Sapphire Battersea

by Jacqueline Wilson

  He gestured for me to bob under the counter. I squeezed through and scurried out through a door at the back of the shop. I found myself standing in a bloody battlefield. Dead animals in varying states were strewn over a counter, some with their heads and hides still in place. Bertie was standing there in an apron and trousers, no shirt at all, busy disembowelling these creatures, pulling all kinds of disgusting gleaming things out of their bodies.

  ‘Hetty!’ he said, shocked. He went scarlet. ‘Oh, Hetty, don’t look! I don’t want you to see me doing this! Why did the old man let you through?’

  ‘I begged him. I’ve come to say goodbye.’

  ‘What?’ He saw the suitcase and realized I was serious. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Mr Buchanan’s dismissed me.’

  ‘He never! But what did you do?’

  ‘I shouted at him because I found out he’s been copying my memoirs. I broke his watch chain getting the key to his desk, and I said he was a cruel, wicked, hypocritical thief who would end up going to Hell.’

  ‘Well, that’s telling him! So he won’t have given you a character.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, Hetty. What will you do, then?’

  ‘I’m going to see Mama. She lives by the seaside. She might know of a position near her. Then we could see more of each other, which would be wonderful.’

  ‘No! All right, go and see your mother, but then come back! We have to have our Sundays together. You’re still my sweetheart! I’ll keep my eyes and ears open on my rounds – I go all over the town, right? I’ll see if anyone’s wanting a likely girl. I’ll recommend you. You leave it to me, Hetty.’

  ‘Well, it’s very good of you, Bertie, but—’

  ‘No buts! See here, you’re not planning to go back to the country, are you? Are you going to see that foster brother you write to?’

  ‘I don’t see how I can go back. There’s no work for a girl in the village. All my foster sisters went into service.’

  ‘Good! You’re not a country girl. You belong in the city, with me.’

  ‘Come back here now, missy, you’ve had long enough. And you, lad – I hope you’re not slacking!’ Mr Jarvis called.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

  ‘Do take care, Hetty. Write as soon as you can to let me know where you are. Oh Lord, I want to take you in my arms, but how can I like this?’ He gestured with his slimy hands, looking at them in disgust. ‘What must you think of me!’

  ‘I think you’re my sweetheart,’ I said. I leaned across the loathsome carcass on the table, and swiftly kissed his flushed cheek.

  Then I rushed out of the room, bobbed a grateful curtsy to Mr Jarvis, and whisked out of the shop, while everyone stared, and a few clapped and cheered.

  I hurried though the town, trying to tell myself that everything was fine. I was simply going to have a little holiday and see Mama at long last. But I couldn’t help feeling very queer and shaky, even so.

  I CHANGED OUT of my grubby work dress and cap and apron while locked inside the ladies’ waiting room at the station. I felt better and braver in my emerald best dress, and my skimpy work clothes were much lighter to carry.

  The third-class rail ticket cost a great deal of money, much more than I’d reckoned. The housekeeping jar was a lot lighter when I put it back in my case. It was very unnerving reaching Waterloo and having to negotiate my way up and down the platforms to find the correct locomotive for Bignor, but I managed it successfully.

  I hadn’t realized that it would be such a long train journey to the coast. I fidgeted a great deal as I gazed out of the window. England was much larger than I’d realized. I stared until my eyes blurred, but I still hadn’t glimpsed any great expanse of water.

  I opened Mrs Briskett’s parcel for some lunch, and then carried on nibbling on and off throughout the journey. A grim-faced lady sitting next to me sniffed in disgust and twitched her skirts away from me, acting as if I were spilling crumbs all over her. It was certainly a temptation.

  A much sweeter family joined the train at Arundel: a jolly father in a straw hat and blazer, a pale mother with a babe in arms, and two girls in sailor suits, one my age, one about eight or nine. They all smiled at me, and the two sailor girls started chatting as if we were old friends, telling me they were having an early seaside holiday and it was going to be great fun.

  I offered the girls a slice of Mrs Briskett’s shortbread and talked to them a little. They were astonished when I said I’d never been to the seaside before.

  ‘We go to Bignor every single year. We think it’s the most splendid tip-top place ever,’ said the older girl. ‘We go bathing every day, and listen to the band and watch the pierrots. Oh, you will love it! Where will you stay? We always go to the same lodgings near the promenade. Maisie and I can see the sea from our bedroom window.’

  ‘Where are your mama and papa?’ asked Maisie. ‘Are you travelling all on your own? How queer!’

  ‘Maisie!’ the mother rebuked her gently. She smiled at me. ‘Are you going on a visit, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes, to see my mama.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely, dear.’

  ‘Why don’t you live with your mama, then?’ asked the older girl.

  ‘Charlotte!’ the mother said, shaking her head. ‘You girls! Stop plaguing your new friend with your questions.’

  ‘My mama works in Bignor,’ I said.

  ‘Your mama works! Why’s that?’

  ‘That’s enough, girls!’ said their mother, looking a little uncomfortable.

  They weren’t a very grand family. They were only travelling third class like me, and their clothes were a little shabby. I could see the telltale black line around the skirts of both girls where their hems had been let down, and although their boots were highly polished, they were cracked and down-at-heel. Even so, there was a huge divide between us. That little baby sleeping in the mother’s arms would grow up safe within a family. She would be able to stay a child well into her teens. She would never be told it was her place to be a servant.

  The baby was starting to get fretful, and wouldn’t be soothed, though the mother rocked her tenderly. ‘Hush now,’ she said, over and over, but the baby wouldn’t hush at all.

  The father tried tickling her and then talking to her sternly, which made the baby cry harder. The girls chatted to each other, clearly not expecting to take their turn as nursemaid. ‘

  ‘Let me take her,’ I offered.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s very querulous, poor lamb,’ said the mother. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to quieten her. Sometimes she cries for hours. I think it’s the colic.’

  I was used to little babies. In my last year at the hospital I had spent many hours in the nursery, helping care for the newborn foundlings before they were despatched to foster homes in the country.

  ‘Come to Hetty, baby,’ I said, picking her up from her mother’s arms.

  She had a cross red face, her forehead wrinkled as if she had every care in the world. The silly little thing did not know how lucky she was. I held her upright and pressed her against me, patting her back.

  ‘There now. Do you have a sore stomach? This will make it feel better,’ I said.

  I walked up and down the carriage, rocking her against me. She stopped screaming, snuffled several times, and then quietened altogether.

  ‘Oh my! You’ve worked wonders!’ said the papa.

  ‘You’re very good with babies, dear,’ said the mother. ‘There, Charlotte, there, Maisie! See how nicely she’s soothed your little sister!’

  I took a deep breath, aware of a sudden glorious solution to my situation. ‘I would be very happy to be your nursemaid,’ I said.

  I meant it in all seriousness, but the family all laughed merrily, as if I were joking.

  ‘I – I would not cost very much,’ I ventured further, but this made them laugh even harder.

  I felt I could not pursue the point
any further. I continued to walk the baby. She stayed fast asleep, even when the train drew into the station at Bignor-on-Sea at last. I carried the baby very carefully down the steps to the platform, my suitcase hanging off one arm. The father went dashing off to supervise the removal of the family’s luggage from the guard’s van. I waited with the rest of the family. Maisie was jumping up and down excitedly, declaring, ‘I can smell the sea already!’ She was so convincing that I imagined the water lapping against the brick walls of the station.

  ‘I hope there’s time for a bathe before tea!’ said Charlotte. ‘Will you have a bathe too? Wait till you see what it’s like, Hetty! Do you have your own bathing dress? If not, you can hire one on the beach.’

  ‘I expect I will do that,’ I said.

  ‘And you’ll need a bucket and spade! Maisie and I always make sandcastles. It’s absolutely ripping fun. We made such a splendid castle last year, with a proper moat, and then the sea came in and filled it up, and we made stained-glass windows out of fruit drops. Maisie had to lick them first, which was a little disgusting, but she didn’t mind at all—’

  ‘Charlotte, calm down!’ said her mother, smiling at her. She reached for the baby. ‘Thank you so much for looking after little Flora. I’ve never known her so contented.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ I said solemnly. My arms felt very empty when I gave her back.

  ‘Well …’ The mama was looking around at the crowds on the platform. ‘Can you see your mama anywhere? She will be meeting you, won’t she?’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t know I’m coming. It’s a surprise,’ I said.

  ‘Do know where to find her? Perhaps you might care to walk part of the way with us?’

  ‘Oh, yes please!’ I said.

  We walked out of the station in a little procession, the papa alongside the porter, who had a huge trolley full of their luggage, then the mama and the baby, and then Charlotte and Maisie on either side of me, talking nineteen to the dozen, telling me all about the seaside.

  ‘Where is it?’ I asked, because we were in a perfectly ordinary street, though the light was brighter than usual and the air felt fresh and clear.

  ‘Just down there! Oh, mama, may we run ahead just a little and show Hetty the sea?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Of course,’ said their mama.

  The girls both surged forward, skirts flying. I ran along beside them, my case bumping awkwardly against my legs.

  ‘Take care, girls!’ she called.

  I felt truly part of their family – not a nursemaid, more like a sister. I started picturing our life together. We’d have our annual jolly seaside holiday in Bignor, and then we would go back to our home in Arundel. I would go to school with Charlotte and Maisie, and help their mama with the baby when I was at home. We’d all do the cooking and the dusting and the scrubbing and the mending. I’d have my own comfortable little bed in the girls’ room. I would never be stuck all alone in the scullery.

  Charlotte and Maisie raced round a corner. I heard them whooping triumphantly. I followed them, and then stopped short, my heart thudding. I’d seen pictures of the sea in books, each wave carefully cross-hatched to give a life-like impression. I’d seen the Thames, which had seemed vast enough after the country stream of my childhood. But nothing had prepared me for the immensity of this sea glittering before me in the sunlight.

  I had fancied it would be a dense blue like the wash of colour in my picture-book illustration, but this was a bright silvery grey, an entire sparkling world of water. I turned my head to the left and to the right, and it was still there, as far as I could see. I dropped my suitcase and stretched my arms wide, trying to take it all in.

  ‘Isn’t it glorious?’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Yes, it is truly wonderful,’ I breathed.

  The sea blurred to a rainbow shimmer because I was crying now, overcome by the beauty of this vast stretch of water. I scrubbed at my eyes with my handkerchief.

  ‘Don’t be sad,’ said Maisie, putting her hand in mine.

  ‘I’m not sad, I’m happy,’ I said, laughing shakily.

  ‘You do like it here, don’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s the most beautiful place in the whole world,’ I said. My heart rejoiced that Mama lived here now and could see the sea every single day.

  I suddenly wanted to see her so urgently that I trembled all over. I feared she would be angry and distressed when I told her that I’d lost my position, but I didn’t care about her scolding me now. I just wanted to be with her.

  ‘I must go now,’ I said.

  I said goodbye to Charlotte and Maisie, and they kissed me as if we were firm friends. I waved to the papa and the mama and the baby, then I picked up my suitcase and started running right along the sea front. I didn’t know where Mama’s road was, and the first two people I asked did not know either, but then I came across a painted notice board with a map of Bignor clearly laid out. There was even a helpful little arrow labelled YOU ARE HERE! I pictured a half-inch Hetty standing on her allotted spot, and walked her up and down the roads until, right at the edge of town, I came across Saltdean Lane. I’d written it on so many envelopes under the dear name of Ida Battersea.

  I stared at the map until my eyes watered again, memorizing the way, and then I set off along the promenade. This was a fairyland town with a pier jutting out into the sea, kiosks of strange seafood, and bathing machines all along the beach. Even the streetlamps were painted a pretty pale green, and the paving stones beneath my feet were rose-pink.

  I had to turn off the promenade down Victoria Avenue, and the streets immediately reverted to plain grey, but I didn’t care – I was running now, so eager to see Mama that I didn’t pause for breath until I reached Saltdean Lane at last. The houses weren’t as large and grand as Mr Buchanan’s in Lady’s Ride. I liked them better – pretty villas painted cream and apricot and lilac, with bright flowers in their gardens.

  I counted each house until I found number eighteen. It was cream, with white window frames and a blue door, very fresh and pretty, with pink hydrangeas in tubs on either side of the doorstep.

  I was utterly delighted to see that Mama’s house was the prettiest in the whole lane. I went up the neat tiled path, shaking with excitement. I knew better now than to knock at the front door. There were no area steps, so I slipped down the side of the house and rapped lightly on the back door. I waited, my heart thumping.

  Then the door opened. There was Mama! I knew she was my own dear Mama – of course I did – but she looked so different. She had always been little and slight, like me, but now she seemed somehow to have shrunk. Her dress hung loose on her, and her tiny wrists and hands stuck out of the cuffs, looking like little claws. Her dear face was so thin now that her cheekbones showed in sharp lines.

  ‘Oh, Mama!’ I said, throwing down my case and clasping her close.

  ‘Hetty! Oh, Hetty, is it really you? You look a picture in that dress! Darling, what are you doing here?’ she gasped, and then she started coughing.

  She thrust me away from her quickly, putting a handkerchief to her mouth. She coughed and coughed, her faced reddening, the veins standing out on her forehead, her whole body racked.

  ‘Oh, Mama,’ I whispered.

  I steered her very gently inside and sat her down on a kitchen chair, then fetched my case from the doorstep. I ran the tap at the sink, pouring Mama a glass of water, and gave it to her. She tried to drink, the glass clinking against her teeth, and gradually the terrible coughing stopped. Her eyes were watering, and little beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. I took a teacloth, held it under the cold tap, and then pressed it against her burning temples.

  ‘You’re ill, Mama, very ill. You definitely have a fever – and that cough! Why aren’t you in bed? Come, let me help you. Where do you sleep?’

  ‘No, no, I can’t possibly go to bed,’ Mama said weakly. ‘I’m fine now. It was just a coughing fit. The surprise of seeing you!’

  ‘But you’
ve got so thin! Why didn’t you tell me you were ill when you wrote?’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I’m not ill, not really. I just have a troublesome cough, but I’m in the best place possible, breathing in this good sea air. Some days I feel really well, truly.’

  ‘Will you stop trying to be so brave! It’s me, Mama! You can be honest with me.’

  I knew next to nothing about sickness and disease, but even so I knew that Mama was gravely ill. ‘Is it – is it influenza?’ I whispered.

  I had suffered a bout of influenza once myself and had been very ill for days, along with many other children at the hospital. My crippled foster brother Saul had died from the disease. So had Cedric, Mr Brown’s little boy.

  ‘Oh, Mama, don’t die! You can’t die!’ I said, bursting into tears.

  ‘Don’t, Hetty! I’m perfectly all right, I swear I am. I haven’t got influenza, I promise you.’

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘Well …’ Mama hesitated. ‘There’s nothing a doctor can really do for me, dear. But I go to the pharmacy and he makes me up a cough linctus. That helps considerably. But never mind me. What are you doing here? How did you get Mr Buchanan to give you permission to visit me?’

  ‘Well …’ It was my turn to be evasive now. I didn’t really want to tell Mama the whole story, especially now she was so fragile. ‘Mr Buchanan is – is an unusual sort of employer. He knows how much you mean to me and how badly I’ve been missing you. He said I could have a little holiday with you. Isn’t that lovely?’

  But I could never fool Mama, ill or not.

  ‘A little holiday, my eye! Oh, Hetty, child, what’s happened? You haven’t lost your position already, have you? He has given you a character reference, hasn’t he?’ Mama started coughing again in her agitation.

  ‘Let me make us both a pot of tea and then I’ll tell you all about it,’ I said.

  ‘Oh Lord, I must take Miss Roberts her tea. She’ll be waking from her afternoon nap any moment, and she gets agitated if I don’t have it ready for her.’