The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [55]
‘When I was young,’ says Em, ‘I looked after one of my elderly aunts. In those days, just after the war, it was perfectly reasonable to expect a younger member of the family to care for an older one and, anyway, I was constantly reminded that I was very lucky that they'd been prepared to look after me and that now it was my turn to repay the debt. Being at the beck and call of a self-willed, cantankerous old woman might have been exhausting but at least I never had to worry about how long the day was.’
Tiggy laughs. ‘It sounds awful.’
‘I spent my time daydreaming. I was physically busy but the inside of my head was mine. I used to make up long dramas that went on for weeks at a time. I was the heroine, of course, and some brave but weary fighter pilot or sailor back from the war would take a major role. It was all very romantic stuff, of course.’
‘Oh, I know exactly what you mean,’ says Tiggy eagerly. ‘I was the same. I used to spend most of the holidays with my grandmother and I'd read and read – Georgette Heyer especially – and I used to make up stories about how one of those tough, strong-jawed types would find me and carry me off.’ She shakes her head. ‘It sounds a bit pathetic, doesn't it? But it worked for you, Aunt Em.’
‘Yes, it worked for me. One day I met Archie at someone's bridge party and everything changed. Poor Archie. I sometimes wonder if he knew what hit him.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, it was so fantastic, you see; my dream actually coming true at last. I threw twenty-eight years of frustrated and unrequited love at him. In some ways I can see now that I needed him to be everything I hadn't had: mother, father, siblings, lover, husband. A lesser man might easily have crumpled beneath the weight. Archie managed to handle it, probably because he had time off when he went to sea. Luckily he's a very generous man and I've learned to be more rational. Not always, though: I still get resentful sometimes when he's busy and his time is taken up for some cause when we could be together. I feel I'm still trying to catch up on everything I missed. I suppose the sad fact is that however hard you try you can never replace a happy, balanced childhood.’
‘Tom used to talk about that. His parents were killed when he was very young and he spent most of his childhood away at school, including the holidays. He told me that he was always looking for someone that he could attach himself to, whether it was other boys and their families, one of the matrons or a master. He was very lucky when he went to his second school at thirteen to have a chaplain who understood how desperate he was and what he was feeling, and this man and his family really straightened him out. He told Tom never to use his lack of family as a hook to hang his failures on. It would become a habit, he said; an excuse.’
‘That's interesting,’ says Aunt Em thoughtfully. ‘I think I see what he means. It's fatally easy to excuse a negative aspect of one's own behaviour by thinking that it's a result of not having had a normal childhood. I do it myself.’
‘Well, this chaplain said that simply being part of a family didn't necessarily guarantee a stable, happy future and that Tom must learn to see himself clearly and honestly.’
‘Not that easy,’ murmurs Aunt Em.
‘Tom talked about it often. Obviously he was trying to help me come to terms with certain things, too, but it had made a very deep impression on him.’
‘The drawback with seeing oneself clearly and honestly is that it's such a devastating experience.’ Aunt Em grins ruefully. ‘Rather shattering to the self-esteem.’
‘Ah, but the thing is that you have to be generous too. Tom made a point of that. The chaplain told him to look at yourself honestly, not with self-pity, but be able to forgive yourself – something like that, anyway. I wish I'd known him. I suppose one never knows how much is due to nature or nurture when it comes to character. Tom was great fun but he drove himself physically. He told me that he'd longed to have a family who would've come to school