The Truths and Triumphs of Grace Atherton by Anstey Harris

Author:Anstey Harris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2019-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Mr Williams and I sit for a long while in the kitchen. We are different now; we have lost a barrier.

‘Leslie’s wife knew he was gay when she married him,’ Mr Williams tells me.

I am still trying to compose myself following his revelation; it is important, I think, that I – of all people – don’t appear shocked. Surprised is more accurate and, when I examine that, my surprise is simply because I thought he was a better person than me.

I pick crumbs of cheese from the breadboard to focus my gaze and wonder at my arrogance. Of course Mr Williams is a better person than me; his relationship was under completely different circumstances.

‘It was unusual – in those days – to be that honest. It suited Jean to marry a homosexual; she had no interest in . . .’ he lowers his voice and I am reminded that he is of a different generation to me, ‘that side of things. And for Leslie, well, one couldn’t just push off with a chap back then.’

Mr Williams’ turn of phrase makes me smile. I feel privileged to be wearing Leslie’s dressing gown in his absence; I feel like I am part of their lives.

‘We were together for a long time, more than most people, but they are painful rules to live by. How you have to learn to stand in the queue, how you must know your place.’

He puts one hand over mine. The skin on the back of his hand is drawn and tight, the wrinkles look like translucent bark. His knuckles show through it as four white dots.

‘And at his funeral, it had to all be about Jean. I was another ordinary guest, another close friend. Jean and I kissed cheeks politely; she loved him too in her way. Alan and his wife stood either side of me, holding my hands tight. And I kept from shouting out.’

He squeezes my hand and I smile at him.

‘I’m so sorry. I’ll fix Alan’s violin. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.’

‘It’s wood, my dear girl. It’s lovely and it was clever of Alan to make it and, yes, it was precious for a while. But it’s wood, it’s not flesh and blood.’

I cannot believe so much compassion can come from one lonely old man. I want to tear out my heart and give it to him. I want to make everything better; turn back time and bring Leslie and him forward, to now, to let them be together. But then what would happen to Jean?

It dawns on me, like daybreak, that there are no winners in love affairs, however well meaning.

‘I’ll mend it. I’ve done a terrible thing and I’ll mend it.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s not important. If you want to make it up to me, you’ll mend the Cremona ’cello. The one with the great big hole through it, the poor thing.’ He looks right at me. ‘You’ll mend it, and you’ll take it to Cremona in time to win.

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