It was Jack’s dad and Uncle John that found me. I had been gone all night and Mum, Brenda and Aunty Marge were frantic with worry. They found me the next morning in the old barn. I couldn’t remember how I got there; I couldn’t remember anything. I could only remember running and running and running. They wrapped me in a blanket and, between them, they carried me down the hills and home.
I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t cry. Mum and Brenda did their best; they washed me, they fed me, they sat on my bed and talked to me, they never left me. Even during an air raid they never left me. I was loved but I was lost. What was I supposed to do with all this love that was inside me? It didn’t die with Jack; it was still there. What was I supposed to do with it? No one tells you that bit, do they? I’ve heard people say that death leaves them with an empty feeling. I longed to feel empty but I didn’t, I felt full of love for a boy that was never coming back. Time meant nothing, life meant nothing. I wanted to be with Jack; I wanted to die. I stayed like that for weeks. During that time they buried him. Mum and Brenda gently urged me to go to the funeral but I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch them put him into the ground. I was drowning and no could save me.
Nelson came every day. They brought him by car in the morning and they collected him in the evening, but I wouldn’t see him. I wouldn’t see anyone except Mum and Brenda. I was scared to leave my room; I was scared to face a world that didn’t have Jack in it.
One day Mum came into the bedroom. She sat on my bed and took hold of my hand.
‘You are not the only one that is grieving, Maureen. Nelson has lost his best friend and he needs you. He has come every day; he is sitting downstairs now. I think you should see him.’
I looked at her and shook my head and I said the first words that I’d said since Jack died. ‘I can’t, Mum.’
‘Well, I think you can, and I think that you should. Nelson needs you, love, and we want you back. You can’t run away from life, however much you might want to. It’s there outside this room and so are all the people that care about you. Greta Garbo might get away with it, but I don’t think Maureen O’Connell can. It’s time, my precious girl.’
After she left I thought about what she’d said. She was right: this pain wasn’t just my pain, this loss wasn’t just mine. I remembered when Daddy died and how sad Mum was, but she didn’t allow herself to grieve for long because she knew we needed her. I walked across to the window. It was raining; water was running down the glass like tears.
I pressed my forehead against it. Then I looked down the garden and I stared at the tree and started to cry. Gut-wrenching wailing, just like Mrs Forrest, which brought my mum rushing back into the room and into my arms. I cried like a baby and all the while Mum held me and soothed me and rocked me, until there were no more tears left.
Slowly, slowly, I learned to live without Jack. It was painful and it was hard and I didn’t always succeed. Some days were too hard to face, but those days became fewer and fewer. I still hadn’t gone back to the bookshop but I knew that I would when I was ready. Maggie came to see me, bringing flowers and chocolates from Mrs Bentley.
‘It’s bloody boring without you, Maureen! Mrs Doom and Gloom next door is driving me mad and Peter says I don’t make his tea the way you make it. I need you back.’
‘Soon,’ I said.
‘I’m really sorry, Maureen.’
‘I know.’
‘But I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t have to say anything, Maggie. It’s enough that you’re here.’
‘Good,’ she said, putting her arms around me.
It was nice to see Nelson again, I’d forgotten how much I liked being with him. We couldn’t go anywhere much because of his leg, so we sat in the house or in the garden. One day we were sitting on the bench, talking about Jack. It was nice to sit beside Nelson and to feel the sun on my face.
‘It’s so strange, Jack, not being next door.’
‘There’s no one next door,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’ve gone.’
‘They’ve moved?’
I nodded. ‘Mr Forrest came round to tell Mum that his wife couldn’t stay there any more, too many memories, so they had to move away.’
‘I can kind of understand that,’ said Nelson.
‘So can I,’ I said. ‘But I need those memories, it makes me feel closer to him.’
‘Have they gone far?’
‘Scotland. Mrs Forrest has a sister living there.’
‘They were good to me. I know I wasn’t the kind of kid that Jack’s mum would have chosen to be his friend but she looked out for me, she fed me, she even knitted me a jumper once – she hated that brown one.’
‘I know,’ I said, smiling.
‘Have you still got it?’
‘Of course I have,’ I said.
‘Maybe it’s time I got rid of it.’
‘Why?’
Nelson shrugged his shoulders. ‘Seems like a daft thing to do, to keep it.’
‘I think that we all do the best we can. We hide away in bedrooms, we run away to Scotland or we hang onto old brown jumpers. I don’t think that you should get rid of your old brown jumper just because you think it’s daft to keep it. One day you might not need it any more so, if I was you, I’d wait for that day and get rid of it then. Or keep it forever.’
‘You’re a wise girl,’ he said.
‘Sometimes,’ I replied.
Nelson ran his hands through his hair. He reached across and held my hand. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Maureen. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I’m banking on it, Nelson.’
What was wonderful about our friendship was that I could talk about Jack without upsetting him. People found my grief hard to handle. I saw neighbours cross the road to avoid talking to me. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, I knew that, they just didn’t know how to deal with it. Some people liked grief to be neatly packaged and put away, not raw and exposed for all the world to see.
I guess you could say that Nelson and I worked through our sadness together. When one of us was down, the other was there to pull them back up. We could laugh together remembering the good times and we could cry together remembering the good times and that’s what got us through. Our love for Jack is what got us through.
I hadn’t asked how Jack had died. What difference would it have made if I’d known? He was gone and he wasn’t coming back, that’s all I knew. That was all I needed to know. But as I got better, his death started to bother me. How could he have died so soon after he went away? it didn’t make sense. Suddenly I wanted answers. I asked my mum.
She sat me down. ‘You didn’t ask, Maureen, so I didn’t tell you. He was on a train, love, going up north. The train was bombed and Jack was killed. I don’t know any more than that. I don’t know why he was on the train.’
‘I’d like to see his grave, Mum.’
‘You’re sure?’
I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Do you want me to go with you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but I’d like to spend some time on my own with him. Would that be OK?’
‘Of course.’
Jack was buried in the graveyard of St Nicholas church. It was a beautiful building with long stained-glass windows and a tower. Part of the tower was damaged; I suppose it had been bombed. A plaque over the door told us that it was the oldest church in Brighton. The graveyard itself was full of ancient gravestones, covered in ivy and moss. Some of them were toppling over and some of them already lying on the ground. I followed Mum as she made her way to Jack’s grave. We’d brought some flowers with us. She picked up a glass jam jar and went looking for a tap, leaving me alone.
I knelt down and stared at the ground. How could I even start to imagine that Jack was underneath this soil? I gently touched the mound of earth.
‘I’m here, Jack,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry it took me so long.’
I looked around me. Everywhere was so quiet and still. There was a cool breeze but it felt as though nothing was moving, as if everything had frozen in time. There was something that I had to tell him, something I’d been keeping to myself for weeks. I gently touched my stomach.
‘We’re going to have a baby, Jack,’ I whispered. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’