The Memory Box

by Kathryn Hughes

  ‘Pick of the crop’s gone for sure, Lorcan lad. Where’ve you been?’

  Jenny watched as Lorcan dug his hands into his pockets. ‘Mam’s ill with the flu. Tad’s tending to a calving problem. I’ve only just finished the milking.’

  The billeting officer nodded in Jenny’s direction. ‘I’ve saved you the scraps,’ he chuckled.

  She shifted under the young man’s incredulous gaze.

  ‘Those two?’ he said.

  ‘Brother and sister; she’s twenty-one, he’s nearly five, although he acts like a toddler.’ The billeting officer winked at Lorcan. ‘She’s quite a looker, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Sorry, Llew, I can’t take them.’

  ‘You’ll have to. You’re on my list to billet two children, and those are the only two left. Jennifer May Tanner and Louis Francis Tanner.’ He struck a line through both names.

  ‘But she . . . she’s not even a child. Why’s she even here?’

  Llew shielded his mouth with his palm and lowered his voice. ‘She’s crippled, got a gammy leg, I believe. Uses a cane.’

  ‘Llew, you’ve got to help me. Mam’ll go mad. We need boys for the farm, see? We’ve had to turn over five acres of pasture to spuds and beets. Come the harvest, we’ll need all the help we can get.’

  ‘This isn’t a cattle auction, Lorcan. You can’t be choosy. You should have got here earlier if you were going to be so picky.’ Llew clamped his clipboard to his chest. ‘They’re all yours. Tell your mam I said hello. I hope she’s feeling better soon.’

  Lorcan wandered over to Jenny, offering an apologetic smile. ‘Hello there,’ he said. ‘Sorry about all that.’

  Louis stirred; his thumb fell from his mouth and left a trail of slime glistening on his chin.

  ‘Jenny Tanner,’ she said, offering her hand. ‘And this sleepy one here is my brother Louis.’

  Lorcan hesitated, wiping his hand down his trousers, although it looked like it would take a lot more than that to remove the day’s grime. ‘Lorcan,’ he said. ‘Lorcan Evans. Follow me.’

  ‘Both of us, you mean?’

  He seemed to wrestle with his decision, clearly in a state of flux. ‘Yes, both of you.’

  Outside, a sharp shower had dampened down the trees and hedgerows, but low in the sky the sun was out, and a warm breeze ruffled the luminous green leaves. The whole day smelled laundry-clean, and Jenny took a head-clearing breath. Lorcan had taken both cases and slung their gas masks over his shoulder. ‘Is it far?’ she asked.

  ‘About a mile,’ he replied.

  She brandished her cane. ‘Erm, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’m just too tired to walk that far. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘There’s no need. The other Jenny’ll do all the work.’

  ‘The other Jenny?’

  Lorcan stopped beside a donkey waiting patiently by the side of the road. He pulled on its long furry ears. ‘Most donkeys are called Jenny.’ He threw the cases into the cart and held out his hand. ‘Do you need any help?’

  Jenny looked at the steps, wondering how she could haul herself aboard without making a fool of herself.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Lorcan. He disappeared round the back of the hall and came back with a wooden fruit box. He upended it and set it down next to the cart. ‘Is that better?’

  With the aid of his hand, she climbed the two steps up into the cart.

  ‘Ta,’ she said settling herself on the hard wooden seat.

  Lorcan turned to Louis. ‘Shall I lift you in?’

  Louis nodded and held his arms aloft.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Louis,’ said Jenny. ‘You can climb in by yourself.’

  Lorcan swept him up and plonked him down next to her. ‘It’s no trouble. He’s only got little legs.’

  Jenny smiled. ‘You’re very sweet, but this mollycoddling will have to stop soon enough.’ She tapped Louis under his chin. ‘Won’t it, hmm?’

  The donkey’s sides heaved as it jounced along impossibly narrow lanes, the hawthorn hedge so thick the thorny branches scratched at their arms. At the end of what was now little more than a rough track, Lorcan jumped down and opened a gate. A wooden sign, crudely painted with the name Fferm Mynydd hung at an angle, and Jenny tilted her head to read it. The farmhouse itself was exactly how a five-year-old might draw a cottage: oblong, with three square windows along the top, a window in the bottom left-hand corner, another in the right. A stone porch, with a stable door, separated the two. There was even a crooked chimney emitting a long curl of smoke. The stone had been whitewashed, probably some time ago judging by its greyish hue, and the window frames were painted a rather bold shade of green.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Lorcan, offering his hand to Jenny. ‘Welcome to Mynydd Farm.’

  Jenny frowned. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Mun-ith. Mun as in bun, ith as in dither. It means “mountain”. He gestured towards the gorse-clad hill rising up behind the farmhouse.

  ‘Mun-ith,’ she tried. ‘Have I got that right?’

  ‘Close enough,’ he replied, lifting Louis out of the cart.

  A black and white dog lay on the doorstep. At the sound of their voices, it lifted its head and cocked one ear before bounding over, tongue flapping. Louis hid behind Jenny.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ said Lorcan, ruffling the dog’s ears. ‘This here is Brindle. Do you want to stroke him, Louis?’

  Louis shook his head, still cowering behind his sister.

  ‘For the love of God, our Louis,’ said Jenny. ‘He won’t bite.’ She looked to Lorcan for confirmation. ‘Will he?’

  ‘Of course he won’t. He’s as daft as anything.’

  ‘Lorcan, you’re back.’ An older man appeared from one of the barns, his brown overalls stained with what seemed to be blood. He removed his elbow-length rubber gloves as he approached. ‘What’s this?’ He looked from Jenny to Louis, his face attempting a smile but not quite managing it.

  ‘Tad, this is Jenny and her brother Louis, from Manchester. This is my father, Bryn Evans.’

  Be polite, remember your manners. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Jenny, offering her hand but then quickly withdrawing it when she saw that the rubber gloves had not prevented his hands from becoming covered with whatever fluid streaked his overalls. There was a metallic tang about him.

  ‘I thought you were coming back with two boys, Lorcan. These two don’t look like they’ll be much help round here.’ Bryn pointed at Louis. ‘He looks like a stiff wind would blow him over.’

  Jenny threw a protective arm around her brother’s shoulder. ‘He can hear you, you know.’ Her mother’s face flashed up. Be respectful. She lowered her voice and spoke as calmly as she could. ‘This isn’t exactly a picnic for us either, Mr Evans. Do you think we wanted to leave our home and our mother behind? Have you any idea how traumatic that is for a little lad like this one ’ere?’

  Lorcan stepped in, his hands spread in a calming gesture. ‘It’ll be all right, Tad. They’ve had a long journey. Let’s just make them welcome, and I’m sure everything will seem better tomorrow.’

  Bryn shook his head, a knowing smile finally reaching his lips. ‘You never could resist a pretty one, could you, Lorcan?’

  To Jenny’s great annoyance, she blushed.

  The bedroom had been given a thorough airing pending their arrival. The metal-framed twin beds took up most of the space, with a gap between just wide enough for a cabinet. The floorboards were bare, save for a sheepskin rug that Jenny decided must’ve looked a lot better when it was still attached to its original owner. In the corner was a rocking chair with a faded gingham cushion. Louis scrambled onto the chair and began to rock backwards and forwards, clinging onto the arms. For the first time that day, a trace of a smile appeared on his lips. Jenny had to crouch to look out of the low window. The craggy moonlit mountain obscured the wider view, but she had to admit it was better than the view of the bins in the back alleys of Manchester she was used to. She pulled the frayed curtain across,
rubbing the thin material between her fingers. She wondered if she could get her hands on some scraps of fabric and run up a new pair. Mrs Evans would surely appreciate that.

  ‘Right, Louis, let’s get you washed and ready for bed. Which one do you want?’

  ‘Can’t I share with you?’

  ‘I’ll be right here next to you. You’ve really got to learn to sleep on your own. Mummy indulged you far too much if you ask me.’ She pulled his hand. ‘Come on, before this water gets cold.’

  She dunked the rough flannel in the bowl of warm water Lorcan had provided and rubbed it round the back of Louis’s grubby neck.

  ‘Ow, that hurts.’

  She ignored his protest. ‘Swish your hands in the bowl, Louis, give them a good wash.’

  Once he was in bed, she tucked the bedclothes in tight, pinning him down as though this would prevent his escape. Then she held her hands behind her back. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you. Which hand do you want?’

  Louis tried to sit up.

  ‘Oh no you don’t, you need to stay lying down or else you’re not getting it.’

  He frowned as he concentrated on his choice, his eyes darting left and right.

  ‘Quick, Louis, which hand? It’s not that hard.’

  ‘Left.’

  ‘Ta-da!’ The knitted rabbit hung limply in her left hand.

  ‘Peter!’

  ‘Sneaked him into my case, didn’t I?’ She tucked the rabbit under Louis’s arm next to his teddy and kissed his forehead. ‘Now go to sleep.’

  In spite of his exhaustion, it took Louis almost an hour to settle. Jenny rubbed his back in ever-decreasing circles until, hardly daring to breathe, she picked up her cane and backed out of the room.

  Downstairs, Lorcan sat by the stove, absently stroking the dog’s head, which was resting in his lap. His dark hair had been swept off his face in an apparent attempt to tame the curls and his complexion bore testament to the amount of time he must spend outdoors.

  Jenny tapped her cane on the stone floor. ‘Am I all right to come in?’

  The dog lifted its head and shuffled off to lie down in front of the hearth. Lorcan rose from his chair. ‘Yes, please have this one, it’s comfier.’

  She sat down on the chair, so devoid of stuffing it almost swallowed her whole. ‘Where’re your mum and dad then?’

  ‘Mam’s still poorly in bed and Tad’s gone up already. Milking starts at five thirty.’

  ‘Five thirty in the morning?’ Jenny asked, her eyes widening at the thought of Bryn Evans having to be up and about at such an ungodly hour.

  Lorcan pulled up a stout wooden chair. ‘Best time of the day it is.’ He winked. ‘You’ll soon see.’

  She crossed her legs and the dressing gown she had thrown over her nightdress fell open slightly. She noticed Lorcan look before averting his eyes and making a desperate attempt to show he hadn’t noticed. ‘Erm . . . Louis asleep, is he?’

  Jenny wrapped the dressing gown tighter and uncrossed her legs. ‘You can ask me about it . . . if you want.’

  Lorcan scratched behind his ear and ran his hands through his hair, a gesture she would come to learn meant he was feeling uncomfortable. ‘What happened?’ he ventured.

  She spoke matter-of-factly. She was used to it now, could hardly remember a time before. ‘Caught polio when I was twelve. Left me very weak down the left-hand side, especially my leg, which as you can see is not quite as thick as the other one. Had a leg brace as a kid but now I get about with this.’ She indicated the cane propped up by the chair. ‘It affected my lungs too. I was in hospital for three months. Then I goes and gets bronchitis when I was fourteen, which really didn’t help, but I’m still here, battling on.’

  ‘That’s so . . .’ Lorcan searched for the word. ‘I mean, that’s . . . well, it’s . . .’ He gave up. ‘So you decided to evacuate because of your health?’

  Jenny sighed. ‘That was partly it, but also because of Louis. Mum didn’t think he’d survive on his own. Well, you’ve seen what he’s like. He’s such a baby sometimes.’

  ‘Must be daunting for him, though. Coming to a place so far away from home, a foreign country almost.’ Lorcan laughed, his eyes glinting in the light of the fire. ‘He’ll be all right though. I’ll make sure of it. And Mam and Tad, they’ll love him too. I know they wanted two strong boys, but we’ll manage.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose kids are adaptable,’ she agreed. ‘It’s my mother I worry about. She’s on her own now since Daddy died. Everything falls on her, the running of the house, earning a living for all of us. She’s a wages clerk in a factory. I help out of course, but my work’s on and off like, and now with this war on and me out here, I doubt there’ll be much demand for my services.’

  ‘Oh, what services?’ Lorcan asked.

  ‘Dressmaking. People bring me a pattern and some fabric and I make the clothes up for them on my Singer. I also do alterations, mending, that sort of stuff. It suits me, I can work from home and it’s not too physically demanding.’

  ‘There might be more work for you than you think. People are going to have to look after the clothes they’ve got.’

  A gust of wind hollered down the chimney, the other-worldly sound making Jenny shiver and glance over her shoulder. Lorcan reached for the poker and prodded at the logs. ‘Your father’s dead, you say?’

  She closed her eyes, trying to remember her father as a living, breathing person, instead of a lifeless corpse, dressed in his best suit, nestled inside a coffin that seemed too small for him. Barely a day had passed when she hadn’t regretted her decision to go to that funeral home. ‘Heart attack,’ she confirmed. ‘Died when I was seventeen. Louis was just a baby. He has no memories of him.’ She massaged the top of her cane. ‘Poor little sod. He could’ve done with a father figure to toughen him up. Mother’s spoiled him rotten.’

  Lorcan looked at her, his glacier-blue eyes narrowed in sympathy. His voice was low, barely audible. ‘I can’t imagine not having Tad.’

  ‘What about brothers or sisters?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s just me.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  ‘Old enough to be called up, then.’

  ‘Farming’s a reserved occupation. I’d like to enlist, but Mam’s dead against it and I’m not sure I could put her through it, to be honest.’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘No, I’m needed here so I’ll just have to be content with that.’

  ‘You’re still contributing, though. We all need to eat.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right, I suppose.’

  Jenny smiled and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, gazing around the kitchen with its low wooden beams and uneven stone floor. The dresser in the corner sported three shelves of blue and white crockery depicting Chinese-looking temples, and a row of copper pans hung from a ceiling rack. She took another surreptitious glance at Lorcan as he bent to stoke the fire. There were definitely worse places they could have ended up.

  3

  2019

  The house was in darkness when Candice arrived home. She shook out her rain-blasted umbrella and eased her key into the lock, cursing as the plastic bag got caught round the door handle. ‘Damn,’ she whispered as she wrestled it free. A pile of pizza delivery leaflets and brown window envelopes cluttered the communal hall, which as usual stank of mildewed carpet. She would never get used to that smell. She fought her way past the two bikes leaning against the wall, just beside the notice asking people not to leave their bikes in the hall.

  A sleepy voice wafted down the stairs. ‘Candice, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Beau. Sorry, did I wake you?’

  She bounded up the stairs and found him in bed, propped up on the pillows, his hands clasped around the back of his head.

  ‘Why’re you in bed anyway? It’s only eleven thirty. Not like you to turn in before one.’

  ‘Dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘It was boring without you. Why’ve you been so long?’

 
; She sat on the bed and took out a package. ‘I told you it was Jenny’s hundredth birthday party. We needed all the guests we could muster because she’s no family. I had to stay, and then when I put her to bed she wanted to talk, and she can’t half rabbit when she gets going. Any road, I’ve brought you a couple of tatty pies and a sausage roll.’

  He folded his arms and shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry any more. I’ve gone past it.’

  ‘There’s stuff in the fridge. You could have got yourself something.’

  ‘Not my department, though, is it? Cooking’s your job. Do I ever ask you to empty the bins?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? If I came across a bin that was overflowing and you weren’t here to empty it, then I’d just get on with it.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said huffily. ‘I’m too tired for an argument. Have it your way.’

  She settled herself next to him, her fingers tracing the outline of the angel tattoo across his chest. She ignored the stench of weed coming off his hair. ‘I’m sorry, Beau.’

  He turned to face her, his words floating out on a sigh. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m being pathetic. I just miss you so much when you’re not here. I hate to think of you partying without me.’

  ‘Partying?’ She laughed. ‘Believe me, I’d rather have been here with you.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose the Final Curtain Care Home isn’t exactly a hotbed of iniquity.’

  ‘Stop calling it that, Beau. You know damn well it’s Green Meadows Senior Living.’

  He stayed quiet, his fingers twisting the sheet. ‘I don’t like you having to work so hard. I feel like I’m not pulling my weight.’

  ‘Of course you are. It’s not your fault your line of work’s so unpredictable. In any case, you got three hundred quid for that wedding the other week, and when word starts to spread, there’ll be more. You’re still waiting to hear about the regular Thursday-night slot at that bar in Fallowfield too, don’t forget. If that comes off, then we’ll be laughing. Together with my wage, we might be able to afford to buy somewhere one day.’ She snuggled into his chest. ‘Imagine that, eh? An actual place of our own.’