Homecoming (24 page)

‘And I'll be doing the washing in secret and hoping that Mrs Lannon can't hear the machine from her back kitchen.' Lily pushed the sugar bowl towards Brian.

‘Secret?' Brian asked, bemused.

‘Don't you know you'll go to hell if you do any housework other than cook the dinner on a Sunday?' Judy almost smiled at Brian, realised what she was doing, and looked away quickly, but not before he smiled at her.

‘People round here still take that much notice of the chapel?'

‘And church,' Lily added.

‘They don't in Pontypridd?' Sam enquired sardonically.

‘No, I thought you knew we're all Godless savages up there, Sam.' Brian's weak attempt at humour fell flat into the heavy atmosphere. Exhausted by his long day in the garage, the four pints of beer he'd drunk in John and Katie's, but most of all from fencing words with Sam, Brian pushed his chair back from the table. ‘I'll set my alarm but given the way I feel, I'm likely to sleep through it. Give me a shout if I'm not up and about by half past seven, Martin.'

‘You'd be better off asking Lily, she's the one who kicks me out of bed every morning.'

‘After I've woken Martin with a wet sponge, I'll send him in to you.' Lily picked up her own and Martin's mugs and stacked them in the sink.

‘I'm off.' Judy left her chair and kissed Lily on the cheek. ‘Lunch next Friday if I don't see you before. We have to talk matron of honour dresses.'

‘Not pink,' Lily warned. ‘I'm too old.'

‘You don't have to convince me.'

‘I'm on twelve till one break next week.'

‘I'll meet you outside the bank. Bye, everyone.' Judy went to the door but Sam reached it before her.

‘See you, Judy,' Martin called.

‘If you want to lock up, I'll use the basement front door,' Sam shouted.

‘Thanks, I'll bolt the front door and put the chain on.'

As Martin went to secure the door, Lily looked to Brian. ‘You and Sam have a row?' she asked.

‘Nothing I know anything about.'

‘I think the expression is “if looks could kill you'd be dead,”' Martin said, returning to the kitchen.

‘The bloke's paranoid.' Brian dismissed.

‘Only where Judy's concerned,' Lily said. ‘And the last time you were in Swansea, you and Judy were going out.'

‘That was nearly three years ago and it didn't last long. And as she's marrying Sam in a couple of months, I can't see what his problem is. Goodnight, you two.'

‘Goodnight, Brian.' As Lily ran water into the sink to wash the mugs, she recalled the look she had intercepted between Brian and Judy, and the dismissive way Judy had talked about her mother-in-law and her wedding preparations. She knew exactly what Sam's problem was; she only hoped for Judy's sake that he had completely misread the situation.

‘I'll come round the flat tomorrow about six.'

‘No, Sam.' Judy unlocked her car.

‘You can't be working?'

‘As I said earlier, I'm going to a demonstration of new hair products at a warehouse with the girls from the salons and I have no idea when I'll be back.'

‘On a Sunday night?'

‘It's the best night for the wholesalers and traders.'

‘And you'll be there all night?' he enquired belligerently, swaying in the cold night air, as the beer and whisky he'd downed earlier began to fight in his stomach as well as his head.

‘There are refreshments afterwards.'

‘Monday?'

‘You're on mornings, telephone me about six o'clock.'

‘You're angry.'

‘Yes, I am.' She climbed into her car. ‘And I've every right to be after the way you behaved at the party and just now in Lily's.'

‘And you've no right to make eyes at Brian Powell.'

‘I don't. And do you want to know why I don't? Because I'm terrified to as much as look at him in case you make a fool of yourself and me the way you did just now.' Seeing a light flick on in Mrs Lannon's bedroom, she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I don't know what more I can do to convince you that I've made my choice, Sam. I've been to bed with you, I've set the date, booked the church and reception, bought the dress and listened as politely as is humanly possible to your mother's ideas on what a wedding should be, even if I haven't been able to go along with all her insane plans. But I warn you, one more evening like tonight, and I'll cancel the whole damned day.' Slamming the door, she pressed the ignition, put her foot down and drove away, leaving him standing, watching her.

‘I can barely keep my eyes open,' Helen yawned, as she walked into the house.

‘You go up first. I'll be right behind you, sweetheart.' Jack closed the door, locked it and slipped his keys back into the pocket of his sports coat.

‘Promise?' She put one foot on the stairs.

‘Promise.' He switched on the light, walked into the living room and checked the fire. The guard was up and there were a few, barely glowing embers. Another hour and the fire would be out. As he rose to his feet, he noticed an envelope on the mantelpiece and recalled Helen mentioning a letter.

He picked it up and turned it over. The envelope was plain, the postmark and the writing unfamiliar. Sliding his thumb beneath the flap, he tore it open, checked the address at the top of the page, which meant nothing to him, and noted that it had been written four days previously.

Dear Jack,

I have thought long and hard about writing to you and I am still not sure that I am doing the right thing, but please believe that I am sincere when I say I don't want to hurt you, your family or upset your life in any way. The problem is, I cannot decide whether I have the right to withhold the knowledge that you are about to become a father.

There, I've finally written the words, yet even now I wonder if you will ever read them. Only if I have the courage to post this and I am still unsure. The one thing I am certain of is that I neither want nor expect anything from you. No moral support and no money. With the help of my parents I am managing reasonably well on my widow's pension.

I told my parents the truth; that the child is a result of an evening when I allowed my grief to spiral out of control and the fault was entirely mine. Even if I could, I wouldn't name you as the father on the birth certificate and I intend for your identity to remain a secret between the two of us. I hope you can respect that wish.

The only reason I am writing to you now is that I talked through my problems with a vicar and he said that if he were you, he would want to know that he had a child somewhere in the world, if only to pray for its well-being. And, you should be aware of the child's existence for the sake of your own children. It would be too horrible if you have a daughter and she brings home an adopted boy … however unlikely it might be, it is still a possibility you should be aware of.

I have thought – in fact I cannot stop thinking – about that evening you visited me. If there is an explanation for what happened between us, I think it does lie in grief, yours as well as mine. I wanted Gordon back so much that I was prepared to reach out to anyone to fool myself that he was still alive, if only for a few moments longer. You were mourning him as every soldier under his command did. And, as I tried to tell you that night, the fact that Gordon was called upon to give his life to ensure your safety and the safety of the others in your platoon should not make you feel guilty. Gordon would have seen it as no more than his sergeant's duty. I hope that by now you have had time to reflect on what I said, and realise that neither you, nor anyone else could have stopped Gordon from doing what he did to protect you and the others.

When I left Cyprus, I moved in with my parents. They have offered the children and me a permanent home. When I discovered that I was carrying your child, I realised there was no way that I would be able to claim it as Gordon's, not when he was killed two months before it was conceived. My father called some friends and arranged for me to be admitted into the above church home for unmarried mothers under the name of Maggie Jones. He and my mother are looking after my children and they have told family and neighbours that I have tuberculosis, worsened by shock at Gordon's death and I am recuperating in an isolation hospital in the country.

The baby will be adopted and I have been assured that the church takes great care with the parents it chooses. I trust them because I have no choice, but my father says that the people on the adoption committee are good, well-meaning people.

I will understand if you don't want to reply to this letter, or have any contact with me. Burn this and you have my word that you will never hear from me again. Looking back now, I sometimes wonder if that night happened the way I remember it. If it wasn't for the baby I could so easily believe that I had dreamed the whole episode.

Take care, Jack. You were a good friend to Gordon and to me. Without you I would never have known what his last words or thoughts were. They mean everything to me now.

God Bless.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Jack, it's not even six o'clock.' Helen wrapped her dressing gown around herself and shivered in the doorway of the living room. Jack sat, hunched on one of the easy chairs, dressed in the dark trousers, white shirt and sports coat he had worn to the party the night before. His tie lay abandoned, still knotted on the coffee table. The room was freezing, the fireplace littered with cold, grey-white ash. ‘Surely you haven't been sitting here all night.' She stepped into the room. ‘Whatever is the matter?' she exclaimed, when he finally lifted his face. ‘You look terrible … are you ill?' She crouched in front of him; taking his hands into hers, she rubbed them between her fingers in an effort to warm them.

Numb, cold, exhausted, he continued to stare at her. He loved her far too much to lie to her, but he knew the moment he told her that he had betrayed her with another woman – and that woman was carrying his child – she would never look at him in the same concerned and loving way again. So very, very loving.

Wordlessly he handed her the letter. Then unable to bear the misery it would cause or the contempt it would spawn, he left the house.

Helen sank down in the chair Jack had vacated and read the letter. She continued to scan the closely written pages long after the words had ceased to imprint themselves on her consciousness. Images ran at breakneck speed through her mind superimposing themselves, one upon the other. Fragments of memories she had cherished as magical and sacred.

The first night she and Jack had made love.

‘I'll never let you go, Helen. Not now.'

The evening she had told him she was pregnant.

‘You're my girl, I'll look after you, Helen, just as I said I would, I promise.'

Jack attempting to comfort her on the loss of their child as they had both struggled to come to terms with the bitter knowledge that there would never be another, not for them.

‘Don't be angry with me for caring about you more than a baby that never lived. I need you; I'm lost without you. You're my girl, remember?'

Jack leaving for National Service.

‘How can I prove how much I love you?'

Jack naked in the arms of another woman. A beautiful, fertile woman who would give him the child she never could. What warm, loving words had he whispered into her ears? Had he even thought of their marriage when he had lain in her bed?

Jack coming home after two and a half years.

‘I can't forget all the plans we made for our son either. Or the look on your face when you found out that you'd lost him and there wouldn't be any more babies. I know it's no consolation but no matter what, I'll never stop loving you.'

Her own voice echoing back.

‘It must be even worse for you, knowing that you could have children if you wanted.'

‘I wouldn't want children without you. I love you, sweetheart. You'll always be my girl.'

‘Helen. Helen.' She was suddenly aware of Jack's presence in the room. He retreated to the sofa, recoiling from the anguish in her eyes and the harsh knowledge that he had caused her so much pain.

‘Is this true?'She held out the letter.

‘Yes.'

‘This woman is carrying your child?'

‘Please,' he begged, when she remained sitting bolt upright, staring at him. ‘I know how much I've hurt you, but please, let me try to explain.'

‘All right.' Even her voice sounded cold, remote, as though she had already distanced herself from him. ‘Tell me how it happened, Jack. Tell me how you undressed and made love to this woman after you promised to love me and only me for ever.' She sat back in the easy chair and looked at him through chill, dead eyes. ‘Tell me.'

‘I'm not making excuses – I can't,' Jack began awkwardly, ‘but to try to explain, I have to go back to when I was wounded.' He took a deep breath and braced himself before the words began tumbling out.

‘Our platoon was out on patrol. The lieutenant was in the first car with his driver, the sergeant – Gordon – was acting as rearguard and I was his driver. We went up into the mountains and hit a terrorist ambush. When they lobbed a bomb at us, the sergeant – he – he deflected it away from me,' he finished quickly. ‘He was killed. I was wounded and I didn't come round for several days. Then I was in hospital for two months. When I was discharged, the doctor asked me to visit the sergeant's widow. She was leaving the island the next day and he thought it might help her to talk to someone who was with her husband when he died.'

‘You went?' she asked bleakly after a moment's silence.

‘I went. I wish to God I hadn't.'

‘Stick to the facts, Jack.'

‘I took a bottle of wine. She had another …'

‘You got drunk.'

‘Yes.'

‘Both of you.'

‘Yes.'

‘And?' No longer lifeless, her eyes mirrored his image and a revulsion that hurt – almost unbearably.

‘I felt sorry for her. She was crying. We both were. I hugged her. I know it sounds stupid in the light of what happened afterwards but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. She needed comforting.'

‘Comforting!' Helen's blue eyes darkened.

‘She kissed me.' He swallowed hard. ‘No, that's not fair – we kissed …' The words dried under her unwavering gaze.

‘You kissed her back?'

‘I kissed her back,' he confessed, unable to compound or excuse what he'd done by lying.

‘Would you have ever told me that you'd committed adultery if she hadn't written to you?'

‘I thought about it.' He left the sofa and paced to the window. Turning his back to her, he looked down at the beach. ‘God, how I thought about it! I couldn't think about anything else for weeks before I came back.'

‘And after you arrived, you decided to keep it from me.'

‘No …'

‘You didn't tell me, Jack. You came home after two and half years and climbed into my bed within an hour of walking through that door. You made love to me as if nothing had happened.'

‘In one sense nothing did,' he broke in wretchedly. ‘Believe me, you can't hate me any more than I hate myself for allowing it to happen. But afterwards it wasn't – it wasn't as if it had been something that I had done. It's difficult to explain, but it's almost as if it had happened to someone else. It meant nothing, Helen, not just to me but her as well. She told me. It meant nothing.'

‘We promised one another before I went away that there'd be no secrets between us, remember?'

‘I knew you'd be hurt.'

‘Get out!' Crumpling the letter into a ball, she threw it at him.

Reeling beneath the force of her venom, he picked it up and backed towards the door.

‘Take your things and get out. I never want to see you again.' Helen slumped back in the chair. Silently, Jack went upstairs.

The floorboards creaked overhead as he walked into their bedroom. He ran downstairs a few minutes later and she reflected that he couldn't have packed very much. Then she remembered that almost everything in his wardrobe was too small for him.

She sensed him standing, watching her from the hall, but she didn't look up. She heard the chink of metal, the door opened and closed. A few minutes later his motorbike started up and roared off down the road.

She continued to sit, weak, nauseous, as the seconds ticked off on the grandmother clock that had been her aunt's. The house she had taken such pride in and worked so hard to turn into a home for Jack closed around her like a mausoleum. She felt as though not only her marriage but also her life had come to an end.

When she finally summoned the strength to stand, she made her way into the hall. Then she saw why Jack had lingered for a moment. His keys to the house were lying on the hall table. Taking them into her hand, she sank down on the bottom step of the stairs.

She continued to sit, staring into space, fighting to keep her mind a blank because nothingness was infinitely preferably to the torture of thought and the shattering, soul-destroying knowledge that Jack had betrayed her.

Lily had just left the bathroom when the doorbell rang.

‘Who can that be at this hour?' Martin mumbled from the depths of the bed. He squinted at the alarm clock in the half-light from the landing. ‘It's not even seven o'clock yet.'

‘I'll go down and see.'

‘No, you will not. Not in that dressing gown anyway, it shows far too much of you.'

‘You've never complained before.' She opened her wardrobe door.

‘And I won't while you keep it just for me.' Retrieving his pyjama trousers from the tangle of sheets and blankets at the foot of the bed, he pulled them on.

‘Put your slippers on,' Lily advised as the bell rang a second time. ‘That hall floor is freezing'

Martin pushed his feet into them. ‘Keep your hair on,' he shouted, as the bell sounded a third time when he was halfway down the stairs. Switching on the hall light he walked down the passage and opened the door to see his brother, small suitcase in hand, standing on the step. ‘You're keen to get started.'

‘Helen's thrown me out,' Jack divulged flatly. ‘Can I move in for a couple of days? Just until I get myself sorted.'

‘I left him making tea in the kitchen.' Martin removed a set of underwear from a drawer.

Lily folded back the top sheet, blankets and eiderdown to air the bed. ‘And you're sure he didn't say why Helen threw him out?'

‘No.'

‘You didn't ask?' She plumped up the bolster and pillows.

‘It's hardly the sort of thing you drop into a casual conversation.' Martin pulled the towel from around his waist, almost dropped it on the bed, saw Lily watching him and draped it over the stand. ‘Yes, Jack, of course you're welcome to stay with us for a couple of days. But by the way, why did Helen throw you out?'

‘You said he could stay? Helen's my friend.'

‘And Jack's my brother. What was I supposed to say to him? Sorry, Lily's a friend of Helen's so go sleep on the beach. I know it's freezing out there but we'll spare you the odd blanket or two.'

‘No, but …' Lily hesitated, searching for an alternative solution.

‘Would you rather he knocked on John and Katie's door when she's just had a baby?'

‘All right,' she agreed. ‘Jack can stay for a couple of days, but I'm taking the bus over to Helen's this morning.'

‘To find out what happened.'

‘To see if I can do anything to help.'

‘Helen or Jack?' Martin asked.

‘Both of them. Wake Brian if he isn't already, I'll go down and start making breakfast.'

‘Lily?'

‘What?' She turned back.

He pulled her close and kissed her. ‘Whatever the problem is between Jack and Helen, promise me it won't affect us?'

‘How can I do that, if I don't know what it is?' she questioned logically.

‘We can support both of them without taking sides.'

‘You think so?'

‘We can try,' he murmured, suddenly realising just how difficult that might be.

‘I've made a pot of tea,' Jack lifted the teapot, as Lily walked into her kitchen. ‘Want a cup?'

‘Yes, please. Bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, fried bread and beans do you for breakfast?' She opened the fridge.

Jack debated for a moment. He wasn't hungry but it might be hours before he'd have another opportunity to eat. ‘Just toast, please.'

‘From what Martin and Brian said, you've a full day's work ahead of you. You have to eat.'

‘I can't work in the garage today,' he interrupted.

‘Oh?' She looked inquisitively at him.

‘There's something I have to do.'

‘I see.' She lifted half a dozen eggs out of the fridge and set them on the cupboard next to the stove.

‘I asked Martin if I could stay here for a few days. He said I could, but if it is going to make things difficult for you, Lily, I'll find somewhere else.'

‘You're Martin's brother, you're welcome to stay.' She hoped she sounded as though she meant it. ‘I'll make up a bed for you in the back bedroom and empty the drawers and wardrobe.'

‘Don't bother on my account.' He pushed the small case he'd strapped to the back of his bike into the corner with his foot. ‘That's the sum total of my earthly possessions.'

‘When you start work, you'll need more clothes.'

‘I suppose I will.'

Lily lifted the bacon box and a glass bowl full of sausages from the fridge and closed the door. ‘Want to talk about it?'

‘No.'

‘Fine.' She set her mouth into a narrow line.

‘Not until I've talked to someone else,' he clarified, ‘and perhaps not even then. It's not just me and Helen, Lily. There are other people involved and I'd rather not discuss what's happened until I get things sorted in my own mind. That's if I ever will,' he muttered, speaking more to himself than to her.

Brian looked from Martin to Lily, as Jack slammed the front door behind him. ‘Isn't that the cue for one of us to make a poignant remark?'

‘You just have.' Martin sugared his second cup of tea.

‘I suppose I have, but it was hardly poignant – or profound. Surely whatever's gone on between Jack and Helen can't be that bad? They seemed happy enough last night. In fact, a lot happier than Judy and Sam.' He wished he hadn't mentioned Judy's name when he saw Martin and Lily exchange significant glances. ‘Perhaps we should have tried talking to Jack,' he suggested, bringing the conversation firmly back into line.

‘I thought I did,' Martin said, ‘but he didn't seem to be in a listening mood.'

Lily rose from the table. ‘The sooner you two get to the garage, the sooner you'll be finished for the day and you'll both need to rest afterwards for the grand opening tomorrow. Leave the plates.' She took them from Martin. ‘I'll wash them after I've seen Katie.'