Survivor

by Roberta Kray

  The further Lolly got from the house, the more the music faded, until she could barely hear it at all. What she could hear as she grew closer to the lake, however, was the sound of voices, a man’s and a woman’s. She stopped in her tracks and listened. They must be sitting on the iron bench by the water’s edge, the place she’d been heading for herself. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted in the air.

  It was the woman who was speaking now. ‘You don’t really believe that ridiculous story, do you? I mean, his ward, for heaven’s sake. Everyone knows it’s just nonsense.’

  ‘Caroline, darling, by everyone I take it you mean yourself?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so naive! It’s clear as day. Esther tries her best but she can’t disguise what she really feels. And who can blame her? No wife wants her husband’s bastard child littering up the place.’

  Lolly, who seemed to spend too much of her life eavesdropping on other people’s conversations, might have walked away if the subject had been anything other than this. As it was, she stood very still and continued to listen. Her mouth had dropped open in surprise.

  ‘You can’t be sure the kid is Mal’s.’

  ‘What other reason could there be for him taking her in like that?’

  ‘Altruism? The desire to help someone less well off than himself?’

  The woman gave a high-pitched, slightly drunken laugh. ‘That might be what he wants you to believe, sweetheart, but it’s about as far from the truth as you are from being stone-cold sober. No, mark my words, she’s his all right. Probably the result of some sordid little affair while Esther was away filming. I feel sorry for the woman, I really do.’

  This time it was the man’s turn to laugh. ‘Like hell you do. You couldn’t be more pleased than if Jamaica Inn was the biggest flop at the box office this century.’

  ‘Oh, do you think it will be?’

  ‘Is that the green-eyed monster putting in an appearance? No, my dear, I think it’s going to do just fine. And even if it doesn’t, that won’t be down to Esther’s contribution. I hear she was positively electrifying.’

  ‘Now you’re just trying to depress me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t scowl like that, darling. It’ll give you frown lines.’

  The woman sighed into the night air. ‘God, I need another drink. Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.’

  Lolly quickly slipped in behind some shrubs and crouched down out of sight. She waited until they’d gone past, and then a little while longer, before emerging again. Then she went to sit on the empty bench. She sat and stared out across the moonlit water, thinking about what she’d heard. It was rubbish, of course. There was no way she was Mal’s daughter. If she was, he’d have told her. You didn’t keep something like that a secret. And anyway, he’d never even known her mum. At least she didn’t think so. Although Brenda had told Freddy she’d mentioned Mal Fury on more than one occasion. But then you couldn’t believe everything Brenda said.

  Lolly swung her legs back and forth, confused by this latest turn of events. Perhaps the woman wasn’t the only one who thought she was Mal’s flesh and blood. Did Esther suspect it too? It would explain why she didn’t want her there. But she still thought Esther’s reasons were more to do with the child she had lost.

  Out of nowhere, Lolly suddenly recalled her mum sitting on the bed and reading her a tale called The Changeling, where the fairies stole a baby and left in its place one who cried and fretted day and night, who was skinny and squinty-eyed, and who never grew however much he was fed. The ending, when the impostor was chased out of the house and the real child returned to his mother, was supposed to be a happy one, but something about it had never sat quite right with Lolly. She had always wondered about the strange little creature that nobody wanted. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? Perhaps he was still roaming the world searching for someone to love him.

  Becoming overly conscious of the silence, she stood up and put her hands in her pockets. She often came to the lake even though it had the power to scare her. Perhaps that was why she came. She wanted to overcome her fears, face up to them. And there was nothing here really but water and mud and the bent sweeping branches of the weeping willows. Her anxiety was mostly created by her own imagination. Bad things had happened here, but they happened everywhere – in tall blocks of flats, on wet London streets, in the back rooms of East End houses.

  Nowhere was safe.

  It was when she was walking back towards the house, towards the light and the music, that she had the familiar sensation of not being alone. She shivered as she hurried forward, icy fingers running down her spine. It seemed, suddenly, that the ghosts of the dead were all around: her mother, Stanley, Cathy Kershaw, even Amy Wiltshire. Voices whispering in her ear, sad and pleading, as if they wanted something from her. But what? She held her breath, afraid of what she couldn’t see and didn’t understand.

  38

  1976

  When Lita Bruce looked in the mirror she could see little external evidence of the shabby, bewildered girl who had been delivered to the Furys’ home five years ago. Her skin was tanned golden brown by the sun, and her hair, although still long, was glossy and perfectly cut. She had grown a few inches, although she was still not as tall as most of her contemporaries. No one would describe her as a beauty but she was, to all intents and purposes, the finished article – a well-turned-out, confident young woman of reasonable intelligence who could move in polite society without embarrassment to herself or others.

  That she had somehow managed to pull this off still amazed her. The transformation seemed miraculous. How on earth had she done it? She wasn’t fooled, however, by outward appearances. If she gazed long enough at her reflection, at the pair of wry blue eyes staring back at her, she knew that Lolly was still there, buried deep inside along with all the old fears and insecurities.

  Lita turned away from the mirror in the Peacock room, opened the trunk she had left on the floor and began to unpack. It would be the last time she’d ever do this. School was over, finished for ever, and she felt a mixture of relief and regret. On balance, it hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected. She had coped with the work, proving herself to be neither brilliant nor stupid, and had emerged with a few certificates, a smattering of French and Italian and a working knowledge of how to get out of a sports car without showing her knickers to the world. The other girls hadn’t been too dreadful. Anyway, she had quickly learnt to adapt, changing her accent, her appearance, even the way she walked so she would fit in more easily. In addition, her general kudos had been vastly improved by her connection to Esther.

  Esther’s career had taken off again after the huge success of Jamaica Inn. She had gone on to have starring roles in a number of acclaimed films and been nominated for two more Oscars. Of course none of this had done anything to change her feelings towards Lita. At best she was coolly indifferent, at worst downright hostile. As if by unspoken agreement, they kept their distance from each other and when Lita came back for the holidays it was often to find that Esther was away filming.

  This time, however, it was different. Esther was home, and Lita wouldn’t be going back to school. She was eighteen and at the end of the summer she’d be starting work full time at Fury’s. In stark contrast to her rocky relationship with Esther, her connection to Mal had grown and flourished. He had kept his word and frequently come to visit her at Daynor Bridge, taking her out at weekends for drives in the country and leisurely lunches.

  When she was home, she often went with him to the store in Hatton Garden. It was here that she’d begun a different type of education, learning all about clocks and watches, what they were worth, who the best makers were, how to take them apart, fix them and put them back together again. She had learned about precious stones too, about diamonds and rubies and sapphires. In the past year she had even been let loose on the customers, Mal teaching her how to sell without being pushy.

  After she’d finished the unpacking, Lita changed into her old blue
jeans and a white T-shirt. All around, she could hear the sounds of a house in turmoil. Tonight Esther was having one of her grand parties and every member of staff was rushing about making sure that all was as it should be. The carpets were being vigorously hoovered, every surface of every room cleansed of any trace of summer dust, every coal scuttle and bathroom tap polished until it positively gleamed. Tables were being laid with plates and cutlery and glasses. Outside, the gardeners were mowing the lawn and hanging strings of lights and Chinese lanterns on the trees.

  As Lita walked downstairs to the hall she could smell the heady scent of the lilies being arranged in tall Chinese vases by Mrs Gough. The housekeeper looked up but didn’t smile. Relations hadn’t exactly thawed on that front either. To Mrs Gough she would always be an unwelcome guest, an interloper, someone who had no place in the Fury household.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’ Lita asked.

  Mrs Gough paused, a lily held mid-air, while she tried to think of something suitably unpleasant she could throw her way.

  Theresa came out of the big reception room with a cloth in one hand and a tin of polish in the other. ‘If you’re after a job, Mrs Docherty needs some coffee from the village, the good stuff from Braddock’s. Tell them to put it on the bill. I was going to go myself but if you don’t mind…’

  ‘Not at all,’ Lita said quickly. In truth, she’d be glad to get away from the chaos. She turned to Mrs Gough. ‘That’s if you don’t need me for anything else.’

  ‘If Mrs Docherty did a proper stocktake, she wouldn’t run out of things,’ the housekeeper grumbled. ‘There’s enough to do without her adding to the list.’

  Theresa rolled her eyes and grinned at Lita. ‘Good, that’s settled then.’

  As Lita set off for the village, she could feel the heat on her bare arms. It was a sunny day and the sky was a cloudless blue. Mal had told her all about the party on the journey back from school, feigning an enthusiasm he obviously didn’t feel.

  ‘It will be fun,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s going to be there.’

  She often wondered why he put up with the constant invasion of his house, suspecting it had something to do with the tricky art of compromise. Was it the price he had to pay for Esther allowing her to stay? Lita never asked and, unsurprisingly, he never volunteered the information. She didn’t really understand the Furys’ relationship or why they stayed together. They treated each other with a simmering contempt, slept in separate bedrooms and only ever displayed any signs of affection when they were in public.

  But then what did she know about love or sex or marriage? She’d never even had a proper boyfriend. Most of her information was gleaned from books and the not altogether reliable evidence of other girls at school. Her own personal experience of romance was restricted to a few unsatisfactory kisses and some embarrassing fumbling in a dark corner of a dance hall.

  Lita didn’t care much for lads her own age. Most of them were dull and immature with only one thing on their mind. And she’d heard how they talked about girls: if they slept with a boy they were a slapper, and if they didn’t they were frigid. So much for equality. It was one rule for them, another for the girls. She wanted something different, someone different, but her ideal man wasn’t yet fully formed in her imagination. She supposed he’d be smart and funny and interesting, but her ideas were still a rough sketch with none of the finer detail drawn in.

  The sun had brought everyone out and the village was busy. Lita made her way through the crowd to Braddock’s and got the coffee for Mrs Docherty. It would be needed in the morning when the guests who’d stayed over woke with blurred memories and raging hangovers. The boxes of Krug, which had been delivered yesterday, were piled high in the basement. The amount of champagne consumed at Esther’s parties was legendary.

  Lita was in no hurry to get back to the house and so wandered round the village for a while, looking in the shop windows. She remembered the first time she’d been here when she’d come shopping with Theresa all those years ago. A lot had changed since then. Theresa was now married to one of the gardeners who worked at the house; she had a little boy called Sam and another baby on the way. Her own life had also undergone a major transformation. She had passed from child to adult – well, almost – and was on the brink of a whole new chapter. It was exciting but scary too.

  Lita was still thinking about these things as she walked past a café set back from the road with a courtyard full of tables and chairs and pots of geraniums. It was doing brisk business and most of the tables were taken. Out of the blue a voice called out.

  ‘Lolly! Hey, Lolly!’

  Lita swung round, automatically responding to a name she hadn’t heard in years. At first she couldn’t locate the person who’d shouted, but then a young man stood up in the courtyard and waved at her. It took a moment for her to recognise him, not because he had changed that much, but because she hadn’t ever expected to see him here. As he hurried towards her, she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. It was Jude! Her heart leapt into her mouth. With no time to compose herself, she greeted him with a shocked rather tremulous smile.

  ‘God, what on earth are you doing here?’

  He laughed. ‘What sort of greeting is that for an old friend?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just… I can’t… I can’t believe it’s you.’ And in a second, what remained of her somewhat superficial confidence slipped away and she was back to being that tongue-tied child who had always been in awe of him.

  ‘Have you got time for a catch-up? I’ve got a table. Come and have a drink.’ He flashed his widest smile. ‘Please say yes. It’s been for ever and I’ve got so much to tell you.’

  Lita glanced at her watch as if she was the sort of person who had places to go and people to see. She was trying to hide how flustered she was, but probably not succeeding. ‘Okay. Yes. Why not?’

  ‘That’s great. Come on, I’m just in the corner over there.’

  As she followed him across the courtyard, her pulse was racing. She had convinced herself she would never see him again and yet here he was. He was taller, but just as lean, and his hair still flopped over his forehead in that way she had always found so endearing.

  As they sat down, Jude beckoned over a waitress. ‘Hi, could we have another cappuccino, please?’ He glanced at Lita. ‘Is that all right or would you rather have something else?’

  She would have preferred a cold drink, a Coke or a lemonade, but was afraid it might make her look unsophisticated. ‘No, that’s lovely. That’s great. Thank you.’

  After the waitress had gone, Jude inclined his head and stared at her across the table. ‘You look different.’

  ‘Do I? Is that in a good or a bad way?’ And then she blushed bright red again, aghast at the idea he might think she was fishing for compliments. So, before he could answer, she quickly added, ‘Well, it’s been five years. It would be strange if I hadn’t changed a bit.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re looking well. What are you up to these days?’

  ‘I’m starting work at the end of the summer. I’ve finished school and I’ve got a job with Mal – he’s my guardian – in his jewellery store in London. How about you?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. I’m doing some writing now, freelance stuff mainly, but I’m hoping it’ll lead to other things.’

  ‘Are you still living in Kellston?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the same place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lita wondered if he had a girlfriend, someone special he was seeing. And why wouldn’t he? He was smart and good looking. ‘Hey, you still haven’t told me why you’re here.’

  Jude rubbed at his forehead and frowned. He placed his elbows on the table, looked at her, looked away and then met her gaze again. ‘I wanted to say sorry. I feel bad about… well, you know, everything really. I should have got in touch ages ago. I kept putting it off and the time just went by. I suppose I thought…’ The sentence trailed off into a shrug. ‘I don’t know what I
thought. I’m just a lousy friend.’