The Returning Tide

by Liz Fenwick

  ‘Gran, this is Lara Pearce. I mentioned her yesterday.’

  I rounded on him, but stopped myself from speaking. My heart told me who she was. It was there in her face, her eyes, even the way she moved. Talking would complicate things. It would encourage more conversation and I didn’t want to know any more than what my eyes told me. Bobby. Was he alive? Was my sister alive? What of their daughter, Elizabeth?

  ‘Hi, Mrs Rowse,’ she said. ‘You have a lovely home. It must be so wonderful to have so many fruit trees.’

  I nodded. Jack helped me to a chair. ‘Tea?’ he asked.

  I sighed. He’d used the old brown pot and not the silver one. Spread out on the table were cheeses with figs, a salad and a few slices of the ham that Jack had tried to tempt me with yesterday. He poured tea into a mug, and with two hands I picked it up. Every joint ached.

  Lara and Jack sat down. ‘You probably didn’t know but Lara helped on the day of Peta’s wedding. Cassie, the caterer, had a medical emergency with her mother.’

  I looked between the two. Lara was buttering a piece of bread, making an open sandwich with ham and a dash of wholegrain mustard. Her hands. They were Amelia’s, working so capably in the kitchen. Had she learned to cook from Amelia? I opened my mouth and closed it again. I couldn’t take an interest. Silence was the best approach. But Jack wasn’t silent. He was more animated than I’d seen him in years, too many years.

  He stared at me as if willing me to talk. ‘Before coming to Cornwall, Lara was a chef.’

  Lara flushed. Her complexion was beautiful. Had I realised how lovely we were then? I don’t think so. Youth is wasted on the young, as they say. Jack cut open a fig and handed half of it to Lara. Their fingers touched when she took it. I looked away. As much as I didn’t want Lara around, she was good for Jack. The light had come back to his eyes.

  HMS Attack, Portland, Dorset

  30 August 1944

  ‘Adele.’

  ‘Bobby.’ I clutched the handset close to my ear. ‘Are you in London?’

  ‘No, but I will be next week.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I held my breath, hoping I could get an overnight pass.

  ‘You’re fine after your ordeal?’ he asked.

  He’d obviously received my letter. ‘What, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich?’

  His laughter ran down my spine. ‘It grows on you.’

  ‘I’ll pass.’

  ‘Well, you can’t have good taste in everything.’ I heard voices around him, French ones.

  ‘Don’t drink too much champagne.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’ll try not to. Maybe I can bring back a bottle for us.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ I smiled.

  ‘Stay safe.’

  ‘You too.’ I sent a kiss and heard him do the same.

  ‘I love you.’ The line went dead.

  Chelsea, London

  19 September 1944

  Bobby stood opening a bottle of Pol Roger. I couldn’t believe we were together in the spartan flat he used when in London. Alone. I didn’t want champagne, I wanted him, but I sat still and took in every detail of him.

  ‘How decadent.’ I smiled.

  ‘Yes. It was a present.’

  I arched an eyebrow. ‘Not from a lady friend, I hope?’

  He laughed. ‘Far from it. It’s from a wily Frenchman.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘On the recommendation of a plummy, cigar-smoking Englishman.’

  I opened my eyes wide. He touched a finger to his nose.

  I stood up. ‘Were you in Paris?’

  ‘I might have been.’ He poured the champagne into two chunky glasses more suited to holding a toothbrush than fine wine.

  ‘Just what do you do, Captain Webster?’ I ran my hand along his waist. He kissed the tip of my nose. ‘So you’ve become a spy, then?’ I laughed. ‘Seriously, what do you do in the Army?’

  ‘I’m a paper monkey, a messenger.’ He handed me a glass and raised his.

  ‘To us.’

  ‘Yes, us,’ he said. The champagne was cold and not too bubbly. Bobby put the gramophone on. ‘I Only Have Eyes For You’ began to play, and he held out his hand and pulled me close. ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered in my ear, in between singing the words to me. ‘I can’t think of anyone but you.’

  ‘Same.’ We kissed and as the recording ended we fell onto the sofa. His hands caressed me more openly than in the past. They travelled up my leg and reached the top of my stockings. My breath caught.

  ‘Yes.’

  His hands stilled but then moved higher.

  ‘Please.’

  He sighed. ‘We can’t.’ He pulled away and picked up his glass, knocking back the contents.

  ‘But––’

  ‘No, we’ve made it this far, we can make it until we marry.’

  I sat up, shifting my skirt down. I knew if I pushed he wouldn’t be able to stop. But I loved him and this was what he wanted. The champagne still tasted good but not as good as he did.

  He went to his coat. ‘It’s not a proper ring but I wanted you to have something.’ He knelt in front of me and took my hand. ‘This is my promise to you. You are the love I never dreamt I would have. When this war is finished we will marry as swiftly as we can. And then I …’ He slid the simple gold ring with small, fine turquoise stones on my finger. ‘And then we will make love and it won’t be a moment too soon.’

  A stillness came over me as I looked in his eyes. There was so much emotion in them that it hurt. I loved this man more than I’d thought was possible. I pulled him into my arms and promised him my love forever.

  Stolen Tide

  Turning and turning in the widening gyre

  The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

  Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold;

  Mere anarchy is loosed on the world,

  The blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere

  The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

  The best lack all conviction, while the worst

  Are full of passionate intensity

  W.B. YEATS, THE SECOND COMING, 1920

  Thirty-Four

  London

  8 May 1945 – VE Day

  I looked at my watch again. The train was now two hours late and we were sitting just outside Clapham Junction. I sighed, wanting to get out and push the darn thing. Bobby was waiting for me at the Savoy; he’d just have to wait a bit longer. But that didn’t matter. We’d have all the time in the world now. The war in Europe was over. Mother had been wrong. The war had taken many of our wonderful men but not all the good ones. Not Bobby and not Angus. I swallowed. Of course it was only over in Europe. Eddie was still at risk in the Far East. I doubted Amelia would be celebrating much tonight. At the least, I did know that she was happy. We’d spoken less than a week ago. I hadn’t been able to keep the excitement out of my voice. It had been bubbling since the Nazi forces had surrendered in Italy on 2 May.

  By the time the train reached the platform at Waterloo, I’d abandoned my plans to change into evening dress at Aunt Margaret’s. I stepped from the station and emerged to a London full of light. After years of darkness it looked wonderful. Not a taxi was in sight so I walked over Waterloo Bridge looking down river towards Parliament, marvelling that its clock tower still stood.

  I picked up my pace as best I could through the crowds. Bobby. I hadn’t seen him for six weeks and my head felt light with anticipation. The war in Europe was over and we’d both survived. We could stop holding our breath and begin to plan our lives together.

  Someone knocked into me. ‘Sorry, my lover.’ The man responsible lifted his hat before walking on, and I rubbed my shoulder where we had collided, rejoicing at his Cornish accent. My thoughts shifted to Cornwall and to my mother. She wasn’t well. The confirmation of Uncle Reg’s death had hit her badly. That wobble I’d heard in her voice had been just the beginning. She fussed over everything now. Hopefully my engagement news would lift her spirits. Bob
by and I planned to see Father soon and then we would go together to see Mother. I prayed that my parents would find their way back to each other. Now I understood how separation could eat away at you. Father had always pulled her from the depths in the past. Surely he would be able to again.

  Squinting into the distance, I saw the streets were full of people dancing and singing. The words of ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ carried on the air and I sang along as I made my way across the bridge. Just as I was approaching the Embankment, two airmen approached, grinning like idiots. I knew the feeling. They linked arms with me and pulled me along with them through the crowds.

  ‘Where are you heading?’ I asked as I studied them. One had a scar across his cheek and the other one was ginger-haired.

  ‘Trafalgar Square. Where are you going?’

  ‘The Savoy.’

  ‘It’s on the way.’ The ginger airman laughed.

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘May we have the pleasure of escorting you?’ the scarred one smiled.

  ‘I would be delighted.’ We moved through the crush carrying Union flags and singing. As we came to the Savoy music spilled out of a window and the scarred airman swung me into his arms to dance. My head rocked back, but I quickly recovered and in the crowds we jived to ‘In the Mood’. The last time I had danced to this was with Bobby, and hopefully in a few minutes I would be in his arms again.

  Turning with a big smile on my face I saw a photographer take my picture. I could imagine what I looked like, with my hat askew and a grin stretching as wide as my face. The war was over and Bobby was near. The music faded and I stepped away from my partner.

  ‘Must you go?’

  ‘Sorry, but yes.’

  He released my hand. The weight of the crowd swept me towards the entrance. Somewhere in this chaos would be Bobby. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I was three hours late. In the busy lobby, I made my way towards the American Bar and searched the hubbub inside. Although I spotted a few American officers, none were familiar. I turned and headed for the Grill, hoping he’d be there. Before I could speak, I was in the arms of a general, twirled around and passed into the arms of another gentleman. It was hard not to be caught up in the happiness, but mine wouldn’t be complete until I was with Bobby.

  Eventually I ducked through to the Grill but he wasn’t there. I could see one of Father’s colleagues, who indicated for me to come and join them, but I simply waved back and slipped out into the crowd.

  ‘What brilliant luck,’ said a familiar voice, and suddenly I was swept into another man’s arms and kissed soundly.

  ‘Angus,’ I laughed. ‘You devil.’

  ‘God, I’ve wanted to do that for years,’ he said. ‘And this time I know which one it is too.’ He grinned, looking so like the boy we used to race on the beach, and yet there were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there when we last met.

  I laughed. ‘Are you sure?’

  He squinted at me. ‘No – to be honest, I’ll never be sure, but I do know that Adele Seaton is in the WRNS. Your uniform is a big help.’

  I laughed. ‘Amelia’s a Wren too.’

  ‘True – but now I come to think of it, I’m sure you are Adele.’ He pointed to the sparker’s badge.

  ‘Come on, Angus.’ A tall airman tugged at Angus’s arm. ‘We’re off to go dancing.’

  ‘Come with us, Adele. We’re off to the 400.’

  Angus gestured to me with a grin, but I looked around, still searching the crowds.

  ‘Meeting someone?’

  ‘I’m late.’ I frowned.

  ‘Tonight everyone’s late. Come with us and celebrate.’

  ‘But I’m not dressed for it.

  ‘No one is. Do say yes.’

  I looked at my watch. It was now four hours since I was supposed to have met Bobby and he still wasn’t here. Angus grinned and I couldn’t resist that smile. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shame Melly isn’t here too.’

  ‘True.’ Amelia would have mixed feelings tonight, being apart from Eddie. A little of my happiness dimmed. Angus linked his arm through mine and we pushed through the crowd out on to the street. I wondered what Amelia was up to tonight, as London celebrated like there was no tomorrow.

  Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  22 September 2015

  Left on the tray with the teapot were the remains of the beautifully scrambled eggs on toast that I’d enjoyed. Jack had even plucked a bit of parsley from the garden. A little time with Lara and he was garnishing things. I took a sniff to confirm what I’d tasted. He’d added something to the eggs. Truffle. Dear lord, he was worried about me. That wasn’t what I wanted. I simply did not want to talk or be asked questions, and it wouldn’t be long before Lara was asking them. They were there in her eyes – I had seen them as she studied me. She looked at me and saw herself, while in her I saw my youth and so much more, so much that had been lost. Why on earth would I want to talk about that? My desk, out of reach opposite the bed, was open and my sister’s letters sat tied up. If I opened them, what would they say? I shook my head.

  Peta cleared the breakfast tray then came back with a fresh cup of tea. I continued to stare out of the window at the bleak weather and the sudden rain that beat on the panes.

  ‘OK, Gran what’s going on?’

  I looked at her as she walked to the window the turned about to face me.

  ‘Silence isn’t the answer.’ Peta smiled. ‘I understand that sometimes not talking is the easiest option, but what isn’t a good idea is hiding.’ She shook her head. ‘I know it’s Lara. There is something you are avoiding and you are trying to push me out of your head.’ She laughed and I sipped the tea.

  Peta came to sit beside me, taking my hands in hers. They were warm, while mine were cold. ‘Look, Gran. You have got to try. For Jack. Right now he needs you.’ She gently rubbed my fingers. All the plumpness had gone. They were nothing but thin skin, blue veins and liver spots.

  ‘I know it’s Lara. And I know you’re afraid.’ She looked up. ‘I’m going to be honest here – and believe it or not, it’s hard to say this – but you have to forget about yourself. You’ve seen with your own eyes the transformation in Jack when he’s around her. His walls slip. This is the first outsider he’s let anywhere near close.’ She smiled.

  I turned away.

  ‘Be brave, Gran.’

  She had no idea.

  ‘But I do,’ she said, answering my thought before I could speak it. ‘I can’t put it into words, but I do.’ She kissed my hand and held it to her cheek. Her love flowed through me, trying to strengthen me.

  The 400 Club, Leicester Square, London

  8 May 1945 – VE Day

  Why Angus and his friends thought there would be room to dance on London’s smallest dance floor I didn’t know. Incredibly, it was dustier than it had been the last time I’d been here with Bobby. He’d laughed at the place and the fact that they would keep his bottle of whisky there for him for his next visit. Peering through the gloom, I wondered where we would sit, let alone dance. But I shouldn’t have been concerned. We were soon wedged in with friends of Angus’s from Bomber Command.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Eddie,’ said a sandy-haired flight lieutenant, leaning forward to me.

  ‘What?’ I frowned. What was wrong with Eddie?

  Angus put his arm around me. ‘This isn’t Eddie’s fiancée; it’s her sister.’

  ‘Looks just like the picture he carried around.’

  Angus nodded.

  ‘What’s happened to Eddie?’ My stomach tightened. The sandy-haired lieutenant looked apologetically at me.

  ‘Missing,’ he said, ‘presumed …’

  The band struck up and his last words drifted away to the sound of a French horn. My glance flew to Angus. Eddie was his best friend. His jaw clenched as he swallowed. I looked at the champagne in my hand and didn’t feel like celebrating. Closing my eyes, I tried to ‘feel’ Amelia, but the sensation was about as clear as the
air around me. I stole Angus’s cigarette and took a long drag. Those silly summers messing around in boats in Cornwall seemed a long way from the dark fug around us.

  He pulled me close. ‘He wouldn’t want us to act like this, tonight of all nights.’

  I took a deep breath. He was right. Eddie had been the life and soul of the party. I raised my glass, and Angus’s lightly touched mine.

  ‘To Eddie.’

  ‘Eddie.’

  We knocked our drinks back, glasses were refilled, and before I knew it I was in Angus’s arms, swaying to the music, trying not to think of Eddie, or how my sister would be taking this news.

  As ‘Moonlight Serenade’ played, I rested my head on Angus’s shoulder. The champagne was making the world soft-edged and it had dulled the pain a bit. What was Amelia going to do? I glanced at Angus. He was a good catch but I knew her heart would not transfer so easily.

  The last notes of the song finished and the band rose for their break. We were on the far side of the club, away from our friends. Scanning the tables to distract my thoughts, I wondered how many people were here with someone they shouldn’t be.

  I froze. My heart stopped. Father was at one of the far tables … and he was in a passionate embrace with Aunt Margaret.

  ‘Who have you spied?’ Angus whispered in my ear. He looked in the same direction and then took my hand, tugging me towards the door. ‘Make nothing of it. Pretend you haven’t seen.’

  Father looked up in my direction and our eyes met, just as Angus pulled me away.

  Thirty-Five

  Kensington, London

  9 May 1945

  I sat at Aunt Margaret’s kitchen table alone. It was midday. My head thumped and I remembered little of the rest of the night after we left the club. In spite of what I had seen, or maybe because of it, I had looked for Bobby in the crowd. I had needed him so much right then. He was a straight American who stuck to his values. No, I was being unfair to the English. I just had to think of Commander Rowse. He was how a man should be; my father was not. My father hadn’t even the decency to have an affair with someone outside the family. Dear God, my mother’s brother had been dead for less than a year.