Coming Home (150 page)

‘I couldn't go to University now.’

Miss Catto sighed. ‘No. I don't suppose you could. It would be a sort of regression. Never mind. We had a good try…Have you seen Loveday Carey-Lewis?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is she happy?’

‘She seems to be.’

‘I could never quite make up my mind what was going to become of Loveday. Usually I can gauge the pattern, the direction of a child's life; have some idea of how she will fare once she's left her school-days behind. But not Loveday. It was either euphoria or disaster, and I could never make up my mind which.’

Judith considered this. ‘Perhaps half-way in between?’

Miss Catto laughed. ‘Fair enough. Now, how about a cup of tea? Jess will be back in a moment, and I've got a few chocolate biscuits for her.’ She rose to her feet, hitching her tattered black gown up onto her shoulders. ‘The days of parlourmaids and tea-trays are long gone. So I boil my own kettle, and do very nicely for myself.’

‘I never thought of you being domesticated.’

‘I'm not.’

The Dower House,

Rosemullion.

Saturday 3rd November.

Dear Uncle Bob,

I am sorry I have not written before, but I have been busy seeing people with Judith and cleaning the hut in the garden where I am going to sleep when it is warm enough.

Thank you very much for having me to stay in Colombo. I enjoyed it, specially the alligators.

I am starting school on Tuesday. I didn't think I would want to be a boarder, but I am going to be because Miss Catto says they do lots of special things at weekends, like acting and having reading aloud and going on expeditions. And I am going to be allowed to telephone Judith whenever I want. But in the evenings, not during the day.

Miss Catto is very nice and quite funny.

Morag is very well.

I hope you are well too.

Please give my love to Mr Beatty and Thomas.

With love from

Jess

PS Biddy sends her love.

‘I don't want you to come in, Judith. I want to say goodbye to you on the front door step. If you come in, it will just make it all go on for longer.’

‘Is that what you really want?’

‘Yes. That nice girl, Elizabeth, said she'd be there to meet us and show me my dormitory and everything. She said she'd be waiting at the door.’

‘That was kind of her.’

‘And she said that for the rest of the term she would be my special prefect, and if I got lost or anything, I was to go and find her and she'd help.’

‘That sounds a good arrangement.’

They were very nearly there. Judith turned the car off the main road and up the hill, through the estate of small houses, to where stood the school gates. It was half past two in the afternoon, and raining, a steady mizzle of a sea-mist, gently drenching the wintry gardens and the bare trees. The windscreen wipers had been going ever since they left Rose-mullion.

‘So funny,’ said Judith.

‘What's funny?’

‘History repeating itself. When Mummy brought me to St Ursula's for the very first time, I said exactly the same thing to her. “Don't come in. Say goodbye on the doorstep.” And that's what she did.’

‘But this is different, isn't it?’

‘Yes. Thank goodness, this is different. I said goodbye, and I thought it was for four years. It seemed forever. It
was
forever, but luckily I didn't know that at the time. You and I don't really have to say goodbye. Just au revoir. Because Phyllis and Biddy and I will never be far away. Even when Biddy moves, and gets a new house, we're all going to be quite near each other. And the next thing we know, it'll be Christmas.’

‘Will it be a proper one?’

‘The best.’

‘Will we have a Christmas tree, like Biddy did at Keyham?’

‘White and silver. Reaching half-way up the stairs.’

Jess said, ‘It'll be funny without you.’

‘I'll miss you too.’

‘But I won't be homesick.’

‘No, Jess. Knowing you, I don't think you will.’

Their parting did not take very long. As she had promised, the senior girl, Elizabeth, was there, at the big main door, waiting for them. Seeing the car, she shrugged herself into a mackintosh and came out to greet them.

‘Hello. Here you are. What a horrible day. Did you have a very foggy drive…?’

Her self-possession and friendly manner entirely diffused any possible awkwardness or tension. ‘I'll take your suitcase and your hockey stick. Can you manage the rest? And then we'll go straight upstairs and I'll show you where you're sleeping…’

Everything was duly carted indoors. Elizabeth, tactfully, busied herself out of earshot. On the front-door step, in the drizzling rain, Judith and Jess faced each other.

Judith smiled. ‘This is it, then. This is where I leave you.’

‘Yes.’ Jess was composed, but quite adamant. ‘Right here. I'll be all right now.’ And so cool, and so in charge of the situation was she, that Judith felt ashamed of her own misgivings, and the knowledge that, given the smallest encouragement, she might behave like the most sentimental of mothers and start brimming at the eyes. ‘Thank you for driving me.’

‘”Bye, Jess.”

‘Goodbye.’

‘Love you.’

They kissed. Jess gave her a funny little grin, turned away, and was gone.

Judith wept a bit in the car going home, but only because Jess had been so great, and because The Dower House was going to feel empty without her, and because they had been allowed so little time together. And then she found a handkerchief and blew her nose and stopped crying, and told herself briskly not to be such a fool. Jess, at St Ursula's, was going to flourish, like a little plant; mentally stimulated, perpetually occupied, and enjoying the company of girls of her own age. She had lived too long with grown-ups. Had lived too long with hunger and deprivation and bereavement, and all the horrors of a cruel and adult world. Now, at last, she would have time and space in which to rediscover the joys and the challenges of a normal childhood. It was what she needed. It had been, at the end of the day, the only sensible thing to do.

So, all for the best. But it was hard not to feel a bit empty and bereft. Trundling back across the mist-driven moor, Judith decided that what she needed was a bit of contemporary company, and so would go and see Loveday. She hadn't been to Lidgey yet, simply because all her time lately had been taken up with Jess. Making the promised expedition to Penmarron; taking the train to Porthkerris, exploring the fascinating little town, calling on the Warrens and being given one of Mrs Warren's classic teas. As well, Jess had to be kitted out for St Ursula's. The clothes list was nothing like as long and complicated as it had been in Judith's day, and thanks to Whiteaway and Laidlaw in Colombo, Jess was well supplied with all the necessary clothes. But there were a great many other, ill-assorted items that she didn't have, and these all had to be tracked down in Penzance's denuded shops. A hockey stick, hockey boots, writing-paper, a paint-box. A science overall, a fountain-pen, sewing scissors, and a geometry set. And, last but not least, a Bible and a ‘Prayer-Book with Hymns Ancient and Modern’, both mandatory for any self-respecting High Anglican establishment.

And then, it all had to be packed.

So Loveday had been somewhat neglected. But now, this afternoon, the opportunity presented itself; she would keep her promise, go and visit, and spend an hour or two with Loveday and Nat. She wished she had thought of it before, so that she could have bought flowers in Penzance for Loveday and perhaps a toy or some sweets for Nat. But too late now. Presents would have to wait until later.

She drove past Rosemullion and up the hill, past the gates of Nancherrow, and so on for about a mile, until she reached the turning that led down to the farm. The lane dipped, narrow and rutted as a stream-bed, sunken between granite hedges and thickets of gorse. At its head stood a wooden signpost,
LIDGEY,
and the stone platform where Walter left the churns each day to be picked up by the Milk-Marketing lorry.

It was a bumpy, jolting, winding mile to the main farmhouse, but half-way down, on the left-hand side, stood the low stone cottage that the Colonel had had renovated when Loveday and Walter were married. It hugged the curve of the hill, its slate roof gleaming in the rain, and was instantly recognisable by the line of washing which slapped and billowed in the wet wind. She came to the gate, which stood open, propped by a boulder, beyond which led a grassy track, melding into what should have been a garden, but wasn't. Just the washing-line, and a few more gorse bushes, and some toys lying around. A rusted tricycle and a tin spade and bucket. She stopped the car and turned off the ignition, and heard the wind. Somewhere, a dog barked. She got out of the car, walked up the granite flagged path, and opened a paint-scarred door.

‘Loveday!’

She was in a tiny lobby hung with old coats, waterproofs, and with mud-caked boots awry upon the floor.

‘Loveday!’

She opened a second door. ‘It's me.’

Kitchen, living-room, all in one. Almost a replica of Mrs Mudge's. A simmering Cornish range, clothes strung on a pulley high overhead, flagged floors, a few rugs; the table, the clay sink, the dogs' bowls, the pig-bucket, the piles of old newspapers, the dresser laden with odds and ends, the sagging sofa.

Nat lay on the sofa, his thumb plugged into his mouth. He was fast asleep. He wore grubby overalls, soaking wet where he had peed into them. The wireless, perched on one of the shelves of the dresser, burbled away to itself.
Well meet again, don't know where, don't know when.
Loveday was ironing.

As the door opened she looked up. Judith said, unnecessarily, ‘It's me.’

‘Well.’ Loveday set down the iron with a thump. ‘Where have you turned up from?’

‘St Ursula's. Just left Jess there.’

‘Oh God, is she all right?’

‘She was amazing. Matter-of-fact. No tears. I was the one who nearly blubbed.’

‘Do you think she'll like it?’

‘Yes, I think so. She's got permission to ring me up if she's feeling blue. The one who's feeling really blue is me, so I've come for a bit of cheering.’

‘I'm not sure if you've come to the right place.’

‘Looks fine to me. I'd die for a cup of tea.’

‘I'll put the kettle on. Take your coat off. Sling it down somewhere.’

Which Judith did, but found nowhere to sling it, because there was a pile of washing on one chair, a huge sleeping tabby-cat on another, and Nat, out for the count, on the sofa. So she went back to the little lobby and draped her waterproof on a peg, over a pair of mud-stained black oilskin trousers.

‘I'm really sorry I haven't been before, Loveday, but I haven't had a moment, there's been so much to do for Jess…’ Judith went over to the sofa and gazed down at the sleeping Nat. His cheeks were brightly red, one more so than the other, and he clutched in his fat fist an old rag of a blanket, with the remains of a ribboned hem. ‘Does he always sleep in the afternoon?’