At Home by the Sea

by Pam Weaver

  And although she hadn’t meant to, Izzie found herself pouring her heart out. She spoke of the night her mother left home, of the desperate search to find her and finally being told that she was in hospital. She talked about grandparents and their house in Dial Post. ‘My grandfather died about six months after we’d left Dial Post,’ she went on, ‘but I still keep in touch with Granny.’

  ‘Do you see her very often?’ Mrs Shilling asked.

  ‘Not as much as I would like to,’ Izzie admitted.

  ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘I miss my mother more.’ Izzie had blurted it out without thinking. Embarrassed by her outburst, she kept her head down so that her employer wouldn’t see the tears standing in her eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry my dear,’ Mrs Shilling said. ‘It must have been awful for you.’ She leaned forward to pat Izzie’s hand. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘I don’t know about you but I fancy a little drive out into the countryside. Fetch my things, will you dear, and ask the desk to call the chauffeur service.’

  That afternoon, they enjoyed a glorious ride around the area; the chauffeur taking them to Ringwood, a small market town on the Hampshire–Dorset border. From there they motored back to Wimborne with its ancient minster and on to Poole where Mrs Shilling bought an expensive carafe in the Poole pottery shop. It was made by Head of Design Claude Smale, who was busy working on some pieces that he’d first made for the Festival of Britain, which was held in London. It was late afternoon before their chauffeur drove them back to Bournemouth. He was a cheeky man who kept winking at Izzie in the rear-view mirror and he flirted shamelessly with her when Mrs Shilling stopped for a comfort break in Wimborne. Izzie did nothing to encourage him and why would she? He was thirty years old if he was a day.

  ‘You know my dear, I’ve been thinking. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out what happened to your mother,’ Mrs Shilling said kindly as Izzie escorted her back to her room. ‘Have you talked to your father about it?’

  ‘I did when I was younger,’ Izzie admitted, ‘but he used to get cross. Besides, he was always sparing with the detail so I suppose I pushed it to the back of my mind and gave up.’

  ‘Perhaps he thought you were too young to understand,’ said Mrs Shilling. ‘Why not try again? Surely he can see you are very mature for your age.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Izzie cautiously. ‘I get the feeling my father has closed that chapter of his life.’

  Mrs Shilling nodded sagely. ‘Just as you wish my dear, but remember, if you need to talk or I can help in any way, you only have to ask.’

  Seven

  Bill Baxter was feeling tempted. Business was slow. He’d found a few good items in his last house clearance but because he was still paying off a loan, money was tight. In order to kick start the business, he had borrowed money at an extortionate rate of interest and it was imperative to keep up the payments. What he needed was some quick cash.

  It had been a good move getting the girls back. Izzie paid her way and now that she’d got a better paid job, he’d persuaded her to put enough money in the kitty to cover a little of Linda’s keep as well. Of course, Izzie grumbled and complained, but he’d told her in no uncertain terms, ‘that’s life’. You never do get something for nothing. She did the cooking and cleaning, which meant he didn’t have to employ a housekeeper. The house wasn’t as clean and tidy as it was when he was married to Doris, but it didn’t matter that much. He was hardly at home anyway and so long as he had his tea and a clean shirt, he’d get by. Good times were just around the corner because he had met someone. He wasn’t about to get serious but if he was to keep her happy, he needed money. He arranged three antique snuff boxes on a piece of green velvet. They were pretty stunning. Years ago, he’d promised Doris he would never go back to his old ways but when you’re desperate for some ready cash, what can you do? Should he take a risk? If he was careful, he told himself, it should be all right.

  He reached for his loupe and looked over a William IV sterling silver table box with a beautifully executed floral design, a slightly smaller box, round, with impressed dark blue enamel panels and an Edwardian oval silver box with a hardstone lid. All were clearly hallmarked and all were stolen. Bill glanced up at the man in front of him. He’d probably hit hard times himself. Bill took a deep breath. This was too good an opportunity to miss.

  ‘I can’t offer you more than seventy quid for the lot.’

  The man’s face paled. He may be well dressed in a striped suit and camel coat, but Bill could tell a shady character when he saw one. ‘What? Good God man, they’re worth four hundred on the open market.’

  ‘But we’re not talking about the open market are we,’ Bill said levelly. ‘And I shall have to wait a long time for my return.’

  The man scowled. ‘All right damn you. I’ll take seventy, no questions asked.’

  A moment or two later his customer walked out of the shop a little richer and once again, Bill Baxter, against his better judgement, had become a receiver of stolen goods.

  *

  The next day, their last in Bournemouth, Izzie’s employer decided to take some of her artefacts from South America to the Russell-Cotes Museum on the East Cliff. After breakfast she’d asked Izzie to fetch a box from the hotel safe. Izzie brought it to her room.

  Mrs Shilling opened the box with her key and took out a leather case. ‘Put that on the table for me will you?’

  When Mrs Shilling opened the leather case, it contained a couple of bracelets with gemstones, a long link chain necklace with seven oblong shaped pieces hanging from it, and a pair of earrings with what looked like a coin at the top. Beneath the coin there was a horse shoe shape which held several long tassels. It was obvious that they were all made of gold. There were also several small statues, which were shaped like birds and fish. Mrs Shilling ran her fingers over them lovingly.

  ‘When I die,’ she said, ‘all these will belong to the museum. I should have handed everything in a long time ago. Still, it’s already been hidden for five thousand years, and I wanted to look at it occasionally.’ She placed one of the bracelets over her left wrist and sighed. ‘I remember the day I found this one …’ And she was off again, recalling the excitement of the dig and its discovery.

  The walk up the East Cliff was a struggle – Mrs Shilling wasn’t a heavy woman but the hill was steep – and Izzie kept thinking about their discussion the day before. Should she really try and contact her mother? Should she talk it over with Linda first? And what about her father? He would probably go bonkers but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to do it. Her mother had been in hospital but which one? Maybe she should start with that. If she found out when her mother had been discharged, they might tell her where she was. But what if she was still unwell? She had to do it soon. Izzie couldn’t bear the thought that if she left it too long it might be too late.

  *

  All too soon, the holiday came to an end and Mrs Shilling’s chauffeur took them back to Worthing. Izzie had enjoyed every minute. Because of her employer’s generosity, she’d had time to herself and she had been a guest in a luxurious hotel. She’d enjoyed the meeting in the Russell-Cotes Museum and while Mrs Shilling and the curator talked business in the office, Izzie had been given a personal tour of the exhibitions by one of the staff. She had learned that back at the turn of the century, fifty years ago, the museum had been the home of Sir Merton and Lady Annie Russell-Cotes. Situated on the cliff top, overlooking the beach and with a beautiful garden, it was such a romantic place. Like Mrs Shilling and her husband, Sir Merton and Lady Annie had collected artefacts over a lifetime of travelling. As Izzie walked around listening to the stories behind the exhibits, she knew she would remember this trip for the rest of her life.

  Back in Worthing and with an exhausted Mrs Shilling resting in her room, Izzie emptied the suitcases and put the washing into the laundry room. She was just about to leave when Esther called her.

  ‘She wants to see you,�
�� she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Old Mrs Shilling.’

  Mrs Shilling was in her bed. The nurse had given the old lady her medication and even though it was only six-thirty, it was obvious that she was more than ready for sleep.

  ‘Oh Izzie,’ she said, pushing an envelope into her hands. ‘I wanted to thank you for helping to make this trip so special. You’ve been so patient with me and so helpful. I want you to have this.’

  Izzie tried to refuse the gift. ‘You’ve already given me so much, Madam,’ but her employer was insistent.

  When Izzie opened the envelope in the privacy of the toilet she found a five pound note. She caught her breath. She’d never seen one before let alone owned one. She smiled. What an amazing person Mrs Shilling was. This would boost her leaving home fund quite a bit.

  *

  When Izzie got home to Chandos Road the house was in an absolute shambles. She left her things by the stairs and set about clearing up the mess in the kitchen. Linda hadn’t even bothered to wash up her own breakfast things let alone the things in the sink and her father had obviously come in and done a fry up at lunch time. The greasy pan rested on the top of the pile of plates in the sink. On the table, the loaf of bread had been hacked to death on the board. As she walked past the cooker, Izzie’s foot almost went from under her. Clearly someone had dropped and broken an egg, leaving it where it fell on the floor. She frowned crossly. It would take her ages to clear a space before she could even start to get the tea ready. Resentfully, she crashed the dishes from the washing up bowl to the draining board and put the kettle on to boil some water. There were two empty beer bottles on the table and the ash tray was overflowing. As she picked it up to empty it, she caught a faint whiff of perfume in the air. That’s when she heard the sound of voices upstairs. Izzie froze. Someone was in the house? But who? Izzie’s heart began to thump. After a minute or two and hearing nothing else, she went to the bottom of the stairs. She cocked her ears and listened.

  ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

  There was a shuffling sound and her father called down, ‘Only me. I’m having a bit of a lie down. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Suddenly concerned she called, ‘Are you all right, Dad?’

  She heard hushed whispering before he called out, ‘I’m fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  The kettle had boiled so Izzie returned to the kitchen to make a start. As she tipped the ash tray into the bin, she noticed one cigarette was stained red at the tip. Then she heard the sound of a woman laughing and glancing up at the ceiling, her heart went cold.

  A little while later, she heard voices in the hallway and then the front door slammed. A second later, her father appeared in the doorway. His face was flushed. ‘So, you’re back.’

  ‘Yes, I got in about ten minutes ago,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here.’

  For a second or two, when she’d heard the woman’s laughter, she had toyed with the idea of charging upstairs and confronting them both, but then she’d decided she didn’t really want to know who it was or what they were doing. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t her mother.

  ‘Let’s give you a hand with that love,’ he said in an uncharacteristically cheerful voice, as he’d picked up a tea towel. He dried a plate then said, ‘I’ve just taken your sister over to your grandmother’s.’

  Izzie’s heart went into her mouth. ‘Is Granny all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ her father said with a grin. ‘Seeing as how you’ve been swanning about in Bournemouth I thought your sister could do with a little break too.’

  Izzie returned to the sink and they carried on working in silence. When they finished, Izzie put the clean crockery onto the dresser.

  ‘Aren’t you going to put the kettle on?’ her father asked as he flopped into a chair and shook out his newspaper.

  Izzie sighed. No, ‘How was your week, Izzie? Did you have a good time? Nice to have you back.’ She picked up the kettle and walked to the sink. Yes, the sooner she was out of here, the better.

  *

  Alone in her room later, Izzie got the five pound note out again to look at it. She would have to get a Post Office Savings book. It was far too much money to leave lying around the house. With her other savings, she probably had as much as eight or maybe nine pounds by now although she hadn’t counted it for a while. With a happy smile, she pulled her tin from the drawer but when she opened it Izzie gasped in horror. Instead of finding a tin half full of money, there were only a few coins left. Where had it all gone? She tipped the money onto the bed and counted out twelve shillings and tuppence. The disappointment reduced her to tears. When she’d set out for Bournemouth she definitely had a lot more money than this. She’d been the victim of theft and there was only one person who could have taken it.

  Linda.

  Eight

  ‘I hope you jolly well had it out with her. What did she say?’

  Izzie and Esther were returning to Worthing on the bus. Izzie had just told her friend about the missing money and Esther was so indignant she could hardly contain herself.

  Izzie shook her head. ‘Not yet. She’s still over at Granny’s. My father sent her away for a week’s holiday.’

  ‘Which is probably why she pinched the money!’ cried Esther. ‘You will confront her when she gets back.’

  ‘You bet!’ Izzie said emphatically.

  A woman passenger in front of them turned around to stare. As she turned back Izzie stuck her tongue out and the two girls grinned at each other.

  They had spent the afternoon together in Brighton and now they were returning to Esther’s house to get ready to go out to the pictures for the evening.

  Their time in Brighton had been brilliant. They’d wandered through the Lanes doing a bit of window-shopping and then walked up to Hannington’s department store to look at the make-up counters and the dresses. Neither of them could afford anything but that didn’t stop them trying on dresses and coats and even some shoes. By four-thirty they’d walked back to Poole Valley to catch the bus back to Worthing.

  As the conductor rang the bell and called out ‘Worthing Central,’ the two of them stood up to get off. They waited for the crossing gates to open then walked over the railway line to Esther’s house in West Court Road. Mrs Jordan had already invited Izzie to stay for tea so it wasn’t long before they were tucking into a plate of shepherd’s pie and cabbage. After they’d eaten, Esther took Izzie upstairs to her bedroom to change. On the way back from Brighton, she’d suggested going to the dance but Izzie had declined. She’d made the excuse that she was really tired but the truth was, she couldn’t afford it. Esther had tried so hard to persuade Izzie that she decided to confide in her friend about the theft.

  ‘I cannot get over how heartless your sister was,’ Esther cried. ‘How cruel.’

  Her passion suddenly made Izzie feel disloyal. Linda might be a rotten cow but she was still her sister. Perhaps she should have kept what had happened to herself. Maybe she shouldn’t have confided in Esther. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you,’ she said anxiously. ‘She didn’t take it all but I was saving up.’

  ‘For something nice?’

  Izzie took a deep breath. ‘I want to leave home.’

  She waited for the backlash but to her surprise Esther said, ‘Good for you. I’m leaving home too.’ Izzie’s face must have registered her shock because she added, ‘Oh don’t get me wrong. I love my home and my parents are sweeties but in this day and age it’s important for a girl to be independent, don’t you think? Anyway, I can’t bear the thought of working in that dreary job for ever.’

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Izzie.

  Esther waved her hand in the direction of a pile of books on the shelf. ‘I want to join the police force. That’s why I’m studying.’

  Izzie was taken aback. She’d been annoyed when her father had taken her out of school early but it had never occurred to her to pick up her studies in her spare time. She had simpl
y rolled over and accepted that there was no chance of going to college or university for people like her so why bother.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Izzie. ‘You’re brave, but surely you have to wait until you’re old enough before you can join?’

  ‘I do but it’s not long now,’ said Esther. ‘A couple of years ago they lowered the entry age to twenty.’ She grinned. ‘Only a few months to go.’

  Izzie was surprised. She knew Esther was older than her but she had no idea she was nearly twenty. She certainly didn’t look it. Only five foot four, she was a pretty girl with blonde hair and a porcelain complexion. Izzie fingered the book at the top of the pile, The Modern Police Force. Lifting the front cover to take a peek inside, it looked as dry as dust.

  ‘What do you plan to do when you leave home?’ Esther asked.

  Izzie was immediately placed on the back foot. She hadn’t got that far either. All she wanted to do was get away from her father and Linda. Quite what she was going to do once she’d actually packed her bag she hadn’t a clue. She shrugged hopelessly. ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ she admitted rather sheepishly.

  Esther got up and pushed Izzie down into the chair in front of the mirror. ‘Shall I do your hair for you?’

  It seemed a bit silly when they were only going to sit in the dark all evening but Izzie found it very relaxing as her friend brushed her hair. ‘The trick is to think of something you really enjoy,’ said Esther. ‘Something you’re good at.’

  Izzie’s mind went blank. What was she good at? Housework, recognising bird song, listening to people, a bit of typing … where on earth could that take her?

  ‘You’re very good with Mrs Shilling,’ Esther remarked. ‘What about training to be a nurse?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Izzie with a small shudder. ‘I can’t bear the thought of all that blood and vomit. I’m far too squeamish.’