The Secret Notebook Page 10
It was only now that Izzie realised how much trust that Nan and Grandpop had had in Justin.
And her.
It occurred to her too that the roles people played in one another’s lives changed, and whatever had happened in the past between herself and Justin, he remained a link with Nan and Grandpop. They had been such a huge, happy part of her life.
It was still difficult to accept the fact that Justin had let her down without any attempt at an explanation, and at the same time it was increasingly difficult to deny the attraction that seemed to pull her towards him even now. She didn’t know if she could accept that part of her past, look beyond to the friendship they were forging anew now, but she did know that, at the very least, she wanted some time with Justin. That deep inside part of her ached to forgive him, but another part of her didn’t know whether he would hurt her all over again if she let down her guard.
She suspected he might still have the power to do so if she let herself be drawn too close to him – the saying ‘like a moth to a flame’ flittered into her thoughts…
Chapter Nine
Molly
Blackpool, Saturday January 29, 1944
My Dearest Molly,
* * *
Here’s the letter I promised, written two days after my first. I keep wondering if you’ve considered whether to marry me, and how you and the baby are. I remember walking close to you and Joe when you suggested visiting the sand dunes, going for rides on the trams, grabbing an ice cream from Luigi’s, going to have a look at the donkeys, the Pleasure Beach, paddling in the sea. As far as I know, I don’t think the two of you managed many of those things. I would really like to do all of them with you.
* * *
I have to go soon so this will make today’s post. I will write again very soon in a couple of days and hope that you will write to me and let me know your decision – or if you don’t want me, then please, still let me know how you are? Are you still working as hard at the Bing Lea? Is your stepmother still ruling the roost?
* * *
With fondest wishes,
* * *
Jack Blackshaw
A rough copy of my reply:
Dear Jack,
* * *
I am touched by your offer of marriage. It’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done. Enid speaks often about local girls who’ve ended up in the family way outside of marriage. She told me she would throw me out if it happens to me, and she repeats it over and over. This may be why I want to accept. I’m afraid I’ll be offering little to you besides affection in return for such a huge commitment from you. I’m concerned that you may regret marrying me. And it doesn’t seem fair to you above anything else.
* * *
If I’m being completely selfish, then yes, please, I would love to marry you. But if I stop to consider you – then is it fair? I would always take care of you and treasure you as my husband, I can promise you that. Will you think about my concerns before you fully commit, Jack? The last thing I want to do is accept and disappoint you in any way, or make you unhappy.
* * *
Whatever you decide, I would love to see you if you can visit? And I’ll abide with any decision you make. It is always a treat to hear from you by letter, too, it is like a ray of sunshine warming up a dreary day. And I am keeping well, thanks, I think being busy all the time helps me. I’d like to join the Red Cross along with Dora, even if it is just to roll bandages for now. I will ask if they need help with that.
* * *
Dora is still seeing Matt, the American who you met when we all walked along the prom together. He takes her dancing to the Tower or the Winter Gardens on a Saturday night, and sometimes I go along too. He brings chocolate and other gifts, and last week he brought his Box Brownie camera. Matt showed me how to take pictures so that I could photograph him and Dora together. Dora is looking forward to having a photo of him, and he said he would get one for himself too. I hope the photos turn out well. They both love the sketches you did for them, by the way.
* * *
Enid is shouting that I need to help her with serving now, so I had better go and bang the gong! I’ll write again in a day or so and look forward to hearing from you, Jack. I am very grateful for you writing and feel eager to get another letter from you.
* * *
Please keep safe.
* * *
Yours affectionately,
* * *
Molly Webster.
My Dear Diary, I feel something I didn’t think I would ever feel again when I write to Jack. I feel hope – and an inkling of joy. I also feel an amazing sense of gratefulness that Jack should care enough to write, and even more that he should offer to marry me. What is wonderful is that when Jack says he will send a letter, I feel sure he will. He seems to say what he means and mean what he says.
My dad used to be like that, too.
Dear God, keep Jack safe, and his family in Manchester too. And Joe. I wrote his name and it didn’t hurt much; the anger I had towards him is less now. I think it was the thought of being thrown out of home or having to settle for marriage to Denis that fed the panic and anger before Jack stepped in.
I make sure, Dear Diary, that I am working in the front room, so I can see out of the dining room window when the postie makes her way up the road.
I don’t want Enid to know that I look forward to Jack’s letters; I’m afraid if she knew about them, she may hide them, or God forbid, burn them.
My Dearest Molly,
* * *
Hopefully, the next time I write I will be able to let you know a date when I’ll visit.
* * *
Thank you for your answer. I am very happy that you have said yes to marrying me. I did consider your concerns, but I have a strong feeling that everything will work well with us both and the baby. I don’t want to frighten you off, but from the moment you shook my hand, I felt something for you. I’ve a feeling Joe jumped in and charmed you because I let slip that I wanted to pursue you myself. He’s always been like that, wanting whatever I want for himself, and he’ll do anything he can to get it.
* * *
When I read about the photographs of Dora and Matt, I thought how much I wanted a photo of you. I want to carry your photo and show it to my friends so they can see how beautiful you are and how lucky I am, but mostly so I can just look whenever I’ve a mind to. At the moment I carry a small pencil sketch I did of you on one of the nights you joined me and the others in the front room for a game of cards. It makes me smile, but I would love a photo.
* * *
I think about you a lot and hope that we can be together before long, that this war will end soon…
* * *
My news here is that we smoke and play cards and football, but most of the time we are kept busy. There’re always so many new things to learn and so much equipment to repair.
* * *
I have to stop myself from telling you where I am and any more about what I’m doing, the censors cut any of those things out of our letters in case they fall into the wrong hands.
* * *
I have a friend in South Shore who said I can bunk at his whenever I visit. He moved there from Manchester with his parents, and says I can sleep in his lounge if he’s no beds free; he’s done that for other visitors. He has RAF billeted with him most of the time, like your stepmother. My friend took evacuees back in 1939, from Manchester, mostly, but they went back home later the same year because nothing happened, you know, when everyone called it the phoney war.
* * *
That seems like a long time ago. It doesn’t feel phoney any longer.
* * *
I’ll think of you often and hope you will write soon.
* * *
With fondest love,
* * *
Jack Blackshaw.
My Dearest Molly,
* * *
This is just a very quick letter to let you know I can get a pass for the end of February, on
the 26th. My pass is only forty-eight hours; I would have to leave on the 28th. I hope that will give us time to be married.
* * *
Stan in our squadron managed to marry his sweetheart when he had a weekend pass, so hopefully it can be done.
* * *
If this can be, let me know ASAP and I’ll contact Ma, who can organise the reading of the Banns in our church at home; that’s what Stan did. Could you do the same at yours?
* * *
I look forward to hearing from you and seeing you very soon, Molly.
* * *
With fondest love,
* * *
Jack.
My Dear Jack,
* * *
It makes me so happy that you always keep your word. Your letters lift my spirits.
* * *
For years I have had my late mum’s wedding dress in an old suitcase under my bed. I will try it on and if needs be, alter it to fit. Dora will help if I struggle with that – and her mum is kind, I’m sure she’ll help too.
* * *
I’ve just dashed over to the church and spoken to our vicar, he can perform the ceremony at midday on the 26th, if you can be here by then? Does that suit you? The Banns will be read on the first three Sundays in February. Do you mind if I tell Dora? I will have to tell Enid soon. Do you want me to write to your mother and father and invite them? Let me know?
* * *
With love and affection,
* * *
Molly.
Blackpool, Thursday February 3, 1944
My Dear Diary, war makes folk realise how precious time is. In the same way, expecting a baby makes me very aware of the passing of the same time that I used to drift through. I have tried the dress and it fits as, fortunately, it is a straight up and down style, ending at the ankles, with capped sleeves and a gauze shawl with a fringe that can be worn over the shoulders, or in a loose knot around the hips. I took Dora into my confidence about the upcoming wedding but didn’t mention any reason other than the sad losses we hear about every single day and the need to make the most of time. She thinks the dress is fine as it is, and although she said she was bursting to tell her mum about the wedding, she won’t. She promised. Just until I’ve told Enid though. I will do that soon.
I carried on arranging the things that I could without Jack’s final okay, and just hoped it would all come together all right.
Blackpool, Thursday February 10, 1944
Dear Diary, I was relieved to hear from Jack. I know folk talk about post taking a while, but I had begun to feel nervous. The date is only just over two weeks away and there’s a lot to do.
My Dear Molly,
* * *
I’ll be in Blackpool before noon on Saturday the 26th. I’ll go straight to the church as I won’t have much time before that to do owt else, my train will be due in just before twelve, so hopefully there won’t be any hold ups.
* * *
Ma arranged to have the Banns read on the same three Sundays (first three in February) as they’ll be read at your local church. Sadly, Ma and Pa’s house has been badly damaged in an air raid and they’ve had to decamp to Oldham to live with my aunt. I’ve written to tell them we’ll be wed, but they say that travel is difficult for most. I imagine they would like to come, but’ll probably not make it. As time is running out and I need to get this off to post, I will have to let you know any other news from home on the day.
* * *
Stay safe and well, Molly, I look forward to seeing you very soon.
* * *
With fondest love, your husband to be.
* * *
Jack.
Chapter Ten
Izzie
Blackpool, Saturday July 1, 2017
Justin blew out, looked to Izzie and carefully set the precious letter written on thin paper down on top of the open notebook.
‘Hey.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘Are you okay reading this?’ His dark green eyes shone with concern and something twisted inside her in response.
‘Yes.’ Izzie’s voice was a bit hoarse with emotion. ‘I didn’t expect to … you know … feel everything so much. He was so kind, Grandpop.’
It moved her insides further because Justin’s hand remained covering hers; a tiny part of her wanted to throw it off, but the compulsion to relish his touch, the warm shocks travelling through her fingers and arm, spreading all through her – that compulsion won. She didn’t want to move a muscle in case he removed his hand. At the same time, she wondered if Justin felt anything at all.
At first, she didn’t quite have the nerve to look into his eyes again but then she did.
He smiled. ‘Okay?’
‘Thanks, yes.’ Her words were still hoarse and briefly she wondered how Justin knew her so well. Then she acknowledged that he probably knew her better than any other living soul now. ‘I’m good.’
Izzie reached out for the letter; she wanted to touch it, marvelling that the neat handwriting had survived intact all these years. Then, she folded it carefully and handed it back to Justin. He slid it back into the small envelope that was stitched in place on the page.
‘I wonder where Jack was when he wrote this? Whether he was cold or warm, hungry or full, tired or in danger when he wrote to Molly, I mean Nan.’
‘I think it’s fine to call your nan Molly whilst you read these.’
‘Yes, it does seem like two different people, doesn’t it? It makes me think, Justin, just how much things have altered. Beautiful, handwritten letters have been replaced by emails and text messages. Things were slower then. How many servicemen and women must have craved letters from home to keep their love alive, to keep their spirits up? It’s hard to imagine how much the letters meant to those fighting for their country, and to those at home who kept life ticking over like Nan – Molly. How beautiful that letters from Jack would bring her hope. It’s hard to imagine a text message doing that.’
‘Yeah,’ Justin said, ‘and photographs, just a single photograph was carried of loved ones, maybe kissed goodnight or for luck before a mission; these days, hundreds of photos are shared instantly online. Sometimes I delete dozens in a day when I’m on a job.’
‘It’s so different.’ Izzie glanced at Justin, and something in his eyes held her look; she thought there was a trace of sorrow, maybe pain in their depths.
A spear of sadness shot through her; she and Justin had written, phoned to keep in touch, but it had gradually dwindled to nothing. Dwindled in the months leading up to her twenty-third birthday…
How had that happened?
And so soon afterwards she had married Rufus…
Had it been too soon?
‘Izzie?’ Justin’s voice tugged her back to the here and now, where the emotion rose and pushed to the surface. Her throat ached with the effort of keeping down the rise of painful tears for what Justin had let go of so easily. ‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes.’ This time, she covered his hand, just briefly, and knew that familiar rush when he turned his fingers to squeeze her own in return. ‘Just emotional, you know.’
‘Thank goodness things seem to be going all right for them.’ Justin stifled a yawn and apologised, and Izzie handed him a postcard to use as a bookmark.
‘Shall we call it a night?’ Izzie asked. ‘I’m getting sleepy too.’
‘I’ve a free afternoon tomorrow. Do you want some more help here? Or would you like to go out – a long walk and dinner or something?
‘Yes, to everything.’ Izzie was done holding back. Even if she and Justin were only destined to be friends, she wanted to enjoy herself; walking and talking and dinner sounded perfect to her.
He laughed. ‘Hard to please, as always.’
They arranged that he’d call around at one, they’d work for an hour, then go out.
The following morning, Izzie hooked her fingertips around her trusty old rucksack, which she’d found buried deep within one of the eaves cupboards in the loft. She fancied t
he rucksack still held the scent of the sea and sand.
She’d forgotten that she’d stored an old, filled sketch pad in there; a wealth of her art school sketches. The drawing pad contained several pencil drawings of gnarly trees – one of her favourite subjects back then – and on the pages beneath those were sketches of another of her favourite subjects: Justin.