Survivor (47 page)

She wasn’t fooling herself that
she’d be able to swim and sail, as she had done before – although she intended
to, if it was humanly possible. For now, she was satisfied with being nifty in a
wheelchair, and being able to climb stairs on crutches while she awaited the arrival
of her new leg.

And she kept a diary of how she was
progressing.

A diary wasn’t perhaps the right
name for it, because she aired all her grievances against those who were
irrepressibly cheerful, the ones who lectured her on taking courses on everything
from dressmaking to electrical work, and those who were grateful for just being
alive. She enjoyed ridiculing them on paper, made herself laugh as she painstakingly
described them. Her diary would be as dangerous as a bomb, if anyone found it and
read it, so she carried it around with her most of the time.

Luckily, she shared a room with Freda,
who was neither a reader, nor a nosy parker. She was a quiet, rather frail-looking
woman of twenty-eight, with watery blue eyes and hair the colour of old sacking. She
was always knitting for one of her two children and, when she wasn’t
practising walking on her new leg, she spend a lot of time gazing at a photograph of
them.

‘Do you think all children are
embarrassed by people with an artificial leg?’ she said suddenly one
afternoon.

Mariette had just returned from the
preliminary fitting of her prosthetic limb. ‘If they are, they need a clip
around the ear,’ she said. ‘Why? What makes you ask?’

Freda’s children, Alice and
Edward, were with her elder sister in Salisbury. Freda had previously said, in
passing, that
they’d only been to
visit her here once because the weather had been so bad.

‘My sister said in a letter that
she thought it was wrong to embarrass them,’ Freda said. ‘She’s
suggesting that it’s better for them to stay with her.’

‘It is always better for children
to be with their mother,’ Mariette said firmly, thinking of Sandra and Ian and
how they still spoke longingly of Joan. ‘You are coming on a storm with that
leg, you can cook, do the washing, everything a mother needs to do. I can’t
imagine what your sister is thinking of.’

‘She loves my children, and she
hasn’t got any of her own,’ Freda said in a small voice. ‘She
pointed out that they’ve got used to living in a much bigger house, in a nice
safe place with fields at the end of the road. We were in two rooms in Southampton,
down near the docks. And I haven’t even got that since I was bombed
out.’

‘Why isn’t she inviting you
to live with her?’ Mariette asked. ‘Surely that’s the answer?
She’d still have the children there, and she could keep an eye on you
too.’

Freda didn’t respond for a little
while. She was biting her lower lip, as if she thought she shouldn’t be
talking about her family to a comparative stranger.

‘Well?’ Mariette
prompted.

‘She wouldn’t want me there.
I’d show her up.’

Mariette was astounded that
Freda’s sister could be so callous. ‘If you aren’t good enough for
her, then neither are your children,’ she said forcefully. ‘She’s
proved to you that she has no heart, and therefore she should have no permanent
place in your children’s lives. You’ve been very brave with your leg;
now you must be braver still and stand up for yourself. And I’m going to help
you!’

‘I understand you’ve been
motivating some of the patients to stick up for themselves,’ Dr Hambling said
as he examined Mariette’s stump for blisters and sore places.

She’d finally got her prosthetic
limb three weeks earlier. But instead of taking it slowly, as she’d been
instructed to do, practising in short bursts, she immediately went at it like a mad
bull. Dr Hambling knew she was surprised by how difficult it was to learn to walk
with her new leg. But she had the idea that, if she just kept on and on, she would
get the hang of it more quickly. The result was some sore places. But luckily,
he’d managed to slow her down before she did herself any real damage.

‘Who’s been talking?’
she asked, immediately on the defensive.

Dr Hambling first became aware that
Mariette had become something of a counsellor when Freda came to him and told him
that her sister wanted to take her children from her. Freda had lost her frightened
mouse look, and she said Mariette had made her realize that she had to fight for her
children. She’d asked for help to get a home of her own so she had a safe
place to take her family.

Before long, Dr Hambling and other staff
were noticing that Mariette was often having very earnest conversations with other
patients, and all at once those meek and mild people were asserting themselves,
asking to be put in touch with organizations that might help with their problem, or
just looking and acting more positive about their future.

‘Nothing
goes unnoticed here,’ Dr Hambling said. ‘But it’s excellent that
you are getting other patients to talk. Often the psychological problems with an
amputation are greater than the physical ones. You probably know that Freda came to
me, asking for help in getting rehoused, and she would never have been brave enough
to do that under her own steam. I honestly think her sister had convinced her that
she was of no use to her children and that it was kinder to abandon them.’

Mariette beamed at Dr Hambling’s
approval. She’d half expected to be told to back off and not to stick her nose
in other people’s problems. She had found she was very good at getting people
to open up about their anxieties, and she could see for herself how much it helped
them to be able to discuss possible solutions. It also helped her to put aside her
own worries and sadness.

‘Will you be able to help Freda?
She’s desperate to get her children back.’

‘It’s all in hand. But
let’s talk about you, young lady! Will you slow down and take this leg at the
pace we suggest? We do know a thing or two.’

Mariette laughed. She liked Dr Hambling,
with his wild, white hair and bushy beard. He was old, he’d been operating on
the wounded in the First World War, and it was the things he saw there which had
made him want to work on prosthetics and help amputees to lead normal lives. Morgan
had told her he was considered the best in his field.

‘OK, I’ve learned my
lesson,’ she said. ‘May I put it back on and show you how I’m
walking now?’

The first time she saw her
‘leg’ she almost burst into tears. She’d seen other
people’s, but it hadn’t prepared her for her own. That sickly
pinky-beige Bakelite covering, the hefty straps and the sheer weight of the beastly
thing made her think she’d rather use crutches for ever.

She
couldn’t help but remember Morgan on the ship, running his fingers from her
toes, along her feet, and right up her legs. He said she had the best legs
he’d ever seen. No man was ever going to want to do that to a one-legged girl.
She couldn’t even imagine a man holding her in his arms and kissing her. She
might still have a pretty face, but an artificial leg would put anyone off.

Dr Hambling watched as Mariette strapped
the leg on. He could see by her expression that it repelled her, but she had decided
to come to terms with it. And love it or hate it, she needed it.

To the doctor’s mind Mariette was
a fascinating curiosity: defiant, impatient, bold, funny, given to wild ideas, often
pig-headed and very brave. But she also had a very tender side to her, and she cared
about people, especially those less able than herself. If she’d been born a
man, she would have made a fine officer.

She was also undeniably beautiful.

Mr Mercer had commented on it, saying,
‘She lights up any room she is in.’ How right he was.

Some might say that it would be easier
for a beautiful woman to adjust to a prosthetic leg than a plain woman, because
people would want to help her. But Dr Hambling had found the reverse to be true:
people shied away when they saw flawed beauty. But he had a feeling that, as long as
Mariette was still breathing, she would never stop striving to be everything she had
been before she lost her leg. And a real man would see her true worth and never
think of her disability.

‘Another couple of weeks and
you’ll be fit to go home,’ he said, as she walked up and down in front
of him. He wished he could tell her that her walk was identical to a normal
two-legged person’s, but he couldn’t. She had to swing
the prosthetic limb in order to take a step, and she was
still at the stage where this was very obvious. With practice it would become less
noticeable, but she would never walk as she once had.

‘I wish that was
“home” home,’ Mariette said with a grin. ‘But I guess
there’s no chance of a ship taking me to New Zealand?’

‘Now surely you want to be here
for the end-of-the-war celebrations?’ Dr Hambling teased. ‘And before
that to see what happens when we invade France?’

‘I suppose so.’ Mariette
made a dramatic sigh, and then laughed. ‘It would be a bit rude to push off
just as all these soldiers are flocking down to the coast. There are Yanks on every
street corner. Shame I’m not up for jitterbugging, I’m told it’s
wild at the dance halls on Saturday nights. But how’s the walking looking?
Better than when you last saw me?’

‘Very much better,’ he said.
‘You are still swinging it a little too much, but practice will sort that out.
The main thing is that you aren’t hesitant, and that is very good. But back to
the dance halls – I don’t see you falling for some wet-behind-the-ears Yank.
Not even if half the girls in England are going that way. My money is on you and
Morgan.’

Mariette was astounded that the doctor
was aware of something between her and Morgan. Everyone else thought it was nothing
but friendship. But Morgan did still make her heart flutter, and she was fairly
certain she did the same to him. But although he’d made the journey to come
and see her almost every week since she’d been here, he’d never admitted
any feelings for her. He had never even tried to kiss her.

Dr Hambling guessed what Mariette was
thinking, and sympathized with her inability to move things on with Morgan.

‘Unfortunately, Morgan has the
same problem as many of
the patients
here that we’ve tried to help,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen a
photograph of him as he was, and I can perfectly well understand why a man who was
once so handsome would imagine he had nothing to offer a woman now he has lost those
looks. He’s wrong, of course, we both know that. You, Mariette, aren’t a
different person because of your leg. And he is no different because his face was
burned. But getting patients to understand that isn’t easy.’

‘But it’s also about how
others see us too,’ Mariette said. ‘In the past, when I walked down a
street, I’d get men turning their heads to look at me. Now, when they see my
limp, their expression changes, they drop their eyes. That’s how it is for
Morgan too. Women used to stop in their tracks to look at him, but now they avoid
looking directly at him.’

‘But you don’t avoid looking
at him,’ Dr Hambling said pointedly. ‘I’ve seen you with him, you
retain eye contact all the time. And he looks at you as you walk away, as if he is
afraid he’ll never see you again. I’d say you two have something good to
build on.’

‘There won’t be any
opportunity to build on anything, once I’m back in Sidmouth,’ she said.
‘And if the invasion does go ahead, the Borough will be run off its feet with
wounded, and he’ll never have the time to come visiting.’

‘Then perhaps you should go back
to the Borough?’ The doctor smiled mischievously. ‘I seem to remember
you told me you had secretarial training? The Borough might very well need someone
in administration.’

Mariette’s eyes lit up. ‘Do
you think they’d take me on?’ she exclaimed. ‘Am I able to do a
job like that now?’

‘Yes, I think they’d take
you on, if I have a word in the right ear. As for whether you are able to do it,
well, only you can answer that. Physically you are able – you know now how long you
can walk with the leg, and which things you
still find difficult – but secretarial work is mainly
sitting down. Far more suitable than working behind a bar. So I think you’ll
be fine.’

‘Won’t Morgan think
I’m chasing him?’

Dr Hambling threw back his head and
laughed. ‘Oh, Mariette, no man on earth would mind someone like you chasing
him! I think Morgan will be overjoyed. Chase him, and kiss him once you’ve
caught him, and I’m sure he’ll be yours for life.’

Mariette remembered how she had
shamelessly pursued Morgan on the ship. ‘I used to be so sure of myself, when
I was younger,’ she said, looking very pensive. ‘I never had a
moment’s doubt about anything really. Now I have doubts about almost
everything.’

‘That’s part of growing
up,’ Dr Hambling assured her. ‘Nothing to do with your leg, the war, or
anything around you. As we become adults, we learn to be cautious. But that
isn’t to say we can’t take risks, especially when the odds are all in
our favour. Off with you now, and next time Morgan visits tell him you want to stay
close to him.’

Mariette smiled and began to walk
towards the door. ‘I shall miss you, when I leave here,’ she said,
turning towards the doctor before opening the door. ‘But I’ll let you
know how it works out.’

‘You haven’t seen the last
of me yet, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’ll be seeing you again, before
you leave. And I’ll need to see you every two months after that.’

‘You are coming to the Borough to
work?’ Morgan said incredulously. ‘I thought you’d be on the first
train back to Sidmouth when you left here. Why the Borough?’

Mariette took a deep breath.
‘Because you are there,’ she said.

It was a warm
day in May, and when Morgan arrived to visit her she’d suggested they sit in
the garden of Stanford House to make the most of the sunshine. She’d received
a parcel from home just that morning, containing a pair of cream-coloured linen
slacks and a very pretty pale green blouse with ruffles down the front. Mog had made
them, of course. As always, she seemed to know exactly what Mariette needed. She had
put them on immediately and, with her legs covered, she felt ready for anything.

‘You must know that I can’t
live without you?’ she went on. ‘Now, just tell me you only feel sorry
for me, and nothing more, and I’ll bugger off to Sidmouth.’

He hung his head. ‘You know it
isn’t that,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I want to be near you too,
but I can’t be the man you need.’

‘Allow me to know what I need. And
it’s you,’ she said firmly.

He looked up, and there was such
desolation in his dark eyes. ‘You don’t understand –’ He opened
his mouth to say something, then shut it. ‘I can’t even tell you,’
he said eventually.

‘Tell me what? I know you feel the
same about me,’ she said. ‘So you’ve got a scarred face and
I’ve got a missing leg. That makes us an odd couple, but it means we’ll
always have something to talk about, even if it is only who gave us a funny look
that day.’ She moved forward, put a hand on either side of his face, then
stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips.

He responded immediately. His arms went
around her, and his tongue flickered into her mouth. Mariette leaned in closer, just
the feel of his firm body against hers making her nipples harden.

Morgan broke away first.

‘I have to tell you,’ he
said, and his face was contorted as
if
in pain. ‘I can’t do anything any more. It disappeared at the time I was
burned.’

Mariette sensed that admitting this was
the hardest thing for him to do. She hesitated in replying, in case she made him
feel worse. ‘OK, do you mean you don’t get hard any more?’

He nodded, and turned his face away to
hide his embarrassment.

She took his hand and led him over to a
bench by a bed of tulips. ‘Have you told a doctor this?’ she asked after
a few minutes of just sitting there holding his hand.

‘I did once, and he said it would
come back in time. But it hasn’t.’

There was a tragic irony in that the man
who had shown her how much pleasure she could have from sex should be telling her it
didn’t work for him any more.

‘When we were kissing, how was
that?’ she asked.

‘Lovely, because it was you. But
it didn’t trigger anything.’

‘But it was just a kiss in the
garden. Don’t you think if we were in a comfy place, all alone, that would be
a better test?’

‘I suppose so,’ he said.

Mariette turned to him. ‘You are
always pushing me to do this or that. What you’ve achieved since your accident
is utterly inspiring, so I find it very sad that you have allowed yourself to
believe this problem can’t be overcome.’

‘Forget it now,’ he said
sharply. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Mariette got up from the bench. ‘I
can’t make you talk about it, to me or a doctor. But you know as well as I do,
a burned face couldn’t destroy any man’s sex drive. It’s all in
your head, and if it was you who put that idea in there because you didn’t
believe any woman would want a scarred man, then you can remove that idea
too.’

‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘God knows, I’ve tried.’

‘Then
we’ll try together,’ she said stubbornly. ‘If I can rise above
being scared of exposing my stump to you, I see no reason why you can’t rise
to the challenge.’