Who Goes Home?

by Sylvia Waugh

  ‘Yes,’ said Rupert, making the best of this. ‘I was up here making enquiries about the Derwents. That is how Mrs Dalrymple and I became acquainted. I just thought I’d pop back to see how she was getting on. I don’t suppose she’s had any more visitors?’

  ‘Strangers, you mean,’ said Sam, ‘like yourself?’

  ‘There was that girl,’ said Mary Budd helpfully, ‘the one I saw at the station. Mrs Dalrymple was taking her home to Casselton.’

  Anthony had lost interest in the conversation of the other two boys and was making his way behind the main counter towards the door to their flat. He stopped as he heard talk about ‘that girl’ and ‘Mrs Dalrymple’.

  ‘We saw her,’ he said excitedly, ‘Phil and me. Mickey took her across from the bus stop to Mrs Dalrymple’s house. Didn’t you, Mickey?’

  Mickey turned round reluctantly.

  ‘Didn’t I what?’ he said.

  ‘Take that girl to Mrs Dalrymple’s the other night. Phil and I saw you.’

  ‘Mickey!’ said Rupert Shawcross delightedly. ‘Perhaps we should have a little talk.’

  ‘Sorry, no!’ said Mickey. ‘I’m in a hurry and in any case I don’t want to talk to you and don’t come to our house because I’ll tell my mam not to let you in.’

  He flushed. It was the first time in his life he had ever been so pointedly rude to anybody. Without another word, he rushed out of the shop.

  ‘Well!’ said Mrs Tolent, leaning heavily on the handles of the pushchair she was holding. ‘What can you make of that?’ Her gaze was full on the stranger.

  ‘Not a lot,’ he said rather feebly. ‘I did ask him a few questions about Thomas last time I was here. It’s my job, you see. Thomas Derwent is a missing youngster. We are still pursuing enquiries.’

  ‘The lad’ll be upset,’ said another woman. ‘They were very friendly, you know.’

  But Rupert Shawcross was already following another line of thought. Who was the girl?

  ‘You can’t go wrong with Black Magic,’ said Sam, placing a large box on the counter next to the cigars.

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ said Rupert absently. He paid for his purchases, slipped them into his briefcase, and was glad to get out of the shop.

  ‘Yes?’ said Stella, opening the door just a fraction. She had seen Rupert coming and was ready for him. She had as little wish to converse with him as Mickey had, but adults are constrained to be civil, most of the time.

  ‘Can I come in for a minute?’ said Rupert. ‘It won’t take long.’

  Stella smiled slightly. ‘I have work to do,’ she said. ‘I can give you maybe ten minutes, and a cup of tea if you’d like one.’

  An outright refusal to speak to the ‘investigator’ might not be the thing to do. Stella wanted to keep abreast of what he had managed to find out. So far as she was concerned, the situation had become very sensitive since Nesta’s visit. It was important to know whether the moles of Manchester had succeeded in establishing a connection between Thomas and Nesta. It seemed unlikely, but Stella was very cautious.

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ said Rupert, taking the chocolates from his case. ‘Brought you a present.’

  ‘I hope that’s not some sort of bribe,’ said Stella, raising an eyebrow. ‘Still, I can run to one or two biscuits.’

  Stella at that moment reminded Rupert of his cousin Audrey, who always made him feel as if she were mocking him in a kindly way. To Rupert, who was devoid of humour, it was puzzling. He sat down and listened to the clock ticking till Stella brought in the tray.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Does this mean you’ve had some word of Thomas?’

  ‘No,’ said Rupert dolefully. ‘The trail has gone completely cold, I’m afraid. I was really just wanting to check if you had heard anything.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Stella. ‘No word here.’

  ‘You had another young visitor the other day, so I’m told,’ said Rupert. He bit hard on a custard cream as he waited for her reply.

  ‘Where on earth did you get that insignificant snippet of news from?’ said Stella, immediately alert but genuinely puzzled.

  ‘A lady in the newsagent’s mentioned seeing you take a girl to the Casselton train. As soon as I heard your name I wondered if this girl could in any way be connected with Thomas.’

  ‘What a daft conclusion to come to,’ said Stella. ‘Why should she be? I do have visitors, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Rupert. ‘I suppose it’s grasping at straws. It intrigued me that Mickey Trent was upset when it was mentioned. That young man has taken a bit of a dislike to me, I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘Well,’ said Stella, ‘the daughter of a friend of mine paid me a visit. That’s all. As for Mickey, he met her at the bus stop and walked her to my door. Maybe he felt a bit embarrassed about that. You know what boys are like.’

  That, if Rupert had any sensitivity, should have been the end of the matter. Stella certainly hoped and expected that it would be.

  But he persisted.

  ‘What is her name?’ he said.

  ‘Whose name?’

  ‘The name of the girl who came to see you.’

  Stella put her cup down noisily on the saucer. ‘Mr Shawcross!’ she said. ‘I am not going to be interrogated about any visitor who happens to come to my house. It is none of your business what her name is.’

  Rupert crumbled a scone on his plate. ‘I have a job to do,’ he said anxiously. ‘You must let me be the judge of what is my business. If you have nothing to hide, this child’s name is totally unimportant.’

  ‘Names are always important,’ said Stella. ‘We carry them from the cradle to the grave and beyond. There can be nothing more important than that.’

  Rupert shook his head.

  ‘I think you’d better go now,’ said Stella. ‘I really have a lot of work to do, and there’s nothing more I can say to you.’

  ‘The girl’s name?’ said Rupert with one last stupid effort. ‘I like to cover the ground thoroughly. This visit has really produced nothing else of note.’

  ‘The girl’s name, and where she lives and why she was visiting me?’ said Stella, sounding reasonable.

  ‘That sort of thing,’ said Rupert obtusely.

  ‘You must be joking! Have you never heard of civil liberties? Please leave. Leave now.’

  Rupert stood up and fastened his coat. He reached for his briefcase.

  ‘And you’d better take your chocolates too,’ said Stella, thrusting the box towards him. ‘I could never bring myself to eat them, and I do hate waste.’

  CHAPTER 26

  * * *

  February Fair-Maids

  There were two cakes, one on either side of the table, each bearing ten candles surrounding a sugar snowdrop. This was the ritual for the start of February. In the church’s calendar it might be Candlemas Day. For the poet, it was the month of snowdrops. For the Bradwells, February the second was the twins’ birthday. And this year they were ten.

  Lydia lit the candles one at a time, going back and forward from one cake to the other so that both were equal. She had to stop twice to strike another match. Then every candle was lit. The curtains were already closed because the day had been dark and dusk had come early. Lydia turned out the light so that the twenty little candles glowed more brightly. Then she said, ‘Now, my February fair-maids, let’s see which of you can blow out your candles first!’

  Beth and Josie stood over their cakes and each gave one powerful puff. Then all of the candles were out and it would have taken a gimlet eye to decide who was the winner. In near darkness, the others at the table applauded. Steven reached over and switched on the light.

  ‘I won!’ said Josie.

  ‘No you didn’t. I did.’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘Cool it, my children. You both won,’ said their father. ‘It was definitely a dead heat!’

  ‘Did you remember to make a wish?’ said Kerry, careful to look very quic
kly from one to the other so that it would be clear that she was addressing both of them.

  ‘I wished-’ Josie began and then stopped as her mother put a finger to her lips and said, ‘Oh no! No, no! You must never tell your wish or it won’t come true.’

  Next to Kerry, Jacob sat silent. Wishes don’t come true anyway, he thought. Things just happen or they don’t. If anyone had looked his way, they would have seen his cynical expression. But no one did: he might as well not have been there.

  Uncle Mark had not been able to come: Aunt Jane was in hospital having her toenails cut. (That unkind remark was courtesy of Steven, who never believed in any of Aunt Jane’s illnesses.) Mark had sent an expensive baby-doll for each of his nieces. At first they had pretended to be disgusted at such a childish present, but secretly they were pleased. The dolls looked like real babies and were soft and cuddly. It clinched matters when Lydia said, ‘Poor little things, they look as if they need someone to love them.’

  The only outsider at the party was Kerry, and she scarcely seemed like an outsider at all. At long last the twins were beginning to develop individual characters. Beth was glad that this was a family tea party. Not that she was shy, but she enjoyed tradition. Josie had asked for a proper birthday at McDonald’s with school friends and paper hats. In the end, she had to settle for the paper hats. Only Jacob quietly declined to wear one.

  He had given each of his sisters a silver chain bracelet with their name on: ‘JOSEPHINE MARY’ and ‘ELIZABETH ANN’.

  They were delighted. ‘Our proper names!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jacob. ‘Names are very important.’

  So his part in their birthday was not entirely negative.

  There was one moment when Josie looked his way slyly. ‘You’re not the only teenager in the family now,’ she said. ‘We are ten and that is double figures so we are teenagers as well.’

  ‘No,’ said Jacob with a smile. He did appreciate being included but he had to stick to the facts. ‘You aren’t. It has to have “teen” in it. So it can’t start till you’re thirteen.’

  ‘What do you think, Dad?’ said Beth.

  ‘I’ve done enough serious thinking for one day,’ said Steven. ‘Let’s all have a game of Monopoly.’

  If I land on Park Lane, thought Jacob, I’ll get to see Nesta tonight.

  That evening in the computer room, to Jacob’s delight, his father decided that they should check up on the Gwynns to see how they were doing.

  ‘I’m feeling a wee bit guilty about putting off going to see them,’ he said. ‘There is a side to the argument that says, Give them time to get used to their new situation. Strictly speaking, I could argue that they are no longer entitled to any support from me. But habit dies hard. If they are no longer Ormingatrig that is something I shall have to get used to.’

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ said Jacob with conviction. ‘And you really are supposed to keep an eye on them. You never know what they might be getting up to.’

  ‘I’ve a fair idea,’ said Steven, unfurling the screen above the Brick and tuning in to York.

  ‘Yes?’ said Jacob.

  ‘Let’s see,’ said his father, looking at his watch. ‘It is now nine-thirty. I’d guess they are reading, writing or watching television.’

  ‘They might be out,’ said Jacob.

  ‘They might be,’ said Steven absently as he concentrated on getting the view he was seeking.

  The screen showed the front of the house in Linden Drive. Gradually, Steven homed in on it till the probe was able to enter the front room. Sure enough, there they were. Matthew was watching television – some programme about ancient ruins. At a desk in one corner of the room, Alison was working at something, pen in hand, papers either side of her. From time to time, she looked towards the television screen and made some remark about it.

  ‘She’s half-watching and half-working – a bit like your mother!’ said Steven.

  ‘Where’s Nesta?’ said Jacob. He was just beginning to think that landing on Park Lane hadn’t worked when the door opened and Nesta came in. She took what looked like a schoolbook to her mother, who set aside her own work and gave her full attention to her daughter.

  ‘She’s getting help with her homework,’ said Jacob. Nesta’s fine hair fell over her cheek as she looked down at the book. The fingers of her left hand settled on the page, a small, fine hand with tapering fingers. As she turned her head to look at her mother, Jacob saw once more the blue-grey eyes and remembered how they had met his as he looked in from the garden.

  ‘There,’ said Steven, ‘what did I tell you? Nothing to see.’

  ‘Maybe we should watch a little longer,’ said Jacob.

  ‘Or maybe I should check on Elgarith,’ said Steven. ‘I am never sure that he can manage on his own. The Marseilles situation is always fraught with danger. The shield around him might need intensifying.’

  CHAPTER 27

  * * *

  The Invitation

  To invite Amy to stay at Linden Drive for the half-term holiday was Alison’s idea. What she had heard of Amy’s efforts to look after Nesta made her think that she would be a good friend for her daughter, perhaps a friend for life. She wanted to have Amy as an ally. She also wanted to make it easier for Nesta to put the Ormingat episode right to the back of her mind.

  ‘It’s part of the healing process,’ she said to Matthew when she broached the subject with him. ‘We are Earth people now. We must try to make it as if Ormingat had never existed.’

  ‘Can you mean that?’ said her husband, appalled at the idea. ‘We can, and probably should, cease to talk about Ormingat, but if I live to be a hundred I shall never forget that this is not where I truly belong.’

  He looked at Alison a long time before adding, ‘The hurt of losing my homeland will never really go away. There is no healing for that.’

  ‘It hurts me too,’ said Alison, ‘but we had no choice. You must see that. Now we have to be practical – for Nesta’s sake if not for our own. It’s over. We were clearly told that we had lost all possibility of returning when our ship left without us. So live for the day, Maffaylie. Or if a day is too long, live for the hour.’

  Matthew smiled, aware that Alison had unconsciously used his Ormingat name. She was accustomed to hiding her deeper feelings, but occasionally the mask slipped and she gave something away.

  ‘And if the hour is too long, Athelerane?’ he whispered, his hand in hers.

  ‘Oh, Matthew,’ said Alison, shaking her head. ‘I am still muddled. But time will straighten things out in our mind. If we can’t quite manage to be what we now are, we must pretend, and go on pretending. There is nothing else for it.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder if our people really are finished with us,’ said Matthew pensively. ‘I mean, for all we know they could be keeping an eye on us from somewhere. You’d think they’d be bound to wonder how much we have given away.’

  ‘That’s pure speculation,’ said Alison firmly. ‘Some ideas are best left well alone.’

  ‘What did your mom say? Did she say you could come?’ said Nesta eagerly.

  She had arrived at school before Amy and waited anxiously at the gate for her friend to arrive. Now the two of them were walking into school together and Nesta could hardly wait for Amy’s reply.

  ‘She said yes. But she’s being very formal about it. She’s going to send a card to your mother thanking her for the invitation. I think it’s her way of checking up on me, but I don’t mind. And it might not be. She likes sending cards to people.’

  ‘Well, there’s no harm anyway,’ said Nesta. ‘It’s not as if you were running away or anything.’

  After she had said this she blushed, recalling how just a week ago she had been a runaway herself. She’d got off very lightly. Mom had taken her back to school on the Tuesday, made excuses for her, and made sure that the episode would be put behind her.

  The teachers all knew, of course, but had been asked not to make any reference to Nesta’s absence. Mrs P
owell had already had to deal with the bullying that Nesta had suffered in her first year at the school, and she was by no means certain that this had not been behind the girl’s absconding. The Boston story sounded far-fetched to her. But ‘least said, soonest mended’ was an axiom she could go along with.

  The two girls reached the cloakroom and sat down on the form beneath the rack, their shoulders resting against the coats.

  Amy had made up her mind to say something. ‘I’d like to tell my mum that you stayed in our garage those three nights.’

  Nesta looked horrified. ‘It’s all over and done with,’ she said. ‘No point in dragging it up now. Why do you want to tell her?’

  Amy ran her fingers through her wiry hair and bit her lip before answering.

  ‘I feel rotten about it,? she said. ‘I felt proud at first at getting away with it, but it seems like cheating somehow. Especially when Mum’s being so nice about the holiday.’

  Amy did not tell her friend that her mother had not been so happy at first, but had been persuaded to feel sorry for that ‘poor girl who ran away because she didn’t want to go to America’. Mrs Brown had never been out of England, and had never wanted to go abroad. ‘My own country’s good enough for me.’ Her own country, her own family, her own little world . . . When the police had come looking for Nesta, she readily believed that Amy knew nothing about her friend’s whereabouts.

  Nesta grasped Amy’s arm tightly. ‘It’ll never happen again,’ she said. ‘Soon we’ll be able to forget it altogether. It wasn’t all that serious, was it? Not in the end. I came home and everything was all right – and my mom and dad didn’t go to Boston. But if you go telling your mother about it now, it’ll just all start up again. Just for me, Amy, please let’s pretend it never happened.’

  ‘What about when I come to your house for half term?’ said Amy. ‘Won’t your parents be asking questions about me hiding you?’

  ‘No,’ said Nesta. ‘That’s the best of it. They know all about it. I even made them promise not to split on you. We wiped the slate clean. And we are never to mention it again.’