‘It’ll go rotten by then,’ Butch sniggered, annoyed at having been made to attend the party, when he’d far rather be up on the moors or messing about with the clay at the pottery.
‘Shut up, fat-arse,’ Daphne hissed, at which several Truro Mamas glanced at one another, wondering how the elegant Mrs Pengelly was going to handle this.
‘We’re going to play some games before tea,’ Skye announced, refusing to rise to Daphne’s bait. For days now, the child had been verging on the edge of fury, ready to fly at anyone who came within earshot, and Skye prayed that the day would pass without incident.
One of her little friends had been unable to come at the last minute. Their family had received one of the dreaded yellow telegrams, and the mother had telephoned, choked with tears, to say that their soldier son was missing in action, and that little Lena was too upset to come to a party.
‘She’s a cry-baby, but she’ll soon be bragging about ’er bruvver being a hero, ’specially if ’e’s dead,’ Daphne had snorted, at which point Skye had felt ready to throttle her.
‘We’re going to play Hunt the Thimble now,’ she went on determinedly after they had played several exhaustive games of Pass the Parcel, all of them squabbling and fighting to regain the package. ‘As it’s Daphne’s birthday, she can have the first chance to hide it while we all go out into the garden for exactly five minutes.’
As they all trooped out, her cousin Lily spoke under cover of the excited children. ‘How on earth do you put up with her, Skye? I always said you were a saint.’
‘I’m anything but that,’ she retorted, aware of her earlier murderous thoughts towards the little madam. ‘I just try to be tolerant, that’s all, and to remember that she’s not in her own home.’
‘She’s been here for three years now. From all you’ve told me about her miserable home life, I imagine she gets far more care here than she did in London.’
‘But I’m not her mother, and that’s what counts,’ Skye said, unwittingly echoing Daphne’s own thoughts.
The screams from the children told them it was time to go indoors, and that the thimble had been hidden. It wasn’t difficult to find. It was more difficult to find Daphne.
‘Where the dickens is she?’ Skye fumed. ‘Tea’s ready, and the star of the show is nowhere to be found.’
‘We’re having a new game,’ Butch yelled. ‘It’s called Hunt stupid Daphne—’
‘Butch, it is not a game,’ Skye snapped, but she was talking to the air. The children scattered, racing about the place like lunatics, while their mothers stayed outside in the warm afternoon.
After another ten minutes of fruitless searching, and the threat of tears from some of the smaller children as it all began to get out of hand, she decided that tea was the best option. If Daphne wanted to be absent at her own birthday party, it was up to her.
They wouldn’t cut the precious cake without her, though, having decorated it with some candles carefully stored from previous occasions which were practically burned away to nothing now. But blowing out the candles was for Daphne, and no one else.
Once the guests were all sitting down to the amazing sugar-free concoctions Cook had managed to create to please the small appetites, Skye slipped away from the dining room to make a last search for Daphne. It was ridiculous. She had wanted this party so much, and now it seemed that the ungrateful little tyke had just turned her back on it.
Skye thought she had searched everywhere by the time she heard the sound of muffled crying from the room that had held Albert Tremayne’s paintings. It was no longer locked, but now that the paintings had gone, it remained empty and unused.
Skye turned the handle and saw the small huddled figure sitting by the window. Her Sunday best dress that she had put on especially for the day was crumpled and creased by now.
‘Daphne, what are you doing here?’ she said softly. ‘Don’t you want to blow out the candles on your cake? Everyone’s waiting for you—’
‘Everyone ain’t here. She couldn’t be bovvered to come, could she? I hate her now, and I ’ope she never comes.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ Skye said in bewilderment.
She knelt down beside the girl, but resisted the urge to take her in her arms. The small body was too stiff and unwelcoming, the hurt in her eyes too intense. Skye knew at once that she wasn’t the one who was wanted.
‘Me Ma, o’ course,’ she lashed out. ‘I wrote and told ’er about it, and even if I hadn’t, she shoulda known it was me birfday, shouldn’t she? But she couldn’t even be bovvered to send me a letter or nuffin’. She don’t want me no more, so I shan’t want ’er no more.’
‘Oh, Daphne, of course your mother wants you,’ Skye said. ‘But you know it’s not always easy in wartime to do the things we want. She may not even have got your letter—’
‘In case she’s dead, you mean?’ Daphne said viciously.
‘No, I don’t. Letters can go astray these days, and there’s probably one in the post for you right now. I’m sure she would have wanted to be here if she could, because being ten years old is an important milestone. It’s almost being grown-up, so dry your eyes and come downstairs and let’s show them all what a young lady you’re becoming.’
Her response was a series of sniffles, then she finally shrugged and stood up, brushing down her crumpled skirt.
‘Might as well, I s’pose,’ she said grudgingly.
‘And we’ll be sure to keep that piece of cake for your mother, won’t we?’ Skye went on, wanting her to agree.
‘If yer like. She won’t come, though.’
Skye knew that. It hadn’t occurred to her to write to Mrs Hollis to suggest it. The distance between London and Cornwall was too great, and it was obvious that the family was a poor one. Some of the evacuees had visits from relatives, but in the end it usually unsettled them and caused more tears when they had to leave them behind again. In her opinion, such visits were best never made. But the children wouldn’t see it that way.
‘By the way, Mrs Pen,’ she heard Daphne say in a small voice as they left the room. ‘I fergot something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I fergot ter say thanks fer me lovely party,’ Daphne said in a rush, at which Skye had to turn away and walk ahead of her down the stairs, her eyes smarting.
* * *
At the beginning of September the woman in the short, home-made swagger coat fashioned from an old grey blanket toiled the last half-mile to New World, and paused to catch her breath.
The train from Paddington was crowded with servicemen, but the crush was no problem to someone who had lived cheek by jowl with neighbours in a sweaty London Underground shelter all through the Blitz. Someone who enjoyed a saucy joke or two and had a store of her own to tell, despite some of the disapproving looks she got. It all helped to make the long journey pass quicker, and once out of the train station, she had caught the bus out of Truro as far as it went.
Now she took in the sight of the lovely old stone house set near the cliffs. The endless, unfamiliar expanse of sea was enough to make her light-headed too, and she let out her usual expletive as if to assure herself that it was real.
‘Bleedin’ ’ell, duck, you never let on that it was as grand as this, did yer!’
At the sound of the voice, but not the actual words, Skye looked up from her garden, where the flowerbeds had long been taken over by vegetables now, and leaned on her hoe.
‘Are you lost? I’m afraid we’re a bit isolated here.’
The woman grimaced, shifting her chewing-gum from one side of her mouth to the other. ‘Well, I ain’t too sure this is the place I’m lookin’ for after all, ’spite of what the bus conductor said.’
Skye felt her heart begin to pound. The woman didn’t look like Daphne, except for the sharply pointed and determined chin. But there was something in the voice, and the quick way of speaking, so different from the Cornish drawl, that she knew by now could only belong to one place.
> ‘Are you from London?’
‘’Ow d’yer guess?’ the woman said, her voice faintly mocking. ‘I’ve come looking fer me kid, see, and I know she’s livin’ around ’ere somewhere—’
The next moment something like a small whirlwind flew past Skye and into the woman’s arms, and what had been two separate figures suddenly became one huge blur of grey swagger and clinging arms as the coat enveloped them both.
* * *
‘I swear that it was symbolic, the way that coat just folded them both inside it,’ Skye told Nick, when Daphne and her mother had gone off together for a walk down by the sea. ‘It was as if nothing could separate them again. It was almost – well, beautiful.’
‘And you’re having a hard job not to get emotional about it, aren’t you, darling?’ he said. ‘Don’t get carried away by the moment or the woman’s sudden appearance. She hasn’t bothered much before, so what do you think she wants?’
‘She wants Daphne, of course.’
Now that she had said the words, Skye knew it had been inevitable. From the moment she had seen the handsome woman in the shabby grey coat, and the glorious happiness Daphne couldn’t hide as they hugged one another, she had known why Mrs Hollis was here. What she didn’t know was what she was going to do about it.
Anticipating her thoughts, Nick spoke firmly.
‘You can’t keep her, Skye. If her mother wants to take her back, there’s not a thing you can do about it. You know that. You’ve always known it. It happened with the other two children, didn’t it? None of them belong to us.’
‘But what kind of a life will she have in London?’ Skye said passionately. ‘They say the danger is past for now, but who knows what Hitler’s got up his sleeve for the future? The war’s not over yet, and I thought at least we’d have them here for the duration – and don’t you dare suggest we take on any more, because I just can’t bear all this coming and going.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Skye, get a grip on yourself. Daphne’s been away from home for three and a half years, and her mother will have been missing her. Don’t you think she deserves some consideration?’
Privately, Skye thought that if Mrs Hollis had been missing Daphne all this time then her almost total lack of communication was a strange way of showing it. If Daphne had been her child, evacuated to a different part of the country to live with strangers, she would have moved heaven and earth to keep in touch… but Daphne wasn’t her child.
‘I know you’re right, Nick, so let’s wait and see what they have to say when they get back from their walk.’
‘Maybe this is just a visit, anyway,’ Butch offered, having learned all about it by the time the Hollis pair returned to the house in time for a late afternoon tea.
The minute Skye saw Daphne’s shining eyes, she knew it wasn’t just a visit. Daphne had a huge capacity for grasping any opportunity, and as the words tumbled out of her eager lips, they all discovered that a great opportunity was coming the Hollises’ way.
‘Me Ma’s come to take me ’ome, Mrs Pen, and now that she’s heard that me Dad’s passed on – Gawd bless ’im,’ she added with false piety, ‘she’s going to marry ’er Yank, and we’re all gonna live in America after the war! What d’yer fink of that then, Butch Butcher!’
Butch gaped at her, unable to say anything at all, and struck dumb by the fact that Daphne was hugging and kissing this stranger and behaving more like a normal person than he’d ever seen her. But going to live in America was something he just couldn’t comprehend.
‘Is this true, Mrs Hollis?’ Skye said, aware that it wasn’t her place to question or criticise or doubt, but feeling a mixture of all of those things at Daphne’s outburst.
‘Oh, it’s quite true, Missis. Me and my feller have decided to tie the knot as soon as possible now – and we’ll be shippin’ out the minute the war’s over,’ she added grandly. ‘I’ll be one o’ them GI brides, and me and Daphne will be nicely set up wiv my Gary.’
‘Well, that’s – wonderful,’ Skye said. ‘So when will you be wanting Daphne to join you? You’re not thinking of taking her back to London yet, are you?’
‘Course I am. That’s what I’ve come ’ere for. If yer’ve got room to put me up fer the night, we’ll be going back to the smoke tomorrer.’
Daphne squealed with joy. ‘Course we can put yer up, Ma. This is a yooge house, and yer can sleep wiv me, just like we used to. She can, can’t she, Mrs Pen?’
‘Of course,’ Skye said mechanically, feeling as if these two were taking over the entire household by the force of their personalities and determination.
Her brain seemed reluctant to function properly. But weren’t there formalities to go through? Anyone relinquishing an evacuee had to go through procedures. There was the billeting committee to be informed, and the school… evacuees didn’t just disappear on a whim whenever their parents summoned them back home…
Even as she thought it Skye knew that was exactly what did happen. It had happened to the little Lunn children, and now it was happening to Daphne.
But it mustn’t happen to Butch, thought Skye, seeing his apprehensive face. Butch had no one in the world but themselves now, and no authority on earth was going to drag him away from the place he loved as much as any of her family.
She made a silent vow to that effect while they were all listening to the excited babblings of the Hollis mother and child, and she decided to ask Nick to find out about putting an adoption order in motion as soon as possible.
It was a thought to keep her sane during the hours in which the speed of Daphne’s proposed new station in life took precedence over everything else. By the time they had all had breakfast the next morning, Skye was heartily sick of hearing about Edna Hollis’s Yank, who was winning the war singlehandedly, by all accounts, and of Daphne’s predictable boasting that she’d soon be meeting all the movie stars.
But all the same, when she and Nick drove them to Truro railway station, she felt a heart-tugging such as she had never expected when Daphne suddenly threw her arms around her neck, and whispered in her ear in a strangled voice.
‘I do love yer, Mrs Pen. It’s just that me Ma needs me back, see? We’re gonna be a real fam’ly again.’
‘I love you too, Daphne,’ Skye said, choked. ‘You just remember to write to me, and I promise to write back.’
‘I will. And when I get to ’ollywood, I’ll write and tell yer all about it.’
Then the train was ready to crawl away, and they waved them off until they could see no more for the smoke and steam, and the sparks that stung the eyes and tightened the throat.
‘Come on, love,’ Nick said roughly, understanding more than she knew. ‘We’ll waste a bit more of our precious petrol and make a visit to the pottery and the clayworks. Let’s take a look at our new acquisition. And don’t forget, when all else fails, we’ve still got each other.’
‘And Butch,’ she reminded him huskily.
‘And Butch,’ he agreed with a grin.
* * *
By the end of the year Skye had recovered from the shock of having Daphne wrenched from her control so abruptly, but she still missed her badly. Another Christmas was only weeks away, and Daphne had assuredly made the most of the previous ones with her raucous behaviour. She had livened up the house, and it was emptier without her. Butch was never the liveliest of companions, fond though Skye was of him.
She found herself aching for Christmases past, and there were times when she wondered fearfully if it was a sign of age that made her wallow in nostalgia far more than was good for her. At other times she told herself severely not to be so stupid, and that it was simply because she was giving more and more time now to her history of the clayworks and her family involvement with it.
How could she help being nostalgic? She was forced to remember all those times past, whether they belonged personally to her or to all those who had gone before. But it was a task of love as well as duty, and now that the house was empty all day long,
she threw herself into researching and writing the Killigrew Clay booklets.
Two weeks before Christmas came some news that filled her with very mixed feelings. There was guilt, because no one should rejoice in someone else’s misfortune. But there was also an overwhelming elation and thankfulness, because Celia was coming home.
‘I know I shouldn’t be this happy,’ she said to Nick, almost shaking with the delirium of it. ‘I know this Captain Moon’s letter advises us to treat her with extreme care, because it was such an unexpected illness, but she’ll recover here, you’ll see. Cornwall has always been our place of refuge and strength. It’s our personal heaven, and I don’t care if it’s blasphemous to say so. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that what the Lord has recently taken away – meaning Daphne – he’s giving us back in full measure, by sending Celia back to us. It was obviously meant to be.’
She was almost dizzy with joy and the sense of destiny, and when Nick’s face came back into her focus, she became aware that he was less than pleased at her outburst.
‘Stop it, Skye,’ he snapped. ‘You’re getting this all out of proportion, and I won’t have all this nonsense. Celia’s coming home to recuperate, but once she’s better she’ll be eager to go back to her job. And she won’t thank you for implying that her enforced homecoming was fate compensating us for sending Daphne Hollis home!’
‘Well, I think you’re wrong. This time, Mr Smarty Pants know-all lawyer, I know I’m right.’
Chapter Eleven
Celia didn’t feel ill. She didn’t feel anything but relief that the decision had been made for her. She hadn’t even been aware that anything was amiss until the night she and Moonie had been working late and she had suddenly burst into tears of rage and frustration as all the letters and figures on the code she was working on seemed to dazzle in front of her eyes in a crazy ant-like war dance. And when she had begun screaming and trying to fight them off, it became obvious to Captain Moon that something was seriously wrong.
A Brighter Tomorrow Page 19
