Epilogue: Sunday, 6 February 2005
Tom stood at the head of the dining room table, a glass of white wine in his raised hand. ‘So, everyone, after three. Ready? One, two, three...’
Together they sang Happy Birthday – Tom, Julie, Alice and Charlotte, while Robert sat at the opposite end of the table, his finger scratching at the white tablecloth, an embarrassed grin plastered on his face as he contemplated the flickering candles on Alice’s homemade birthday cake in front of him.
They’d all insisted on having a mini-party for Robert at his Enfield home. It was now three in the afternoon on a bitterly cold February Sunday, the lawn outside white with frost. They’d eaten a huge roast dinner, drank wine, and Robert had opened his presents which now lay piled-up on the floor next to the armchair – a jumper, chocolates and various books on the war. Alice stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders. Tom led the singing, his face a little red from too much wine. Julie looked lovely in a new dress and Charlotte, bless her, seemed so much more grown-up now. The armchair opposite had been claimed by Charlotte’s dogs, Toby and Goliath.
‘Happy birthday, Dad.’
‘Yes, happy birthday, Robert,’ added Julie.
‘Thank you. Thank you all of you. This is lovely.’
‘Sorry we couldn’t find 85 candles, Dad.’
‘Hey, only 84, if you don’t mind.’
‘Go on then, dear,’ said Alice. ‘Aren’t you going to blow them out?’
‘And make a wish, granddad.’
‘A wish? I wish–’
‘You’re not meant to tell us.’
‘Oh but, Charlotte, I want to; it’s fairly obvious anyway – I wish Alec was here.’ He sighed. ‘Right, here goes...’ Rising to his feet, he leant over the dining room table. Apart from wishing his eldest son and family lived nearer by, he had finally, at the age of 84, nothing else to wish for, he had everything he wanted. With a big puff of his cheeks, Robert blew out the candles eliciting a round of applause.
‘Shall I cut the cake?’ asked Julie.
‘Not quite yet,’ said Tom in a whisper.
‘Why don’t you come with us, granddad?’ asked Charlotte as they resumed their seats.
‘What – all the way to Canada? Don’t worry, your father has already asked me. But I can’t, Charlotte; I’m too old for such gallivanting. Aren’t we, dear?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Alice.
‘Oh? Well, if you–’
‘No, no, you’re probably right. I couldn’t face the journey. Anyway, Alec assures us they’ll be visiting soon.’
‘When you get there, Charlotte, will you give them our love?’
‘And take lots of photos,’ added Alice. ‘Go on, you two, off you get.’ Reluctantly the terriers tumbled off the armchair. Alice leant over and began talking to Charlotte while Tom and Julie, holding hands, talked of Canada.
Robert looked at each of them and felt a contentment he hadn’t felt for years, if indeed he’d ever felt it. What a relief that Tom and Julie were back together again. It filled his heart with joy to see them there talking so animatedly and holding hands at every opportunity. Whatever it was that drove them apart during the summer was all but forgotten. They seemed more together now, more in love, than ever. Tom seemed to be enjoying his new job and the greater responsibility at Tooley and Hill, and his old nemesis at work had, by all accounts, transformed into a model boss. Funny how things turn out.
And what about Charlotte? Thoroughly enjoying school at last. She’s even got a boyfriend now – a red-haired boy called Adam, nice lad. And then there’s Toby and Goliath. Having one Highland terrier was bad enough, but two...? But, she says, she’ll never forget Angus – he has his plaque at the end of the garden, just beneath the laurel hedge.
‘Dad...’ Robert noticed his son and Julie exchange a worried glance.
‘Yes? Something wrong?’
‘Dad, there’s one more present.’
His son sounded serious, leaving him to feel faintly anxious all of a sudden as he watched Julie hand Tom the present. ‘Dad,’ said Tom, passing it on to his father. ‘This is for you.’
Wrapped in relatively sombre blue wrapper, Robert carefully opened the present. Inside, was a wooden presentation box, mahogany perhaps, about five inches by eight. His heart lurched. Surely not, he thought, surely not now...
‘Dad. Are you OK?’
‘Tom, I don’t think I can do this.’
‘Yes you can, Dad.’
Alice and Charlotte fell silent. ‘Is anything the matter, Robert?’ asked Alice.
‘Go on, Dad, open it. Open the box.’
With trembling fingers, he did. Inside were three war medals – and he knew immediately that they were his medals, three gleaming medals with their colourful ribbons.
‘How... how did you get them?’ Robert asked quietly.
‘Quite easy once I’d worked out how.’
Alice took Tom’s hand and smiled. Charlotte stroked one of the dogs.
‘Oh my,’ said Robert, unable to take his eyes off them.
‘You can wear them on Remembrance Sundays, granddad,’ said Charlotte.
‘And wear them with pride,’ added Julie.
Robert looked up at his granddaughter. ‘You’re right, Charlotte, I will.’ Turning to Tom, he said, ‘I don’t know what to say, except... except to say thank you, son, this... this...’ He couldn’t speak, his words lost in a fog of emotion.
‘You don’t have to say it, Dad. I know.’
Robert looked at each of them. The dogs were chasing each other under the dining room table, the silence punctuated by their little yelps of excitement. Carefully, Robert placed the medal box on the table, next to the cake and the empty glasses of wine. ‘Do you mind if you excuse me a minute?’
‘That’s fine, Dad.’
Inside his bedroom, he sat on the little stool in front of the dresser, its top laden with Alice’s perfumes and paraphernalia. He closed his eyes and listened to their muffled voices coming from downstairs, to the sound of Charlotte playfully berating the dogs. 84 years old. How did he become so damn old? God had allowed him the chance to grow old, to have his family, his grandchildren, to be surrounded with love. Their faces came back to him, the nine of them. God, for whatever reason, had not been so merciful to them. The sea, the terrible sea, the unforgiving sea, had claimed them all, had denied them all the chance to live life as he had lived it. He had lived and breathed with their memory daily for sixty years. For six decades he had lived with them, remembering their suffering, the agonies they had all endured. Sixty years. He had lived with them for long enough. Perhaps now, he could finally lay them to rest.
Opening his eyes, he forced himself to look at his reflection in the dresser’s mirror. He rarely looked at himself, subconsciously it was something he always avoided. Who wants to be reminded of the inevitability of their aging? Yet now, scrutinising himself for the first time in years, he reminded himself of his father, his real father, “Uncle Hobbly”, during Guy’s final years. The realisation took away his breath. Had he always looked like Guy? No, people always thought he resembled his mother but now, now in his fading years, like a thread through time, it was Guy Searight looking back at him through the dresser mirror. Both had survived their wars, both had lost their brothers to war, but it was over now. Yet, he knew, if thrown back in time he would do it again. He heard his granddaughter’s shrill laugh coming from downstairs. Yes, he thought, he would do it again.
He finally understood Lawrence – learning the truth had finally put his mind at rest, had eased some of the torment that had festered inside him for so long. He had spent his whole life resenting the man, trying to fathom out what he had done to so antagonise him. But now that he knew, he already found it within himself to forgive. He never realised he could be such a forgiving man. It hadn’t been Lawrence’s fault, and he had had a mother who loved him and, nearby, he had a real father who had loved him too. It may not have made up for his forced
absence, but now, as Robert lived out his twilight years, it somehow provided a consoling postscript to his life. He had, after all, been conceived out of love, albeit a forbidden one.
A soft knock on the door. ‘Dad? Are you OK?’ Tom perched himself on the side of the bed.
‘Tom, tell me, how long is the flight to Toronto?’ asked Robert, speaking to his son via the mirror.
‘Eight hours or so.’
‘Eight hours. It’s not so long. Have you booked the tickets?’
‘No, I was going to do it tomorrow evening after work. Why? Are you tempted?’
‘More than tempted. Let me speak to your mum about it and I’ll let you know for sure by tomorrow.’
‘That’d be so great, Dad. There’s nothing I would like better.’
‘Me too.’ Turning back to his reflection, Robert smiled. ‘I’ll let you know by this time tomorrow.’
THE END
Other works by Rupert Colley
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Elena
Naples, 1944. Elena, aged twelve, is left orphaned and traumatized by war. But a gift from an American soldier shows her that kindness can still exist in a cruel world.
Post-war, and now a young woman, the memory of the soldier obsesses her. Eleven years after their first meeting, their paths cross again and Elena's life will never be the same.
I’m the author of several historical novels and works of non-fiction. I’m also the founder of the History In An Hour series.
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http://rupertcolley.com/
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I was born one Christmas Day, which means, as a child, I lost out on presents. Nonetheless, looking back on it, I lived a childhood with a “silver spoon in my mouth” – brought up in a rambling manor house in the beautiful Devon countryside.
It’s been downhill ever since.
I was a librarian for a long time, a noble profession. Then I started a series called History In An Hour which I sold, along with my soul, to HarperCollins UK.
I now live in London with my wife, two children and dog (a fluffy cockapoo) and write historical fiction, mainly 20th century war and misery.
The photo is of a much younger me as a wannabe New Romantic. I look a bit older now.
Do feel free to email me: [email protected]
Thank you for purchasing this novel and taking the time to read it.
With kindest regards,
Rupert.
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The Red Oak (The Searight Saga Book 3) Page 22
