“Well, if he loved you in return I think we’d see him here at your side, wouldn’t we? You’re even more stupid than I thought if you trust a London man at his word.” Her mother looked as though she was beginnign to pity Evelyn. Evelyn knew there was no point in continuing this exchange.
“I’m very tired, Mother. Do you think I might go to bed now? We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Go on then, go. Annie’s in your room too.” Evelyn’s heart sank even further. Annie would fill the room with judgement and condemnation of Evelyn’s actions, which did not seem conducive to a restful night. And she felt as though she needed to rest. She was almost too tired to grieve for Edward tonight. Tomorrow, she knew, the pain would overtake her.
*
When the pain came, it did not subside. Although he had been a hollow shell of his former self for the last decade, Evelyn missed Edward horribly. He had been a constant presence in her life, even on his quietest and least communicative days. There had never been, she realised, a day in which she had been alive but Edward had not. Until now. Now he was gone.
There was still no sign of him. Every morning, men went out to search the coastline, particularly at the North Bay, where Edward could have been drawn by family memories of summer days. If he had thrown himself on the mercy of the waves there, it was almost impossible to judge where his body would have been carried. There were powerful currents in the water, as the estuary flowed around a sandbar and out into the open sea beween the rocky headlands. Perhaps he would be found one day, washed up miles away. Or maybe he would be lost forever.
On reflection, Evelyn preferred the latter. To vanish was more dignified somehow. It allowed Edward to join the ranks of his fallen comrades with their unknown and unmarked resting places. True, he would not have his name inscribed onto a memorial, but he was one of the war dead now. They did not need to find his earthly remains deposited on a beach.
Days passed, though Evelyn did not keep a real track of them. The New Year came and went without celebration. Evelyn gave a passing thought to Lilian, with her silly new dress. Had her New Year been the one she’d been anticipating so eagerly? Probably not, if Vernon had not relented towards her. Her sympathy for Lilian was only brief, until she remembered the last time she had seen her, the lies she had told the patrons in the Orchid. With hindsight, from this distance, it seemed astonishing that she could have prompted such a reaction. In light of what had happened to Edward, it seemed awfully trivial.
As days became weeks, Evelyn did not feel any more at home in West Coombe. Her family were polite, occasionaly almost seeming to care about her. But the sense of her betrayal was heavy in her home. They did not trust her. Not once did they ask her about London or her new friends. Not once did they suggest that she might want to go back. It was treated as an embarrasing incident not to be spoken about, to be forgotten, if not forgiven. Evelyn found it easier not to talk too much when she was with her family, adopting a sombre, taciturn diposition that could easily be taken for grief. She did grieve, but she also strove to protect herself from her family’s disapproval. She regained a routine of helping in the shop, of helping her mother with housework and cooking and the occasional walk along the harbourside. She did not feel like her old jaunts onto the cliffs. She did not spend time daydreaming or reading. When she was not working, she was mostly trying not to think.
Her heart ached for Edward. But she knew that his was not the only loss she was mourning. The more time passed, the more she began to wonder about Jos. She believed she could trust Dorothy to tell Jos what had happened. But she had not left a forwarding address, so even if Jos did want to write to her, she could not. Besides, what would such a letter be? A goodbye? Evelyn was not sure she could stand the finality of that. Despite everything, she still loved Jos. If those two nights and few glorious hours with Jos were all she was to be allowed, then they would have to sustain her for the rest of her life. She was fairly sure she would never love anyone else in the way she loved Jos. She was certain she could never love one of West Coombe’s men in anything like the same way. The thought repulsed her. There was only Jos now, and she was separated from her, perhaps forever.
Of course, it was entirely possible Jos would not want to write to her anyway. By now, she’d probably met a more interesting woman, or realised Evelyn was too naive and inexperienced for her. Or maybe she’d descended into the drinking again and didn’t care about anyone. Evelyn hoped she was happy. And she went on, knowing she was unlikely to ever be truly happy again. If only she could have talked it through with Edward. Asked him how a butterfly was supposed to fly when its wings had been crushed. He’d flown away himself now, leaving her stranded. She almost wished she could follow him.
*
The sea was dark, invisible in the night but for the white foam where it surged and crashed at the rocks on either side of the bay. The horizon was only perceptible because the sky was dark grey, not quite the deep black of the water. It was cold, the air full of spray. The sound of the waves and the wind in the trees on the cliffs above was all
