At Home by the Sea

by Pam Weaver

  Linda had begun to cry. ‘I’m scared, Izzie.’

  ‘Come on then,’ she whispered, and as Izzie lifted the bedclothes her little sister, trembling like a leaf, dived in beside her and snuggled up close. Linda soon went to sleep but it took her big sister a little longer. Izzie didn’t finally relax until she heard the front door open and close again and she heard the sound of a woman’s voice in the hallway.

  *

  Izzie woke up warm and snug under the bedclothes but with a very cold nose. It was going to take all the courage she could muster to jump out of bed and go downstairs for a wash. The only room her parents heated was the kitchen. There was a fireplace in the sitting room but that was only lit when they had ‘company’, something which had only happened once or twice to Izzie’s recollection. Her mother had a roaring fire the year Granny and Grandad Baxter came for Christmas and she lit the fire in that room when Linda was poorly a couple of years ago. Her sister had lain on the sofa until she was well again. Normally, in winter, everybody huddled together in the kitchen, so it seemed sensible to use their meagre coal ration where it was needed most. In the morning, her mother would hang their school clothes over the clothes horse to warm in front of the fire while they had a strip wash in the small scullery next to the kitchen. Once the girls were dressed, they had breakfast; usually bread and jam or toast and dripping and maybe if they were very lucky, an egg.

  The smell of toast encouraged the two of them to get up and run downstairs. The kitchen was bathed in a haze of blue smoke but it wasn’t their mother who stood beside the grill. It was Mrs Marshall, their next-door neighbour. The shock of seeing her made Izzie stop dead and Linda crashed into the back of her.

  ‘Hello girls. I expect you’ll be wanting your wash,’ said Mrs Marshall. Lifting the kettle, she poured some warm water into a bowl on the table. They watched her carry it into the scullery. ‘You can both share can’t you?’ Pushing a bar of soap and two flannels beside it, she added, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Where’s my mummy?’ Linda asked.

  Mrs Marshall didn’t look round. ‘She just popped out for a moment ducks. She’ll be back soon. Now hurry up with your wash and then you can eat your breakfast.’ The scullery door closed leaving the two girls alone.

  The children were used to Mrs Marshall coming in. When their father was away in the war, Mrs Marshall would sometimes look after Izzie and Linda while their mother went shopping or to see the doctor. Sometimes it took all day and when she got home, Mummy was very tired. Mrs Marshall was a pleasant woman but very old, at least fifty, so she couldn’t run around and play games or anything, but they liked her well enough.

  Linda looked as if she was about to burst into tears again.

  ‘You go first,’ Izzie said firmly.

  ‘But I want Mummy,’ Linda said, her voice choked with emotion.

  Izzie gave her sister a little push towards the bowl. ‘Go on,’ she coaxed. ‘It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

  *

  They were sitting at the kitchen table eating their breakfast when their father came in. Izzie saw him and Mrs Marshall exchange an odd look and then her father shook his head. He sat down wearily at the table and Mrs Marshall poured him a cup of tea from the tea pot she’d hidden under the old tea cosy Izzie’s mother never used.

  ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Linda asked again.

  Her father stared down at the oil table cloth. ‘She’s gone to see a friend.’

  ‘She’s run away, hasn’t she?’ Izzie said coldly.

  Her father sighed deeply before sipping some of his tea.

  ‘Now, now, Izzie,’ Mrs Marshall said firmly. ‘Get on and eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school.’

  Izzie sprang to her feet, her chair scraping the floor. ‘You hit her, didn’t you, and now she’s run away!’

  Linda burst into tears.

  ‘Izzie!’ Mrs Marshall said in a shocked tone of voice. ‘You shouldn’t say such things.’

  ‘But it’s true,’ Izzie blurted out. ‘He’s been horrible to Mummy. She kept saying no and then he shouted at her. And now she’s run away and he doesn’t even care!’

  Mrs Marshall’s mouth had dropped open. There was an awkward silence before Izzie’s father rose to his feet. ‘Thanks for looking after the girls, Mrs Marshall,’ he said, totally ignoring Izzie’s outburst. ‘Could you take Linda to school for me? I’ll settle up with you later.’

  ‘No need for that Bill,’ Mrs Marshall said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  Bill Baxter sighed. ‘I think I’ll have a bit of a lie down before I go back out again.’ His voice was sad.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Mrs Marshall. ‘You look worn out.’

  They watched him shuffle towards the door at the bottom of the stairs and they heard his slow and weary footsteps going up to the bedroom. As the door swung closed again, Izzie muttered, ‘I hate him.’

  ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say about your father, young lady,’ Mrs Marshall scolded. ‘And as for saying that he doesn’t care, let me tell you, he’s been out there all night looking for your mother. Now get your coat on. You’ll miss the bus if you don’t get a move on.’

  Izzie gaped in surprise. Her father had been up all night? A shiver of fear passed through her body. So where was her mother?

  Linda was still crying as Mrs Marshall helped her into her coat. ‘Now be a good girl and don’t you worry,’ she said brightly. ‘There’s plenty of people out there helping to look for your mummy now. They’ll soon find her.’

  Pulling on her own coat, Izzie said nothing but she wasn’t so sure. Mrs Marshall sounded confident but if her father had been looking for Mum all night, why hadn’t he found her? Where on earth could she be?

  As the three of them opened the front door and walked onto the street, Linda was still stifling a sob and Izzie was trembling inside. This was going to be a memorable day for all the wrong reasons. She had never felt so miserable. She was upset about her mother and she was upset because not one person had remembered. Of course she knew they all had far more pressing things to think about but all the same, it hurt.

  The day was cold and crisp. There had been a frost overnight because the gate post and the low wall in the front of the house glistened white. It was the sort of day when you looked for a frozen puddle to have a quick slide, but Izzie didn’t feel like it today. She felt too sorry for herself. Stuffing her gloved hands into her pockets, she hurried towards the bus stop. Nobody else was waiting but she hadn’t missed the bus. She could see it coming in the distance. She shouldn’t be thinking about herself, she told herself crossly, but it would have been nice if just one of them had said something. They’d all forgotten, hadn’t they? Understandable of course, but couldn’t just one of them have remembered that today was February 26th and her thirteenth birthday?

  *

  Brenda Sayers stiffened. Inside the Woolly Lamb, her little wool and haberdashery shop, she had been filling the shelves with a new stock. There were no customers as yet but she was confident that once their housework was done, the place would be buzzing.

  She gave the young constable, who looked as if he should still be in school, a puzzled frown. ‘What do you mean, Doris Baxter has gone missing?’

  ‘She appears to have been very disturbed when she ran off late last night,’ he said. ‘We’re asking everyone around here to look in their sheds and outhouses to see if she’s there.’

  ‘Why all the fuss?’ Brenda said. ‘She’s a grown woman.’

  ‘As far as we know,’ said the constable. ‘When she ran off, she was only in her nightdress.’

  Brenda raised an eyebrow. ‘More fool her,’ Brenda said tetchily. ‘Well, she’s hardly likely to find her way into my shed now is she?’

  The constable flushed, suddenly realising his mistake. ‘Yes, yes,’ he flustered. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I was asked to visit all the shops here on the Goring Road in case she was hiding out back.’ He raised his forefing
er to the edge of his helmet in a form of salute and fled the shop.

  The bell jangled madly. Brenda stared at the closing door for a second or two then stepped through the beaded curtain that divided the shop and her little kitchen cum rest area. She was shaking. She glanced across to where in the photograph on the shelf – her son, Gary, holding a minnow in a jam jar – smiled down at her. How chuffed he’d been to catch it. Only six years old, she thought to herself. He would have been eleven now. There was another boy standing next to him in the photograph, his cousin Raymond, but his face was hidden by a carefully draped handkerchief. Raymond was slightly older than Gary, nearly seven, but when she looked at the whole picture, the look of envy on Raymond’s face was clear for all to see. Sometimes it pleased her, but at other times it made her upset because she couldn’t forget that seconds after the photograph was taken the little tyke had tried to snatch Gary’s jam jar and it broke. They couldn’t save the fish and Gary had been devastated. She sighed. Life was so unfair. Raymond was always getting into trouble; in fact, he’d been a trial to his mother since the day he’d been born. She didn’t wish him ill of course, but she often wondered why her perfect little boy had been the one whose life had been so tragically cut short. She sighed. Like they say, only the good die young.

  She turned her head towards the window and the storage shed beyond. She wouldn’t bother to go out to see if that woman was in there. She could see from where she was standing that the stout padlock on the door handle was untouched. The shed was empty in the winter; too damp to keep her stock in it. No, the wool she was putting on the shelves right now had been delivered to her own home. She’d pushed it here in the old pram. The pram she had used when Gary was a baby. Brenda choked back a sob. There were no more children nor were there likely to be. Gary was her only son, her lucky surprise at a time when she’d thought she was too old for mother-hood. She and Doris may have been friends once upon a time, but she made up her mind that she wouldn’t feel sorry for her.

  Not after what that family had done to Gary.

  Two

  February 29th 1949

  ‘Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday dear Isobelle,

  Happy birthday to you.’

  Izzie looked up as her grandmother placed a birthday cake in front of her and a small gasp of appreciation escaped her lips. It was absolutely perfect with pretty pink and white icing and a little china bust of a Victorian lady on the top. The cake itself was her dress and behind her head were fifteen candles; a veritable forest of flame. Her relatives and friends sitting round the table clapped as Izzie blew them out.

  Her grandmother leaned over her and kissed the top of Izzie’s head. ‘Happy birthday, my all grown-up granddaughter.’

  Izzie wriggled with a warm glow of pride. Yes, she was all grown-up now, wasn’t she. Fifteen years old and wearing her first ever pair of stockings with a suspender belt. Gone were the hair ribbons and plaits, she now had her hair cut a little shorter and styled in the way of the Hollywood star Susan Hayward. Her clothes were more grown-up too. No more school gymslips, Izzie was wearing a red, three-quarter length sleeved jumper under a plaid pinafore dress in blue and grey.

  She and her sister Linda had been living with their grandparents in Dial Post, a small hamlet twelve miles from Worthing ever since their mother had run off in 1947. Their grandfather worked on one of the farms on the Knepp Estate.

  ‘Well, go on then,’ Grandad said, his breathing laboured, ‘open your presents.’

  While her grandmother gathered the cake and took it out to the kitchen to cut, Linda put the beautifully wrapped birthday presents onto the table in front of her. Birthdays were bittersweet for Izzie. She had never forgotten the misery she’d experienced when she was thirteen. It was three days before her father discovered the birthday presents her mother had hidden in the bottom of the wardrobe. He’d apologised profusely and tried to make it up to her but Izzie knew that his heart wasn’t in it. She had opened them in front of Mrs Marshall and her sister, and although they were nice things, it wasn’t the same without her mother.

  The night Doris Baxter had run off had been bitterly cold and because she was only in her nightie, some old boots and a thin overcoat when she left, everybody expected the worst. Friends and neighbours around Elm Grove, where they had lived, had spent the whole day searching for her. Her father had contacted everyone he could think of, but it was well known that since that dreadful summer of 1941 when Izzie’s father went away, Doris had kept herself to herself. In the end, some children on their way home from school told their mother that they’d heard funny noises coming from the shed near the Working Man’s Club House on the corner of Bruce Avenue. Convinced an animal was trapped inside, their mother had persuaded their father to investigate when he got home from work. The animal turned out to be Izzie and Linda’s mother. Delirious and in spite of the cold, burning up with fever, they rushed her to hospital while the local bobby came to fetch Izzie’s father. Everyone was thrilled that she’d been found but it wasn’t a completely happy ending. Although she had survived the ordeal, Doris was far from well. ‘The doc reckons she’s not right in the head,’ Izzie heard her father telling Mrs Marshall a day or two later. ‘He says she won’t be coming home any time soon.’

  And once again the same dark thoughts had filled Izzie’s head.

  It’s all your fault.

  ‘Can we go and see her?’ Izzie had asked some time later, but her father had shaken his head.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s too ill at the moment,’ he’d said. ‘As soon as she’s feeling up to it, I’ll take you both.’

  But he never did.

  At the time, Izzie didn’t really understand what was going on but she knew when grown-ups were hiding something. How could she fail to notice her father giving Mrs Marshall a funny look when she’d asked which hospital her mother was in. Her father wouldn’t say anything in front of her and Linda but she’d heard them whispering in the scullery. But even though Izzie pressed her, Mrs Marshall wouldn’t say anything. It was very frustrating. Izzie wrote letters and Linda drew pictures for their father to post. They disappeared from the mantelpiece all right, but had he actually given them to their mother? They never had a reply, so Izzie had her doubts. Night after night, she and Linda silently cried themselves to sleep while their father became more morose and sullen. After a month or two, and without any discussion, she and Linda had been shipped off to Dial Post to live with their grandparents. They were promised that it was only a temporary measure but here they were, two years on, and still living in Dial Post.

  The first present Izzie opened, a tin of talcum powder, was from one of her school friends who had come to her little tea party. Izzie thanked her friend as she turned the top and a delicious smell of lily of the valley filled the room. When she opened her other presents they were just as nice; a tin of Sharp’s toffees and a box of handkerchiefs. Izzie was thrilled with them all.

  ‘Open the long one,’ Linda coaxed, but Izzie had decided to leave that one until last. The next present she opened turned out to be a lovely knitted cardigan. She was surprised to see that it was from her grandmother because it was very fashionable and delicate. Knitted in cream 3ply wool it had embroidered red and blue flowers down the front, just like the one worn by the model in her grandmother’s Woman magazine. Granny had added some pretty pearl buttons and Izzie heard her friends gasp with admiration as she shook it from the tissue paper wrapping.

  ‘Oh Granny, it’s lovely!’ she cried.

  Her next present was a book from Grandad. He knew her love of reading so he had bought her a brand new book called The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey. Izzie turned it over in her hands and stroked the dust jacket lovingly. ‘Thank you.’ She rose to her feet and planted a kiss on her grandfather’s papery cheek.

  ‘Aah, go on with you,’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘I’ve never owned a brand new book before,’ she said.


  ‘The man in the bookshop said it was very popular,’ her grandmother called from the kitchen where she was arranging the sliced pieces of cake onto a plate.

  Izzie smiled. She could hardly wait to get started. Most of her reading was done with County Library Service books housed in St Mark’s Church hall, Horsham or occasionally, when she could afford it, one of the few books in the shilling lending library at the back of the grocery van which came around isolated areas once a week. Up until now, she’d only read children’s books but this one looked like the sort of thing an adult would read.

  ‘Don’t forget the long one,’ Linda reminded her as she sat back down at the table.

  The long present was from her father. Izzie always had such mixed feelings about her father. She’d hardly looked at him since he’d arrived and even now she kept her head bowed as she picked up the box. She was glad that he had come but she still hadn’t forgiven him. It had taken her almost a year to find out that the day her mother was found in the club house shed, she had been ‘committed’. At the time she hadn’t a clue what that meant, but judging by the hushed tones the adults used when talking about it, she’d understood it wasn’t good. When she finally prised it out of Granny, it had come as a terrible shock to discover that her mother was in a mental hospital; and what was even worse, she was locked up all day and every day. The frustrated anger she’d felt towards her father came roaring to the surface again.

  ‘But it was all his fault,’ she’d ranted.

  ‘I don’t think so, darling,’ her grandmother had said gently. She was busy rolling pastry on the drop down work surface on the tall cupboard.

  ‘Oh yes it was,’ Izzie insisted. ‘I heard her. Mummy said she didn’t want to but he made her and then she ran away.’

  Her grandmother’s eyes had almost popped out of her head. ‘Didn’t want to what?’