‘How did you find me? Why here? Why now? I don’t understand.’
He took out a silk handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.
‘It’s probably more than seventy years too late, but it’s the thing I’ve been most ashamed of all my life.’
‘You had no reason to be loyal to me. It was one night. Why should you be ashamed?’
‘Because I lied. I lied to you. And I knew. I knew the consequences of that night but I was too much of a coward …’
There was pain in his eyes. Kanga frowned. ‘Consequences?’
He sighed.
‘I told you a lie that night. I wasn’t going off to learn to fly. I was supposed to. I was all packed and ready. But at the last moment, I failed the medical. Bloody asthma. They wouldn’t let me train. It was out of the question.’
‘Asthma …’ Kanga echoed, thinking of Willow.
‘I was so ashamed. I wanted to fight for my country. I wanted to be a hero. And when I met you, I wanted to be a hero in your eyes. I lied to you. I gave you my friend’s name. Harry’s name. Harry Swann was doing the thing I wanted to do so badly. For one night with you, I was him. I was the person I wanted to be.’
‘Oh.’ Kanga understood. Only people who had lived through those terrible times could understand that level of patriotism. She put a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We were young. Swept up in the moment.’
‘It does matter. I let you down. Horribly. I’ve lived with the shame all of my life. Because I knew …’
She frowned. ‘Knew what?’
‘I knew about the baby. I knew about your letter. The one you wrote to Harry. And he sent it back to you. Of course he did. He had no idea who you were. But when he was on leave, he told me he’d had a letter. From a girl expecting his baby. He laughed about it. But I knew straight away it was you.’
Kanga caught her breath. She remembered the envelope landing on the mat. Return to Sender. The crushing disappointment. The sense of being let down. But the letter had gone to the wrong person.
And yet he had known all along. The father of her baby had known.
‘If you knew, why didn’t you come and find me?’
‘I did.’ He looked at her. ‘I came, after the war. I found your house. I was going to knock on the door. But as I was plucking up the courage, I saw you come out. You were with a man. A tall man, quite a bit older than you. With glasses. But I could see, you were in love. The way you looked at each other. You laughed and he kissed you …’
Kanga nodded. ‘Jocelyn. My Jocelyn.’
‘And a little girl came out and he scooped her up and put her on his shoulders. There was no doubt in my mind that you were a family. That she might have been my child, but she belonged with you and him, not you and me.’
‘I don’t know what to say …’ Kanga felt a little dizzy.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you.’
‘Why now? Why tell me now?’
He looked out across the gardens. There was a bleakness in his face.
‘I suppose we don’t have much time left, and I wanted to atone. Explain and atone. As I said, it has been something I have wrestled with all my life. For years, I thought you were better off without me. Who wants a coward? A liar?’
‘You were young. So young.’
‘I happened to see the picture of you and Ivy in the newspaper, when her death was announced.’ Ivy’s death had been picked up on by a couple of the nationals, as she was one of the last survivors of the Bath Blitz. ‘I thought you would be here. I thought it was time to put the record straight.’
Kanga pulled her coat further around her. She had so many questions.
‘If you’re not Harry Swann, then what is your name?’
‘Rufus. Rufus Hammond.’
She hesitated for a moment, then held out her hand. ‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you again, Rufus.’
He took her hand in his. There was a look of enormous gratitude in his eyes. ‘You are very gracious. Very forgiving.’
‘I never forgot you.’
How could she? She’d had the ultimate memento.
There was a pause.
‘Our daughter?’ he asked, his eyes full of questions.
Kanga looked away.
‘Our daughter was wonderful. Catherine. Jocelyn was a wonderful father to her. He brought her up as his own.’ She faltered for a moment. ‘She was a free spirit. A traveller. Full of adventure and wonder at the world. I’m afraid … she died. When she was thirty. She was knocked off her bicycle when she was going to collect her daughter from nursery. Thank goodness Laura wasn’t on the back. That was the only saving grace.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ He looked stricken.
‘It was a long time ago. And we had Laura. We brought her up. Catherine didn’t have a partner – the baby’s father was a one-night stand from her travels in Greece. We never judged her for that.’
The two of them stood in the late-afternoon breeze as the sun started to go down. They contemplated their mistakes, their memories, their losses. But, eventually, they exchanged a glance and a smile. At their age, thought Kanga, forgiveness was all.
For a moment, she imagined telling Ivy:
‘You won’t believe it, Ivy. He’s come back. Harry Swann’s come back to see me. Only he’s not Harry Swann. He’s called Rufus.’
She could imagine Ivy’s wicked laugh. The toss of her head and the flash in her eye as she said, ‘It’s a bit bloody late now, tell him.’
40
1945
Jilly stood in the garden. The sun shone with a triumphant glow as if it had heard the news, announced by Churchill with his usually solemnity.
‘The hostilities will end officially tonight, at one minute after midnight …’
The leaves rustled in the breeze as if to add their applause. Apart from that, it was quiet. She looked into the sky. Clouds glided overhead as if they were heading somewhere important. They had a sense of purpose she didn’t feel.
Instead of joy, she felt despair. Suddenly everything seemed pointless. Without the war to battle against, what was she to do? She knew she should be jumping up and down cheering, waving a little flag like everyone else, but she felt an unbearable sadness.
It was all over. She had been so brave, fighting on, keeping up her own spirits and everyone else’s. But somehow now the realisation hit home: they had gone, and they weren’t coming back.
The longing swooped in and hit her, an ache that left a ragged hole right inside her more painful than any bullet wound. A bullet wound would heal, eventually, but Jilly felt as if the pain would never subside.
She sank to her knees with her face in her hands, hot tears sliding through her fingers. She imagined her father coming in with the news, a broad smile across his face; her mother grabbing him and whirling him around the kitchen in a dance of triumph. Maybe that’s what they were doing, somewhere up above those very clouds. Maybe they were glad she was now safe.
She fell onto the earth, feeling its warmth but not comforted by it in any way. She smelled its rich dankness as she sobbed.
Then she felt a hand on her head. A gentle pat. She looked up to see Catherine’s round face, her cheeks pale pink with sleep, peering down at her. She must have woken from her nap and trotted outside. Jilly sat up, brushing the dirt from her hands, trying to compose herself, not wanting to distress her daughter.
‘Mummy sad.’ Catherine patted her cheek. Her eyes were grave with concern.
‘Yes,’ said Jilly. ‘Mummy is a bit sad. But not now I’ve seen you, darling.’
She scooped the little girl up in her arms, pulling her to her. She was deliciously warm, the light cotton of her dress soft around her. She nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her sweet scent, glorying in her presence. She nibbled at her skin with her lips, making Catherine giggle with delight.
‘Mummy! Stop it!’ she squealed, clearly not wanting her to stop at all. And Jilly laughed with her as she squirmed in her ar
ms. The dark gloom lifted slightly. She would go back into the house, wash her face and brush her hair, put on a clean dress, perhaps even put on some lipstick, and push Catherine into town in her pram. Her parents, she knew, would have been the first ones to put up bunting and join in the celebrations. She wasn’t going to wallow in her grief any longer.
She pulled out the prettiest dress she could. She combed out her hair and pinned it back up with a roll at the front, in an approximation of what Ivy would do. Ivy was in the bath, preparing to do herself up to the nines. She was still living at Number 11. Helena and the children had moved out a few months ago, rehoused by the council in a place of their own. It was quiet without them, so she was renting the rooms out on a casual basis, board and lodging.
As she got herself ready, she heard the brusque ring of the front doorbell, loud through the house. As a doctor, it had been important for her father to have a bell that could be heard above everything else. She picked up Catherine and ran down the stairs.
There was a young man standing outside. He had kind brown eyes behind his black spectacles and was holding a leather Gladstone bag.
‘I was told you might have a room,’ he said. ‘I need one for at least a month.’
‘Oh!’ Feeling a bit silly that she was so done up, her cheeks grew warm. ‘Well, yes. I’ve got two in the attic.’
‘May I have a look? Or were you on your way somewhere?’
‘I was going to join the celebrations. But it can wait.’
He gave a smile. ‘It’s marvellous news.’
‘Marvellous!’ she echoed, wondering why one earth she couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say.
‘Though we have a long way to go. Before things are normal.’
She nodded. His gravitas intrigued her. He had a seriousness to him, a thoughtfulness, that drew her to him. He was younger than he looked, perhaps. But when he smiled, his whole face lit up and his eyes twinkled.
‘Why don’t you come in and have a look? See if you like the room.’
He followed her up the stairs and explained to her what he was doing.
‘I’m here for at least a few weeks. I’m an architect. I’ve come to help with the replanning of the city.’
‘An architect? That’s fascinating.’
‘It is. It will be wonderful to work in a city like Bath. Try and restore it to its former glory.’
‘We’ve got a long way to go. Here. You might like the room on the right. It’s a little bigger.’
He walked across the room and looked out of the window. ‘What a wonderful view.’
‘Not everyone likes looking at chimney pots.’
‘Well, I do. How much are you looking for? Per week?’
She gave him her rate and he nodded.
‘That’s half board,’ she said. ‘Breakfast and dinner. Plus bread and jam for tea if you want it. But I’ll need your ration book.’
He put his bag down on the bed in agreement. ‘Done,’ he said with that illuminating smile again. It made her feel special. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked eventually.
‘Lovely,’ he said, and reached out a finger for Catherine to grab. ‘What’s the little one’s name?’
‘Catherine. She’s quite quiet, so she won’t disturb you.’
‘And you?’
Jilly laughed. ‘I’m very quiet too.’
‘I meant your name.’ His lips twitched with amusement.
Jilly’s heart skittered a little. How had she gone from lying in the dirt sobbing to standing in a room with a perfect stranger who made her feel … well, she wasn’t sure what he made her feel, but he was making her feel something, and that was certainly a change.
‘Jilly.’
He held out his hand. ‘Jocelyn. Jocelyn Ingram.’
His fingers felt as warm as a peach that has been lying on a windowsill in the sun.
She didn’t want to let go.
While he unpacked his things and had a wash, she ran down the stairs to the kitchen. She popped Catherine down and grabbed the tiny mirror she kept on the dresser, peering in it to see what she looked like, smoothing her hair. She couldn’t put on lipstick, that would be too obvious. Ivy would, she thought. But she wasn’t sure Jocelyn was the sort of man who cared about lipstick on a girl. She would do.
When he came back down, she had filled the old brown teapot and put some home-made scones on a plate with a dish of jam.
‘I don’t know if you’re hungry.’
‘I’m not. But I can’t resist.’ Jocelyn reached out and took a scone.
There was a clattering of footsteps along the corridor and Ivy whirled into the room. She looked radiant, her hair higher than ever, her lipstick brighter, her eyes sparkling.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘There’s going to be dancing in the streets. We can’t waste another minute. Oh!’ Her eyes fell on Jocelyn. ‘Hello.’
He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Jocelyn Ingram. I’m the new lodger.’
‘Well,’ said Ivy. ‘Lucky us.’
‘Lucky me, I’d say.’ He twinkled at her.
‘Are you going to come into town with us?’
‘How can I possibly refuse?’
Jilly looked at him in fascination. She loved the way he held his own with Ivy, amused by her but not intimidated like some men. Yet not entranced either. She loved his teasing tone. His quiet confidence.
She slipped into the pantry and put some lipstick on anyway. She could use the celebrations as an excuse.
The four of them went down the hill into Bath, Catherine in the pram, Ivy dancing with impatience.
There was bunting and cheering and music and dancing and long trestle tables groaning with food down the streets. Ivy disappeared into the crowds and Jilly doubted she would be seeing her again before midnight.
It was wonderful, the atmosphere. Everyone hugged each other and cheered and waved. Catherine was given a little flag and brandished it from the depths of her pram.
By late afternoon, Jilly had had enough. Catherine was tired and needed a bath and her bed.
‘Come on,’ said Jocelyn. ‘Let me get the two of you back. You look exhausted.’
‘No, no, no. I can manage. I don’t want to spoil your fun.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, taking the pram from her. ‘I’ll push.’
And later, when Catherine was tucked up in bed, he poured her a glass of wine he had produced from nowhere and put it into her hands. He raised his own glass.
‘To the future,’ he said. ‘To our future.’
She thought, at the time, he was talking generally, about the country’s future, but looking back, she realised he had known straight away, and the future he’d been talking about was theirs, his and hers, the two of them. Together.
41
She looked for the tenth time at the departure board. When was the gate going to be announced? And would they have time to get to it? If their flight was on time, there wasn’t long. She hated this not knowing. It was a long way to the gates if they were at the wrong end. She looked out at the planes on the runway to see if they could give her a clue.
‘Will you just relax?’ Herbie put a hand on her shoulder. ‘There’ll be plenty of time.’
‘It’s fine. I’m not worried,’ insisted Antonia.
‘I can see you. Checking and double-checking. Don’t worry. They aren’t going without us.’
Mexico. She was going to Mexico. With her crazy little brother. On a one-way ticket. Without a hotel booked, except for the first night, because she had insisted. She was way out of her comfort zone. Not in control at all.
But that was the point. This trip was her therapy. Her chance to let go a bit. Leave things to chance.
And although Herbie was maddeningly laid-back and disorganised, and left everything to the last minute, he would have her back. He knew the lie of the land, where they were going, he had mates. It would be fine, she told herself.
He’d laughed at her hand luggage. She had everything she needed. Headphones, travel pillow, eye mask, sleeping pills, books, Kindle, water, pashmina, spare knickers, chewing gum … all neatly packed and to hand, her travel documents in a special wallet, everything clearly labelled.
Herbie had a rucksack with a battered Ernest Hemingway paperback and his wallet and passport. That was it. She couldn’t understand how he could travel so light. She bet he would start asking her for things halfway through the flight. That’s what usually happened.
But she didn’t mind. This was perfect for her. Just what she needed to leave the mess of the past few months behind her.
Suddenly the gate number appeared on the board. Her heart gave a little flip. It was real. Once she was at the departure gate, there was no going back. She picked up her bag.
‘Hasta la vista, baby,’ said Herbie. ‘Let’s go.’
42
It was the thing she loved best in the world. That quiet half hour in the kitchen before everyone arrived, when she put the finishing touches to the meal and made sure everything was perfect – but not too perfect, because actually there was nothing more annoying than perfection.
Laura counted up the places around the table again, looking at her list. She was obsessed with lists at the moment – how on earth would she have got through the last few weeks without them?
She’d gone from having an empty nest and nothing to do to running three businesses. The Airbnb had taken off like a rocket, with people coming to Bath to do their Christmas shopping. Her stall at the market was a huge success – she couldn’t cook fast enough to keep up with demand. And Wellington Buildings was almost completed. There were a few cosmetic tweaks to add before they went onto the market, but she had got three separate estate agents to come and value the apartments the week before and Dom had been delighted with their estimates.
She cringed sometimes when she thought how easily things could have turned out differently. If Dom hadn’t been so lucky – perhaps they had Antonia’s intervention to thank for that? Or what if she’d gone back with Herbie, when he’d propositioned her at the Reprobate that night? She blushed even now at the memory.
A Family Recipe Page 30
