Perfectly Ordinary People(59)

‘For instance,’ Ethel said, with a shrug. ‘But once your father was married; once he was smitten with your mother’s side of the family, well, they were happy to let him choose his own path. A part of love – part of good parenting – is knowing when to let go.’

‘I’m just wondering – is that why they didn’t divorce until ’59?’ I asked. ‘For Dad’s sake?’

‘Yes,’ Ethel said. ‘That’s exactly why. They wanted him to have a stable home as long as it was necessary.’

The conversation became a bit clunky from that point on and I didn’t manage to extract a great deal more information from Ethel, which was disappointing.

She seemed suddenly tired and perhaps even a bit emotional, and I had to remind myself that she was in her seventies, and in pain, and I was asking her to talk about her two dearest friends, one of whom she’d lost only months before.

‘I’m going to have to leave you soon,’ Ethel said, after a short lull in the conversation. ‘But I need your help with something, so . . .’

‘My help?’ I said. ‘Yes, anything.’

‘I’ve been trying to talk to your father.’

‘Yes. I heard about that through the family grapevine.’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Ethel said, smiling at me wryly. ‘Well, I have something I need to give him. For some reason he’s being very elusive.’

‘He can be like that, I know. So, would you like me to take something to him?’

Ethel shook her head. ‘No, I need to talk to him first. I need to make sure he wants it.’

‘OK,’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘Am I allowed to ask—?’

‘What it is?’ Ethel said, finishing my phrase. ‘No, my dear, you may not. But ask him, or rather, tell him to call me. Tell him it’s important. And tell him that if he hasn’t been in touch by . . . I don’t know . . . the end of the year . . .’ She paused and swallowed with visible difficulty, and I wondered if she wasn’t going to cry. ‘Just tell him,’ she finally continued. ‘Tell that stubborn little man to phone his Aunty Ethel.’

‘I will,’ I told her. ‘I’ll make sure that he calls you, I promise. And can I call you again? Can I phone you and have another chat? Or maybe come back another time? It would be great to have an excuse to visit the seaside again. I love it down here.’

‘An excuse to visit the seaside . . .’ Ethel repeated flatly.

‘That came out wrong,’ I said, wincing. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.’

‘No,’ Ethel said. ‘OK.’

‘So can I come and talk to you again, sometime?’

Ethel shrugged and smiled. ‘You can certainly try,’ she said.

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but before I could ask, she was standing, holding the door open for me, saying how lovely it had been to see me.

I was shocked about my sudden forced exit. I’d even been hoping to have lunch there, but it seemed that wasn’t to be.

As I walked back towards the seafront in the sunshine, I wondered if I’d offended her, but I couldn’t really think how. I hadn’t been that pushy, had I?

I started to think about all the questions I hadn’t asked, and felt annoyed with myself that I perhaps hadn’t been pushy enough.

But after a while I started to slot together the snippets that I had learned, and like a puzzle, my grandparents began to take form. I might not have learned as much as I would have liked, but at least I knew more than before.





Cassette #3

ML: OK, the tape’s on. This is Marie Lefebvre, interviewing Genevieve Schmitt again, cassette number three, second day.

GS: Oh, before we start, I’ve been meaning to ask you, and I keep forgetting. How many of these have you done so far?

These interviews? You’re my third. And then I have two more after you. So we’re hoping for five, all in all.

And the overall theme is survivors of the war?

It’s gay memories, really. No one has ever bothered to document gay people’s experiences before, so our narrative of the war to date has been almost exclusively heterocentric. But the two I did before were far shorter – they lasted about ten minutes each. So yours is by far the most detailed. And the most interesting! I’m so grateful your waitress put me in touch with you. That was such a lucky coincidence. Anyway, I suppose we’d better get on with it. Do you remember where we left off on Saturday?

We were in the cabin in the woods, weren’t we? Waiting to be taken over the border. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want that cup of tea?

No, thanks. I really don’t. I had a can of Coke just before I got here.

Well, as long as you don’t mind me sipping mine.

Not at all. Sip away!

I will. So . . . the cabin, yes?

Yes. The little girl had said it was time to leave.

Yes. My God, we were terrified! We’d come to feel safe in that cabin, you see. Once she was gone, we waited until late into the night. Incredibly – to me it seemed incredible anyway – Pierre fell asleep. So while he snored on the bed, I sat on the chair and rocked the baby and waited. I was way too scared to fall asleep! I felt quite annoyed that Pierre was able to sleep, if I’m honest.