The September Girls (53 page)

‘Why don’t you go over and have a drink?’ Lizzie suggested, laying down her book, having read his thoughts. ‘You look a bit edgy.’

‘I’d sooner stay with you and Bernard,’ he replied, ‘and I can have a drink here.’ He picked up the wine and refilled their glasses, although he’d never been much of a wine drinker. The red always tasted like vinegar and the white no different from lemonade. It was a bit late now, but he should have bought himself a few bottles of beer.

‘I managed to get a quarter of ham today; make yourself a sandwich if you feel like it.’

‘I might later.’

Lizzie gave him a brilliant smile and returned to her book. Across the road they were singing ‘We’re Gonna Hang out the Washing on the Siegfried Line’, finishing with a tremendous cheer. Colm wondered wistfully how the party was going in Eleanor’s house - Cara had told him about it when he’d gone to see the new baby, Sean. Eleanor’s parties were never as raucous as some he’d been to, but they were fun and a good time was had by all.

It wasn’t that Lizzie didn’t like parties, but they had a baby son and parties were out until he was old enough to be left with a sitter. If Colm was feeling a bit out of things, then it was his own fault for having fathered a child when he already had grandchildren.

‘I’ll just go and see if Bernard’s all right.’ He went into the bedroom, lifted the curtain and looked through the window. If it hadn’t been for the noise, the Railway Arms with its blacked-out windows and doors, not a speck of light visible anywhere, could have been deserted. Two men emerged, supporting each other, and singing, ‘Run, Rabbit, Run Rabbit, Run, Run, Run’. He watched until they turned a corner, then let the curtain fall, switched on the bedside lamp and looked down at his son asleep in his cot. As soon as Bernard was old enough to have a room of his own they’d have to find somewhere bigger to live.

A quarter of a century ago, Colm remembered looking down at his other sons. Then, they’d lived in Ireland and had been dirt poor, the future holding no promise of better things to come until he’d won ten pounds on that sweepstake, and Liverpool and his brother, Paddy, had beckoned.

More memories came, of his frantic search for a copper on their first night in Liverpool when Cara was born. He’d found Brenna and his kids in a house in Parliament Terrace. Who would have thought that one day Cara would own the desperately grand place in which she’d been born? Life was strange, so strange that sometimes it scared him.

In those days, he’d never dreamt that the time would come when he’d fall out of love with Brenna and in love with someone else. Brenna was always so brave and supportive. He’d actually felt, most unreasonably, a little bit hurt when she took the end of their marriage so coolly, not raising even a word of protest. He wanted to cry again at the idea that she no longer loved him, and nor did Fergus or Tyrone, neither of whom he’d seen since he walked out of the house in May. He hadn’t even known Tyrone had joined the Merchant Navy until Cara had told him.

Bernard made a noise, a tiny cry, as if he was having a bad dream. Colm stroked his face and murmured, ‘It’s all right, son.’ He was a bonny little fellow, Bernard, self-contained like his mother, never making much of a fuss about anything.

The door opened, Lizzie came in, took his hand and led him into the living room where she pushed him on to a chair and sat on his knee. ‘Are you feeling nostalgic, darling?’

‘Yes,’ Colm admitted.

‘That’s all right, perfectly normal. You can’t be expected to empty your brain of everything’s that happened before, particularly on a night like this. Are you thinking of Brenna and the children?’ Colm nodded. ‘Tell you what,’ Lizzie continued, kissing his nose, ‘let’s celebrate the New Year in bed, much better than a rowdy pub full of drunks.’

Colm nodded again. If ever he had doubts about having left Brenna for Lizzie, Lizzie only had to do something like this and the doubts would vanish in an instant.

 

At first, Eleanor thought the ringing was the alarm clock, until she remembered it hadn’t been set because by the time everyone had left the party and she’d gone to bed, it was four o’clock and she was looking forward to a long lie-in. According to the clock, silent except for the tick, it was only five to nine, and the ringing was the bell on the front door.

‘Damn!’ she muttered as she crawled out of bed and reached for her dressing gown, swaying slightly. She’d drunk so much the night before she probably had a slight hangover. The party had gone very well and everyone appeared to enjoy themselves. Oliver had invited some friends from work and all the Caffreys were there, the ones still around, that was. Fergus had turned up with a different girlfriend from the one at Christmas. Cara had left just after midnight to relieve Nancy, who was looking after all the children, so it was late when Nancy arrived.

Downstairs was in a frightful mess, glasses, bottles and plates all over the place. Brenna had wanted to tidy up before she left, but Eleanor had pushed her out and said she’d do it herself in the morning.

‘I’ll come round and give you a hand,’ Brenna had offered.

‘There’s no need, Bren. Oliver will help.’

Brenna was incapable of sleeping in, and if this was her come to give the promised hand, then Eleanor would go back to bed and let her get on with it.

Instead of Brenna, a tall man in a Fleet Air Arm uniform was standing on the step. Eleanor blinked blearily - the daylight hurt her eyes.

‘Mrs Allardyce?’ the man enquired courteously, but without a smile.

‘Yes,’ Eleanor conceded.

‘I’m Lieutenant Palfrey. May I please come in? I’m afraid I have some rather bad news.’

‘Jonathan!’ The hangover disappeared and Eleanor was completely alert. Her heart began to thump like a drum. ‘Has something happened to Jonathan? Has he been hurt? Tell me, please tell me.’

‘I’d prefer it if you sat down first, Mrs Allardyce.’ He stepped into the hall and took her arm. She went into the living room and almost fell on to the settee. The lieutenant released her arm and sat beside her.

‘I had a telephone call about an hour ago from our base in Thurso,’ he said gently. ‘Last night, there was an accident. It seems a girl was taking Jonathan in her father’s van to a party, a force ten gale was blowing, and the van must have been crossing a bridge when it was caught in a gust of wind and blown into the water. It wasn’t found until the early hours of this morning and Jonathan and the girl were dead, they’d drowned.’ He put his hand on Eleanor’s and squeezed it. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Allardyce.’

‘But I thought he was safe in Scotland,’ Eleanor whispered. She began to scream, a high-pitched keening that made her ears buzz and her eyes water. How could she possibly live without Jonathan?

Oliver came in. ‘Eleanor, what on earth’s the matter, darling?’

She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, ‘Jonathan is dead. Oh, Oliver, I want to die.’

Oliver kissed her forehead, but didn’t attempt to hold her. ‘Christ, what a terrible thing. Look, darling, let me fetch you some whiskey, then I’ll make tea.’ He walked away, leaving Eleanor’s arms to drop to her sides.

‘I don’t want anything.’ Abandoned, Eleanor stood in the middle of the room feeling completely lost and terribly alone. Jonathan, her beloved child, was
dead
.

Lieutenant Palfrey got to his feet. His eyes were desperately sad, as if it was his own child who’d been lost. ‘I’ll leave you to grieve in peace, Mrs Allardyce. There’s just one thing, would you like the funeral to be held in Liverpool or Scotland? I’m sorry to ask so soon, but we need to know.’

‘Scotland, please.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise, darling?’ Oliver returned with the whiskey she didn’t want, couldn’t have drunk to save her life. ‘It’s a frightfully long way to go.’

‘I want to see where he died,’ she sobbed. ‘I want to talk to the mother of the girl who died with him.’ She’d go to the ends of the earth for the sake of her darling son.

The lieutenant took her hand in both of his; it felt warm and comforting. ‘I’ll arrange transport for you. I have your telephone number and will be in touch this afternoon.’

While Oliver was showing the man out, Eleanor raced up to her bedroom and threw on some clothes. ‘Where are you going, darling?’ Oliver asked when she came down barely a minute later.

‘To see Nancy. I have to see Nancy.’ She needed to be held in someone’s arms and had only just realized it was no good expecting Oliver to do it. Their relationship had been a hollow one and had meant even less to him than it had to her.

 

The scenery was as bleak as Eleanor’s heart. Everything was grey; the water, the sky, the cottages situated close to the frothy, swirling waves of the North Sea, which beat against the grey, craggy rocks. What must it be like to live there, Eleanor wondered, so cut off from the rest of the world? The staff car turned a bend and the cottages disappeared from sight, although the sea remained, the waves curling angrily, as if it were in a terrible temper. They continued along the winding coast road, the angry sea to the left and the barren countryside on the right, passing the occasional isolated house.

Eleanor was being taken to see Hector Ingram, the father of Morag who’d died with Jonathan on New Year’s Eve. He wasn’t a local man and had come to live in the area from Glasgow twenty years ago when Morag was a baby. His wife had stuck it out for a few years, before returning to Glasgow. Soon after, they’d got divorced and she’d married someone else: The police had been unable to trace her. There were two sons: one in the Army, the other in the RAF. Both were married and had one child each.

Jenny Waters had told her all this, the pretty WREN who was driving the car and had been designated to look after her during her stay in the lonely wilderness of the north of Scotland. After Hector Ingram, she was being taken to see the bridge where Jonathan had died.

It was Jenny who had booked her a room in a hotel in Thurso. Eleanor had asked for another room to be reserved for her daughter. ‘She’ll be arriving later today or tomorrow, as soon as she can get here.’

She’d completely forgotten about Sybil, that she might want to come to Jonathan’s funeral, and it had taken Nancy to remind her that she must be told.

‘Will you tell her, please?’ she’d asked Nancy piteously. ‘I’m just not up to it.’

‘Of course, pet.’ As ever, Nancy had provided a strong pair of arms and a shoulder to cry on. Brenna couldn’t have been more upset had Jonathan been her own son and Cara had made endless cups of tea and been sympathy itself. Fielding, usually so flippant, had cried at the news. ‘He was such a lovely chap,’ she wept. ‘We got on really well over Christmas. Next time he came home, we were going to the pictures. How can life be so cruel?’ She looked at Nancy, as if expecting her to provide an answer, but Nancy just shook her head and looked bewildered. ‘I don’t know, pet.’

Jonathan was being buried the day after tomorrow in a tiny, unsheltered graveyard that belonged to a church Eleanor had never heard of. The denomination didn’t bother her, she told Jenny. ‘At home, I never go near a church except for weddings and christenings. And funerals,’ she added, remembering it was only nine months since Marcus had died. Would Jonathan still be alive if she had gone to church every week and prayed for his dear soul? No, she decided. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Brenna virtually lived in church, but it hadn’t saved Maria and Mike.

‘What does he do, Hector Ingram?’ she asked Jenny. As if she cared, as if it mattered what the man did. She was just making polite conversation for Jenny’s sake because nothing mattered any more now that Jonathan was dead.

‘He’s a sculptor, but not the normal sort. He welds bits of metal together, or something. I’d never heard of him until . . .’ Jenny paused. ‘Well, until this happened, and I found out as much as I could.’

‘Will he mind me turning up like this out of the blue?’

‘He’s expecting you,’ Jenny said surprisingly. ‘I thought it best to ring first and make sure you’d be welcome. He lives just around this bend.’

Minutes later, the car turned into a muddy drive and stopped outside a grim, two-storey house covered in shingle. ‘I’ll stay here,’ Jenny said. ‘It’d be best if you saw him alone.’

Eleanor shivered as she approached the front door. Even her musquash coat, fur-lined boots and woollen headscarf didn’t provide enough protection from the icy wind that felt as if it were penetrating her bones. She was about to knock when the door was opened by a slight man, not very tall, with closely cropped brown hair, and a scar on his lean, brown face. It ran from just below his left eye to his jaw and looked as if it had been done by a razor many years before. He wore thick, corduroy trousers and a black polo-necked jumper. Despite his slim build, he looked immensely powerful. ‘Come in, Mrs Allardyce,’ he said gruffly. The unfriendliness in his eyes took her aback.

‘Thank you.’ She entered a long, comfortably furnished, rather shabby room, with a log fire burning in the grate, rushes in a vase on the hearth and numerous pictures on the walls. Through the window, she could see a garden with a few large trees, a neat lawn surrounded by a thick green hedge and a long shed where Hector Ingram no doubt did his sculpting. Beneath one of the trees, there was a mound of black soil and a spade on the grass beside it. She drew in a quick, sharp breath, realizing that this was where his daughter would be buried. Suddenly she felt very hot. The fire was burning her legs and under her arms felt sticky. ‘It’s lovely and warm in here. Do you mind if I take off my coat?’

‘Please yourself.’ He shrugged. ‘To be frank, Mrs Allardyce, I don’t know why you’re here. I didn’t like to refuse when the girl rang and asked if you could come and see me, but perhaps I should’ve.’ His Scottish accent was so thick, his voice so gruff, that she could barely understand him.

‘It’s just that this was the last place where Jonathan had been before he died,’ she stammered. She didn’t remove her coat, just loosened her headscarf a little, wishing he was a bit more welcoming. He hadn’t suggested she sit down and was standing by the door, arms folded, as if he were already waiting for her to leave. ‘I just wanted to see what it was like, know what he said, what relationship he had with your daughter.’