Wartime Brides (41 page)

Edna nodded.

Charlotte willed Janet not to offer to do it. It had to be Edna who answered the door.

She stood in the kitchen with Billy, and handed him the half turkey, firmly wrapped in several layers of newspaper. They waited patiently.

‘Hurry up, Colin mate,’ urged Billy, his gazed fixed on the ceiling as if in prayer.

It seemed like an eternity before the doorbell finally rang.

Charlotte attempted to leave the kitchen, but Billy placed a warning hand on her arm. She counted to ten, glanced swiftly at Billy for approval, then left the kitchen first, Billy following behind her.

Edna sat silently at the table, totally engrossed in her own thoughts. It was like being dead. She was sure of it. And she deserved to die for not standing up to anyone about keeping Sherman and for not telling Colin. Things happened to her and she tended to let them. Well, she wouldn’t do so any more.

She still shivered each time she thought of the day that she had kept the appointment with Mr Lewis. She had marched full of happiness into Charlotte’s office only to find that Colin now knew her secret.

Her heart had broken in two when he’d left with Billy, who had then come back to say she wouldn’t be welcome at the little house in Kent Street that they had striven together to make into a home and a business.

Charlotte had apologised for having kept the letters. Edna had burnt them, unread, on the very day she’d come
to
stay with Charlotte. The past was gone. She had a future to face. And Colin, too, must be faced. She missed him dreadfully and she was worried about him being ill. That was why she kept feeling sick and didn’t want anything to eat. At least, that’s what she told herself at first. Now she told herself that it was because they were living apart. But deep down she recognised the symptoms. Christmas Day and here she was sitting down with Charlotte’s family, including her husband who looked terribly tired and was obviously ill. Charlotte, she knew, wanted to make the effort to mend her marriage. It was going to be a difficult job and she admired her bravery. But Charlotte had a majestic sense of duty.

It surprised Edna to hear the doorbell during the meal. She presumed that Father Christmas really was attending, that Charlotte had got someone to dress up for the sake of the children, although they did seem a little old for that sort of thing. When she heard it ring a second time she presumed he’d come in and gone out again. But she did as Charlotte had asked her and went to open the door.

She said nothing when she saw who it was. It was Colin, but it wasn’t Colin. He was face to face with her, standing upright, his hands resting on two wooden sticks.

Her legs felt weak. Her heart danced in her chest.

A deafening silence persisted between them.

She looked him up and down, unable to control the surprise that was obviously plain on her face. At last she said, ‘You’ve got legs!’

At the uttering of those magic words he seemed to grow taller. ‘I was fitted for them a few weeks ago. I’ve been trying them out for a while. I’ll need the sticks for a while yet, but after that …’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘Seems like we’ve both been keeping secrets.’

Edna blushed and looked down at the floor in the meek fashion she always adopted when she wanted to avoid confrontation. But she had to tell him how she felt and how much she had given up to be with him. Somehow she found the courage.

‘I love you, Colin. What happened was because of the war. I should have been brave enough to tell you earlier. Mother wouldn’t …’

‘I know.’

She waved him into silence. ‘But I’ve made my own decisions since. My baby will have a good life with people who love him desperately. And I will have a good life with you and you with me – if you want me, Colin, if you still really want me.’

He shrugged, then smiled weakly. ‘Someone thinks I must do.’

She sensed his emotions were mixed. So were hers. She didn’t want to be rejected, but at the same time she badly wanted to throw her arms around his neck.

Her throat felt dry, the words dried like dust. Be brave, said a small voice inside, and, before the weaker, more pliant side of her could counteract her intention, she threw her arms around her husband’s neck and rained kisses upon his cheeks. His sticks fell to the ground as he
wrapped
his arms around her, Edna partially taking the weight the sticks had taken.

The sudden sound of a car engine made them both look out onto the crescent. Billy’s van was driving away.

Colin panicked. ‘Where’s he going?’

‘Back to Polly with half a turkey. Come on in, Colin. Lunch is being served.’ Charlotte was standing by the open dining room door. She was smiling and her eyes were misty.

Edna picked up Colin’s sticks while he leaned on her for temporary support. He took both sticks in one hand, his other clinging onto Edna’s.

‘I’m going to learn to drive a car,’ Edna blurted suddenly, for no other reason than it sounded incredibly brave.

Colin, still walking stiffly towards the dining room, stared at her quizzically. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because Billy is going to marry Polly and won’t be around as much to deliver the toys. And besides, I’d prefer having a car to having a pram for the baby.’

Just before they went into the dining room she told him she ached inside for the loss of Sherman and always would. But another child was on the way — his child — and she had no intention of giving this one up.

Charlotte sighed with satisfaction as she sat down again at the dining table, aware that David was watching her. Once everyone was seated, they all watched as, with great patience, Edna helped her husband into a chair. He
looked
confused, hardly daring to take his eyes off Edna’s face.

He knows about the baby, Charlotte thought. Without thinking she turned to David, smiled and said, ‘I think they’ll be all right. I think they may very well rebuild their lives.’

David smiled back, the way he used to do before the war. She looked into his eyes and studied them for some sign of the violence she had known. There was only a lost and lonely kind of look and, as her eyes filled with tears, she felt his hand slowly covering hers.

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First published as
The Rest of Our Lives
in 2002 by Orion
This edition published in 2012 by Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
A Random House Group Company

Copyright © 2002 Jeannie Johnson writing as Lizzie Lane

Lizzie Lane has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

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