Page 43 of The Dark of the Moon
‘She must be looking forward to coming home tomorrow,’ I say.
He doesn’t reply, just turns away and opens the kitchen cupboard where the booze is kept. ‘Will you join me in a celebratory dram?’ he asks, taking down a bottle of whisky.
‘I’d love one.’
He pours generous measures into two glasses, and we go out to sit on the porch. The moonlight casts long shadows over the dunes, where the seagrass ripples gently in the night breeze.
We sip our drinks in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Mine are of Ben, picturing him here on the island. I wonder whether he could see the moon from the window of his cell in the prison, if it had one.I wonder whether he would lift his face to let the sea wind caress it, thinking back to our walks on the Downs and those nights we spent together in our bedroom under the eaves of the cottage in Tangmere.
When Dan speaks, it pulls me out of my reverie. He sits slumped in his chair and his voice is low, the words so quiet that it takes a moment for them to register. ‘I’m afraid I’ll lose her, you know.’
I realise he’s talking about Kendra. I’m not sure how to reply, so I don’t. I just let him speak.
He takes another sip from his glass, swallows hard. ‘It’s a lot of pressure for her, being the breadwinner for the family now, while I take care of Finn. She has such a talent and I know she loves her writing, but it’s still hard. I wonder whether one day she might just decide there’s a far more glamorous life out there, go off on one of her writing trips and not come back.’
I shake my head. ‘She would never do that. She’d never leave you and Finn. I know she doesn’t have an easy job, but it looks to me like you have the hardest job of all. Kendra knows that too. She appreciates everything you’ve sacrificed in your own career to take care of Finn. There aren’t many fathers who could do what you’ve done.’
He swallows again, and even in the darkened corner of the porch I can tell he’s choking back his emotions.
‘Thanks, Philly,’ he says. ‘I hope you’re right. To be honest, it puts a strain on our marriage, all of this.’
‘I can see that,’ I say. ‘It’s so tough, day in, day out. I think the pair of you do a really good job, though. The demands of parenting an autistic child are relentless. But you’ve risen to the challenges of parenting Finn, and you’ve done it together. And I know you will both carry on doing so, simply because you have to. But you two are amazing parents and you have an amazing son. You manage to stay sane, to keep going, to meet every drama and crisis as it arises. I hope,as Finn gets older, the situation will evolve a bit. I hope perhaps you’ll have a bit more time for yourselves. And for each other.’
He’s silent again for a while. Then he sits up a bit straighter, turning towards me and squaring his shoulders. ‘It helps a lot, having someone who sees it for what it is. We’ve become so cut off from the world we once knew that I think we lose the ability to do that, to see our situation through the eyes of someone sympathetic and understanding. There’s so much judgement.’
‘I know. But I suspect some of it is self-inflicted too.’ I keep my tone gentle, not wanting my words to come across as more of that criticism. ‘I think you’ll find that those who understand your situation are completely in awe of what you do. After all, love is easy when it’s easy. What really counts is how you are able to continue to love in the face of hardship, when the chips are down.’
He laughs softly. ‘There are very many people whodon’tunderstand, though.’
‘And why on earth would they matter then? That’s their problem, not yours. It’s up to them to look more carefully. Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes, as the saying goes. There aren’t many who could walk even a few yards in yours and Kendra’s. Let alone write a book, or organise a successful sailing camp for a challenging group of youngsters.’
‘Thank you for that. For everything. We’re so grateful to you, Philly. You’ve made a real difference to all our lives in the short time you’ve been here. Finn’s as well as mine and Kendra’s.’
I raise my glass to him. ‘You have my wholehearted admiration. All three of you.’ Then I drain the remains of my whisky. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, Dan, I’ll be off to my bed. It’s been a most eventful day, one way and another.’
As I attempt to haul myself to my feet, he stands and offers me a hand. I take it. ‘You know, Dan, one of the hardest things we all have to learn to do in life is to ask for help. And accept it when it’s offered.But helping one another is surely why we’re put on this planet.’ I give his hand an extra squeeze before I let it go, pressing home my point.
Then I make my way back into the house, leaving him there, sitting alone in the darkness. But, I hope, also giving him the gift that Ben gave me all those years ago. The gift of knowing that, no matter how dark the night, we are never really alone when we are loved.
‘Well, you two certainly have been busy while I’ve been away,’ Kendra says. Finn and I were sitting on the porch, waiting, when Dan pulled the car into the drive having been to pick her up from the airport. He’d clearly briefed her on the journey home about our little run-in with thegendarmes.
‘How was the writing course?’ I ask.
‘It was great! I learned a lot and I’ve come up with several new ideas that I’m keen to get on with. But first I need to finish writingyourstory, Philly. I understand Finn’s found some evidence that Ben was imprisoned here on the island.’
We have the rubbing of Ben’s name ready to show her – neatly laminated, of course – and once we’ve told her the full story of how he’d worked out where to look, she and Dan both agree to come with us to theGendarmeriethe next morning. ‘But we all need to be on our best behaviour,’ she warns. ‘No more getting arrested, OK?’
‘OK, Mum,’ Finn replies.
‘Actually, I was talking to Philly,’ she says.
Honestly, hearing that boy’s laugh is one of the best things there is. And so is watching the expressions on his parents’ faces as they relax their guard for once and join in.
Finn
The policemen were very interested to hear Philly’s story and that we’d discovered Ben had been held captive in the citadel in 1944. We’d taken a photocopy of the rubbing of his name, just in case they confiscated that one too, but they handed it back to Mum after she showed it to them and explained what we were looking for.
The maingendarmewent away and made some phone calls, but he came back shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Madame. The Germans destroyed all the prison records from the 1940s as the war was ending, before they left the island. We have no way of tracing what became of your husband. All we know is that those prisoners of war who managed to survive were released once France was liberated. Any others, the ones who died while in custody, were buried in the cemetery here in Saint-Martin. Subsequently, the plots were properly marked as war graves.’
