Coming Home (56 page)

Mrs Mudge, clattering cups and saucers, paused open-mouthed at this news.

‘A car of her
own
! You can hardly believe it, can you? And going off, two young ladies, on your own. Just hope you don't have a crash and kill yourselves.’ Having made the tea, Mrs Mudge took, from an earthenware crock, a saffron loaf from which she proceeded to cut inch-thick slices. ‘The Warrens? Is that Jan Warren, the grocer?’

‘That's right. He's got a daughter called Heather. She was Judith's friend at Porthkerris school. And she's got two frightfully good-looking brothers called Paddy and Joe.’

Mrs Mudge let out a crow. ‘
Oh
…so that's why you're going!’

‘Oh, don't be silly, Mrs Mudge, of course it isn't.’

‘Don't know them well, of course, but the Warrens are distant kin of mine. Daisy Warren was a cousin of my Aunt Flo. Aunt Flo married Uncle Bert. Big family they are, the Warrens. And Jan Warren was a
one
when he was a young man, wild as a goat, none of us ever thought he'd settle down.’

‘He's still the most dreadful tease.’

Mrs Mudge poured the tea, pulled out a chair and settled down to a good chat.

‘What else is going on, down at the house? Full up yet, are you?’

‘The very opposite. Pops and Judith and I are the only ones there. Athena's still in London, and Edward's being frightfully grand in the south of France, and as usual we don't know when he's coming home.’

‘What about your mother?’

Loveday made a face. ‘
She
went off yesterday, to London. She drove the Bentley and took Pekoe with her.’

‘She went to
London?
’ Mrs Mudge looked amazed, as well she might. ‘With you all coming home, and the middle of the holidays?’ And indeed, Diana Carey-Lewis had never done such a thing before. But Loveday, despite feeling a bit put out at her mother's defection, thought that she understood.

‘Between you and me, Mrs Mudge, I think she got a bit depressed and miserable. She needed to get away. Athena always cheers her up, and I suppose she wanted a change.’

‘What does she want a change for, then?’

‘Well, admit, everything is a bit depressing, isn't it? I mean the news, and everybody talking about wars, and Edward's joined the Royal Air Force Reserve, and I think that frightens her. And Pops is a bit down in the mouth as well, and insists on listening to all the news bulletins, full-blast, and they're digging up Hyde Park for air-raid shelters, and he seems to think we're all going to be gassed. Not much fun to live with really. So she just packed a suitcase and went.’

‘How long is she staying away?’

‘Oh, I don't know. A week. Two weeks. As long as she needs, I suppose.’

‘Well, if that's how she's troubled, better out of the way. I mean, it's not as though she's
wanted,
is it? Not with the Nettlebeds and Mary Millyway there to keep an eye on things.’ Mrs Mudge took a long noisy suck at her tea, then thoughtfully dunked her slice of saffron cake in what remained in her cup. She liked it that way, all soft and pappy, on account of having no teeth. ‘I don't know, it's not a good time for any of us really. Except that I don't suppose Walter will have to go. Farming's a reserved occupation, his dad says. He can't run this place single-handed.’

‘What if he wants to join up?’

‘Walter?’
Mrs Mudge's voice was filled with proud scorn. ‘He won't rush to volunteer. Never did like being told what to do. Never out of trouble when he was at school, just because of the rules and regulations. I can't see Walter saying “Yes, Sir” to any sergeant-major. No. He'd be better staying here. More use.’

Loveday finished her tea. She looked at her watch. ‘Oh dear, I suppose I'd better be getting back. That's another thing. I've got to take an extra can of cream with me because Mrs Nettlebed's run out and she wants to make a raspberry fool for dinner. That's really why I came, that and to tell Walter about going away.’

‘Well, there's plenty of cream in the dairy, if you want to help yourself, but mind and bring my can back.’

‘I can't, because I'm going away tomorrow. But I'll tell Mrs Nettlebed.’

The dairy was cold and glistened with cleanliness and smelt of the carbolic soap which Mrs Mudge used to scrub the slate floor. Loveday found the cream and a sterilised can, and filled the can with a long-handled dipper. Tiger, refused entrance, whined at the open door, and went into ecstasies of pleasure when she emerged into the farmyard again, tearing around in circles as though he had believed himself to be abandoned forever. She told him he was stupid, and he sat and smiled at her.

‘Come on, fat-head, we've got to go home.’

She went back across the farmyard and climbed the gate, and then sat there for a bit on the top rail. While she had chatted to Mrs Mudge, a breeze had got up and the rain eased off a little. Somewhere, above the clouds, the sun was shining, and odd rays penetrated, as they always seemed to do in Bible pictures. The mist, like a filmy curtain, was parting, and now it was possible to glimpse the still silver sea.

She thought of Walter, and the coming war, and felt grateful that he would not be leaving Nancherrow to be a soldier, because Walter was part of Nancherrow, part of everything she had known all her life, and she was terrified of change. Besides, she was very fond of Walter. He was rough and foul-mouthed, and rumour had it that he was beginning to spend far too many of his evenings in the Rosemullion pub, but still, he was a constant in her existence, and one of the few young men she knew with whom she felt entirely at ease. Ever since he went to prep school, Edward had been bringing friends home to stay, but they seemed to Loveday to come from a different world, with their drawling upper-class voices, and their sometimes effete behaviour. While Loveday mucked out the stables, or rode with Walter or her father, they lay about in deck-chairs or played not very energetic tennis, and their dinner-table conversations were all of people she did not know, had never met, and had no desire to meet.

Walter, for all his wild ways, she found enormously attractive. Sometimes, when he was grooming one of the horses, or carting hay, she would covertly watch him, and be filled with satisfaction by the strength and ease of his body, his tanned and muscled arms, his dark eyes and his raven-black hair. He was like some beautiful gypsy out of a D. H. Lawrence book, and her first stirrings of physical sexuality, a sort of ache deep in her stomach, were engendered by Walter's presence. It was a bit the same with the Warren boys over at Porthkerris. With their Cornish voices, their horseplay and their teasing, Loveday was never for a moment either shy with them or bored. It occurred to her that perhaps this preference for…she searched for the right word. Lower-class was horrible. Ill-educated was worse. She hit upon real…real people, had something to do with the way she had been brought up, treasured and petted all her life within the safe haven of Nancherrow. Whatever. It was her own secret, shared with neither Judith nor Athena.

Walter. She thought about War. Every evening they all listened, willy-nilly, to the nine-o'clock news, and every evening world events seemed to be worsening. It was like the build-up to a monumental disaster — an earthquake or a terrible fire — with no person able to do anything to prevent it. The chimes of Big Ben sounding nine o'clock had begun to sound to Loveday like the trumpets of doom. She was far more concerned about the prospect of war than any of her family realised, yet could not begin to imagine how it would be, particularly within the context of her own home, her family, and their immediate world. She had never been much good at imagining things, always hopeless at essays and compositions. Would there be bombs, dropping from black aircraft, and explosions and houses falling down? Or would the German Army land somewhere, London, perhaps, and march across the country? And would they come to Cornwall? And if so, how would they cross the Tamar, which only had a railway bridge? Perhaps they would build special pontoon bridges or paddle themselves across the water in boats, but that
did
seem a bit primitive.

And if they came, what would happen? Almost every man Loveday knew, and certainly all of her father's friends, had a gun with which to blast off at pheasants and rabbits, or to put some injured dog or horse out of its misery. If everybody went with guns to meet the Germans, then surely the invaders wouldn't stand a chance. She thought of the old Cornish song, belted out by the crowds in the stands at county rugby matches.

And shall Trelawney die, my boys

And shall Trelawney die?

Then forty thousand Cornishmen

Shall know the reason why.

Tiger, impatient, was wheeking at her. She sighed and put dismal thoughts from her mind, and climbed down off the gate and set off at a trot, down the rutted lane, the cream can swinging to and fro as she ran. To cheer herself up, she thought about tomorrow, and going to Porthkerris to stay with the Warrens. Seeing Heather and Paddy and Joe again; and sitting on the crowded beach and eating ice-creams. And Judith's new car. Perhaps it would be a little MG with a folding hood. She could not wait to see the new car.

With all this going through her mind, by the time she reached home, her good spirits were quite restored.

August 9th, 1939.

Porthkerris.

Dear Mummy and Dad,

I am sorry I have not written for such a long time. I shall just have to try to give you all the news very quickly, otherwise this letter will be as fat as a newspaper. As you can see, I am at Porthkerris with the Warrens, and Loveday has come too. She wavered for a bit, because she has got this new pony called Fleet, and is schooling it for some gymkhana, but in the end she decided to come, just for a week, which is fun for all of us. It's a bit of a squash, but Mrs Warren doesn't seem to mind, and Paddy is now working on his uncle's fishing boat, so is away a good deal of the time. So Loveday's got his bed, and I'm in with Heather. Heather's left school as well, and she's going to do a secretarial course right here in Porthkerris, and then maybe go to London and get herself a job.

The weather is absolutely gorgeous and Porthkerris is full of visitors, in shorts and sand-shoes. Joe has got a job working at the beach, he cleans out the beach-huts and puts away the deck-chairs, and yesterday when we went to swim, he sneaked us all free ice-creams.

There's a new girl working in the shop, she's called Ellie; I think she's about sixteen. She dyed her hair blonde with a peroxide bottle, but despite the fact that she looks so dotty, Mrs Warren says she's the best assistant they've ever had, and got the hang of the cash register in no time.

It's funny knowing I never have to go back to school. Haven't heard about Matric yet, of course, but I got the History and the English Prizes on Speech Day, which was great, and the Carnhayl Cup as well, which was a dreadful surprise and made me feel wobbly. But it was worth winning because, because of getting it, Mr Baines and Uncle Bob put their heads together and let me buy a car of my very own as a sort of reward. Mr Baines and me went to the garage in Truro together, and chose it. It is a little dark-blue Morris with four seats, and too sweet. There was a sports car with a folding roof as well, but Mr Baines said that if I turned it over (which of course I wouldn't), I would probably break my neck, and he reckoned the Morris was more suitable. Whatever, I absolutely love it, and I drove it back to Nancherrow myself, all the way through Camborne and Redruth and Penzance, with Mr Baines, in his car, trundling along behind me like a sort of bodyguard! It's the best thing I've ever had since Aunt Louise bought me my bike, and just as soon as I can, I'm off to Pendeen to see Phyllis and her baby. In my next letter, I'll tell you about her.