For All Our Tomorrows (48 page)

Chad gave a sound of disgust and minutes later he was racing down the road in the pick-up. He’d always avoided driving, leaving it to Harry because only having the one arm made gear changing a bit dicey, but he’d darned well cope somehow, or die in the attempt.

A couple of hours later he discovered, to his despair, that the cabin was deserted. And by the look of it, it’d been empty for weeks. The ash in the stove was stone cold and a film of green had formed on the water butt. To his horror he saw that there’d been a fire in the back kitchen.

‘Dear God, don’t let Bette be dead.’

Boxes of stale groceries stood about on the porch. Chad kicked at one in frustrated rage, making the eggs shatter and flour spill everywhere.. How could Mom do such a thing? What had possessed her? Jealousy perhaps? Over-possessiveness because of his injury? Or a foolish, outdated hatred of the British maybe.

Chad addressed the silence, the empty, freezing cold landscape and the mountains he loved. ‘The Boston tea party took place a helluva long time ago. This is World War Two, another war altogether. And I want my wife back.’

She couldn’t have just vanished off the face of the earth. Nor would she risk going off into the forest, not with a young baby. God, he hoped not. There were any number of hazards waiting for her there. Snakes, bears, he didn’t care to think.

He got back in the truck and headed east. Bette may not be a city girl, but she sure did like towns and shops and such like, so that was the most likely direction she’d take. He’d stop at every town he could find, every petrol station, every general store. He’d ask every person he saw. Search the entire damn country till he found her.

A cold winter had passed by, spring was here, trade was good, and Bette was content. Christmas had helped, with everyone wanting to look nice for parties and dances. Bit Fat Josie was the easiest person in the world to get along with and they were, in Josie’s parlance, happy as two bugs in a rug.

Bette was delighted to be making money and paying her way at last. She was making a success of her life. Better still, she was able to mind Matthew while she worked. He could sit up now, safely harnessed in the old black perambulator, smiling cheerfully at all the lady customers, getting thoroughly spoiled.
 

Each afternoon, Bette would walk him around town, as she so loved to do, passing the time of day, should she spot a customer, or stop and chat for a while. It felt good to be part of a community again, and word was spreading. Her engagement book was filling up as more and more ladies ventured into this part of town for a new hair-do. Bette was considering offering facials and manicures as well, which surely couldn’t be too difficult and would bring in even more trade.

In the evenings, while she and Josie ate supper together, Matthew would lie on his blanket on the hearth rug so he could kick without being encumbered with his diaper. Then Bette would bath him and put him to bed.

Only then, as night approached would she feel a twinge of loneliness and regret.

She missed Chad badly, more than she’d expected to and often wondered how he was coping, and if he’d managed to find work himself. It wasn’t too bad during the day while she was kept fully occupied working. At night, it was different.

There were times when she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She would lie in her narrow little bed up in the loft and the memory of his face would haunt her dreams to the extent that she would sometimes wake up in a lather of sweat, sure that she’d heard his voice calling her.

Of Barney she thought not at all. She couldn’t even remember what he looked like. She wondered about him from time to time, if he was safe and well, if he’d survived the war. But no more than that.
 

Over in Europe, peace had been declared, or so all the papers proclaimed.

She missed her family, of course, Sara and Cory in particular. She’d sent them a card giving them her new address, without offering any further details. For some reason she didn’t feel ready to tell them that she and Chad had separated, that his family had turned her out. Far too humiliating. She wanted to make a success of her life before she told the whole sordid tale of her failed marriage. Now that she had a thriving business, she meant to write again soon, a proper letter this time, maybe by the end of the month.

She just had to find the right words to explain why it had all gone wrong.
 

Her heart still ached for Chad. if only his family had given them the chance to be on their own and properly get to know each other. Bette was quite sure things would have turned out entirely differently then. She really didn’t care if she never clapped eyes on any of the Jackson brood ever again. But she longed to see Chad again. She loved him still.

And then one day the door opened and there he was.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Ship’s sirens and hooters sounded, every light and searchlight in the harbour, and in Fowey town itself, was switched on; a blazing celebration of peace. The town band played, church bells rang, special services were held. The narrow streets were bright with flags and bunting as the Flora Dance made its lively, happy journey through town led by the Carnival Queen, pausing every now and then for the dancers to hug and kiss friends and loved ones. The parade involved everyone, the men of the Coastguard and Lifeboat service, Hugh amongst them; Cory and his fellow crew members from the River Patrol; the WVS with Nora prominently to the fore. The Red Cross, British Legion, Girl Guides and Boy Scouts, members of the armed forces and, bringing up the rear, a happy band of nurses. Sara walked along with these, smiling broadly in her new uniform, and there was a great deal to smile about.

It was over. The war was won.

There was a pause in celebrations long enough for people to gather about their wireless sets and listen to the voice of Winston Churchill telling them that at last, the war in Europe was at an end.

‘Long live the cause of freedom. God save the King.’

Later that same evening in early May, Sara sat alone in her bedroom and wept, her happiness pricked like a burst balloon. Somehow the day had been too emotional, too exhausting. Glad as she was of the end to hostilities, she ached for Charlie. Had he survived that last, long, hard winter of battle? Would he ever come home? And if he did, it wouldn’t be to her.

Having given up all hope of divorce, she’d written back to him to explain the situation, to say how very important her children were and how she could never risk their happiness. She’d known that he would be upset and bitterly disappointed, but that he would understand. Of course she didn’t really know if he’d ever got the letter, Sara just hoped that it had been forwarded to him by now.

The invasion of Normandy last summer had taken longer than hoped and just before Christmas, when everyone was beginning to congratulate themselves on success, the enemy thrust forward again into Belgium right into Allied lines and it had taken well into January before the Battle of the Bulge had been won.

And now, at last, peace had been declared.

But where was Charlie now? Sara couldn’t bear to think that she might never find out what had happened to him. Was he safe, back home in America perhaps, with Yvonne? Or in a hospital somewhere undergoing surgery on an injured knee? She didn’t have the courage to write again, to discover the answers to these agonising questions, to find out if he was alive or dead. She must try to shut him from her mind. Oh, so much easier said than done.

Sara hadn’t heard from Bette in ages, not since the baby had been born, which was causing her some concern. Then just the other day she’d got a postcard to say that she was now living in Savannah. No explanation, no details of any sort about her new life in America. She’d been deeply disappointed, and not a little concerned.

But then Bette had always been a bit scatterbrained. Perhaps her little sister was simply busy learning to be a new mother, growing up at last.

Sara had to admit that she too had slipped out of the habit of regular correspondence, allowing herself to sink into depression because of her difficult situation. Now that she’d brought herself to put pen to paper she would write again to Bette each and very week from now on, starting by giving her cheerful news about the parade and peace celebrations. It was no good feeling sorry for herself. She’d made her decision and must live with it, even if it broke her heart to see the joy of other couples starting life afresh.

Men were returning home, every day bringing happy reunions. Prisoners of War were being released, some men turning up on the doorstep of a wife or mother who had believed them to be dead. Happiness was everywhere, permeating the entire town, except here, in Sara’s new home on the Esplanade.

Not for one moment had she expected such a reunion for herself, but then it happened, right out of the blue. She came home one afternoon from the hospital, collected the children from her mother as usual, and the three of them were having tea in the garden in the lovely May sunshine when a voice quietly remarked: ‘I think what I’ve missed most have been your Cornish pasties.’

Drew squealed, ‘
Charlie,
’ and leapt from his seat, sending his glass flying, spilling orange juice everywhere as he flung himself into his friend’s arms. Sara simply stared, quite unable to believe her eyes, heartily wishing she could do exactly the same.
 

Jenny laughed with delight and ran to hug Charlie fiercely about the waist. ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you back safe, Charlie. We’ve been so worried about you.’

Sara blinked back tears, thinking that it had never crossed her mind to imagine that her children would be worried too.

‘Have you any gum, chum?’ Drew cheekily asked.

‘I certainly have, old buddy.’ Charlie fished a couple of packets out of his pocket then stood grinning from ear to ear as the children ripped off the paper, stuffing the gum into their mouths and jiggling up and down with coos of delight. But his gaze remained fixed on Sara.

She tried his name, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming all of this. ‘Charlie?’ Then went over to put out a tentative hand, to touch his face, his cheek, his strong jaw, trace the outline of his mouth. He grasped hold of her exploring hand and pressed it quickly to his lips.

‘It’s me. A bit battered but still all in one piece.’

Sara longed to fall into his arms, to kiss him for all she was worth, but the children were watching with wide, innocent eyes. Relief washed through her in a warm tide of love. Charlie was here. He was safe, and that was all that mattered.

‘We’ve missed you,’ Jenny said, her little face suddenly serious. ‘Mummy has ‘specially. She’s cried for you, I heard her.’

Charlie’s gaze locked with Sara’s again. This was dangerous territory which must be traversed with care. Children were vulnerable creatures and had a happy knack of bluntly coming out with the absolute truth, sharing secrets you’d much rather keep quiet. He gently ruffled the children’s hair, one hand on each small head, making them giggle and squirm. ‘I dare say your mom has only been crying when she gets tired, like after spending hours picking up the mess that you terrible twosome make, or when you won’t go to bed on time.’

‘That’s not true, is it Mummy?’ Jenny said, outraged. ‘I’m very tidy. Daddy inspects our rooms every morning and if they’re messy we’re not allowed to play out. Or he puts us on what he calls fatigues, which means we have to scrub the kitchen floor or wash his car or something. Daddy is horrid sometimes, like a sergeant major inspecting the troops. Drew’s room is always a mess though and Daddy lets
him
off, ‘cept that he says if he doesn’t clear it up this time, he’ll take the telescope away.’

Drew tried to stick out his tongue and Jenny giggled because the rude gesture turned into a chewing gum bubble.

Sara knew she should scold them, try to sound stern and tell them not to be naughty but she couldn’t seem able to do so.

‘Did you fight many battles, kill loads and loads of Germans?’ Drew wanted to know and Sara hushed the excited little boy, finally finding her voice to remind him that Charlie must be tired and wouldn’t want to talk about all of that right now.

‘I’ll tell you another time,’ Charlie agreed. ‘Maybe one day when you come out to the States to visit me.’

The two children gasped, then looked at each in delight. ‘Wow, is that a promise?’

Once again Charlie’s eyes were on Sara. ‘If your mom will bring you.’

Sara swallowed. It was unfair of him to use the children to try and reach her. Yet somehow she couldn’t bring herself to blame him. She saw that he longed for her as much as she longed for him, and what did she owe Hugh after all he’d done to her? The thought of going to America with Charlie was delicious, wonderful, although quite impossible. She simply couldn’t do it. Mustn’t even think of such a thing.

‘Drew, Jenny, go and play on the swing for a little while. Lieutenant Denham and I need to talk about war business for a moment.’

‘Don’t be silly, Mummy. The war is over.’

‘Yes, I know, darling, but there are still things to . . . sort out. Please, do as I say.’

‘Here, I brought you some comics too,’ and Charlie handed them a brown paper packet.

‘Gosh thanks, I mean, aw gee, thanks,’ said Drew, trying to copy Charlie’s American accent and sound big and important.