It was early November and nothing had been heard from James. ‘So, he’s staying in Spain, fighting, not exploring the Classics,’ Bridie murmured as she waited for her turn to stir the Christmas cake mixture.
Her mam looked up from grating orange peel for today’s menu, wild duck à l’orange. ‘Keep making the cakes, it’s all you can do.’
‘He said he’d be in touch,’ Bridie complained. ‘If they can get into Spain, letters can get out. I should have made him come back.’
‘Hush, we’re not going through all that again. Anyway, Ver and I have come round to his way of thinking, and yours, that we should all do something, so we’ve written to the letter pages of the newspapers, all of them. Needless to say, they haven’t been published.’
Ver stopped stirring the cake, having made her wish, her knuckles white on the spoon. Mrs Moore took it. She in her turn stirred then handed the spoon to Bridie. ‘Make it a good wish, lass.’
Bridie made her wish, which was twofold: one for James’ safety, and one for Tim’s safe return to them. She lifted out the spoon, and some mixture dropped back into the bowl. She said quietly, ‘I made two. Is that going to weaken the wishes?’ Panic gripped her.
Gracie took the spoon and stirred. ‘Don’t worry, Bridie, I’ve done the same.’ She handed the spoon to Maisie, Mart’s wife, who was pregnant for the first time, and feeling exhausted, as she wasn’t a young thing any more, as Matron had pointed out.
Her mother laughed, but it was strained. ‘It wouldn’t dare weaken, not with this monstrous regiment stirring like mad. Potty is telephoning with what news he can glean of James’ whereabouts from his extraordinary contacts. We will wait. Our wish could have been answered.’
In Richard’s study, along the internal corridor, he, Jack, Mart, Charlie and Aub sat around his desk, waiting for the phone to ring. Potty had said he’d get back to them by three with what news he could find out about James. The phone rang, on the dot of three. Richard picked it up, pale, with sweat beading his forehead. ‘Hello, Potty.’
As always, Potty’s voice was so loud that Richard held the phone away from his ear, wincing. ‘Dear boy, I’ve burrowed like the little hamster I am, if indeed they burrow, and good news, though somewhat of a déjà vu, if you get my drift?’
Richard shook his head, as though to clear it, an action mirrored by the others, and he wondered how his old friend had bumbled along in the military for so long, though he seemed to spend most of his time swanning around his clubs as far as Richard could tell. Well, maybe that was where his contacts also swanned. ‘I don’t altogether follow your drift, Potty. Perhaps you could elucidate?’ Why the hell did he get all long-winded when he was talking to Potty?
‘Elucidate?’ Potty boomed. Richard winced and held the phone even further away. ‘Indeed I will. The old dear is a prisoner, held by the delicious and delightful cream of Franco’s mob.’
The others stared at one another. Somehow they had all been hoping he was on his way home.
Richard looked up at Aub. ‘What can we do?’ he murmured.
Aub shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
Potty bawled, ‘Can do nothing this end, old son.’
Richard shook his head, trying to think, desperation clouding his mind, a mind too full of Estrella’s tales, some of which she’d witnessed, of captured prisoners being starved, beaten and shot.
Just then, the women came in. ‘We heard the telephone,’ Ver said, coming to Richard’s side.
‘Just a moment, would you, Potty?’ Richard put his hand across the mouthpiece. ‘He’s a prisoner, but Potty can do nothing, only give us information, which is good of him, of course.’
Bridie was staring at him, and suddenly reached over and snatched the receiver. ‘Uncle Potty, you have Bauer. Can’t he do something?’
Potty’s voice was very quiet now. He said, ‘Bridie, I believe. Well, young lady, I don’t have Herr Bauer, as you say. He was good enough to help you, when I understood him to be visiting a mutual business acquaintance. I am actually merely on nodding terms. I repeat, I barely know the man. Do you understand? Now pass me back to your uncle, if you please.’
His voice was at full volume as he spoke to Richard, so they all heard him say, ‘I repeat, I can do nothing, but it’s best for the laddie if someone can; we’ve heard tricky stuff’s being done – by both sides, it has to be said. You have someone who perhaps can help, of course. A someone who has a contact in Berlin who might be able to hoick him to safety. Perhaps you should ask that someone. I refer of course to young Tim. Now, must away, lots to do, people to see, and a nice Pudding Club meeting to attend later.’ There was a click. Richard replaced the receiver.
After a moment, he looked up at his wife, then his gaze went slowly from Gracie to Jack.
Mart, Charlie and Aub ranged themselves alongside Jack. Mart protested, ‘You know how difficult that is, Richard. I was there, in the club. He didn’t even come when Jeb phoned him to tell him Prancer had died, and we’d be at the field and needed him. He did nothing.’
Jack held out his hand to Gracie, who came to stand with him. ‘Perhaps we could try again,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘It’s James we’re talking about. Maria and Estrella tell such stories.’
Bridie slipped to the door, feeling so hot, she thought she’d melt. She wanted to leave. She felt for the door, but her mother saw her, and reached out. ‘Bridie, pet. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way.’
Bridie didn’t look at her, but at Gracie, who was still standing with Jack, gripping his arm. It had gone on too long. Bridie said, ‘I didn’t know then that Tim was responding to a message. He came, you see, on his motorbike, to the lane when Prancer died. I thought he’d come to be unkind again. I said he wasn’t wanted, and he was to go and stop dripping his poison, because things were bad enough without that.’
There was utter silence, and she waited. Please, please don’t make me say it again, she begged silently, and please don’t hate me. I hate myself enough for the whole room. Gracie turned. Jack put his hand out, but she tore free and ran, pushing Evie to one side, and slapped Bridie right across the face, before Jack could reach her. Then he was dragging Gracie off while Aub stood between Gracie and Bridie, looking at Gracie, his hand out, but speaking to Bridie. ‘Bridie, are you sorry?’
Bridie’s nose was bleeding. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry.’
Her father said, ‘Did you ever tell Uncle Jack and Aunt Grace that Tim punched you at Old Bert’s Field and cracked your ribs? Did you tell anyone, ever?’
She shook her head. ‘No. James was there, and we said nothing.’
Jack looked shocked. Gracie had begun to cry, wailing, ‘Oh, Bridie, why didn’t you say?’
‘Because it wasn’t him, not really, or I didn’t think it was, to begin with, but then I saw he enjoyed it, so how could I tell anyone that? But his face was different when Prancer died. I should have seen it. I didn’t. I just kept seeing him when he hit me, and I knew how mean he’d been to you. It was enough that Prancer was dead, without more. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I was a coward.’
Her father said, ‘No, you were not a coward. I failed you. I could tell there was something from the way you moved, and I made it my business to ask general questions about the melee at Old Bert’s Field, but nothing more.’
Evie was with her now, leading her from the room, but Gracie came after her with the other women. Gracie slipped her arm around her. ‘Poor Bridie. Let’s clean you up. I’m so very sorry, about it all. How could he? How could I? What’s happening, that’s what I keep thinking: to the world, to him, and now, to me? Where on earth is it all going to end?’
Though her nose throbbed, Bridie felt as though a darkness was lifting. James was a prisoner, and not dead, and Jack would talk to Tim, and they might all be friends again. It wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t help, because she knew that if he was the old Tim, he would at least try.
She said, ‘I’m sure he felt sorry when he came, because now I see him, I see myself when I came back from Arles. I’m so sorry, everyone, and so sorry for Tim. I need to tell him that, too.’
Mart, Charlie and Aub walked with Jack to the indoor exercise yard, drawing up their collars in the whipping easterly wind. Aub thought that the waves at Fordington would be a sight and sound to glory in. ‘What can we do, Jacko?’ Aub asked quietly as they entered the exercise barn. Immediately the sound of the wind faded, and they watched Clive take Marigold through her paces.
‘Nothing, bonny lad,’ Jack said. ‘It’s what I have to do, and should have done a long time ago, but after Prancer and his no show, Gracie and I felt it was up to him. Bloody hard for us it’s been an’ all. So now I’ll go and try to sort it all out, and not before time. My lad came for Prancer, and was sent away. No-one’s fault, not really, and nowhere near as bad as punching Bridie. D’you know, lads, he doesn’t go to Hawton BUF any more, I’ve been checking.’
Mart said, ‘But that means nought, for he could be a member in Newcastle. Do we know if he’s still hand in glove with Millie and Heine? I hope he isn’t, but right now, I bloody well hope he is.’
‘No matter what I said, Bridie still shouldn’t have turned him away; she’s not the world’s policeman.’ Aub’s tone was weary.
Jack toed the sand as they all leaned back now against the wooden wall of the building. ‘She was protecting us and hitting out at the same time, like most Forbes or Bramptons are prone to do.’
Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled slightly in the pause that followed, then said, ‘Aye, I can see that, quite clear, I can. It’s just like the bleedin’ Forbes and Bramptons, so I think you should all get birch twigs and give yourselves a good whipping.’
Aub laughed quietly, watching Clive use his knees to back Marigold slowly and calmly. She’d come on well, especially since Bridie had been back. He sighed and muttered, ‘I do think that Bridie is less impulsive and probably wouldn’t send your lad off with a flea in his ear now. She’s seventeen, and seems to have changed, and who wouldn’t after her rather frequent falls from grace. The thing is, Jacko, I admire her, damn it, just as, in a strange way, I admire Tim’s courage in being open in support of his politics.’ Well, Aub pondered, someone had to say something good about Tim.
Marigold was trotting forward now with a steady stride, one that moved her body very little. ‘She’ll be perfect for the injured,’ Aub said.
Jack nodded, preoccupied, and for a while there was total silence between the four men.
Mart repeated, ‘So, Jacko, what can we do to help?’
Clive had dismounted and was walking towards them. Aub searched in his pockets for the carrots he always carried. ‘She’s looking right canny,’ Charlie said, as Marigold whickered and took the carrot, huffing her warm breath into his hand.
‘Aye,’ Clive said. ‘Your Bridie’s done a right good job on her. Best lass out, she is, and always has been, and I reckon we’re right proud of her, all of us lot, anyway, and that’s all I want to say. ’
There was a challenge in his voice as he stared at each of them in turn. They levered themselves off the wall, and almost saluted as he passed on by, and then they grinned at one another. ‘Well, that’s it then,’ Mart laughed.
‘It is indeed,’ agreed Jack. ‘Now I’ve a son to see about a number of things.’