Coming Home To Holly Close Farm

by Julie Houston

  Fed up of being left home alone with Vivienne and Christmas preparations, Mum suggested, faced with the enormity of our news about her grandfather, that we take Madge’s car, snatch Madge back out of Heaven for the second time that day and then all meet up at the bungalow and confront her with what we knew.

  ‘I mean, for heaven’s sake, why has she kept this all to herself all these years? It’s ridiculous. Right, girls, I’m off down to the Co-op to get wine and pizza, and I’ll meet you at the bungalow in a couple of hours. If Madge argues the toss, says she’s too tired for a second outing or she doesn’t like pizza – she does, she’ll just be being contrary – then say we know about Arthur and we want an explanation.’ Mum was obviously riled and in fighting mode.

  ‘Mum,’ I said gently, ‘we don’t want to give Madge a heart attack; she is ninety-four, you know. Do you not think a softly-softly approach might not be better?’

  ‘Softly-softly?’ Mum snapped. ‘Charlie, this is not bloody Midsomer Murders. It’s the brutal murder of two police officers by my own grandfather.’ She grabbed hold of Malvolio who, already missing pack-leader Dad, and now sensing we were also about to abandon him, was whining pitifully. ‘I’m going to have to take the bloody dog with us as well or he’ll eat the kitchen. I tell you, girls, I’m off to Costa Rica in the new year, all by myself, alone, toute seule.’

  *

  While Daisy stayed in the car, I ran into Almast Haven and bounded up the stairs to Madge’s room. She was lying on her bed, glasses perched on the end of her nose, reading a novel, and it was almost as though she’d been expecting me.

  ‘I wondered if you’d be back,’ she said simply, laying the book down beside her.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, David Henderson, I believe, is a very astute man. I’ve spent the last few weeks googling him. There’s no way he’d be helping to buy Holly Close farm without researching its history – why my darling farm has been abandoned for the last sixty-odd years.’

  ‘He told us about Arthur.’

  ‘I thought he might.’

  ‘Mum’s not happy. In fact, she’s spitting feathers. She doesn’t understand why you’ve kept it all to yourself all these years. She’s sent Daisy and me to see if you’ll come to the bungalow for a drink and pizza.’

  Madge raised an eyebrow. ‘And an explanation, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, yes. But I understand, Granny, if you’re too tired. I mean, we’ve been online and got the general gist of what happened.’

  ‘I’m all right. I had a bit of a snooze once I got back from having lunch with your mother and you girls this afternoon. Come on, let’s go and face the Ayatollah.’

  It took ages to sort Madge with her stick and her outdoor clothes. She refused to go out into the cold without her red Max Mara coat, which seemed to have disappeared. I eventually found it being worn by Elsie, one of the other residents, who was convinced the coat was hers. The only way she’d part with it was to be offered Sarah the Carer’s trendy red leather jacket in its stead.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah smiled cheerfully as the octogenarian admired herself in red biker leathers, ‘I’ll be able to barter her dinner for it when the time comes.’ There appeared to be a whole bartering economy at Almost Heaven, with slippers, cardigans and newspapers being persuaded out of the wrong hands on a daily basis with compensatory sweets, buns and the promise of a game of bingo.

  So, by the time Daisy – who was just about to leave the car and come looking for us – and I managed to get Madge back to the bungalow, tensions were rising and it was almost seven o’clock. Of Mum, there was no sign.

  ‘Have we no crisps?’ Daisy asked, after settling Madge in front of the fire with a glass of red. She opened the kitchen cupboards hopefully.

  ‘You ate the last of the smoky bacon yesterday,’ I said, poking round for anything in their stead. The Welsh rarebit seemed hours ago and we were both starving.

  ‘Not guilty. I didn’t finish them off.’

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t: I’m vegetarian.’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ Daisy snapped. ‘You must have consumed every beast that ever roamed the planet in the six weeks you’ve been home.’

  Had I only been home six weeks? It seemed more like six years. ‘Well, you ate that packet of nuts we were saving for the next episode of Outlander. You said, when you got in from your date with that geek on Tinder, that it looked like the only nuts in your mouth tonight were going to be the KPs.’

  Daisy had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I didn’t say that, did I?’

  ‘Yes. I did think it rather vulgar at the time. Where’s Mum got to? She was only popping on to the Co-op before coming here.’

  The kitchen door from the garden banged open and Mum appeared, looking rather the worse for wear.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Well, I called in at the Co-op and actually ended up doing quite a bit of shopping – they do have some good offers on there, occasionally – and who should be there but Mandy Henderson. You don’t imagine people like that to be in the local Co-op, do you?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Daisy and I glanced at each other.

  ‘Anyway, she suggested I call in for a little drink, with it being Christmas and everything, and to celebrate the commission I’ve just about finished for Lysander.’

  ‘Right?’

  ‘And so, because I’ve always wanted to see inside the Hendersons’ house, I did.’

  ‘We can see that. Have you driven here?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mum said scornfully. ‘It was only a little drink. The thing is, I didn’t like to go round to the Hendersons’ empty-handed, so after I’d been through the checkout I went back down the Co-op aisles and picked up some flowers. They were jolly expensive – £30 – but then I spotted the same bunch, obviously out of date, but just £5! For the exact same bunch!’

  Daisy and I exchanged looks once more. What was she going on about?

  ‘So, I put the £30 bunch back and bought the £5 bunch instead. But then I realised they were actually pretty manky and felt guilty I was about to short-change Mandy Henderson – she’s only used to the best, I’m sure – and had to spend a good five minutes standing in the Co-op car park dead-heading the rubbish ones.’

  ‘Right, OK, Mum,’ I said, trying to condense her tale. ‘We’re starving here and want to get to the bottom of the Arthur story before Madge falls asleep or even refuses to tell us. Where are the pizzas?’

  ‘Oh gosh, yes, where are they?’ Mum frowned and then hiccupped. ‘Must be in the boot of the car, darling.’

  ‘Not in the boot, Mum,’ I called from the drive, thirty seconds later.

  ‘In the car then, Charlie? On the front seat?’

  ‘Nope. Just the dog, looking fed up.’

  ‘Still in the Co-op then?’ Mum started to laugh. ‘Still in the bloody Co-op, the whole lot,’ she chortled, unable to get her breath.

  Daisy and I looked at each other again. ‘Mum, this is a serious conversation we’re about to have with Madge and you’re giggling like a drain. How much did you say you’d had?’ She obviously shouldn’t have driven here, especially with the police on the lookout for Christmas drinkers.

  ‘Oh, stop behaving like a couple of school prefects. It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake. And I was upset about, you know… Where is she anyway? My grandmother who tells me nothing?’

  ‘In the sitting room. Go easy on her, Mum, you’re pretty emotional at the moment.’

  ‘Hormones, hot sweats, Vivienne still hanging around practising “A handbag?” at every conceivable moment, the stress of the damned turkey and now a hanged grandfather. What do you expect?’

  ‘Well, we were expecting pizza.’ Daisy put her arm round Mum.

  Mum started to giggle again at that and then started hiccupping, which turned into sobs. ‘It’s just that, well, I’ve realised this all happened when my mum was a little girl. She must have been about nine when her dad was hanged. Hanged, gi
rls. Can you imagine how that would feel if Dad was hanged? My poor Mum. No wonder she was such a lousy mother.’

  ‘And that’s one of the reasons this has all been kept quiet, Kate.’ Madge was standing at the kitchen door. ‘Nancy went through a terrible time as a little girl. Her beloved father was dead and her childhood was ruined. And it was all my fault.’ Madge’s face was pale and a single tear made its way down her wrinkled cheek, carving a track through the Max Factor powder she always used. She swayed slightly as she held the door and I went to help her, but she brushed my hand away crossly. ‘Come on, let’s sit down. Let’s have a drink. You can stay here tonight, Kate; you really shouldn’t be driving the car any more this evening. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want anything to eat. Why don’t we just talk?’

  Using her stick, Madge turned painfully round, limping back to her seat and glass of wine, and the three of us trooped after her into the sitting room.

  ‘I don’t want to tell you what happened to Arthur – although I take it you’ve read the newspaper cuttings and Googled everything you can find about your grandfather – until I explain more about James Montgomery-West, so that you can really understand what happened.’ Madge sighed, not looking at us. She constantly turned her hands in her lap and eventually said, ‘I adored him, girls. I never loved any other man but him.’

  19

  ‘Gregory, you might have the day off, but you’re not going anywhere not wearing full uniform.’ The officer looked suspiciously at Madge’s stockings. ‘Where are you going anyway? You can’t get too far with a twenty-four-hour pass.’ Sergeant Briscoe took her duties seriously and, narrowing her already small eyes, glared at Madge. ‘Bit too much lipstick on as well. You’re an ambassador for the King and his government, you know, not trying to set Hollywood alight.’

  ‘I’m going to see a friend in Ascot,’ Madge replied, reddening slightly. ‘I’ve been invited for dinner.’

  ‘Dinner? Do you mean lunch?’ the NCO snapped crossly. ‘For heaven’s sake, you’re not back oop north now. And if you do actually mean dinner…’ Sergeant Briscoe glanced at her wristwatch, ‘… then I doubt you’re going to be able to eat and get back here in time. I’ll be watching out for you. In fact, Gregory, you’d be better sticking your apron on and practising your Yorkshire puddings. How a girl from Yorkshire can produce what you dared to offer up to Squadron Leader Roberts last week is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Madge looked at her feet in the hope that her apparent subservience might help her on her way to Waterloo. If Briscoe hadn’t done with her soon she’d have to take a taxi to the station.

  She obviously hadn’t.

  Sergeant Briscoe continued to take in every aspect of Madge’s newly waved blond hair and red lipstick. ‘This friend, Gregory, I hear you’ve got yourself involved with an RAF officer?’

  ‘Ma’am.’ What the hell was she supposed to say? Agree that yes, she’d fallen in love with an officer – a viscount, actually – and was now on her way to meet his mother, if only she could escape this grilling?

  ‘A flight lieutenant, no less.’ It was a statement rather than a question and, since last Tuesday, the wrong handle anyway. James, according to Francesca, who’d spoken to her mother over the telephone a couple of days ago, was now apparently Squadron Leader Montgomery-West.

  ‘Ma’am.’

  Obviously tiring of her attempts to goad Madge, Sergeant Briscoe tutted and snapped, ‘Go on with you, then,’ and turned on her heel, shouting over her shoulder warnings and dire consequences were Madge to be late back.

  The minute she was free, Madge ran to the bathroom, patted her newly set hair and added more lipstick before grabbing her black WAAF-issue handbag and setting off at a trot for the underground. With minutes to spare she found the correct platform at Waterloo Station and boarded the train to Ascot, standing with a whole load of both American and Australian service personnel.

  ‘Where’re you going, sweetheart?’ The dark-haired Yank pinning her against the window grinned down at her as he waited her reply. ‘You sure look ready to fight Hitler, ma’am. In fact, you can fight my corner any day.’

  ‘Out for lunch,’ she smiled, remembering to call the midday meal by its proper handle. ‘I’m going to Ascot.’

  ‘As are we.’ He raised his hand, taking in the men crowded into the carriage. ‘Come out for lunch with us.’

  ‘Sorry, already booked.’ Madge smiled again. ‘What’s so special about Ascot, anyway? I’m assuming you’re not all off to the races?’

  ‘The races? That would be swell, wouldn’t it? ’Fraid not, ma’am. The gee-gees are no more now that we’re all camped out there.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise.’ Madge felt slightly embarrassed. She really must learn more about this war she was doing her bit for. If only they’d have let her train as a Met girl, as she’d really wanted, instead of wasting her efforts on Victoria sponges that wouldn’t rise, she might have had more idea about who was stationed where. ‘Well, thank you, anyway…’ Madge trailed off.

  The lieutenant laughed and ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘For what, ma’am?’

  ‘Well, you know, being here. Coming over to help us. I’m sure it was the last thing you really wanted to do.’ Madge was beginning to feel a bit at a loss and she was grateful when one of the officers, seeing she was floundering under all the attention, stood and offered her his seat. She took it, smiling gratefully and, once seated, tried to calm her nerves by watching the changing countryside from the train window as it flew past, counting the myriad rusting green tractors blending into the late summer fields.

  James was on the station to meet her. Like Madge, he had a twenty-four-hour pass – it had taken weeks and a whole stack of phone calls to marry the two – but unlike her he was in civvies and she was seeing him for the first time not dressed in uniform but a light-coloured pair of trousers and a short-sleeved open-necked shirt. Oh, but he was glorious. Not caring how undignified she must look, she ran towards him through the confused medley of American army personnel that appeared to be hovering, unclear in which direction they should be heading, and James swept her off her feet, swinging her round. Shy, not having seen him for four weeks since their day in Regent’s Park, Madge felt totally tongue-tied in the presence of such beauty and didn’t know what to say to him. James grinned down at her, took her hand and kissed her forehead. ‘I’ve thought about you every single minute of the day,’ he breathed. ‘Every second, in fact…’ He held her from him, taking in every aspect of her face. ‘And you’re more beautiful than I ever remembered.’

  ‘James, I’m a bit nervous about meeting your mother.’ Madge could feel her pulse quicken at what was ahead of her as they walked from the station.

  ‘Honestly, Madge, there’s no need. I’ve told her all about you. She’ll love you. Come on, I’ve managed to wangle one of the cars – my father has an allowance because he has to go up to London such a lot – and I thought we’d go for a picnic. We can’t go that far because there’s only so much petrol… and I suppose you have to be back by this evening?’

  Madge nodded. ‘A picnic?’ Relief that they were going to be outdoors on this glorious August day and not sitting down to some stuffy lunch with a whole load of confusing cutlery suffused her whole being and Madge took James’s hand. ‘That sounds lovely.’

  ‘Lovely.’ James repeated the word, flattening the vowels as Madge had done, and laughed.

  ‘Don’t tease me.’ Madge grinned, elbowing James slightly in the ribs.

  ‘I wasn’t, I truly wasn’t,’ he protested. ‘I can’t tell you how much I love your accent. Mrs Dobson who runs our village library is originally from the north and I’ve spent most of the morning in there while I waited for your train, browsing through the books but really just hanging around so I could hear her speak.’

  ‘You’re daft, you really are.’

  James opened the passenger door of a huge Daimler and helped Madge in. It was only the second
car she’d ever been in and she sank nervously into its interior, breathing in the heady scent of the slippery leather seats as James put the car into gear and reversed away from the station, manoeuvring the heavy vehicle with, Madge assumed, the same confidence and skill he showed when in control of the Lancaster bomber.

  James drove for fifteen minutes along dusty roads where huge oaks and sycamores, laden down with the fullness of late summer’s foliage, met in an arch across their path, obliterating the midday sun in a cool green bower. He slowed down and braked before turning right across the main road and immediately headed down a country lane where a mellow-stoned house with walled gardens to the side came into view.

  ‘Oh, what a beautiful house,’ Madge breathed, turning back to gaze in wonder as they passed.

  ‘The Dower House.’ James smiled at Madge’s animated face. ‘My grandmother lives there; it’s where all retiring matriarchs end up once they’re booted out of the main house.’

  ‘Booted out?’ Madge was lost as to James’s meaning.

  ‘Once my grandfather died, my father inherited his title and the estate and we all moved into the main house. I was about twelve, I think. Basically, we did a swap: my parents took on the estate, my sisters and I moved from the Dower House and my grandmother moved back down there.’ James seemed fairly uninterested in the whole procedure. ‘Right, we’re here.’

  ‘Oh, James, this isn’t where you live?’ Madge’s eyes were wide.

  ‘I know.’ James was slightly embarrassed. ‘Ridiculous amount of bricks and mortar for one family. Mind you, once we’re into September, the girls will be back.’

  ‘The girls? Your sisters, you mean?’

  James laughed. ‘No, no, they’re well and truly married off to suitable husbands and flown the nest. Camilla lives in Surrey, Angela is in the WAAF and Katherine’s just down the road in Amersham.’ He cut the engine, jumped out of the car, and made his way round to open the door for Madge. ‘During the last war, the East Wing of the hall was given over to housing a military hospital tending the soldiers injured in France, poor sods. My father was a serving officer himself on the Somme and my grandfather thought it the right thing to do. Afterwards, apparently, he said never again, and so when all this lot blew up, my father, taking heed of that, agreed to the suggestion of St Augustine’s Girls’ School moving down from London while the war is on. My father knew he couldn’t be seen not to help the war effort and he reckoned the school was better than another hospital or billets for the Yanks. My mother loves having them here. She invites them over for tea and they help with the chucks.’