by Fern Britton
‘Now?’
‘Why not. The writing paper is still on my dressing table and there’s an envelope too.’
Hannah, Trevay
November 1947
The colds that Caroline and I had went to chest infections and so we couldn’t move back into Mum’s room for a good couple of weeks. Mum couldn’t wait to see Caroline and I couldn’t wait to see mum. She was looking a little more frail but otherwise very cheerful. I noticed a sparkle in her eyes.
‘You must be so tired,’ she said to me. ‘You haven’t had much sleep while you’ve both been ill. I could hear you both coughing at night.’
It was true, I can’t have had more than three hours’ unbroken sleep a night.
‘Oh dear. We tried not to wake you. We are absolutely fine now, I hear that you and David have been having fun.’
‘Oh yes. We have become bedside companions and amateur sleuths. It’s been lovely spending time with him.’
‘It’s been good for you both.’
She began to cough. I could tell it caused her pain. I took Caroline up into my arms and ran to the door shouting, ‘Edward, Shirley? Are you there? Could you bring Mum’s medicine up?’
We had been given permission to administer Mum’s medicine as and when we felt she needed it, and she needed it now.
Shirley ran in. ‘Here. I only gave her some an hour ago.’
‘What should the gap between doses be?’
‘Doc said four-hourly.’
‘I just need to sit up a bit, that’s all,’ Mum said wheezily.
‘Let’s sit her up.’
We got either side of her and lifted her to a more comfortable position. She was definitely lighter and frailer than she had ever been. Shirley took the soiled handkerchief from Mum’s hand and swapped it for a clean one, while I rubbed Mum’s back, taking care not to bruise the skin over the sharp bones of her spine.
‘Deep breaths, Mum,’ I said, willing my voice to sound calmer than I felt.
Shirley caught my eye over Mum’s head and mouthed: ‘She’s not been right since last night.’
‘What happened?’ I mouthed back.
‘She was very sick. I would have told you but you were sleeping and I didn’t like to wake you.’
Mum’s coughing spell was passing. ‘Is that a bit better?’ I asked her.
She managed to smile and give a thumbs up before lying back on the stack of pillows we had constructed for her.
‘I will make us all a cup of tea. Won’t be a moment.’ Shirley left us on our own.
‘I hear you were sick last night. What was that about?’
‘I don’t know.’ She was still wheezy after the coughing.
‘Are you in pain?’
‘My back aches.’
‘I’ll bring you a hot-water bottle in a minute.’
By the time Shirley came back with the tea, Mum had fallen asleep again, and for the rest of the day she dozed.
Dr Cunningham popped in and took a look at her without waking her.
‘Her chest doesn’t sound good but her heart is still strong and she doesn’t have a temperature,’ he told me.
‘That’s good. But she’s getting worse, isn’t she?’
‘She has a will to live. It is our fate not to know the day or the hour.’
‘We won’t leave her on her own.’
‘It’s very hard for you all, but at the end you will be glad you were there for her.’ He picked up his bag. ‘Get some sleep yourself and I will see you tomorrow.’
Over the next two days, Mum began to sleep more and more. When she was awake she was quite chatty, always asking if there had been any post, but we couldn’t get her to eat anything. David was eager to finish off the book they were reading and, even though she dropped off before he had finished, she enjoyed hearing his voice.
On the third day she slept for most of the day, her tiny body barely visible under the blankets. Her hands and feet got cold easily and Shirley and I found some mittens and bed socks to warm her up. We were preparing for the end without admitting it.
She woke briefly at teatime and asked for a cup of tea, but she barely managed a drop before falling asleep again.
All of us decided we needed to be in the room with her, and Shirley, bless her, brought us a tray laden with sandwiches to keep us going.
The daylight began to fade and I turned on the small bedside lamp that gave the room a soft glow. Together we chatted about our day until David decided he should read the last chapter of Sparkling Cyanide. We were all absorbed in the story when we heard a loud knock on the back door.
We looked at each other. ‘Who the hell is that at this time of night?’ Edward asked.
‘I’ll go,’ said David quickly.
‘Tell them to clear off, whoever it is,’ Shirley called after him.
Mum stirred and opened her eyes. ‘Has he come?’ she asked.
‘It’s all right, Mum.’ Edward leant towards her.
‘Someone at the door. David’s gone.’
The sparkle I had seen in her eyes a few days ago came back. ‘Who is it? Has he come?’
We heard two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs and David’s voice, ‘She will be so happy to see you.’
I flashed a questioning look at Edward. ‘Is it the doctor?’
The door opened to reveal David with a tall handsome man whom I recognised. Again I looked at Edward who stood up ready to throw him out. He was only stopped by Mum’s clear voice. ‘Mikey, you came.’ She held her thin arms out to him. ‘Edward you can sit down. This is Michael. Your older brother.’
None of us could speak.
‘Let me hold you,’ she said to him.
He bent over her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. ‘Can you forgive me? I turned my back on you when you came last time.’
‘There is nothing to forgive. I didn’t give you time to think. I should have warned you.’
‘I was scared. I had told no living soul about you other than Philippa. How could you want to see me when I had left you behind and refused to answer any letters that dear Philippa would send me.’
Michael kissed her forehead. David passed him a chair. ‘I couldn’t believe it when your letter arrived. It was like a miracle. Thank you for asking me to come.’ He took her hands and stroked them.
‘What letter?’ asked Edward. ‘Mum, how did you get out to post it?’
‘Oh I posted it. In fact I wrote it,’ grinned David. ‘Mum asked me to and it was our secret.’
‘What the hell is happening here?’ Edward was nonplussed. ‘Mum this person could be anybody.’
‘No Edward.’ Mum smiled, ‘This is Michael, my son. Your brother.’
‘Why the hell have you never told us about him before?’ Edward was getting upset. ‘How did Dad never mention him?’
‘Ernest was not his father,’ Mum said calmly.
Edward got to his feet again. ‘You had an affair?’
Shirley took Edward’s arm and pulled him back. ‘Teddy sit down and listen.’
‘I had a love affair, yes, but before I ever met your father. I met a wonderful man who I loved very much. Michael is his son. He was a soldier fighting in France but on the night that Michael was born, Bertie was shot and killed instantly.’
‘Bertie?’ I asked, gradually pulling things together. ‘Dad’s brother?’
‘Yes.’ I saw a tear roll from Mum’s eye as she looked at Michael. ‘Did Philippa tell you?’
‘Yes. And she told me about you marrying and going to Penang.’
‘Was she very cross with me for running away?’
‘She explained everything to me in a way I understood. She said you would never have given me to her if there was any other way, but there wasn’t.’
Mum nodded, her eyes drooping. ‘I loved her very much. She was a mother to us both in the end.’
Michael held Mum’s hands as his tears fell on to her fingers.
‘Oh Mum.’ Compassion and understanding welled in me.
‘That’s why you supported me when I was expecting Caroline?’
‘Yes, but I would have supported you and Caroline no matter what.’ She took a long, exhausted breath. ‘I have been waiting for this day for so long I had begun to think it would never come.’
She looked at each of us with the bliss of pure love.
‘Edward, David, Hannah, Michael, come closer I want to hold all my children in my hands for the first and last time in my life. Each one of you has given me reason to carry on, and now we have little Caroline too. Hannah, promise me that you tell her about my mistakes and yours. Not that she isn’t allowed to find her own way, but to understand that life is not simple.’
‘I will, Mum.’
‘Good. Now I am very tired and I need to sleep. Mikey, I want you to stay here tonight. I want to wake up in the morning knowing that all my babies are with me under one roof.’
Caroline
Present day
Granny died two days later, having had her greatest wish granted.
I learnt this from the second letter in the envelope. It was from Michael’s daughter, Kate. The Trunk had been posted to her from Penang by the granddaughter of my grandfather’s housekeeper, a man called Nizam. I know this is very complicated but aren’t all family trees?
Nizam had remained loyal and faithful to Grandfather Ernest, Granny Clara and poor dead Uncle Bertie who had been his first boss.
Nizam outlived them all but when he died, his daughter found that he had kept the Bolitho possessions safe in the trunk. His granddaughter, Adik, had somehow divined Kate’s address in Kent and sent it on to me, after tracking down the Bolitho name to Callyzion.
I must say I thought her father, my Uncle Michael I suppose I should call him, was treated pretty poorly. At least he got to meet his mother at the end.
Uncle Edward apparently remained rather grumpy because he had always thought he was number one son, not number two. Still, Auntie Shirley always mollified him, and when she had the twins he couldn’t have been a more devoted father.
Uncle David became the senior engineer for a racing car team and married a woman who could change a tyre in a pit stop faster than he could. They live in Monaco now.
My mother stayed in Trevay until her death. She became a pillar of the community and ran Granny’s shop for another twenty years. She never told me who my father was. ‘The Bolitho bastard’, I was once called at school. As soon as I knew what that meant, I vowed to keep myself pure until my wedding night. A vow I am proud to say I kept and one that I have impressed on my own daughter, Natalie.
I wish I had met Uncle Michael. We had a lot in common. He never met his father and I never met mine. We had both lived in a family where secrets beat at the very core of who we are, or who we think we are. You may be harbouring your own secret. If so, ask yourself this. Is it your secret alone? Or is it someone else’s secret that you are not telling them? Something that, if they did know, would turn their world upside down, make them reassess everything they thought they knew. The missing piece to their jigsaw.
The arrival of that trunk has given me answers to a pain I had buried so deep I didn’t know it was there. I am proud to be my mum’s daughter, but I so wish I had met my father. Or do I? Was Mum protecting me from someone who would not have been a force for good? A man of low morals? Not the hero I have always longed for? Having one loving parent is perhaps enough?
My phone rings and I pick up to hear my daughter’s voice.
‘Darling, I have just been thinking about you,’ I tell her. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Actually, really well and happy.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘It is and I hope you will think so too.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’m pregnant!’
I freeze. ‘What?’
‘Mum, I know it’s not what you would have wanted for me, but I am really happy and excited and you will love Ade, my boyfriend. It’s all been a bit of an accident but we are happy and I want you to be too.’
I smile, wanting to laugh, ‘You’re not gay?’
‘Mum! What are you talking about?’
‘I mean it wouldn’t matter if you were gay of course but … oh darling, I am going to be a granny?’
‘I think you’ll make a wonderful granny, Mum.’
‘Do you? Oh darling, all babies bring joy and … actually, Joy is rather a good name, what do you think? When can I see you? And can I meet Ade? What does he do? We must arrange the wedding. Spring I think …?’
Just another daughter and another mum.
The daughters of the daughters of Cornwall.
Hopefully as wild as the land in which they are born …
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
With thanks to the Guardian archives and BBC History websites.
I am indebted to the archives of the London Scottish Regiment, Cornwall’s Regimental Museum, and all those who served. This being a novel, I have played fast and loose with the timeline of war, for which I hope I will be excused.
Also thank you to Anthony Adolph, a fine genealogist who discovered so much about my great-uncle Bertie.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
The London Scottish in the Great War by Mark Lloyd, Naval and Military Press, 2009 (first published 1926)
The London Scottish in The Great War, edited by Lt. Col. J. H. Lindsay, Naval and Military Press, 2009 (first published 1925)
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About the Author
Fern Britton is the highly acclaimed author of eight Sunday Times bestselling novels. Her books, all set in Cornwall, are cherished for their warmth, wit and wisdom, and have won Fern legions of loyal readers. Fern has been a judge for the Costa Book of the Year Award and is a supporter of the Reading Agency, promoting literacy and reading.
A hugely popular household name through iconic shows such as This Morning and Fern Britton Meets … Fern is also a much sought-after presenter and radio host. She has also turned her hand to theatre and toured with Gary Barlow and Tim Firth’s award-winning Calendar Girls.
Fern has twin sons and two daughters and lives in Cornwall in a house full of good food, wine, family, friends and gardening books.
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Also by Fern Britton
Fern: My Story
New Beginnings
Hidden Treasures
The Holiday Home
A Seaside Affair
A Good Catch
The Postcard
Coming Home
The Newcomer
Short stories
The Stolen Weekend
A Cornish Carol
The Beach Cabin
Published in one collection as
A Cornish Gift
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