The Way We Were (26 page)

‘I don't see why not,' Julia answers now. ‘To be honest, I don't see how we can manage with just one car. I think we were a bit starry-eyed when we first moved here, weren't we? It seemed so blissful after married quarters that we were ready to cope with anything.'

‘Well, I don't regret it for a minute,' Pete says. ‘And it's great for the kids. Andy and Liv are really happy at the village school, and old Charlie and Zack will be able to race around all over the moor in the summer.'

Suddenly Julia is overwhelmed with love and gratitude for him. How many men, she wonders, would so readily take on the child of a friend? She wants to reward him for his generosity, for not making her feel guilty about Tiggy and Zack.

‘I think your idea of a little sports car is a good one,' she says. ‘We don't want another estate car. Something nippy would be fun. We'll sell the van and when you're home again you'll have to look around.'

Pete's expression amuses her; he looks like Andy when he's been given an unexpected treat. ‘Actually,' he says, ‘David's talking of getting rid of his MGB now that they've just had the sprog. I might have a word with him.'

‘You do that,' she says, pleased that he is happy, enjoying this moment of normality. ‘You could phone him. Settle it before you go.'

Pete looks surprised at this enthusiasm. ‘I might just do that,' he says.

The twins come out of school wildly excited: there are to be great celebrations for the Queen's Silver Jubilee. They stand behind Julia's seat as she drives them home, explaining in a rather confusing duet – one in each ear – their various roles.

‘We're going to dress up and march to the old school and have lessons like they did a hundred years ago and you can come and watch us, Mummy.'

‘And there's going to be a big tea in the schoolroom.'

‘It sounds wonderful,' Julia says. ‘Fantastic. You must tell Daddy all about it when we get in.'

In the west the setting sun plunges down between bars of crimson cloud towards the shining sea. Plashy, reed-ringed pools tremble with fiery colour as the wind shivers over the moor, and a single distant star hangs in the eastern sky high above Rough Tor. This afternoon, at the corner by the granite slabs, Julia feels no horror but, to her grateful relief, only an odd peacefulness; an acceptance. She's had this experience a few times; braced for the pain of remembrance, she experiences instead this unexpected sense of grace. It doesn't last but she takes it as a sign that one day she might recover.

‘Are you listening, Mummy?' demands Liv. ‘I need to learn to
knit
. Mrs Crosley says we're going to have a banner with a picture of St Branwalader.'

‘Gosh!' says Julia faintly.

‘And a raven,' says Andy, in her other ear, ‘perched on Rough Tor. Because Branwalader,' he stumbles over the word, ‘means a Raven Lord.'

Once she's put the car away and they've all hurried indoors they tell the news again to Pete, Charlie, Zack and the dogs. As they sit round the table, Julia and Pete drinking tea while the children eat boiled eggs and soldiers, Liv starts up again with her need to learn to knit, which Julia has been tactfully parrying.

‘But
why
can't I, Mummy?'

‘I think Mrs Crosley must mean the older girls,' begins Julia. ‘Your hands are very small to do knitting, darling, but we can try.'

‘They've got to knit Rough Tor,' says Andy casually, man to man, to Pete, who stretches his eyes and makes such a disbelieving face that Andy laughs inordinately. Showing off, he picks up a Munchmallow and bangs it on his head as though it is an egg. Carefully he unpeels the red and silver foil in case the broken chocolate shell should fall out and eats the pieces before biting into the delicious marshmallow.

‘When you say “knit Rough Tor”,' says Pete, refilling his cup, ‘how d'you mean exactly? Rough Tor's how many feet high? Sounds quite a marathon.'

‘It's going to be on a banner. We told you. With St Branwalader,' says Liv impatiently ‘When can we start, Mummy?'

‘After tea,' says Julia, ‘unless you want to watch
Jackanory
'

Liv hesitates but Andy is already getting down, shouting
‘Jackanory'
and rushing into the sitting-room. Charlie immediately scrambles down after him and Zack sets up a wail from the high chair in which he is propped with a rug so as to hold him upright.

‘Sorry, darling,' Julia says to Liv. It's nearly time for his bottle. The knitting might have to wait until a bit later. I promise we'll have a try before you go to bed.'

Liv sighs heavily and stomps away behind her brothers whilst Julia picks Zack up and sits down with him opposite Pete. Zack stares around him, eyes wide; presently his gaze rests on Pete and suddenly he beams. Pete grins back.

‘Hello, old son,' he says. ‘Welcome to the circus. You'll get used to it after a while.'

‘He's already used to it,' says Julia, eating a neglected finger of bread and butter. ‘Can you believe he's nearly five months old? I suppose,' she hesitates a little, ‘I suppose we might have another one ourselves sometime.'

Pete's face falls. ‘Come on, love,' he protests. ‘I think that four kids are more than enough. Oh, I know we were hoping for another girl, and of course it's really sad that we lost our baby, but even so …' He shakes his head. ‘I think we might have to be content with this fellow. He's a splendid little chap, Julia.'

‘I know he is,' she says quickly, not wanting to start an argument on this last evening. ‘It's not that. It's just, you know, I was wondering about it, that's all.'

Pete watches her. ‘I'm sorry' he says gently, ‘but I think you'll find that four children under six are going to be an awful lot for you to cope with. You've already said that you didn't know how you managed these last few months, especially when I was at sea. That's why we're getting Linda up from the village to help in the house. Why don't you give it a bit longer before you worry about having any more?'

‘I expect you're right.' She smiles, hoping to restore the earlier cheerful atmosphere. ‘Anyway, I'm going to have my work cut out teaching Liv to knit.'

‘What on earth does she mean? How the devil can anyone knit Rough Tor?'

‘I think the idea is that they make up a collage with each child doing its own little piece and then they're all sewn together to make the banner. Be grateful you're going back to sea, that's all.'

‘I think I am,' he says. ‘Well, not really, of course. Six weeks in the North Sea isn't exactly my idea of fun.'

‘It'll be better than trying to teach Liv to knit,' promises Julia grimly.

When he's gone off down the drive with Uncle Archie next morning, the children waving and shouting their goodbyes frantically from the front door, Julia feels strangely bereft. She glances down at Liv whose eyes are brimming with tears, her mouth turned down at the corners, and knows exactly how she feels.

‘Daddy gone,' says Charlie thoughtfully.

‘Why does he have to keep going away?' asks Liv mutinously, repeating a question asked earlier but still unable to grasp the point of the vital importance of the defence of the realm. ‘Yes, but
why
does he? It's not fair.' Julia stretches out a comforting hand but Liv shakes it off. ‘Pee po piddle bum,' she shouts crossly.

Julia leads them all back into the house. ‘It's horrid, isn't it?' she agrees cheerfully. ‘But he'll be back soon and we'll make a lovely picture to send to him. We can do St Branwalader the Raven Lord. I'm going to make some porridge. Who wants some?'

Gloom as heavy and dull as an Atlantic depression hangs over the breakfast table. Everyone is out of sorts and edgy, and the twins go off to school decidedly glum; the prospect of Branwalader the Raven Lord and the knitting of Rough Tor no longer excites them. Even sunny-tempered Charlie, who is rather enjoying the extra attention now that the twins are at school, grizzles and runs his car across Zack's head, making him cry. By late morning Julia feels the familiar lowness of spirits pressing in and wonders why she ever thought she'd be relieved when Pete had gone. She sees now that the need to keep cheerful for his benefit has had certain advantages. After lunch and the children's nap she bundles Charlie into his out-door clothes, puts Zack into the pushchair, and sets off with the dogs, down the drive and up along the narrow moorland road.

Charlie shouts joyfully as he stumbles amongst the rocks; climbing the smaller boulders, jumping off again, splashing in the puddles and pools. Zack cranes from his seat to watch him whilst Bella and the Turk race away over the moor, barking excitedly, tails waving. Julia plods doggedly on, head bent against the north-westerly wind. She's lost enough weight in the last few months to be able to fit into Tiggy's long sheepskin coat and she wears it gratefully, not only for its warmth but for the comfort she derives from it having been Tiggy's.

She pulls the collar more closely around her neck and catches the faintest whiff of scent: Tiggy's Arpège. It is as if Tiggy is beside her, thrusting her hand under her arm; so strong is the impression that Julia instinctively presses her elbow against her side in response. The remembrance of those happy days with its comradeship and silly jokes assails her and, without warning, tears stream from her eyes. She bends low over the pushchair handle, blind with silent weeping, but when she raises her head she looks into Zack's puzzled eyes and the sight of the small, trusting face pulls her up short.

With an effort Julia smiles at him. She wipes her eyes and blows her nose and turns the pushchair, glad to have her back to the chill wind. A swoop of starlings passes overhead, a dark trembling cloud that forms and re-forms against the dull, grey backdrop, before plunging suddenly in a fluid waterfall of flight to the small fields in the valley below. There is no hint of spring in the moisture-laden air; no sign that these short dark winter days will ever end. Yet far out to the west, over the sea, a gleam of sunshine suddenly pierces the sullen clouds and strikes downwards; a shaft of light that irradiates the silvery horizon and touches Julia's heart with faint hope. Calling to Charlie and the dogs, smiling at Zack, she begins to walk briskly home.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

2004

It was the newspaper, flung down casually on the kitchen table, that reconnected Julia's memory. ‘GIGANTIC ART FRAUD' announced the headline, printed in bold type alongside the photograph of an elderly man. Julia glanced at it, turned away and then swivelled back to look at it more closely. She remembered that it was Charlie's newspaper, lying just so on the table at breakfast, that had first aroused the uneasiness: but why? She bent forward, both hands resting on the table, reading the newsprint. A medieval bronze bought by an American museum had been discovered to be a fake; further investigation now showed that this was simply one of several frauds. Tristan Stamper, the owner of a famous French gallery, had copied the originals, which he had kept for his own private collection.

Tristan Stamper. Julia bent closer, heart hammering, peering at the photograph. It must have been the name that had first alerted her subconscious. Was it possible that there could be two Tristan Stampers who had art galleries in Paris? Julia's thoughts darted forward, this way and that, trying to see how the arrest of Tiggy's father might have any effect upon them. Only she and Pete knew that he existed; he had no knowledge of his grandson. As far as he was concerned Tiggy had died in a car accident and that was the end of it. He couldn't have known about the baby: not even Tiggy's grandmother had known about the baby. Julia stared at the photograph of Tristan Stamper. The eighty-year-old man bore no resemblance to the young father she'd occasionally seen at school events. She thought about Zack. There was nothing to connect him to this; nothing. Yet, her heart raced and her stomach churned as she imagined how Zack would feel if he were to be confronted with this article and told that the man was his grandfather. All his life he'd assumed that Tiggy and Tom were orphans; how would he react to the truth?

She told herself that he need never know; who would tell him? There was nobody who would make the connection. Nevertheless, she had the feeling that she was missing the point; that there was something she'd overlooked that could give the game away. There was something nagging at the back of her mind: ever since she'd seen the headlines in Charlie's kitchen, and then the old VW camper at Eype, she'd been conscious of Tiggy at her elbow.

‘For God's sake,' she said aloud, ‘get a grip. This is crazy.'

She wondered if she dared confide in Aunt Em.

‘Don't tell anyone,' Pete had said long ago. ‘If only you and I know who Tiggy was then nobody can spill the beans by mistake.'

It was as if Tiggy was trying to tell her something, to warn her; Julia sat down at the table and put her head in her hands.

1977

January passes slowly with spells of drenching rain and blustery winds; skies of uniform grey cloud lour, pressing down upon the land, rolling in from the Atlantic and drifting in the valleys and across the moors, enveloping the house and misting the windowpanes. On a particularly bleak morning, Julia has a visitor. She's been on her knees, fishing with the broom handle for one of Charlie's little cars which has run beneath the dresser, when the bell trills. She climbs to her feet, dusts off the little car and gives it to Charlie, then goes through to the front door, pushing her hair behind her ears.