by Liz Fenwick
Odd secrets of the time to tell!
EMILY DICKINSON, CALLED BACK (LVII)
Time and tide wait for no man.
CHAUCER, THE CLERK’S TALE
Thirty-Nine
Cornwall
14 August 1945
It was the day before VJ Day and the train was crowded with happy people. This was a journey I’d been avoiding, but I had leave. I didn’t know where Bobby was. Today held too many echoes of VE Day, so I watched the scenery and tried to forget. Signs of life returning to normal passed me by. Fields were laden with ripening wheat. It was August and it looked like it might be an early harvest.
I clutched my handbag to my stomach. In it was a letter from him. I hadn’t opened it. There had been such a long gap since his last one. I had reread the other over and over until the paper had practically fallen apart. The words were imprinted on my brain. From what he said, I knew what had happened three months ago. He wasn’t at fault. I was. He hadn’t known that my sister was my twin, my identical twin. I’d never told him. There was no possible way he could have known that he’d made love to my sister in a drunken fumble, but I did.
I had no idea if Amelia would be in Cornwall. I’d shut her out of my head and I refused to care about her pain. She might never have met Bobby until VE Day, but she must have known that someone calling her Adele and knowing so many things about me had to be my Bobby, not just any American captain strolling the streets of London in drunken celebration. She’d known what she was doing and had done it anyway. She could have contacted me but I hadn’t had a letter or a telephone call.
As we approached Plymouth, I was confronted with the remains of the city, its war scars plainly visible. All around summer was in full force, but wrecked buildings covered the landscape surrounding the station, just shells of what they had once been. As the train came into the platform, the rattling of the wheels and the noise of the brakes spoke to me. Betrayal.
I closed my eyes. Amelia had to have known what she’d done.
The train jerked forward and I opened my eyes, I was amazed that Brunel’s bridge across the Tamar had made it through intact. At each stop I watched the reunions taking place on the platforms and beyond. Mother knew I was coming home, but I didn’t expect anyone to meet me. I planned to avoid Mother for the whole leave, but I would try talking to Grandmother. She was tricky but she was straight. Maybe I could speak to her about my future. I couldn’t talk to Amelia.
I pulled Bobby’s letter out of my bag and opened it at last.
My love,
I don’t know what to say. I have just received your letter. I am confused. If it wasn’t you I was with then who was it that answered to your name, spoke exactly like you and was wearing your dress? Yet your letter says clearly it wasn’t you.
The only thing I can say is that she didn’t smell like lily of the valley but something far more exotic. I should have known. Please tell me what I have done?
B xxx
I took a deep breath and looked out onto the moor with its bleak beauty. The sky was heavy with the promise of rain but like me it was holding back. Tears wouldn’t help things and I didn’t know what would. If Bobby could forgive himself then maybe we could move forward. I loved him. He had done no wrong in my eyes but my sister had. We would be moving to America and I wouldn’t ever have to see her again.
As the train travelled on I pulled out paper and pen and began to write to Bobby.
My dearest love,
I believe I know what happened and it is my fault. I haven’t spoken to her yet but I know the truth. In Trafalgar Square you met my twin sister, Amelia, wearing my dress.
I closed my eyes. I wondered if she still had the dress. Not that I would want to touch it.
‘Writing to your sweetheart?’ The old woman sitting across from me smiled.
I nodded, not wanting to engage in conversation. Aside from when I had changed trains, I didn’t think I had even looked at my fellow travelling companions. Right now the battle in my head was far too important.
‘Is he still away, not come home yet?’
Again I nodded, and looked down at what I’d written, wishing it hadn’t happened; that I’d told him that Amelia was my identical twin. A continuous circle of what ifs went through my thoughts … what if the train hadn’t been late, what if my sister hadn’t worn my dress, what if …
The train lurched as the conductor announced St Austell. ‘That will be me.’ The woman stood with her bag. ‘Make sure he knows you still love him. Men will be in short supply just like after the last war. Take care.’ She left the compartment. I didn’t know the woman’s history, but my whole war had been spent surrounded by men. The last thing I felt right then was a shortage.
Why hadn’t I ever told Bobby that Amelia was my twin? Was it because when I was with him I was simply me for the first time ever? Growing up it had been as if Amelia and I were one. We were dressed alike, spoke alike, did everything alike until it came to school. Only then did differences appear, and even after that the connection was still so strong, so powerful.
I forced myself to concentrate, and finish the letter:
Bobby, I’m so sorry this happened but it doesn’t have to affect us. I love you. You love me. I need to see you to make sure you know how I feel. I’m on leave in Cornwall for ten days then I’m back to Attack. I imagine I shall be demobbed soon.
I love you with my whole heart,
A xxxx
‘Next station Truro. Change for all stations to Falmouth …’ The conductor’s voice faded away. I folded the paper and put it in the envelope. All my dreams for the future were caught in this letter. I grabbed my bag and prepared to change trains. I prayed Bobby would forgive himself, the way I was ready to forgive him.
Constantine, Falmouth, Cornwall
24 September 2015
Lara received a filthy look from Snowy as she poured out a measure of dry cat food, but she didn’t care. She was bubbling with excitement and couldn’t wait to go to Windward today. Elle had eaten all her soup and bread last night. She’d looked much better for the food but still wasn’t saying much, which was understandable. Lara knew Elle had the answers she needed, but patience would be required.
The doorbell rang and she found the mailman standing there. ‘I have a package for you.’
‘Thanks.’ She signed for it and quickly ripped it open. The package contained a small cloth-bound book, along with a handwritten letter from her mother.
Darling,
I’d grabbed this collection of poems from the library at Eventide. I thought it would be useful for teaching and hadn’t looked at it until the other night. Read the inscription, darling.
Lara put the letter down, carefully took the book from the package and opened it.
To my dearest sister Amelia on our first Christmas apart. I love you and miss you. Adele, December 1943
Her hand shook. Adele was Amelia’s sister. Were Adele and Elle one and the same? The need to find out overwhelmed her. What the hell had Grandie done? She couldn’t just burst into Windward and accost Elle, especially in her current condition.
She turned on the kettle and tried to think it all through. What had happened all those years ago? How had Grandie ended up married to the wrong sister? A chill went down Lara’s spine as she thought of the betrayal involved. Her appearance here would have brought up all that pain again for Elle – if she was indeed Adele, and not another relative.
Dear God, how was she going to ask these questions? Should she? She now knew where her great-grandmother had come from, that she had married Grandie at Windward and that he had been in love with Adele. Lara poured boiling water onto the ground coffee, and watched the water consume the powder. She had opened Pandora’s box, and she didn’t know what to think about Grandie anymore.
Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall
14 August 1945
I waved to Mr Tonks as he drove away down the lane, grateful for the lift he’d given me from the station. Windward look
ed exactly as it had when I’d last been here with Bobby, which seemed somehow impossible. It would almost have been easier if it had changed, along with everything else in my now upside-down world. The gate pillars still stood. Honeysuckle filled the hedges and the scent had already caught me when I’d passed the fruit trees. In the distance, beyond the house, the sea was blue and a merchant ship made its way towards Falmouth. All was as it should be – except it wasn’t. Aside from the bees, there was silence. Someone should have been home, the noise of the wireless should have been audible, but instead there was nothing.
Peas were staked on the canes by the kitchen but the door was closed. I frowned, set my bag down and turned the handle. It was locked. The house was never locked. Stepping back, I looked up. Windows were open, which was a relief. I hadn’t thought that Mother and Grandmother might not be here. I’d only hoped that Amelia wouldn’t be.
Strolling to the front, I admired Grandmother’s roses, which were still blooming. Her vegetables were doing well. She might not have liked the idea of looking after her own potatoes but it was clear she had a knack for it.
There was a breeze from the east and I hoped the French windows would be open, but as it turned out they were closed too. The journey had been long and I needed a cup of tea or even something stronger. Perching myself on the wall, I looked out at the sea, towards St Anthony’s Lighthouse. Aside from the ship movements, everything from this distance looked unchanged, but closer inspection would show that the beaches were still mined. It would take time for life to return to normal, whatever that would be now. My head hurt and my heart was broken. A cup of tea would help the former and being with Bobby would fix the latter.
One thing I knew, my future wouldn’t be here but in America with Bobby. Amelia’s betrayal had made that decision easy. Before I’d worried about leaving her behind to look after Mother. Now I knew it was the only thing I could do.
The sound of a car in the drive interrupted my thoughts. I jumped up but then sank back down. Neither Mother nor Grandmother could drive so that meant that Amelia was here. My hands clenched and my nails bit into my palms. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself upright and walked slowly to the back of the house.
In the distance I could see Mother helping Grandmother out of the car while Amelia was removing something from the boot. As she closed it she looked up and saw me. She smiled, and then the smile disappeared along with any colour she had had.
‘Adele,’ Mother called. ‘How wonderful to have you both home. We didn’t know you were coming or we would have collected you.’
I frowned. I’d telephoned and spoken with her a few nights ago. As I came closer to her I could see the strain on her delicate features. Grandmother hadn’t changed but seemed to have a more pronounced limp.
‘Have you been demobbed? Amelia’s finished.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘No, not yet.’
‘Such a shame. It would be so wonderful to have you both home. Hopefully your father will be returned to us soon.’
My eyes opened wide. I didn’t think Father had any thoughts of returning to Mother and life here. She looked away from my surprise while Grandmother glared in my direction.
‘Why don’t you help your sister?’ Mother said as she led the way to the door and unlocked it. Turning, I walked to the back of the car and stood with my arms by my sides. I could sense Amelia’s thoughts, and they were everywhere and nowhere. This close to her, I could feel everything – pain, anger, fear and that familiar completeness. I closed my eyes to try and shut the connection but it didn’t work. There was no escaping the sense of wholeness that came only when we were together. The years away hadn’t diminished the feeling, nor had the betrayal.
‘Delly,’ she said. ‘I––’
‘Don’t.’
‘But––’
‘No.’ I grabbed a bag and walked to the house. She wouldn’t turn this around and make it my fault. We’d been there before but on nothing more important than Grandmother’s Ming vase. This was something altogether different.
Forty
Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall
24 September 2015
I could hear the waves and smell toast but I couldn’t see anything.
‘Morning, Gran.’ Peta’s voice was close, and I heard her put a tray down. I tried to open my eyes but they wouldn’t do it. ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘Your eyes are covered in gunk.’
I relaxed against the pillow while I listened to Peta as she moved across into the bathroom. It would take a while for the hot water to come through the pipes and reach the sink. It would have been quicker to go to the kitchen and get some from the kettle, which would probably still be warm. It couldn’t have been used that long ago – the scent of coffee was still wafting in on the breeze from the open window, along with the distant crash of waves on the beach.
‘Hold still while I clean your eyes,’ said Peta. Her fingers pressed on my forehead while her other hand carefully cleaned the sleep from my eyes. However, once I had blinked several times and my vision cleared, I saw the questions in Peta’s eyes and wondered if maybe I should have stayed asleep. She finished cleaning me up and I blinked again, bringing the room into full focus. A leaden sky hung over the bay, promising more rain. Was this the calm before the storm? Was the storm itself out there at sea, waiting to follow the waves it had sent as an advance party? Did it even matter?
‘How are you feeling?’ She brought the tray over.
I closed my eyes.
‘Gran.’
Opening them, I saw the worry on her face.
‘Don’t give up now. If you do, so will Jack.’
I frowned.
‘He’s only playing along with Lara for you,’ said Peta.
I shook my head. ‘He thinks he’s acting but he’s not.’ A sigh escaped me.
‘I know,’ said Peta. She buttered the toast, cutting it in half and offering it to me. ‘Marmalade?’
‘No.’ I took it from her and nibbled the corner.
‘He’s cooking with Lara. He thinks she will help you to talk about the past, which will make you better.’
My eyes opened wide. ‘It won’t.’
‘You’ve got to play along.’ Peta sighed and I could tell she was reading me, seeing my thoughts. Her hand sought mine. ‘You know what you need to do. You love him.’
That I couldn’t deny, but what she was asking cut right through me.
‘He’s got to think he’s helping you. We need him to keep acting until it isn’t an act any more. Until he realises that he can be human, that love is worth the risk.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘Gran, you know love is good.’
I took a deep breath. Love. I didn’t think I had the strength.
14 August 1945
As we sat down to eat, the silence made the empty places at the table more poignant. We should have been buzzing with conversation – it was the first time since my very first leave that I had seen either Mother or Grandmother in person. At the least, the meal was delicious and Grandmother’s vegetables were the stars. Her once-unmarked hands were now heavily callused and her nails were ripped in places, yet she still wore her pearls and had changed for dinner. I smiled, pleased that at least one person was the same.
My sister picked at the food in front of her. I still wouldn’t let her into my thoughts. It took everything to block her but it wasn’t as if I needed to sense her feelings – her face showed enough, with hollow cheeks, and dark circles lining her eyes. She looked so different from when we last met. It was clear she needed to eat but instead she simply moved the food around on her plate.
Was this so I would forgive her? Her heart was broken into a thousand pieces. Eddie was gone. I swallowed. She was looking down at her hands. She still wore his ring. Surely that would make her feel worse. I had taken mine off so I didn’t have to face questions to which I had no answers.
Finishing my meal, I stood. I couldn’t take any more of the silence. Mother didn’t even try to fill the
void with chatter, the way she usually did.
‘Excuse me.’
I left the room, went to the kitchen and cleared my plate. I felt rude but it was too hard to just sit there. After I had washed my dish and the pans in the sink, I went out of the kitchen door. Why had I come back?
Leaving the house, I walked down the drive, across the fields and eventually made my way to the church. The sky was still a soft blue and the stars had begun to appear. I could just make out the Plough and I longed for Bobby.
Going through the lych gate I strolled among the gravestones. It should have been frightening, being among the stones as the light faded and the shadows lengthened, but I wasn’t sure I would ever be scared by the dead again. Years ago, Amelia and I had run out of the churchyard spooked by some jackdaws that we were certain were spirits of the dead, and Mrs Tonks had told us: ‘Never worry about the dead, they can’t hurt you. But the living can.’ Now, years later, I understood what she meant.
24 September 2015
Jack was standing at the sink when Lara tapped on the door. He was soaking wet with puddles at his feet.
‘Hi.’ Lara stepped in out of the rain and peered over his shoulder. The sink was full of mackerel. ‘Been fishing?’
He nodded and moved away, pulling off his shirt and grabbing a towel out of a basket filled with folded items. Lara swallowed. It was hard not to look as he dried himself. His hair ended up in spikes after its treatment from the towel. He took a tee-shirt out of the basket and pulled it over his head before he smoothed his hair. She turned to the fish in the sink, which were equally beautiful in a different way, although they didn’t have the same effect on her. And, technically, the fish were better for her.
‘What do you plan to do with the fish, smoke them?’
‘Not sure.’ He turned from her and slipped out of his jeans. She picked up the firm, clear-eyed fish from the sink and started counting them, only turning when she was sure he was fully clothed. He’d hung his wet jeans over the handle of the Aga. From the way he stood she could tell something had changed. If she didn’t know better she would think this was a different man standing in front of her with his arms crossed, feet wide and eyes shuttered. There was no sign of the playful puddle-jumper from before.
