The Dover Cafe Under Fire, page 37
He shut the door, leaving Bill feeling frustrated and helpless on the doorstep. If Edie was in pain, he wanted to help her. He’d known her almost all his life, but after these last few days, he finally felt he’d got to know her. Her loyalty, her courage, her dogged determination to help his uncle – all of these things had opened his eyes. When they were children hanging around the garage, he’d found her irritating, and he couldn’t deny he’d been jealous of the attention his uncle paid her. But later, as she’d grown up, he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was. Even then, though, he’d held back, intimidated by her sharp tongue. But it had always been there, this little spark in his heart that had been fanned to life since he’d been back. What he didn’t know, though, was whether Edie might feel the same. Sometimes, it felt as if she might. But she’d drawn away when he’d tried to kiss her, so maybe she didn’t.
He needed to know, though. He was heading off for his operational training in a few days and knew the odds were stacked against him coming back alive – he’d stopped counting the number of friends he’d lost, they all had. It was the only way any of them could face getting back into a plane.
But he didn’t want to die not knowing whether Edie might love him, as he was beginning to realise he loved her.
Chapter 69
Bert looked at his watch. After yesterday’s drama, he was relieved he had a full day off, and though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he knew he should visit the family. Make sure they were all right.
In the bunk next to him, Jim was lying staring up at the ceiling.
‘You wanna come home with me today? Feel we should check on everyone.’
Jimmy sighed. ‘Not really.’
‘What’s eating you, Jim? I mean, I know you had a bit of a tiff with Reenie yesterday, but it’s not just that, is it?’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘No, it’s not just that.’
‘What then?’
‘Nothing I want to discuss with you.’
Bert stared hard at his brother. ‘Colin,’ he said finally.
When there was no response, Bert continued, ‘Are you ever gonna forgive yourself? It weren’t your fault, Jim. It was mayhem over there. There was nothing you could have done.’
‘Just leave it, will you?’ Jimmy grated, getting out of bed. ‘Let’s get breakfast, then go down to see what’s what.’
‘So are you and Reenie off?’ Bert persisted.
Jimmy shrugged.
‘Are you?’ Bert pushed.
‘Yes! I think so. I mean . . . I’m not right for her.’
Bert’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, we all knew that. But if she makes you happy then it doesn’t matter, does it?’
The bugle sounded the ‘Reveille’ then, and the rest of the barracks started to stir, so the conversation ended there.
But Bert was worried. He didn’t want his brother returning to the deep depression he’d suffered in the weeks after they’d returned from Dunkirk.
‘Oy, Alf,’ he called over to his brother-in-law, who had come in late last night, so Bert hadn’t had a chance to speak to him. ‘How was Marianne when you left her?’
Alfie smiled and sent him a brief thumbs-up.
Satisfied, Bert carefully Brylcreemed his hair, then blew himself a kiss in the mirror. Apart from visiting his family, today he was determined to get Susan off his back once and for all. And now he knew Lily’s heart wasn’t in danger, he didn’t care how brutal he needed to be about it.
*
‘So?’ Marge asked as she sat down in the canteen opposite Rodney.
He looked up at her briefly and frowned. ‘So, what?’ he said moodily.
‘How’d it go yesterday? You know, with all that stuff in the papers.’
Rodney’s eyebrows rose. ‘I didn’t think you were interested,’ he said tonelessly.
‘Of course I’m interested.’
‘If you must know, that was the least of it. Marianne nearly had a miscarriage.’
Marge gasped. ‘Are you serious?’
Rodney paused with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth and gave her a baleful stare.
‘I know, I know. You wouldn’t joke about that sort of thing. Or anything else, for that matter,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘And I just bet your padre is a laugh a minute,’ he said. ‘What with all the Bible quotes and hymns.’
‘Oh, shut up, Rodney.’ Marge picked up her plate and cup. ‘You know, your problem is not a lack of humour, it’s a lack of feeling. You’re like a great lump of wood. Solid but unresponsive.’ She walked away and joined some people at another table.
With an effort, Rodney resisted the temptation to go over and shout at her. If that was what she thought, then he knew where he stood. There was no point pining over someone who didn’t love you. His father had taught him that lesson. He looked round briefly to see whether anyone else had seen Marge getting up and leaving him. And his eyes met the sympathetic gaze of Philip, the bloody padre. It seemed he couldn’t go anywhere these days without running into him.
It was time to put in for a transfer, he decided. He needed to get away from Dover, away from his family, but most of all, away from Marge and her saintly new boyfriend.
Chapter 70
Nellie sat by the fire in Reverend Johnson’s front room, a cup of tea in front of her, and stared into the flames, avoiding looking at the vicar who had sat for the last ten minutes watching her in silence.
Finally, she couldn’t bear it any longer, so she spoke. ‘She told you then?’
Reverend Johnson tilted his head in acknowledgement. ‘She told me her version. Perhaps you’d like to give me yours.’
Nellie took a sip of tea. ‘Not really,’ she muttered like a sulky child. She wasn’t used to explaining herself to anyone, and the feeling she had now was very much the same as when she’d been called in to see the headmistress after some transgression or other at school – and there had been a few.
‘I won’t judge you, you know. Edie thinks you killed Donald, but that’s because she’s angry at you for not telling her what happened sooner. And to be honest, Mrs Castle, I can’t blame her.’
‘Yes, well . . . It’s not an easy thing to talk about with your daughter. How could I tell her that she saw her father’s brains splattered all over the wall? When I realised she didn’t remember, I thought it best to leave it that way. But that day has always been between us. She didn’t know it, but I did. I should have cleared it away. It was my responsibility, and I shirked it.’ Nellie wiped away a tear angrily. She was not going to cry anymore. What use were tears, after all?
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’ the vicar asked.
Nellie looked at him in surprise. ‘Do? What can I do? My daughter thinks I killed her father – worse, she thinks I used her to kill her father. But it wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t like that. I just wanted him to have some rest. Some peace. And laudanum had been the only thing that did that. So when they banned it, Gladys made a version for him from poppy seeds. I never meant him harm. I thought if his mind could rest, if it could stop replaying those horrific images, then maybe one day they would stop altogether, or if they didn’t stop, just . . . I don’t know . . . stop tormenting him.’
‘Did you love him?’ he asked.
Nellie sighed, unwilling to answer. She had loved him. She’d loved him more than life. But it was so hard to live with someone who thought you were the enemy, who sometimes greeted you with a smile and sometimes threw their plate at you because they thought you were there to do them harm. Yes, she’d loved him. But little by little, drip by drip, the love had drained away. How could she still love him after he’d tried to kill her? After he’d thrashed poor Rodney for waking him up, for laughing too loudly, for spilling his drink . . . for just being Rodney. The eldest, the one who needed to grow up, to be a man! And if that hadn’t killed her love, then his bastard turning up at their door last year would have seen to it. His filthy little secret that showed that even when she had loved him, she couldn’t be certain he loved her back.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘No, I didn’t love him by the time he died. But I loved him when I married him. And I tried to stay faithful to the vows I made. I tried, Reverend, I really tried.’
Nellie started to cry again and the vicar sat quietly, not offering comfort, just waiting for the storm to pass.
‘And if you believe that you’ll believe anything,’ a harsh voice said from the doorway.
Nellie looked up and even through the fog of her tears she could see the hatred on her daughter’s face.
Reverend Johnson stood up. ‘Come in, Edie. Sit down. Speak to your mother with an open heart.’
‘I’ve heard every word of what she just said. And frankly, it makes me sick. I don’t want to hear any more. Thank you, Reverend Johnson, for letting me stay. But I’ll go now.’ She threw a hard look at her mother.
The vicar sighed and followed Edie out of the room. ‘Don’t be so hard on her,’ he whispered.
‘Are you serious? I have asked her and asked her, but not once has she told me what happened. Rather than trying to help me, she chose to protect herself! To keep her guilty secret.’ She stormed back to the front room and stood in the doorway. ‘Well, guess what, Mum? You’re not the only one who’s got a guilty secret. I’m pregnant, and Hester had given me something to get rid of it! That’s what Marianne drank. So it’s my fault she nearly lost the baby.’
Nellie, who had been staring at her hands through the whole of this tirade, looked up at that, startled.
‘It was you . . .’ Nellie whispered.
‘Yes. It was me. Not Gladys. ME! But don’t worry, you won’t have another little bastard in the café, because I’m never coming back. I don’t care if I have to live on the streets. I’ll put the baby up for adoption and I never, ever want to see your face again.’
She turned and ran to the front door, wrenching it open.
‘Edie . . .’ Reverend Johnson called. ‘Come back.’ He ran out after her. ‘Edie,’ he said again. ‘Bill Penfold was asking for you.’
‘Well, Bill Penfold can go to hell too!’ she shouted. ‘Because he won’t want anything to do with me when he finds out I’m pregnant! No one will.’
She carried on walking blindly, then turned into Castle Street. There was only one place she could think to go now. The only place she had ever felt content and valued.
Across the street, Bill’s stomach dropped. He’d been standing in the cold waiting for her to come out. But hearing those words shattered his dreams.
Shoulders slumped, he waited until Edie was out of sight, then made his way back to the forge. He would pay a visit to Mr Wainwright to see what more he could do for his uncle, then he would leave Dover. There was nothing for him here now.
Chapter 71
When Reverend Johnson returned to the house, he found Nellie putting on her coat.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Castle?’
Nellie’s face was creased with pain. ‘You reap what you sow, that’s what it says in the Bible, isn’t it? Next time you preach about that, keep me in mind, Reverend. Cos that’s exactly what’s happened.’ She did up her buttons. ‘Will she ever come back to me?’ she asked plaintively.
‘Give her time. Time and understanding.’
Nellie nodded. But as well as feeling full of remorse and guilt, there was anger too. Anger at what her daughter had just told her. But overriding that, white-hot fury at Hester for putting both her girls in danger with her concoctions. Why hadn’t Edie just told her? She’d have been angry, of course, but didn’t she know she’d do anything for her children? She would never turn her away. And every grandchild, no matter how difficult the circumstances, was a joy.
Reverend Johnson regarded her sympathetically. ‘Don’t be too harsh on her, will you?’
Nellie let out a small laugh. ‘I doubt I’ll get the chance. She’s as stubborn as a mule. If she says she’s not coming back, then she’s not coming back. And I don’t blame her.’
When the vicar didn’t disagree, she walked towards the door. ‘Thank you for looking after her. And me. I won’t trouble you again.’
Standing on Church Street, Nellie knew she should find Edie. Talk to her. But she couldn’t face it. Instead, she went over the road to the churchyard and knelt down in front of Donald’s grave, running her fingers over the words – words Jasper had chosen for her because she’d not known what to put. Her eyes fell on the hydrangeas and she picked them up, kissing the petals. Then she put them down and began to dig in the cold grass, pulling up clumps and tossing them aside, oblivious to everything but the task she’d set herself.
Suddenly another pair of hands joined hers, and she looked up in surprise. Gladys, her face set, was kneeling on the other side of the grave. Briefly their eyes met. ‘I’m doing this for Donald,’ Gladys grated. ‘Not for you. I made that tea to help you both, Nellie.’
Nellie gave a short laugh, returning to her digging. ‘Well, it helped all right. It helped him get so out of his mind that he shot himself. And you know it, too! That’s why you’ve been putting these flowers on his grave all these years. As if that makes up for what that stuff did to him!’
‘He didn’t shoot himself, though, did he? His death is on you. I might have made him the tea. An’ I might have increased the dose – at your request. But I weren’t the one holding the gun. And neither was he.’
Nellie opened her mouth to speak, but found she couldn’t.
Gladys nodded. ‘These hydrangeas aren’t just for the poppy tea . . . they’re for lookin’ the other way. I did that for you, Nellie. And for the children. Out of love and loyalty. But the guilt of it . . . It’s been eatin’ away at me. And every year, it gets worse.’
‘You really believe that?’ Nellie exclaimed. ‘You really think I did that?’ She slammed her hand down on to the mud.
‘I know what I saw. But I’ve never told a living soul.’
‘How could you think I would do something like that?’ As she dug, Nellie’s fingers scraped against a stone and she picked it up, resisting the temptation to throw it at Gladys, before tossing it aside.
‘You’d do anything for your kids. And he were horrible. He hit the boys, he nearly killed you; he were a millstone round all of your necks. Apart from poor Edie . . .’ Gladys put a trembling hand to her head.
‘I didn’t shoot him.’
‘Even if you didn’t, you didn’t mind drugging him.’
‘I didn’t know it would make him kill himself!’ Nellie screamed. ‘All I knew was that it calmed him down. And when it didn’t anymore, I thought if we just made it stronger . . .’
‘I warned you though. I warned you what might happen. Just like I warned you about Hester. And you went ahead anyway. Making poor little Edie give it to him.’
‘He wouldn’t take it from me,’ Nellie sobbed. ‘And it were the only thing that made him quiet.’
‘They didn’t ban laudanum for nothing. It can be lethal. Or it can drive you mad. I told you that.’
‘But you still made it, didn’t you?’ Nellie retaliated. ‘You still made the tea, knowing what you knew.’
Gladys nodded and made the sign of a cross on her chest. ‘God forgive me for it, I did. But that wasn’t what killed him. That was you.’
Nellie shook her head. ‘I didn’t. I took the gun from his hand. I didn’t fire it . . . But all these years, Glad . . . all these years, you thought I was a murderer, yet you stayed with me . . .’
‘Yes, I stayed. There was a stain on your soul, but I understood. He woulda killed one of you one day, I was sure of it.’
‘But I didn’t kill him. It was the poppy tea. We used too much. That’s what drove him to shoot himself. And I swear on the kids’ lives, he did it to himself.’
Gladys sat back, her muddy hands in her lap and looked at her friend for a long time. Nellie’s eyes glittered with tears of regret and grief. They had spent so many years together, helping each other, and Gladys always knew when Nellie was lying. And she knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that she wasn’t lying now. Which meant only one thing. ‘So it were me,’ she whispered. ‘It were my fault. I made it too strong.’
Nellie shuffled over the mud on her knees and clasped Gladys’s hands. ‘It were my fault. I asked you to do it. You warned me, but I insisted. And in the end the poppies made him madder. I wonder sometimes, would he have recovered if we’d not given it to him in the first place?’
‘Oh God!’ Gladys said, covering her face with her hands, smearing wet earth over her cheeks. ‘All these years I’ve blamed you. I picture poor little Edie’s face when she came in. Oh, that poor girl. She might not remember, but it’s stayed with her, that day. It’s stayed there. All them nightmares, her temper, her anger . . .’ She burst into tears, rocking back and forth. ‘Oh, that poor little lamb . . . And it’s our fault, Nellie. All our fault.’
‘No. It’s my fault, Gladys. You have been nothing but a true and loyal friend to me.’ She reached over for the clump of flowers and stuck them in the hole they’d dug. Then together, they filled it in, until the flowers sat straight and tall, a splash of colour against the white of the gravestone.
Then the two women knelt together, heads bowed, hands clasped, oblivious to the cold and damp.
Chapter 72
Lily woke late the next morning, thoughts of Edie and the argument they’d had swirling in her mind. Yesterday all their emotions had been running high and none of them had been thinking straight. But today she was determined to make it up to her. She hated the fact that they’d been on such bad terms, and Edie needed her now more than ever.
In the bed beside her, Marianne was still fast asleep, but the other bed was neatly made. In fact, she was pretty certain Edie hadn’t slept in it last night.
She got up quietly and padded through the flat. Her mother’s bed was unmade, which was unusual, but Donny was in his room, packing his satchel.
