by June Francis
Joy barely hesitated. ‘She lives in Victoria Crescent, in Chester.’ Joy told her the number. ‘Gabrielle’s a bit of a snob, by the way, and for years she didn’t own up to her past.’
Clara’s expression was intent. ‘So my aunt goes by her stage name?’
Joy nodded. ‘It only came out that she was called Gertie and had family in Liverpool when she and Mrs Black had a row in the crescent a few years ago.’
‘Who’s Seb’s father?’
‘Mr Waters. He was married and Gabrielle was his fancy woman.’ Joy placed the scones on a plate and slid it across the table towards Clara.
Clara could not conceal her shock. ‘Did she marry him?’
‘No. She married his brother. Apparently she was married before but divorced the first one on the grounds of desertion. He was in America and they hadn’t seen each other for years.’ A smile lurked in Joy’s brown eyes. ‘I told you family relationships were complicated. But it should be simple enough for you to get Seb’s hospital address if you write to Alice.’
Clara was truly grateful and thanked her, writing the address in pencil on a piece of paper. She reached for a scone and bit into it. The pastry was light and melted in the mouth. ‘This is lovely. Tell me, do you have any more family?’
Joy sat down. ‘I did have another brother and sister but they’re both dead. You were fortunate in that you met Freddie, who’s a love. But my elder brother, Bert, was quite mad and wicked, but a charmer. He caused a great deal of trouble over the years.’
Clara wondered if the words mad and wicked were to be taken literally. ‘How is Freddie?’
Joy’s expression was sombre. ‘He was wounded earlier this year and that’s why he was on leave and able to drive us to Liverpool in April. It wasn’t the first time he’s had a ship torpedoed under him. His scars might be invisible to the eye but they’re there, nonetheless. He doesn’t talk much about what happened. He’s only just nineteen and, like so many young men, has seen sights that no one his age should have to see.’
‘We’re the same age,’ murmured Clara. ‘War stinks, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. Fortunately Kenny did not have to go. He was left crippled after a fight with Bert. It was terrible at the time but now Hanny believes it was meant because it saved him from the trenches.’
Clara thought about what Mrs Black had said about some things being meant, and she began to believe that perhaps there was something in it. She and Joy talked a bit longer about Seb and his family and then Clara said that she had best be going.
‘It’s been nice talking to you,’ said Joy, getting up. ‘Most likely we’ll see each other again.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Clara, and thanked her for the scone and tea.
‘It was a pleasure. Can you see yourself out? I need to get on.’
‘Of course,’ said Clara. ‘Tarrah!’
She left the kitchen and made her way to the front door, but before she could leave the house she was stopped by Mrs Black’s voice. ‘Wait a moment, dear.’
Clara turned and said hastily, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to thank you for everything.’
‘That’s all right. You were upset.’ Eudora placed a hand on her arm. ‘You must keep in touch, Clara. If you need more ointment or tonic, just let me know. It won’t cost you anything.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ she said, touched by her generosity. ‘But next time you really must let me pay.’
Eudora smiled. ‘We’ll see. Goodbye.’
Clara thanked her again and left, thinking she had a lot to tell her grandmother, but perhaps some information about Gertie might be best left unmentioned.
* * *
‘Well! What did you find out?’ asked Bernie, pouncing on Clara almost as soon as she came through the door.
‘Let me get my jacket off,’ said Clara, glancing about the kitchen and noticing that the dishes from that morning were still in the sink. Her gran really was getting to be a lazy so-and-so. She might have a bad chest but surely washing a few crocks wasn’t beyond her capabilities?
‘Where’s our Gertie? Did Mrs Black give you her address?’
‘No, she didn’t. But she did tell me that Dad gave her a message for me… that he loves me and doesn’t want me to grieve too much and to have a happy life,’ said Clara with a tremor in her voice.
Her grandmother’s wrinkled face sagged. ‘Is that all? Didn’t he mention me?’
‘No,’ said Clara, knowing it was wrong of her to relish that fact. ‘She asked me about Mam and I got the impression that she was pleased with what I told her. She said it answered a question that had been bothering her.’
‘He didn’t mention me,’ said Bernie in a hollow voice, seeming not to have heard the rest of what Clara had said.
‘No! And why should he?’ Clara’s voice was firm. ‘He has Mam with him and that thought makes me happy.’
Bernie’s expression turned ugly. ‘It’s a load of rubbish! I don’t believe any of it! She’s making it up.’
‘That’s just sour grapes,’ said Clara, determined not to harbour any doubts. ‘I believe her.’
Bernie punched her on the arm. ‘Then more bloody fool yous. It was a waste of bloody time yer going there.’
‘Don’t hit me!’ cried Clara, enraged, rubbing her arm. ‘You’ve got no right… and it wasn’t a waste of time.’ She turned from her grandmother and opened her bag and took out a bottle of cordial. She poured a measure into a cup and added water and drank it off in several gulps.
‘What’s that yer drinking?’ asked her grandmother suspiciously, hobbling over to her.
‘Cordial. Rosehip. It’s full of goodness and is going to cure my rash.’
‘Did you get it from her?’
‘Yes. She’s a healer as well as a medium. I’ve a tonic for you, as well.’
Bernie looked gratified. ‘How much did you have to pay for this stuff?’
Clara hesitated, knowing that if she told her grandmother it had come free, she wouldn’t think twice of drinking the tonic down in no time at all and asking for more. ‘Never you mind.’ She produced a bottle from her bag. ‘Go easy with this; it doesn’t come cheap.’
Bernie took it and squinted at the label before taking out the cork and sniffing it. ‘Smells OK.’
‘Good. But only have two spoonfuls a day. By the way, I did learn something about Auntie Gertie, who likes to be called Gabrielle now, from Joy, who is kind of related to us,’ said Clara. ‘She works for Mrs Black and was there that night.’
‘So what did she have to say about our Gertie?’
‘That I should be able to get her address from Sebastian’s wife. He’s in hospital down south.’
‘Poor lad. What’s wrong with him?’
Clara did not answer immediately but sat down and kicked off her shoes; her feet were killing her. She would have a rest before washing the blackberries she had picked on the return journey to Eastham ferry. ‘He was wounded in the arm and can’t use it.’
‘I’m glad it’s nothing worse.’ Bernie took a swig of the tonic from the bottle.
Clara rolled her eyes. ‘Be sparing with that. I told you, it’s special.’
Bernie put the cork back and placed the bottle on the mantelshelf. ‘So we’re a bit closer to getting in touch with Gertie.’
‘Yes. I’m going to write to Sebastian’s wife and introduce myself and hopefully she’ll be pleased to hear from me. I’ll tell her how ill you’ve been, lay it on with a trowel, and maybe she’ll take pity on you.’
‘Glad I’m getting a mention.’
‘That was my reason for going. I know Dad expected me to look after you, but I’m telling you now, Gran, if you raise a finger to me again, then I’m out of this place. It’s time you realised which side your bread’s buttered on. Now I’ve discovered I’ve other relatives, I might just up sticks and go and live near them if you don’t start being a bit nicer to me.’ Clara got to her feet. ‘Cup of tea?’
Bernie gl
owered at her and, reaching for the tonic, took another swig.
Later that evening Clara spread some of Mrs Black’s concoction on her face. The ointment had an earthy, spicy smell and the feel of it on her skin was not unpleasant. She could only hope it would do the job. She thought back on the day and told herself that she would write to Alice as soon as possible. In getting in touch with her, perhaps there was a possibility that she would get to meet Freddie again one day.
Chapter Six
Chester. September, 1918.
‘I’ve had a letter,’ said Alice, waving an envelope in the air as she walked into the office at the motor repair yard. ‘You’ll never guess who it’s from in a million years.’
‘Tell us then,’ said Tilly, lifting her gaze from the typewriter and winking at Hanny, who was sprawled in a chair, knitting a matinée jacket. Tilly was learning the job, so she could take over from Hanny now her pregnancy was more advanced. She was practising by typing out the article she had written.
Hanny stared at Alice with a faint smile. ‘Go on, put us out of our suspense.’
‘It’s from Seb’s cousin.’ Alice perched on the edge of the desk and crossed her black lisle clad ankles.
Hannah’s fair brows furrowed. ‘I thought Martin Waters was childless.’
‘He is. This cousin is on his mother’s side of the family. Joy gave her my address.’ Alice frowned, she had never approved of Hanny’s sister going to work for Mrs Black.
‘What’s this cousin’s name?’ asked Hanny.
‘Clara O’Toole. Her father was Gabrielle’s brother, but he was killed at the Front last year.’
‘What a shame he and Seb never got to know each other,’ said Hanny, her hands stilling on her knitting. ‘But where does our Joy come into this? How did she make contact with her?’
‘Mrs Black had a hand in it, of course,’ said Alice, her green eyes glinting with annoyance. ‘This Clara O’Toole went with her grandmother to see if Mrs Black could make contact with her father. I ask you, what kind of person consorts with mediums?’
‘Be careful what you say, Alice,’ murmured Hanny. ‘You’re forgetting that my family has much to thank Mrs Black for and many others have benefited from the comfort her readings have brought. They’re desperate to know that their loved ones live on. You’re lucky that you still have Seb!’
Alice’s cheeks reddened. ‘I know I’m fortunate but you know my feelings about trying to get in touch with the dead.’
‘And did she manage it?’ asked Tilly, lifting her head and gazing at her sister.
‘She doesn’t say. The main point of her letter is that the grandmother wants to make up her quarrel with Seb’s mother, so she wants her address. From what this Clara says, there’s only her and the grandmother still alive and the old woman could be on her last legs.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Tilly.
‘I’m thinking about it. Perhaps I need to ask Seb what he wants me to do before I send an answer.’ Alice tapped the letter against her teeth. ‘She’s also asked for his hospital address so she can write to him.’
Hannah resumed her knitting. ‘Have you heard from Seb since you last wrote about going to see him?’
‘No.’ Alice’s expression was suddenly bleak. ‘If I don’t hear in the next couple of days, I’m going whether he likes it or not. I feel awful about not visiting him.’
‘Kenny thinks you should have gone straight away despite what Seb said,’ murmured Hanny.
‘I know, but it’s too late now to worry about it.’ Alice sighed. ‘I’m going to go now, so better late than never.’ She changed the subject, asking Hannah whether she had felt the baby quicken yet. The two women started to discuss pregnancy and babies in hushed voices.
Tilly finished her typing and placed the sheets of paper into an envelope before slipping out of the office. Alice’s youngest child, Georgie, was outside in his pram, playing with some wooden bricks. She chucked him under the chin and he gave her a smile, revealing six teeth. She kissed him on the top of his head. As she strolled towards the open gates she waved to Kenny, who was talking to a youth standing beside a car.
She came out onto Canal Side, planning to drop the written article through the letterbox of the branch office of the Manchester Evening Chronicle on City Road. It was a long thoroughfare that ran from Foregate Street in the city centre to Station Road, where Chester’s main railway station was situated. On the way she passed the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel that Alice had attended with the mother Tilly had never known. There were times when she felt something akin to guilt because her mother had died giving birth to her. She wished Alice would be more open with her about her parents. She was positively secretive, and so Tilly had almost given up asking her about them. Kenny was also reticent on the subject, as were Hanny and Joy. She had mentioned the matter to Freddie but, although he knew the two families had been close neighbours, he had been very young when her mother died. It had upset her that she had never even seen a likeness of her parents. When she had mentioned this to Alice, she had shown her a photograph of their mother but said she did not have one of their father. It was extremely annoying.
Tilly disposed of her article through the letterbox and prayed that the editor might see some merit in what she had written about the need for decently paid jobs for young women due to the lack of young men for them to marry. That done, she headed towards the city centre and the river, passing the Royalty Theatre on the way. She liked visiting the theatre but knew Alice was short of money and Tilly had yet to be paid her first week’s wages.
To her surprise, on reaching the house on Victoria Crescent, she saw a motorcycle and sidecar parked at the kerb. She wondered who it belonged to. With a shrug of slender shoulders, she pushed open the gate and walked up the drive and round the side of the house to the kitchen. There was no one in the garden, so she decided that perhaps the owner was visiting a neighbour and had parked in front of the wrong house.
She opened the kitchen door and stepped inside, only to freeze when she saw two men sitting at the table. The one facing her was a stranger. He had tawny hair and a drooping moustache. He stared at her as if seeing an apparition before struggling to his feet. There was something familiar about the other man despite his having his back to her. Then slowly he turned his head and she had to bite back a cry. It was Seb, and where his right eye should have been, there was just scar tissue, the cheek below it pitted with several ugly lesions. Yet the left side of his face was not damaged at all.
‘Hello, Tilly,’ he said.
Her throat felt raw with emotion and for a moment she could not speak. Then she blurted out, ‘Alice said you were keeping something from her.’
‘There, I told you, mate, you should have been honest with your family,’ said the stranger.
Tilly estimated his age to be in the mid-twenties and he was a good six foot. He was wearing a white shirt and tie beneath a leather jacket and dark brown corduroy trousers, one leg tucked into a high leather boot, whilst the other was strapped up. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.
His grey eyes met hers and he inclined his head. ‘I’m Donald Pierce.’
‘The name doesn’t mean anything to me,’ she said, her eyes sliding towards Seb, but he had turned his head away so she could not read his expression.
‘I was the one who found him. He’d been left for dead, covered in earth and torn vegetation. He was completely off his head for a while, so I was determined to keep in touch. I reckoned I had a stake in his survival.’
‘But that was months ago,’ said Tilly in amazement. ‘What are you? A medical officer?’
‘Nope. A photojournalist. I arrived back in Blighty, last week having dropped a tripod on my left foot, broke it, so decided to see if Sebby boy was still at the same hospital. It was just as well because when I turned up, he was packing to leave without their permission and making a pig’s ear of it.’
Tilly glanced at Seb and pity filled her heart, not only for him but her
sister, too. How was Alice going to react when she saw him? He had been such a handsome man, so confident and kind, with an inner strength and determination to succeed in whatever he did. Now…
She squared her shoulders. ‘I’m glad you brought him home.’
‘Best place for him to be, with his family. You must be Tilly, Alice’s sister. He spoke a lot about his family, so I thought I’d like to meet them.’
She glanced at his strapped foot. ‘You managed to ride that motorcycle all the way up here?’
His teeth gleamed beneath his moustache. ‘Sure was a crazy thing to do. Miracle we got here but we managed somehow, me with my two good arms and Seb with his two good feet.’
She marvelled at their madness and courage and knew she had to say something more to Seb. Do something. Hug him. So she went and placed an arm about his shoulders and gave him a wordless hug. He reached up his left hand and covered her hand with his. The gesture was enough to cause tears to fill her eyes and spill over. She lowered her head and rested her cheek on his hair for a moment. ‘I’ll go and fetch Alice,’ she whispered.
Freeing her hand she hurried from the kitchen, dabbing her face with her sleeve as she walked round to the front of the house. Halfway down the path she saw Alice and the children with the perambulator outside the gate.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Alice, gazing at her blotchy face.
Tilly cleared her throat. ‘It’s Seb. No! Don’t look like that,’ she added hastily as the colour drained from her sister’s face. ‘He’s here, in the kitchen. An American brought him home on that-that motorcycle.’
Alice’s face quivered. She made to speak but no words came. Then she brushed past Tilly and ran up the path towards the house.
‘Alice, I’ve something to tell you,’ called Tilly.
But it was too late. Her sister disappeared round the side of the house.
James and Flora made to go after her but Tilly seized hold of the pair of them and drew them against her. ‘Not just yet. Give your mother a chance to greet your father on her own.’
