The Memory Box

by Kathryn Hughes

  ‘Is there something on your mind, pet?’ I ask.

  She turns to face me, fussing with the crocheted rug over my lap. ‘How can you tell when you’re really in love?’

  I am genuinely thrown by this left-field question. ‘Don’t you know, Candice?’

  She wrinkles her nose. ‘I guess so, but it’s so confusing sometimes.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ I reply with a barely audible snort. ‘Love can be confusing. I can’t argue with that.’ If only she knew.

  8

  1940

  The end of their first week at Mynydd Farm was marked by what Jenny’s mother would call a proper Sunday lunch. Jenny had politely declined to attend chapel with Delyth, receiving only a slightly judgemental frown in return.

  ‘I’ll stay here and cook the lunch if you like,’ said Jenny.

  Delyth had changed into her only good dress and Jenny nodded her approval at the transformation. ‘You look right bonny in that clobber. It really shows off your waist, and I love the little collar.’

  ‘Yes, well, we can all make the effort once a week to praise the good Lord.’ Delyth wriggled her hands into a pair of white cotton gloves. ‘You sure you won’t change your mind and come with me?’

  ‘Not today, if it’s all the same.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll see you later then.’

  She’d started peeling the spuds when Lorcan rushed in, all wild-eyed and flustered. ‘I’m afraid I’ve traumatised the lad. Is he here?’ His arm dangled by his side, his fingers gripping the legs of a lifeless chicken. He slammed it down on the draining board and Jenny stared at the bird’s broken neck.

  ‘You mean our Louis? No, I haven’t seen him.’ She pointed at the chicken. ‘Did . . . did you do this?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘You broke its neck?’

  ‘Well we don’t tickle them to death, Jenny.’

  She put down the peeler and untied her apron. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know. He ran off, but don’t worry, he can’t have gone far.’

  She pushed past him and hurried into the yard. ‘Lou, Lou, where are you?’

  Lorcan followed, echoing her. ‘Louis, come out now.’

  ‘Louis,’ cried Jenny, her voice tinged with dread. ‘This isn’t funny any more. Come on out from wherever you are.’ Aware that she sounded stern and cross, she softened her tone. ‘Come on now, you little tinker.’ She began patrolling the outbuildings, peering over stable doors, prodding at the mounds of hay with her cane and limping in and out of the stalls in the shippen. Breathless with fear, she grabbed Lorcan’s arm. ‘He . . . he’s gone.’ She swept her hands through her hair. The sudden exertion had made her lungs ache, and she struggled to inhale. ‘Do . . . do you think he . . . he left the farm?’

  ‘He might’ve, Jenny, but don’t worry, he won’t come to any harm even if he has.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Anything could ’appen to him. He’s not yet five. He doesn’t know his way around.’ She clutched at her chest and sat down on the low wall surrounding the garden. ‘Where’s your tad?’

  Lorcan nodded towards the mountain. ‘Up there, checking on the lambs.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you feeling all right, Jenny?’

  She dismissed his concern with a flick of her hand. ‘Don’t worry about me. Just fetch the donkey and we’ll take the cart. If he’s left the farm then he’s probably gone down into Penlan.’

  He shook his head. ‘She’s lame, we’ll have to go on foot.’

  As Jenny stood, her cane toppled to the ground. She kicked at it savagely. ‘Damn and blast it.’

  Silently Lorcan bent to retrieve it, and placed it in her hands. ‘We’ll find him, Jenny, trust me.’ He took hold of her elbow. ‘Lean on me for extra support now. It’s downhill all the way into town. There you are, you can do it, see?’

  She hooked her arm through his. ‘I hate being so pathetic, Lorcan. It’s not me. I’m a strong lass.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘In here, I’m indestructible, I can do anything, but this . . .’ She indicated her cane. ‘It marks me out as some kind of invalid, and I hate that. I hate it.’

  With Lorcan practically propelling her down the narrow lane, they reached the centre of Penlan in just over twenty minutes. Her lungs felt as though someone had taken a cheese grater to them. The cobbled main square was deserted, the shops closed, and the only sound came from the water trickling into a fountain. ‘Let’s try the community hall,’ said Lorcan.

  They crossed over the humpbacked stone bridge, Jenny trying not to think about the swirling black water below and how it could carry off a small child without so much as a by-your-leave.

  ‘God, if anything’s happened to him, I’ll never forgive myself. I promised Mum I’d look after him. Louis, Louis!’ Her throat felt raw, as though all the screaming had shredded her vocal cords. She stood on tiptoe and peered through the window of the community hall. ‘Nothing. It’s all locked up. He’s not here.’

  Lorcan stood with his hands on his hips, the first stirrings of doubt registering on his brow.

  ‘Where to next?’ Jenny gasped.

  ‘Let’s try the park.’

  He sprinted back over the bridge, Jenny hobbling after him with a determination she hadn’t thought she was capable of. Fear was a ruthless driver. She caught up with him at the iron railings.

  ‘He’s over there, look,’ Lorcan said. ‘On that bench.’

  She squinted in the direction of his finger. ‘Oh, thank the Lord.’ She opened the gate and they began to walk towards Louis. ‘Who’s that with him? There’s someone next to him, talking to him. Oh my God, he’s got an ice cream. Where did he get that from? Louis, Louis, come here, you little . . .’

  The relief of a moment ago was already morphing into anger. The stranger had his arm across the back of the bench, his body turned in to Louis’s as he watched him lick the ice cream. ‘It’s good, yes?’ she heard him ask, and watched in disbelief as Louis actually smiled and nodded his agreement.

  As she drew level, she vented her anger at the man. ‘Oi, you, what do you think you’re doing?’ She grabbed Louis by the arm and pulled him up. The ice cream fell off the cone and splattered onto the grass.

  ‘Aww, Jenny, now look what you’ve done.’

  Jenny glared at him. ‘Stop whining, Louis.’ She turned to Lorcan. ‘We need to call the police. This is a classic case of abduction, this is.’

  The stranger looked alarmed as he spread his palms in a calming gesture. ‘Oh no, there’ll be no need for that, cara.’ He stood up and offered his hand. ‘Domenico Bernardi, but please call me Nico.’

  Everybody round here sounded different to Jenny, but Nico’s accent was nothing like the musical tones the Evans family spoke in; it was much more exotic. He was still holding her hand, his black eyes locked on hers as she gazed at his breathtakingly handsome face. She felt all her anger vanish and she simply couldn’t look away. It was as though she’d been hypnotised or put under the most magical spell, as the rest of the world disappeared.

  Lorcan’s sigh brought her back to earth. ‘It’s all right, Jenny. I know him. Bernardi’s Gelateria in town. You’ve probably seen it, the one with the red, white and green canopy.’

  She turned at the sound of his voice. She had forgotten he was there.

  Nico finally released her hand and nodded at Louis. ‘I found this little chap wandering about on his own. Oh, the tears.’ He placed his palm on his own chest. ‘It nearly broke my heart, so what was I to do? I opened up my shop specially and gave him the magic gelato. And now he’s all better.’ He ran an affectionate hand over Louis’s head.

  ‘Sorry, Jenny. Don’t be mad,’ said Louis, kicking at the grass. He glanced up at Lorcan and jabbed his finger towards him. ‘He killed Joyce.’

  ‘Joyce?’ said Jenny.

  ‘My favourite chicken. Lorcan killed her.’

  What sort of a name was that for a chicken? She shook her head, refocusing on the
important bit. ‘You shouldn’t have run off, Louis. Anything could have happened to you.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know . . . anything.’ Now wasn’t the time to run through all the doom-laden scenarios with a traumatised little boy who had just witnessed the slaughter of his favourite bird.

  Lorcan crouched down in front of him. ‘We don’t name the chickens, Louis,’ he said gently. ‘They’re not pets, they’re food.’

  ‘I was going to bring him back, honestly,’ interrupted Nico. ‘He couldn’t remember the name of the farm, but when he told me Lorcan had killed his chicken, I knew where he came from. He’s been telling me all about how his mamma sent him away so he could be safe and be sure no bombs fell on his head.’

  ‘Thank you, Nico,’ said Jenny. She stared at the ground, worried that her flushed cheeks would give her away. ‘I’m really grateful, we both are. I can’t bear to think what might’ve happened if you hadn’t found him.’ She indicated the river. ‘All that water there . . . He can’t swim, you know. If he’d fallen in . . .’

  Nico shushed her. ‘Hey, hey, that didn’t happen. Do not distress yourself with these . . . these imaginings.’

  ‘We need to go now, Jenny,’ said Lorcan, taking hold of Louis’s hand. ‘We’ve still got the lunch to get ready.’

  She nodded and took Louis’s other hand. ‘Bye, Nico.’

  ‘Ciao. Hope to see you again soon. Please come for gelato. I have a small batch of vanilla ready. I will save a scoop just for you, Jennifer.’

  The way he said her full name made her skin tingle. ‘Please, it’s Jenny.’

  Nico shook his head in exaggerated fashion. ‘But Jenny is just for those stubborn biblical beasts. You are much more beautiful than a donkey. May I call you Jennifer?’

  9

  Bryn Evans was in the kitchen, the lifeless chicken on a wooden slab on the table in front of him. The pile of golden feathers contrasted with its pasty, pimply skin. Jenny covered Louis’s eyes. ‘Why don’t you go and see if you can find the kittens, Louis?’

  He wriggled out from under her hand and stared at Joyce, wide-eyed and curious. He took a step closer and tentatively prodded the pale flesh. ‘Won’t she be cold now?’

  Bryn picked up the meat cleaver and held it over the chicken’s head. ‘She’s going in the oven, sonny. That’ll warm her up.’ He chuckled, but it was more matter-of-fact than mean. ‘We’ll make a farmer of you yet, boyo.’ With a resounding thwack, he brought the cleaver down and Joyce’s head fell to the floor.

  After supper, with Louis tucked up in bed, Lorcan and Jenny took a stroll out to the waterfall behind the house. The bright moonlight illuminated the path, turning the mountain monochrome. Jenny stared up at the little white blobs on the slopes. ‘How on earth do those lambs cling on?’

  ‘They don’t always. I’ve seen a fair few bobbing in the water below the waterfall.’

  She thumped his arm. ‘Stop it, don’t tease me.’

  ‘It’s true. I’m not kidding you, Jenny. It’s horrible listening to their mams calling for them, I can tell you. Can melt the hardest of hearts. Even Tad’s.’

  ‘It makes my legs turn to jelly just thinking about it. I’m not good with heights. I remember when I came home from hospital after the polio, my father arranged for a special outing, a trip to Blackpool. He was that excited, I think he’d arranged it more for himself than for me. Anyway, we went to the Tower and he paid an extra sixpence each for us both to go up to the top in the lift. Well, when we got there, I couldn’t step out and onto the viewing platform. My legs just wouldn’t cooperate. I blamed it on the polio, but the truth was, I was absolutely terrified. I was quite literally frozen with fear.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ laughed Lorcan. ‘I suppose we all have our phobias. I’m not that fond of mice, to be honest. A bit of a drawback for a farmer.’

  They came to a wooden bench beside a cluster of faded daffodils and sat down. Jenny picked off a crusty petal, rolling it between her fingers. ‘What’s Nico like, then?’

  He drew his eyebrows together. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Erm . . . well . . .’

  How could she tell him that since their fleeting encounter a few hours before, she had been unable to get Nico out of her mind? She couldn’t explain it. Perhaps there was no rational explanation. When his eyes had met hers, she’d felt something click. As though everything that had gone before had been leading up to that moment. It was like slotting in the final piece of a jigsaw, a satisfaction that her life was now complete. It sounded ridiculous even to her own ears.

  ‘He came over from Italy with his family a few years back.’ Lorcan’s voice jolted her back to the present. ‘Runs their café and ice cream business.’

  She leaned in and nudged him playfully. ‘Am I sensing some history between the pair of you?’

  He scuffed the dirt with his feet. ‘No, not really. It’s just that he’s so . . . Well, he’s charming, isn’t he, and the local girls can’t seem to get enough of him. He has the looks of a film star and he runs an ice cream parlour. How can us simple farmers compete with that, eh?’ He gave a short laugh, but there was no humour in it.

  Jenny sneaked a look at him as he gazed wistfully at the mountain, his shoulders sagging in the resigned manner of somebody who knew they’d already been beaten before the race had begun.

  After a moment, he slapped his palms on his thighs. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure Bernardi’s will be in business much longer. They’re only making limited amounts of ice cream since the sugar rationing came in. It’s a luxury we can do without whilst there’s a war on.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll go back to Italy then.’ She was surprised by how much she wanted this not to be the case.

  ‘It’s possible, but the local girls have been donating part of their sugar rations to him. Anything to keep him and his ice cream here. Can you believe it? He could persuade a drowning man to give up his life belt, that one.’

  Jenny laughed. ‘He certainly had a way about him. Good job he was there, though. When I think about what might have happened . . . Louis was really close to the river, you know.’

  ‘Don’t think about it then,’ said Lorcan. He reached into the pocket of his jacket. ‘Here, this’ll take your mind off it. Mam’s drawn up a list of jobs for you and Louis.’

  Jenny took the two bits of paper. ‘Oh dear, she’s put Louis in charge of Ivor and Megan. He’s terrified of them goats. I can’t blame him either. The way Ivor sharpens his horns on the walls of the pigsty. And his eyes, they’re the eyes of the devil himself.’

  ‘Ivor’s harmless, and he’s good for keeping the grass and what have you down. He eats everything in his path. Louis just has to move their tethers around and check they have enough water. Mam’ll reduce his workload once he starts school.’

  Jenny folded up the scraps of paper and tucked them into her waistband. ‘I said we wouldn’t be a burden and I meant it.’ She gazed up at the dark sky, where the first stars were just beginning to pinprick the black velvet. ‘In fact, I think this place could be the making of our Louis.’

  She shivered against the evening chill, pulling her shawl tight across her chest. Lorcan shrugged off his jacket. ‘Here, have this.’

  She leaned forward so he could arrange the jacket around her body. He turned up the collar, his face only inches from hers, his warm breath on her cold cheeks. She caught the smell of his hair, the household soap he’d used on it that morning still lingering amongst the curls. ‘Thank you, Lorcan.’

  She glanced up at the farmhouse, not a chink of light escaping the blackout. The darkness was tangible, almost suffocating. Somewhere on the mountain, a lamb called for its mother, the plaintive cry reverberating through the valley. She thought of Nico and the feel of his hand in hers, the kindness in his eyes and the care he had shown for her darling Louis. As her warm breath met the frigid air, she smiled through the fog. ‘I’m glad you picked us, Lorcan.’

  10

  A few da
ys passed before Jenny was able to escape the farm again and have some time to herself. Laundry had been number one on her list of chores and had proved particularly labour-intensive. She was used to washing clothes by hand, but the garments at Mynydd Farm were so heavy, caked with muck and soil and God only knew what else. And the smell. She had had to turn her head and bury her nose in her sleeve as she ran them up and down the washboard. She’d proved to be less than adept at wringing them out, too. Delyth’s hands were so strong that the clothes barely needed putting through the mangle after she’d finished with them.

  The clear mountain air and spring sunshine had put some colour into her cheeks and her breathing was becoming less laboured by the day. She hooked the wicker basket over her arm and called out to Louis. ‘I’m going into town. Are you coming?’

  He ambled out of the barn, mud smeared across his face, a small knife in his hand.

  ‘What’re you doing with that knife? Give it here, you’ll have somebody’s eye out.’

  Lorcan trailed behind him. ‘He’s all right, Jenny. I’m teaching him.’

  Louis held up a rough chunk of wood. ‘I’m learning how to wickle.’

  ‘It’s whittle, Louis,’ corrected Lorcan.

  ‘Well whittle over here then,’ said Jenny. ‘We’re going out.’

  Louis hid the knife behind his back and shook his head. ‘I want to stay with Lorcan.’

  Lorcan shrugged. ‘He’ll be fine here with me.’

  ‘Lorcan’s made loads of things, Jenny. I’ll make something for you when I get good at it. I’ll make you a hedgehog or a toytoise and then when I’m really good, I’ll make you a table.’

  She smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. He had never had a father or even a big brother to indulge him in such innocent pastimes.

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve got time, Lorcan.’