Come Home Soon (8 page)

Fourteen

Ellie was washing dishes in the kitchen when she saw Mr Berry the postman push open the gate and proceed up the garden path. Charlie and Mother's fevers had finally broken a few days before and Ellie had seen the improvement immediately. They were more alert and each had eaten a few small bowls of broth. As a result, Ellie had managed to get a good night's sleep, and felt rested and more positive, though a heavy atmosphere still hung over the house.

The sight of the postman made her forget everything else but the roaring of blood in her ears. She stood, her hands gripping the edge of the basin so tightly that her knuckles seemed illuminated, watching him make his tortuously slow way towards her.

The postman was oblivious to her gaze until he was standing right in front of the window. He gave a little start, then smiled broadly.

“Ah, good morning, young Ellie.” He waved a handful of envelopes.

Ellie left the kitchen and walked to the front door, releasing a juddering breath she hadn't known she was holding.

“Thank you, Mr Berry,” she said shakily. She recognized her father's handwriting on all three of the envelopes. She closed the door as soon as she could without seeming rude and raced up the stairs to her mother.

Mother was sitting at her dressing table, washing her face. She was alone. Charlie had returned to his own cot and Ellie to her own bed the night before. Her mother turned as soon as she heard Ellie's hurried footsteps.

The two of them sat perched on the same wide stool and tore their way hungrily through the envelopes. The first couple had been sent weeks earlier and must have been held up somehow. They did not savour the letters this time, as they had with Father's first letter from France, but hurried through them, stopping only to read aloud the odd snippet and laugh with an abandon that an observer would have thought out of proportion to the jokes and stories being told.

Father was well and sounded in good spirits. Morale was high, he told them, and he'd grown closer to some fine fellows whom he was proud to call friends. He was now working in a medical tent and, while there was far too much work for one person, he was glad to be back doing what he was best at. From what he could tell they were making good progress, though it was taking longer than everyone had hoped to beat the Germans. He would still be home for Christmas, he told them, he was sure of it.

His regiment had adopted a stray dog, which they'd named Patch and who now followed them from place to place. Wesley enclosed a picture he'd done of the dog for Charlie, which wasn't very good, but which nonetheless made Ellie's heart feel as though it were dragging itself deeper into her chest.

As with his previous letter, all three were filled with questions about the family, the surgery and Endstone in general. He sounded delighted that Ellie had been helping out at the surgery and joked that she'd probably be running it by the time he came home. He didn't mention when this would be, but made hopeful references to seeing them soon.

Ellie and her mother exchanged a glance, thinking of how much had happened that he knew nothing about. Ellie wondered what he would say if he knew about Billie Farrow. It did not seem from the letters that the news had reached him.

“I should show Charlie the picture of the dog,” Ellie said finally. “He'll love it.”

“Oh, yes,” Josephine replied, her eyes glistening, “yes, yes.”

Before Ellie knew what was happening, her mother had wound an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards her chest. The room suddenly felt very quiet. Ellie sat unmoving – scarcely breathing – for a moment before, slowly, slowly, she wrapped her own arms around her mother's narrow waist. They sat like this for what felt like the longest time.

 

All of a sudden, life returned to a kind of normality. It was as though the letters had sped Mother through the final stages of her recovery, and in a few days she was back to full strength and took over nursing Charlie.

Ellie returned at last to school, where she was greeted warmly by Miss Smith, who seemed as worried by her pale, tired appearance as by her prolonged absence. After so long cooped up in the house, Ellie found herself glad to be back at school, in the company of other girls and with other things to think about. The hubbub of conversation was a relief after the quiet at home. Cookery classes seemed more interesting than usual too, now that they were all having to make do with less. Even knitting felt more bearable than before.

As the weeks passed, Ellie called in at the surgery as often as she could, frequently staying for a couple of hours at a time. She would help Thomas with the filing, or else sit with the patients in the waiting room, entertaining them with conversation or card games, and helping frazzled mothers with their children.

Thomas took to calling her “matron” and, though a joke, it gave Ellie a fizz of pride in her chest every time she heard it. That awful fortnight when her mother and Charlie had been so ill had shown her that she had got a certain amount of satisfaction from taking care of people and doing it well. Even the most dull household chores seemed less boring when people were in genuine need. It surprised her to realize how much she'd changed in the last months.

A few days after Father's letters arrived, Ellie returned from school to find her mother wearing an apron and a headscarf, on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. Ellie had been fairly sure the house was spotless before she had left that morning, but it was certainly gleaming now.

“Mother, what are you doing? You're still weak; you shouldn't be doing anything strenuous.”

Her mother protested, but eventually allowed herself to be sat down at the kitchen table, as Ellie hefted the kettle on to the stove.

“Well, if you're not going to let me finish it, you'd better do it yourself. And then the mantelpiece needs dusting. . .” Her mother's eyes cast wildly about for more imagined grime.

“But, Mother, the place is perfectly clean.”

“Well, Eleanor, we all know what your standards are like. I cannot allow things to slip any further around here. We must make sure everything is perfect for when your father returns. It could be any day now.”

Silently, Ellie questioned how likely it was that her father would notice the cleanliness of the floor. Aloud, she said, “But he hasn't even told us when he's coming back yet. I'm sure we'll have plenty of warning.” Ellie saw her mother's face fall. “But I'll make sure everything's perfect, I promise,” she added hastily. “You look exhausted. You don't want to get ill again, do you? Why don't you finish that tea and then have a lie down?”

Her mother looked like she might be ready to argue but then, to Ellie's surprise, she nodded meekly. She clambered painfully up the stairs and Ellie tidied away the tea things, gave the floor a cursory sweep and flicked a duster over the mantelpiece.

Checking on Charlie, she found him dozing, still weak but finally free from fever. She brushed a blond curl back from his face and tucked his teddy in closer to him.

Happy that her mother and brother were sleeping peacefully, Ellie pulled her coat on and set off out of the house, down the path into the village. Her feet crunched over the last of the fallen leaves, sending squirrels scampering back to the shelter of the trees. As she drew closer to the main square, she picked up the sounds of Jack's band of friends playing music, the notes from his fiddle seeming to soar higher and clearer than the rest. She found them outside The Dog and Duck, and sat on a bench nearby, clapping and singing along with the tunes she knew, enjoying being outside with people around her.

After a while, Jack said goodbye to his friends and, slinging his fiddle over his shoulder, came to join her. He suggested a walk around the village, which she happily agreed to, glad to have the chance to be alone with him.

The village was dark, illuminated only by the light spilling from The Dog and Duck and the surrounding houses, and the two electric street lights in the square. These shone warmly on the slight frost that had begun to settle, making it sparkle, and Ellie imagined gemstones twinkling in a dark mine. After a while of comfortable silence, Jack remarked, “Christmas soon.”

“Mmm. It feels as though ten years have passed since last Christmas,” Ellie replied.

“I feel like it's flown by!” her friend exclaimed.

“Yes, but think about how much has happened since then. This time a year ago, Alice was still working for us. Of course, I could do nothing right for Mother even then, but now. . .” Ellie's voice trailed off. She didn't feel, even with her best friend, that she could admit how strange her mother had become, how worried she was about her behaviour.

Jack glanced sideways at her and moved closer – just a couple of centimetres, but the gesture made her sure of his support.

They had passed the turn-off for the woods, and continued on, in the direction of the station.

Ellie continued, “And there was no war, and your Will was still home. And Father.” She swallowed, quickly steering her mind away from the thought of Billie Farrow, who would never be home again. “Father's never really understood the way Mother and I don't get on, and of course he can be strict himself, but . . . I don't know. It was nice to feel I had a friend at home, someone who didn't think I was such a disaster, someone who – just sometimes – was proud of me.” Ellie's sudden laugh echoed from the walls of the houses nearby. “And Charlie was only new then, and something we all agreed on was that he was just perfect.” Her brow smoothed as she thought of how content they had been to sit staring at the baby for hours on end, entranced by his every move.

“I thought life was hard, then! I had no idea how happy I was!” She laughed again but there was no humour in it, only bitterness.

They drew level with the church now. The candles, visible through the stained glass window at the front, seemed to shimmer and glisten. The vision was almost mesmerizing. So intent was her gaze that she didn't notice Jack take a step towards her and was caught unawares when he grasped her hand and drew her to face him.

“Ellie. . .” His brow was furrowed. His look was one of almost painful concentration. “Ellie, I hope so much you'll be happy like that again. In fact, I feel sure you will be. You . . . you're special. You're different. Life will be happy and exciting for you, just wait and see.”

Ellie had never known Jack to speak at such length and with such passion.

“And I'm proud of you, all right? So you never need to think it's just your dad.”

The warmth in his words set off an answering glow in her tummy. She smiled at him. “Sorry to be so serious. We hadn't heard from Father for so long, and then there was poor Billie. . . And Charlie and Mother being so sick . . . and I think all that worry has been gnawing away in my brain so that's now full of holes!”

Jack smiled back at her, looking relieved that she hadn't teased him. He gave a little tug on her right hand and took hold of her left too. “Why didn't you tell me, you daft thing? I know I don't always have the right words, and I'm not as clever as you but . . . I don't know. I just don't like to think of you worrying about these things all on your own.”

Ellie opened her mouth to reply, but broke off at a sudden volley of kissing sounds, followed by a peal of giggles. They both spun round in time to see George springing like a Jack-in-the-box from behind the moss-covered wall of the churchyard, slipping out of reach of Anna, who was just behind him.

“What are you doing, you little toad?” Jack exclaimed, as his brother hopped over the wall and forced his way between them. “Shouldn't you be at home in bed?” He scowled at his sister Anna.

“Don't look at me like that,” she retorted. “I've been chasing him for ages trying to get him back home.” But her knowing smirk left Ellie unconvinced as to how hard she'd really been trying, at least since they had arrived by the church.

“I should be heading home myself,” Ellie said. She bid goodnight to the Scotts and watched them walk off, George maintaining a stream of commentary about when Jack thought he would “pop the question”. But just as she was preparing to set off for home, Ellie saw Jack turn round and give her a smile and a wink. She set off with a skip to her step. Let them laugh; they meant no harm and they could not spoil the moment.

Fifteen

Ellie was clearing away the tea things when Mr Berry arrived with the post. As always when she saw him waddle up the path, she tried to keep her mind perfectly blank, all the while aware of the pounding in her chest and the sensation of her tongue, dry and leaden in her mouth.

But the changing nature of his job meant that Mr Berry, not especially known for his sensitivity and tact, was learning to anticipate how keenly and with what mixed feelings his visits were met. As he closed the gate behind him, he squinted up towards the window and gave Ellie a cheerful wave. Releasing her lower lip from the clamp of her teeth, she hurried to the door to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Ellie!” Mr Berry smiled as she opened the door, handing her a cluster of envelopes.

“Good afternoon, Mr Berry,” she replied. She forced herself to ask after his health and his family, her eyes darting all the while to the envelopes – and specifically the one on which she could see her father's handwriting.

When he eventually bid her goodbye, she politely watched him make his way back down the path, before closing the door and whirling round – only to come face to face with her mother.

Before Ellie could say anything, her mother snatched the envelope written in her father's hand and retreated into the kitchen with it, like an animal stealing away with a pilfered treat. Frowning, Ellie followed and took a seat across from her at the table. Her mother read in silence, so Ellie, swallowing her impatience turned her attention to the other items of post.

The first was a Christmas card from one of her father's patients in a neighbouring village; the other a card and letter from Aunt Frances. Ellie read her aunt's news with relish, glad to have something to focus on while she waited for her mother to finish reading.

Frances was now working as a volunteer nurse, looking after wounded soldiers as they returned from the Front. Although she hinted at having seen some terrible things, her letter focused on the funny stories related by the soldiers, how rewarding it was to help them back to health, and how much fun she had with the other nurses, who sounded like a lively and mischievous bunch.

When Ellie eventually looked up, she was surprised to see her mother's head cradled in her hands, the letter lying abandoned beside her. Ellie's frown deepened. It clearly wasn't the worst news – the letter was from Father himself. What, she wondered, could have caused this reaction?

Ellie reached across and pulled the letter towards her. A smile spread across her face as she saw the familiar scrawl spilling across the page. She began to read, closing her eyes briefly, imagining his voice recounting the same story of the sleep-talking soldier from the letter. Opening them again, she skimmed on and then stopped.

There it was, about three quarters of the way through the letter:

I am so sorry to have to tell you that it seems I won't be home for Christmas after all. I'm sure this is disappointing news for you – it certainly is for me. But at least there will be more of Frances's Christmas pudding for Charlie boy. If he's still eating at the rate he was before I left, he must be twice the size by now! I just hope that enough of his teeth have come through that he can be encouraged to chew properly!

Ellie ran her hand over the dips and ridges his pen had etched into the paper. Christmas had been the focus for so long. . . She blinked back the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Just as she was forcing herself to read the end of the letter, there was a jaunty rap at the door. Mother remained motionless, so Ellie went to answer it.

It was Thomas, calling to check up on them. He gave Ellie a searching look, then launched quickly into a story about Miss Webb's latest visit, only breaking off as he caught sight of Mother's face.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“Oh, Thomas! How much more can I be expected to bear?” Mother was on her feet now, hands braced against the table.

Thomas moved towards her, his hands outstretched. Mother collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest. He threw Ellie a panicked look as he placed his arms around her.

“We've heard from Father,” Ellie explained quietly.Her face felt as though it were burning; she wanted to force her mother away from the doctor and back to her seat. “He won't be home for Christmas after all.”

Mother gave a wailing cry that made both Ellie and Thomas flinch.

“Now, now,” Thomas said in a firm tone. “You must remain calm. You'll make yourself unwell again. Come along, let's get you upstairs.”

As they reached the top of the stairs, Charlie toddled out of the children's room, wearing his pyjamas.

“Mama?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Don't worry about Mama, Charlie. Come to me.” Ellie scooped her little brother into her arms and followed Thomas into her mother's room. Thomas helped her mother into bed and took her pulse.

“This won't do, Josephine. I'm worried about you,” he murmured. “This anxiety. . . Your nerves. . . You do want to be well when Wesley returns, don't you? I know that's what he'd want. It's what I want, what your children want. . .”

His voice was low and soothing. As the sobs subsided, Ellie carried her little brother back down the landing to their room, where she tucked him into his cot.

By the time she'd got him settled and had returned to her parents' bedroom, her mother's eyes were closed and her breathing regular.

Thomas and Ellie went back downstairs and stopped by the door. Ellie didn't know what to say. Her mother's behaviour was stranger by the day.

Thomas broke the silence at last. “Fetch me at any time if you're worried, won't you, Ellie? Day or night.”

She nodded.

He put a hand on her shoulder and looked probingly into her eyes. “I am sorry about your father. I'm sure it's a terrible disappointment.”

Unable to withstand his gaze, Ellie lowered her eyes. A tear that had been hovering on the brim of her lower eyelid escaped and trickled treacherously down her cheek.

Thomas crooked a finger under her chin and tilted it so that she was looking at him again. “You are a very brave young woman, do you realize that? I see now that it wasn't just fatherly bias causing Wesley to speak so highly of you.”

This brought a wobbly smile to Ellie's face.

“You have friends, Ellie, remember that. You don't have to be brave all the time.”

 

Ellie wasn't expecting to see her mother the next morning, but she appeared in the kitchen while Ellie was giving Charlie his breakfast, dressed and looking brighter. She accepted the tea and toast that Ellie put
in front of her with a rare smile, and seemed to be in
no hurry to re-embark on one of her manic cleaning sessions.

“I have to leave for school in a moment,” Ellie said, looking at her mother warily. “But I can stay if you're not well enough to look after Charlie.”

“No, no, you must go.” Her mother's cheeks flushed pink. “I'm . . . I'm sorry, Eleanor.” She busied herself wiping an invisible smudge from Charlie's face. “Thomas is right. I must try to get better. I
will
. He . . . he suggested joining the knitting circle that some of the village women have formed. It's a little silly, I know, but he thinks I'd feel better if I had something positive to focus on, something I could do to help. And I think he could be right.”

Ellie understood that feeling all too well, even if there was little she herself would like to do less. “I think it's a wonderful idea!” she declared, beaming at her mother. She had never thought she'd see her mother willingly join a village club.

Mother smiled back, somewhat uncertainly. “Well, I can't just sit at home waiting for your father to come back, can I?”

“You're absolutely right, Mother,” Ellie replied decisively. “He would want us all to do whatever we can to help.”

“Yes,” Mother said softly. “I think he would.”