‘Enemy aliens?’ Jenny fought to keep her voice level. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never heard anything so absurd in—’
Sergeant Williams interrupted. ‘Where is your father, Mr Bernardi?’
‘Oh no, surely not?’ said Nico. ‘He’s practically an old man. I will come with you peacefully, but I beg of you not to take Papà.’
‘We’re just carrying out orders, Nico,’ said PC Morgan. ‘Every male Italian is what Mr Churchill wants.’
‘Well Mr Churchill can go whistle,’ said Jenny.
Nico pulled her close. ‘I will go with them. We will sort it out. Please can you look after Mamma and Papà?’
‘But how long will that take?’
Nico looked at the two policemen. ‘Well?’
‘You just need to come to the station and we’ll take it from there. Now please go and get your father. You need to pack a bag each, some clothes, your shaving things.’
‘Shaving things?’ said Jenny. ‘Surely you’re not keeping him long enough to grow a beard.’
Sergeant Williams turned to his colleague, a weary smile on his face. ‘We’ll die of old age at this rate.’
Jenny stared after Nico as he hurried back into the shop, overwhelming feelings of fury and helplessness driving her to sit down and cover her face with her trembling hands. She took a sip of her coffee, spitting it back into the cup when she realised it was stone cold. She looked at the younger policeman. ‘Please – Richard, is it? Please don’t take him away. I’m begging you.’ She tugged at his sleeve. ‘And Enzo, you can’t take him. He’s no threat.’
Sergeant Williams interrupted. ‘The Enemy Alien Tribunal will be the judge of that, if you don’t mind. Mr Bernardi senior will be interviewed to assess his threat level, just like everybody else.’
‘It’s okay, Jennifer,’ said Nico, who’d emerged carrying a battered suitcase. ‘I will cooperate. The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can carry on with our life.’ He pulled her to her feet and held her face in his hands. ‘And what a life it promises to be.’ He looked fiercely into her eyes. ‘I love you, Jennifer.’
She wavered on the spot, clutching at his elbows for support. ‘I love you too, Nico.’
He pulled her into a tender embrace. ‘I’ve been in love with you since the second I saw you.’ He placed his lips softly to her ear. ‘Colpo di fulmine.’
He drew away, and called to his father, who was standing in the doorway. ‘Come on, Papà!’
Lena clung to her husband’s arm. Her features seemed to have collapsed. ‘I wait up for you, Enzo, you hear me? I wait up for you. Forever, until you come home.’
Sergeant Williams fished in his back pocket and addressed Nico. ‘Put your hands behind your back, please.’
‘Handcuffs? Aw, come on now. Is that really necessary? This whole thing is a . . .’ Nico drummed at his temple, ‘a farce, that is the word. A complete farce. Tell him, Richard.’
PC Morgan turned to his superior. ‘Sir? Do you think we can leave the handcuffs? After all, they’ve said they’ll come willingly. I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble.’
Sergeant Williams withdrew his truncheon and slapped it against his palm. ‘They’d better not.’
Jenny linked her arm through Lena’s as they watched the two men walk away, a police officer on either flank.
‘I’ll see you soon!’ she shouted. ‘Try not to worry. They’ll have this mess sorted out in no time.’
A stillness lay over Mynydd Farm on her return, an eerie quiet that seemed to reflect the seriousness of what she had just witnessed in town. That two innocent men could be forcibly removed from their home in handcuffs whilst jeering neighbours looked on was inconceivable to her; the feeling of utter despair had sucked the fight out of her. She had left Del tending to the distraught Lena, who simply couldn’t comprehend why they had snatched away her dear, gentle husband.
She trudged across the paddock, the long grass hindering her progress, as she made her way over to her namesake. The donkey looked up and twitched her ears in greeting as she approached. ‘Hello, girl,’ said Jenny, holding out her palm. ‘Everything’s so simple in donkey world, isn’t it?’ The donkey nuzzled in her pocket, her velvety lips seeking out the pieces of carrot Jenny usually brought. ‘There’s nothing in there today, I’m afraid,’ she cooed, absently pulling on the creature’s tufty mane. She bowed her head and rested it on the donkey’s neck. ‘I love him so much and he said he loved me,’ she managed through her tears. ‘Nico said he loved me.’ Her deep, guttural sobs were muffled by the animal’s soft fur.
She lifted her head at the sound of feet dragging through the long pasture. ‘Lorcan! How long have you been there?’ She wiped her face with her sleeve, embarrassed by her tears.
His expression was difficult to read. Two vertical lines were stencilled between his eyebrows, but his eyes held a lightness that seemed at odds with his questioning expression. He dragged the long blade of grass he had been chewing from between his teeth. ‘Not long. Why?’
She could feel the heat singeing her cheeks. ‘Did you hear . . .?’
He took a long stride forward. ‘About Nico getting arrested? Yes, I did.’
‘No, I meant . . .’
‘Bad news for him. I wonder what’s going to happen now.’ He draped his arm across the donkey’s hind quarters, shaking his head. ‘You think you know someone, and then this.’ He tutted and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think we’ve all had a lucky escape.’
‘What on earth are you talking about? Nico and Enzo are no threat to us. It’s just a precaution. Common sense goes out of the window during wartime; people overreact to everything, including Mr Churchill.’
Lorcan raised his eyebrows. ‘No smoke without fire.’
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
He bent down and plucked another blade of grass, nibbling on it thoughtfully. When he spoke again, she had to strain to hear his tremulous voice. ‘You really have no idea, do you?’
‘No idea about what?’ She frowned.
He reached out and took hold of her wrist, his thumb caressing the pale skin underneath. ‘I love you, Jenny.’ He pointed at his chest as if to emphasise his declaration. ‘Me. I love you.’
Her involuntary laugh disguised her shock. ‘Give over, Lorcan. What a daft thing to say.’ She pushed him playfully on his shoulder. ‘Honestly, you are such a tease.’
His expression remained impassive, his features frozen. ‘I mean it, Jenny. From the moment I first saw you—’
She held up her hand to stop him. Nico had said the same thing. Since the second I saw you . . .
‘When . . . I mean, how . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Why have you never said anything before?’
‘If you pick the blossom, then you must do without the fruit.’
‘I’ve no idea what that means.’
‘It means I didn’t want to rush things. You don’t get the chicken by smashing open the egg, as my grandaddy used to say. You have to be patient and wait for it to hatch.’
‘Do you have to speak in riddles?’ She bit her lip, not trusting herself to say anything else.
‘You must have known I was falling for you,’ he continued. ‘I’ve tried to tell you before, but he always seemed to get in the way. It was me who took you to the dance that night, but it was him you couldn’t take your eyes off.’
‘Now you’re just being stupid.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘So you didn’t kiss him that night, then?’
She hesitated too long to give a convincing lie. And really, what was the point? She rubbed at her forehead, giving herself more time to formulate an answer. ‘Yes, we kissed. I’m sorry, Lorcan.’
He bunched both his fists, his voice quivering. ‘I knew it. Bloody Eyeties, they’re all the same.’
‘What . . . what did you just call him?’
He frowned. ‘Nothing.’
‘Yes you did, you called
him an Eyetie.’
‘So?’
She took a step backwards, suddenly craving some distance between them. ‘It was you,’ she whispered. ‘You threw that stone at Nico’s window.’
21
2019
Candice rubs her hands up and down her arms and gives a dramatic shiver. ‘Ooh, I’ve got goosebumps, I have. What a traitor!’
I straighten out my spine as best I can. I’m stiff from sitting at the jigsaw table for so long. ‘He always denied it, and I was desperate to believe him. I hated the idea that somebody who was normally so kind and considerate could be that spiteful.’ I stretch my arms above my head. ‘Candice, love, I’m tired now. Would you mind taking me back to my room?’
She stands and positions my walking frame next to me. ‘Do you want to walk with this, or shall I get the wheelchair?’
I think about my suite at the end of the corridor, the green carpet stretching ahead like a ribbon of freshly mowed grass. I hate giving in to my old age, but sometimes we must accept what we can and cannot do. ‘Can you get the chair, please?’
‘Of course, just wait here, I’ll bob along and get it now.’
‘I think I’ll have a little nap before tea,’ I say when she returns. ‘Frank fancies a game of crib later and I’ll need my wits about me or else he’ll fleece me for everything I’ve got. He’s acquired a giant set of playing cards to make it easier for me to hold them, bless him.’
She settles me into the chair and pops down the foot rests. ‘You’re more than a match for anyone, Jenny. I wouldn’t like to take you on in any challenge.’
‘What, not even the hundred-yard dash?’
‘Well, okay, I’d probably beat you at that,’ she concedes. ‘But anything using your brain, well, I wouldn’t stand a chance.’ She releases the brake and manoeuvres me out of the day room. ‘I’ve really messed up this time. Beau’s never going to forgive me for losing him his Lemon Tree gig.’
‘He’ll get over it, love. He’s a grown man. These things happen.’ I’m glad I have my back to her when I ask my next question. ‘Are you afraid of Beau, Candice?’
She gives a snort of laughter, but it sounds forced. ‘Afraid? Don’t be daft. Why would I be afraid of him?’ She stops as she waits for the electronic door to open, then pushes me through. ‘No, I’m not afraid of him. I love him. He’s my world.’
I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I’m sure she’s hiding something. ‘You’re a good girl, Candice. You deserve the best.’
‘Beau is the best. Stop fretting.’
We arrive at my bedroom door and she turns around and pushes it open with her back, dragging me over the threshold. ‘Here we are then. You’ve got about an hour before tea. Do you want it in here?’
In all the years I’ve been here, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve eaten my evening meal alone in my room. ‘Certainly not, Candice. I can still manage to put my face on and join the others in the dining room. I may only be one chest infection away from meeting my maker, but I’m not quite dead yet.’
She laughs as she hefts me out of the chair and guides me to my bed. ‘I hope I’m as feisty as you when I’m a hundred.’
‘Feisty or cantankerous?’
‘Hmm . . .’ she says, adjusting my pillows. ‘You said it.’
She glances at her own reflection in my dressing table mirror. ‘Look at the state of me.’ She tips her head upside down and ruffles her hair. When she stands up, she looks like she’s had her fingers in the plug socket.
‘Do you want to borrow my brush, Candice?’
‘I think it’s going to take more than that, Jenny. I honestly don’t know what Beau sees in me sometimes. He could have anybody he wants, and yet—’
‘Enough of that!’ I shout, my patience deserting me. I stop short of wagging my finger at her. ‘Enough of that nonsense. You’re a lovely-looking girl, a right bonny lass if ever I saw one, but more important than that, you’re beautiful on the inside. You have such a kind heart, and if anything, he’s the lucky one.’ I end my little outburst with a determined nod of my head.
She continues to stare at her reflection, turning her head from left to right. ‘Do you really think so? Beau says I could make more of myself if only—’
‘Candice! I’m sick of hearing what Beau says. You’re perfect just the way you are.’
She tears her gaze away from the mirror and looks at me instead. ‘Believe me, Jenny, I’m far from perfect.’ She squeezes my hand and offers me a watery smile. ‘I’ll be back to collect you later for tea. You have a nice rest now.’
I’m far too agitated to rest. That bloody Beau has an uncanny ability to vex me no end. God forbid I ever get my hands on him. My heart rate has accelerated way beyond what is good for me. I need to calm down. My eyes settle on my memory box, and I suddenly know what I have to do.
I carry the box back over to my bed and with a shuddering breath lift the lid. I’m all fingers and thumbs as I root to the bottom of the box, a fleeting moment of panic gripping me when I can’t find what I’m looking for. My sigh of relief must be audible out in the corridor as I snatch up the photo and press it to my chest. My heart aches and tears blur my vision as I study the picture. Her wide, trusting eyes stare back at me as she hugs her dolly to her chest, oblivious to the tragedy that is to come. ‘My darling girl,’ I whisper. ‘My beautiful, brave girl.’ With trembling lips, I kiss her face. ‘Sleep tight, Eva. God bless.’
I feel calmer now. I am going to do what’s right. I glance at the red ring on the calendar, eight weeks away. I am going to make it.
22
Candice dithered on the pavement, looking left and right before casting a final furtive glance over her shoulder. She wasn’t comfortable with it, but Beau had left her no choice. Naturally, she hadn’t told him about the visit, and if it proved to be unfruitful, there would be no reason to ever mention it and he’d be none the wiser. He had been in a foul mood all week. She could understand his disappointment about losing the gig at the Lemon Tree, but a week-long sulk really was a disproportionate reaction, in her opinion.
There were a few early-doors drinkers huddled around the tiny brass-topped tables, picking at bags of crisps and nuts. The place had a different vibe at this time of day. There was no loud music or flashing lights, and in one corner an elderly gentleman was sitting reading a newspaper, a black Labrador at his feet. She approached the bar and scanned the array of drinks behind it.
The barmaid looked up from her magazine. ‘Yes, love?’
‘Um . . . just a lime and soda, please.’
‘Ice?’ She reached above her head and pulled down a tumbler.
‘Erm, yes please. Is . . . is the manager in?’
The barmaid hosed the soda water into the glass. ‘If you mean Mike, he’s not due in for another couple of hours.’
Candice took a sip of her drink. Damn, she should have made sure he was here before ordering.
‘Can I give him a message?’
‘Well, I was just wondering . . .’
‘Hello again. Didn’t expect to see you back here.’
She turned to see Adrian standing with his arms folded, his pecs straining against his white T-shirt. He didn’t look half as threatening now he wasn’t dressed all in black, but nevertheless, she could well see the folly in Beau’s attempt to land one on him. The guy was solid muscle.
‘How’re you?’ he asked, sounding as though he actually cared about her answer.
‘Fine,’ she lied. ‘I just came to see if . . . if there was any chance that . . .’
‘That we’d consider hiring that skinny runt of a boyfriend of yours again?’
She didn’t even try to defend Beau. ‘He’s an idiot, I know that, but he’s really sorry and promises it won’t happen again.’
‘Sent you to do his dirty work, did he?’
‘Oh God, no. He’d go mad if he knew I was here, especially talking to you.’
‘Jealous type, is he?’<
br />
She managed a laugh. ‘You noticed?’
Adrian leaned on the bar and regarded her carefully. She recognised the manly scent of his black peppercorn body wash. ‘Been giving you a hard time, has he?’
She averted her gaze and picked up her glass, shaking it to loosen the ice cubes before taking a sip. ‘Not really,’ she said eventually. ‘He’s just been a bit . . . quiet, that’s all. I feel sorry for him. He tries so hard and he was made up when he got this slot, and then I had to go and ruin it all.’
‘I think you’ll find he ruined it all when he tried to lamp me.’
She prodded at the ice cubes with her straw. ‘Does it matter who’s to blame?’
‘He wasn’t bad, as it goes,’ conceded Adrian. ‘A few people have been asking when he’ll be back.’
‘Really? Oh, it would be brilliant if he could come back. On a trial basis again, obviously. But I promise you he’ll behave. I’ll make sure of it.’ She reached out to touch his arm, then retracted her hand quickly. ‘Please, Adrian. Can you have a word?’
‘Beau, Beau!’ she shouted, bounding up the stairs. She fumbled with her key in the lock, the excitement causing her to drop it on the floorboards. ‘You’ll never guess what?’ She managed to get the door open. ‘Beau, where are you?’
She dumped her bag on the kitchen counter and headed for the bedroom. The unmade bed was empty, save for a greasy takeaway pizza box lying where she usually did. ‘Urgh, that’s disgusting,’ she muttered, picking it up. A couple of olives fell onto her pillow. ‘For God’s sake . . . Beau, where are you?’
She had tried to ring him with the good news, but he’d failed to answer and had ignored her subsequent text messages. He hadn’t spoken a word to her over the last week. No matter how many times she apologised, he could hardly bear to look at her. Now she slumped down on the sofa and stared at the coffee table, littered with scribbled notes in his handwriting. She picked up the nearest one.
To the ends of the earth I’d go for you
To the end of time I’ll never stop loving you
The Memory Box Page 12
