Twisted Strands (40 page)

Unbidden, an image of Bridie pushed its way into Eveleen’s mind’s eye.

‘Yes, Mam, perhaps you’re right,’ she murmured.

‘Oh, I know I’m right,’ Mary said with the conviction of a woman who had always known her lot in life. In her eyes, it was a woman’s duty to pander to the man in her
life.

They heard the back door open and changed their conversation swiftly, only to have it interrupted by Richard saying, ‘Isn’t it time we were getting back?’

As they pulled into the driveway of Fairfield House and the noise of the engine died, Eveleen reached across and touched Richard’s hand. ‘Darling, I’ve decided. Now so many of
the men are back at the factory, I’m not needed there any more. And you seem so much better. You wound is healing nicely. Isn’t it time you came home?’

His eyes clouded and he looked about him, almost as if the answer he wanted would come out of the air to him. He stumbled over the words. ‘You – ought to – I mean,
there’s no one to run the place.’

Eveleen laughed. ‘Oh, didn’t you know? I’ve persuaded Bob Porter to come back. He’s fit enough now. Losing a leg won’t stop him managing the factory just like he
always did. Besides, now he has men back, he’ll be much happier. He can get rid of all the troublesome women. Several have left already of their own accord. Those whose husbands have come
back.’ Her voice was low as she added, counting herself amongst them. ‘The lucky ones.’

‘What about the widows?’ Richard blurted out, a strange desperation in his tone. Eveleen could sense that he was casting about for an excuse not to come home. ‘They’ll
need jobs. You should keep on as many as you can, Eveleen. It’s the least we can do.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Why don’t you come home and help me?’ she said. ‘I – I need you, Richard. I want you to come home.’

He shook his head. ‘No, no. I’m not ready. Not yet.’

He climbed out of the motor and hurried up the steps as if he couldn’t return to Fairfield House quickly enough.

Eveleen watched him go, her hands gripping the steering wheel and tears blinding her eyes.

In the yard behind Fairfield House, Bridie said, ‘Now lean on me, Andrew. We’ll walk down the field towards the beck. Cook has packed us a picnic so we don’t
need to get back for tea and I don’t need to be back on duty until six. We’ve three whole hours.’ She hugged his arm to her side, blissfully happy to be alone with him.

‘You don’t want to be spending your time off with me,’ he said, looking at her so fondly that her heart turned over.

‘Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing,’ she said simply.

He was watching her, as if drinking in the sight of her, every detail of her face, her hair – everything about her. Since that first day, he had never again called her
‘Rebecca’ yet she had the uncomfortable feeling that every time he looked at her she felt that it was not her he was seeing but her mother.

‘I can’t believe how you’ve grown up. When I went away you were a little girl and now, just look at you. A young woman.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘A very beautiful
young woman.’

Now Bridie laughed, the sound echoing across the fields. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

‘Have you – have you got a young man? I bet they’re queuing up.’

She didn’t answer him at once. They had reached the beck and she found a suitable spot to spread the rug on the grassy bank. When they were sitting side by side, she looked into his eyes,
her face deadly serious, and said quietly, ‘All my life I’ve told you that I was going to marry you when I grew up.’

He smiled and touched her cheek. ‘All little girls want to marry their father—’

She interrupted swiftly, ‘You’re not my father.’

‘No, no, I know that. But how I wish I had been. And I’ve always tried to be there for you, haven’t I? I did my best to take his place.’

Now was the time to tell him about Jimmy, for the staff had all contrived to keep them apart and to keep the knowledge of Jimmy’s presence in the home from Andrew Burns. But they were
bound to meet sooner or later. Whilst Andrew had been confined to bed, it had been comparatively easy, but now he was up and about it was impossible to keep them apart much longer.

But for the moment, Bridie had another, far more important issue to discuss.

‘Andrew, I’ve loved you all my life, but not as my father. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, as your wife.’

He was gazing at her but shaking his head slowly. ‘I’m far too old for you. I’m almost twenty years older than you.’

‘So? What does that matter?’

‘It – it wouldn’t be right. What would people think?’

‘I don’t care what other people think,’ she cried passionately. ‘Hasn’t this awful war proved that we have to take our happiness when and where we find
it?’

He was silent, avoiding her intense gaze now.

His glance roamed the landscape before them: the beck, the field beyond, where cows grazed placidly, and in the distance the buildings of Pear Tree Farm.

Softly, but with a catch in her voice, Bridie said, ‘The truth is that you don’t love me in that way do you? You’re still in love with my mother.’

Andrew did not answer her.

It was as they returned to Fairfield House that they came face to face with Jimmy in the hall.

‘Well, well, well! If it isn’t Andrew Burns himself,’ was Jimmy’s greeting.

Luckily Bridie had forewarned Andrew only moments earlier as they walked back across the fields. ‘He’s here, by the way,’ she said casually, trying to make light of it.

‘Who is?’

‘My father. Jimmy Hardcastle. His ship went down somewhere in the Channel. He wasn’t physically hurt, but he suffered amnesia.’

Now the two men were standing face to face for the first time in more than seventeen years.

‘Your memory seems to be coming back quite nicely,’ Andrew said bitterly. ‘Remember Rebecca, do you? And what you did to her?’

Jimmy put his fingers to his forehead and frowned. ‘Do you know, I can’t remember much about her at all. But then, there have been so many since then.’ He laughed. ‘A
girl in every port, you know.’

‘Why, you . . . I’ll smash your face in.’ Andrew clenched his fists and took a step towards him, but Bridie clung onto him, pulling him away. Andrew was obliged to content
himself with shaking his fist in Jimmy’s face. ‘One day, Jimmy Hardcastle. One day, I’ll have you.’

The tension was broken by a voice behind them and Richard came hurrying towards them. ‘There you are, Bridie. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where’ve you
been?’

Jimmy turned and, shoving his hands into his pockets, walked away, whistling nonchalantly. Andrew, his face like thunder, stared after him.

‘We went for a picnic, down by the beck, didn’t we, Andrew.’ Bridie sought to divert his attention. ‘It’s the first time he’s been out.’

‘I wish I’d known. I’d have come with you.’

‘That’d have been nice,’ Bridie said evenly. She had wanted to be alone with Andrew, so desperately wanted to declare her love for him. She had even dared to hope that now she
was grown up there might be a chance he would return her love in the same way. But those hopes had been dashed.

But at least now she knew the mountain she had to climb and Bridie was never going to give up. Her hope refused to die. Now she said brightly, ‘Andrew’s tired. I must see him to bed.
I’ll see you later, Uncle Richard.’

‘Don’t be long. I want to talk to you.’

As she helped Andrew prepare for bed, he was still smarting from the meeting with his old rival. ‘I could quite cheerfully kill him, you know, Bridie, for what he did to
Rebecca. And to you, of course,’ he added as an afterthought.

Bridie managed to smile. ‘He’s denying that he’s my father.’ She paused, wondering if she should continue, but decided that the best course was to bring everything out
into the open. She was sure Andrew was strong enough now to cope with it. ‘He says it’s more likely that you are my father.’

Andrew snorted contemptuously. ‘Does he indeed? Well, I can assure you I’m not.’ His voice softened, ‘Although I have wished all my life that I was.’

She believed him implicitly and, in one way, his words gave her fresh hope. Andrew, though he might have longed for it to be otherwise, was not her blood relative.

‘So,’ she asked slowly, ‘do you believe that he is my father?’

Andrew looked at her keenly. ‘I could almost wish it had been anybody else
but
him, but, yes, he is your father.’

He got into bed and lay back against the pillows with a sigh. On the bedside table the last photograph that had been taken of Bridie, crumpled and stained from being carried everywhere through
four years of war, now stood in a frame. But Andrew was not looking at her photograph now. He lay staring up at the ceiling, seeing pictures from the past. ‘They came to Flawford, your gran,
Eveleen and Jimmy, when they had to leave the farm. You know all about that, of course.’

‘Well, bits,’ she said guardedly, wanting him to tell her all that he knew. She sat down on the edge of the bed, breaking yet another of matron’s rules.

‘She’d never known other lads, apart from those of us who worked in her dad’s workshops. And Harry kept her away from them all as best he could. I don’t reckon he ever
intended to let her get married. He’d lost his wife and he wanted to keep Rebecca to look after him. Before Jimmy came I thought she loved me and I was going to do it all proper. Keep in her
dad’s good books, court her, like, but all with his permission.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bridie suggested gently, ‘her father would never have given permission. Not even to you.’

‘Mebbe not. But I’d have waited. I’d have waited all me life for her, if I’d known that she really loved me. But then
he
came and it was as if I didn’t exist
any more.’

Bridie took his hand and held it to her cheek and at last, his gaze came back to rest on her face. ‘You remind me of her so much. You look a lot like her, but you’re very different
in your – your nature. She was quiet and gentle and easily led. I can see that now. Not her fault,’ he added swiftly, as if regretting even the slightest implied criticism of his
beloved. ‘But you’re feisty. You’re a fighter. I get the feeling you’ll get what you want.’

She smiled broadly at him. ‘You’re right there, Andrew Burns. I never give in until I get what I want.’

It was not a threat, but a promise.

Richard was still hovering in the hallway when she came down the stairs. He hurried towards her. ‘Is something wrong? You’ve been so long.’

‘We were talking. About my mother – and my father. He needed to talk.’

‘I need to talk to you too.’ There was a plaintive, selfish note in his voice. Bridie looked up at him in surprise. This war had changed so many things in so many lives, but she
would never have believed that her lovely uncle Richard could be so different. But, smiling up at him, she tucked her arm through his and led him to the patients’ sitting room. ‘Come
along then. It should be quiet in here now. What is it you want to tell me?’

‘Eveleen wants me to go home,’ he blurted out when they were seated side be side on a sofa. ‘But I don’t want to. I want to stay here. With you.’

‘Why?’ she asked candidly.

‘Because – because I feel safe here. I can’t – can’t cope at home.’

‘Why not?’ Bridie asked again gently. Instinctively she was drawing him out, getting him to face whatever it was that was troubling him.

‘I’ll be expected to go back to work. To the factory. She’s said as much. She needs me to help her, she says.’

‘I’m sure she’s only suggesting that because she thinks it’s what would help you.’

‘Mm.’ He sounded doubtful.

‘So tell her. Be honest with her. Tell her that you don’t feel ready – yet – to go back to work.’

‘I don’t think she’d understand.’

‘Yes, she would. She loves you so much, Uncle Richard. She’ll do anything – anything at all that will make you well again.’

‘I know,’ he said dully. ‘That’s why it’s so difficult.’

There was silence as Bridie almost dreaded to ask yet again, ‘Why? Don’t – don’t you love her any more?’

‘I . . .’ He stopped and in his eyes she could see that he was appalled at himself at what he was obliged to say. ‘She frightens me.’

‘Frightens you?’ Bridie repeated in amazement.

‘I know I shouldn’t be talking to you this way. You’re only a young girl, yet – yet you seem so wise, so mature.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Bridie said softly. ‘I don’t think there’s much I haven’t heard, working here.’

Although she was still only seventeen, Bridie felt years older. Was it really only a year since her sixteenth birthday, the day she had met her father for the first time? She had witnessed all
manner of suffering during her time as a trainee nurse here at Fairfield House. She had heard all kinds of confessions, listened to so many sad tales, that, whilst never immune to their emotions or
unfeeling for their anguish, she had grown strong enough to be a good listener. And in many cases that was all that was needed.

But her uncle was a different matter. She couldn’t help but be closely involved. She took his hand. ‘Tell me,’ she urged gently.

‘I can’t – make love to her any more. I can’t – feel anything. When I was at home she was so loving, so – so giving. I knew I ought to, but I – I
couldn’t.’

‘It happens to an awful lot of you.’

‘Really? You’re not just saying that?’

Bridie shook her head. ‘If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard a soldier tell me that, I’d be rich.’ She leant closer to him. ‘You’ve all been through a
dreadful time. How can you possibly expect to step back into the life you had before the war as if nothing had happened? It’s changed us all, Uncle Richard. Even though we haven’t
suffered like you have, it’s altered our lives, in some ways probably for ever. But as for you – your problem – well, time will heal that, I promise.’

‘How do you know?’ he asked gloomily. ‘What if I can never . . .’

‘You will. When you’re fit and strong again. What you’ve got to do whilst you’re here is to work at getting physically well. Plenty of good food, fresh air and walks each
day. The rest will come right. Honestly it will.’