You Got It Wrong - Part Six

Chapter Six

Mansell had missed most of the sights that the motorway towards Normandy had to offer, he was softly snoring beside her unawares. But now it was starting to get dark, and the roads were getting busier. She was only hoping that they got to their destination before needing to stop for dinner. It was so much easier to get there, unpack, then deal with everything later.

The directions to her cousin’s house Endroit d’Arret were straight forward, and for the last hour she had the charming company of Mansell. Since they’d emerged from the tunnel he’d seemed light hearted, back to the man she knew from her time working at the home. He had always been fun, and that was why his demise had worried her so much. If there was any doubt that she was doing the wrong thing, they were blown away by the change in him. He needed this.

The house was literally built into the sand dunes just outside Arromanches, the site of the Gold Beach invasion, and with the sun setting in the distance the place looked idyllic.

                “Right, unpack, and then we’ll go get something to eat.” Nina opened the door to the house, “I believe there are three or four bedrooms, so take your pick, yeah?” Nodding he followed her in to the lounge, then up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Nina chose the bedroom at the back of the house, a bed nestled between the angled walls caused by the roof. The bed looked appetising; she’d after all been driving all day. But she needed food, and Mansell deserved the chance to be part of things, to see what was happening in the town.

When he appeared from his room he’d changed into a blazer and tie, and it was emblazoned with a swatch of medals that were gleaming.

                “Wow Mansell, you look AMAZING!”

He gave a mock bow, then offered his elbow, “you deserve to be on the arm of a dapper man!”

Theo looked at the manager of the home and shook his head, “I get that he’s independent and allowed to leave, but I don’t get how he can be missing for most of the day and no one realised. This is dreadful, anything could have happened, and he could be anywhere.”

The manager, a short man with no chin, grimaced then offered, “the police say they can’t do anything until he’s been missing for twenty four hours.”

Theo’s anger was second only to fear, he remembered his grandfather the last time be saw him, how low he’d been, how sad. Was that a sign? Was that him reaching out? He rubbed a hand over his face, somewhere, somehow he’d become obsessed with his own life, Mansell had been good to him, since the moment he’d thrust himself into the heart of the family, he’d never asked for anything back, he’d just given time and effort to his newly identified grandson.

With a groan, he turned to the manager, “can I see his room? There may be a clue.”

The man nodded and led him to the room, opening the door with a master key. “I’ll leave you alone...”

Theo felt as though he was intruding, looking into his grandfather’s home, but he didn’t know what else to do. There was a real chance that he’d ended his life, that was his most worrying thought. The older man had been low in mood, and he’d been too obsessed with Sadie’s behaviour to realise that his grandfather was calling out for help. Wasn’t that what people did? Before they did something stupid they asked for help. He’d ignored that.

His heart was racing and he felt sick, this was all his fault.  As he sat on his grandfather’s bed, he called his brother in Washington, but there was no answer, he probably hadn’t reached his destination. Glancing around the room he begged anyone listening to show him a clue, he wanted to find his grandfather, safe and well, then he could tear a strip off him, remind of how much worry he’d caused, how much he cared about him...he knew he hadn’t said or showed that half as much as he should have. He ran a hand through his hair, maybe if he found him he’d take him back to London; look after him for a while. Then he thought about Melody, stuck in a home with a probably alcoholic mother who cared more about herself and money than the needs of a three year old.

As he jumped to his feet in frustration he suddenly spotted a space near the front door. Something normally sat there...what was it? He banged his hand against his forehead and then realised...it was the holdall he used whenever he went anywhere; he’d tripped over it the last time he’d visited. If he took a bag, then he wasn’t killing himself, was he?

                “So,” Nina placed her knife and fork across her plate and sighed. “The celebrations start on Friday, that gives us two days. You need to list the places that are MOST important, and I’ll get you in there. I mean seventy years on there can’t be THAT many travelling here. I don’t mean to sound rude...once we’ve got you the right invites, then we’ll go and find your brother’s grave, and anywhere that is important to you. Ok?”

Mansell smiled, “how can I ever thank you enough for this?”

She shrugged, “for what? You wanted to see your brother’s grave, yet you fail to appreciate that you are as much a hero as he was. You deserve to meet the French President, to be up in a stage so the people of this country can recognise what YOU did. You lost your brother; it could have been your own life...give this country the chance to celebrate you, to show you how important your actions were...not just here, but everywhere. The Second World War really did involve a lot of the world.”

He made to protest, but she reached out, placed a hand over his, “no Mansell. I won’t hear anything. You are playing this down, making out that it’s nothing, but it isn’t. It’s SOMETHING, something very big. Ok?”

He sighed, then reached for his glass of wine and took a sip, “if you say...”

                “I do!”

She waved to the waiter and handed him her credit card to pay the bill, Mansell was looking shattered.

                “I’ll pay...” he started to protest, but instead she pulled out a wad of leaflets and flyers from her pocket. “Use a pen, mark as many things as you want to see and I’ll try and fit them into some sort if itinerary. OK?”

He nodded gratefully and Nina felt good. She liked that she was helping someone; it made her feel useful, worthwhile.

Offering him an arm, she escorted him back to the house they were renting. He was exhausted, she could tell that, but it had been a long day, and she had underestimated how tired he’d get, how physically demanding this was on someone of his age.  Fortunately she’d visited a supermarket before they closed, and as she opened her sketch pad, she was able to crack open a bottle of calvados...local apple brandy, a real treat. Whenever she had ideas, she had to get them down on paper ASAP, and the drive from the motorway through deep agricultural lands had stimulated lots of visions for jewellery ideas.

Nina’s phone ringing woke her the next morning, who’d have thought she’d sleep so well in the holiday home? Reaching for the phone she connected the call.

                “Hello?”

As she waited for a response she grabbed her watch from the bedside table and groaned, eight am? Who’d call her that early?

                “Nina! Thank God you answered.”

It was Lilah, a panicked Lilah, and as someone who rarely got upset, that was enough to cause Nina to sit bolt upright in bed, “what’s wrong?”

                “I got up early, I’m meeting Amelia to discuss some promotion stuff...anyway, I turned on the news as I’m having breakfast...what’s the name of the guy you’re escorting?”

                “Mansell, Mansell Gershwin, why?”

Her response was met with a groan, “bloody hell Nina, he’s on the news, he’s missing, the police want to know where he is.”

                “Well he’s with me...”

Lilah sighed, “seems he hasn’t told anyone, you’d better sort it, or you may be arrested for kidnapping!”

Nina had pahed at that idea, but as she hung up, she began to wonder just what might happen.

She was slicing a brioche loaf and smothering it in butter when she heard Mansell come down the stairs. Since her phone call from Lilah, she’d managed to get online, read some local news reports, and every word was right, he was reported missing, and a search for his whereabouts had started in Brighton, the articles quoted his grandson who was ‘beside himself’.

                “Hi Nina, did you sleep well?”

She looked up at him with a grimace, “I did until I got a phone call...Mansell, did you tell your family you were coming to France?”

He stared at her for a moment as though she had two heads, “they don’t care about me, why would I?”

She groaned and stood to place a hand on his shoulder, “because there’s a man hunt going on for you back home, they think you’re missing.”

He paled, staggered slightly, so she eased him down into the chair, “Mansell, you SHOULD have told someone, didn’t you tell the home you weren’t coming back?”

                “No. No one bloody cares what you do there...”

She sighed; this was such a sad, unhappy man, “well your grandson is spearheading this search for you. I’m going to call the police, tell them what’s happening, they’ll want to speak to you...they might think I’ve kidnapped you.”

Half an hour later, between them they’d managed to appease the police back in Brighton, Mansell had convinced them that Nina was helping him, that he had travelled of his own free will, and had hung up. She’d already been looking into the celebrations being held along the coast, and had been told categorically that Mansell would and could be quest of honour at any or all of them. This morning they were heading to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission office to find out the exact location of Gordon Gershwin’s grave. Whilst many members of his family had visited the grave, Mansell had avoided it for seventy years, a large portion of that time was due to guilt that he’d lived and his brother hadn’t, then for the guilt that he hadn’t been there at all. This was his last chance and he was desperate to visit the grave.

The main office for the Commission was back in Britain, but there was an office in Caen, so they headed off their after breakfast. BY lunchtime they’d located Gordon’s grave, in the War Cemetery in Bayeux. As they left the office Nina could see Mansell was exhausted emotionally, so she led him to the car, then drove him to a cafe in a nearby town. With tea for him, coffee for her - the strong French variety, and cake, they sat outside in the sun kissed street and ate the food in silence.

                “You ok?” she asked putting her empty cup back on the table.

He nodded, “yes, I’m ok. It’s all just a little strange, you know? Suddenly this is all final, all real. I have to deal with it.”

She smiled compassionately, “I can imagine that Gordon would have nothing but anger that you’ve let this disturb you for so long, he’d want you to do what he can’t. Live.”

He grinned, “You’re right. I want to take you out to dinner tonight, treat you. My way of thanking you.”

She shook her head, “you don’t have to thank me. I’m enjoying this, and I’m proud to be escorting a hero like you. So thank YOU.”

He groaned, “I’m not a bloody hero.”

She gestured around herself where every window was adorned with posters and paintings and advertising for the coming weekend, “these people are planning a gigantic party on the weekend, to celebrate the fact that they can live, that they CAN celebrate. You helped bring freedom to this WHOLE country, that makes you a hero, more than that.”

                “What do you mean ‘he’s fine’? Is that it? He’s eighty bloody eight.” Theo was exasperated, he’d not been able to get hold of Sadie since the previous evening, and now a police officer had greeted him with a smile and “he’s been in touch, he’s fine!”

The officer’s smile dropped, “he called, he saw that we were looking for him, he’s in Normandy.”

                “France? How the fuck did he get there?”

Again the officer grimaced, “excuse me sir, but there’s no need for language like that.”

Theo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “he’s an old man, and he’s not able to travel that far.”

It was the turn of the manager of the home to speak, “on the contrary Mr Peterson, your grandfather is a sprightly and active man.”

The police officer cut in, “he’s not alone, he said that a friend had taken him. They’re safe, and he’s looking forward to the D-day memorial.”

“Jesus Christ. Have you got an address? You might think this is ok, but I don’t.”