CHAPTER 42
Once more I found a new world opening to me, or rather a reminder of how things used to be. Like her choice of newspaper, Valerie was wedded to the past, or at least some aspects of it, even though it seemed we had broken her away from her convictions about her child. That meant tradition, observance of How Things Are Done Properly. It meant Sunday dinners, for one.

I don’t mean every Sunday, because as the weather loosened its grip on the river the flavour of the tourists changed. We saw more of the longer-term holidaymakers rather than day-trippers and those on weekend breaks, and though we had a steady income from day-hire of launches and jolly-boats, as Susie called them, it was the narrowboat and cabin cruiser trade that kept us, well, afloat. Old man Dobbs had had a good head for business, and he had designed his own version of package holidays in conjunction with some other boatyards and marinas. The problem with any form of touring holiday rental is what to do with your car, boat or bicycle when you get to the end, because not all tours can be a closed loop. He’d found businesses he trusted, and we took in their craft when they arrived at Acaster, ready to supply them to someone wanting to do the return trip, and a week or so after one of our boats left it would be back with a different crew.

We soon got to know which of the yards weren’t quite as conscientious as my lads, but the steady earnings outweighed the odd stripped nut or scrape in the brightwork. One thing Susie did introduce, along with the computer, was a much simpler scheme for listing the equipment issued with each craft. Her ‘information technology’, as she called it, also helped when someone cancelled last minute, which meant less time that each boat sat empty. All in all, it seemed that when I ‘fell’ in the river, I landed on my feet.

We were at our own house one Sunday in late May, and it did indeed feel ‘ours’. It seemed that once Susie set her mind on doing something, it got done, and this particular item was a beef joint with what she declared would be all the trimmings. That was when the conflict started with her mother.

“I like my food cooked!”

“Overcooked!”

“Properly cooked!”

“Boiled to sludge! Gerald, help!”

I laughed out loud as the thought struck me: two women, one kitchen. Another thought came in convoy: yes, two women indeed. The more Susie was able to relax, the more comfortable she became, the more natural her behaviour. I realised she had almost stopped wearing high-heeled shoes for one thing, no longer seeming to feel a need to wave a big sign declaring her femininity. I looked in the kitchen door, and saw the vegetables ready cut, the batter mixed. There was no way I was going to step between them in an argument, so I settled for distraction.

“You serving the pudding with the meat, Susie?”

She turned from her mother with a puzzled look. “Whys shouldn’t I? It’s part of the trimmings, after all”

“Ah lass, but weren’t always like that. Times we’d have it as a proper pud, what you’d call a dessert, like, and times it were before main dish. When we didn’t have much for main dish, aye? Filled us up before we got to little bit of meat there were, rabbit, or spam usually. Happen we even did spam toads”

Valerie’s mouth was curling down. “Please tell me you don’t mean…”

“Aye. When there were no sausages, Mam would do batter mix with powdered eggs, and spam instead of sausages, and…”

Suddenly, I had to sit down, the girls fussing round me, a cup of tea quickly beside me. Susie knelt by my chair.

“You OK? What brought that on?”

I shook my head. “I’ll be right, lass. Just one of those little memories that sneaks up on you now and again. Were a friend of mine, lad named Wilf…”

A goose, a biscuit tin, oatcakes and goose fat. Wilf grinning and delivering true magic, not reduced to bits of human debris sprayed into the sole of my boot. I took a slow breath.

“Wilf is one of the lads who didn’t, you know, come home. Just, he were right clever with cooking, a proper scrounger and bodger. He managed to do us a couple of roast dinners around Christmas in ’44, when he were in Belgium”

I was going to say more, but the doorbell went just then, followed by the clatter of the knocker, and Susie trotted off to answer it. I could hear the voice from the back room, as loud and direct as ever, before Matthew strode in, still holding the fitness the rest of us seemed to have lost so easily.

“Gerald! Sorry to intrude, old boy, but I bring news!”

He looked slightly puzzled by the presence of two women, but as ever he remained a gentleman.

“Matthew? This is Susie Lockwood, my bookkeeper and companion, and her mother Valerie. Ladies, Major Matthew Folland, an old comrade”

“And friend, dear boy. Always friends, what?”

I raised an eyebrow to Susie, who just grinned. “Sod it, saves eating leftover roast tomorrow! You eaten, Major?”

“Matthew, dear lady, and no. I have only just arrived. Gerald, may I assume no issues with parking in this area?”

“None at all, Matthew. And it’s roast beef; what it comes with will depend on which of the girls wins the argument about how well done it should all be”

“Jolly good, though I do have rather a penchant for the blue”

I realised I had grunted when he replied “Shave it, show it the oven from afar, slice and serve, dear boy!”

The laughter, like the voice, was still there. “Oh yes; I did not come empty-handed, but bear gifts. A case of red Burgundy, to be precise. Shall we?”

Susie let him out as her mother rearranged the table for another setting, and eventually we settled down to a meal that showed excellent problem-solving techniques. Susie had simply cooked her own vegetables separately. Roast potatoes, mashed swede, sliced carrots, rea onion gravy made by her mother, the puds, Brussels, and all topped off with a little gravy boat of horseradish sauce. Bread and butter pudding with custard finished it off, and throughout the meal Matthew spread charm and laughter around the table. Valerie brought in a pot of tea for us afterwards, with a posh coffee filter thing for Susie, and as we sipped, Matthew asked the question. I sighed.

“Well, Susie here were having problems with getting a decent job, like, and I needed bookkeeper, and she’s very good at it, and, well”

“That does not answer my question, Trooper Barker”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. Happen she actually saved my life. Were after that dinner in February, aye? Had a few gins, fell in Ouse, she pulled me out”

He looked into his tea for a moment. “You were not that inebriated when I left you, dear boy”

I realised he needed no further answer, and he turned a very appraising eye on Susie before making the slightest of nods and then beaming round the room.

“It seems that Gerald here continues to find diamonds of friendship hidden in the dross of daily life. Now, to business… Gerald, I must speak to you of Rodney”

He had just been laughing; it couldn’t be anything bad. Please.

“What…?”

Matthew gave a sigh and a shrug. “Not entirely wonderful, but to be expected, dear boy. Rodney has had a minor stroke. Nothing too catastrophic, just a little hint for him to reduce his intake of the grape and the grain, and take some earlier nights than he has been wont to do. No, it is really just what I believe those in trade refer to as ‘wear and tear’. What it has done is to remind both of us of our mortality, and its impending conclusion. Old ghosts must be laid, Gerald”

Susie coughed politely. “Matthew, Gerald spoke of this when we… when we first met. If what you are suggesting is what I think it is, then yes. Gerald, love, you must go. You are talking about France, Matthew, aren’t you?”

He nodded sharply. “Yes, dear lady, and Belgium. We have other memories relating to that other country”

I shook my head. “No, Matthew. Not so. Happen that would be best place to remember Harry. When were you thinking?”

“Ah, Gerald, that was why I felt the need to call by in person. It would ideally be as soon as possible, and I would assume that the height of Summer would not be the best for you. My man Marriner has found a suitable vehicle, and I have already spoken to dear Ernest. My thoughts are to take the ferry from Portsmouth, as that arrives at almost the very spot you did in ’44, and then continue through Picardy to Flanders. Ladies, this may not be an ideal trip for you, but you would be most welcome. Gerald, do you have a passport?”

“Er, happen I haven’t, but I can get one”

Susie just dipped her head, eyes on her cup. “I can’t”