Elisabeth Jones - Gold Beach

GOLD BEACH

Elisabeth Jones

First published in Spain in April 2015

Copyright © 2015 by Ma Isabel Montes Ramírez

English translation Copyright © 2015 by Teresa Ponce Giménez

Proofreading: Victoria Washington

Cover design: Celia Valero (Ideartworks)

Lay out design: Celia Valero (Ideartworks)

Published by Angels Fortune Editions

©Angels Fortune Editions

www.angelsfortuneditions.com

ISBN: 978-84-943785-8-4

All Rights reserved.

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or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical

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To Britain,

a country I adore and which so inspires me.

To Elwyn and Peggy Elisabeth, my second parents,

whose lives have inspired this story.

And to Philip,

the love of my life.

Although no one can go back

and make a new start,

anyone can start

from now on and make a new end.

On the 14 thof November 1940, the Luftwaffe almost destroyed Coventry. From that day few cities escaped the German bombers, the most affected were the most industrialized: London, Southampton, Liverpool, Glasgow, Birmingham… It seemed Hitler's plan was to conquer a country laid in ashes. That way, he may have thought, it would be easier to rebuild it in his own image, but what he wasn't expecting was that this country was already forged by its history. A history of which British people felt awfully proud, and for which they would fight until the end with the sole objective of preserving and glorifying it.

It was during those days of darkness, pride and hope when this story began.

Moffat, Scotland, July 5th 1975

Mr Young told me I should be more aware of signs. His tone of voice and patting my shoulder as we said goodbye reminded me of my first father. Ever since I had fled to Lichfield with a tiny suitcase, he had treated me as if I were someone special to him, and I actually was, although I wasn't conscious of it then. I told him he was right and that I would do it, to humour him, but inside I thought, What is this man saying? However, as I came into the pub with Isobel and heard Pink Floyd's new song Wish You Were Here I began to understand what he had meant.

My recent breakup with Claire had made me reconsider my life. I had a family with whom except for my mother and little sister, I barely kept touch, and at my thirty years of age it seemed I would never manage to settle down. Once we took the decision to break up, or rather, once she took it, living together became so unbearable that I needed to get away from Lichfield until she had left my house for good, but where could I go to avoid giving explanations to anyone? I came across the solution when I phoned my mother. It seemed destiny was determined to bring me back to the start. Ever since my mother had opened her Bed & Breakfast she had never gone on summer holidays until, coincidentally, that year. She would spend the whole month of July with her husband and my sisters in Saundersfoot, Wales, so my childhood home would be vacant to accommodate a single tenant: me. Seizing the opportunity that showed up, I made her believe that I had finally decided to spend some days in Moffat. When she heard she was speechless for a moment as if she couldn't believe what I had just told her. I didn't need to see her to know that she was crying. When she managed to regain her voice, she told me that this was the gift she had been expecting for years. From my brief, abrupt answer she understood that I didn't want to talk about the past, so it didn't take her long to change the subject. She didn't even ask me about Claire. I suppose that since I didn't mention her, she had already imagined what had happened. Given that my mother always kept up with the idle coming and going of the women through my life since my relationship with Isobel ended, her discretion on these matters was absolute. After thanking me for wanting to spend some days at home, she begged me to wait for her until she returned. And it was then when, without knowing why, I asked her about Isobel. I hadn’t seen her since she made the decision that broke my heart thirteen years ago. I broke up not only with her that day, but also with my family because I considered them to blame for our breakup. A few years after that fateful day, I picked up my relationship with my mother but I had never heard anything from Isobel again. I learned to my surprise that she was still living in Moffat, that she was the most beloved teacher at school and that she inexplicably didn't have a boyfriend. Was that a sign?

It took me nearly five hours in my Mini to cover the 233 miles that separated Lichfield from Moffat, but it didn't seem to take that long. I used those hours to try and sort my mind out a little. Grief and sadness, loyal companions to romantic breakups, didn't join me this time. Now I seemed to perceive the signs Mr Young talked to me about clearly. I should have left Claire long ago. But what really surprised me was to feel that almost teenage joy again at not being able to get Isobel out of my mind. Why had I asked about her? It seemed that the pride then that stopped me from coming back had vanished completely. Maybe now I was making the journey back home that I never got to do then? Only time would tell me.

As the hands of the clock verged on noon I arrived in Moffat. As soon as I went through the front door of the house that had seen me grow up, the memories and feelings that I had managed to shut into oblivion for the past years crowded my mind, as if demanding my attention. The house had been closed for a week but there was still a scent of fresh flowers. I stopped for some time to look around. Although the decoration was slightly changed, it didn't feel like someone else's home. I left my suitcase on the floor and set about opening the curtains to let in the light of a bright sun that surprisingly shone over the town. The first thing I did was to head for my old bedroom to unpack. As I opened the door I discovered that everything was exactly as I had left it. Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and sighed sadly. How could I have hurt my mother so much? At that moment I would have loved to have her by my side to hug her, but once again we were miles apart. As I opened my eyes, I shook my head energetically as if telling myself that it was time to put things right, at least to her and my sisters. In a blur of opening and closing doors and drawers I arranged all my clothing neatly and tidily. After many years of hearing the same words from the lips of every woman who had been through my life, from my mother to Claire, they had finally succeeded in brushing up my tidy mess. Before going out I looked around. I was surprised to find a note on my pillow. I approached with curiosity to read it. It was written in my mother's hand.

Isobel. 5, Warriston Rd.

She would love to see you again.

Mum xxx

Isobel, I repeated in my mind. Would she really be happy to see me after the things we said to each other that day at the train station? I had my doubts. I definitely hadn’t come back to Moffat to be reunited with her. That story was already over and done with. Maybe my mother had misinterpreted my asking about her. The only thing I looked for in Moffat was to be alone and far from the world, at least for the next month. That question had been nothing more than out of pure courtesy. I crumpled the note and put it in my trouser pocket to throw in the bin later.