The Road Back

by Liz Harris

  Patricia aimed her satchel at Ruth. ‘You’re mad, Ruth, and you know it. I’ll never like anyone else as much as I like you.’

  Ruth beamed. ‘You’d better not or I’ll come after you with a big stick! Hey, do you suppose they cane people in a secondary school?’

  ‘I suppose they must do. But probably only the boys, like in our school now. I hope so, anyway.’

  ‘Me, too. But you’re such a goody-goody that you’d never get caned, even if you were a boy.’

  ‘Goody-goody yourself! You’d never have had the cane, either.’ Patricia glanced along the road and sighed loudly. ‘I’d better go and tell my parents now.’ She dug the toe of her brown leather sandal into the pile of blossom.

  ‘Are you going to see James at the weekend?’

  ‘No, he got too excited last Sunday and just kept on fitting. It was awful. The Home said we shouldn’t go again for a bit. He needs to settle into a routine. He’s only been there a month.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll be able to make him better?’

  ‘No, and he’ll get even worse. Everyone says so. The fits have damaged his mind and he’ll never get better.’ She pulled her pale grey cardigan out of the satchel and put it on. ‘I’m cold,’ she said, buttoning it up. ‘I wish I hadn’t gone into summer uniform so soon.’

  ‘So he won’t be joining the army, then?’

  ‘Not on your life. Remember never to mention the army in front of my father, won’t you? It would just start him off.’

  ‘Of course I won’t. What do you think I am, thick? No, don’t answer that.’ She giggled. ‘But I’m not likely to be talking to your dad, am I?’ She paused. ‘If you’re not going to visit James this weekend, maybe we can go somewhere together?’

  ‘You know I’d like to, but my father would never let me. He’d say it’s one thing to go to your house for tea, with your parents being there, but it’s quite another for us to go out on our own. If I suggest it, he’ll blow a fuse and there’ll be such a row.’

  ‘You might be wrong about him. After all, we go to school on our own now, don’t we? So what’s so different about going out at the weekend?’

  ‘Where were you thinking of going?’

  ‘Anywhere really. We could get the bus to Chalk Farm, or maybe even Camden Town. Or we could go to the Saturday morning film at the Gaumont State in Kilburn. Then you could come back to me and we could learn the words of ‘Mambo Italiano’. I’ve got Alma Cogan singing it – Mum bought it for me this week. She wouldn’t mind you coming round – she thinks you’re a good influence on me. But I don’t mind what we do.’

  ‘I don’t know why I even asked the question. I won’t be allowed to go. I’ll be told what to do, and that’s that. Maybe I’ll have to go shopping with my mother – big treat – or do my homework, read my books, be invisible. Better still, be James. You don’t know how lucky you are.’

  ‘But now that you’re going to the grammar school, he might let you do more. It’s only Thursday today so you’ve got time to get round him. Perhaps your mum can ask him for you. She could say that you’ve been working hard at school all week and you need a break on Saturday. I bet your father would say yes, especially when he hears you’ve got grammar.’

  ‘My mother’s much too scared of my father to say anything. And anyway, there’d be no point in it. He never listens to her, just like he never listens to me.’

  ‘But like I said, you go to school by yourself every day, or with me. So why shouldn’t we go out at the weekend?’

  ‘Don’t ask me why, but that’s different. He might let you come over for tea, though. I could ask him that.’

  Ruth shifted from one foot to the other. She flushed slightly. ‘Thanks for the invitation, Pat, but I don’t really want to go to your house, if you don’t mind. Your dad’s a bit scary. And you haven’t got a gramophone, anyway.’

  ‘OK, then, I’ll ask him about Saturday, but I bet he says no. And he’ll certainly say no if I’m late for tea, so I’d better get off now.’

  ‘And I ought to go home and tell my parents the worst. No point putting it off any longer. You’re lucky – your mum and dad’ll be really proud of you.’

  ‘That’ll be the day. If by any miracle I can do something at the weekend, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Meet you here at eight as usual. ’Bye, then.’ With a backward wave of her hand, she started to run along Belsize Park Gardens in the direction of their narrow Victorian house, which stood half way along the road.

  ‘Good luck with your dad,’ Ruth called after her, and she turned and went in the opposite direction.

  Patricia reached her front door, and stopped.

  She stood and stared at the wooden door. Perhaps her father really would be proud of her, just like Ruth said. She tried to imagine his face looking pleased with her, and she wondered what he might say. Excitement rising within her, she stepped forward, knocked on the door and waited.

  In the past, he’d never talked to her about school or anything, and he’d hardly ever read her reports so he might not know that she always got good marks. He might look really surprised, then smile and tell her that he had a clever daughter. And then, when she’d started at her new school, he’d talk to her at the end of each day about what she’d done in her lessons, and he’d be interested in everything she said to him. She’d matter to him. He’d no longer always sit by himself in the front room, thinking about James – he’d think about her.

  Shivery expectation spread through her as she waited for the door to open. She tried to push the sensation back. She didn’t want to hope too much.

  Footsteps sounded behind the door. The door opened wide and her mother’s anxious face looked down at her.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, stepping aside to let Patricia enter the hallway.

  ‘Well what?’ she called back to her mother as she went down the corridor to the kitchen. Enid quickly closed the front door and hurried after her, her slippers sliding on the smooth lino.

  ‘Well, what did you get, Patsy? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. I’ve been on tenterhooks all day.’

  Patricia threw her satchel on to the kitchen table. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember what day it was.’

  ‘You silly girl! How could Daddy and I forget something as important as this? I’ve been counting the minutes till you got home.’

  ‘Where’s Father? Is he in the front room?’

  ‘Yes, he is, and you can go to him and tell him what you got yourself, but you must put me out of my misery first.’ She stared eagerly at her. Patricia pursed her lips and gazed at the ceiling, watching her mother out of the corner of her eye. ‘Well, did you get into the grammar school, darling?’ Enid repeated. She clasped her hands together in front of her mouth.

  Patricia nodded. Her face broke into a broad smile. ‘Yes, I did, Mummy. Father will be pleased, won’t he?’

  ‘Oh, Patsy,’ Enid cried, and she flung her arms around Patricia and hugged her tightly. ‘I’m absolutely thrilled. And Daddy will be, too. Clever old you – it can’t have been easy for you, what with James and everything. But I’m not in the least bit surprised. I knew you were a clever girl.’ She kissed Patricia on the forehead. ‘Now, go and tell Daddy your news. Working for the Assistance Board is really getting him down, and he’s had a particularly bad day today. Good news like yours is just what he needs. He’ll be so proud of you. While you’re telling him, I’ll go and set the table for tea.’ She picked up Patricia’s satchel and put it on the dresser. Then she took a tray from the side of the dresser and put it on the table.

  Patricia remained standing next to the table, fingering the edge of the floral plastic table cloth.

  ‘Off you go, darling,’ Enid urged. She opened the door to the cupboard nearest her and took out three cups. ‘Poor Daddy will be waiting.’

  Still, Patricia didn’t move. She stared at her mother. ‘This’ll make everything all right now, Mummy, won’t it?’

  Enid looked up from putting the cups on the
tray, and met Patricia’s eyes. She turned quickly back to the cupboard, and took out three saucers. ‘Daddy loves you, darling,’ she said, putting the saucers next to the cups. ‘He always has.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t, but that’s all right. I know he was worried about James. But with James in the Home now, he doesn’t have to worry about him any more and he can think about me. He will, won’t he?’

  ‘You getting into the grammar school is going to please him very much,’ Enid said, opening one of the drawers in the dresser. ‘Things will sort themselves out, Patsy. You’ll see.’

  She took out three napkins and and placed them on the tray next to the china.

  ‘Daddy,’ Patricia called out as she knocked at the door.

  ‘Come in, Patricia.’

  She pushed the door open and went into the front room. The Major was sitting behind the large oak table that stood in the centre of the room, a pile of books on either side of him and an open map on the table in front of him.

  He glanced up as she came into the room. She approached the table and hovered hesitantly on the other side from her father. Glancing down at the papers spread out before him, she saw a pile of sepia-coloured photographs lying on one of the corners of the open map. She leaned forward slightly and saw that the top photograph was of two men wearing unusual clothes.

  ‘What are you doing, Daddy?’

  The Major let out a short sigh. He leaned back in his chair, rested his elbows on the wooden arms of the chair and put his hands together, the fingertips of one hand resting lightly against those of the other hand. She noticed that the joints on the fingers of both his hands were thick and knobbly.

  ‘Did you have some reason for interrupting me, Patricia?’ he asked quietly

  ‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said, and her face broke into a wide smile. ‘I’ve passed the eleven plus. I’m going to the grammar school in September.’ Her eyes shining, she stared at him across the table.

  He glanced to his right, to the small framed photograph of James that stood on the corner of the table.

  ‘Ruth got secondary modern,’ she said, playing with the bottom button of her cardigan. ‘Most of the class did. Only six of us got grammar.’

  The Major raised his eyes from the photograph. Patricia saw that they were moist. ‘Are you crying because you’re pleased with me?’ she asked awkwardly. She pulled one of her pigtails over her shoulder and started to suck on the tips of her hair.

  ‘I’m not crying, Patricia. You know I’m not one to make a scene. But this will be the one and only time that I hear such words from a child of mine. Of course, in an ideal world …’ He stopped himself, and gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Well done, anyway.’

  Her hands fell to her side. ‘Aren’t you pleased with me, Daddy? I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘Of course I’m pleased with you. Your success is a great achievement, and I don’t mean to diminish it in any way. It is difficult, however, not to think that if James … if James …’

  He coughed, leaned forward in his chair and looked down at the map in front of him. ‘You will understand, I’m sure, a sensible girl like you, that it’s hard to feel happy, as you put it, in such circumstances.’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’ There was a lump in her throat, and she swallowed.

  Staring at the top of her father’s head as he peered at the map, she wondered whether she ought to leave the room. She glanced over her shoulder to the door, then turned back to look at her father. He’d picked up a ruler and pencil, and was underlining a place in the centre of the map. Then he put down the pencil, picked up the pile of photographs and started to look through them.

  She watched him for a few minutes. ‘What are you doing?’

  The Major paused and looked up at her. ‘It’s my intention to make a written record of the trip I made to Ladakh in 1945. It’s a most interesting country and a very beautiful one, and I think that my photographs and perceptions of the country may well be of interest to other people.’

  She leaned over the table and tried to look at the map. ‘Did you go there when you were stationed with your regiment in North India?’

  ‘That is correct. A couple of colleagues and I were keen to visit Ladakh, as we’d heard that there was much of interest to see there. We had some leave due to us so we applied for visitors’ permits and were given them, despite the fact that very few were issued at that time. I took photographs throughout our trip, and made extensive notes at the end of every day.’

  ‘Is that what all those sheets of paper are?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’ He rested his hand lightly on the pile of documents nearest to him. ‘It’s going to give me a great deal of pleasure to compile this album. I had always hoped that I would visit Ladakh again one day, possibly with James. Regretfully, however, that will not now happen. Creating a record of the journey that I made will be something to show him. A compromise, one might say.’

  ‘Where’s Ladakh? We haven’t done it yet at school.’

  ‘In Asia, to the northeast of India and to the west of Tibet. May I suggest that you study the atlas that your mother and I gave you last Christmas? If you do so, you will be able to determine the co-ordinates of the country. Now, if there isn’t anything else, you may tell your mother that I shall be ready for tea in precisely half an hour.’

  ‘I was wondering about Saturday, Daddy.’ Her voice shook. ‘Ruth asked me if I could go out with her, perhaps for a walk somewhere or maybe to the cinema. Can I go, please?’

  The Major put the photographs carefully back on the table, picked up a book from the pile of books next to him and opened it.

  ‘Or can I go to Ruth’s for tea? Her mother doesn’t mind.’

  Her father paused and looked up from the book. ‘But I mind, Patricia. I mind very much. You are not yet eleven years old. It is for your mother and me to decide how you spend your time, not for your friend Ruth, and certainly not for Ruth’s mother. I’m sure that you will have some school work to do at the weekend. I should be most disturbed to think that you were relaxing your standards now that you have achieved a measure of success.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that. I promise.’

  He put up his hand to silence her. ‘Day after day, people come to the National Assistance Board and beg us to give them money, either because they are unable to earn their own income or, more frequently, because they are not prepared to do so. These people are a drain on the country’s resources. I am determined that you will be able to provide for yourself. How you do so, of course, will be up to you. But this means that there must be no let-up in your endeavours.’

  ‘I’ll never be a drain like those other people, Daddy.’

  ‘Indeed, you will not. This weekend, you will do your school work and then you will help your mother with some of her domestic activities, just as you always do. Now, perhaps you would tell her that I shall come for my tea in twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’ Her head down, she walked across the room to the door and started to turn the handle.

  ‘One moment, Patricia.’ Her father’s voice reached her across the room.

  ‘Yes, Daddy?’ She looked back to where he was sitting.

  He’d put his book down and was rubbing the joints on the fingers of his right hand. He looked very small behind the big table, she thought.

  ‘When you write your weekly letter to your brother, it would be better if you didn’t mention your examination success. We must strive to keep James from being aware of his limited capabilities. Emphasising the difference between his situation and yours would not be helpful.’

  ‘I promise I won’t mention it.’

  ‘One further matter. I intend to make a start on my album this weekend and it occurs to me that there might be some ways in which you can assist me. After all, you are to be a grammar-school girl, are you not?’ He gave her a slight smile. ‘You might help me by sticking photographs to some of the pages, for example. I expect your mother would spare you from s
ome of the household chores if we asked her nicely.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Oh, thank you, Daddy. I’d really like that.’

  ‘You may go now, and again, well done.’ He gave her a little nod, and she turned back to the door, pulled it open and ran through it.

  In the split second before the door closed, she glimpsed her father reach out for the photograph of James and hold it to his chest.

  Chapter Four

  Ladakh, May 1955: Kalden, aged 11

  ‘Kalden!’ His mother’s voice was carried to him on the back of the early morning air, but he was already out of his village, speeding past the tiny plots of cultivated land that lay beyond the village wall, past the tapering white stone chorten, and her voice died away in the wind.

  As he ran across the patches of coarse grass breaking through the stony ground, and between lines of wild irises that stretched into the distance, the scent of wild currant and mint filled his nostrils. On he ran, not even stopping when in a streak of black and yellow, a golden oriole swooped low above him. His heart felt as if it would burst with happiness: summer was coming and he was going to do valuable work for people who needed him. A man’s work.

  By the time he reached the goats grazing outside the protective stone wall of the missionary’s house, he was panting heavily, and he slowed down as he went through the gap in the wall to the area in front of the house. Coming to a stop just inside the wall, he looked around him for a moment or two, and then started to make his way slowly between the two small fields of turnips that led to the east-facing front door. Half way to the door, he knelt down to examine the progress of the vegetables.

  A shadow of anxiety crossed his face, and he stepped off the path and walked carefully along the rows of planted furrows, his eyes on the ground. Reaching the edge of one of the narrow irrigation channels which was fed by the small stream near the house, he bent down and studied the flow of water.

  The sound of loud voices erupted from inside the house, breaking into the calm of the morning. He looked up sharply. Mr Henderson was shouting and he sounded very angry. He heard Peter say something to him, and then he heard Mr Henderson reply. He couldn’t tell if Mr Henderson was still angry.