The Girl From the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘You’re absolutely sure you don’t want to come back with us?’ Tilly said in dismay.

  ‘I’m having too much fun here,’ Adela replied. ‘And I’m still hopeful of getting into a theatre company soon.’

  ‘Yes, you’d be silly to give up the chance,’ Sophie agreed.

  ‘We’ll miss you, dear girl.’ Tilly sighed.

  ‘She’ll be able to keep an eye on the children for you,’ Sophie pointed out.

  Tilly brightened. ‘Oh yes, will you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Adela promised.

  ‘Perhaps you could go to Mona’s for Christmas. If your aunt Olive can spare you. I’d so love it if I thought you’d be there with my darlings.’ Tilly turned tearful and fumbled for a handkerchief. Adela thought it best not to linger.

  ‘I have to work at two,’ she said, getting up. In the buzz of the restaurant, she briefly hugged her aunties and forced a cheerful goodbye. She felt sick inside having to leave them, but she couldn’t let them guess her state of turmoil or let them cling on for close hugs.

  She turned at the door and gave them a broad smile and a final wave, then hurried down the stairs. By the time she was out in the sharp autumn air, tears were coursing down her cheeks. She didn’t really have to go to work for another hour, but she couldn’t have kept up the pretence any longer. How many times was it on the tip of her tongue to blurt out her troubles to her closest friends and confidantes? Over the following days Adela wondered again and again what Sophie and Tilly would have said and done if she had let them into her shameful secret.

  But the day of their sailing came and went and Adela would never know. She had got herself into this mess and was going to have to deal with it herself. Was it still possible to get rid of the thing inside her? Perhaps Myra would know. Could she confide in Lexy and ask her advice?

  As she returned home to Lime Terrace late that night after work, she felt a strange sensation in her stomach. At first she thought it was from walking too quickly uphill in the cold damp air; it was like a hard pulse. But it wasn’t regular. It stopped, then five minutes later began again, this time more like the flutter of a tiny bird. She’d felt it before, but hadn’t thought anything of it. Now she instinctively knew what it was. Her baby – Jay’s baby – was stirring inside her.

  ‘What did you say?’ Olive clutched at the chair and then sank into it.

  ‘I’m having a baby,’ Adela repeated, rushing forward in alarm. Her aunt had gone chalky white.

  She had brooded on her problem for a month, but by November she knew it was only a matter of time before rumours would start. She had a pot belly under the layers of jumpers and cardigans that she wore, pretending that she was always cold in England.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ Olive screeched.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Olive. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to tell you.’

  ‘Whose is it?’ Olive asked. She looked terrified. ‘Some docker you’ve met at the cinema or the tea room?’

  Adela shook her head.

  ‘Someone from the cricket club then? That’s it, isn’t it? I knew I should never have let you gan to that dance. And to think you took our Jane with you!’

  ‘It’s no one from the cricket club. It doesn’t matter who it is.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter?’ she hissed. ‘Of course it matters. You’ll have to marry him double quick.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Adela tried to stay calm. ‘And I wouldn’t want to.’

  ‘Not want to? I’ve never heard a lass so brazen! Who is the father? It’s not my George?’ she gasped, clamping a hand to her mouth.

  ‘Of course not!’ Adela was appalled her aunt could even think such a thing. ‘It’s nothing to do with your family or any of their friends. No one here is to blame except me and the man who did this, and he can’t possibly help me now.’

  ‘How could you do this to your mother? Clarrie will be that ashamed of you. What will she think of me an’ all? Not able to keep you from going with men like a common tart. Is it that Wilfred who was after Jane? Did you oblige him instead?’

  ‘No,’ Adela insisted, ‘it’s no one you know. It happened in India.’

  ‘India?’ Olive echoed. ‘How far gone are you?’

  ‘Six months.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Olive swore, close to tears.

  ‘I know it’s a terrible shock,’ said Adela, ‘but I’m not going to keep it. I just wanted you to know that I’ll have it adopted as soon as it’s born. Then I’ll move out and find somewhere else to live.’

  Olive stared at her. ‘You can’t stay here. Not in your condition. What would the neighbours say? And my Jack; he’d have a fit! No,’ Olive said, standing up in agitation, ‘you’ll have to find somewhere else till the bairn’s born. No one must know.’

  Adela’s spirits plunged; this was the reaction she had feared most but had suspected would be the most likely. She watched her trembling aunt cross over to the sideboard, reach inside for a bottle of sherry and pour herself a full glass. She glugged it down in one go.

  ‘Myra knows,’ said Adela, ‘and I think Jane might suspect.’

  Olive looked at her, horrified. ‘If you’ve corrupted my lass—’

  ‘I’ve done no such thing. Jane’s a grown woman.’

  ‘Myra will have to go,’ Olive fretted, ‘or she’ll be telling all the other housewives in the street she works for.’

  ‘Please don’t sack her! Myra won’t tell a soul – she’s promised. She’s the one who noticed first, not me, and she’s not breathed a word for over a month.’

  Olive poured and drank a second glass. Then she rounded on Adela.

  ‘Tell me who the father is.’

  ‘You don’t need to know.’

  ‘It might not be too late to get him over here sharp and marry you. Does he have money? If it’s one of your posh friends, he could fly. They say it only takes four days.’

  ‘He’s got money but he’s engaged to someone else – has been for years.’

  Olive’s expression changed. The fear returned. ‘It’s not that Indian you acted with?’

  When Adela didn’t deny it, Olive advanced, face contorting in horror. ‘You went with a native? How could you? Have you got a half-caste in your belly?’ Adela winced at the disgust in her voice. ‘A bastard Eurasian!’

  ‘Stop it, Aunt Olive!’ She faced her squarely. ‘It’s not as if that hasn’t happened in our family before.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know all about our family. Mother told me. Your Indian grandmother went with a British clerk, and Jane Cooper, your mother, was the result. So we’re all half-castes.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Olive struck, half slapping, half clawing at Adela’s cheek. Adela recoiled, clutching at her face.

  ‘Don’t you ever dare say such a thing again,’ Olive cried. ‘George and Jane know nothing of all that, so don’t you say a word. You’re a disgrace to the family. You can’t stay here. So get out of my sight!’

  ‘So you’d put me out on the street at six months gone?’ Adela cried. ‘Mother would never do that to one of yours.’

  ‘No daughter of mine would have been so shameless.’ Olive glared.

  Adela swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘You’re right to be angry with me. I’ll regret what I’ve done for the rest of my life. But please, Aunt Olive, help me. We’re family.’

  Olive collapsed into her chair again. ‘What am I to do with you?’

  ‘Perhaps I could go and stay in the flat with Lexy.’

  ‘No. Not the café. We’d be the talk of the town. You’ll have to stop going round there.’

  ‘Then where? Let me at least go and speak to Lexy and see if she can help.’

  ‘Very well,’ Olive agreed. ‘But Lexy is the only one you’re to tell. And I’ll not have you sharing with my Jane any longer, so you better get summat sorted quick.’

  Lexy was shocked by Adela’s news but soon recovered. ‘Of course I’ll help you, lass.’

&nbs
p; ‘Aunt Olive says I’m to move out of Lime Terrace and I’m not to come near the café either.’

  ‘She’s a coward,’ Lexy said crossly. ‘Always has been. To think of the times Clarrie helped her sister and looked after her bairns; the least she could do now would be to help you out. Is that how you got them marks on your cheek?’

  Adela ignored the question. ‘There must be places I could go till the ba—, till my time comes.’ Adela thought of the grim stories she had heard of homes for fallen women, part of the workhouse system. She shuddered at the thought.

  ‘I’ll not have you put away in one of them places.’ Lexy was adamant. ‘We’ll sort summat. I’ve got half an idea already.’

  Two days later Lexy sought out Adela at the cinema as she was coming off shift and told her the plan.

  Olive made the announcement around the tea table later that week.

  ‘Going to Edinburgh?’ Jane asked in dismay. ‘That’s very sudden.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got the chance of some theatre work,’ Adela lied, ‘and a lift up the Great North Road from someone at the cinema. So it has to be tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s grand, lass,’ Jack said.

  ‘Congratulations!’ George cried. ‘Which theatre?’

  ‘The Playhouse,’ said Adela. She hoped there was such a place, or if not that her cousin’s knowledge of Edinburgh was as vague as hers.

  ‘Maybe I’ll come up and see you perform.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll be a star, I know it.’

  ‘I’m glad for you,’ Jane said without enthusiasm, ‘though I’m sorry to see you go.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Adela was surprised and touched by her cousin’s obvious disappointment.

  Olive sat smiling tensely throughout the meal, hardly touching her food. Adela was relieved when it was over and she could retreat to the bedroom. Jane followed. She watched as Adela packed a few clothes into the smaller of the two suitcases.

  ‘How long will you be gone? Will you come back for Christmas?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ll just see how it goes.’ She closed the suitcase. ‘If there’s anything of mine in the wardrobe you’d like, then please help yourself.’

  ‘But you’ll need them when you come back.’

  Adela hesitated. ‘In the meantime you can wear them.’

  ‘You are coming back?’ Jane looked at her in alarm.

  ‘I’m sure I will be.’ Adela smiled. Her aunt’s anger she could shoulder, but her cousin’s unhappiness at her going made her suddenly teary. She turned quickly away and heaved the case from the bed.

  ‘Did you really get those marks on your face from falling on the ice?’ Jane asked. ‘They look like nail scratches to me.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Adela said. ‘It was a drunk at the cinema. But they don’t hurt any more.’

  That night she hardly slept. She was sick at having to lie to her cousin and was impatient for the dawn. In the early morning she rose and dressed in the cold bedroom while Jane cooked a breakfast of fried eggs and bread. Adela was nauseated by the smell. Jack left swiftly, wishing her well. Olive stayed in bed and didn’t appear when Adela was ready to leave.

  ‘Say goodbye to your mam for me, won’t you?’ she asked Jane. ‘And tell her thank you for having me to stay all this time.’ The cousins hugged.

  George put her case in the van, and she climbed into the seat beside him. The last sight of Number 10 Lime Terrace was of Jane standing on the doorstep in the chilly purple dawn, waving.

  George dropped her outside Central Station. ‘Shall I wait till your lift turns up?’ he asked.

  ‘No need,’ Adela said hastily. ‘They’ll be here any minute. You get off to work.’

  His look was considering. She leant across and pecked him on the cheek before he started asking any awkward questions. ‘Thanks for making my stay here so much fun.’

  He grinned at her. ‘No, the pleasure was mine. I can’t remember the last time we had so many laughs in our family. Jane will miss you. She’s really come out of her shell since you came.’

  ‘Really?’ Adela had felt a failure with Jane. Sticking up for her cousin had just seemed to make things worse for her.

  ‘Really,’ George assured. ‘The old Jane would have sat at the table and not said two words.’

  ‘Make sure you fight her corner,’ said Adela. ‘She thinks the world of you.’

  George promised he would, kissed the top of her head and said, ‘Out you get then, or you’ll make me late for work.’

  He hooted as he drove off. Adela watched till he was out of sight before turning away and walking into town.

  Lexy was waiting at the bus station with their tickets bought. On the way towards the coast, she told Adela what to expect.

  The icy sea air hit them sideways as they climbed down from the bus. The North Sea was grey and churning, capped with white waves. They walked south from Whitley Bay, passing closed-up hotels and respectable villas, Lexy insisting on carrying her case. Adela shook with cold and nerves, her hands frozen in her pockets. Eventually they stopped at a row of squat cottages overlooking a steep cliff. On the beach below a fishing boat was being pulled ashore. Two women sat on stools in nearby doorways mending a net, seemingly impervious to the cold. The air smelt fishy and salty.

  At the end of the row stood a small house on its own, its windows opaque with sea spray. From what Lexy had told her, Adela knew this had belonged to a coastguard, now dead. His ancient widowed mother still lived here, looked after by one of Lexy’s friends. These old women were to be Adela’s guardians and companions for the next three months.

  The woman who came to the back door in a purple housecoat had a lined leathery face and untidy grey hair. She smelt strongly of stale cigarette smoke.

  Her face broke into a piratical grin – half her teeth were missing – and she held out her hands.

  ‘Eeh, you’re just like your mam! Welcome to Cullercoats. Come away, hinny. Don’t let the cold in a minute longer.’

  Lexy pushed Adela forward into the house. The door led straight into a low-ceilinged kitchen with an old-fashioned black range. Mingling with the aroma of potato soup was a smell of incontinence. A tiny woman in a 1920s black dress sat by the range. She looked very old, her hair sparse and her pale skin stretched over the bones of her nose and cheeks.

  ‘I’m Maggie,’ said the first woman, ‘and this is Ina. We’re old friends of your mam’s; Ina used to work at the tea rooms with Lexy. We’d do owt for Clarrie.’ She raised her voice and bellowed at the old woman by the fireside. ‘Wouldn’t we, Ina? We’d do anything for our Clarrie. This is her lass, Adela.’

  Ina peered myopically across the room. She beckoned Adela over with an arthritic hand.

  ‘Gan on,’ Lexy encouraged. ‘Don’t be frightened. Ina doesn’t bite. She can’t see you till you’re right up close.’

  Adela went forward and put her hand into Ina’s. The woman’s confused expression changed into that of wonder. ‘Clarrie,’ she croaked, ‘you’ve come back to see me.’

  Adela felt tears welling in her eyes. These complete strangers were showing her such kindness – and all because of their love and respect for her mother. Ina thought she was her mother. She gently squeezed the old woman’s hand and smiled. ‘Yes, I’ve come back to see you, Ina.’

  CHAPTER 20

  Adela stuck to the house during daylight hours, helping with Ina, keeping the fire stoked up and making endless pans of vegetable soup. Around the house, Adela wore a pair of bright orange pantaloons that she had brought from India to wear as pyjamas, letting out the drawstring for comfort. Maggie did the shopping. After tea, when they’d put Ina to bed, Adela would dress warmly and go out in the dark around Cullercoats, walking along the promontory north towards Whitley Bay or south in the direction of Tynemouth, wondering if Sam’s mother still lived nearby. Strange that she should end up at the small fishing village from where Mrs Jackman came. At first Maggie would protest at these nocturnal rambles.

  ‘What you want to
do that for? You’ll catch your death or slip on the icy pavements and hurt yourself or the baby.’

  But Adela would not be kept indoors. ‘I’m not an invalid, Maggie. I need fresh air and exercise. I promise not to go far.’

  Lexy had given her a cheap ring to wear on her wedding finger, and the story to neighbours was that Adela was a young widow helping with the housework for bed and board. If anyone suspected she was with child, no one said so, but Adela was increasingly self-conscious and preferred to go outdoors when most folk were in their homes. Besides, she didn’t want to run into anyone who might know her from Newcastle. She existed in a strange state of limbo, anxious at the ordeal to come but impatient for it to be over. She missed her mother more every day, yet the women were kind and never once made her feel ashamed for her predicament.

  Wanting to show her gratitude to her mother’s friends, Adela risked going out to the shops in broad daylight just before Christmas. With the last of her wages she bought some treats: tangerines, bars of chocolate, and chestnuts for roasting; lavender water for Ina; and cigarettes and a soft woollen scarf for Maggie in her favourite purple. For Lexy she wrapped up the colourful bangles she had worn in the summer and that Lexy had admired. It was on this day that Adela spotted a small shop selling sewing supplies: needles, threads, buttons and bolts of cloth.

  Glancing up at the name above the door, she felt her stomach somersault. Jackman. She stood rooted to the spot, heart hammering. How could just the sight of Sam’s surname upset her so? But why was it such a shock? She knew that Sam’s mother came from this fishing village and had probably returned here. Ever since Adela had come to live in Cullercoats, the thought of bumping into Sam’s mother – maybe even seeking her out – had nagged at the back of her mind, disturbing her thoughts. Or maybe this shop had nothing to do with Sam’s mother at all.

  Adela forced herself to peer in the door and saw a small plump woman behind the counter, who beckoned her in.