‘That’s a good idea, Lizzie,’ she replied.
As I hurried up the beach, I heard Mum say that I was becoming more modest as I got older. Then she called out, ‘Put your wet swimsuit in the wash hand basin.’
Margaret said this was a natural feeling. ‘It took me months before I could get undressed in front of Gerald after we were married. He used to laugh at me.’
It was Mum’s turn to laugh. ‘Margaret, I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘You may well scoff, Beth, but it’s true.’
I tried to visualise Margaret struggling to get undressed for bed, but couldn’t.
Our room in the hotel was cosy from the sun shining through the window, and I was grateful for its warmth. I dressed quickly, combed my wet hair and hurried back to the beach, as I didn’t want to miss a moment of this holiday.
The couple who had been walking on the sand had disappeared as I made my way back to the deckchairs. As I approached, I heard Mum’s voice. It wasn’t her usual tone but more like a loud whisper.
‘Can I tell you a secret, Margaret?’
I saw my aunt turn slightly in her seat and look at Mum. ‘Of course you can, Beth. Do you remember when you were young how you always told me about things that worried you?’
‘Yes, I do remember, and that’s why I have to ask you about something.’ Mum hesitated, but she didn’t look round to see if anyone was about.
There were clumps of rough grass growing on the sand, and I sat quietly down behind one clump, feeling so guilty at eavesdropping but unable to move away. It was the strangest feeling, like I was powerless to do anything but sit. It seemed ages until Mum spoke again: I thought she had decided to abandon any more conversation and that they had both fallen asleep in the warm sun. I was almost on my feet when she said, ‘Do you know anything about spiritualism, Margaret?’
Margaret seemed to be confused. ‘Do you mean seances or fortune telling, Beth?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a spiritualist medium who comes to a hall and gives messages from the dead.’
Margaret said she knew about things like that. ‘In South America there are lots of people who believe in messages from beyond the grave, but I’ve never had any experience of it myself.’
‘Milly, my friend at work, and her mother go to this hall in Lochee where they have these spiritualist meetings and I’ve been going with them. Milly’s fiancé and her brother were both in the Black Watch and were killed at Loos. They hope to get a message from them, as they are grief-stricken over the deaths, especially Milly’s mother, who has never recovered from the shock of her son’s death. They asked me to go with them in case Peter wanted to contact me. I’ve told them he isn’t dead but being held as a prisoner or he’s been badly injured and he’s in some hospital, but they say that can’t be true as he would have been home by now.’
As I sat in the shelter of the dunes, I was saddened by Mum’s revelations. I had overheard Granny tell Mrs Mulholland one day that Mum was tearing herself apart with all this false hope, but I also wanted to believe that Dad was still alive yet unable to come home.
Margaret had remained quiet throughout Mum’s story, but she leaned towards her and said, ‘I know there are lots of different cultures in the world that do believe that they can communicate with lost loved ones, but it’s never been proved, Beth. One thing, however, is that the rituals of remembering the dead often bring peace and understanding.’
To my horror, Mum began to cry. ‘I find these meetings very traumatic, Margaret. The hall is full of grieving women, for it’s mostly women who go there and some get messages from beyond the grave. I’ve told Milly that because I’ve never had a message then that proves Peter isn’t dead, because I know he would want to get in touch with me for a final goodbye. In fact, the last meeting I was at I felt so glad that there was nothing from him that I came home in a good mood.’
I remembered that night when Mum had a look of triumph on her face, and I was suddenly saddened by all this grief and longing and the thought that we would never see Dad again.
Margaret picked up her handbag, which was lying on the sand, and took out her handkerchief. ‘Can I give you some advice, Beth?’ Mum must have nodded because she went on. ‘I think you should stop going to these meetings because they are upsetting you. I’m not saying the organisers are frauds, but I do think they are playing with people’s emotions. These poor women who are clutching at straws to find some sort of answer to this dreadful and futile war; mothers, fathers, family and sweethearts who waved their menfolk away with banners and flags only to find that that was the last time they would see them. It must be an emotional nightmare, as it is with you and Lizzie. Have you discussed this with Mary?’
Mum sounded horrified. ‘No, Margaret, I haven’t, and promise me you won’t say anything to her, as she will be mortified by my behaviour.’
Margaret said she would say nothing. She turned. ‘I wonder where Lizzie is.’
On hearing my name I felt I had to stand up and not listen any longer. I scampered back along the sand and finally stood up and called out, ‘I’m back’
There was silence from the women, but as I approached Mum smiled brightly while Margaret looked at her watch and said, ‘I have to go and see the solicitor soon. Do you both want to come with me?’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ I said, but Mum didn’t look too sure. I was hopping about, eager to go, so she finally agreed.
‘We won’t be in the way, will we, Margaret?’
My aunt smiled. ‘You’re never in my way, both of you. Of course I want you with me.’
We went back to the hotel, where we had our midday meal, then it was off to the solicitor, who had his office on the main street. We had to climb a flight of stairs, but the office was quite large and airy and overlooked the street. Mr Anderson was sitting behind a large desk, but he stood up when we entered. I think he was a bit surprised when he saw the three of us, but Margaret introduced us and we were shown to some comfy-looking chairs.
Mr Anderson had a thin file in front of him and he passed it over to my aunt. ‘I have three houses that are suitable for renting or buying and you can go and view them anytime.’
Margaret said she could go right away and look at them. Mr Anderson left the room and quickly came back with three sets of keys. ‘The file has all the relevant information, along with the addresses, and I can arrange for a car to take you to view them.’
‘Are they all within walking distance, Mr Anderson?’
‘Yes, they are, but please take your time and just let me have the keys back when you’ve seen them all.’
We emerged onto the street and Margaret turned to Mum. ‘Do you feel like going to look at these houses, Beth?’
Mum said she didn’t mind, so we set off to view the first one on the list. It was called Dene House, but when we eventually found its location, Margaret didn’t like the look of it. It was tucked away down a narrow lane and surrounded by trees. The garden had a mossy, damp look, as if the sun didn’t linger long. My aunt didn’t even venture inside; she scored it off the list and we trudged on.
The next cottage, Willowbank, looked more promising, but it didn’t have a sea view, although Mum and Margaret did say it had character. I loved it. It had low beamed ceilings and small windows that overlooked a well-kept garden, but, like Dene House, Willowbank was also scratched off the list.
The final house was a well-built stone house with a flight of stairs leading up to the front door. We all stood and looked out the window at the so-called sea view, but it was mostly hidden behind the roofs of the houses at the back. Oh, it had a tiny view of the sea, but Margaret wasn’t pleased.
‘I specifically asked for a detached house with an uninterrupted view, so I won’t be considering this lot.’
Back in the solicitor’s office, she mentioned this to Mr Anderson. ‘My husband and I don’t need the house right away, so if you can keep an eye out for the one I’ve described then you can get in to
uch with us.’
Mr Anderson said he would, but he explained, ‘We don’t get many houses like you’ve described coming up for sale or rent, but I will do my best to keep looking and I’ll inform you if one does become vacant.’
Margaret said that would be fine and we made our way out of the office and back to the hotel. After our evening meal and an hour spent in the lounge with coffee and sherries for Mum and Margaret and a glass of lemonade for me, we decided it had been a tiring day and we went upstairs to bed.
I was reading my latest book, while Mum sat at the dressing table brushing her hair. Without meaning to, I suddenly said, ‘Mum, do you think Dad is dead?’
She gave me a suspicious look. ‘Were you listening to us on the beach, Lizzie?’
I thought about telling a lie, but I felt my face turn red. ‘I didn’t mean to, Mum, but I did hear what you said to Aunt Margaret.’
To my deep embarrassment I began to cry, and Mum came to sit on my bed, giving me a hug. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, but I just don’t know what to think any more. I do want to believe your dad is still alive, but I get so confused now and my thoughts are all over the place.’ She gave me a serious look. ‘I don’t want to hurt and worry your granny with all of this, so you’ll be a good girl and not say a word to her. Will you promise me?’
Although I didn’t like the idea of not telling Granny, I nodded.
‘You were just a wee girl when your dad went away to the war, but I hope you have lovely memories of him like I do. And another thing, I’m not going back to the meetings with Milly and her mother. They are too distressing.’
I nodded again, and later, when Mum had fallen asleep, I took the photo of Dad holding the trophy at the swimming baths, the one that showed the water dripping off his dark hair that was so like my own. I had quietly taken it out of the photo album that Granny had shown me – I fervently hoped she wouldn’t miss it, at least for a little while. I kissed the image and placed it back in my book. I had memories of him, just small, fleeting things, like the way he used to laugh and tease me. I could almost smell the shaving soap he used to use, a tangy, smoky smell that I loved. I lay in bed and wished he was still a part of our lives.
Then there was the thought: maybe Mum was right. Maybe he wasn’t dead but would someday walk back into our lives.
Years afterwards I was to recall that week with my mother and aunt. I remembered the sun glinting off the sea, the lovely sunsets and the comfortable hotel, but most of all it was the last time I saw Mum looking happy and carefree.
Within a few days of arriving back home, Margaret had to leave to join her husband. Mum and I went to the railway station with her to say goodbye. As usual, Margaret was practical and down to earth as we stood on the platform.
‘I’ll be in touch soon, Beth, so I want you to promise to look after yourself.’
I thought Mum would burst into tears, but she managed to smile as the train drew into the station.
Margaret gave us both a tight hug and smiled. ‘I’ll write soon and give you all my news, and when Gerald retires we will be home again.’
‘Please send me postcards for my collection, Aunt Margaret,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘I’ll send you loads and loads, Lizzie, and Uncle Gerald has bought himself a new camera so I’ll send photographs as well.’
With a flurry of activity in putting her luggage on board before climbing into the carriage, we said our goodbyes as the train pulled away from the platform. We were left with the remnants of sooty steam and a small group of people who, like us, were seeing loved ones going on a journey.
Mum was crying but trying to hide the fact from me, and although I was dry-eyed, I was crying inwardly.
11
UNREST AND BAD NEWS
After Margaret’s departure, Mum seemed to perk up. Granny noticed the change and remarked on it to Mrs Mulholland.
‘The holiday has done the world of good for Beth, thank goodness.’
Mrs Mulholland said that this was a blessing and hoped it would continue. ‘The poor lass has been through so much, with her husband missing.’
Granny didn’t know I was listening, so I crept back to my bedroom and prayed with all my heart that Mum was finally getting better.
She still went out once or twice a week to visit Milly, but she said she didn’t go back to the spiritualist meetings, although Milly’s mother continued to go to try to get a message from her dead son.
After a few weeks, Mum became quiet and dispirited. Granny asked her if she was ill, but she just said everything was all right except she was worried about her job in the hat shop.
‘Every day when I go into the town there are meetings of unemployed people gathering in the city centre, and it’s getting worse. Cox’s mill has laid off hundreds of workers and people are becoming angry that there is no work. I worry that DM Brown’s will also lay off staff, and Milly says it’s a possibility.’
Granny knew all about this unrest, as the newspapers were printing stories of the crowds of angry and hungry people.
‘This government should be getting people back into jobs instead of sitting on their fat backsides,’ she said one night as we sat down to our tea.
‘There’s been riots on some streets and shop windows broken and goods stolen,’ said Mum. ‘We could hear the noise from the store’s windows and customers are keeping well away from the city centre. I honestly don’t know where it’s all going to end.’ This was worrying news for me because Mum looked so pale and ill and all this uncertainty wasn’t helping her. ‘There are crowds of ex-soldiers joining in the protest, I heard. They’re saying they fought a war to make a better world, but they’ve come back to starvation and no chance of any work. No wonder they are all so angry and bitter.’
We finished our meal in silence, then Granny said we were lucky to have food to eat, but Mum didn’t answer. She got up and carried the empty plates into the sink, where she tackled the washing-up with a fierce expression in her eyes.
Margaret was reunited with Gerald, and she wrote long letters to Mum and sent postcards to me. I loved looking at the views of Lisbon and rushed through to my bedroom to put them in my box under the bed.
One day, Mum read out a letter from her and told me Margaret wanted to pay for my school fees at the Harris Academy, should I pass my qualifying exam. ‘Would you like to go to the Harris Academy, Lizzie?’
Quite honestly I didn’t care one way or another. My plan when I left school was to travel the world, and I didn’t need good school marks to do that. However, I said I wouldn’t mind.
My time at Rosebank School would soon be over and I felt sad about leaving it to go on to pastures new. Emily had been put back a year, which meant she wouldn’t be leaving with me, and that was something else for me to miss, as we had been pals since our primary one days.
She said she would miss me as well, but she seemed happy enough to be staying on. One evening Mum said to meet her at dinnertime in the town and we would go to buy my new outfit. I waited outside the DM Brown’s front door until Mum came hurrying out.
‘We’ll have to hurry, Lizzie, as I’ve only got an hour before I have to go back to work.’ We headed for Reform Street and Caird’s outfitter’s store, where Margaret had deposited a cheque to cover the cost of my new uniform.
‘We’re very lucky to have your aunt pay for this,’ said Mum, as we hurried along the pavement.
Inside the store we were served by an elderly, white-haired woman who quickly showed us the school blazer, the navy gym tunic with the gold and brown Harris school braid around the neckline, and a pair of black shoes.
‘You must write to Margaret to thank her for her generosity, as it’s not every girl who gets the opportunity to go to a prestigious school,’ said Mum, who seemed quite out of breath with all the hurrying.
When I arrived home with my packages, Granny wanted to see what I had bought. She inspected the material of the blazer and gym tunic before nodding her appreciation. ‘It’s good
quality, so mind you look after it,’ she warned.
I couldn’t believe how quickly my last term at school had gone, and I was ready to face this new chapter in my life. Because it would soon be my 12th birthday, I felt really grown up. In a few more years the world would be my oyster and I would be free to travel to exotic shores and realise my dreams.
I was busy doing my homework the day before my birthday, with my head full of far-off places instead of sums and spelling, when Granny announced she had to go to a meeting at the church with Mrs Mulholland.
‘You’ll be all right on your own until your mum gets home, Lizzie. Tell her I won’t be long.’
I barely looked up as she put on her coat and hat before hurrying out the door. Later, when my homework was finished, I settled down with my library book, which was the tale of a couple of adventurous schoolgirls at a boarding school who were always getting into dangerous situations. I was so engrossed in the story that I didn’t hear the front door open, but when I heard Mum crying, I quickly stood up in alarm and was standing nervously when she came in. Her face was pale and she was shaking as the tears ran down her cheeks.
I ran forward, as I thought she was going to faint, but she managed to sit on the chair. ‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ The words came out like a whisper, as if I was afraid of the answer.
‘Milly’s mother died today.’
I was shocked, as Mum wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that lay like a sodden lump in her hand.
‘A neighbour came to the store this afternoon and Milly had to go home. She was in a dreadful state, so I’ll have to go and see her.’ Mum stopped and looked around the room. ‘Where’s Granny?’
I mentioned the church meeting.
‘Well, you’ll have to go up to Mrs Mulholland’s house and ask if she can look after you till your granny gets home.’
‘Mrs Mulholland has gone to the meeting as well,’ I said.
Mum looked confused and seemed undecided what to do. Suddenly she stood up. ‘Get your coat, Lizzie, you’ll have to come with me.’
Dragon Land Page 6
