An Orphan's Winter

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘You’ve no business going down there,’ Jenny yelled after him.

  ‘He has,’ Lottie said, with quiet pride. ‘He’s a trainee member of the crew.’

  Lottie went outside to lean on the garden wall, a lump in her throat as she thought of Matt and watched the sea. One by one, the others came out to join her, first Jenny, then Warren and Tom, and finally Nan. ‘I haven’t even given him his present,’ Lottie said, thinking of the tiny ship in a bottle still in its paper bag upstairs.

  The call-out maroon, the lifeboat and its brave crew touched something deep and unifying in the whole family, and in the town of St Ives. Every cottage door was open, everyone outside, their wordless prayers radiating out across the bay like the silent, shining petals of a lotus.

  Chapter 10

  Truant

  Playing truant from school turned out to be the only solution to Lottie’s craving for time with Matt. It was a show passing of time – change to May as referenced later in the chapter. morning, much too nice to be spending it shut up in a classroom. With both Tom and Warren at home with chickenpox, there was no one to tell Jenny of Lottie’s absence from school.

  A stolen day felt like a luxury version of a normal day, its colours vivid, its fragrance intoxicating, the skylarks and the song thrushes singing forever, the bees humming from deep inside the bells of foxgloves. Lottie skipped and sang on her way down the lane between billows of wild flowers, pink campion, stitchwort and fumitory. The bluebells were almost over, their seed heads nodding between the red sheep sorrel and horsetail grasses.

  At the bottom of the lane, Lottie paused to hide her school satchel, which was heavy with books, in a dry hollow under an ancient hawthorn tree. She pushed it under the roots and covered it with dry leaves, having first extracted her lunch pack. At one o’clock in the morning, she’d crept downstairs and hastily made a thick sandwich and wrapped it in greaseproof paper, adding two slabs of flapjack. It fitted neatly in the large pocket of her apron.

  She stopped at St Ia’s Well and from her cupped hands drank deeply from its bright, refreshing water. Then she leaned on the sea wall above Porthmeor Beach, smiling at the sight of families of seagulls in the shallow edge of the shining water, teaching their speckled young how to wash and preen their feathers. Free, free, free as a bird, free as a bird for a day, she thought, and skipped on past the cemetery and the gas works, and along the cobbled streets of Downlong.

  Matt was waiting on The Jenny Wren at the foot of the stone steps and the moment he spotted her, Lottie saw him change, as if a light in his head had been suddenly switched on. Lottie waved, and he nodded back. The Lanroska men didn’t wave. Waving was for girls. The Lanroska men gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, always with a glint in the eyes – a glint of intention, or amusement, or scepticism, or resentment, or love. The glint was like a seed pod with a neatly packed repertoire of feelings.

  The way Matt looked at her made Lottie feel a change in herself, her footsteps feather-light, her hair gossamer soft, her skin velvety. Like a dove flying home.

  ‘You came!’ His lips brushed her cheek as he helped her step onto the boat. His breath tickled her ear. ‘Until we’re out of the harbour,’ he whispered. His fingertips touched the satin ribbon in her hair, the briefest of gestures, like the nod, but to Lottie it felt as if the ribbon itself had come alive, sending minute pulses of shock through her.

  ‘Are we going to Portreath?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘No.’ Matt pointed to Godrevy Lighthouse. ‘There’s white water out there and a swell building. Ken warned me not to try it – you have to go a long way out to sea to avoid Godrevy – that’s what the lighthouse is there for. I’ll be going back when the sea is calm and I’ve got plenty of time.’ He turned and looked deep into her eyes, reaching her soul. ‘I won’t take any risks with you on board, Lottie – you are very precious.’

  Lottie smiled. ‘We can go round to Carbis Bay and walk to the wishing well.’

  Matt nodded. ‘Yep. No one knows us up there.’

  They both had happy memories of the walk through the nut grove to the secluded well on Carrack Gladden. Nan had taken them for picnics and told them the legend of the Maiden’s Tears and the fern cave in the cliffs below where the rare Maidenhair Fern grew, watered by the tears she had wept for her lover who had been swept out to sea. It was a love story, now more poignant to both of them.

  ‘I feel blissfully happy,’ Lottie said, lifting her face to the sun, the salty breeze tangling her hair as the boat picked up speed. She looked down into the water and saw shoals of tiny, bright green eels, which the fishermen called sandies. The water was glass-clear and she could see the sand eels’ pixie-like faces, their slender bodies quivering and rippling in perfect unison.

  The day unfurled before her: lying in each other’s arms, so happy, wanting nothing more; walking the path over Carrack Gladden, the bracken waist-high, the luminous sunlight filtering through young hazel leaves, and out in the open, the butterflies bobbing over cushions of white campion and yellow trefoil; a picnic by the trickling well water; watching the flocks of gannets diving out over the sea.

  A perfect diamond of a day.

  *

  Back in St Ives, Olivia walked smartly up The Stennack looking for the school. A few local women glanced at her curiously, but she ignored them. Today her resemblance to Lottie was striking, her hair loose and swinging down her back as she walked. It wasn’t just her American clothes that set her apart, but the haunted look of someone whose endless searching finds only emptiness.

  The beautifully built granite school was easy to find. Olivia stood looking at it, fascinated to find a school that looked like a cottage. The playground was empty except for a few seagulls and jackdaws parading around. Faint echoes of times tables being chanted came from within. Olivia pushed the heavy door open and went inside, expecting to find a headmaster’s office where she would knock on the door. Instead she found herself in a classroom with a number of children, heads down, pencils busy. It looked like the top class – so where was Charlotte?

  The teacher had his back to her, writing vigorously with squeaking chalk on the blackboard.

  ‘Sir. Sir! A lady . . .’ one of the boys called out, and David Merryn turned, his eyes locking onto hers.

  ‘Good morning. I’m Mrs Olivia De Lumen and I’ve come to collect my daughter, Charlotte.’

  ‘Ah, yes, well, let’s step outside for a minute, shall we?’ David Merryn brushed past her. ‘Excuse me.’ He opened a door and led her into a small office, leaving the classroom door ajar. She noticed his grey threadbare suit had a sheen from too much ironing. It made his legs look like planks. His clothes smelled of chalk.

  The busy pencils had stopped in mid-air and the children’s faces turned to scrutinise Olivia. One of the girls cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered to the rest of them, ‘That’s Lottie’s American mum.’

  David Merryn barked like a dog at a window. ‘Turn round and get on with your work. How dare you all stare like that?’

  ‘So where is Charlotte?’ Olivia asked. She wondered if David Merryn was married. If not, he’d be quite a catch, even with his plank-like legs.

  ‘We don’t know her as Charlotte. To us, she is Lottie Lanroska, and is legally so, I believe.’

  Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘Okay – Lottie. I have this battle with her every time we meet. She’ll have to get over it when she lives with me.’

  David Merryn raised his eyebrows, sending deep furrows over his brow and into his receding hairline. He made no comment but waited, his eyes suspicious.

  ‘I was hoping to take her with me right now,’ Olivia said. ‘I have two tickets for the train journey to London, Paddington. So – where is she?’

  ‘Lottie is not in school today. We don’t know why she’s away but her brother has chickenpox so I imagine her mother is keeping her at home. Perhaps she has it too.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Olivia smoothed a skein of hair back from her brow. ‘May I sit do
wn? I’ve not been well and I’m not used to walking, especially over these dreadful cobbles.’

  ‘Of course, yes – sit down.’ He steered her to two battered chairs against the wall and sat next to her, a mask of courteous concern covering the suspicion in his eyes. He crossed his legs, his foot tapping the air impatiently in a shiny brown brogue.

  Olivia took some deep breaths and dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged hanky. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got to walk all the way up to that place where she lives. Have you been there? They have chickens running in and out of the house. And the foster mother – Jenny – she has an iron leg. I know she can’t help it, but . . .’

  ‘Yes, I do know Jenny,’ David Merryn said briskly, ‘and I knew her husband, Arnie. They are good, kind parents – and the grandmother is very well educated. Lottie clearly adores her.’

  ‘But I am her birth mother. She belongs with me, don’t you think? She will do much better in London. I can get her into a good college and give her a chance to have a career – I don’t want her to end up packing fish, which is what most of the young women seem to be doing down here.’

  David Merryn’s foot was going faster and faster. He seemed deep in thought, irritated by Olivia and anxious about his class of children. ‘This is not for me to discuss,’ he said. ‘You must talk to the Lanroskas about it – and talk to Lottie. And – excuse me saying so – you must also listen to Lottie. She’s very intelligent. She knows exactly what she wants. I’ve got great confidence in Lottie and she’s working hard to catch up after missing so much school. She will get the chance to go to college here in Cornwall with her friends.’

  Olivia was so fragile that her whole life could be ruined by a single comment. A wave of depression surged over her, sweeping away her efforts at being optimistic, turning her credibility into the lace-like foam on the fringe of an incoming tide that would vanish into the sand.

  ‘You’re all against me,’ she said, her eyes tracing the knots in the polished wooden floor. She didn’t want to look at David Merryn anymore, whether he was married or not.

  ‘I can’t comment on that remark,’ he said, and stood up. ‘I really can’t help you, Mrs . . .’

  ‘De Lumen. Olivia De Lumen.’

  ‘I have a class to teach, Mrs De Lumen, and I must go back to them.’ He held out a chalky dispassionate hand. ‘As Lottie isn’t here, you should leave now, please.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m feeling so ill.’

  ‘I sympathise. But what would you like me to do?’

  Olivia battled with the reply, not speaking it aloud, but locking it into the overflowing hell of her mind. It said, Want me. I want someone to want me. In body and soul. She let the words corkscrew away down the same old drain. It was almost full. Ready to start welling up and brimming over. Everyone was so cruel. Even here in England. Why was everyone so cruel to her? She hadn’t any friends. Not one. She thought about the bottle of aspirin and how Jenny had been strong enough to chuck it in the fire. But Jenny had spoken to her kindly. It was a friend like Jenny she needed.

  ‘I must return to my class,’ David Merryn said. ‘Will you please leave – quietly. Good morning.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia watched the plank-like legs disappear into his classroom. Vanishing. Like everything else in her life. If only she could vanish too. Evaporate. Become a lustrous silver cloud drifting above the tantalising world. It should be possible. But first she needed a drink.

  Maybe a glass or two of wine would give her the courage to go up to Hendravean and see Jenny – and Charlotte.

  *

  ‘You’re not really going to live in London with your birth mother, are you?’ Matt asked, his eyes searching Lottie’s as they sat by the wishing well on Carrack Gladden.

  ‘Definitely not,’ Lottie said. ‘She can’t make me. You were right about my adoption being legal. Jenny showed me the document.’

  ‘So what are you planning to do now you’re old enough to leave school?’

  ‘I’m not going to leave. Mr Merryn wants me in the higher class. In September there will be only five of us: Natalie, Karenza, Morgan, James and me. If I work hard and catch up for the time I missed, I can go to college.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I could learn to be a secretary or a journalist – or even a school teacher.’

  ‘You’d be good at that,’ Matt said. ‘I remember you teaching Tom to read when we were little.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have played truant today. I’ll have to work twice as hard. But . . .’ she slipped her fingers over the back of Matt’s hand, ‘it’s been worth it.’

  Matt nodded. ‘I should be working too. I’ve got to keep drawing and selling. It’s hard. I have to keep The Jenny Wren afloat and in good condition, and make enough to buy food. I don’t get free meals like you do at home. It’s hard – really hard.’

  Lottie traced the bones in the back of his hand, enjoying the texture of his tanned skin, and the fuzz of sun-bleached hairs along his forearm. For a moment they were both silent, watching her small, pale hand exploring his large one. ‘You could come home, Matt. Jenny does want you to.’

  ‘Never,’ Matt said. ‘Don’t think I haven’t wanted to. I have. But I’d want our real home back – the way it was when Dad was alive.’ His voice trembled. ‘I still miss him. Do you?’

  Lottie leaned her head against his shoulder. His shirt was damp from being used as a towel after their swim. ‘I do miss Arnie, even though I’ve got my real daddy now.’ She looked up into Matt’s grieving eyes. ‘Let’s sit quiet and think about him, Matt – keep him alive in our memory.’

  They held each other, this time in a peaceful way. Lottie listened to his heart beating so slowly, like a wheel ponderously turning their memories of Arnie, as if the sorrow was a great golden hayfield needing to be raked and aired in the sunshine.

  ‘We feel like one person,’ Lottie said, ‘don’t we?’

  ‘Yep,’ Matt whispered and she sensed him soaking up the peace, not wanting to talk.

  ‘But we felt like one person on the boat when we . . .’ Lottie lowered her voice, ‘when we made love, and our hearts were beating madly. We were flying like two birds with beating wings, wings you can hear if you listen.’

  Matt kissed the top of her head and she felt his breath in her hair. ‘Go on talking to me, Lottie. Hearing you talk is like filling an empty space in my heart.’

  ‘Love isn’t just a madly beating heart,’ she said. ‘Love is sharing stillness and peace together, like we’re doing now.’

  ‘That’s why you’d be a good teacher,’ Matt murmured into her hair, ‘ ’cause no one ever teaches peace, do they? All I ever remember learning was how to fight.’

  ‘How did you learn to make love?’ Lottie asked. ‘You’re so good at it – like Romeo in Romeo and Juliet. You make me feel as if my bones are made of velvet, and you make my whole body sing – even my toes are singing. I’ve never felt so wonderful.’

  She heard the smile in his voice as he said, ‘I used to listen – when Dad was alive. At night I’d lie in bed, wide awake, and listen to them talking and laughing. I heard every word when I was a little boy – I was a horrible little boy, always in trouble, but I used to lie in bed, and sit in school, dreaming of being like a prince and finding my princess, and she looked just like you. Listening to Mum and Dad, the happiness used to come through the walls, and I realised love was something worth fighting for.’ He pulled her closer. ‘Stay with me, Lottie. Let’s never be apart.’

  ‘Let’s make a wish – in the wishing well.’ Lottie sat up and fished in the pocket of her apron.

  ‘What are those for?’ Matt laughed as she extracted two bent pins.

  ‘Nan told me – and she was deadly serious – that when you make a wish in this particular well, you must drop a bent pin in the water.’

  ‘But why a bent pin?’

  ‘Well, according to Nan, a bent pin means you are prepared to bend the rules.’

  ‘I
like that!’

  ‘Believing in magic is bending the rules, so when the fairies find a bent pin, they can make your wish come true.’

  ‘So where are all these fairies running round with bent pins? You don’t believe Nan’s tales do you, Lottie?’

  ‘Nan’s tales are like oyster shells. Each one has a magical pearl of truth inside.’

  Matt looked stunned at her description. He allowed the scepticism to leave his mind for a suspended moment as they dropped the bent pins into the bright water and made a silent wish.

  ‘I think our wishes were the same,’ Lottie said, ‘but we mustn’t speak them.’

  They ate lunch watching a pod of dolphins playing out in the bay. Drowsy in the afternoon sun, they fell asleep on cushions of turf, with curls of bracken and lofty spires of foxglove towering over them against a sky of powder blue.

  The sound of waves and skylarks melted into their dreams, and the fierce May sun burned down on Lottie’s face as she lay blissfully with her head in the hollow of Matt’s shoulder. To sleep pressed tightly into the warmth of another being had a profoundly tranquillising effect on her. She felt safe and recharged with love as if it was permeating her body for all time, like crystals in the granite. She didn’t want to wake up, just to stay there with her arm stretched over Matt’s taut young body, his breathing soothingly rhythmic.

  Lottie made an effort to synchronise her own breath with his, wanting to feel them breathing as one being. A hypnotic peacefulness rolled her consciousness down and down into a dream that waited, fathoms deep, below the sky, below the waves, below the sun’s dazzle.

  In her dream she was breathing with Matt and they were diving down through green translucence into deep, dark purple waters. And there on the ocean floor, lying in the sand, was an oyster shell. It wasn’t just any old random shell. She knew immediately it was special. It was waiting there for her, and it was the shell she had told Matt about, the shell with the pearl of truth, wrapped in the iridescent layers of legend.