Secrets

  ‘Good heavens,’ Rose exclaimed. ‘I wish I’d known that.’

  ‘What difference would it have made?’

  ‘Well, maybe I wouldn’t have felt so abnormal in not wanting children.’

  The kettle boiled and Honour poured the water into the teapot. Leaving it on the side of the stove to brew, she sat down again.

  ‘You had Adele under difficult circumstances,’ she said. ‘You were worried, frightened, and I suppose that could stop any woman seeing a baby as a joy.’

  ‘I could never think of anyone but me,’ Rose admitted. ‘I blamed her that my body was stretched and torn, for the pain and the disturbed sleep. Other mothers don’t do that.’

  ‘Maybe they do, but don’t admit it,’ Honour said. ‘My father-in-law got me a nursemaid. Without her helping out I might very well have found plenty to grumble about.’

  ‘But you grew to love me, didn’t you?’ Rose asked.

  Honour frowned. ‘I loved you the moment you were put in my arms,’ she said. ‘You must know that?’

  There was no reply and Honour turned to look at her daughter. Rose looked troubled, fiddling with the buttons on her cardigan.

  ‘Surely you didn’t think otherwise?’ Honour asked.

  ‘You don’t think about such things when you’re small,’ Rose said. ‘You just accept everything. But when Father went off to war I felt you had no time for me.’

  ‘No time for you!’ Honour said incredulously.

  ‘Well, you were always shutting yourself in your room, going for walks on your own. It was horrible, like I was invisible,’ Rose blurted out.

  ‘I was upset. I missed him terribly and I was scared he’d be killed,’ Honour said, but she felt a sudden stab of guilt as she remembered that she had isolated herself. She even sometimes resented Rose making demands on her.

  ‘I felt all those things too,’ Rose said. ‘But you didn’t seem to realize it.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry. I suppose I must’ve been too wrapped up in myself,’ Honour said sadly.

  ‘I was only thirteen, Mother.’ Rose’s voice rose an octave. ‘It felt like I’d lost both parents. You rarely spoke to me, you never asked how I was doing at school or if I had any friends, nothing. Perhaps it wasn’t any wonder I couldn’t love Adele?’

  ‘Now, come on,’ Honour said sharply, all at once afraid that Rose was trying to manipulate her. ‘I might have gone through a bad patch but I didn’t neglect you or harm you in any way.’

  ‘Let’s drop this subject,’ Rose replied with a dismissive toss of her head. ‘I don’t want to rake over old coals.’

  Honour looked at her daughter and saw she was now looking down at her feet, and she was reminded of how often Rose had behaved just like this as a girl. She would bring up some grievance, then suddenly grow silent, as if she were unable or afraid to continue. It used to irritate Honour then and it did now.

  ‘For heaven’s sake spit it out and be done with it,’ Honour exclaimed. ‘If you think I harmed you, tell me about it.’

  ‘You didn’t exactly harm me, even if you weren’t very fair,’ Rose said in a small voice. ‘But it isn’t what you did to me back then that hurts, it’s more how you’ve presented me to Adele.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Honour asked in exasperation. ‘I haven’t “presented” you in any way at all to her. Any ideas she has of you were formed by your own actions.’

  ‘Did you ever tell her that from fourteen I was working my fingers to the bone in that hotel, bringing every penny I earned home to you?’ Rose asked. ‘Did you tell her that I used to leave here before it was even light during the winter, and then returned home some fourteen hours later, through rain and snow?’

  ‘I did say you worked at the hotel,’ Honour said indignantly.

  ‘And I bet she thought it was only for a few hours as a waitress,’ Rose said bitterly. ‘I laid fires, I emptied chamber pots, I cleaned silver and scrubbed floors. My hands were red raw, I ached all over long before I got to put on the black waitress dress and cap and went into the dining room to serve old men and women who treated me like dirt. After that I washed up. Only after everything was put away could I come home.’

  ‘I don’t understand where this is leading,’ Honour said sternly. ‘What is your point?’

  ‘My point is that Adele believes that you were a perfect mother, and that I was all bad because I ran away and left you,’ Rose said pointedly. ‘She’s never been told the reasons that led up to me leaving.’

  ‘I don’t know those myself,’ Honour sighed. ‘Suppose you tell me?’

  ‘I was the breadwinner of the family at fourteen. When I got home so tired I could hardly drag myself into bed, you used to complain how lonely you’d been,’ Rose retorted. ‘Then eventually Father came home, and he was like a frightening stranger to me. You babied him but you never once thanked me for earning the money for his medicine and the extra food. You didn’t even explain anything to me.’

  Honour felt as if a curtain had been pulled back to reveal a part of her life she’d chosen not to look at before.

  ‘I didn’t think,’ she said weakly.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Rose snapped. ‘The only day I got a chance for a lie-in was on Sundays, and one Sunday morning you woke me up at dawn to go out and get some wood for the stove. I hadn’t come home from work until after two. Father was sound asleep, you could have got the wood yourself, but no, you dragged me out of bed. Did you tell Adele that?’

  ‘They were hard times for everyone,’ Honour said defiantly.

  ‘Yes, they were,’ Rose agreed. ‘And you were frantic about Father and probably not sleeping very well. But you treated me like a servant. I felt used.’

  Honour had forgotten much of what went on during those years of war, but Rose’s words were unlocking the memories. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t want apologies,’ Rose said wearily. ‘All I want is for you to recognize what lay behind me running away. I wasn’t all bad, and I think Adele should know that too.’

  Honour didn’t speak for a moment or two. The things Rose had spoken of had created a beam of light into what had previously been a dark place. She was guilty as charged. She had presented the years between when Frank went off to war and Rose ran away only from her own perspective. She had failed to take account of the valuable role her daughter had played, indeed until now she hadn’t considered that Rose had played one at all.

  ‘You are right,’ she said at length. ‘I didn’t show any appreciation, and I should have. I’m willing to admit it to Adele. But if you want to build bridges with her, you’ll have to be honest with her about everything that came after. I can’t help there.’

  Rose got up and silently poured out the tea. She handed a cup to Honour and then sat down with hers. ‘I didn’t mean to launch into all that,’ she said at length, and her voice was low and apologetic. ‘It just came out.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s as well,’ Honour said, and reached out to squeeze her daughter’s arm. ‘My mother used to use the expression, “You can’t put new jam into dirty jars.” Maybe we’ve cleaned them out now.’

  Rose smiled weakly. ‘I don’t somehow think Adele will ever want to even try to understand me.’

  Honour sighed. ‘Don’t judge her by your own standards. She’s a clever girl with a big heart. Time and the sadness of this war might very well bring her round.’

  Towzer came over to Rose and put his head on her lap. She scratched his head and stroked him. ‘If only people were more like dogs,’ she said. ‘They don’t hold grudges, or want explanations.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t,’ Honour said with a smile. ‘But the amount of care and affection they give to you is equal to the amount you give them. Humans are much the same in that respect. Towzer has grown to love you, and in time Adele will too if she thinks you are worthy of it.’

  Michael shifted slightly in his seat to relieve the cramp in his left leg and glanced at the Lancaster bomber flying beside h
im, piloted by Joe Spiers, his Australian friend. Michael loathed flying at night, especially in January when it was freezing cold and cloud blocked out the moon, but it was some comfort to have Joe up alongside him.

  As the cramp eased off, Michael smiled to himself. A few days earlier one of the WAAFs back at the base had called him Old Bailey because he was hobbling when he got out of the Spitfire. At twenty-three he felt like one too. Most of the boys in the squadron were nineteen or twenty, all new faces, his old chums practically all dead.

  Sometimes, if he dared let the thought out, he wondered when he’d be shot down. It didn’t seem possible that he who was no better or worse as a pilot than the others, should be spared. But then at other times he believed himself invincible, and that in its way was even more dangerous.

  He was on his way to Germany now, on escort duty for the bombers. It was nowhere near as hairy as the days of the dog-fights in the Battle of Britain, but then night flying brought its own problems, and it didn’t do to be complacent.

  He thought that whatever the dangers, he’d sooner be up in the air than stuck in a desk job in London. The Blitz had been going on for three months now, the East End decimated by night after night of bombing. Those cockneys were a courageous bunch, though, they went down to the Tube station shelters at night and emerged next morning to find whole streets gone. Yet they went off to work regardless, often even without water for a quick wash or a cup of tea.

  Michael had been forced into a shelter himself at New Year, having been daft enough to be persuaded by Joe that they should see the New Year in well away from the base. He nearly turned tail and ran when he got a whiff of the latrines. It was enough to make you sick, and he thought it was better to take a chance of being killed on the street than spend a night with that stench. But of course he stayed – as Joe said, discretion was the greater part of valour. And he even enjoyed himself, despite the smell and people packed as close as sardines. They made the best of it, each making their little space as comfortable as they could, looking out for one another. One old chap played the accordion, and everyone sang along with it.

  They came from all walks of life that night. Ordinary locals who came every night and had the place organized, toffs in dinner jackets with ladies sparkling with jewels, and tarts from Soho who helped the women with babies and small children. Middle-aged suburban housewives, caught out by the siren before they could get home, wizened old people, bright young typists and shop girls, and a fair smattering of men in uniform too.

  He and Joe met two girls from Yorkshire. They were both auxiliary nurses at a hospital in South London, and like Michael and Joe they’d come up to the West End to celebrate the New Year. Michael had really liked June, the pretty, dark-haired one. She was vivacious and funny, and he thought he might ring her and arrange to take her out as soon as he got some leave.

  Joe kept saying that the best way to get over a ‘Sheila’ was to find a new one, and Michael was sure he was right. June didn’t remind him of Adele in any way – she was petite, sweetly plump and chatted nineteen to the dozen. When he kissed her in the early hours of the morning she responded eagerly. That was what he wanted, an uncomplicated girl who didn’t think too deeply. Someone who would never touch his soul as Adele had.

  It began to snow and Michael cursed it. While it made it easier for them to arrive at their target unseen, it also made it harder to see enemy planes. Five more minutes and they’d be there, and with luck on their side in another ten they’d be on the way home.

  A barrage of anti-aircraft fire and the accompanying flashes gave a glimpse of the airfield and hangars they were after. Michael and the other two Spitfires climbed to let the three Lancasters close in on their target, and as the first bomb was dropped, Michael heard a secondary bang, and looked down to see fire breaking out.

  ‘Yes!’ he yelled triumphantly, for it was clearly an ammunition dump or fuel tank.

  His jubilation increased with each bomb, for he could see the airfield clearly now in the light of the fire, and they’d hit planes and flattened buildings.

  The job done, all the planes rolled away to turn and go home, and Michael was cackling with glee, forgetting the cold and his cramp, and even to keep a watchful eye out for fighter planes.

  The crack and judder on the right side of the plane made him start. His head jerked around, and he saw the Messerschmitt beside him and the red sparks of his guns. Michael fired automatically, but the German plane dived and evaded it, then before Michael could even think of climbing higher, it came up from beneath him in a flash and fired again, hitting the Spitfire on the nose.

  Engine coolant sprayed up on to the windscreen, obliterating Michael’s view, and it was only then that he saw his plane was on fire.

  ‘Christ almighty,’ he exclaimed, for this was the kind of end he had dreaded most. He could feel the sudden surge of warmth – a few seconds more and he knew he’d be burned alive. He could see nothing ahead – the coolant stuck to the screen and the snow saw to that. All he could see were orange and scarlet flames to his right side, and there was nothing for it but to flip over and eject.

  He had trained for this. In theory the cockpit should open up at a touch and he should shoot out like a cork from a bottle. But he was belly side up now, flames all around him, and the cockpit wouldn’t open.

  He saw Adele’s face for a brief second. She was running to him with her hair flowing out behind her like a banner.

  ‘God help me,’ he rasped out as he prepared to die.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  1941

  Honour opened the front door as she saw Jim retreating back to the lane after delivering her letter.

  ‘Come back here and warm up with a cup of tea,’ she called out.

  It was a bitterly cold February day with flurries of hail. The sky was black and Honour thought that by tonight there would be snow. She had had the plaster cast removed from her leg in time for Christmas, but to her disappointment she still needed to use a walking stick for support, for her broken leg had become weak through lack of use. Rose wouldn’t let her do more than hobble around the garden for short periods, and not even that now it was icy, so Jim would be a pleasant diversion from her boredom.

  Jim turned back, a broad smile proving her offer was welcome. ‘I’m frozen solid, but I didn’t knock because I thought you’d want time alone to read your letter.’

  Honour laughed. ‘You know perfectly well I’ve got more time alone than I know what to do with,’ she said. ‘Adele’s letter can wait. Now, come on in.’

  ‘Rose not here today?’ Jim inquired as he stamped his boots on the doormat and closed the door behind him.

  ‘She’s just gone off to Rye to see if she can get oil for the lamps and some new library books,’ Honour said. ‘I wonder you didn’t see her, she’s only just gone.’

  ‘I wasn’t watching out for anyone,’ he said, taking off his coat and sitting down. ‘I was too busy thinking about poor Mrs Bailey.’

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ Honour asked.

  Jim looked embarrassed. ‘You haven’t heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘About Michael.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he’s been killed!’ Honour had to sit down quickly.

  ‘Well, “missing, presumed dead”, but that means much the same, doesn’t it?’ Jim said, then seeing Honour’s stricken face he reached out and patted her arm. ‘I’m sorry, Honour, I thought you’d have heard already. She got the telegram a week ago.’

  ‘Not that lovely boy,’ Honour sighed, and tears came to her eyes. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘Shot down over Germany, they say,’ Jim replied, peeling off his fingerless mittens and flexing his fingers. ‘She’s taking it very hard, well, you of all people know what she’s like. Her neighbour told me this morning that she was out in the street last night in her nightclothes. Didn’t know what she was doing!’

  ‘He might have been taken prisoner,’ Honour said. ‘I’ve he
ard it can take weeks, even months, for the news to get through.’

  Jim shrugged. ‘That doesn’t seem likely. Apparently she had a visit from one of Michael’s squadron, he saw his plane on fire and didn’t see him eject.’

  ‘A real Job’s comforter,’ Honour said dourly. ‘Couldn’t he have given her some hope?’

  She got up again to make the tea, but on seeing the tea caddy Michael had given her when he first met Adele, she began to cry.

  ‘Now Honour, don’t take on,’ Jim said with concern. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you now.’

  ‘Better that it came from you than gossip in the shop,’ Honour said, sniffing back her tears. ‘I was very fond of him. As you know, I always had hopes for him and Adele. I feel for his mother too, he was the only one of her children close to her. Whatever will she do now?’

  Jim shook his head sadly. ‘If she doesn’t pull herself together her housekeeper will leave, that’s for certain. I’ve heard she’s been on the point of going dozens of times before this, and there’s only so much a body can take.’

  ‘Well, I hope she doesn’t take off for a while,’ Honour said indignantly. ‘People do go off the rails a bit at times like this. They can’t help it. I know how I felt when my Frank died.’

  ‘Your bark is very much worse than your bite, Honour,’ Jim said teasingly. ‘You’re a kind woman really.’

  Honour gave a watery smile. ‘Do children still think I’m a witch?’

  He shook his head. ‘That bit of nonsense died a long time ago, when Adele came here. Now you’ve got Rose too, and she’s too comely to be the daughter of a witch.’

  ‘I sometimes think all three of us are bewitched,’ Honour said sadly. ‘We’ve all had troubled lives.’

  ‘Now, this isn’t like you,’ Jim said, his kindly face full of concern. ‘I always think of you as invincible.’

  Honour shook her head sadly. ‘No, Jim, I’m not that. I’m just an old woman who does the best she can to get by.’

  Jim stayed for a little while making small talk about rationing and how lucky they were that they weren’t town folk without chickens and homegrown vegetables to fall back on. After he’d left, Honour lay down on the couch, pulled a shawl over herself and cried. She knew in her heart that Adele had never stopped loving Michael. She might go out with other young men, and no longer asked for news of him, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She was going to be devastated by his death, and Honour was sure Michael must be dead if his plane had caught fire.