Twisted Strands (35 page)

She sighed. Here, in the stillness, there was nothing now to keep her mind off what day it was.

Tears filled her eyes. Every year until he had volunteered Andrew had visited her on the Saturday nearest to her birthday. He had taken her on a trip into Grantham, treating her to cream cakes
in a fancy restaurant, before taking her to the photographic studio to have her birthday picture taken. True to her promise to him, on her half-day off the previous week, Bridie had gone into
Grantham to have her photograph taken. It lay now in the chest of drawers in her bedroom, along with the other two taken in the years since he had gone away. It was almost three years since she had
last seen Andrew. Three years in which she had grown up and three photographs that he hadn’t even seen.

The view before her blurred as she remembered what he had done with all the earlier photographs. When she could, Bridie promised herself, she would take the new ones to Flawford and stand them
on the mantelpiece in Andrew’s cottage for him to find when he came home from the war. At the thought, her heart overflowed with love for him. She lifted her face to the sky and closed her
eyes, praying as fervently as if she were kneeling in her uncle’s chapel.

‘Bring him home safely. Oh, please let him be alive.’

‘So, this is where you’re hiding.’

The voice behind her startled her so that she gave a little cry and turned to see Micky Morton grinning down at her.

‘What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?’

He squatted on his haunches beside her. ‘I got the afternoon off, seeing as what day it is.’

She gaped at him. ‘What day it is?’ she repeated stupidly.

‘Yeah. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own birthday?’

She glanced away and looked down, tearing at the grass growing out of the cracks in the rock where she was sitting. ‘No, I hadn’t. But I thought everyone else had.’ She smiled
up at him. ‘But at least you remembered. Thanks, Micky.’

He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Come on, then.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see.’

She shrugged, but did as he asked. Pulling on her stockings and her boots, she gave him her hand and he hauled her to her feet.

‘Race you back,’ he said and began to run.

‘Hey, that’s not fair. You can run faster than me anyway . . .’

Panting, they arrived back in the yard. He turned to look at her. ‘The matron wants to see you. You’d better go and tidy your hair.’ His glance took in the dishevelled uniform
that she had worn since early morning. ‘And put your Sunday best dress on.’

‘Whatever for?’ she asked again.

‘Don’t argue. Just do it.’ He gave her a gentle push. ‘Go on. Just for me.’

Muttering to herself, she went up the backstairs to the tiny bedroom she shared with one of the other younger nurses. As she splashed her face in the bowl on the washstand and smoothed back her
hair – she hadn’t time to replait it – she wondered why Micky wanted her to put on her Sunday frock. Then a thought suddenly occurred to her. Perhaps word had come from Pear Tree
Farm. Perhaps she was going out to tea after all.

But as she went down to the hall, Micky was waiting for her and he led her towards the patients’ sitting room. He flung open the door and the singing that erupted caused Bridie’s
mouth to drop open.

‘Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you . . .’ the whole gathering trilled.

All the patients, all the staff and her gran and Josh were there. And standing in front of them all with her arms stretched wide and a broad smile on her face, was her aunt Eveleen.

‘Happy birthday, darling. Come and open all your cards and presents and then we’ll have tea. The kitchen staff have been so busy. Cook has even made you a cake.’ She laughed.
‘But they had such a job to keep it secret.’

Cook, large and round and rosy-cheeked, waddled forward. ‘She’s all over the place, this one. You never know where she’s going to pop up next. We had a fright earlier when she
went past the kitchen. I was putting the finishing touches to the cake. The girls only just managed to shut the door in time. And then I thought she’d hear them giggling.’

Bridie laughed. ‘Oh, so that was what it was all about.’ It had not been the matron they had been afraid of catching them. It had been her.

A veritable feast was laid out on a table set at the side of the room. A buffet so that everyone could help themselves. In the centre stood a huge iced cake decorated with pink sugar roses and
the words ‘Happy 16th Birthday, Bridie’ inscribed upon it.

Tears came to Bridie’s eyes and she clasped her hands. ‘Oh, Cook, it’s beautiful.’

The cook beamed happily as everyone murmured their agreement with Bridie’s praise. Then Bridie opened her cards and presents, and there seemed to be something from everyone. Little gifts,
some handmade, from every member of the staff. But what touched her most were the presents from the patients. There was even a lace-edged handkerchief from Walter.

‘You must come and meet him, Auntie Evie,’ she whispered, explaining swiftly that they still didn’t know who the man was.

She led Eveleen across the room to where Walter was sitting in front of the window, gazing out down the garden. ‘He doesn’t mix a lot with the other patients. I think it’s
because he can’t hold a proper conversation with anyone. You know, he can’t talk about his family, where he comes from and that, like everyone else does. Isn’t it sad? He seems so
lonely.’

They fell silent as they reached him and Bridie touched him on the shoulder. ‘Walter? Thank you so much for the lovely handkerchief.’

He turned, his brown eyes smiling up at her. ‘S’all right,’ he said in his usual offhand manner. ‘One of the nurses said I had to give you something. She bought
it.’

‘Oh.’ Her disappointment was acute. She wondered how many other patients had been coerced into giving her presents. Eveleen moved and put her arm about her shoulders. She must have
realized what the girl was feeling because she whispered in her ear. ‘He’s the only one they had to do that for. Matron told me. He couldn’t seem to take in what was
happening.’

Bridie nodded, but the lump in her throat refused to go away.

They stood in front of the man looking down at him. He looked up again, glancing from one to the other and then his gaze came to rest on Eveleen. She stared back at him and her heart seemed to
miss a beat.

Dark brown eyes, so like her own, stared back at her. The rich, chestnut hair, cut very short, was now flecked with tiny strands of white. His beard hid his wide, generous mouth, yet she would
have known him anywhere. Her eyes widened and her hand fluttered to her mouth as a startled gasp escaped her lips. She knew Bridie was glancing from one to the other, looking puzzled.

Deep in the man’s eyes, the vacant look began to dispel. Memory forced its way into his damaged mind and fought for recognition.

His lips moved and, as he stretched out his hand towards her, they heard his tortured whisper. ‘Evie?’

Behind them the room had fallen strangely silent as everyone became aware of the unfolding drama.

‘Jimmy, oh, Jimmy!’ Eveleen cried.

Bridie glanced up and saw Mary weaving her way around the furniture towards them. Realization came swiftly to her. This was Mary’s long-lost son. This was Jimmy Hardcastle. And this, then,
was her father. Deep inside her she felt a trembling, yet, as she saw the look on Mary’s face, Bridie pushed aside her own feelings and moved at once to meet her grandmother, suddenly afraid
of what the shock might do to the older woman. ‘Gran, wait a minute.’

‘Leave me be, girl,’ Mary snapped, pushing her away. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

Bridie watched as Mary stood before the man whom everyone present knew only as Walter. Then she too cried out, ‘Jimmy. Oh, my boy. My baby! Oh, Jimmy.’ She fell to her knees beside
his chair, clasping his hand and kissing it fervently, tears coursing down her cheek. A look of distaste came into the man’s eyes and he tried to pull himself free.

‘Gerroff.’

Then Evie began to laugh and cry, almost with a tinge of hysteria. ‘Oh, it is you, Jimmy Hardcastle. Now I know it really is.’

Helplessly Bridie looked round for the matron. She felt suddenly very much out of her depth, worried for her aunt, her grandmother, but most of all for the patient.

Dulcie was hurrying towards them. ‘Now, now,’ came her soothing voice. ‘What’s happened?’

‘My – my aunt,’ Bridie stammered, ‘seems to know him.’ Could it really be true? she was thinking now.

Eveleen turned, wiping the tears from her eyes, but her voice was steadier now as she said, ‘Oh, I know him all right. It’s the prodigal son. This is my brother and, Bridie, your
father.’

The room erupted then into noise, the news spreading like a stubble fire out of control, whilst Bridie stared down at the man she had longed to meet the whole of her young life. And yet at this
very moment, if the good Lord had given her the choice, she would far rather it had been Andrew Burns who had come back into her life than this stranger. He was looking her up and down, appraising
her. But there was no warmth in the look, no fatherly interest. She felt suddenly nauseous and took a step back, sick at heart. She felt Josh’s comforting arm around her shoulders.

‘It’s all right, mi duck. Bit of a shock for you an’ all. But it’ll be all right.’

Bridie, not trusting herself to speak, nodded, yet she could not drag her gaze away from Walter. Jimmy, as she and everyone else must now think of him. Dad or Father, she supposed that was what
she should call him, but that would take some getting used to after a lifetime of absence.

Mary was still fussing over him, stroking his hair, kissing his hand and repeating over and over again, ‘Oh, Jimmy, my Jimmy.’

Eveleen and Bridie were forgotten, even Josh. Mary had her son home again and for the moment no-one else in the world existed.

Standing up at last, Mary said, ‘He’s coming home with me. Back to Pear Tree Farm. I’ll look after him now. There’s nothing like a mother’s love.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mrs Carpenter,’ Dulcie said at once, still hovering nearby. ‘Walter . . .’ she glanced at the patient. ‘I’m
sorry, Jimmy, is still under our authority. I cannot possibly release him into your care without the express permission of . . .’

‘Nonsense,’ Mary said briskly. ‘He’s coming home with me.’

‘No, Mam. Matron is right. He has to stay here . . .’ As Mary opened her mouth to protest, Eveleen added swiftly, ‘At least until we see what the doctor thinks.’

Now Josh moved to his wife’s side and took her arm. ‘Mary, love, we’ll get a room ready for him at home. I’m sure they’ll let him come home very soon, but we must
do it properly.’

‘This had nothing to do with you, Josh Carpenter,’ Mary snapped, shaking off his touch. ‘He’s not your son.’

She could not have hurt the big, kindly man more if she had struck him across the face.

‘Mam!’ ‘Gran!’ Shocked, Eveleen and Bridie spoke out together.

Mutinously Mary glared at them. ‘Well, he isn’t. He hasn’t any children of his own.’

‘Not now,’ Josh said quietly, his eyes full of ill-concealed pain. ‘I had a son once though, didn’t I?’

Mary had the grace to look ashamed as she muttered, ‘I forgot.’

Years before, Eveleen remembered, Josh had told her he had been married briefly as a young man, but his wife had died in childbirth and their child along with her. She glanced at her own mother
in disgust, yet Mary’s behaviour was no surprise – at least not to Eveleen. Jimmy had always been their mother’s favourite and the years between had made no difference, it
seemed.

‘And besides . . .’ Josh was smiling again now, brushing aside Mary’s tactless remark with his usual forgiving nature, ‘Bridie has been like my own.’ Now he turned
to Mary again and, despite his gentleness towards her, there was a note of firmness in his tone. ‘Of course, Jimmy must come home to us but only when proper approval has been
given.’

‘But—’ Mary opened her mouth to protest, but Josh had his answer ready. ‘We don’t want to get Jimmy in trouble with the authorities, now do we, love? They can be
very severe if they think there’s even a hint of desertion.’

‘Desertion? How could they possibly think that? He’s sick. Injured. He couldn’t remember who he was, not until he saw Evie.’

‘He’s physically quite fit again now, Mrs Carpenter,’ Dulcie put in. ‘It was only because of his amnesia that he could not be sent back on active service.’ She
looked down at Jimmy. ‘But if his memory is returning . . .’ She left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but her meaning was clear to them all.

Eveleen watched her brother as he pulled his hand away from his mother’s clinging grasp. ‘I’m staying here. I don’t know you,’ he said. ‘I know Evie.
She’s me sister. But I don’t know anyone else.’ He looked up at Dulcie a hangdog expression in his eyes. ‘Honest, Matron. I can’t remember her . . .’ He jabbed a
finger at Mary then towards Josh. ‘Or him.’ Then he glared accusingly at Bridie. ‘And I certainly don’t remember having a daughter.’

‘How could you?’ Eveleen said, deliberately making no effort to keep her voice low. No-one had left the room; they were all far too interested in the revelations about the unknown
sailor. And now it seemed family quarrels from years ago were surfacing. This was real life drama, far better than the pictures. ‘Seeing as you ran away to sea before she was even
born,’ Eveleen went on, with more than a hint of sarcasm in her tone. ‘And since then you’ve made no effort to find out how Rebecca was or whether you had a son or a
daughter.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘Rebecca? I dun’t remember no Rebecca.’

‘You remember me, lad, don’t you? Mr Carpenter from the Reckitt and Stokes factory in Nottingham?’

Jimmy shrugged. ‘I’ve never been to Nottingham.’

Eveleen watched him, her eyebrow arched in disbelief. Then suddenly she leant close to her brother so that only those standing nearby heard her words.

‘You might be able to fool everyone at the home here. Even your own daughter. But I know you too well, Jimmy. You’re going to have to be very careful you don’t get caught out.
Very careful indeed.’