by Lizzie Lane
The bright shining moon was hidden by cloud so he couldn’t see her face when she fell to silence, as though shrouded in thought. He didn’t need to see to know that tears were brimming in her eyes.
‘You can’t know for sure that your parents are dead …’
‘I feel it!’ Her interruption was forceful and unquestionable. ‘I remember how it was back in Austria when I was younger. All the nastiness happened bit by bit. My father lost his job. I wasn’t allowed to attend my school. I loved my school. Such a shame,’ she added, almost as though she was talking about a favourite hat. ‘Then we lost our house and ran away to France. My father said it was a very liberated country and that we’d be safe there. Then the Germans came and we were loaded on to a train. People said we were being sent east to a labour camp. The train didn’t have seats. It smelled of cows and there were too many people packed in it and they began to die. That’s where I saw the woman giving birth and other women helping her. That’s how I knew what to do.’
John sat stunned, his hands clasped in front of him, his mind racing. This child wasn’t yet old enough to leave school and get a job, but she was speaking as though she’d already lived half a lifetime. He didn’t want her to tell him any more. He wasn’t sure he could stand it, even though it was her who had experienced these things. He wanted to make her whole again and make everything normal. Normal things. That’s what she needed.
‘I suppose we might venture inside now, make a cup of tea or something?’ he said nonchalantly.
She got up without speaking. Night had descended long ago but nobody had thought to draw the blackout curtains downstairs. The light from the range and the table lamps helped alleviate the gloom.
The grandfather clock struck two o’clock. John stood and glanced up the stairs while Lily filled the kettle and hung it from the trivet before the range. John placed his helmet on the table. Muffled conversation came from upstairs, plus the odd creaking of a floorboard. He didn’t want Lily to return to the memories of her past. He tried to sound bright when he said, ‘I wonder what she’ll name her.’
‘I think she wanted Ellen for a girl. Edward for a boy.’
Not Raymond for a boy. John’s spirits were lifted. ‘A nice name.’
He eyed the girl as she fetched crockery and a blue and white tea caddy from the dresser. She had an unreadable look on her face, yet she seemed full of confidence as she went about the task of making tea, pouring milk, spooning the very smallest amount of sugar into each cup. What was going on in her mind, he wondered. Her memories had resurfaced. He only hoped she could cope with them.
‘What about your name? How do you want to be called? Lily or Leah?’
The teaspoons tinkled in the saucers. She set each cup carefully in its saucer as though being accurate about such things was terribly important.
‘I’ve thought about it. It’s early days but even once I’ve got used to my memories I think I would still want to be called Lily. Ray saved me. Meg gave me a home and, if I want to follow the Jewish religion, I can. That’s what’s so important in this country and in this world. You can be whoever you want to be. That’s what freedom means. I think my parents would have wanted that. It’s all that’s left of them. At least, I think it is.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Nothing had prepared Meg for her feelings towards Ellen Mary Malin. She spent hours staring at the round little face, the way it puckered just before crying for her feed, the way her eyeballs moved beneath gossamer eyelids.
The doctor advised she stayed in bed for at least a week, and Alice Wickes and Gladys Stenner, both of whom popped in every day, advised she make the most of it and stay there for a fortnight. Meg was adamant she would do no such thing. ‘I’ve had a baby. I’m not an invalid.’
‘Stay,’ ordered Gladys, pressing a meaty hand on her shoulder when she dared to push back the bedclothes and swing one foot out of bed.
Reluctantly, Meg obeyed, but only until Gladys had left the cottage. With Ellen in her arms, she went downstairs and, when the phone rang, held the baby in the crook of her arm while she answered it.
Her mother was congratulatory. ‘I would come down, but there’s such a lot going on here. Is the child doing well?’
‘Very well and the birth wasn’t so bad.’
‘Ugh! Lucky for you. I myself had a terrible time when I had you … It was touch and go, you know.’
‘Yes. I do know.’ Meg rolled her eyes. She’d heard what a difficult time her mother had had giving birth to her a hundred times before. Nobody had suffered quite as badly as her mother had – and that was with the best of medical care!
‘What a shame Raymond isn’t here to see his offspring. I suppose at some stage we will hear where he’s buried?’
‘I’m getting divorced.’
She heard her mother’s intake of breath and could easily imagine the shocked expression on her face. ‘What are you saying? Surely it cannot be … ?’
‘We’re getting a divorce. There’s no acrimony. We both agree it’s the best thing to do. He’ll be happier with his French mistress and I’ll be happy with … Whoever, somebody else.’
‘Meg! You cannot possibly mean that. A French mistress? What a terrible scandal! And divorce. Now listen carefully, my dear …’
Meg knew by her mother’s tone of voice that although deeply shocked by what she’d told her, she was going to do her best to bring her daughter back from the brink. But the brink of what? Happiness?
‘Getting divorced will attract the utmost scandal. You’ll never be able to hold your head up again. People will not wish to include you in social activities …’
‘Mother, I have no wish to be involved in the kind of social activities you think are so important. I’m going to stay here in Bluebell Cottage. Ray has arranged everything.’
‘You’ll be all alone! Just you and the baby!’
There was no doubt in Meg’s mind that her mother was more concerned for her own reputation and how she would explain things to her close-knit and narrow-minded social group. Ellen, snuggled in the crook of her arm, began to make snuffling noises. It was getting close to feeding time again. Meg jiggled her up and down.
The dog raised his head at the sound, pricked his ears, then lay back down again and closed his eyes.
‘It won’t be just me and the baby. Lily and the dog are here too. She has remembered that her real name is Leah Westerman, though she has decided to remain as Lily.’
‘Oh. And what about her family? Surely if you now know who she is, they can be found and will no doubt want her back.’
‘We don’t think so. We think she’s an orphan and that her parents are dead. We’re her family now and I have to say, I think we are a proper little family. I’ve also made many friends in the village.’
‘Does that include a man friend?’
Her mother sounded scandalised, the words hissed rather than spoken. Meg imagined the clenched teeth, the fiddling of bejewelled fingers at the familiar pearl necklace. It would have been easy to deny there was no ‘man friend’, but Meg was averse to lying about where she expected her life to go.
‘Yes. If you must know, it does.’
The following silence simmered with shock. The last few words they spoke to each other were delivered as though both of them had distanced themselves from the very heart of the conversation. At no point did her mother offer to come down and run the house while Meg recovered from the birth. Not that she wanted her to come down and upset everyone with her own dogged view of how a household should be run – how a village should be run, by the time she’d finished.
Her last comment was regarding Lily. ‘What will you do with the child now that you have a baby of your own?’
‘I dare say I’ll appreciate her very much.’
As Meg fed the baby, one leg curled beneath her in the expansive softness of the old armchair, she thought about her mother. Lavinia Moorehead set great store by marrying the right man, living in the right place an
d always being well presented – which included the house she lived in. Nothing was ever out of place. As a child, Meg had never been allowed to actually touch the beautiful furnishings and, when she got out her toys to play with, she was expected to put them away in exactly the same place as she’d got them from.
With hindsight, she now realised she’d married Ray because her mother had thought him exactly the right sort for her. Perhaps she’d also married him in order to escape her mother’s influence, her first attempt at flying to freedom. She realised now that she had always done her best to please her mother, hoping perhaps for some affection in return.
Ray had been a lovely man, but they’d been suited to doing different things with their lives. Being house-proud had filled a void in her life, the void she didn’t recognise as lack of affection. She didn’t love her husband as she once had and somehow, deep down, he knew it. In exchange, he didn’t love her anymore either. They would always be friends; she knew that, but both of them appreciated that their lives were their own.
Alice and Gladys were the next to be told that Ray wasn’t dead. ‘He was wounded. The Resistance took care of him and helped him escape.’
The two women remarked that this was a miracle and went on and on about the possibilities for the future. ‘He’s not dead? Well, that is wonderful news. Will you both return to London or remain buried in the country?’
‘No is the answer to your first question, and likewise to the second. I will be staying here at Bluebell Cottage with my daughters. This is where I want to be. Ray wishes to be in France. He’s in love with somebody else.’
There! She’d said it. The two women stared at her, then glanced at each other, unsure what to say next. So they said nothing. Silence reigned.
After they’d left, she turned her head so she could see out into the garden. She pondered on continuing to let Ray believe that Ellen was not his daughter. Was she being unfair? He’d gone from Bluebell Cottage to the station house. She wondered what conversation, if any, had passed between Ray and John. She might ask him or she might not. Perhaps in time he would tell her anyway. He’d promised to visit her soon – once she was feeling up to it.
Lily came in from school, her face flushed and her eyes shining.
‘You look hot.’
‘I ran all the way.’ She came over and gently placed her hand on the baby’s head. ‘You shouldn’t be out of bed yet.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘The doctor.’
‘Well just because he’s a doctor, doesn’t mean to say he knows everything. I’m feeling very well. Very well indeed.’
‘I’m feeling very well too. There’s a letter on the table addressed to you.’
‘What?’
‘A letter,’ repeated Lily. ‘Shall I get it for you?’
‘If you would.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea while you read your letter?’
Meg brushed at her eyes, then began to read the letter.
My dear Mrs Malin,
It has been brought to my attention that a certain Leah Westerman has been fostered into your care. Her father, Professor Rudolph Westerman, was an old friend of mine and, back before the war began, I promised that if anything should happen to him and his wife I would offer the child a home.
This is what I am offering now, though it should be pointed out that with my bachelor status in mind, my offer would have to go through official channels.
I am not of the Jewish faith, but all my old friend cared about was that his daughter be brought up surrounded by kindness. Please let me know your thoughts on the matter.
Yours sincerely,
Professor Daniel Christian Loper
There followed the address of his lodgings within a campus of Cambridge University. Once the tea was set down on the table, Meg hesitantly passed the letter to Lily. She feared losing her foster daughter, who she had come to love immensely. John had helped her make the decision when she relayed to him what Ray had told her before. ‘She has the right to know. She has the right to choose.’
Hands clenched in front of her, she explained the contents. ‘It’s all about you from a Professor Loper, who was a friend of your father.’
A pair of bright blue eyes quickly scrutinised the letter that could greatly change her life. After carefully folding it up, she placed it next to the cup and saucer. ‘I’m not going. You need me here.’ Her eyes looked at Meg in pleading. ‘Do I have to go and live with him?’
Meg shook her head. ‘No. You don’t have to go.’
‘Good. Because I’m not going.’ Her tone was resolute. Meg thought she looked unshakeable.
‘I dare say you have a choice.’
‘My home is here. With you and Ellen, Rudy and Uncle John.’
Meg blinked, surprised that even a child had sensed there was something between her and John Carter. ‘John doesn’t live here.’
‘But he will do when you finally get married.’
Tears in her eyes, Meg looked down at her sleeping child. Full of her mother’s milk, Ellen had fallen asleep.
‘Can I stay? Will we be a family?’
Meg smiled. ‘Of course we will. Sit down and I’ll let you hold her.’
Eyes shining with delight, Lily sat obediently in the old armchair that Meg had covered with a patchwork of multicoloured squares. The chair was quite wide and when she’d first arrived at Bluebell Cottage, wide-eyed and silent, she’d looked quite lost in it. Not so now. In a matter of months she had grown into both the chair and her new environment.
After letting Rudy out of the back door, Meg stood with her back facing the girl and baby, sipping at her tea and looking out at the garden. Spring bulbs were daring to poke their heads through the soil. The weather had turned mild. A warm spring was expected.
She heard a bark, then the howl of a dog from somewhere in the village. Rudy heard it too, lifted his head and howled in response. She guessed it was the Alsatian bitch Cliff Stenner had acquired from the US base.
‘They said she was too soft,’ he’d told her.
Too soft. ‘Just like Rudy. A well-matched pair then.’
Cliff had grinned from ear to ear. ‘Funny you should say that …’
Meg heard him going on about breeding puppies, but in her head she was applying the saying ‘a well-matched pair’ to her and John. She decided it was very apt.
The knock at the door was expected. Even before she looked round, Meg knew who it was. Not that she could see his face as he entered, as it was hidden by a massive bunch of flowers – winter greenery mixed with dahlias and chrysanthemums that could only have come from the hothouse up at the old manor house. Growing prize-winning specimens had been the colonel’s joy in pre-war days. He didn’t grow so many now, though it seemed to her as if almost every single one was in the bouquet Constable John Carter had brought for her.
‘Oh, John. How kind.’
She lowered her face into the multicoloured bouquet, not smelling much from the hothouse flowers, but the wild greenery was as spicy as newly cut grass.
‘You look quite the little mother,’ he said to Lily.
Lily smiled. ‘No. I’m her big sister.’
The look in John’s eyes was unfathomable. Meg watched him: his mannerisms, his setting his policeman’s helmet on the kitchen table, carefully as though he were placing it so that the measurements from all angles were identical.
He pushed his hands in his pockets, took in Meg’s glow of health and felt a great surge of satisfaction. ‘I wanted to come round sooner … but I wasn’t sure of the formalities.’
Beneath the bare branches of the apple trees, Rudy recognised John’s voice. He came bounding down the garden path, the back door swinging wide open as he crashed through it.
‘Hey there, boy. Go a bit steady. We’ve got a baby in the house now, you know. Though I have to say I appreciate the welcome. I would appreciate a welcome like that every time I went home to the police house.’
Meg pushed th
e tea cup across the table. ‘That’s not a home, John. This is a home. It’s also a ready-made family. If you want it.’
A rush of cold air came in through the back door as the girl and dog rushed out into the garden, heading for the tree at the end of the path. Feeling his face colouring up, John looked out of the kitchen window. ‘Can’t answer right away,’ he said slowly, his comment bringing a frown to Meg’s face. ‘I need a second opinion. Maybe even a third.’
His blood raced as he headed over to the dog and the girl. The apple trees were coming into flower and the breeze was sending a shower of petals on to them both. They were stood very still, their eyes glowing with wonder.
‘I was wondering how you might feel about me joining the family. What do you think?’
Lily gave him a very grown-up look. ‘You’re going to marry Auntie Meg.’ Her tone lacked surprise.
Both dog and girl continued to gaze up at the pale pink flowers, some of which floated down and tickled their cheeks. John looked to where they were looking. ‘It’s very pretty.’
‘I think so.’
‘And Rudy?’
Lily nodded. ‘It’s where we come to remember. I think I will always come here to remember.’
‘Your parents?’
She nodded.
‘And Rudy. Does he come here to remember somebody close to him?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t know what her name was but I think she was a lot like me. That’s why we became best friends.’
When he went back into the house, John told Meg what Lily had said. Meg reached for his hand. He jumped. Her touch was so unexpected, but he loved the look in her eyes.
‘We all need a friend whether times are good or bad. I’m glad they have each other. I’m glad we do too.’