Page 118 of The Sapphire Child
He recalled something Stella had said long ago about his father being a hero despite being court-martialled.‘Think of all the years of war he went through – all he had to endure – and he was a brave Rifleman on the North West Frontier for years before that. It’s not true that he was a coward.’
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Tom asked him with a sideways glance.
‘Nothing,’ said Andrew, with a stab of guilt.
‘I believe an old friend of mine is still in Taha,’ said Tom. ‘The Reverend Alec Bannerman. They call him the Padre – was an army chaplain in his day. He’s as old as the hills – in his nineties, I believe – but judging by his Christmas letters, he’s still sharp as a pin. I’m sure he’d give you hospitality if you looked him up.’
‘Was he in the Peshawar Rifles?’
‘No, but I came across him in Peshawar,’ said Tom. ‘And again in Taha when...’ He hesitated. ‘When my friend Guthrie lived there.’
Perhaps he was the old white-haired man that Andrew vaguely remembered from his visit to Taha as a small boy. He had little wish to go looking up people from the Guthries’ past or to stay longer in the frontier town than he needed. Taha had bad associations for his mother.
But to keep his father happy, he said, ‘If I get the chance I will.’
His father looked anxiously over at him. ‘You won’t do anything foolhardy, will you? I know what it’s like to be a young subaltern and wanting to prove oneself to fellow officers.’
‘Dad, I’m a professional soldier,’ Andrew said. ‘I’m not here to play games.’
‘Sorry,’ Tom said quickly. ‘I just worry...’
‘You don’t have to.’
His father gripped the steering wheel. ‘I’ve never asked you about your time in France – what it was like and how you got away—’
‘You were in the Great War,’ Andrew said gently, ‘and know more than most what fighting is like. I don’t need to tell you.’
‘But we’ve had so little time together and I’ve wasted it.’
‘We needn’t have argued,’ Andrew admitted. ‘But I shouldn’t have flown off the handle with you either.’
Soon they were at the railway station and Andrew jumped out. He busied himself supervising Manek, glad of the bustle around them which prevented further heart-searching by his father.
‘You don’t have to wait around,’ Andrew said to him. ‘Best to say goodbye here.’
Tears welled in his father’s eyes. ‘Please believe me when I say that Esmie longs to see you too. You’re dearer to her than anyone.’
‘She has a daughter now,’ Andrew pointed out. Swiftly, he put out his hand and said, ‘Send her my regards and congratulations about the baby. Thanks for the lift, Dad.’
Tom took his hand and held onto it; he was struggling to speak. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Promise me you’ll come and visit us in Gulmarg when you get leave?’
Andrew nodded. ‘I’d like that.’
He thought his father was going to burst into tears, so hurriedly withdrew his hand. Abruptly, his father grabbed his shoulders and with surprising force, pulled him into a hug.
‘Look after yourself,’ he said croakily. ‘God go with you, my dearest boy.’
Andrew suddenly felt deeply overwhelmed with sadness and regret for his father. He nodded and stepped back. Unable to express how he felt, he turned away, leaving his father standing on the dusty pavement.
Even after he’d boarded the train and it was pulling out of Rawalpindi, Andrew felt downcast. He shouldn’t have let old resentments get in the way. He had squandered the opportunity to allow him and his father to make amends and find true reconciliation. It might be months – even years – before he had another such chance.
Sitting watching Rawalpindi being swallowed up by the dun-coloured landscape, Andrew felt leaden at the thought. His father was no longer a robust man – not the giant presence of his childhood – but someone bedevilled by mental breakdown and too much drink. His overriding emotion was one of pity. Yet he had broken away and left his father standing alone and miserable, perhaps thinking that he was no longer loved by his son.
Then Andrew reminded himself that he was more alone in this country than his father was. Tom would soon be returning to Gulmarg – to Esmie and Belle – his new family. And to Stella.If she had been around in Pindi, he would probably never have argued with his dad. She would have smoothed the way with her intelligence, warmth and humour.
But as he had realised in the night, for his own sanity he must rid his mind of her, once and for all. She belonged to a time and place that no longer existed – his Indian boyhood.
Chapter 43
