Jenny took hold of her elbow, helping her stand again. ‘Lena?’
Lena nodded across the square, a smile lifting her features. ‘Mio Enzo. He come back.’
Jenny followed her gaze to where Enzo stood, his arms outstretched.
Lena gathered up her long skirt and ran towards him, tripping over the kerb in her haste. She recovered her balance and fell into the arms of her husband as he dropped his case and scooped her up.
‘Enzo, Enzo, what have they done to you?’
‘I am fine, mia cara, do not worry. They have treated me well.’
She clasped his face between her hands, covering it in kisses. ‘I’ve been so worried, Enzo, I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept, I—’
‘Shush, shush, I’m home now.’
Jenny had kept a respectful distance but now stepped forward, unable to refrain from asking the question Lena hadn’t yet asked.
‘And Nico?’
Enzo took hold of his wife’s hand, shaking his head. ‘No, he’s is fine but cannot be released yet.’ He pointed to his own chest. ‘Me, I am old, they do not consider me to be a threat, but Nico, he is young, feisty, and perhaps they think he cause trouble.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Lena, her voice quavering. ‘What have they done to him?’
‘I already tell you, Lena. He is quite well but he’s to be . . . um . . . sent away.’
Jenny gasped. ‘Sent away where?’
‘He’s been taken to Liverpool docks, but I don’t know where he will go from there.’
‘No!’ shrieked Lena. ‘Not my boy, not Nico! He would not hurt anybody. This whole thing is ridiculous.’
Enzo slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper, offering it to Jenny. ‘He asked me to give you this. I had to hide it in my shoe so that the censors could not get at it.’
Blushing slightly, she brought the paper to her nose, searching for a tangible reminder of Nico, but instead it smelled of sweaty feet. She pocketed the note. ‘Thank you, Enzo. I’ll read it later.’
‘Now,’ said Enzo, ‘I need my wife to make me coffee, and none of that chicory rubbish. I assume my private supply is not yet exhausted.’
‘Of course,’ Lena laughed. ‘I keep it specially for you.’
Jenny watched as they linked arms and walked back to the sanctuary of their café. She could hear Lena badgering her husband for more details about her son. Her happiness would not be complete until he too was back in the fold.
The farmyard appeared deserted. In the heat of the afternoon, humans and animals alike had sought shade, and even the chickens were slumped in their dustbowl. Jenny tiptoed into the barn, closing the door quietly behind her. A large rat scurried across her path, but she paid it no attention and instead focused on Nico’s words as she sat down on a bale of straw.
My darling Jennifer,
I fear I am writing to you from hell itself. We’ve been herded into a disused cotton mill, where the conditions are unsanitary and overcrowded. There is a terrible stench from the latrines, rats everywhere and not enough food. The atmosphere is one of hopelessness, injustice and despair. But it is not these things which make this place hell. Oh no, I am in hell because you are not here. Every night, I pray that tomorrow is the day I will see you again. Your face is in my mind and your name is on my lips each night as I try to sleep and each morning when I awake after a fitful night dreaming about when we can be together. I think about nothing but when I will see you again. I cannot eat, which makes me popular with my fellow internees as I often give them my share. Papà has been told he can go, and I am happy for him and Mamma.
I wish I had better news for you, mia cara. I’m told I’m being transferred as a Category A alien and will be incarcerated for the foreseeable future. I do not know how long that means. Nobody knows. Some people have been taken to the Isle of Man, which is not too far away, so maybe this is what they plan to do with me.
Wherever I go, it may be difficult for me to write, so I hope this letter will sustain you until we meet again.
I love you, my beautiful Jennifer.
Yours, Nico xx
She smoothed out the letter and cradled it to her chest, marvelling at the emotions it had stirred in her. To be truthful, they hardly knew each other, and yet he’d laid bare his feelings for her, his passion raw and unconstrained. How she wished she could run to him right there and then. To reassure him that she felt the same way. It was meant to be. Colpo di fulmine.
She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket just as the barn door creaked open. She shielded her eyes from the sudden bright shaft of sunlight.
‘There you are,’ said Lorcan. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Well, now you’ve found me.’
‘What’s up? Have you been crying?’
‘I’m fine,’ she sniffed. ‘Enzo’s back.’
‘Really? Well, that’s great news.’ He hesitated a second too long. ‘And Nico?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s been given a different classification. He’s going to be shipped somewhere, probably the Isle of Man.’
‘For how long?’ Was she mistaken, or could he not keep the glee out of his voice?
She flicked straw off her skirt. ‘Nobody seems to know what the hell is going on any more. This whole war just seems so pointless. Such a waste of innocent lives.’
Lorcan’s voice was quiet but sincere. ‘It wasn’t me, Jenny. I promise you it wasn’t.’
‘What wasn’t you?’
‘I didn’t throw that stone at Nico’s window. I may not be his greatest fan, but I hope you know me better than that.’
She felt the letter nestled in her pocket and nodded quietly. ‘I believe you, Lorcan.’ She rose from the bale of straw until their eyes were level. ‘I have to.’
27
2019
She always enjoyed the walk home after a night shift. Five thirty in the morning was a blissful time of the day most people never got to witness. A time for thinking, reflecting and clearing the head. She waved a greeting to the milkman as he hauled a crate from the back of his van, wishing she could stop buying supermarket milk and support the local dairy instead. Beau was right, though: they couldn’t afford to be that ethical whilst trying to save money. She knew he’d be fast asleep in bed by now, and quickened her pace at the thought of crawling in beside him.
She crept into the bedroom, gently peeled back the duvet and snuggled up against his naked body. The smell of sweat and beer was strangely comforting. She kissed the back of his neck as she folded her body around his.
He stirred but didn’t turn around, his voice slurred with sleep. ‘Your feet are flamin’ freezing, Candice. Get ’em off me.’ He shrugged her off and pulled the duvet tight under his chin.
‘How was the Lemon Tree?’ she whispered.
‘Go to sleep, Candice. We’ll deal with it in the morning.’
She propped herself up on her elbow. ‘Deal with what?’
‘The situation,’ he mumbled. ‘Now just leave it.’
‘What situation?’ she insisted. ‘You can’t just say that and then expect me to go to sleep.’
He turned over to face her. ‘What’ve you been saying about me?’
‘What . . . Nothing, why? I mean, who to?’
‘Your workmates . . . and that old bint you look after.’
‘Jenny?’ Even though she knew she’d done nothing wrong, her stomach tightened. ‘I haven’t said anything, nothing bad anyway.’
‘And that other guy. The fat one that looks like he’s been dragged backwards through TK Maxx. I’ve seen better dressed rough sleepers.’
‘Simeon, you mean? I can’t remember ever talking to him about you. Where has all this come from?’
‘I saw the way he looked at me, as though he thought you could do better. He obviously fancies you and you did nothing to discourage him, I noticed.’
Candice sat up, rubbing her face. ‘Beau, I really don’t know where to start
with all this. I told you, Simeon’s happily married with three kids. And as for Jenny, she said you were . . . um . . . charming.’
‘Oh, come off it, Candice. She hated me on sight.’
‘Nobody hates somebody they’ve only just met.’
‘Agreed. Unless they’ve had their mind poisoned.’
She flung off the duvet and sat on the edge of the bed, massaging her temples. ‘You’re being ridiculous, Beau. You’re bloody paranoid, you are. I haven’t said anything bad about you to Jenny. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m always telling her how happy you make me.’
‘I don’t think you should be going to Italy with her.’
She swung round to face him. ‘But I thought you’d come round to the idea. I can’t go back on my word. If I don’t go, she won’t be able to go either. She’s a hundred years old, she can’t travel on her own.’
‘Then she’ll have to find some other mug to take her.’
‘Beau,’ she reasoned. ‘Please, I can’t tell her you won’t let me go . . .’
‘Just tell her you’ve changed your mind then.’
‘Changed my mind? Why would I do that? It’s not as if it’s going to cost us anything, and Mrs Culpepper has given me the time off.’
Beau stared blankly at the ceiling before trying a different tack, that of a whiny toddler. ‘But I’ll miss you, Candice. You know I don’t like being on my own. I can’t help it. It stirs up all kinds of feelings, like when . . . you know . . . when I lost my parents.’
‘It’s not the same, Beau. I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘That’s what my parents said. I never saw them again.’
‘But they died on one of them little planes. I’m going on a big jet thing. They don’t tend to fall out of the sky.’ She snuggled into his neck, running her fingers over his chest. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you, Beau. When I lost my mum, I was too young to understand the impact it would have, and in any case, she was hardly a candidate for Mother of the Year.’ She felt the beat of his heart beneath her fingers. ‘But we still have to live our lives. We didn’t die.’
He clamped his hand over hers. ‘I couldn’t bear it if I lost you as well.’
‘You won’t, I promise.’
‘I don’t know, you seem to care more about that old woman than you do about me. I suppose I was just hoping you’d take my feelings into account and put me first for a change.’ He reached for his cigarettes and fumbled for his lighter. ‘I mean, it’s not much to ask.’
‘Do you have to smoke in bed, Beau?’
He blew out a cigarette-infused breath. ‘Stop changing the subject. Do you love me?’
‘Aargh, not this again. You know I do.’
‘Then why did I ask?’
‘Because you need constant reassurance and I think that comes from losing both your parents at the same time. You feel they abandoned you, no matter how irrational that sounds, so you constantly seek confirmation from those closest to you. It’s all part of the grieving process. You’re at the depression stage, and it’s manifesting itself as insecurity.’
‘Christ, Candice, you do talk bollocks sometimes.’
‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘that’s my theory and I think it makes sense. Now can you put that fag out and let’s try and get some sleep before the sun comes up.’
28
Candice is looking a little grey around the edges this evening, but she attempts a cheery greeting. ‘Have you had a good day, Jenny?’
She tries, bless her, but really one day is much the same as another in here. ‘Not too bad, thank you, love. You look tired, though. Didn’t you manage to sleep after you got home this morning?’
She’s back to the annoying habit I know she’s tried to stop. She nibbles at the skin around her thumb, wincing as she bites a piece off. ‘Not really. Beau wasn’t feeling great when I got back, so we spent some time talking.’
‘Oh dear, that’s a shame. Has he eaten something that’s not agreed with him – or has he got the man flu?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing like that. That would be a lot simpler. No, he’s still grieving for his parents, and this trip of ours has brought back bad memories.’
‘How so?’ I frown, genuinely puzzled.
‘Well, you know. They went on holiday and never came back.’
‘And he thinks lightning’s going to strike twice?’
‘Yeah, kind of. He knows it’s irrational, but that’s what grief does to you. It distorts reality. He knows deep down that the chances of me dying the same way are extremely remote, but nevertheless it’s causing him a lot of anxiety.’
I have to bite my tongue in order to give a measured response, even though my instinct is to scoff. ‘Let me guess. He’s asked you not to go.’
I can see by her reaction that I’m right, but it gives me no pleasure.
‘Oh Candice, love. The last thing I want is to cause any problems between the two of you. If it’ll make things easier, tell him you won’t go.’ Inside, I’m fuming that Beau has resorted to emotional blackmail, but nothing that weasel does surprises me. ‘I’ll go on my own.’
It’s a ridiculous notion, of course, and Candice knows it. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to try, Jenny, but there’s no way that’s happening. I gave you my word. I’m going with you and that’s that.’
Relief threatens to overwhelm me. She can be very assertive when she wants to be, and she doesn’t strike me as the type of girl who’s going to be pushed around, but we can never really know what goes on behind closed doors, can we?
‘Is Beau your first boyfriend, Candice?’
She gives me a questioning look, as though she suspects my motive for asking is not just curiosity. She’s right.
‘I’ve had a few . . . um . . . you know . . . one-night stands and that, and there was someone who I once thought was special but he just turned out to be using me.’
‘Oh?’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want to go into all that now. Let’s just say that growing up in care, some people take advantage of vulnerable kids.’
‘You weren’t abused, were you, love?’
Her thumb instinctively goes to her mouth, but she stops herself biting it and chews her lip instead. ‘It didn’t seem like abuse at the time, but looking back, yeah, I suppose it could be described as that. It was certainly an abuse of power.’
‘Well, you should do something. I mean—’
She holds up her hand. ‘There’s no point, it’s all in the past, and I said I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine. So the short answer is yes, Beau is my first serious boyfriend. Why d’you ask, anyway?’
‘Just making conversation.’ I shrug, but I know she’s not that daft.
‘Come on,’ she insists. ‘If you’ve got something to say then I’d rather you just came out with it. It’s obvious you don’t like him, and he picked up on that, by the way.’
‘I . . . um . . . well, I just wonder if he’s a bit controlling. I mean don’t you think he stifles you a little bit?’
She grits her teeth and I fear I’ve pushed it too far. I can see she’s fighting to control her temper. ‘No, I don’t, Jenny. And I’m not being funny or owt, but I can’t see what it’s got to do with you anyway. I know you’re only looking out for me, but I’ve managed on my own for most of my life and I really don’t need you sticking your nose in, thank you.’
There’s a click of stilettos in the doorway. Mrs Culpepper is standing there, arms folded, her face thunderous. ‘Candice, my office, please. Now.’
A couple of hours pass before I see Candice again. I’m not in the most sociable of moods, so I’ve retired to my room. There’s a hesitant knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ I say, straightening up in my chair.
Candice pops her head round. ‘I’ve come to apologise,’ she whispers.
‘Whatever for?’
‘The way I spoke to you before. I was a bit . . . erm . . . sharp.’
‘Mrs Culpepper give you a hard time, did she?’
‘Yes.’ She nods. ‘You could say that. She gave me a warning.’
‘Oh Candice. Come in and sit down for a bit. I’ll sort it with her. You’ve done nothing wrong. It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that, but it’s only because I’m so fond of you.’
She comes into the room and takes hold of both my hands. ‘I know you are, and you’re special to me too, Jenny.’
I rub my thumbs across the back of her hands. ‘Sometimes when you love someone a great deal, you make all kinds of excuses for their behaviour.’
‘But—’
I silence her with a finger to her lips. ‘I have no doubt at all that you do love him, but can you honestly say that you’re completely happy?’
‘Yes,’ she says, turning away. ‘I don’t know why you’re being like this.’
‘Because you have nobody else to look out for you.’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t need anybody else!’ she shouts.
‘Shush, you’ll have Mrs Culpepper on the warpath again if you carry on like that.’
She slumps into a chair and folds her arms. ‘I’m perfectly fine, stop worrying. You’ve got Beau all wrong, please believe me.’
Her phone buzzes in her tabard pocket and she looks at me, keeping her arms folded. We both know it’s him.
A few seconds pass before it buzzes again. I can tell it’s killing her not to take a look.
‘Why don’t you see what he wants?’
‘It might not be him. You’re always jumping to conclusions.’ She takes the phone out of her pocket, squints at the message, then fires one back. Her crimson cheeks give her away.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Of course.’
Her tone has changed from indignation to defiance, but I can tell she’s lying. Everything looks far from all right. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on that phone.
‘Well, that’s a relief then. I’m glad you’re okay.’ I pause for effect. ‘I know what it’s like to feel conflicted. Not knowing which way to jump or whether you’re better off staying where you are. Better the devil you know and all that.’
The Memory Box Page 15
