Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘Who is it?’ she says.

‘I didn’t catch his name,’ says Mrs Teale.

Kitty goes on into the house. The visitor is not in the parlour. She goes through to the kitchen, and finds the back door standing open. There’s a man at the far end of the garden.

She goes out into the sunshine, Pamela wriggling in her arms. The visitor is in uniform. He hears her, and turns.

‘Larry!’

A wave of joy passes through her. He too is grinning with delight as he comes towards her. He’s taken his cap off and his curly hair is all golden in the sunlight, like a halo over his cherub face. A freckly cherub with a snub nose and a worried look, like a pug dog.

‘Oh, Larry! How wonderful to see you!’

‘Well, I promised I’d come and visit the little stranger, didn’t I?’

He gazes intently at the baby. Unusually for her, Pamela stops wriggling and gazes just as steadily back.

‘Hello,’ he says softly. ‘Aren’t you a beauty.’

‘You can hold her if you want.’

‘Can I?’

She arranges the baby in his careful arms. He clasps her too tightly, like all men with babies, as if afraid she’ll jump out. Then he paces back and forth over the small lawn, swaying slowly from side to side. It makes Kitty laugh to see him.

‘Am I doing it wrong?’

‘No, no. I think she’s a bit surprised.’

Pamela starts to cry. Hastily, Larry gives her back.

‘I’m afraid she does a lot of crying,’ she says.

Once in Kitty’s arms, the baby closes her eyes and goes to sleep.

‘Luckily she does an awful lot of sleeping too,’ Kitty says.

Larry beams at her.

‘It really is good to see you, Kitty. I’d have come sooner. But you know how it is.’

‘How’s your wound?’

‘Oh, that’s all sorted. I get twinges, but as you see, I’m up on my pins. Desk jobs only, of course.’

‘I’m glad.’

Kitty knows her mother will be looking out from the house, consumed with that strange greed for company that afflicts her; but she wants Larry to herself.

‘Let’s stay out here for a bit,’ she says. ‘It’s such a beautiful day. Do you mind?’

They sit side by side on the iron bench by the wild garden and talk about the few short weeks when they were all together in Sussex.

‘It seems like another life, doesn’t it?’ Kitty says. ‘And one day it just ended.’

‘Over three thousand men were killed or captured in that show,’ says Larry. ‘People don’t talk about it much, but it was a pretty bloody mess.’

‘Oh, Larry. Sometimes I think I just can’t bear any more.’

He pulls a thin newspaper out of his satchel.

‘I brought you this.’

It’s a copy of the official publication, the London Gazette , that carries the citation for Ed’s award. He’s folded it open to the right page. Kitty reads it, only partly registering what she reads.

The King has been graciously pleased to approve the award of the Victoria Cross to Lt Edward Avenell, 40 Commando Royal Marine. At Dieppe on August 19th 1942 Lt Avenell landed under heavy fire … During a period of approximately five hours … carried wounded personnel across the open beach under fire … utter disregard for his personal safety … saved at least ten lives … refused a final opportunity to leave the shore … The calmness and courage of this heroic officer will never be forgotten …

Larry says, ‘You have to have at least three witnesses for the VC. Ed had over twenty.’

She gives the Gazette back to him.

‘No. It’s for you. And for Pamela.’

Kitty looks at him with tears in her eyes.

‘I know he’s a hero, Larry. Everyone keeps telling me so.’

She wants to ask the question that haunts her: why didn’t he get on that last boat and save himself?

‘He’ll come home,’ says Larry, understanding what she doesn’t say. ‘You’ll have him back.’

‘He’s in a camp near a place called Eichstätt. I looked it up on a map. It’s north of Munich.’

‘It could take another year. But he’ll come home.’

‘Another year,’ she says, looking at her baby asleep in her arms.

‘So how’s motherhood? You look well on it, I must say.’

‘It’s like nothing else in the world,’ says Kitty. ‘It’s utterly, utterly different. I keep on bursting into tears for no reason. My heart wants to explode with happiness. I feel like I’m a thousand years old. I want to scream with boredom. I long to be young and silly again. But if I lost her I’d die. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Very simple,’ says Larry.

‘Darling Larry. I’m so glad you came. How long can you stay?’

‘I’ll head back after lunch. I hitched a ride with a chap in MI who’s visiting some facility near here.’

Kitty’s face falls.

‘So little time. Let’s not talk about the war.’

‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘I finally got round to reading that book you gave me. The Warden .’

‘How was it?’

‘I wasn’t all that gripped by it, to be honest. I think maybe I see enough of clergymen in ordinary life.’

‘It’s a bit plodding, I grant you. It’s a sort of moral thriller, really. Everything hinges on the power of a good but weak man to find the courage to do the right thing.’

‘Yes, I do see that,’ says Kitty. ‘I did read faster towards the end. But poor Mr Harding is so fearfully drippy, isn’t he? And I do think Trollope could have done more in the way of punishing the archdeacon. I wanted to have him be publicly humiliated.’

‘Ah, you’re a harder judge than I am. I can find it in my heart to pity the archdeacon, with his secret drawer and his secret copy of Rabelais.’

‘I do want to believe that goodness wins in the end,’ says Kitty. ‘But you have to admit, in real life it doesn’t always seem that way.’

‘That’s why it’s our duty to make it be that way,’ says Larry.

‘Oh, Larry.’ She takes his hand with her free hand. ‘I am so glad you came.’

Larry joins them for a simple lunch. Kitty’s father returns from the abbey promptly at one. He too is all smiles to see that they have a guest, and better still, a male guest.

‘What do you make of the bombing of Pantelleria, eh? I’ve been saying for weeks the invasion will begin in the Med. Sicily is the open door.’

Kitty shows her father the London Gazette with Ed’s citation. Both he and her mother read it, taking in every word.

‘If ever a man deserved a VC, that’s the man,’ says her father.

‘Larry was there,’ says Kitty. ‘He saw him.’

‘Oh, my Lord!’ exclaims her father. ‘The tales you must have to tell! And here I am, worrying myself to death over the repairs to the abbey.’

‘The war will be over one day,’ says Larry, ‘and when it’s over we’ll still want to see the grand old churches, and the cornflowers in bloom.’

‘Larry is such a romantic,’ says Kitty, smiling across the table at him. ‘He’s an artist, really.’

‘An artist!’ exclaims her mother.

‘I like to paint,’ says Larry.

‘You should paint Kitty,’ says Mr Teale. ‘I’m always telling her we should have her portrait done.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t dare attempt portraits,’ says Larry. ‘That requires skills I have yet to acquire.’

‘Larry paints like Cézanne,’ says Kitty. ‘All blotchy and wrong colours.’

‘A very accurate description,’ says Larry.

When it’s time for him to leave Kitty walks with him to the road junction, leaving Pamela in her mother’s care.

‘You know I’m not really so silly about your painting, Larry. I’m only teasing.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Thank you for being so sweet to Daddy.’