East Fortune (27 page)

Jack was enjoying the bleakness of the vision. The writing was so rich that part of him did not want to finish. He was trying to make his translation as perfect as possible, leaving something he could not improve, stretching himself to the limit of his ability, knowing that he could not have worked harder or better.

As he reached the end he realised that it was the only part of his life that he had successfully completed. Everything else was unfinished, or had fallen away without reaching a conclusion. He did not know when he would see his wife, his daughters, his family, or Krystyna again. They had either given up on him or assumed that
he was too busy to see them. Perhaps, he told himself, when he finished the poem he would have more time to invest in the relationships he had neglected – although there were times when he recognised that he had retreated so far into his own world that it was going to be hard ever to get out of it.

He was just reaching the end, before his final revision –
Nec iam religio divom nec numina magni pendebantur enim.
Neither the worship of the gods nor their powers were much regarded – when the doorbell rang.

Jack assumed it was the police continuing their enquiries, even though he had told them all he knew. What could they possibly want with him now?

Looking through the window, he was relieved to see that the vehicle parked outside was not a police car but a black Nissan Micra. A wet figure in a hooded anorak was standing in the porch. He had curling hair and glasses.

He seemed familiar, yet distant, and when Jack opened the door he started with an apology.

‘Sorry, I was supposed to get here sooner.'

Jack couldn't think who he was.

‘I hope you remember me … you know … from the funeral.'

Then Jack realised. It was Allan, Sandy's brother.

‘Of course.'

As soon as he spoke it was clear that Allan was not going to stay long.

‘I hope you don't mind. I'm just a postman really. I've brought something for you. A letter.'

‘Won't you come in?'

‘I'm on my way south. Krystyna asked me to deliver it personally…'

‘Krystyna?'

‘She's in the Highlands.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘She knows she should have told you.'

Jack couldn't think what to ask.

‘Is she all right?'

‘It's been a bit weird. But I'm not allowed to say anything…'

‘Not allowed?'

‘In case I get it wrong. Krystyna promised me the letter explains it all. I only agreed to do this if I didn't have to tell you anything myself. All I have to do is give you the letter. Here. Take it. Please…'

‘Tell me what?'

‘What's in the letter…'

Jack accepted the envelope. The handwriting was foreign and young. It reminded him of a French pen pal he had had at school, writing on lined paper in formal English.
Jack Henderson only.

‘Is it bad?'

‘No, it's not bad. But I'm not allowed to say. She wants to tell you herself…'

‘Then why didn't she come herself?'

‘You'll see. It's been a bit of a time…'

‘What do you mean?'

‘After Sandy … you know … it's not for me to say … I can't tell you any more.'

‘OK … I understand.'

‘Krystyna didn't want anyone to know where she was or what had happened…'

‘Yes … well … she certainly achieved that.'

‘She changed her name,' said Allan. ‘And we've got this cottage, opposite Mull. She phoned me and I gave her the keys. But she made me promise not to tell anyone. Not even you or my parents. No one … I shouldn't even be telling you this…'

‘But the police…'

‘I know. I heard. I'm sorry. That's why she's written.'

‘She lives in the Highlands now?'

‘Until the summer. Then we rent it out.'

‘Are you sure you won't come in?'

‘No. It's all right. I'm sorry. I think you've had a hard time but we didn't know. Krystyna thought she could disappear and no one would worry. When she found out she did phone the police to tell them she was safe. They should have told you.'

‘I'm sure they will eventually. But it would have been good if she'd done it sooner. Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?'

‘I'd love one but I'm driving. And I have to get down south.'

Allan was embarrassed. Jack knew that he should let him leave.

‘It was kind of you to come. Thank you.'

‘That's all right. I made a promise. My brother would have wanted me to keep it. Life's strange without him. I keep hearing his voice; but I suppose that's mad.'

‘I don't think it's mad at all.'

‘No, well … we all have to deal with things … in different ways … I can't be very profound about it. We just have to get on with it, I suppose. I'm sorry it took so long to give you the letter. And I'm sorry about … you know … everything…'

‘It's all right.'

‘Krystyna promises she's explained everything.'

‘I'm very grateful,' said Jack. ‘It can't have been easy for you to come here.'

‘No worries.'

Allan nodded, saying goodbye, his duty done. He went back to his car in the dark and the rain.

Jack watched Sandy's brother drive away. Then he looked at the envelope in his hand. The ink was beginning to run. On the back was the name of the sender:
K.E. Gorski.
He did not know what the ‘E' stood for.

He returned to the kitchen table and remembered what it had been like when Krystyna had last sat opposite him. At the time he had almost forgotten that he could live in that way, at ease with another person, even in the silences.

Ardtornish
Morvern
Scotland
5 January 2006

Dear Jack,

I should start by saying that I'm sorry it has taken a long time to write. I have so many excuses but none of them are good.

My first excuse is that there is so much to say and I did not know where to begin. My second is language. It is hard to find the right words in English, especially because I am writing to a man who is always careful to put correct words in the right place. I am frightened of making a mistake, of saying the wrong thing, and I am frightened of irritating you, although I have not seen you be angry. Perhaps you were angry after I left? I do not know, of course.

I think then that I must start (although now this is no longer the beginning) by saying sorry. I am sorry for disappearing and for going away without contacting you again.

I must also say thank you for looking after me and for letting me meet your family. I hope they are all well, especially your father. I know you worry about him even if you do not say so. Please send him and your mother my best wishes. They made me welcome in a country I do not always understand. You did that too. I miss your welcome.

I have been thinking what it must have been like for you on that night when Sandy died and during everything that happened afterwards. You did not need to see me. You did not have to be so kind. I will always remember what you did for me and how you helped me to recover.

It is hard to explain what it was like for me. I think it is like when you wake in the night in the darkness and turn on the light. It is very bright at first and then you get used to it. That was what it was like with Sandy. It was bright all the time so that I could not see anything else.

Then, when the time came and the light went off, I could still feel the remains of the light behind my eyes, even when it was dark and my eyes were closed. The light kept on going and I could not darken it. I could not sleep.

I went to see Sandy's brother and told him my news and what had happened. He has been kind to me and now I am living in this cottage in the Highlands. His parents say I can stay here as long as I like, although I do not know how long that will be. You will remember that I am not good at deciding when to come and when to go.

It is often very cold here and there is a big wind but the sea is always near and I like the sound of it. It makes me think that there is something constant, whatever happens.

Why am I not telling you my news? It is because I am scared what you will think. If I write it down then you will know and perhaps you will not think kindly of me. But I must write it down. I will write it down now.

I have a child.

Perhaps that was not so bad to write.

That is why I had to leave you. I could not stay any longer because you would guess or know and I would have to tell you and I had waited too long. I should have told you at the beginning but I was not sure and then it became harder and harder until it was impossible. I have always been
proud to be honest. I do not like to lie. But I know my silence was a kind of lie. Please forgive me. I hope you will forgive me.

He is called Adam. He was born in December. Sandy is the father. That is why his parents have been so kind to me. They helped me at the hospital and afterwards and they have made sure that their friends here come and see me and check that I am not making too many mistakes. You never stop when you are a mother. I did not know this before. I am busy all the time.

I think you may be angry with me but I hope you can understand why I had to leave you. I was trying to do the right thing. I know you like to do the right thing too. That is something you have taught me.

I knew that it would be impossible to visit you or be with you or stay in your house if I had a child. I had distracted (is that the right word?) you enough and I know that you were worried about your work even though you tried not to show it. Have you finished it yet? I cannot imagine how you must be feeling. I do not know what you will do next or how your life is. Perhaps you have a new girlfriend? (I am joking, although perhaps I am not.
)

Adam is sleeping but soon he will wake. He has a lot of hair already. I like the smell of him. I like to hold him close to me. I did not think I could feel so much love and so much fear at the same time. He has blue eyes but I have been told that many babies have blue eyes and they change colour as they grow older. His grandparents are proud of him. One day I will take him back to Poland and show him to my father and my brother. I do not know if they will be pleased. I do not have the same family as you. I think I would prefer to show him to your family rather than my own. Perhaps if you forgive me I will be able to do that one day.

You see, I am going on too long. What else is there to say? There is one thing perhaps. If you would like to see me again, if you can accept my apology for all my weaknesses, and for going away, and for not telling you the most important thing (so many failures!) then I am here. You can come. You must come. Perhaps it is your turn to visit me. I would be so happy to see you. Do not be scared!

I think I have forgotten to say thank you. Perhaps I did this earlier, but if I did not, let me say thank you again. Thank you for looking after me and for being my friend. Thank you for letting me meet your family. I think they gave me confidence to have this child. They showed me that it could be possible; that a happy family can exist in the world. (Although I
know you will tell me that your family is not always happy. How is Douglas?
)

Come and see me if you can. If you can forgive me.

I will not forget what you did for me.

Your Krystyna

As soon as Jack had finished he read the letter once more.

I have a child.

Jack could not believe that he had been so stupid not to think of this. He worried that the rest of his family had guessed and said nothing. And yet it had never occurred to him.

Perhaps, if Krystyna came back to East Fortune, they would think that the child was his. There would be so much to explain; not a grandchild but a new person, another beginning.

At first he couldn't imagine it. Then he started to think what it might mean.

He began to hear Krystyna's voice. He even knew what they could say to each other.

As he thought about these things Jack realised that the loss in his life had lifted. He was no longer alone.

He looked at the letter once more.

Your Krystyna.

Julia was staying at the Moscow Kempinski. She was planning an exhibition in London and was trying to arrange the loan of a coach that King James I had once given to Boris Godunov. She texted Douglas to tell him that the negotiations were taking longer than she had thought. If he wanted to come he would just have to fly over and wait. She did not seem concerned that he might have other work or plans.

‘I'll take my chance,' he replied.

She texted back to say that her hotel room had a view over the river to St Basil's Cathedral and Red Square with the Kremlin away to the west.
They do the best breakfasts in Moscow.

I'm not really coming for the breakfasts,
wrote Douglas.

He managed to persuade his production company to pay for his flights, convincing them that the foundation of the Moscow Hospital School by Peter the Great in 1707 was an integral part of the film he was making. The painter Kandinsky had studied anatomy in the city, the artist Pavel Tchelitchew had produced a panorama of freaks and mutants in the 1930s, and there was even a contemporary exhibition of anatomical drawings by Yevgeny Chubarov of half-man, half-machine.

Douglas took the overnight flight with Aeroflot and a taxi from the airport. It was a battered Zhiguli with an icon attached to the rear-view mirror. The driver played music that sounded vaguely Armenian. He spoke a little English and said that he had only ever had three car crashes in his life. Jesus had saved him every time.

Despite the car heating Douglas could smell the oil and sulphur through the windows. The Soviet factories on the road from Sheremetyevo looked as if they were still struggling to keep up with one of Stalin's five-year plans.