A Wise Child

by A Wise Child (retail) (epub)

  Tom’s anger flared. ‘We were not deserted,’ he said forcefully. ‘When I was ten my father was on a ship trading on the Ivory Coast. He was ill and was put ashore to a hospital. When he finally came home he was still a sick man and that was the cause of what happened.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ the interviewer said. ‘But reviewers have spoken of a sense of guilt and rejection evident in your book.’

  ‘Guilt, yes,’ Tom said shortly. ‘I blamed myself, as children do. My mother and I still hope that my father will recover and return home.’

  ‘I see. What do you think influenced you to become a writer? An unusual choice for a boy with your background, I would say.’

  ‘Miss Helsby widened my horizons. Gave me a love of books and my mother supplied whatever I needed and encouraged me. I think my father was the chief influence. His stories of his voyages stimulated my imagination and he was endlessly patient in answering my questions,’ Tom said.

  He knew that the man was sneering at him but he was determined to say what he felt. Prissy little squirt, he thought. Some of our NCOs’d soon straighten him out.

  ‘A most unusual attitude for modern times,’ the man said. ‘Very few young people show such extreme respect for the older generation nowadays.’

  ‘In the circles you move in perhaps,’ Tom said brusquely. ‘Not in mine.’

  He thought of Harry’s grief for his father now permanently crippled by the shrapnel in his spine, and his own community at Bootle where the ‘ould wans’ ruled while they had their strength and were carefully tended when strength failed.

  He was recalled by the man asking about his second book.

  ‘I’ve started it,’ Tom said. ‘But it’ll have to wait until the war’s over. As you can see, I’m in the army.’

  The interviewer was obviously angry, with a red spot burning on each cheekbone, but he brought the interview smoothly to a close. Tom felt that he had made an enemy but was unconcerned.

  I want my books to stand or fall by their own merits, he thought. Not on the word of a pipsqueak like that. He had refused an invitation to a dinner party, saying that he had to be back in barracks, although he was not due to return until the following morning, and he never ceased to be thankful that he had told the white lie.

  He decided to stroll round London before darkness fell and have a meal in a cheap cafe. Almost of their own volition, it seemed, his feet took him to Foyle’s bookshop, where copies of his books and his photograph were displayed in the window.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sam was due to visit an official of the Ministry of Supply on the day after the launch party for Tom’s book and as usual he left early for London.

  He bought a newspaper to read on the train and when he opened it the name Meadows seemed to leap up from the page. There was a blurred photograph of a young soldier wearing a cap with a Grenadier Guards badge and underneath it details of Tom’s life and the sensation caused by his first novel.

  There was also a brief account of the launch party and the information that Tom would be the celebrity interviewed on the wireless in the ‘In Town’ programme.

  Sam sat in a state of shock reading the words again and again and trying to see in the blurred photograph any resemblance to the small boy who had been ‘the core of his heart’. The photograph was too blurred to give any clue but the details given showed that this was indeed his son.

  The train had reached London and Sam had stumbled on to the platform before he remembered that Tom was not his son but his joy at finding him and his pride were undiminished.

  He was determined to hear the wireless broadcast, even if it meant missing his appointment. There was a wireless set in a small cafe he often used when in London and he went there and told the proprietress he would be back later for the broadcast.

  ‘He’s the son of a woman I know,’ he explained.

  ‘How exciting,’ she said. ‘You must listen to it in my sitting room. The customers talk loudly sometimes and mine is a better set than this.’

  Sam thanked her and went to walk around until it was time for the broadcast. He felt unable to concentrate on the papers he had brought for the civil servant at the Ministry.

  The proprietress of the cafe tactfully left Sam alone when she could see how moved he was by the sound of Tom’s voice and his opening words about his childhood in Bootle.

  Sam scarcely noticed that she had gone. When the interviewer spoke of Tom being deserted by his father and Tom indignantly denied it, tears began to stream down Sam’s face. When Tom spoke of his father’s illness and the fact that he and his mother hoped for his return it seemed to strike Sam to the heart.

  By the time Tom was speaking of his father’s influence in telling him stories of his voyages Sam had covered his face with his handkerchief and his body was shaken by sobs. When the interviewer closed he tried to compose himself before returning to the cafe and thanking the proprietress. He felt weak and drained by emotion.

  ‘Not at all,’ the woman said, eyeing him curiously and offering tea.

  Sam went to the cafe toilet and sluiced water over his face and head. A long time since I’ve done that, he thought, and never to hide traces of crying.

  He left the cafe, his mind in turmoil. Ellie and Tommy wanted him back. Thought he’d been ill that time. But what about the other fellow? Tommy might still think of him but Ellie had made her own life.

  He remembered her as he had seen her on his visit to Liverpool, well dressed and confident. Then unbidden an older memory arose, of Nellie shrinking away from him in fear, her face damaged by him. He groaned aloud but the hurrying crowds ignored him.

  How could she ever forgive him? She might have put the best side out for the lad, Sam thought, and Tommy believed her but Sam felt that the truth was different. He walked all day oblivious to the people around him as his mind ranged back and forth over the interview and all his memories of his wife and son.

  At one stage he found himself outside Foyle’s bookshop where copies of Tom’s book and his photograph were displayed in the window. He stared hungrily at the photograph trying to see traces of the child he had cherished.

  He was impeding passers-by and finally turned away and went into a cabman’s refuge for coffee and sandwiches. It was time for him to return home but he decided that he must have a last look at the photograph of his son and he returned to the bookshop.

  As he stood by the window a tall soldier paused beside him also staring in the window. They turned away at the same time and came face to face.

  Tom’s eyes widened and he leaned forward to look into Sam’s face then croaked, ‘Dad.’

  ‘Tommy,’ Sam gasped, gripping Tom’s arms, ‘Tommy lad.’

  ‘I thought you were in America,’ Tom exclaimed.

  Sam seemed unable to speak except to say, ‘Tommy,’ over and over again, still gripping his son’s arms.

  He was unable to take his eyes from his son’s face. In the flesh he was so like his mother that Sam was doubly affected. The same blue eyes and brown hair and even his mother’s features in a masculine mould.

  Tom too was staring at Sam. He saw a man, as tall but thinner than the father he remembered, with touches of grey in his dark curly hair. His skin was still weather-beaten from his years of wandering although he had spent so much of recent years indoors, and in the set of his lips and in his dark eyes his years of mental suffering clearly showed.

  Tom was first to recover. ‘Come on, Dad. Let’s go somewhere and talk,’ he said. ‘I know, we’ll go back to my hotel. It’s not far from here.’

  Back in his room Tom produced a bottle of brandy and poured drinks for each of them, then they began to talk. They were still talking when they realised it was midnight. Tom urged Sam to have his bed but neither of them wanted to waste time sleeping. There was still so much each wanted to know about the lost years.

  Sam had made a brief reference to his years of wandering and his return to England and Tom had spoken of his lif
e since Sam left but both were chiefly interested in the events of the time of Sam’s departure and immediately afterwards.

  ‘It was strange. I knew you right away,’ Tom said. ‘Although it’s been so long. About twelve years. Why Dad? Why did you go?’

  Sam hesitated, trying to find words to explain. ‘I was drunk, lad, drunk and muddled. I wasn’t thinking straight. That fella McGregor and his tart. I got tricked into going to Southampton.’

  ‘And you were still sick, Dad, weren’t you?’ Tom said eagerly. ‘From that voyage.’

  ‘I’d had a facer, right enough,’ Sam said. ‘Knocked me sideways. I was a bloody fool, lad.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come back from Southampton when you sobered up?’ Tom asked.

  ‘She told me I’d broke up the place and Bob and your mam’s new fella had put me out. Said I’d battered her. The other fella had moved in. You never answered my letter. I just got sick of it and backed off in New York.’

  ‘The flaming liar!’ Tom exclaimed. ‘We never got a letter. And what other fellow?’ He told Sam of the long sad wait for his return and of the boy coming for his seabag while Nellie lay in a drugged sleep. ‘He said he had to take it to the Seaman’s.’

  ‘I was never near the Seaman’s,’ Sam exclaimed. ‘But I got me bag. I see it all now.’ He bent his head and Tom poured another brandy for him.

  Gradually as they talked and compared different versions of events Sam realised how wrong he had been.

  ‘I don’t understand how you could believe that about Mum,’ Tom said indignantly.

  ‘I was a bloody fool,’ Sam mumbled again. ‘I had me reasons and I wasn’t thinking straight, like.’

  He told Tom of meeting the man who sometimes drank in the Volunteer and being told about the man from the end house who was drinking the proceeds of Janey’s hidden fortune.

  ‘They were the people who moved in when we left,’ Tom said. ‘They found some money behind a brick so of course it had to be a fortune according to the gossip.’

  ‘But the fella said they spoke about you. Said you should’ve had the scholarship instead of some girl that got it.’

  Tom laughed. ‘That crowd in the Volley. They think women are only good for waiting on them and being a punchbag on Saturday nights, not for educating.’

  Sam’s face twisted in pain as he recalled Ellie as he had last seen her and Tom said quickly, ‘The girl was Amy Rimmer. She’s a cypher clerk in the WRNs now. Mum cut herself off from her old friends but she’s in touch with them again now.’

  Sam drank more brandy then said quietly, ‘Don’t think I’m doubting your word, Tommy. It must be something else I’ve got wrong. I didn’t expect to walk back into your lives, like. Just to see if you were all right.’

  ‘But you changed your mind?’ Tom said.

  ‘No, I went to the cafe right enough, skulking round on the other side of the road. It was a Sunday and I saw your mam come out of the door with a grey-haired fellow and a young lad, the model of Bob.’

  ‘But that would be Bob and his son,’ Tom said. ‘They lived with us until he married again. Bob is prematurely grey.’

  Sam dropped his head and put his hands over his face. ‘God, I seem to have put two and two together and made five all along the line,’ he groaned. ‘I thought she’d reckoned me dead and married again and I didn’t blame her. God knows she deserved better than what she got off me.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Dad,’ Tom said. He told Sam of the fortune teller and how strongly his mother believed that one day Sam would come back.

  ‘But I can’t expect her to take me back, properly, I mean,’ Sam said. ‘Not after the way I left you both. I thought you were getting looked after so I didn’t worry about sending money but going off with that tart like that. She must be bitter.’ He stopped, looking embarrassed. ‘I shouldn’t be talking like this to you, Tommy,’ he said.

  Tom laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m a big boy now,’ he said. He had said nothing about Roz but now it all poured out. How beautiful and how special Roz was and their joy in their expected baby.

  ‘And now you’ll be back when it’s born in August and we’ll be a complete family again.’

  Sam had interrupted him several times to say ‘Great’ or ‘Congratulations’ or ‘I’m made up for you, lad,’ and now he protested.

  ‘Hold on, lad. That’s up to your mam. She might have put a good face on things for you but that’s not saying she can just forgive and forget. I don’t expect it, although God knows I want to see her again.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad. That’ll be all right,’ Tom said confidently. ‘When can you come to Liverpool?’

  ‘Any time,’ Sam said. ‘I can fix it with Stan Riley. I haven’t had a day off in years.’

  ‘I’m due leave in about three weeks,’ Tom said, ‘and by that time Roz will be home. Finished with the nursing because of the baby and the lifting and that. I’ll tell her and she can sort of prepare Mum. We can travel up together.’

  Suddenly Sam was overcome with emotion. He covered his face while his body shook with sobs and Tom dropped to his knees beside him.

  ‘OK, OK, Dad,’ he said putting his arms around his father while his own eyes filled with tears. He swallowed and said gently, ‘This is a shock, Dad, but God, I’m so made up. I haven’t half missed you.’

  ‘And I’ve missed you, lad,’ Sam said in a choked voice. ‘You know, that old woman was right. You were the core of me heart. I’m so proud of you too, lad.’

  He could say no more and Tom said gruffly, ‘I’ve never stopped thinking about you and neither has Mum. I tried to find you, you know, even up to a couple of years ago.’

  Sam put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘I don’t deserve you, son, you or your mum,’ he said humbly. ‘I hope she’ll let me try and make it up to her.’

  ‘She will,’ said Tom. He stood up. ‘Isn’t it smashing the way we can just talk to each other, Dad, as if you’d never been away?’ He picked up the empty brandy bottle. ‘Mind you, I think this helped.’

  ‘Aye, I haven’t seen one of them for a while,’ Sam said.

  ‘A gift from the publisher,’ said Tom. ‘Came in handy, didn’t it?’

  Even with all the hours of talking there was still much they wanted to discuss but dawn was breaking and soon Tom would have to return to Wellington Barracks and Sam to try for a rearranged meeting with the civil servant.

  They shaved and freshened up, each using Tom’s razor, then Tom packed up and they went down to leave his key. He was puzzled by the manager’s frosty attitude but too happy to care. His breakfast was provided at the hotel but time with his father was too precious to waste and they went together to a small cafe for breakfast.

  ‘Not a patch on Mum’s place,’ Tom said looking round.

  During the night he had brought Sam up to date about the affairs at the cafe and been amazed to learn that his father knew nothing of the May blitz on Liverpool.

  ‘They just said a north-west town on the news,’ Sam said. ‘Could have been anywhere.’

  Tom said it was as well he had not known at the time. Most of Buck Madden’s family had been killed, although Buck was at sea at the time. Sam asked about George and Tom told him that his old mate had left the sea and was working ashore. His youngest son had been badly crippled by infantile paralysis.

  Now when they left the cafe Tom said that he was going to say nothing to the publisher about finding his father as they wanted to avoid fuss and Sam agreed.

  He said suddenly, ‘Listen, son. I’m going to Liverpool. I’ve wasted enough time. I’ll go and see how I stand with your mam.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be better if I came with you?’ Tom protested.

  ‘No, this is between me and her, son,’ Sam said. ‘We’ll say what we’ve got to say face to face. No more guessing and getting things wrong.’

  ‘When will you go?’ asked Tom, recognising his father’s determination.

  ‘As soon as I’ve seen this fello
w about the contracts and been back to fix things up with Stan Riley,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve never had a day off in years so I’m due some time off. You’ll have time to write to your mam and tell her you’ve met me and I want to see her.’

  ‘I’ll write to Roz as well,’ Tom said, ‘and if she gets home before you she can talk to Mum too.’

  * * *

  Meanwhile Nellie and Gwen were happily preparing the flat for the arrival of Roz.

  ‘This is the last time we’ll be doing this, Nell,’ Gwen said. ‘Once our Rosie’s home living here I won’t interfere.’

  ‘Neither will I,’ Nellie said. ‘But I want it nice for her coming home. After this she’ll make her own preparations for Tom coming home.’

  Roz arrived the next day but before leaving the hospital she had received Tom’s letter and had been astounded to learn that he had met his long-lost father. He also said that Sam intended to come to Liverpool to see Nellie and asked Roz to prepare her for the shock.

  Roz broke the news as carefully and gently as she could but Nellie immediately burst into tears. ‘I knew it,’ she wept. ‘I knew Sam would come back one day. Not because of the fortune telling, Roz. I just knew it in my heart.’

  She was trembling and Roz slipped her arms around her. ‘I know, I know,’ she soothed her. ‘You always said so.’

  ‘And he’s coming here? Oh, Roz, I’m frightened. I’m not like he remembers me. We’ll be like strangers.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ Roz said. ‘Tom said his dad is nervous too. Afraid you won’t want to see him. He’s probably changed outwardly but you’re the same people underneath. Why don’t you think of when he looked after you when you were kids and take it from there?’

  ‘Oh, Roz, you’re such a comfort to me, girl,’ Nellie sighed. ‘But it’s been such a long time.’

  ‘Tom reckons he could talk to his dad as though he’d seen him yesterday and I’m sure it’ll be the same for you,’ Roz consoled her. ‘You’ll make him welcome, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nellie said. She looked round the large well-furnished living room, at the lofty ceiling and ornate marble fireplace. ‘This is very different to Johnson Street,’ she said.