The Secret Keeper (62 page)

When they were inside, Dolly flicked the light switch and a bare bulb fired above them. ‘Sorry it’s so hot in here,’ she said, taking off the heavy white fur she’d been wearing. She hung it on a hook on the back of the door. ‘No windows, more’s the pity—makes the blackout easier but it’s not so handy for ventilation. No chair, either, I’m afraid.’ She turned and saw Vivien’s face in the light: ‘My God. What happened to you?’

‘Nothing.’ Vivien had forgotten how ghastly she must look. ‘An accident on the way. I ran into a lamp post. Stupid of me, rushing as usual.’

Dolly looked unconvinced, but she didn’t press the subject, indicating instead that Vivien should sit on the bed. It was narrow and low, and the bedspread was marked with the general creeping stains of age and over-use. Vivien wasn’t fussy though; to sit was a huge relief. She collapsed onto the thin mattress, just as the air-raid siren began to wail.

‘Ignore it,’ she said quickly, when Dolly moved to go. ‘Stay. This is more important.’

Dolly dragged nervously on her cigarette, and then folded her arms defensively across her front. Her voice tightened: ‘Is it the money? Do you need it back?’

‘No, no, forget about the money.’ Vivien’s thoughts had scattered and she fought to gather them back; to find the clarity she needed; everything had seemed so straightforward before, but now her head was heavy, her temples an agony, and the siren kept on with its caterwauling—

Dolly said, ‘Jimmy and I—’

‘Yes,’ Vivien said quickly, and her mind suddenly cleared. ‘Yes, Jimmy.’ She stopped then, struggling to find the words she needed to say the terrible fact out loud. Dolly, watching her closely, began to shake her head, almost as if she’d guessed somehow what Vivien had come to tell her. The gesture gave Vivien courage and she said, ‘Jimmy, Dolly—’ just as the siren stopped its cry—‘he’s gone.’ The word echoed in the room’s new quiet.

Gone.

A hasty knock on the door, and a shout of, ‘Doll—are you in there? We’re going down to the Andy’ Dolly didn’t answer; her eyes searched Vivien’s; she brought her cigarette to her mouth, smoking feverishly, fingers shaking. The person knocked again, but when there was still no response, ran along the corridor and down the stairs.

A smile flared, hopefully, uncertainly, on Dolly’s face as she sank down next to Vivien. ‘You’ve got it mixed up. I saw him yesterday, and I’m seeing him again tonight. We’re going together, he wouldn’t have gone without me …’

She hadn’t understood and Vivien said nothing further for a moment, held captive by the well of deep sympathy that had opened up inside her. Of course Dolly didn’t understand; the words would be like chips of ice, melting in the face of her hot disbelief. Vivien knew only too well what it was to receive such awful news, to learn from nowhere that one’s most treasured loves were dead.

But then a plane chugged overhead, a bomber, and Vivien knew there was no time to waste in pity, that she had to keep explaining, to make Dolly see she was telling the truth, to understand that she had to leave now if she wanted to save herself. ‘Henry,’ Vivien began, ‘my husband—I know he might not seem it, but he’s a jealous man, a violent man. That’s why I had to get you out of there that day, Dolly, when you brought back my locket; he doesn’t let me have friends—’ There was a tremendous explosion somewhere, not so far away, and a swishing sound went through the air above them. Vivien paused a second, every muscle in her body tensed and aching, and then she continued, faster now, more purposefully, sticking to the bare essentials. ‘He received the letter and photograph and they humiliated him—you made him seem a cuckold, Dolly, so he sent his men to put things right—that’s how he sees it; he sent his men to punish you and Jimmy both.’

Dolly’s face had turned as white as chalk. She was in shock, that was clear, but Vivien knew she was listening because tears had begun to stream down her cheeks. Vivien continued, ‘I was supposed to meet Jimmy in a cafe today but he didn’t come. You know Jimmy, Dolly—he never would have stayed away, not when he said he’d be there—so I went home and Henry was there, and he was angry, Dolly, so angry’ Her hand went absently to her throbbing jaw. ‘He told me what had happened, that his men had killed Jimmy for getting close to me. I wasn’t sure how he knew at first, but then I found the photograph. He opened it—he always opens my letters—and he saw us together in the photograph. It all went wrong, do you see—the plan all went terribly wrong.’

When Vivien mentioned the plan, Dolly clutched her arm; her eyes were wild and her voice a whisper: ‘But I don’t know how—the pho- tograph—we agreed not to, that there wasn’t any need, not any more.’ She met Vivien’s eyes and shook her head frantically. ‘None of this was meant to happen, and now Jimmy—’

Vivien waved further explanation aside. Whether or not Dolly meant to send the photograph was neither here nor there as far as she was concerned; she hadn’t come here to rub Dolly’s nose in her own mistake; there was no time now for guilt. God willing, Dolly would have plenty of time to reproach herself later. ‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘It’s very important that you listen. They know where you live and they will come after you.’

Tears slipped hot down Dolly’s face. ‘It’s my fault,’ she was saying. ‘It’s all my fault.’

Vivien seized the other woman’s thin hands. Dolly’s grief was natural, it was raw, but it wasn’t helpful. ‘Dolly, please. It’s as much my fault as yours.’ She raised her voice to be heard over a new group of bombers. ‘None of that matters now anyway They’re coming. They’re probably on their way already. That’s why I’m here.’

‘But, I—’.

‘You need to leave London, you need to do it now, and you mustn’t come back. They won’t stop looking for you. Not ever—’ There came a blast and the whole building shuddered; it was closer than the one before, and despite the room’s lack of windows an uncanny light flooded through every tiny pore in the building’s skin. Dolly’s eyes were wide with fear. The noise was relentless; the whistling as bombs fell, the blast when they landed, the anti-aircraft guns firing back; Vivien had to shout to be heard as she asked about Dolly’s family, her friends, whether there was anywhere at all that she could safely go. But Dolly didn’t answer. She shook her head and continued to cry helplessly, her palms pressed now to her face. Vivien remembered then what Jimmy had told her about Dolly’s family; it had warmed her to the other woman at the time, knowing that she, too, had suffered such a crippling loss.

The house rattled and shook; the plug just about leapt out of the horrid little sink, and Vivien felt her panic rise. ‘Think, Dolly,’ she implored, at the same time as a deafening explosion, ‘You have to think.’ There were more planes now, fighters as well as bombers, and the guns were chattering fiercely. Vivien’s head throbbed with the noise, and she imagined the bodies of the aircraft passing over the roof of the house; even with the ceiling and the attic above, she could all but see their whale-like bellies. ‘Dolly?’ she shouted.

Dolly’s eyes were closed and despite the clamour of bombs and guns, the roar of the planes, for a moment her face brightened, seeming almost peaceful, and then she lifted her head with a start and said, ‘I applied for a job a few weeks ago. It was Jimmy who found it …’ She took a sheet of paper from the small table beside her bed and handed it to Vivien.

Vivien scanned the letter, a job offer for Miss Dorothy Smitham at a boarding house called Sea Blue. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘perfect. That’s where you must go.’

‘I don’t want to go by myself. We—’

‘Dolly—’

‘We were supposed to go together. It wasn’t meant to be like this, he was going to wait for me—’

And then she was crying again. For a split second, Vivien allowed herself to sink inside the other woman’s pain; it was so tempting just to let herself collapse, to give up and let go, to be submerged … but it didn’t do any good, she knew she had to be brave; Jimmy was already dead and Dolly would be too if she didn’t start listening. Henry would not waste too much time. His thugs would be on their way already. Gripped by urgency, she slapped the other woman’s cheek, not hard, but sharply. It worked, for Dolly swallowed her next sob, clutching her face and hiccuping. ‘Dolly Smitham,’ said Vivien sternly. ‘You need to leave London and you need to go quickly.’

Dolly was shaking her head. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘I know you can. You’re a survivor.’

‘But Jimmy—’

‘That’s enough.’ She took Dolly by the chin and forced her gaze. ‘You loved Jimmy, I know that—’ I loved him too—‘and he loved you—my God, I know that. But you have to listen to me.’

Dolly gulped and nodded tearfully.

‘Go to the railway station tonight and buy yourself a ticket. You’re to—’. The light bulb flickered as another bomb landed close with a thundering crump; Dolly’s eyes widened, but Vivien stayed calm, refusing to let her go. ‘Get on that train and ride it all the way to the very end of the line. Don’t look back. Take the job, move again, live a good life.’

Dolly’s eyes as Vivien was speaking had changed; they’d focused, and Vivien could tell she was listening now; that she was hearing each and every word, and more than that, she was starting to understand.

‘You have to go. Seize the second chance, Dolly: think of it as an opportunity. After everything you’ve been through, after everything you’ve lost.’

‘I will,’ Dolly said quickly. ‘I’ll do it.’ She got up and pulled a small suitcase from beneath her bed; began filling it with clothing.

Vivien was so tired now; her own eyes had begun to water with utter exhaustion. She was ready for it all to end. She’d been ready for a long, long time. Outside, planes were every-where; the ack-acks were firing and spotlights sliced through the night sky. Bombs fell and the earth trembled so they could feel it through the foundations under their feet.

‘What about you?’ said Dolly, sealing her case and standing up. She held out her hand to take back the boarding house let-ter.

Vivien smiled; her face ached and she was bone tired; she felt herself sinking under the water, towards the lights. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine. I’m going home.’

As she said it, an enormous explosion sounded and light was everywhere. Everything seemed to slow down. Dolly’s face lit up, her features froze in shock; Vivien glanced upwards. As the bomb fell through the roof of 24 Rillington Place, and the roof fell through the ceiling, and the bulb in Dolly’s room shattered into a million tiny shards, Vivien closed her eyes and rejoiced. Her prayers had been answered at last. There would be no need for the Serpentine tonight. She saw the twinkling lights in the darkness, the bottom of the creek, the tunnel to the middle of the world. And she was in and swimming, deeper and deeper, and the veil was right before her, and Pippin was there, waving, and she could see them all—they could see her, too, and Vivien Longmeyer smiled. After such a long, long time, she’d reached the end. She’d done what she had to do. Finally, she was going home.

Part Four

DOROTHY

Thirty-one

London, 2011

LAUREL HAD COME to Campden Grove first thing; she wasn’t sure why exactly, only she’d had a conviction it was what she must do. In her heart of hearts, she supposed she’d hoped to knock on the door and find the person who’d sent Ma the thank you card still living inside. It had seemed logical at the time; now, though, standing in the foyer of number 7—an apartment block of short-term holiday lets these days— breathing in the scent of lemon deodoriser and weary travellers, she felt rather foolish. The woman working in the small cluttered reception area looked up from behind her telephone again to ask if she was still all right, and Laurel assured her that she was. She went back to eyeing the dirty carpet and tying her thoughts in knots.

Laurel wasn’t remotely all right; in fact, she was exceedingly dismayed. She’d felt so exhilarated the night before when Ma told her about Henry Jenkins, about the kind of man he’d been. Everything had made sense and she’d felt sure they’d reached the end; that finally she understood what had happened that day. Then she’d noticed the cancellation mark on the stamp and her heart had turned a cartwheel; she’d been sure it was important—more than that, the discovery had felt personal, as if she, Laurel, was the only person who could unravel this final knot. But now, here she was, standing in the middle of three- star accommodation, at the end of a wild goose chase, with no-where to look, nothing to look for, and no one to speak to who’d lived there during the war. What did the card mean? Who’d sent it? Did any of it really matter? Laurel was beginning to think it did not.

She waved at the receptionist, who mouthed, ‘Bye-bye,’ over the phone receiver, and then Laurel went outside. She lit a cigarette and smoked it tetchily. She was fetching Daphne from Heathrow later; at least the journey wouldn’t be a complete loss. She glanced at her watch. Still a couple of hours to kill. It was lovely and warm, the sky was blue and clear, scarred only by the perfect jet streams of people going places—Laurel sup-posed she ought just to pick up a sandwich and walk in the park by the Serpentine. She drew on her cigarette and as she did, remembered the last time she’d come. The day she’d stood outside number 25 and seen the little boy.