by Leah Fleming
May liked Archie McAdam. He had a way with the children, and Roddy hung on his every word. Roddy was now a weekly boarder at Denstone College. Celeste wrote to this young man and had told May how they’d met on the ship home.
‘You never risked going down the aisle then?’ May had asked, knowing a man like Selwyn would be hell to live with in his moods though he was handsome in his own way, especially now the burns on his face had finally healed over
‘Who’d have me? I can’t even hold down a job. Why would I want to bring children into this lousy world?’
‘That’s me told then,’ she’d replied, folding her arms. He’d looked down at her and laughed.
‘That’s what I like about you, lots of northern fury. Roddy and Ella are fine specimens; you can be proud of your daughter. You’re not a bad looker yourself if you like feisty argumentative types.’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment, sir?’ she’d mocked.
‘Please yourself, but kindly leave me to my sulks in peace.’
They had a repartee, a banter, a funny sort of friendship that unsettled her sometimes and left her wanting more.
It was over a year since her return to Red House and she couldn’t fathom him. He was distant one minute, talkative the next, as if he trusted her to keep his confidences. The war had done damage to so many lives. If Joe had stayed in England he’d have been among the first to enlist. Perhaps he’d just be some name on a brass plaque on a war memorial by now.
Selwyn had survived and a part of him wished he hadn’t. He never said as much – how could he? But she recognized his feelings only too well and it gave her the patience and courage to storm into the pub and demand her due when she’d done the shopping. He always obliged, raising his hat like the gentleman he was and staggering towards her, three sheets to the wind. ‘Here she comes, on the warpath, my aide-de-camp . . . what would I do without her . . . ?’
May tried not to smile but when he came out with his quips she wished she could shoot him down with one of her own. He was clever with words, educated, and she couldn’t compete.
He didn’t drive back home, he sort of aimed the car up the Greenhill, then left towards the Burton Road and down towards Streethay village, and she prayed that there were no carts or strays on the road. He always carried her shopping into the kitchen while she made him a strong cup of Camp coffee, and sometimes that was the sum total of their conversation until the following week.
She took her own tray into her sitting room, once a breakfast room, sunny in the morning and cosy at night, where she could leave her tatting and lacework, knowing it would be undisturbed.
Celeste was away chasing a new position. ‘Now Roddy is settled, it’s time for me to find work outside the home. I can leave the house and garden in your capable hands with Mrs Allen to do the rough work. I must do my bit to keep this ship afloat.’ It was all very mysterious.
May had to admit she liked being in charge. She’d pulled the garden into shape, reinstated the flower borders and made a shady hidy-hole for herself to read in when it was hot. Her breakdown seemed like a long time ago but there were still nights when she couldn’t sleep and those panicky feelings rose up.
Ella was growing fast, with a mane of glossy black hair and fine features. She had friends in school, joined in anything she was invited to and now had a shed full of her models and art work. Where did this artistic streak come from? That’s something they’d never know, but it troubled May in the small hours of the night.
How can I go on lying to her, fobbing her off with half-truths? Because you must. Just calm down and go to sleep. You don’t want to end up in St Matthew’s again. Stop harping on about things you can’t change. The time for speaking out’s long gone. Who would believe your story now?
70
The summer garden party on the lawns of the Theological College was an annual event and a highlight of Cathedral Close. This year Celeste brought out her new cream cotton dress with lace cuffs and hem. It was too lovely an afternoon not to dress up and show off the new shorter style.
She was here to escort Father, who would enjoy the afternoon tea, watch the tennis contest and skittles, and pass time on a bench with some of the other retired clergy.
She smiled, thinking of how many of these events she’d had to endure as a youngster. How English it all was, how familiar, as if there hadn’t been a terrible war. So many college student faces were no longer present, just names on the memorial plaque.
But today was about celebrating and relaxing in the sunshine with parasols and large hats to keep the ladies’ faces pale or stop her own freckles from darkening.
Roddy refused to come, preferring to stay with May and Ella, or pester Selwyn, who never ventured into anything but a public house. Selwyn never attended the cathedral services, much to his father’s sadness, but he had his reasons. The war had destroyed his faith as it had enhanced other’s.
It was nearly two years since her flight home, and Celeste couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed. She still dreaded anything with an American stamp on it. There had been no enquiries from Grover’s lawyers but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t appear out of the blue one day. She didn’t want to think what might happen then.
Part of her was restless to take up the causes she’d fought for with the Women’s suffrage movement. There was a partial vote here now but you had to own property and be over thirty-five to qualify. The steam had gone out of the suffragette campaign. Many women were charting their own courses, going to university or taking up careers, but that was not an option for her. If truth were told she’d been at a loose end at home now May and Mrs Allen, the daily help from the village, were taking over the reins of Red House.
She’d seen an advertisement in The Times that had intrigued her enough to make an application, but she was sure nothing would come of it and promptly forgot to post it. Her restless spirit had been channelled into escaping from Grover’s brutal regime and keeping Roddy safe by her side. Now he was away at school all week but still only a drive from home. She’d wanted to keep him close in Lichfield but all the Forester men had gone to prep school in Denstone. They insisted it would give him the best education and help him settle. She was not so sure. He’d had so many changes.
Celeste felt the warm sun on her body, the cool cotton crispness of the lace on her skin, the smells of roses in the college garden, which sloped down to Minster Pool, where the sunlight refracted into shards of sparkling mirrors. She was coming alive again, alive to the world around her, alive to smells and tastes and the sound of glasses tinkling, hearty laughter and cheers as someone won his tennis match. Her eyes feasted on the starched linen tablecloths groaning with sandwiches and cakes and scones, the teacups with crimson and gilt rims. Deep in her heart she felt safe for the first time in years, safe from the fear of having to hide her words, safe from the constant fear of disapproval and criticism.
They knew her only as the canon’s widowed daughter, and as she turned to make for the tea awning, there was a man staring at her, a broad-shouldered young man in a blazer, grinning from ear to ear. Her heart skipped a beat. Surely not? Not here on the college lawn: Archie McAdam?
He raised his boater in a mock bow. ‘There you are, Mrs Forester. I thought I might find you here.’
She stood, her mouth agape, feeling the heat of the flush on her cheeks. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I came up with a friend, Tim Beswick, just to look round . . .’
‘But we’ve taken you round the cathedral many times.’
‘When I’ve called on you before, I’ve never really looked around Lichfield.’
Just at that moment, Father strolled up with the principal, Lawrence Phillips. ‘This is the young man I was telling you about, Bertram . . . McAdam is an ex-naval officer, Oxford man, now bit of a classics scholar. He’s coming to join us. I told you the numbers are going up. We need new staff.’
There was silence for a second as Celeste took in
his words. ‘I see you two have got acquainted already,’ said Prebendary Phillips with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Mr McAdam and I first met on board the ship home. He’s been teaching Roderick chess . . . by post,’ Celeste said with a stiffness in her voice that belied her confusion.
‘Is that so? Well, don’t let us interrupt your reunion,’ the principal said, pulling her father along to greet the guests as his wife was circulating in the opposite direction.
‘Say something, Celeste. You don’t exactly look pleased at my news.’
‘It’s a bit drastic to enrol as a student,’ she snapped.
He burst out laughing. ‘I’ve not taken holy orders. I’ve come to top up their Greek and Latin, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t really have you down as a classics scholar,’ she muttered.
‘Well, there you go, something else you don’t know about me. I’ve just been on a refresher course. I always intended to go back to teaching.’
‘Oh, you were a teacher before the war?’
He nodded. ‘Don’t be surprised. I’m a man of many parts, but the fact that I was a Cricket and Tennis Blue might have helped in their decision. I’ll be joining the staff in the Michaelmas term. We’ll practically be neighbours.’
He was so sure of himself and she wanted to wipe that smile off his face before he got any ideas. ‘No we won’t. I hope to find a post soon,’ she said off the top of her head.
His crestfallen look lasted all of five seconds. ‘You’ll not go far away, not with your father and the boy, but don’t worry, I’ve no intention of raining on your parade without an invitation. I know when I’m not wanted.’
‘It’s not that . . . It was just a shock to see you standing there. I thought I was seeing things . . .’ How could she disguise the turmoil of seeing him again? ‘You’ve been so kind writing to Roddy at school.’
‘I know how lonely it can be for a boy in his first year in a new school. He seems to have settled. I haven’t had a letter for weeks now but he’s on his holidays. I’d hoped you’d be pleased to see me too.’
‘It is always pleasant to see a familiar face in a crowd.’
‘A very diplomatic avoidance of the question indeed. I’d like us to get to know each other better. This opportunity came up and I took it . . . entirely coincidental.’ He paused. ‘Well, not quite . . .’
‘I need time to think about this. It’s all so complicated, you see.’ Now was the time to tell him she was still married and not widowed, put him straight once and for all.
‘What’s so complicated? Man meets mother and child on board a ship, they correspond for months, man visits. What’s so wrong with that?’
‘Oh, look, the principal’s wife is beckoning me,’ Celeste squeaked, making to flee from this encounter.
‘Coward!’ Archie raised his boater. ‘We’ll meet again soon.’
Not if I can help it. Damnation!
Celeste sped to Mrs Phillips’s side on some silly pretext. She had to get away from him, his grinning confidence, his physical presence, those green-grey eyes and the flutter inside her stomach when she’d recognized him. She’d just got everybody settled and organized and he turned up on her doorstep demanding entry into her life.
In her heart Celeste sensed Archie was the sort of chap capable of twisting her life into a whole new tangle of knots. There was nothing for it now. She must search out that job application and get it in the post quick. She had to get away.
71
Roddy kept the letters in his tuck box out of sight. There were eight of them now and the last one had been the best of all. His father was coming to London and wanted to see him. He was so excited to think he would be meeting him in secret. He’d wangled an invitation to stay with Charlie Potter, the son of a vicar with a parish near Wimbledon. They were going to see the city sights: the Crown Jewels, the museums, the Changing of the Guard. He would be down there for two whole weeks while his father was sailing into Southampton and coming by train to their London factory in Silvertown for important meetings.
He couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to write. Getting the address was easy when Grandpa had told him that Pa worked for the Diamond Rubber Company in Akron. He had an important job there and was bound to get letters. He’d written in evening prep, putting his School House address at the top in his very best handwriting, and with his dictionary by his side. The first letter was the hardest because he didn’t know if his dad would be cross with him.
Dear Diamond Rubber Company,
I am writing to ask for information about my father, Mr Grover Parkes of Akron. I am his son, Roderick Grover Forester, presently in school at Denstone College, Staffordshire. Should he wish to make my acquaintance, please tell him to write to me at the above address.
Yours sincerely
Roderick (aged 12)
It was like writing to a stranger at first but when that first reply came back with the photo of his own pa, he was so excited.
Dear Son
I knew one day you would be curious to know about your American family. I applaud your initiative in finding my workplace. Your grandma, Harriet, and I are delighted to know you are safe and well in England. It is not what I wanted for you, of course, but it will do for now. Please tell me all about yourself and your life.
I, for my part, have no desire to acquaint your mother with our correspondence. I don’t think she would permit us to continue.
Needless to say, I am overjoyed to have you back in my life once more. It was never my intention for us to be parted for so many years.
Perhaps when I am next on business in London we will have the opportunity to meet again. I look forward to this reunion. Please send me a photograph if you can.
Your loving father,
Grover Parkes
Roddy had written every week after that but worried about how to continue in the summer holidays. It was Pa who came up with the idea of meeting in London in August, and now Roddy couldn’t wait. He was to go on the train unaccompanied. The Potters would meet him at Euston and take him back with them. Somehow he must make an excuse and ask to go home early so they’d take him back to the station and he’d say goodbye and meet up there with his father for a few days. It was like one of his Boy’s Own Paper adventure stories coming true.
It was hard keeping such a big secret. If it came out his mother would be upset and angry that he’d gone behind her back, but it was silly pretending he had no living relatives in America. It was a lie, and the chaplain at school was always going on about how little lies became bigger ones. If his own mother could lie about being widowed why shouldn’t he do the same? Only it wasn’t a lie, it was true. He had a pa who cared about him, who’d missed him and had tried to find him. He’d had important lawyers tracing them. He knew they were in Lichfield. He knew everything about their journey from Washington but he had told Roddy that he knew they’d see sense in the end and come to some arrangement between them so his father could be part of his life again.
Father told him he had a big house in the country with horses, and that Grandma Parkes was longing to see him too. He wondered if he’d bring her over with him. He couldn’t wait.
He’d begged Mama to buy him a smart new suit for London with long trousers, but she said you didn’t wear long trousers in summer until you were at least sixteen and she chose some shirts, a pullover and white flannels for him instead, just in case he was going to play tennis with Charlie.
Ella was miffed because she wasn’t going to London. She went on outings to Birmingham Art Gallery and still played with Hazel Perrings, but she wanted to see the National Gallery and other stuff that Roddy considered boring.
There was a hairy moment when Mother said they’d all go on a day trip and meet up with the Potters in town but everyone was busy on the day she was free. He knew she wouldn’t mind when he told her after the visit. It would be too late then for her to protest. It was all so silly, living apart in separate countries when you were supp
osed to be married. He didn’t understand why she’d left such a kind man.
Here they were, living in a muddle with the Smiths, who were no relation, and Uncle Sel, who was always moody and who cared more for his horses than he did real people. He was sent off to school with a load of strangers because that was what happened to boys like him at a certain age when all the time he had a pa far away who cared for him and never saw him. None of it made sense so why shouldn’t he keep this all a big secret? They didn’t deserve to know.
He thought about telling Mr McAdam all about his plans but now he was coming to work in Lichfield, it wasn’t a good idea, and Mother had gone into a tizzy for some reason and was busy applying for a job helping people. She was quite happy living here with the Smiths. Sometimes he felt all mixed up, living in this house of women. He felt as if he didn’t count any more. Other times he liked being part of this big funny family where he was left in peace to roam around the canal watching the barges on the tow path and fishing.
Now he was buzzing. Would his pa like him? Would they recognize each other? Would he look like him? He couldn’t sleep for excitement. As he packed his suitcase, he wondered how he’d feel when he returned to this room after their meeting. Another flutter of both fear and daring made his heart thump. He’d done this off his own bat. It was his big secret and he hoped it would all turn out just as great as he was imagining. What a story he’d have to tell the other boys in the dorm when he returned.
72
Ella was finding the long school holidays boring. The house was so quiet now Roddy had gone to London. All he thought about was sightseeing, while she was itching to go to the palaces and places she could only read about in books. It was market day and they’d gone into town as usual; shopping, changing library books, a cup of tea in the Minster café while waiting for Uncle Selwyn. She was in a sulk.