After the War by Anita Frank

Author:Anita Frank [Frank, Anita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Two

Gwen

August 1945

Gwen rises the next morning with the feeling of dread weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach. As she splashes her face with water, she tries to console herself that Gordon is now merely aware she has a child. He has no reason to think Tom is the same child she warned him she was carrying – the child he instructed her to get rid of.

And yet …

She forces her fears from her mind. She hears Nora moving about in the room next door, yawning loudly, cussing when she bangs into something as she leaves to bring in the cattle. There is milking to be done. Gwen chides herself for her distraction. She is worrying about nothing. The façade she has crafted all these years with the help of Jack’s selfless gift is faultless. Let Gordon have his suspicions, there is enough evidence on show to create reasonable doubt. Even so, as she lifts the latch on her door, she cannot help wondering what Gordon looked like as child and whether there are photographs of him at Tom’s age, displayed in silver frames around the Hall. She wonders what similarities there might be.

She cannot resist the temptation to look in on Tom. He sleeps peacefully, his thumb fallen free of his mouth, his cheeks flushed with the cosy warmth of his bed. She has never seen him look sweeter; she has never been so aware of his vulnerability. She wishes a German bullet had served to protect her son and is immediately ashamed of her callousness.

Muriel cycles into the yard just as the first of the cattle appear in the lane. She enters the house full of gossip from the night before, but Gwen cuts her off mid-sentence.

‘Do you think Tom looks like me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Does Tom look like I did, at his age … as a child?’

‘Well, I … well, of course there’s bound to be a look of you about him …’

‘But I mean more than that.’

‘I … I don’t know, I never thought about it … he has your eyes. I’ve always said that.’

‘But he isn’t the spit of me.’

Muriel blusters. ‘Well, no, not exactly.’

‘Do you … do you think …’ But Gwen cannot bring herself to finish her question. She is too afraid to hear the answer.

‘Gwen, love, what on earth is it?’

‘Gordon Allingham …’

‘Oh yes. He’s back, of course.’

‘He saw us … last night, leaving the victory party … the two of us. He saw Tom.’

‘Oh.’ Muriel sits heavily on the chair beside her. ‘Oh, I see. And did he … did he say anything?’

Gwen shakes her head. ‘But he saw us.’

‘Look, Gwen … I can see why you’re worried, but … it’s been nearly six years.’

‘Does Tom look like him?’

‘No!’

‘What if he looked like Tom as a child … what if …’

‘Don’t waste your time on what ifs.’ Muriel leaps up, leaning into hands firmly planted on the table. Conscious of her raised voice she glances up at the ceiling to where the very boy sleeps above them.

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