A Song At Twilight (33 page)

‘What on earth?’ He ran forward and took his wife in his arms. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I brought a telegram,’ the boy said, holding it out again. His freckled face was red with embarrassment and distress. Awkwardly, he bent to pick up his bike. ‘I ought to be going but I’ve got to know if there’s any answer.’

John took the envelope and looked at it. Slowly, he opened it and read the slip of paper, then he shook his head.

‘No. No answer. You get back, Bobby.’

The boy gave a nod and turned away. He wheeled his cycle to the gate and then got on and rode off down the lane. Olivia and John looked at each other.

‘Who is it?’ she asked in a dry whisper.

‘It’s Ben, I’m afraid, my dear.’ He heard Jeanie’s cry and stretched out his other arm to take her into his embrace as well. ‘I’m most terribly sorry. It’s Ben.’

‘He was our youngest,’ Olivia wept. ‘Our ewe-lamb. Our Benjamin. Oh, John …’

‘I know.’ He held her close. They were on the sofa in the drawing room and Jeanie, her eyes red and tears still slipping down her cheeks, had brought them a tray of tea. John thanked her and asked her to stay and have a cup with them, but she shook her head and went back to the kitchen. Olivia barely seemed to know that she’d been there.

‘Drink this, my dear,’ he said. He was having a difficult time holding back his own tears and could manage only if he distanced himself from his feelings. If he could just pretend this was happening to a parishioner rather than his own family, use his years of training and experience to batten down his grief and focus upon his wife’s … It was the hardest thing he had ever done. The hardest, at least, since they’d had the news about Peter. ‘Just a sip. It’ll help you.’

‘I don’t want it.’ She was too weak too refuse, however, and sipped obediently when he held the cup to her lips. Jeanie had put in several teaspoons of sugar, he realised when he tasted his own, yet Olivia – who hated sweet tea – didn’t even seem to notice. Perhaps you didn’t, when you really needed it. She drank some more and then waved it away and began to cry again.

‘Oh, John! This awful, awful war. When is it going to end? When is it going to stop taking away all our children? When is God going to
do
something about it?’

‘Oh, my dear.’ He felt helpless. If she really had been a parishioner, he would have known what to say – all the usual things about God knowing best, working His purpose out, about having faith in Him, trusting Him … But none of these would do for Olivia, and he wondered suddenly if they would do for anyone. How did his parishioners feel, when he said these things to them? Did they listen out of politeness only, and respect for his cloth, while all the time inside they were rejecting his words? Would they really like to ask what Olivia would ask – how could a benign God let these terrible things happen? What was the point of trusting Him when at the very minute when you were on your knees in church, praying to Him, your own flesh and blood was being brutally murdered? It would be in vain, he knew, to point out that God’s own Son had died in agony on the Cross. The only time he had said that to Olivia, she had simply retorted that it just went to prove that there wasn’t anything He could do, not really. If He existed at all …

And it was at times like this that John felt his own faith severely tested. He had told Olivia months ago that he had once almost lost it completely, but that it had returned to him. Now, with the loss of two of his boys, he wondered just how strong it was, and whether it would go on sustaining him. And what sort of faith it could be, to falter at his own loss, when he knew so many people had lost even more?

‘Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while?’ he suggested gently. ‘I’ll bring you some aspirin. You’ll make yourself ill if you go on like this.’

‘What does that matter?’ she sobbed. ‘What does it matter if I’m ill? Two of my children are
dead
, John!’

‘And two of them are still alive,’ he said. ‘Hold on to that, my dear. And we don’t know that Ben is dead. The telegram says he’s missing—’

‘Believed killed.’

‘But not known for certain. There’s still hope.’

Olivia withdrew herself from his arms and stood up. He rose with her, looking down at the face that had once been so serene but was now thin and lined and blotched with tears. Her fine, grey eyes were reddened and exhausted and her hair was lank. She looked like an old woman, and his heart went out to her even as he longed for the Olivia he had known and loved for so many years.

‘Go and lie down,’ he repeated, and she nodded wearily and went slowly from the room, her footsteps dragging as she climbed the stairs.

John watched her go, his heart filled with pity. His own grief welled up within him, but he thrust it down, telling himself he must wait, and went out to the kitchen where Jeanie was sitting with her elbows resting on the big wooden table, her head in her hands. She looked round as he came in and her lips trembled.

‘Oh, Mr Hazelwood …’

‘I know,’ he said, coming to stand beside her and laying his big hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s a shock to us all.’ He sighed. ‘We all know it can happen at any time – we’ve known it all through the war – but it’s still a shock. I’m very sorry, my dear. I know how fond you were of Ben.’

‘It’s not just me,’ she said brokenly. ‘It’s Hope. He was her godfather and she loved him. Now she won’t even remember him when she grows up. And it isn’t even just her.’ She looked up at him, her brown eyes filled with tears. ‘I keep thinking of that other poor girl. The one in Devon that he wanted to marry. How is she going to feel, when she finds out? Will anyone even tell her?’

John Hazelwood stared at her. He had not given a thought to the girl Ben had wanted to marry – the girl he loved. He felt a great wash of shame as he realised that he didn’t even know her name and address – he’d been so concerned with Olivia’s distress that he’d never even asked. He had sent Ben away thinking that he didn’t care.

May, however, did know the Hazelwoods’ address, and wanted desperately to write to them. She talked it over with her parents and grandfather.

‘I was Ben’s fiancée. I know we didn’t have the ring yet and I know they didn’t give him their permission to marry, but we
were
engaged. You know we were. I ought to write to them. It would be rude not to.’

‘That’s right, maid, but it’s poor Mrs Hazelwood I be thinking of,’ Mabel said. ‘Poor dear lady – her must be distraught at losing another of her boys. And if she were that upset about the idea of him getting married, a letter from you might upset her all over again. You know what his father said – that she were close to a complete breakdown. You don’t want to make things even worse.’

‘It seems wrong, all the same. It’s not as if we were going to get married against their wishes. Ben was coming round to the idea that we’d have to wait till she could see things clearer. We wouldn’t have done anything to hurt her.’

‘And suppose she’d never come round?’ William asked.

‘Well, we could have crossed that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, it don’t matter now, do it? It’s never going to come to that. And I still think as I ought to write to them.’

‘Why don’t you just address the letter to the vicar?’ her grandfather suggested. ‘Let him decide whether to show it to her or not. Then you’d have done what’s right without causing no more trouble.’

May turned and looked at him. He had been as saddened as the rest of them by Ben’s loss, and seemed to have aged a year in the past week. But his eyes were as wise and kindly as ever and filled with compassion.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’ll do. After all, he’m a vicar and he’ll know we weren’t doing nothing wrong. I’ll tell him all about it – how Ben and me first met, and how we used to go walking and sometimes went to the pictures together or a dance, and how we came to think so much of each other. I’ll tell him how Ben asked me to marry him and how upset he was about his mother and how he wanted to help her, and I’ll tell him we were going to wait until she was better, even though Ben wanted us to wed straight off. I’ll tell him I’ll always love Ben, however long I live. That can’t hurt him, can it? None of that can hurt him. And maybe one day he’ll be able to show it to Ben’s poor mother as well, so she can see that Ben was happy with me, and how happy he made me feel too. Maybe that’ll help her.’

Tears were sliding down her face as she finished speaking, and there were tears in the eyes of her three listeners. As she fell silent, her mother got up and came over to her, sitting beside her to take the weeping girl into her arms.

‘That’s right, my blossom,’ she said softly. ‘You tell him all those things. He’ll know then that Ben chose a good girl to be his wife. Even that’ll be a comfort to him, and let’s hope to her as well. Poor dear soul,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Losing two boys like that, and the other one still in danger – where did Ben say he was? In Italy?’

‘They think he’s at Cassino,’ May said, and her mother folded her lips ruefully. They had all heard of the fighting at Cassino and the monastery which stood above it, and although Ian was a chaplain he would still be in danger. ‘Oh, I hope nothing happens to him as well. I don’t think she’d ever get over losing all three of them.’

‘I don’t know how any mother could,’ Mabel said gravely, and gave her daughter another hug. ‘There now, my flower, you get on and write your letter. Take your time over it, mind – it don’t do to dash important letters off all in a few minutes – and I’ll tell you what, you can use that lovely writing-pad Mrs Huccaby gave me for Christmas. I thought at the time, I don’t know what sort of letters she thinks I write that I’d want such good paper for, what with there being such a shortage anyway, but you use as much of it as you like. I’ll go and fetch it now.’

‘I’ll write it out in my old school exercise book first,’ May said. ‘There’s quite a lot of pages at the end I never filled up. Then I won’t waste any of it.’

She went upstairs to her bedroom and found the exercise book at the bottom of her cupboard. Sharpening a pencil, she sat down on the wide window seat and stared out of the window as she began to think what to write.

But as the memories crowded in upon her mind, she found the tears sliding down her cheeks again, and it was a long time before she could bring herself to set the point of the pencil on the rough school paper.

Andrew was now in charge of an extra squadron and was spending more and more time at the airfield, able to dash home only for quick visits. When he did come, he was exhausted and distracted, as if half his mind were still at the airfield or in the sky, and Alison knew that he longed to forget it for a few minutes and enjoy a brief period of home life. She made sure that, whenever he came through the door, she was ready for him, with a meal on hand, Hughie happy and contented and the home a pleasant place to be.

‘Darling, I’m sorry,’ he said, lying back on the sofa after a supper of shepherd’s pie with spring greens from the garden. ‘I’m not much help to you at present, am I – just when you need me most, too. But I can’t get away any more than this.’

‘I know. It’s all right, I’m managing perfectly well, and Hughie’s being so good.’ They had put their son to bed together and Alison had left Andrew reading to him while she came downstairs to prepare the meal. ‘And you don’t need to worry about anything going wrong with the baby. The neighbours have all told me I’m to call on them straight away if anything happens, and May’s a treasure even though she’s so upset about Ben. She’s being so brave about it.’

Andrew shook his head. ‘I feel rotten about Ben. There was something special about him. He’d have gone on to do great things in his life. But then, so would so many others who’ll never get the chance now. It’s a foul business, Alison.’

‘Don’t think about it now,’ she said softly, coming to sit beside him. ‘Just let’s sit here quietly together and try not to think about any of it. You need to rest.’ She drew his head down to her breast and stroked his thick dark hair. ‘It will all be over soon. It must be. The world can’t go on like this for much longer.’

They sat together, their bodies close and warm. Inside, Alison could feel their baby moving, less vigorously now since there was much less room for it to kick its limbs. She took Andrew’s hand and laid it across the swell of her stomach so that he could feel it too.

‘New life,’ she murmured. ‘This is what you’re fighting for, Andrew – this new baby, and Hughie, and all the other babies and children who need a peaceful world to grow up in. Never forget that. That’s what it’s all about.’

He didn’t answer, and when she twisted her neck to peep at his face she saw that his eyes were closed and he had fallen asleep. She smiled and let her own eyes close, stroking his hair until she too had drifted into a contented doze.

‘You’re looking tired,’ Stefan said when he came next day. He called in as often as he could now, even if only for a few minutes. ‘You shouldn’t be alone at this time.’

‘It can’t be helped. Andrew does his best, but when he does get home I feel I should be looking after him. I can rest at any time.’

‘I don’t like it, all the same,’ Stefan said, frowning. ‘You are near your time. Someone should be with you. Why can’t your mother be here?’

‘Because she lives at the opposite side of the country, and you know what travel is like now. All those signs saying
Is your journey really necessary?
And she has so much to do herself. It’s not as if it’s my first baby, after all. I know what to do when the time comes.’

‘You will be going to a hospital, yes?’

‘A maternity home,’ she nodded. ‘It’s in Horrabridge – only two or three miles away. Bob Derry, who runs the local garage and uses one of his cars as a taxi, has told me that I’m to call him at any time, night or day. And May Prettyjohn’s coming to stay with me at nights now, when Andrew isn’t here. She takes Hughie out for walks too – that’s where he is now.’

‘I wish I could do more,’ he said restlessly. ‘You need a man to look after you.’

‘I do have a husband,’ she reminded him.

‘But he isn’t here!’