I fell into the trap at once. “Pheasant Cottage, Eastwood Estate, Eastbury,” I murmured, thinking that there was now no point in tracing my father. If he'd loved me, he'd have come to find me.
Miss Dixon went away and came back later saying she had phoned my grandparents and told them she was going to put me on the train back to Eastbury. “We had a long talk,” she said, “and there's nothing to be worried about. They will meet you at the station. They understand now about you wanting to see your father.”
“I don't want to see my father,” I muttered, “and I'm not worried.” Seeing I was about to cry again, she sensibly left me alone. I sat in silence looking at the comic until it was time to go to the station.
It was a miserable journey home, for I felt my brave adventure had failed completely. I sat dully staring out the window until the train stopped at Eastbury, and there were Gran and Grandpa hurrying forward to meet me. I noticed how white and old they looked.
I expected them to be really angry with me, but they weren't. I don't know what Miss Dixon had said to them, but Grandpa looked very miserable and kept blowing his nose, but he spoke cheerfully, and Gran had made a special cake for tea. It was all very strange.
Don arrived after tea. He seemed rather shy about meeting Gran, so he rang his bicycle bell at the gate until I saw him and rushed out with Shadow barking a welcome at my heels. Don's eyes were nearly popping out of his head with excited curiosity.
“Whatever happened?” he began. “Didn't you go? I got the bedding over to the stable right under my mum's nose, and she never guessed, and I went to the wood and hooted about a hundred times.”
“Yes, I did go,” I replied. “Come up the hill and I'll tell you all about it.”
He parked his bike inside the gate, and we climbed the hillside to a favorite place of mine. We settled down, and I told him every detail of my great adventure.
“Bet your Gran was mad at you!” said Don.
“No, she wasn't,” I replied slowly, stroking Shadow's ears. “She didn't say anything. I think Miss Dixon told her not to. But it was all for nothing, Don. He's been out over two months, and he hasn't come. I suppose he just didn't want to be bothered with me after all.”
Don shook his head slowly.
“He'll come,” he said. “Perhaps he's ill, or perhaps he wants to earn some money or find a home first or something. I'd better go—I've got loads of homework to do.”
We raced down the hill and he pedaled away, whistling. Happy Don, I thought to myself, speeding toward his beloved dad! I sighed and went into the house, glad that it was nearly bedtime.
Gran came up as usual, but she didn't tell me off. She kissed me good night and then lingered as though she wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words. Not like Gran at all!
“Lucy,” she said at last, “I'm sorry you couldn't tell us, but never mind about that now. But I want you to understand that if your father ever turns up, we will never stop him from seeing you. You are free to choose.”
She turned away and seemed to grope for the door, leaving me speechless and dismayed. What did it all mean? Had I been such a sly child that she did not want me anymore? Had I run after a love that never existed, only to lose the strong love I already possessed? My safe little world seemed to be crumbling all around me, and I panicked. “Gran, Gran,” I cried, and jumped out of bed and tiptoed downstairs to find them both. I had no idea what to say. I just had to get to them.
But on the bottom step I stopped as though turned to stone at a sound I had never heard before. Gran was crying, and between her sobs I heard her say in a broken voice, “Oh, Herbert, Herbert, whatever should we do without her?”
I turned and crept back upstairs. I had found my answer. I jumped into bed and fell deeply and peacefully asleep.
The Most Amazing Day
We had a school holiday on Whitmonday, so I went to see Mr. Smith. I found him, as usual, bent over his writing, looking tired and worried. But he always seemed glad to see me and always found time to share some new poem or story that he had enjoyed.
“Well, Lucy,” he said, “have you come to tell me about your great secret?” He flung himself back in a comfortable chair and I perched happily on the arm, because I had gradually come to talk openly to Mr. Smith as I talked to no other grown-up.
“Well, yes,” I replied. “I'll tell you now because it's all over. But I shall have to begin right at the beginning and tell you about my father. You see he did something very wicked when I was about three, and he went to prison.”
I glanced at him anxiously to see whether he was very shocked, but he only said, “Go on. Tell me more.”
So I told him my story all over again, just as I'd told Don and the warden, and, like them, he listened quietly until I had nearly finished—so quietly, with his head so bowed, that I thought perhaps he was asleep, so I stopped talking.
“Have you gone to sleep?” I asked softly.
He looked up quickly. “No, I'm not asleep,” he said. “I'm just listening. But Lucy, tell me this. If he was such a bad man, why do you want to see him again? You're happy with your grandparents. Wouldn't it be better to forget all about him?”
My eyes filled with tears. This was what I had sometimes thought myself, but Don, and my own heart, told me that my reason was wrong.
“He's my dad, isn't he?” I almost shouted. “And even if he's been bad I'm still…” I couldn't say any more, for tears were streaming down my face. Mr. Smith pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me, and after a few moments I was able to go on. “I didn't forget him. I went… and it was terribly difficult. But he's forgotten me. He's been out two months now and he hasn't come. If he'd wanted me, he'd have come quick, wouldn't he?”
Mr. Smith leaned forward and said quietly, “He'll come, Lucy, and he'll be a lucky man to find such a brave, faithful, loyal daughter waiting for him. You see, when people come out of prison they are sometimes ashamed and afraid. After all, from what you say, your grandparents don't seem to think much of him, do they? What would they do if he came?”
“They … they said I could choose,” I sniffed. “But they wouldn't want me to go. And … well … he was a bad man, wasn't he, to have gone to prison? And they want me to grow up good. And I couldn't leave them. I wouldn't know what to do!”
I still felt like crying, for the whole problem seemed too great to be solved and I didn't know where to turn. But Mr. Smith could not tell me what to do either. He only said, “He was a bad man nine years ago, Lucy, but nine years is a long time. People sometimes change, especially when they have little daughters waiting for them. Don't worry. I think he will come in his own time, and when he comes, you'll know what to do all right.”
When I got home, the house was empty because my grandparents had gone to a flower show where Grandpa was showing his prize sweet peas. Shadow came running out, wagging his tail. I flung myself down on the grass and hugged him hard, for although he could not tell me what to do, he was very comforting. Gran had often told me to pray when I was in trouble, but I could never feel there was really anyone listening—like talking into a disconnected telephone.
Perhaps God did not listen because I had been so deceitful, and with my cheek pressed against Shadow's back, I made up my mind to try to be very good, to say my prayers every night, to listen in church instead of making up stories, and to read the Bible even though it did not interest me. I decided to help more in the house and garden instead of always running off to play as soon as I could. I would never again tell a lie, or talk back, or pretend I had finished my homework so I could stay up later.
I tried hard to keep these good resolutions, but deep within I knew that nothing had really happened. I tried reading my Bible, but it seemed an old, dead Book. In fact, church, the Bible, and praying seemed like three roads that led into a thick mist, and I didn't know if there was anything beyond it.
In the meantime, the question persisted like a nagging toothache: “If my dad
suddenly comes, what, oh, what shall I do?”
I did well in my end-of-term exams, and on the first day of the holidays Mr. Smith kept his promise and took me to town in his car to exchange my book coupon for a book. Gran had never met Mr. Smith—he seemed shy of coming to the cottage. But because Don's father spoke so highly of him, she let me visit him when I pleased.
She saw me off at the gate after breakfast. I turned the corner of the road thinking how safe and kind she looked under the arch of red roses. Neither of us had the slightest idea that this was to be the most eventful day in my whole life and that nothing would ever be quite the same again.
It was a perfect morning. I stuck my head out of the car window and sniffed at the warm scents of summer, the new-mown hay, honeysuckle, and bean fields.
“Happy, Lucy?” Mr. Smith asked suddenly.
I smiled and nodded. We reached the outskirts of the town and parked near the cathedral, then spent a long time in Smith's Book Shop choosing my book. Then we had ice cream and visited the cathedral, and when we finally came out blinking into the sunshine it was past dinnertime, so we went to the market and had ham sandwiches, custard tarts, and lemonade.
In spite of the good time we were having, I couldn't help noticing how ill Mr. Smith looked. He left his sandwich almost untouched and kept coughing in a nervous, worried way. By the time we reached the car, he seemed to be breathing faster than usual, and as we left the town I thought he was also driving faster than usual.
“We're going home a different way,” I said. “Is it quicker?”
He did not answer; he just drove faster. After a time I noticed to my great surprise that our hills were getting smaller and farther away. Instead of driving toward them we were driving away from them.
“Mr. Smith,” I said, puzzled but still not alarmed, “where are we going? This isn't the way home. The hills are behind us.”
But again he did not answer. A cold trickle of fear crept into my mind, and I began to feel uneasy. Why didn't he answer? Why were we driving so fast? And why did he look so white and strange? Was I being kidnapped? Suddenly the fear broke loose and I seized his arm.
“Mr. Smith,” I shouted, “where are we going? I want to go home, and you're going the wrong way.”
He slowed down at once and pulled the car on to the grass at the side of the road. For a moment we sat in tense silence, then he turned to me with that gentle smile I had come to love. I knew that I was perfectly safe with him and wondered how I could ever have been afraid.
“Lucy,” he said very quietly, “do you still think about that bad father of yours?”
I nodded, staring.
“Lucy, what would you do if he ever turned up?”
I just went on staring, and light started dawning. Old memories stirred.
Mr. Smith was speaking again. “Lucy, I'm your father. I wanted us to get to know each other better before I told you. I've written to your grandparents. Don's father took the letter up at dinnertime. I've asked them if they'll spare you for a few weeks. I want you to come away with me, if you will.”
I could not speak, because the thing for which I'd been waiting, half-hoping, half-dreading, had happened, and it wasn't the least bit like what I'd expected. Only one thing was really clear to me—my father had come after all. He hadn't forsaken me. He'd been there all the time. I realized that I'd loved and trusted this man from the moment I'd set eyes on him, and now I understood why.
“Lucy,” he said, “will you come with me?”
“Yes, if Gran will let me.”
“But I don't think Gran will let you, or at least she'd persuade you not to. I want you to come now. I told your grandparents in the letter that I'll phone them at half past three to talk it over. After all, I'm your father. I have the right … if you'll come.”
“But I can't. I must go home first. I haven't got my pajamas or toothbrush or anything.”
“We'll buy all you need in the next town. Will you come?”
“But I can't. I haven't said good-bye to Gran and Grandpa.”
“But if we go back you won't come at all. You could say good-bye on the phone. Tell them you want to go just for a few weeks. I've promised faithfully to bring you back before school.”
“But I can't. They'd be so sad, and Gran would be cross.”
“I'm not sure that they'll be either now that they've read my letter. They knew it was coming, and I think they may be relieved that I want you to stay with them during term time. They've been so good to you, and that's a good school you go to—you must finish there. I only want you for a holiday at present, and I could have asked for you altogether. But of course it is really up to you. We can say good-bye on the phone and go straight on or, if you decide against it, we'll turn back. I can drop you near the gate and go on. My luggage is in the trunk, and I'm leaving today.”
“But why won't you come in and talk?”
“Because your gran said long ago that she never wanted to see me again. And if we talk you'll give in and stay. You couldn't stand up to them. They've brought you up too well. So it's now or never. Will you come?”
I was silent, and I knew he was watching me as though his life depended on it. This was the moment I'd dreaded, and I felt torn in half. Pictures seemed to flash on the screen of my mind, little, forgotten scenes, all crystal clear—Gran waiting at the bus stop as I came out of primary school, Grandpa leaning over the gate peering into the dusk for my homecoming, Shadow prancing down the path. They seemed to be drawing me back to the old, secure, obedient life. I looked up imploringly and shook my head.
And then at last a scene, clearer than all the others. Don, standing among the daffodils with his head thrown back, his hazel eyes very bright, his voice challenging me: “I would find him somewhere, somehow, and I would say to him, ‘I don't care what you've done, Dad. I'm still your boy.’”
I drew a deep breath and nodded. “I'll come,” I whispered, “after I've phoned Gran and Grandpa.”
His tired face relaxed. “Thank you, Lucy,” he said. ”There's a hotel in the next town and we'll phone from there.” We drove on in silence and I leaned my spinning head against his shoulder and tried to take in that this was my father. We stopped at an inn called the Cat and Compasses, and he ordered tea for me while he went to phone. He was away a long time but when he came back he looked brighter.
“Come quick,” he said. “I've left the receiver off for you.”
I was not used to talking on phones and I hardly knew what to say. “Gran, Grandpa,” I cried, “do you mind? Please say I can go! You see, he was my father all the time. It's only for a few weeks. I'm coming back for sure, and I'll write to you every day.”
“Lucy, Lucy!” It was Gran's voice urgent and pleading. “Do you really want to go? He won't take you against your wishes. Just tell him.”
“But Gran, I must go. You see, he's my father, and he's not a bad man. It was all a mistake and he's a good man now. We must give him a chance, mustn't we? Grandpa?”
“God keep you, my darling child!” It was Grandpa's voice, distressed but firm. “Don't worry about us, Lucy. It had to come. Only write often and come back. Now good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Gran; good-bye, Grandpa. Write to me. Kiss Shadow and tell Don.” I was frantically kissing the phone, but my father took it gently from me and laid it down.
“I think that's enough,” he said. “They understand, and they're glad it's only for a holiday. Now we must be on our way.”
I jumped into the car and we were off, and my heart was in a turmoil of sorrow, relief, regret, excitement, and a wild sense of freedom. The hills were behind us now, and there was no turning back.
In front of us the road rose to a bright horizon, and beyond that … ? I suddenly began to wonder and turned toward him.
“Mr. Smith … I mean, Daddy … where are we going?”
“To London tonight,” he replied. “And tomorrow we must take your photograph and finish off your passport. We are flying to the sout
h of Spain. I've got your ticket in my pocket. You'll be able to swim in the blue Mediterranean, and we'll stay with your old nurse. She's longing to see you.”
But once again I was struck speechless. The day after tomorrow I was going to see the sea!
Spain—and Important Conversations
Two days later, I stood completely dazed and bewildered in the hot foreign airport, marveling at the speed of the Spanish language that was being spoken all around me. Out of the window of the plane I had seen the sea, and as soon as my father collected the luggage we were going to travel by bus along the coast, and I would see it to my heart's content, and tomorrow I would swim in it!
We jumped into the two last seats of the bus and rattled off toward the town, and I sat silent, trying to take in all the sights and sounds of Spain. The hills and palm trees were silhouetted black against the rosy colors of the sunset sky, and in the east shone the thin silver horizon where the sun still touched the sea.
By the time we transferred our luggage to another bus and started our journey south, it was almost dark, but the darker it grew, the livelier the streets became. We kept rattling through colorful little coastal towns, where people ate and drank and danced and played guitars and sold souvenirs on the pavement. After about an hour, the bus pulled up in a cobbled square, and my father said, “Come on, Lucy. Here we are.”
We gathered up our luggage and pushed our way through the jostling streets until we came to a long, low house a little way out of town. It was a sort of bar, and people sat all over the pavement, laughing and eating shrimp and olives and drinking wine. We went around to a door at the side, and my father knocked.
It was opened instantly, and a voice cried, “Lucita, Lucita,” followed by lots of Spanish. A woman threw her arms around me and held me close and kissed me over and over again. Somehow the clasp of her arms and the sound of her voice seemed familiar. We had somehow all got in the kitchen, and she was holding me at arm's length, half-laughing, half-crying, and a pretty dark-haired girl was stroking my hair and smiling shyly. Three more dark-eyed children pressed around us. My father laughed.
Patricia St John Series Page 28
