A Song At Twilight (14 page)

‘No, I don’t expect so,’ Ben said. ‘Jeanie understands that Mum and Dad want us to themselves. I think she sits in here with them sometimes when they’re on their own, though. It makes sense, after all. There’s no point in having two lights burning.’

‘I suppose not. I hope she realises how lucky she is, falling on her feet like this.’

‘I think she earns her keep,’ Ben said quietly. He looked at his sister and said, ‘You’re a bit jealous of her, aren’t you?’

‘Jealous? No, of course I’m not!’ Alexandra flung down her newspaper and glared at him. ‘Why on earth should I be jealous?’

‘Well,
I
can’t think of any reason at all,’ he said, ‘but
you
might have one. Like, she’s here all the time, and you’re not. And you’ve never had to share your home, or Mum and Dad, with another girl before.’

‘Share them? I’m not sharing them! She’s a
maid
, that’s all – and I think it’s a pity she doesn’t know her place. She’s certainly nothing to be jealous of!’

‘That’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ Ben said. He was having some difficulty in keeping his temper under control. ‘Because I happen to like Jeanie. I like her a lot. And she isn’t “just a maid”. So I’m glad you’re not jealous of her.’

Alexandra stared at him. ‘You’re not falling for her, are you, Ben?’

‘I just think she’s a nice girl, who’s a help and a comfort to Mum and Dad, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you’re treating her, that’s all.’

‘I’m not treating her in any way at all! I’ve hardly spoken to the girl!’

‘All right, I don’t like the way you’ve been talking
about
her.’

‘That’s easy to put right then, isn’t it? I won’t even mention her again.’ Alexandra picked up her newspaper and held it in front of her face. Her hands were shaking and Ben reached across and pulled the paper away.

‘I’m sorry, Sis. Don’t let’s argue – we’ve only got a few hours at home and we don’t want to upset the parents.’ He looked at her pleadingly and she pulled a wry face and shrugged her shoulders.

‘I suppose not. But honestly, Ben, don’t you think she’s got her feet under the table a bit too much? She and her brat—’

‘My goddaughter,’ he said quietly, feeling his temper begin to simmer again, as Alexandra sighed with exasperation.

‘There you are, you see! Oh, all right, I’m not going to start again. We’ll forget all about her, if we can. And you needn’t worry, I won’t be rude to her. How about a game of draughts?’

‘Good idea.’ He fetched the board and they set the pieces out and settled to their game. Gradually, their irritation diminished and when Olivia opened the door to bring in a tray of fresh tea and a loaf of bread to be sliced and toasted on the fire, they were laughing.

‘Oh, that’s so good to hear,’ Olivia said, setting down the tray. ‘My children, playing together just like when they were little. If only Peter and Ian were here, it would be just like old times.’

Ben and Alexandra glanced at each other. He gave her a rueful grin, and she replied with a tiny shrug. The quarrel was over – but the questions it had raised lingered in both their minds, and Ben wondered again what Jeanie would do once the war was over.

The visit was all too quickly over. They all walked through the village later that evening to see Alexandra off on the ten o’clock train and, after an enormous breakfast next morning, Ben went reluctantly upstairs to bring his kitbag down. His parents and Jeanie, with Hope clutching her mother’s skirt, stood in the hall waiting for him.

‘I’m sorry I can’t come to the station with you,’ John Hazelwood said, already in his cassock, ‘but old Mrs Turnbull would never forgive me if I didn’t get back in time for Matins.’

Ben grinned. ‘It wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of old Mrs Turnbull. Your life would be a complete misery.’

They all laughed, though their laughter was a little uncertain. Saying goodbye was always difficult; the thought was never far away that this might be the last time they would see each other.

Ben and his father shook hands and the vicar walked through the garden to the church gate. The rest of them set off along the lane to the railway station.

It was a cold November day, not exactly raining but full of a heavy damp that hung around the trees and turned the fallen leaves to a slippery mush. A few rooks flew overhead, cackling to each other, and a magpie crossed the lane in front of them. Jeanie watched it anxiously and gave a sigh of relief when it was followed by another.

‘That’s two for joy, anyway. I know you’re not superstitious,’ she added to Olivia, ‘but it don’t do no harm to be on the safe side.’

Apart from the ancient porter, the little station was deserted. As they arrived, he shuffled out of the waiting-room with a bucket and began to shovel coal into it from the pile at one end of the platform.

‘Morning, Mrs Hazelwood.’ His voice sounded like the coal he was shovelling. ‘Morning, young Ben.’ He glanced at Jeanie and nodded, his seamed face cracking into a smile at sight of Hope. ‘And how’s the little lady, then? Come to see Master Ben off, have you?’

Hope was busy looking for the elderly cat who spent his days sunning himself on the platform or dozing by the fire in the stationmaster’s office. She found him crouching by a small hole in the ground beneath a rose bush, and immediately scooped him into her arms.

‘No, don’t,’ Jeanie said, trying to loosen her grip. ‘He doesn’t like it.’

‘He does like it.’ Her arms tightened and the cat squirmed and objected loudly. Jean prised her daughter’s fingers apart and he dropped to the ground and scurried away, stopping at a few yards’ distance to wash himself as if he felt contaminated.

‘He did like it,’ Hope said mutinously. ‘He likes me.’

‘Well, he was too busy to be picked up. He was waiting for a mouse.’ They looked along the line as the train chuffed slowly into view. Both women turned to Ben and Olivia drew in a small breath while Jeanie took hold of Hope’s hand.

‘He wasn’t busy.’

‘Be quiet, Hope,’ Jeanie said distractedly, but the other two weren’t listening. Olivia had taken both her son’s hands in hers and he was looking at her with sudden gravity. He’d meant to be cheerful – meant to leave his mother with a smile and a wave – but somehow, now that the moment had come, he was filled with sadness. Almost a premonition, he thought suddenly, and thrust the idea away.

The train drew up beside them, the steam and smoke from the engine enveloping them in a warm, damp cloud. As it began to clear, the porter opened a carriage door and heaved Ben’s kitbag inside. There was only a minute or so left. Ben glanced at Jeanie and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. He turned hastily to his mother and put his arms around her.

‘Cheerio, Mum. Take care of yourself, won’t you.’

‘It’s you who must take care of yourself,’ she said. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but I do worry about you, Ben.’

‘I know.’ He didn’t tell her there was no need to worry; they all knew that there was every need. Everyone worried, all the time. Mostly, the worry was kept hidden, but it was always there. War brought worry with it, like a many-clawed creature that fastened itself into your heart and mind and refused to be dislodged.

He turned back to Jeanie and hesitated, remembering the kiss they had shared on the landing. He glanced at Hope, staring up at him with huge brown eyes, and bent to gather her in his arms.

‘Goodbye, little princess.’ He buried his face against her soft, warm neck, then set her on her feet again and now it seemed quite natural to take Jeanie in his arms as well and kiss her gently on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, Jeanie.’

‘Goodbye, Ben,’ she whispered, and turned her face to return his kiss.

There was a moment of silence and then he gave them all a distinctly shaky grin and stepped up into the carriage. He leaned out of the window and reached down and they both reached up to take his hand. Then the engine snorted and gave a preliminary jerk before starting off again. Ben leaned a little further out, then let go of their hands, gave them a final wave and was gone.

The three of them stood there for a few moments and then Olivia straightened her back and said, ‘Well, that’s that, then. I must go back. I’ll be too late for church, but I can start the lunch. Are you coming, Jeanie, or do you want to take Hope for a walk?’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Jeanie said, guessing that Olivia wanted her company. She felt sad and empty, as if something precious had been taken away from her. The kiss Ben had given her on the landing had remained with her during the whole weekend, and she had been half afraid, half hopeful that it would be repeated. Now, she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that it hadn’t, and she knew that she still hadn’t forgotten Terry.

They walked along the lane together, each absorbed in her own thoughts. Hope dragged on her mother’s hand, still looking for the cat. When the boy came round the corner of the lane by the vicarage gate, riding his red bicycle, none of them realised at first what it meant.

Then Olivia put her hand to her throat. She stared at him, and then at the envelope he was holding out.

‘No,’ she said in a dry, hopeless whisper. ‘Please.
No
…’

It was Peter who was missing. His ship had gone down in the Far East, with only a few saved and taken prisoner by the Japanese. There was no word yet as to who had survived but, like the Taylors when they heard that the
Hood
had gone down with only three survivors, the Hazelwoods knew that Peter’s chances were slim.

‘Even if he was picked up,’ Olivia said, her voice husky as if the tears she had shed had left her throat dry, ‘he’d be a prisoner. And you know what they’re saying about Japanese prisoners of war. They’re treating them dreadfully.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t bear to think of our Peter being tortured.’

‘We don’t know that for certain.’ John took her in his arms and she leaned against him, fresh tears coming as if she had discovered a new well deep inside. ‘It’s hearsay only.’ But he spoke without conviction. ‘Olivia, my dear, we mustn’t despair. He’s in God’s hands.’

‘And so were all the others,’ she cried bitterly, lifting her hands away to stare at him. ‘All those who have died, died horribly – all those who are suffering now, never mind which side they’re on. The Germans are Christians too, or supposed to be – are
they
in His hands? And the Japanese themselves – is He looking after them too, even if they don’t believe in Him? You say He’s an all-merciful God, but who is it who receives His mercy, when all the people on earth are fighting one another like spiders in a jar? Is He going to let thousands of others die, yet save Peter, just because he’s ours? I’m sorry, John, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe any of it any more.’ She pressed her hands to her face again.

John sighed. He could find no words of comfort or reassurance; in truth, he needed them too badly himself. All he could do was cling to his own faith, the faith that had been so severely tested during the First World War, and it was as if he too could feel it slipping from his grasp. He was like a drowning man, clinging to a lifebuoy and feeling the waves tearing it from his numbed fingers.

Olivia felt for her handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be giving way like this. I should be more like you, strong and sure of myself and my God. I should have some courage – I should set an example. I’m not the only mother to have lost her son this morning. Or any morning, come to that.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘There are people receiving telegrams like this every day. Every single day.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and some of them in this very village, too. Wasn’t young Billy Watson on Peter’s ship?’

Olivia stared at him in horror. ‘Of course he was! Oh, John, that poor woman – he was her only child. And she lost her husband only last year. Oh, we must go and see her at once.’

‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘As long as you’re sure you’ll be all right. I’ll get Jeanie to make you some more tea—’

‘No. I’ll come with you.’ She rubbed away the tears. ‘It’s the least I can do. Just give me a few minutes to wash my face.’ She was on her feet, deathly pale but determined. ‘It’s all right, John. I shall feel better to be doing something.’

He watched her go, her slender back straight again, and felt the love and admiration bloom in his heart. Whatever her own feelings, Olivia would always put others first. This news about Peter was what they had both dreaded ever since the war began – their eldest son, missing, believed killed – and he knew the anguish she was suffering, because he suffered it with her. Yet because he must go and give comfort, she would put that pain aside and go with him. Because her pain was so sharp and deep, she was all the better able to share that of another woman.

At some time, he would have to try to help her with the loss of her faith as well. But he was very afraid that it was as unlikely to survive as Peter was.

Ben was told the news when he arrived back at Harrowbeer. Andrew called him into his office the minute he appeared in the mess and Ben, wondering what could be the matter, followed him into the small room on the first floor of the big, gracious house.

‘I’m not late back, am I? The trains were all on time for once.’

‘No, there’s no problem there.’ Andrew sat behind his desk and look gravely at the young pilot in front of him. ‘Sit down for a minute, Ben, and take off your cap. I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.’

‘Bad news?’ Ben looked at the sheet of paper his Squadron Leader was holding. ‘Have I been posted to another squadron?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’ Andrew hesitated. He hated breaking news like this – it was even worse than when one of the pilots was killed. At least everyone knew about it then and didn’t have to be told in this horribly cold, formal way. ‘I’m afraid it’s news from home – your home, I mean.’ He stopped. Ben was on his feet, alarm creasing his face.

‘From home? What – who is it? Mum? Dad? Alexie? Jeanie? It’s not Hope, is it?’

Andrew didn’t know who all these people were. He had Ben’s particulars in front of him and knew there was a sister, but the other two girls’ names were unknown to him. He shook his head.