When he came home, she repeated to herself. When Roland came home. The guilt swept through her. She wasn’t feeling the joy, the excited anticipation that she should have been at the thought that her husband was coming home. There was none of that thankfulness that there’d been when Leo had appeared on her doorstep, wounded but safe. Polly closed her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t help her feelings; she was a wicked, wicked woman, she told herself, but she vowed that Roland would never know, would never guess.
For Roland’s survival meant the end of the innermost secret longing of her heart: a future with Leo.
The war was over and the city paused to celebrate. There was revelry throughout the streets, though the jubilation was tempered by the memory of all those sons, husbands and fathers who would never be coming home again.
‘So.’ Leo regarded her solemnly. ‘Roland’s coming back.’ They were standing together outside Polly’s family home watching the children shrieking and laughing in the street. Despite the grey skies of the November day, everyone had come out of their houses and an impromptu street party was developing.
Polly widened her smile. ‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful? I had a letter only last week, so I’m sure he’s still safe.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Leo said softly. ‘I hope he is, Polly, truly I do. I want you to believe that and I – I’m so sorry for what I said to you – how I acted – when I first came home. It was despicable and I hate myself for it.’
Polly glanced up at him. He looked so much better now. His face had filled out and his limp was less pronounced, but the haunted look in his eyes was still there and she knew the horrors he’d seen would never fully leave him. He and thousands like him would never forget this terrible war and the suffering it had caused.
‘Please don’t,’ she said softly. ‘You weren’t yourself.’
And he hadn’t been, not her proud, conscientious, principled Leo. And though his devotion to duty had split them apart, she’d always in her heart of hearts admired him for it.
‘Thank God you were strong enough for both of us, Poll.’
‘It’s over, Leo. Forgotten. No one else knows what passed between us and they never will. Not from me anyway.’
‘Nor me,’ he murmured with a heartfelt promise. ‘But what about the wagging tongues? Just look at Hetty Fowler over there. She can’t take her eyes of us. There’s a juicy bit of gossip in the making right here, Poll.’
Polly chuckled and waved. ‘Come on, let’s go across and talk to her. That’ll stop her in her tracks.’
‘Eh?’ Leo looked scandalized. ‘Talk to the Fowlers? I thought you were sworn enemies.’
Polly laughed again, throwing back her head with a loud, joyous sound. ‘Not if you look at my dad and Bert Fowler leaning against each other over there. I don’t know who’s going to fall down first.’
Leo, seeing the sense in her suggestion of confounding the gossips to their faces, pushed himself off the wall where he’d been leaning, laughing as he did so. ‘Well, if one of them falls down the other’ll go down an’ all.’
They made slow progress down the street until they came near to Hetty standing in her own doorway, a shawl pulled tightly round her shoulders. ‘They could a’ picked a warmer day to call an armistice,’ she greeted them, but Polly ignored her grumbles.
‘It’s a wonderful day, though, Mrs Fowler, whatever the weather. And your Micky’s coming home. And our Stevie too.’
‘Aye, he is, thank the good Lord. And your man – ’ the woman glanced at Leo as she asked the question – ‘is he safe?’
‘Yes, yes, he is. Roland,’ Polly stressed the name deliberately, ‘will be coming home too.’ She sobered as she added, ‘We’ve been lucky really in this street. Only – only our Eddie.’
‘Aye, I was sorry about that, lass.’ Hetty’s tone softened. ‘I reckon you’ve had more’n your fair share of trouble an’ I wouldn’t have wished that on you. He were a bit of a rascal, your Eddie, but he were no worse than our Micky.’ She laughed. ‘I reckon they egged each other on.’
‘More than likely, Mrs Fowler.’
The careworn woman glanced at Leo with a hint of sauciness in her eyes, almost a girlish coquetry from her youth that must have caught Bert Fowler’s eye long, long ago. ‘I shouldn’t be saying all this in front of our local copper, now should I?’
‘I’m no longer a copper, Mrs Fowler,’ Leo said seriously and there was more than a hint of regret in his tone. ‘I can’t go back into the force.’
‘Then I’m sorry to hear that, lad. Real sorry, ’cos we all knew, if we’re honest about it, that you was only doing your duty as you saw it. And, most of the time, you were right.’ Polly felt the woman’s eyes upon her, but she avoided meeting her gaze as Hetty added, ‘Even my Bert said you were one of the fairest coppers we had around here, and that was summat coming from our Bert.’
‘Indeed it was, Mrs Fowler,’ Leo murmured. ‘Thank you.’
There was a pause whilst the three of them still stood together watching the youngsters playing and in the midst of them all, lifting her skirts and skipping with the rest of them, was Violet.
‘Aye, an’ it’ll be a good thing when our lad does get home. I reckon your Violet’s been missing him, Polly.’ Was there a hint of accusation or even sarcasm in the woman’s tone? Polly chose to ignore it and said simply instead, ‘She has, Mrs Fowler. We’ll all be glad to see the boys home.’
But as she said the words, she did not dare to meet Leo’s gaze.
Sixty-Four
Although the gunfire had ceased in November, it took weeks for all the soldiers to come home and some were still required to stay abroad. Happily, Roland was not one of them and Polly was at the railway station one cold, blustery January day to meet him.
Although she’d prepared herself to see change in him – just as she’d seen in Leo – she scarcely recognized the man who staggered off the train. Roland was thin and stooping. He looked physically shattered as well as mentally: there was that same haunted look in his eyes that she could see in each and every one of the men arriving home, the very same look she’d seen in Leo’s eyes.
Leo had been so very different from the young man who’d gone away, yet he was mending now. She must help Roland to do the same. She pushed her way through the throng to reach him and flung her arms about him, anxious to demonstrate just how thankful she was to have him home.
‘Roland, oh, Roland,’ she cried, hugging him.
She felt him stiffen beneath her embrace. ‘Don’t make a scene, Polly. Let’s get home.’
She drew back, strangely hurt by his abrupt rebuff. ‘Of course,’ she said meekly. ‘Is – is there anything I can help you with? Carry anything.’
‘Huh! I’ve been carrying it for nearly four years. Another hour or so won’t matter.’
They walked out of the station and turned to the left, walking down the High Street towards their own street. They walked in silence; Roland didn’t seem to want to talk and Polly, for once in her life, was lost for words. She didn’t know how to treat this stranger.
As they turned the corner into their street, Polly said, ‘Jacob can’t wait to see you. He’s grown into such a wonderful little boy. I have a job to keep pace with his clothes and shoes . . .’ She was babbling now, strangely nervous. She’d never been nervous of anyone before and certainly never of sweet, gentle Roland. But now she didn’t know what to do or to say. ‘I’ve got a special tea waiting for you. And your favourite for afters. A trifle.’
‘You shouldn’t have been splashing out on fancy meals, Polly. Things are going to be tight now. I doubt I’ll get my job back at the factory and—’
‘Oh, I’ve got a job. We’ll manage.’
It was the wrong thing to say entirely. Roland frowned.
‘You’re working? Back at Cannon’s?’
‘No, no. They were short of teachers, so I’m a pupil teacher – sort of – at the primary school just down the road. The one Michael goes to . . .’
She was babbling again, the words tumbling from her lips, trying to explain. She could feel his disapproval even before he said a word. ‘Miss Broughton – my old teacher – she’s headmistress there now.’
‘A woman? As head? What happened to Mr Ellis?’
‘He – he enlisted.’
‘And?’
‘He was killed. On the Somme.’
Roland’s only reply was a grunt. As he struggled through the front door with all his kit, Polly stood helplessly by, not daring to offer again to assist him. He dumped everything on the floor of the front room and went through to the kitchen.
‘A cuppa wouldn’t go amiss. That’s if you’re not too busy. Where’s Jacob?’
‘At Selina’s. She – she’ll bring him round later. About four.’
‘Who’s Selina?’
‘Selina Thorpe. She looks after Jacob. Michael too when Vi and I are at work.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at work today?’
‘Yes – no – I got the day off to meet you.’
‘You needn’t have bothered.’
He took off his coat and flung it over the back of a chair and then sat down beside the range, holding out his hands to the warmth. Polly hurried to make a pot of tea.
‘Would you like something to eat? We could have proper tea if you like. We needn’t wait for Jacob.’
‘No, a cuppa will be fine just now.’
They’d scarcely begun to drink their tea when a knock sounded at the front door. At the sudden noise, Roland jumped and his hands began to tremble, spilling the tea into the saucer. His eyes were wide and fearful.
‘I’ll see who it is,’ Polly said, placing her own cup down but making no remark on Roland’s reaction. She didn’t even draw attention to it by offering to take away his cup. She merely rose and went to the door to admit whoever was knocking. A moment later she returned.
‘Leo’s come to see you. He knew you’d be on the afternoon train.’
Leo limped into the room and went straight towards Roland, stretching out his hand in welcome.
‘It’s good to see you home, Roland. How are you?’
Roland glanced up and then at the proffered hand. There was a long pause. Polly held her breath until, slowly, Roland put his hand into Leo’s. ‘Not bad, I suppose.’ Another pause before he asked – and it sounded grudging – ‘And you?’
‘A wound in the leg that’s not healing properly.’
‘Sit down, Leo,’ Polly murmured. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Thanks, Poll. I won’t say no.’ He turned back to Roland so that he would not feel excluded. ‘Mam’s out such a lot, helping folks ill with this wretched flu.’
‘It’s here, then, is it?’ Roland turned accusing eyes on Polly. ‘You never said.’
‘I – I didn’t want to worry you.’
To her surprise, Roland lifted his shoulders in a shrug, as if he wouldn’t – or couldn’t – have cared one way or the other. And now he didn’t even ask if she or Jacob – or anyone else they knew – had had it. But Polly answered his unspoken question.
‘We’ve all been fine, but they closed the school at the end of October for a month when the attendance was so poor. Several of the teachers had the illness too.’ She grimaced. ‘The situation’s not much better now, but at least the school’s open again.’
‘You’ll have to be careful, Roland,’ Leo said seriously. ‘In a weakened state, you might pick up the infection easily.’
‘Who says I’m weak?’ Roland snapped.
Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t say “weak”, old chap. I said “weakened”. We all are when we first get home. It’s been a long haul and it’s taken its toll on every one of us.’
There was an awkward silence until Leo, feeling it, rose. ‘I’ll go then. I just wanted to see how you are. I’ll let you get settled in. I’ll see myself out, Poll. Don’t you get up.’
After they had heard the door close behind him, there was a long silence in the room, the only sounds were the ticking clock and the crackling fire. Polly waited, her heart beating painfully.
At last Roland said morosely, ‘He seems to be at home here.’
‘He calls now and again to see if we’re all right,’ Polly said, making her tone casual, but determined to be truthful with him from the start. ‘We’ve all had to pull together. It’s been hard and the flu has made things even worse.’
‘So, you’re – friends again with Leo Halliday, are you? All forgiven and forgotten, is it?’
Polly sighed. ‘The war’s altered things, Roland. My dad’s changed. He’s mellowed and only too pleased to be back at work on the railway. But you knew all that. I told you in my letters.’
‘You didn’t tell me about Halliday making himself at home here.’
Polly faced him squarely, thankful that she was able to look him in the eyes and say honestly, ‘He came as a friend, Roland, and nothing more. And now I’ll get tea ready. Jacob will be in very soon.’
She got up and turned away, the matter at an end as far as she was concerned. But she was very much afraid that it wasn’t finished with for Roland.
Sixty-Five
The only one amongst those who had returned to their small community so far and who did not seem changed by their experiences in the war was Micky Fowler.
He returned home, sweeping Violet off her feet and swinging her round in a bear-hug embrace.
‘He couldn’t wait to get me home and up the stairs,’ Violet told Polly a few days later, giggling deliciously. She patted her stomach. ‘I reckon I’ll have another little ’un in there already. I hope it’s a girl. How about Roland? I bet he won’t leave you alone either.’
Polly smiled thinly and did not answer. Luckily, Violet, caught up in her own happiness, didn’t seem to notice. The truth was that Roland hadn’t touched Polly since he’d come home, hadn’t once made love to her, or even kissed her.
And now there was no one in whom she could confide. Bertha, for such intimate conversations, was lost to her. And Violet was certainly not one to keep such a confidence. She’d considered Selina, but dismissed the idea. No, Polly thought, this I must bear alone. Perhaps he just needs time. But as the days went by Roland’s attitude did not improve. He hardly spoke to either Polly or Jacob and the boy left for Selina’s each morning with a sober, puzzled look on his face.
Despite Roland’s obvious disapproval, Polly kept her job at the school. Walking to Selina’s one morning with Jacob, she tentatively broached the subject of his father’s sullen attitude. ‘He’s had a bad time, love. He’ll come round in time. What – what do the other boys say about their fathers?’
Jacob shrugged. ‘Some’s all right – like Uncle Micky. But one or two of them have said their dads have changed.’ He looked up at her. ‘Was Daddy different before, then?’
With a shock, Polly realized that Jacob had no memory of Roland; he couldn’t remember the real man.
As they parted, Polly ruffled her son’s hair. ‘He was a good, kind, gentle man before the war. But try not to worry about it. He’ll come around when he’s been home a bit. We’ll just have to be patient, that’s all.’
But it was very difficult to be patient when Roland sat by the fire day after day, making no effort to rouse himself. It reminded Polly sharply of the time after her mother’s death when her father had acted in the same way and then again after he’d come home from prison. Perhaps William was the one to pull Roland out of the depths of despair. After all, it had been Roland himself who’d helped William in much the same way.
‘Dad?’
‘Hello, Poll. You’ve heard then? Thought you wouldn’t be long coming round.’ William laughed.
Polly frowned. ‘Heard? Heard what?’
William flung open the door into the kitchen. ‘Just look who’s home!’
The young man who rose from the chair was still in his army uniform. Tall and broad and grinning from ear to ear. He stretched his arms wide. ‘Here I am, Poll, safe and sound. Not a scratch
.’
Polly gasped and then flew across the room to hug him so tightly he begged for mercy. ‘Stevie, oh, Stevie. Thank God you’re safe.’
The room was filled with laughter, with them all talking at once, until Miriam said, ‘Sit down, Poll. I’ll make a cuppa.’
At fourteen, Miriam was growing into a beauty so like the mother she’d never known. But unlike Sarah she was placid and dreamy, though Polly had to admit she kept the home spotless and cooked good, wholesome meals for her father. And what was more the young girl seemed quite content to stay at home and care for him; she had none of Polly’s driving ambition.
They sat there laughing and talking and drinking tea and Polly quite forgot the reason for her visit. It wasn’t until Stevie began asking about the others who’d come back that she remembered just why she’d sought out her father.
‘We’ve been lucky, really, when you think about it. Roland and Micky are home and now so’s Stevie. Oh, I know we lost our Eddie and that has been dreadful, but some families have lost several members. One woman I know of lost her husband and two sons. Poor woman. How will she ever get over that?’
The merriment in the room died and then Stevie asked quietly, ‘How’s Roland, Sis?’
Polly sighed. ‘Not good, I’m afraid.’
‘Was he wounded?’
Polly shook her head. ‘Yes and no. No physical wound as such, but he said he got a whiff of gas once and it’s affected his lungs a bit. But he’s changed. His personality, I mean. Very changed.’ She glanced at William. ‘Dad, you remember how he used to come round here when you were – well – feeling down?’
Solemnly, William nodded. ‘I do. But for Roland, I might still have been sat here feeling sorry for mesen and being a burden to you, lass.’
Polly took a deep breath, ‘Well, d’you think you could do the same for him now? Come and talk to him. Take him out to the pub now and again.’
Forgive and Forget Page 35
