Leaving Shades

by Leaving Shades (epub)

  She regretted it, but only for a moment. Once more came the joyful leap in her heart at seeing Beth, her Elizabeth, her little girl, again. Joe had a right to know Beth had been here, to know all about her. As all those years ago, Christina had had the right to a normal life with her daughter. Of all the things that had played havoc in her life throughout the years this was what she regretted most. She regretted it with anger and bitterness. And the aching need to put matters right, as a loving mother does.

  Four

  The little girl on the beach was happy. The happiest she had been in ages. She had a new pink bathing costume, a new beach bucket with brightly coloured fishes painted on it, and a large matching spade. Mummy had said the spade was too big for her but she let her have it anyway. Elizabeth was going to build a sandcastle. A really big sandcastle, so big that the tide wouldn’t be able to wash it away, and Mummy would see how clever she was. When Elizabeth told Daddy about it he might be proud of her and say, ‘Well done,’ instead of his usual, ‘So what?’ Or even, ‘Chrissie, get this brat away from me!’

  Elizabeth liked it when Mummy made a fuss of her. When Mummy’s eyes weren’t huge and staring and she wasn’t stumbling about and crying. After she had finished her enormous sandcastle Elizabeth would throw sticks for Cleo. Cleo was running in and out of the waves, barking with the fun of it. It was making Mummy laugh. It was lovely when Mummy laughed, it sounded like tinkling bells. There were no shops and no ice-cream seller near the beach. Mummy explained that the little length of cliff-sheltered sand and shingle here at Mor Penty, a fairly long walk from home, was only a small beach. But Mummy had promised that as soon as they got home she’d take her down to Portcowl and buy her a big ice cream with raspberry sauce on it. All wonderful treats! But best of all was Mummy being with her. Mummy wasn’t usually well enough to take her anywhere.

  After a minute of digging in the soft pale sand, Elizabeth looked across to the rug. Mummy was still there, beside the picnic hamper, smoking a cigarette, watching her. Elizabeth liked it when Mummy watched her. It made her feel safe.

  ‘Elizabeth, come here, darling,’ Mummy waved to her. ‘The sun is very hot today. I think you should have your sun hat on.’

  * * *

  More memories of being here at Mor Penty as a child came seeping back to Beth, lost memories ignited only the morning after her short visit to Owles House when she had walked on to the tiny beach below the holiday cottage. Christina had brought her here only once to this little secluded cove, roughly a mile down the coast from her childhood home. Back then the cottage had been a tumbledown affair owned by a lobster and crab fisherman, now long since dead. Hard granite rock shot up at each end of the beach and behind it, giving kindly shelter from wind and wash. There was the spot in front of a rock pool where Christina had laid out the rug. After finishing her cigarette, she had helped Beth build her sandcastle. It had been a big one, lopsided and not very round, but it hadn’t mattered. Then Christina had suggested they comb the shore for little pieces of driftwood to make doors and windows and a drawbridge. They had gathered shells, pebbles and gull feathers to decorate the castle. Finally Christina had produced a tiny packet of flags she had bought at some time from a gift shop. Beth had been so proud of those flags, and she had loved her mother so very much on that day long ago.

  She visualized Cleo bounding about, forgetting her explorations to rush up to the edge of the rug to beg for treats when Christina had opened the food hamper. Beth suddenly missed Cleo so much. She’d not had a dog since. Grandma had not cared for them.

  Turning her back on these few good childhood memories, Beth gazed out to sea. The tide had turned its back too. It had ebbed away and left wet flotsam strewn on the shoreline. The company Beth had today was stranded seaweed, scraps of rotten timber and a small tangle of fisherman’s net. A lonely neglected scene, which suited her mood. She did not welcome poignant thoughts of Christina. It might put her off guard. And one happy occasion didn’t cancel out all the frightening wretched ones. As a child, it hadn’t occurred to Beth that her sandcastle would be sucked down and destroyed in short hours by the approaching grabbing waves, but that of course was what had happened. Nothing good stayed with her for long. The innocence of her childhood had been wrenched from her. She had lost her parents’ love. And just weeks ago she had lost the man whom she had thought of as the love of her life, a man who had made a fool out of her. Then she had lost their baby, her baby. That ache, that void, that tragedy was a thousand times worse than the hurt from her childhood. Sadly, she couldn’t share with Kitty all the facts about her miscarriage. It involved a secret Kitty must never learn. Grandma had died before the dreadful event, so Beth had been denied her consoling presence – although Grandma would have urged her to have the baby secretly and give it away for adoption, and Beth would have refused to do that. But she still had Kitty and would do anything to keep her friendship.

  Since leaving Owles House yesterday, Beth had regretted the wisdom of getting in touch with Christina, before changing her mind and changing it again. ‘Turn and turn about will get you nowhere,’ Grandma used to say when Beth was in a dither. ‘Slow down and think it all through. Lay out all the issues. It will help you make the right decision.’

  Beth made mental notes. There was no need to mull over all the negatives. She had them written on her heart. Christina had seemed cooperative, eager to come clean, in fact. In the end Beth might come away with everything she wanted to know and having said all that she wanted to say. Able to put the past in the past, which was what she needed most to do.

  There was the awful possibility that Christina might follow her to her home – Christina’s old home, inherited from Grandma – and upset her future as much as she had her past. Might. Might. Might. The only way she was going to find out what might happen was to face Christina again and get on with it. She had come down to Cornwall, been to Owles House, and gone through the first meeting with Christina. It had been a hugely emotional occasion, it couldn’t be anything else, but she had kept her emotions in check, then and since. It hadn’t been difficult; she was feeling kind of numb. It was all rather unreal to her.

  The meeting could have been so much worse. Christina could have been drunk, a haggard, diminishing husk of a being, and she could have demanded that Beth leave her property and never return. Beth would have hated that but she would have been justified in loathing Christina even more. The pleasant, lucid, motherly version of her mother she had met yesterday was an enormous surprise and hard to comprehend. There was only one thing for it. She must make that phone call to Christina.

  * * *

  Kitty was watching the small distant figure of Beth from the somewhat neglected, but otherwise charming, garden of the holiday cottage. At last Beth was on her way back. Kitty slipped away to the kitchen to start cooking the breakfast, hoping to tempt Beth to eat her first substantial meal in two days. She hoped the fresh farmhouse bacon and eggs and thickly toasted home-made bread would relieve Beth of some of her terrible pallor. She needed building up. The miscarriage had robbed her of her usual vitality, she had ended her association with her mystery lover, and now she was in the throes of an emotional make-or-break mission.

  Earlier, while Beth had wandered the beach, Kitty had laid the kitchen table for breakfast and spread slabs of the farmhouse bread with delicious creamy yellow butter, before setting the bacon and eggs out ready to be cooked. She had cut a bunch of rock roses and put them in two vases to give the cottage a homely feel. The cottage had been left pristine by the farmer who owned it. The linen had been aired. Kindling wood and rolled-up newspaper were laid in the little sitting-room grate, and there was a full basket of logs at the hearth in case warmth was needed. Mor Penty. Kitty liked the name of the cottage and the beach. The rooms were furnished with post-war items and lots of plump cushions. Unvarnished wooden mirror frames were embellished with seashells. There were pictures of boats, sea and coast and old salts and the like, and ships in bottles. A scrap of
fishing net with green glass floats was strung up from the low ceding beams in the sitting room. A bookshelf held titles like Moby Dick, Great Sea Adventures and Foes from the Deep as well as lighter holiday reading. In recent times an extension had been added to give a third bedroom and a bathroom and a sweet basic conservatory. It seemed a pity no one actually lived here, Kitty thought, that it was just a holiday let.

  Her tummy grumbling for food, her appetite stirred by the fresh tangy salt air, Kitty glanced out of a window and wished Beth would make faster progress coming in. Beth was dawdling so slowly, with still plenty of beach to cover before the short steep rocky climb up to the little back garden gate. She was a lonely figure in trousers, a short-sleeved blouse, dangling her sandals from her fingertips. Kitty tuned into Beth’s loneliness. She wanted to rush to her but Beth needed to make her inner journey alone. The decisions she came to would affect the rest of her life. Was she thinking about the father of her baby? The mysterious man she’d had a brief fling with? Kitty had known nothing about the love affair until the onset of Beth’s miscarriage, which had started with great distress for her friend while the pair had been sharing an evening at Beth’s home. The doctors had praised Kitty’s quick actions in getting her friend to the hospital; it had been obvious her predicament had required more than the services of the GP. It had also been obvious that Beth’s lover was unattainable, the reason for her secrecy, even towards her best friend.

  While recovering in the hospital bed, Beth had miserably confided to Kitty, ‘I was about to tell you I was planning to go away and start a new life. Of course you would have been invited to come and stay with me whenever you liked.’

  Poor dear Beth, she had so wanted her baby, in order to keep a part of the man she obviously still desperately loved.

  ‘I wish I knew who the man was,’ Kitty muttered on the breeze. He obviously wasn’t free and he should never have allowed the affair to happen. Kitty longed to challenge the selfish swine. ‘See what your philandering has done? Beth didn’t deserve to have you messing up her life.’ Kitty acknowledged it was better she didn’t know the man’s identity. If she tore into him it would distress Beth even more.

  Kitty wondered if Beth would like to eat outside, but decided she had probably had enough fresh air for the time being.

  Something caught Kitty’s eye. Someone was at the side of the cottage, on the path. A boy. He was astride a bicycle, one foot taking the balance, leaning forward over the handlebars. And he was staring at her.

  He kept staring. Kitty got the impression he was trying to make out if he knew her. ‘I deliver newspapers.’ His tone was gruff. ‘Do you want any?’

  Kitty kept quiet. She wasn’t going to reply to such insolent behaviour. Cheeky brat. Didn’t mothers teach their children manners hereabouts? He had a smug air about him and the usual tousled hair, scraped legs, shorts and drooping socks and scuffed sandals. He was staring past her now, searching the garden and the beach beyond. He looked at the beach for some time, his expression unreadable. He was staring at Beth. Then he turned back to Kitty and smiled. It was a handsome smile. A smile that was totally disarming and easy to respond to. He was a handsome boy. Dark and well built. A future heartbreaker, if ever there was one, Kitty decided.

  ‘Are you enjoying your holiday? Everyone who stays at Mor Penty enjoys the stay. My name’s Joe.’

  Kitty was struck at how well spoken he was, and after his initial brusqueness he was full of charm too. He was barely an adolescent but she fancied he already looked over girls. ‘I’m here for a few days with a friend. I’m Miss Copeland,’ she answered. ‘Thank you for the offer of a newspaper. If we want any we’ll fetch our own.’

  ‘As you please. So you’re Miss Copeland?’

  It was more a statement than a question, but there had been a probing edge to it. The searching stare was back in his eyes. This boy was sharp and not entirely friendly. ‘That is what I said. Look, Joe, can I do something for you?’

  ‘No, thank you, Miss Copeland. I’ve got the right place. That’s all I wanted to know.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Kitty demanded.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you again, perhaps,’ Joe said, taking a long stab again at Beth on the beach. Then he turned his bicycle round and pedalled away.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Kitty called, but it was to empty air.

  * * *

  Joe had found it easy to discover where his half-sister was staying. His mother’s daily help, Mrs Reseigh, had met up with Farmer Read’s wife, and this morning Mrs Reseigh had prattled to his mother about how two young ladies from ‘up country’ were now staying at Mor Penty. These young ladies were dead certain to be Elizabeth Tresaile and Katherine Copeland, and Miss Copeland had just confirmed it.

  So his half-sister was the woman loitering on the beach. The fact that his mother had another child, an older daughter, had not bothered him before. His mother had kept nearly all her thoughts about Elizabeth Tresaile to herself. She had once said, ‘I forfeited Elizabeth through my own bad behaviour and I’ll always regret it.’ Joe had never been interested in his half-sister. She lived far away, had never got in touch, until now, and he had never expected to meet her. His mother had photographs of her as a young girl but Joe had never looked at them. His mother was the best mother a boy could get. He adored her and cherished her, and his only concern now was whether this stranger was a threat to her peace and health.

  Keeping his rear up off the saddle, his strong feet and legs pumping madly to scale the bumpy slope from Mor Penty to the ribbon of coast road, he stopped in a passing place where there was a good view of the cottage.

  ‘You had better be careful what you do and say to my mum,’ he told the tall figure on the sand. ‘I won’t let you hurt her, not one little bit.’

  * * *

  ‘Food smells good.’ Beth flopped down wearily at the pine kitchen table. ‘Are you all right, Kitty? You’re rather quiet.’

  ‘I hope you’ve worked up an appetite,’ Kitty said, sounding jolly, moving sizzling rashers of bacon about in the frying pan on top of the stove. ‘Bread’s ready and there’s fresh tea in the pot. There was someone here just now.’

  ‘Oh?’ Beth got up and washed her hands. She wasn’t hungry but she’d make an effort to please Kitty, the dear old thing.

  ‘It was a boy, aged about twelve I think.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘I don’t know really. He said he was a paper boy and asked if we wanted a delivery. I think he was lying. He might have been just plain nosy, I suppose, but there was something more than that. The way he stared at me, and down at you, it was, well, unsettling. He said his name was Joe and when I introduced myself he seemed to have heard about me already. I think that must go for you too. What could it all be about?’

  ‘Goodness, Kitty.’ Beth patted her arm before resuming her seat. She poured out two cups of tea. ‘I thought I was the one with the fanciful imagination. I booked the cottage under your name, so he probably got hold of your name easily enough. His mother probably sent him snooping here so she can spread gossip.’

  ‘He seemed very surly. Just before he left he said, “I’ll be seeing you again, perhaps.” I didn’t like it, Beth,’ Kitty said, adding eggs to fry with the bacon.

  ‘Well,’ Beth shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter if people discover I’m Christina’s daughter. I’ve decided to see her again. As soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll phone her. I’ll ask to see her again today.’

  Kitty brought the two plates of food to the table. ‘I’m glad about that. I’m sure it will be for the best in the end. Want me to come with you again?’

  ‘Yes I do, but I think I should go alone this time. Christina might be too much on the defensive if she feels she’s faced with a committee. You don’t mind, do you Kitty?’

  ‘Not in the least. I’ll come along but get out of the car at the drive then pop down to the harbour. Call in at the local shops. See who’s about. If I happen to meet any of your relati
ves I’ll see what they’re like, but I won’t mention you, of course. I need a good stretch of the legs. I’ll walk back here on the coast path. Are you nervous? Do you know what you’ll say to Christina?’

  ‘I’m too damned angry to be nervous. I want to know why she was a stinking drunk. I loved my baby even though I’d never seen it or knew if it was a girl or a boy. I’ll ask her why she was such a rotten mother to me, why she didn’t love me.’

  A while later, up in her bedroom, Beth changed out of her casual clothes into a stylish chevron-patterned slip-on dress with beaded detail and a scalloped hem, and put on high heels. She would carry her crocodile-skin clutch. She applied a little enhancing make-up. She wanted to look polished, successful and reaming with confidence, to show Christina that her life with Grandma had been the best thing that could have happened to her. One moment Beth felt like that, the next she felt her insides curl up and she longed only to drive all the way home and try to forget her mother even existed. Christina was expecting her at eleven o’clock. Beth would be half an hour late, with the intention of making Christina feel jumpy. She might get a taste then of exactly how horrid it felt to be on the lookout for someone who should turn up and not run out on her.

  A little while before, having driven to the next village to use the public telephone, Beth had bristled at the sound of her mother’s voice answering her call by speaking the telephone number of Owles House. Christina had sounded cautious.

  ‘It’s Beth. I want to come and see you. Shortly. Is it convenient?’

  ‘Oh, Beth, it’s good to hear from you so soon. I’ve been worried that you wouldn’t want to see me again. Come as soon as you can. You’re very, very welcome. Will Miss Copeland be joining you?’

  ‘No.’