Gull Island

by Grace Thompson

  He whistled as he stepped off the train and walked down to the beach. Still whistling cheerfully, he gave his father the receipt for the payment.

  ‘I’ll deliver the magazines with the evening papers, all right, Dad?’ His father put the receipt on the table where it fluttered lightly in the breeze. It was Richard who sighed and grabbed it, and put it on the spike with the rest. ‘Got to make sure you don’t lose it. Don’t want them saying we haven’t paid now, do we?’

  Mr Carey chuckled. ‘You sound like you’re the dad, not me.’ He whittled uselessly at a piece of wood with which he hoped to fix a broken window frame. ‘See anything interesting in town?’

  ‘Only the smartest car you’ve ever seen. Boy oh boy it was a beauty. Crashed it did, with another coming the opposite way, and them girls ran to the door with as much excitement as if it had been Rudolph Valentino! The driver was dressed like men who fly aeroplanes. Scarves and goggles and leather coat an’ all. And a fancy camera slung over his shoulder.’ He gave a sigh. ‘He must have been carrying pounds’ worth of clothes and equipment on his back. Makes you sick how rich some people are and there’s us with nothing.’

  ‘No use complaining about that, son. There’s some born to be rich and some born to be poor and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  That’s what you think, Richard thought. Aloud, he said, ‘Dad, can I have a shilling to go into Cardiff tonight? Fancy the pictures I do and I think Douglas Fairbanks is on. And there’s a film about a motor car ride through North Wales. I’d love to drive a car, I would.’

  ‘Wishful thinking that is for sure. People like us don’t even get to ride in motor cars.’

  ‘I have. That Miss Bell has taken me twice into the library and to the office down the docks to talk to the man who does the books. Interesting that was.’

  ‘Well, that’s the closest you’ll get to owning one.’

  I’ll have one, one day, see if I don’t, Richard promised himself, with a determined smile.

  Mr Carey counted out twelve pennies into Richard’s hand. ‘Deserve that, you do, for all the hours you help me. I just don’t know what we’d do if we didn’t have you, boy, and that’s a fact.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I thank God you aren’t like that useless Idris. Sitting there leaning on Mam, looking up at her with doting eyes. If she so much as moves he falls over.’

  ‘I haven’t started yet, Dad. Just watch me. I’ll see you and Mam all right one day.’

  ‘For sure you will.’ Henry smiled indulgently at his son. What chance did he or any of them have of improving their lot? Paying their way, that’s all they were doing. He couldn’t afford the shilling he’d just given Richard, but the boy had to have some encouragement to go on helping. If Richard got fed up and left, they would all be done for. Alun and Billie had already found jobs far away.

  He called Richard back and said, ‘Here’s another seven-pence halfpenny. Get a tin of cocoa after your evening round, will you? It warms your mam and helps her to sleep.’

  Richard called in to see Miss Bell on his way to deliver his papers. ‘Here’s the shilling to get that book you said I should read about “counting see” or whatever it’s called.’

  ‘Accountancy,’ she corrected, and promised to have it by the following day.

  It was as the crowds went in at the beginning of the main film that Richard wriggled past the pay desk and slipped through the blanket-like curtains and into the darkness. No point spending ninepence when you didn’t have to. The usherettes were frantically reaching out for tickets to fold and tear in half and by standing with a family group, he had easily slipped through unnoticed. Last row but two in the back stalls was the best as he hadn’t paid. In the middle of the row. No one would bother him there.

  He was whistling when he came out again into the fresh air and someone began to accompany him, singing words to his tune. He turned to see a small, thin man with a long, rather straggly beard, wearing a black beret and steel-framed glasses. He wore wide, cream trousers and a short beige jacket.

  ‘Hello, Richard. It is Richard, isn’t it?’

  For a moment Richard didn’t recognize him then he shouted in disbelief. ‘Luke? We thought you must be dead! Where have you been and why haven’t you been to see us? It’s donkey’s years since we saw you and what’s with the funny get-up?’

  ‘One question at a time,’ Luke laughed. ‘Come on, have you got time for a cup of tea and a bun?’

  ‘You bet I have, if you’re paying.’

  One of the first questions Luke asked was, ‘How are Barbara and Rosita?’

  ‘We haven’t heard for ages. I’ve pleaded with Dad to take me there but it’s too far. And with the papers to see to early morning and in the evening, there isn’t time to get there and back.’

  ‘I have a car,’ Luke offered.

  ‘Damn me, you haven’t!’

  ‘I’ll come for you first thing in the morning and as soon as the papers are delivered, we’ll go and find them. I’m going back to France in a couple of days. I only came on a brief visit to check on the shop, so it will have to be tomorrow. Will that be all right?’

  ‘That’ll be great! D’you mean I’ll really have a ride in a car? I’ve been in one before, mind,’ he added boastfully. ‘Miss Bell, the teacher, she’s taken me places.’

  ‘You go to school?’

  ‘No fear. But Miss Bell shows me things, like maths and—’ He paused, making sure he got it right ‘—accountancy, and reading as well. She says reading is important if I’m to learn—’ Again the pause ‘—accountancy. I enjoy her showing me but I couldn’t go to school – that would be boring and a waste of time.’ He looked doubtfully at the strangely dressed man. ‘And I can really have a ride in the car?’

  ‘And your father too, if he can spare the time.’

  Rosita had started school at the village a mile from the farm. Barbara was concerned as she was not doing very well. Given words to copy from the blackboard on to her little wooden-framed slate, she drew pictures instead. When she did write words they were always different from the ones on the board and she soon earned the nickname ‘Miss Stupid’.

  Adding and subtracting she managed well enough, particularly mental arithmetic, when the teacher called out the questions, but even so there were days when she achieved nothing, days when all her work was incorrect or hidden under furious scribbling.

  The teachers tried to help her but eventually, driven to less and less effort by her rudeness and her lack of co-operation, they put her behaviour down to an inability to learn and gave her pictures to cut out and drawings to colour instead.

  ‘Why are you so difficult?’ Barbara asked one day, when Rosita was screaming and insisting she would not go to school. ‘You’re more like a prickly hedgehog than a little girl! If you’d only listen to what the teachers tell you and do what they ask, school would be fun.’

  ‘How can it ever be fun to be told you’re daft? Everyone calls me that stupid Jones girl. They laugh at me. And they make fun of me because I haven’t got the same name as my father.’

  ‘I’ll come with you this morning and talk to them.’

  ‘No! No. No. I won’t go!’

  ‘Rosita, don’t be so stupid!’ Barbara regretted the word almost before it had left her lips. ‘I don’t mean stupid, I mean—’

  ‘Him out there, he calls me stupid. The teachers call me stupid and now YOU!’

  Graham came to the door wondering what the noise was about and at once Rosita tried to stop crying, her sobs choking as she held her breath. There was that devil in her that refused to cower, though, and in a loud whisper she said, ‘It’s him who’s stupid, not me!’

  Graham strode into the room and Barbara stood in front of the now-screaming child.

  ‘No, Graham,’ she warned.

  Frustrated, Graham stood clenching and unclenching his fists, then stamped out and slammed the door.

  Rosita stayed at home that day and Barbara put aside thoughts of the morrow. O
ne day at a time, that was the only way to deal with Rosita.

  Luke’s car was a small open-topped four-seater and to Richard it was perfection. His father had declined to come so he sat in the passenger seat and allowed his imagination to fly. He would have a car like this and take his mam on trips to see things she had never even heard of. And he would wave as they sped past villagers who would stop and stare in amazement at such a young man owning such a magnificent vehicle.

  He asked endless questions about the engine and the speed of which it was capable and twice Luke stopped and lifted the bonnet to explain a particularly complicated reply. As always he was surprised at how easily Richard understood.

  The journey took longer than Luke had expected as the way was not signposted, the farm was a small one and it was only when they were quite close to it that people recognized its name and were able to direct them.

  It alarmed Luke to see how the expressions of the local people changed to dislike when the name of Graham Prothero was mentioned. He began to have an uneasy feeling that what awaited them would not be pleasant.

  Richard smiled and thought only of seeing the look on their faces when he and Luke arrived in this wonderful car. It was green with black mudguards and trim. The leather upholstery was also green and smelled expensive. Richard thought he would have one exactly the same.

  It was as the sun reached the summit before its descent down the other side of the sky that he began to think how little time he would have to spend with the two people he looked forward so much to seeing. ‘Will we be able to stay a while?’ he asked apprehensively.

  ‘A couple of hours at least. Your father promised he would manage the papers this evening so we don’t have to hurry back. In fact, we can find somewhere to eat if you like.’

  ‘If I’d like? Will a dog chase a rabbit?’

  They drove through the gates of the farm and pulled up near a water pump. The door of the farmhouse opened and a woman stood there, dressed in layers of clothes, as if each one had been added to disguise the tattered state of a previous one, and giving her a bulky appearance. Her once-long hair was badly cut into an attempt at a shingle. It wasn’t until she spoke that they recognized Barbara.

  ‘Luke? Richard? But – oh, what a lovely, lovely surprise.’

  Luke thought shock was a word better suited to her reaction. She was alarmed. A nervous tic beat like a pulse in her cheek. This visit seemed less and less like a good idea.

  ‘Perhaps we should have written, but we didn’t know the address. And I only have a few days before …’

  She invited them inside and took off several layers of what Luke now guessed were her working clothes protecting tidy garments underneath. She was wearing a simple homemade skirt and blouse, her figure now revealed to be much thinner than when they had last met.

  ‘Come in. Sit down. Oh, it’s good to see you. Is that your car, Luke? Come and tell me how you are. Richard, I’d hardly recognize you, so handsome you’ve grown. This is lovely – I’ve heard no news of anyone and it’s been so long.’ A smile of welcome revitalized her tired face and she hugged them both.

  The room into which they were shown was neat and clean but bare of any comfort. The chairs and table were wooden and scrubbed so much that the wood stood up in ridges. She went to a cupboard and brought out a loaf and some butter but Luke stopped her, his hand on her thin arm.

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice, but as for food, we are going to eat later. Please, Barbara, just sit and talk to us, that’s what we came for, to hear how you are. And Rosita.’

  ‘She has two sisters now – Kate who is three and Hattie now two. They’re here somewhere. I’ll just call.’ She went to the door and called their names and the first to arrive was the five-year-old Rosita, bright-eyed, curious and with an air of tight-lipped defiance that Luke thought odd in one so young. She stood with her chin jutting out as if expecting an argument.

  ‘I didn’t smash them eggs and I’m not going to say I did!’ Her face lengthened with incipient sobs but her eyes were bright with determination. She went to run back out but Barbara caught hold of her and turned her to face the visitors.

  ‘Rosita, we have visitors, Richard and Luke. Please say hello. Politely, mind.’

  ‘Hello.’ She stared at them, wondering if there was the likelihood of a gift. The woman from the chapel sometimes brought them oranges or a slab of homemade toffee.

  ‘We haven’t seen you since you were a tiny baby,’ Luke said with a smile. ‘How old are you now?’

  ‘Five going on six but can I go now or he’ll be shouting at me again.’

  ‘Go and tell your father we have visitors, please, Kate,’ Barbara said to one of the younger children hovering around the doorway. The two younger girls ran off, leaving Rosita staring wide-eyed at Richard and Luke. She sidled across the room and stood between them. The beard was fascinating. She leaned against Richard and stared at Luke. Her fingers went out to touch the long, fine beard. ‘Are you my real father?’ she asked.

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Luke replied. He looked across at Barbara to share a smile but she was looking anxiously towards the doorway and seemed not to have heard.

  ‘She didn’t go to school today,’ she said.

  ‘Remember how she used to cry all the time, Barbara?’ Richard said, flicking a thumb towards Rosita.

  ‘He says I’m still a noisy bugger,’ Rosita said, glaring at her mother, expecting a rebuke.

  ‘Rosita! That isn’t a word we use.’

  ‘He does.’ She gestured with her head to the doorway. ‘When he talks to me he does.’

  Luke bent down and took Rosita onto his lap but as he took her weight she suddenly screamed and held her leg. Instinctively, Richard lifted her dress to see if there was a cut or graze, just as he would have done with his sister, and saw to his horror that the girl’s thigh was a mass of yellow and purple bruises.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Barbara said hastily, looking again towards the doorway, hearing her husband coming across the yard. ‘She’s such a clumsy child, always falling. So adventurous, you’d never believe.’

  A shadow in the doorway made them look up to see Graham, holding the hands of his daughters.

  ‘Ah,’ Barbara said with obvious relief at the interruption. ‘Kate and Hattie, Graham, love, come and meet my friends Luke and Richard.’

  The three-year-old Kate and the two-year-old Hattie came forward and said ‘Hello’ politely then ran back to their father. They both had blue eyes like Barbara and Graham. Kate resembled her mother, but Hattie was heavily built like her father, with the same flat face and rounded cheeks and chin, giving a false air of humour. Rosita looked completely different from the others, with dark hair fastened tightly in a plait, and deep brown eyes that looked full of hurt and resentment.

  They didn’t stay long. It was clear from the attitude of Barbara’s large, simmering, quiet husband that they were not welcome.

  ‘Please, write when you have time, Barbara,’ Luke pleaded when they were leaving. ‘I live in France but when I come home I can pick up letters from the Careys.’

  They gave the usual assurances that they would keep in touch, and come again very soon, but on the journey home both Luke and Richard knew it was impossible.

  ‘He hits her!’ an outraged Richard said as soon as the car moved out of the farmyard.

  Luke agreed but he said, ‘Perhaps Barbara is right and she’s just clumsy.’

  ‘Clumsy, my foot! I know what a smack with a stick looks like!’

  Whatever they thought of the way Graham Prothero looked after his family, there was nothing they could do but leave them to the life Barbara had chosen. They were quiet as they drove home, all the excitement of the anticipated visit ruined.

  Barbara cried a little when they left, hiding her unhappiness from Graham and the children. Why did Graham hate Rosita so much? It couldn’t be jealousy, not after so long. He was so good to her and the youngest girls; it was only Rosita he seemed unable to tol
erate. If only she would behave better, things would improve, she was sure they would.

  Chapter Seven

  LUKE AND RICHARD got out of the car at the beach in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

  ‘I’ll just say hello to your parents then I have to leave,’ Luke said. ‘If your mother won’t mind me popping in?’ He wondered how Mrs Carey would greet him. He had seen how shabby the area around the house was and thought she might be embarrassed by his unannounced arrival, but she seemed indifferent to the state of the place which, when he got closer, was even worse than he had first thought.

  The porch he had repaired was still intact but the floor above it had not been replaced. The planks of wood Richard had bought for the purpose were still lying where the delivery man had left them, piled against the sea wall. The nails were a rusting heap.

  All around the building rubbish was piled, old furniture mostly, items they had obtained second- third- or fourth-hand and which, when their condition worsened, they hadn’t bothered to remove. Good furniture always found a new home and when it had become too shabby for the second owner there was usually a third ready to take it. It was only when the stuff was past repair that it had to stay where it was; there was no one poorer than the Careys who would be glad to take what they had no further use for. In the poorest communities there was the most rubbish, abandoned and with nowhere more lowly to go.

  Luke accepted the cup of tea he was offered although it was a jam jar and not a cup from which he drank. Without the others seeing him, he gave some money to Mrs Carey.