The Lie (3 page)

Connor laughed. ‘You sound just like Dad when you swear.' His grin faded, his eyes becoming dark with grief. Daniel saw that he was struggling against tears. ‘Did they tell you – about Dad?'

Daniel's throat tightened, because he was hurting inside, just like Connor. ‘Two days ago. Emily wrote but they didn't give me the letter because I was too ill for a while and they forgot it – damned idiots are always mislaying things. I came as soon as the doctors would release me.'

Connor blinked hard, his emotion turning to anger. ‘It happened a month ago. It's been horrible since. I hate them all – except Emily. She's all right. She cares but the rest of them are glad.'

‘Of course they aren't,' Daniel said. ‘How could Henry or Clay – or Frances – be glad he's dead?'

‘Clay and Henry can do what they like on the farm now. Frances is getting married soon – and
she
never cared anyway.
She
only married him for his money.'

‘
She
? You mean Margaret  . . .' Daniel frowned. He had not yet met his father's new wife  . . . his widow now. ‘Why don't you like her?'

‘Emily doesn't, nor does Frances. She's all right to me, but she doesn't cry much. Emily cries all the time when she's alone – but
she
doesn't.'

‘Not everyone behaves in the same way. I haven't cried yet. I was too shocked.'

‘You will,' Connor said. ‘I cried at the funeral. They said I was too young to go, but Emily took me. She hates it all as much as I do, but she's away in Cambridge for most of the week.'

‘What do you hate?'

‘Clay and Henry are always arguing. Margaret gets angry with them sometimes – and Frances is having a party today. That's why I came out on my bike. They were all laughing and dancing. It isn't fair. Not when Dad's dead.'

‘I know it hurts,' Daniel said. ‘It hurts like hell – but life doesn't stop because someone dies. We have to cope with our grief and carry on, at least outwardly.'

‘But they don't care.' Connor pulled a face. ‘When Peter Robinson's grandfather died, they all cried. No one cares about Dad except Emily and me – and you. You do care, don't you?'

‘Yes, very much. I'm sure the others do underneath. Maybe they're just trying to hide it.'

‘You'll find out,' Conner said darkly. ‘How long are you home for? Have they given you a discharge?'

‘I've got three months' leave, and then I've got to go back for a medical review. If my shoulder is better by then I expect they will find me a job. It might not be overseas, though. I could be given a desk job or something in administration.' He grinned at his brother. ‘That's a big word for running errands to you and me.'

‘Would you like that?'

‘Not much. On the other hand it wasn't much fun over there either. War is a rotten business.'

‘You were at Dunkirk, weren't you?'

‘Who told you that?'

‘Emily. She said the telegram arrived telling us you had been wounded just after Dad died, and then a letter came from your commanding officer to say you were in hospital. Emily wanted to visit but they said only Dad could go – but he couldn't, because he was dead  . . .'

Connor's face screwed up but he held his tears back.

They had arrived at the house, which fronted quite a long space on the High Street, its six windows fitted with leaded bars and small panes of thick glass; the door oak and impressive with a black iron knocker. At the back the garden sloped down the hill, giving magnificent views over the fens. Connor wheeled his bike around to the kitchen door and deposited Daniel's case on the step. He turned to look at his brother.

‘I should sneak up the back stairs if I were you. You won't want to see them.' They could hear the music from where they stood; Vera Lynn was belting out one of the tunes she had made so popular.

‘Are you coming in?'

Connor shook his head. ‘I'm off to see Peter. His father has bought some new calves and I want to see them – talk to you later, then. I'll come to your room, if that's all right?'

‘Of course it is. Have a good time with your friend.'

He stood on the back doorstep and watched his brother ride off, whistling. Then he opened the door and went in, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him as his eyes moved around the room. At least nothing much had changed here. There was still the huge painted dresser at one end, the long, scrubbed pine table and the elbow chairs by the range. The deep stone sinks looked to be overflowing with dirty plates, cups and glasses. A brandy decanter stood on the table with several glasses. Daniel walked over, his back to the door as he poured himself a generous measure.

‘And what do you think you're doing?' a young woman's voice demanded from behind him. ‘Who are you – and who told you to help yourself?'

Daniel turned in surprised, looking at the girl with interest. She wasn't tall, probably only up to his shoulder, but she was pretty. Her hair was soft and fine, a light brown in colour, and she had what he thought of as hazel eyes. She was wearing a cheap dark blue dress over which she had tied a white apron, and since she was carrying a tray filled with the remains of party food, he imagined she was extra help brought in for the party.

‘I was feeling exhausted and fancied a drink,' he said, keeping a straight face. ‘I'm sure they won't mind.'

‘Depends who you are,' the girl said, eyes narrowing. ‘I suppose it's all right if you're one of the guests – but you should be through there, not here. You'll be in my way.'

‘I'm sorry about that,' Daniel said. ‘I'll try not to hinder you, though I can't offer to help. My arm doesn't work too well at the moment.'

‘Been hurt, have you?' She looked at him intently. ‘I've seen you before somewhere, a long time ago, though  . . .'

‘Perhaps,' he admitted. ‘What's your name?'

‘Alice Robinson. My father has a smallholding in the fen, but we live in the High Street now. Connor and Peter are friends.'

‘And you've just got some new calves, I hear?'

‘Who told you that?' Her eyes widened in surprise and then her cheeks turned pink as she understood. ‘You're Daniel, aren't you? I remember seeing you at school, but you were a lot older than me, just about to leave when I was in my first year. I'm seventeen. I'm sorry I was rude just now – I didn't know it was you. No one said anything about you being expected home  . . .'

‘That's because I didn't tell them.'

‘Oh  . . .' She smiled at him suddenly, and he realized she was lovely; she had the kind of beauty that comes from inside. ‘It's not a very good day for coming home – they've got a party on. Frances has just got engaged.'

‘Good for her,' Daniel said. ‘It's her birthday too – her twenty-first. I'm afraid I haven't bought her a present. Do you think she will forgive me?'

‘I should think she will be glad to see you back.' Alice frowned as she saw that he really did look exhausted. ‘Do you want to sit down? I could make you a cup of tea if you like?'

‘I'll sit down if you don't mind. It was a long walk from the station, and I'm not as strong as I thought. The brandy will do me more good than tea, thanks all the same. Don't let me stop you working, Alice. Isn't there anyone else to help with all this?'

‘Yes, there's Millie Salmons. She's clearing the table in the dining room and will be here in a minute.'

‘Good grief, I thought she had retired before I joined up?'

‘She had but she came back because all the young girls left when the war started. They all went off to join one of the services or become nurses. I shall have to soon – but I'm not quite old enough yet. So I help out here now and then, do a few jobs on the farm for Dad and help my mother at home the rest of the time.'

‘She'll miss you when you go away.'

‘They need us, either in the factories or the services. Dad doesn't want me to go into a factory, but I shall have to do something. I might drive people to hospital; they are asking for volunteers and I can drive anything. I started on the farm when I could hardly walk, on Dad's knee at first. I help out with driving the tractor when he's busy, and that's most of the time with the men away.'

‘They have a lot of women drivers at the hospital,' Daniel said. ‘One of them took me to the station, nice girl – but not pretty like you.'

‘I'm not pretty,' Alice said, and blushed. ‘Your sisters are lovely. I'm just ordinary.'

Daniel thought that Alice would look every bit as pretty as his sisters dressed the way they did in expensive clothes, with their hair done professionally. In fact he thought she was rather special altogether, whatever she wore.

‘I don't think you're ordinary. I suppose you wouldn't come out with me one night – to the pictures in Ely? Not for a few days, though. I'll need to rest but then I'll be all right.'

Alice looked at him thoughtfully. He was probably six years older, but that didn't matter – it was the fact that the Searles were thought of as rich that bothered her.

‘I'll think about it,' she said slowly.

‘I don't bite and I'm quite nice really,' Daniel said. ‘I'd like to know you better, Alice.'

‘Maybe  . . .'

Before she could finish what she was saying there was a cry of surprise from the doorway, and turning to look, Daniel saw Frances standing there.

‘Daniel! You're home,' she said, looking thrilled. ‘Why on earth didn't you let us know? Someone would have fetched you from the station.' She came towards him, her face bright with pleasure. ‘It's so good to see you. We were all so worried about you, but they didn't want us to visit for a start and then  . . .' Her smile dimmed. ‘Emily said she would write. You do know about  . . .?'

‘Yes, I know about Father,' Daniel said. ‘You're looking lovely, Frances. I hear you and Marcus have taken the plunge?'

‘Yes, Marcus got leave and we decided to do it today, as long as I was having the party.'

‘I didn't manage to get you a present, love. I'll buy you something another day, when I go out – to Ely, probably.'

‘Oh, that doesn't matter,' Frances said, looking uncertain as she approached him. ‘Can I hug you – or will it hurt?'

‘It will hurt,' Daniel said, ‘but you can kiss me on the cheek. It's just my left arm and shoulder. They are still damned painful.'

‘Was it awful, Dan?'

‘Pretty bloody,' he said. ‘We don't talk about it much. Tell me where you and Marcus intend to live when you get married – when is that, by the way?'

‘He has been promised a week's leave in two weeks' time. We shall live at his parents' house for the present, I suppose. The wedding will be by special licence, of course, and a bit of a scrappy reception, but we don't care.'

‘No, I imagine not,' he said, and kissed his sister as she hung back nervously, afraid of hurting him. ‘At least I should be able to get you a present for that – what would you like?'

‘Anything,' Frances said. ‘I've been collecting for ages so we've got most things anyway, and until we get our own house we don't need furniture. We shall wait until the end of the war for that.'

‘I'll find something,' Daniel promised. ‘Well, I think I'll go up to my room and have a rest.'

‘Emily has been keeping it aired for you,' Frances told him. ‘Have you seen her? I was looking for her, thought she might have come to hide in here, but obviously she hasn't.' She glanced around the kitchen as if expecting her sister to materialize out of thin air. ‘I wonder if she went upstairs  . . .'

‘She went out with someone,' Alice told her, turning from the sink where she had been running hot water on to some of the dirty dishes. ‘A young man with dark blond hair.'

‘Thank you, Alice.' Frances nodded, looking pleased by the news. ‘That will be Marcus's navigator, Simon Vane. Well, that's promising. She usually hates all the men I find for her, but Simon is rather dishy – and his father is seriously rich, too. Quite a catch I would say.'

‘Don't let Marcus hear you say that,' Daniel warned, with a smile.

Frances laughed, tossing her hair back confidently. ‘Oh, he knows I wouldn't look at anyone else. He would love to see you, Dan. Won't you come and join us for a few minutes?'

‘Sorry, not this time,' Daniel apologized. ‘I'm worn out, Frances. If I don't lie down I shall probably pass out. I don't want to be the spectre at the feast.'

‘Marcus will be disappointed; he'll be off soon – but you'll see him at the wedding, and that's not long.'

‘No, it isn't,' Daniel said. It was too soon if anything, but he couldn't spoil his sister's happiness by telling her so.

He went out into the hall, using the back stairs to make good his escape. The last thing he needed was to bump into any of his old friends the way he felt at the moment. It would be better after he'd had time to adjust, time to get over the shock of coming home to a house that no longer contained Robert Searles.

Closing the door of his bedroom, he leaned against it, his eyes shut. His arm was throbbing and his shoulder felt numb. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever get the full use of his arm back, though the doctor had been hopeful.

The window of his room overlooked the High Street at the front of the house. He could hear voices as people left, calling their goodbyes and thanks, the doors of a couple of cars slamming. Some people still had petrol it seemed, despite all the shortages.

He made sure his door was locked before going across to the bed and sitting down. He sighed as he lay back, putting his feet up on the eiderdown without taking off his shoes and closing his eyes. He was so bloody tired he could sleep for a week  . . .