Motherland (20 page)

‘So I’ll start. I want to be friends with you, Lawrence.’ She holds out her hand. ‘Do you want to be friends with me?’

‘Yes. I do.’

He takes her hand and holds it, not shaking it. He feels her warmth.

‘There,’ she says. ‘Now we’re friends.’

‘Golly, you were hard to find,’ says Kitty, giving Larry a warm hug. ‘You shouldn’t just disappear and leave no forwarding address.’

‘I thought I had.’

She ushers him out of Lewes station to a dark green Wolseley Hornet parked outside.

‘George bought her in ’32. Isn’t she glorious?’

The December roads are icy. Driving slowly back to Edenfield, Kitty confides her worries.

‘You’ll find Ed’s changed a lot.’

‘I suppose it must be hard for him to adjust,’ says Larry.

‘See what you think when you meet him.’

Larry gazes out of the window at the familiar hump of the Downs.

‘You remember that place where you were billeted?’ Kitty says. ‘George is offering it to us at a peppercorn rent.’

‘Are you short of money?’

‘We have no money at all. We’re living off Ed’s demob
payments. No, actually we’re living off George and Louisa. Ed’s looking round for some sort of job, but you wouldn’t say his heart was in it.’

‘He’s a VC, for God’s sake! Where’s the nation’s gratitude?’

‘The nation awards VCs an annual sum of ten pounds. But only if you’re non-commissioned. Officer class is assumed to have private means.’

She eases the car off the road and down the drive to Edenfield Place.

‘Just wait till you see Pammy. She’s turning into such a little madam.’

Louisa is there to greet Larry, and then George appears, nodding and blinking. Gareth, the indoor man, takes Larry’s weekend bag and his satchel up to his allocated bedroom. There’s tea laid out in the drawing-room.

‘All a bit more civilised than when I was last here,’ Larry says.

‘I rather miss the Canadians,’ says George. ‘They made such a jolly noise.’

‘Where’s Pammy?’ says Kitty.

‘Out somewhere with Ed,’ says Louisa. ‘They’ll be back soon.’

Ed doesn’t appear, so after they’ve had a cup of tea Larry and Kitty go in search of him.

‘He’ll be in the wood beyond the lake,’ says Kitty. ‘If he’s not up on the Downs.’

As they stroll past the lake house in the gathering dusk Larry says lightly, ‘That’s where I first met you.’

‘Reading
Middlemarch
.’

Ed comes into view on the far side of the lake. He has Pamela on his shoulders, and he holds her fast by her ankles.

‘My God!’ says Larry softly. ‘He’s so thin!’

Ed sees them and breaks into a careful bounding run. The little girl squeals with fear and delight.

Eyes shining, chest heaving, Ed reaches them and swings Pamela down to the ground.

‘Larry! Good man!’

He takes his hand and pumps it.

‘I would have come sooner,’ says Larry, ‘but I didn’t know what sort of a state you were in. And look at you! You look like a ghost!’

‘I am a ghost.’ Then his eyes meet Kitty’s and he smiles. ‘No, I’m not. Not a ghost at all. And will you look at this! I have a daughter!’

Pamela is gazing curiously up at Larry. Her father’s joy at his friend’s arrival causes her to give him serious attention.

‘Hello, Pamela,’ says Larry.

‘Hello,’ says the little girl.

‘Come along, then,’ says Kitty. ‘There’s still some tea left.’

Ed puts one arm over Larry’s shoulders. He’s more animated than he’s been for days.

‘Oh, Larry, Larry, Larry. I am so glad to see you.’

He beats with one fist on Larry’s shoulder as they walk back to the house.

‘Me too, old chap. For a while I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.’

‘I hope you trusted you’d meet me in heaven. Or wasn’t I to be allowed in?’

‘They’ll serenade you with trumpets, Ed. You’re a genuine hero.’

‘No, no. Don’t say that.’

‘I was on that beach.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that,’ says Ed, withdrawing his arm. ‘Tell me about you. Is it art, or is it bananas?’

‘It’s art for now. I’ve enrolled in a course at Camberwell College. I’m having a go at taking it seriously.’

‘And frivolously too, I hope. Art should be fun too.’

‘It’s more than fun, Ed. It’s what gives me my deepest happiness.’

Ed stops and gazes into his friend’s eyes.

‘There, you see,’ he says. ‘I’d give anything to have that.’

Alone in his bedroom, a fine large room over the organ room with a west-facing window, Larry changes slowly for dinner, and thinks about Kitty. It frightens him how much he longs to be in her company, and how happy he is when her lovely face is turned towards him. But his part is to play the role of faithful friend, both to her and to Ed; and play it he will.

Over dinner he has an opportunity to observe the curious relationship between George and Louisa. Louisa has got into the habit of talking about George in his presence as if he doesn’t hear her.

‘Is George doing something about the wine?’ she says. ‘Oh, isn’t he hopeless! Sometimes I wonder that he manages to get out of bed in the morning. You never saw a person with less get up and go.’

‘The wine is on the table, my dear.’

‘He hasn’t got his napkin on. You’ll see, he’ll spill the sauce all down his tie.’

Obediently, George tucks his napkin into his collar. His eyes peep at Larry through the thick lenses of his glasses.

‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ he says.

Ed hardly touches his food. Larry sees how Kitty watches his
plate with anxious eyes. Louisa complains bitterly about the petrol rations.

‘They say they’ve increased the ration, but four gallons a month! That won’t get anyone very far.’

‘I think the truth is we’re broke,’ says Larry. ‘The country, I mean.’

‘Do let’s not complain,’ says Kitty. ‘Think how frightening it was, not knowing day by day if people were still alive even.’

When dinner is over Ed slips away, not saying where he’s going. Louisa and George settle down to a game of Pelmanism, which it turns out is their customary evening relaxation. Louisa spreads out the cards face down on the long table in the library.

‘George has a surprisingly good memory for cards,’ she says. ‘I think it must come from all that peering at maps.’

Kitty and Larry leave them to their game. They retreat to the smallest of the family rooms, the West Parlour. Here family portraits hang on chains against a pale eau-de-nil wallpaper, and the chintz-covered armchairs are deep and comfortable. For a few moments Kitty looks at Larry in silence, and he too remains silent, not wanting to break the sweet intimacy.

‘Well?’ she says at last.

‘He’s not in a good way, is he?’

‘He won’t see a doctor. He won’t see anyone.’

‘How is he with you?’ says Larry.

‘He’s kind, and gentle, and loving. And you see how he is with Pammy. But most of the time he just wants to be alone.’

‘What does he do when he’s alone?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing, as far as I can tell. He just thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t think. Maybe he wants to be alone so he can switch himself off, or something.’

‘Sounds like some sort of breakdown.’

‘He had a terrible time in the camps. He was kept handcuffed for four hundred and eleven days.’

‘Jesus! Poor bastard.’

‘I just don’t know what to do.’

She’s clasping her hands together as she speaks, working them against each other, as if trying to rub out some invisible stain.

‘Will you help us, Larry?’

Her lovely face is looking at him in mute appeal, admitting the unhappiness she can’t name.

‘I’ll try talking to him,’ says Larry. ‘But he may not want to talk to me.’

‘He’ll talk to you if he talks to anyone.’

‘You say he’s looking round for a job.’

‘He isn’t really. He knows he must find some kind of income. But the way he is at present, I don’t see that he’s employable.’

Larry nods, frowning, pondering what best to do.

‘I love him so much, Larry,’ Kitty says. ‘But we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms for now. It’s what he wants.’ There’s the glisten of tears in her eyes as she speaks. ‘I wish I knew why.’

‘Oh, Kitty.’

‘Do you think it’s me?’

‘No. It’s not you.’

‘We’ve been apart so long. You’d think at least he’d want that.’

‘I’ll try and talk to him,’ Larry says.

‘Now,’ says Kitty. ‘Go to him now.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘Yes, I know.’ She looks down, suddenly ashamed. ‘I follow him sometimes, just so I know where he goes. He’ll be in the chapel.’

‘The chapel!’

‘We were married there, remember?’

‘Of course I remember.’

‘He goes and sits there by himself. Sometimes for hours.’

Larry gets up out of his armchair.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

*

A first floor corridor leads past bedrooms to a bridge across the courtyard entrance. This is the family’s private way to the chapel. The vaulted space is in darkness but for a single light over the altar. When Larry first enters, it appears to be empty.

‘Anyone here?’

A voice answers from the darkness.

‘Is that Larry?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’

Ed uncoils himself from where he’s been lying, stretched out on a row of dark oak chairs. Larry walks down the aisle to him.

‘I suppose Kitty sent you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Dear Kitty. She does her best with me.’

Larry is on the point of saying something noncommittal and sympathetic when he changes his mind.

‘Why don’t you just sort yourself out, Ed?’

Ed raises his eyebrows, smiling.

‘There speaks the voice of reason.’

‘Sorry. Stupid thing to say.’

‘No, you’re right. But the thing is, I’m not sure I can sort myself out. And even if I could, who’d sort out the world?’

‘Oh, honestly,’ says Larry.

‘All the rottenness and mess.’

Larry thinks of Kitty gazing at him in the parlour with tears in her eyes.

‘It won’t do, Ed,’ he says. ‘What right do you have to indulge yourself in the luxury of despair? You have a wife. You have a child.’

‘Well, well.’ He’s not smiling any more. ‘Did Kitty ask you to tell me that?’

‘This isn’t from Kitty. This is from me. We’ve known each other for almost fifteen years. You’re my best friend. You’re the man I admire most in the world. Compared to you, I’m nothing.’

‘Oh, don’t talk such rot.’

‘You think I don’t mean it? I was on that beach, Ed. I was in such a total funk I couldn’t move. I would have sat there on those bloody pebbles for all eternity. I was sick with fear, helpless with fear. And then I saw you.’

Only now does Larry realise he is here for his own reasons too. There’s something he must say to his friend: a tribute and a confession.

‘Don’t do this, Larry,’ says Ed.

But Larry can’t be stopped now.

‘It was like seeing an angel,’ he says. ‘I saw this man come walking up the beach where the bullets were flying and the shells were landing, like he was taking a stroll in the park. Up and down that beach he went, saving life after life, and every time he turned back from the boats he threw his own life away. And as I watched him, the fear went out of me. You were my angel, Ed. Because of you I got up and I walked to the boat, and I lived. I’ll never forget that to the day I die. Mine was one of the lives you saved that day. By Christ, you earned that VC. You earned a hundred VCs. Do you have any idea what that means?
God was with you that day, Ed. I know you don’t believe in God, but I swear to you he was by your side on that beach. I’m supposed to be the believer, but God wasn’t with me. God abandoned me the moment I stepped off the boat into that sea of dead men. But God was with you, Ed. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because you gave yourself up to God and God knows his own. I didn’t. I clung to my wretched little life. I thought only of myself. You walked with angels, and God saw you, and God loved you. And because God loved you and protected you, you have
lost the right to despair
. You have to love yourself, whether you want to or not. That’s the choice you made on the beach at Dieppe. That’s your life now. So wake up, and live it.’

He stands before his friend, pink in the cheeks, breathing fast, furiously pushing his hands through his curly hair. Ed looks back at him, his blue eyes bright.

‘Quite a speech.’

‘Have you heard a single word I’ve been saying?’

‘I heard every word.’

‘I’m right, aren’t I? You know I’m right.’

Ed gets up and stretches, reaching his arms high up into the shadowed air. Then he starts to prowl, up as far as the altar and back.

‘You say I’ve lost the right to despair,’ he says. ‘But you live in a different world to me. I’m somewhere else, far away, beyond despair.’

‘Why should you live in a different world to me?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe we all live in different worlds. You have God in your world. You say God was with me on that beach. Why wasn’t he with all the other poor bastards?’

‘I told you. God knows his own.’

‘You say I gave myself up to God. You have no idea. No idea at all.’

‘Then tell me,’ says Larry.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m your friend.’

Ed doesn’t speak for a few moments, pacing the aisle of the chapel like a ghost in the night.

‘Well, then,’ he says at last. ‘I’ll tell you how Lieutenant Ed Avenell of 40 Royal Marine Commando won his Victoria Cross.’

He comes to a stop in the aisle and stands facing the altar. His voice is quiet as a prayer.

‘I’m in the landing craft. In the smoke. And there ahead of me is Red Beach. The Fusiliers have gone in just before us. I stand up in the boat and see bodies in the water, and bodies on the beach. I see shell craters and I hear the big guns booming out of the cliffs. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it’s all a colossal mistake. It’s a stupidity. It’s a joke. All these men are being sent to die for no reason. A bunch of fools in London have dreamed up this adventure without the first idea of the price to be paid. And here am I in the middle of it, and I’m going to die. The folly of it, the wickedness of it, just took my breath away. My CO saw it too, he’s no fool. He gave the order to turn back, and then a bullet got him. A fine man went down, just like that, for no reason. That made me angry, I can tell you. Jesus, I was angry. I wasn’t angry at the Germans, I was angry at Mountbatten, and the chiefs of staff. And then I got angry at all the world, this stupid wicked world that hurts people for no reason. So after that I went a little crazy. I thought, I’ve had enough, time to go. Time to say goodbye. So I waded ashore and the mortars were dropping in front of me and behind
me and the bullets were humming over my head and nothing touched me. Not a blind thing. I wasn’t being a hero, Larry. I was being a fool. I wanted to die. I was going up that beach shouting, Here I am! Come and get me! And nothing touched me. So I thought to myself, while I’m waiting for my number to come up, why don’t I help some poor bastard lying on the beach? So I went from body to body and rolled them over until one moved, and I picked him up. Not his fault he was smashed up. He never asked for this. So I took him down to the boats, and went back up the beach, waiting for my turn. Here I am! Come and get me! You hear what I’m saying, Larry? It wasn’t courage. It was rage. I didn’t want to stick around to see the whole sick joke told to the end. I wanted to get out, all the way out, finished, dead. But nothing touched me. You say God was with me. God was nowhere on that beach. God was absent without leave. God knows the way the joke ends and he’s gone off to get pissed and forget all about it. Why didn’t any of those bullets get me? Luck, that’s all. There’s nothing unusual about that. Half the men who landed on that beach were killed or wounded. That leaves half the men who never got a scratch. I was one of those men, one among thousands. That’s all. The only way I was maybe different to them is I wanted to die. So it wasn’t an angel you saw, Larry. It was a dead man walking. I never saved your life. You did that yourself. And I’ll tell you something for free. The guns didn’t get me on Red Beach, but I died anyway. I don’t belong in the world of the living any more.’