Chapter 13 #2
‘Whatever you need,’ he said. ‘Just say the word.’
Not that her own parents hadn’t been kind. They simply hadn’t known what to do or say. They were bewildered by the news.
‘Do come home, of course,’ her mother had offered, but Clementine knew her presence would be a worry, would disconcert and agitate them.
Elizabeth took it all in her stride. She knew exactly what Clementine needed at every minute of the day, and never avoided the subject.
People’s reactions were strange. Henrietta’s, for a start.
She hadn’t been to see her, as if a miscarriage was somehow catching – she was expecting too, two months ahead.
She hadn’t even telephoned. She had sent a magnificent bunch of white roses with a stiff little card: ‘Get well soon.’ Clementine had been irritated. She wasn’t ill.
‘People are very squeamish,’ said Elizabeth, ripping up the card on her behalf. ‘You feel as if it’s your duty to emerge from the experience unscathed and never to speak of it again.’
‘That’s exactly it!’ exclaimed Clementine.
‘I should know. I had several misses. Two before Edwin. One in between him and Diana. Then another before Alfie. So you see, I’m living proof that it doesn’t necessarily mean disaster.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Clementine. ‘About your babies.’
Elizabeth gave a thin smile. ‘You would think it would gird me for what was to come, wouldn’t you? But it didn’t, actually.’
She gave a little shrug. Clementine’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t even begin to imagine.
‘And I’m so sorry,’ she said, a catch in her voice. ‘About Edwin. You must have been very proud of him.’
It was all coming out in a tumble, but she’d never had the chance to speak about him before. She had no idea if she was saying the right thing. Elizabeth seemed to be in a trance as she listened.
‘You would have loved him,’ she said at last. ‘Everyone did. And thank you.’ She reached for Clementine’s hand. ‘Anyway, the important thing is for you to rest. I put you back in this room because I thought you’d like to have peace and quiet. For the time being, at least.’
Clementine hadn’t considered how she would feel about sharing a bed with Alfie again.
It was thoughtful of Elizabeth to recognise she might want privacy for the time being, and to put her back in the pretty bedroom she’d had that first night.
It would be strange, for she loved being in bed with him, the scent and the heat of him next to her, and they usually made love every night, always before they went to sleep, and often again when they woke, even once she became pregnant.
But for now, she was grateful to be treated like an invalid.
She needed time to get to know her body again and to decide when she was ready.
She had wanted to ask Sister Milner when the time would be right, but she hadn’t wanted to seem prurient.
‘You’ll be seeing the doctor in four weeks, so best keep yourself to yourself until then,’ was all the nurse had told her.
And actually, Alfie went back up to town after two days, which was a relief because he’d been following her around like a little shadow, asking her if she was all right every two minutes.
‘Darling, don’t breathe down Clementine’s neck.
If anything goes wrong, Dr Boxer can be here in a trice.
Go back to work and come home at the weekend.
’ Elizabeth was very firm with him, and Clementine felt relieved.
The last thing she wanted was to push him away when he was so very caring, but she was fine. She needed to be quiet, that was all.
Diana’s reaction was the most disconcerting. She had rushed into Clementine’s bedroom, her hair and eyes wild, and grabbed her hands.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She could barely speak, she was crying so much.
Clementine was puzzled. It was strange for her to be so emotional, given that she’d kept Clementine very firmly at arm’s length since the wedding.
Why was she so upset? Or was she like Alfie, her grief ready to erupt at the slightest provocation?
She consoled her sister-in-law, thinking it was as if Diana had lost a baby, not her.
Diana headed back to Birch Farm, staring at the road ahead through the windscreen, her stomach churning. She didn’t really believe she’d caused it. But the very fact she’d had such wicked thoughts about the baby, when she’d first heard about it, made her feel sick with guilt.
She’d been furious when she’d found out Clementine was expecting.
Though not surprised. Of course Clementine had caught straight away.
That’s the kind of person she was. Lucky.
Everything fell into her lap. No doubt Alfie had only had to look at her to get her pregnant.
When she’d heard the news, Diana had wondered if she’d already been expecting when they got married.
Was that why it had all happened so quickly?
Either way it wasn’t bloody fair. Maybe she’d lose it, she had thought spitefully, then felt shocked that she could think something so awful.
But she was awful. She knew she was, by the way people looked at her.
Her mother especially. Elizabeth couldn’t hide the irritation on her face sometimes, especially when they rubbed each other up the wrong way.
Diana couldn’t help provoking her. She could feel herself doing it.
She was like that poem from Alice in Wonderland.
She only did it to annoy, because it was the only way she ever got any attention. Being nice never got her any.
When had she turned into that kind of a person?
She hadn’t been difficult as a small child.
She had danced through Foxwood like a little sunbeam, delighting everyone.
But when Edwin had gone, everything changed.
Her world was never going to be the same.
Her beloved brother was never going to twirl her around and tell her she looked beautiful.
Marrying Rory had seemed the best solution.
A neighbouring farmer, pretty well off, easy enough to keep happy.
And she’d thrown herself into the horses, because at least they gave her a reason to get up in the morning, at least they needed her, and she could hide behind them, pretend she had a purpose, even though every day she became more and more unsure of the world and her place in it.
For after a year, when there was no sign of a baby, she convinced herself that God, or whoever, was determined there should not be anyone else like her in the world because there was enough ugliness already.
And now, whenever Rory lumbered in and asked for a cuddle – his word for it – her stomach lurched, not because she found him repulsive, but because she found herself repulsive. And she pushed him away. That wasn’t fair on him but she couldn’t think what to say to explain herself.
She was a misfit, she thought. Even Clementine fitted into the family better than she did.
She tried very hard to hate her but it was impossible, because she was incredibly nice and not in a sickly way either, because you could easily hate someone for being cloying.
What was wrong with her? she wondered for the millionth time.
The trouble was, she didn’t know what she wanted.
She thought about the last time she’d felt happy.
During the war, she decided, which was odd, but it had given her purpose, working at the factory, and she’d felt like someone, and her father had taken notice of her, which he didn’t now, not really.
He wasn’t horrible to her, but they weren’t close like they had been when they’d worked together, rallying the troops.
And she knew that was partly her fault, for keeping her distance and being tricky.
She knew jolly well that a baby would solve all that, because they always did, they were like glue, but the thought of deciding that’s what she wanted and then trying again and then still not getting pregnant was a horrible prospect.
She wasn’t brave enough for month after month of waiting and wondering.
She sighed. If only Edwin was still here, she could talk to him. He’d always listened to her, and given her good advice. She certainly couldn’t talk to Alfie about anything like that. They weren’t nearly as close as she and Edwin had been.
She missed him so much, she thought, tears blurring her eyes again as she turned into the drive of Birch Farm.
That was the root of it, of course. How could she ever be truly happy again without Edwin around, teasing her, making her laugh, understanding her?
That was when something inside her had broken, the day he died.