They left the peace of the exhibition and were immediately consumed by the noise of the high street. Ulysses bought her a lemonade before they got on the bus. This is my best day ever, she said.
There’ll be more, he said.
I know. I’m only five.
That night, Peg watched the kid sleep. Her face still flushed after a day out with Temps. Temps had a knack with her, but Peg couldn’t come close. She sat on the bed and flicked through the kid’s drawing book. She felt bad, like it was a diary, but not bad enough to put it down. A picture of Temps, the scar on his lip like a digit. The kid had talent, and she didn’t get it from Peg. Eddie, of course. All the things she didn’t know. Like if he was dead or alive or if he ever thought about her and their nights together. Cress had once told her she needed to tell Eddie things. Words are gold dust, that’s what he’d said. So she’d told Eddie stuff, stuff that would make her toes curl now. Laid out her heart on the bed and had cut it open, a full autopsy of love. That’s what being in a hotel room could make a girl do. Sex in soft sheets and room service. Making plans. And all the time war was eavesdropping— Peg got up. She spilt gin on the bedclothes. Sometimes it was unbearable looking at the kid. The always reminder of the life she’d lost.
April 1952 had Old Cressy under his prunus serrulata, his Japanese cherry. It was evening, and thick clusters of white and pink blossom hung heavy and low and reflected the flaming gold of a lowering East End sun. Cressy sat with a glass of stout from Col’s and listened to the secrets of Mother Gaia.
The voice of Ginny brought a smile to him.
What you doing, Cressy?
I’m enacting the Japanese ritual of hanami, my love.
Is that when you fold paper?
Not quite, sweetheart. Come sit with me, and he got up and gave her his chair.
Rain, she said.
Just starting, said Cressy, looking out. Won’t last too long. Let’s just sit it out, shall we?
Ginny nodded. The smell, she said.
Petrichor.
Ginny repeated the word over and over.
Scent of rain on dry earth, said Cress and he sipped his stout.
It won’t go away, she said.
Soon it will, my love, he said.
This.
What? And Cress turned to her. She had tugged the top of her blouse away to reveal a small love bite, like a thumb print, floating between her collarbone and breast.
Won’t go away, Cressy.
Cressy smiled. It’ll go away, my love, if you cover it up and don’t show anyone. You shown your dad yet?
Ginny shook her head.
Then don’t. Best not to. It’ll go away quicker if he don’t see.
Thank you, Cressy, she said. Not scared any more.
He bent down and held her cheek. Good, he said. No need to be.
But Cress felt scared. He closed his eyes and felt the roots from his shoes stretch down into the dark damp earth. Past the dead, and the Roman pots, to the whisperings.
Rain stopped, said Ginny.
When Cress and Ginny came into the pub, Ulysses looked up and said, Alys is upstairs, Gin, and she ducked under the hatch and disappeared.
Didn’t expect to see you back so soon, said Ulysses. You all right, Cress?
Cress nodded and placed his empty glass on the counter. Meet me at the tree tomorrow morning, boy. Usual time. And bring Peg.
The next day, Ulysses was standing outside the pub enjoying the sunshine and waiting for Peg. He raised his hand as she came around the corner, familiar little twinge in his guts at the sway of her walk.
So what d’ya want to see me about, Tempy? she said and before he could answer, a green ambulance, red cross and all, spluttered down the street.
Jesus Christ, she said.
He’s brought it back from Swindon.
Don’t they scrap their junk there any more? she said.
Col parked the ambulance outside the pub and was about to climb out when the siren suddenly wailed.
Jesus fucking Christ you piss bastard! screamed Col, hammering the dash.
And there’s the old Col, thought Ulysses.
The siren stopped. Col closed the door gently behind him and crept over to them.
What d’ya think? he said.
Speechless, said Ulysses.
Peg?
I wouldn’t be seen dead in that, Col. No offence. But what you’ve got there is a charisma lobotomy.
Col looked hurt but he didn’t let on. He said, I’m taking Fionnula out to Epping Forest tomorrow for a night in the woods. And Peg said, You turn up at hers in that, she’ll think you’re taking her out there to bury her.
All right, all right, he said, I hear ya. I’ll invite her over to see it later this afternoon. Bustin’ my balls, he said as he stomped into the pub.