Separation, The (35 page)

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You’re upset. Let’s bandage that hand.’

‘You’re right. I am upset … I hate you.’

His face stiffened. ‘Emma, listen to me.’

‘No, I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe you about the telegram. Mum sent it. I know she did, and I will never give up looking for her. Never.’

I turned and fled. Mum was looking for us. As I ran I felt the touch of her, smelt her perfume. My mouth felt dry and I thought
I was going to be sick. All that mattered was finding Mum, and even if she had gone to Jack, I didn’t care. She was my mother and I loved her.

As I escaped down the lane, I saw smoke rise from where the village houses began, and where Billy lived. A lump came in my throat again, and when we bumped into each other in the village, I managed to say how sorry I was. I burst into tears and in the short embarrassed silence that followed, he looked at me with narrowed eyes. I fiddled with my hair as I waited for him to speak, then he kissed me on the forehead, got out a hankie to wipe my tears, and smiled.

‘Don’t worry, it’s clean. Come on, Em, let’s just forget it.’

‘Friends then?’

‘Friends,’ he said, with a wink.

I told him about the article in
The
Straits Times.

‘And now Dad’s burnt it, I can’t do anything. Look, my hand’s all red where I tried to pull it out of the fire.’

‘My mum will put something on that.’

I nodded.

He looked at me with a funny expression and grinned. ‘You are an idiot, Emma.’

I frowned. ‘I’ve already said I’m sorry I was mean. I thought it was all right now.’

‘No, not that. Don’t you see?’

I shook my head.

‘Emma, there is a way. Come on. Let’s go to mine. I’ll tell you while we walk.’

On their way to Adil’s flat, Lydia and Maz were loaded up with bags of food. Adil came into sight, back from a long trip to the shipping offices in Singapore, where he’d been checking every single passenger list for the past three years, including sensitive ones. This time with official authorisation. Out of breath, and red cheeked, he grasped Lydia’s shoulder with one hand, held Maz with the other, then bent over to catch his breath.

She stared at him, saw the excitement in his eyes, and felt her heart skip a beat. ‘Slow down,’ she ordered. ‘Take your time.’

He took a breath then carried on. ‘A man answering Alec’s description was seen.’

‘In Malaya? Do you mean in Malaya?’

He held up a hand to stop her. ‘Was seen – boarding a cargo ship bound for England, with two young girls, at about the right time. One of the clerks in the office remembered. Said it stuck in his mind because you didn’t often see a man travelling alone with children.’

Lydia stood absolutely still, suspended in the moment.

‘Originally, I’d had all passenger lines double-checked, but I missed the obvious – the cargo ships that sail from Singapore. The ones that take just a few passengers. So I got approval to check the cargo lists for the whole of that year.’

‘And?’

‘Well, there was no mention of Alec Cartwright.’

Her face fell, but he quickly put a hand on her arm. ‘No. Listen.’ He held her away from him with both arms. ‘You remember Harriet said it was a similar name. Less difficult to falsify …’

She felt light-headed, hardly dared to breathe. Could this really be it?

‘I checked all the names beginning with
C
with no luck. But an Alec Wainwright, with two daughters, was listed on a cargo ship bound for Liverpool from Singapore.’

‘Oh God! Wainwright instead of Cartwright. Only three letters to alter.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Alec swore he’d never go back to England. Are you sure?’

‘One of the girls was eight and the other eleven. And they are listed as Fleur and Emma. It really was them, Lydia. It really was.’

She put a hand to her heart. She’d been angry with him for keeping the circumstances of Maznan’s birth from her. Now she didn’t care. The children were in England and she would find them.

‘Thank you, Adil. Oh, thank you.’

She kissed him on the cheek, and then they grinned at each other, while Maz gave a little yelp and did a funny little dance on the pavement.

She burst out laughing. This was an impossible dream come true. She’d kept the children alive in her mind. Not
kept
exactly. As time went on, she had no need to try, they simply invaded her thoughts. Even when she still believed they were dead, they had lived inside her, sunny little people with light in their eyes. An image came now of Fleur, sitting cross-legged beneath the wide canopy of a banyan tree, blue eyes shiny, feet hidden beneath a carpet of pink fruit. With the sound of a hundred birds chirping above her, and with a wistful look in her eyes, she’d said, ‘Mummy, what does snow look like?’

And now, after everything, it was beginning to appear that her little girl might already know the answer to that.

Gran’s wallpaper, with its pictures of chickens and pigs in yellow and light brown, was long gone, and now the walls, painted a sunny egg yolk colour, looked modern. We were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for lunch. Fleur and me. The Christmas holiday was almost over and it was the start of the New Year 1958, and my heart was light. This was the year I hoped to see my mum again. Last half term holiday, the day Veronica and I found out at the town hall that the address was correct, I had written to Miss E. Cooper-Montbéliard, of Kingsland Hall.

In my letter, I’d explained who I was, and requested that she reply to me at home, but not until the Christmas holidays. But now I had an awful thought. What if she didn’t know when the holidays ended, and what if the letter arrived after I’d gone back to school? Nothing more had been said about the newspaper article, and Dad had recovered his usual self-control. I’d written to
The Straits Times
, of course. I didn’t need the name of the journalist, but wrote directly to the editor, as Billy suggested. He was right. I was an idiot not to think of it myself. So far, no reply.

At last we’d had a phone installed. Dad had written to Veronica to tell her the number, but nobody called for three days. When it rang, while we were listening to
The Goon Show
on the radio in the kitchen, we all jumped, and Dad marched out to the hall. I turned the radio down and heard him sound really sorry, a different father altogether. Afterwards, he came to tell us Veronica was coming over. Fleur clapped her hands and I grinned.

Before the newspaper article arrived, and we found out Mum was not missing, there’d been no trace of Emma Rothwell. Though Veronica had done her best, I’d felt disappointed. Now, happy to be seeing Veronica again, at least I’d be able to talk to
her about how to find my mum. I hoped so much we’d have more luck with that.

Since before Christmas, the post had been all over the place, arriving erratically, twice a day. Each day I rushed to get it before Dad. It was still the holidays, but I’d soon be starting a new term at school. Today the post came during lunch. Dad started to tip his chair back.

‘It’s okay. I’ll get it,’ I said, scrambling up and racing to the hall.

‘Expecting something, Emma?’ Dad called out from the kitchen.

‘No, nothing,’ I said, and slipped the envelope into my knickers. ‘Just wondered if there were any late Christmas cards.’

Lunch was slow. It might seem odd that after all that had happened, life went back to normal. That nothing changed. But that’s what happened. Dad’s cooking remained as ropey as ever, today bubble and squeak with corned beef. It wedged in my throat and I found it hard to swallow.

Lunch over, I raced upstairs and into the bathroom, locked the door, leant my back against it, and let out a long slow breath. Then I opened the envelope.

Dear Emma,
I read.

I wasn’t surprised to receive your letter, as after giving the matter considerable thought, I had decided to allow my solicitor to divulge my name. I would be pleased to meet you. I was hoping tea tomorrow, Saturday, here at Kingsland, if that’s acceptable? Before you return to school. If this is inconvenient, there’s no need to inform me. I shall be here, in any case, as I always have tea at four. Just drop me a line to suggest an alternative date, if this doesn’t suit.

 

Yours most sincerely,

Emmeline Cooper-Montbéliard

Excellent. I was going to meet E C-Mb at Kingsland Hall, four o’clock tomorrow. It was my chance to find out who she was, and
why she was paying my school fees. I slid the letter safely under my mattress, and decided that when Veronica arrived for tea, I’d beg her to drive me there.

The next afternoon, Veronica turned up again on the dot of three. Snow had transformed our garden, iced the front hedge and hidden the lawn, and outside our front door a spider’s web hung frozen solid. I loved to watch spiders slowly build their web, thread by thread. I wondered what happened to them. Did they freeze too?

Dad looked surprised to see Veronica again so soon, but he hadn’t heard us whispering when she left the day before. Hadn’t seen her kiss me on the cheek and tell me how much she’d missed me. Good old Veronica. She made an excuse to Dad about having my feet measured for new shoes. I’m not sure if he completely swallowed it, but he was hardly in a position to object.

We passed through narrow Kidderminster streets, bordered by dirty red brick houses, and soon were out in open land, where snow had blanketed the fields. Despite icy roads, we made good progress, and before long arrived at a pair of tall cast iron gates hanging wide open.

At the end of a gravel driveway, lined on both sides by enormous bare-branched lime trees, Kingsland Hall rose up tall and smart. It wasn’t the sombre mansion I’d expected, not a stately home, or even a hall, but more of a comfortable sized manor. It was a pinkish-red brick building, with no pillars or columns, and judging by the windows, it had three floors. I stared at one in a row of several ground floor windows, where a woman pressed her cheek against a pane and looked out. She didn’t turn away when she saw me, so I stuck out my chin, hoping to look responsible.

My breath rose in white puffs as we walked up a short flight of steps. Veronica rang the old-fashioned bell. The solid oak door, embellished with carved acorns at the corners, and flying cherubs across the top, opened. Though I felt nervous, I put a smile on my face and peered over the shoulder of a middle-aged man.

In the wood-panelled hall, my enthusiasm fizzled out. Gold-framed oil paintings, and heavy furniture piped with twisted ormolu lined the walls. The pictures were of stern looking gentlemen with bristling whiskers, and demure ladies with white bosoms. Above the panelling, the walls were painted dark green. If this is a charity, I thought, I’ll be so embarrassed. I watched the hands of a grandfather clock inch forward, and heard a different bell.

The same man came back across the hall and invited us to follow him. We went into a long sitting room, with three tall windows overlooking the front garden and driveway. It was in one of these that I’d seen the woman. In contrast to the hall, the room was very light, and she sat close to a roaring fire in the biggest hearth I’d ever seen.

She was tall and thin, wore a pale blue suit with frilly white blouse, and had completely white hair cut in a short modern style. With an intense look she asked us to sit.

‘Now that we’ve sorted out the formalities,’ she said, ‘let’s have some tea.’

Her assistant gave a nod and the door closed heavily behind him.

Her eyes slid to my face and I shifted in my seat. The phone rang. I thought she answered it reluctantly, but it gave me a chance to look round. There was a sweet perfume in the air, as well as the smell of wood burning in the fire. The walls were covered in pale silky fabric, the floor with oriental rugs, and the windowsills were dotted with shiny wooden animals.

The call ended, and with a friendly look she turned to us. ‘I see you like my little animals. They’re African.’

I smiled uncertainly.

‘I’m glad you’ve come. I gather you want to know why I’m paying for your education.’

Finding a way to behave in the grand atmosphere of the room was awkward, but I managed to nod and found my voice. ‘Yes please.’

She sighed, as if weighed down by something. Veronica and I exchanged looks.

After a few moments the woman spoke again. ‘When my assistant told me he’d heard of your father’s return, without your mother, I was puzzled.’

‘How did he find out?’ Veronica asked.

‘Local gossip. In these country places it doesn’t take much to set tongues wagging.’

I frowned. ‘But why did it matter to you?’

There was a brief pause.

‘I think Emma would like to understand your interest in her family,’ Veronica said.

The woman’s voice shook slightly. ‘I’m afraid there is only one way to say this. I hope you won’t hate me when I tell you.’

‘No,’ I muttered, not understanding.

The room went quiet, but I heard church bells in the distance, a car engine roared, and the wind began to get up.

‘You see the truth is,’ the woman continued. ‘Lydia Cartwright is my daughter.’

I gulped and put out a hand to Veronica

‘Then you are –’ Veronica’s voice trailed off.

‘Yes – I am Emmeline Cooper-Montbéliard, Emma’s grandmother.’

I struggled from the chair and stood, hoping my legs weren’t about to buckle. ‘You can’t be. My mother’s mother was called Emma Rothwell.’

She nodded. ‘That’s correct. Rothwell was my great aunt’s maiden name. She died many years ago with no descendants. As that branch of the family had long come to an end, I took the name on for the duration of my confinement, and simply shortened my Christian name to Emma.’

I studied her closely, took out my little portrait, handed it to her and watched. I attempted to speak, but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t say a word.

‘Yes that was once me,’ was all she said, and gave the picture back. But then she bent forward, arms folded across her chest.

I sat down again. I felt as if a hand was squeezing my throat and it became even harder to speak.

She looked up. ‘My solicitor made discreet enquiries, found out exactly where you were all living, and that was when we discovered Lydia definitely was not with you, nor was she living at your old home in Malacca.’

‘Our old house?’ I said, finding my voice.

‘Yes. I’d known where Alec’s parents’ house was, of course, as my solicitor had kept me informed of Lydia’s whereabouts, even before she went to Malaya. I contacted your father, and when I told him who I was, he and I met. This was important to me, you understand. Given that she seemed to have disappeared, I couldn’t remain quiet. Of course, your father didn’t know who I was, and was quite shocked to find out.’

He never said a word to us, I thought.

‘He told me that your mother had abandoned you and your little sister, and that was why you’d all come back to England without her. After what had happened to her as a child, I found it utterly unbelievable that she would abandon her own children.’

‘I never believed it either,’ I said, swallowing rapidly. ‘Never.’

‘Anyway, your father and I came to an agreement. He was experiencing some financial difficulties, so in return for me paying your bills,
he
would help me locate your mother’s whereabouts. It was fortunate I approached him at the time he was considering schools for you. He insisted the arrangement had to be secret, and though I very much wanted to meet you and your sister, he forbade it at that time. He said it would be too unsettling. Well, I didn’t know you, so I had to accept his view.’

‘What did he find out?’ Veronica asked.

‘Nothing of any use, just that she was missing.’

‘That’s what he told us, missing, presumed dead,’ I added.

‘Well, I thought it was nonsense, so I carried out my own investigation. At first I didn’t get anywhere, but recently I found out the address of a friend of hers through a Malay newspaper article, and sent a telegram to her.’

The woman stared at the floor.

The newspaper article. From being cold, the room was suddenly stifling. I gripped the edges of the chair and leant forward, still looking at her, my body tense. She put a hand to her neck and fumbled for something. Just under her frilly collar, a silver lizard with emerald eyes was attached to a chain.

‘So far I’ve had no reply.’

I felt my heart speed up and had to force myself to breathe slowly.

‘Please tell me about your mother, Emma,’ she said in a small voice. Her hands trembled and she seemed to find it hard to keep her voice steady.

‘What did you say?’

‘Your mother.’

I felt as if I was walking backwards down a long corridor. I must have gone pale, because I heard Veronica tell me to put my head between my knees.

After a while I looked up. ‘My mother has lizards … They gave her the earrings. It’s all she had.’

‘Yes, they were mine.’ There was a short pause. ‘ I want to say, the person I was is not the person I am today. We change. Life changes us.’

From the corner of my eye, I saw Veronica nod.

‘I was forced to give her up and wasn’t allowed to see her. It was a terrible wrench, but I was in disgrace. You can’t imagine the shame I’d brought on my family.’

I looked at her face, at the fine lines and delicate skin, and at the deeper wrinkles on her forehead. I almost couldn’t bear it when I saw the pain in her eyes.

‘It was nineteen twenty-four and my parents forbade all contact, though I did persuade one of the nuns to let me meet Lydia, just the once. They were going on a day trip to the seaside, Weston-super-Mare. I met them there, and we watched a sand sculpture of a lion being built. I still think of it as the happiest day of my life. I even remember what I wore. A dress with bright blue
flowers all along the hem. There was one other time, many years later … but that visit was prevented.’

I glanced out at the wind rolling snow about the lawn. I felt heartbreak for my mum and for this woman who had abandoned her, but also rage for my mother’s lonely childhood. I longed so much to feel my mother’s arms, that the tears spilled over. I brushed them away with the back of my hand.

‘When I said goodbye to her, I left a part of my heart behind,’ the woman said. ‘They never allowed me to see her again. I had given up all rights, and they said it would upset her too much. Things were so different then, you see.’

‘And the father?’ Veronica spoke softly.

I turned to see how the woman would react. Her chin wobbled and I thought she was going to cry. She turned her back to us, put on another log and poked about until flames appeared. By the time she turned back, her face was composed.

‘Charles Lloyd Patterson, the painter … you mustn’t blame him, he didn’t know, and I couldn’t take Lydia. It was impossible back then. With no money, no support of any kind, I did as my parents told me.’