‘We knew from a young age that Jonathan had been adopted, and I know they regarded him as their own child, just as much as I was,’ said Pamela. ‘And to me he was just my big brother. We fell out now and again as kids do, but we were really very close. They told him – and me – when we were old enough to know, that Jon was adopted: chosen they said, because they wanted a little boy. I suppose it’s the best thing to do, just in case he found out some other way.’

  Robert nodded. He guessed that his wife’s thoughts were running the same way as his own. What would happen to Jennifer and James if Rachel did not recover? There would be only one solution …

  Sadly, Rachel did not regain consciousness. She died the same night and both families, hers and Jonathan’s, were left feeling bereft and helpless. It was too much to take in. One day they were celebrating a happy occasion, and the next day their lives were blighted by this double tragedy.

  But life had to go on, especially for the sake of the two children. There was no question as to what would happen to them.

  ‘They will stay with us, of course,’ said Robert. ‘We’ll adopt them; it should be straightforward. They know us very well and they’re happy with us. And I know you will agree, Pam?’

  ‘Of course I do – I already love them as though they were our own … with us not having any.’ She looked pensive. As time had gone on it seemed more unlikely than ever that she would conceive. There were complications, and the doctor had told her it was unlikely they would have a child of their own.

  ‘The poor little loves, though,’ she said. ‘James is too young to understand, and we’ll have to hope that Jennifer’s memories will fade. We’ll tell them, though, won’t we, when they’re old enough to understand?’

  ‘Of course we will,’ said Robert, ‘and for now they must be our priority.’

  Jennifer looked puzzled sometimes. ‘Mummy and Daddy coming soon?’ she asked.

  And Pamela, not wanting to lie, or to tell the bald truth, said that they had had to go away, but Uncle Robert and Aunty Pamela were looking after them now. They moved back, of course, into their own house, taking the children’s equipment with them and making a nice comfy bedroom for the two of them.

  NINETEEN

  Fresh Fields was closed for a couple of days, then opened with a skeleton staff. Arrangements had to be made for a double funeral. It was agreed by both families that this should take place in Bingley, where the couple had made their home.

  The news travelled around the parish in the community via the inevitable grapevine. It was Iris who broke the news to Alice. She called on the Tuesday evening when Alice had returned from work and had eaten her evening meal.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some very sad news,’ she said. ‘You’d better sit down, Alice. It’s really almost too awful to believe …’

  Alice sat down. ‘Go on, tell me. What is it?’

  ‘It’s Jonathan – you know, Jonathan Fielding from the garden, and Rachel. They’ve both been killed in a car crash.’

  Alice felt herself go cold and she gave an involuntary scream. ‘Oh, no … how dreadful. But they can’t be … they can’t both be dead …’ She knew at the back of her confused and whirling mind that she must try to control herself as much as she was able. There was no one here who knew the truth and they must certainly not find out now.

  ‘Yes, it’s dreadful,’ said Iris. She crossed the room and put her arm round Alice. ‘I’m sorry to give you a shock but there was no other way of telling you. Just think how awful it must be for the family. It’s bad enough for the rest of us who just knew them as acquaintances. You’ve gone quite white, Alice. Would you like me to make a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Alice murmured. ‘If you don’t mind. I must admit, it’s shaken me up.’

  She tried to compose herself as Iris went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, the thing that everyone did at times of crisis – as if a cup of tea could erase the pain in her heart.

  ‘Here you are, drink this,’ said Iris, returning with two mugs of tea. ‘I’ve added a drop of brandy, I hope you don’t mind. It was in the cupboard and I guessed that you might use it on occasions such as this. It’s good to settle you down when you’ve had a shock.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Alice. She sipped at the warm, comforting beverage.

  ‘When is the funeral?’ Alice asked, her hands around the mug of tea to stop them from trembling.

  ‘I don’t think they know yet,’ said Iris. ‘There’s a lot to sort out first: an inquest, post-mortem. I’m not sure. But it will be here, at the church they attended. Rachel’s family will come up here, no doubt. It’s just too awful to think about.’

  ‘And those dear little children,’ said Alice. ‘James is only about six months old, isn’t he? And Jennifer, she’ll be old enough to know that Mummy and Daddy aren’t there, won’t she? Are they with Robert and Pamela?’

  ‘Yes, they are. I don’t know for sure, but I have a feeling that they may adopt the children, which would be a good solution all round … Jonathan was adopted, you know.’

  ‘Yes … I did know,’ answered Alice quietly.

  ‘But Ted and Mary have never made a secret of it, either to Jonathan or to anyone else. It’s the best thing to do, I think, rather than the child finding out from someone else.’

  ‘Yes, and how dreadful for Jonathan’s … parents, Ted and Mary. Life is so unfair sometimes, isn’t it? It makes you wonder why such things happen.’

  Iris nodded. ‘I suppose we’re fortunate if we get through life without some sort of tragedy happening to us. So many were killed in the war, including my Eric …’

  Alice was relieved when Iris left and she was alone with her thoughts and her grief. She felt cold and numb inside but she knew that life had to go on. She must go to work each day, try to behave normally with her colleagues and friends and keep her sorrow hidden deep inside her.

  The funeral was held almost three weeks later. Alice sat unobtrusively halfway back in the church with Iris. The church was almost filled to capacity. Jonathan and Rachel had been a popular couple, well known in the parish and the area, and from their work in the family business. The family members sat at the front, all except for Jennifer and James who were being cared for by neighbours.

  Alice tried to keep a tight rein on her emotions as the coffins were wheeled in, side by side, both covered with bright seasonal flowers – chrysanthemums and dahlias in rich hues of gold, red and purple. The vicar gave a fitting eulogy to the young couple and Alice tried to listen although her thoughts were wandering far and wide. Jonathan, her dear son whom she had never been able to acknowledge, was now with Tony, his father, who he resembled so much. Would they know one another? It was all a mystery too deep to contemplate.

  In heavenly love abiding

  No change my heart

  Can fear

  Alice tried to find comfort in the words of the hymn, but there was a lump in her throat and tears welling in her eyes. She was sure she was not the only one who was moved by the poignancy of the service, but her personal sorrow must remain deeply hidden.

  The graveyard was at the back of the church, and Alice stood with Iris at the back of the group as the vicar spoke the final words of committal and the coffins were lowered into the grave. It was a still autumn day, pleasantly warm for the time of year. Some of the leaves had already fallen, crunching beneath their feet, and the sun glinted through the tapestry of russet, crimson and gold on the branches above them.

  ‘At least it isn’t raining,’ Iris whispered to Alice. ‘It so often does at times like these, and I suppose a ray of sunshine is rather comforting.’

  Alice nodded numbly, feeling that nothing could ease the ache in her heart. Then a little grey squirrel bounded fearlessly across their path, chasing a fallen leaf, and she found herself giving an involuntary smile.

  The vicar had already said that those who wished to do so were invited to go along to a nearby country inn where light refreshments would be served.

  ‘Shall we go to the Coach and Horses?’ said Iris. ‘It might look odd if we don’t, being fellow members of the choir and knowing them quite well.’

  ‘Yes … yes, I suppose we should,’ replied Alice, feeling that she would far rather go home, but if she did that she knew she would wallow in her grief. It might be better for her to mix with her friends and try to come to terms with what she knew had to be endured.

  A buffet meal, the usual fare for such occasions – various sandwiches, meat pies and sausage rolls – was laid out on long tables covered with white cloths. Waitresses poured out the tea or coffee, and there was a bar where just a few of the men were ordering stronger drinks.

  Alice really disliked these occasions, the get-together following the interment, even when she was not directly involved. It seemed sometimes that there was too much jollity and bonhomie, as though the mourners were determined to look ahead cheerfully, despite the loss of their loved ones. She was glad that there was not too much laughter and loud chatter today, more a feeling of quiet sadness and tranquillity. She nibbled at a chicken sandwich and sipped at her tea, not joining in very much with the conversation going on around her, but the others did not appear to notice her lack of involvement.

  There was one person, however, who had noticed Alice, and that was Robert Kershaw. He knew her as a rather quiet, unassuming middle-aged lady – early fifties, he guessed – very pleasant and friendly. He had enjoyed chatting to her whenever she came into the garden centre, and he knew her from the church they all attended. He had assumed that she would be here today. He had gathered that she was a lady who did not divulge too much about herself, however well one got to know her. She often looked pensive, a little sad maybe, but who could know what problems and worries people often kept hidden. Never, though, had he seen her look so sad and distracted as she did today.

  The group of women she was sitting with were chatting – not jovially, but rather more solemnly as fitted the occasion – but Alice appeared to be taking no part in the conversation. After a few moments he saw her rise and take up her handbag and go into the ladies’ washroom. When she came out, some ten minutes later, it was obvious that she had been crying. No one else was near her and he saw her dab at her eyes with a hanky and put it in her bag. Then she stood for a moment, looking out of a nearby window that overlooked the garden area.

  Robert did not hesitate. He knew, whether it was right or not, that he must go and speak to her. Something was telling him to do so, even though it might seem intrusive. He got up, saying quietly to his wife that he wanted a word with Alice, and went over to her. He touched her arm gently and she turned to look at him.

  ‘It’s a sad occasion, isn’t it, Alice?’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you. I just felt – somehow – that you needed someone to talk to. Forgive me if I’m wrong …’

  She smiled very sadly. ‘Do you know, Robert, that’s exactly what I need. I didn’t realize it till now, but … thank you.’ She took hold of his arm. ‘Come and sit with me, on our own. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’ There was an empty sofa nearby and they both sat down.

  ‘Funerals are always sad,’ Alice began, ‘and I would have been sad anyway. Jonathan was a fine young man and Rachel … she was lovely.’ She paused, looking directly at Robert. ‘It’s so dreadful for all of you, and … for me as well. You see …’ She looked away from Robert and then, staring down at her tightly clasped hand, said, ‘Jonathan was my son …’

  Robert gasped, as he leaned forward to take hold of both her hands. ‘Oh, my dear Alice. I’m so sorry …’ Suddenly it all made sense and he realized that he was not really surprised to hear this.

  ‘That’s why I came to live here, to find him,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter how I found out, but I did, and I knew it was what I had to do. But I knew that I must not upset his family life. No one must know who I was, and I’ve been content to see him growing up into such a grand young man.’

  Robert squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a very brave lady,’ he whispered, leaning towards her. Then, aware that people might be watching, he drew back. He could see his wife watching him curiously from across the room. She raised her eyes questioningly and made as if to rise, but he shook his head and waved his hand in a tight, dismissive gesture. Pamela nodded, obviously realizing that there was some sort of problem, and stayed where she was.

  ‘I met Tony in Blackpool when he was billeted with us during the war,’ Alice told him in a quiet and flattish, unemotional sort of voice. ‘We fell in love. I’d never had a boyfriend before – I was really a very shy girl – but Tony meant everything to me, as I believe – I know – I did to him. We would have got married after the war, but he was transferred to another camp – Blackpool was only a training area – and I never saw him again. He was a wireless operator, and he was killed in a raid over Germany … like so many were,’ she added. ‘I had his home address, and when I contacted his parents his mother wrote and told me what had happened to Tony.’ She was quiet for a moment, then went on talking rather more bitterly. ‘My own mother was ashamed of me. She packed me off to stay with relations until the baby was born, and I was persuaded – well, forced really – to have him adopted. I went home but I never settled down in Blackpool. So, I came and made a new life for myself here.’

  ‘I think you are very brave,’ Robert said again. ‘Thank you for telling me. I know it can’t have been easy for you. And then … for this to happen. It is so tragic for you as well as for us.’

  Alice smiled sadly. ‘Jonathan was the image of his father, Tony. I couldn’t see anything of myself in him.’

  ‘He must have inherited your kindness and your gentle nature,’ replied Robert. ‘He was a great friend, and then he became my brother-in-law. And … as you no doubt realize, Pamela and I are taking care of the children.’

  ‘Yes, of course. They’re such dear little children … How are they? Do they miss their mummy and daddy?’

  ‘They are very young, which is fortunate, I suppose. James will be too young to remember and Jennifer … well, she’s asked about them a few times and we’ve said that they’ve gone away for a while. We can’t tell them the truth, not yet, but we will eventually. We are going to adopt them: there shouldn’t be any problems there, and Jennifer, bless her, is already seeming to look upon Pamela as a mummy figure.’

  ‘My grandchildren,’ said Alice pensively. ‘I’ve loved seeing them grow, from a distance, just as I loved seeing Jonathan grow up. At least there is part of Jonathan still here with us.’

  Alice closed her eyes for a moment, then looked straight at Robert. ‘You must go back to Pamela and the rest of your family. She’ll wonder whatever is going on. Thank you for listening to me, it has helped quite a lot.’

  ‘Thank you again for sharing it with me,’ said Robert. ‘Do you mind if I tell Pamela? But no one else, of course. My wife and I have no secrets from one another.’

  ‘That is how it should be,’ said Alice. ‘Of course you must tell her. But it must still be just between the three of us.’

  Robert rose and gently kissed her cheek before going back to the family group. Alice took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She then got up and returned to the little group of women with whom she had been sitting.

  Iris looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right, Alice?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes … well, to be honest, not really,’ replied Alice. ‘It’s been a sad day, hasn’t it? I had a headache; that’s why I went to sit on my own and then Robert came and talked to me. I think I’d like to go home now, though.’

  ‘Yes, so would I,’ agreed Iris. ‘I’ll give you a lift home. As you say, it’s been very sad. I don’t like funerals, whosoever it is, but this was particularly poignant.’

  Iris dropped Alice off outside her home. ‘Now, are you sure you’re all right? You look a bit peaky to me.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll take some pills for this headache – it’s still there, I’m afraid – and take things easy. I’ll see you at choir practice. Thanks for your concern, Iris. I’ll be fine.’

  She knew that she had to be, but it was a relief that she had told Robert of her great secret. She had never intended doing so, but she felt now that it was right. Life must go on. The old adage was a cliché, but very true. She must go back to work, carry on with her normal day-to-day activities just as the rest of Jonathan and Rachel’s family had to do. But she could not help but feel that life could be so cruel. She had found her son and watched him grow to maturity, only to lose him again.

  Robert approached Alice at the end of the choir practice later in the week. They sat down together in a pew at the back of the church. ‘Pamela and I would like you to come and have a meal with us, very soon,’ he said. ‘I told her … about you and Jonathan. She was taken aback at first, as I was, then she realized that it all made sense; your friendliness and your interest in the family. Although we are quite sure that no one else has noticed and no one will ever hear about it from us – we can assure you of that. Pamela is deeply sorry for you, especially as you have to keep your feelings all to yourself.’

  ‘Yes, I admit it’s not easy,’ said Alice. ‘I have my work to keep me busy, and my home to look after, and lots of friends … I’m grateful for your friendship, Robert.’

  It was decided that Alice would share a meal with them on the following Tuesday, after work.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said. ‘I’d better go now. Iris always runs me back home and I don’t want to keep her waiting. I can see she’s busy chatting, though, to Pamela and Dorothy.’

  ‘Yes, Pam said she would keep her talking for a little while. See you soon, Alice. God bless … we’ll be thinking of you.’

  Pamela had prepared a tasty chicken casserole on the following Tuesday evening, which they enjoyed with a bottle of white wine, and there was an apple crumble to follow.

  ‘The children are both tucked up in bed,’ she said. ‘That’s what we usually do, then we can have our meal in peace.’

 

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