Mitch lifted his head and gazed at the door again, before looking back at Claire. His body was relaxed and the frightened, staring look in his eyes had gone. He eased himself out of Claire’s arms and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ he said, making his way out onto the landing.
When he didn’t return, Claire got up. Slipping her arms down the sleeves of her dressing gown and pushing her feet into her slippers, she went to look for him. He was in the sitting room listening to the commentary of an ice-hockey game on the wireless. She sat on the settee next to him, tucked her feet under her and put her head on his shoulder. Mitch shifted his weight to give Claire more room and put his arms around her. Together, without speaking, they listened to the game.
Claire woke the following morning with a stiff neck. She stretched out her arm expecting Mitch to be next to her. He wasn’t there. ‘You’re already dressed,’ she said, as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee. She took a sip and made a grateful sound. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven-thirty. We’ve got to be at Dad’s place for nine.’
‘Half past seven? You should have woken me.’
‘I’ll get Aimée up, while you drink your coffee.’
Claire put the cup down on the table in front of the settee. ‘I’ll drink it when I’m dressed, if there’s time,’ she said, pushing herself up.
At the sitting room door, Claire glanced back at her husband. He looked strikingly handsome in his military uniform. He hadn’t worn the uniform for a while, but today he had important meetings to attend. It was also the first in-depth session with the esteemed Swiss psychiatrist who had promised to cure Mitch of shell shock, the debilitating illness that threatened to ruin his working life and his marriage.
Ruin his marriage? Wasn’t Simone - the woman her husband dreamed about, who he talked to in his sleep - already doing that? Last night wasn’t the first time he had said her name while asleep. But it was the first time he had cried and begged her to forgive him. Forgive him for what? Did they have a relationship, which Mitch had ended? Claire prayed he had ended it. Fear of losing the only man she had ever loved tore at her heart.
Mitch was a good-looking man. Claire had taken for granted how attractive he was. If she could see it, other women would see it. And now his hair had started to turn silver at the temples he looked distinguished as well as handsome. Claire wanted to know who Simone was. She wanted to ask Mitch about her, but his appointment with Professor Puel at the Louis Bertrand hospital was in two hours. Now was not the time.
Claire was worried that Aimée was becoming withdrawn because she wasn’t interacting with other children. She talked to the Education Officer about it. Perhaps Aimée could attend the base school during the week and see Miss Brewster on Saturdays and the occasional evening. The education officer was happy with the arrangement and found Aimée a place to start regular school at the end of October.
Claire had originally wanted Aimée to have a home tutor because she feared that being English, she wouldn’t be accepted by the other children. Her fears were unfounded. It was because she was English that the girls of Aimée’s age and younger wanted to be her friend. Aimée, soon back to full confidence, revelled in her popularity.
One of Aimée’s school friends, Betty, lived in the same apartment block. Betty’s father, also a captain in the RCAF, was working overseas, so with Alain working at the RCAF Airbase at St. Hubert’s, Claire got to know Betty’s mother Naomi.
Naomi drove Betty and Aimée to school each morning and afterwards, she and Claire would go to the shops, a café or to the cinema. In the afternoons, when the two friends collected their children from school they would have tea at Naomi’s apartment one day, at Claire’s the next, and on the third day they would go out for a treat. And on Saturday afternoons when Aimée had finished her studies with Miss Brewster they went to the park.
Claire could see why the Canadians called autumn the Fall. Being such a large country, Canada had big spacious parks, acres of dense woodland, and great maple trees that had been shedding leaves since mid-September. The grass in the small park near the apartment where they lived, green when they arrived, was now inches deep in blazing orange, rust-red and yellow leaves in every shape and size. Only the spruces remained green. Holding hands, Aimée and Betty ran ahead of Claire and Naomi, laughing and shouting and kicking up leaves.
Autumn felt more like winter. The winds were unusually strong for the time of year, and the temperature had fallen to an unseasonal low - often below zero during the night.
By early November Mitch had been seeing Professor Puel for seven weeks and according to the professor the treatment was working. One evening Mitch came into the sitting room smiling. He took a bottle of Canadian Club from the cupboard and poured himself and Claire a nightcap. ‘She’s asleep,’ he said, handing Claire her whiskey, before sitting down with his own. ‘Aimée is happy, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is.’ Claire looked at her husband and smiled. She hoped her reply reassured him. He had enough to do coping with the terrible memories the psychiatrist was unearthing. ‘What about you?’ she asked, ‘you seem more like your old self these days. The treatment must be working.’
‘I guess it is,’
