At Long Last Love

by Milly Adams

  He stared at the inscription again and noticed a fresh chip on the letter ‘e’, and the stones lying scattered around. Mrs B called from the vestry doorway, ‘She’s a bad lot, that Kate Watson. Left the village, she did, after running about with the gypsies in the woods, night after night, and has never been back; she wouldn’t dare. She left with Sarah, to look after a relative, so they say, but that’s what they always say when … you know.’

  Tom wouldn’t listen to this sort of tittle-tattle, which seemed to swirl from this woman whom he had inherited. Had she been the same with the succession of temporary ‘dog collars’, following Reverend Hastings’s sudden demise? If so, why? Had she hoped that Bertie Hastings would make a wife of her? He replied, ‘Are the flowers finished, Mrs B? I’ll come and admire them when I’ve finished the grass, though I’m leaving this side. Miss Watson reminded me that the bees prefer it.’

  He made his way back to the lawnmower, not bothering to check whether his housekeeper was as outraged as she so loved to be. Poor Kate Watson; not only had she lost her God, and her place on the headstone, but also – from the sound of it – her place in the village. Well, his God had gone missing too, since Dunkirk, so at least they had that in common. As he started to push the mower through the grass, he drew comfort from the fact that he was searching for his God, but suspected that Kate was doing anything but.

  Chapter Five

  Kate hurried towards the village pond. If any ducklings had cracked open their shells and emerged into the world this spring, they’d be long gone by now. Opposite the pond, the pub had tubs of marigolds around the entrance to the public bar. The door was firmly shut. In Soho, Brucie’s clientele knew they could knock and gain admittance almost day and night. Discretion was the byword in that neck of the woods.

  She sped past a queue at the baker’s, wondering if the wartime regulation insisting that the wholemeal National Loaf must not be sold until it was a day old worked here? She’d always supposed that rule had been brought in because the loaf would then slice more easily, and fewer crumbs lost, but no-one seemed to know and who cared anyway? This lot looked as though they were queuing for the cheap end-of-day stale loaves, as they always had. There was Mrs Williams and her daughter from Down End. Mrs Williams caught sight of Kate and, after looking shocked to see her, turned away, whispering in her neighbour’s ear. Soon the whole queue would be gossiping.

  She put her shoulders back, determined to pretend she didn’t care, and strode on. The baker and his wife, Mr and Mrs Harper, were nice. Would they welcome her, or was she a scarlet woman to them too? Time would tell. She stared ahead, making herself focus on whether people still cooked their Christmas goose, turkey or slab of pork in the baker’s ovens. She laughed to herself. ‘Come on, it’s probably a tiny chicken now; or maybe they’re naughty and it’s something off-ration.’

  Though she spoke aloud, she did so quietly. No need for anyone to think she was mad as well as bad, but she needed to hear her own voice, to remember who she was. Crikey, in a moment she’d burst into song.

  Her suitcase seemed twice the weight by now and her heels were rubbed raw, but it was as nothing against the tightening of the muscles in her jaw, the gritting of her teeth as Melbury Cottage hove into view.

  There it was, the only one in the street without a thatch. Her father had replaced it with tiles because he wanted gutters, and an end to the dripping rain. She had asked her mother what her ancestors would think of that, as the straw lay in heaps all over her precious herbaceous beds and lawn. Her mother had not replied, but had wept. At that moment her father had swept past them, and put his golf clubs into the boot of the Morris. He had suggested that her mother pull herself together by the time of his return, because it wasn’t good for her children to witness weakness. He had chugged down the main street, picking up the sainted Dr Bates along the way. Together they had headed for the golf course where, as captain and deputy, they would continue their work of supervising the improvements to the clubhouse.

  She grimaced. It was strange how golf clubs were a necessary part of supervision.

  In front of Melbury Cottage a taxi waited, its engine running. Kate snatched a look at her watch. She was later than she had thought possible, but she couldn’t run on her sore feet. She lengthened her stride and before long turned in through the gate and along the crazy-paving path, now devoid of the chamomile that she and her mother had planted. On either side the smooth lawns still contained no flowerbeds, though there was a rusty old fountain and a red rose in the centre of the left-hand lawn, which had escaped her father’s cull.

  Clearly Derek and Sarah had felt the same, once they inherited. She saw, though, that the honeysuckle still rambled over the porch, as though in defiance of tidiness. To the right of the front door was a suitcase, with a pair of Sarah’s gloves on top.

  The door opened and Sarah stood there in her subaltern FANY uniform, stabbing at her watch. ‘I’ve had to order a taxi because I’ve missed the bus to the station.’

  ‘Hello, Sarah. I’m here – blame the train, blame the bus, blame the verger, or me.’

  Sarah stepped onto the porch, pulled on her gloves and, adjusting her hat, called over her shoulder in a frenzy of impatience, ‘Lizzy, your aunt is here, at last. I’ve asked you once to hurry and will not ask again. I have to go, you know that, or I will miss the train.’ She picked up her case, as though to leave anyway, and then replaced it, turning back to the front door and calling up the stairs, her voice softening, ‘Lizzy. I want to say goodbye, please. Just come, don’t sulk. I’ll be back in a month.’

  She re-emerged onto the porch. The taxi hooted. Sarah checked her watch, and Kate braced herself as she heard a bedroom door slam, not knowing how to cope.

  Sarah said, ‘I’ve left lists in the kitchen explaining Lizzy’s routine, the rules and where everything is.’

  Kate let her suitcase drop. She wore no gloves. Bad girl. Her fingers were white from the heaviness of the case. ‘You’re continuing with the nanny-hunt, and I can go if she arrives, as you promised? I have a scout coming, you see, and there’s the small matter of earning a living.’

  Sarah stared at her, the taxi hooted again and she dug in her handbag. She came out with change and two pound notes. ‘Here, take this.’

  Behind her a child appeared. Her long, dark hair hung loose, her brown eyes were wide as she looked at the money and then at Kate, whose words caught in her throat at first, because the child was so beautiful, and those eyes so … She swallowed and then managed to say, ‘Hello, Lizzy. It’s lovely to see you. And no, Sarah, I don’t want your money. It was just a remark, probably a stupid one.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Say goodbye to your child and catch your train.’ Kate’s voice was high-pitched as Sarah tutted and thrust the money back into her pocket. She drew Lizzy into the porch, hugging her, kissing her hair and bending low. ‘I will be back in a month, remember that. And I love you. Aunt Kate will look after you.’

  Sarah grabbed her case and pushed past Kate, tears in her eyes. It made her human, and twisted Kate’s heart. She called after her older sister, ‘I’ll take care of her; you know I will. Good luck.’

  Lizzy stood on the porch, staring after her mother. Sarah didn’t turn, just jumped into the taxi while the driver stuffed her suitcase in the boot. They drove away with a toot. Kate watched, then picked up her suitcase and entered the house unhindered, because Lizzy pounded up the stairs ahead of her. A bedroom door slammed shut.

  Kate closed the front door. The hallway was as dark as it had always been, but there was a different smell. When she was a child they’d had a mongrel, which had followed her everywhere. Her mother had named her Topsy, after she brought her home from the farm for Kate’s tenth birthday. It was love at first sight. When Kate was thirteen and a quarter, just after her mother died, Topsy had been hit by a tractor as they walked towards the fields. Kate had run with the dog in her arms to Mr Sheldon, the vet, but she was limp and her eyes
were glazed. Mr Sheldon was kind and said, ‘She died in her lovely owner’s arms, and there are many that don’t, so try not to be sad.’

  Kate had carried Topsy back to Melbury Cottage, which hadn’t felt like home since her mother had died, and would now feel even less so. Her father said she should have left the bloody dog at the vet to be burned, with the rest of the rubbish, and wouldn’t help to bury her.

  Kate left her case in the hall now and passed through the house into the garden, down the gravel path to the apple tree, where she stood beneath the branches. The sun was high in the sky, the leaves rustled and she felt the warmth of her lovely dog in her arms, and on her bed, where Topsy was not allowed, but always slept. Then the house had smelled of dog. Kate had made a wooden cross when she buried her, and it was this she searched for, but there was no sign of it.

  ‘What are you doing, Aunt Kate?’

  Kate turned and in that moment, as the shadows of the leaves danced across the child’s face, she glimpsed a likeness of … him, the child’s father. Then it was gone. She swallowed and said, ‘I had a dog. My school friend, Melanie, helped me and Mrs Summers bury her here. You see, your mum hadn’t come back from France yet, so she couldn’t help. She came home two months later, to marry your dad. She is quite a bit older than me. I was thirteen, she was eighteen and looked very pretty. Poor little Topsy was only three, so she should have had more years to live.’ Kate bit off the words, then said, ‘Not exactly the right topic of conversation the moment I arrive, is it?’

  Kate half laughed. Lizzy smiled. For a moment Kate felt a great stillness. This child was beautiful, but her eyes were so sad. She moved towards her, her hand outstretched.

  ‘Come and help me unpack. I have a present for you, but I wasn’t sure of your size, so we might need to alter it, or ask Mrs Woolton if she would do so. She’s good with a needle and thread, but you’ll know that.’

  Lizzy ignored her hand and strode ahead into the kitchen, her cotton frock swinging, her white socks pristine. Kate waited just a moment, realising, if she hadn’t already, just how hard the next month was going to be. Lizzy called over her shoulder, ‘I’ll show you the nanny’s room. Mum changed the sheets and there’s a fresh towel.’

  They climbed the stairs, Kate lugging her case. Everywhere seemed so small, the landing so narrow and so dark. Even the same pictures were on the walls. Hadn’t Sarah and Derek wanted to impose themselves on their home? Or were they really just like Father, who had replaced her mother’s needlepoint with these scenes of golfers. Did Derek golf? She couldn’t remember. Was he even alive? Who knew, and how on earth was leaving their child to join the FANYs going to help anyone?

  Lizzy tramped along the landing, head down and shoulders rounded. She was eight, but moved as though she had the weight of the world on her back.

  ‘Your mum will be home soon,’ Kate called.

  ‘My dad said he’d be home soon, too.’ Lizzy stopped outside the bedroom that had once been Kate’s. The child flung open the door and walked in. Kate stood in the doorway, unable to enter. The wallpaper was still the same, so too the lampshade, curtains, even the rug on the floor. She stared at the ceiling. There was still the age-old water stain. She said into the silence, ‘My dog, Topsy, used to sleep on the bed with me.’

  Lizzy looked at her, smiling, breaking the spell. ‘I bet Grandpa didn’t know.’

  Kate grinned. ‘Certainly not. Can you imagine the fuss?’

  Lizzy slumped onto the bed, laughing now. ‘I don’t want to. He had the hugest temper, hadn’t he?’

  ‘Big, massive.’

  ‘Towering, fat.’

  They were laughing now, and the child’s face was alight with energy. ‘He would fuss when I danced. I hear music in my head, you see, music that had been on the wireless, and it made me dance and sing. He said singing was for church, or it led you into bad ways.’

  ‘I hear music too.’ Kate still didn’t enter.

  Lizzy perked up, then slumped again, kicking her legs backwards and forwards. ‘I wish Mum didn’t have to go to war, like Dad. You haven’t gone to war, so why has she? In fact you could go instead. Should we go to the station and tell her that?’ She jumped off the bed and slid past Kate, who grabbed her, pulling her back. Lizzy resisted for a moment, then twisted away, wrenching Kate, who felt the flash of pain in her back. She dropped her hand.

  ‘Your mother has a right to her decisions, Lizzy. And what’s more, I do my bit in London, and did it all through the Blitz.’

  Suddenly she was angry with these country people making judgements, when she bet they didn’t have a back that looked like hers, and sometimes hurt almost more than childbirth. She stopped abruptly. She must continue to be careful – very careful, every minute of every day – just as she had taught herself.

  ‘Anyway, she’ll be back in a month. Let’s see if this dress is any good for you?’ She entered the room at last, but wouldn’t look at the ceiling. She lifted the case onto the bed, opened it and a pair of shoes fell out, tumbling to the floorboards. Lizzy joined her, staring at the clothes in the case. ‘It’s so full. And you’ve brought a bottle of something.’ She picked it out of the case. ‘Gin,’ she said, tracing the letters with her finger. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Medicine in case I get a cold. It helps a cough.’

  ‘Oh, we have cough medicine, so you don’t need this. Why don’t you put it in the raffle at the musical show that our teacher, Miss Easton, is thinking of putting on near Christmas? It’s to make money so the school can buy things called War Bonds, or a Spitfire, or something like that. I expect people would buy tickets for such a big bottle of cough mixture.’

  ‘Well, I’ll ask Miss Easton if she’d like it, when I pick you up from school.’ What else could she say, or it would be all round the village that she was not only a stripper, and a breaker of a father’s heart, but was slurping gin every minute of every day? She found the dress she had bought and held it against Lizzy. ‘It seems to fit. Do you like it?’

  She turned Lizzy round and stood her in front of the wardrobe mirror. The dark pink suited the child’s colouring. Lizzy smiled and stroked the dress. ‘It’s lovely, but it’s very bright. Mum said I shouldn’t make myself noticed. It’s showing off.’

  Kate held onto her smile. ‘Well, tell you what: you can’t wear it for school, but at the end of the day you could pop it on. If your mum doesn’t like it when she comes back, then so be it. Is that an idea? We can then find another pretty little girl who could use it.’

  Lizzy frowned, swinging from side to side, watching the skirt of the dress move with her. Then she nodded. ‘If you say so, then yes. Cos you’re a grown-up, so it’s not my fault.’

  Kate squeezed her shoulders. ‘Of course it’s not your fault. You’re only eight, Lizzy.’

  ‘Nearly nine.’

  Kate laughed. ‘All right, nearly nine. Now, let’s get these clothes put away.’

  After half an hour everything was in drawers or in the wardrobe. Then Kate sat on the bed and said, ‘You know, I think I’m going to sleep in the attic. There’s a lovely view up there, and it means we can keep this clean and tidy for the nanny. I’ll leave my clothes here and use it as a dressing room. I have one, you know, at the theatre where I dance and sing.’

  It was better to say ‘theatre’ and bring the singing and dancing out into the open. Lizzy nodded. ‘Mum said you danced and sang, with that look on her face. I don’t think she likes it, but you’re a grown-up, so it doesn’t matter who likes what, does it?’

  Kate rose, leaving the room, knowing that she was already loving this child – and that must not happen. She called back, ‘You’re a wise little soul, Lizzy Baxter. Now, let’s investigate the attic.’

  It was enough to bed her clothes down in her old room, without sleeping there too. She pulled down the ladder to the hatch and clambered into the attic. It wasn’t even dusty. Lizzy clambered up after her. ‘Mum and Dad used this when Dad’s auntie came to stay. She’s dead now.
Mum keeps it clean, just in case. She never says in case of what, but perhaps we’ll have visitors again. She’s been sad and quiet, you know, now Dad’s got lost somewhere in France.’

  The single bed was made up, with the headboard end under the sloping eaves, and it would be aired because it was summer. There was a camp bed folded up. Kate opened the large window. Lizzy dragged over a stool and stood on it, looking out. ‘I’ve never done this before. Mum said I might fall, but look: the roof is sloping, so you’d slide down the slope and onto the flat shed. It’s not a high jump into the back garden from there.’

  Kate smiled to herself. That’s exactly what she had done, and then she had run through the garden, wishing Topsy had been alongside her. She’d ducked through the broken fence at the end of the garden, over the bridge, into the woods. She’d go there because the woods were friendly, and interesting. She loved the birds, and the deer, and would head for the centre, where she and her best friend Melanie had made a camp the year before. Kate had liked to sit there beneath the stars and think of her mum looking down, with Topsy beside her. It was the only time it was peaceful enough to think of them and even smell them, because Mum wore rose perfume, and Topsy smelled of dog.

  When the gypsies came as usual, just a few months after her mum died, she had found them in the clearing and hesitated, because children weren’t supposed to go into the woods when they were here. They had invited her to the camp fire, where she had listened to their music as they made the pegs they would sell, and she watched as some danced. They had invited her to join them and had taught her, and they didn’t tell her it wasn’t suitable. The following year they had done the same, but that was the last time they had come.

  She turned away from the window. ‘Yes, I will sleep here, and leave the bedroom for the nanny. But listen, Lizzy; now it’s my bedroom, you mustn’t come in unless invited, and never in my absence. In return, I will knock on your door and only enter if you allow me. How does that sound?’