The Secret Notebook Read online

  ‘Thanks. I have his number. I wanted to get involved myself, I think mainly because it was Nan’s and it feels good to have some direction back in my life.’

  ‘You mean since Rufus died?’

  It did seem strange when other folk mentioned him. Sometimes her brain wouldn’t supply the details of how anyone knew she’d been his wife. Of who belonged where and in which version of her life.

  ‘Yes.’ The inner pang of loss was still present, though diminishing.

  Linda nodded. ‘It sounds like a lot changed for you all around the same time, Izzie.’

  ‘It was a lot.’

  She saw understanding in Linda’s eyes – dark green, gold-speckled eyes, which were so much like Justin’s. ‘Didn’t your mother offer to fly over and keep you company?’

  ‘They were on a six-month cruise around the world at the time and David’s chest wasn’t good enough to fly. She’s not keen on coming back to this country, prefers South Africa.’

  ‘At the time you needed someone?’

  Izzie nodded, but took a deep breath, determined not to wallow.

  ‘I had Nan. I came up to visit her when I needed someone close to connect with. She had great hugs.’

  ‘Molly was an amazing lady. I’m sure you know she and my mother, Dora, were best friends during the war?’

  ‘Yes! And she said that when two properties in this street came up together for sale, your mum and dad, and my nan and Grandpop all sold up and moved here.’

  ‘Is Justin working at his home office today, Linda?’ Robert asked, taking off his outdoor shoes and wiggling his feet into navy fur lined moccasin slippers.

  ‘He’s got a couple of local weddings in the pipeline and he’s meeting up with the couples this morning. He said something about getting their photo lists.’

  ‘Do you see Justin every day?’ Izzie was curious. ‘It’s fab he lives close by.’

  ‘Usually it’s Sunday lunch here – or we eat out. If he’s in the country he visits regular. He’s been helping Robert with a few jobs lately, whilst he’s got more time at home.’

  Izzie finished her drink, then stood. ‘That was really good, thanks. I could stay and chatter all day, but I also can’t wait to try the steamer.’

  As Robert promised, the steamer sped up the removal of wallpaper and took the joint jarring out of the job too. Izzie lost all track of time, going great guns at stripping off the paper.

  The loud doorbell sounded and she opened the door to find Justin outside.

  ‘Justin, come in!’ She held the door wide, took a deep breath of wonderful fresh air – air that wasn’t heavy with the aroma of old wallpaper, glue, and steam.

  ‘You’re doing well!’ He nodded and looked around. ‘Good job, Izzie.’

  ‘Well, it’s so much easier with this.’ She held up the paddle before setting it down, turning it off at the plug. ‘I’ll clear this lot up then make us a brew.’ She was conscious that she likely looked a mess, but it was too late to worry about that.

  Justin scooped up a great armful of wallpaper and helped Izzie make short work of clearing up.

  Rain began to pound down, bouncing off the flagstones. ‘Maybe put off that walk again for an hour or two?’ Izzie said as she nodded out of the doorway. ‘Fancy a brew? A read?’

  ‘Sure, great idea.’

  They sat at the large kitchen table with Molly’s notebook opened between them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Molly

  Blackpool, Sunday May 28, 1944

  We sat around the large table bang slap in the middle of the kitchen at Marian and Bill’s. We’d enjoyed a hearty breakfast and were all relaxing with our refilled cups of tea.

  ‘It’s to be hoped Enid will sort some more help at the Bing Lea, Molly, before you pop.’

  I laughed at that expression. It was becoming more difficult to change umpteen beds every Saturday morning, but it wasn’t impossible by any means. Not yet. ‘I’m a way off yet, Marian.’

  ‘All the same, Molly, she needs to sort some proper help,’ Jack said. ‘Enid best get someone in place well before the baby arrives.’

  ‘I’ll collar her about it today. She’s got a widow friend from her ladies’ club, Agnes, she helped get the food and flowers ready for our wedding. She’s talked about giving her my old room and seeing if she wants to live in and work for the company.’

  ‘When’s the baby due?’ Marian asked.

  ‘At a guess, I’d say some time in September.’ I grimaced at my own words, but Marian’s face showed no censure.

  She ventured, ‘Did Enid make any bother about your dates?’

  ‘I was worried about telling her. She wasn’t too bad; she gave me one of her looks and said “Well, at least you’re wed. That’s a small mercy.”’

  Marian’s brow raised, then lowered. ‘Aye, well, as my old mam used to say, Molly, many a slip between cup and lip.’

  Marian sipped her tea. ‘I’ve got to admit, Bill, Dora and I could never tell you and your twin brother apart, Jack, I expect it’s probably cos I only saw you from a distance.’

  ‘Even our ma can’t tell us apart sometimes.’ Jack gave a short laugh. ‘You’re not alone, Marian, many a time we’ve been taken for one another.’

  ‘All that matters,’ I piped up then, ‘is I married the right one!’ I smiled and at the same time I reached across the table to cover Jack’s relaxed hand with my own. My words meant much more than any of the others could know. Things could have been so different for me and not in a good way if it wasn’t for this devilishly handsome man.

  Immediately as he felt my touch, he looked up and said, ‘Do you want to go out for a walk? Maybe a tram ride?’

  ‘Love to. Shall I help you square up quickly first, Marian?’

  ‘Off you pop, chick, this’ll take no time with Dora and Bill’s help.’

  Bill made a grunting kind of sound that was some way between laughter and complaint, and Dora sprang to her feet. ‘Matt’s coming to collect me at midday today and we’re going to go on the beach if it stays nice.’

  ‘Do you know where you’re going to be posted next, Jack?’ Marian asked, gathering pots whilst she spoke.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t. We’re not allowed to say either.’

  ‘Aye!’ Bill rose to his feet. ‘It’s as all these posters say: Loose lips lose lives. You can’t safely say anything. Mind you, I think it was a bit crazy taking out the street signs in Blackpool. When you see the Tower, it’s obvious that we’re in Blackpool.’

  We all laughed about that; it did seem a bit ridiculous. Photographs printed in the local paper even had the famous landmark blanked out.

  ‘Will you be having a spot of lunch with us before you get your train?’ Marian asked Jack. ‘I usually just do a few sandwiches on a Sunday.’

  ‘Yes, please. That’ll be grand.’

  The tide was out, so a lot of couples had found refuge on the beach, some relaxing, others paddling or walking beneath the piers, others lying down on the sand.

  Some locals had begun to complain to the newspapers that the beach was a ‘writhing mass of bodies up to no good’.

  I might have agreed once, but now, I completely understood. There was an edge to time spent with loved ones.

  At the back of my mind there was always the knowledge that saying goodbye was never far off, never knowing when I’d see Jack again … or worse, if. I thought, Dear Diary, that it was the same for so many servicemen and women and their spouses, lovers, husbands or sweethearts. Not knowing gave any time spent together an urgency, a sweet sadness that made every second precious.

  I was afraid of losing Jack to a stray bullet, an explosion, a prisoner of war camp, or that he would be shot down in an aircraft; the RAF’s losses were large and it seemed to me that their sorties were becoming more and more often.

  But when you were with someone you loved, you couldn’t voice these fears. Instead, you stayed in the moment and enjoyed and savoured your lover’s touch
, their kiss, their words.

  It seemed to me that I and others in the same boat grabbed what we could of life, be it food, love, money, even fun. There really was only the present.

  After our lunch with Marian and Bill, Jack and I walked rather leisurely, as though that would help time to go more slowly, but then we ended up having to run so Jack wouldn’t miss his train.

  Our goodbye was so brief. Too brief. His mouth covered mine in a fierce fast kiss, and then the train left, Jack leaning out of the window and waving until he was out of sight.

  Again, I watched as the train completely disappeared, leaving behind so many wives and girlfriends on the platform, all bathed in a fog of soot and steam.

  It feels like I’m living two lives. One, the humdrum yet perfectly fine daily work life in the boarding house, with a dance some Saturday nights. And the other an exciting love-life enjoyed in snatches of time, controlled by some unseen hand that let Jack have time away from his part in the war. A brief time.

  Time with me. His wife.

  It always takes a while to get over him leaving, and as soon as he leaves, I begin to look forward to the next visit; I think it’s the same for all those left at home whilst loved ones are away doing their bit for King and country. Like me, I think they must surely all yearn for the war to end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Molly

  Blackpool, Friday July 7, 1944

  Dear Diary,

  The baby is kicking and reminding me of his or her presence every day. Some days I can’t stop worrying about Jack long enough to enjoy the feeling. Until this morning, I hadn’t heard from him since he visited in May. Even Dora’s dad, Bill, asked ‘When’s your young man going to visit again? Is he due any leave?’

  I told him that Jack hadn’t written for a while and that I was hoping and praying he’s all right.

  Bill reassured me that there was probably a good reason and that I should keep on writing to Jack to keep his spirits up.

  Just hearing him say that helped, but I still spend a lot of time worrying whether Jack had been injured, wondering whether I would even hear if he did.

  Coincidentally, it was just after lunch today that a letter arrived from Jack. Dora dashed in with it on her way to work on the trams and apologised that she couldn’t stop.

  I shoved the letter deep into my apron pocket and then left Lilian in charge of the kitchen and nipped into the little back room, just for a few minutes, to read my letter alone and uninterrupted.

  My Dearest Molly,

  * * *

  I, like all the other chaps here, am wondering when we’ll get home. There had been talk of leave, of travel warrants, and weekends visiting loved ones, but that seems to have all stopped. No one knows why. It is warm here, at least, and I really look forward to walking on the prom with you in the lovely sea breeze. I promise as soon as I am able, I will visit you, and thank you for all your letters. They usually arrive in a bundle and they keep me going. There has been talk that our letters out do not arrive with any speed, but you must know that I write regularly, and they will arrive sooner or later.

  * * *

  I love you Molly, please always know that, and know that I will come and visit just as soon as I can. Look after yourself and our baby.

  * * *

  All my love always,

  * * *

  Jack.

  My insides tugged with emotion and I re-read his letter many times before tucking it in my apron pocket. A little thrill ran through me because I had Jack’s letter and could read it as many times as I wanted.

  Yet when I took a bite from my lunchtime sandwich, a lump swelled in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

  Jack’s letter, all the love it held – and knowing that he meant every word he wrote or said – made it hit me that I had no idea when I would see him again and neither did he. I wondered how that made him feel. It certainly made me feel emotional, but he was the one away from home. I sniffed, knew I should be grateful to hear from him, be grateful that he was still alive, but I wanted him home so badly, home safe for when his baby was born. We’d spent precious little time together so far and all I wanted was more, much more. I wanted time to bathe in his generous smile, see his blue eyes crinkle a bit at the corners; time to watch him whilst he carried out mundane chores like clearing the grate, and time to watch him sketch his incredibly life-like sketches.

  I heard Enid come in the front door and in order to make a quick exit and avoid any questions, I collected up the ration book for the boarding house as well as my own.

  ‘Going to the butcher’s, Mother.’ I put my head down in case my eyes were red and gave away my emotional state. Enid responded with, ‘Aye, don’t dally, time’s running on. I’m helping Agnes move into your old room, she’ll be an extra pair of helping hands. You’ll have to get the meal on.’

  I hadn’t heard from Jack for a long time until today, but it sounded as though my letters got through to him more easily than those from him. I thought that the next time I wrote I wouldn’t mention I hadn’t heard from him for so long, in case it worried him too much. He’d enough to think about.

  God, keep him safe.

  Back from the butcher’s and with potatoes prepared and bubbling away on the hob, I cleaned and scraped some beetroots and carrots, popping those too on top of the Aga in a separate pan.

  After turning over the chops, I stirred a drop of gravy browning into the dip. Just for a bit of fun, I cut out a chop shape from of a lump of stale bread about to go in a bread and butter pudding, and added it to the tray of chops after briefly toasting it on a long fork in front of the coal fire in the back room. I thought I’d take it over the road and add it to Bill’s plate tonight – a little extra covered in gravy, just for a giggle. I desperately needed some light relief.

  Thankfully, Bill and Marian were always up for a bit of fun. It struck me then too that they must worry about their son in the Navy; there were very few families who weren’t directly affected by the wretched war. I rested my hand on my restless baby bump and prayed that mine and Jack’s family would stay intact.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Wednesday September 27, 2017

  Izzie and Justin made their way onto the prom and walked to the tram stop. ‘You’ll have to show me your place sometime, Justin.’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s a tip at the moment though, I’ve had a wall down but it’s almost finished.’

  ‘We’re both in the same boat then, what with me decorating.’

  ‘Bit more mess at mine, I’ll show you when it’s less of a building site?’

  Within minutes, they’d agreed to jump on a tram and go all the way to Starr Gate, a trip they’d taken countless times as teenagers – both as friends and lovers. It was a trip that seemed like a good idea, an idea Izzie thought belatedly that neither of them thought through at the outset; would it shake precious memories loose?

  The tram made steady progress along the sea front, a warm, automated voice announcing the name of each stop. They made their way past North and Central Piers, and the Tower, the illuminations shifting slightly in the breeze from their high trapezes suspended from the tall lampposts. The light shows were a famous draw to visitors from early September to early November.

  ‘I’d love a walk through the lights, Justin, it’s a while since I’ve done that. Does it still get busy?’

  ‘Yeah it does. It’s still popular. Give me a shout if you want company?’

  ‘That’d be good.’ She smiled, felt warmth rising to her cheeks, ‘I remember Nan telling me the ‘lights’ were turned off during the war so that they didn’t map out the Blackpool coastline to enemy bombers…’

  She was silent for a while, enjoying the familiar sights of the sea front, ‘Looking back, Justin, it always seemed to be sunny.’

  ‘It did. It felt like we spent all our spare time on the sands back then,’ Justin agreed.

  So many days filled with laughter and fun, se
a, sand … and the friendship between herself and Justin that had unexpectedly ricocheted into something more…

  She let her thoughts drift back in time until they snagged on a memory from time in the sand dunes. Their small crowd had set up their daily camp on a flat dip between the humps of marram grass and sand, close to the dunes’ edge where the beach flattened out.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts.’ Justin’s voice broke into her reverie as the tram moved on from another stop and the deep automated voice advised passengers to press the button when they wished to leave the tram. Mingling passenger voices, some high, some deep, some childish and laced with laughter wove a lively background.

  ‘I was daydreaming,’ she responded honestly, ‘about drinking that strong beer Tony used to bring to the beach in his cool box.’

  He turned, his gaze meeting hers directly for a long moment. He seemed about to say something, but then just gave her a brief smile and turned to look out of the window again as the tram slowed to a halt beside South Pier. When the tram continued on its way, there were only half a dozen passengers including Izzie and Justin.

  As the tram hummed, Izzie let her mind wander down memory lane again.

  Back to their crowd and the times they’d shared…

  It’d been a hot day, they’d all swam, played ball in the sea and down on the flat sand, then they’d congregated back close to the dunes to share some beer Mick had carried along in a cooler.

  Whilst they drank and ate copious bags of crisps, Izzie sketched each of the friends in turn – three girls, Janey, Wendy and Kay, and four lads, Justin, Mick, Tony and Ian. She passed her sketch pad around the friends to have a look once she was done and they seemed pleasantly surprised at their likenesses.