought was born of years of seeing this reaction in people. Her condition made them feel guilty, and doing something for her replaced that with a good feeling, as if somehow they had lightened her burden and so they weren’t bad people. Understanding this didn’t make her like it. She hated being different and having to compensate for how others looked on themselves.
He had waited during her silence. With that heart-melting smile on his face and with his head held on one side, he conveyed a silent appeal. Saying something was even more difficult now, and it wasn’t only because her throat had tightened and her stomach churned at the sight of him, but what could you say to someone who said they wanted to get to know you? It must be an American way of going on.
‘I’m sorry if I’m intruding. Were you just going inside?’
At last her tongue unravelled: ‘That or move into the sun. It left me stranded and feeling chilly.’
‘Can I help you?’
‘No! I – I mean . . . Well, I can manage, thanks.’
Again he stopped in his tracks. Now she had to move into the sun, because she couldn’t get inside without help. Trapped, always trapped . . . Stop it! Why am I like this? I’m not usually bitter and feeling sorry for meself. But then, her disability had never been that much in focus before, as at home she’d had her ways of doing things. Or Ken and Rita had done things for her, but that had always been normal. Nothing was normal any more.
‘Right. I’ll do the introductions, then. My name’s Jacques. Jacques Rueben, and—’
‘Oh my God! You’re him! You’re Theresa’s lost son!’
‘You know my mother?’
‘No. I . . .’
‘How do you know I’m her son, lost, or not, then?’
Sarah’s coming out of the house just as he asked this rescued the moment, as Lizzie had no idea how to tell him that she was reading about his mother’s life, but that his mother didn’t know, or how to tell him that her brother was responsible for the state his mother was in now.
‘Everything alright, Lizzie, love?’
‘Yes, Sarah. This . . .’
‘Oh, I can see who this is, and not unexpected, either. Can we help you, lad?’
This made the colour rise even more to her cheeks. Sarah was only teasing, but . . .
‘I came to have a chat with . . . well, Lizzie. She hadn’t told me her name, though, ma’am . . .’
Lizzie jumped in. She had to protect Sarah from any further shocks, and Jacques from learning about his sister in the same way that she had blurted out about knowing who he was. She’d rather tell him everything first and let Richard give Sarah the news in his own gentle way that Patsy’s brother had turned up. ‘His name is Jacques. He came because we are both strangers in town.’ She laughed as she said this. ‘He’s been told how we can expect to be gossiped about and thought we could gossip together instead.’
Sarah laughed too, and that eased the uncomfortable moment. ‘Eeh, that sounds like a good idea. Well, I’ll give you a hand by making a pot of tea for you.’
‘He’s American. I don’t think they drink tea.’
‘Oh, coffee, then?’
&
nbsp; ‘Tea will be fine, ma’am. My grandmother has introduced me to it and I rather like it, thanks.’
Before Sarah could ask who his grandmother was, Lizzie said, ‘let’s sit at the garden table over there, Jacques, shall we?’
‘That’ll be great. Shall I push you?’
‘No, thanks. I can manage. Look, I need to ask yer something before Sarah comes back. It’s going to sound strange, but don’t tell Sarah who your grandmother is. Not yet. I . . . Well, I have a lot to tell yer, and it’s better we talk first.’ Somehow she didn’t feel embarrassed at talking to him like this. She had the strange feeling that she’d known him for ever and could say anything to him.
They had reached the table that stood at the end of the path on a rounded, crazy-paved area cut into the lawn. Jacques moved a chair out the way for her and she manoeuvred her wheelchair up to the table.
As he sat down, he said, ‘Is it about my family and what has happened over the years? The scandals and everything? Are you worried that my presence will upset Mrs Chesterton?’
‘Oh, you know about it, then? Well, that’s something. At least You’ll understand why I’m asking. I think she’ll be okay once she knows, but I didn’t want yer telling her out the blue who you were.’
‘I don’t like deceiving her. It doesn’t seem right to take her hospitality . . .’
‘Please, Jacques. I have a lot to tell yer of that I don’t want Sarah to blurt out either. I know I’m not making sense, but I know she won’t mind and will understand why I asked yer not to say anything. Yer see, me aunt was involved in . . . Well, she did something really bad to Sarah’s dad, but it hasn’t stopped Sarah taking me in.’
His expression now was one of bewilderment.
‘I’m sorry. Yer must think you’ve come across an idiot.’
‘No. No, I don’t. I think I’ve come across the most beautiful girl in the world. And I like that you care enough for others to try to protect them, but I am a bit confused. First of all you know my mom and who I am, then you tell me that you have a past and you have something to tell me.’
This shocked her. No one had ever called her beautiful. Lost for words, she was glad to hear Sarah call out as she approached, ‘Here you are! Eeh, it’s getting a bit parky out here, Lizzie. Why don’t you both come inside?’
‘We’re okay, thanks, Sarah.’ A relief came with seeing Sarah had only brought out two cups. She’d worried that she might think to join them.
‘Reet, that’s grand then. Nice to meet you, Jacques. I’ll leave you to it. Lizzie will tell me all about you and how you came to get all the way from America to our little town.’
As she left, Jacques said, ‘I think fate had a hand in that.’
‘You’ll think that even more when yer hear me tale. And yer might not want to know me after it either.’
Again his lovely smile. ‘I don’t think that will happen, but I am intrigued.’
‘And I don’t know where to start. Look, I can only tell you how it is and say that I didn’t want any of it to happen, but I couldn’t stop it. But it will help me if you don’t interrupt. I know you will have a lot of emotions at me telling you it all, but if you let me get it all out, then you might understand better by the time I get to the end.’
He nodded at this. ‘Well, I’ll pour the tea while you get started. I’ve been taught how to do it properly, so you needn’t worry.’
She wished the little laugh he gave, which had a carefree sound to it, would last even after he’d heard everything, but was really afraid that it wouldn’t.
Taking a deep breath, she began by asking him as gently as she could if he knew he had a half-sister. His brows knotted in a deep frown as he said he did. He went to ask her something, but then must have remembered her request so just said, ‘Go on. it’ll wait.’
Jacques had wanted to cut in a dozen times during her story to demand this or question that. It all seemed unbelievable, and yet it tied up so many loose ends for him. To think that her brother and her aunt had been responsible for what had happened to his mother! And, his sister is here! My God, he thought he’d never meet his sister no matter how hard he tried, but he was now sitting in the garden of the very house she’d lived in for the last four years, and she had another half-sister, born on the same day as her!
Besides all that, Lizzie had his mother’s memoirs and had nearly finished reading them. She knew everything about his mother, while he knew so little, but something in him didn’t mind this part of her tale. Because if he wanted to share anything of himself, he’d want to share it with her. None of this had been her fault. From a young age, she’d lived a nightmare. He wanted to make up for that if he could.
His eyes stung with how he’d been staring at a rose tree swaying in the breeze – the same breeze that had begun to rustle everything around them. He moved his gaze to her, and saw that she had her head down. He saw a tear drop off the end of her chin and plop onto her blouse. The sight tore at his heart. ‘Lizzie . . .’ His voice would hardly squeeze through the tightness of his throat.
As she looked up, he felt as if her lovely blue eyes were pulling him into their depths. He wanted to put out his hand and stroke her long wispy hair, and catch strands of it as they blew about in the wind. He swallowed hard. ‘It’s alright. I don’t blame you for any of it. Not even reading my mom’s memoirs. You didn’t know who they belonged to, and you said you hoped by reading them you would be able to find that out and return them. Then when you met my sister she gave you permission to carry on. Besides, you said there are parts of it that concerned your aunt? Well, whatever they are, it is incredible, isn’t it? That we should meet like this, and yet my mom and your aunt knew each other?’
‘It is. It’s like you said, fate brought us together . . . I mean, made us meet.’
‘I liked the first way you put it. Lizzie, I hope I’m not being too forward for what an English girl is used to, but I . . . well, something happened to me the moment I set eyes on you.’
Her cheeks flushed with colour and her eyes twinkled through the as yet unshed tears left brimming in them. ‘I – I felt the same. Only, well, this may sound daft, but yer were already in me heart.’
Once more she shocked him by telling him of the photos she had, and how attracted she had been to the one of his father. ‘You’re so like him, yer see. Look.’
From beside her she pulled out an old paper book, similar to those he’d written in back home when he first started school. She shook a photo from the inside of it, and the face looking back at him was very like his own. His dad. He had a similar one himself, but his didn’t have the lovely inscription on the back. Reading the French was no problem, but seeing his dad’s handwriting for the first time ever, was. His throat constricted. He swallowed again, but it didn’t help. The tears that had gathered many times during Lizzie’s telling now ran down his cheeks. Her hand reached out and touched his. The contact trembled through him. He knew it had through her, too.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset yer. I just . . .’
‘No, it’s alright. It just touched a chord. I cry a lot lately, especially since my grandfather died. He had a sad story. He was a wonderful man and he learned to cope with all he had to put up with, so I have determined that I shall. But it’s just the little things that catch me out.’
‘I know how that feels. It’s the same for me. I can’t say that those that I have lost were wonderful, nor have they left me many nice memories of them, but they were me family, and I did love them. And now I have to bury them. And same will go for me dad, only I’ll know the minute he is to die, ’cos he will be . . .’
She couldn’t go on. Like him, she was fighting for control and losing the battle.
‘Lizzie, if You’ll let me, I’ll be with you on that day. I promise. And I’ll be with you when you bury your aunt and brother. But only if . . .’
‘Yes. Yes, I would let yer. And I know as I’ll cope better for yer being there. I know that sounds daft, as I�
�ve only just met yer, but it’s how I feel, and knowing you any longer won’t change that, I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh, Lizzie.’
They sat for a moment, holding hands. Neither spoke, but it didn’t seem to him as if there was anything they had to say.
The spell was broken by Sarah coming out again. He went to let go of Lizzie’s hand, but she clasped his tighter. A tremor of trepidation went through him. Upsetting Mrs Chesterton was the last thing he wanted to do, but might be the first thing he did, because she wouldn’t approve of him being so forward. Not if what he’d heard of the English way of doing things was right, she wouldn’t.
As she came closer he could see she did have a look of concern on her face, and went to say something, but didn’t. He wasn’t sure what had stopped her, until she did speak: ‘You both look very upset. Jacques, you’re crying . . . Lizzie?’
He wiped his free hand over his face. He could feel Lizzie’s eyes on him, willing him not to say anything, but he had to. ‘It turns out, ma’am, that Lizzie and I have links in our lives that have their roots in some very sad times for us both.’
‘Oh? Look, it’s cold out here. By, it’s turned with the sun going round. Why don’t you come in and tell me about it, eh?’
‘We can’t, Sarah . . .’
‘Why, love? There may be sommat as I can do to help you both.’
Again Lizzie looked at him, but though her look held a warning, he had the sense that she trusted him. He only hoped that trust would stay intact when he went against what she’d asked of him. ‘Mrs Chesterton, ma’am, there’s things in my past that caused you hurt. I had no control over them, but I . . . well, Lizzie and I, we don’t want to upset you, and yet I don’t know how not to. Am I making any sense, ma’am?’
‘None at all. How can you, a young man from America, possibly hurt me? Well, whatever it is, it’s sommat as is burdening you both more than you deserve, so I promise I’ll cope with it. Come on in and tell me about it.’
