sUnwanted Truthst (21 page)

Those clouds look ominous. It's going to rain later,' Robert said peering out of the kitchen window. He grabbed his anorak from the back of the chair and gave Jenny a peck on her cheek.

‘I've got to go to the churchyard later. It's Mum's birthday – she would have been seventy-four.'

‘You don't have to go today, do you?'

‘Yes, I do.'

*

Three more graves had been dug since her last visit. Jenny glanced down at the shiny brass plaques, but didn't recognise any of the names. She bent down and placed her rose in front of the wooden cross and whispered, ‘Happy birthday, Mum.' Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the drizzle. She wiped the sleeve of her coat across her cheeks and wondered why she hadn't thought to bring any tissues. She sniffed hard and stood up. Moving to the end of the mound, she stared at the light brown soil interspersed with chalk.
‘You'll miss me when I'm gone,'
her mother's words that she had dismissed with the casualness of youth; now seemed a just retribution. She would have to decide about a memorial stone soon. Someone, she couldn't remember who, said that you had to wait a year for the ground to settle.

‘Excuse me.'

She jumped and spun round, lifting her umbrella. A man stood in front of her, the tip of his jacket collar touching the lobes of his ears.

‘I'm sorry if I startled you, but I think you've left your lights on. Is that your Morris Minor outside?' He frowned and looked down at the cross. ‘My God, it's Jenny – Jenny Porter, isn't it? I don't believe it.' A broad smile stretched across his sharp features. He held out his hand, but then let it drop by his side.

Is it him?
she thought, her heart banging against her ribs.
No, it can't be. Not here.
As the man turned his head slightly, she noticed a mole that interrupted the line of his jaw. ‘Martin.'

‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you.' He turned to go.

‘No, no – it's alright.' Her chest tightened. She swallowed. ‘I never expected to see you again. You moved away. You don't live here any more.'

‘Yes, we did, and I don't. But my parents moved back about ten years ago. They always liked it up this way. That's their house down there.' He turned and pointed in the direction of a red tiled roof.

‘Yes, it is nice. But not today – I mean with the rain.' She blinked several times to refresh her eyes, thinking how awkward she must sound.

‘You were crying the last time I saw you,' he said softly.

So he remembers. It was here by the windmill. But I'm years older now.
She flicked her head back and ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face. ‘I'd better go – my lights. I'm always doing that when it's dark during the day.' She didn't move.

‘Yes, it's easily done.' He gazed at her. ‘It's great to see you again, Jenny. I can't believe it.'

‘Yes, it's great to see you too,' she said. Words that she had always imagined saying had vanished. ‘I must go – my lights.' She drew her umbrella closer and started walking towards the path. She knew he was watching her, and it took all her strength to place one foot in front of the other.

‘I'm sorry about your parents,' his words carried across the churchyard.

She turned and nodded. He was still standing at the foot of her parents' grave. A pied wagtail bobbed out of her way as she met the solidness of the path. She shut the gate and, glancing back to check that she was out of sight, ran across the green towards the faint yellow beams. Balancing the umbrella against her body, she leant on the car and fumbled in her coat pocket for the key, her hand trembling as she tried to force it into the lock.
For God's sake, go in. Why won't it go in?
She removed it and tried again, it turned. Relieved, she threw her umbrella onto the passenger seat and sank behind the wheel.
Why is he here? He must have lost someone too
, she thought.
I should have asked. I must go before he comes out. He can't see me – not looking like this.
She pulled the choke out and turned the ignition. The engine groaned.
No, not the lights, please start, come on don't let me down.
She adjusted the choke. On the third attempt the engine fired. She released the handbrake and drove away.

*

Jenny thought of nothing else for the rest of that afternoon. She now had a new image of Martin. It would take some getting used to; she had been comfortable with the old one. His words replayed in her mind as she stared at Nicky, who sat twirling a sausage around with his fork in a pool of tomato sauce. She slammed her hand on the table. ‘Stop playing with your food, Nicky.'

‘I'm not hungry. Look, it's a helicopter.'

‘You're not hungry because you've been stuffing your face with chocolates,' said Lorna, leaning over the table towards him.

‘You said you wouldn't tell.'

‘Well, you shouldn't have hit me then, should you?'

‘She had some too,' Nicky turned towards his mother.

‘But I've eaten all my dinner.'

‘For God's sake, stop it you two,' Jenny said, irritated that her thoughts were being interrupted. She glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Lorna, finish your pudding, then go and get ready for Brownies. You'll need your coat, it's still drizzling. No pudding for you, Nicky. I should be able to trust you not to eat sweets before dinner.'

‘Jen, let it go, what's the matter with you?' Robert stopped eating and looked up. ‘He's eight years old. He's going to eat sweets if they're around. Did you do anything today?'

Jenny winced as she spotted a sliver of cabbage stuck between his front teeth. ‘I went to the churchyard. I told you I was going. It's Mum's birthday; she would have been seventy-four today.'

‘I'm sorry, Jen, I should have remembered.' He reached for the tomato sauce. ‘I thought I'd never get home tonight; the A23 was a bloody nightmare.'

‘But, Mummy, why did you go to the churchyard? You said Granny's gone to heaven.'

‘She has Nicky, and so has Granddad. I go there to feel close to them.'

‘Is that because they lived near there? Why don't you go to their flat?'

‘Nicky, that's enough. Just get down,' said Robert.

‘I miss Granddad.' His lower lip quivered as he slid off his chair.

‘I know Nicky, we all do, come here.' Seeing him hesitate, Jenny pulled him towards her and hugged him.

‘You must have been the only person there on a day like this,' Robert said as he pierced a sausage with his fork.

‘Yes, I was,' she said, thinking that this was the first time she had lied to him.

*

Jenny tossed and turned all night, until the hands on her alarm clock told her that it was seven in the morning. She was consumed with thoughts of Martin. So his parents had moved back ten years ago. She was sure he hadn't been that tall the last time she had
seen him, but he had only been sixteen. She remembered reading somewhere that men continue growing until they're twenty-one.

She arrived at work early, and instead of searching the room for any post that had arrived since her last visit, she sat at her desk staring through the French windows at the bulk of Firle Beacon in the distance. It was only when Celia came into the room that she realised she had forgotten about the delivery of the printing fabric.

‘My God, you're here already, I'd better go and make the coffee. I've got to go out soon Jenny, so, if you wouldn't mind signing for the rolls.'

Celia had been commissioned by Colefax and Fowler to print her latest design, and was hoping that it would lead to more work in the future. She had spoken of nothing else the week before. Jenny nodded in agreement and continued staring through the French windows.

Celia returned carrying a tray containing two mugs of steaming coffee. She placed them on the low window-ledge and seated herself on the
chaise-longue
opposite Jenny's desk.

‘Celia, I was wondering if I could leave a bit earlier today. I'd like to go to the travel agents and book that holiday I mentioned last week.'

‘Of course you can. It would do you both good to get away. I was worried that you came back to work too soon. I thought you were starting to look like your old self again, but you look tired today.'

‘I didn't sleep very well last night. But no, it's been fine. I needed to get back to some normality.'

‘Are you going to take the children with you?'

‘No, Robert's mother has agreed to look after them.'

‘Good, so it will be a proper break for both of you. Don't let your coffee get cold, there's some biscuits on the tray.' Weak rays from the sun shone through the windows onto Celia's fine hair, which was held at the back of her head with a large clip. Although she was nearly sixty, the style suited her, accentuating her fine features. She reminded Jenny of Virginia Woolf, who had lived and died not far from here.

*

She left her car alongside the windmill and noted that no other cars were parked. He must have come by car yesterday, but she couldn't remember seeing one. Why couldn't the weather have been like this yesterday? She might have looked half-decent instead of a drowned rat. She walked over to the churchyard. It was highly unlikely that Martin would be here again – not the next day. She peered slowly over the flint wall – nobody there. She opened the gate and ran down a line of earlier graves. At the head of the final grave stood a large grey headstone. She stared at the black lettering.

IN LOVING MEMORY

OF ELLEN MARY BARRETTI

16
^th
April 1915 to 25
^th
November 1978

BELOVED WIFE OF ENRICO

AND MOTHER

OF MARTIN AND ANNA

Rest in Peace

His mother – so that's why he was here; the day before yesterday had been the third anniversary of her death. He probably couldn't make it on the day
. A memory of a slim, laughing, dark-haired woman wearing an apron with a frill flashed before her. It had been his sister's birthday and the first time she had visited his house. She remembered what fun his mother appeared to be, and how young she looked – but then, everyone's mother had seemed young compared to her own. Although, as she rechecked the dates, she realised that there weren't that many years between them. Sixty-three – Jenny calculated; she had only been sixty-three when she had died; she probably had cancer. Her eyes moved to the mound of earth less than ten feet away that covered her parents. In spite of her ill health, her mother had outlived Martin's.
‘Creaking boards last the longest,'
her mother used to say. She had been right about that.

*

Leaving the travel agents Jenny visualised bazaars filled with carpets and leather goods; rows of colourful spices piled in pyramids on top of hessian sacks. She could almost smell the cumin and sandalwood.

Cairo – the greatest city in the Islamic world comprises of half a dozen cities and spreads across the Nile towards the Pyramids at Giza. Medieval trades and customs co-exist with a modern mix of Arab, African and European influences. Its population is estimated at seventeen million, with around half
a million squatting in cemeteries – the cities of the dead.

She hurried back to her car. She couldn't wait to tell Robert.

‘Jenny, Jenny.'

She was jolted from her middle-eastern imaginings by a breathless voice. She turned around.

‘Jenny, it is you.' A woman with short spiky dark hair and wearing an ankle-length floral print skirt over black boots, smiled and panted simultaneously, while Jenny searched desperately for a name.

‘I thought it was you. I was at the bus stop, when I saw you coming out of the travel agents. I've been trying to catch you up.'

‘Gail, my God – Gail,' Jenny said recognising a chickenpox scar on her friend's forehead. She looked younger than ten years ago, and Jenny would never have recognised her if she hadn't been standing inches away from her face. ‘It's been ages, Gail. Do you live around here now?'

‘Yes, in Portland Road. You know I left Chris?'

‘Yes, I do.' Jenny remembered their last meeting. She had been pushing Lorna in her pram when she had bumped into Gail in Marks and Spencer. She had looked depressed, worse than when she had visited her at her flat. She had told her that Chris's gambling had escalated and that she had taken the children and moved back to live with her parents. ‘You look well, Gail.'

‘Yes, I am. Once the children were at school I decided to enrol for a mature student's teacher training course at Sussex Uni. Do you remember? You said that I might be able to. Mum and Dad have been marvellous; it was hard for them having the three of us around all the time. And guess what? I'm even back teaching at my old junior school. Would you believe it?'

‘That's amazing Gail. I'm really pleased for you. So you got there in the end.'

‘Yes, and there might be a new man on the horizon too. I met him a few weeks ago at the local Labour Club. He's thinking of standing in the local elections next year; how about you?'

‘Well the last few weeks have been really grim. Mum and Dad died recently.'

‘What together?'

‘Well, within two weeks of each other.'

‘Oh no, that's terrible. I'm really sorry, Jenny. I remember your mum teaching me to crochet, well trying to. I had two left hands. Do you remember? She was so patient with me. So you're an orphan?'

‘Well, if you can be an orphan when you're in your mid-thirties. Robert has been marvellous. I couldn't have coped without him, that's what I was doing in the travel agents, treating us to a holiday in the New Year.'

‘Well, we always knew he was rock solid, didn't we? I really envied you back then.'