Kissed a Sad Goodbye (30 page)

“Rodgers and Hart.” Pulling her a little closer, he hummed along with the melody. “ ‘Where or When,’ it’s called,” he added, with a trace of amusement in his voice.

The breeze lifted the hair on Gemma’s neck, and for a moment she felt herself floating, suspended between the music and his touch. “I’d not have picked you for a dancer,” she whispered.

“My secret ambition was to be Gene Kelly.…”

She felt his breath against her cheek, then she was aware only of the music and the harmony of their steps.

The last flourish of the clarinet caught them in mid-step. They came to an awkward halt, hands still clasped. Gemma felt the pulse beating in her throat, then the rising flush of embarrassment.

She stepped back, freeing her hand. A low rumble of thunder vibrated in the air as she fumbled into her shoes and scooped up her handbag. “I have to go,” she said, and turning from him, she walked away through the park without looking back.

I
T WAS
C
HRISTMAS BEFORE
L
EWIS RETURNED
to the Island for a visit. Evacuees had been streaming back into London for months, but the schools had closed at the beginning of the evacuation, and the returning children had no place to go. The government had not been responsive to appeals to reopen—the teachers had gone to the country with their charges, and many of the buildings had been taken over for civil defense
.

“I’ll not have you running the streets like a wild thing, not when you have a chance at a proper education,” his mother had said firmly, and even though the government had launched a Christmas publicity campaign aimed at keeping children out of London
—Keep them happy, keep them safe—
she’d eventually given in to Lewis’s pleas for a holiday at home
.

His months in the country had been touched only lightly by the war. With the advent of petrol rationing in late September, Edwina’s autos had been polished more often than driven, but to Lewis’s delight, John had begun teaching him how to maintain them. Gardening was less to his liking, but he and William helped plant a winter garden behind the Hall kitchen. Edwina acquired two Jersey cows from a neighboring farmer as a hedge against the
rationing of milk and butter, and on the Downs were ever-increasing signs of preparation as the army practiced training maneuvers and set up searchlight battery units
.

None of this had prepared Lewis for the sight of London. He sat with his face pressed to a gap in the shatterproof sticky-tape covering the window as his coach wound its slow way through streets empty of automobiles. People saved their petrol allotments for the weekends, managing as best they could on the overcrowded public transport. Sandbagged trenches, some painted in garish colors, scarred the public parks. The hurrying pedestrians were dressed all in somber grays and browns, as if they had adopted voluntary camouflage
.

He walked from the bus stop to Stebondale Street, his footsteps growing slower as he climbed the last gentle rise. The street seemed meaner, dingier, than he remembered, and he felt a sudden uneasiness as his house came in sight. Would he find that things at home had changed, too? Going round the back, he entered the cluttered yard, then pushed open the kitchen door and peeked in. Familiar aromas assaulted him—cabbage and bacon and baking bread—and at the cooker, his mother stood with her back turned to him, her pink apron tied neatly at her waist. Pausing for a moment in her stirring, she tilted her head in that listening way he knew so well. “Lewis?” She turned, her thin face alight, and in a moment he was enveloped in a floury hug. “Let me look at you,” she exclaimed, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh, my, your brothers will hardly recognize you, you’ve grown so.”

At the sight of his startled face, she laughed. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Tommy and Edward have both managed a day’s leave for Christmas. They’ll be here tonight.”

Cath came in then, high heels clattering on the floorboards, and gave him a lipsticked smack on the cheek. Lewis stared at her in consternation. “What’s the film-star getup for?”

Cath tossed her head, but the motion didn’t disturb her
hair’s smooth waves. “I’m a grown woman now, Lewis Finch, and you should treat me with some respect. I’m meeting someone, if you must know.”

“Not if your da sees you like that,” his mum said. “Lewis is right, Cathleen. Wipe that muck from your face before your father gets home—”

“But, Mummy, you know how long I had to queue to get this lipstick—”

“You should have known better, then, shouldn’t you, missy? And you’ll stay at home tonight with your brothers. I’ll not hear another word.”

“You should talk, anyway,” Cath said, abandoning the argument and pulling a face at Lewis. “Acting the toff like that.”

“What do you mean, toff?” he retorted, incensed
.

“Just look at you.” She nodded at his pullover and trousers, castoffs of William’s, the trousers still a bit long. “And listen to you. You sound like that reader on the BBC, what’s his name, the one who talks like he has a pencil stuck up his nose.”

“I do not—”

“You do so, Lewis Finch, and don’t think I’m impressed one bit.”

“And what makes you think I care?” He stuck his tongue out
.

Reaching out, Cath grabbed his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and twisted
.

He yelped and pinched back, his mum intervened, scolding them both, and it was as if he’d never been away. As the day faded they gossiped over cups of tea at the kitchen table until his dad arrived home from the shipyard, and shortly after that his brothers came in together, large and noisy, looking like men—and strangers—in their new uniforms
.

That evening after tea, his dad took him for a stroll down to the river, their way lit only by moonlight on the melting snow. Although accustomed now to blackout in
the country, Lewis had never seen the Island without light streaming from street lamps and headlamps and lace-curtained windows. It seemed a different city, an enchanted city, and he breathed deeply of the fresh air untainted by petrol fumes. In the still silence the occasional voice echoed oddly through the streets, and somewhere in the distance a bell chimed faintly for Christmas Eve services
.

Lewis’s dad walked without speaking, his hands clasped behind his back, puffing on the pipe he held clenched in his teeth. He had never been a man much for words, but Lewis didn’t need them. He could sense his father’s contentment in his company and he felt a stirring of pride
.

When they reached Island Gardens, they had to feel their way carefully through the darkness under the trees, but as they emerged onto the moonlit promenade the river stretched silver and gleaming before them. The smoke from his father’s pipe drifted out over the water like a fragrant cloud
.

A barge passed by, lit only stern and prow by small, shaded lanterns. In the darkness and silence it seemed ghostly, primitive, a Viking longboat returned from the dead. Lewis shivered. Suddenly he felt a stab of homesickness as intense as those of his first few days at the Hall—and yet it was more than that. He wanted to freeze time, to hold everyone and everything unchanged, and the weight of his desire made it difficult to breathe
.

“Da,” he said, forcing the words out. “Let me stay here. The war’s all bollocks anyway, everyone knows that. Nothing’s going to happen—there’s no reason I can’t come home.”

His father removed his pipe and sighed. “I wish it were so, Lewis. But the war’s waiting. Like a beast, it is, before it pounces on you. I can feel its breath. Your mother can, as well.”

Lewis had been away long enough to feel embarrassed by any reference to his Irish family’s clairvoyance—something he knew William and Edwina would think of
as superstitious nonsense, so he countered with his ultimate authority. “But they’re saying in the newspaper and on the wireless—”

“It matters nought. They don’t want a panic on their hands, so it’s business as usual. But any fool can see the Germans won’t stop where they are. It’s only a matter of time, lad, and you’re better off out of it.” His dad tapped his pipe on the railing to empty it, then tucked it in the pocket of his coat. “Don’t you see, knowing you’re safe is the only thing gives your mum any peace. We can’t send your sister away, and your brothers have chosen their road—though before long I think it won’t be a matter of choice for anyone young and fit enough to fight.”

“I’ll go, too, if it lasts long enough,” said Lewis, smarting at always being thought a child
.

“You know I’m not a religious man, lad—it’s your mum who thinks so highly of the Church—but I’ll say a prayer to all your mother’s saints that this war ends long before that.” He smiled down at Lewis. “And we’d best be getting back, or your mother will have Father Joseph out looking for us.”

It was as close to a joke as his father ever came, and an effective means of ending an argument. Lewis matched his dad’s steps, staying close beside him until they left the darkness of the park behind. They walked as briskly as the blackout allowed back to Stebondale Street, and the disappointment Lewis nursed became tinged ever so slightly with relief
.

Even that disappointment was short-lived once they reached the house, for he was soon involved with the preparations for Christmas dinner. His family could have afforded few luxuries even had they been available, but his mother was adept at making do with little, and they sat down next day to a jolly table. Tommy and Edward had helped him make newspaper hats, and Cath had somehow procured a bit of colored tissue for homemade crackers. They’d filled them with bits of tinsel and mottoes concocted with much hilarity the previous evening. Lewis was
even allowed a sip of Christmas gin, which inspired in him an affectionate glow and an unprecedented tolerance of his sister’s teasing
.

On this occasion, his family’s gift seemed to have bypassed him altogether, for he had no premonition that this was the last time they would all be gathered together
.

Kit had been working diligently on his obstacle course since lunchtime. The Millers’ back garden provided a level and shady area for his endeavors, and he had managed to persuade Laura and Colin to let him stay behind while they went into Cambridge for some shopping.

It was the dog show on the telly last night that had given him the idea. There had been the usual best-of-breed judgings, which he’d watched anxiously for dogs resembling Tess. When he saw the Norfolk terriers, with their shaggy brown coats and bright black eyes, he’d felt certain that Tess carried those genes somewhere in her ancestry.

But there had also been trials of agility and obedience open to all dogs, registered or not. He’d been particularly enchanted by the obstacle-course relay races, and the idea that Tess’s lack of pedigree could be overcome in such a contest had given him a fierce sense of mission. Tess was as smart as any dog—smarter, even—and now he’d seen a way to prove just how special she was.

He’d constructed the jumps from last winter’s leftover
firewood—two logs for the supports, one for the cross-piece: just the right size for a small dog. Then he’d made a ramp from a piece of plywood and some milk crates he’d found in the garage, and a ring from an old tire rim. The only thing he hadn’t managed to figure out was the dispenser for the tennis ball at the far end of the course; the idea being that Tess would run the course, retrieve the ball from the dispenser, then bring it back to him at the starting point.

At first Tess had bounded after him excitedly, jumping at the end of the lead dangling from his pocket, but when she’d realized no walk or games were immediately forthcoming, she’d retired to a shady spot under the oak tree. There she lay with her head on her front paws, her tail thumping occasionally as she followed him with her eyes.

Kit kept up a singsong running commentary on his tasks as he worked. Although this monologue was addressed to Tess, he found it helped keep him from thinking, and thinking was something he’d done his best to avoid the last few days.

Since he’d refused yesterday to take Duncan’s phone call, Laura had been watching him with evident concern, but she hadn’t questioned him about it. He’d even caught Colin giving him the odd worried look, and being nicer than usual, which was worse. He didn’t want to talk to Colin, either—didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened, and especially not to Duncan.

But every so often he’d found himself pulling the dog-eared photo of Duncan in his scout’s uniform from his pocket. It was as if he couldn’t help himself, and even as he finished a last adjustment to the log jump, his fingers slid into his pocket just far enough to feel the photo’s edge, assuring him he hadn’t lost it. The image had become so clear in his mind that he really didn’t need to look at it anymore. It gave him the oddest feeling, like looking in a mirror that was ever so slightly warped—the hair a shade darker than his, the eyes a bit grayer, the nose a little less sharp.

But that wasn’t the image he wanted to see. He’d locked himself in the bathroom last night after Colin fell asleep, searching his face in the mirror, trying to find the resemblance to his mother that people were always going on about.

He gave a sharp shake of his head, pushing the thought aside as he knelt beside Tess. “Come on, girl,” he said as he took the dog’s lead from his pocket and snapped it onto her collar. “Let’s give this a try.” He checked his supply of treats, giving her one for good measure, then started her trotting towards the beginning of the course as he clucked encouragement. As they neared the first jump, he picked up speed, urging, “Come on, girl, you can do it! Jump!”