The Secret Notebook Read online

  ‘I want to kiss you, but will you introduce me to my son, first?’

  I gulped down an emotional sob, nodded.

  ‘Tom, this is your daddy. He’s home.’ Tears rolled off my cheeks and splashed down onto Tom’s beloved teddy bear.

  Jack bobbed down a bit to take a good look at Tom, a single finger stroking his slightly damp forehead.

  ‘Hello, son.’ His voice was hoarse, unsteady, and he looked emotional, as if he held so much inside.

  It struck me then that it wasn’t the run to you and hold each other tight because nothing else mattered that I’d always dreamt our reunion would be.

  There was a hesitant, careful feeling about it.

  But I didn’t care.

  Jack was here and that was the only thing that mattered.

  He straightened away from the pram and turned, rested his palms at my waist, leaned down and kissed me gently on the lips. I wanted to reach up and pull him closer, have him hold me tight, but instead I rested my fingers on the serge of his uniform jacket sleeve. I could feel the warmth, the strength of him through the fabric. A sob bubbled up when he made a sound in his throat, a needy sound, and his arms went around me properly. The kiss deepened and I thrust my arms around him, too, held him tight, still making sure he was real. Still terrified he would evaporate.

  One of his arms held me close as the fingers of his other hand traced around my face. ‘The thought of you and Tom kept me going, Molly.’

  My Dear Diary, I balanced my palms on his shoulders and reached up so my fingers circled his neck and pulled him down to me so my mouth touched his. ‘Jack, I love you so much. Are you back, for good?’ It was the only question that mattered.

  ‘I’ve to report for a medical this time next week, to see if I’m fit to work. I doubt it, though – I’ve a pretty damaged leg.’ I noticed the stick he’d abandoned behind us.

  ‘So, you have to go … back to…’

  I traced the line of the scar on his cheek. I just wanted him home safe. I had so many questions, so much I wanted to ask, but not then.

  ‘I’ll recover.’ He laughed and pulled me close, burying his face in my neck.

  About then, Tom made some little squeaky noises that he sometimes made whilst sleeping. I kept my arms around Jack when he turned his attention back to the pram. ‘He’s glad you’re home safe.’

  Jack turned to look at me and tears glistened in his eyes, his voice hoarse. ‘So am I, Molly. So am I.’

  Back at Marian and Bill’s, Jack shook Bill’s hand and he announced, ‘It’s grand to have you back, lad.’ Marian unashamedly gave him a hug. ‘I’m so happy for you both to be back together again,’ she said. ‘Now go, go and catch up with each other!’ She wafted her hand to our room.

  My Dear Diary, that was one of the happiest days and nights of my life. I had the two men that mattered most under one roof – together.

  In the comfort of our room Jack got to know his baby son. Once he got over being worried that he’d break Tom if he wasn’t handled like bone china, he had the laughing, squealing tot on his lap, tickling him and having Tom hold one finger from each of his hands to raise himself to standing on wobbly legs.

  It was simple stuff, but I wanted nothing more from the world than Jack and Tom.

  That night, after we had kissed and made love and then held one another tightly, I asked the burning questions.

  ‘Where did you get to, Jack?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Molly. Have you got all night?’ There was a slight lift to one side of his mouth.

  ‘I have. I’ve got all night, Jack.’

  Jack told me that their plane had been hit and he and the others had had to bail out. It was only by luck that he wasn’t hit by enemy gunfire as they plummeted to the ground.

  My Dear Diary, he told me that of the other five crew members, three were taken as POWs and two were shot and killed.

  Jack had hidden in the woods for four days, until eventually he managed to attract the attention of a young girl working in the fields; the phrase book – which they’d all been given – helped him communicate.

  She brought help and their first move was to get him out of his RAF uniform so that he wouldn’t be recognised as such. They hid him with a member of the Resistance called Monique, who fed him and roughly stitched the deep cut on his cheek. It grew dark in the bedroom whilst Jack spoke, his fingers running down the scar as though he was remembering.

  ‘Before you ask,’ he told me, ‘yes, it hurt. But I was free, unlike the others, so it seemed a small price.’

  He told me then it had taken forever to go with his guide over the Pyrenees to Spain and eventually to Salou, where he’d learned that the war was over.

  ‘I hitched a lift to Limoges airport and managed to get a flight home from there. I did phone the coal merchants in Manchester – they were the only ones I knew the phone number of – but when I said who I was, they said, “he’s dead,” and put the phone down!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ I felt brief annoyance that I could have known he was alive earlier but it passed quickly. As I’ve always said, there’s no point in crying over spilt milk – it changes nothing.

  ‘I was so afraid that you wouldn’t wait for me, Molly. Joe had told me more than once that if anything happened to me, he’d be straight here and offer to take you on. He said he’d made a mistake not stepping up to the mark when you found out you were expecting…’ Even in the muted lighting, I could see the torture shining in Jack’s eyes.

  My Dear Diary, I raised my finger to his lips and shook my head. ‘It’s you who stepped up, when you were needed. You I love. I told Joe that when he came here.’

  ‘He came here?’

  I nodded. It hadn’t occurred to me to hide anything from Jack and I told him as much.

  ‘When he thought you were lost.’

  ‘I knew he would try anything to win you back.’ He sighed, shook his head. ‘He’s always been the same.’

  ‘I told him that he was welcome to visit Tom as his Uncle Joe, but not as his father. And I told him I loved you, Jack.’

  My world felt right at last, Dear Diary.

  Jack was home.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Sunday Christmas Eve, 2017

  Izzie blew out and traced the words with her fingertip. What with the lump in her throat and all the emotion on the notebook’s pages…

  ‘I don’t remember seeing a scar on Grandpop’s cheek and he didn’t talk much about the war. He told the odd funny story, but like a lot of his generation, they pushed it aside and carried on. I do remember Dad telling me when I was very little that Grandpop would yell out in his sleep, frighten Nan to death in the middle of the night. Eventually it stopped.’

  ‘I guess wounds fade, Izzie, inside and outside. When you think about it, most scars would fade to nothing in a couple of decades.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  Justin shook his head, eyes shining with regret when Izzie offered him a refill. ‘I’d love to stay, Izzie, but I need to get back and finish editing on the wedding photos, and get the gear checked.’

  ‘It’s been fabulous hanging out; I’m so happy we’re friends again, Justin.’

  Something serious flashed through his eyes, and then he gave a small smile in response. She followed him to the front door.

  He leaned down towards her and she thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but his mouth found hers. Without conscious thought, her own arms wrapped around his waist and all that familiar sizzling sprang to life inside her.

  When he released her, cold night air rushed between them.

  ‘Maybe make that good friends?’ She touched her lips as he gave her a sensual smile and a slight nod. ‘Goodnight, Izzie. Merry Christmas.’

  She wished him the same and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening at my folks’?’

  She nodded.

  Just as Molly recorded
in her notebook, when you wanted to slow time, it sprinted and dashed instead. Christmas day sped by in a blur; she’d walked on the prom in the morning, then, in the late afternoon, joined Linda, Robert and Justin for Christmas lunch.

  Izzie took along posh crackers, a couple of bottles of wine and small gifts, which they exchanged after they had eaten.

  ‘These are perfect, I’ve been meaning to get some, Izzie, thank you.’ Robert said of the trio of laurel bushes Izzie gave them. Justin thanked her for the lens cleaning kit and looked visibly moved when he opened the small box containing an engraved silver St Christopher.

  He fastened it on straight away.

  ‘It’ll keep you safe on your travels,’ she said.

  He passed a small flat box into her hands and Izzie gasped at the rose gold Swarovski bracelet nestled in white satin. An infinity symbol was picked out in crystals on the solid bangle, a chain supporting a small love heart suspended from the band.

  ‘Kind of a friendship bracelet,’ he said as he watched her fasten it on her wrist. ‘It was the colour that struck me – reminded me of your locket.’

  ‘That’s so thoughtful. I’ll treasure it, thank you, Justin.’ She touched the bangle that looked so delicate in place on her wrist, and thought that he was probably the closest friend she’d ever had.

  They had a great game of Scrabble and there was much hilarity as Linda insisted that made-up words were fine … at Christmas.

  Much later, Justin said his goodbyes and Izzie slipped away, too.

  ‘I’ll be stopping by to say a final goodbye to my folks in the morning. It’ll be early, just a flying visit.’

  ‘Give me a knock?’ Izzie touched her bracelet and added, ‘Thanks again, I love my bangle, Justin.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Thanks for the St Christopher, Izzie.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Tuesday Boxing Day, 2017

  The following morning, Izzie was up early and made an effort to look half reasonable, aware that Justin would be round to say cheerio before flying off on location for the next three months.

  She showered, styled her hair into a scruffy top-knot with little tendrils curling around her face and neck, put in dangly hoop earrings and a bit of mascara, then dressed in jeans and bright blue long-sleeved T-shirt. She rocked her head from side to side in front of the hallway mirror, trying to get her curls to lay just so.

  She screwed up her nose, laughed, and shrugged to herself. ‘Oh, you’ll do.’

  A knock on the door interrupted her efforts.

  Izzie opened the door wide and gestured for Justin to move indoors; she loved the way his rangy body looked in his tan leather jacket and jeans, his white T-shirt just skimming his trim chest and abs.

  ‘Are you all fit to go?’

  ‘All sorted. Bags and equipment all packed and stashed in Tony’s car – we took care of it when I dropped off the photos with Mick and Janey earlier – and I’ve done all my goodbyes with Mum and Dad. Mobile’s on airplane mode, so yeah, all fit to go.’’

  They sat at the kitchen table with their brews. Suddenly, three months sounded like an awfully long time to Izzie. ‘I would probably still be scraping off wallpaper when you got back if it wasn’t for you and your decorator pal.’

  ‘You think?’ He studied her.

  ‘I do. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘Will you miss me?’ He raised a brow in question.

  ‘No.’ Then she amended. ‘Maybe. A bit.’

  And she thought, A lot, too much.

  She was grateful that her actual thoughts didn’t show in a bubble above her head.

  He nodded, satisfied with that.

  ‘Will you miss me?’ Her question just above a whisper.

  ‘Maybe. A bit.’ He spoke her words back at her, accompanied with a broad smile, then added, ‘Of course I’ll miss you.’ He paused. ‘About the other night, it was … fun,’ he said, his eyes darkening at the recollection.

  ‘It was,’ she responded, and felt warmth rise to her cheeks. Fun? That was putting it mildly.

  He gave a lop-sided smile.

  ‘So, whilst you’re away, maybe you could get retro and drop me a line now and again?’ Izzie asked tentatively.

  ‘I could.’ He hesitated, his brow puckered; it flickered over his features that he clearly had a problem with the suggestion, but he was then distracted, rescuing the phone from his jeans pocket, when it summoned him. ‘Tony’s here, Izzie.’

  Pulling on her jacket, she followed him to the kerb, shared Christmas greetings with Tony and Kay, and then stood by the back-passenger door. ‘You okay?’ she asked Justin, turning to face him.

  She put her fingers on his forearm. ‘What’s the problem with writing to me?’

  He frowned as if it was obvious, shook his head slightly, then took a deep breath as Izzie begged, ‘Please…’

  As though the words were being ripped from deep inside, he said, ‘I wrote so many times and the last time I wrote to you, Izzie, you took off and married Rufus Dean.’ His features tightened. ‘It was the last thing I expected.’ Raw pain shone from the depths of his soul and the emotional intensity she witnessed stole Izzie’s breath.

  But there wasn’t time…

  No time to hash over the details.

  What did he mean?

  ‘Please – write?’ She couldn’t shake any details loose from her memory, ‘Send me your address, I promise I’ll write back.’

  He pulled her close, fiercely, briefly. ‘Izzie…’ he whispered into her hair. His deep voice cracked and reverberated through her. She leaned back and glimpsed a vulnerability that she hadn’t seen before when his eyes met hers, then, in the chilled morning air, his mouth covered hers and Izzie felt tears well in her eyes, her throat constricting. Her fingers spread over his jaw, skin cool, slightly roughened by the shadow there.

  Tony wound down his window, ‘Got to go, Justin.’

  ‘Safe journey,’ she whispered past the unexpected, massive lump in her throat. All that resolve to keep her emotions under control scattered and her smile trembled as she fought the heat of tears.

  He looked directly into her eyes. ‘Bye, Izzie.’

  Justin shifted into the waiting car, the door closed behind him and the car drew away.

  Justin’s wave felt too final.

  Three months felt too final.

  She felt as if she had missed a whole chapter of her life and had been totally unaware it existed until now.

  She felt bereft, as if there were things she needed to find out, she needed to know what she had done to cause the vulnerability in Justin’s expression. Hadn’t he been the one to turn his back and move on? To lose touch? She forced herself to face the question: Would she have said yes to marrying Rufus had she not been torn apart by Justin’s rejection?

  Justin was the only man who had ever moved seamlessly between best friend and lover in her life and the friendship he’d shown her whilst she coped with Molly’s death and sorting the house spoke volumes.

  The shift to something else when they’d shared that steamy night in the hotel room… To her, that felt like unfinished business, like unearthing those feelings that had been trapped away for so long. They had escaped now and she couldn’t get those feelings back in the trap, as if she’d let the genie out of the bottle.

  Izzie admitted inwardly that she needed to face the fact that there were some missing truths, some gaps in their past. His words, ‘I wrote so many times…’ The unmasked pain in his words… She knew for her own sake, and to be fair to Justin, she longed to identify these, and uncover the details. But where could she look for them?

  As her nan always said, if you can do nothing about a situation, then set it aside. She would have to do just that, she thought sadly.

  Justin’s airport lift was long gone, the soft and the salty breeze blew against her, reminding her she shouldn’t stand there staring after him all day.

  It wouldn’t bring him back.r />
  Crikey, how the heck had her nan coped, waving goodbye to the man she loved when she didn’t even know if she would even see him again, never mind when?

  What?

  Loved. The man she loved…

  Returning indoors, she dashed of a text message asking, ‘What? What did you mean?’ then immediately deleted it. No point. His phone was off.

  Hesitating just long enough to collect her warm coat and scarf, Izzie jammed her soft woollen hat down over her head and made her way to the sea front, letting the fresh breeze sift through her thoughts.

  Oh, God. Did she still love Justin? Hadn’t they decided to have a no-commitment relationship? She had the suspicion that saying it didn’t actually guarantee emotions would be kept in check; saying it didn’t automatically keep it casual.

  She squashed the question flat, didn’t feel she had the emotional bandwidth to answer it. Waving goodbye had been enough of a wrench for one day.

  She considered instead whether the time she’d spent with Rufus had been a distraction. Had she been unfair to him? She shook her head and a cold gust of salt laced wind saw her pull her scarf tighter around her chin.

  She thought that, at the very least, both she and Rufus had taken what they needed from the marriage and there had been real affection between them.

  To Izzie, Rufus had represented her alternative path to one of pain; and to Rufus, Izzie had represented a figure who would fulfil the roles of wife, personal assistant, co-worker, companion and nurse.

  A young woman ran past her wheeling a pushchair, leaving momentary tracks on the rain-wet pavement. The few people that were out had their heads down and hoods or brollies up and were being buffeted by the sea breeze as they hurried with purpose towards the dry. Izzie walked to the edge of the prom, overlooking the sea, and pulled down her scarf, baring her face to the delicious dampness of the sea-salted breeze. She forced her thoughts towards the New Year and her move back to West Hampstead. It had been the main buzz in her thoughts until that unexpectedly emotional farewell with Justin.