Russ shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Well, what a fine collection of faces. They look as if they’ve been up to mischief to me, Mother.’ This drew a giggle from all and Rowena’s cheeks grew pinker as she imagined her parents in an embrace.
‘We haven’t been up to mischief,’ chanted Lyn.
‘Oh, there you are, you see!’ objected Beany to her eldest sister. ‘It wasn’t me who spoilt Mother and Father’s fun.’ She was dealt a hefty nudge.
Russ stared hard at them all, then shared a startled look with his wife… then both began to laugh. And the house was filled with Christmas joy.
Chapter Thirty-five
When Charlie came home on Boxing Day he sensed that something had changed – felt that chill of alienation he had experienced on coming here four and a half years ago. Not immediately, for to his delight Rachel and three of her daughters were waiting at the station to meet him. Having not expected anyone, he had stepped off the train and was making directly for the ticket barrier when, hearing his name called, he spun to see a red flare bobbing its way through the crowd and beneath it Becky’s smiling face. Dropping his case to the platform, he caught her in a hug as she burst upon him.
‘All this time and we nearly missed you!’ Rachel, having decided to carry Regina, had caught up with the group. ‘We’ve been waiting down that end of the platform – Merry Christmas, Charlie! How are you?’ With a grin and a Merry Christmas of his own he assured her he was feeling great, then greeted Rhona, who had come too. He asked about her sisters.
‘Lyn and Beany have gone for a walk with Father,’ she told him. ‘Wena didn’t want to come.’
This hurt him – he had always considered the eldest girl as one of the closest to him – but he said, ‘Then they can wait for their presents. When we get home you three get yours first.’
And so they did. When their sisters arrived with Russ, the small gifts were brandished with glee. But Charlie’s mind had left the presents. The moment his father and the rest of the family were together he knew that something was different. It wasn’t the way they behaved towards him, but how they behaved towards each other. During the meal that followed, there were certain looks that passed between them, especially between Mrs Hazelwood and his father. Looks that made Charlie feel an outsider again. Then there was Rowena. At their meeting, she had been hard pressed to form a simple hello, had shunned his attentions and greeted everything he said with bad humour. Even as he smiled at her now she turned her head away.
‘Won’t you be going to Adrian’s at all these holidays?’
It was Rachel who spoke. Charlie stopped trying to work out what had happened here and looked at her. ‘No, he’s off to his grandparents. Maybe in the summer…’
Rachel poured herself another cup of tea. ‘We thought perhaps you might like to invite him here in the summer. I’m sure we could put him up, for a day or two at least.’
Before Charlie had the chance to offer gratitude, his father said, ‘Maybe he’d rather be at his friend’s home.’
Rachel spotted the boy’s expression and said, ‘Well, it’s a long time until the summer – have some more bread if you like, Charlie.’
When the meal was over, Charlie handed out the remainder of the gifts. Everyone tore at the paper… everyone except his father.
‘I’ll open mine later.’ Russ placed the gift on the dresser and began to read a magazine.
Oh, Russell, thought his wife despairingly, then enlisted her daughters to clear the pots. Charlie offered to help but was told to sit where he was and enjoy himself.
Enjoy myself! thought Charlie with a glance at his father’s face.
Rachel looked into the kitchen. Why doesn’t he say something to the poor boy? she thought impatiently. He can’t spend the rest of Christmas making out he isn’t there. ‘I hope you didn’t spend too much on these Christmas presents?’ she called to Charlie, wanting to make him feel part of things. ‘Have you got yourself a little job or something?’
He smiled. ‘No, I won the end of term prize for having made the most progress during term. Ten shillings.’
‘And you went and spent it all on us? I think that’s extraordinarily kind of him, don’t you, Russ?’ She received a grunt from her husband. ‘Well done, Charlie, that’s a splendid achievement.’ Russell, will you stop reading that magazine and talk to the poor boy? Be nice to him.
But Russell was not reading the print, he was in fact priming himself to speak to the boy. He had decided upon his words; all he had to do was say them. But he couldn’t do that with an audience. The magazine was discarded for a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth. Charlie did not bother to jump up and light it; his mind had left the room and was now with Adrian. He and Ade had talked about it a lot. Charlie had almost made up his mind to be a priest. Almost, but not quite. He still did not feel the conviction that his friend had. It wasn’t that he felt unable to serve God, it wasn’t the thought of not having a family, nor even the question of celibacy. It was his father. To become a priest would be admitting failure.
‘Come in the front, lad, I want to talk to you.’
Startled, Charlie looked at his father. Russell was heading for the front parlour. Charlie snatched a look at Rachel, who smiled and nodded at him over the heads of her daughters. Boosted by this, he got up and followed his father.
Russ was standing at the window gazing out, though there was little to see except the distant glimmer of lamps. ‘Close the door.’
Charlie did so and, at his father’s command, sat down. Russ came to sit down too, on a chair by the fireplace. He flicked the ash from his cigarette into the cold grate. Economy forbade a fire in here as well as in the back room. ‘Me and Mrs Hazelwood have come to an arrangement. We’re back together.’
Charlie’s face lit up and he came to attention. ‘Oh, that’s…’
‘Before you applaud, I ought to tell you how this is going to affect you.’ Russ narrowed his eyes as the smoke from his cigarette partially blinded him. ‘I know Mrs Hazelwood said you could invite your friend in the summer, but with only three rooms and the attic it makes it a bit of a squash.
‘Oh well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Charlie amicably. ‘Ade won’t…’
‘What I’m trying to say is, it’d be better if you could arrange to spend your holidays at his house.’
Charlie noticed that his father had said holidays and not holiday. ‘You mean… all of them?’
‘Yes.’ Russ took a last pull at the cigarette and thumbed it into the grate. Then he looked straight at Charlie. ‘When I said Rachel and me are back together again, I meant we would be back together if it wasn’t for you. How old are you now?’ Charlie heard his voice say that he was almost seventeen. ‘Good, then you’re old enough to understand my meaning. While you’re in the house, she won’t… she doesn’t feel able to sleep with me. I can’t say I’m comfortable about it either. You act as a reminder. So, if you didn’t come it’d give us a chance to put our marriage back together. You understand that? I mean, you’re nearly a man, you’d be leaving here of your own accord soon anyway, wouldn’t you?’ Charlie was speechless. ‘Will you be going on to another seminary when you leave that place?’
‘That depends on whether I decide to be a priest,’ muttered Charlie, mind whirling.
‘Well, you’ve obviously given up the idea of being a soldier. You seemed really keen on that a few years ago.’
‘Adrian says soldiers are stupid.’ Charlie used it to hurt, but it was a poor sword against his father’s weapon.
Russ gave a cold snort. ‘Happen your Adrian’s right.’ He heard Becky’s voice calling for Charlie. ‘Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Sounds as if those lasses want you.’ He strolled back to the window and stared into its dark pane, watching Charlie’s reflection leave the room.
A dazed Charlie entered the kitchen, whereupon Becky pounced on him. ‘We’re playing Happy Families!’ She shoved him towards the table where he sat down, watching the car
ds being shuffled. He felt dead inside.
‘Charlie, are you listening?’ It was Beany. He said sorry and asked her to repeat herself. ‘Have you got Master Bun the baker’s son?’
Charlie studied his cards and gave a no. When it came to his turn he had to be prompted yet again. Lyn threw the card he had asked for. It overreached the table and fell to the floor. Bending for it, he accidently caught his head on Rowena’s skirts and lifted them above her knee.
She let out a shriek. ‘You stupid idiot! Why did you have to come here for Christmas? Everything was all right till you came!’ and fled from the room.
Charlie looked at his other half-sisters, none of whom seemed the least bit concerned. Pushing back his chair, he went to the understairs cupboard and took out his holdall. Rachel stopped what she was doing to watch.
‘Charlie, where are you off?’ called Becky as he reached the door. He didn’t answer – just went straight down the passage and out of the front door. Becky turned to Rachel in alarm. ‘Mother, I think he was crying!’
Rachel leapt into action, running to the front parlour. ‘Russell, what on earth have you said to that boy?’ Her husband turned. ‘He’s just walked out with his case! Rebecca said she thought he was crying!’
Rowena, sitting at the top of the stairs, bit her lip. Oh God, it was she who was responsible! But oh, she was so mixed up these days. One minute she felt like hugging Charlie, the next she felt like punching him. She didn’t know what was the matter with her.
Russ stiffened – odd, he thought, how fear always strikes you in the arse. He felt the muscles here turn spastic, remembering the night that Bertie had run away… and he hadn’t come back. The spectres came: Bertie, Dobson, Wheatley, all of them pulling and tugging at his gut. Go after him! He’s your lad!
He fought them – no, my lad’s dead.
Yes! and you’re going to kill this one too.
Rachel was pulling at his sleeve. ‘You’ve got to bring him back – Russ, are you listening to me?’ She shook him. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
The spectres vanished, but the fear did not. Pressing her aside, he made his way down the passage… only it was not the passage; he was back in the trenches, running towards the latrine, trying to warn Jewitt to get out before it was too late. He opened the door and dashed through it, but he was still in the trench. He started calling, ‘Charlie! Charlie!’ and ran down the dark street. He heard the guns exploding but ran on, turned into a communication trench. The captain shouted to him but he ran on…
Jack Daw turned to watch his friend teeter at the crossroads. ‘Straight on if you’re looking for Charlie!’ He had just passed the boy, who had been running too.
Russ slipped on something in the road, righted himself and ran on down the terrace. He was forgetting his age. At the foot of the slope, breathlessness forced him to stop. He doubled over, hands on knees, to catch his wind. With every inhalation, the cold air sliced his lungs. Got to find him! Got to find him!
Restored, he uncurved his spine and cast a desperate look about him. ‘Charlie!’ He continued in the same direction, though confining his pace to a trot. Reaching the main road, he strained his eyes for the boy. There were plenty of folk about, but none of them was Charlie. Crossing the road and some waste ground, he came to the river. No, the boy would have no need to come here. He would be heading back to the station. Russ was about to strike back for the main road, when the sound of boyish laughter lured him to the river. He stumbled down the path and came across two boys who hurled stones at something in the water. Not something – someone! ‘Charlie!’ He broke into a run. Charlie’s head was bobbing in the water, he was being pelted by stones! His face kept going under. Russ felt the water closing over his own face. Reaching the boys, he lashed out and gave each a hefty swipe round the head. ‘You little sods! What d’you think you’re playing at?’ Then he left them to turn to their victim. The boys ran away. Russ stumbled to the river’s edge, knelt down and reached out his hand to… a balloon. Charlie’s head turned into a dark balloon that floated away on the current.
Russ sagged and fell on all fours, head lolling to the ground. He was going bloody mad again! He uttered a laughing sob. Then something drew his head up to look to his left.
Charlie was standing there, suitcase in hand, looking at him. Under his father’s glare, the youth explained, ‘I heard somebody shouting “Charlie”. I thought they meant me.’
‘You dozy little sod!’ Russ bounded to his feet and strode up to Charlie. ‘It was me shouting. What did you go off like that for and scare us half to death?’
Charlie’s voice was flat. ‘You told me to go.’
‘But not like that! Didn’t you realize…’
‘You told me to go!’
‘Oh God! What’s the point in talking, you don’t understand…’
‘No, I bloody don’t! I don’t understand why you hate me so much.’
Russ held his son with haunted eyes, then seemed to wilt. Charlie turned to go. ‘Wait…’ Russ put up a staying hand. ‘I can’t have you going and thinking that.’
Charlie stopped with his back to the man. ‘No, I was wrong. You don’t hate me – you’re indifferent to me.’ He presented his face. ‘Which is a bloody sight worse. Well, you’ve got your wish to see the back of me. I’m sorry that I can’t wipe out the time I’ve spent here. Believe me, I would if I could.’
‘D’you think I came running after you, nearly giving myself a seizure, because I was indifferent to you?’ shouted Russ. His voice was carried away on the cold night air. No one eavesdropped; they were alone on the river bank.
‘I don’t know why you came after me!’ yelled Charlie, his face distraught.
Russ pleaded with his vivisector. ‘Look… Mrs Hazelwood said I have to bring you back… and I want you to come as well.’
‘Why?’
‘Does it bloody matter why? Can’t it be enough that I’ve asked you?’
‘Of course it matters! It’s like me saying I’m going to be a priest, is it because it’s what’s expected of me or because I want it?’
‘And do you?’
Charlie slung his case to the ground and sat down, leaning on his knees. ‘I still don’t bloody know.’
Russ came and sat beside him. Only now that his blood had stopped pulsing through his body did he feel how cold it was. He turned the collar of his jacket up, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and nudged the boy. ‘Here, have a coffin nail.’ Charlie accepted one and held it between his fingers until his father struck a match. Russ cupped the flame against the night breeze and put it to the other’s cigarette. His son’s face was illuminated in the match flare, then dimmed as he drew the light away to his own cigarette.
‘It wasn’t just because of what you said that I decided to go,’ Charlie confessed. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to Rowena but she’s been detestable all afternoon.’
His father underwent a period of thought, then said, ‘Ah… well, I can tell you it’s nothing you’ve done. Since you were here last our Rowena’s discovered she’s a young woman. You know, these monthly things they have.’ Seeing Charlie did not comprehend he was forced to explain. ‘I thought the same as you, that I’d upset her. One minute she’s nice as pie, next she wanted nothing to do with me, couldn’t understand it. I was forgetting that she’s fifteen.’ He sighed. ‘’S funny, you go away to war leaving children and when you come back you find women… Anyway, that’s what it is. And if her mother’s anything to go by we can expect to get our heads bitten off every month.’ He allowed himself a humorous thought. ‘Can you imagine what it’s going to be like when they’re all grown up? Seven of the buggers for us to deal with.’
‘You’re talking as if I’ll be coming back,’ said Charlie.
Russ trod his thoughts for a while, then said, ‘I liked that bird book you sent me whilst I was in France.’
‘That’s just as well,’ Charlie told him through a cloud of smoke and misty breath, ‘you’ve got
another one this year.’ Russ nodded. ‘I’ll open it when I get back… you shouldn’t’ve wasted your money on me.’ Charlie said nothing. ‘I must say, if it’s patience that makes a priest you’ll make a damned good one, Charlie, putting up with a swine like me for a father.’ He inserted the cigarette between his lips and scooped up a handful of stones which he aimed one by one at the inky river. Charlie was reminded of the time he had sat here with the boy whose father was a German. His father seemed on the verge of a confession too.
Could Charlie give him absolution, or would he receive the same treatment as Fritz?
‘I’m glad you’ve given up your idea to be a soldier. I’ve seen hundreds of young lads die in war, I wouldn’t want to see you go like that…’
Charlie’s response was guarded. ‘I thought that’s just what you did want.’
Russ turned to stare at him. ‘My God… I’d never wish that on anybody.’
‘Not even me? I was the one who got Bertie killed, wasn’t I?’
‘I never blamed you for that, did I?’
‘Not outright, but then you rarely said anything outright, did you?’ Charlie had had enough of the cigarette and tossed it at the river.
Russ stared at him for a moment longer, then took another chestful of tobacco smoke and shook his head. ‘No, that’s me, always the snidey bugger. I never did blame you for Bertie’s death. I always knew who was responsible for that – me like I’ve been responsible for all this family’s troubles. It was just more convenient to blame you.’ He puffed on the cigarette, which was little more than half an inch long, nipping it expertly between his thumb and third fingernail. ‘But I hope you’re not waiting to hear a moving confession of how I really loved your mother, Charlie, or how I loved you all along, because I’ve finished with lies. She was just there when I needed her. It was totally selfish. You? You just happened. When you came here it wasn’t a child I saw, but my own guilt, my own inadequacies. You were… an embodiment of my treachery.’ He smiled half-heartededly. ‘There’s eloquence for you. Wasn’t it obvious that I’d blame you? Not justifiable, but obvious?’
My Father, My Son Page 62
