Philly
I cry when I read Ben’s name on that piece of paper.
And I have to fold my arms to stop myself from hugging Finn.
Then I unfold them and reach over to touch the letters, carved by his own hand all those years ago.
B.C. Delaney. My Ben. Found, at last. Or, at least, another piece of the jigsaw in the search for what happened to him. A big, important piece.
When, at last, I can speak again, I say, ‘Finn, you are absolutely brilliant! Where did you find this?’
‘In the moat, the grassy bit where the donkeys are. I went to look at the stones around the gates first. That’s where I found Bernard Leblanc .
But then I noticed there were some more stones with names carved on them down in the deeper bit and it seemed like the sort of place they might have let prisoners walk around for exercise in the past. It was probably fenced in then.
I had to climb down, and it was pretty steep.
I found Ben’s name almost straight away and I’d just had time to do the rubbing when the police appeared.
They made me climb back up, which was quite hard to do.
I scraped my knees a bit. And then they said a whole load of things in French very loudly, which I didn’t understand.
So I pointed at you on the bench because I thought you could come and translate. ’
‘He was here,’ I say. I’m still lost for words, really, taking it in. Tracing the letters of his name. He made his mark, left us a clue. Just like all those hundreds of other prisoners who’d carved their names into the stones over the centuries. ‘How did you know where to look?’
‘It was a hunch. I worked it out. I can show you, if you like. I made some assumptions and a hypothesis, and they turned out to be correct. I decided not to give up the search, even if you had.’
‘Thank you, Finn. You’re an absolute marvel.’ I can’t stop smiling through my tears.
‘So now we have to make some more deductions and work out what happened next.’
That sobers me up pretty quickly. Knowing Ben had been held in that prison isn’t good news. But then I suppose, knowing he’d been captured, there never was going to be any good news.
‘Oh Finn, I think we can guess. He wasn’t released, and the only other result of being imprisoned here would have been execution. Or death from starvation or disease.’
‘Well, maybe there are prison records. We can ask the policemen we met.’
I consider that for a moment. ‘I suppose you’re right. There may be something ...’ All of a sudden, I’m not sure I want to know. Perhaps it is enough, having his name. Knowing I’m close to him here.
‘You haven’t got Closure yet,’ Finn says. ‘So we need to keep searching. At least now we have some definite new evidence to go on.’
I sigh. ‘OK, we’ll go back to the police station on Monday and ask if there’s any way they can check the prison records from 1944. But my time is running out, you know, Finn.’
He nods. ‘Mum is coming home tomorrow. But that doesn’t mean you have to go home to England straight away. You can stay here with us for a bit while we search some more.’
I’m not sure that’s exactly what I meant, but I smile and nod. Then I haul myself to my feet and head through to the kitchen to make some Marmite sandwiches, which are about all I can manage to cobble together for our supper.
That evening, once I’ve given Finn his medication and seen him into his bed, I’m washing the plates and wiping down the surfaces in the kitchen when Dan returns. He’d gone back to Saint-Martin for the final supper with everyone from the sailing camp. It’s been a great success, by all accounts.
‘Thanks for doing that, Philly,’ he says. ‘In fact, thanks for everything. You’ve been an absolute wonder looking after Finn this week.’
‘Hmm, yes,’ I reply. ‘Apart from getting us both arrested, of course.’
He laughs. ‘Don’t worry, it was a minor incident in the big scheme of things. And what a result, him finding Ben’s name carved into the wall like that. It was worth risking being given a criminal record. I think even Kendra will agree.’
‘She must be looking forward to coming home tomorrow,’ I say.
He doesn’t reply, just turns away and opens the kitchen cupboard where the booze is kept. ‘Will you join me in a celebratory dram?’ he asks, taking down a bottle of whisky.
‘I’d love one.’
He pours generous measures into two glasses, and we go out to sit on the porch. The moonlight casts long shadows over the dunes, where the seagrass ripples gently in the night breeze.
We sip our drinks in silence, lost in our own thoughts.
Mine are of Ben, picturing him here on the island.
I wonder whether he could see the moon from the window of his cell in the prison, if it had one.
I wonder whether he would lift his face to let the sea wind caress it, thinking back to our walks on the Downs and those nights we spent together in our bedroom under the eaves of the cottage in Tangmere.
When Dan speaks, it pulls me out of my reverie. He sits slumped in his chair and his voice is low, the words so quiet that it takes a moment for them to register. ‘I’m afraid I’ll lose her, you know.’
I realise he’s talking about Kendra. I’m not sure how to reply, so I don’t. I just let him speak.
He takes another sip from his glass, swallows hard.
‘It’s a lot of pressure for her, being the breadwinner for the family now, while I take care of Finn.
She has such a talent and I know she loves her writing, but it’s still hard.
I wonder whether one day she might just decide there’s a far more glamorous life out there, go off on one of her writing trips and not come back. ’
I shake my head. ‘She would never do that. She’d never leave you and Finn.
I know she doesn’t have an easy job, but it looks to me like you have the hardest job of all.
Kendra knows that too. She appreciates everything you’ve sacrificed in your own career to take care of Finn.
There aren’t many fathers who could do what you’ve done. ’
He swallows again, and even in the darkened corner of the porch I can tell he’s choking back his emotions.
‘Thanks, Philly,’ he says. ‘I hope you’re right. To be honest, it puts a strain on our marriage, all of this.’
‘I can see that,’ I say. ‘It’s so tough, day in, day out.
I think the pair of you do a really good job, though.
The demands of parenting an autistic child are relentless.
But you’ve risen to the challenges of parenting Finn, and you’ve done it together.
And I know you will both carry on doing so, simply because you have to.
But you two are amazing parents and you have an amazing son.
You manage to stay sane, to keep going, to meet every drama and crisis as it arises.
I hope, as Finn gets older, the situation will evolve a bit.
I hope perhaps you’ll have a bit more time for yourselves. And for each other.’
He’s silent again for a while. Then he sits up a bit straighter, turning towards me and squaring his shoulders.
‘It helps a lot, having someone who sees it for what it is. We’ve become so cut off from the world we once knew that I think we lose the ability to do that, to see our situation through the eyes of someone sympathetic and understanding. There’s so much judgement.’
‘I know. But I suspect some of it is self-inflicted too.’ I keep my tone gentle, not wanting my words to come across as more of that criticism.
‘I think you’ll find that those who understand your situation are completely in awe of what you do.
After all, love is easy when it’s easy. What really counts is how you are able to continue to love in the face of hardship, when the chips are down. ’
He laughs softly. ‘There are very many people who don’t understand, though.’
‘And why on earth would they matter then? That’s their problem, not yours.
It’s up to them to look more carefully. Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes, as the saying goes.
There aren’t many who could walk even a few yards in yours and Kendra’s.
Let alone write a book, or organise a successful sailing camp for a challenging group of youngsters. ’
‘Thank you for that. For everything. We’re so grateful to you, Philly. You’ve made a real difference to all our lives in the short time you’ve been here. Finn’s as well as mine and Kendra’s.’
I raise my glass to him. ‘You have my wholehearted admiration. All three of you.’ Then I drain the remains of my whisky. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, Dan, I’ll be off to my bed. It’s been a most eventful day, one way and another.’
As I attempt to haul myself to my feet, he stands and offers me a hand.
I take it. ‘You know, Dan, one of the hardest things we all have to learn to do in life is to ask for help. And accept it when it’s offered.
But helping one another is surely why we’re put on this planet.
’ I give his hand an extra squeeze before I let it go, pressing home my point.
Then I make my way back into the house, leaving him there, sitting alone in the darkness. But, I hope, also giving him the gift that Ben gave me all those years ago. The gift of knowing that, no matter how dark the night, we are never really alone when we are loved.
‘Well, you two certainly have been busy while I’ve been away,’ Kendra says. Finn and I were sitting on the porch, waiting, when Dan pulled the car into the drive having been to pick her up from the airport. He’d clearly briefed her on the journey home about our little run-in with the gendarmes .
‘How was the writing course?’ I ask.
‘It was great! I learned a lot and I’ve come up with several new ideas that I’m keen to get on with. But first I need to finish writing your story, Philly. I understand Finn’s found some evidence that Ben was imprisoned here on the island.’
We have the rubbing of Ben’s name ready to show her – neatly laminated, of course – and once we’ve told her the full story of how he’d worked out where to look, she and Dan both agree to come with us to the Gendarmerie the next morning.
‘But we all need to be on our best behaviour,’ she warns. ‘No more getting arrested, OK?’
‘OK, Mum,’ Finn replies.
‘Actually, I was talking to Philly,’ she says.
Honestly, hearing that boy’s laugh is one of the best things there is. And so is watching the expressions on his parents’ faces as they relax their guard for once and join in.