Whisper on the Wind (60 page)

At midday, Kath saw Marco at the gate of Two-acre field. He smiled and waved, calling, ‘Hey, Kat! Happy birthday!’

‘Oh, thank you! I thought everyone had forgotten.’ She laughed, and all at once the sun came out from behind a cloud and every bird for miles around began to sing.

‘How could I forget? Ah, Kat, if we were free – if we lived in my country, we would have such a day. I would take you to a
ristorante
and we would drink wine and kiss and be happy.’

‘But this is England, Marco,’ she said gravely, ‘and my country is at war with your country.’

‘
Si.
That is the small problem. And I cannot give you a present – only these.’ He brought his hand from behind his back with a flourish offering the flowers he had gathered; white, wild daisies, honeysuckle and foxgloves, all from the lane-side. ‘They are all I can give you, but one day, Kat, you shall have roses.’

‘These are beautiful – better than roses.’ She laid them to her cheek and silly, happy little tears misted her eyes. ‘Oh, Marco, I do so –’ She stopped, biting off her words. She had no right to say it, to say ‘I love you, Marco’; she was a married woman and Barney lay wounded in some faraway hospital – she had no right to happiness such as this.

‘
Si
, Kat?’ he whispered.

‘I – I – Oh, just that you are a very dear person and I’m very fond of you …’

‘Fond? What is fond? I would like it if you say you love me. But that is too much to ask?’

‘It is, Marco. It is.’ Gently she touched his cheek with her fingertips and it was the kiss she wanted to give him, the declaration of love she could not make. She wondered, for one frightened moment, if Grace was standing at the kitchen window, then all at once she didn’t care.

‘What do we do, you and I?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think we have much of a choice – not now.’

‘
Now
, Kat? What is
now
for?’

‘I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ve been trying to, wanting to.’ They were walking towards the barn, away from the window. ‘I’ve known for a while. Barney has been wounded and I think the Army will send him home. He could soon be in hospital, in England.’

‘And you will go to him?’

‘I’ll go. He’s my husband …’

‘Even though you love me?’

‘Don’t say that, Marco. Please don’t. You see, I’ve known for a long time that I don’t love him – that I never really loved him. I’d made up my mind to ask him to let me go, and I shall still ask him, when he gets well. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to tell you. Don’t think too badly of me?’

‘How could I think badly of you, Kat?’

‘Very easily, I should think. I’m a married woman standing here telling you my marriage is over and all the time my husband is lying wounded in hospital.’

‘Ah,
si.
’ He raised his eyes, his face perplexed. Then he threw back his head in a shout of laughter. ‘It is said that a man will never understand women, Kat, but that does not stop him from loving them.’

‘Perhaps so. But I must go. Thank you for my flowers, Marco.’

‘I’m glad they make you happy. Kat – I’m sorry that Barney has been wounded. Like my cousin Toni, I hope that soon he is well. We’ll talk again?’

‘We’ll talk again.’

Roz asked her, when she walked into the kitchen, where she had picked the flowers.

‘Oh, here and there.’ Kath smiled. ‘I shall put them in my bedroom. They’re lovely, aren’t they?’

‘But they’re only wild things. If you’d wanted flowers there are loads outside. The ruins are smothered in roses. Pick them any time you want.’

‘I will – and thanks.’ And forgive me, Roz, for not telling you who gave them to me, but I can’t – not when Paul will never bring you flowers again. ‘Next time, I’ll remember.’

But for all that, wild flowers were the most beautiful, and given in love they were better than roses or the rarest of orchids. She had wanted to tell Marco of her love and how she needed him, but it might be years and years before the war was over. People talked about the duration – but how many years made up a duration? And who had the right to ask?

It was as well, Roz said, that she had opened her diary and seen Polly’s name written there.

‘Lordy! It’s the sixth on Monday – and I almost forgot! And Wednesday was
your
birthday, Kath. I’m so sorry …’

‘Think nothing of it. A girl doesn’t care to be reminded overmuch that her youth is slipping past.’

‘Kath – you’re not old!’

‘I know, but sometimes it feels – oh, forget it. And we’d better see if the shop has any birthday cards in. We can pop them through her letterbox on Monday morning.’

‘I’ll get them. I – I’m going to see Dr Stewart tomorrow. I’ve missed two periods. It’s pretty certain, now.’

‘You’ve accepted it, Roz?’

‘Yes, and oh, sometimes I’m so glad about it yet other times I’m afraid – not of having the baby, but of having it without Paul. And sometimes I’m angry because he’ll never see it – like Skip. I often think about Julia, you know, and wonder how she’s coping.’

‘Don’t, love. Don’t think about anything. Just take the days one at a time and see how you go. Don’t worry about people; not about the old biddies in the village nor anyone. You want that baby and Paul would have wanted it, too. And you won’t be entirely alone. There’ll be me and there could be Jonty, if only you’d tell him. And if Polly hears about it from anyone else she’s going to be very hurt. Tell her, Roz – soon?’

‘Okay. But when I’ve seen the doctor – and when the time is right. One day at a time, you said.’

‘All right. By the way – I told Marco about Barney being wounded. And I told him I don’t want to live with him when the war’s over.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘Not an awful lot. We were in the middle of the yard – Grace might have seen us. We’ll talk about it when we get the chance, though things seem pretty hopeless. There isn’t a lot going for us, Marco and me.’

‘I know. It’s the war, I suppose. But if there hadn’t been a war you’d never have known Marco and I’d never have known Paul. But wars are so uncertain – no one can make plans. Oh, we’ll win it – nothing’s so sure – but
when
? How many of our young years are we going to lose before it’s over? And when it is, when they get round to releasing Marco and sending him back to Italy, how soon before the two of you can get together?’

‘And will he want me, Roz – even supposing Barney lets me go? I’m a fool for loving him, aren’t I?’

‘Like I was a fool for loving Paul? But you don’t choose who you love – it just happens and I’m glad it did. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. And we did try to be careful, but Sprog still happened, so it must have been meant.

‘Yet if I let myself think about what’s ahead for me, I’m so afraid. Afraid of the loneliness, I mean. Like Gran and Polly. All my life alone …’

‘Hey! C’mon, now! You’re
not
alone. There’s me, and the baby. Be glad about Sprog, Roz. Because some of us will never be so lucky. Not ever.’

‘Good! I caught you!’ Roz opened the kitchen door as Polly drew on her coat. ‘I popped back early to say happy birthday before you left.’ She wrapped her arms around the small woman, kissing her cheek, smiling fondly. ‘Did you find the cards? We left them with the milk.’

‘I found them, and I thank you both. Where’s Kath?’

‘Kath won’t be here, just yet. Like I said, I came home a little early –’

‘Then you and me have time for a talk, Roz.’

‘
Polly?
’ Her head tilted, her eyes took on the old, guarded look.

‘A talk. It’s about time, wouldn’t you say? I’ve been waiting for you to tell me since – since your gran was taken. Up until then it was none of my business. But it is, now. Your gran made it my business and I want you to tell me.’

‘Tell you –
what
?’ Her mouth had gone suddenly dry and her tongue made little papery noises as she spoke.

‘About the bairn you’re carrying – because you
are.
Nothing’s so certain. And I’d have taken it more kindly, Roz, if you’d given me your confidence and not made me have to ask.’

‘Oh –
God
! I’m sorry, Poll.’

‘Sorry I’ve found out – or sorry you’ve fallen for a bairn?’

‘Not sorry about the baby; not about that. But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Kath said I should.’

‘So you told Kath before you told me?’ There was hurt in her voice, and sadness.

‘Yes. But I didn’t mean it to be that way. I just blurted it out, the morning I knew about Paul. And I was going to tell you, when I’d seen Dr Stewart.’

‘But you saw him on Saturday. I was in Helpsley – saw you go into the surgery. That’s when I knew for sure.’

‘But how did you know? I’m not showing, yet, and you didn’t know I’d been sick. So tell me how?’

‘I can’t. Not rightly. It’s just something that’s there, in a pregnant woman’s face; round the eyes, it is. Just a certain sort of look. My mother could always tell. She’d know, sometimes, before the woman knew herself. And I’m not often wrong, either.’

‘Did Gran know?’

‘No, lass. Unworldly, your gran was. She only believed what she wanted to. When is it due, then?’

‘The end of January – maybe a little later. You don’t know with first babies, the doctor said; not to a day or two. But he was very good, Polly. He didn’t look at me – well,
that
way, nor say anything.’

‘And I should think not! Doctoring’s his business, not morals. All he’ll be concerned about is a healthy baby and a safe delivery. You’ll be having it at home?’

‘I – I’d like to, Polly.’ Her heart was thudding less loudly, now.

‘Then home it had better be. You’ll have Kath with you if you start in the night and a phone downstairs. Mind, January isn’t the time I’d have chosen, but we’ll make do.’ Then she smiled, conspiratorially. ‘Are you wanting a little lad or a little lass?’

‘Polly – you’re not angry? You’re not disappointed in me – not shocked? There’ll be talk in the village. There always is …’

‘Aye. There always was and there always will be. And while they’re talking about you they’re leaving some other poor body alone. You aren’t the first, Roz Fairchild, and you won’t be the last. It’s how you conduct yourself betweentimes that’s important, and don’t you forget it. A girl, will it be? I’ve a fancy for a girl, though a boy would be better for Ridings. Ah, well – it’s out of our hands, Roz. We’ll take what comes, I reckon, and be thankful.’

‘Poll Appleby – you’re an old darling. I was dreading telling you. I thought you’d be ashamed of me, and angry. I thought –’

‘Then you thought wrong, because there’s nothing so grand as a new little bairn –’ she fastened the buttons of her coat, carefully, precisely ‘– especially to a spinster like me that’s never had one of her own. And I’ll thank you,’ she snapped, jamming on her hat, ‘not to be so free with the
old.
A darling I may be; old I am
not
, so I’ll bid you good-day. And lass?’ She turned in the doorway and Roz saw that her eyes were wet with tears. ‘I think your gran would have been as glad about it as I am – I really do.’

‘Polly!’ Roz cried, taking her arm. ‘Don’t go. Not just yet. There’s something, you see –’

‘Aye?’

‘Something I want to know that I think you can tell me. The pain? When does it go? You’ve been through this when you lost Tom. When did you start living again? How long before I can forget?’

‘Forget? Forget your Paul, you mean, or forget the pain and the hurt of losing him?’

‘The pain and the hurt. And the anger, too.’

‘Ah, well – I don’t rightly know. The anger – now that’s easy. I cried the bitterness and the anger out of me as soon as I knew. I walked, Roz, along the riverbank at Helpsley; walked and wept till I was too tired to move another step and all the tears were gone. The anger is easy got rid of; it’s the pain that takes time.’

‘Tell me. I’ve got to know. I want to cry; I ought to cry, but there are no tears there. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to get myself in a state and harm the baby, but it isn’t true. There just aren’t any tears.’

‘Then I grieve for you, lass, because tears can be a great comforter. But happen you’re not ready for them, yet. Happen the shock’s gone too deep. Don’t upset yourself, though. Give it time.’

‘But when will I be able to think about him and not hurt inside me? When can I bear to say his name? There’s no comfort for me, Polly; no peace.’

‘I know the feeling, and your gran knew it, too. Only your gran could never put the bitterness of it behind her. She lived with it all her life. But you, Roz – if you’re lucky like I was – you’ll find the day comes when you know peace. Then you’ll be able to call him back whenever you want to, remember the good times and the laughter.’

‘But how, Polly? And
when
?’ She couldn’t go on like this; couldn’t live with the hopelessness of it.

‘How, I can’t tell you, but you’ll know when, same as I did. There’ll come a day when you call out to him; some day, like as not, when you want him beside you so much that you think you’ll never be able to bear it. And when that day conies, you’ll hear him, because that’s when he’ll talk to you …’