Holding On (37 page)

He watched Bess getting herself dressed for the part, remembering how Ricky's mother – they weren't a naval family – had been rather shocked to see Bess in her camouflage outfit which was exactly like his own. She'd said that she didn't approve of such small children being encouraged to play war games.

‘I don't encourage them,' Mummy had answered. ‘It seems to come quite naturally. Best to let them get it out of their systems while they're small. Don't you think that forbidding things merely makes them more desirable?'

Ricky wasn't allowed to have toy guns but he was always making pretend ones out of sticks and when he came to play he was the roughest of all their friends. He and Bess didn't like him very much. He'd twisted Bess's arm and so Jamie had hit him and then Ricky had run to his mother and blubbed.

‘That's what happens when you encourage small children to be violent,' she'd said, her face all pinched up and cross, and Mummy had looked anxious, but when Jamie had tried to explain she'd shushed him and told him to say he was sorry. Afterwards, when he'd explained it all, Mummy said perhaps Ricky needn't come round very often. Bess hadn't cried, even when Ricky was hurting her, but seeing her face all crumpled up with pain had made him want to hurt Ricky really badly.

‘That's the trouble,' Mummy had said when he'd told her this afterwards. ‘It's not playing games about the Resistance that's dangerous in itself, it's because violence breeds violence. If someone hurts you or someone you love, you want to hurt them in return and once it starts it's difficult to stop. When you play your games all your enemies are imaginary so no one gets hurt but in real life it's rather different.'

‘Ready?' Bess was watching him.

He nodded, excitement returning. ‘I wish we could speak Norwegian,' he said wistfully.

‘We'll make up our own words,' she told him. ‘Go on. You go first.'

 

Watching them from her bedroom window, Fliss felt a familiar sense of anguish. Below her on the lawn the two small figures were busy; conferring together, wheeling their bicycles out of the shed, pausing for some more discussion. Jamie had his plastic machine gun strapped across his chest. In a naval environment it was impossible to protect them from the military influence – and anyway would it be right to do so? Miles had no time for the anti-nuclear lobby or the pacifists but Fliss was always confused by this question of defence.

‘Would it have been better to allow Hitler to dominate the world?' he'd asked her when she'd attempted to talk through her reservations. ‘Should we have refused to oppose him? Refused to fight when he invaded Poland? Do you think he would have stopped at the Jews?'

Was it right that Jamie should stand by whilst Ricky bullied Bess?

Fliss thought: I shall ask Uncle Theo. He'll know the answer.

She felt a sudden longing to be at The Keep; to be with them especially now. It was impossible, of course. She couldn't simply leave the twinnies and Miles. She was pleased to think that Mole would be home soon on leave at The Keep, and Susanna had promised to keep her fully informed about Grandmother's condition on a day-to-day basis. Kit was going down next weekend, picking up Aunt Prue on the way, and Fliss felt a foolish exclusion, as if she were being left out. The problem was that her strong sense of family – Chadwick family – merely underlined the loneliness within her own marriage. As the twinnies grew older so relationships eased slightly between them and Miles but there was none of that normal happy family banter and argument and sharing that she had known until she was ten. Even at The Keep there had been a closeness between them all, despite the age differences, which had included Ellen and Fox and Caroline. In Africa they had a saying: It takes a village to bring up a child. Looking back, she suspected that she had done better as an orphan at The Keep than the twinnies were doing with both their parents.

Bess and Jamie had disappeared now and Fliss turned back into the room. The married hiring was pleasant enough but she was suddenly overwhelmed by a passionate desire for her own home; somewhere she could put down roots and build for the future. Of course, there was the house in Dartmouth . . . Miles was talking again about selling the house in Above Town and she'd wondered if he might be considering buying a family house where they could be together comfortably at last. There was still occasional mention of a foreign posting but since she had finally refused point-blank to put the twinnies into boarding school discussions had rather come to a halt. Fliss wished that she could be much stronger with Miles; question him, demand to know exactly what was going on. He still had the tendency to pat her on the head and say absently that it was all on a ‘need-to-know' basis, that he'd explain when he could, and so on.

She was certain now that once the twinnies were born Miles had put their own life together on hold until they could be alone together again. He couldn't see that they had grown slowly but steadily apart during the last seven years and that it would be quite impossible to wave a magic wand and magically be restored to the people they had once been. Perhaps he thought that in five years' time, when he retired and the twinnies were settled into boarding school, they would begin a whole new life together but surely he must see that she would never consider any way of life which excluded the twinnies. The danger was clear: at some point she might be obliged to make a choice.

Fliss thought: I simply mustn't let it come to that. Things are a little better now that Bess and Jamie are growing up. We simply must hold on . . .

The simple problem at the moment was that she wanted to be at The Keep with her family. If only Miles were sympathetic towards this point of view he would be more than capable of dealing with Jamie and Bess in her absence but knowing that he disapproved made it difficult for her to consign them with confidence to his care. He would not be unkind, of course, but he would be indifferent, and she could not decide where her responsibility lay. If only the twinnies had been smaller and she could have bundled them into the car and driven down to Devon, she would have risked Miles's disapproval . . . But perhaps she was, after all, overreacting. Susanna had promised . . . and she could be at The Keep in three hours . . . but supposing Grandmother were to deteriorate and die suddenly. Swallowing back tears of loneliness and fear, Fliss made an uncharacteristically impulsive gesture. She took up the address book and, lifting the telephone receiver, dialled Hal's number.

‘Chadwick.' He sounded preoccupied, almost bored.

‘Hal, it's Fliss.'

‘He-
llo
!' The change of tone, the warmth and undisguised delight filled her with a breathless joy. ‘And how are you, Fliss?'

‘In a do,' she answered, trying to laugh it off. ‘Isn't it silly? Miles has got an exped weekend and I've let myself get worked up about Grandmother. I don't know whether I should be there or not. Miles thinks I'm overdramatising the situation and perhaps I am . . .'

Her voice tailed off as she wondered whether he might sympathise with Miles. The Navy was a tough school and she knew that however loyal and discreet he was, Hal was often irritated by Maria's inability to cope or take decisions.

‘. . . but it's only that she might die suddenly,' she went on quickly. ‘I take his point that I could be there indefinitely and I can't keep the twinnies off school.'

‘Can't Miles manage the twinnies?' Hal's voice was blessedly calm, reassuring, familiar. ‘I should have thought that at a time like this he could handle it with a bit of local co-operation from school-friends.'

She realised that she was trembling; her teeth were chattering with suppressed excitement and happiness. It was so good just to talk to him, to know that he was thinking about her, concentrating on her anxieties.

‘Only,' she explained, ‘that it's impossible to make concrete plans. It might happen at any moment or take some weeks and he feels it's a bit . . . well, tricky. He doesn't quite understand the family bit.' She stopped, suspecting that she was being disloyal, knowing quite surely deep inside that she
was
being disloyal. ‘And, after all, I can be there in three hours.' Suddenly it was important to be as fair as she could be.

‘I don't think that's quite the point, is it? Still, if that's how he feels . . . OK. Decide on a date and go down to The Keep on that day. Make arrangements with the twinnies' friends, have a good rota of mums to meet them from school and so on and tell Miles that from then on you'll be with Grandmother. It simply can't be that long now, Flissy.'

‘Oh, Hal.' She pressed her lips together, her happiness giving way before the grim implication of his words.

‘Oh, darling, don't do that crying thing,' he said quietly. ‘Not when you're such a long way off.'

The hot tears trickled down her cold cheeks. ‘I'm OK really. Honestly.' She tried to inject a smile into her words. ‘You're quite right. It's best to make a date and stick to it. I'll get organised.'

There was a tiny silence.

‘Where are the twinnies?'

She laughed quite naturally then. ‘Playing war games,' she told him. ‘They were watching one of those old black-and-white movies on the television about the Germans invading Norway so we've been Norwegians for the last week. They've got an arms cache hidden in the old pigsty and they're about to unmask an informer . . . Oh, Hal, is it wrong for them to play these games?'

He made an impatient noise. ‘How do you propose to stop them? The world is a violent place and I think it's better to train man's naturally violent impulses towards defence of the weak than to send them underground and thwart or deform them. Then you've really got problems. Easier said than done, of course. Anyway, I hardly think that Jamie and Bess are future Stalins.'

‘I know that really. I told you I'm having a daft moment . . . It's good to talk to you. Are you all OK?'

‘Elaine's here for the weekend. Anxious about my inheritance,' he said laconically. ‘She and Maria have conspired together but we've sorted it out. The boys are fine. They've all gone out to tea with a schoolfriend so I've got an hour or so to myself . . . What are you wearing?'

She was shocked into a momentary silence by the intimacy of the question.

‘Cords,' she said at last. ‘My old navy cords and a guernsey.' She attempted a chuckle. ‘You know me. Always the height of fashion.'

‘Yes, I know you. Fliss—'

‘Don't,' she said quickly. ‘We mustn't. I shouldn't have telephoned but . . . I needed you. I need my family. I keep thinking about Grandmother and . . . I feel so helpless and lonely.'

‘I'm glad you telephoned. Don't worry, I know we shall both feel guilty about it but I need you, too. It sounds silly to say that, doesn't it? We need each other so that we can carry on without each other. Well, we've said it now. Make that date and stick to it, my darling, and I shall see you down at The Keep. Don't worry. I shall be there when you need me. Always.'

The line went dead and Fliss replaced the receiver, tears streaming down, leaking into her mouth, soaking her chin. She went into the kitchen, turned on the cold tap and began to splash her face with icy water.

‘We were going to have tea at HQ,' said Bess from behind her, ‘but it's a bit cold after all. So we've come back.'

‘What a good idea.' Fliss buried her face in the kitchen towel. ‘We'll all have tea together, then.'

‘What are you doing?' asked Jamie, divesting himself of various weapons. He looked at her curiously. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Got something in my eye,' she said cheerfully. ‘It was really painful. Made me cry but it's OK now. Tea's what we need. So what's been happening? Are you going to brief me?'

‘I've got to write my report,' said Jamie repressively. ‘Haven't had time yet.'

‘Right,' said Fliss. ‘In that case I'll get the kettle on.'

As she filled the kettle she tested herself. There was guilt and elation in equal parts but it was odd that, although she and Hal both knew that they could never be together, the feeling of loneliness and isolation had utterly evaporated. She knew now that she could make plans to go to The Keep, to do what was necessary, that she could continue to hold on.

It was not until Hal had left for Greenwich the next morning that the two women could speak openly. With the boys settled on the playroom floor surrounded by their Fisher Price toys, Maria and her mother were able to have a private talk over the coffee cups. Elaine opened with a barely disguised salvo.

‘I must say, darling,' she began, with only a faint attempt to hide her hostility towards her son-in-law, ‘I do think that Hal is getting rather arrogant. He's changed, hasn't he?'

Maria, who had been quite ready to enter into a discussion about the Chadwicks, felt irritation rising at this critical approach. Had her mother started on a more sympathetic note she too could have enjoyed slagging Hal off, revelling in a good bout of character assassination. As it was, however, she suddenly resented her mother's interference in her marriage.

‘I thought you rather approved of his self-confidence,' she said sulkily. ‘You were always saying that he'd go far, if I remember rightly. Ten minutes after he met him Daddy was prophesying that he'd make admiral.'

Elaine shifted on her chair. She had no wish to antagonise her daughter but she was still smarting from Hal's sharp words.

‘I think we always valued his good points but I was surprised at the way he took me up yesterday afternoon. Good as told me to mind my own business.'