The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay)

by Suzanne Kelman

  “Thank you all for coming. What I am about to tell you is a true story, a story about me. It has taken me seventy-one years to have the courage to tell it, so I plan to tell this only once, and I would appreciate it if it never, ever leaves this room.”

  Everyone nodded their heads in agreement that that would be the case.

  “You can count on us, honey,” cooed Lavinia.

  “Lips are sealed,” echoed Ruby.

  Gracie took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “This is the story I have always wanted to tell in my memoirs ever since I started writing them down, but I never had the courage. But now, because the sordid details of my sister’s story have come to light, I feel I need to set the record straight. And in doing so, I will honor someone, someone who meant a great deal to me, someone I should have honored a long time ago before now.”

  A single tear found its way down one of her porcelain cheeks. Lottie offered her a lacy hankie as tears seemed to find their way to all of us.

  She giggled then and shook her head. “No, I’m not going to cry, because this is not a sad story. It’s a very happy one. And it starts when I was just a little girl.

  “I was born and grew up in a small village in England, which, in a lot of ways, wasn’t that much different from Southlea Bay. Tucked in a hamlet on the south coast, I lived with my sister and my mother and father, who ran the local post office. It was the 1930s, and life was so much simpler then. My days were filled with climbing trees and catching sticklebacks in the stream. Books didn’t come on computers, and food didn’t make you sick. We worked hard, and we respected our elders.

  “Our little village was so tiny that my school was located in one large room in the back of our local church. There were a set of desks for each of the years, and there were no more than five or six pupils for each of those.”

  She started to giggle again.

  “So that gives you an idea of how big our little town was. Our school had a heavy oak door and thick, smooth slabs of polished gray limestone that made up the walls and floor. It was a drafty old place, but I loved it. I loved the history of it; I loved walking up the hill at the far end of our village just to get to it every day. I was always fascinated by all the figures depicted in the tall, arched stained-glass windows. Back then, I believed they had all been painted there just to welcome me to school every day. Walking into the building, I would feel delighted by the smell of wax and dust that greeted me in the morning. Every Wednesday, the local choir rehearsed in the front of the church, and their angelic sounds would find their way back to us in our schoolroom. I would often close my eyes and listen to them as I worked on a story or my sums, believing that the filtered voices drifting from the sanctuary were singing just for me. But I have to admit, my most favorite part of my church/school was the steeple. My desk was positioned right underneath it, and if I looked straight up, I could just catch a glimpse into the bell tower.

  “I would gaze up there and constantly fantasize about coming to school early one day when no one was about. Then I would race up the stone spiral staircase that sloped all the way to the top and ring the bells with all my might. I think I would still do that if I got the chance,” she added with a mischievous twinkle and then took a deep, easy breath.

  “Well, it was the summer of 1933, and I’d just turned twelve years old. My mum had made me a new blue cotton dress for my birthday, and I was in love with it. It was such a treat to have new clothes, and normally I kept them only for best. Sundays and special occasions, Mum would say. But I loved the blue of this dress so much that, once she’d finished making it, I carried on something terrible. I pleaded with her to let me wear it, just this once to school, and eventually, exasperated, she’d given in.

  “The day this story starts, I was staring down at this dress when the big wooden door with its heavy iron latch into the church opened, and he arrived . . . Douglas . . .”

  She said his name slowly, savoring it, as if she liked the sound of it, as if she’d wanted to say that name for a very long time.

  “Now, I didn’t see him come in because I was looking at that dress, and I didn’t even know he was there until he sat down next to me. My best friend, Mary, was sick that day and that was normally her seat, so I do remember that when he sat down, I felt angry that someone was now sitting in Mary’s place. But the teacher told him to sit there, so he did.

  “The first thing I noticed about him was his hair. He had the blackest hair I’d ever seen. Not mousey-brown like so many of the other boys, but thick and black, like a raven. I watched him curiously as he settled himself at his desk. He was strange to me. We didn’t get many new people in our village, and so he fascinated me. He pulled his pencil case out of his satchel and looked around the classroom. As he looked up, he had the most striking blue eyes. They reminded me of a marble I’d once owned that had come all the way from Germany for one of my birthdays from a distant relative. I was thinking about that marble when the teacher introduced him to the class. ‘This is Douglas McKenna. He said he has come from a long way away in Scotland, so we will treat him kindly, as he is new and doesn’t know anyone here.’ When the teacher spoke Douglas’s name, his face reddened, and his quick blue eyes flashed around the classroom, as if he was trying to figure out whom he could trust.

  “The teacher then went on to say that one of us would be assigned to take care of Douglas for the day and show him where to go for lunch and help him find the playground. Then, before anyone could even volunteer, our teacher was saying my name and saying I would have to take care of him. I remember thinking I didn’t want to take care of a boy, not one that was sitting in Mary’s seat and was going to want to follow me around all day. I didn’t know any boy games, and I didn’t want to start playing them.

  “I got up from my desk then, as we had to go out on the field for recess, and he followed me. Turning to him, I said, ‘I’ve got you, and I wish I didn’t, but I’ve got you all the same.’

  “The minute I said it, I regretted it because I saw the hurt in those lovely blue eyes, and I realized I was just angry because he’d taken Mary’s seat. So after that I tried to be nicer to him and showed him the bathroom and the playground and the place we went to for lunch. He hardly spoke, but when he did, he would just say, ‘Thank you, Gracie,’ in his thick Scottish accent, and I found I liked the way that he said my name. It sounded so different to me. I wanted to tell him that my name was really just ‘Grace,’ but I found I liked the way he rolled the r and over-pronounced the e. It made my name sound exotic somehow, as if I was a person you would read about in a book, so I never corrected him.

  “Eventually, he found a group of lads to play with, and when Mary came back, the teacher moved him to a different spot. I was glad to have Mary where she belonged, next to me. And that was that for a while.

  “Then, as we all grew up, there were so few of us our age in the village that we would often all do things together as a group, like play table tennis or watch a movie. Sometimes Douglas would hang around with us. He had a hearing problem, so you had to look straight at him to talk, but he never let it hold him back. He was fun and charming, always kidding around and boisterous. He was very dashing too, and Mary liked him a lot.

  “One day the guys had wanted to go out on little boats that were moored up at the village pond. Silly, really. We were about sixteen, maybe seventeen, and we had one of those mad adolescent moments. We all just grabbed a boat and jumped in. Mary and I found one, and she pulled Douglas into ours to be our rower. He obliged, and we all had a merry time playing around. That was, until Mary stood up and for fun started rocking the boat. It turned over and in we all went.

  “The pond wasn’t very large, but it was deep, so Mary just swam to the bank. But I couldn’t swim and I hadn’t wanted to tell anybody, as I was too embarrassed to admit it. So when the boat tipped, I panicked, trying desperately to keep my head above the water. I went under a couple of times. I thought no one had seen me and that I was going to drow
n right there and then, when suddenly I felt an arm around me, an arm around my waist, pulling me up toward the surface. And then I could see the light again. I was so grateful that I clung to my hero as hard as I could. It was Douglas. He lifted my head above the water with his hand under my chin, saying, ‘Don’t worry, Gracie, I’ve got you.’ Then he added with a chuckle, ‘And I wish I didn’t, but I’ve got you all the same.’ I didn’t really think about it till later, but when I did, I felt ashamed because those were the first words I’d said to him all those years ago when we’d first met.

  “So, he swam with me to the bank, which could have only taken a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity to me. Probably because I was so scared. My face was so close to him, I could hear him breathing as he swam. His thick black hair was like a mop floating in the water next to me. I remember thinking, even though I was petrified, that I wanted to reach out and just touch that hair just once while I was so close . . .”

  Gracie giggled then, saying, “But I didn’t. He got me to the bank, and someone put a coat around me, but I did get a cold and had to stay in for a couple of days.

  “One day after that, Douglas came to visit me. I remember how shocked I was when I saw him at the door. I’d been sitting by the fire in an old cardy, as my mum always called them. My nose was running and my eyes were red, and I was feeling pretty miserable. When I heard the knock on the door, I thought it was the baker, who was due to drop off bread that day, so I opened it without even thinking, and there on the doorstep was Douglas.

  “Well, I wanted to die,” added Gracie, looking straight at Lavinia.

  “Absolutely,” added Lavinia. “No lady wants to be caught in her cardy.”

  The group laughed then, and I noticed Gracie was becoming more and more buoyant as the story went on, as if in telling it she were being released from the power of the past.

  Doris topped up our tea, and I actually took a bite of the carrot cake.

  “Anyhow, I didn’t let him in. It wasn’t the done thing when a girl was alone at home, but he said he’d just come to check on me, and I was so touched. Something was ignited in me that day. I found that whenever we were out as a group, I would find myself looking for him, trying to get closer to him whenever we were together.

  “One day, we all went to a village dance together for a lark. Mary had been dancing with Douglas, and I had taken a turn around the dance floor a couple of times with some of the other local boys. When Mary and Douglas returned to the table, he was raucous, and she was exhausted.

  “He was saying, ‘Is that all you have in you, Mary? I could go another two or three at least.’ Mary was laughing and said, ‘Not with me, you won’t. Why don’t you take Grace around instead?’ I felt my heart leap in my chest.

  “Mary pushed me to my feet, and before I knew what was happening, I was in Douglas’s arms, and we were on the dance floor. At first, we were both a little tongue-tied. I know my face was beet-red, but he eased me by telling me he would try not to step on my feet, and we laughed. But as my body got closer to his, there was an electric energy between us, one I can’t even explain to this day, a merging of our souls that can’t be expressed in words. As our bodies circled around the dance floor, it was as if on each turn, we were becoming closer and closer to becoming one person. I know he felt it too. I could hear his heart pounding in his chest. It was as if a magnetic force was willing us together.

  “We didn’t dance again, but in my mind, that was the beginning for Douglas and me. Something had awakened, something that was a little fearful for both of us, I believe.

  “At the end of the night, we all walked home. Mary wasn’t feeling well, so Douglas and I walked her home first to make sure she got back okay. I also think secretly I’d wanted to be with Douglas alone. Once Mary went in, we looked at one another on the doorstep, and he said, ‘I should walk you home,’ and I nodded. We talked as we walked, and normally when we were together with the group it would have been all fun and light, but this was different, more careful, purposeful. Just a short distance from my house, I lost my footing on some broken stones, and he grabbed me again saying, ‘I’ve got you.’ I responded, laughing, ‘Don’t tell me, you wish you didn’t?’ His blue eyes met mine, and we both said together, ‘But I’ve got you all the same.’ And we laughed.

  “He held my hand then and didn’t let it go, and we didn’t speak for a minute. Then he said, ‘Gracie, there’s something I want to ask you.’ My heart was pounding through my chest, and I didn’t want him to keep speaking, but he did. We paused under a large oak tree that grew on the edge of our town. I remember thinking that it was all so romantic.”

  She giggled once again, as she added, “Then he said, ‘Gracie, I would like to kiss you.’ I almost laughed then. He said it in such a proper way.” Gracie repeated the words again, this time matching them with a perfect Scottish accent. “‘Why don’t you, then?’ I said, and he reached down and gently stroked my face, looking into my eyes as if he wanted to remember that moment forever. Then he kissed me. And it was lovely,” said Gracie, her voice becoming dry with emotion. “I think I need a minute,” she said, clutching her hankie to her chest.

  “I think we all do,” said Lavinia. “I’m perspiring like a racehorse.”

  “Let’s take a short break,” said Doris.

  As we got back together ten minutes later, the mood in the room was so much lighter. The door was now open, and Gracie seemed to be enjoying herself. After we’d all had another cup of tea and finished our cake, Gracie returned to full storytelling mode.

  “Where was I?” she said, getting comfortable in her favorite chair.

  “In my favorite place, the throes of passion,” joked Lavinia.

  “Oh yes. Well, when I got home I realized that it was a big mistake, and I knew that Mary was totally smitten with him. So I decided to put him out of my head. The next time I saw him, we were both embarrassed and agreed that we’d just got swept up by the moment. I think we both knew it wasn’t the case, but neither of us had the heart to hurt Mary.

  “Then the war started, and everything changed. Most of our young men went off to fight, but because of Douglas’s hearing problems, he had to stay behind. So he worked for the home guard and used his own tiny fishing boat to ferry soldiers to and from France whenever they needed him. He and Mary decided to get engaged, and I remember my feelings were mixed. I was so happy for them both but still felt a yearning. There was something unsatisfied in me.

  “Then the GIs came to town, and our world turned upside down. I remember the feeling of excitement as they arrived. Strong and full of confidence, they lifted our spirits, and we were all a little in awe of them. And that’s when I met Doris’s father, the dashing William Jonathon Miller, whom everyone called Will. He told me later that he’d wanted to marry me the very first day we met. I’d been helping Mum in the post office when he came in to post a letter home. He’d been so brazen and charming, refusing to leave the post office until I agreed to go out with him to a dance they were having in town to welcome the GIs. He was larger-than-life and a hoot to be around, and before I knew it, I was having so much fun with him. It had been such a long few years, and we had been working so hard for the war effort, it was nice to take a break and enjoy a breath of fresh air.

  “Then, in a moment of craziness, he proposed to me, and I found myself saying yes, as I loved being around him. He made me laugh all the time. Then he was shipped out. I remember how devastated I was when he left, frightened that I might never see him again. We wrote to each other constantly. Then, when he was listed missing in action, I took to my bed for a week. My mum would try and tempt me with all sorts of treats, but I was heartbroken. I just kept the letters he had written under my pillow. I convinced myself he was dead. Somehow, it was easier that way, because if he was still alive, I believed he would have found me to tell me. So instead I decided he wasn’t coming back—so many didn’t—and to hold out hope just hurt somehow.

  “One day I decided
to take a walk out and found myself at that little duck pond I’d almost drowned in. As I sat staring into the water, I became aware of a familiar presence next to me on the bench. It was Douglas. I was thrilled to see him; with the busyness of the war, I hadn’t seen him for months. ‘Not thinking of throwing yourself in, I hope,’ he said mischievously, ‘because I’m not wearing the best clothes to save you today.’ We both laughed.

  “He’d been busy ferrying soldiers back and forth to France. Mary had also been busy volunteering at the local hospital, and I hadn’t even seen her for about six weeks either. It was then that he told me he and Mary weren’t together anymore; apparently, she’d met someone in the hospital who won her heart. The Florence Nightingale effect, I believe they call it now.

  “Douglas and I were now both alone, and we needed someone. The constant loss of war was all around us, and it made you want to hold on to anything that was good and safe. We started to see each other, just as friends at first. We would go to the pictures or out to eat. However, whenever we would get close, that same electricity was still there. We carefully chose to keep our distance, as we were both still in a lot of pain. Then, one day, something happened.

  “We’d got caught in a downpour and had to run to a bus shelter to get out of the rain. He’d taken off his raincoat to put around my shoulders, and as he did, I looked up into his dripping wet face and found, more than anything, that I wanted to kiss him. His eyes were full of fear, as if maybe he felt the same way and didn’t know what to do about it. He was about to back away when I said, ‘Douglas, there’s something I want to ask you.’

  “‘What?’ I remember his tone was serious as he looked down at me.

  “I gazed back up at him, saying, ‘I would like to kiss you.’ He’d smiled back, remembering that day, years before. He appeared to hesitate for just a minute before his lips were upon mine. Both of us were so hungry for love, both of us hurt and lonely; it was inevitable, I suppose. So much loss and hurt all around us.”