Separation, The (24 page)

I sat in the lounge flicking the pages of an exercise book. I wasn’t really working. It was too nice a day, sunny and warm, bright rays of light coming in through two sash windows. I pushed one up to let air in, and looked out. The school grounds were covered with spring flowers, and the grass was bright green. Rebecca, waiting in there too, glowered, despite the lovely day.

Veronica was late. Her letter had said she wished to see me. Though I still didn’t know if I could trust her, I could hardly refuse. I patted my satchel. Inside was the miniature I carried everywhere.

A short, red-faced woman, in a bright yellow suit, bustled into the room and waved some papers in Rebecca’s face.

‘Oh, here you are. You’ve kept your new foster parents waiting, girl. And let me tell you, you’d better make a better fist of fitting in this time.’ She spoke in a strident voice, indifferent to who else might be listening. She turned on her heels, swaying her large yellow bottom as she went.

Rebecca slid from her seat, chin in the air. As she passed me she hissed sideways, ‘I’ll kill you if you tell.’

I smiled. I wouldn’t tell anyone, but at least I had proof she was a foster child, and not the daughter of wealthy parents living abroad. I was leaning back against the wall, enjoying the thought and feeling the sun on my face, when I heard the click clack of high heels cross the floor.

Veronica looked tall and smart in an English sort of way. Low key that is. Not snazzy or exciting like Mum, but okay. Navy blue fitted jacket, and a flared skirt in the same colour that swished as she moved. On her head, a little round hat. White.

She saw me looking at it and patted it. ‘Pill box. Do you like it? It’s the latest.’

I nodded and her eyes sparkled. She held out a white-gloved hand. ‘Emma dear. How are you?’

‘Fine,’ I muttered, and found I’d turned into a grunting fool, especially as on a day exit you still had to wear school uniform, including a stupid panama hat. I felt like a clot.

We sat on floral padded seats, in the restaurant of a big store in town, on a sort of balcony that overlooked the shop below. I felt out of place, but this was intended to be a treat, so I put my nose in the air, and looked at windows heavily draped with fringed red velvet curtains. The tapestries on the walls were romantic; the one behind us showed St George riding a golden charger, surrounded by bluebells. At intervals along the balcony were five tall lamps, with blue and gold striped tasselled lampshades.

‘Memories Are Made of This’ was playing in the background. I doubted that very much, and thought of the shiny memories of my mother. I kept them safe in my heart, like Mum stored her best silks in the heart of her enormous Chinese linen chest. The waitress brought us a gilded cake stand, and the china, when it came, was white with pink rosebuds round the edge of the saucer and the cup. Veronica fiddled with her cup and saucer, and talked nervously about school and kept asking how was I feeling.

I was halfway down a Knickerbocker Glory when I discovered why.

‘Your father and I have fixed the date,’ she said in a level tone, as if trying to make it sound as ordinary as
Would you like another cup of tea?

She was blushing furiously, her cheeks bright pink. I sat with ice-cream oozing from the corners of my mouth, and glowered.

‘I wanted to tell you myself,’ she stammered, and looked at
me, her blue eyes matching the shadow on the lids. I stared at her eyelids. How did they make eye shadow so shimmery?

‘Emma?’

I wiped my mouth with the side of my hand holding the spoon, and as I did, accidentally tipped a spoonful of chocolate ice-cream on the carpet. It was blue with pink in the middle and ran through the whole store. I couldn’t believe I was thinking about carpet at a time like this and glared at her.

‘What about my mother?’ I said, unable to keep my voice from rising.

She sighed, with such a look of sadness on her face, I thought she was going to cry.

‘I’m sorry, I really am. But your mother’s gone, Emma. I hoped you might accept that by now.’

I pulled my hat down, and hung my head, as a lump formed in my throat. There wasn’t any way I accepted my mother was dead, though I could see that Dad and Veronica suited each other. Something about her made him feel safe, in a way that Mum never had.

‘I love your father, Emma.’

I wanted to shout out loud,
And I love my mother
. And she’s only missing. I bit my lip and choked on the words. Sunlight shone on the bright white tablecloth, and all the sounds in the shop merged into a loud hum.

She gave me a big smile. ‘Isn’t it better for you and Fleur to have a stepmother than no mother at all?’

‘Fleur,’ I snorted.

The conversation paused. I tried to spoon up melted ice-cream as she looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. A baby at the next table made a high-pitched whining noise, and in the distance a car honked its horn again and again. I wanted to scream shut up at them.

‘What did you expect to happen, Emma?’ she said after a while. ‘Your father isn’t old and neither am I. It’s a second chance at happiness for both of us. Would you deny us that?’

She reached out and tried to take my hand. I snatched it away, stared past the white tablecloth, the melting ice-cream, her, and then looked down at the people shopping in the hall below. I wanted to be alone and out of the stuffy department store, but it was too far to walk back to school, and I didn’t have any money for the bus.

I pursed my lips and watched her. She was fidgeting with her gloves, pulling the fingers out, then pushing them back again. She carried on looking down as she spoke, with a little catch in her throat. ‘I allowed myself the hope that you might like me a little.’

There was a silence as I thought about it. I didn’t mind her, as it happened, but I didn’t want a stepmother.

‘I’d like to be your friend. I can’t replace your mother. But I can make things a little easier with your father.’

I looked up.

‘He’s no saint and he can be a bit hard on you.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ I said, with a faint smile.

She pulled a face and tilted her head. ‘I know what you mean. But if you let me, I can be on your side. I don’t have to tell your father everything.’

I looked at her, still unsure, but an idea was forming.

She looked around for a bit. ‘He doesn’t really like England you know. Sometimes I think he’d rather go back to Malaya.’

I brightened up, pictured the squirrels, the peacock pheasants, the bats. ‘Really?’

‘Well, I don’t actually think he will. It’s nostalgia mainly.’

I felt deflated. Going back to Malaya was my dream. First I’d visit our old house and hide under it like I used to, then I’d lie in the long grass, without a thought for the snakes. Then I’d look for Mum.

Veronica looked at me. ‘Emma, are you okay?’

‘I miss my mum,’ I said, feeling my eyes grow wet.

She reached for my hand again. This time I let her.

‘I know it must be awful for you. But what if we were to become allies?’

There was a long silence. I looked out of the window for a time, watching workmen climb up the scaffolding on the building opposite, my thoughts conflicted. She didn’t prod or push or chatter on, just waited for me to answer. It was touching because it showed she was not at all like Dad, who never listened. In the end that was what decided it.

‘Could you help me with something? Dad mustn’t know.’ Even as I said the words, I noticed a tight feeling in my stomach. If she told Dad, I’d be in trouble, but if I didn’t ask her, who else could help? Sister Ruth had done all she could.

‘As long as it’s not illegal,’ she said.

I reached into my satchel for the painting. I held it to my chest for a moment, still uncertain, feeling my heart bang against it. Then looked up at her eyes. She looked so honest, her kindness real, it was hard to believe she’d betray me. I turned the painting round and held it out for her to see.

She took it, stared, looked up, studied my face, and then down at the painting again. ‘Surely it can’t be. The clothes are too old fashioned.’

‘No. It’s not my mother. It’s my grandmother.’

She smiled. ‘She’s beautiful. Alec never mentioned another grandmother. Only your granny. This isn’t her.’

‘She’s my mum’s mother. That’s the thing … I need your help to find her.’

‘And your father mustn’t know?’

I held my breath, hoping I’d made the right decision. It was a gamble. If she told Dad, he’d take it away, and then it would be even harder to trace her.

‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘It’ll be our little project. Can I ask why your father mustn’t know?’

‘Until I know where my grandmother is, or at least until I know a bit more about her, I don’t want Dad to interfere.’

‘We must make plans then,’ she said, entering into the spirit of it. ‘Confidentially, of course.’

‘Would you be able to find out who the artist is? His initials are in the corner and the date. C.L.P. Nineteen twenty-three. The year before my mother was born.’

‘I go up to London quite frequently to see Freddy, my solicitor. He’s staying in my flat at the moment, and as all the museums and art galleries are close by, it can’t be too difficult.’

My ears tingled. This might be my chance to casually ask. ‘So your solicitor isn’t Johnson, Price & Co. of Kidderminster?’

‘No, my love.’

‘And you haven’t got another solicitor?’

‘Freddy’s the only solicitor I’ve ever needed. And a good friend too. I’ve known him since he was at university in Birmingham, and before his first placement in Worcester. Now, of course, he’s quite the London hotshot. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason.’

She nodded. ‘Funny question though.’

She went to pay the bill and I went to find the lavatory. I decided then that I’d write to Mr Johnson, throw myself on his mercy and beg him to tell me.

In the ladies’ powder room, I waited in the queue for a moment or two and felt a tugging pain at the base of my belly. When a cubicle became vacant and I sat on the seat, I found out why. The bleeding wasn’t heavy but had stained my knickers. For a moment tears pricked my lids, and I sat feeling awfully sorry for myself. But when I heard exasperated sighs coming from the waiting women, I wiped my eyes, then stuffed some folded sheets of toilet paper inside my pants. I twisted round to check there was no blood on the back of my skirt, opened the door and walked past the queue with my eyes down. I was mortified. The toilet paper was the stiff kind that rustled slightly as I walked.

Veronica stood at the exit and must have seen something was wrong.

‘What is it, Emma? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

I pulled a face. ‘Not a ghost.’

‘What then?’

If I didn’t want blood all over my skirt, and her car seat too, I had to say. I swallowed hard, and managed to speak in a small voice. ‘I’ve started. You know, I’ve come on.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ She blushed. ‘Is it the first time?’

I nodded miserably.

‘Have you got what you need?’

I shook my head.

‘Oh, darling, come on, back to the ladies’ with you. There’s a machine there.’

‘I saw it, but I didn’t have any money.’

‘Not a problem.’ She paused and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve even got a sanitary belt?’

I shook my head, feeling myself turn beetroot and wanting the floor to open up.

‘First we’ll get a towel from the machine here. They come with safety pins, so that’ll have to do. At least it’ll get you back to school.’

I felt my eyes water again and brushed the tears away with my knuckles.

‘Then we’ll go to Timothy Whites, get you a belt and some decent supplies for later.’

I didn’t feel more grown up, as I’d expected to. Quite the opposite. It made me feel small and lonely, and grateful as I was to Veronica, I really wished that Mum was there.

When she dropped me off, I climbed out of the car and held the door open for a moment.

‘Thanks, Veronica.’

She smiled. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘By the way, the wedding, you didn’t say when?’

‘In the school summer holidays so you can both come. We’re going to Cornwall for a week afterwards.’

‘Who’ll look after me and Fleur?’

‘I hope my brother will be back on leave, in which case he’ll do it.’ She lifted her hand to wave, but must have seen my face fall.

‘Is it Sidney?’ she said.

I bit my lip, mumbled something, and avoided her eyes.

‘If you’re worried about the dart, he’s quite forgiven you.’

I shook my head.

‘What then?’

I couldn’t speak, fled inside, and hoped something would happen to Mr Oliver. Something really horrible. Again, I felt his creeping fingers on me, and it made my hands go clammy, and my heart pound. I never wanted to see him again as long as I lived. But if I did see him, and if it happened again, I made up my mind that I would tell.