A Woman's Courage Read online

  ‘Yes, the plane crash,’ Joyce began, as if able to tap into Sarah’s thoughts. ‘When I survived, I made a promise to myself to make the most of life. From that moment on, I decided I would really live each moment as best I could. ’ She smiled. ‘It’s proving harder than I had thought. Do you know,’ she went on, ‘I so enjoyed having Pat and Bob to live with me. I was very sorry when they moved out. And now I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. ’

  ‘But why?’ asked Sarah softly. ‘There is no reason for you to feel guilty. ’

  ‘I meant to visit them in the new house, but events overtook me. ’ She sighed. ‘It was a valuable lesson, a reminder that nothing can be taken for granted. Procrastination is our enemy. We must do the things that matter while we can. ’

  *

  Sarah had walked almost to the canal when she encountered Miriam pushing the pram. ‘Got as far as the bridge before I found my way barred,’ Miriam said. ‘A pair of swans and their cygnets, basking in the sun. Didn’t fancy trying to move them. ’

  Sarah peered under the pram hood at Vivian and was rewarded with a smile. ‘I was thinking of going that way,’ she said.

  ‘You might be better sticking to the towpath. ’

  ‘Thank you. ’ Sarah smiled. ‘Not working today?’

  ‘Surplus to requirements. ’ Miriam raised an eyebrow in mock indignation. ‘Bryn and David have got things running like clockwork between the two of them. I’m under strict instructions to steer clear. ’

  ‘On such a glorious day like this, I can’t imagine you miss being stuck behind the counter. ’

  ‘Well, I won’t complain about having more time with this little one. ’ Miriam bent to retrieve a knitted doll flung from the pram by Vivian. ‘In some ways I do miss it, though. The shop’s always been a good way of keeping on top of what’s going on in the village and, behind the counter, I was in the thick of it. People told me all sorts. Now Bryn’s mainly in the back, doing the heavy work, so he’s out of touch, and it’s down to David to let me know what’s what. ’ She bent to retrieve the doll a second time. ‘Seems he’s more concerned with how we might make the business more profitable than passing on any nuggets of news that come his way. ’

  ‘I’ve noticed how much happier he seems these days,’ Sarah said. ‘More like his old self. It’s all down to you and Bryn. I can’t imagine it’s been easy for him. Well, for any of you. ’

  ‘Harder than I ever imagined,’ Miriam said. ‘All the while he was missing, I dreamed about him being back. Do you know, it became something of an obsession, the only thing that mattered. I had a vision of David walking back into our lives and making everything right again, the same as it always was. Just like that. ’ She smiled. ‘Not for a moment did it cross my mind he would be so angry, so changed by what he ’d been through. So different. When I think about it now, I can’t believe I was so naïve as to think that things would be the same. We’re none of us the same, are we? Not when there’s a war on. ’

  Sarah thought of Adam, of how the POW camp might take its toll on him – on his physical well-being, on his mind. He was older than David, at least, better able to cope with whatever the war threw at him than a young boy. She hoped that was true. But what Miriam had said about getting her son back, thinking all would be well, had struck a chord. Sarah too constantly imagined Adam returning. It was the only thing, sometimes, that kept her going. It was her constant thought, his homecoming, their old world instantly restored, the happiest of reunions, smiles and laughter – everything bathed in a soft, burnished glow as life returned to what had once been ‘normal’.

  But what, she wondered, would be ‘normal’ in future?

  She missed him so much, more than she would ever have believed possible. At times his absence caused her so much pain that she wondered if she was ill. Occasionally she took herself off to bed and fell into the kind of sleep that made her feel even worse. In the early hours she would panic and jump up, her heart pounding, unable to get her breath. Often, she could not imagine getting through even one more day. And yet somehow she did. She had to. For Adam.

  ‘I suppose you must have needed great patience, allowing him the time he needed to adjust,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I can’t even tell you how closed he was to start with,’ Miriam said. ‘We couldn’t get a thing out of him. I was tiptoeing round on eggshells. Anything I said, he almost bit my head off. Same with his dad. We ’d no idea what he ’d been through and he had no intention of telling us. Not a word about how badly he ’d been injured. ’ The shocking state of his back, those wounds that would never heal.

  ‘He made it home. That’s the main thing. ’

  ‘I always believed he would, even when it seemed hopeless. When no one else expected things to work out and Bryn thought I was going mad, I just knew we ’d get him back. ’ She glanced at Sarah. ‘And it’s a joy to see him getting his teeth into the business, wanting to shake things up. ’

  ‘He’s young and full of confidence. Ambitious, too, I expect. ’

  ‘Oh, you have no idea. ’

  *

  The night before when they’d finished supper and Miriam was washing up, Bryn making himself comfortable in the armchair at the side of the hearth, David had again brought up the subject of the recently vacated premises next door and suggested they consider expanding the business. He made it seem casual, an everyday proposition, as if he was simply offering to help his mother dry the dishes.

  ‘We’re in a position to do it, financially,’ he said, ‘and it makes sense. The trade’s already there – you should hear them all grumbling in the shop about the Collinses leaving them high and dry. It’s a gap and we’re best placed to fill it. ’ Not so much a gap, according to Mrs Cameron, as an eyesore. ‘I’ve been through everything and we’ll never have a better opportunity. ’

  Bryn, who ’d been about to close his eyes for five minutes, was suddenly wide awake. ‘What do we know about running a greengrocer’s?’ he asked.

  ‘We know how to run a business,’ David said, undaunted. ‘It can’t be any harder than running a butcher’s. Different, that’s all. ’

  That word again, Miriam thought.

  Everything was different.

  *

  After they had said their goodbyes, Sarah kept walking until she reached the little bridge, still under the occupation of the swan family. Sarah was not afraid of swans. Their reputation for being aggressive and prone to unprovoked attacks seemed to her rather unjust. She found them graceful and intelligent – loyal, too. The idea of birds staying with their mate for life appealed to her. When she and Adam were in Oxford, they had often walked by the river and watched the swans glide by.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, as she drew near to the little group. Five cygnets, as big as their parents, distinguished only by their soft brown and white plumage. The cob got to his feet and faced her while his partner snoozed, her head tucked inside a wing, apparently unconcerned. Sarah wondered how long this pair had been together. In Oxford, a pair known locally as Victoria and Albert had occupied the same nesting site for at least eight years.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Sarah told the cob as she edged past.

  She was thinking about what Miriam had said. For the period that David was missing, Miriam’s unwavering belief in her son’s eventual safe return had been a cause for concern among her friends at the WI. It was as if she had retreated into a world of her own making, one with no basis in reality – or so it seemed to Sarah at the time. Now she had a better understanding of why Miriam had clung to hope so rigidly. It was the one thing she had, the only thing that kept her going.

  Sarah felt the same about Adam. As if by virtue of sheer willpower, she could bring about his safe return. The only outcome she was prepared to contemplate. In that respect, she was not unlike Miriam.

  Being without you is harder than I ever imagined, Sarah thought. I have only the sketchiest idea of how you might be
living, the hardships you may be forced to endure. I tell myself that no matter what, you’ll come through this. We both will. We must. I tell myself that life will go on – somewhat changed, no doubt, but as long as we’re together I will not mind. I will never mind anything again as long as I have you.

  *

  On her way home, Sarah made a detour and called on Joyce. The conversation they ’d had earlier was still on her mind. Joyce, usually so reserved, had opened up in a way that was surprising to Sarah, and she wondered if she might be even more forthcoming in the privacy of her home. It had not crossed her mind before that Joyce might be lonely now that she was on her own.

  Sarah rang the bell with some trepidation, but Joyce seemed pleased to see her. She showed her into the front room, where a vase filled with flax and cornflowers, a few tea roses in their midst, caught Sarah’s eye.

  ‘What a lovely arrangement. ’

  ‘A little less formal than the ones I do at St Mark’s, but at home one can afford to be rather more relaxed, don’t you think?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘If only I had your skill. ’

  ‘Not so much skill as many hours spent practising,’ Joyce said.

  She went to make tea and Sarah sat in an armchair at the side of the hearth. The room was filled with the perfume of the roses.

  Joyce appeared with a tray and poured tea from an elegant pot into matching china cups.

  ‘I wish I managed to keep my house as neat as yours,’ Sarah said.

  Joyce smiled. ‘I often think people underestimate the pleasure that order can bring. Do you know, your husband came to see me before we left for the coast. The house was in disarray, tea chests in every room. I made tea for him – only to discover the best china had already been packed away – it was terribly embarrassing. Not that our vicar minded; there is nothing snobbish about him. ’ She smiled. ‘In that respect, he and I are not alike. ’

  ‘I didn’t know he came to see you,’ Sarah said, hoping Joyce would go on.

  She nodded slowly. ‘I think he sensed I was reluctant to leave, or at least that I was less enthusiastic than I might have been, even though I had said nothing. I had an inkling, you see, that things might not work out once I was free of the distractions that kept me so occupied here. I suppose I feared I might be left with little to do other than examine the state of my marriage and find it wanting. ’ She hesitated, as though she had already said more than she ’d meant to. ‘And I was proved right. ’

  Sarah nodded. She was not sure what to say. First Gwen Talbot, now Joyce Cameron. She was beginning to feel that she had known only a fraction of the pastoral work Adam undertook.

  ‘It helped, our talk that day,’ Joyce said. ‘It gave me a sense of clarity. He has always been astute in his observations, your husband. He always knows where and when he is most needed. Compassion, I suppose you ’d call it. ’ She looked at Sarah for a moment. ‘I imagine you won’t have to search too hard to find similar stories to mine. It is no wonder he is held in such high regard in the village. ’

  ‘I’m grateful to you for telling me,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve always known that Adam has enormous reservoirs of understanding, a capacity to put himself in another’s shoes. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as selfless. You know, when he said he wanted to serve his country again, I was very much opposed to the idea. Not only because I feared for his safety, but because, selfishly, I didn’t want to be left alone. But it was hopeless of course to even think I could change his mind. Later, I realised I didn’t actually want to. It would have been like clipping a bird’s wings. Adam could never be prevented from helping anyone. ’

  ‘I quite understand. ’ Joyce gave her an appraising look. ‘You’re more like him than perhaps you know. ’

  For a moment, neither one spoke.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do,’ Sarah said, breaking the silence. ‘One lone woman to another . . . ’

  ‘This war,’ Joyce said. ‘It changes everything, don’t you think?’

  ‘I sometimes feel as if the Earth is no longer quite so solid,’ Sarah said. ‘That the very foundations of our lives, the things we once took for granted, might collapse and crumble away to nothing beneath us, without any warning. ’

  Joyce nodded. ‘I feel exactly the same. ’

  Chapter 12

  P

  AT’S MOVE BACK TO Great Paxford was accomplished with a degree of stealth. When friends enquired about a moving date, she kept things vague. ‘Next week. It depends. Still one or two details to sort out first. Legal matters, papers that need to be signed. ’ She was fortunate to have so many offers of help and was grateful for them – but, finally, she had her independence. She wanted to prove – mainly to herself – that she could manage without an army of helpers.

  For too long she had operated under Bob’s direction, doing his bidding, taking orders. Love, honour and obey. He had never tired of reminding her she had taken a vow of obedience. Now she was in charge of her own destiny – a slightly grand way of putting it, perhaps, but it accurately summed up how she felt. For the first time in a long time she found herself in charge, in a position to make important decisions. She wanted to make sure she was still capable – starting with managing the move unassisted.

  She had arranged with the removals people (the same ones who ’d handled the move into what she now thought of as the old house) to pack the bulk of her belongings a day ahead of her actual move. The following morning, they arrived as it was starting to get light, loaded up and had her installed in the new cottage before most people were awake. As the van with its red and cream lettering made its slow progress through the centre of the village Pat saw only one familiar face: David Brindsley, arms folded, standing in front of what had been the greengrocer’s shop. She was about to wave but he had his back to the road, eyes fixed on the empty property, seemingly oblivious to the lone vehicle that trundled along the otherwise deserted street.

  Once installed in the cottage, Pat wandered from room to room, allowing her newly acquired good fortune to sink in. It was the first time she had taken possession of a home that was hers alone. The house was perfect; it had more than enough space, but it was not so large as to feel daunting, like the old house did. It was ideal for one, requiring only a modest amount of housework. Good, she thought cheerfully. I have more important things to do with my time than clean.

  Upstairs, the main bedroom was a good size. It had fresh white paintwork, pale oak floorboards and a view of the garden at the back. A patch of what looked like wild meadow, daisies and buttercups amid a tangle of cornflowers, had taken over the far end of what was likely lawn at one time. There was a vegetable patch in need of urgent attention and, in one overgrown corner, she could just make out a cold frame through which tall stalks of something weed-like poked.

  It wouldn’t take her too long to fix it up. She looked forward to growing peas and beans, onions and carrots. Thanks to Mr Middleton’s informative broadcasts, she felt sufficiently confident to tackle a modest kitchen garden.

  She undid the clasp on the sash window and opened it as far as it would go, allowing in a breeze that made the curtains rise and fall. The room, with its buttermilk walls, felt airy and light. She made up the bed with crisp white linen and the patchwork quilt her mother had made as a wedding gift, which ever since had languished out of sight at the bottom of the blanket box after Bob took against it.

  ‘I’m not having that tatty-looking thing on the bed,’ he ’d said, although his objections, Pat suspected, were more to do with the quilt having come from her mother than anything else, since the two of them didn’t get on.

  She began unpacking her clothes and putting them away. It didn’t take long, because she didn’t have much – but then, she didn’t need much. She was safe, and she was at peace. By most standards, thanks to Bob, she was well off, too – it was the only good turn he had ever done her, even though he hadn’t meant to. Pat did not care much for money, but i
t was something, still, to have enough to get by, to know she could be independent.

  She carried Bob’s clothes into the spare room, intending to donate anything of reasonable quality to the WI ‘Fashion on the Ration’ event. Someone would be glad of them.

  Next she went into the bathroom with its gleaming white porcelain and polished brass taps. Everything was new, according to the agent. Pat placed a bar of coal tar soap in the washbasin and draped towels over the hook on the back of the door, noting with some satisfaction that the bath was enormous.

  Downstairs, she shook out the rug given to her by her friends at the WI, the very one Bob had slipped on, and put it in front of the hearth. There was no sense in being squeamish. It was not the rug that had killed him, after all. In the kitchen, she put the last few plates into a cupboard and settled at the table, thinking she might write something for the Mass Observation project.

  She had not managed to finish her last report, begun in secret at the new house while Bob was, she thought, too busy working to be concerned about what she was doing. That was how he ’d caught her out, bursting in and ripping the pages from her hand, her words revealing the true extent of her loathing for him and her love for Marek. What followed was a brutal beating, worse than anything she had endured while they were living in Great Paxford, where there was a chance one of the neighbours might hear the commotion, where Pat’s swollen face, her bruised and blackened eye, were harder to conceal. It was the very worst it had ever been. Such was his loss of control that she had thought he might kill her.

  In the end, he was the one who lay dead.

  *

  Shortly before lunch, she went out for a walk. It was a comfort to be back in the heart of the village, not miles from everything and everyone she knew. Without thinking about where she was going, she found herself at St Mark’s, at the side of her husband’s grave. A mound of bare earth, marked only by a small bunch of dying larkspur. She supposed Joyce had put them there; on the day of the funeral she had been more upset than anyone, deeply moved by the eulogy in which Pat managed to say so little. Someone must have noticed, surely. Or was it enough to simply sound sincere?