‘David? What is it?’ Velda had pleaded.
He had handed over a telegram, still unable to speak. It is with deep regret that I officially inform you that your son Sergeant First Class Joseph Jacklin has been missing since November 1st, 1950 as the result of participating in Korean operations. A letter containing further details will be forwarded to you at the earliest possible date. Please accept my sincere sympathy during this time of anxiety. Major General Charles H McCormack.
Whilst those around her had sagged down in sobbing, boneless heaps, Velda had been consumed with an ugly rage that had first reared its head following her mother’s death. Crushed by the vision of a future now lost, she had vented her anger on the house. In the handful of seconds before she had been restrained, anything within Velda’s reach had been obliterated. Tables had been turned over. Chairs had cracked the sitting room windows. The lower panels of internal doors had been kicked in. Ornaments and vases had lain in hundreds of pieces on the wooden floor.
‘Velda, stop crying and sit up. You need to take your pills,’ her sister, Beatrice said, handing her a handkerchief.
Velda wiped her eyes and opened them fully for the first time this morning. The wilting dread of another day hit her. Take her barbiturates. Take a bath. Take a walk. Back to bed. Doctor’s orders.
Beatrice was standing beside her, that same caring but supercilious smile looking down on her, as it had done ever since their mother had died in 1945. She was barely a year older than Velda, and yet had slipped somehow effortlessly into their late mother’s vacant role.
‘Here you go,’ Beatrice said, her uncurled fingers revealing the plump pink pill that Velda had to take twice a day. In her other hand was a glass of water.
Velda swallowed down the pill and watched expressionlessly as Beatrice pulled open the curtains. She needn’t have bothered—outside was a solid mass of drizzly grey.
‘We’ll need an umbrella for our walk today,’ Beatrice said brightly.
‘You can go by yourself,’ Velda uttered.
Beatrice emitted a short laugh. ‘Oh, come on; the fresh air will do you the world of good.’
‘You don’t actually want to go out in that, Beatrice,’ Velda replied. She had heard the doctor’s orders—that she shouldn’t be left alone—spoken over her in bed, as though she were some kind of uncomprehending infant.
‘Of course I do,’ she retorted, trotting over to Velda’s wardrobe and pulling open one of the doors. ‘How about this today?’ Beatrice held out a blue and white gingham dress. ‘I’ve always loved this one.’
‘Sure,’ Velda said dismissively. She had learned that it was easier to just accept Beatrice’s suggestions rather than to question them.
‘Excellent—do you want me to help you get dressed?’
‘I can manage,’ Velda answered.
‘See you downstairs, then,’ Beatrice said. With a twirl of her skirt, she left the room.
She took her time getting ready. What was the hurry? She dressed, brushed her teeth and styled her hair—but for what, or whom? It did her good, Beatrice always insisted, to make herself presentable and take care of her appearance. Downstairs, she found a cup of coffee waiting for her and Beatrice sitting upright with her chest pushed outwards, her face beaming. How she maintained this constant sunny disposition was beyond Velda’s understanding.
Velda went towards her usual armchair but Beatrice raised a hand. ‘Don’t sit down—you’ve got a guest.’
‘Where? Who?’
‘In the dining room. It’s David Jacklin.’
‘Oh my God,’ Velda muttered, the blood draining from her face. She suddenly felt weak and fragile, as if she were made of thin glass that might shatter at any moment.
‘Stay calm—I think it’s good news.’
‘What?’
‘Go see him.’
Velda’s legs were feathery and light, yet they managed to carry her across the hallway to the dining room. David stood from a chair with a wide grin on his face.
‘Velda! He’s alive! Joseph’s alive!’
‘Are you kidding?’ Velda yelled.
David held up a thick envelope. ‘We had this from him today—he’s coming home!’
Velda burst into tears and threw her arms around him. Joseph was alive and well. A thick dark shroud, that she hadn’t been aware had been encasing her body, suddenly fell away from her.
Her heart breathed again.
David broke their embrace and opened the envelope. ‘Here—there’s a letter for you.’
‘For me?’ Velda snatched the letter. She studied her name, scribed in his beautiful handwriting.
‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’ David laughed.
Velda took her time slicing into the envelope. Inside was a single sheet, short. My Dear Velda, Contrary to popular belief I’m actually alive. I’ve got a few holes where I shouldn’t have, but I’m still here. Listen, Velda, I know I should have listened to you. My time out here and all that’s gone on has taught me a few things. When I get home I’m going to divorce Audrey. I’m not expecting you to come running back, but it’s just something I need to do. I hope you’re taking good care of yourself. Yours, Joseph.
‘What’s he saying?’ David asked, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the letter.
Velda folded it over and smiled. ‘Nothing that concerns you, David Jacklin.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it—I’m Joseph’s postman today—I’ve got a few more deliveries to make. Next stop Audrey’s house.’ David grimaced. ‘I’m not sure how the news is going to go down over there.’
‘Audrey?’ Velda enquired, finally looking up from the envelope. ‘I can take hers for you—I’m going out that way.’
‘You sure? It’s the other side of town.’
Velda smiled. ‘Absolutely—Beatrice and I were just about to leave.’ Velda extended her hand for the letter.
David opened the packet, then stopped. ‘You despise Audrey. Are you
