by Sandy Taylor
‘A lifetime would never be long enough for you and me,’ I said. ‘And there will never be a time when I won’t need you any more.’
‘I want you to be happy, Maureen…’
I put my finger on his lips. ‘Just come back, Jack, that’s all I want. Just come back.’
* * *
Jack’s mum looked as if she’d been crying all night and his dad looked serious as he helped her into the car, so I had smiled as if I was waving him off to university and not off to war. I waved as the car pulled away from the kerb and I watched as it turned the bend in the road and was out of sight. As I stood there on the pavement I had never felt more alone.
Fifty-Five
Those first few days after he’d gone were awful. Jack said that he would write as soon as he was able to and I longed for his first letter.
Me and Monica were lying on my bed. I was miserable.
‘Bloody war,’ she said, plumping up her pillow.
‘Any idea when Chester will be leaving?’
‘Not a clue, he doesn’t know either.’
‘Has he ever said that he might get killed?’
‘Bloody hell, Maureen! Why would he say that?’
‘To prepare you, if the worst happens and he doesn’t come back.’
Monica leaned up on one elbow and stared down at me.
‘Has Jack said that to you then?’
I nodded. ‘Do you think he’s had a premonition?’
‘No, I don’t and I don’t know why he would say something like that. We all think it, but we don’t say it out loud. Chester makes a joke about it and maybe that’s not right either, but you have to believe that they will come home safe and, even more importantly, they have to believe they’ll come home safe.’
‘Jack’s different. I think he’s different, Monica.’
‘It’s all that education, it’s messing with his head.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Why else would he come out with stuff like that?’
‘He wanted me to promise him that I’d be alright if he died.’
‘How can you promise him something like that? How do you know what you’ll be like?’
‘Oh, I know what I’d be like.’
‘He’ll come home, Maureen, you’ll see.’
‘He has to, Monica. He has to.’
Suddenly we heard a hammering on the front door and then Mum was running up the stairs. She burst into the room.
‘Monica, it’s your Archie. He says the Yanks are moving out! You’d better get up to the camp quick.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said.
We ran downstairs. Archie was standing in the hallway, trying to catch his breath.
‘I run all the way, Monica. There’s loads of trucks up there and all the soldiers are getting into them.’
‘Did you see Chester?’
‘No, I just thought I’d better get you.’
‘You did the right thing, Archie. You’re a good boy.’
Then Archie burst into tears. ‘I don’t want the Yanks to go, Monica. They’re really nice, I like ’em.’
‘I know you do, love, but they have to fight now, that’s what they have to do.’
The three of us ran up the road and up onto the Downs. Trucks full of soldiers were passing us as we ran. We were scanning their faces, trying to find Chester.
‘Can you see him, Maureen?’
I shook my head. ‘There’s so many of them.’
When we got to the camp trucks were still coming through the gates. There were loads of girls outside the fence, screaming and crying. As a truck passed us Monica called out to one of the soldiers, ‘Chester McQuaid, have you seen him?’
The soldier shook his head. ‘Sorry, ma’am, it’s chaos here. We were given fifteen minutes’ notice that we were leaving. Try the station.’
‘The station?’ said Monica.
‘That’s where the trucks are heading, you might find him there.’
Tears were rolling down Monica’s face. ‘We’ll never get there in time.’
‘Move along, lads!’ shouted the soldier. ‘We’ve got company.’
‘Go home, Archie!’ yelled Monica as strong arms lifted us up onto the truck.
‘Keep your heads down, ladies, I’m breaking the rules here.’
‘Thank you,’ said Monica. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re very welcome, miss, Chester is one of the best. I’m happy to help.’
As the trucks rattled through the streets people were coming out of their houses, waving them off. ‘Good luck, lads!’ they were shouting.
Loads of kids were running after the trucks and the soldiers were throwing chocolate and chewing gum to them.
‘I think there will be a few broken hearts in Brighton this day,’ I said.
‘There’ll be one more if I don’t find Chester,’ said Monica.
‘We’ll find him,’ I said, holding her hand.
* * *
It was as chaotic at the station as it had been at the camp. As soon as we were lifted down from the truck, we started running into the station. It was full of noise and soldiers and doors slamming and women crying.
‘We’ll never find him, Maureen.’
‘We bloody well will!’
There was a truck next to us, still unloading soldiers.
‘OK, Monica, we need to stand on the bonnet.’
‘What?’
‘We need to stand on the bonnet of this truck so that we can see over the crowd.’
‘I’ll ruin me nylons.’
‘This is no time to be thinking about your nylons, Monica.’
‘No, you’re right.’
‘Give us a leg up,’ I said to a young soldier.
‘You wanna get up on the truck, miss?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘On the bonnet.’
‘No problem,’ he said, saluting us and grinning.
Once we were safely balanced on the bonnet I said, ‘Now, shout as loud as you can, Monica.’
Monica took a deep breath and shouted, ‘Chester McQuaid!’ as loud as she could over the top of the crowd. Then I added my voice to hers.
‘It’s no good,’ said Monica.
‘Try again,’ I said.
‘Want some help?’ said the young soldier.
‘Yes, please,’ said Monica.
He turned to a group of lads that were loading kit bags onto a trolley.
‘These young ladies are looking for Chester. I want you to climb up on the roof and yell as loud as you can.’
So with a group of soldiers on the roof of the truck and me and Monica on the bonnet, we all shouted across the station. ‘Chester McQuaid!’
And suddenly there he was, running towards us, weaving in and out of the crowd, grinning all over his face. ‘Monica!’ he was shouting. He lifted her down from the truck and swung her round and then they were in each other’s arms and they were kissing and laughing and holding each other.
I sat down on the bonnet with my legs dangling over the side and I watched them. Monica had got to say goodbye to Chester and, for a moment, I had forgotten about Jack.
* * *
It was easier at the bookshop; joking with Maggie and taking tea out to the war council in the shed. The roof was mended and we had a new little kitchen at the back of the shop. Bombs continued to fall. Four days after Jack left, three German planes came in low over the sea and dropped bombs on the viaduct over London Road and the railway station, putting two lines out of action. Luckily, no one was killed.
Being in love made me selfish. We were in the middle of this awful war, men, woman and children were dying every day and yet all I could think about was Jack. When would I see him? When would I be in his arms again? When would I get a letter? I barely listened to Afshid’s news as she raced through the shop and into the shed. If it wasn’t about Jack then I wasn’t interested. Yes, love had made me selfish.
After work I went straight to the church and lit a candle. I put m
y penny in the box and knelt down. ‘Please take care of him, Mary,’ I said. ‘And please forgive me for thinking only of him and not all the other poor people that are dying. I don’t mean to be selfish, I do care really, but right now all I can think about is Jack.’ I looked up at the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary smiling down at me and said, ‘Have you ever been in love, Mary? I know that you were married to Joseph, but did you love him? Did you love him like I love Jack? If you did then you’ll know how I feel so please, please keep him safe.’
I got up and started walking back up the aisle, then I went back and lit a candle for two doors down’s dog and Nelson’s leg.
* * *
I could hear the noise as soon I turned into See Saw Lane. For an instant I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Then I saw her: Jack’s mum, kneeling in the middle of the road, screaming Jack’s name. I noticed she had a letter in her hand.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t take in what was happening; it wasn’t making any sense to me. Then I saw my mum running out of our house. I watched her kneel down beside Jack’s mum. I watched her cradle Jack’s mum in her arms. I listened as the screaming turned to wailing that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. Other women were coming out of their houses. One of them was holding a blanket and she put it around Mrs Forrest’s shoulders. They crowded around her, sheltering her, protecting her. She was one of them, she was a mother. They could afford to be kind, because for now, today, their sons and husbands were safe. Maybe God would look kindly on them if they gave comfort to this woman.
I didn’t go to her; I didn’t want these women to see me, I didn’t want their comfort. I didn’t want any kind of comfort, no one could comfort me.
Then Mum saw me. Her eyes were full of pity as she walked towards me.
‘Oh, my love,’ she said. ‘Come on home.’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t,’ I said and I started running.
Fifty-Six
It was Jack’s dad and Uncle John that found me. I had been gone all night and Mum, Brenda and Aunty Marge were frantic with worry. They found me the next morning in the old barn. I couldn’t remember how I got there; I couldn’t remember anything. I could only remember running and running and running. They wrapped me in a blanket and, between them, they carried me down the hills and home.
I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t cry. Mum and Brenda did their best; they washed me, they fed me, they sat on my bed and talked to me, they never left me. Even during an air raid they never left me. I was loved but I was lost. What was I supposed to do with all this love that was inside me? It didn’t die with Jack; it was still there. What was I supposed to do with it? No one tells you that bit, do they? I’ve heard people say that death leaves them with an empty feeling. I longed to feel empty but I didn’t, I felt full of love for a boy that was never coming back. Time meant nothing, life meant nothing. I wanted to be with Jack; I wanted to die. I stayed like that for weeks. During that time they buried him. Mum and Brenda gently urged me to go to the funeral but I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch them put him into the ground. I was drowning and no could save me.
Nelson came every day. They brought him by car in the morning and they collected him in the evening, but I wouldn’t see him. I wouldn’t see anyone except Mum and Brenda. I was scared to leave my room; I was scared to face a world that didn’t have Jack in it.
* * *
One day Mum came into the bedroom. She sat on my bed and took hold of my hand.
‘You are not the only one that is grieving, Maureen. Nelson has lost his best friend and he needs you. He has come every day; he is sitting downstairs now. I think you should see him.’
I looked at her and shook my head and I said the first words that I’d said since Jack died. ‘I can’t, Mum.’
‘Well, I think you can, and I think that you should. Nelson needs you, love, and we want you back. You can’t run away from life, however much you might want to. It’s there outside this room and so are all the people that care about you. Greta Garbo might get away with it, but I don’t think Maureen O’Connell can. It’s time, my precious girl.’
After she left I thought about what she’d said. She was right: this pain wasn’t just my pain, this loss wasn’t just mine. I remembered when Daddy died and how sad Mum was, but she didn’t allow herself to grieve for long because she knew we needed her. I walked across to the window. It was raining; water was running down the glass like tears.
I pressed my forehead against it. Then I looked down the garden and I stared at the tree and started to cry. Gut-wrenching wailing, just like Mrs Forrest, which brought my mum rushing back into the room and into my arms. I cried like a baby and all the while Mum held me and soothed me and rocked me, until there were no more tears left.
Slowly, slowly, I learned to live without Jack. It was painful and it was hard and I didn’t always succeed. Some days were too hard to face, but those days became fewer and fewer. I still hadn’t gone back to the bookshop but I knew that I would when I was ready. Maggie came to see me, bringing flowers and chocolates from Mrs Bentley.
‘It’s bloody boring without you, Maureen! Mrs Doom and Gloom next door is driving me mad and Peter says I don’t make his tea the way you make it. I need you back.’
‘Soon,’ I said.
‘I’m really sorry, Maureen.’
‘I know.’
‘But I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t have to say anything, Maggie. It’s enough that you’re here.’
‘Good,’ she said, putting her arms around me.
It was nice to see Nelson again, I’d forgotten how much I liked being with him. We couldn’t go anywhere much because of his leg, so we sat in the house or in the garden. One day we were sitting on the bench, talking about Jack. It was nice to sit beside Nelson and to feel the sun on my face.
‘It’s so strange, Jack, not being next door.’
‘There’s no one next door,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’ve gone.’
‘They’ve moved?’
I nodded. ‘Mr Forrest came round to tell Mum that his wife couldn’t stay there any more, too many memories, so they had to move away.’
‘I can kind of understand that,’ said Nelson.
‘So can I,’ I said. ‘But I need those memories, it makes me feel closer to him.’
‘Have they gone far?’
‘Scotland. Mrs Forrest has a sister living there.’
‘They were good to me. I know I wasn’t the kind of kid that Jack’s mum would have chosen to be his friend but she looked out for me, she fed me, she even knitted me a jumper once – she hated that brown one.’
‘I know,’ I said, smiling.
‘Have you still got it?’
‘Of course I have,’ I said.
‘Maybe it’s time I got rid of it.’
‘Why?’
Nelson shrugged his shoulders. ‘Seems like a daft thing to do, to keep it.’
‘I think that we all do the best we can. We hide away in bedrooms, we run away to Scotland or we hang onto old brown jumpers. I don’t think that you should get rid of your old brown jumper just because you think it’s daft to keep it. One day you might not need it any more so, if I was you, I’d wait for that day and get rid of it then. Or keep it forever.’
‘You’re a wise girl,’ he said.
‘Sometimes,’ I replied.
Nelson ran his hands through his hair. He reached across and held my hand. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Maureen. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I’m banking on it, Nelson.’
What was wonderful about our friendship was that I could talk about Jack without upsetting him. People found my grief hard to handle. I saw neighbours cross the road to avoid talking to me. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, I knew that, they just didn’t know how to deal with it. Some people liked grief to be neatly packaged and put away, not raw and exposed for all the world to see.
/> I guess you could say that Nelson and I worked through our sadness together. When one of us was down, the other was there to pull them back up. We could laugh together remembering the good times and we could cry together remembering the good times and that’s what got us through. Our love for Jack is what got us through.
I hadn’t asked how Jack had died. What difference would it have made if I’d known? He was gone and he wasn’t coming back, that’s all I knew. That was all I needed to know. But as I got better, his death started to bother me. How could he have died so soon after he went away? it didn’t make sense. Suddenly I wanted answers. I asked my mum.
She sat me down. ‘You didn’t ask, Maureen, so I didn’t tell you. He was on a train, love, going up north. The train was bombed and Jack was killed. I don’t know any more than that. I don’t know why he was on the train.’
‘I’d like to see his grave, Mum.’
‘You’re sure?’
I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Do you want me to go with you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but I’d like to spend some time on my own with him. Would that be OK?’
‘Of course.’
* * *
Jack was buried in the graveyard of St Nicholas church. It was a beautiful building with long stained-glass windows and a tower. Part of the tower was damaged; I suppose it had been bombed. A plaque over the door told us that it was the oldest church in Brighton. The graveyard itself was full of ancient gravestones, covered in ivy and moss. Some of them were toppling over and some of them already lying on the ground. I followed Mum as she made her way to Jack’s grave. We’d brought some flowers with us. She picked up a glass jam jar and went looking for a tap, leaving me alone.
I knelt down and stared at the ground. How could I even start to imagine that Jack was underneath this soil? I gently touched the mound of earth.
‘I’m here, Jack,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry it took me so long.’
I looked around me. Everywhere was so quiet and still. There was a cool breeze but it felt as though nothing was moving, as if everything had frozen in time. There was something that I had to tell him, something I’d been keeping to myself for weeks. I gently touched my stomach.
