The Only Story(12)

‘After that she took care of her father devotedly. Became interested in dogs. Had a go at breeding them. Learnt how to pass the time. That’s one of the things about life. We’re all just looking for a place of safety. And if you don’t find one, then you have to learn how to pass the time.’

I don’t think this will ever be my problem. Life is just too full and always will be.

‘Poor old Joan,’ I say. ‘I’d never have guessed.’

‘She cheats at crosswords.’

This seems a non sequitur to me.

‘What?’

‘She cheats at crosswords. She does them out of books. She once told me that if she gets stuck, she fills in any old word, as long as it’s the right number of letters.’

‘But that defeats the whole purpose … and anyway, all the answers are in the back of those books.’ I am at a loss, so just repeat, ‘Poor old Joan.’

‘Yes and no. Yes and no. But don’t ever forget, young Master Paul. Everyone has their love story. Everyone. It may have been a fiasco, it may have fizzled out, it may never even have got going, it may have been all in the mind, that doesn’t make it any less real. Sometimes, it makes it more real. Sometimes, you see a couple, and they seem bored witless with one another, and you can’t imagine them having anything in common, or why they’re still living together. But it’s not just habit or complacency or convention or anything like that. It’s because once, they had their love story. Everyone does. It’s the only story.’

I don’t answer. I feel rebuked. Not rebuked by Susan. Rebuked by life.

That evening, I looked at my parents and paid attention to everything they said to one another. I tried to imagine that they too had had their love story. Once upon a time. But I couldn’t get anywhere with that. Then I tried imagining that each had had their love story, but separately, either before marriage or perhaps – even more thrillingly – during it. But I couldn’t make that work either, so I gave up. I found myself wondering instead if, like Joan, I would one day have an act of my own, an act designed to deflect curiosity. Who could tell?

Then I went back and tried to imagine how it might have been for my parents in those years before I had existed. I picture them starting off together, side by side, hand in hand, happy, confident, strolling down some gentle, soft, grassy furrow. All is verdant and the view extensive; there seems to be no hurry. Then, as life proceeds, in its normal, daily, unthreatening way, the furrow very slowly deepens, and the green becomes flecked with brown. A little further on – a decade or two – and the earth is heaped higher on either side, and they are unable to see over the top. And now there is no escape, no turning back. There is only the sky above, and ever-higher walls of brown earth, threatening to entomb them.

Whatever happened, I wasn’t going to be a furrow-dweller. Or a breeder of dogs.

‘What you have to understand is this,’ she says. ‘There were three of us. The boys got the education – that’s how it was. Philip’s took him all the way, but the money for Alec ran out when he was fifteen. Alec was the one I was closest to. Everyone adored Alec, he was just the best. Naturally, he joined up as soon as he could, that’s what the best ones did. The Air Force. He ended up flying Sunderlands. They’re flying boats. They used to go out on long patrols over the Atlantic, looking for U-boats. Thirteen hours at a time. They gave them pills to help them keep going. No, that’s nothing to do with it.

‘So, you see, on his last leave, he took me to supper. Nowhere posh, just a Corner House. And he took my hands in his and said, “Sue darling, they’re complicated beasts, those Sunderlands, and I often don’t think I’m up to it. They’re too bloody complicated, and sometimes, when you’re out there over the water, and it all looks the same, hour after hour, you’ve no idea where you are, and sometimes even the navigator doesn’t either. I always say a prayer at take-off and landing. I don’t believe, but I say a prayer nevertheless. And every time I’m just as bloody scared as the time before. Right, I’ve got that off my chest. Corners up from now on. Corners up in the Corner House.”

‘That was the last time I saw him. He was posted missing three weeks later. They never found a trace of his plane. And I always think of him out there, over the water, being scared.’

I put my arm around her. She shakes it loose, frowningly.

‘No, that’s not all. There always seemed to be these men around. It was wartime and you’d think they’d all be off fighting, but there was a jolly lot of them around at home, I can tell you. The lesser men. So there was Gerald, who couldn’t pass the medical, even though he tried twice, and then Gordon, who was in a reserved occupation, as he liked to say. Gerald was sweet-tempered and nice-looking, and Gordon was a bit of a crosspatch, but anyway I just preferred dancing with Gerald. Then we got engaged, because, well, it was wartime and people did things like that then. I don’t think I was in love with Gerald, but he was a kind man, that’s for sure. And then he went and died of leukaemia. I told you that. It was beastly luck. So I thought I might as well marry Gordon. I thought it might make him less of a crosspatch. And that part of things didn’t work out, as you may have observed.’

‘But—’

‘So, you see, we’re a played-out generation. All the best ones went. We were left with the lesser ones. It’s always like that in war. That’s why it’s up to your generation now.’