The Memory Box

by Kathryn Hughes

  ‘He’s not bad, actually.’

  Candice turned to see the bouncer leaning against the bar. ‘Yes, indeed. He’s exceptionally talented.’

  ‘Hmm . . . that’s as maybe. He’s still a bit of a prat, though.’ He pointed at her half-empty glass and shouted to the barman, ‘Stick another one in there, please, Gaz.’

  She covered the glass with her palm. ‘Oh no, not for me. You’ve been too kind already.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he dismissed. ‘Gaz, pour this girl a drink.’

  17

  I’m sitting in my favourite spot in the conservatory overlooking the garden. Frank is by my side, snoring softly, even though it’s not yet lunchtime and he hasn’t long since got out of bed. There are few pleasures that come with getting old, but just sitting in quiet contemplation with your best friend by your side is one of them. I cover his hand with my own and he gently stirs and shifts position. I can see Simeon out in the garden, snipping herbs for lunch. That’s how posh it is in here. There’s not much there at this time of year, though. The mint and parsley are yet to flourish, but I can see that Simeon’s clutching a bunch of woody rosemary. Makes sense: I know from the menu that it’s lamb for lunch. I’m thankful every single day that I chose this place to spend my final few years. Some of the homes I looked at, well, you wouldn’t want to board your dog there. It’d make your toes curl if I told you how much it was costing, but I’ve done my sums and reckon my money will last another five years. If I do manage to survive that long, I expect I’ll be past caring where I live.

  Candice should be here very soon and I’m excited to see her. She’s such a sweet girl, and although I’ll be pleased for her, I’m dreading the day she leaves and pursues her dreams. I shake that thought from my head. There’s a while to go before that happens, and we have our trip to Italy coming up. I’m literally counting off the days and that big red circle on my calendar is getting ever closer. I’m fighting fit, I know I am, but every sniffle, every ache, every weird heart palpitation reminds me that time’s running out. I’ve lived for a hundred years. A couple more months isn’t too much to ask, is it?

  I can hear raised voices in the corridor. Mrs Culpepper’s trademark shrill tone has gone up an octave. ‘Do you value your employment here, Miss Barnes?’ I hear her say. I jab at the button that will tilt my chair and help me to my feet. The motor kicks in and the low humming it makes is enough to wake Frank. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks.

  The chair spits me out and I reach for my walking frame. ‘I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.’ My aged bones and muscles protest as I try to move quickly. I make a determined fist of it, though, and manage quite a speedy shuffle.

  In the corridor, Candice is standing in front of Mrs Culpepper, her head bowed as she fiddles with the toggles on her coat. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Culpepper. It won’t happen again.’

  Mrs Culpepper seems to soften. ‘Make sure it doesn’t, Candice. We have standards here, you know, and tardiness will not be tolerated.’ With a quick nod to me, she turns and bustles off down the corridor. Candice sticks her tongue out at her retreating figure.

  ‘What did you do, Candice?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Jenny,’ she says. ‘I didn’t see you there.’ She gives a helpless shrug. ‘Late, wasn’t I? I didn’t do it on purpose. I got my days muddled up and didn’t realise I should’ve started at eight this morning.’

  She looks terrible. Pale face, dark rings under her eyes, hair scraped back off her face with an Alice band, revealing a large spot over her left eyebrow.

  I hold out my hand. ‘Come to my room, will you? I need help with something.’

  She bites down on her bottom lip. ‘Mrs Culpepper wants me to start on the tables.’

  ‘They can wait. Take me to my room, please.’

  I take charge and insist she sits down. She ignores the armchairs by the window and with a nervous glance towards the door sits down on my bed. She immediately chews at the skin around her thumbnail.

  ‘Stop that, Candice.’

  She withdraws her hand and smooths out my already flawless duvet cover instead.

  ‘Okay, then. Let’s have it,’ I say, thrusting a mug of tea in her hands. It’s been a while since I’ve entertained a guest in my room, and it feels good to do something as simple as make a brew for someone who’s obviously upset. A proper brew too, made with boiling water in a pre-warmed teapot. I fear it’s a lost art.

  I lower myself into an armchair. ‘I’m waiting.’

  She blows on her tea before taking a sip. ‘It’s Beau.’

  I resist an eye roll. I might’ve known.

  ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘Don’t say it like that, Jenny. It was all a misunderstanding.’

  I take in her bedraggled appearance with renewed horror. ‘Has he hit you?’

  ‘What? No! How could you even think that? Beau would never raise a hand to me.’

  I purse my lips and raise my eyebrows. It’s an expression I hope she’ll interpret as one of disbelief without me having to actually admit it.

  ‘We had words after we got back from the Lemon Tree, that’s all.’

  ‘Go on.’

  She gives a dramatic sigh. ‘It was all my fault.’

  ‘I doubt that, but please continue.’

  She rubs her forehead vigorously. ‘Aargh, I’m never drinking again.’

  ‘Again, I doubt that.’

  She slumps back and rests her head on my pillow, staring at the ceiling. I notice a fat tear slide down the side of her face but say nothing.

  ‘I hadn’t had much to eat, that was the trouble. Simeon made me a chip barm before I left here, but it wasn’t enough to soak up all the alcohol Adrian bought me.’

  ‘Adrian?’

  ‘The bouncer at the Lemon Tree. He took pity on me and decided it was his job to buy me drinks while Beau was on stage. I tried to refuse but he wouldn’t take no for an answer and it’d been ages since I’d been to a bar and had some proper fun. Beau was brilliant, he had the audience bouncing, and when he was done with his second set they actually shouted for an encore.’

  She lifts her head to look at me. ‘I honestly thought in that moment all our financial problems would be over. He’d get the regular slot, then word would spread and he’d be playing to bigger venues, perhaps performing his own stuff, writing for other bands even.’

  There’s a solid lump of dread in the pit of my stomach. ‘What happened?’

  She swings her legs off the bed and sits up. ‘I was on my third glass of wine, and they were big ones, so I’d had the best part of a bottle.’ She pinches the bridge of her nose as she inhales. ‘Adrian was sitting on the stool next to me and we were facing each other. He told me a joke about something or other just as I was taking a sip of my wine. I laughed so much that I spat my wine out just like they do in cartoons. Some landed on his thigh and I automatically leaned forward and wiped my hand along his trousers.’ She groans and holds her head in her hands. ‘At this point, Beau appeared.’ She shakes her head. ‘Well you can imagine how that looked to him.’

  ‘But surely you explained the situation?’

  ‘I tried to, but he was livid. He ignored my explanation and just took a swipe at Adrian.’

  ‘He punched a bouncer?’ From the picture I’ve seen of Beau, he couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding.

  ‘He tried, but Adrian was too quick for him. He’s ex-army, you know. He grabbed Beau’s wrist and had his arm up round his back before Beau could blink.’

  I try to resist a smile, because I can see how distraught Candice is. Silly little sod she’s got herself shacked up with.

  ‘Anyway, needless to say, that’s the end of Beau’s career at the Lemon Tree and it’s all my fault. I can’t do the eyebrow course now and heaven knows how long it’ll be before we have enough money for me to do Beauty Therapy Level Two. I’ve ruined everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Candice, but I fail to see how any of this is your fault. It was unf
ortunate, I’ll grant you that, but you’re not responsible for Beau’s loss of control.’

  ‘He doesn’t see it that way.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ I mutter, not quite under my breath.

  ‘We had a massive barney when we got home. Neighbours were even banging on the ceiling.’

  ‘And he didn’t hit you?’

  She hesitates too long. ‘No, I’ve already told you. There was a bit of . . . um . . . shoving, that’s all.’

  ‘Shoving?’

  ‘It was nothing.’ She stands up abruptly. ‘Now I’ll have to go or Mrs C will be on the warpath again. I can’t afford to lose this job an’ all.’

  Several hours pass before I have a chance to speak to Candice again. She helped out with the lunch, filling our glasses and scraping our plates when we’d finished. I could tell she was deliberately avoiding eye contact with me or anybody else. Mrs Culpepper stood in the corner of the dining room, her hands clasped behind her back, her beady eye missing nothing.

  I’m sitting at the jigsaw in the day room when Candice finally appears. Over my shoulder she picks up a puzzle piece and edges it into place.

  ‘I’ve been looking for that one for ages,’ I exclaim. ‘Thank you, Candice.’

  ‘At least I’m good for something,’ she sighs.

  ‘Stop that. Self-pity’s not an attractive trait, love.’

  She picks up another piece of the jigsaw, absently turning it over in her fingers before slouching down in the chair next to me. ‘I’ve got some time if you want to talk. I need to know what happened to your love triangle.’ She frames the last two words with air quotes and seems to find it amusing. I swallow my annoyance at her casual mocking of my love life, because she doesn’t know what she’s saying. I’ve opened Pandora’s box now, and it’s too late to put the lid back on.

  18

  1940

  Cocooned in the Welsh countryside, in the protective embrace of a loving family, it was easy to forget there was a war on. Rationing barely took its toll. There was a glut of milk, butter and chicken, and they were even permitted to keep a pig for their own consumption. Jenny and Louis ate better here than they had in Manchester, thriving on the abundance of fresh home-grown vegetables, the affordable offal their mother was fond of cooking already a distant memory.

  Jenny wandered into the kitchen to find Delyth with her elbows on the table, massaging her temples with her fingers. ‘He’s getting closer, Jenny.’

  ‘Who’s getter closer to what?’ she asked, plonking down the basket of eggs.

  ‘Hitler, that’s who.’

  ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘Invaded Holland and Belgium, hasn’t he?’ Delyth jabbed at the table with her finger. ‘Mark my words, it’ll be us next.’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘No, no, Del, that won’t happen.’

  ‘That’s probably what the Dutch and the Belgians thought.’ Delyth stared at her through dimmed eyes. ‘Where will it all end, bach?’

  Jenny gazed out of the window at the sunshine shafting through the trees. Ivor the goat had climbed onto the garden wall, craning his neck to reach the low-hanging branches. She turned to Del but was only able to offer a weak smile. She had no answer.

  Nico stood outside his shop, winding the canopy over the tables to shield them from the May sunshine.

  ‘Morning, Nico,’ Jenny said. ‘Terrible news, isn’t it?’

  Almost a week had gone by since the dance, and the opportunity to slip into town had not presented itself. She decided to keep it casual and make no mention of the kiss, even though it had consumed her every waking thought since.

  He took a step towards her, both arms outstretched, pending an embrace. She laid his jacket across them. He looked at it as though he’d never seen it before. ‘Oh, right, I wondered where this had gone. Thank you. Come, come.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down and tell me all about this terrible news you have.’

  ‘Erm . . . surely you’ve heard? The German invasion of Holland and Belgium?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ he said dismissively. ‘I thought you had something important to tell me.’

  ‘You don’t think that’s important?’

  ‘I am Italian. This war is not mine. I try to keep my distance.’ He reached across the table until his fingers touched hers. ‘I feared you would never come.’

  ‘I’ve been busy. There’s so much to do at the farm, and Del can be a right tyrant when she wants to be.’

  ‘I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind, Jennifer. I am almost insane with it. I wanted to come to the farm to see you, to explain my feelings, but I was afraid it would make things difficult, you know, with Lorcan.’ He clutched his stomach. ‘In here, I feel sick, I cannot eat. What is wrong with me?’

  ‘Ha, I knew it!’ Lena appeared in the doorway, a knowing smile on her lips. ‘My son, he is in love.’ She threw her arms in the air, Italian-style. ‘All week he has been moping like a puppy, picking at his food, gazing off into the distance when he has work to do.’ She flicked Nico’s ear. ‘I’m right, aren’t I, hmm?’

  ‘Mamma, you are embarrassing Jennifer.’

  ‘No I’m not, I’m embarrassing you.’ She flicked her head skywards and disappeared into the shop.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Nico.

  She hardly dared hope. ‘Is it true?’

  He took both her hands in his. ‘Jennifer, I don’t have these feelings ever before so I don’t know what it is, but I do know that when I am not with you, I cannot think about anything but when I will next see you. It has been driving me crazy. I want to take you out, I want to cherish you, I want to—’

  Smiling, she put her finger to his lips. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Really? You will allow me to take you out?’

  ‘Nico!’ his mother hollered from inside the shop. ‘Just get on with it. You have work to do.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We shall go to the seaside. I will pack a picnic lunch.’

  Jenny nodded slowly. ‘That sounds perfect.’

  She didn’t want to keep it from Lorcan, but neither did she want to make an announcement either. That would mean making a bigger deal of it than it actually was. He was in the stable, picking the stones out of the hoof of the carthorse, talking away to the beast as though it understood every word.

  ‘Can I help you with anything?’ she asked, holding her hand under the horse’s whiskery muzzle.

  Lorcan straightened up, rubbing his back like someone three times his age. ‘You can fill up his water if you like.’

  ‘Are you all right, Lorcan?’

  ‘Just slept funny, I think, nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Lorcan, I—’

  ‘Jenny! Lorcan!’ Louis clattered into the stable, his satchel flying behind him. ‘Un, dau, tri, pedwar, pump!’

  Lorcan cracked a smile. ‘Well, there’s clever.’

  ‘What are you two on about?’

  ‘I can count to five in Welsh,’ beamed Louis.

  ‘He’s like a little sponge, I tell you,’ said Lorcan, oozing pride.

  Jenny gazed in wonder at her brother. He’d been terrified of starting school, but already, at the end of his first week, all his fears had evaporated. He delved into his satchel. ‘I’ve got homework.’ He held up a dog-eared exercise book. ‘My teacher gave me some special words to learn because I live on a farm.’

  Lorcan looked at the book. ‘Ceffyl, buwch, dafad, asyn, gafr.’

  Jenny smiled. She loved to hear him speaking Welsh. Even though the family were careful to stick to English when she was around, she sometimes overheard them talking to each other in their ancient native tongue.

  ‘Horse, cow, sheep, donkey, goat,’ said Lorcan. ‘You’ll learn those in no time, a clever lad like you.’

  ‘I hope so, because I can’t understand what all the other kids are saying. There’s only me and Donald from back home who can speak English, apart from the teacher.’

  ‘I didn’t le
arn to speak it myself until I was eight years old. Don’t worry, I’ll help you with your Welsh. Mammy Del and Tad will help you too. You’ll be speaking it like a native before you know it.’

  Jenny bent down and peered at Louis’s face. She reached up her sleeve for a handkerchief, blotting it on her tongue. ‘Come here, you little rascal. What’ve you got round your mouth?’

  Louis licked his lips. ‘Ice cream. Nico gave it to me when I came out of school.’

  Lorcan turned away and picked up the horse’s foot, scraping with the hoof pick a little more savagely than before.

  ‘Well I hope you said thank you.’

  Louis nodded. ‘I did. He had a little bag of cakes, biscuit things they were. Said they were for your picnic tomorrow. Can I come?’

  Jenny opened her mouth, but struggled to find the words. ‘Erm . . . well, I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘You can stay here with me, Louis. Looks like it’s going to be warm, so I’ll teach you to swim in the pool under the fountain if you like.’ Lorcan stared at Jenny, his cerulean eyes clouded with defeat. ‘If that’s all right with you.’ He tossed the hoof pick into a bucket and walked out.

  Later, Jenny tucked Louis into bed and kissed his forehead. ‘Night, Lou, sweet dreams.’

  He snuggled into his pillow, Mrs Nesbitt tucked under his chin. ‘Jenny, you’ve made Lorcan sad.’

  She sat back down on the bed. ‘What’re you talking about?’

  Louis shuffled into a sitting position, his eyes wide. ‘He’s sad because you didn’t ask him to go on the picnic tomorrow.’

  ‘Did he say that to you?’

  He wrinkled his nose, his tone serious. ‘No, but I can tell.’

  ‘It’s not that kind of picnic, Louis. It’s just for me and Nico because we’re . . . um . . . special friends.’

  ‘But Lorcan is a special friend too, isn’t he? He’s my bestest friend,’ he added sagely.

  ‘You like Nico too, though, don’t you?’