I caught the bus to the station and sat staring sightlessly out of the window wondering if making love, even having a child by a man, was enough to hold him.
It took me forever to get home. I had settled back into the farmhouse with George of all people—no longer my enemy but my dear friend—and his devoted wife Violet, living with me while they decided if they would move to Swansea or turn one of the barns on the farm into a cottage. For the time being they would work the farm for me and George had plans for when Michael came home.
‘We’ll build this place up, Meryl, you’ll see.’ George was sitting at the kitchen table when I got in, his wellingtons full of the good earth of Carmarthen, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘Vi has settled now she knows we won’t be living in Mam’s house very much longer.’
‘Thank goodness for that!’ My words were heartfelt.
‘We’ll restock the animals and grow potatoes and root veg and soon we’ll all earn a good living from Jessie’s farm.’
The door was pushed open. ‘It’s only me, Mrs Jones.’ The girl from the village who cleaned for me came into the kitchen and eyed me with suspicion as she always did, especially when I forgot myself and spoke in German. She refused to use my married name, Frau Euler, and insisted calling me by my Welsh maiden name.
‘Morning, Glenys, how’s the goat?’ This was our one line of conversation: Glenys’s goat Smuttie. He was so wild I thought he should be called ‘Paddy Murphy’s Goat’, but the two loved each other like lovers.
‘Eatin’ my home up as usual, Mrs Jones.’ She tickled the baby’s cheek briefly and the baby grinned toothlessly. This courtesy over, Glenys rummaged under the sink for her cleaning things.
‘The bedrooms today, is it?’
‘That will be lovely, Glenys, thank you.’
‘I saw him today: Michael,’ I said to George, ‘they’re sending him back to Germany soon.’
‘That’s good,’ George said.
‘How can it be good?’
‘Well, he’ll be discharged and then he’ll come back to Wales. The Jerries have got nothing against Michael, mind, he served his country, so as far as they know he’s been a good German, crashed in “enemy” land, held in a prison camp till the end of the war. I wouldn’t mind betting he’ll get a medal.’
I brightened up. ‘You’re not as daft as you look.’
‘I’ve told you to stop saying sweet words to me, my wife will be getting jealous.’ George grinned as Violet came into the room with a tray of cocoa and some biscuits.
‘You two arguing again?’ She smiled lovingly at George.
I shook my head. ‘George is talking a lot of sense,’ I said, ‘he’s made me feel better now.’
Violet kissed George fondly on the brow. ‘You’re a good man, George,
I got up quietly, picked up my son and went to help Glenys with the bed linen.
Seventy-Five
Hari stood in the grass outside the prison camp looking out at nothing at all. Then she glimpsed her sister again; she seemed to be here almost every day. Meryl was still tiny, her slim figure showing no signs she’d had a child. Hari watched as Meryl walked towards the barbed wire fence. She saw Michael come towards the other side of the wire and her heart leapt with love for him.
And then anger like a black angel beat in her temples as she saw him, unaware of her, standing there in the shadows. He was talking with Meryl so sweetly, looking down at her from his great height with such love and tenderness that Hari gave an involuntary sob and then a guard came and shouted at Michael to go back inside. Since the escape the guards had to be more vigilant.
Meryl, her face white, saw her and, after a moment, came towards her, her baby wrapped in a Welsh shawl.
‘Hari—’ Meryl spoke tentatively—‘Hari, I love him.’
‘So do I.’ Hari heard the hard edge to her voice. ‘You have him and I don’t. You have his son, you’ve lived with Michael, married him, had the approval of his mother and his father, what more could you ask?’
‘I want your approval, Hari, I want your love. We’re sisters; blood of blood, just as the baby is blood of your blood. Look at him, Hari, please.’
Hari felt a red-hot anger sear through her head. She wanted to lash out and beat her sister senseless, obliterate any barrier to her love for Michael. She deliberately ignored the child.
‘Well, if Michael wants you he can have you and good luck to him, but remember this, little sister—’ Hari was appalled at her own bitterness—‘I had him first.’
‘You may still have him,’ Meryl said humbly. ‘I don’t know who he wants, I never did. Herr Euler said we should marry, for safety’s sake, so we got married.’
‘And then you slept together, obviously,’ Hari said, ‘so there was no immaculate conception was there?’
‘Of course not.’ Meryl’s cheeks were red. ‘We grew close; we loved together; it’s difficult not to when you lie in the same bed, but I never did know if I had his love, really had his love, or if he still pined after you.’
A tear slipped down her cheeks. ‘Even now he remarked about your lovely red hair and how the baby was so like you.’ She hung her head. ‘I can’t fight you, Hari. I’ve fought for my country, I’ve fooled the Germans and fought like a cat for my freedom and for my son, but I can’t fight you.’
Hari bit her lip. This was her little sister and all she said was true; she had been brave beyond the call of any young woman. Suddenly, she drew Meryl into her arms.
‘Oh Meryl, of course Michael loves you.’ And yet the few words her sister had just said about Michael heartened her, perhaps he still loved her, still wanted her, still cared. She looked down at the sleeping face of the baby and knew her hopes were selfish and vain.
As they stood there, the noise of banging and loud orders from the prison caught Hari’s attention. She drew a sharp breath. The prisoners were being lined up, the British guards were shouting orders. A German officer, clearly high-ranking, was drawing a cart with his possessions packed.
‘He’s being sent to another prison, or else sent back to Germany, if he’s lucky.’ Meryl had dried her tears and was looking anxiously at the other Germans in the group.
‘Why send him away at all?’ Hari asked, ‘I thought the men would be kept here long after the war.’
‘Some will.’ Meryl sounded tired, worldly-wise. ‘Von Rundstedt has committed no war crimes; he’ll go to Nuremberg and then go home. Less important prisoners, like Michael, will be sent back to Germany.’
She stared Hari in the face. ‘Then neither of us will have him. He might choose to live out his life in Hamburg.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying we might never see him again—don’t act duller than you are, Hari.’
‘But of course he’ll come back, he’ll want to see Jessie. Surely he’ll come home for her and his son, and you, of course.’ The words stuck in Hari’s throat, but the prospect of never seeing Michael again was too awful to contemplate.
‘Perhaps you’re right. Come on, take me back to Swansea to see the family and then I’m going back to the farmhouse.’
‘You’ll be alone.’
Meryl stared at her meaningfully. ‘I haven’t seen any of you come rushing to Carmarthen to see me or the baby.’ She sounded hurt. ‘Thank God for Vi and George.’
Meryl laughed suddenly, tearfully. ‘Poor George, seeing my private parts when he was bringing baby Michael into the world. You should have seen his face; he was redder than me and I was doing the pushing.’
Hari hugged her. ‘Come on then little sis—’ she gulped back the sob in her throat—‘let’s take you home.’
Together both girls walked away from the prison camp, unaware of a pair of anguished eyes staring after their receding figures.
