Alice's Long Road Home

by Rosie James

  ‘Mrs. Roger Foulkes is very well indeed, thank you. I’m keeping my husband well under control.’ She paused briefly. ‘Blimey did you ever think I would ever refer to someone called “my husband”! At one time I would have said perish the bloody thought – but Roger…well Rog is different. Different enough for me to agree to put up with him for the rest of my life, anyway.’

  Fay looked away for a moment. She’d reckoned up Roger Foulkes’s character as soon as she’d set eyes on him. He was kind – straightforward – with nothing murky hidden beneath those dark brown eyes, his obvious decency shining from him like a shaft of clear light. And like her, he loved to laugh – at almost anything. Always managed to see the funny side. They were partners, now, like he’d wanted them to be, and she hadn’t regretted her decision for a single moment, in fact, she might even jump off a cliff – if he asked her to. And as long as he went with her. Which was a very weird thought.

  But apart from anything else he was dishy…handsome…

  Oh yes, Fay Reynolds could put up with Roger Foulkes.

  ‘I can imagine that Mabel absolutely loves having you around all the time, Fay,’ Alice said. ‘She never made any secret of the fact that she hated it when we all went home after the war, did she?’

  Fay nodded. ‘Mabel is such a dear, always wants to mother me, make things easy for me,’ Fay said. ‘And even my father-in-law doesn’t seem so churlish – but maybe Uncle Bart had something to do with that.’ She grinned. ‘Even though Walter said he didn’t want a penny of his brother-in-law’s money, no one’s going to actually look a fortune in the face, are they?’

  ‘I was going to ask you if his farm had been sold yet,’ Eve said, and Fay shook her head.

  ‘It’s still all going through apparently,’ she said. ‘No one talks about it.’

  Presently, Fay sat back and folded her arms, watching Alice finish drinking her tea. ‘And as far you’re concerned, I suppose Mr. Wonderful of Clifton is still wonderful?’ she enquired.

  Alice smiled. ‘Still Mr. Wonderful,’ she said.

  There was silence for a few moments after that. None of the girls ever mentioned the talk of family now, the talk of babies. It had somehow become a taboo subject, something better not touched upon. Then, brightly, Alice said –

  ‘Hey – I started to tell you something just as the waitress was bringing our tea – but I have some good news…some really good news…’

  The others leaned forward, immediately interested, and Alice went on – I’ve at last managed to find someone to fill in for Betty while she’s having her break. At last! I was beginning to give up hope that anyone remotely suitable would apply, then this young woman appeared like magic! And she is lovely – and has taken to her post as if it was made specially for her.’

  ‘So – go on. What’s her name?’ Fay said. ‘Is she local?’

  ‘She’s called Saraya Harris – and she’s not local, she’s an immigrant from Jamaica. Came over with a lot of others from the Caribbean in 1948.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Eve said thoughtfully. ‘And how old is she?’

  ‘Twenty-seven – five years younger than me,’ Alice said, ‘and she speaks English very well indeed – with a little Caribbean accent, obviously – but it is actually very attractive. Sam and the professor both met her, and were charmed. Well…Saraya is charming. I thought so straightaway. And her credentials are just what we need. So,’ Alice went on, ‘my first attempt at employing others appears to be working. Anyway, she knows she’s only going to be with us until just after Christmas and seems quite happy about that.’ Alice paused. ‘D’you know, I was only boss of the kitchen for a short time, but I really enjoyed it…and I’ve actually gone in several times to make sure Saraya is finding her way around OK – and of course, she is, even though she’s only been with us for a week. This isn’t her first job by any means,’ Alice added, ‘but it was quite nice chatting to her, and we’ve sat and had coffee together once or twice. I’ve told her that I’ll always help out if there are any problems.’

  Presently they left the hotel and went out into the street where Fay had parked the Austin. ‘Jump in,’ she instructed the others, ‘I’ll take you home, Alice first, then I’ll drop you off at Bath, Evie, on my way back to the farm.’ She paused, putting her arms around both their shoulders. ‘It’s been so good to have had a three wise monkey meeting again,’ she said. ‘Talking on the phone is all very well, but it’s not the same as eye to eye contact, is it? Let’s meet up again at least once before Christmas…perhaps Evie will invite us to her posh house on Lansdown.’

  ‘Wherever we’re living, you two will always be welcome,’ Eve said. ‘You know that.’

  Alice took her place in the passenger seat, then she turned to glance at Eve in the back. ‘I know!’ she said. ‘Next time, let’s have a party! A proper party! We’ll have it at our house in Clifton…and bring your other halves with you! We’ll let Roger, Max and Sam share it with us…share us – just this once, mind! We three wise monkeys never need anybody else, do we – but it might be fun to be six of us, just for a change! I’ve got all Helena’s records and we’ll dance to Victor Silvester, and Evie – you can play the piano, and we’ll sing all those songs like we did during the war!’ Alice paused to catch her breath, her own enthusiasm taking her by surprise.

  ‘And I’ll ask our new cook to dish up something really special!’ she exclaimed. ‘And I promise you, you will not be disappointed!’

  Humming a little tune to herself, Alice went quickly down the front stairs. It would be marvellous to have the three wise monkey party here. Well, the three wise monkey and friends party. Fay and Evie had jumped at the suggestion, and they’d all agreed that it should be on the last Saturday in October – allowing for the unexpected, obviously. And when Alice had mentioned it to Sam later, he’d been as enthusiastic as she was.

  ‘Smashing idea!’ he’d said at once. ‘We haven’t had a party for a long time, have we?’ He’d kissed the top of her head. ‘We might even buy some fireworks! Just as well do the thing properly!’

  It was a week since the three had had tea at the Royal Hotel, and now, Alice went along the hall and into the kitchen. Saraya was clearing up the last of the breakfast things, and she looked up as Alice went in, a broad smile on her face, as usual. And as usual, Alice couldn’t help smiling back. Smiles, like frowns, are contagious…

  ‘So – it is going to be five for dinner tonight, Madam?’ Saraya asked, and Alice nodded. ‘Yes. The professor is entertaining two colleagues,’ she said. ‘And of course there’s Sam and me as well.’

  She went over to the window and looked out. There was Henry, as usual. He was quite a tall man, and very slight, his thin hair almost white, looking pretty much the same as when Alice had first seen him, but much older, obviously. That little garden at Clifton – Helena’s inspiration – had saved the poor man’s sanity, and now it was helping him face older age as well. Saraya had already been told that on his two or three days a week here, Henry should always be given a proper lunch – and plenty of drinks in between. And that he could help himself to any garden produce he wanted.

  Alice tilted her chin. You can leave Henry, and everything else to me, now, Helena, she thought. And even if I can’t always be around like you were, if sometimes I’m away doing other things, like meeting my publisher (!) or running a busy office – (unlikely but who knows?) don’t worry about Clifton. It will always be here, and so will I – on my own terms. I will make sure we all go sailing on smoothly together.

  Glancing around idly, Alice suddenly spotted two large suitcases in the corner of the kitchen, and she looked over at Saraya.

  ‘Um…those must be yours, Saraya?’ she said.

  Saraya finished wiping down the kitchen surfaces, then stood back and nodded. ‘Yes, Madam. They were transported here to me this morning from the station…you see, I only brought one with me to Bristol a few weeks ago, because I didn’t know how long I might be staying, or where I might
find work. So I had left most of my belongings with a friend in London, and she kindly sent them on to me here.’ Saraya smiled again. ‘I telephoned her with my new address…told her where I have been most fortunate to gain a suitable post.’

  Alice nodded. She had been a bit surprised at how little Miss Harris had brought with her.

  ‘Then let’s take them up to your room now, Saraya,’ Alice said, going over and picking up one of the cases. It was heavy, but easy enough to handle. She glanced at the other girl. ‘I expect you’d like to unpack straightaway,’ she said. ‘I know I would! And we’ll use the front stairs which are wider and more convenient.’

  ‘Thank you, Madam,’ Saraya said, picking up the other case. ‘You are very kind.’

  Alice went first, coming to Margaret’s room and opening the door. And with a quick glance around – and as she would have expected – Alice could see that everywhere was immaculate. The bed was neatly made, with nothing left lying around or out of place, and the room smelt fresh and clean. It looked to Alice as if no one had slept here at all last night.

  ‘Would you like me to help you unpack?’ she said. ‘I’m quite good at putting things away!’ Well, she’d done enough of it here, many times, in this very room. The twins had always been dreadfully untidy children.

  Saraya spread her hands in acknowledgement. ‘Well…if you don’t mind, Madam…thank you.’ She paused. ‘If you’re sure you have the time.’

  Alice smiled quickly. ‘Of course I do…and I can help you in the kitchen too, later, if you like,’ she added. Being busy was the best thing in the world.

  With both cases open on the bed, the two began to take each item out, one by one. It had all been meticulously packed, shoes, jackets, and the heavier items in the bottom, and with layers of tissue paper placed between all the garments. And while Alice went on unpacking, Saraya was hanging everything up in the wardrobe.

  ‘Once everything is in place,’ Saraya said, ‘I shall really feel that this is home, my home – at least for now.’

  ‘I hope you will feel that, Saraya,’ Alice said warmly. ‘I want you to feel happy and comfortable here…and you will let me know if you need, or want anything, won’t you? Anything at all.’ She paused. ‘This has always been a very happy home…a family home…it has been mine since I was a child,’ she added, ‘though I wasn’t born here.’

  Alice didn’t go on. There was no need to go into all that history. To explain the past. Because it made no difference to Saraya Harris or her position here.

  There was silence for several minutes after that as each case was finally emptied, then last of all, Saraya reached into an inner pocket of the larger one and took out a small folder. She beamed at Alice. ‘My photographs,’ she murmured reverentially. ‘I always have them on my bedside table so that I see them last thing at night, and first thing each morning.’

  Alice nodded, thinking that Saraya’s photographs were obviously as precious to the girl as Alice’s letters were to her. Tangible things you could hold in your hands, gloat over. Things that lasted.

  Saraya put the photographs, one by one, in a small semi-circle on the table. There were five altogether, and Alice leaned forward to look at them more closely.

  ‘Tell me who they all are, Saraya,’ she said curiously.

  Saraya didn’t need asking twice. ‘Well, these two people are my mother and father,’ she said, picking up the first one. ‘See? They are sitting in the front of our house. They often do that in the cool of the evening.’

  Alice smiled. ‘They are looking very happy.’

  ‘They are always happy, especially when they are just the two of them together,’ Saraya said. Then – ‘And this one is of my two brothers, and then here they are again, with my grandparents.’ She paused. ‘I am the oldest – I was born soon after my parents were married, and then my mother had my brothers, one after the other, very quickly after that – so it must have been a lot of hard work for her.’

  Alice picked up the last photograph. ‘And this one?’ she enquired, glancing down at it briefly.

  But before Saraya could say a single word in reply, Alice’s heart had leapt into her throat, her senses beginning to swim in disbelief.

  This was Stanley Watts! She was looking at her father – her father! It was surreal…she was seeing things, surely…

  ‘Who is this?’ Her voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. ‘Who…who is this…gentleman, Saraya?’

  ‘Ah yes – that is Uncle Watts, Madam,’ Saraya said, smiling, and leaning across to look at the photograph closely herself. Then after a moment she went on – ‘I never knew him, but my mother told me so much about him…how kind he was to her.’

  ‘Uncle…Watts?’ Alice repeated the two words slowly, wondering whether she was going to wake up in a minute. This wasn’t happening, surely it wasn’t…this could not be happening…

  Saraya looked away for a moment, then, very slowly – ‘My mother told me that one time she was in a very…very bad…situation when she was barely out of her teens. She would never go into details, only that something terrible had happened to her and that she had been helpless and very afraid, with no one she could turn to. And then the big ship docked in our port and he discovered her…this sailor found her, helped her. He saved her life, so she said.’

  There was a long pause before Saraya continued. ‘The ship came two more times…sorry, I mean it came twice more…and he gave her a lot of money to make sure she would be all right for a very long time. Made sure she had somewhere safe to live. Of course that all happened before I was born but my mother gave me this photograph to keep, and said we must never, ever forget him. We must never forget Uncle Watts. He had been sent to her by God, she said.’

  It was a good thing that Alice had sat down on the edge of the bed or she might have fallen to the floor in shock. Because she was – utterly shocked – at what she’d just heard. At what she’d just seen. In that photograph she had been gazing at her father…her own darling Papa…

  She looked up to find Saraya staring at her in consternation.

  ‘Are you all right, Madam?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You look very pale.’

  And as Alice met the dark brown eyes gazing into hers, she realized that she could have been looking at her father. Those were her father’s eyes, his kind eyes, the merriment just behind them ready to burst out with joyousness. And hadn’t she recognized that all along? Since the first few moments she and Miss Harris had met? Of course she had recognized it, but hadn’t identified it!

  Alice managed to smile, forcing her lips over a dry tongue. ‘I’m fine, Saraya, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Anyway,’ Saraya said, ‘just after that, my mother met my father. They were married almost immediately – and then we all came along. One after the other!’ She smiled happily. ‘So – it was a very happy ending for my mother, after all, wasn’t it? I like stories with happy endings! Don’t you, Madam?’

  She took the photograph carefully from Alice and put it back in its place with the others. Then smiled at Alice again. ‘So there they all are, Madam. My family,’ she said. ‘I am a very lucky girl.’

  Alice went straight down into their own bedroom and closed the door behind her, leaning against it for support for a few moments. The truth of what she had just discovered was only just beginning to hit her.

  She had not been alone in the world all this time, after all! Since 1925, she had had a half-sister…of whom neither she, nor her mother, had had any knowledge. It was too wonderful, too strange…too extraordinary…and too difficult to comprehend. To take in.

  She went into the bathroom and washed her hands and face, trying to feel normal, trying to come back to reality. Drying herself carefully, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t dreamed all that had she? She wasn’t going mad?

  But no, Alice hadn’t dreamed it, and she wasn’t going mad. It was all too true… While he’d been away, Stanley Watts had fathered a child on a distant shore, a
distant island.

  Alice took a deep breath, her thoughts racing through her like wildfire.

  And what about Mr. Harris – the man who Saraya clearly thought was her father? He must have been very bad at maths, or perhaps he didn’t know all the facts of life – or maybe he’d been quite happy to bring up another man’s child as his own. Whatever the truth of that, it didn’t matter, now, did it because he appeared to be more than content with his life, with his wife and sons in Jamaica. A happy ending for them…

  Now, Alice’s feelings were a huge mixture of sadness – and of joy.

  She was sad for her mother’s memory, because no woman would relish sharing her husband, not in that way, would she? Isn’t that disloyalty, betrayal, in the extreme?

  And yet and yet… Ada had known her sailor husband very well, had always been thoughtful and understanding of his needs. When he was home and had regularly come home drunk, she’d never once complained. “It is the way with men, Alice,” she used to say. “Their needs are different, and they need to relax when ashore.”

  Alice kept on talking to herself in the mirror. But would her Mama have understood about Saraya? Would she have taken the news as equably as she always had his drinking?

  And Alice was in no doubt about the answer. Mama would have forgiven Stanley, because Ada had not only loved him dearly – how could anyone not love her jovial, generous, roguish husband?– she had always accepted her lot without question. Besides, what harm had he done to her, or to Alice? These things happen, she would have said. It is the way with men…especially when they are far away from everything, from their family. And if Ada were here now, Alice knew that she would never have turned her back on Saraya. Ada had always had too much love in her heart for her fellow human beings to cause anyone sorrow or hurt. Ada would have understood. Ada would have accepted.

  And Alice? As each moment was ticking by, the truth now really beginning to sink in, she felt a surging excitement and delight – yes delight – in what she’d discovered. Because there was someone else, someone of her own. Someone with her darling papa’s life surging through her. Because of her papa, Saraya existed. And she was here.