He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) (36 page)

‘Is that who you wrote to when your letter was returned?’

‘She and her family must have moved.’

‘I’ve never liked to ask; didn’t want to pry into your past.
 
I know you like to keep it to yourself, but isn’t there anyone else you can contact?
 
Surely, the authorities should be able to tell you where your sister is and … ’ she hesitated.
 
‘ … where your Mum’s buried.’

I thought of all those in authority I’d come into contact with.
 
Not one of them had helped me.
 
If they weren’t downright bullies, they were weak and ineffective, like the Man from the Agency who had come to Downston’s to check on us.

I wasn’t sure how the conversation had come to this, and I ignored what Peg had just said.
 
Instead I replied, ‘Everyone I knew has moved.
 
Even our godparents went to live overseas.’
 
I didn’t know why I hadn’t come straight out with it and said, “Their names are Fred and Lori.
 
They emigrated to New Zealand, and now I’m trying with all the strength I have to find them.”
 
But I hadn’t said their names out loud for a long time.
 
I was relieved Peg hadn’t asked.
 

Not all of what I’d said was true, anyway.
 
I didn’t really know if everyone I knew had moved.
 
The Gang might still be around.
 
Perhaps they worked at Hendersons, the leather factory.
 
It was where a lot of kids from Blountmere Street worked after they’d left school.
 
But what if they didn’t remember me?
 
I could hear Herbie’s mother saying, “Isn’t that the boy who used to come round here, the one whose mother died?
 
Had a sister somewhere.
 
The authorities took them away.
 
Put in an orphanage, weren’t they?”
 

‘I’m sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Peg directed the conversation elsewhere.
 
‘I think they’ll have to prise me from this car when we get there.
 
I’m so hot, I’m stuck to the seat.
 
Thank heavens it’s not far now.’

In spite of Peg’s assurance, the road was sinuous and seemed interminable.
 
I was glad we’d filled the car with petrol just outside Christchurch and that I carried spare water and fuel in tins in the boot.
 
Petrol pumps, like cities, were a long way apart in New Zealand.
 
Here there was space to take the deepest of breaths and stretch without touching someone; where even the sky had room to touch the earth.

‘There’s the sign.
 
It’s only a mile or two up the road from here.’
 
Peg’s voice carried a note of relief.

‘Our Roger’s business is up here, just off the main road.
 
He, Jenny and the kids have a house at the back.’

‘What about Roger’s partner?’

‘He lives a bit further up the road.
 
He needed a bigger house, what with his family and his parents living with them, as well.
 
They’re from London, I believe - his parents, that is.
 
Perhaps you’ll be able to have a chat with them.’

I’d seek them out as soon as I could.
 
Even if they were really old, perhaps we could talk about red double-decker buses and bombsites,
Dick Barton, Special Agent
and Saturday Morning Picture Club.
 
I would look forward to that.

The premises of R & R Agricultural Machinery and Repairs, together with Roger Millard’s house, were set back from the road.
 
They looked as if they’d been dropped there amid the endless paddocks by mistake.
 

At the sound of the Morrie pulling onto the forecourt, Roger emerged from the side of the building, wiping his hands on a piece of rag.
 
It was certainly different from Joe’s velvet-waistcoated welcome bestowed on visitors to Epsley & Fisher’s.
 
As if reading my thoughts, Peg said, ‘Roger always did like getting his hands oily.’
 
She waved as enthusiastically as the heat and the restricted space would allow.
 
Nevertheless, the flesh under her upper arm flapped like a wing.

‘Happy New Year,’ she called.

‘Jenny’s got the jug boiling,’ Roger helped extract his mother from the Morrie.

‘That’s what I’ve been wanting to hear.
 
It’s never too hot for a cup of tea.
 
There’s a tin of baking in the car, chocolate and cherry slices.
 
They’ll go down a treat, that’s if they haven’t melted.’
 
Peg hung on to Roger’s arm.
 
‘And what about those lovely grandchildren of mine?
 
What’re they up to?’

‘Gone eeling, but it won’t be long before they come to check you’ve arrived.
 
They’ve been talking about you coming to visit since Christmas.’

‘It was good of you to bring Mum down,’ Roger addressed me.
 
‘December and January are our busiest months.
 
Thank the Lord, Ron’s back today.
 
We’re expecting to see him and the family any time now.
 
I hope there wasn’t too much traffic.

I suppressed a smile.
 
‘Not much.’
 
When was there ever a lot of traffic on New Zealand roads!
 
I doubted we’d passed half a dozen vehicles since we had left Christchurch.
 
‘You’ve got quite a big place here,’ I continued.

‘I’ll get Mum settled then I’ll show you around.’

Jenny’s cup of tea might have cooled Peg, but it had done the opposite for me, and I was grateful for the lower temperature of the showroom.

‘We’re one of the leaders in agricultural implements and irrigation systems. No horse-drawn ploughs now,’ Roger laughed.

‘Have you been in this business long?’

‘About fifteen years.
 
I met up with Ron soon after he’d arrived from England, and we set up the business.
 
We’ve never looked back.
 
Even got Ron’s Dad out from England to give us a hand with the paperwork side of things.’

We ambled from the showroom into the workshop and then out into the heat of the forecourt.

‘It sounds like Ron now,’ Roger smiled.
 
‘I’d know the rattle of that old bus anywhere.
 
They’ve made good time.
 
I was frightened they might break down in the middle of nowhere.
 
It wouldn’t have been too good in this heat for Ron’s parents and the visitor from England they’ve got staying with them.
 
The kids, of course, would have seen it as an adventure.

The bus shuddered to a halt and three children tumbled out, while a tall bespectacled man in khaki shorts and a brown check shirt jumped from the driver’s seat.
 
He walked round to the other side and opened the door for his wife, before helping his parents out of the vehicle.

‘Real polite is Ron.
 
Takes after … ’

But I didn’t hear the rest; only the roaring of a waterfall in my ears, and the banging of my heart against my rib cage.
 
I passed my hand across my eyes to clear the image and steady myself.
 
When I removed it, they were still there: she with her frizzy hair and a chiffon scarf that trailed the ground; he in his blue shirt.
 
His shoulders were not as square as they had once been, but he had retained his naval bearing.
 
I stumbled towards them, shouting their names over and over and over.
 
Suddenly, I realised there was someone with them: a young woman about the same age as me and wearing a pleated skirt.
 
It couldn’t be … but it was.
 

I tripped, steadied myself and plunged forward.
 

They’d come – a little late, but they’d come, and they’d brought
her
with them.