Gull Island

by Grace Thompson

  Rosita’s.

  Newsagents, Tobacconists and Confectioners.

  She decided to start the Christmas activities as a celebration of opening the new shop. If she were to compete for the extra business that the gift-buying season brought, she couldn’t drag too far behind the rest. There was no point in waiting until many of the customers had found what they wanted elsewhere. But it would add to the excitement if she waited until at least the beginning of November, when the new kiosk would open. Besides, it seemed unfair to the children to start the excitement too soon.

  The schools returning after the autumn half-term was the signal for the rush to begin and on one hectic Sunday, Rosita and Kate went around the shops and the two kiosks and decorated the windows with tinsel and cotton wool and put the Christmas stock on display.

  A letter arrived for Rosita among the post at the Station Row shop and, recognizing her mother’s writing, Rosita gave it a cursory glance, saw it was congratulations on opening her new premises, then threw it in the bin. Clearing up later, she took the note out of the rubbish and smoothed it out. She would take it to show Auntie Molly Carey. The letter was an excuse to call and Richard might be there.

  Since her refusal to listen when he tried to explain about Hattie and himself, they had hardly exchanged a dozen words. When they met, he immediately muttered some excuse and left. Christmas Day would bring another birthday and the reminder that she was approaching an age when most people accepted the fact that, for them, marriage and motherhood were fading from the scene, distressed her.

  She had chosen a career and in doing so had given up all the chances of having fun that most young people enjoyed. Every penny had been scrupulously put back into the business. Now she was well on the way to making a real success of it all, but there was a risk – which she had ignored. Renting the second kiosk, when she hadn’t fully recovered from the previous purchase, had not been wise.

  She had gone against the advice of her accountant by increasing her business so fast. She was severely stretched financially. But with the economy buoyant she felt the risk was justified. A few more years and she would be safe from the dread of poverty. Poverty in old age was still her greatest fear, despite a Health Service and an old age pension.

  Starting to build a business, she had put aside marriage as less important. Richard Carey had been her only dream and he was gone from her life with only a few memory snapshots to comfort her. Time had passed so quickly and she had found herself at the age when the time for finding love had gone, almost without realizing it. The decision had been her own; there was no one in the background whom she could blame. Like her friend, Miss Grainger, she would travel the rest of her life alone on a lonely road. She hoped she would be as content.

  It was in this mood of melancholy that she went to see Mrs Carey bearing the letter from her mother. Richard wasn’t there. In fact, Mrs Carey was alone and trying to fix some decorations into the ceiling by balancing dangerously on a stool.

  ‘Auntie Molly Carey!’ Rosita scolded. ‘Come down now this minute and leave this to me. You don’t want a broken leg for Christmas, do you?’

  ‘I wanted it to be a surprise when Richard and Idris come in.’ Mrs Carey smiled at her. ‘But glad I’ll be to sit and watch a young woman do it for me.’

  ‘Not so young,’ Rosita said lightly, stabbed by her recent thoughts.

  They had the inevitable cup of tea before they recommenced the decorating and as they finished their second cup, Rosita handed Mrs Carey the letter.

  ‘She wasn’t as terrible as you think, you know,’ Mrs Carey said as she refolded the single page. ‘Seventeen, that’s all she was. Half your age. Imagine, finding yourself alone and with a baby coming, a father who refused to mention her name and a mother too afraid to disagree with him. Her mam tried to help, mind. She sent money around whenever she could, a few shillings now and then. Without Barbara knowing, of course. He wouldn’t have let her do even that. I kept it in a tea tin with a picture of George V and Queen Mary on the front. I was meaning to give it to her when she found a place of her own, but …’

  Suddenly making up her mind, she told Rosita how Richard had found it and, believing it belonged to the people who had taken their rooms, spent it on wood and stuff to make the house comfortable. ‘Barbara’s mam did what she could, see. It was her father who was stubborn. Wouldn’t let her mam come and see how she was coping, or even see you when you were born. On her own, Barbara was, and her only seventeen. Uncle Henry Carey and I did what we could, though it was little enough.’

  She looked at Rosita, and the quiet concentration on the young woman’s face encouraged her to go on. ‘D’you know, she didn’t even realize she was expecting. And when her mam told her she had no idea how it had happened. There’s daft it seems now, but it was true of many young girls at that time – 1917 it was, with the war taking so many young men.’

  Mrs Carey had tried to talk about Barbara many times but Rosita had closed her mind to any plea for understanding. Resolutely she had reminded herself that she had been abandoned to the children’s home because her mother had chosen that farmer Graham Prothero instead of her. For the first time, she began to think of her mother as a frightened young girl. She waited for Mrs Carey to talk some more.

  ‘Her mam would have helped, mind. As I said, it was her father, see. Shamed he was and couldn’t see further than that. Embarrassed at his mates knowing and know they did, of course – there was no keeping secrets around where we lived. Neighbours knew the ins and outs of everything then. Yes, things would have been very different for young Barbara Jones if it hadn’t been for her father.’

  ‘Fathers!’ Rosita said disparagingly. ‘What trouble they cause. Mam’s father turning her away when she needed help, me with a stepfather who beat me.’ She thought of Luke then and added, ‘And there’s Luke. His father bullied him because he was afraid Luke was – you know, preferred boys to girls.’

  ‘Luke was happy for a long time with Martine, so he couldn’t have been harmed that much, mind,’ Mrs Carey defended. ‘He knew you had to forgive and accept that we aren’t all perfect. Best not to dwell on the failings of your parents but get on with making your own mistakes! We all make them.’

  ‘Luke was told to get out and never contact the family again. His father said that and Luke was only twenty. Told him he was all sorts of awful things. Luke was so miserable to be pushed away as though he were a leper, because of some fantasy in his father’s nasty mind. Mam, me, and Luke. What is it about fathers?’

  ‘I suppose my Henry was far from perfect.’

  ‘No, not Uncle Henry Carey. He was a lovely dad.’

  ‘Weak, mind. But there, it was him being weak that made Richard strong and so determined to succeed.’

  ‘And Idris?’ Rosita dared to ask. ‘Can he use his father as an excuse?’

  ‘Oh, well, it was different with Idris, fach. Never had a chance he didn’t. He’d have been better placed if his father hadn’t been so hard on him.’

  Rosita smiled and watched the old lady’s wrinkled face frown in defence of her golden-haired favourite. Rules or generalities, Idris was always the exception. She smiled again as she tried to imagine Uncle Henry Carey being hard on anyone.

  ‘You ought to go and see your mam, Rosita,’ Mrs Carey said as they began on the decorations.

  ‘One day.’ Then, deliberately changing the subject, Rosita pretended to slip and laughed in alarm. Soon they were laughing at idiotic things, the laughter genuine.

  With the ceiling hung with glittering showers and the walls bedecked with swoops of brightly coloured garlands and cheerful banners, Mrs Carey started on the Christmas tree.

  ‘I’d better give up,’ Rosita said as, still laughing, they looked at the crooked shape of the final banner. ‘It looks as though the room was decorated by a drunkard!’

  ‘I quite agree,’ said a voice and Richard came into the room. His face was rosy with the cold frosty weather and he wore an overcoat,
a trilby, leather gloves and a woollen scarf. A smile, and the outdoor freshness, made him even more attractive than usual. A shiver of longing trailed through Rosita’s body, aching desire in its wake. She tried to catch his eye, persuade him to at least share a smile.

  But his smile faded and he asked, ‘Why didn’t you leave it for me to do?’

  ‘You don’t like it?’ With dismay making the laughter fall like a stone, Rosita thought, here we go again, our first words and a threat of argument.

  ‘It’s all right, but you’re pretty thoughtless, Rosita. I don’t think Mam should be climbing about on chairs at her age.’

  Wordless with anger, Rosita hugged and kissed Mrs Carey and reached for her coat. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said, opening the door to leave.

  ‘You will come for Christmas dinner, won’t you?’ Mrs Carey pleaded.

  Running out of the door, Rosita didn’t reply. She’d rather have a cheese sandwich in her own flat than watch Richard’s disapproving face over a table filled with goodies!

  The cold air hit her like a thousand knives as she went outside and she tightened her coat and ran to where she had left the car. She heard footsteps behind her and knew it was Richard. She turned to face him, prepared for further disapproval. ‘I wouldn’t let your mother do anything dangerous!’ she snapped. To her consternation he was smiling.

  ‘Rosita, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was so unreasonable. I know how much you love Mam. It’s just that the moment we meet I’m on the defensive. Please, can we go somewhere and talk?’

  She nodded and, getting into the car, she drove them to where a gaily lit café window offered warmth and a table to share.

  ‘I want to talk about Hattie’s baby,’ he said when they had a pot of tea and toasted teacakes in front of them.

  ‘No, I …’

  ‘Please, Rosita, listen to me or we’ll never get things straight between us.’ He held out his teacake and she took a bite. ‘The truth is, the baby could be mine. I’m not perfect and there was an occasion … I haven’t led a blameless life. I’m nearing forty, for God’s sake! But I believe that as Hattie had been having an affair with Idris for several months and I – well, I was careful, the chances are that the baby is Idris’s and not mine.’

  Her eyes widened as she prepared to speak but he offered the cake again to prevent her saying anything and she took a huge bite, and chewed it elegantly as he went on.

  ‘Perhaps it doesn’t make any difference. The baby being mine or not, if you know I was involved with her. I can’t blame you if you feel that way. The sad thing is, I don’t even like her. It was when you and I seemed to be getting nowhere and, well, I was glad of the pretence of someone caring, I suppose. Sex can make you forget, for a while at least.’

  He had been looking through the steamy window as he spoke and now he turned to her. She had opened her mouth a little for a further bite but couldn’t hide the incipient, hopeful smile. She had thought this conversation through many times in her head and knew that, whatever he said, however he explained, she wanted to forgive him. She loved him, wanted him, no matter what his faults were. If it was pride versus loneliness there was no contest.

  ‘My brother has a lot to answer for. I was glad to see him gone from the business. He treats Kate so badly I can’t bear to look at him. Something happened that gave me the reason to tell him to leave.’

  Rosita quirked an eyebrow, silently asking him what had happened.

  ‘Three hundred pounds went missing. He said he hadn’t taken it, that it must have been stolen when he removed his jacket to deal with a puncture on the van, but I didn’t believe him.’

  Rosita spoke at last. ‘Funny, I’d never have thought Idris was a thief. Unreliable, workshy, a womanizer, but never a thief.’

  ‘You think I was wrong?’ He took a deep breath to begin convincing her but she fed him a piece of cake; his turn to be silent.

  ‘You know him better than I do, but weren’t you grasping at the opportunity to get rid of him?’

  He nodded and chewed then said, ‘It was a heaven-sent opportunity, that money going missing. He’s worse than useless, he’s a liability.’

  She reached for another piece of cake but he held her hand. ‘Why are we talking about my brother? I want to talk about us getting back together.’

  ‘So do I,’ she said. ‘Oh, Richard, so do I.’

  After that evening, when they talked and talked, and laughed and ended the day sharing their happiness with Mrs Carey, everything seemed set to work out between them. Even the frequent appearances of Idris, who was trying to persuade Kate to talk to him, wasn’t enough to spoil those few joyous days.

  Kate was cool and indifferent to her wayward husband’s entreaties while Mrs Carey hovered anxiously trying to translate what they said to each other and explain away any misunderstandings. Rosita and Richard were oblivious to it all; they were rekindling their precious love for each other.

  Christmas 1951 was a magical occasion, although there were a few sad moments as Mrs Carey remembered other Christmases with Henry always beside her. Ada, now forty-eight, surprised them with a flying visit. She was still housekeeper to the family she and Dilys had originally left home to live with so long ago. Messages came from the boys, all with regret at not being able to see her, all claiming a life too full to spare a few days or even hours.

  The family gatherings, walks in the cold, crisp winter air and making plans for their future filled the time contentedly for Rosita and Richard. It seemed that at last their troubles were behind them and they could look forward with hope. They were so happy, it seemed the world shared their joy.

  On New Year’s Eve, when the shops had closed, Rosita waited for Richard and he arrived with a basket packed with chicken pies made by his mother, and two flasks of hot soup. He drove the two miles to Gull Island and there, on the freezing cold beach, the wind beginning to howl, offered her an engagement ring.

  ‘Let’s marry as soon as we can,’ he said. ‘We’ve wasted too much time already. I want us to have children, so you’ll have to make arrangements for your shops to be run without you.’

  ‘I already have. There’s nothing to hold us back from a happy life together.’

  They found kissing an odd experience in the biting cold, with their lips blue and their noses threatening to snap. The island looked uninviting with an Arctic wind lifting dead vegetation and throwing it about in wild whirlwinds of ferocious power. The wind cut through the layers of clothes they wore and chilled them the moment they left the protection of the van. Romantic it might be to propose marriage on their special beach, but the impracticalities soon made them lose their enthusiasm for solitude.

  After attempting to warm themselves by drinking the hot soup Mrs Carey had supplied, they went to see if Luke was at the cottage and were relieved to see smoke issuing from the chimney.

  ‘We’ve got news,’ Richard said as Luke opened the door and invited them to sit by his huge wood fire.

  ‘And about time too!’ Luke hugged Rosita and kissed her cold cheek. ‘You two should have married years ago.’ He looked at them with slight embarrassment on his face. ‘That was what you were about to tell me, wasn’t it?’ Behind the large horn-rimmed glasses his eyes wrinkled with relief when Richard nodded.

  After congratulations and when details of their plans had been discussed, Luke smiled and said, ‘I have news too. I’ve finally traced Martine. She’s coming here.’

  ‘Wonderful news!’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ Rosita added. ‘Shall we make it a double wedding?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Luke said, a shadow of sadness on his face. ‘Too much time has passed.’

  Rosita and Richard left soon after, having thoroughly warmed themselves. As Richard ran off to bring the van closer, Luke said, ‘Now would be a good time to go and see Barbara, Rosita. Time to let some sunshine into dark corners.’

  ‘One day, when I’m ready,’ she replied.

  ‘Soon,’ he insi
sted. ‘If you leave it until it’s too late, that will be more guilt and regret, more burdens for you to carry.’

  But Rosita was too happy to worry overmuch about a mother who had almost faded from her memory and become a stranger. Now, when she thought of Barbara, she saw a picture of Hattie in her mind, a greedy, self-centred Hattie, grasping everything she wanted without a thought for others, indifferent to the unhappiness she caused.

  The only one not to offer congratulations and good wishes as news of the engagement spread was Idris. He tried to ruin things by putting in little jibes when Richard and Rosita talked of their plans, reminding them of their age and the unlikeliness of having a child – a subject that, with Hattie’s situation common knowledge, seemed not to embarrass him at all but which seemed to give him added pleasure.

  He wished something would happen to prevent the marriage but could think of nothing he could do to cause further trouble. In a fantasy, he began to imagine planning Rosita’s death. A trickle of fear spread into a torrent as the idea filled his many idle moments. If only he dare – such a pity she hadn’t died on that island. If only she could be persuaded to go there again, and this time with Luke too far away to help….

  ‘It isn’t fair, Mam!’ Idris was marching up and down in his mother’s living room. Weeks had passed since Richard had last helped out with money. ‘Ruined my chances of getting another job, he has. He accused me of stealing, he did! If that isn’t hypocritical, considering how he got started, tell me what is!’