“Awful for him?” I asked, irritated by this. “I would say it was wonderful for him.”
“Yes, I can see why you would say that,” she agreed. “But try to see it from his point of view. He wanted to be over there with the rest of you, not stuck here with a bunch of women. He doesn’t fit in at all with the men who came back. I’ve seen him sitting in the corner of the public houses, not mixing with the fellows he used to go to school with. How can he, after all? He can’t share their experiences, he doesn’t know what they’ve been through. Some of them try to involve him, I think, but he gets aggressive about it and I think they’ve given up. Why should they humour him, I suppose, is their attitude. They have nothing to reproach themselves for.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I could see what she was getting at and was willing to admit that he probably felt bad about things but, still, I couldn’t bring myself to sympathize with a man who had been lucky enough to escape the trenches simply because he felt emasculated by this same good fortune.
“Well, if he didn’t get to fight then he’s certainly making up for it now,” I said. “What does he mean, anyway, hitting me like that?”
“I suppose he thought there was something between us,” she explained. “And he can be terribly jealous.”
“But he was the one who threw you over!” I said, instantly regretting the unchivalrous nature of my remark, and she turned to look at me, scowling.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, thank you, but clearly he regrets it now.”
“And you don’t?”
She hesitated only briefly before shaking her head. “I regret that a situation came about that led him to feel he had to break it off with me,” she said. “But I don’t regret that he did it. Does that make any sense?”
“A little,” I said.
“But now he wants me back, which is a bore. He wrote to me and said as much. He follows me around town, and shows up at the house whenever he’s had too much to drink, which is a couple of times a week at least. I’ve told him there’s no chance at all and he might as well resign himself to it but he’s as stubborn as a mule. Really, I don’t know what I’m going to do about him. It’s not as if I can speak to his parents—they won’t have anything to do with me. And it’s not as if I can ask my father to talk to him. He won’t even acknowledge that Leonard exists any more.” She took a deep breath before expressing in words what we were both thinking. “What I need, of course, is my brother.”
“Perhaps I should have said something,” I said.
“What would you have said? You don’t know him, you don’t know the circumstances.”
“No, but if you’re upset about it—”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Tristan,” she said, looking at me with an expression that suggested she was not to be patronized, “but you barely know me. And I don’t need your protection, as grateful as I am that you are willing to offer it.”
“Of course not. I just meant that as your brother’s friend—”
“But don’t you see?” she asked. “That’s what makes it worse. It was his parents, you see. They put the most awful pressure on him. They run a greengrocer’s, here in town, and rely on the goodwill of the community to keep their business going. Well, of course everyone knew that Leonard and I were to be married, so after Will died most of the town stopped shopping at Legg’s. They were looking for someone to attack, you see. And it wasn’t as if they could take it out on my father. He was their vicar, after all. There were certain conventions that had to be upheld. So the Leggs were the next best thing.”
“Marian,” I said, looking away, wishing there was a bench nearby where we could sit quietly. I felt a strong urge to remain silent for a long time.
“No, Tristan,” she insisted. “Let me finish. You might as well know it. We tried to carry on for a while but it was obvious that it was no good. The Leggs were shunning me, the town was shunning the Leggs, it was horrible, all of it, and so Leonard decided that he’d had enough and threw me over for his family’s sake. Of course his father put it about within a few hours and, by the next day, everyone was shopping there again. Business could go on as normal, hurrah. Never mind that I was going through the worst time of my life, grieving for the brother I’d lost; never mind that the person I relied on most to see me through those days decided that he couldn’t stand the sight of me. But now that things have begun to blow over and no one wants to talk about it any more, he’s decided that he wants me back. Everyone around here wants to act as though nothing ever happened and there never was a boy called Will Bancroft who grew up around them and played on their streets and went out and fought their blasted war for them—” She was raising her voice now and I could see a few people passing by looking at her with expressions that suggested they were thinking, Ah yes, the Bancroft girl, we shouldn’t expect much more from her than shouting in the streets. “Now that that’s all behind us, Tristan, my poor Leonard has decided that he made a terrible mistake and damn his father and damn his mother and damn their blessed cash register but he wants me back. Well, he shan’t have me, Tristan, he shan’t have me. Not today, not tomorrow. Never.”
“All right,” I said, trying to calm her. “I’m sorry. I can see it now.”
“People behave as though we are disgraced. Can you understand that?” she said, quieter now. Tears sprung into her eyes as she spoke to me. “Look at that couple in the café. Their brazen rudeness. Their insensitivity. Oh, Tristan, don’t look at me like that. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”
I frowned, remembering only the couple who had sat a few tables away from us before moving to a more secluded area to continue their assignation.
“They moved because of me,” she cried. “When I came back from the Ladies and they saw who was sitting near them, they upped sticks and got as far away from me as possible. This is what I have to put up with every day. It’s not as bad as it once was, that’s true, it used to be horrendous, but in a way it’s even worse now that people are talking to me again. It says that they’ve entirely forgotten Will. Which I never shall. They treat my parents, they treat me, like they want to say that they forgive us, as if they think we have something to be forgiven for. But it’s we who should be forgiving them for how they treated us and how they treated Will. And yet I don’t say anything. I’m full of fine ideas, Tristan; you’d learn that about me if you were fool enough to stick around here any longer. But that’s all they are. Fine ideas. In my heart, I’m just as much a coward as they all think my brother was. I want to defend him, but can’t.”
“Your brother was not a coward,” I insisted. “You must believe that, Marian.”
“Of course I believe it,” she snapped. “I don’t think it for a moment. How could I? I who knew him best. He was the bravest one of all. But try telling that to the people here and see how far it gets you. They’re ashamed of him, you see. The only boy from the entire county during the whole war ever to be lined up in front of a firing squad and executed for cowardice. They’re ashamed of him. They don’t understand who he is. Who he was. They never have. But you do, Tristan, don’t you? You know who he was.”