Homecoming

by Ellie Dean

  The girl left and Sarah dried her tears before she tentatively reached for the bony hand that was resting on the sheet. It felt cold and inanimate and rather unpleasant. She flinched, but then reminded herself that this man – this stranger – was Philip whom she’d loved and had vowed to marry, and she was disgusted with herself for reacting that way. As she looked down at him, she knew she ought to be able to dredge up something of how she’d once felt for him, but there was only heart-rending pity.

  She gazed at his lifeless hand and the glint of the diamond engagement ring on her finger and felt quite ill at the thought of all he must have been through. But against the odds he’d survived, and now she had to find the strength to help him fight his way back to recovery. She couldn’t let him die – not now.

  She leaned closer. ‘Philip. It’s me, Sarah. Remember me? We got engaged in Malaya and you gave me your mother’s ring.’

  His eyelids flickered but he made no other response, so she tried again. ‘Philip, you must wake up, darling,’ she murmured. ‘This is Sarah. Sarah Fuller.’

  His fingers twitched and he rolled his head on the pillow, his eyes opening as if with great difficulty. ‘Sarah?’ he sighed with a frown. ‘Who’s Sarah?’

  A stab of shock pierced her. ‘Sarah’s Jock’s daughter,’ she said. ‘You must remember Jock Fuller. He managed your family plantation.’

  ‘Jock,’ he muttered. His eyes flew open and he grabbed her hand so tightly it crushed the bones as he stared at her with haunted eyes seeing something other than her face. ‘Typhoid,’ he breathed. ‘Sick, dying, another sleeper. Hold on, Jock. You’ve got to hold on. God help us,’ he babbled.

  And then he began to throw his head from side to side in agitation, his hands fluttering in distress. ‘Stop them. Stop them. Please, please don’t …’

  The nurse came hurrying over and unceremoniously pushed Sarah out of the way to give Philip an injection. ‘I know it’s frightening, but it takes them like this at times,’ she said, emptying the syringe into the wasted flesh of his thigh.

  Sarah watched through her tears as the gaunt face relaxed and the medication took effect.

  ‘He’ll sleep now for several hours,’ the girl said. ‘You might as well go and get some rest. You can come back at any time.’

  Sarah shook her head and reached for Philip’s hand again. ‘I’ll stay if that’s all right.’

  ‘Matron did warn you that he could easily slip away at any moment, didn’t she?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘That’s why I’d like to stay. I can’t bear to think he might die alone.’

  The girl nodded her understanding before going quietly to tend to another disturbed patient who was crying out for someone called Billy. Sarah marvelled at her strength of mind to be able to cope with such tragedy surrounding her day after day.

  Sybil and Jane came to sit with her for a while, and then took it in turns to bring her something to eat and drink – although she wanted neither. A couple of hours later, Sarah realised they were both in shock at seeing Philip in such a bad way, and in the end she couldn’t bear to see her mother’s distress, and ordered them both to go back to the bungalow to rest.

  Sarah sat by Philip’s bedside through the long reaches of the night. She whispered to him, hoping he would hear her, and gently squeezed his hand, wanting a reaction, but he slept on.

  As one of the nurses opened the window shutters and Sarah saw the first pearly grey of a new dawn and heard the birdsong, Philip opened his eyes and seemed to look straight at her.

  ‘Philip,’ she said urgently, clutching his hand. ‘It’s me, Sarah.’

  He made no reply, closed his eyes, and with one last ragged sigh was taken from her.

  22

  Sybil was distraught by Philip’s passing coming so soon after hearing of Jock’s death, for it emphasised all that was lost. The energy she’d once had seemed to drain from her, leaving her listless and unable to face the bustle and noise of the orphanage.

  The others rallied round her, but Sarah found that her mother’s collapse was too difficult to cope with as she battled with her own emotions, so she returned to her work at the hospital.

  She didn’t really know how to feel, for one minute she was crying for her father, the next mourning the man she’d once known as Philip Tarrant, but who had become a stranger. And then there was the guilt of having betrayed him by loving another man – and the awful sense that she should have felt more than profound pity for him as he’d lain there dying.

  Her thoughts and emotions were so complex and painful that she found it impossible to talk about them, even to Jane, who might have understood what she was going through. For how could she explain the terrible void that had opened up in her life? How to admit that despite everything, she longed only for Delaney – to hear his voice, see his beloved face and feel his arms about her? And how could she ever accept that he was gone from her life just as surely as her darling father, and there would be no second chance to put things right between them? Her future stretched emptily before her, leaving her lost and very much alone.

  Sarah knew her mother would be shocked to the core if she’d had even an inkling of her true feelings, and the redoubtable and ultimately practical Elsa would probably have told her to pull herself together. Amah was a sad, gentle presence, who’d tried to comfort her and get her to talk about her troubles – but she would never have understood, so Sarah kept all the anguish inside, escaping to the hospital office where she had little time to think of anything but her work.

  In Sarah’s absence, Jane and Elsa had turned to Jim for help in organising a funeral at the rubber plantation. It was only right that Philip should be buried where he’d been born, and they decided they would also hold a short service for Jock, and place a headstone in his memory.

  However, they were soon to discover that this wasn’t quite as straightforward as they’d thought. Philip had been an only son, and both his parents were dead. No one knew if he’d left a will, and who the rightful owner of the plantation might be now. Elsa and Jane had approached every solicitor in Singapore in the hope of finding a will, but had come up empty-handed, so had to assume he’d died intestate. This meant that Jim had had to go through all sorts of legal red tape to arrange for Philip’s body to be released from the hospital morgue and get permission to hold a burial service at the plantation – and find a vicar or padre willing to officiate.

  Sarah soon realised he was beginning to feel beleaguered by it all and feeling the strain of having four women relying on him so heavily, so she’d reluctantly given in her notice at the hospital and done her best to help ease the burden by dealing with all the paperwork involved.

  It was now the middle of November and they were due to leave for the plantation the following morning. It had taken all of Sarah’s cajoling to persuade Amah to go and rest in her room, for she’d become very frail over the past weeks, and tired easily. They all sadly realised that she was slowly giving up and would soon leave them, and they could only hope that she hung on so they could get her home to the house in Malaya where she’d been so happy.

  Sarah had finished her packing and was carrying her case into the hall when she heard a knock, and saw the shadow of someone through the glazed pane in the front door. Thinking it was probably Jim, she opened it to discover it was Jeremy.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she breathed, drawing him inside. ‘We weren’t expecting you to make the long journey here.’

  ‘I had to come after I got Jane’s telegrams,’ he said, placing his bag on the floor and taking off his panama hat. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’ll be all the better for seeing you,’ said Sarah. ‘But how on earth did you get here so quickly?’

  ‘I have contacts in the RAF, and hitched several rides out.’

  ‘Jeremy!’ Jane came hurtling into the hall to throw her arms around him. ‘Oh, Jeremy, it’s so lovely to see you.’

  Sarah left the lovebirds canoodling in the hall and went to tell Sybil of his
arrival before going to her bedroom and closing the door. She didn’t begrudge her sister’s happiness, of course she didn’t, but the sight of them together reminded her once again of all she’d lost.

  Jim had had to ask his CO’s permission to take some leave so he could drive the Fullers into Malaya, and because the man knew the tragic story of Jock and Philip, he’d been most understanding and helpful. He’d agreed to Jim borrowing one of the large staff cars, and even managed to find a willing army padre to travel with them and conduct the ceremony. A local funeral director had been called upon to do the embalming and provide a hearse which would go with them out of Singapore into the Malay jungle.

  Jim had packed the boot with enough food and water to get them through the short time they’d planned to be away. He arrived at the bungalow very early that November morning to find a large car parked outside, and to be greeted solemnly by Jeremy. They introduced themselves and shook hands, and Jim wondered how long the other man would last in the dark suit, collar and sober tie, for the heat was already rising.

  ‘I hired a car because I thought it might be too much of a squash with so many of us,’ Jeremy explained, easing his collar with a finger.

  ‘A good idea,’ Jim murmured. ‘From what I understand it’ll be a long drive and take most of the day.’ He peered into the shadows of the hall. ‘Are they ready?’

  ‘As ready as they’ll ever be,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ll go and tell them you’re here.’

  Jim carried the cases out to the staff car and nodded to the Indian driver of the hearse which had just pulled up. The coffin, he noticed, was almost hidden by a vast spray of palm leaves and colourful tropical flowers, and the two headstones rested against its sides.

  Sybil came out first, dressed entirely in black, followed by Jane in a navy dress, Sarah in grey, and Amah in her white mourning sari. They kissed and hugged a rather tearful Elsa, who would be staying behind to finish her vital work with RAPWI, and then, with a sad, lingering look at the waiting hearse, climbed silently into the two cars.

  Jim settled Amah in the back with Sarah while Sybil sat bolt upright in the front. Jeremy and Jane were accompanied by the army padre in the hired car, and they set off in convoy behind the hearse.

  Sarah held Amah’s hand and wondered what the others were thinking as they made the long journey out of Singapore and along the winding road that cut through the jungle and eventually led to the rubber plantation. The last time they’d been this way was with Pops, and Sarah could vividly remember how jam-packed it had been with everyone fleeing from the advancing enemy.

  The Japanese fighter planes had come in low, strafing the road with machine-gun fire, killing indiscriminately as the masses of terrified people raced into the trees and deep ditches to try to escape the deadly onslaught. So many had been killed during that flight to what they thought would be the safety of Singapore, and for one terrifying moment she’d thought her heavily pregnant mother had been one of them. But she and Amah had been safely hidden beneath a fallen tree, emerging only when Jock assured them the danger was over.

  Sarah looked out of the window at the familiar scenery and found it hard to believe that it had been four years almost to the month since they’d left the plantation. So much had happened that it felt much longer.

  She felt Amah’s head resting softly against her arm and realised she’d gone to sleep, so shifted slightly so Amah’s head was in her lap, and she could stretch out. With the windows open to garner the slightest breeze, and the deep dark shadows of the surrounding trees blotting out the glaring mid-morning sun, it was surprisingly comfortable

  Even so, she was all too aware of the hearse leading the way, and the fact that Philip was making his final journey home. What they would find there, no one knew, but it was a terrible irony that both men had been forced to return as slaves to work for the Japanese, and she could only pray that Philip’s soul would find peace.

  The entire journey was conducted in silence as Sybil chain-smoked, sitting rigidly upright in the front seat. Sarah met Jim’s gaze in the rear-view mirror and realised he was finding it as hard as she was, and her heart went out to him. He was such a good man – and Peggy was so lucky to be loved by him.

  As the cars slowed and the hearse turned off onto a narrow beaten track, Sarah’s pulse quickened and she sat forward, eager to catch her first glimpse of the home she’d fled all those years ago.

  And there it was, standing on stilts high above the canopy of trees. She took in every detail, noting that the fly-screens over the veranda were in good condition, the shutters over the windows were sturdy, but painted a different colour, and the flight of wooden steps leading up to the single-storey house had been quite recently repaired. She gave a little sigh of relief, for it seemed the Japanese commander had taken care of it.

  As Jim brought the car to a halt behind the hearse, Amah woke and looked around her with some awe. ‘It’s the same,’ she breathed. ‘And look, they have come to welcome us. We have truly come home.’

  Sarah gasped as a group of Malays emerged from the neat rows of rubber trees. There were women, babies and small children amongst them, and their smiles broadened as they recognised Sybil.

  ‘They must have returned once the Japs surrendered,’ murmured Sarah, recognising one or two of the men. ‘Thank goodness some of them have survived.’

  She helped Amah out of the car while Jim and Jeremy unloaded the luggage and boxes of food and water to carry them into the house.

  The hearse was driven deep into the shade of the trees, and the driver alighted to have a smoke and quietly converse with the padre. Sybil drifted away from the house and signalled to the two men to accompany her, unaware of everyone else as she decided on the best spot for Philip’s burial and Jock’s headstone.

  ‘Do you think we should go with her?’ asked Jane.

  ‘No, leave her be,’ replied Sarah. ‘Let’s see what the house is like inside, and if the Japs left anything useful behind.’

  She left Amah happily chattering to the Malay women and climbed the stairs to the door that opened onto the broad veranda. A thin layer of dust covered the teak floor, and all the bamboo furniture was in such a terrible state, it was fit only for the bonfire. The brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling were tarnished, the two large fans were broken, and there were desiccated plants in the flowerpots.

  With a tremulous sigh, Sarah followed her sister into the house and gasped in astonishment. All the furniture was still there, right down to the nest of small tables and the painted bamboo screen that had always hidden the damp patch in the corner. She peeked behind it and turned to grin at Jane. ‘The damp’s still there.’

  ‘Pop’s favourite painting has gone along with all Mother’s silver trinkets,’ said Jane. ‘And there’s hardly any of the crystal glasses and decanters left.’ She opened the door on the intricately carved dresser and triumphantly pulled out a bottle of whisky. ‘But they’ve left this,’ she said, holding it high.

  ‘We could all certainly do with something to bolster our spirits,’ said Sybil, coming in with a wilting Amah. ‘Are the beds still here? Only Amah’s exhausted and needs to lie down.’

  They found the bedrooms almost as they’d left them but for the mosquito nets, the clothes, pictures and rugs. The linen was filthy, so they stripped it off, discarded the disgusting sweat-stained pillows and covered the dirty mattress with a curtain. Sarah fetched a cushion from the sitting room so Amah could rest her head comfortably.

  Once they were certain Amah was asleep, Sarah and Jane continued their exploration of the house with Sybil trailing along behind them. There were things missing or broken, and Pop’s study had been ransacked, all his carefully collected maps and history books nowhere to be seen. The kitchen was in a terrible state, with grease coating everything, rubbish piled in the corners, and clear evidence of rat and bug infestation.

  Sybil shuddered and closed the door on it. ‘Jim did warn me, but I never thought I’d see it like this. We’ll
prepare our meals in the dining room and eat there.’

  ‘Where is Jim, by the way?’ asked Jane.

  ‘I’ve sent him and Jeremy off to organise the digging,’ she said. ‘It’s a good thing there are enough natives to help. The ground is rock hard and full of tree roots.’ Somehow, Jeremy had broken down her resistance with his quiet sympathy and understanding of what needed to be done, so that she had already accepted his presence as one of the family.

  Sarah and Jane exchanged knowing looks. It seemed that Sybil had eased effortlessly back into being the memsahib , but at least this return home had lifted her from her misery.

  ‘I suppose I could get some of the women in to clean the place up,’ Sybil went on. ‘But there doesn’t seem much point. We shan’t be staying long, and the new owner can deal with it.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve scheduled the service for five o’clock, so there’s time to have a drink and make sandwiches. I expect Jim and Jeremy will be hungry and thirsty by now.’

  Sarah helped make the sandwiches and then carried some bottled water down to where the two men were supervising the sweating natives. The funeral director was sitting on a log and watching the proceedings through a haze of cigarette smoke, while the padre squatted down amongst the native children and showed them tricks with bits of string.

  Sybil had chosen a quiet spot close to the office where Jock had orchestrated the smooth running of the rubber plantation. There were exotic flowers scrambling over the wooden hut now, with weeds and vines poking their way through the structure which was slowly rotting in the damp heat.

  Sarah struggled to push open the warped door and stepped inside.

  It smelled of heat, pipe tobacco, old paper, ink and mice – and held the very essence of her father. The big desk he’d once sat behind was as he’d left it, the leather chair now cracked and spewing its horsehair stuffing. Sarah regarded the duty rosters that were still there from 1940, the dusty diary on the desk, and the collection of pens and pipes in their various racks.