The Swallow and the Hummingbird (29 page)

Maddie stifled a yawn and wondered when she would be able to slip back to Bray Cove.

‘When Rita wakes up, will you ring me?’ said Faye. ‘I’d like to see her.’

‘Of course,’ Hannah replied, getting up to see her friend off.

‘In the meantime, if you need to talk you know where I am.’ But Faye knew she wouldn’t. Humphrey’s silence was loud and resentful. She embraced Hannah again but her body felt stiff and unyielding.

Faye drove up the lane, but she didn’t take the road to Lower Farm. Instead she turned towards Thadeus’ house.

It wasn’t long before Mrs Megalith appeared in the hall, having brought with her a cautiously optimistic Max and the stale smell of cat. Max, like an acolyte, stood beside her, assisting her out of her raincoat and hat, holding her walking stick while she brushed herself down. She had been incapable of driving through such a storm by herself and, as Max was languishing in the house with nothing to do, she had asked him to act as chauffeur, telling him all about Rita’s suicide attempt on the way.

‘Mother!’ exclaimed Hannah. Rarely was she so happy to see her mother.

‘My God, what a morning you’ve all had!’ said Mrs Megalith, taking her stick from Max without so much as a thank you.

‘Max, how nice of you to drive Mother over. Let’s all go into the sitting room, the kitchen is making me claustrophobic,’ suggested Hannah. ‘Humphrey’s devastated,’ she hissed to her mother. ‘I’ve never seen him like this before.’ Mrs Megalith hobbled down the corridor and settled comfortably into an armchair beside the fire.

‘Hello, Grandma,’ said Maddie, striding in with an indecent smile spread across her perfectly painted face. ‘Harry Weaver saved Rita’s life!’ Mrs Megalith looked over her glasses and frowned disapprovingly.

‘So I hear,’ she replied. ‘Wipe that grin off your face, Madeleine, and fetch me a sherry. Make it a large one.’ Maddie rolled her eyes at Max but continued to smile.

‘What do you want, Max?’

‘He’ll have a cup of tea,’ replied her grandmother. She waved a bent finger at her. ‘Mind that sherry’s a large one,’ she repeated as Maddie disappeared. ‘Maddie is a very silly girl,’ she said, once her granddaughter had gone.

‘I don’t know what’s got into her today,’ said Hannah, bemused. Mrs Megalith raised her eyebrows.

‘Really?’ she said cynically. ‘I think it’s love, Hannah dear.’

‘Love?’ Hannah sighed wearily. She couldn’t take another child in love.

‘Yes, right under your very nose.’

‘Not Harry?’ She shook her head. Then it all made perfect sense. ‘Oh dear. Why did I have three daughters?’

‘That’s the least of your problems, Hannah. Those cats died for Rita, not Maddie.’

‘What cats?’ Hannah would never understand her mother, but Max did. He nodded, remembering the bad omen.

‘Maddie will sail through life. I don’t know which star she was born under but it was a very large, shiny one, for sure.’

‘And Rita?’ Hannah asked.

‘A fragile star, I’m afraid. But she’ll live, thanks to the likes of the Harrys of this world!’ Mrs Megalith chuckled and dug her chin into the fat folds of flesh around her neck. ‘Where is she?’

‘Asleep.’

‘Then I’ll wait until she wakes. We’re not going back out into that storm until we have to.’

Max longed to see Rita, but just being in her home made him feel warmed by her invisible presence. He was appalled that she had wanted to throw herself off the cliff. He wanted to tell her that George wasn’t worth it. That he wasn’t the only man to love her. Max loved her, but his love went unnoticed in the glare of George’s. George had been the driving force of her life. The air she breathed. The wind that enabled her to fly effortlessly like a bird. Max’s love was a thin cry lost in that wind. If she could only give him time to prove himself. He could be more of a man than George.

Max was seventeen years old now. He had left school in the summer and was about to leave Frognal Point for the city. Mrs Megalith was full of encouragement. ‘You can’t stay at home fetching and carrying for an old bag like me,’ she had said. ‘You’re a clever young man with a bright future ahead of you. Had they lived, your parents would have been very proud of you.’ But Max didn’t want success to please his dead parents but to win Rita. He had bigger ambitions than could be fulfilled in Frognal Point.

Maddie returned with a cup of tea and a large tumbler of sherry. Mrs Megalith clicked her tongue and eagerly took the glass. ‘What are you all dressed up for, young lady?’ she asked Maddie after taking a big gulp. She shivered as it slid down her throat to her belly.

‘A girl should make the most of her assets,’ replied Maddie with a smirk.

‘You’ve certainly done that,’ Mrs Megalith retorted. ‘I hear you’re making yourself useful at Bray Cove.’ Maddie had the decency to blush.

‘Harry needs help. He’s chaotic. Besides, I’ve been sketching birds,’ she said proudly.

‘What? Dressed like that?’

‘Of course not, Grandma. What do you think I am?’

‘I’d better not say. I’ll offend your mother.’

‘Maddie’s an excellent secretary,’ interjected Hannah. ‘She’s also discovered a talent she never knew she had.’

‘I don’t wish to imagine,’ Mrs Megalith commented drily.

‘She paints beautifully.’ Hannah turned to her daughter. ‘Go and fetch your sketchbook, Maddie.’ Maddie was only too happy to show off her paintings. She knew they were good. Mrs Megalith was pleasantly surprised.

‘A talent inherited from me,’ she said arrogantly. ‘I was a very good painter.’ Then Rita appeared at the door like a shadow and Maddie reluctantly closed the book.

‘Maddie, go and make Rita some Ovaltine with a dash of brandy,’ Mrs Megalith ordered, appalled by the grey pallor of her eldest granddaughter’s complexion. ‘That’s guaranteed to make you feel better, my dear,’ she said softly. ‘Come and sit down by the fire, you look frightfully cold.’ Rita shuffled over to the fire and perched on the edge of the fender beside her grandmother.

‘How do you feel?’ Hannah asked. Rita shrugged.

‘Empty,’ she replied.

‘It will get better,’ her mother encouraged.

‘Not today it won’t,’ interrupted Mrs Megalith stridently. ‘Not tomorrow either. Broken hearts are hard to mend, but the healing process can only get going if you talk about it instead of bottling it all up inside. Nothing good comes from bottling up one’s emotions, you just build up an awful lot of negative energy that weighs you down.’

‘It was so unexpected,’ said Rita. ‘I thought we had a future together. I feel so bruised and let down. I can’t believe he doesn’t want me.’ Her voice trailed off and she fixed her gaze on the carpet.

‘I told her that I don’t think George knows what he wants,’ said Hannah. Mrs Megalith frowned for she knew better, but she pursed her lips.

‘Give me my handbag, Max,’ she said, holding out her hand expectantly. Max retrieved her bag from the hall. She placed it on her knee and delved inside. ‘Ah, here we are.’ She pulled out a black velvet bag of crystals. ‘I want you to keep the rose quartz in your pocket, my dear. The others simply place beside your bed.’ Rita took the bag, relieved that her grandmother hadn’t brought her tarot cards. Weighed down by so much positive energy she looked outside longingly, but it was still too wet to go for a walk. Maddie appeared with a mug of Ovaltine. ‘You didn’t forget that dash of brandy, did you?’ Mrs Megalith said, taking the mug from Maddie and handing it to Rita. ‘This will do you good. You must keep your strength up. Life is a series of obstacles. The trick is to jump them, then let them go. Don’t look back. No point crying over spilt milk and all that. You can come out of this stronger if you want to. You have a choice.’

‘I don’t feel I have any choice at all,’ said Rita mournfully. She caught Max’s eyes, surprised once again by the warm affection that shone through them. She turned back to her grandmother. Mrs Megalith chose an analogy that Rita would understand.

‘Take two birds with broken wings,’ she said thoughtfully, toying with her moonstone pendant. ‘Shot down by huntsmen one fine spring morning. They scurry away to hide in the safety of bushes to nurse their wounds. Little by little their damaged wings heal. One bird decides not to let such misfortune ruin her life. With the sheer force of her will she trains herself to fly again. It’s not easy. She has to practise and practise and some days she’s nearly overcome with hopelessness, but in the end, her hard work and positive mental attitude pay off. She flies. She flies higher than ever before and such flight gives her more pleasure because she knows what it is to be grounded. The other bird, however, is too frightened to try. She hides in the bushes, in the shadows, where it is dark, where she can wallow in her own self-pity. Unable to conquer her unhappiness and let go of the past, she lets her broken wing dominate her life, until it destroys it, robbing her of the most precious thing of all – her freedom.’

Mrs Megalith took off her glasses and looked into her granddaughter’s sad eyes. ‘You have just been shot down by a huntsman, Rita. You can be either bird, it is your choice. You can’t decide now, but later, when spring comes and you are able to see your situation from a distance, you will have to make that decision. Just remember the story and let it guide you. Ultimately, the choice is yours, my dear. Now drink up, you’ll feel better with a bit of liquor in you!’

In the afternoon Faye returned to see Rita. The weather had cleared a little and Mrs Megalith and Max had finally gone home after a good lunch. Thadeus had been sympathetic, giving Faye strength by wrapping his large arms around her and listening to her relate the story of Rita’s suicide attempt. He had been shocked. How a girl could throw away a perfectly good life for the simple rejection of a man was beyond even his understanding. ‘She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in Poland during the war,’ was all he had said, which made Faye feel much better. George was within his rights to break off their engagement. Much better to hurt her now than to regret marriage ten years down the line when there were children to think of as well as a wife. She understood her son and stood by his decision, however painful it was for Rita.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Faye to Rita, who was sitting like a shrivelled version of her former self on the window seat of her bedroom.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she replied, looking out of the window at the drizzle that now floated down in the wake of the storm.

‘I know. But I’m George’s mother. I love both of you.’

‘I really thought we were going to be a family.’

‘So did I. I would have loved you as a daughter-in-law.’

Rita turned to Faye. ‘Do you think he’ll come back, one day?’

‘I’m sure he will. He didn’t mention it in the letter he wrote to me. But when he left he was only planning to be gone a year or so.’

‘That was when he had me to come back for.’ Faye took Rita’s hand.

‘He was very confused when he left, Rita. He didn’t know what he wanted. He just knew he had to get away. If you ask me, it weighs too heavily on his conscience to ask you to wait for him any longer. He doesn’t trust himself and he probably doesn’t want to feel that he has to come back if he’s not ready to. Now he’s in Argentina he’s detached from home, from you and me, from his life here. You have to understand that he was hurting too. He lost friends in the war and he lived through a terrible experience that will be with him for the rest of his life. He’s recovering out there. I hope when he comes back he will have found the part of himself he lost up there in the skies, or at least something of him.’

‘I don’t want to give up,’ said Rita with a sigh. ‘Am I wrong?’

‘You must do whatever feels right for you,’ Faye replied, knowing that the best advice she could give her would be to let him go. But she couldn’t bring herself to look into this dejected child’s eyes and tell her so.

Trees wasn’t much help. He didn’t see the seriousness of the drama. ‘Oh dear,’ was all he said, scratching his head. When Faye tried to explain to him that it could come in the way of their family friendship, he was adamant that it wouldn’t. ‘We can’t be held responsible for George,’ he said firmly. ‘They know that.’

‘They do know that,’ Faye argued. ‘But in their eyes George has hurt their daughter, they’re bound to be protective of her. In their position I would resent George a great deal.’

‘Be that as it may,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Only time will tell.’

So Faye had shut herself in her studio and sculpted a hideous, angry crow with a wide-open, screaming beak. It was grotesque, but brilliant. She wondered whether Rita would continue to bicycle over after work for her lessons. She doubted it.

Max stood outside in the drizzle, smoking. Mrs Megalith hated him smoking in the house. She said it was bad for his lungs but he just laughed at the absurd idea. In his opinion, the stench of cat was far worse for one’s health. He looked about the sleeping garden, at the naked trees and rotting foliage, and thought of Rita and her wintry heart. Then he thought of his childhood and the part of his own heart that had frozen over. He had arrived at Elvestree as a little boy on a day like this. He remembered the cold and the grey, the heavy cloud and the heaviness of heart. He remembered saying goodbye to his parents, embracing them for what turned out to be the last time. They had told him he was going away for a while but that, when things quietened down, they would send for him and Ruth. Of course they never did. Pain was relative, he mused. Rita didn’t know the pain of losing one’s family and one’s home. He didn’t know the pain of losing a lover. To each one the pain was total. But experience had taught him that time numbs it. It doesn’t cure it completely, but it takes away the edge of it, like wrapping a blade in cloth. He only suffered if he tried to remember the past in too much detail. It was the smell of it, the sound of it, the sense of it that destroyed him, the indescribable things that defined his childhood that debilitated him completely, not the pictures in his mind. He had a photograph of his parents and one of the baby sister, Lydia, who had stayed with them to perish with the rest of the Jews. His parents had at least lived, Lydia hadn’t even been given a chance. He stubbed out his cigarette on a wet paving stone and extinguished thoughts of his family and his childhood with it.