Spoils of War (26 page)

‘And when I wake up I’ll still want to know where my husband is …’

‘One thing at a time, young lady.’ Dr John picked up a syringe from a sterile tray laid out on the windowsill.

‘I don’t know anything about doctoring, but I do know a girl at the end of her tether when I see one and I think it’s time someone told my daughter the truth,’ Megan interrupted. ‘Because if we don’t, she’s only going to fret about it and make herself worse.’

Andrew stood in the corridor and looked through the high window of the train; watching acre after acre of snow-blanketed countryside roll past. The gentle sweep of the hills and sloping fields hedged with iced thorn bushes looked unbelievably beautiful after the grimy, bombed-out suburbs of London. He glanced at his watch. Another hour and they’d be entering the West Country.

It was freezing in the corridor but he needed time to himself without the strain of looking into either Charlie or Masha’s tormented eyes. Or facing Charlie’s son’s unwavering, antagonistic glare.

The carriage door slid open and closed behind him, and Bethan joined him.

‘Do you have a light?’ She held out her cigarette.

‘Forgotten your lighter.’

‘It’s in my bag on the rack. I didn’t want to disturb Masha and Charlie by lifting it down.’

Taking his lighter from his pocket he flicked it. ‘What do you think of Masha?’

‘I think she needs a full medical and a great deal of care. Charlie’s going to have his work cut out nursing that one back to health.’

‘I have a feeling she’ll be less work than that boy.’

‘I can’t believe he’s only sixteen.’

‘Charlie said something to me when he’d heard they’d survived. About camp children having the faces of old men or even worse, evil cunning wolves. I hate to make snap judgements but I think I know which of the two is sitting in there.’

‘He’s obviously very protective towards his mother.’

‘Obviously.’ Andrew glanced back into the carriage. ‘How about we give them some privacy to get to know one another and take a walk up the train to see if there are any empty seats further on? I don’t know about you but I’m beginning to feel the after-effects of a sleepless night and a long cold morning’s wait.’

‘And if Charlie needs us?’

‘I’ll ask the guard to tell him where we are.’ He saw Bethan turn back. ‘There’s nothing we can do there for the moment, Beth,’ he said gently. ‘They need to be alone.’

‘I’ve been in a coma for six years?’

‘No – seven weeks.’ A few times during his long career as General Practitioner and Medical Officer of Pontypridd and District Hospital Board Dr John had felt useless, for all his training, and this was proving to be another of them. ‘Nurse?’ he bellowed, wishing he hadn’t allowed the woman to go off and arrange the flowers Megan had brought in.

‘Dr John.’ She appeared in the doorway.

‘Tell sister to get Cardiff Infirmary on the telephone and ask Mr Manning to come back here as soon as he can.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Diana looked from her mother to Dr John in bewilderment as the nurse left the cubicle.

‘It’s quite simple.’ Megan turned her back on Dr John so he couldn’t give her any more hard looks. ‘You had a knock on your head, you slept for seven weeks and now you’ve woken up, you seem to have forgotten the last six years.’

‘Forgotten …’

‘As far as I can make out, although it’s not easy trying to make anything out with all these doctors trying to help.’

Diana sank back on the pillows. ‘And in the meantime you married.’

‘Dino Morelli. He’s an American, but he’s living here now. You were at our wedding but there’s all the time in the world for you to meet him again.’

‘And Billy and Wyn and Will …’

‘Mrs Morelli, I must protest.’

‘Please, Dr John. Let my mother stay just a little while longer,’ Diana begged. ‘You can see I’m not upset.’

‘I’ve already told you, Billy is fine, and Will is too.’

‘Andrew yesterday – he said something about two children.’

‘You’ve a lovely little girl, Diana. She’ll be three in a few months.’

‘And Billy is?’

‘Just six. They’re both missing you but I’m looking after them and keeping them busy.’

‘And Wyn?’

‘It’s definitely time for you to go now, Mrs Morelli.’

‘Please, Dr John, I promise not to get hysterical or start shouting again. But I know Wyn. He’d be here if he could. He’s dead, isn’t he? Please, just tell me the truth.’

‘He was killed in an explosion in the munitions factory five years ago, love. You were terribly upset at the time but you were very brave. You had to be for Billy’s sake.’ She held Diana tightly as tears started in the corner of her eyes.

‘Now that really is enough.’ Dr John tried to hold Diana’s left hand down to stop it from flailing wildly as it had done since Megan had mentioned Wyn’s death. ‘Any more and there really will be a setback.’

‘I’m all right, Dr John. It’s just a shock, that’s all.’

‘Can I give her the good news, Dr John?’ Megan asked.

‘I think Diana has enough changes to adjust to for the moment.’

‘We won the war, Diana.’

‘Will?’

‘He came back safe and sound.’

‘Of course – how stupid of me,’ Diana spoke slowly as she tried to think things through and sort them in her own mind. ‘Andrew – he was in a prison camp. What about –’

‘What about no one,’ Dr John said firmly. ‘That’s it.’

‘Dr John, Mr Manning said he’ll be here after his clinic.’

‘Very good, nurse. Tell sister you gave me the message. Mr Manning’s the specialist, Mrs Morelli,’ he explained to Megan, ‘and he’s going to be furious with me for allowing the patient to get into this state.’ He shook his head as Diana began to cry again. ‘I really do have to ask you to go.’

‘One more thing, Dr John,’ Diana pleaded tearfully. ‘Can my mother come again, and bring my brother?’

‘In a few days.’

‘Days!
Please –’

‘Visiting is twice a week only. There are signs all over the hospital to that effect and the sister will make my life a misery if I try to overrule her.’

‘He’s right, love.’ Megan reluctantly left the chair. ‘You’re the important one now. You have to rest, eat properly and try to regain your strength. Remember, you have two gorgeous children waiting for you to come home.’ She dropped a kiss on to Diana’s forehead and squeezed her right hand.

‘Photographs – you must have some of the children?’

‘I’ll bring some in next time.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise. Look after yourself, love.’

‘Mrs Morelli, you won’t bring photographs or anything else into this hospital without my express permission,’ Dr John reprimanded as he and Megan reached the end of the corridor.

‘Don’t you think it would help her remember if she saw her children? She doted on them.’

‘I’m sure she did but you’ve covered more ground in ten minutes than Mr Manning intended to in six months. You should never have told her that her first husband was dead.’

‘I should have let her think he’d deserted her?’

‘No.’

‘Then what?’ Megan looked at him. ‘I’m an uneducated woman, Dr John, but I do know my daughter and I want what’s best for her. And in my opinion lying to her now, when she’s in that state, will do more harm than good.’

‘And you have to realise, Mrs Morelli, that Diana’s brain has been damaged. When my son and the surgeon from East Glamorgan Hospital operated they had no choice but to remove some of the tissue. Your daughter’s in a delicate state. She may never recover any more than she already has and the odds are she may even get worse. I think you should prepare yourself and your family for the very real possibility that she may never remember those missing years, or even the conversation you had with her today. Good day, Mrs Morelli.’

Charlie shifted further into the corner seat and adjusted his arm so Masha’s head could rest more easily on his shoulder. She was unconscious more than asleep, worn out by the journey and a life of privation he didn’t want to think about or even imagine. He looked across at his son, sitting bolt upright, stern and resolute on the bench seat opposite.

‘You have done a fine job of looking after your mother,’ he said softly in Russian.

‘One of us had to,’ the boy replied flatly in English.

‘When did you learn English?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Russia – Germany?’

‘One camp or another, one language or another, what’s the difference?’

‘You do speak Russian.’

‘And Polish, German, French, Dutch, Finnish and Norwegian. Why do you want to know? You thinking of sending me to an academy?’

‘Did your mother tell you how we were separated?’ Giving up on Russian, Charlie reverted to English.

‘She told me that the village you lived in was razed to the ground and all the people moved out and on to the site of the tractor factory in Stalingrad. And how you never even came looking for us.’

‘She didn’t tell you that I never came looking for you,’ Charlie contradicted quietly.

‘Only because she wanted to believe that you cared for us. I know better.’

‘I did look for you.’

‘Not hard enough.’

‘No,’ Charlie conceded. ‘Not hard enough.’

‘Or long enough. You have another wife and son.’

‘Who told you?’

‘The English officer who visited our camp. He said you’d been a prisoner of the Germans too.’

‘Yes.’ Charlie looked into his son’s eyes hoping to find a spark of empathy. There was none.

‘Pity they didn’t kill you. If I’d been in the same camp and known who you were I might have. But then, perhaps not. The best die first, the worst – like you –always find ways to survive.’

‘You’re right.’ Charlie looked at his son. He’d met so many boys like him in the camps. Always boys, never men. Those old enough to have memories of a family life and love and kindness had clung to them. The boys who had been born into the barbaric world of camps and zeks spawned by Hitler and Stalin had grown up devoid of human emotion, especially pity, love and compassion. It was as if all capacity for affection had been drained out of them and replaced by a cold, hard cynicism that prevented them from forming bonds with other human beings.

‘This other woman of yours, I won’t let my mother live with her.’

‘She won’t meet her. I have a house all ready for you.’

‘You’re not living with us.’ It was a threat not a question, and Charlie recognised it as such. He hadn’t thought much about what Peter was carrying in the rucksack that he refused to allow out of his sight and Customs hadn’t seen fit to search, but he guessed there was at least one knife, its blade honed razor-sharp. He only hoped there wasn’t a gun. He wasn’t sure Pontypridd was ready for Peter unarmed; Peter armed was a terrifying prospect and one he felt certain would end up in the cells under the police station.

‘I will do whatever your mother wants me to. Have you told her that I remarried?’

‘She didn’t need to know.’ Peter turned away and looked out of the window.

‘I will tell her.’

‘You can’t hurt her any more than you already have. Did you even think of her when you left Russia?’

‘I never stopped thinking about her – or the child she was carrying.’

‘I won’t listen to your lies. The English officer said you lived in this country before the war. When did you come? A week or a month after they took my mother to Stalingrad?’

‘I looked for your mother in Russia for four years. I asked so many questions I was arrested and sent to Siberia.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You don’t have to, Pasha.’

‘Only my mother calls me that.’

‘I will call you Peter if that is what you want.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t call me anything.’

Charlie pointed to the hamper Bethan had left on the seat. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

Peter was ravenous but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it. ‘No.’

Masha stirred at the harsh sound of her son’s voice. She opened her eyes and her wasted, old woman’s face broke into a smile. ‘I thought I was dreaming but I’m not. You’re really here, with me, Feodor.’

‘I’m really here,’ Charlie smiled back at her. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I think so.’

Gently lifting her head from his arm Charlie went across to the other seat and opened the hamper. There were packets of sandwiches, a slab of fruitcake, half a dozen apples, a tube of oatmeal biscuits and chunks of cheese. Beneath them were five plates, knives and five bottles of lemonade. He preferred not to think how much it had cost Bethan.

‘There’s nothing hot to drink, only lemonade,’ he apologised to Masha ‘but we may be able to buy tea if there’s a stall at the next railway station.’

‘Lemonade would be good.’

He handed her a bottle before unwrapping the sandwiches, coarse slices of national loaf filled with improbably pink slices of Spam, and margarine. Placing two on a plate, together with some of the biscuits and a couple of pieces of cheese, he handed it to her.

‘Would you cut a slice of cake for your mother?’ he asked Peter in English, passing him a knife.

‘Do you want a piece of cake, Mother?’ Peter asked in Russian, ignoring his father.

‘Perhaps later, Pasha. There’s enough food on this plate to feed the three of us for a week.’ She looked up at Charlie. ‘That sounds so good, “the three of us”.’

Charlie looked across at his troubled son and nodded agreement. ‘It does,’ he said in Russian. ‘It really does.’

And shifting his gaze to Masha he tried to believe it.

*……*…….*

‘You told her Wyn is dead.’

‘I had no choice, Ronnie.’ Megan peeled off Catrina’s coat and handed her back to Ronnie. They were sitting at the family table in the Tumble café, a place she knew Ronnie wouldn’t have walked into if he hadn’t been absolutely certain that Tony was stuck on a train somewhere between Pontypridd and London.

‘Even though Dr John warned you that telling her about Wyn’s death could cause a setback.’

‘I was afraid that the idea of Wyn deserting her could cause a bigger setback. If you’d been in my place what would you have said? He’s busy? Working late? Out with the boys? All excuses guaranteed to make a woman feel her husband thinks no more of her than the cat.’