16th June 1950 Llanroth, Wales
Sometimes Mary couldn’t believe he was there. She would reach out and touch Peter just to reassure herself that after five years apart they were together again. He’d given up a lot to be with her.
‘You are happy?’ He slung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.
The breeze ruffled their hair. The tide was on the turn and Mary watched the waves collide and dissolve. High above, gulls hung motionless, their cries lost in the air currents.
‘Mmm.’ Mary rested against him. The smell of the mown lawn on his skin mingled with the salty tang of spray blown off the sea and the faint smell of pipe tobacco. ‘You?’
‘Of course.’
She turned her head to look at him, brushed a few blades of grass from his cheek. In the four months since he’d found her he’d lost the gaunt pallor, the weariness, and gained a quiet contentment.
‘It is good, the two of us sitting here, alone,’ he said.
‘Tom won’t be long though, he’ll be back from Gwyneth’s soon. He said he was only just digging her vegetable plot over for planting tomorrow.’
‘I do not mean Tom. He is family.’
Mary allowed a beat to pass. ‘I know you didn’t, love. And I know what you really mean. But it’s not our problem. If people don’t like our being together that’s their lookout.’ She kissed him. His mouth was warm; the tip of his tongue traced the inside of her lips. Through the thin cotton of her dress she felt his hand cup her breast.
Smiling she drew back. ‘Tom?’ she murmured, her voice rueful.
They sat peacefully on the doorstep of the cottage, each savouring the other’s closeness.
Gradually the sun disappeared behind the cliffs. The trees became shifting silhouettes and the wind slapped the surface of the sea into rolling metallic arcs and carried the spray towards the cottage. Mary licked her lips, tasted the salt.
‘It’s getting chilly.’ She shivered.
Peter stood, reached down and lifted her to her feet, holding her to him. ‘Ich liebe dich, my Mary.’
‘And I love you.’
A few moments passed before she forced herself to stand back and, giving him a quick kiss, take in a long breath. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’m late sorting tea out. If you put those things away, I’ll go and give that batter a whisk. I’m making Spam fritters to go with that mash from last night.’
She stood on the top step watching him walk down the gravel path to where he’d left the lawnmower and then glanced towards the cottage next door. Although it was only just dusk the window in Gwyneth Griffith’s parlour suddenly lit up and the oblong pattern spilled across the garden. Tom emerged out of the shadows swinging a spade in his hand and turned onto the lane. Mary waved to him and he waggled the spade in acknowledgement. ‘Tom’s coming now,’ she called out to Peter. ‘I’ll stick the kettle on. He’ll want a brew before he eats.’
The van came from nowhere, a flash of white. Mary saw it veer to the right towards Tom. Hurtling close to the side of the lane, it drove along the grass verge, smashing against the overhanging branches of the blackthorn. Caught in the headlights, her brother had no time and nowhere to go. Frozen, Mary watched as he was flung into the air. She heard the squeal of the engine and the heavy thud of his body on the bonnet of the van. The spade clattered along the tarmac. Peter threw open the gate and was running before she could move.
‘Tom,’ she heard him yell. Somewhere, someone was screaming. She was screaming.
The van had gone.
Stumbling towards the inert body of her brother, she passed one of his wellington boots. Looking up she saw the other incongruously dangling from a branch. There was a crunch under her shoe and she bent down to pick up Tom’s spectacles. One lens was shattered and it fell from the frame as she held it to her breast. She didn’t feel the glass cut into her fingers. The van’s engine faded into nothing. The only noise was the awful sound of Tom’s guttural breathing. Peter gently turned him over, cradling his head.
Trembling Mary dropped to her knees. Tom’s eyes were closed, his face a blank mask.
‘Help him, Peter.’ Mary forced the words past the hard lump in her throat, all her nursing training deserting her. ‘Help him. Please…’
Tom took a long shuddering breath.
In the fading light Mary watched the dark pool of blood spread.