by Fern Britton
Sennen couldn’t breathe. The audience began to cheer and applaud. Ali spun the back wheel until smoke poured from it. The crowd were in the palm of his hand. His eyes, outlined in black, stared at them until they felt he was looking into their souls. Sennen shivered with anticipation. He smiled, baring his teeth and in a white flash both he and the machine were gone.
Another gasp.
A man in an overcoat and cloth cap got out of his seat and ran down to the stage shouting, ‘Where is he? Where is he?’
The audience didn’t know who he was.
The man ran to the spot where the bike had been. He stopped, bent down and examined it. His back to the audience. Then slowly he took off his cap and then his coat and spun round with his arms wide open. ‘You didn’t think I’d leave you without a show, did you?’
It was him. Ali.
Sennen clutched her hands to her chest and yelled his name and was drowned out by eight hundred people doing the same.
She stood in a dream as she watched the show. This was the father of her baby. Her future. She couldn’t wait to see him and tell him about William.
The show finished. She stood at the back of the stalls until the place had emptied, then made her way backstage and headed for the star dressing room. Her hands were shaking as she knocked on the door.
‘Who is it?’ asked a male voice. Not Ali’s.
‘Sennen.’
The door opened a crack and a small round man looked her up and down. ‘Mr A’Mayze is not having visitors.’
‘Who is it, Keith?’ Ali’s disembodied voice asked.
Keith curled his lip and said to Sennen, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Sennen. I worked with Ali in the pantomime. Last Christmas.’
Keith relayed the message. Ali answered.
‘Yeah? Okay, let her in.’
Keith opened the door wide and there he was. Naked but for his jeans, his long curls damp with sweat, his eyes looking her up and down. ‘Yes?’
‘Hi. You were great tonight. Truly. I can’t believe you are actually here.’
He narrowed his eyes and looked at her more closely. ‘I know you …’
‘Yes,’ she smiled.
‘Sally? Susie?’
She laughed at his old joke. ‘Sennen.’
‘Of course.’ He stood up. ‘I’m fine now, Keith. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.’
Keith was put out and his bottom lip jutted sullenly. ‘I haven’t sorted your laundry yet.’
‘Out. Now. Sennen’s an old friend of mine.’ Ali looked at Sennen and gave her the kind of smile that made her whole body flush.
Keith was not happy and took his time, gathering up his coat and felt beret. ‘Don’t be late,’ he said as he left the room.
‘Want a drink, gorgeous?’ Ali asked as soon as he’d left. ‘I’ve got some wine in the fridge. Sit down.’
She sat on the same daybed where he had made love to her almost a year ago. He watched as her mini skirt slid up her thighs. ‘I like your boots.’
‘Thanks. How are you?’
‘Right now I couldn’t be better.’ He poured the wine and, handing her a glass, sat down next to her. ‘How are you? Busy year?’
She giggled. ‘You could say that.’
He was looking at the buttons of her shirt. ‘You really do have lovely breasts.’
She melted. ‘I have missed you so much, Ali.’
He put his wine down and kissed her, pushing her down on the bed.
‘I love you, Ali,’ she said.
‘I love you, babe.’ His face was hot as he opened her shirt and squeezed her breasts from her bra. ‘And I really love these.’
It was a bit more comfortable than the first time and he took a little longer than before. He lay next to her panting. ‘Pass my glass, would you?’
As she sat up her tummy rounded in her skirt which was pushed up to her hips. He took the glass. ‘You’ve put a bit of weight on, haven’t you? I remember you being a bit skinnier. Mind you, I don’t mind a bit of curvy flesh.’
‘Don’t you?’ She took a sip of her wine and lay back, looking into his eyes.
‘Not on a young girl. It’s like puppy fat. Don’t want it on an old bird, though.’
She was so happy. ‘Did you get my letters?’
‘Where did you write?’
‘Your agent.’
‘No. They answer them.’
‘I thought so. Otherwise I’d have heard from you, wouldn’t I?’
‘Maybe. I’ve been touring all year. It’s hard for things to find me.’
She put her hand to his cheek. ‘I understand.’
‘I love a girl who understands.’ He smiled down at her.
‘I love you, Ali,’ she whispered as he began kissing her again.
‘I love you, baby.’
Keith, listening at the door, knew exactly the right moment to knock and get Ali out of there.
‘Sorry to disturb, but there’s an important call for you at the hotel, Ali. You must come now.’
‘Oh, right.’ Ali stood up and zipped his jeans. ‘Babe, I’ve got to split. It’ll be to arrange a meeting about my European tour – going to happen over the next two years. Scandinavia, Holland, Belgium, Italy, Portugal, then the final gig in Spain, lovely Spain in September ‘93. You must come when I’m there.’
Sennen was bewildered at this sudden departure. ‘Which hotel are you in tonight? I could come over in the morning. I’ve got someone I want you to meet.’
‘Great. It’s the, erm …’
‘Starfish,’ said Keith handing Ali his T-shirt and coat.
‘See you, babe. Bye.’ He went over and kissed her. ‘Thanks for everything.’
14
The next morning, she bundled Henry into his pushchair, escaping her mother’s questions on the pretext of a need to get nappies, and set out for the Starfish Hotel.
She couldn’t wait to see Ali’s face when she told him that Henry was his son.
His family.
Her family.
In her shoulder-bag she had her little camera ready for the photo she had been longing for.
The well-groomed receptionist looked up from her desk and smiled warily.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes. I’ve come to see Mr Ali A’mayze. He’s expecting me.’
The receptionist gave a patronising smile. ‘I’m afraid he’s already left.’
‘Oh.’ A distant alarm bell began to ring in Sennen’s heart. ‘Did he say where he’s gone? Is he at the theatre?’
The receptionist revealed a set of perfect teeth behind her lacquered lips. ‘No. He checked out before breakfast. He had to catch a train.’ She remembered her flirty conversation with him very clearly.
Panic flooded, Sennen. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘Maybe he’s booked under his real name? Alan Chisolm?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Mr A’Mayze has definitely left.’
Sennen felt her heart actually crack with pain. Henry began to cry. ‘Did he leave a message for me? Sennen Tallon?’
‘I’ll check, but I’m sure he didn’t leave any messages.’ The receptionist made a show of checking the cubbyholes behind her. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ She gave Sennen a professional beam and turned her attention to a couple who were next in line.
They were staring at Sennen and tutting as Henry’s cries grew louder.
‘Okay. Thanks,’ she said, and pulling Henry’s little jacket around him she hurried away in confusion and shame.
A few weeks later, she told Adela and Bill that she was pregnant …
When she came, Ella was a beautiful baby with a mass of red curls and a happy nature. Bill and Adela idolised her from the start. Henry was not so keen – like many a firstborn he didn’t like sharing his mother with an interloper.
Sennen was cornered. Her loving, generous, caring parents watched her every move, were there for Henry and Ella’s every cry. They were stifling her. Why didn’t they confront her? Demand to know
who this boy was who had fathered their grandchildren?
Sennen overheard them one morning in the kitchen as she was coming down the stairs for breakfast. She paused and quietly listened.
Bill was talking. ‘If I ever find out who that lout is, I’ll knock him from here to the middle of next week.’
‘And what good would that do? What’s done is done and it is our duty to protect Sennen and give her all the security and time she needs. She will tell us one day, I’m certain.’
‘We aren’t protecting her, though. She’s not sixteen and she’s having a second child. We somehow let that happen.’ Sennen heard Bill stirring his coffee loudly. ‘I’m going to ask her outright.’
‘You are not.’ Adela sounded adamant. ‘She is a woman and a mother. This is her body and her life and I want to make this transition for her as easy as possible. Family showdowns are not going to help. I want her to look back on all this with happy memories, not rows.’
Sennen wanted to run into the kitchen then, tell them all about Ali and ask for their help in finding him, but instinct told her that once that lid was off there would be only hell to pay. No, she told herself, one day, when Ali came back, they could explain together, when the time was right. For now, they asked no questions, gave her no pressure, wrapped her and their two grandchildren in unending love – and she hated them for it.
She dropped her friends, the ones that were left, before they dropped her. Only Rosemary, a girl who Sennen had never known well, came over because she loved playing with children.
Adela and Bill encouraged the friendship. ‘Rosemary’s a nice girl. We like her and she’s good for you, Sennen. Why not go to the pictures at the weekend? We’ll babysit.’
Sennen wanted nothing less, but Rosemary could be a means to an end. Instead of going to the cinema, Sennen took Rosemary to the pub and introduced her to Bacardi and Cokes and, over time, planted the idea of holiday in Spain.
They were walking on the harbour wall, eating chips. ‘Don’t you ever feel like running away?’ Sennen asked, chucking her chip paper into a bin, and missing, then passing Rosemary a Consulate menthol cigarette.
‘No,’ said Rosemary.
‘I’ve got a friend in Spain. Fancy coming with me?’
Rosemary shook her head. ‘Who is it?’
‘A guy.’
‘I don’t think my parents would let me.’
‘They don’t need to know.’ Sennen smiled slyly. ‘We could just hitch to Plymouth, catch the ferry and be gone. Back before they knew it.’
‘Really?’
‘Have you got a passport?’
‘Yes. I had for when we went to Oberammergau, in the Alps, on a school trip.’
‘Money?’
‘Some in the post office.’
‘Okay. Leave it with me and I’ll make a plan. Don’t tell anyone.’
‘What about Henry and Ella?’
‘In a kind of a way, I’m doing this for them.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Rosemary, clearly not seeing at all.
And now here she was, seventeen, on a ferry to Spain, abandoning her children to look for their father.
15
Trevay without Sennen
The black void left by Sennen was impossible to avoid, yet too painful to explore.
‘How could she leave Ella and Henry?’ Bill, staring out of their bedroom window, looking out over the roofs of Trevay and down to the sea.
He was like a wounded bear. He could neither sit down nor stand up without doing the opposite in moments.
‘Please, Bill …’ Adela tried to soothe him. ‘We need to stay calm, for Henry and Ella. They are missing her terribly. Henry woke up at two this morning, sobbing his little heart out.’
‘How could she do it, Adela? We have never judged her. Always loved her.’ He wiped his broken eyes. ‘Is she even still alive?’
Adela came towards him and put her arm around his shoulder. ‘She’s a young woman breaking free from her life. She needs to find herself.’ He dropped his head onto her shoulder and sobbed. She stroked his head in the same way she had stroked Henry’s just a few hours before. ‘She’ll come back.’
He broke away from her, angry. ‘We were too soft on her. Should have been tougher. When she first told us about Henry, I should have shaken sense into her. How can a teenager deal with a baby? We should have demanded to know who the father is. Some little toerag out there is running around Trevay laughing at us, at her, at Henry.’ His voice was rising, the words almost choking him.
‘Darling, please – don’t let the children hear you.’ Adela put a hand on his arm but he shrugged her off.
‘Just scraped her O Levels. Will miss her A levels. She’s cruel and stupid.’ He sat on the bed, his head in his hands. ‘Where did we go wrong? I honestly thought I knew her, but I don’t. She was laughing at us. Using us all along. She’s ruined her life and the lives of Henry and Ella.’ He stood up and walked to the window, banging his hands down on the sill. ‘I never want to see her again. I will never let her back into this house. Never. It’s Henry and Ella we must focus on now.’
Adela clutched him. ‘Stop it, Bill. Stop it. You’re hurting. You don’t mean those things. She’s Sennen. Our daughter. You love her. We all love her. She’ll come back to us.’
Bill looked at her with sneering pity, ‘Not while I’m alive.’
‘Bill!’ Adela was frightened. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say and untrue. She will come back and you will be alive and we will be a family again.’
He crumpled then. Adela watched the man she loved break down in front of her. She put her arms out to him and he came to her like a child. He clung to her, his whole body shuddering with every sob.
When Rosemary returned from Spain, without Sennen, and came knocking at their door with the presents for the children, Adela was even more worried for Bill. He took the toys and put them in the dustbin. He sat for hours in Sennen’s room crying and finally burnt all the photos they had of her.
The doctor arranged for grief counselling, which Bill refused to attend, and it fell to Adela to care for him. She quietly carried the burden of the children, her husband, the house and her own desolation, never allowing the internal scream that deafened her to escape her lips.
At Christmas Sennen sent a postcard from Madrid. The message read,
Dear Mum, Poppa, Henry and Ella,
Happy Christmas. I’m okay. Don’t worry.
Lots of love
Sennen
Adela, always the first up in the house, picked it off the mat and read it. She never told Bill. It would upset him too much. She didn’t have the strength to face that. Greedily, she kept it for herself.
Sennen never forgot their birthdays. Each year, from somewhere in Europe, cards would arrive. All with the briefest of messages and always ending with ‘I’m okay. Don’t worry.’
Adela kept them all for herself, and the years passed. Henry and Ella got through primary school well enough and were happy popular children. Ella had a real talent for art, which Bill delighted in. She was the apple of his eye and wherever he was Adela would usually find her with him, chatting and laughing.
Henry was a good boy, but quieter, with a quick temper. He was good at maths and accumulating money. At school he ran an illicit tuck shop, selling penny sweets he’d bought from the newsagents for twice as much in the playground. The head teacher, whilst acknowledging his entrepreneurship, had to ban him, but it didn’t stop Henry: he simply sold the sweets outside the school gate, and therefore outside the school’s jurisdiction, instead.
Adela had always run a small ad hoc painting school for young artists, providing bed and board as well as classes. Sennen had hated having to share her parents with them and after she left, Adela stopped doing it.
It was Henry who suggested she should start it up again. ‘How much would you pay me to help?’ he asked.
‘It depends,’ she said, thinking about what needed to be done. ‘I shall have to giv
e the spare bedrooms a lick of paint and maybe make some new curtains.’
‘I will paint. You and Ella can do the curtains,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll do it for twenty pounds a room.’
‘Ten pounds and you have a deal,’ laughed Adela.
‘Ten pounds for the small rooms. Fifteen for the big ones. Including Mum’s.’ He held his hand out to seal the deal.
‘No. No, not Sennen’s,’ Adela replied.
‘Granny, Mum’s room has been a shrine for too long.’
‘It is not a shrine.’ Adela was firm.
‘It is a shrine, Granny. If Mum ever came back, she’d think she’d never been away. And anyway, Ella would like that bedroom.’
‘Would she?’
Henry nodded. ‘Yep. She’s almost thirteen and her room is tiny. She needs the space to grow up in.’
Adela sighed. ‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’m going to put the kettle on for Poppa.’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Henry said gently. ‘I was allowed a bigger room when I was twelve. Don’t baby her.’
‘I’ll ask your grandfather.’
Bill was accepting of the idea. ‘She’s been gone over a decade. It’s time to move on, Adela.’
‘It’s the last bit of her we have. It feels so final,’ Adela said sadly.
‘No, Adela. We have Henry and Ella to think of.’
Ella was delighted. ‘Can I choose the curtains, Granny?’
‘We’ll go into Wadebridge and have a look.’
‘Can I have Cath Kidston roses and matching wallpaper?’
‘We’ll see.’
It didn’t take long to erase Sennen. Her posters, books, old make-up and dusty shoes were sorted into rubbish or charity piles and Bill filled his car and drove them away for good.
Adela felt winded, dizzy and teary but she kept a cheery face and only twice had to go to the end of the small garden to cry silent tears.
A week later and the room was transformed. Ella had kept her mother’s old patchwork bed quilt, stitched by Adela’s mother when Sennen was a toddler, and her old teddy, Buster, but apart from those two things, no trace of Sennen remained.
