The Secret Notebook Page 19

  I thought how on our very short honeymoon we had visited Starr Gate, seen the sand dunes, been on the Pleasure Beach, taken a long tram ride and walked along the promenade for miles.

  They were wonderful memories, but I wanted more, more of Jack.

  I closed my eyes and just listened to the waves, and then when Tom started to grizzle, made by way back home.

  For a moment I let myself imagine what life would be like if this was it.

  If I, like so many other new wives and mothers, would be left alone to raise Tom. I had no doubt that I would manage one way or another just like all the others – I would have no choice. Joe’s visit pushed into my mind, I had no doubt that he would step up to the mark as he said and be a good father. But I knew, I knew – for sure – that I will never love Joe the way I had grown to love Jack.

  No, if the fates were cruel, and if Jack does not return, I will bring up Tom alone.

  Blackpool, Monday December 4, 1944

  My Dear Diary, within days of sending the letter to Jack’s parents, I received one back.

  Dear Molly,

  * * *

  What terribly upsetting news. I cannot tell you how it grieves me. I have no doubt that you will let me know as soon as you can when you hear anything further about Jack. We’ve had word that Joe has had surgery on his arm, but no other news as yet.

  * * *

  I look forward to receiving a photograph of Tom, and hearing from you anytime you’d like to write.

  * * *

  I will pray for Jack’s safe return, and like you say, I am sure he is still alive.

  * * *

  With love and very best wishes,

  * * *

  Elizabeth and Frank Blackshaw.

  I don’t write every day, my Dear Diary; only when things happen that I think Jack would like to know.

  It is sometimes difficult to keep believing he is alive. I had another very brief letter from the RAF in which they stated that they had had no further news of Jack and they were sorry but they had nothing more to tell me at this time. They did say if their investigations turned up any more information, they would let me know.

  I passed this news on to Jack’s parents, and they wrote a brief letter back thanking me for the news and for the photographs I had sent of Tom.

  Blackpool, Wednesday December 27, 1944

  I had a wonderful surprise two days ago at Christmas when Elizabeth and Frank turned up to meet their grandson, who to their delight was smiling and laughing. Elizabeth had knitted several pairs of blue bootees for Tom and bought him a small teddy bear with arms and legs that moved. We put the bootees on Tom but that didn’t stop him putting his toes in his mouth!

  We all settled around Marian’s large kitchen table along with Dora and Bill, and I nipped over to the Bing Lea to fetch Enid and Agnes.

  Elizabeth confided that Joe wasn’t well enough yet to return to service, but he had at last been put in a convalescent home not too far from them. She said that Beth and her boyfriend, the farmer’s son, were spending the day with Joe and that they were going to visit him the following day.

  Jack’s parents were lovely people, Dear Diary, down-to-earth and despite all of their trials, they had a good sense of humour. I thought how Jack would enjoy this get-together. It turned into a lively party despite the lack of turkey, few gifts and a very limited menu and just a drop of gin. The company was splendid and there was much chatting and laughter.

  I imagined that Jack would look like his father when he was older; Frank was still a very handsome, slender man, his hair greying slightly at the temples but still dark for the most part. He had the same twinkly dark blue eyes as Jack and it was obvious that he and Elizabeth still thought the world of one another even after what must have been many years together. I could imagine Jack and me being a lot like that, too.

  It was late in the evening when they left, and there was much noise and waving out in the street before they drove away in their borrowed vehicle.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Monday October 2, 2017

  ‘Looking great, Izzie.’ Justin scanned around the front lounge. ‘It looks lovely and light.’

  They’d spent the entire day papering the room and they’d had plenty of laughs – and some minor disasters. Izzie realised she had far more fun working alongside Justin than she did working alone. The radio had provided background music and both of them had sung along when they knew the words – and Izzie had made them up when she didn’t.

  Justin laughed as she sang now. ‘You do know those are not the words?’ He caught the damp cloth she threw him to clean off the pasting table.

  ‘Honey?’

  ‘It’s “horny”,’ he said, laughing whilst he cleaned then closed up the folding table, ‘not honey.’

  Izzie felt her face heat up. She’d been thinking how hot Justin looked when he laughed.

  ‘Oops.’ She caught the rag he threw back towards her. ‘I fancy a walk, do you?’

  ‘Sure. Do you want to take a walk to my place? The work’s finished now so it’s finally ready to show you.’

  ‘Love to.’

  His house was just a couple of miles walk away along the front.

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Justin!’ The house was a sturdy redbrick semi with cream-coloured corner stones. The front door opened into a wide hallway and Justin gestured for Izzie to go inside.

  ‘I’ve more or less got it how I want it now.’ He gave her the tour: the kitchen was large, a table at one end, and white cupboards lining the walls at the other. The backsplash was made up of subway tiles and the worktop was dark with little sparkly bits in.

  ‘That’s … so similar to the one I’ve decided on for the kitchen at Nan’s. I love it.’

  Izzie wasn’t sure if Justin flinched, so quickly asked, ‘Did you do any of the work yourself?’

  ‘Some, between jobs, but it works out easier to get my pal in to do most of the work whilst I’m away.’

  The lounge was huge and ran the full length of the house, the doors at the back of the room opening straight onto the luxuriant green garden.

  The rooms were plain, the focus on the stunning, enlarged photographs spaced artfully around the walls. There were sunsets, sunrises, beaches, lakes, hills and snow-topped mountains, steaming hot jungles and palm trees on tropical white sand.

  ‘Did – did you take all these?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re some of my favourites.’ He let her take a good look at the pictures and when she looked towards him gestured towards the stairway.

  Justin’s bedroom was at the front of the house and overlooked the sea. Noticing the view before anything else, she went to stand in the bay window. ‘Oh, Justin, what a view.’ The sea was slate-grey with a rim of white frothy peaks in the October twilight, the waxing moon laying a glistening path over the surface of the sea.

  The room was painted a cloud soft blue-grey and the bed faced the deep bay window. ‘How brilliant. You can sit up in bed and watch the sea.’ Izzie took a deep breath of the sea air drifting in through the open window. ‘It’s perfect.’

  He stood beside her and eventually said, ‘The view sold the house.’

  ‘It would’ve for me too.’ She glimpsed his slight frown before his expression cleared. She asked, ‘Show me the rest?’

  Next was Justin’s office, which carried through with the plain theme; a desk sporting an angle poise lamp, a thick diary and chair to one side, the walls the palest yellow, giving the impression of the room being bathed in hazy sunlight. A laptop and a couple of screens sat on the desk and three beautiful photographs adorned the wall opposite.

  Her heartbeat skipped as she recognised a photograph of herself – the one from that day at the beach. ‘Is that…?’

  He gave a slight nod. ‘Still one of my favourites – one of those happy accident photos. I had it enlarged recently when I unearthed that pack of photos.’ He glanced at her. ‘I change the pictures around now and again
, depending on what I’m working on – I’ve some of those Lake District photos being transferred to canvas just now, too.’

  Despite the fact that Izzie was scarcely visible in the picture, its presence in his office caused a strange pang inside that she couldn’t christen.

  Another dramatic enlargement was of lightning on the sea front at Blackpool, icy jagged light reflected in the wet pavements along the promenade.

  ‘Pure drama,’ she said as she studied the sharp lines, the incredible moment he’d captured.

  There were shelves above his desk with labelled CDs and many photo albums. Over to one side was a beautiful wooden filing cabinet. ‘Looks like a great work space, Justin.’

  After peeking into the bathroom, which was mainly white with a row of bright blue tiles running through the centre of the white ones, Izzie followed him back down to the kitchen.

  There was something so solid about his home; Izzie thought all of his colour and décor choices were similar to those she had picked out for the bungalow. She wondered if he’d noticed their ridiculously similar taste.

  ‘I love what you’ve done, Justin.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘A few years.’ He opened the back door to show her the garden, which was mostly lawn with shrubs around the edges. ‘There was a lot of work to do on it, so when I was home at first, I stayed at my folks’ house and worked here till I’d got the bedroom fit to live in.’ Justin slid his phone from his jeans pocket and checked the screen. Izzie had the feeling he’d just remembered something.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, Mick’s having a barbeque tomorrow evening. He sent a reminder. Would you like to come?’

  ‘Will he mind?’

  ‘Course not. He said to invite you.’

  ‘I’d love to then, thanks. Do you want to share that casserole I put on to slow cook first thing this morning? I’m hungry.’

  ‘Sounds great.’ He smiled, grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen and they made their way from his house back to hers.

  They ate, drank and again admired the work they’d completed. Then, at Izzie’s suggestion, they settled in to read some more of Molly’s notebook.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Molly

  Blackpool, Tuesday May 8, 1945

  Dear Diary, Tom is now just over seven months old and he is a constant source of delight. He is also undoubtedly the apple of Enid’s eye.

  And today … Tom’s excited shrieks and laughter reflected the mood in Blackpool, in the whole country.

  The news is that the war in Europe is over. It was the welcome trigger for so much celebration.

  Winston Churchill spoke on the radio and the allied world listened. He said, ‘We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing, but let us not forget for a moment the toils and efforts that lie ahead.’

  ‘It’ll be a better world for the likes of Tom, God willing,’ Bill said. ‘All we need now is his daddy to make it home safe. That’ll just be the icing on the cake, Molly.’

  ‘It would.’ I was almost overcome with emotion, but concentrated on Tom, lifting him from the small tub of water and wrapping him in the soft, warm towel.

  To the world I present a face of hope, of love for Jack, the fitter armourer – then lately Flight Engineer who risked his life by joining his flight crew.

  But inside, all the months of silence lay heavy. It doesn’t bode well.

  Dora, her parents, Agnes, Enid, myself and Tom had gathered in the back room of the Bing Lea Boarding House and we all raised a glass of Bill’s rum – it made my eyes water – and toasted the end of the war.

  Baby Tom, pink and gurgling from his bath, was rolling about and kicking his feet in the middle of us on the rug. The radio played lively band music and we had a warm and wonderful night of chatter and celebration.

  Outside, more ebullient celebrations could be heard. The streets were full and when Dora and Katherine went to investigate, they returned to say that all the neighbours were out in the street, dancing and singing and drinking.

  We went to join them for an hour, and when Tom became restless, I said my goodnights and slipped away indoors to put him to bed in the cot in our room at Marian’s.

  The noise outside was endless, but it made me smile, Dear Diary. After so much whining from air raid sirens, the sounds of damaged aircraft struggling back to base at Squires Gate, the endless streams of trainees marching on the promenade…

  Happy celebration sounds were so wonderful.

  I watched Tom sleep, spellbound. I noticed, too, that as his baby fine hair grew, thickened and darkened slightly, he began to resemble Jack more and more. It was a comfort and a painful observation.

  A comfort because I love him so much, and a pain because I love his father so very much too and badly wanted to get to know him better than I have done. I feel as though we’ve had so little time together.

  I’m happy, ecstatic that the war is over, but I am so, so sad for myself, and for all those who have lost a loved one, for the gaping holes left in their lives. It’s a happy time, but still I cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Monday October 2, 2017

  Closing the notebook, Izzie stared with wonder at the inner cover, the pages that peeped out of the edges very slightly when it was closed, the mementoes fastened securely within the pages. She thought she would treasure forever her nan’s diary and the treasure trove of photographs, emotions and memories inside.

  ‘You really never know what folk have gone through, do you?’ Izzie asked, refilling their glasses with the Malbec Justin had brought along.

  ‘You’re so right. It’s crazy. All that past and no one knows about it.’

  ‘Except us.’ She sipped her drink and then clinked her glass to Justin’s.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve shared it with me, Izzie.’ His eyes shone with sincerity. ‘It’s a pretty amazing journal of tough times.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And having known Jack and Molly, that makes reading the book all the more meaningful.’

  ‘You’re the only one…’ She hesitated before continuing. ‘The only one I’d feel comfortable sharing it all with.’

  He raised a brow. ‘Because I knew them?’

  Suddenly, for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint, Izzie felt a lump form in her throat. ‘You were part of their lives, Justin, and a huge part of mine.’

  There was a definite flicker of pain in his eyes that time. She imagined it was for the obvious reason that Molly and Jack were gone now. She felt something similar within herself, a sense of loss, of yearning.

  A yearning for a past that should have been – but one that wouldn’t happen now, she thought. Again, those words, we made our choices. Those words that had rankled her before echoed in her mind again now – made her want to yowl with the unfairness of what he’d said.

  He’d made the choice. She’d had to face it. In a strange way she was grateful for the reminder that she shouldn’t allow her feelings to soften towards him too much further.

  This was casual – casual, she reminded herself – and she could cope with that.

  Whatever happened here would stay here. They could revisit their past together, work together, have some fun together and then they would both move back to their real lives.

  ‘Do you remember the time Nan and Grandpop went off to Morecombe Bay on a coach trip?’

  ‘Remind me?’ He gave her a wonky smile and took a long swallow of his wine; Izzie had the feeling Justin knew full well it’d been the first time they’d made love. ‘Wasn’t that the day you finished that sketch of me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Izzie nodded. ‘Nan told me that she and Grandpop were going on a coach trip and they’d not be back till late on.’

  Izzie remembered her nan putting her glasses case into her handbag and snapping it closed. ‘There’s a meat and tatter pie in the fridge that you and Justin can have later.’

/>   ‘Aw my favourite. Thanks, Nan.’ Izzie had hugged her nan. At eighty-six, she’d still looked so spritely in her flowery bright green tunic blouse with pink roses, bright pink trousers and brand new, ‘very comfy’ trainers. ‘You look joyous.’

  ‘You know I love my colours.’ She’d chuckled and taken hold of Izzie’s forearm. ‘Izzie, I’ve seen the way you and Justin look at one another – and I’m happy for you both – but do get yourself on the pill, sweetheart; there’s no point in taking risks. I’m sure you want a family one day – but it’s best when you plan it.’

  Izzie had been speechless, then thankful. ‘Thank God it’s you saying that and not my mother.’

  ‘Ah!’ Nan had flapped her free hand. ‘She’d love it if you slipped up. She could play the martyr card because her daughter is … well, human! She’d paint Justin as the devil.’ At that, she’d chuckled and so had Izzie.

  ‘Thanks, Nan. I’ll sort it.’ She already had – just in case – but somehow it hadn’t felt right to say anything when there was no need.

  ‘I like Justin, always have.’

  Whilst they’d waited for Grandpop to finish getting ready, Izzie had told her nan about Justin’s plans to travel. ‘Oh, good on him, he should grasp all the opportunities life offers.’

  ‘That’s what I think, too.’

  ‘And what are your plans, Izzie? Will you travel with him?’

  ‘No, my plans are the opposite, if anything. I want to live and work in London – something arty – and make gorgeous clothes in my spare time for special orders, or just for myself.’