Dear Scarlet,
I know I promised to leave you be if you ever married my brother, and although I’m pleased that he has returned, I can’t say I’m pleased to have to keep that promise. The unwavering belief you held that he was alive still amazes me, and after all that time I cannot believe it turned out you were right. My parents told me bits about what he is like now that he’s home, and how hard it must be on you caring for a man who no longer resembles the brother I once knew, but it wasn’t until I saw him for myself that I truly believed them. I should visit again, but I doubt I could stand in your home and play the role of loving brother if he dared to speak to you or touch you like that again. It breaks my own mother’s heart to see how distant and miserable Thomas is, and to see the husband he has become to such a loving, wonderful woman.
Scarlet, I need you to know that I love you. Not a day has passed since I left you in France that I haven’t thought about you, and if you ever tire of my brother’s loathsome behaviour, if it becomes worse or you can no longer stand to put up with his treatment of you, then I want you to know that my home is your home. If ever you walk through my door, well, I want you to know that my feelings about you haven’t wavered.
The war changes all of us. I will never be the same again after what I’ve seen; I’m sure you feel the same. But surely, after all we’ve suffered, we deserve happiness as a reward for living? I’m writing to you from my garden, and I can imagine you here with me, picking flowers and smiling, bringing brightness and happiness to everyone and everything around you. Don’t spend your life worrying about what others think, or trying to do what is best, if it is slowly draining the life from you. You deserve more.
If this letter finds you happy and content, if you truly love my brother and want to endure it all with him, then toss it away or burn it and never think of me again. But if not, then my address is on the envelope. No one will think less of you for walking away from such an intolerable situation.
With all my love,
James
Scarlet stared at his name long after she finished reading his words. James was asking her to go to him. He wanted her with him. Two weeks to the day that Germany had surrendered, he was asking her to surrender her own marriage. To walk away from the vows she’d made to Thomas.
She quickly folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. She slowly glanced behind her, having the most awful feeling that Thomas could be watching. He was in the front room, he could have seen her, but he didn’t seem very interested in anything she did so she knew it was unlikely.
He couldn’t seriously believe that she would go? Walk out on Thomas, leave him alone and leave their marriage? It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about it; it was something she dreamt about every night as she struggled to fall asleep. Worse, she sometimes imagined what it would be like if she woke up and he was gone. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for her thoughts. One morning, when he’d not spoken to her for days, had refused to even acknowledge her when she’d made him dinner, she’d wished he would die. And that thought returned more and more when he slapped her, shoved her, spat at her.
But Thomas was her husband, and her life was what it was. She would ignore the letter from James, pretend she’d never read it, and soldier on. Thomas needed her, and she hadn’t searched for him for so long to give up on him now. What she had to do was believe that this was a stage that would pass, that he’d slowly come to terms with what had happened and let her back in.
Scarlet gathered herself together, pushed all thoughts of James aside, and placed a smile back on her face. She walked into the kitchen, determined to make lunch and perhaps take Thomas out into the sunshine, read to him.
‘Thomas, darling, I’m going to get lunch,’ she called out, doing her best to sound bright.
If she didn’t pretend to be happy, then she’d only end up as miserable as her husband.
‘Mary! It’s so good to see you again.’ Scarlet took the small case from her mother-in-law and embraced her with one arm. What she wanted to do was collapse into a heap at her feet and beg her to take care of her son for the rest of the day, but instead she kept her smile fixed and stood back, gesturing down the hall.
Her own parents had been to visit several times, as had her sister, but they’d found it hard to talk to Thomas, his discontent so obvious, and in the past month she’d only received letters. She’d naively imagined that her mother would frequently come from their house in the country to stay, but it hadn’t happened. Her parents’ favourite saying of ‘chin up’ kept ringing through her mind; she wished they knew what it meant to truly keep her chin up around her husband. She doubted they understood this any more than the horrors of what she’d seen and experienced abroad, imagining their daughter well fed and working ladies’ hours.
‘How has he been?’
Scarlet looked at Thomas’s mother, certain she would be able to see straight through her if she lied.
‘Well, you know, he’s . . .’ She didn’t know what to say, couldn’t even conjure a lie. There was nothing for her to say unless she wanted to break his mother’s heart.
‘Scarlet, why don’t you go for a walk? It’s a lovely sunny day out there and I’m sure you could do with a break and some fresh air.’
Mary was so kind, she always had been, and she truly did seem to understand how hard things had been. Often Scarlet wondered if James had ever said anything, if he’d let slip how he felt, but his mother had never mentioned it and neither had she. Scarlet gave her a grateful smile, not trusting her voice, and touched her arm before turning and reaching for her coat. She opened the door and gratefully breathed in a burst of air.
‘He’s in the front room as usual,’ she called out. ‘I won’t be long.’
Scarlet shut the door behind her, hurrying out into the open and stumbling down her front steps. She was failing as a wife. There was no other word for what was happening in her home other than to call it failing. All the months she’d dreamt of finding Thomas, remembering the soft touch of his lips to hers that night so long ago as they sat in the shelter during a bombing raid, how dashing he’d been. She’d dreamt of a wedding surrounded by their family, children filling the halls of their home with laughter, happiness once the war had ended. She doubted now that they’d even be able to have children, given that Thomas wouldn’t see a doctor and made no effort to do his exercises to even try to learn to walk again. They hadn’t even been able to consummate their marriage.