by Mary Gibson
Kate nodded, frightened even to utter a sound. And then, taking Nora’s hand in hers, she whispered, ‘Next time you visit him, can I come with you?’
A small smile lit Nora’s sad face. She put her arms around Kate. ‘Yes, I would like that very much. And so would your brother.’
*
Set at the top of a lawned double terrace, the place looked more like a country house than a school. It was a two-storey mock Tudor building, with white walls criss-crossed by black timbering and large bay windows protruding at each end. They ascended two flights of shallow steps to the main door and at the top Kate looked back, gasping at the far-reaching view. It was beautiful. She could see for miles across the wooded, undulating countryside. She’d wanted to hate the place. But her father hadn’t condemned Paul to a prison or a dungeon – it was a pleasant country house, surrounded by spacious, well-kept grounds. She took in the sweeping view once more and had to admit, in a comparison of where they’d spent their childhoods, the reviled child had done much better than the beloved.
The door was answered by a fresh-faced young woman wearing plimsolls, a bandana and a green gym tunic. ‘Oh, hello! Have you come for the open day? It’s not until next week.’
Nora had explained to Kate that family visits were restricted to ‘open days’ which occurred twice a year. Only on occasions of ill health or other family crises was this rule relaxed. Taking Kate to see her brother risked flagging up Nora’s visits to Chibby. The principal, she had explained, might well make a fuss about it. ‘I’m sure he’s well-meaning,’ Nora said, ‘but he has a visionary gleam in his eye, and sometimes I think that’s dangerous – especially in an unmarried man with power over the lives of the young.’
‘A bit like a priest, you mean?’
‘I suppose so,’ Nora had said.
The gym teacher was studying them now, swinging the wooden hoop she was holding, clearly not inviting them in.
‘I’ve come to see Paul Grainger,’ Nora explained. ‘I have permission for a special visit. I’ve brought his sister with me.’ She drew Kate forward.
The teacher flashed a bright smile, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. ‘You can wait in the breakfast room,’ she said. ‘I’ll send for Mr Woolf.’
She stood aside, and it was only then that Kate noticed, standing behind her, a small troop of children. Silent, docile, not like any group of school kids she’d ever seen. They each carried hoops, ribbons or dumb-bells and were all dressed identically in green gym dresses or shorts.
‘Hilary, will you take a message to Mr Woolf for me?’
Hilary, who looked about twelve, slowly repeated back the message to the teacher and then set off, in a strange half-skipping walk, on legs that looked like brittle sticks.
‘He won’t keep you long.’ The teacher showed them into a room, the entire front of which was a glazed bay. The top panes were stained glass and a bright morning sun splashed colour across the furniture. It felt like a chapel. As they sat in silence, waiting for Mr Woolf to appear, Kate thought she had never felt so unprepared in her life. Not even her first day at Boutle’s could compare to this. It was no good looking to Nora for help. The woman’s habitual calm had deserted her and she sat twisting her fingers around the handles of her beaded bag. Kate wondered which she was more nervous about – Kate meeting Paul, or Chibby finding out.
Mr Woolf was wearing a sports jacket and an open-necked Aertex shirt. Kate noticed that he also wore leather sandals with socks, rather than shoes. His face was ruddy, his long fair hair swept back from a domed forehead. His smile was as bright and suspicious as the gym teacher’s.
‘Good morning, Mrs Grainger!’ He extended a hand to Nora and then Kate. ‘No need to go to my office,’ he continued, indicating seats at one of the refectory tables. ‘We like informality here. I understand the purpose of your irregular visit is to introduce Paul to his sister?’
Here his smile widened as he turned to Kate. ‘A momentous day for both of you. But I would like to explain a few things first. So that you understand the potential consequences…’ He paused and asked casually, ‘I presume your husband, Mr Grainger, has agreed to the meeting?’
Nora swallowed, but she now wore her unruffled calm like a familiar coat. The fiddling with her bag, the chewing of her cheek had ceased the minute Principal Woolf had entered the room.
‘Indeed he has! And he’s very happy it should happen. Unfortunately, he’s detained on business and can’t be with us.’
She was an accomplished liar, but still Mr Woolf pressed her. ‘I believe he has never visited his son on one of our open days?’
Nora shook her head. ‘Sadly not. He is away for a good part of each year. And he believes in your method of separation – wholeheartedly.’
This seemed to satisfy Mr Woolf. Kate had taken an instant dislike to the man. Anyone who smiled so much would be suspect in East Lane, so why not in East Sussex?
*
The photograph of Paul had shown him as a three-year-old. Four years later, his body hadn’t grown as it should. His legs and arms were skeletal, his hands and feet twisted inwards. He sat in a throne-like wooden wheelchair with leather straps designed to support his wasted muscles. It was evident from the metal-and-leather collar visible at his neck that he was wearing a back brace, but the curve in his spine was still noticeable. Only the brightness of his large, intelligent eyes had not deteriorated since that photograph had been taken. They hadn’t altered. The face in the photograph had looked haunted, and so now his smile at the sight of Nora was a shock to Kate. Like the bright sunbursts that sometimes bounced off the murky Thames, illuminating all the gloom, Paul’s smile was dazzling. Kate felt instantly happy.
He tried to get up, fumbling with the leather straps that held him. But before he could unfasten them, Nora was at his side, her arms around his twisted torso, his thin arms clasping her. Kate’s happiness was instantly dimmed with dismay – the brace and his weak arms prevented him from squeezing Nora as tightly as he obviously wanted to.
‘Mummy? Why are you here?’ He had Nora’s musical voice, but thinner and higher-pitched. He looked uncertainly towards Kate, who smiled encouragingly.
He asked Nora, ‘Is my daddy with you?’
Nora stroked her son’s cheek. ‘Not this time, darling.’
‘Oh. Next time?’
‘Perhaps next time.’ Nora looked over her shoulder, beckoning Kate forward. ‘But look, I’ve brought someone else with me.’
He winced as he twisted to look at Kate, shrugging at the confining steel of his brace. Then he gave her that dazzling smile. ‘Hello,’ he said, and he put out a twisted hand, which she took in both of hers.
‘Hello, Paul.’ She glanced at Nora, who nodded her permission. ‘My name’s Kate. I’m your sister.’
He laughed, his eyes crinkling, almost closing in amusement. ‘Don’t be silly! I’m an only child.’ He looked for confirmation to Nora.
‘It’s true, Paul. Your father was married once before and he had a daughter, Kate. It’s the most marvellous thing that your father found her again. And she so wanted to meet you.’
Paul’s eyes widened. ‘A sister! Where did my daddy find you? Where do you live?’
‘I used to live in Bermondsey, where our dad comes from. But now I live with him and your mummy.’
Kate saw Nora’s look of alarm. Paul’s lower lip trembled. ‘I wish I could live with my mummy and daddy.’
Kate took his hand. ‘Perhaps one day you will!’
Nora squeezed her shoulder hard, and Kate swallowed the promise that she desperately wanted to give.
Their meeting place was a wood-panelled common room, with a large table and chairs, some books and board games. They drew up chairs to the table where Paul sat. Kate had worried that he wouldn’t like her, would even be jealous that she’d taken his place at home. But he was quick to commandeer her.
‘You sit beside me,’ he ordered. ‘We can play.’ It didn’t matter that she was twelve yea
rs older, and Kate found herself easily enchanted. They were soon engrossed in a game of draughts, while Nora sat silently looking on, a smile on her face. Paul was sometimes clumsy with the pieces, but quick to seize every advantage. He outwitted Kate at every turn, which she didn’t mind at all.
‘Are you letting me win?’ the little boy asked suspiciously.
‘Oh, no,’ Kate laughed, ‘you’re beating me fair and square.’ And he looked pleased.
He didn’t need to try very hard and in between hopping over her pieces, he asked her questions. Incessant questions. Why hadn’t their daddy come to fetch her when she was small? What were his cousins and aunts like and were they his family too? Was it fun working in a factory? Did she like living in East Lane? In the end she couldn’t keep up. ‘Why, why, why. You ask so many questions – you’re just like I was! Only I used to get a wallop for it when I was your age.’
He stared at her mid-move. ‘I’m sorry they weren’t nice to you, Kate.’ Then in a low voice he added solemnly, ‘They’re not nice here either.’
Nora stirred from her silence. ‘Paul, that’s not true. They only do what’s best for you. I know the brace is uncomfortable, but at least your back is a little straighter now.’
He pulled at the metal contraption at his neck. ‘Not just this. They lock us in…’
It was just then that Mr Woolf returned after their allotted hour. Paul’s previous animated manner changed instantly. His smile disappeared. And still clutching her final two pieces in his twisted hand, he let it fall over hers. He fixed her with those pleading eyes and whispered, ‘Ask my daddy if I can come home – like you did.’
Her eyes stung, a feeling of utter uselessness overtaking her. If she had to leave him here each time, it would be agony to go on visiting him. Nora’s torment must be impossible. Kate squeezed Paul’s hand, almost wishing that she hadn’t pushed so hard to meet the brother she could not help.
Nora kissed her son goodbye and Paul began to cry.
‘Now, now, silly,’ she reassured him, ‘I’ll be back next week – for the open day!’
But he held tight to her hands as she tried to leave. ‘Soon, my darling, I’ll see you soon.’
As Nora hurried from the room, Kate hugged Paul, hearing Mr Woolf tutting at her back, impatient for her to be gone. When they joined Nora outside, she was leaning against the corridor wall, her face full of misery, her eyes full of tears.
Mr Woolf said, ‘You see why we do not encourage these sorts of visits. It only upsets everyone concerned – not least your child, Mrs Grainger!’ His tone pretended sympathy, but the visionary gleam hardened into an unpleasant disapproval that made Kate want to flee the place and his presence. She understood why Paul wanted the same.
*
When her father came back from his trip to the fur trade exhibition in Germany, he sought her out straight away, greeting her with a kiss. He’d grown more demonstrative over the weeks she’d been living there and she’d become less shy of him. She helped him off with his overcoat, liking the feeling that he was hers. Her father. Liking that he still had the smell of soot from the train on his overcoat and a tobacco smell to his hair. She slipped her arm through his. ‘Come and see my workshop.’
‘Let your father rest for a bit. He’s been travelling all night!’ She hadn’t noticed Nora coming into the drawing room.
‘No, no.’ He gave a weary smile and kissed his wife. ‘My Katy comes first.’
And the warm glow of being at the forefront of his affections after all these years dimmed like a twinkling star. If she came first, there was another who came last.
In the basement, she pushed open the studio door, flicked on the electric light and let him walk in first. He looked admiringly around the little room. ‘You should have waited for me to help with this! But I see you’ve gone ahead and done it all on your own.’ He picked up tools and metals, examining them carefully. ‘I’d have been the same,’ he said approvingly. ‘If you want something done, do it yourself. That’s always been the secret of my success.’
He leaned against her bench and looked at her with a half-smile on his face. ‘Your mother was very good with her hands.’
‘Was she?’ Kate asked, intrigued. ‘What sort of things did she make?’
‘Wooden things. Well, I’m ashamed to say she made pegs to sell. Before we were married, of course! I soon put a stop to all that. But she made other things, beautiful flowers made of wood shavings. Intricate, delicate. And then there were the peg dolls for you. Don’t you remember?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t remember much about Mum.’
‘Good.’
‘But I wish I did!’
‘If you don’t remember her, you can’t mourn. I’m glad for your sake, Kate.’
‘But I did mourn, Dad. I still do.’
He pushed himself up from the bench. ‘Yes, well. I’m sorry. Very sorry. But that’s the past. You have to let it go. Never look back, that’s my motto.’
Perhaps it had upset him, talking about her mother. He’d seemed suddenly to lose interest. ‘I need a hot bath,’ he said. ‘Don’t work too late on your trinkets.’ He was making her feel as if she’d done something wrong.
‘Out of sight, out of mind?’ she burst out.
He halted in the doorway. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Is that the way you cope with the guilt?’
‘I’ve got nothing to feel guilty about – I’ve admitted my mistakes. I shouldn’t have left you. But I’ve taken you in now – given you the best… I don’t know what’s got into you, Katy, but I don’t like your tone!’ His lips turned white and his face, which had been grey from tiredness, was flushed with anger.
There was a game they’d played as children – a gang of them would take turns hopping on and off the back of the ‘ha’penny bumper’, the oldest tram in Bermondsey. They’d jump and jump, setting up a rhythm that caused the wheels to leave the track, sending the tram grinding and screeching across the cobbles. She felt now as if she’d just hopped onto that ha’penny bumper and started a fatal rhythm that she had no idea how to stop.
She jumped again. ‘I’m not just talking about me.’ And again. ‘You tell me to forget Mum. Don’t think about her and it’ll be like she was never here. Is that the way you could leave me and take up with a sixteen-year-old girl?’ She didn’t know where the anger was coming from. She’d believed she only felt grateful to have him back, dizzy with happiness. But now the ha’penny bumper was off the rails and heading who knew where.
‘I left to fight a war, you ignorant girl! I couldn’t think about Bessie and I couldn’t think about you!’
‘That’s what I mean! Out of sight, out of mind – just like my brother!’
He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d shot him between the eyes. But in an instant he was walking towards her, fists clenched, stopping with his face inches from hers. She could see small beads of sweat collecting in the furrows of his brow.
‘What are you talking about? You’ve got no brother.’
She drew back, dropping her eyes for an instant. If she let the lie go, perhaps the jolting runaway tram could somehow be halted, lifted back onto the tracks. She looked into his eyes and something compelled her to jump one more time.
‘My brother’s name is Paul.’
He grabbed her shoulders, his thumbs digging in to the soft hollows beneath them. ‘She had no right to tell you about the boy. You will not mention his name again.’ His voice was low, hard and deliberate. ‘The boy won’t make old bones, and if I choose to protect my wife from that inevitable pain, it’s my affair. You won’t interfere.’ His grip tightened, but she resisted squirming. Instead, she held his gaze.
‘But he’s not dead yet! He’s alive and he’s lonely and all he wants is for you to come. Just like I did! Why should I have a home here if he can’t?’
He took hold of her elbow and hustled her out of the studio, up the stairs to the drawing room. He kicked open th
e door. Nora’s stricken face filled Kate with guilt and fear. What had she done?
‘How dare you involve Kate in my family affairs!’ He slammed the door behind him with his foot.
Nora stood up, looking ready for flight. But then Kate saw her studied calm settling like a soft fall of snow and her fear melting away. She spoke softly, in musical tones, as if soothing a threatening animal.
‘Chibby, this has nothing to do with Kate. Let her go.’ She put out a beckoning hand. ‘Come here, come to me, Kate.’
Her father’s hand relaxed for an instant and Kate darted across the room to Nora, who drew her close so that she could feel the woman’s trembling.
‘Exactly, Nora. This is none of Kate’s concern!’ His voice had an implacable, deliberate quality that tolerated no contradiction.
‘It was my fault! I found an old photo, I made her tell me about Paul,’ Kate jumped in. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. But when I saw his photo I was so upset, thinking I had a little brother that died before I could ever meet him – well, I cried so much…’ She spoke in a rush and stopped to gulp in air. ‘Nora felt sorry for me and told me he was at a special school.’ She dug her fingers into Nora’s side, willing her not to contradict the lie. Then, looking from one to the other, she pressed on. ‘The last thing I wanted was to cause any trouble. I’m really sorry.’
Her father’s rigid face relaxed a little. His breathing calmed and he sat, motioning for them to join him. He couldn’t meet Kate’s eye. When he spoke his tone was softer. ‘I accept your apology, Katy. You’re soft and silly, like your mother. I understand you were upset. But this mustn’t be spoken of again. Paul was my child and I did what I thought was best for him. I don’t expect to be contradicted in my own home and so long as you understand that, you’re welcome to stay.’ He got up and, turning his now-ashen face to Nora, he said, ‘You shouldn’t have kept the photograph.’
