The Secret Notebook Page 17

  ‘You’ve always been good, but these are beyond that, Justin, they’re breath-taking.’

  ‘Thanks, Izzie.’

  The next photo was one of a similar aspect, but the sun was setting behind the surrounding hills. A dark jetty drew the eye into the water, which reflected the pink and yellow blush from the sky. Above the vivid colours, the sky darkened into a delicious mixture of blue tinged with purple.

  ‘I’ve a meeting with the chap who wants these photos tomorrow, but I should be done around midday again if you want some company or help?’

  ‘Oh fab. Yes please.’

  ‘Show me how far you got, Izzie?’

  After looking around and seeing that she had finished stripping the lounge, front bedroom and hallway, Justin asked, ‘Do you want a lift into town, get what you need to do the job?’ For a moment, whilst he looked around, Izzie studied his features. Kind eyes, she thought as his gaze returned to her own face and he smiled. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan. We could grab some lunch here after?’ she suggested.

  Rolling her stiff shoulders, she gave a little grimace.

  ‘Found some muscles you didn’t know you had?’

  ‘Yup, I had a hot bath, but the effect has worn off now.’

  ‘I do a mean shoulder massage.’ He lifted a brow, eyes filled with fun.

  ‘I’m sorely tempted,’ she said. He’d given her shoulders some fabulous attention in the past, when she’d spent way too long drawing or painting, sat in the same position without moving.

  He gestured she should sit in the dining chair. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you read Molly’s notebook out loud to me and I’ll work on your aches.’

  Izzie could swear that only Justin could suggest that and send her insides into a whirl.

  She picked up their glasses and when he took one, Izzie clinked hers against his.

  ‘Deal.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Molly

  Blackpool, Thursday November 16, 1944

  It is now November, my Dear Diary, and I still have heard nothing from the RAF about where Jack might be.

  I wrote to them last week and asked if they had uncovered any more news of him, or if they hadn’t written specifically because they had no news.

  I told Marian and Enid what I was doing and they both said they were sure I would have heard if they had any news, and Enid reiterated it’s likely that no news was good news.

  It’s certainly better than bad news, but not knowing feels a bit like carrying around something that won’t stop eating away in my chest.

  I think I have to be grateful that no matter how worried I am it does not seem to affect me feeding Tom.

  On the advice of Dora, Marian and even Enid, for Tom’s sake I make sure to go for a long walk in the fresh air every day. Tom is now seven weeks old and bonny as all get up.

  Today I flipped back through these pages and read every single word since Jack and I began to write to one another.

  I read his letters, which bring a tear to my eye and budding happiness within, and I read everything, every emotion I recorded here in my precious notebook. Never have I been more grateful that I noted everything. Just the thought that I may not have the ability to recollect those magical moments clearly were it not for the fact I had written everything down is terrifying because I’ve already forgotten so many little details.

  I am going to join Enid tomorrow for some tea and scones; she and Agnes are going to set it up in the little back room at the Bing Lea. They’re having an hour off and I feel quite touched that they’ve asked me to join them. I will of course be taking Tom, who is like a good fortune coupon to get me welcomed into any gathering.

  I still write letters to Jack in here, or rather, I keep notes of everything that happens so that I can copy it into letters and not forget anything.

  I especially do not want to forget anything that Tom does. Like how he makes me laugh when he puts his little perfect toes in his mouth and bites down and then looks surprised, his perfectly round eyes opening wide; like saucers, Marian says.

  Matt has enjoyed cuddles with Tom and the last time he came to Blackpool he brought his camera again. He said something that gave me so much comfort: ‘I’ll take some photographs of Tom, ready for when Jack comes home so that he won’t feel like he’s missed too much, I’ll write the date they were taken on the backs of them.’ He agreed, too, to pick out the best ones and make extra copies to be sent to Jack’s parents.

  His kindness stole my breath. Indeed, I find any time that folk are particularly kind to me these days, my emotions lurch way too close to the surface, like a high tide splashing up onto the promenade, and tears threaten to roll and splash down my cheeks.

  I feel certain that Jack is alive, and if wishing made dreams come true, he would already be home, and the war would be over.

  Every time I settle Tom down for the night, I pray that tomorrow Jack will come home.

  I imagine that happening every way possible.

  I imagine myself standing in the front yard at the Bing Lea, rocking the pram to and fro whilst taking deep breaths of beautiful salty sea air. In my mind, Jack’s dark-haired, so handsome figure turns into the street, catching my eye, the choked whisper of his name leaving me as he comes closer. His smile is unmistakable, and that he is pleased to see me is in absolutely no doubt.

  I imagine his walk becomes a run and when he reaches me, he picks me up and spins me round holding me so tight, my own arms clutching around his neck as his face buries in my neck, tears of joy pouring down my face.

  Sometimes I awake in the night and my mind plays tricks. I think he sleeps beside me, but as I reach for him, he disappears.

  Those are my dreams, my wishes, Dear Diary.

  Blackpool, Sunday November 19, 1944

  I was clearing up in the kitchen alongside Marian when there was an insistent knocking on the front door, earlier today, after tea.

  Marian was up to her elbows in washing-up water. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and said she wondered who it was at that time. I said I’d go, thinking it would be a neighbour.

  I’d the shock of my life.

  I gasped, hand on chest, at the tall figure in blue uniform lit by a slither of moonlight.

  I thought it was Jack.

  My whole body felt to be in the grip of an electric shock. ‘J-Jack?’ But even as the word left me, the man shook his head, blew out a stream of smoke.

  Cold air wafted in as he asked, ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Have you heard anything? About Jack?’ The words were out before Joe made it over the threshold.

  He shook his head. ‘That’s why I’m here. It looks as though he’s gone, Molly. We’ve been stationed at different bases for a while now – I managed to blag a twenty-four-hour pass so I could visit you.’

  No, no. I started to shake, feeling faint, not enough air in my lungs, much like I had when the telegram came.

  ‘It’s a quick visit, that’s all.’

  Behind me I heard the kitchen door open; it was Marian, drying her hands on her pinny and asking who had been knocking at the door.

  ‘Is that you, Jack?’ Her hopeful words filled the hall, the frozen silence.

  ‘Joe.’ He raised his hand in greeting.

  Marian said I should bring Joe through to the back for a brew to warm up.

  I felt puzzled though.

  Why would Joe bother to come here? I asked him as such once we were alone.

  His words turned me cold. ‘I want to meet my son. And I wanted to see you.’

  I didn’t want any kind of discussion along those lines where it could be heard by anyone. I reached up to the coat hook and pulled down my warmest coat. Checking my key was in the pocket, I stuck my head into the kitchen and told Marian we were going for a short walk, and asked could she listen out for Tom.

  Anything I had to say wasn’t going to take long at all.

  I rounded on him as soon as we reached
the pavement. ‘How dare you come here and start spouting that you want to meet your son? You gave up that right when you left me in the lurch.’

  I was so angry on my own and on Jack’s behalf.

  That Joe should so easily disregard his own brother’s feelings, the fact that his own brother was my husband and that Jack was officially Tom’s dad.

  We had made it down to the sea front by this point. Joe shook his head. ‘I honestly don’t see what the problem is. Whether I’m Tom’s father or his uncle, I’m visiting as part of the family.’

  ‘Is that all, Joe?’ I asked him. Something that Jack had once said nudged at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t quite bring it into focus.

  It was something uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, the thing is, Molly, I’ve been thinking I was a bit hasty turning you away. I mean, what’s the harm in the two of us getting together. You don’t want the baby to be without a dad, do you?’

  It came back to me in that moment what Jack had written of Joe.

  It was that if Jack had something, Joe wanted it… The written words flashed up in my mind:

  He’s always been like that, wanting whatever I want for himself, and he’ll do anything he can to get it.

  I put my hands on my hips and turned to face Joe straight on. ‘I doubt very much whether you would even be here if I wasn’t already married to Jack. I think the only reason you are here is because I am married to Jack and as far as I’m concerned, unless I hear differently, he is still alive. He is missing, that is the only news I have had of him.’ I raised my chin. ‘I am Jack’s wife and am going to stay that way.’

  He looked surprised for a moment, astonished, I guess.

  I sensed he expected me to fly thankfully into his arms and repeat those words of love I had once spoken to him at a time when I fully believed them.

  ‘And yes, you are family Joe, and you are more than welcome to come indoors at Marian’s and visit your nephew as his Uncle Joe. But you are not welcome to call yourself his father. His father is Jack. Jack’s name is on Tom’s birth certificate, along with mine as his mother.’

  My Dear Diary, cold wind blew in off the sea, tossing my hair across my cheeks; it was chilled enough to make your head ache, and I pulled my coat tightly around myself.

  ‘The thing is, Molly, if Jack has been killed, you might need me to step into his shoes without anyone knowing. You would still be married and we could be together like we were once before. I know you love me because you told me, many times.’

  I shook my head, hardly able to believe Joe’s words. Anger bubbled inside me that he should presume I still loved him.

  ‘I thought I loved you. I know I truly love Jack.’

  He didn’t seem to hear what I was saying.

  He shoved up his overcoat sleeve to look at his watch. ‘I’ll come back to say hello to Marian and Bill, meet Tom, but I won’t stop long. I have to be on the next train back to barracks.’

  In the cold whipping wind, we made our way back to Marian’s, and once there Joe popped into the kitchen just to say hello and goodbye and that he would see them again soon, and he then followed me into the bedroom.

  I put my finger to my lips so that he wouldn’t make too much noise as he peeked at the baby – at mine and Jack’s baby. I whispered to a sleeping Tom that this was his Uncle Joe, just to be sure Joe understood his place.

  Joe looked quite shaken, I have to say. In my mind he was weighing up all that he had thrown away and handed to his brother. I must admit to a tug of emotion watching Joe as he stroked his forefinger down his nephew’s cheek. ‘Hello, Tom.’ He gave a wistful smile. ‘I think I made a big mistake, little fella,’ he whispered to a still sleeping, unconcerned Tom. ‘I should’ve…’ He took a deep breath, stood straight and nodded, as though he was finished. His expression was serious, tormented. I showed him out into the hallway and wished him a safe journey.

  He paused for a moment.

  ‘Just know you don’t need to be alone Molly. If Jack doesn’t come back, you don’t need to be alone. I would step up to the mark this time. I would make sure I was a good father.’ He leaned in and kissed my cheek and for a moment, I warmed again towards Joe, even felt sympathy for him. Our eyes met and held briefly.

  There was so much I wanted to say, my Dear Diary. Like, You should have realised that before Tom was born. You should have realised that whilst you were out with other women whilst you let me think I was the only one for you. And you should have realised that when I wrote to tell you I was pregnant, and you dashed my heart and my dreams against the rocks with a single letter. But I said none of these things. He seemed to have realised all that for himself.

  He was family, after all, and he seemed to mean well now. I raised my hand to wave at his salute as he turned away, only then letting out the breath I held.

  I had witnessed Joe’s regret for turning me away when I expected baby Tom.

  He was the one who had lost so much. It was hard to witness Joe, identical to Jack yet different in nature, hurting, showing real emotion for once; not the flippant, flirty side of his character, but the side that acknowledged he had made a mistake.

  It was clear to me in hindsight that I had loved him, I had lusted after him and been enchanted by his inherent charm, yet I had not been in love with him, as I’d thought.

  He had been exciting, he had been gregarious, fun, attractive, always the centre of attention, and that had attracted me far more than it should have done. He still had the power to make me angry though. To think that he thought he could just swagger back into my life and push Jack out of it…

  I knew as sure as eggs were eggs that were I to attempt to have any sort of life with Joe, he would at some point in the future stray. His sociable nature would attract any number of affairs, and any wife he chose in the future would be certain to feel the pain of betrayal once the novelty wore off.

  How do you trust someone with your emotions when they have already broken that trust?

  I have been the lucky one in the long run, the winner.

  I married Jack.

  I am so lucky to love him without any reserve.

  I checked that Tom was still asleep and then went to join Marian and Dora in the kitchen.

  ‘By heck, lass, I thought it was Jack home when I peeped in the hall. How on earth do you tell them apart?’ Marian said.

  ‘Just for a moment I thought it was Jack, too, Marian.’ I told her that my heart felt as though it had stopped beating when I saw him. ‘I didn’t used to be able to tell them apart easily, but it’s just the little things.’

  ‘Did Joe have any news of Jack?’

  ‘No, nothing new, he just wanted to call in and pay his respects, meet his nephew.’ It was easier all around to simply bend the truth.

  There was nothing to be gained by sharing secrets.

  ‘It’s bonkers really, Molly, I used to get so mixed up with those lads, I always thought that you were seeing Joe not Jack! I could never tell them apart!’ Dora tucked into the plate of food Marian had covered and set aside for her on top of a pan full of boiling water, ‘Mind you, come to think of it, you spent a lot more time with Jack than Joe over at Enid’s in the evenings, didn’t you?’

  I nodded my agreement, added, ‘Oh, I think they tricked me once or twice in the early days when they were staying at the Bing Lea, but you know how it is, the right one always comes to the fore.’ Those words were spoken from my heart, my truth-bending setting off a twinge of guilt which I dismissed quickly.

  ‘You’re right,’ Dora said. ‘The cream always rises to the top of the milk.’

  ‘Enid said you spent many an evening in the front room playing cards and chattering with one of them, but she could never tell which one!’ Marian yawned, excused herself then – it was getting late, she said – and I could hear Tom getting restless in my room, so I went and got him and then brought him back to the kitchen so Dora and I could admire him together and spend some time catching up.


  Dora said that Matt was bringing some more photographs on his next visit and there should be some of Tom.

  ‘That’ll be lovely!’ I said, grasping a reason to smile.

  I realised whilst talking to Dora that I needed to keep as cheerful as I could for Tom’s sake; being a miserable mother was no way to be when I was so blessed.

  I’m determined to believe that Jack is alive, repeating that mantra that no news is good news in my head. It doesn’t stop the nervous rush swirling around inside me every time I think about Jack though.

  I have hope.

  I have to have hope…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Saturday September 30, 2017

  Izzie touched the written words and felt closer to her nan than ever, felt such admiration for her. She was so glad that Justin was with her so they could read the entries together.

  There was a yawning emotional gap between how Molly felt about Jack – she had complete and total trust in him, complete and total love for him – and for Joe – she had a soft spot for him because she had loved him, but he had destroyed the naive trust she’d had in him. Izzie wondered, as she put the bookmark in place and used both hands to close the notebook, whether she would ever trust Justin again – trust him not to hurt her again.

  But then reality dawned: she didn’t need to trust him in that way. What they had now was casual, it was a transient relationship to suit them both. It suited Izzie whilst she got to grips with the emotional turmoil within in the safe haven of the bungalow; and it suited Justin whilst he did local work and oversaw the alterations on his house before he took off on his latest photography assignment just before New Year.

  Justin’s clever fingers had worked out most of the knots in Izzie’s shoulders. There was something so sensual about the way he relaxed her muscles. ‘Did that help?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m practically drooling!’ She laughed. ‘Thanks.’