In a Dry Season (50 page)

It was the beginning of May, I remember, and it was all over bar the shouting. Hitler was dead, the Russians had Berlin, and all the German troops in Italy had surrendered. It could only be days from the end now.

I closed the shop, as she asked, and we walked into Rowan Woods, leaving the road behind and wandering in the filtered green light of the new leaves. The woodland flowers were all in bloom, clusters of bluebells here and there, wild roses, violets and primroses. Birds were singing and the air was pungent with the smell of wild garlic. Now and then, I could hear a cuckoo call in the distance.

“I don't know what to do with him, Gwen,” she said, wringing her hands as we walked, close to tears. “Nothing I do to try to reach him does any good.”

“I know,” I said. “We just have to be patient. Let the doctor do his job. Time will heal him.” Even as I spoke them, I felt the triteness and inadequacy of my words.

“It's all right for you. He's not your husband.”

“Gloria! He's my brother.”

She put her hand on my arm. “Oh, I'm sorry, Gwen, that's not the way I meant it. I'm just too distraught. But it's not the same. He's taken to sleeping on the chesterfield now when he gets in from the pub.”

“You don't . . . I mean, he doesn't . . . ?”

“Not since he came back. It's not fair, Gwen. I know I'm being selfish, but this isn't the man I married. I'm living with a stranger. It's getting unbearable.”

“Are you going to leave him?”

“I don't know what to do. I don't think I can. Brad is still pestering me to run off back to America with him as soon as his new orders come in. He says he might have to go out to the Pacific first—the war's not over there yet—but he says he'll send for me. Just imagine it, Gwen: Hollywood! A new life in the sunshine under the palm trees in a faraway magical land. A young, healthy, handsome, vigorous man who dotes on me. Endless possibilities of riches and wealth. I could even become a movie star. Ordinary people like you and me can do that over there, you know.”

“But?”

She turned away, eyes downcast. “A dream. That's all. I can't go. Silly, isn't it? A few years ago I did exactly that. Walked away from a life I didn't want and ended up here.”

“But you'd lost your whole family then. You had nothing to stay for. Anyone can understand your doing that.”

“Haven't I lost Matt now?”

“It's not the same.”

“You're right; it's not. Anyway, I'd walked away even before

I lost them.”

“What do you mean?”

She paused and touched my arm again lightly. “There are things you don't know about me, Gwen. I haven't been a good person. I've done terrible things. I've been selfish. I've hurt people terribly. But I want you to know one thing. This is important.”

“What?”

“Matt is the only man I have ever truly loved.”

“Not Brad?”

“Not Brad, not . . . Never mind.”

“What were you going to say?”

Gloria paused and looked away from me. “I told you, I've done terrible things. If I tell you, you must promise never to tell anyone else.”

“I promise.”

She looked at me with those blue eyes of hers. I was shocked that I hadn't noticed the tragedy in them before. “I won't ask you to forgive me,” she said. “You might not be able to do that. But at least hear me out.”

I nodded. She leaned back against a tree.

“When I was sixteen,” she began, “I had a baby. I didn't love the father, not really. Oh, I suppose I was infatuated. George was a few years older than me, good-looking, popular with all the girls. I was advanced for my age and flattered by his attentions. We . . . well, you know all about it. We only did it once, but I didn't know anything about . . . you know . . . then, and I got pregnant. Our families wanted us to get married. George would have done it like a shot—he said he loved me—but . . . I knew, I knew deep down that it would be the worst mistake of my life. I knew if I married George I would be unhappy. He loved me then, but how long would it last? He drank, like they all did down on the docks, and I really believed it was just a matter of time before he would start beating me, looking upon me as his slave. I'd seen it in my own home. My own father. I hated him. That was why I wanted so desperately to escape. I used to listen to the wireless for hours trying to learn to speak the way I thought real people spoke. If my dad caught me, he'd either laugh at me or beat me, depending on how much he'd had to drink. So I left them all.”

“Where did you go?”

“To a friend's house. Not far away. I didn't know anyone from outside the East End, except for my Uncle Jack in Southend, and he'd have just sent me right back home.”

“And you were with this friend when your parents were killed?”

“Yes. I was heartbroken about Joe, my little brother, but my father could rot in hell as far as I was concerned. And my mother . . . she was harmless, I suppose, but she did nothing to stop him. In a way she was better off dead. She didn't have much of a life. I don't remember ever seeing her smile.”

“But what about the baby?”

Again, Gloria paused, as if struggling for words. “I hated being pregnant. I was sick all the time. After I had Francis I got very depressed and I didn't . . . I didn't feel what they said a normal mother should. I'm ashamed to say it, but I didn't like holding him. I felt revolted that such a thing could have come out of me. I hated my own baby, Gwen. That's why I could never be a real mother to him or to anyone else.”

She sobbed and fell forward into my arms. I held her and comforted her as best I could. I didn't understand; I had no idea that a mother could
not
love her child; I knew nothing about post-natal depression in those days. I'm not sure that anybody did. My heart felt hot and too big for my chest. Sniffling, dabbing her handkerchief to her eyes, Gloria went on, “Francis is alive. George's sister Ivy can't have any children of her own. They live on the canal. Her husband, John, is a lock-keeper. I know he's tee-total and I've met Ivy once or twice. They're decent people, Not like the others. They'd got away and bettered themselves. They said they would take care of Francis. I knew he would be better off with them.”

“What did George say?”

“He already knew that whatever there had been between us was over—though it never stopped him trying—but he couldn't understand it when I didn't object to giving up Francis to Ivy and John. George is a simple man. Traditional. He believes in family. He believes a mother should love her baby. Simple as that. Of course, he agreed. He could hardly bring up Francis on his own. He said I would still be the boy's mother no matter what happened, that a boy needed a real mother to love. When I agreed without any fuss and said I didn't mind if they kept him forever, George refused to believe me. That's what he always did when I had one of my ‘funny turns,' as he called them. Refused to believe me. He wasn't a bad man, Gwen, that's not what I'm saying. It's me who's bad. I think he loved his son more than I did. He wanted to be a father as much as he could. But he got called up, of course, like all the rest. Anyway, he always thought I would change my mind. He's stubborn, the way some men are. He's already been up to see me once with Francis. He said he still loves me, urged me to go back. I told him I was married, and we had an argument. He went off. But he'll be back, Gwen. He won't give up that easily.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

“I don't know. Maybe. A little. He's got a temper, like his own father. Especially when he's been drinking.”

I didn't know what to say.

“Say you don't hate me, Gwen, please! I couldn't bear it if you hated me. You're my only real friend.”

“Of course I don't hate you. I just don't understand, that's all.”

“I don't know if I do, either, but don't you see that's exactly why I can't leave, no matter what life is like with Matt? Because of what I did before. Oh, I have plenty of excuses: I was too young; it was a mistake; I wasn't in love; I thought I was cut out for better things. But that's just what they are: excuses. When it came right down to it, I was selfish; I was a coward. I'm not going to be a coward again. This is my punishment, Gwen. Don't you see? Matt is my penance.”

“I think so,” I said.

She smiled through her tears. “Good old Gwen. I'll bet there aren't many in Hobb's End would give me that much credit, don't you think? I've heard their tongues wagging already.” She imitated the local accent. “ ‘She'll be off,' they say. ‘Off with one them Yanks before he's been back ten minutes, you just mark my words.' Well, I won't, Gwen. Let them talk. But I won't.”

“Are you and Brad still . . . ?”

“Sometimes. Don't be angry. I tried to stop seeing him when

Matt first got back, I really did, but when I found out that he couldn't . . . I mean . . . Brad brings me comfort from time to time and as long as Matt doesn't know . . . To be honest, though, he's more trouble than he's worth right now. I just can't keep him off the subject of running away together. It's all getting to be too much of a strain. I told him if he didn't stop pushing me I'd run off and leave the whole lot of you behind, him included.”

I can't say that I approved of Gloria's seeing Brad after Matthew had returned, but I said nothing. I only felt that way because I was being protective towards Matthew; I wasn't a moral busybody like Betty Goodall. These were extraordinary times and Gloria was an extraordinary woman.

She laughed. “You know, I don't know what I'd do without
PX
. It's funny, isn't it, but in times like this, when things are so grim, it's the little things that give you a moment's cheer. A piece of beef, a new shade of lipstick, a little whisky, a packet of cigarettes. New stockings. He's a gem.”

“What about Billy Joe? Have you had any more trouble from him?”

“No, not really. I saw him the other day. I got the impression he was secretly pleased that Matt had come back and spoiled things for me and Brad. He had that look in his eye, too, as if he thought he had a chance of getting me in bed again. I don't think he gives a damn about what it's all doing to
me
.”

“Well, he wouldn't, would he? I can't say I ever did really trust him. He's got a nasty, violent streak, you know.”

“Billy Joe? Oh, I can handle him. He's nothing but a big child, really.” She leaned back against the tree. “But you're right, he can be violent. I don't like that in a man.” She paused, averting her eyes. “Look, Gwen, I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I have to talk to someone. I've been having a few problems with Michael.”

“Michael? Good Lord. You don't mean he's—”

“Don't be a fool, Gwen. The man's only interested in boys.

The younger, the better. No. Well, I suppose I'll have to tell you now, but you mustn't say a word to anyone. Promise?”

“What a day for secrets. All right, I promise.”

“Last summer and autumn, you might have noticed I spent quite a bit of time at his studio.”

“Yes.”

“Guess what?”

“He was painting you?”

“Oh. You guessed!”

“Well, it wasn't difficult. I mean, he is an artist. But that's wonderful, Gloria. Can I see it? Is it finished?”

“Yes. And it's very good.”

“So what's wrong?”

“It's a nude.”

I swallowed. “You posed in the
nude
for Michael Stanhope?” She laughed. “Why not? There certainly wasn't much chance of him trying to put his hands on me, was there? Anyway, the point is, I went over to see him yesterday and begged him not exhibit it, or even to sell it privately, as long as Matthew is alive. I know he just seems to sit there like a zombie between going to the pub and drinking himself to sleep, but I just don't know how it would affect him. Or if it would. The thing is, I don't want to take the chance. You know what this village is like. Matthew's health is hanging by a thread already. Who knows if seeing a nude painting of his wife, done while he was suffering in a Japanese
POW
camp, won't send him right over the edge?”

“That sounds reasonable,” I told her. “What did Michael Stanhope have to say?”

“Oh, he agreed in the end. But he's not happy about it. Thinks it's one of the best things he's done, blah-blah-blah, opens up a new direction for him. Says his career needs a boost and this could give it one. He also argued that Matthew wouldn't be any the wiser and that even if he did see it he wouldn't recognize who it was. He's probably right. I'm being silly.”

“But he did agree?”

“He complained a lot, but, yes, he agreed in the end. He likes to play the miserable cynic, but he's pretty decent, deep down. He's got a good heart.”

And there she finished. We walked back to Hobb's End enjoying the sound of the breeze through the leaves and the songs of the birds in the high branches. I didn't see Gloria again until a couple of days later, on the afternoon of 7 May, and by then everyone knew Germany had surrendered. The war was over and everywhere people started putting up flags and closing up shop.

The last party had begun.