needed.
I remember 6th June which became known as D-Day, the start of the Normandy landings, when the allied army invaded the Continent again, this time in France. Now the final victory was in view. The war didn’t end officially until the following year but D-Day was the beginning of the end, and people sensed it, pouring into the streets to sing and hold hands, looking to the future with glad hearts.
We were there, too, standing with our arms about each other, trying to rejoice with the others. I was determined to put a brave face on it for your sake, but when I glanced up I found you looking down at me with an expression of such love and concern that I felt closer to you than ever before. That night my happiness had nothing to do with the looming end of the war. It came from knowing that I came first with you.
For a while we feared that I couldn’t have another baby, and I’ll never forget how tenderly you assured me that you didn’t care about that, as long as you had me. But then we found I was pregnant again, and before long we had Lilian. The following year Terry joined us. You wouldn’t admit how proud you were to have a son. People were just beginning to talk about women’s lib and you didn’t want to appear old-fashioned. So you tried to seem casual, but I knew you were bursting with pride and I had a little laugh-secretly, of course.
But no happiness is ever untroubled. The following year Polly was born and it seemed we could ask for no more. She was your favourite. According to Dad, it was because she looked like me. When she died suddenly, just before her first birthday, I thought you, too, would die. I believe you wanted to, although you never said so. We didn’t talk about it, just held each other in silence, night after night.
Your health improved. You got much of your strength back and Dad made you a partner in the garage. As he got older he eased off a bit, doing less mechanical work and helping to look after the children so that I was able to go back to work at the hospital. You didn’t like my working. In those days a wife and mother was supposed to stay at home, but you said I must do whatever I thought right.
I think it helped that Mr Royce had got married to a beautiful girl twenty years his junior.
Once I’d started work you never mentioned it, never complained, even helped in the house to make my life easier. People who’d known you before the war were astonished. ‘You should have seen him back then,’ they’d say. ‘You’d never have thought he’d turn out like this.’
If you had a fault it was that you were always losing things. How many times did I hear you cry, ‘Dee, where’s my-?’ Heavens, but you were the untidiest man in the world! Still are, come to that.
For a while there were five of us in that little house and it was very crowded, but we were happy, and when Dad died we really missed him. We watched our children grow up and make their own lives, and then we were alone for the first time.
Some parents are devastated when their young fly the nest, but you said it was like being newlyweds. We were in our fifties by then, but you were right.
What a time we had! We got quite exhausted. We thought of having a honeymoon, because we hadn’t had one the first time, but in the end we just locked the doors and had a honeymoon at home.
Then, in a strange way, we became parents again. Lilian gave birth to Pippa just when she was getting ready to go back to work, and she was glad when we offered to help out. We cared for Pippa part-time until she started school. And when she was a teenager we took her in because she and Lilian couldn’t live in the same house without squabbling. And now it’s a joy to have her here, our extra ‘daughter’, caring for us and understanding us better than anyone else.
I told her about having our ‘honeymoon’ at home, and she was scandalised. She thinks it’s not a honeymoon unless you go away and we should have taken that trip to Brighton that we once talked about. Perhaps she’s right. Is it too late? We’ve done everything else, could we still manage that, too? Oh, yes, let’s do it. Let’s have one last wonderful fling!
‘Are you crazy?’ Lilian demanded.
‘No, they’re crazy,’ Pippa laughed. ‘And why shouldn’t they be?’
‘Brighton? At their age?’
‘They won’t do anything energetic, just sit in the sun. I’ll be there to take care of them, and I’ll bring them home safely. Promise.’
A week later she drove Mark and Dee to the seaside resort in a trip that was planned to be as similar as possible to the one they would have taken years before. They stayed in a tiny bed and breakfast near the seafront and spent each day strolling gently along the promenade, or sitting in deckchairs on the beach. At these times Pippa moved away far enough to give them privacy, but always kept them in sight in case they needed her.
‘I really envy you two,’ she said once, when she’d just finished making them comfortable. ‘The way you are together-it’s wonderful.’
‘And one day it will be wonderful for you,’ Dee promised. ‘With the right man.’
‘No.’ Pippa shook her head. ‘Not now. I’m finished with all that.’
‘And you’re going to spend the rest of your life like this?’ Dee demanded. ‘Doing dead-end jobs and turning your back on love? I’m not going to let that happen. I’ve got plans for you, my girl. I’ve left you some money in my will, but only on condition you train for a proper career. No, don’t argue.’
‘But Gran, I-’
‘Listen my darling; Grandpa and I planned this together. We’ve had a wonderful marriage and we can’t bear to think of you losing out, when we want you to be as complete and fulfilled as we’ve been. Let us have the peace of knowing that we did our best to help you, and then we’ll always be part of your life.’
‘You’ll always be part of it anyway. You know that.’
‘You obey your Gran,’ Mark said contentedly. ‘I always have.’
‘I’ll-think about it.’
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ Dee said. ‘Be off with you, now.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
She kissed them both and strolled away to the water’s edge, where she could paddle, yet still look up the beach and keep a protective eye on them as they sat in contented silence, eyes closed, faces raised to the sun, their hands entwined, like their hearts. This was how love ought to be.
I don’t think it will ever be like that for me, Gran, whatever you say, she thought. But you’re so convinced that you make me think I might be wrong. If, one day, a man comes along who helps me forget the past, maybe it will work out between us, because I’ll have my memories of you and Grandpa to remind me to hope and believe. I’ll never forget what you and he have taught me, and I thank you both with all my heart.
