The Last Pier Part 19

And he handed her a creased photo from inside his wallet.

'My missus,' he said. 'We've been married these eighteen years.'

There was defiance in his voice. Of a kind that needed an audience.

Once long ago, his look said, I loved a summer rose with thorns.

The breeze coming in from the sea hushed the thought. Cecily saw how great his hurt had been merely from looking at the creases in the photograph.

'You married, Cecily?' he asked when she made no move.

'No. Not any more.'

She felt someone breathing down her neck.

Shock him, shock him, the voices pleaded.

But Cecily was tired out. She was beginning to remember certain things about Bellamy.

'Ah!' Bellamy was saying, mockingly. 'Divorced, are you?'

She could not deny it, hoping her silence would do the trick. He took a step backwards. Awkwardness had got stuck to his foot. It clung like the damp sand and made his shoes heavy. The only way was to shake it off. Still, he thought, she's a stunner. Wonder if she knows? Different though. Quiet now. Never used to be quiet. My word, what a chatterbox she was.

Then.

'We've two kids,' he said. 'Two boys. Grand lads. Look.'

He held out another photograph, less creased, this one.

Small children, young woman, Bellamy.

Smiling up at the sunlight. Pride in his voice, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over like a net full of catch.

Things fell easily into place after that and Cecily remembered him with sharp clarity. Back-door begging, Cook had called it. She hadn't wanted him there. She didn't want caravan people working in Palmyra Farm, let alone coming up to the house.

'Gipsies!' she had said. 'Tinkers! They're all trouble, aren't they, Mrs Maudsley?'

Bellamy's face had darkened.

'I was her real love,' he said now, regret tucked discreetly out of sight.

'Touch of the tar brush there,' Cecily had heard Partridge say. 'Your sister's friend!'

Cecily hadn't known what he meant.

Then.

'Nonsense,' Selwyn had said coming in, holding his hand up against Cook's tirade.

Selwyn had been Bellamy's champion in those days. No one knew why and behind Selwyn's back Bellamy used to make rude gestures at Cook. He'd wink at Cecily before going in search of Rose.

'Ah Rose! Rose!' he said now.

Leaving what was best left unsaid.

'His mother's a good woman,' Selwyn used to say, 'She has a very hard time of it. And please stop calling them gipsies. They're nothing of the sort.'

Liberal, upright Selwyn. Always for the underdog.

What changed you, wondered the adult Cecily.

What confusion led you astray?

Was it anger over the way your brother died?

Was it Kitty?

Was it in the end just the old story of a misguided man led astray by a woman?

Was there nothing more to it than that?

Weak, desperate Selwyn, she thought.

Now.

'There's enough prejudice in the world, already,' she remembered her father had said. 'Besides which, we'll all be pulling against each other soon enough.'

'Your father is a socialist,' Agnes had told Cecily, after she had grown up. After it was all too late.

'He's before his time.'

Social List, thought Cecily, out of habit.

On August the 23rd the pact between Germany and Russia was agreed.

From Berlin, The Times correspondent noted that ordinary Germans felt that now at last they could do as they pleased and n.o.body would dare fight them.

'The war will make equals of us all,' Selwyn announced.

'Not during it,' Agnes said. 'After, maybe.'

'Oh after,' Selwyn said carelessly, as though 'after' hadn't mattered.

'But there isn't going to be one,' Cecily reminded them.

'With any luck,' Selwyn agreed.

And then he had hired Bellamy, as he always did, to help with the harvest.

We all paid a price, Cecily thought, staring up at this thick set, middle-aged man. Bellamy had hated Tom from the very beginning.

'You're not his friend,' he had told her that day long ago. 'He's soft in the head.'

'He's not,' Cecily said and Bellamy had scowled.

'Know something I don't?'

There had been a fight in the orchard, she remembered. Captain Pinky had been present. What had he been talking about? It had been hot, of course. They had been watching a field mouse sitting on the stone wall, eating a grain of corn. It washed its face, and vanished and only the bees in clover remained.

That Monday they had planned to visit the ice-cream parlour again, not caring about Berlin. Apart from spying, Tom's other obsession was ice cream. On the way whom should they meet but Captain Pinky? Up to no good, they had felt. Wearing a straw boater and looking as though he was going to the beach.

'Here,' he said. 'Have one on me.'

And he had handed Tom that sixpence.

'Tell me how many Italians you see when you're there. Remember I'm doing a survey for the town census.'

'Thank you,' Tom said.

'Can I count the people too?' Cecily asked.

'Of course.'

But he hadn't given her anything and she had been miffed. But before she could question the unfairness, there had been a rustling in the bushes and Bellamy appeared. Hot, bothered, ready for a fight.

'h.e.l.lo,' Captain Pinky said. 'Spying on us, are you?'

'You're the rotten spy,' Bellamy had said, coolly. 'As you well know.'

Had they been on different sides? Cecily wondered now, amazed.

Bit late to ask that! said the voices.

'Now look here, old chap,' Captain Pinky said, still smiling.

The smile, Cecily saw, was a little overstretched.

'And I saw you giving them money. Bribery, it is.'

For a moment Cecily felt a twinge of excitement.

'You silly boy,' Captain Pinky said, swinging his voice around. 'I'm working for the British Government to protect the British people.'

It would have all been fine if Tom hadn't laughed at Bellamy.

For a split second Bellamy looked confused. Then he turned slowly and with no warning, lunged out at Tom. Tom was caught off guard.

Legs flailing, moments later, both boys on the ground with Bellamy on top, and Cecily shouting at them to stop.

'Keep out of this,' Bellamy snarled and he punched Tom in the face.

Everyone was yelling.

Then Captain Pinky joined in the fray and tried to separate the villains but Cecily was in the way and a kick, aimed by Tom at the tinker's son, landed on her head, sending her flying over the boys' grunts into the dry abyss of thistles. And stones and cowpats. It was a rugger-mugger sort of scrum until Pinky Wilson saved the day with a swift, neat tackle, separating the boys while holding on to both.

Grimly.

Tom spat out blood.

Bellamy, saliva.

'Look what you've done,' he cried in fury. 'Cecily's bleeding.'

Captain Pinky grabbed hold of Bellamy, stopping him in mid-flight.

(Where d'you think you're going young man?) Tom stood limply beside Cecily who, even though her face was cut, was enjoying it all very much.

'You've gashed your forehead,' Tom said, peering at her with horrified fascination.

They all looked at her.

'It's colossally deep. It's sort of white inside I say! I think you've cut yourself to the bone!'

Cecily felt sick, but rather thrilled all the same. Who wouldn't? It was pretty important to have cut yourself to the bone. She could not feel any acute pain as yet, only the bruised ache where her whole face had hit the ground. It was gratifying to have something to show for it. Instantly Tom rose sublimely to the occasion, tearing a strip off the bottom of his shirt.

'No, no, wait,' Pinky said. 'I think we should take you back to the house, Cecily.'

But Tom was already binding the cloth untidily round her head.

'The blood's coming through...'

He sounded rather scared.

Captain P picked Cecily up easily and strode back to the house. Tom, a hero, trotting anxiously behind. They had forgotten about Bellamy, who disappeared as swiftly as one of his ferrets.

'Cecily's cut herself to the bone,' Tom announced before Captain P could stop him.

Cook and Agnes stared and Carlo, sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for Rose, stood up in alarm. The sight of Carlo had turned on the tap of tears behind Cecily's eyes. The cloth was blood-soaked and very gory. Everyone made a h.e.l.l of a fuss. Carlo took her face in his hands and kissed it, gently. Sweetly. As if she were his little sister. And this made her cry more.

'Poor little Cecci,' Carlo said, wiping her eyes.

Cecily cried all the harder.

Bellamy's part in the events was discussed. Tom took his share of the blame manfully but Captain Pinky would have none of that. He explained everything first to Agnes and then to Cook and then later on once more to Kitty. He never once blamed either party more than the other, which was clever of him although Cook kept muttering about gipsies.

'Where's the wretched boy?' Agnes asked.

She would have to tell Selwyn that this would not do. But where was Selwyn when he was needed?