But Adela refused, not wanting to have to explain her shameful secrets to anyone else. It was Josey who saved her sanity. In Herbert’s granddaughter she had found a kindred spirit: someone who enjoyed life, the theatre and having fun, as well as being a link to her parents. It was Josey who got her through midsummer with her humour and kindness, keeping her busy at the theatre and protecting her like an older sister. She introduced Adela to her eccentric friends at the rambling house on Westgate Road and their welcoming landlady, Florence. It turned out that she too had known Adela’s mother in the early days of Herbert’s Tea Rooms.
‘Clarrie was wonderful to us suffragists,’ Florence enthused. ‘She let us use Herbert’s for our protest on Census Night before the war. And we often met in her café to discuss tactics, and she’d send over extra cake to keep us going. You will send my fondest regards, won’t you, dear?’
Adela thirsted for these stories of her mother; they made her feel closer to her faraway parent. She wrote letters home telling Clarrie about Josey and Florence. Her mother wrote back, thrilled at the news and sending her love and greetings, especially to Josey. She admitted that the modest amount of trust money had been her idea, and Wesley had arranged it. But nowhere in her letters did Clarrie encourage Adela to come home. Quite the opposite. Yet she kept to herself how upsetting it was that her mother was still pushing her away.
I’m glad things are working out for you in Newcastle and that you are having some fun along the way. It was the right thing for you to go. Stick in at the theatre; you never know what might come of it. I get quite nostalgic at the thought of you sharing the flat with Lexy. What a great friend she has been to us both.
You don’t say much about Olive and the family any more. I hope everything is all right with the Brewises. You would tell me if there was anything to worry about, wouldn’t you? Give them my love as always . . .
This galvanised Adela into calling on her aunt. She had only made one brief, awkward visit to Lime Terrace since she had returned to Newcastle, to tell Olive in confidence that the problem of the unwanted baby had been taken care of. She had invited her aunt to a birthday tea at Herbert’s on 13 June that Lexy and Jane had organised, but Olive had not come.
One late June evening she took Josey round to meet Olive and Jack.
Adela’s uncle was bashful but welcoming. ‘Josephine Stock! I remember you from family gatherings at Summerhill. Full of chat. And good at sharing the toys with our George – not like your twin brother.’
Olive seemed agitated by the appearance of someone from her past.
‘Your mam and dad never made a secret of how they looked down their noses at the likes of us,’ she said.
‘Sounds like them,’ Josey said, not taking offence. ‘I remember you doing lovely drawings. Do you still draw, Mrs Brewis?’
‘No, not for years.’
‘And those paintings in the café – you did those, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’m not well enough now.’
‘Pity,’ said Josey. ‘You’ve got such talent. If you ever decide you want to paint again, we’d love some paintings to hang in the theatre. We encourage local artists, as well as actors.’
‘That would be canny,’ said Jack, ‘if you picked up a paintbrush again.’
‘It’s not that easy,’ Olive said, her hands squirming in her lap. ‘You all talk as if it was easy.’
Adela wished she’d made sure George was at home before calling. He would have lightened the atmosphere. She quickly diverted the conversation. ‘We wondered if you’d both like to come to see the play Josey is in next week. I’ve got you complimentary tickets.’
Neither her aunt nor uncle looked enthusiastic. Jack put on a show of being pleased.
‘That’s very kind.’
‘You know I can’t go to crowded places,’ Olive said with an expression of panic.
‘Perhaps George would like to take Joan,’ Jack suggested.
Adela left the tickets on the table. ‘Whatever you decide is fine,’ she said and smiled, not wanting to make her uncle feel uncomfortable. She made excuses to leave quickly. Outside, as they walked away, she apologised to Josey.
‘Sorry for dragging you along. I thought it might help my aunt to meet someone from the past – something to spark her interest. She’s almost a recluse these days.’
‘I don’t remember Olive well – except that she had beautiful red-gold hair – but she was nothing like that frightened skinny woman in there.’
‘That’s it,’ agreed Adela. ‘Everything seems to frighten her.’
‘How sad,’ said Josey, linking an arm through Adela’s. ‘But whatever your aunt’s problems are, you are not to blame for them. Come on, we’ve a show to put on.’
The People’s Theatre group played all week to packed audiences. Adela helped as much in the preparation as she could, though her job at the Essoldo meant that she missed most of the performances. The Wednesday matinee was her afternoon off, and so she determined to watch the play herself that day. A hurried note from Florence came to Herbert’s that morning, where she was helping Lexy serve breakfasts.
‘Josey has been sick all night. She’s asking if you could possibly stand in for her this afternoon.’
‘Poor Josey,’ said Adela in concern.
‘Aye,’ said Lexy, ‘but this is your big chance to shine on stage. Take that pinny off and get yoursel’ up to the theatre.’
Derek’s grumbling at the last-minute change was half-hearted; he had watched Adela rehearsing the part with Josey and already knew she was capable of doing a cheeky, flirtatious Louka. In his opinion, Josey was a talented character actress carrying off her role with the force of her personality rather than her looks. Adela – if she didn’t get stage fright – would be funny, as well as engaging to look at.
As soon as Adela stepped on the stage and felt the heat and glare of the spotlights, she was exhilarated. Everything else in her life vanished: all anxious thoughts, past traumas, pain and regret were pushed from her mind as she became Louka. She revelled in the part, playing the coquettish servant for all it was worth. The laughter from the audience made her as heady as if she’d been drinking champagne.
Afterwards, as she sat in the cramped dressing room taking off her make-up and chattering with her fellow players, Josey walked in with Derek behind.
‘Are you all right?’ Adela sprang up.
‘She seems to have made a remarkable recovery,’ Derek said dryly. ‘In fact she was feeling well enough to sit and watch the matinée.’
Adela gaped.
‘You were wonderful, Miss Robson.’ Josey grinned and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘I’m beginning to think I made a huge mistake picking you as my understudy.’
‘Did you pretend to be ill just to let me perform?’ Adela asked. ‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘Put it this way,’ Derek grunted, ‘she’ll be in the pink and back on stage tonight.’
Adela was overwhelmed with gratitude. ‘Thank you,’ Adela said, hugging her friend.
‘And that’s not all,’ said Derek. ‘Cecil McGivern was in the audience and was asking who you were.’
Adela gasped. ‘The BBC producer?’
Derek nodded. ‘He acted with The People’s years ago, long before he started making dramas and documentaries.’
‘What did you say about me?’ Adela was wide-eyed.
‘That you were a posh flapper from Simla, but you were useful to the wardrobe department.’
Josey spluttered. ‘Flapper? Nobody uses that expression now. You’re showing your age, Derek.’ She turned to Adela. ‘And he’s only teasing. I heard him positively gushing about you to Cecil.’
Derek gave the flicker of a smile. ‘Well, he’s making a radio programme about The People’s – past patrons, like George Bernard Shaw and Dame Sybil Thorndike, are going to be interviewed – and I wanted to give us all a bit of credit.’
Adela was touched by his gesture. ‘Thanks, Derek. I’ve hardly
been here two minutes, so it was very kind of you.’
‘Don’t thank me. I would have disowned you if you hadn’t given a good performance up there,’ he said. ‘You’re not bad for a member of the ruling class.’
That summer Adela continued to fill every moment of every day with activity: working at the Essoldo, helping at the theatre, learning to bake cakes and pies at Herbert’s under Lexy’s and Jane’s instruction, and visiting Maggie and Ina in Cullercoats. Lexy tried to encourage her to take the occasional evening off.
‘Why don’t you go to the cricket dance on Saturday?’ she suggested. ‘George will stop asking you to go if you keep turning down his invitations.’
‘George doesn’t mind,’ said Adela. ‘He’s only asking out of politeness. And I don’t think Joan likes me. It would just be awkward.’
Lexy gave her a pitying look. ‘Listen, lass. You made a mistake and got in trouble. Plenty do. But you don’t need to punish yourself for ever. Find a lad who’ll treat you well.’
Adela’s heart squeezed as Sam came vividly to mind. For the umpteenth time she was flooded with regret at the rupture of their friendship. How different things might have been if she had never met Sanjay, or if Sam had not been at the Sipi Fair that fateful day the previous May. If only she had let Sam know her true feelings for him before all that happened. She was sure that he had felt something for her too. And on hearing about the death of her father, Sam had travelled to Belgooree to see her. Was that just because he had been in the area and was making a polite call to offer his condolences, or had he been genuinely disappointed to find that she had gone to England? She might never know. He had made no attempt to write to her.
If he had held feelings for her once, circumstances had prevented them from growing. He had Pema to take care of now. Besides, as a missionary he would be horrified if he ever learnt of her getting pregnant and having Sanjay’s baby out of wedlock. She was filled with shame at the thought of his finding out. She would never be worthy of his love now, and the thought made her desolate. Yet would the day ever come when she didn’t feel pain in her heart at the thought of Sam Jackman? Just the sound of a tugboat hooting on the river or a pile of ripe red apples was enough to bring him to mind. She would have to harden her feelings if she was ever to get over him.
‘I’m not looking for a lad,’ Adela replied, masking her unhappiness. ‘They’re nothing but trouble.’
‘What a cynic for one so young,’ said Lexy.
‘Well, you took your time before settling down with Cousin Jared,’ Adela reminded her.
‘Aye, I wouldn’t have looked at him twice when he ran the Cherry Tree,’ Lexy admitted, ‘but he mellowed in later life. I had fifteen happy years with Jared, so I’ve no complaints.’
Adela was adamant. ‘Well, I’m not going to rush into any more romances either.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Lexy, ‘but from what Josey tells me, half the lads at the theatre are in love with you. You’ll have a hard job ignorin’ ’em.’
There was one area in Adela’s life in Newcastle that continued to bring upset: she could do nothing to please her aunt Olive. She had suggested they redecorate Herbert’s, but Olive had rebuffed any attempts to get her to come to the café and give her opinion. Adela worried about her aunt’s increasing isolation at Lime Terrace, knowing that she took solace in drinking sherry alone and ruminating. According to Jane, Olive hardly left the house any more, not even to visit her neighbour, Mrs Harris.
‘She’s worrying about war breaking out on the Continent,’ said Jane, ‘and George joining up.’
‘It won’t come to war – and he wouldn’t volunteer, would he? Uncle Jack needs him in the business.’
‘That’s what Father keeps telling her, but she won’t listen,’ Jane confided. ‘Keeps going on about the Great War and how Father nearly didn’t come back.’
One July afternoon Adela called to see her aunt, but no one came when she rang the bell. She knocked on the bay window.
‘Aunt Olive, it’s me, Adela. I know you’re there. Please let me in. I’ve brought you a piece of lemon cake.’
She could almost feel her aunt holding her breath behind the net curtains and potted plants, waiting for her to go away. What would her mother have done? Adela wondered. Probably gone round the back and climbed in at the kitchen window, forcing Olive to speak to her and confront her fears. But Clarrie was probably the only person to whom Olive might listen. She certainly wouldn’t have her anxieties dispelled by anything Adela could say to her.
Adela gave up and turned away. Olive’s rejection hurt her deeply. She wanted to befriend her aunt if only for her mother’s sake; she recalled Clarrie’s words urging her to be helpful. Do all you can for our Olive; she’s one of life’s worriers. Yet even when her aunt had welcomed her into her home the previous summer, Adela had never felt close to her. There was a reserve about Olive and an ever-present tenseness, as if she was constantly bracing herself for some catastrophe. Was it possible that she was still jealous of Clarrie after all these years and resented Clarrie’s daughter swanning in from India and monopolising her family? Lexy had said as much when she’d told her about Olive’s fear that Jack still loved Clarrie.
Adela retreated down the hill back to Tyne Street. She had failed her mother again. Her eyes stung with tears of frustration as she was overwhelmed with a sudden pang of homesickness for Belgooree, her mother and her dead father. What was she doing here in Newcastle? It wasn’t her home. Despite her one heady appearance on stage, she’d been given no acting parts. Her days were filled with doing menial jobs; after long shifts at the Essoldo or the café, she had to do her own chores. Many were the nights when she was still washing out underwear and stockings at midnight in preparation for the next day. She did jobs here that she wouldn’t have dreamt of doing at home.
And yet. If her mother wrote to her tomorrow asking her to come back and be with her and Harry, would she go? Adela gazed about in the hazy sunshine at the rows of scruffy terraces banking down to the grey oily river – the jumble of rooftops, church spires and bridges that marked the teeming heart of the city. She knew it would be bustling with shoppers and traders down there. Within ten minutes of where she stood she could enter a dozen cinemas, scores of shops and cafés, listen to dance music on a hundred different radio sets.
For the first time in her life she was living independently, with no one to tell her how to organise her day. She was content living with Lexy in her tiny flat, fuggy with cigarette smoke, where they swapped stories over cups of tea at the day’s end. No, Adela realised, she didn’t want to go home – not yet – despite the tugs of homesickness. She would have felt differently if there had been the slightest chance of Sam coming back into her life. But that was a pipe dream. He had put himself beyond her reach by taking Pema as his wife, and she had ruined her chances of being with him when she’d chosen to have the affair with Jay – a choice she would regret for the rest of her life.
Besides, her mother wasn’t calling her home, so she just had to make the best of her life in England.
Walking in at the back door of the café, Adela saw Jane’s face light up. Adela could hardly bear her cousin’s look of expectation.
‘Sorry, Jane, she wouldn’t even answer the door—’
‘Didn’t think she would.’ Jane grabbed her hand and pulled her across the kitchen. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. You’re going to get such a surprise. Come in the café now!’
Adela let herself be dragged through the swing door. The room was busy with customers taking tea and children digging long spoons into tall glasses of ice cream. Lexy was chatting to someone at a table that was obscured by a huge potted palm. Lexy caught sight of Jane leading Adela by the hand and waved them over, her heavily made-up face smiling.
As Adela reached the table, there was a chorus of ‘Surprise!’ She gaped at the array of grinning faces – Tilly and her children.
‘Auntie Tilly!’
Tilly, clad in a ga
rish flowery cotton frock, stood up and flung out her arms. ‘Darling girl!’ she cried. ‘We’ve had to eat far more cake than is good for us waiting for you.’
Adela felt her knees weaken at the excited looks around the table and Tilly’s loving expression. It was as if they had been conjured up by magic to stop her feeling sorry for herself. How strange that her mind had been full of thoughts of home and India. She fell into her friend’s embrace. ‘What are you doing here? I can’t believe it.’
Abruptly a sob rose up and engulfed her. ‘How I’ve missed you!’ She clung on to Tilly as if she were her own mother and wept loudly, unable to stop.
Tilly just held her and stroked her hair as if she were a child, while Jamie, Libby and Mungo looked on in embarrassment. Adela didn’t care. What mattered at that moment was the feel of Tilly’s plump, warm arms around her, telling her more than words could possibly say that she was dearly loved.
CHAPTER 22
It was my friend Ros Mitchell who put the idea in my head,’ Tilly explained once Adela had brought her crying under control and was sitting beside her at the table. ‘Her husband, Duncan, has been posted back to Newcastle. You know he works for Strachan’s agency? Well, their headquarters are here. Ros is simply my very best friend in Assam, and I really can’t bear the thought of her being here and me out there. But that’s as may be. She suggested I keep her company on the ship home – come back for the summer.’
‘Why didn’t you say you were coming?’ Adela smiled tearfully. ‘Mother never mentioned it.’
‘It was all very last minute. I was lucky to get a berth on board. But there have been cancellations – some people aren’t sure if coming home is a good idea.’ Tilly paused and glanced at her children. ‘Their father wasn’t happy. He’s got it into his head that Europe’s on the verge of war.’
‘He’s right: it is,’ Libby interrupted. ‘Hitler’s got his sights on half the Continent. Poland will be next and—’
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 33