Charlie

by Lesley Pearse

  It became harder after that. Her mother liked trinkets and there were many small things which might be valuable but more likely were not. She took a tiny enamelled snuff-box, a couple of old, small porcelain figurines and a collection of minute silver animals.

  She wondered where the bulk of the treasures in this house would end up. Jin had often mentioned that the Chinese lacquered cabinet decorated with birds was worth a fortune. The Oriental rugs on the floor were exceptionally fine ones. It struck her as ironic that these things she’d always been so casual about suddenly seemed so dear to her. She bitterly resented that someone else would own them one day, while she and her mother had nothing.

  Upstairs in her mother’s jewellery box there were few pieces of any real value. Her good things were kept in a velvet roll tucked into a secret place in the wall. Jin had made the hidey-hole himself. She remembered him chipping out a brick and making a little box to put in its place. When the room was wallpapered next time it was almost completely invisible but for a tiny plastic tag.

  She pulled at the tag and the box slid out. To her surprise and delight the red velvet jewellery roll was still there, along with a wad of banknotes beneath it as well. At a quick count there was nearly £200. Inside the roll were all the pieces she remembered her father giving to her mother for birthdays and Christmas, a gold linked necklace, a gold snake bracelet, diamond earrings and a platinum and diamond brooch were safely intact. There was a gold cocktail watch with tiny rubies marking the hours too, and two pairs of antique earrings, one set with emeralds, the other with pearls. She had always liked to put these on herself as a little girl because they were clip-on ones; Sylvia had hardly ever worn them because she said they were too grand for most parties in Dartmouth.

  As Charlie tapped the empty box back, she wondered how many years would pass before anyone found it. She couldn’t imagine a new owner hurrying to strip off the beautiful cream silk wallpaper.

  Downstairs she found a strong, square plastic cake box in one of the kitchen cupboards. Wrapping each item in a tissue first, then in a plastic sandwich bag, she finally packed all the goods, including the money, into the box. They fitted well, and once the lid was back on, she sealed it round with sellotape and tied it up tightly with string.

  After locking the front door, it suddenly occurred to her that it would be folly to take the box of treasures back to the Mellings’, someone was bound to ask what was in it. For a moment or two she considered hiding it in the garden. But on further reflection that wasn’t too smart. If she was seen in the garden after the front door was sealed, she might find herself in trouble, and have the things taken from her.

  ‘Bury it,’ she said aloud, and for the first time in days she managed to laugh because it seemed a bit like something the children in the Famous Five books would do. She found a small trowel in the summer-house, then without any hesitation climbed up on to the side wall which backed on to the wooded cliff beyond.

  The view from the wall was just of dense trees and bushes, there wasn’t even so much as a glimpse of the sea down below to her right, or of the Beacon in its rocky cove. Nor could she see the road to her left, although it was only twenty-five yards or so from where she sat. In fact it could have been any old wood, with no suggestion that just ten or twelve feet in front of her perch was a sheer cliff face. Charlie had been warned again and again throughout her childhood never to venture over the garden wall, yet unbeknown to her parents she had explored the dangerous route back to the road dozens of times and knew every inch of it well.

  Using a tree to help her, she dropped on to the soft loamy soil below, and staying close to the wall, wriggled through the bushes until she came to a small clearing. Then she began to dig.

  It took some time. Once through the thick layer of leaf-mould the ground was very hard and dry, and she had to stop frequently to listen for anyone walking along the road. But fortunately no one came by and once the hole was some three inches deeper than the box, she placed it inside, scraped the loose soil back around and over it, then stood on it to compress it. Finally she hauled a rotten log on top of it, scraped a little more soil around it, and satisfied, stood back to admire her work.

  Even if some other foolhardy person scrambled through the bushes, her treasures would be safe. One shower and there wouldn’t even be a footprint to show anyone had been this way. She tucked the trowel under an evergreen bush and turned and went back the way she had come, dropping silently back into the garden.

  The following afternoon Charlie set off to visit her mother in hospital with some trepidation. She was tired after another sleepless night worrying. Anxious too about the jewellery she’d taken. Knowing her mother as she did, it was probably the first thing she’d ask about. Should she reassure her that she’d hidden it away? Or was it better to say nothing for now?

  ‘Your mum’s been moved into the big ward now,’ a small blonde nurse called out to Charlie as she came along the corridor carrying a bunch of flowers.

  ‘Why?’ Charlie asked as she got nearer. She had seen this young nurse on previous visits, in fact she’d stopped to comfort her when she saw her crying once as she was leaving.

  ‘We need that single room for emergencies.’ The nurse had a wide smile and sparkling brown eyes. ‘Your mum’s on the mend now, and once she’s settled down, she’ll be less depressed too with other women to talk to.’

  Charlie doubted that. ‘What’s she been like today?’ she asked.

  ‘Down in the dumps, I’m afraid.’ The nurse made a grimace. ‘I offered to wash her hair, thinking it might make her feel better, but she nearly bit my head off.’

  Charlie’s heart sank. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, embarrassed that her mother seemed set on upsetting all the nursing staff. ‘She doesn’t mean to be nasty. It’s just that she’s in pain and worried.’

  ‘We understand,’ the nurse said brightly, but Charlie sensed that this particular nurse had almost run out of sympathy. ‘Go on in and see her. She’s right down the end of the ward.’

  The ward seemed huge, with six beds on either side. Almost all of the patients were very old. Some smiled at Charlie, perhaps curious because she was Chinese and wondering who she was visiting, others just lay there, their eyes dull and lifeless. It was a bright ward, overlooking the harbour, yet despite the many vases of flowers it still had a nasty sickly smell and it was very hot.

  Sylvia was propped up into a semi-sitting position, but she didn’t even turn her head as Charlie approached. Even from a distance her sullen mood was obvious.

  ‘Hullo, Mum!’ Charlie said cheerfully, bending to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘I brought you some flowers from the garden. Mrs Melling made you some cakes too.’

  Charlie thought her mother looked ghastly. She was haggard, her skin yellowish and her eyes dull. Her hair was so greasy it was stuck to her head with rat’s tails around her shoulders, but worse still, it was as though all the years of constant smoking and eating too little had finally caught up with her. Her mouth was puckered by tiny lines, her neck was scrawny. Charlie doubted if any of their old neighbours would recognize her as the glamorous blonde from ‘Windways’.

  As Sylvia said nothing, Charlie put the bunch of flowers and the small tin of butterfly cakes on her locker. ‘It was a surprise to find you’d been moved! How’re the legs today?’

  Sylvia turned her head slightly towards her daughter. ‘My legs are hurting like hell. This ward is hell too. And I don’t eat cake. I’d have thought you’d at least remember that!’

  Charlie gulped. She was tempted just to turn around and walk away, but she didn’t quite dare. ‘I didn’t like to tell Mrs Melling you don’t eat cake,’ she replied instead. ‘I thought it was kind of her, besides I’m sure some of the old ladies in here who don’t get visitors would appreciate them.’

  ‘You get more like your father every day,’ Sylvia snapped. ‘Always the smart answer. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be here now.’

  ‘Look, Mum, do you ha
ve to be so horrid?’ Charlie pleaded with her. ‘I know what happened was terrible, our life has been turned upside down, and it looks like it’s going to get worse unless Dad comes back soon. But I’m not responsible for any of it, so please don’t take it out on me.’

  ‘But you’ll be all right,’ Sylvia sniffed. ‘You can get a job, move away from Dartmouth if you want to. I’m a cripple now. I’ll never walk again, everything I own is about to be taken away from me. I’ve got nothing to look forward to, I won’t even be able to look after myself, I might as well be dead.’

  Charlie thought that was all true, but she didn’t think an adult should wallow in self-pity. ‘I’ll look after you,’ she said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside the bed. ‘And if you make up your mind that you will walk again, you probably could. So we might lose the house, but we’ll get somewhere else. Why don’t you let the nurse wash your hair, put your makeup on again and do your nails?’

  ‘Do my nails!’ Sylvia shrieked, making several of the other patients sit up and look round. ‘You want me to do my nails and put makeup on after what has happened to me?’

  Charlie was horrified. Right from a small child she’d been taught by both her parents never to make a scene in public. She couldn’t believe that her mother would change the habit of a lifetime, even if she was in pain.

  ‘Please don’t show yourself up, Mum,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘I only meant it might make you feel better if you looked like your old self.’

  ‘You’re as cruel as your father,’ Sylvia hissed at her, blue eyes blazing. ‘Do you know what that bastard’s done? He’s robbed us. Cleaned us out, every last penny. All I’ve got is about a hundred pounds in my savings account. There’s nothing left for your school fees, nothing even to pay the electric or gas bills. He’s off with another woman, making a new life for himself. He hadn’t even got the guts to tell me he didn’t want me any more. Will putting makeup on make that go away?’

  ‘I don’t believe he’s gone off with another woman,’ Charlie said indignantly.

  ‘How would you know?’ Sylvia sneered. ‘Since when did you become an expert on men?’

  ‘I know Dad.’ Whatever she thought about her father privately she wasn’t prepared to admit it to anyone, not even her mother. ‘He believes in honour and good manners. If he wanted a new life with someone else he would have said so.’

  ‘You pathetic, stupid little fool. Honour and good manners! Your precious father has been a crook all his fucking life, my girl. He made his pile from running strip clubs, call girls and selling drugs. The only reason he bought “Windways” and started importing all that fucking shit he calls antiquities was because he wanted a legal front to hide behind.’

  Charlie felt as if someone had just thrown a bucket of icy water over her. Yet she could do and say nothing, only stare at her mother open-mouthed with astonishment. She had never heard her swear publicly before and to hear her using such words, now with old ladies lying just feet away, somehow was confirmation she was telling the truth.

  ‘Mum, don’t,’ Charlie whispered, catching hold of her mother’s hand. She wanted to hear what had been said retracted, but even in her distress she was aware this wasn’t something which should be aired here. ‘People will hear!’

  ‘Does that matter any more?’ Sylvia slumped back against the pillows and turned her face away from her daughter. ‘It will all come out before long anyway. You won’t even want to keep his name, let alone try to stick up for him. I bet that shit has taken my jewellery too. I never thought to check if it was still there.’

  Charlie thought quickly before answering. Her mother was so angry that one small piece of good news couldn’t possibly calm her down. Besides, she might just give the game away to someone by accident.

  ‘I’ll check if I get the opportunity to go back to the house,’ she said, hoping her face wouldn’t give her away. ‘Don’t mention it to anyone though, Mum, otherwise they might look for it. Anyway, I don’t think Dad would take presents he’d given you, even if he is as bad as you say.’

  ‘You don’t think about anything, do you?’ Sylvia sniffed. ‘Not what it’s like for me in here, or what will happen when they chuck me out. All you care about is yourself, you’re just like Jin, in looks, ways and character. Why don’t you run off too?’

  Charlie had heard more than enough for one day. Seething with anger, she got up, pushed the chair back and leaned over her mother.

  ‘I do think a great deal,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ve already worked out for myself that both you and Dad have hidden a great deal from me. Now you’ve brought up Dad’s past, it makes me wonder why you’ve never told me anything about yours. Could that be because you’re ashamed of that too? As for being like my father, well, right now I’d rather be like him than you, at least he’s got some guts!’

  Sylvia’s eyes opened very wide and she seemed to cringe back into the pillows. ‘How dare you talk to me like that?’ she said, but her voice trembled.

  ‘I’m not going to run off too, even though I wish I could,’ Charlie went on. ‘But I am going to find myself a job, and somewhere of my own to live. So just watch what you say to me in future, otherwise you might very well find yourself entirely alone with no one to take care of you.’

  She dropped a kiss on Sylvia’s cheek, purely for propriety’s sake. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘Ask the nurse to wash your hair. It’s disgusting.’

  Charlie couldn’t bring herself to go back to the Mellings’ immediately. Instead she walked to Warfleet Creek, found a log to sit on amongst the bushes and stared across the estuary to ‘Windways’. It looked so very beautiful bathed in afternoon sunshine, and as she looked at it, bitter tears sprang to her eyes. It was only six days since she was here before, yet it seemed almost a lifetime away now.

  Everything was smashed to pieces. From her mother’s knees to her beliefs about her parents. Her father was a crook, her mother was a bitter harridan who couldn’t even find a gentle way to break such terrible news to her daughter.

  How was she going to live with this? She had always been so certain about herself. Top of the class, captain of the netball team, the popular, pretty girl everyone invited to their birthday parties. Just last week she had confidently imagined that she could choose any career she wanted too.

  Sylvia had said, It will all come out soon. It was bad enough already with neighbours waylaying her, knowing the answers to their questions would be embroidered before being passed on again. Once the truth got out, who would want to know her? Certainly not her friends from school – their parents wouldn’t want their precious daughters mixing with a villain’s child. And what sort of a job could she get? Anything decent would be ruled out.

  ‘It was all very well saying you’d look after Mum,’ she whispered to herself. ‘But how? You can’t cook, you’ve never washed or ironed anything.’

  Despair overwhelmed her and she put her head down on her knees and sobbed.

  An hour or so later, Charlie was stiff and cold from sitting for so long in deep shade. She stood up and looked across the estuary again at ‘Windways’ and it seemed somehow symbolic that the sun was still blazing down there.

  ‘You’ve got to forget that,’ she whispered to herself. ‘You’ve got to find a new patch of sun for yourself.’

  As she walked back up the hill towards the ferry she mentally listed the things she didn’t have. There was no one to turn to, she had no qualifications and no real skills, and apart from that money hidden in the box, no money either.

  As the ferry moved out from the Dartmouth side over to Kingswear, and the sun struck her arms and face again, she listed the things she did have. A keen brain, youth, health, good looks and determination.

  ‘It’s enough,’ she murmured to herself as the ferry docked on the other side and she moved to walk off. ‘Dad made it all the way from a village in China to England with nothing more than that.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Any lu
ck, dear?’ Mrs Melling asked from her position at the kitchen sink, as Charlie came in. It was the day after she’d visited her mother and she’d spent the whole day looking for a job.

  Charlie shook her head, she wanted to cry, but she was determined not to give into it. ‘I tried absolutely everywhere. The shops, hotels, pubs and guest-houses. No one wanted me.’

  ‘I expect they’ve already got fixed up with students,’ Mrs Melling said comfortingly, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘Something will turn up though, it always does.’

  ‘It won’t, not here in Dartmouth,’ Charlie said with resignation. ‘There were jobs going, they just didn’t want me. I suppose they think I’ll run off with the takings or the bed linen.’

  Mrs Melling wanted to deny this, but she couldn’t. Gossip about Jin Weish was rife all over town, and even people who didn’t actually know him would immediately guess by Charlie’s appearance that she was his daughter.

  ‘It will blow over soon,’ she said instead. ‘Now, sit down and I’ll make you some tea. You must be worn out.’

  ‘I’ll go and change first,’ Charlie said. She was wearing her smartest outfit, a red mini-dress and matching jacket. She had been unbearably hot all day and her feet were killing her.

  Diana Melling sat down for a minute once Charlie had gone upstairs. She too was very disappointed Charlie hadn’t found a job today, she’d been banking on it, for she thought Sylvia Weish was taking advantage of her generous nature.