The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(80)

“You just ran off and had your ice cream.”

“I think I was in shock. You were my hero.”

Arthur blushed.

“This is it.” Lucy stopped. “This was one of Mum’s favorite places. I remember, there’s a rock over there shaped like a dog’s head.”

“And one over there shaped like a volcano,” Dan added. “We always sat on that bench and looked out to sea.”

Memories gradually began to emerge in Arthur’s mind, like friends appearing out of the mist. His curiosity about the stories behind the charms was beginning to fade. They were almost like fairy stories, things that had happened in a time past. He was pleased that his head was becoming full of his own stories again, ones about his wife and children.

“I remember one day and we were begging you, begging you, to come in the sea,” Lucy said. “And you kept saying that you were happy to stay and read your paper. So me, Mum and Dan went into the sea, and then suddenly you were beside us and laughing and scooping up water and throwing it at us. Mum was wearing that white dress that went see-through in the sun.”

“I remember,” Arthur said. “But I thought that I stayed on the sand and watched you.”

“No. You came in,” Dan said. “We nagged you into submission.”

Arthur thought about how it was possible for memories to shift and change with time. To be forgotten and resumed, to be enhanced or darkened as the mind and mood commanded. He had conjured up emotions, of how Miriam had felt about the people who gave the charms to her. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. But he did know that she had loved him, that Dan and Lucy loved him, that he had lots of reasons to carry on.

“Come on, Superman.” Dan patted him on the arm. “Shall we head down to the beach for a paddle?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, and he took both of his children’s hands in his. “Come on, let’s go.”





Letters Home


WHEN ARTHUR RETURNED from his outing to Whitby with Dan and Lucy he found a bundle of letters on his doormat. They were bound with a piece of yellowing string. All had been written on a lavender-colored paper. All were open and from the look of them had been read many times, except the top one, which was almost pristine. They were in his wife’s handwriting.

On top, and sealed, was a manila envelope. He tore it open.

Dear Mr. Pepper,

I enclose here some letters sent to me by Miriam many years ago. They are probably more use to you than they are to me.

Sometimes you hold on to things, not because you want to keep them, but because they are difficult to let go. I hope they answer some of your questions about your wife.

I would appreciate if you do not contact me again, but I am sorry for you and your family’s loss.

Sonny Yardley

“What are those?” Lucy asked as she and Dan tugged off their boots in the hallway.

“Oh, nothing,” Arthur said lightly. “Just something for me to read later.” He tucked the letters into his pocket. His wife had kept her past secret because that’s what she’d felt the need to do. He had been too curious to let her secret lie. But there were some things that should remain in the past, that his children didn’t need to know about—about Sonny and Martin Yardley.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get inside the house properly and get warm. Does anyone fancy a sausage sandwich with ketchup and a game of Snakes and Ladders?”

“Yes, please,” Lucy and Dan said in unison.

*

That night Arthur put on his pajamas and sat on the bed. The bundle of letters sat beside him. He tentatively picked them up. For only the briefest moment he considered not opening them, of letting them be.

He flicked through them, reading the dates on the postmarks. The one on top was the most recent. It looked as if it could have been mailed just yesterday. His hands shook as he opened the envelope, took out the letter and unfolded it.

January 1969

Dearest Sonny,

This letter is terribly difficult to write. Is it really over two years since I last put pen to paper to you? We used to write so often.

I do so miss our friendship and think about you often. However I have to accept that you no longer want me to be part of your life. Although this makes me terribly sad I take comfort in that it is what you want.

Throughout all my life, you and Martin were a constant. You were there for me when I was growing up, then shared in my troubles and travels. It is so hard to believe that Martin is gone. I am so truly sorry for my part in his death. I have tried to contact you so many times to convey my condolences and sorrow.

I still think of Martin and what might have been. The memories are both sweet and painful. I miss you both so very much.

After mourning for a long time, I am trying to move forward. And that is why I am writing to you one more time, my friend. I would not want you to hear my news from anyone else.

I have met a lovely man. His name is Arthur Pepper. We are engaged and will be married in York in May this year.

He is quiet and kind. He is steady and he loves me. We share a quiet kind of love. The simple things in life now bring me pleasure. My days of searching are over. I no longer have a desire to be anywhere but home. And my home shall be with him.

I have not told Arthur about Martin and I have decided not to do so. This is no disrespect to your brother’s memory, but rather an effort for me to not live in the past and to take small steps toward the future. I do not want to forget the past, only to move on from it.