Fleur insisted they needed a demon catcher, and Lydia came up with using an old doll. They dressed her in white, and stationed her outside the children’s window. The next day, the gardener appeared with a rag doll made by his wife. So then they had two, and of course he wanted money, and she’d felt tricked.
But life was hard, not just in the new resettlement villages, but in the outside world too. And now she’d seen at close quarters the way people were forced to live, she saw how they had to do anything to make a dollar. Truth was, the gardener had been quite creative.
Maz chattered happily, despite leaving his mother. He was too young to really understand the finality of what had happened. She squeezed his hand, and before they turned the corner into Adil’s street, she turned back to catch a glimpse of blue skirt disappearing into the crowd. How odd, she thought, if the woman hadn’t worn blue, I might never have followed.
50
It was Friday, the last day of the autumn half term holiday. At the town hall, where Veronica had asked to meet me, she requested the electoral register. In her left hand she held my old letter from Mr Johnson and flapped it at me.
‘See, Emma,’ she said, and pointed at a reference code in the top right hand corner.
I read it out. ‘E C-Mb/0557/002.’
‘Okay. The first part, E C-Mb. Those are initials.’
‘And the rest?’
‘0557 means the fifth month of nineteen fifty-seven. And 002 refers to the numbers of letters sent that month, concerning the owner of a particular file. In this case who E C-Mb is.’
‘I get that. So?’
‘Well, it confirms the news I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday.’
‘But you said there wasn’t much hope.’
‘There really wasn’t. But a few weeks ago when I was up in town, I treated Freddy to a good lunch and begged him to intercede on your behalf.’
I was puzzled and pulled a face.
Veronica held up a hand. ‘It will come clear. He decided to ask Johnson, Price & Co. if they’d be prepared to contact their client and explain your interest. Mr Johnson had received your letter, of course, so already knew about you.’
‘And did Mr Johnson contact the client?’
‘Well, he was reluctant at first, but Freddy is very persuasive, and in the end he agreed. The idea was to see if there was any chance she might allow disclosure.’
My heart thumped. ‘She?’
Veronica nodded. ‘Well, she considered it, and eventually agreed. Miss E. Cooper-Montbéliard. That’s who it is. Such an unusual name, isn’t it? Look at the reference again.’
I glanced down. ‘Oh.’
She grinned. ‘Exactly!’
‘C-Mb stands for Cooper-Montbéliard.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, the clue was there all along, though it would have been impossible to figure out.’
‘So now we check the electoral register. Make sure the address Freddy was given is correct.’
‘But it’s the last day of the holiday,’ I wailed. ‘There’s only tomorrow, then I’m going back to school on Sunday afternoon.’
She patted me on the arm. ‘But you can write, can’t you?’
The next day, after I had written my letter, I sat down with one of my stories while I waited for the rain to stop. I was having trouble with my main character. The hero, a tall man of Spanish extraction, who went by the name of Pedro Gonzalez Montes, was in the process of climbing up a ladder to rescue Claris from her evil grandfather. As he approached the top, the ladder slipped and he fell, not dead, but blinded and permanently disabled – no use as a hero at all. Unless he was Mr Rochester.
Writing wasn’t as easy as I thought when I was younger. My characters used to do what I told them, now they fell from ladders, made unexpected announcements and generally misbehaved. With a disgusted snort, I abandoned Claris to lie on blood-encrusted sheets, with the sound of rats scuttling behind a thin partition wall.
It had turned into a drizzly autumn day with lumpy clouds full of moisture, the kind that isn’t wet enough for an umbrella, but you get damp all the same. After I posted the letter, and as I neared the gate on my way back, Fleur darted from the house, and bumped straight into me, cheeks wet with tears. I put an arm round her, held her against my chest, and patted her back until she stopped crying.
‘Come on, let’s go down the road a bit, then you can tell me what’s wrong,’ I said.
She looked up at me, red eyed, then glanced back over her shoulder at the front door. She gave me a nod and between gulps managed to say, ‘I heard them fight.’
I asked her what about, but she couldn’t speak for stuttering. It might have been funny, except she was deadly serious. We walked slowly down the lane and I waited for her to squeeze all her tears out.
She tried again. ‘It was awful, Emma,’ she said, but stopped and rubbed her eyes. ‘It came in the post after you went out. Veronica and me were sitting at the kitchen table when Daddy came in with a large brown envelope. When he opened it, a newspaper fell out and slipped on to the floor. The Straits Times. I saw it.’
She started to cry again. So far none of it made sense.
‘Veronica picked it up … I saw it, Em. A picture of Mummy and us, when we were younger. Veronica went white, absolutely white. It had a big headline. Daddy tried to snatch it, but she stood up and read out loud.’
I bit my lip hard.
‘I was so scared.’ She stared at me with huge shiny eyes, and tears ran down the side of her nose. I patted her back again.
‘Mummy isn’t dead. She didn’t abandon us. She isn’t even missing.’
She’d spoken in such a small voice, I wasn’t even sure I’d heard her right. ‘If this is a joke, Fleur, it’s not funny.’
‘It isn’t, Em. It isn’t. She’s looking for us. She doesn’t know where we are. She thought we were dead, and then she found out we weren’t, and now she’s looking for us.’
I took a sharp breath. I was so hot, I thought my head would burst. The bare trees lurched and pitched, the still air came to life, and the world turned upside down. Dozens of questions fought for space but none of the answers made any sense.
‘She’s still in Malaya. Daddy sent me to my room, but I carried on listening from the hall.’
I had to sit down on the kerb to stop the road from spinning. ‘Maybe it was an old paper,’ I managed to suggest, but my tongue had doubled in size and the words came out funny.
‘Veronica read out the date. It was recent. Why did he say she’d abandoned us?’
I leant over and put my head between my knees. Fleur sat down beside me and took hold of my hand.
‘Veronica started to cry. I heard Daddy say things quietly, but she wouldn’t stop crying and calling him names. She was shouting about how he wanted to make a bigamist of her, and how could he do such an evil thing. And what about the girls.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Em, what is a bigamist?’
I screwed up my eyes. ‘Oh, Mealy. It’s someone who marries two people.’
‘But then it wouldn’t be Veronica who was one of those.’
‘No. It would be Daddy.’
Even though I hadn’t believed him about Mum, to have it confirmed like this … I actually felt winded, as if someone had come along and thumped me in the back.
‘You never believed it, did you?’
I shook my head.
‘I’m sorry, Em. I’m sorry for being mean to you about Mummy. I wanted to be a bridesmaid.’
‘Oh, Mealy!’ I pulled her to me and clung on, both of us trembling. I heard a car drive past, but didn’t care what they must have thought. After a bit, I closed my eyes on the grey day, took a few breaths, then pulled her up. We turned round and headed for whatever waited for us at home. I was certain now that the telegram had been something to do with Mum, maybe had even come from her.
Veronica passed by in her Morris Minor, her face so red from crying, I don’t think I ever saw anyone look so upset. I lifted my hand an
d attempted a smile, but she didn’t see me.
I had never got over the ache of separation, and now I wanted to yell so all the world would know my mum was alive, but back home, the sound of bangs and thumps in the kitchen made us hurry upstairs. Fleur held on to my hand and begged to come to my room.
‘Em, what do you remember about Mummy?’
‘Lots of things.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Her hair. The way she pinned it up and the way she was always singing in the morning.’
‘The park. She took us to the park.’
‘Yes, and the zoo. Mum loved the lions.’
She looked down and gulped. ‘I can’t remember that.’
‘Don’t cry, Fleur.’
‘I think I remember the tigers. Didn’t Mummy love us, Em?’
I put my arm round her and turned her face towards me. ‘Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time? That she didn’t love us?’
Fleur nodded.
‘Listen to me. She loved us more than anything. More than anything in the whole world.’
I felt like seizing hold of my father and shaking him till his teeth fell out, but forced myself to stay calm while we waited to see what he’d do. I read one of my stories to Fleur, not the one with the slippery ladder, but an earlier one where Claris joined an acting troupe in a bid to run away from her captor. Reading helped calm my mind, but all the time, a part of me was wondering how I’d handle Father. We’d just got to the point where Claris found the key to her salvation, when he came in and stood with hands on hips, feet wide apart.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he said.
He’d spoken defiantly, but I guessed he was bluffing.
‘I know how this looks, but I did it for the best.’
Fleur stared at the carpet, and I looked over the top of her head to stare at him directly. ‘What’s going to happen now?’ I asked, as levelly as possible, while resentment simmered inside of me.
He didn’t hesitate. ‘We’re moving. That’s what.’
Fleur and I looked at each other in disbelief. He couldn’t. Surely he couldn’t. Fleur gave me a little nod, to show she was backing me up, and I decided to stand up to Dad.
‘But, Daddy, what about Mum?’ I asked, still trying to remain polite. ‘How will she find us if we move?’
‘Are you doubting me, Emma?’
I was, of course I was, but his look silenced me. I swallowed and tried to control my temper.
‘Good. I’m glad to see you’re both being sensible.’
I don’t know if it was the look of relief on his face that sparked it, as if yet again he’d somehow got the better of me, but I lost the struggle to hold back. Something broke and the words Mum used came back to me. I stood up straight, stepped forward and jabbed a finger at him.
‘You fucking bastard. You absolute fucking bastard.’
Fleur’s mouth fell open, and in the second before he raised his hand to me, I stared straight into his eyes. Both of us froze. I waited for him to breathe, and when he did, his face was red and his Adam’s apple jumped up and down. I heard Fleur say in a small voice, ‘Daddy, don’t.’
His face fell and he seemed to sag. ‘I’m sorry. Oh God,’ he said. He swivelled round and left the room, leaving the door open.
Fleur and I stared at each other, both of us shocked that I dared say those words, and shocked by our father’s response. I had almost felt pity when he crumpled.
‘Why did he do it, Em?’
For once I was completely lost for words, but I couldn’t let it go. ‘I don’t know but I’m going to find out.’
No longer scared if he flew into a rage, I found him outside in Granddad’s old greenhouse. Veronica had attempted to keep it going, but all that remained were a few tomato plants with just a sprinkling of dead tomatoes, and one cucumber plant. Veronica was proud of that, slicing the bitter fruit into our corned beef sandwiches, though Fleur and I always slipped out the cucumber and dumped it when she wasn’t looking. Poor Veronica.
He didn’t acknowledge me when I opened the door, but walked right past to the bonfire, staring straight ahead. A wisp of smoke rose from the heap but there were no flames I could see.
‘Dad,’ I called after him. ‘Isn’t it a bit damp?’
He turned a sad face to me, his control shattered. I never saw my father like that before. With a lump in my throat where I stopped myself from crying, I could hardly speak. He looked old and frightened, and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.
‘Daddy, why did you tell us Mum abandoned us, and that she was presumed dead?’ I asked in a gentler tone of voice.
Thin blue smoke spiralled up. He shook his head and mumbled something about not enough air. With a long metal bar he poked and lifted the leaves to let some in. A cloud of darker smoke appeared, and for a moment I felt I was hallucinating and that none of this was real.
‘It’s what I thought,’ he said, still not looking at me. ‘It needs air.’
‘Dad, why didn’t Mum come to England with us?’
He took a couple of steps round the other side of the fire and looked through the smoke at me with pink eyes. ‘There are grown-up things you don’t understand, Emma. That you’ll be able to understand when you’re older.’
‘I’m not a child any more,’ I said, raising my eyebrows as Mum used to do.
He saw it and there was silence. A kamikaze blackbird flew over the bonfire inches from the top.
‘I kissed Billy, you know, properly.’
‘Oh God,’ he said softly. ‘Just like her mother.’
‘Daddy, I want George Parrott’s address. I have to know where Mum is.’
He looked at me then, looked at me properly. ‘George Parrott won’t be any use to you.’ He reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out his wallet, and unfolded a newspaper cutting. I read the words through twice and realised it was true. Mr Parrott was dead.
In the silence that followed, I was tempted to let it cover everything up, make believe we were a normal family, act as if I was outside with a dad who really loved me, and my mum was in the kitchen getting our dinner. He tried to talk normally for a bit, as if there wasn’t a wall between us. Said he couldn’t consider a return to Malaya to find Mum, because the For Sale sign was up, and we had to be here to show people round. Maybe a trip to Malaya when I was older, he suggested, as if that would pacify me.
‘Can I see the article about Mum? I could write to the person who interviewed her. They might be able to tell us where she is.’
He pointed as the bonfire finally burst into flame and smoke spread all round the garden.
I ran to extract a blackened corner of newsprint, tears spilling as I dropped it and the fragments fell to the ground.
He came to put an arm around me. ‘Really it’s better, Emma, if you forget her. It was that man she went to. That’s who she wanted. Not me.’
I went rigid.
‘Not us, I mean.’
I pushed him away, and felt my cheeks puff out. I couldn’t decide if he really had wanted to protect me from disappointment, or whether he was covering up.
‘Better for who? For me, or for you?’
His face was flushed and I could smell the odour of his armpits as he reached out to me again. He looked lonely, as if he didn’t know where he really belonged. But it was too late.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You’re upset. Let’s bandage that hand.’
‘You’re right. I am upset … I hate you.’
His face stiffened. ‘Emma, listen to me.’
‘No, I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe you about the telegram. Mum sent it. I know she did, and I will never give up looking for her. Never.’
I turned and fled. Mum was looking for us. As I ran I felt the touch of her, smelt her perfume. My mouth felt dry and I thought I was going to be sick. All that mattered was finding Mum, and even if she had gone to Jack, I didn’t care. She was my mother and I loved her.
A
s I escaped down the lane, I saw smoke rise from where the village houses began, and where Billy lived. A lump came in my throat again, and when we bumped into each other in the village, I managed to say how sorry I was. I burst into tears and in the short embarrassed silence that followed, he looked at me with narrowed eyes. I fiddled with my hair as I waited for him to speak, then he kissed me on the forehead, got out a hankie to wipe my tears, and smiled.
‘Don’t worry, it’s clean. Come on, Em, let’s just forget it.’
‘Friends then?’
‘Friends,’ he said, with a wink.
I told him about the article in The Straits Times.
‘And now Dad’s burnt it, I can’t do anything. Look, my hand’s all red where I tried to pull it out of the fire.’
‘My mum will put something on that.’
I nodded.
He looked at me with a funny expression and grinned. ‘You are an idiot, Emma.’
I frowned. ‘I’ve already said I’m sorry I was mean. I thought it was all right now.’
‘No, not that. Don’t you see?’
I shook my head.
‘Emma, there is a way. Come on. Let’s go to mine. I’ll tell you while we walk.’
51
On their way to Adil’s flat, Lydia and Maz were loaded up with bags of food. Adil came into sight, back from a long trip to the shipping offices in Singapore, where he’d been checking every single passenger list for the past three years, including sensitive ones. This time with official authorisation. Out of breath, and red cheeked, he grasped Lydia’s shoulder with one hand, held Maz with the other, then bent over to catch his breath.
She stared at him, saw the excitement in his eyes, and felt her heart skip a beat. ‘Slow down,’ she ordered. ‘Take your time.’
He took a breath then carried on. ‘A man answering Alec’s description was seen.’
‘In Malaya? Do you mean in Malaya?’
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