Bel was sitting on her bed in her room, which was sandwiched between Joe’s bedroom at the front of the house and the kitchen at the back. When the red-brick townhouse had originally been built at the end of the last century, during the reign of Queen Victoria, Bel’s bedroom had been the family’s dining room, Joe’s the living room, and Polly’s a small storage room at the very back of the house. The actual sleeping accommodation had been on the first floor, where Agnes, Pearl and Arthur had their bedrooms. The attic on the third floor, which now stood empty, had been the servants’ quarters.
But then times had changed: money had become scarce, poverty more prevalent, causing many of the grand houses, like the ones running the length of Tatham Street, to be turned into bedsits and boarding houses.
When Bel had moved back in with Agnes and Polly after Teddy and Joe had gone off to war, she had made her bedroom as cosy as possible, with a colourful patchwork bedspread, a few threadbare but comfy cushions, and an old leather armchair with a floral throw covering it; she had also made a few clippy mats to put on the bare floorboards. Despite a limited budget and scant possessions, Bel had succeeded in making the room homely and snug. She’d put Lucille’s second-hand wooden cot next to her own bed, which was where the little girl was now, lying curled up with her chubby little arms cuddling her favourite raggedy toy rabbit. Her gentle rhythmic breathing told Bel her daughter was enjoying a contented, deep sleep.
Making as little noise as possible, Bel got off the bed and crouched down by its side, before carefully lifting up the mattress a fraction, and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. When she got up, she sat back on the bed and straightened out the handwritten letter.
As Bel started to reread the letter that Teddy had written to her just weeks before he’d been killed, she put her hand across her mouth in an attempt to stifle the tidal wave of grief that broke free from deep within her and powered forward. Through a blur of tears she silently mouthed her husband’s final words to her.
Bel’s shaking fingers ran over her husband’s writing as if she were actually touching him; for once, Bel was not able to stop the torrent of grief, nor push it back down – back to its deep, dark, festering hole in the depths of her soul. This time it was too strong and it rushed, gushing and foaming, to the surface. No noise came from Bel’s mouth as she clamped it shut now with the aid of both her hands, but her whole body jerked as her sorrow unleashed itself and she sobbed quietly, tears streaming from her eyes. She was forced to take a huge suck of air as her body cried out for her to breathe. Bel felt she could have wailed with such force it would have woken the whole street, never mind just the Elliot household. Instead she grabbed her pillow, held it tightly against her face and let her muffled angst gush out of her.
When her torment was expended, her body exhausted, and her eyes puffed up and swollen, Bel picked up the letter, now water-marked with her tears and, as she continued to read, her body stiffened as anger stomped over her aching heart.
But I want to stress to you that, should something happen to me out here, it is important that I know you will carry on this life without me, and that you will not waste this life with mourning. Our daughter needs a mother who is happy – not sad. So, I beg of you, if I do not make it back into your arms, you must remain strong and find happiness where you can.
And look after Joe when he gets back. He will not be the same man as you remember who left all that time ago.
I feel compelled to tell you, my love, that I love you and our daughter more than anything in the world.
I must go now, my love, but I always carry you in my heart, and when I close my eyes, it is you I see.
I miss you.
Forever yours,
Teddy x
Bel tossed the letter to the floor.
Her mind screamed: How can I live without you? How can I be strong without you?
She wanted to laugh mockingly and bitterly at even the thought of ever being happy again.
How dare he ask this of her!
And how dare he ask her to look after Joe!
Bel knew Teddy’s words would be forever scratched into her memory, plaguing her, haunting her. There would be no escaping them.
‘I won’t do it, Teddy!’ she hissed under her breath. ‘I can’t – and I won’t! ’
And with those words, an impenetrable mask, branded with a coating of bitter, cold resentment, dropped down in place of her spent, raw grief.
And, as it did so, Bel picked up the discarded letter and stood up straight.
She waited for a moment, listening carefully to check there was no one else about, and then she walked quietly out of her room and into the kitchen.
She stepped purposefully across the faded floor rug and over to the stove, where she knelt down in front of the small grated fireplace in the centre of the lead range.
The few remaining coals were barely glowing as she reached to the side of the hearth for the large box of matches.
She struck one.
And then she held out Teddy’s letter and slowly moved it over the yellow tip of the burning flame.
And she watched with eyes devoid of any kind of emotion as the paper singed and curled, and the last words of her lifelong love smouldered and burnt before being transformed into mere flecks of feather-light grey ash.