A Postcard from Italy

by Alex Brown

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Mr Conway cupped his chin in his hands as if momentarily deep in thought. ‘Hmm, not that I recall. Just brown envelopes – the type that usually contain bills. I don’t think she had any next of kin as I bought the flat from solicitors acting on behalf of the Crown.’

  ‘The Crown?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Yes, as in the State. There’s a government legal department called Bona Vacantia and they deal with the estates of people who die without leaving a will or having any known living relatives.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Lady Bee stepped in and looked at Grace. ‘Perhaps you could get in touch with the special department, my dear, and then you could let them know about the items you have in your storage facility.’

  ‘And a relative could have come forward; perhaps they were estranged from your friend and didn’t know about her passing until more recently,’ Mr Conway suggested. ‘I assume the proceeds from the sale of the flat will be sitting in a government account somewhere, waiting to be claimed.’ He nodded again and apologised for not being able to help further before saying goodbye.

  So it seemed Connie died in poverty and all alone in what used to be her childhood home. Grace knew they could probably check about the funeral arrangements with Betty’s friend, Maggie, at the coroner’s office of course, just in case a family member had surfaced to organise everything. But even so, why had poor Connie been alone with only a bed and some bags of clothes when she had a lifetime of belongings in storage, some items of which were clearly of considerable value? She could have sold them and made her life a little more comfortable. It just didn’t make sense, especially when Grace remembered the glamorous woman in the picture taken by the harbour in Portofino during the 1950s. The woman with a treasure trove of jewellery and fine art and a collection of vintage gowns seemingly from another, more affluent time … a golden era of gaiety and prosperity for Connie. In stark contrast to the way she lived at the end of her life.

  And in that moment, and with tears still smarting in her eyes, Grace made a decision: she was going to do whatever it took to find out what had become of Connie. How had her life spiralled into one of such obscurity where her next-door neighbour didn’t even know how she was living, so desperate and alone with her shabby bed and empty food cupboards? It broke Grace’s heart and she couldn’t imagine her own life coming to an end in that way, or indeed her mother’s life. What would become of Cora if she stopped caring for her? Would she end up like Connie? Lonely and hungry? It could so easily happen. No. Having forged a connection with Connie through her diaries and notes, Grace now felt even more compelled to find out the truth. It was the least she could do for a woman in time who fell in love, only to have her heart broken, and who lived a glamorous life in Italy … but then somehow ended up all alone back here in her childhood home in very different circumstances to the ones she had enjoyed all those years previously.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Cora bellowed the very second Grace turned the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. After slipping off her ballet pumps, Grace glanced at her watch to see that she had arrived home fifteen minutes later than usual, so grasped the banister and quickly made her way up the stairs to her mother’s bedroom. A trio of sudden thuds made her stop short. Surely Mum hasn’t tried to get out of bed by herself? Her legs aren’t up to it. What if she’s fallen?

  ‘Are you OK, Mum?’ Grace yelled out, rushing up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom, her heart rate quickening on fully expecting to see her mother lying prone on the floor following a nasty fall. And given Cora’s considerable weight, there was no way Grace would be able to get her back up off the floor and into bed all by herself. If Jamie wasn’t at home to lend a hand, then Cora could end up being on the floor for hours.

  ‘Yes! And no thanks to you though!’ Cora was lying in bed with a pained look on her face. Grace breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Why would you leave me all alone for so long? I’m near dying of thirst here.’ Grace opened her mouth to answer as she saw a glass rolling across the carpet, stopping short when it hit the wheel of the commode which was now over by the wardrobe in the corner. Grace wondered how it had got so far away across the room and was certain it hadn’t been there when she was last in her mother’s bedroom. ‘I tried to help myself. Like you told me to,’ Cora said pointedly, looking the other way.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. But when we had the chat about you doing more for yourself, I didn—’

  ‘So you should be,’ Cora cut in. ‘I tried to lift the heavy jug to pour myself some water into the glass but my poor weak arms just aren’t up to it.’

  ‘Did you actually manage to get to the edge of the bed then, and sit up and lean over to lift the jug, by yourself?’ Grace asked.

  ‘How else do you think it ended up over there?’ Cora indicated with her head towards the glass. ‘I tried, Grace, but it must have spun away from my hand as I went to grasp it.’

  ‘I see. And how did the commode get over there?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘And what were those thuds?’

  ‘What thuds?’ Cora asked evasively.

  ‘The thuds I heard when I was coming up the stairs?’ Grace asked again.

  ‘What is this? Twenty questions!’ Cora tutted, shaking her head. ‘You always were a nosey one. Even as a child, with your constant questioning. Drove your father mad, sure it did. Why don’t you concentrate on getting me a drink instead of interrogating me? And I’ve got a tummy ache too so don’t be trying to feed me that foreign muck again … Lasagne doesn’t agree with me.’

  Grace went to explain that Cora hadn’t actually eaten any of the lasagne, and besides, that meal had been well over a week ago. But thought better of it and swiftly obliged by fetching a fresh glass and pouring some water. It was only after she had gone back downstairs to make the dinner that she realised Cora hadn’t actually given her a proper explanation as to how things in the room had seemed to move around by themselves.

  The deed is done. Mother and Father have visited me here in Tindledale and have taken my darling baby, Lara, to live with them. They are going to care for her until I am stronger. Mother was most disappointed when I refused the adoption, and said she wants nothing more to do with me if I’m going to be selfish and put my own needs before those of a poor, helpless infant. But Father stepped in and agreed that this is a suitable solution for now, so they have taken a cottage here in the countryside for the duration of the war. The cottage is in the grounds of a country estate on the outskirts of Tindledale which belongs to a friend of Father’s who works for the Home Office so is away much of the time doing important work for the war effort. It’s for the best all round, he says. Lara will be safe there away from Hitler’s bombs in London – Father says it’s only a matter of time before they come and rip the heart out of the capital – and this way, their society friends will be none the wiser as to my predicament.

  Losing Jimmy has knocked the wind right out of me, so it is probably for the best to let Lara have the proper care that she needs. She is too tiny to be left crying for milk in her crib all morning while I lie in bed and stare listlessly at the ceiling. But what is the point of living without Jimmy? Lara deserves far better than me. I’m a terrible mother, who cannot even muster up enough energy to feed her own baby, let alone leave my bed and get dressed to take her outside for some fresh air. And Mother says babies must have fresh air if they are to thrive.

  Oh Jimmy, I’m so frightfully sorry for abandoning our beautiful daughter. But it won’t be for long, my darling, I promise. Just until my energy returns and I’m back on my feet, and Mother will love her for me. For both of us. Of that I’m certain after seeing the tenderness in her eyes as she lifted tiny Lara from the crib and into her own arms. But my darling, our little Lara will always have a part of us with her, for she has the fluffy pink teddy bear now, a gift from her daddy to go with the hand-knitted baby set her mummy managed to make, using pink wool from an old cardigan, before she became too fatigued.
A dreadful dark cloud descended shortly after Lara was born and I simply can’t shake it off. It’s as if the light in my life has disappeared and I can’t find a way through the tunnel to see it shine again …

  Grace was in the office at work, reading through more of Connie’s diary entries and notes. Betty was sitting beside her in an armchair, busy crocheting Hannah’s dolly blanket.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Grace shook her head and turned the page of Connie’s diary dated 1940.

  ‘What it is, Grace?’ Betty looked up from her crochet.

  ‘It’s just so sad.’

  ‘Ah, come on, lovey, please don’t be upsetting yourself now … I know it was a terrible blow to have Mrs Donato’s death confirmed, but we always knew it was the most likely explanation.’

  ‘Sure, we knew it deep down,’ Grace said quietly, ‘but I can’t stop reading these diaries and finding out more about Connie. It’s as if she’s my friend, and I care about her … she honestly feels alive to me. And did you know that we share the same birthday?’

  ‘Well, fancy that! No wonder you feel an affinity with her,’ Betty said kindly.

  ‘Yes, it’s such a coincidence, and then there’s the similarity …’ Grace let her voice tail off on realising that she didn’t really want to talk about her and Connie’s overbearing mothers, and so instead she lifted the leather-bound notebook up to show Betty. ‘Poor Connie. She’s now lost her sweetheart, Jimmy – Connie’s parents have visited her to break the news that he died in the war and her parents have taken her baby, along with the pink teddy bear and knitted baby set that I found in a suitcase inside the storage unit. And now Connie is just so desperately sad and alone. And if that wasn’t sad enough, I think she was also suffering with postnatal depression after Lara was born.’

  ‘Oh my, that is dreadful,’ Betty said and stopped her crocheting. ‘My sister suffered with depression after her fourth child and it was just awful for her. And her husband, too. She couldn’t leave the house for a good few months and near became a zombie until the doctor prescribed some antidepressants to get her through the worst of it. And then she overhauled her diet and took up aerobics and got involved in all kinds of self-help therapies until she felt like her old self again.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Grace shook her head, thinking of her own battle with depression after the split from Matthew. ‘I wonder if Connie was prescribed antidepressants too?’

  ‘I doubt it, dear. I don’t think there was as much awareness of PND – or any kind of mental illness – in those days. Folks tended to get on with it, best foot forward and all that, or at least they tried to. They didn’t have the kinds of therapies that they do these days. And with a war on, it would have been even more difficult for poor Connie. With no family to fall back on, she would have been all alone. I can’t imagine she would have been able to support herself and a baby without financial assistance. And who was going to give an unmarried mother of seventeen a job with a young baby in tow?’ Betty sighed despondently at the harshness of the situation for Connie. ‘They didn’t have the NHS or social housing or even any social security benefits back then,’ she added.

  ‘It’s terrible,’ Grace let out a long breath, ‘that she was punished for falling in love and just being young and naïve.’

  A short silence followed as both women contemplated the heartache and loneliness that Connie must have endured, with nobody to turn to for help or advice.

  ‘So, just a thought … how come the teddy bear and knitted baby set are in the unit then?’ It was Betty that broke the silence.

  ‘I don’t know, but that’s a very good point. Surely they would have stayed with the baby,’ Grace said, turning more pages to see if there was another mention of baby Lara or the pink teddy bear, but the rest of the diary for 1940 was empty. So it was as if Connie’s life had stopped when the postnatal depression took hold and her parents coerced her into relinquishing the baby.

  ‘Well, let’s hope Maggie can shed some light on what happened next, where the baby is, and find out why Mrs Donato was all alone when she died. She can then help us decide what to do next. But from what you’ve said that Lady Bee and Mr Conway told you, it doesn’t sound as if poor Mrs Donato had any family around her at the end. Can’t have done, can she, poor dear? And that’s a terrible shame.’ Grace sighed and shook her head in agreement, wishing things had been different, as then she might have met Connie, and maybe been able to be there for her, if only to pop in and see her now and again, so she wasn’t all alone. Grace felt that she would have liked to have done that – made her a cup of tea and had a good chat. To have found out about her life and been a friend to her, because it seemed that they had much in common. Connie had loved to dance, too; she had written about it with such passion in her earlier diaries, only to abandon it when she had to leave London and go to the countryside, parted from her truelove and with a broken heart. In much the same way that Grace had lost sight of her own passion for dancing when Matthew broke her heart. And she was aware that her only friend was Jamie, and she had to admit that she also felt lonely sometimes. ‘Because surely if she’d family around her,’ Betty continued, ‘then they wouldn’t have left her to live like that … with just a carton of milk in the fridge, I ask you!’ And Betty let out a long puff of disapproval.

  ‘Yes, it’s so very sad,’ Grace nodded, knowing how important family was to Betty. Her too, had to be … why else would she take care of her mother?

  ‘It sure is!’ Betty agreed. ‘And that’s why it’s commendable of you to stay with your own mother. I know it’s very hard for you, dear, but she’s also very lucky to have you looking after her like you do … not many young women of your age would do it, and nobody would think less of you if you got in some help, you know, dear … or even put her in a home. There are some very nice ones now and she might be much more comfortable …’

  Before Grace could respond, Larry appeared holding out his mobile phone to Betty, his face all flushed.

  ‘It’s Ellis. Our favourite nephew! He’s here in London,’ he said, quickly.

  ‘London?’ Betty put down her crochet and took the phone from him with a baffled look on her face. ‘What on earth do you mean? He lives in America.’

  ‘Yes I know that, dear. But he’s at Heathrow Airport,’ Larry stated, animatedly. ‘He’s just arrived. Talk to him, love, he wants to know about the train, the fast one – what’s it called? The express. Or is he better in a black cab? I’ve told him not to go in one of those Uber ones, but—’

  ‘Shush. I won’t be able hear him,’ Betty chided softly, waving a hand in the air as she lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Hello, love. Are you really here, in London, in England?’ A short silence followed. ‘Well, I never.’ She lifted her eyebrows and pulled an impressed face. ‘On business, you say. Fancy that.’ Another silence. ‘That’s nice of you to take the time to visit us. Really? How exciting. Yes.’ She looked deep in thought now. ‘Yes. Yes. That’s right. Oh I don’t know. Here, let me pass you over to Grace. She’ll be able to help you, I’m sure. See you soon, Ellis. Safe journey.’

  Grace immediately sat upright and closed Connie’s diary. A dart of anxiety flitted into her stomach. She’d never actually met Ellis, only heard about him from Larry and Betty – about how successful he was at the auction house where he worked in New York and lived in a penthouse apartment with its own lift ‘that goes right into the lounge’ is what Betty had told her. And the apartment was in the trendy Tribeca area where lots of cool celebrities lived – and he was American, so bound to be assured and confident. Certainly more so than she was. So Grace already felt way out of her depth. After swallowing hard she managed to speak.

  ‘Um … hello.’

  ‘Hello, Grace, this is Ellis,’ he said, his accent smooth and a little drawly and just as she imagined a native New Yorker to sound. ‘Can you tell me if Paddington is near, err … Greenwich?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.

  ‘Oh, um … no, not really. Um, no I didn’t mean
that I can’t tell you … just that Paddington isn’t near—’ she started, getting flustered and racking her brains to think of the best way for him travel. But then Larry cut in, making her anxiety escalate further when he said, ‘Grace, you could go and meet him. Show him the way here … it’s only early and you’d easily be back by lunchtime,’ he boomed.

  Silence followed.

  Grace could feel a rivulet of sweat snaking a path down her back. There’s no way she’d make it all the way to Heathrow on her own. No way. In her addled state, she instantly wondered if Jamie was working today and, if not, if he might come with her. It was worth asking. But she knew in reality she was clutching at straws – a decision had to be made right this very second as Ellis was waiting on the other end of the phone that was trembling slightly in her left hand.

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft, Larry.’ It was Betty who stepped in to save Grace. ‘She doesn’t want to be trekking all the way across London on the tube now in this hot weather, do you, love? Besides, she needs to get on and catalogue the rest of all the items in Mrs Donato’s unit,’ and she gave Grace a look of motherly concern. ‘No, Grace, tell Ellis to get a black cab straight here. Our treat! Larry will scoot out when it arrives and pay the bill, won’t you, dear?’ Larry swivelled his head from Betty to Grace and back again before mumbling something about money trees. ‘Ellis doesn’t want to be bothering with going to cash machines and all that,’ Betty finished, and that was that, the decision was made.

  After politely conveying Betty’s instructions to Ellis, Grace ended the call, surreptitiously wiping the phone on the side of her skirt before handing it back to Larry.

  ‘Well, this is going to be a nice surprise,’ Betty chuckled, gently patting Grace on the back as she went into the little kitchenette area to put the kettle on.