The Returning Tide

by Liz Fenwick

  Turning the mug in her hand, Lara thought about how quiet it would have been here nearly seventy years ago especially in winter. ‘Are there any pictures of you as a child? I didn’t find any.’

  Betty grimaced. ‘There weren’t many, and sadly we had a cleaner who took a shine to a box that held all the relics of my childhood, including pictures and paperwork.’ She sipped her tea.

  Lara opened her eyes wide. ‘So you really don’t know anything about her?’

  ‘I was told she was beautiful.’ Betty touched her hair. Lara looked at her grandmother’s smooth face. It hadn’t been achieved by good genes alone, but with the help of a surgeon in Florida where she lived. ‘Leo tells me you’re going to England?’

  Lara nodded. ‘I’m hoping to visit Cassie, you remember her?’

  Betty frowned.

  ‘Grandie worked with her father when he came on secondment to the institute,’ said Lara.

  ‘That rings a bell.’ Betty looked into the distance. ‘You two were inseparable.’

  ‘She runs a catering company in Cornwall now, so I plan to see Cassie and to trace Grandie’s steps during the war.’ Lara pushed the diaries from the box toward her. Betty flipped through them without really looking.

  ‘When will you work again?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. Hopefully in the new year.’

  ‘Well, you can’t stay around here with Pierre down the road. You might as well go and see if you can find anything out about my mother while you trace my father’s steps.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sorry I have nothing that can help.’ Betty stood up and put the mug into the dishwasher. She looked out at a window box filled with red geraniums in need of dead-heading. Her eyes darkened and she seemed to think for a moment. ‘There used to be a picture of them together,’ she said.

  Lara sat up straight.

  ‘I think it was taken on their wedding day.’ Betty turned back to her and adjusted her belt. ‘But I haven’t seen it in years and if I remember correctly it wasn’t a good photo.’

  ‘Any picture is better than none.’

  ‘Funny, that’s what I used to think. I’m not so sure now.’ She placed her hand on Lara’s shoulder. ‘I used to stare at it and dream she would come back from heaven. And the more I stared at it, the further the idea of her slipped from me until she was there no more.’ Betty walked into the garden where she approached Leo and spoke briefly before she turned around and came back.

  ‘I do have two things of my mother’s,’ she said. ‘I’ll have Kevin bring them up.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll give him a call now. He’ll be leaving for the airport soon.’

  Lara frowned. Kevin was Betty’s third husband. He was nice enough but Lara had never seen the appeal. Of course, Lara wasn’t a sixty-five-year-old widow, as Betty had been when she had married him a few years ago.

  ‘These things won’t help you find her but it’s right that you should have them.’ Betty smiled. ‘I just asked Leo if he minded you having them, and of course he doesn’t.’

  Lara knew there had to be some value to them if Betty had checked with Leo. Betty had been rigorously fair in giving them attention and presents over the years.

  ‘Yes, I think Dad would have approved.’ Betty pulled out her phone and dialled. ‘Kevin? So glad I caught you, darling. Can you be a dear and go into the safe and take out the blue felt bag? In it should be a single string of pearls with a diamond clasp, and the Tiffany diamond and pearl earrings.’

  Lara’s eyes widened.

  ‘I’ll be at the airport to collect you. Sorry about the long stop in Logan. See you tonight.’ Betty tucked the phone in her pocket. ‘There, that’s done and it’s probably something I should have done years ago. They will suit you.’ She kissed Lara’s cheek.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Betty smiled. ‘I think it would be good if you can find out who my mother was. It was something I could never discuss with Dad. He just clammed up on the subject.’

  Lara thought of the clamshell still sitting on Grandie’s bedside table. Why had he been so silent about his wife? Love that lasted beyond death must have been very special. But how the hell was she going to find out about her great-grandmother when all she had to go on was her first name and her nationality?

  Six

  Hampstead, London

  18 August 1943

  Dearest,

  It’s so hot in London, I’m longing for Cornwall. I can’t recall having spent any time here in August ever. How are you? Are you still enjoying being a driver or has the fun gone away? Me? The course is good. The girls are lovely but some of the sailors are awful, always saying ‘Give us a kiss, Jenny.’ I used to like the name Jennifer but after being called Jenny or Jenny Wren the whole time I’ve gone off it completely. No, I haven’t fallen for any of them.

  In case you are wondering, I haven’t heard from Philip or any of them. Have you? Has Mother? How is she? I spoke with Father. He’s fine and I may see him this weekend. If I don’t then I will go to the cinema. Last weekend we went and it was the funniest thing. Not the film but what happened to me. In an act of rebellion I hadn’t worn the regulation knickers but the ones Aunt Margaret had given me. Well, I stepped off the bus and they fell to the ground, the elastic had gone. I swiftly retrieved them and shoved them in my gas mask bag, trying desperately to keep a straight face as the girls walked ahead and an American GI whistled. We were all laughing so hard. Once we reached the cinema, I went straight to the ladies to tie knots in them to secure them.

  I hear Morse in everything, like the hot water pipes and footsteps. Secret messages abound. Not that you and I ever needed code to communicate with each other, but it would have been fun with the boys. They could have tapped on the pipes and we could have met them at the cove. However it’s now deadly serious and I’m working so hard to maintain the fastest speed in class.

  Thank you for the stockings. Can I send you anything from London, not that there is anything in the shops?

  Missing you terribly,

  Xxxxx

  10 September 1943

  I adjusted my jacket and glanced quickly in the mirror. At times it still startled me. I looked like Amelia but not quite – everything was on the wrong side. We used to spend hours looking in Grandmother’s mirror, just staring at the reflection. Sitting side by side we were the same, and yet when I looked at her I saw Amelia and not me. I adjusted my hat and took a deep breath. I was halfway through my training and I had leave. However, instead of going home to Windward I’d be spending it in London at my aunt’s as Mother and Grandmother were on the train now. Today I had the afternoon to meet Aunt Margaret and catch up with her before Grandmother arrived and took over.

  I wasn’t sure what Aunt Margaret and I would be doing but I looked forward to not thinking in dots and dashes. I’d only realised recently that I was selected for telegraphy because of my fluency in French and Italian. I’d had no idea that Morse was taught as a language or that it would push the other languages out of my head. The other girls were the same.

  Dit dit dit dah. Some days my head swam in the rhythm. Rhythm was everything in Morse, a bit like dancing. But unlike having a lovely song in my head my nights would be filled with SOS – dit dit dit dah dah dah dit dit dit. I wasn’t surprised we’d lost two of the class so far. They had cracked under pressure and gone ‘dit happy’, as we called it. I think it threatened us all and on top of the need to master Morse and increase our speed we were learning a bit of encryption so that we would understand what would happen before or after our transmission or recording. I confess I wished I had Amelia’s brain when there were lessons on electricity and how it all worked. She would master that with ease, just as she had driving and engines.

  At the sound of an automobile horn, I looked out of the bus window. Sunlight fell on the remains of buildings and glinted off broken windows. There were ruins everywhere, yet the woman on the opposite side of the road was sweeping up, doing what she no doubt
had always done. London went on despite its altered state, the opposite of me. I looked different on the outside because of the uniform but was the same on the inside. I wasn’t sure it was so with Amelia.

  There was one definite change in me, though. A sense of power had arrived with my uniform and it hadn’t disappeared despite the three months of wearing it. It had transformed me – I was somehow both invisible and noticeable. The only downside I’d found to the uniform was the stockings. Amelia had sent me a nylon pair but despite extra care I could repair them no more. Today I wore the dreadful lisle ones. They looked so awful I had to try and forget them but couldn’t. They were too thick and made even the best legs look old.

  Aunt Margaret had suggested we meet at Fortnum’s so I stepped off the bus and strode down Piccadilly. I paused in front of Hatchards with its partially boarded up windows and peered into the small opening to see the display of books.

  ‘Adele.’ My aunt came up to me and kissed my cheek. ‘Still so hard to adjust to you in uniform.’ She walked into the shop and I followed in her wake. This is what we always did. My aunt was a law unto herself. Even Grandmother was under her spell. Or maybe it was just that Margaret was the only child of an earl, unlike Father, who was simply a clever consulting surgeon. Grandmother missed her life before the Great War when everything was clear to her.

  ‘Reg is coming home and this is the list of things he requires. I’ll just drop it off and then it will all be ready for him.’ She turned and smiled at me. ‘Now let’s go and have some tea at the Ritz and you can tell me all your news before the others arrive.’

  Despite rationing, her clothes were immaculate. She exuded glamour with her red lips and almost black hair. As I watched her glide across the pavement now, heads turned to follow her progress.

  Even back in the summer of 1939 when she’d picnicked on the beach with us, she had looked like she’d walked off the pages of a fashion magazine with her daring two-piece swimming costume. I could remember Grandmother’s voice, muttering how scandalous the costume was, revealing her midriff for all to see. But Amelia and I had been full of envy. None of our large party could take their eyes off Margaret as she joined in our game of beach cricket. It had been a spring tide and the sand stretched forever before disappearing into the turquoise waters of the bay.

  At the behest of Uncle Reg who suddenly fancied moules, Amelia and I with Eddie, Tom, Angus and Philip had scoured the rocks for mussels. As the group spread out in the search, Philip and I found ourselves alone in a small cave. The sand was cold and damp and the rock face was covered in barnacles, limpets and mussels. I set to work loosening the shells and slipping them in the bucket. He was close by and when I turned he was staring at me.

  ‘You won’t collect any lunch that way.’ I smiled and tilted my head.

  ‘True.’ He stepped nearer with a big grin spread across his freckled face. His auburn hair had fallen across his brow and I resisted the urge to push it back into place.

  ‘Adele?’

  Looking up he was at least a head taller than me and his shoulders were broad. He’d filled out in the nicest of ways since the summer before.

  He stepped closer. We were almost touching. My breath caught. Staring into his brown eyes I began to think I might be a little in love.

  ‘I … I want to kiss you.’

  I drew in a breath. ‘Yes.’ His lips touched mine and he began to pull back but I moved nearer to him.

  ‘There you two are.’ Amelia stood in the entrance to the cave with a wicked smile on her face. I flushed as embarrassment spread through my body. ‘We’re taking these up to the house so Cook can begin making lunch.’

  His fingers grazed mine as he took my bucket and handed it to Eddie.

  I’d fallen a little bit in love with Philip that summer, or as in love as a fourteen-year-old could be. The following summer the holidays weren’t quite so blissful. The boys including Philip had been practically counting the hours until they could join up. At the least, Philip and I had managed to steal away a few times to walk the coastal paths, talking books and dreams. Those carefree summers felt very far away.

  I sighed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. London was not Cornwall but the sun was the same. Was it as clear and bright at home?

  ‘The weather is glorious, isn’t it?’ Aunt Margaret linked her arm through mine and looked up at the sky. ‘I hope it remains fair for Reg’s leave.’ She glanced at me. ‘I have to say the uniform suits you. The navy blue sets off that glorious blonde hair of yours with those amber eyes. I always hoped that my children would have your eyes.’

  I smiled. Uncle Reg’s eyes were close to the same colour but not quite. His hair had gone sandy and thin while thus far Amelia and I were still white blonde.

  Once we arrived at the Ritz we didn’t dawdle in the lobby, and my aunt whispered in my ear, ‘I don’t want to be caught by that dreadful bore Mrs Johnson. We came out together and she talks endlessly of her children.’ She shivered. ‘I think I shall simply adopt you.’ She gave me a smile. ‘I do think dear Amelia will be married off before long. The girl cannot wait.’

  We were led to a table and Aunt Margaret waved at several people I recognised but couldn’t put a name to. It was always this way with her, but thankfully we didn’t have to pass their tables first to reach ours. My stomach was gurgling at the prospect of food. Hopefully she would chat with them after tea and not before.

  As we settled I admired her hat, which she wore at a jaunty angle, tilting down, nearly covering one eye, while the other side swept up revealing her beautiful hair. I longed for her wardrobe. Everything she wore was so chic and she’d had most of her clothes made in Paris before the war.

  ‘So, dear one, tell me, have you found a suitable boy? Or are you like your darling sister and keeping the troops happy?’

  My eyes widened and my face coloured. It confirmed all I had been feeling about Amelia.

  ‘I had a lovely chat with her the other night and she confessed all as your mother and grandmother were out.’ She took a drag of her cigarette, leaving clear red marks on the white paper. ‘An admiral proved a bit stuffy, but it sounds as if a few captains have been most amusing.’ Her deep throaty laugh made me smile. She waved at a waiter and ordered for us.

  I shook my head. ‘I spend most of my time fighting off the able seamen who think I should be looking after their needs.’

  ‘How dreary – unless, of course, they are beautiful, in which case you should be.’

  I leaned back and frowned at her.

  ‘Have I scandalised you?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Good. Who knows what will happen in this blasted war, and quite frankly we all need to find what joy we can.’

  The tea arrived and I studied my aunt more closely. Did she really feel this or was it just talk? Was she finding joy without my uncle? I was horrified at Amelia’s behaviour and I certainly wouldn’t be ‘finding joy’, as Aunt Margaret put it. This was the first time my sister and I had differed on anything that mattered. How could things change so quickly? Or had I simply not noticed before?

  A woman swept up to the table. ‘Margaret, I’m so pleased I’ve seen you.’

  ‘Sophia, you remember my niece Adele Seaton.’ The woman nodded in my direction. I didn’t remember her so I doubted she did.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you but I must speak with you. Can we go and find a quiet place?’

  Margaret frowned but stood up. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Sophia.’ She leaned over to me as the woman moved to the side of the room and waited, watching us. ‘Sorry about this. I’ve been avoiding her but I can’t wriggle out of it now.’

  I shrugged.

  ‘You are a dear,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort out everything here. Just enjoy it and I’ll see you later.’

  I watched my aunt leave and wondered who Sophia was to command such a response from Margaret. My aunt was cowed by few people. A man joined them as they disappeared out of sight. I turned
to study the others having tea. The place was full of the grand and the uniformed. I laughed as I realised that included me.

  12 October 1943

  Slipping off my shoes and rolling my neck from side to side, some of the tension left me as I looked around the cabin. I slipped onto my bunk and felt the counterpane wrinkle beneath me. Right now all I wanted was my own bed and Amelia to talk to. She would understand. I wouldn’t even have to tell her what I’d written in the half-finished letter in the drawer. I rose and retrieved it. My flesh crawled just thinking about what had happened tonight – the man’s eager face, his persistent words and even more pervasive hands. Maybe if I finished it I would feel as if she were here.

  I wish I were more like you. It would make life easier. It’s hard saying no and it feels endless. Tonight a pesky able seaman also on the course cornered me for the umpteenth time and tried to charm me into a kiss or more. He definitely wanted more. He backed me into a dark corner and rubbed up against me. I know you say it’s all fun and I’m sure you are right, but you have to want it and I definitely don’t. Certainly not with him.

  ‘Come on, Jenny, you know you want to. I’ll be off on a boat risking my life and you’ll have a soft shore-based job.’ His words echoed in my head. I shuddered at how he had tried to make me feel it was my duty to let him do what he liked to me. Eventually I’d pushed him away. ‘Stuck-up bitch,’ he’d snapped, before finally leaving me alone.

  Tell me, how do you do it? Tell me how you separate love from a bit of fun.

  Saw Uncle Reg. As always he makes me laugh but this time his humour was darker. For the first time I sensed some of Mother’s depression lurking in the shadows of her brother’s eyes. Aunt Margaret was over-bright. Dare I say it feels like his return has unsettled her? When I was out the other day with her she was relaxed but when with him she was brittle from the laughter to the smile. The number of cigarettes she consumed doubled, along with the gins.