Memories of the Storm (16 page)

In the possession of Eleanor's body Michael has
sacrificed some element of self-worth: he is no
longer free. His eyes follow Eleanor almost
furtively, even his voice sounds weighted with
shame. Now, when Hester talks about Edward –
which she does with almost indignant insistence
– he can hardly bear to answer her. It seems that
they have both denied his existence and she burns
with anger and resentment on his behalf – and on
Lucy's.

For now, Michael's unwilling passion for Eleanor
colours his feelings for his child. He is no longer
natural and happy with her. Though he still accepts
her hugs and kisses it is clear that she has become a
problem to him and his love for her is stained by
Eleanor's presence.

Hester wishes that Eleanor would go away – for
what can keep her at Bridge House now? Why
should she make her home with the family of the
husband she has betrayed? Yet she cannot bring
herself to confront Eleanor even though, womanlike,
she blames her for Michael's fall from grace.
She can hardly bear to look at him, so embarrassing
is his lack of pride as he watches Eleanor like an
anxious puppy waiting on its master's command.
And, anyway, there is Lucy to consider.

Michael holds her as a shield, a defence against
Eleanor's rapacity, and Hester guesses that
although Eleanor's physical attractions are more
than he can resist he is not prepared to commit
himself utterly to her. Meanwhile, Hester works
hard to make sure that Lucy is happy. She knows
how much the child is missing the boys, especially
Jack, and she tries to keep her occupied. Michael
makes no attempt to take Lucy back to his aunt in
Chichester, though it is quite safe there now, nor
does he have any plans for making a new life for
her. Soon, Hester decides, soon she must make
a move, ask him what he plans to do, but she
postpones the moment of truth. All through that
summer she feels that she is waiting: Eleanor and
Michael may have given up on Edward but Hester
hasn't.

When they hear that he is coming home Eleanor
is silent with disbelief and horror. She has convinced
herself that Edward is dead and simply
cannot accept that he is returning to ruin
everything that she has worked for with Michael. In
contrast, Hester feels weightless with joy and relief;
Edward is alive and his homecoming will put everything
to rights. He will be back where he belongs.
It is only after the first rapturous sensations of
happiness that she begins to wonder how, exactly,
problems will be resolved.

It is Michael who persuades Hester to allow him to
meet Edward from the troopship at Southampton
and drive him down to Bridge House.

'Just in case,' he says. 'Please, Hes. There are
some very disturbed men coming back from the Far
East at the moment. Good God, think about what
they've been through! Well, you can't, of course.
We're only just beginning to know the truth of it.
He's been a prisoner in appalling conditions for
three years and the adjustment might be much
more difficult than you can imagine. I know I'm not
in your good books at the moment but please let me
do this. I've got some extended leave due and I'd
like to spend it with Lucy anyway.'

So it is Michael who meets Edward from the
troopship at Southampton, who makes a hasty telephone
call to tell Hester to make up the beds in
Edward's room that Jack and Robin have been
sharing.

'He's a bit disorientated,' he says. 'To be honest,
he looks terrible, Hes. I've had a chat with the MO
and he's given me some stuff for Edward to take.
He had a few bad moments on the ship but he's OK
if he's kept calm. For God's sake warn Eleanor.
Don't expect too much.'

His appearance shocks all of them. His dark hair
is liberally streaked with white, he is bone-thin and
malnourished, and his grey-tinged skin – the result
of beriberi – is scored with deep furrows. He is not
yet thirty and he looks sixty. Even more worrying
than this is his behaviour. He is clearly bewildered,
withdrawn, and he looks at them warily as he comes
in with Michael. Despite the shock, Hester hugs
him warmly though he barely responds. It is as if he
has forgotten how to behave normally and Hester
feels chilled. This gaunt, frightened man is not
the brother she remembers and she is glad now
that, against her better judgement, she agreed that
Michael should be here for the homecoming.

Now Edward's sunken eyes shift uneasily, flicking
away from direct contact, although he stares fixedly
at Eleanor for a few seconds who cannot help but
shrink against Hester as if for protection. He has
made no attempt to greet his wife – nor she him –
and it seems that now their opportunity for some
kind of natural reunion has passed.

'Come on.' Michael puts his hand on his shoulder
and Edward reacts suddenly, shaking him off
violently and then seizing his arm so aggressively
that Michael winces; but he carries on calmly
enough. 'We've got your old room all ready and I'm
sharing with you again,' he tells Edward. 'I've been
looking at your books. Remember how we used to
read to each other in the old days? We'd take bets
who'd drop off to sleep first.'

Still talking, he leads Edward very slowly towards
the door as if he guesses that any sharp movement
will unsettle him. Hester hesitates, then steps
forward and kisses him lightly on the cheek.

'Goodnight, Edward,' she says. 'Sleep well.'

The gesture seems to calm him and he smiles;
barely more than a little flicker of the muscles
around his mouth. His eyes slide round again
to study Eleanor as if wondering who she is. She
holds her breath, trying to outface him calmly,
terrified that he might confront her, but his
eyes slide away again and she gasps silently with
relief.

He shuffles out with Michael, whose voice can be
heard as he guides him upstairs, and the two
women stare at each other in shocked anguish.

'Oh, the poor darling,' whispers Eleanor. 'Oh
God, Hes. That was terrible.'

'He'll need time,' Hester says quickly, defensively.
'Time to adjust,' but she is frightened.

'Thank God Michael's here.' Even at a moment
like this, Eleanor cannot quite hide her feelings.
'He was wonderful with him, wasn't he?'

And Hester cannot deny it: she too is grateful for
Michael's presence.

Eleanor thrusts her arm within Hester's as if
requiring physical support. Hester can feel that she
is trembling, and when she looks at Eleanor she
sees that her eyes are dark with distress and fear. In
that moment, Hester connects. Though she has no
experience she can imagine how frightening it
might be to meet again the man with whom you
have had no contact for three years. A man, moreover,
who not only has the right to expect affection
and great intimacy but also looks as old as your
grandfather and is clearly unstable.

They stare at each other and quite suddenly
Eleanor's grip tightens and unexpectedly she
smiles. It is a smile of great sweetness.

'Oh, darling,' she says ruefully, 'I'm not being
very brave.'

'I can sympathize with that,' says Hester feelingly.
'He's not himself. Don't worry. Thank God we've
got Michael.'

Eleanor regards her with a pleased surprise at
such a ready capitulation. 'Can you see how it is at
last, darling? Can you understand? Oh, I know it's
been hard for you to forgive Michael and me.
You've been shut up here ever since you left school,
first with your mother and then with the family.
You've never been in love. I know all that. Just
don't be too hard on us, that's all. Remember that
Edward and I were married for only seven months,
Hes. Seven months! And he's been away for over
three years. I thought he'd been killed, I really did.
Can you understand?'

This plea for clemency rather undermines
Hester's new-found ability to connect; she is not
ready for girlish confidences or intimacy, nor does
she think that it's the time for them. The puritanism
of youth, not yet softened by experience, reasserts
itself at the sight of this over-emotional display.
Nevertheless there has been a shift in their relationship:
a shift towards friendship and a greater
tolerance.

Eleanor reaches for her bag and lights a
cigarette. She turns her head, blowing the smoke
sideways, cupping her right elbow in her left
hand.

'I'm frightened,' she says simply.

Hester sighs. She sees that Eleanor's feelings
as Edward's wife must take precedence over her
own as his sister. She experiences a sharp jab of
resentment. She has lost a great deal in the last five
years – her two younger brothers, her mother – and
now Edward seems to be the last straw that might
break her courage. Yet that brief moment of
connection has had its effect. She knows that if they
are to survive this calamity she must relinquish the
dislike she's indulged for so long; that she must
allow Eleanor to be fearful without judging her. As
she struggles to reconnect, it surprises her to realize
just how much her dislike of this woman has upheld
her and how much more difficult it will be to love
rather than to hate.

'It's bound to take time to adjust,' she says – but
she speaks with no confidence, and Eleanor looks at
her with brooding sincerity.

'But you must see that it will never work now with
Edward and me,' she says. 'You can see that, can't
you, Hester?'

And in this new awareness, this new maturity,
Hester
can
see that it could never work again; that
their brief, ill-matched relationship could never be
resurrected.

'Perhaps not,' she says, 'but you can't just walk
out on him. Not just yet.'

Eleanor watches her, still puffing at her cigarette,
her eyes narrowed against the smoke.

'Are you sure that it wouldn't be wiser?' she
asks quietly. 'Just to disappear quietly before he
remembers anything properly?'

'Not if it means you'd take Michael,' answers
Hester almost angrily. 'How can I manage alone?
Just think, Eleanor. When Edward went away he
had a whole family. And you. Now there's just
Patricia and me. She can't come back to look after
him. That leaves me.'

'Sorry, sweetie.' Eleanor pitches the butt of her
cigarette into the fire. 'I'm trying not to be selfish
but don't you see that it might just be me who will
unsettle him most? He couldn't quite place me,
could he? You, yes. You're still little Hes, you
haven't changed that much, and Michael, the old
school chum. That's OK. But where do I come in?
Supposing he remembers and wants to . . . well,
be husbandly.' She shudders deeply and with no
affectation whatsoever. 'I couldn't do it, Hes. It's
not just because of Michael. Not even just because
Edward looks like an old man. There's something
else, isn't there? When he took hold of Michael's
arm he looked mad. Did you see how Mike winced?
And his eyes, Hes . . .'

'I know.' Hester gets up and goes to her as she
paces before the fire. 'Look, it's only the first day.
Let's not be melodramatic.'

They turn, startled, as Michael comes into the
room.

'The MO gave me something to help him sleep.'
He looks bleak and very tired. 'He's out cold but
I'm going back in case he disturbs and doesn't
remember where he is.' He glances at Eleanor and
looks away again. 'I shall lock our door,' he says.
'Just in case. I don't want him wandering about in
the night and frightening Lucy.'

Eleanor stretches a hand gratefully towards him,
as if she is acknowledging the real reason for his
wariness, and Hester feels a stirring of the old
irritation. Even at a moment like this, Eleanor must
take centre stage;
her
feelings must be paramount.

'That's a good idea,' she says unemotionally,
before Eleanor can speak. 'Thanks, Michael.'

'Goodnight then.' He goes out, his face grim, and
the two women are left together.

In the days that follow, there are many occasions
when Hester is grateful that Michael is on leave.
Edward's lucid, calm periods become longer, he
seems less confused, but Hester begins to suspect
that he is suffering more than they have guessed.
She comes upon him one morning, standing just
inside the bedroom that once belonged to their
mother and which Eleanor now uses.

Eleanor has gone shopping in Dulverton,
Michael and Lucy are collecting wood along the
river path, and the house is quiet. Only the river
can be heard, turbulent after a night of heavy rain,
tumbling and rumbustious as it streams towards its
union with the River Exe further down the valley.
Edward's head is bent, as if listening, and Hester
wonders if the river's relentless sound is distressing
– she remembers how her mother found it so when
she was ill – and she lays a hand very lightly on his
arm whilst speaking his name. They are all learning
that it is dangerous to take Edward by surprise, to
startle him.

He looks at her and his glance is clear and
sane.

'I can't believe it sometimes, Hes. That Mother
and the boys are dead. I didn't know about Mother
and I kept forgetting about James and Henry. All
those years when I was thinking of them as if they
were alive and that one day we'd all be together
again. Poor Hes. However did you manage?'

She bites her lip, carefully contemplating a reply
that will not send him toppling over into the abyss
where madness lurks.

'I had Patricia,' she says cheerfully. 'And the boys
and Nanny. Nanny managed for me. You know
Nanny!'

He smiles, as she means him to, and for a
moment the empty eyes light with a happy
memory, and his lips curve appreciatively.

'I'm glad you had Nanny and Pat,' he says.

'So am I,' she says, heartfelt, 'and they're all
looking forward to seeing you when you're
stronger.'

His smile this time is a bitter one. 'Don't you
mean less mad?' he asks. His stare challenges her to
answer truthfully and Hester is truly afraid.

'Probably,' she says bravely. 'You do have very
odd moments, Edward. They'll pass, of course.'

'Will they?' His intensity is painful. 'Do you
actually know that, Hes?'

He has seized her hand and his grip is painful
but she doesn't show that it hurts.

'Yes,' she lies, staring him in the eye. 'The MO
told us that it takes time and patience but that
it passes. The really important thing is that you
mustn't get excited about things, Ned. It sets
you back.'

The little childish name seems to reassure him
and he relaxes his grip. He turns and regards
himself in the looking-glass that stands on the
dressing-table.

'Look.' He's still holding her hand and now he
pulls her round beside him. 'Look at me, Hes. I
look older than our father did when he died.' They
stand side by side, staring at their reflections. 'What
must Eleanor think each time she looks at me?' He
feels the involuntary tightening of her hand and
laughs softly. 'Did you really believe I'd forgotten
her? Did you, Hes? Don't you think I saw her
expression when I turned up with Michael? What
did you all expect me to do? Take her in my arms
and demand my conjugal rights?' He drops her
hand abruptly and turns away from the old man in
the looking-glass. 'She's so beautiful, isn't she? I
dreamed about her during all those years away
from her – when I wasn't thinking about food, that
is. You get obsessed with food when you're being
starved, you know. You'd steal and cheat and lie for
it. It's all that matters in the end: the desire for
survival. And that means food, not sex. None of us
cared about that. We used to plan menus, our
perfect meal, that kind of thing. Eleanor represented
beauty and cleanliness and sanity. She was
the symbol of peace and all the small, homely,
decent things. Coming back to her was the one
thing that kept me going. Rather ironic when you
think about it. Now we pretend that I haven't quite
remembered that she's my wife. You see, there are
chunks of time I can't account for and I'm afraid of
what I've done. I got a bit violent once or twice on
the boat coming home and I had to be restrained. I
can't risk that with Eleanor.'

Close to tears, Hester remains silent. Her
experience has not equipped her for this.
Suddenly, rising up to the open window, echoes the
rhythmical sound made by the noise of an axe on
wood. Each time the blade makes contact it rings
with an almost metallic blow and, with each strike,
Hester notices that Edward winces, his face creasing
into an anguished frown. Slowly he begins to shake
his head, chopping at the air with his hands as if
warding off blows and he makes tiny whimpering
sounds, though his mouth is tightly closed. Still
shaking his head, his arms now held up protectively
before his face, he staggers across to the bed and
kneels on it. He bends forward so that his forehead
touches his knees, his arms folded over his head as
if to close out the sound, and the dry sobs continue
spasmodically.

Hester runs to the window and leans out.

'Michael,' she shouts urgently. 'Michael, stop!'

He appears below the window, staring up at her,
and she shakes her head urgently, mouthing at him
that Edward is ill. To her relief, Michael guesses at
once and she hears him speaking to Lucy before he
comes upstairs two steps at a time. He goes at once
to the recumbent form, kneeling beside the bed,
talking calmly to Edward though not touching
him, and gradually the sobbing ceases and Edward
collapses onto his side, his eyes tightly closed.

Hester goes out, closing the door behind her,
and hurries downstairs to Lucy.

Studying Edward as she does, Lucy begins to see
that there are two people struggling inside his
head. It is rather as if he is playing a game,
sometimes pretending to be someone else, as she
and Jack did: Robin Hood and Maid Marian or
Peter Pan and Wendy. In private they played out
their parts with great conviction but in front of
the grown-ups they had to be Lucy and Jack again.
It seems that Edward can't always change over
properly. Most of the time he is the Edward who
talks quietly to Daddy and to Hester, though he
seems to avoid Eleanor rather as if he is shy of her,
and then, sometimes quite suddenly, the other
Edward appears.

He doesn't seem to mind that the others are
there, which makes her think that he is rather
brave. She and Jack hated to be caught out by the
grown-ups. 'And who are you today?' they'd ask,
and it would spoil the whole game. If you had to
explain who you were and what you were doing
then you stopped feeling that it was real and you
simply felt silly instead. Edward doesn't mind
feeling silly, though all the grown-ups hate it.
She's noticed that odd things bring out the other
Edward. It might be a sudden noise or even a
pattern. Eleanor has a frock with stripes in black
and grey and white that seem to shimmer as she
moves about. Only yesterday, when she was laying
the table for lunch, swishing to and fro between the
sideboard and the table, Edward kept staring and
staring at the dress and his eyes slowly opened very
wide so that he looked really frightening. Then he
put out a hand very fast, just like a snake darting
out its head, and caught a fold of the skirt, twisting
it and twisting it and pulling Eleanor closer and
closer, so that she screamed and Hester ran in and
took hold of his hands and made him let go.

Lucy couldn't help wondering what game it was
that he was playing and who he was pretending to
be. She wishes Jack were still here so that she
wouldn't feel quite so lonely – or so scared. With
Jack around she wouldn't feel scared; it would just
be another game. She's been told that Edward isn't
very well and must be treated gently. She's not to
shout or creep up on him and shout 'Boo!' like they
used to with Nanny or Patricia.

'You know how it is with a car,' Daddy tells her.
'It has brakes to stop it if you are going too fast or
someone walks out in front of it. People have brakes
too. They stop us getting too angry so that we don't
lose our tempers and hurt other people. They stop
us telling lies and cheating and giving in to weaknesses.
But sometimes the brakes don't work very
well if people are ill or overtired. That's what's
wrong with Edward. He's been kept prisoner and
treated very badly and that's why his brakes aren't
working properly. We have to get him better and
mend them. Do you see, Lucy?'

And she did see: it was perfectly clear to her. She
remembers how they used to rag with Daddy on the
lawn; Jack and Robin would scream with laughter
and get very red in the face as they rolled round
and round, and then Nanny would say, 'That's
quite enough now. You're going too far and someone
will get hurt.'

Everyone's brakes always worked perfectly well,
though sometimes Jack would protest, and nobody
ever got hurt. She thinks about Edward's brakes
and hopes they will be working soon so that nobody
gets hurt now. Sometimes she thinks she would like
to go away but then she knows she would hate
to leave Hester and Bridge House, for where could
they go but to Aunt Mary and the little house in
Chichester where not very long ago the V-2s were
killing people and it was very dangerous. But if she
stays at Bridge House with Hester, then she knows
she will see Jack and Nanny again. They have
promised to come as soon as Edward is better.

She knows that Eleanor wants to go away, though.
She hears her saying so to Daddy. They whisper
together as she, Lucy, hides behind the door, holding
her breath.

'I'm afraid, Mike,' Eleanor says. 'How much
longer can we go on like this? You're going to have
to make a decision soon, you know. Your leave
won't last for ever. It's because of Lucy, isn't it? I
can't see why we simply can't go to London . . .'

She doesn't hear any more because they go out
through the French doors onto the terrace, but she
feels frightened. Lucy believes that Eleanor's brakes
aren't too good: not as reliable as Nanny's or
Hester's or Patricia's. She has an image of Eleanor
driving a car and putting her foot down hard on the
accelerator pedal, going faster and faster so that
people and cyclists fly out of her way or are caught
under the wheels; but still Eleanor drives on and on
with her hair blowing in the wind and a secret smile
on her bright red lips. Edward and Eleanor are
both dangerous because their brakes don't work
properly.

* * *

Each of them is scared. Eleanor takes Michael's arm
as they pass out into the garden and he glances
round involuntarily, freeing himself quickly in case
Edward is watching. Just lately, he has begun to fear
that Edward has guessed the truth.

'It's not just because of Lucy,' he says, 'though I
don't quite know what I'd do with her in London.
It's Hester too. She's not able to look after Edward
on her own just yet. Poor old Edward . . .'

His face crumples a little with compassion and
Eleanor watches him thoughtfully, weighing his
concern for them against his love for her.

'But you do love me, Mike?'

'For God's sake!' He's as jumpy as a new lamb,
glancing up at the windows of the house, peering
along the terrace. 'It's just not that simple . . .'

'I think it's fairly simple,' she says coolly. 'Lucy
can stay with your Aunt Mary and you and I can get
a little flat in London. You can see Lucy at weekends.'

He is secretly shocked by her ruthlessness. 'And
what about Hes and Edward?'

'They must learn to manage. After all, you can't
stay here for ever, can you?'

'And what about you? You are his wife, after
all.'

'That didn't seem to bother us a few weeks ago in
London, did it? We can't let it get in the way now,
why should we? The fact is that I hardly knew
Edward when we married. It was all so quick and
mad, a typical war-time romance that would have
died a natural death at any other time. There's
nothing to bind us now. No long years of marriage,
no true deep love, no children. It might sound
brutal but the truth can be brutal. It'll never work
between me and Edward again. We must face up to
the truth, Mike.'

She makes it sound so reasonable – and he knows
that he is wriggling like a worm on a hook and
despises himself for it – but he is unable to take
the decision to abandon Edward and Hester. Yet
Eleanor is right: something must happen soon.
Edward is recovering his strength, he neither sleeps
so late nor goes to bed early, and his presence
amongst them is causing tension. He is beginning
to be unable to hide his feelings for Eleanor, the
sight of her exacerbates his madness, and Michael
fears some kind of confrontation.

'I suppose you wouldn't consider going away
for a week or two, to your chums in London or
to your parents? Just to give Edward time to recover?'

She shakes her head, smiling at him as if she
knows what he's thinking.