Losing You

By Mary Atkins

How do you rebuild your life after heartbreaking loss?

It’s 1963, and the world is changing. Kate Sinclair is a young mother of two small children. Married life with her dashing and successful husband, an amateur pilot, is all she had hoped it would be. The future looks bright…
Until one ordinary day, a phone ca

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Atkins
• Release date: Dec 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648192268

Mary Atkins

Mary Atkins is an award winning Home Economist and speaker. She has over 20 years experience in training and coaching presenters. Her first book Finding Your Voice: Ten Steps to Successful Public Speaking was published in 2005. She is a past President of the Australian Association of Food Professionals and past Chair of the Australian Food Media Awards. Losing You is Mary Atkins first novel.

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Front matter

First published 2013

Copyright © Mary Atkins 2013

All attempts have been made to locate the owners of copyright material. If you have any information in that regard please contact the author at the address below.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording, nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use–other than for ‘fair use’ as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews–without prior written permission of the publisher.

Mary Atkins

Peregian Springs QLD 4573

Australia

Email: [e-mail]

Website: maryatkinsauthor.com

ISBN: 9780648192244

Internal design: Big Shed Creative Communications

Set in 12pt/16pt Minion Pro

Cover design: Big Shed Creative Communications

Cover images: iStock by Getty Images

Printed and bound by Ingram Spark

For my family, past and present

Dedication

What you leave behind

is not what is engraved in stone monuments

but what is woven into the lives of others

Pericles

Prologue

It was the summer of 1942 when Captain Frank Taylor was posted to an Officer Cadet Training Unit in a small town in Wales. His wife Lucy and young daughters were casualties of the Blitz. Homeless, they followed Frank to Wales and found lodgings with a teacher and his wife.

Their landlord, Evan Hughes, a pale moon faced man with small hands disproportionate to his large body, taught at the local primary school. In his spare time he was a part time air raid warden and butterfly collector. On the cream stucco walls in the hall of his home were the boxed and framed displays of his butterfly collection. His steel helmet stencilled with a large white 'W' hung on the oak hallstand close to the front door.

Being a teacher he was good with children especially with the timid four-year-old Kate who spent most of her young life viewing it from behind her mother’s skirts. He showed the girls the balsa board where the dead butterflies were spread-eagled to dry out ready for mounting and the killing jar filled with cotton wool balls soaked in a mixture of ether and chloroform. He explained that once a butterfly is caught he would pinch it’s thorax to stun it before popping it in the jar where it simply went to sleep peacefully, his lips squeezed a smile as he gave Kate a soft pinch to her tummy. Doing this, he added, stops them bashing their wings against the side of the jar trying to escape.

He took the girls out to a local hamlet where the fields spread out before them and butterflies rose in the air, their scale covered wings of glorious hues lifting them in the updraft as they sourced nectar. Eight-year-old Jane was way ahead of them excitedly swooping the large net whenever she saw a butterfly. Kate ran through the long grass grasping the handle of the gauze net held steady by Mr Hughes, her legs hardly keeping up with his pace. He shouted but she could not hear his words. She turned her head and his hand gripped her face pressing something over her nose and mouth. She jerked her head but was held fast. The smell scalded her nostrils and made her eyes water. She tried to push his hands away but his hold was firm. The odour, reminding her of her mother’s nail polish remover filled her nostrils.

Mr Hughes voice echoed distantly. ‘You be a good girl or I will tell your mother.’

She knew nothing more.

Chapter 1

A Summer’s Day 1963

Greg Sinclair pinched his lips together as he attempted to tie a double Windsor knot in his red and blue tartan tie. The mirror fixture on the dressing table was broken and the oval mirror tilted forward, reflections of Greg’s white short sleeve shirt and grey pants flashed before it settled on the image of the double bed and his wife Kate, her fair hair draped like a curtain over one shoulder feeding their two-week old son.

‘Bugger,’ he said as he righted the mirror and fiddled with the screw to tighten it.

Kate tried to recall what the local community nurse had told her, something about the baby’s lower jaw taking a good chunk of breast and that his lips should curl outwards. Ben switched his head in frustration and whimpered, his lips pursing. She tried again and Ben took the nipple pulling it back and forth before letting out an almighty anguished howl.

Greg began again weaving the tie in and over but the knitted fabric defied his efforts.

‘Bloody bugger of a thing,’ he said and opened the drawer of the dressing table and flipped through the contents until he found the blue and grey striped clip-on tie. He clipped it on behind the top button of his white shirt and adjusted the knot so it sat neatly under his collar.

‘How you’re doing Katie? He asked.

‘Don’t ask me. With Ally it was a disaster and now Ben. He’s hungry and I’m in agony.’

‘You can do it Katie,’ he said as he crammed the drawer of the dressing table shut. The mirror slipped again reflecting a wall of white laminated wardrobe doors with fancy glass doorknobs and a cream shag pile carpet.

‘I bet it would be a different story if it were your nipples going through the mangle.’

‘Of course, you just need to persevere,’ he said, and bent to kiss her forehead.

‘Yes just like you persevered with your double thingamajig knot.’

‘Now that’s a different proposition Katie, breastfeeding is natural and a double Windsor knot,’ his lips twitched, ‘is not.’

Kate shook her head as he gazed down at her, his smile creasing his cheeks and sassy eyes. Ben gave another yowl, his head twitching to find a source of comfort.

Her nipples were gorged and throbbed like angry wasp stings. She wanted to cup her breasts with cool hands to soothe them. She draped the baby over her shoulder and softly patted his back.

‘Are you hungry Ben or do you need burping?’, she whispered.

She watched her husband as he slicked his hair with Brylcream combing it severely back from his face. He was tall, just less than six foot and she delighted that at five foot three she fitted neatly under his breastbone so that when he held her close she could hear his steady heart beat. He had a broad face, a straight nose and a strong jutting chin. To her his blue eyes blazed a surety but to others the steeliness of his gaze was often translated as arrogance. He scooped up the loose change and car keys from the bedside table and put them in his pocket, his forearms sparse of down a contrast to his head of thick black hair. Even now, after nearly five years together, whenever he spoke his Australian accent excited her.

‘What’s for breakfast Katie?’, he asked.

‘Bacon from the smell of it. Lucky, lucky us!’, she said following him down the stairs.

…

The kitchen was spacious with more cabinets than they could fill with crockery, cream laminated surfaces and a white tiled splash back. A large picture window overlooked the back garden. In the centre of the room an orange melamine table and matching chairs gave a splash of welcome colour to the clinical brightness of the room.

Ally was hammering her plastic cup on the highchair table, her face crumpled into a gooey smile when she saw her parents. Greg captured one of her flailing hands as she lunged forward to throw her cup to the floor. He kissed her sticky soft knuckles before picking up the cup and replacing it.

‘Hello cheeky face hope you’ve been a good girl for your grandmother?

He shook his head as Ally threw it to the floor and giggled at the game. This time he left it where it lay.

‘Morning Lucy, Frank gone already?’, he asked.

Kate’s mother Lucy nodded as she placed two plates of bacon and fried eggs on the table. The yokes had started to congeal from their stay in the warmer drawer of the oven.

‘How were the night feeds?’ Lucy asked as Kate put the sleeping baby into the carrycot.

Kate shook her head. ‘Roll on three months. Who says four hourly feeds are best for baby, but which baby, not either of mine.’ Kate smiled at thirteen-month old Ally wriggling in her high chair. ‘Yes you too, puddin’ chops.’

Kate’s mother Lucy Taylor was in her mid fifties but her smooth skin and trim body denied her age. She topped the teapot with boiling water and poured herself a cup.

‘Daddy and I are thinking of going home this weekend. You seem to be coping well now,’ she said.

‘Don’t know about coping well but we can manage can’t we Greg? We are so grateful Mummy, I couldn’t have done it without you.’

Greg nodded, placing the knife and fork together neatly on his empty plate,

‘Yes, Lucy, we really appreciate the help. It meant I was let off the hook,’ he gave a theatrical wink and blew a kiss to his amused mother-in-law.

‘You’re a bugger Greg Sinclair,’ Kate whispered twisting a strand of her hair.

…

The hall was dark, lined with timber panelling. Kate wanted to paint the panels white and lay black and white tiles down on the timber floor for a more contemporary sixties look but Greg preferred the traditional look of natural timber.

The diamond paned windows in the front door spilled patterns of light on the hall carpet runner. When Greg and Kate first moved into the house, Kate thought they were stains in the early morning light and had attempted to scrub the offending marks. The previous owners had left them the runner as well as the big uncomfortable gold brocade settee in the lounge; two tapestry wing back armchairs and the dressing table. They were appreciative, as they had no furniture apart from nursery furniture, two double beds and a television.

Greg slipped his arm under her dressing gown and circled her waist. He kissed her cheek. ‘I’m going to the aero club after surgery.’

Kate pulled away from his embrace ‘Oh Greg do you have to, yesterday it was a game of squash, today you’re flying. What about home time, and helping out with the children?’ Kate’s eyes narrowed.

‘Come on Katie, it’s just circuits and bumps, I’ve got to get my hours up if I’m to keep my licence.’ He put his arm around her again and pulled her closer. She could feel the buttons on his shirt grazing her breasts and she tried to push away but he held fast.

‘Katie come on now stop making a fuss, your parents are here helping you out and you can manage. I’ll be home before you know it. Come on give me a kiss.’

‘Is your sister coming this weekend?’ Kate’s voice was a hiss, a blur of words.

Greg raised his eyebrows and his hold on her relaxed. ‘I don’t know Katie, she may or she may not.’

‘I don’t want her here Greg, she causes trouble between us,’ Kate said watching his face intently.

‘She’s my sister, Katie.’

‘And I’m your wife Greg,’

Kate shook her head. But she did not move.

He sighed as he stared into her eyes. ‘What am I going to do with you Katie?’, he asked. His lips were soft as he kissed her mouth.

‘Don’t be late tonight, please?’

‘Whatever you say Katie,’ his eyes sparkled.

He opened the front door and stepped away from her. She watched as he threw his blazer into the back of the car and slipped into the driving seat. The motor coughed and steadied, before he reversed his old Citroen down the driveway. At the road the Citroen stopped while he put it into first gear. She saw him wave and shout something into the breeze and he was gone, the old car leaving a trail of exhaust.

…

A frieze of blue and pink bunnies etched the top of the pale lemon walls of the nursery. Kate had painted the nursery when they moved into the house ten months ago. She made the curtains from a fabric with a similar theme of long eared yellow rabbits.

Ally fidgeted as Kate changed her, she dropped the sodden terry-towelling nappy into the plastic bucket. With one hand holding Ally’s legs high Kate liberally sprinkled the damp pink cheeks with talcum powder. Ben cocooned in his muslin wrap slept deeply in his carry-cot beside Ally’s big white cot.

‘Amazing,’ Kate said ‘During the day he hibernates but at night it’s one big party.’ Ally scrunched her eyes. ‘It’s okay Ally just your mother sounding off. Nap time I think for you Miss Sinclair.’

It was a funny muggy sort of day when the nappies hung wet and limp on the line. In the afternoon Kate wheeled the children in the black and cream carriage pram to the park. Ally sat facing the path ahead and at her toes lay Ben. Comforted by the movement of the pram, the infant’s dark blue eyes stared at the tree line above, Some trees, affected by the harsh winter were bare of leaves but the horse chestnuts were green interleaved with white Christmas tree shaped blooms. The sweet sound of a birdsong caught Ally’s attention and she twisted her head searching for the source.

‘Probably sitting on her nest sweetheart somewhere high overhead, we might not see her but we can listen to her song,’ Kate said turning the pram around for the homeward journey.

Lucy, fresh from an afternoon rest, was peeling potatoes. The Good Housekeeping Compendium lay open on the kitchen table.

‘Some lovely recipes in there Kate and look at this novel centre piece for the table,’ she flicked the pages stopping at a picture of a fat yellow grapefruit studied with squares of cheese and tiny red and green pickled onions on cocktail sticks.

Kate lifted Ally into her highchair and opened a jar of apple puree. She read the recipe as she fed Ally.

‘That’s so easy, good for a cocktail party. Oh by the way I forgot to tell you Greg is going to the aero club after surgery I don’t think he’ll be back in time for dinner,’ Kate said.

‘And your father is going to the golf club for a meeting so it’s just you and I. That’s nice, how about we have ours on a tray watching the telly. We can put theirs onto steam when they get home,’ said Lucy.

…

It was mid evening. The Z Cars credits scrolled down the small television screen and the familiar theme music competed with Ben’s hungry cries when the telephone rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ Lucy called from the kitchen.

Kate lifted Ben from his cot and undid her blouse.

‘I think you’d better take the call love,’ her mother said walking back into the lounge. ‘It’s someone from Greg’s club, I told them you were about to feed Ben but they won’t give me the message. I think you had better speak to them.’

Kate took the call cradling Ben to her chest to comfort him.

‘Kate, my name is William Ryan, I’m President of the Laurelford Aero Club.’ His voice had a singular flat tone like he was reading from a script. ‘There’s been an accident. Greg has been injured and is being taken to hospital.’

‘Accident, hospital?’, her voice trembled. She clutched Ben tighter.

‘We believe it’s minor so try not to worry. We’re not sure which hospital yet. My wife and I will come over and drive you there.’

She shivered as she put the phone back into its cradle.

‘What’s happened?’ Lucy’s tone was sharp.

‘Greg’s been in an accident.’

Lucy’s face paled. ‘Accident?’

‘The fellow said it’s not serious. He’s being taken to hospital. They don’t know which hospital yet but he will take me there.’ Kate tried to button her shirt but her fingers wouldn’t work ‘I’d better get ready, but Ben…’

Lucy took the baby nestling him in the crook of her arm.‘You need to get changed Ben’s spew is down the front of that shirt,’ Ben squirmed and started to cry. ‘There there young man Nana will make it better. Greg will be fine you’ll see. Don’t worry about Ben I’ll give him a bottle,’ she said.

Kate shook as she put on a clean shirt and skirt. Brushing her hair back from her face to secure into a ponytail she remembered that Greg had said he was going to do routine circuits and bumps to get his hours up to maintain his private pilot license. She imagined his Auster taking off, going around the airfield in a set pattern before coming into land, putting the wheels down neatly on the runway. As the wheels touched the ground he would immediately gun his small plane down the runway to take off and land again, and again, and again. She had seen him do the manoeuvre safely a hundred times. She looked at the pale image in the mirror. Her eyes looked huge, her green eyes eclipsed by the dark pupils. She patted a little blusher over her cheeks. She placed her hand softly on her cheek. ‘He’ll be okay. You know he has more lives than a cat.’

At the front door William Ryan stood tall, his grey-flecked hair slicked back and curled around his ears. Kate recognised the Laurelford Aero Club tie.

‘Be a good girl for Nana’ she said giving Ally a cuddle.

Cradling Ben in one arm her mother hitched Ally awkwardly onto her other hip. ‘Give me a call from the hospital and try not to worry. You know Greg always comes up smiling from a scrape.’

‘Yes he’ll be fine.’ Kate dug into the bottom of her bag to find her purse. She fumbled as she opened it. ‘Yes I’ve got money for a call. He’ll be alright Mummy.’

Her limbs felt watery as she walked down the path. She turned and blew kisses to the small tableau at the front door as William held open the car door.

Judy Ryan, a short woman with a thick mask of beige foundation that rimmed at her chin, introduced herself as Kate settled into the back seat.

‘No more news yet I’m afraid,’ her fuchsia lips pursing.

‘We don’t know which hospital he’s in but best we just head out and find out the details when we get to the police station,’ William said.

‘Where did the accident happen?’ Kate asked.

William briefly looked at her in the rear mirror before focusing again on the traffic. ‘In southwest London, we’re not sure of the exact location, the police did not tell us much.’

‘What was he doing in southwest London?’, she asked.

‘I’m not sure Kate,’ William answered. There was edginess in his voice.

She clasped her hand over her lips and rocked silently on the leather seat.

Through the car window Kate gazed at the dense cotton wool clouds with hardly a lift of blue sky between them. She was unaware of the traffic and the throng of pedestrians enjoying the long summer evening.‘How did you fare this January? Judy asked not waiting for a reply from Kate. ‘We were snowed in for days and what with all those power cuts, it was dreadful. They say it was the worst winter for a hundred years.’ She clicked open her handbag and rustled through the contents to find a packet of peppermints.

‘Peppermint Kate? I always get a dry mouth in the car, don’t know why but a peppermint does the trick,’ she said. Kate shook her head, her stomach felt queasy and she wished the woman would stop talking. She looked at her watch it was over an hour since they had left home.

The sun was low in the sky and starting to patch the clouds with pink when the car turned into the small parking lot of a red brick police station. William switched off the engine, took off his driving gloves and opened his door ‘I think this is it. Judy you wait with Kate in the car I’ll find out where we have to go.’Judy turned to Kate. ‘Once William has got the address of the hospital, we’ll go straight away.’ She reached across and put her moist hand over Kate’s. A diamond ring cut into the fleshy fold of her finger and her dark pink fingernails looked as if she had come straight from the beauty salon. ‘Try not to worry dear.’ Judy said. Kate shook her head and snatched her hand away.

William’s face was pale when he returned. ‘Still no news I’m afraid. They suggest we wait here till they have the details of the hospital.’

‘Why is it taking so long, surely by now they would know where they have taken him?’ Kate asked.

William held the car open for her. He swallowed. ‘I don’t know why Kate,’ he said lowering his gaze.

…

The waiting room smelt of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. Metal chairs with brown vinyl seats were grouped around the dark green walls. Kate’s chest felt tight and every now then she audibly gulped for air. She picked at imaginary lint on her skirt, frequently getting up to circumnavigate the small room. The only sound was Judy’s child like voice frequently reassuring her that everything would be all right. William loosened his tie and sat silently with his hands clasped between his thighs watching Kate. The sun had set when the policeman entered the room. ‘Kate Sinclair, Mrs Greg Sinclair?’

She noticed that his sandy hair was starting to grey at the temples and evening stubble was budding on his chin. The seam of his left breast pocket of his shirt had a blue stain where a biro had leaked.

She nodded.

Without preamble he said ‘I am sorry.’ Kate stared down at her hands, watching her fingers twist her wedding band. She was underwater where everything was distant, the policeman’s words echoing, bouncing slowly off walls drifting towards her in the deep.

Judy’s gasp punctuated the silence. Kate again saw the policeman’s mouth shaping the words I’m sorry. All eyes watched her waiting for her reaction. William got up from his chair. Kate lifted her eyes and stared blankly ahead. Her whole body was rigid, warding off the inevitable destruction that these words would inflict.

William took her arm ‘Kate my dear, Greg is dead, I am truly sorry.’ For what seemed an age she did not move. Judy stood up and her bag clattered to the tiled floor. Kate sprung to her feet and with a sense of urgency announced that she needed to pee. In the light of the white tiled bathroom she realised that she had already done so. As she stared down at the spreading bloodied stain on her skirt and the breast milk seepage on her shirt she started to laugh uncontrollably, her hysterics rattling her body. Spent and silent she bent over the sink to splash cold water on her face before returning to the waiting room.

Chapter 2

Dark Times

Kate was still asleep as Lucy put Ally in her highchair and ran water in the kitchen sink for Ben’s bath. Lucy’s eyes were red rimmed as she tested the water with the back of her wrist.

‘Okay bath time for you young fellow,’ she said softly.

She lifted the naked baby from the change mat and carefully lowered him into the warm water. A spray of water splashed her face as Ben’s legs kicked playfully. Briefly her eyes lit before a frown settled again into despair. Lucy had heard of Greg’s death on the nine o’clock news.

‘A single engine plane crashed into a block of flats in Handsworth, earlier this evening. The young pilot from Essex died at the scene. No one else was hurt in the crash. A bystander reported that he had seen the plane spiralling out of control to crash into the roof of the building.’

She knew straight away that it was her son-in-law. The televised footage showed the stretcher with the blanketed body being carried by the emergency rescue team. She sank to her knees still cradling the sleeping Ben in her arms. Frank found her when he came in, on the floor doubled over but holding Ben tightly. Lucy’s friend and neighbour Molly arrived. She carried with her a cloth bag; in it was a wrap around apron, a pair of comfortable shoes, rubber gloves, smelling salts and her favourite potato peeler. Her reading glasses hung on a gold chain around her neck and bounced off her grandmotherly bosom as she moved. She made them both a pot of tea as Lucy fed Ben. As his mouth clamped tightly round the teat of the bottle Lucy took his small dimpled hand in hers and kissed it gently. His face was flushed with the effort of sucking and his eyelids flickered. She burped him and wiped the dribble of milk from his chin. Her knees buckled as she put him into the pram. Molly took her arm.

‘No arguing Lucy you need to get some rest, you’re exhausted from the shock as well as looking after these two little ones. I will take over.’

Lucy put her arms round her friend and kissed her cheek.

‘Thank God you’re here Molly. I’m desperate for sleep, what with the shock,’ her face puckered and Molly held her closer. ‘And getting up through the night to feed Ben, was ghastly.’

…

The sun shone in a blue cloudless sky when Kate’s father, Frank Taylor walked into the City of London Mortuary.