Page 117 of The Stranger in Room Six
Now
They pause while Belinda brews some tea for Mabel in a proper pot, pouring it into her special gold-and-silver Limoges china cup because it ‘tastes so much nicer’.
All this talking is thirsty, tiring work. Mabel had felt herself dropping off at times but now she can’t wait to shed this burden that has sat inside her for so long. It’s as though her friend (who is so much more than a carer) has revealed a door that Mabel had kept locked for years, but which is now ready to be opened. And it seems Belinda feels the same.
‘I’ve been thinking about Karen and forgiveness,’ says Belinda. ‘I know I should try to forgive her but I can’t. None of this would have happened if she’d stayed away from a married man, no matter which one of them had made the first move. I know it’s different but how did Britain manage to forgive after the war? How quickly did you all learn to even talk to Germans again or trade with them?’
‘Good question,’ replies Mabel. ‘It took some longer than others. I knew people who refused to buy German cars for years afterwards. Yet you must also remember that there were many Germans who didn’t support Hitler. In the end, I realized that you just have to move on.’
‘But what if you can’t forgive someone who hurt you and your family?’
‘The anger and bitterness gets to you in the end. It eats you up. You must let it go. Or you’ll kill yourself inside.’
‘Easier said than done,’ says Belinda.
‘True. To be honest, I’m still working on it. There is one thing that …’
She stops.
‘That what?’ asks Belinda.
Mabel gives what seems like a little shudder. ‘It doesn’t matter. In fact, I can’t even remember what I was going to say. That’s the thing about getting older. A thought can slip out of your head before it reaches your mouth.’
But she’s lying. Belinda is sure of it. There’s something in Mabel’s past that she is keeping to herself. And, somehow, Belinda must get it out of her if she’s to protect her own family.
80
1946
Mabel’s decision to run the Old Rectory for respite care proved to be one of the best of her life.
Looking after these poor souls who needed love and care after the war gave her a sense of purpose. Yet it could never ease the pain of not knowing where her son was (he would be three by now) or if his father was still alive. Mabel had, of course, written to the Red Cross to see if they knew where her love might be, but there was no trace of him. All over Europe, families were still desperately trying to reunite. But it was equally possible that Antonio had returned to Italy and made a new life for himself.
Meanwhile, Mabel had come to terms with her father’s new situation.
From his letters, he seemed very happy His wife was even expecting a baby. ‘I hope you can share in our joy,’ he wrote. His words were like a punch to her stomach. This baby would be his real flesh and blood – not like her.
‘Grow up,’ she said to herself. ‘You’re almost twenty now. Be happy for them and get on with your own life.’
So she threw herself into her convalescents, who seemed to be finding peace at the Old Rectory.
‘How did a young girl like you come to live in a beautiful place like this?’ asked a discharged soldier one day, as he sat in the conservatory, staring out at the sea. He had one leg propped up on a stool. The other ended just below the knee.
‘My aunt left it to me,’ she said. Of course, she could have told him that the aunt had really been her mother, but that wasn’t something to be shared with strangers. Mind you, this man did not seem like a stranger. From the moment he entered the doors of her gracious home, he had seemed different from the others. Her instinct told her that, like many, he’d been wounded emotionally as well as physically.
Yet there was also a steadiness about him that reassured her.
‘Did your parents live here too?’ he asked.
‘Actually, my mother and baby sister were killed in the London Blitz.’
‘I’m so sorry. How dreadful for you.’
Mabel bowed her head in acknowledgement. ‘I was sent to live here while my father went off to fight but then … Then my aunt died just as the war ended.’
The image of finding Clarissa’s body crumpled on the ground was imprinted on Mabel’s mind: the wordTRAITORunder the stone; the blood from the gunshot. No sign of a gun.
‘So you live in this big place on your own,’ he said, bringing her back to the present.
