One Step at a Time (43 page)

Ben squinted at Howard. ‘How much did we drink last night?’

‘Don’t ask me. I lost count after six.’

Ben shuddered. ‘How’s Ted?’

‘Still fast asleep when I looked in.’ Howard pulled
a face of disgust. ‘How did we end up in our own beds? The last thing I remember was trying to get the key in the front door.’

‘Ah, that was a tricky operation.’ Ben was peering under his bed. ‘Where are my shoes?’

‘By the front door.’

‘What are they doing down there?’

‘Don’t ask me. Mine and Ted’s are there as well.’

‘Ah, then we were probably trying not to wake anyone.’

‘I don’t think we were successful.’ Howard sat on the floor by Ben’s bed, watching his friend try to stand up without swaying all over the place.

Ben examined his crumpled shirt. ‘God, I must have been in a state if I couldn’t even undress.’

‘We all slept in our clothes. Go and get washed and changed, and we’ll go down for some breakfast. While you’re doing that I’ll try to drag Ted out of bed.’

‘Breakfast!’ Ben went quite pale at the thought of food and had to hold on to the wardrobe for support. ‘You’re joking. But I wouldn’t mind a gallon of tea. When you have a chance and can see properly, I want you to have a look at the painting on my easel. Tell me what you think, and I want an honest opinion.’

‘Have you ever known me to be anything else about your work?’

‘No.’ Ben wandered off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

After half an hour he felt almost human again, and
joined Howard in the studio. ‘Did you get Ted out of bed?’

‘Yep, he’s in the kitchen. I’m not sure if he knows how he got there, though.’ Howard chuckled. ‘I don’t think he’ll be doing that again in a hurry.’

‘Nor me.’ Ben turned his attention to the painting. ‘Well, what do you think?’

Rubbing his chin, Howard stepped back a little. ‘The style is different, but I’d say it’s the best thing you’ve ever done.’

‘Really?’ That was still hard for Ben to believe. ‘That’s what Amy told me, but I thought she was just being kind.’

‘Ben.’ Howard looked at his friend. ‘You know she never flatters us unless she really likes what we’re doing. She’s got a good eye, and if she says it’s good, then it is. Are they actual men from the camp?’

Ben nodded. ‘I was having such a job to paint again, I thought that if I did this it might clear my mind.’

‘It’s certainly done that. You haven’t lost it, Ben, in fact you’re better.’ Howard’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Do some more like it.’

‘OK.’ For the first time in years, Ben felt a stirring of hope and confidence in his ability as an artist.

The sound of little feet climbing the stairs reached them, and then the door burst open.

‘Mummy said if you want breakfast, you’d better come now. And when are you going to paint my picture?’

Both men flinched at the sound of the high-pitched childish voice.

Ben scooped her up, making her giggle. ‘As soon as I’ve had a dozen cups of tea.’

39

Three days later, it was unusually quiet in the kitchen.

‘Where’s Grace?’ Mrs Dalton looked out of the window. ‘I can’t see, or hear her.’

‘She’s still having her portrait painted. Ben started
ages
ago, according to her, and she keeps reminding him to get on with it.’

‘Ah, well, that will keep them both busy. That night out did our Benjamin good, didn’t it? But he hasn’t been out since, has he?’

‘No, he’s still rather withdrawn, but at least he’s eating with us, talking more, and leaving his studio now and again. We’re going to give him a few more days, and then get him involved in plans for the new shop. The sooner all three of us can get back to normal, the better.’

‘Mummy!’ Grace burst into the room. ‘Uncle Ben won’t let me see the picture until it’s done. It’s taking a long time.’

‘He’ll let you see it as soon as he’s happy with it,’ Amy replied, pouring her a glass of milk.

Grace took it and guzzled thirstily, but made sure she left a little drop to put in Oscar’s saucer.

There was a knock on the front door, and Grace was already running. ‘I’ll go, Mummy.’

By moving very fast, Amy just beat her daughter to the door. Grace could reach the latch now, and had to be watched in case she ran out into the road.

Standing on the doorstep were a man, a woman and two children.

‘Hello, you must be Amy.’ The man smiled broadly, but he had the same strained look as Ben, and he was just as thin. ‘Ben told me all about you. My name’s Stan Carlisle, and this is my missus, Helen. The kids are Daisy, she’s six, and Len, who’s eight. We’ve come to see the big man, if that’s all right. He said we could call any time.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She stepped aside. ‘This is my daughter, Grace. Come in and I’ll take you up to Ben.’

They came inside and Stan slipped an arm around his wife. ‘I would have come sooner, but it’s taken me longer to recover than I thought it would.’

Ah, that accounted for his appearance. ‘Were you in the same camp?’

Stan nodded, and his expression sobered. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s been having a difficult time. Come into the kitchen first and meet Mrs Dalton.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Mrs Dalton asked when she had been introduced.

‘The missus will, and perhaps the kids can go in the garden for a while. I’d better see Ben alone first.’

‘Of course.’ Amy was a bit apprehensive about Ben seeing someone from the camp, but he was here,
and they couldn’t be rude. ‘Er… he hasn’t said a word to us about the camp. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.’

‘We all feel like that.’ Stan gave her arm a gentle pat. ‘Don’t you worry none; he’s a fine, brave man, and will soon get back into the run of things. It’s going to take all of us time, but we’ll make it.’

Grace had already taken the children out to the garden, so Amy showed Stan up to the studio.

The door was wide open, and Ben was engrossed in painting. ‘Ben, Stan and his family have come to see you.’

‘Hmm?’ He turned his head. ‘Shorty! What did Amy call you?’

‘Stan.’ They greeted each other with obvious pleasure.

‘I never knew your real name. It’s good to see you. How are you?’

Seeing that they were quite happy, Amy went downstairs again.

Helen was talking to Mrs Dalton and drinking tea. She looked up anxiously. ‘Is everything all right? Stan’s been fretting these last few days, wanting to see how Ben was, but he hasn’t been too well. He’s been very ill and had a bit of a relapse when he was repatriated. It sapped all his strength. I’ve never met the man upstairs, but I’d give him my last penny if he needed it, after what he did for my Stan.’

‘What was that?’ Amy and Mrs Dalton spoke at the same time.

‘Stan would have died if it hadn’t been for Ben. Hasn’t he told you anything about the camps?’

‘No, he’s been very quiet,’ Amy admitted, pouring Helen another cup of tea.

‘My Stan was like that at first, then one night he had a terrible nightmare. Frightened the life out of me, I can tell you, but after that he told me all about it.’

They listened in horror as Helen told them about the march in the freezing weather, and how Stan had been too ill to walk, so Ben had carried him all the way.

Helen blew her nose. ‘Nearly killed himself, Stan said. There was another man as well, Charlie, and the three of them stuck together. They all made it to the next camp, but Stan was delirious by then and doesn’t remember much. But Ben saved his life, that’s for sure.’

At that moment, Stan came into the kitchen carrying a painting, with Ben right behind him. ‘Look at this, Helen!’

She smiled gently at his excited face. ‘Introduce me to your friend first, Stan.’

‘Oops, sorry, forgetting my manners. Ben, this is my missus, Helen. Helen, this is the big man himself.’

He stood back, beaming as they greeted each other, and then rested the painting on the table. ‘Just look at this, pet. That’s me, the bloke by the door looking furtive is Charlie, then there’s a few of the others from our hut, and’ – he pointed to a lone figure in
the background – ‘that’s Ben. Always trying to find a bit of peace and quiet, he was.’

‘Oh, it’s beautiful, even though it’s of the POW camp.’ Helen was clearly impressed, smiling at Ben. ‘Stan said you were clever, and he’s right.’

‘If you like it that much, it’s yours.’ Ben smiled back. ‘I’ll wrap it for you.’

‘You can’t do that, mate,’ Stan said quickly. ‘The painting’s worth a lot of money; you can’t give it away.’

Tipping his head to one side, Ben studied the painting. ‘It’s too personal to sell. You know what it’s all about, so I’d like you to have it.’

‘Well…’ Stan was obviously struggling with his desire to own the picture and the belief that Ben shouldn’t be parting with it for nothing. ‘Let us give you something for it.’

‘No way, Stan. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have gone barmy in that camp. Please take it. I can always do others.’

Amy watched Stan accept it with the hint of a tear in his eyes, and she knew Ben had done the right thing. It would give enormous pleasure to the family, and that’s what every artist wanted for their work. This was the first time Ben had mentioned the camp, and she could see there was a deep bond between the two men, brought about by their shared experiences. From the little Helen had told them, things must have been desperate while Stan had been ill, and Ben would have cared, just as he had cared for the little
girl he had met only once. She had always loved the boy; now she loved the man – in a much deeper way.

That realization came as a shock, and she struggled not to feel disloyal to John. But it was four years since he had been cruelly taken from her. No amount of time would ever dim the love they had shared, but she had moved on and rebuilt her life. The steps had been terribly painful, but she had made it. John had been her first, special love, and always would be.

Needing a moment to compose herself, she walked into the garden on the pretence of checking on the children. She didn’t know when her feelings for Ben had changed from fondness and friendship to love, but it had happened. Her heart and body now desired him, but she must not let him know. He had enough problems trying to readjust and pull his life together, just like Stan, and goodness knows how many others. What he needed was uncomplicated support and affection, and that was what she would give him.

‘Mummy.’ Grace ran towards her. ‘Oscar doesn’t want to play with us, so I showed Daisy and Len where Uncle Howard bakes his pots.’

Amy smiled as the other two children rushed up to her, asking excitedly, ‘Do you think we could see the things he makes?’

‘Of course. I’ll take you to his workroom later. Now, would you like a drink? Tea or milk?’

‘Tea, please,’ they both said politely.

Just as they walked in from the garden, Howard appeared from the hallway, covered in dust, as usual.

‘Ah, the man we were just talking about.’ Amy urged the children forward. ‘This is the sculptor in the family, and he’ll show you where he works.’

He studied the two children, who were gazing at him expectantly, and then turned to their mother. ‘They are very clean and tidy. My workroom’s covered in dust.’

‘Please, Mum!’

Helen nodded. ‘A little dust won’t hurt them.’

‘Right, kids, your mum says it’s all right, so let’s go.’

Daisy and Len rushed after Howard, eager to see this fascinating place.

Grace didn’t bother to follow. She was standing on tiptoe trying to look at the picture on the table. Seeing she was having a job with this, Stan swept her up and sat her on his knees.

‘That’s me.’ He pointed to the shortest figure in the painting.

‘Hmm.’ Grace gave him a smug look. ‘Uncle Ben’s painting my picture too, but he won’t let me see it yet. I don’t like waiting.’

‘I know that’s hard, but it will be worth waiting for. Everything good is.’

She cast a sideways glance at Ben, then leant towards Stan’s ear and whispered, ‘Have you seen it?’

‘I have,’ he whispered back, ‘and you look very beautiful.’

‘My mummy’s beautiful, but she thinks she isn’t.’

‘Ah, well’ – Stan winked at Amy, who was listening with a faint smile on her face – ‘beauty is in the eye
of the beholder. My missus thinks I’m tall, dark and handsome.’

Grace didn’t understand what he meant, but joined in with the laughter anyway.

Ben was the most relaxed Amy had seen him since his return. He looked highly amused as he watched Stan with Grace.

‘Helen would change her mind if she’d seen you dressed up as Vera Lynn and singing “The White Cliffs of Dover”.’

‘What!’ Helen nearly fell off her chair. ‘But you can’t sing, Stan. You’re tone deaf.’

‘Neither can Ben.’ He smirked. ‘When we did a take-off of Flanagan and Allen, we brought the house down.’

Howard reappeared with the children, only splattered with a little dust. ‘What’s all this about?’

Ben sat back and folded his arms, a wry smile on his face. ‘I was only supposed to paint the scenery, but Stan forced me into the show. He made a very unconvincing woman, by the way.’

Grace clambered down from Stan and disappeared in the garden with the other children.

‘I tried to get Ben into stockings. Those long legs would have caused a riot, but he flatly refused.’

‘You bet I did! I wasn’t taking any chances with a camp full of deprived men.’

Tipping his head back, Stan laughed, a deep throaty sound. ‘No one would have touched you, mate. You made the rest of us look like half-pints.’

Amy glanced across at Helen, but Stan’s wife just shrugged her shoulders. It was obvious that this was the first she’d heard about it, as well.

She shook her husband’s arm. ‘Stan, you never told me about this.’

‘Sorry, pet, I would have got around to it, eventually. Boredom was a great danger in the camp, and Christmas was a bad time for all of us, being away from our families. So, we always put on a concert on Christmas Eve to take the men’s minds off home. You can’t have a show without women in it, so we used to dress up. One or two looked quite good, didn’t they, Ben?’