‘You know they’re wanting more of us to volunteer for North Africa now that the Germans have surrendered there. Desert is positively groaning with army boys with not enough to keep them from going mad with heat and boredom.’
‘I’d heard ENSA is wanting to send touring parties further east to India,’ said Josey.
‘India?’ Adela felt a quickening of interest. ‘Really?’
‘I heard Basil Dean discussing it when I was last in London. Thinks Mountbatten’s South East Asia Command troops are being neglected as far as entertainment goes – they’re the forgotten army.’
‘You’ll not get me going out there,’ said Helen, a fellow Toodle Pip. ‘It’s all disease and creepy-crawlies and horrible heat, isn’t it?’
‘Not all the time,’ Tommy said, winking at Adela.
‘Do you think there’s a real chance ENSA will get sent there?’ Adela asked.
‘Not if we’re all as squeamish as Helen,’ Josey said in derision.
‘Would you sign up for it if you could?’ Tommy asked her.
Adela didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. What about you?’
Tommy looked unsure.
Prue said, ‘I’ll go if Adela does. Come on, Tommy, we’re The Simla Songsters. We have to stick together.’
Tommy gave a wry smile. ‘I’d much rather stay in Blighty and see out the war here. But if you insist on making me sail dangerous seas to perform in a country on the point of being invaded, then I suppose I must.’
‘You’re such a drama queen, Villiers,’ snorted Josey. ‘I might just have to come too.’
By November Adela, Prue, Tommy and Josey had signed up for a nine-month contract to the Middle East and India. Blonde Helen resolutely refused to go, so they replaced her with an older dancer called Mavis, who claimed she’d once been a Bluebell Girl in Paris.
‘The Bluebell Inn at Pontefract more likely,’ Tommy muttered to Adela.
‘Her dancing is okay and she’s got a blonde wig,’ Adela replied, ‘so let’s take her.’
The only other one from their review who was prepared to go all the way to India was the accordionist, a middle-aged Scot simply known as Mack. Tommy complained at the paucity of talent going with them.
‘An impressionist who can’t do anyone famous, a juggler who drops everything and an alcoholic magician. Oh, and not one but three ukulele players. I can’t stand the ukulele.’
‘Well, the boys will love them,’ said Josey.
‘We’ll be laughed off stage.’
‘Laughter is better than booing.’ Adela smiled. ‘And you will look after them all like a mother hen, just like you do us.’
With passports and nine inoculations in order, costumes made and scripts and routines practised, Adela and Josey managed to get away to Tyneside for a final week of leave before embarkation. Taking a night train, Josey found no difficulty in falling asleep on a prickly seat, but Adela’s nervous excitement kept her awake. She hadn’t been back to Newcastle for over a year. Since then George had come back from flight training long enough to marry Joan, which had lifted Olive’s spirits, according to a letter from Jane, who was working in Yorkshire, helping operate searchlights and an anti-aircraft gun. Her letter sounded happy, and she got home every few weeks, but had missed her brother’s snap wedding in July.
A small do – registry office and tea at Number 10. Lexy made a cake. Joan’s moved in with Mam and Father.
That had really surprised Adela. She wondered how Joan would cope with being at Olive’s beck and call. But perhaps Joan’s placid nature would be good for Olive, and Adela was glad Jack had someone who could share the burden of keeping Olive’s melancholia at bay.
Tilly was as busy as ever with her WVS duties and still had one of the Polish refugees lodging with her. Libby had left school at seventeen and for a while had returned to Newcastle to volunteer at the services canteen again. The last letter from Tilly had said that Libby, now eighteen, had enlisted and been drafted into the Land Army. She was working on a farm near Morpeth in Northumberland, and Tilly complained she hardly saw her now. Lexy never wrote; she just waited for Adela to turn up and resume their friendship. The thought of seeing her soon brought a wide smile to Adela’s lips.
Rattling over the High Level Bridge as the dawn broke over a smoke-hazed Newcastle, Adela leant out and breathed in the acrid smell of coal fires and felt a pang of affection for her adopted home. The women went straight to Herbert’s Café for breakfast and received an ecstatic welcome from Lexy.
‘Why didn’t you say you were coming, lass? I’d have got something special baked.’
‘Didn’t know till the last minute. We’ve brought you jam, coffee and American chocolate bars,’ Adela said and grinned. ‘Been saving them from our trip to a US airbase.’
Adela was astonished to find Maggie working in the café kitchen and living with Lexy.
‘Old Ina died in October,’ Maggie explained. ‘She didn’t suffer, but she’d had enough. Hated all them sirens and that. Thought I was her daughter at the end.’
‘Dear Ina,’ Adela said, her eyes prickling with emotion to think of her weeks of refuge in the old lady’s house nearly five years ago. Ina had given her sanctuary when her own aunt had not. It all seemed a lifetime ago.
Over a meal of scrambled powdered egg, thin rashers of bacon and fried bread, Adela caught up on all the news. The most startling was that George’s new bride, Joan, had given birth to a baby the previous month.
‘A baby?’ Adela exclaimed. ‘But—’
‘Aye,’ said Lexy, ‘three months after the weddin’. We can all do the sums. It’s a lass. Joan’s called her Bonnie after that bairn in Gone with the Wind.’
Adela felt her insides clench. She tried to hide how flustered the sudden news made her. ‘Well, she always did like going to the pictures,’ Adela joked.
‘She certainly does,’ Josey agreed, ‘and not always with George.’
They all stared at her.
‘What do you mean?’ Adela asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Josey said. ‘Don’t listen to me.’
Adela tried to shake off her upset feeling. ‘Bet George is pleased to be a dad.’ She forced a smile.
‘He hasn’t seen the baby yet,’ Lexy replied. ‘His ship sailed for Ceylon the week before the birth.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible,’ Adela cried. ‘Poor George.’
‘Aye,’ Lexy said and sighed, ‘and poor bairn. Not likely to set eyes on her dadda till this war’s over.’
A silence fell over them. How uncertain life was for all of them, Adela thought. There might be signs of the war turning in their favour in North Africa and southern Italy – and the Russians had held off the Nazis in Eastern Europe – but most of the Continent was still in enemy hands.
‘Come on.’ Josey roused her from jittery thoughts. ‘Let’s go and see Tilly. We can leave baby worship and the Brewises till later.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ Adela smiled gratefully. She was far closer to Tilly than she would ever be to her own flesh-and-blood aunt, and Josey knew that.
Both Adela and Josey stayed at Tilly’s house for the week; Josey found Tilly’s easy-going household refreshing, and Tilly mothered her as much as she did Adela. They had a carefree few days, dropping into the café daily and visiting Derek and their friends at the theatre, who were gearing up for a production of Oscar Wilde’s satire The Importance of Being Earnest.
‘It’s the nearest I’ll ever get to putting on a panto,’ Derek said with a lugubrious smile.
Libby, on hearing that her cousin and friend were briefly in Newcastle, hitched a ride in a milk delivery lorry to come and see them.
As she bounded in and greeted them with robust hugs, Adela was amazed how Libby had suddenly grown into a woman. She had lost her childhood plumpness, and her body was toned and fit from outdoor work. Even her face seemed to have changed shape from round to oval, accentuating her plump mouth and her deep blue eyes, which still flashed with a familiar bold look.
There was a sprinkling of freckles across her small nose that added to her prettiness and air of good health. Her unruly waves of dark red hair shone like fire in the wintry sun.
‘Libby, you look wonderful!’ Adela cried. ‘Your mother never told me how pretty you’ve grown.’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Libby, giving a deep-throated laugh.
‘She’s always been pretty,’ Tilly said without really sounding like she meant it.
They spent a happy winter’s afternoon by Tilly’s kitchen fire, toasting stale bread and drinking tea from a special hoard that James had managed to send from the Oxford. Libby stayed the night and left before dawn.
‘I’ll catch a lift going up the Great North Road,’ she told her fretting mother. ‘Be back for breakfast. They won’t have missed me.’ She turned to a sleepy Adela, who was wrapped in a blanket, yawning.
‘I’m so jealous that you’re going to India,’ she said. ‘You’ll see Daddy before I will.’
‘I hope to get to Assam,’ said Adela, ‘but who knows where we’ll be sent?’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘Any messages for him if I do?’
Alarmingly she saw tears well up in the girl’s eyes; Libby hardly ever cried.
‘Tell him I send my love,’ she said, her voice cracking, ‘and that we’ll all come back as soon as we can. Tell him that.’
Libby planted a swift kiss on Adela’s warm cheek and then bolted into the dark.
With two days left of leave, Adela realised she couldn’t put off going to visit Aunt Olive any longer. She was baffled by her own reluctance to do so. Perhaps it was just the effort of being cheerful in the face of her aunt’s habitual complaining.
‘Will you come with me?’ she asked Josey.
‘Reinforcements at the ready,’ Josey agreed.
To Adela’s delight she found her aunt in better spirits than she’d ever seen her. Olive greeted them at the door in a bright blue dress instead of her usual drab black or grey, and her hair was neatly permed.
‘Come in, come in! I heard you were back. Thought you would have been round before now.’
‘Sorry, Aunt Olive—’
‘Well, you’re here now. Come away in, the pair of you.’
The sitting room was still painted in its bright colours and the sombre furniture had been covered over with gaudy blankets and pushed back to allow baby paraphernalia. Joan, her blonde hair swept up in a loose bun and her figure voluptuous in a loose shift and long cardigan, looked up from kneeling on a baby blanket, and smiled.
‘Hello, Joan,’ said Adela, stepping nearer. ‘I hear double congratulations are in order.’
As Joan shifted to one side, Adela saw the baby wriggling on the blanket. She was dressed in a yellow woollen suit, and her starlike hands were waving. She gave out tiny popping noises from her pink bud lips. Adela stopped in her tracks.
‘Hello, Adela. This is Bonnie.’ Joan swept the baby from the blanket and into her arms and stood up. She kissed her daughter’s fluff of fair hair and lapsed into a babyish voice. ‘You’re Mammy’s good little lass, aren’t you, bonny Bonnie? Yes you are! Come and say hello to your cousin Adela. She’s a famous actress. Yes she is.’
Beaming with pride, Joan advanced towards Adela and held out her baby. Adela froze. She couldn’t look at it. Her eyes met Joan’s. The young woman’s look was bashful, expectant. Adela knew she was longing for her approval. As Adela made no move to take the infant, Joan’s blissful look faltered.
‘Go on, she won’t bite.’
‘Yes, go on,’ encouraged Olive. ‘She’s a little jewel – my first grandchild. I’ve beaten Clarrie there, haven’t I?’ Her aunt gave a small triumphant laugh. It was as if Olive had wiped from her memory that Adela had ever been pregnant or given birth.
Adela felt sick; her pulse began to race. She couldn’t bear to touch the baby. Her heart would shatter into tiny pieces. She took a step backwards.
‘Sorry, I’m hopeless with babies.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Don’t want to drop it . . . her.’
Josey intervened. ‘Here, let me. I never get the chance.’ She almost snatched Bonnie from Joan’s arms. The baby wailed at the sudden movement, but Josey walked to the window, joggling her in her arms and singing, ‘I’m Just Wild About Harry’, adapted to Bonnie’s name.
It gave Adela long enough to recover her poise. They stayed half an hour – to Adela each minute was purgatory, as Olive and Joan talked endlessly of the baby – until Bonnie needed feeding. Joan took her baby to the kitchen so Bonnie could suckle in the warmth of the back room. As Josey said goodbye to Olive at the door, Adela braced herself to nip into the kitchen to apologise to Joan. She felt awful for disappointing George’s wife and didn’t want her to think she didn’t like her baby. Joan was sitting in a low chair, the baby snuffling but hidden under a shawl.
‘We’re off now. She’s gorgeous, your Bonnie. Suits the name. Sorry about before.’
Joan eyed her. ‘I know what you’re thinking. That I’m not good enough for George.’
Adela was taken aback. ‘I never thought—’
‘You think I’m too common for your cousin. But now we’re married and everything’s canny.’
‘I’m glad for you.’
‘And it doesn’t matter if the bairn came three months after we were wed. At least Bonnie was born in wedlock and I’ve got a ring on me finger. That’s what matters, isn’t it?’
Adela felt her heart begin to pound. ‘Yes, that’s good.’
Joan gave a pitying look. ‘Not like you.’
For a moment Adela couldn’t breathe. She gripped on to the door frame.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Aye, you do,’ said Joan. ‘I saw you in Cullercoats walking along the cliff when you were supposed to be in Edinburgh. I was on a bus. It was dark, but I could still tell it was you. You were big enough to burst. I never said anything to your family. I felt sorry for you.’
Adela swallowed hard. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I won’t ever,’ said Joan. ‘Just as long as your friend doesn’t go telling tales about me.’
‘Josey?’
‘Aye, her.’ Joan blushed. ‘I was being friendly, that’s all. It’s what us lasses do to help the war effort, isn’t it? We have to bring comfort to the lads.’
Adela was baffled. ‘She won’t say anything against you, I promise.’
‘Did you give your bairn away?’ Joan asked.
Adela’s chest constricted as she nodded.
Joan put a protective hand on Bonnie’s head. ‘I can’t imagine doing that. I’m sorry for you, I really am. Would the lad not stand by you?’
‘No,’ Adela whispered.
‘George would never have left me in the lurch.’
‘No, George is a good man.’ Adela’s eyes stung with tears. ‘Take care of yourself and Bonnie.’ Adela managed a smile and, before Joan could ask anything more, fled from the stifling kitchen with its smell of milk and baby.
Josey took her for a walk. They sat on a park bench in the chilly dank November air while Adela poured out her heart. She told her friend everything about her affair, the pregnancy and giving away her baby – the pain that had not diminished over the years, but had grown into a hard knot of regret deep inside.
‘I’ve never told as much to anyone before,’ Adela said tearfully, drained after the telling. ‘The only people I thought knew were Lexy, Maggie, Aunt Olive and her cleaner, Myra. Jane might have guessed, but never asked. Yet all this time Joan knew as well. Why didn’t she say anything?’
‘Maybe she really did feel sorry for you,’ Josey said. ‘Joan is not the brightest penny in the till, but she’s not so stupid that she can’t imagine it happening to her. If it hadn’t been for George hastily marrying her, she would have been in the same boat.’
‘What is it that you know about her?’ Adela asked.
‘I saw her with another man at an after-show party last year. Sub lieutenant in the navy. Dancing cheek to cheek they were.
One of his shipmates said his friend was head over heels, so I got the impression it wasn’t the first time she’d met him.’
‘And she recognised you too? Was she embarrassed?’
Josey gave a short laugh. ‘Not in the least. Came right up to me and said how much she’d enjoyed the show, and did I have news of you? There really isn’t much mental activity going on between her ears.’
‘Poor George,’ said Adela.
‘Maybe it’s what he wants,’ Josey said with a shrug, ‘an uncomplicated pretty wife at home to think about while he’s overseas.’
‘I hope so.’
On her last day in Newcastle, Adela chose to be alone. She took the train down to the coast and the row of cottages at Cullercoats, and stood in front of the old coastguard’s cottage where she had lived with Maggie and Ina – and given birth to her son. For the first time in nearly five years Adela allowed herself to remember – really remember – what it had been like to give birth. She had been so young and her feelings so confused; she’d been frightened, ashamed, resolute, shocked at the pain yet exhilarated to survive and to hold a new life in her arms. A baby boy: a warm, blood-pumping, heart-beating, squalling, bright-eyed boy with dark hair as soft as duck down and a trusting look. Her breasts tingled as she thought of his suckling. John Wesley. Her sweet son.
Only the sight of baby Bonnie, her cousin’s beautiful daughter, had finally brought home to her what she had given up. Bonnie had torn open the emotional wound that she had managed to cauterise the day she had abandoned her boy.
Adela stood on the cobbles in the raw sea air and allowed a gigantic wave of remorse and sorrow to engulf her. She had been so determined to put the pregnancy behind her and to dismiss her affair with Jay as a terrible, juvenile mistake. At the time she had considered the baby as a nuisance, a shameful secret to be hidden away.
Yet the boy had been hers too and not just a manifestation of a past lover for whom her feelings had long since vanished. Somewhere out in the world she had a son. Did he look like her or like Jay? Did he have his grandmother Clarrie’s nose or his grandfather Wesley’s eyes? Did he run like Harry or have long dextrous fingers like the Rajah’s? Adela would never know. As she turned from the cottage with tears stinging her cold cheeks, she prayed that he was safe and healthy and being loved. She hoped that, after all, he had been taken safely to Canada or America to a life of opportunity and the clean outdoors.
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 38