Blue Moon

by Weaver, Pam

  Her mother’s sudden grief a few days after the inquest opening had surprised Ruby, but she guessed that Bea’s feelings for her father had run deeper than she’d thought. After all, they’d been together for eighteen years. Ruby wasn’t sure she could love someone who treated her the way her father had treated her mother. Of course, she hadn’t grieved for her father herself. If she were to cry, it would be for little May having to come to terms with the harsh things of life; or for Percy, driven away by her father’s unkindness. She might be tempted to cry for herself, and an already wasted life; how different things might have been, had she been able to go abroad with Miss Russell. She glanced up at the two postcards on the mantelpiece. The second one had come a couple of days ago. The picture on the front was of a sun-kissed beach called Saint-Tropez. She had pronounced it ‘Saint Tropezz’ until Mr Coffey pointed out it actually sounded like ‘San Tropay’. It looked wonderful, with its little fishing boats and the white sand beyond, in front of ancient-looking creamy-coloured buildings. The message on the back was short and sweet: As promised, dear Ruby. Best wishes, Imogen R.

  Ruby sighed. How fabulous it must be to just pick up a case and travel the world, but that pipe dream was dead and buried, alongside her father. She heard her mother’s footfall at the top of the stairs and pulled herself together again. Wiping her wet face, Ruby blew her nose heartily. It was no use moaning and groaning about things that could never be. She had to get on with it and do the best she could. Life wasn’t that bad. She had a job and some good pals. She had a nice home, and she still had her mother. Best of all, she had Jim. What more could a girl want?

  As her mother came into the kitchen, Ruby jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, Mum. Fancy a cup of tea?’

  Percy could hardly believe what he had just been told. Up until now his life had changed beyond all recognition. He had done his basic training and completed his driving lessons. He was confident that, even if he had to take this newfangled driving test, he would pass with flying colours. He no longer felt like an outsider. The movement held to the belief that all men were equal and, for the first time in his life, Percy found that his opinion mattered. He loved the camaraderie, the friendships and the feeling that he was part of something much greater than himself. There were a few things that disturbed him, but they were tiny in comparison to the things he enjoyed.

  The movement was growing all the time. They had started earlier in the year with a few thousand, but now the BUF numbered some 10,000 members and was still growing. Percy himself was seen as a trusted and fervent enthusiast. Although he had never been personally introduced to Mosley, he had been to dozens of rallies held in honour of the great man and had already travelled all over the country with his entourage. Right now he was in York, some 260 miles from Worthing. After hearing Mosley’s speeches it was easy to be filled with a passion for the country and to be willing to die for the cause, if necessary, so he wasn’t surprised by the adjutant’s call to the office.

  ‘We are pleased with your progress, Bateman,’ he began, ‘and would like to offer you promotion.’

  Percy couldn’t help but let his chest swell with pride. ‘Pleased’, ‘progress’ and ‘promotion’ were unfamiliar words to Percy, in the normal course of events. What would his father say now?

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said smartly.

  ‘The major is thinking of sending you back down south,’ the adjutant went on. ‘Maybe to London or the Home Counties.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ said Percy.

  ‘The major has mooted that you should receive a small stipend, and of course you will get your board and lodging. Shall I tell the major you have no other commitments, Bateman?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘No family?’

  ‘I have a father, mother and two younger sisters,’ said Percy. ‘They don’t know I’m here. I wanted to prove myself before I went back home, sir.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly done that, Bateman,’ said the adjutant. ‘Your father should be proud of you. You’ve done quite well, for one of the lower classes.’

  His remark jarred and Percy felt a stab of anger. The pompous ass. He resisted the temptation to answer back, knowing that he and his mates called the adjutant a ‘chinless wonder’ behind his back.

  The adjutant’s secretary sitting at another desk cleared her throat noisily.

  ‘What is it, Muriel?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s a communication from the Sussex and Hants area HQ concerning Mr Bateman,’ she said. ‘I have it here.’ She held up a piece of paper. ‘It seems that Mr Bateman’s family have been trying to contact him.’

  ‘I was aware that my father has been calling at HQ for me,’ said Percy, ‘but I felt it right to delay contact until after my training period, sir.’

  The adjutant took the sheet of paper from her and looked at it. He held it at arm’s length, struggling to see without his glasses. Percy waited while the adjutant opened drawer after drawer in his desk, until he finally found his spectacles in the breast pocket of the jacket hanging on the back of the chair.

  For the first time it occurred to Percy that it might be more than annoyance that had made his father so persistent. Had something happened? Why were the family so anxious to find him? Perhaps he should have kept in touch after all. It had been two months since he’d left home. He had supposed his mother would worry, but Ruby knew he wasn’t going to the ends of the earth; she knew he’d come back. Perhaps he should have posted that letter he’d written when he was living in the Black House, but somehow or other he’d never got round to it.

  The adjutant put on his glasses. ‘Oh,’ he said brightly. ‘It seems your father is dead.’

  Percy was appalled by the savagery of the words. He stared at the man, unable to speak.

  The adjutant held the paper between the forefinger and thumb of both hands. ‘It appears he drowned at sea.’ His tone of voice was unfeeling, and more than a little bored.

  ‘Here, give me that!’ Percy snapped. He snatched the paper away.

  ‘Bateman,’ shouted the adjutant, ‘how dare you! That paper is an official communication.’

  Percy read it quickly:

  Regret to inform P. Bateman of the sudden death of Nelson Bateman, father, drowned at sea in September. An inquest will be held on November 23rd.

  ‘This letter is dated October 12th,’ he said angrily. ‘That’s more than two months ago. Why wasn’t I informed sooner?’

  ‘You’ve just said yourself,’ the adjutant said casually. ‘You said you didn’t want any contact with your family.’

  ‘But my father had just died,’ Percy spat out. ‘Surely anyone with a ha’p’orth of common sense would know that would be an exception.’

  ‘This movement is dedicated to the overthrow of an antiquated governmental system and useless institutions,’ the adjutant said haughtily. ‘We have better things to do that run after every Tom, Dick and Harry and their petty family affairs.’

  ‘Petty family affairs!’ Percy was beside himself with rage. ‘I should have been informed immediately.’ Behind him the secretary began typing furiously. ‘I am the head of the household now. My mother and sisters have been left to fend for themselves. I should have been there, damn you.’ Letting go of the paper, it fluttered to the floor. Percy turned on his heel and marched out of the room. As the door closed behind him, the adjutant turned to the secretary with a wounded look.

  ‘Well, really!’ he exclaimed. ‘They’ll all be wanting a bloody nursemaid next.’

  *

  It was almost time to go back to Warnes. As she roused herself from her afternoon nap, she heard his voice quite clearly. It came, as it always did, in that twilight moment between being sound asleep and waking. Her heart soared. She hadn’t heard from him for at least a fortnight and was beginning to feel that he’d left her again; she had even toyed with the idea of going back to Mrs Knight’s seances. It was only the thought of that hot, stuffy room and the stra
ngers gathered around the table knowing her business that stopped her making an appointment.

  When he came, she had learned the hard way that, if she tried to see him, he would leave. It was always a struggle to stay in the same position; she had to remain absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe, and yet be alert enough to hear him. If she opened her eyes, he would go as quickly as the night-time shadows flee when the dawn appears. She strained her ears, waiting for him to say her name – the pet name that only she and he knew. If he said that, she would know it was him. Then the voice came. It was only in her head, and yet it was clearer than ever before. She could scarcely take it in, but there was no mistaking that it was him.

  ‘Freddie, there is something else I want you to do.’

  CHAPTER 17

  It took May several days to stop being angry with Ruby. She would glare at her big sister or refuse to speak to her. Ruby found it very hurtful. It was as if May blamed her for their father’s death.

  On the Saturday before Christmas, Ruby took May to Hubbard’s to see Father Christmas. He was in a pretty grotto on the second floor. They were met by an elf who, after taking Ruby’s one and sixpence, asked her how old May was. As Ruby told him, a second elf standing fairly close by took a present marked ‘6+’ from a pink tub, and May went inside.

  They found themselves going down a little tented walkway flanked with pictures of characters from children’s picture books, such as Cinderella, Pip, Squeek and Wilfred, The Mad Hatter and Blackbeard, the famous pirate mentioned in Moonfleet. Eventually they were ushered into a room by a woman dressed as a fairy. Father Christmas was sitting on a red-and-gold throne surrounded by presents. As she approached, he leaned forward and took May onto his knee. ‘And what would you like for Christmas, my dear?’ he said kindly.

  May gazed up at him in wonderment. ‘A yellow bicycle,’ she said, ‘like Pa promised me.’

  Father Christmas glanced up at Ruby, who shook her head.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ said Father Christmas. ‘I’m afraid the elves forgot to make enough yellow bicycles this year. I’m terribly sorry, but if you could wait until next year, I’ll see what I can do.’

  For a second May looked crestfallen.

  ‘I know it’s very hard,’ he went on, ‘but you seem like a big, brave girl. Do you think you could wait until next year?’

  May nodded sullenly.

  ‘I have a special badge for brave children,’ he said, handing her a red badge with Father Christmas at Hubbard’s on it. He pinned it onto her coat and May smiled. She climbed off his knee and he handed her the present that Ruby had seen the elf take out of the pink box, and then they emerged from the grotto.

  They walked home almost in silence. Ruby felt terrible. Father Christmas had handled it well, but the fact remained that May had had yet another disappointment.

  ‘How was it?’ asked Bea as they walked indoors.

  ‘Father Christmas said he didn’t have any yellow bicycles,’ May said. She puffed out her chest as her mother took off her coat. ‘He gave me a special badge instead.’

  While Bea admired the badge, Ruby made a secret vow that if her little sister still wanted a yellow bicycle next year, she would get one.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Bea, pointing to her present.

  ‘Father Christmas gave it to me,’ said May. ‘Can I open it now?’

  ‘Why not,’ said Bea, sitting her at the table.

  May tore away the paper to reveal a jigsaw puzzle. It only had twelve pieces, so it was a bit babyish for May, but Ruby was delighted to point out that in the picture of a village post office, the postman had left his red bicycle leaning against the postbox.

  ‘That’s just like the one I want,’ said May gravely.

  Percy packed his case quickly. He had managed to get a ticket for the morning train to London. It would be packed with day-trippers on their way to see the Christmas lights in the capital. Percy could hardly believe that his father was actually dead. He couldn’t grieve for the man, but it altered his life dramatically. When he’d left home he’d been so angry, but now that he’d been apart from them for a while, he’d mellowed. What would his mother and sister do? They couldn’t possibly cope on their own.

  He had never liked fishing, but perhaps he could learn to like it, if he was on his own and away from his father’s caustic tongue. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the sound of being a fisherman in his own right. Fishing could bring in good profits. He might buy a better boat and more up-to-date fishing gear. Worthing wasn’t such a bad place to live, either. He didn’t love it as much as Ruby did, but he had a few good friends and the house would be his, one day. Of course he’d have to look after his mother, but he didn’t mind that at all. She’d made a dreadful mistake in marrying a man like his father, but since he’d been in the BUF, Percy was now a man of the world. His mother, he’d decided, was a good woman. She’d put up with a lot over the years and didn’t deserve the way Nelson had treated her.

  Had he known about his father’s death, he wouldn’t have spent the past few weeks up north. When he’d finished his basic training in the Black House, he had been offered the opportunity to help set up an office in York, and he had jumped at the chance. Now that he knew his father was dead, things were different. However, if he was forced to go back home, he could volunteer at one of the BUF offices in Worthing. The place had become a bit of a hub in the organization, and there was no doubt that the movement would go far. He set the alarm for six and climbed into his bed with a contented smile. Tomorrow would be the start of the rest of his life, and things were looking good.

  Now known as John Coffey, Isaac had made great strides since becoming the Batemans’ lodger. Using some of the money Ruby had given him for German lessons, he’d been to The Ark, a chaotic repository on the corner of Lyndhurst Road and High Street, and picked up a rusty old shoe-last and a couple of pairs of real leather shoes, which he’d skilfully cut up to use for repairs. Woolworths furnished him with toecaps, nails, glue and rubber soles, which, although not of the best quality, would keep him going for now. He charged a very small price to his first customers, for two reasons. First, he wanted to become known; and second, the repairs wouldn’t be of his usual high standard until he was able to get some first-class materials. He worked part-time, using his free time from the council’s Parks and Gardens department. It worked well; December and January were going to be lean months, and there was little to do in the greenhouses then. As a result, his hours had been cut anyway.

  It had been three weeks since he’d arrived at the Batemans’, penniless and dependent on hand-outs, but already he was getting a reputation and, more importantly, valuable customers. Fortunately all the shoe-repair shops in Worthing were close to the town centre, so John’s enterprise didn’t interfere with anyone else. People in the area soon found their way to his little back-gate shop.

  Ruby was a good pupil. He taught her German using colloquial speech, rather than beginning with the rudiments of grammar, but even as she mastered the words, he could tell that she had a natural flair.

  ‘Can you tell me the way to the pier?’ he asked in German.

  ‘Go through the alleyway and follow it all the way to the sea,’ she told him confidently.

  ‘Sehr gut,’ he said, clearly impressed. ‘Wie spät ist es?’

  ‘It is 1933,’ she told him in German.

  ‘No,’ he corrected. ‘I asked for the time.’

  ‘Es is zehn nach sechs – it is ten past six.’

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘erzähle mir von deiner Arbeit im Hotel Warnes.’

  ‘I clean the bedrooms,’ she began.

  ‘German, German,’ he said.

  ‘Ich mache die Schlafzimmer sauber – I make the beds and tidy the bathroom. Ich mache die Betten und räume die Badezimmer auf.’

  ‘Gut,’ he smiled.

  Ruby grinned. ‘Ich bin ein sehr gute freche Mädchen.’

  John started laughing. ‘I think you m
ean Zimmermädchen – chambermaid,’ he said.

  ‘What did I say?’ asked Ruby in English.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said John, ‘but believe me, you are a chambermaid.’

  At the end of the week he handed Bea a box of chocolates and his first rent.

  ‘I shall pay what I owe as soon as I can, dear lady,’ he said, giving her a short bow. ‘I am forever in your debt.’

  Bea signed the rent book and handed it back to him. ‘I know you are not a Christian man,’ she said firmly, ‘but we would like you to spend Christmas Day with us. It’s a family time, and we won’t hear of you being on your own.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ he told her, as his eyes filled with unshed tears.

  As far as Ruby and Bea were concerned, they were determined to make Christmas special this year. Ruby had invited Jim to spend Christmas with them as well. His landlady had informed him that she would only cook his breakfast and then she was off to her sister’s for the day. With no family of his own, Jim faced a lonely day in his room, but Ruby and Bea refused to let him. Christmas was the time for all their dreams to come true.

  Of course there were some things they couldn’t have. Bea wished she could send a Christmas card to Rex. May wanted Pa to turn up with that yellow bicycle he’d promised. And Ruby longed for Percy to come back home.

  ‘Mind the doors. Mind the doors!’ The porter walked up and down the platform, warning people not to stand too close to the edge as the incoming train pulled into the station.

  George Gore looked up and down the platform anxiously. He had no idea what his visitor looked like, but he was keen to hear what he had to say. The letter had come as quite a shock. He had thought that, with Nelson Bateman’s passing, the whole damned thing was over and done with. What they had done had haunted him ever since that terrible day in 1915. With Nelson gone, and poor old Linton on his last legs, he had welcomed the idea that he could put the past behind him, once and for all.