My Father, My Son

by My Father, My Son (retail) (epub)

  He had been waiting at the back of the queue when a soldier had stopped to chat to the woman in front. What Charlie had overheard had made him and half a dozen others follow the soldier into a back lane. Here, the soldier handed out parcels of meat while his companion collected the money, telling the buyers that they would be here next week, but, ‘Don’t go shouting it about the streets,’ one of them whispered to Charlie. ‘We don’t want too many coming. It’ll put the butcher out of business.’ Charlie had sworn to keep it secret and had hidden the parcel under his jacket until he got home.

  He was the first to arrive back. Earlier in the year he had seemed to spend hours waiting in queues and would often get to the last shop on his list to find there was nothing left. But lately he had devised a Saturday roster, whereby each child who was old enough to be given the responsibility would take a different queue and so manage to get all the family’s requirements with the minimum of waiting. One by one the girls returned with their purchases, the younger ones travelling with Rowena.

  ‘It’s no good, I’ll have to have a baby,’ puffed a red-faced Beany, slamming her parcel of fruit onto the table. Charlie smiled at Rowena and asked why. ‘Because then I could go to the front of the queue!’ She flopped down, a wet cloth draped over her face. ‘It’s not fair! Three ladies pushed right to the front without having to wait at all – and I’m certain that one of them wasn’t having a baby, least she didn’t look like it to me.’

  The door knocker sounded and Lyn groaned from her spreadeagled position on the mat. ‘Oh, bug—’

  ‘That’s your resolution broken!’ Charlie stabbed at her with a finger. ‘You owe me threepence.’ He had bet her this amount that she couldn’t stick to the New Year’s proposal. So far she had managed to keep her mouth sweet.

  ‘I wasn’t going to say it! If you’d let me finish I was going to say oh, Bugthorpe!’

  ‘You’re a lying little toad.’ Charlie went to answer the door himself.

  This could be the arrival of the letter he had been waiting for. Father Duncan had finally made arrangements for him to go to college. Charlie would have a lot of catching up to do on his studies, even though he had done an immense amount of reading over the past three years. He was looking forward to going in some ways, though now that Mrs Hazelwood was being decent to him it wasn’t so pressing that he should leave. He opened the door, parted his lips with surprise and took the telegram from the man with the patch over his eye. He was about to close the door, then saw that the man was waiting and said, ‘Thank you,’ again.

  The man curled his lip and hobbled away, empty-handed. Charlie took the telegram in to show to the others. Rowena was afraid; one only received a telegram when it was bad news.

  ‘Well, we won’t know until your mother comes home.’ Charlie felt a niggle of annoyance at the telegram for overshadowing his clever purchase of the joint. Yet there was anxiety too: what if something had happened to his father? He laid the envelope on the table for all to stare at.

  * * *

  Rachel stared at it too. She had begun unloading a basketful of stockings – the children always got new stockings at Easter – when Charlie said, ‘This came,’ and held it out to her, making her blood coagulate. Everything around her spelled cosiness – the table set neatly for tea, a singing kettle, a tableful of well-behaved and rosy-cheeked girls… why then, did her skin crawl?

  Ever so slowly she took it from him – then thrust it straight back. ‘You read it!’

  He looked at her and she jerked her head impatiently. Trying to imagine what he might find, Charlie unfolded the telegram, was silent for a spell, then said gravely, ‘Father’s been wounded, they’re sending him home.’

  There were cries of mixed emotion from the girls. Rachel allowed the trapped breath to slip out. Charlie could not tell if it meant relief or disgust. She took the telegram to read it for herself, then went to file it on the mantel.

  Rowena waited for more information, but her mother had started to brew the tea. ‘Is he badly hurt, Mother?’

  ‘It doesn’t say – Charlie, did you get that special priced margarine?’ Charlie told her that Robina had acquired it. ‘Good.’ Then she sniffed. ‘What’s that smell?’

  He remembered the meat in the oven and told her about it. ‘I didn’t know what time to put it in, I hope it’s done.’ Rachel opened the oven door. There was disbelief on her face… but not the kind he had hoped to produce with his special bargain. She tutted loudly. ‘This is what the Army get while we at home have to make do with stuff I wouldn’t normally feed to a dog!’

  His face fell. ‘I’m sorry… I won’t get any more next week.’

  ‘You will!’ She rounded from the oven, carrying the roast and looked for a dish to put it on.

  ‘But I thought you were angry at me.’ He could never fathom her constant change of mood.

  ‘Not at you, you’ve done very well, it’s beautifully cooked. It’s the Army that sickens me. It’s bad enough knowing they’re getting all the good food, but when you think there are soldiers lining their own pockets from the food that was meant for those who are fighting…’

  He said carefully, ‘So you want me to get some more next week?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t get caught – Regina, do sit still or you’re going to spill your drink!’ The child had begun to rock and chant with the others, ‘Father’s coming home! Father’s coming home!’

  Becky laughed and covered the small hand. ‘You don’t even remember him!’

  ‘Do be quiet, all of you,’ scolded Rachel. ‘You’ll get indigestion. Rowena, bring me the carving knife, if you can remember what it looks like; it’s been so long since we’ve needed it.’

  ‘When’s he coming, Mother?’ enquired Beany as the meat was dished out.

  ‘Soon – now could we leave the questions until after our meal? I’ve had some devilishly awkward customers today and I can’t do to listen to you mithering as well.’ They chorused apology and got on with their meal, which all agreed was splendid, despite the absence of potatoes which were in short supply.

  But for Rachel, the succulence of the meat was tainted by her nauseous state of mind. She kept asking herself the same questions that the children wanted to know: how badly was he wounded? What was the nature of the wound? When was he coming? And one more: what would he expect of her?

  Some of these questions were answered when a letter arrived from Jack Daw a few days later. In actual fact it came by way of the man’s wife. Jack had deliberately enclosed the letter with one to Ella saying, ‘Get yourself round there, stop being bloody stupid and sort things out between the two of you. There’s enough idiocy out here without having to put up with it when I get home.’ So before she had gone to work, Ella had brought the letter round, tapping on the back door and waiting to be admitted. Since the New Year’s Eve incident she had taken to saying hello again to Rachel if she should meet her, but until now had not ventured across her threshold.

  Despite this fact, Rachel hadn’t seemed surprised to see her, had taken the letter from her, invited her to sit down and ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ as though nothing nasty had ever passed between them. Ella refused the tea, but sat down to watch her read the letter. Three years of war and bereavement had certainly transformed Rachel. Certainly not for the better as far as looks were concerned… yet there was some quality that had not been there before; a kind of dignity.

  ‘Shell shock,’ muttered Rachel, folding the letter.

  Ella nodded. ‘I don’t suppose our Jack would mention it to you, but I will: you nearly didn’t get Russ back. He’d lost his reasoning, went running off towards the German guns. Jack put a bullet in his leg – just enough to bring him down and send him home.’

  ‘If you’re expecting me to thank your husband…’

  Ella slapped the arms of the chair and rose before she became involved in an argument. ‘Aye well! I’ve done what I came to do…’

  Rachel’s expression folded into one of regret.
‘Wait… I didn’t mean it how it sounded.’ She searched for words. ‘I’m sure Jack’s motives were well meant… it’s just that I’m not sure I want him back, Ella. I was just beginning to get used to coping alone. I don’t know that I want his interference or even his presence.’

  There was a strained pause, then Ella said, ‘I think from what Jack says that you’ll still be copin’ alone. Have you ever seen anybody with shell shock, Rachel?’ The other shook her head; it was just a newfangled term that had appeared in the language of late. ‘Well, Russ may not be that bad physically… but I shouldn’t expect him to be his old cheerful self.’

  ‘Huh! That’s the last thing I want, his old cheerful self.’ Her voice softened then. ‘Anyway… none of us is our old cheerful self.’

  Ella agreed, and said presently, ‘You’ve not had a very good war, have you, Rache?’

  Rachel thought what an odd observation this was, but merely shook her head.

  ‘I really was sorry about Bertie, you know… are you over it now?’

  The old Rachel would have flared at this stupid query – as if one ever got over the death of a son. But this Rachel said, ‘It’s hard, but I get by.’ Then she made the consideration of asking after Ella’s husband.

  ‘Oh, he’s managing to stay upright,’ replied Ella. ‘I do worry about him though… Look at all these poor lads hobbling around on one leg.’ She shivered, then put her fears to one side. ‘Anyway, he says you and me are to make things right between us, so what d’you say?’

  ‘I say that’s a sensible idea,’ replied the other evenly.

  That was another thing about her, thought Ella, there isn’t that aimless chatter that there used to be. ‘Aye, so do I! So if there’s anything you need, anything doing, just give me a shout.’

  ‘You’ll be busy enough with your own job,’ said Rachel.

  Ella divulged that she wasn’t at the munitions now. ‘It was giving me too many headaches so I thought I’d get a job with a bit more fresh air. There was hell on when I said I was leaving. The overlooker said, “You can’t go without a leaving certificate.” I sez, “I’m bloody well off and you know what you can do with your leaving certificate.” I’m working on the land now – out at Bishopthorpe. Anyway, I’m never too busy to help a neighbour, so think on what I said.’

  Rachel opened her mouth to say that was very magnanimous of Ella, considering the waspish comments that had been thrown at her, but Ella cut her off. ‘Ah-ah! Say nowt, just shout.’ So saying, she rose and left.

  After she had gone, Rachel sat there for a long time thinking about what this would mean. She was still thinking about it when Charlie and Regina came in from their walk – the rest were at school. She started and so did Charlie; he had expected the house to be empty.

  ‘Goodness, is it that time?’ She ran to collect her coat and hat. ‘I’d better get down to the shop. Custom is bad enough without having complaints about late opening hours.’

  But the sudden sight of him had answered one of her questions. When she returned in the evening she would make her decision known.

  * * *

  The younger ones had bounced off outside to play, leaving Charlie and Rowena in charge of the washing up. Rachel sat on a dining chair and eyed their activities at the sink, rehearsing in her mind what she was going to say. She had been rehearsing it all day but it didn’t make it any easier. She would just be about to broach the subject, when one of them would say something to the other and the words would slide back down her throat. Go on, she primed herself, say it now.

  ‘Your father may have to remain in bed for a time when he comes home.’

  Rowena turned from the sink. ‘We supposed he might. Charlie and me… Charlie and I were talking about it last night… where will he be sleeping, Mother?’ Before the latter part of the sentence was uttered she had reverted her eyes to the sink.

  Rachel caught the implication. ‘If you’re saying he should go in Robert’s room…’

  Rowena spun back quickly. ‘No, no… but don’t you think it might be rather uncomfortable in the attic? For somebody who’s wounded, I mean. You see,’ once again she concealed her eyes, ‘Charlie thinks it’d be better if he were to go back to the attic and Father were to have the nursery.’

  ‘And Regina?’ asked Rachel, icily patient.

  ‘Me and Becky could fit her in our bed so she wouldn’t disturb Father.’

  ‘You appear to have everything nicely organized,’ sniped her mother.

  ‘Don’t blame Rowena, Mrs Hazelwood,’ said Charlie, on seeing the girl flush. ‘It was my idea entirely. I just thought it might be helpful, save you having to run up and down an extra flight of stairs to see to Father.’ He still used the last word sparingly, though she did not seem to mind so much now… at least she hadn’t until the news had come of her errant spouse’s homecoming.

  ‘And what makes you think that I’ll be the one running up and down after him?’ Her query unanswered, Rachel launched straight into her proposal. ‘I’ll put it plainly: there’s no way I can run the shop and look after an invalid – because that’s what your father’s going to be, for a while anyway. It’s his leg. I had a letter from Mr Daw this morning. It’s not serious,’ she added hastily at Rowena’s open-mouthed concern, ‘but he will probably have to stay in bed. Apparently he’s in hospital at the moment but they have to make room for the more seriously wounded, that’s why he’s coming home. So… I’m afraid you’re going to have to add nursing to your endless capabilities.’ She was looking at Charlie. ‘At least until we hear from the college.’

  For the moment he was speechless, blinking from Rachel to her daughter. Then he said, ‘If you like, I could look after the shop so you…’

  Rachel held up her palm to stay his suggestion. ‘I may as well be frank. I don’t feel that I could nurse a man who’s hurt and humilated me as much as your father has.’

  Rowena hid her face. The sink became blurred. Charlie, too, felt a pang of dismay. It was going to start all over again – just when he had won her. But as he silently continued washing the crockery he began to see that here was the opportunity he had been wanting since he had arrived: the chance to earn his father’s love. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he told her.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  There didn’t seem to be much wrong with him, apart from the limp. Rachel pursed her lips in irritation as two men helped him from the ambulance and towards the house, all three laughing and joking.

  ‘Hello, Rache!’ he called as they eased him between the gateposts. ‘Has Biddy got the kettle on?’

  ‘Biddy isn’t with us any more; I’ve sacked her.’ She stepped aside for them to enter. There was no one else there to greet him. The children were at school and Charlie, unaware that his father was coming in the morning – for Rachel’s information had stated the afternoon – had taken Regina for a walk.

  ‘Where shall we put him, missus?’

  Rachel directed them to the former nursery and stood meekly by as they put him to bed. There had been some weeks between her receiving the telegram and him actually coming home. Weeks of uncertainty. How would she feel when he did come? What would she say when he mentioned Robert? She didn’t really want to talk about her son to anyone – least of all him.

  ‘There you are, chum.’ One of his helpers tugged the blankets up to his waist. ‘Get a nice cup o’ tea down you, you’ll be right as rain.’ He looked expectantly at Rachel, but when no offer of tea was forthcoming he and the other man left.

  Rachel stood and looked at him, playing with her fingers.

  ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from anything,’ tendered her husband, though in friendly vein.

  ‘I was about to go and open the shop. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.’

  ‘Neither did I. They packed me off before breakfast.’

  ‘Do you want…?’ Her fingers wavered towards the stairs.

  ‘No… no, don’t go to any trouble.’ Russ waited for her to say, it’s no t
rouble, but she didn’t, forcing him to add, ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, though, if you can spare the time.’ She gave an abbreviated nod and went down to make it, carrying one cup back to his room and again standing to watch him while he sipped it. He asked, wasn’t she having one?

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you to your own company. I promised a customer I’d have some cream braid for her this morning. She’s coming at eleven… I wasn’t to know you were coming this morning.’

  Unease fluttered within his breast, yet he said cheerfully, ‘Oh, don’t worry about me! I’ll just lie here and enjoy the luxury… what time will you be back?’

  ‘Dinner time,’ she replied on her way out. ‘But Charlie will be here before then. I’ll leave a note for him. He’ll no doubt keep you company.’ With nothing further to add she left. Not a word, she thought. Not a word about his son.

  The door had no sooner closed than he started to sweat. He wanted to shout, please don’t leave me alone! but the words merely screamed around his head while he struggled for breath. The hot tea slopped over the brim of the cup, marking the sheets. Palsied fingers rattled it back onto its saucer and transferred it to the bedside table. He wrapped his arms tightly about himself and shook, and shook…