Separation, The (37 page)

At the eagerly longed for start of half term, Veronica was due to collect me to go back to Kingsland Hall. It was a cold day, so early that a white mist still lay over the grounds. I found her parked at the side of the school, where the harsh weather had cracked the wall.

It was only when I got into the car that I realised something was wrong. I asked her what, but she barely looked at me, and when I wanted to know if we were going straight to Kingsland Hall, she half turned towards me with a sad little smile on her face.

‘Sorry no. We have to go straight back.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Your father knows.’

I frowned.

‘He knows we deceived him, that I took you to Kingsland Hall without telling him. He’s furious. Says I’ve been disloyal.’

‘How can he say that, after what he did!’

Veronica gave a little shake of her head and looked close to tears.

‘How did he find out?’

‘He overheard me on the phone to your grandmother, last night, talking about the tickets.’

She’d spoken in a matter of fact tone of voice, but I knew immediately what that meant. Despite her mood she smiled. It was magic. I couldn’t believe it. I hugged myself, tingling with excitement. Tickets to go to Malaya!

‘You know, don’t you, that after your grandmother saw your mother’s newspaper article, she got hold of an address for her friend, Cicely. From the journalist who wrote the article, apparently.’

‘I remember Cicely.’ I’d had no reply myself from the editor, but was overjoyed my grandmother had been more successful.

‘She sent Cicely a telegram, but didn’t receive anything back, so now she’s going to send an airmail letter, saying you’ll both be going out to Malaya.

I had an awful thought. ‘What if he tries to stop me from going?’

‘Then your grandmother will go alone,’ she said. ‘Anyway, that’s why we’re going straight back. He’s in a foul mood and I want to see if I can talk him round. We need to sort you out a new passport, and I can’t do it without his help. I don’t want to give him too much time to brood.’

Back home the atmosphere was stiff. Fleur was at a school friend’s for the day and night, and I was in my room with the door ajar. Dad’s voice reached me from below, and though I couldn’t make out all the words, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was being difficult.

Eventually she came upstairs, pink-eyed, and even paler than usual. ‘We’re going out. I’ve persuaded him to take a drive over to the Cotswolds to have lunch in Chipping Campden. Will you be okay?’

I answered with a grin.

As long as I had my grandmother, what could Dad do? My grandmother. I said the words over again, and pinched myself. Though I worried whether she’d cope with Malaya’s harsh climate, and there was still the matter of a passport to sort out.

The afternoon passed slowly. I was feeling quietly hopeful, dreaming of the heat of Malaya, when I heard a sound outside. I frowned. Had Fleur come back early? I went downstairs, and glanced out of the kitchen window at a low sun, shining behind the bare beech tree at the bottom of the garden. It was nearly dusk and someone was there. I opened the back door.

‘You’ll write about all this one day,’ Billy said, as he came through, then kissed me on the cheek.

I wasn’t so sure. I’d written very little since I abandoned Claris to her fate. ‘About what?’

‘About the wind flying through your hair, Em. I’ve got my dad’s motorbike. Where do you want to go?’

On our way to Kingsland Hall, I glanced at the river, black and cold, and remembered when I’d dangled my legs in the water with Billy. As we rode up the long drive, a new moon came out above the house. I let out a long slow breath. New moon. New life.

At the door, we were met by my grandmother’s assistant. ‘She’s not here,’ he said, with a troubled look.

My heart jumped. ‘Where then?’

‘Your grandmother is in hospital. I’m very sorry.’

I turned to Billy. ‘Can you take me there? Please, Billy.’

The assistant put out a hand. ‘I’m afraid she’s seriously ill. With all the excitement, I knew something like this would happen. I’ve just spoken to the matron. They won’t let anyone see her until tomorrow morning.’

‘Billy?’

‘Come on, Em. We’ll go in the morning. Like he says.’

Legs like jelly, I stood at the desk. The receptionist directed us to the top floor of the main wing. Though it was early, the hospital was wide-awake, and a strong smell of ether followed us everywhere. Porters pushed trolleys, and we had to avoid white-coated doctors, huddled together and speaking softly. I pushed open a swing door into a noisy ward. Everyone seemed to be running, a phone rang continuously, and frail voices called out for help. The sign above the door said
Acute Observation
. They were serving breakfast, so I stepped back, and straight into a plump nurse.

‘This isn’t visiting time,’ she said, with a frown. ‘We’re strict on that.’

‘Please. I’ve come to see my grandmother. Miss Cooper-Montbéliard.’

She deliberated, then led us out of the main door and down a corridor. She stopped outside a room, with a red light glowing overhead, and looked at me.

‘It’s the only single occupancy room on this floor. You can go in, but don’t excite her. She’s very ill.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Will you wait, Billy?’

He nodded and I pushed open the door and peered in. The curtains were closed and the light was low. A bottle of Lucozade, still in its orange cellophane wrapper, a tin of Ovaltine, and an unopened box of Black Magic chocolates sat on the metal bedside cupboard. At first I couldn’t see her, her white face and white hair vanishing into the pillows and sheets. It seemed as if no one was there; only a gentle whistle told me I wasn’t alone. I listened to her breath, then moved closer and sat on a hard, straight-backed chair beside her bed.

She was connected to a drip on a stand. I leant back in the chair and closed my eyes. I’d never wished for anything so much before. I pleaded with God to make her better, to keep her alive so that my mum could know her. I knew going to Malaya was out of the question now, but that didn’t matter, I just wanted her to live. It would be too unfair to find her, then lose her so soon. I brushed away the tears but they kept on coming.

After a while she opened her eyes, and I caught a strange look on her face, but she didn’t seem to recognise me and closed them again. A nurse came in with a concerned look, nodded to me and left. I sat for hours, my bottom going numb on the hard wooden chair. Billy brought me hot chocolate and a bun, and then went back down to the canteen to wait.

A doctor came.

‘Will she be okay?’ I asked, my shoulders tense.

He cleared his throat. ‘She has pneumonia.’ His voice was flat and unemotional.

‘She’s my grandmother. Please tell me.’

He seemed to consider for a moment. ‘Look, it’s hard to say. She’s asthmatic and this is a serious complication. We’re watching her closely. You can wait here, but it’s better if you go down to the canteen.’

‘I’ll wait.’

He opened the curtain fully then turned on his heels.

I blinked in the sudden daylight. The window overlooked a car park, and I looked down at the people coming and going, with all their own sorrows and fears. Then I pulled the chair close to her and shut my eyes, thinking of all that had happened in the last three years. I left Malaya as a kid, and now, listening to my grandmother breathe, realised how far I’d come. I sat like that for ages, staring at the grey lino floor and thinking.

Her voice startled me.

‘Emma?’ she said.

My breath caught – I saw her eyes, full of life, completely conscious.

‘You’re going to be okay.’

She smiled and spoke breathlessly. ‘Listen, child. I’ve made a new will. My solicitor has it, and my assistant knows what to do. If anything happens to me, it’s all yours and Fleur’s, when you both come of age.’

‘But nothing is –’

She held up a shaking hand. ‘In the meantime, I’ve arranged it that until then a trust can access anything either of you might need. You’ll both be able to live at the house, as soon as you’re old enough, if that’s what you wish. I’m so looking forward to meeting my other granddaughter.’

‘And my mother?’

‘Yes. If she forgives me. I planned to come to your school, then this happened. I wanted to surprise you with tickets for Malaya, but now.’ She let out a breath and gave a slight shrug.

I took hold of her hand. ‘What’s going to happen about Mum? Shall we write to her friend again?’

‘I already have. It takes a little while, even with airmail, but I should hear something before too long. Of course, this Cecily woman may not know where Lydia is, but it’s somewhere to start. My assistant has cancelled the tickets, by the way. But when I’m better, we’ll still go.’

My heart raced, and when I laid my cheek on her bedcover, she stroked my hair.

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, you will see her again. You’ll have such a lot to tell each other.’

I looked up. ‘And you.’

‘Me too.’ She closed her eyes.

I gulped. A lump grew in my throat. I felt her pulse.

‘Don’t you worry,’ she said, eyes open again. ‘I’m just tired. I’ll be up and about before you know it. So much to live for now. So much more than I deserve.’

My throat was parched and I couldn’t speak. She was going to be okay. And one day we would all live together at Kingsland Hall.

The high ceilings and polished wooden staircase flashed into my mind. Could it be possible? Not for a moment in my wildest stories could I have imagined this. I felt so happy I wanted to leap up and down, yet at the same time, a voice was whispering –
Why hasn’t Cecily replied to your grandmother’s telegram? What if your mother doesn’t want you any more?
I shook my head to make it go away. I couldn’t breathe for wanting my mum and longing to see her. It was unthinkable that we might fail.

At Liverpool docks, people stood in restless groups, the pale day a blissful contrast to the dark clouds and tropical storms of Malaya. Men smelling of machine oil, and wearing caps and greasy blue overalls, struggled with heavy ropes and chains. A layer of soot lay on the ground, yet behind the bustle and dirt, there was tranquillity in the Englishness. She hardly dared think of her daughters, and the three long years since she’d last seen them. The time she thought they were dead, she remembered like a dream.

She’d been surprised when another telegram from Miss Cooper-Montbéliard hadn’t arrived. She had counted on having an address to go to, but had decided to try Alec’s parents anyway. She held Maz’s hand tight, felt the thrill of anticipation, and imagined the rolling green meadows that lay ahead. A few people stared when she tilted her face, arms stretched out wide, palms upwards, damp settling on her skin.

The taxi drew up slowly. She instructed the driver to park nearby and asked him to wait.

She patted the boy on the head. ‘Maz, stay in the car. I won’t be long.’

From a distance, Alec’s parents’ house looked exactly the same. Close up, though, she saw a garden gone wild. Something wasn’t right. Alec’s father wouldn’t let it get like this. She noticed a
For Sale
sign lying abandoned on overgrown grass by the front hedge. Her heart sank.

She looked about. Next door but one, a neighbour was raking the lawn. She walked over and coughed. The man looked up.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for Eric
Cartwright and his wife. I don’t suppose you can tell me where they are?’

The man stood up and rubbed his back. He cupped a hand behind his ear. ‘What’s that, dear?’

‘I was after Eric Cartwright,’ she said in a louder voice.

‘Oh no, they’re gone,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, dear.’ He picked up his rake and ambled back to his garage door.

‘Do you know where they’ve gone?’ she called after him, but he didn’t hear and closed the door.

At the telegraph desk in the post office, she spoke to a grey-haired woman behind a metal grille. When the woman stared openly at Maz, Lydia held his hand even tighter, and smiled what she hoped was a convincing smile.

‘I received a telegram from a Miss Cooper-Montbéliard. The address was a P.O. box. I sent one back to her, and was expecting to hear from her again, but I didn’t.’

‘What’s your P.O. box?’ the woman said.

‘No, I haven’t got a P.O. box.’

‘But you just said you were waiting to hear.’

‘I’m sorry there’s been some confusion. What I need is the home address of the person who sent me a telegram from a P.O. box.’ She dug in her bag, fished out a sheet of paper. ‘Look, here’s the number. I wrote it down.’

The woman pursed her lips. ‘Oh no. We never give out addresses. That’s the whole point of a P.O. box.’

‘But this is really important.’

The woman bristled. ‘It always is, dear. Now, if that’s all.’

Lydia shook her head. She hadn’t come all this way to be brushed off. ‘No, it isn’t all. Look, this is the number. Can you at least check to see if another telegram was sent to me. Mrs Lydia Cartwright.’

‘Well, I can do that.’ The woman paused, glanced at the number, and frowned.

‘Are you sure that’s the correct number?’

Lydia nodded.

‘Haven’t you got the original telegram?’

Lydia searched her bag, feeling more and more agitated. Surely she couldn’t have left the telegram in Adil’s flat? She remembered writing down the number on a sheet of paper, leaving the telegram in a safe place so as not to lose it, and taking the piece of paper to the telegraph office. The same piece of paper she now had.

‘I’m sorry, dear. That isn’t one of our numbers. We cover a wide area but none of ours begins with seven five. I wish you good day.’

Lydia turned on her heels and held herself together. She racked her brain trying to remember. She must have brought it with her. She remembered packing a bag for herself and one for Maz, but she could not remember picking up the telegram again. Could not remember slipping it into her bag. How could she have been so careless? In her haste, she must have made an error jotting down the number, and then in the whirlwind of excitement, left the actual telegram behind.

It was clear Miss Cooper-Montbéliard could never have received her reply.

She stood with Maz in the high street and her spirits plummeted. What now? This wasn’t going at all the way she planned, and the fear that, after everything, she might not find her girls caused such pain in her chest she almost forgot to take in breath.

‘I am cold, Mem,’ Maz said, teeth chattering.

She pulled him into her own looped mohair coat. ‘You poor little thing. I’d forgotten about the cold. We need to buy you a thicker coat.’

Once they’d got him a nice warm duffle coat, they sat in a café out of the cold. Maz watched, full of questions.

‘Where are we going now?’ he said.

‘I’m just thinking about that.’

He stared through steamy windows at passers-by. Muffled in
scarves and woolly hats, they couldn’t have looked more different from the people he’d been used to.

‘Is it always so cold?’

‘Not in the summer.’

‘Is it hot, like Malaya, in the summer?’

‘No, darling.’

She grinned, suddenly realising what to do. Of course, the estate agent. She jumped up right away and held out her hand to the boy.

Maz stuffed his hands into the pockets of his navy coat, and sat in the taxi, a little way from the house.

‘Sorry, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Just wait a minute.’

They were back at Alec’s parents’ place, the wind now blowing the long grass about. She found a pencil and scrap of paper in her bag, opened the gate and bent over the
For Sale
sign, by the hedge. She carefully copied the name, address, and phone number of the estate agent, unaware of a car pulling up.

A man called out. ‘It’s about blasted time. You’d better hammer it in properly this time. No wonder we haven’t had any luck.’

Lydia instantly recognised the voice. She stood up straight, wiped her damp hands on her coat, and turned to face him.

He stared and took a step back. ‘Lydia!’

There was a prolonged silence.

Of all the feelings she could have felt, she was surprised by a twinge of pity. He looked drained, as if life had taken him and shaken the stuffing out. Dressed in a dark overcoat, short hair thinning, eyes circled with blue shadows, he looked a great deal older. Over at his car, a young girl stared out of the window. Lydia’s heart thumped wildly, and her eyes widened as the girl climbed from the Morris Oxford and stood on the road beside it.

This wasn’t her blonde, baby daughter, with her hair in a parting and a bow at the side. This Fleur had light brown hair, in one long plait at the back of her head, and she wore glasses.

‘Fleur?’ she said.

A knot formed in Lydia’s throat. She stood in the front garden trying to speak again, but nothing came. The moment went on. She opened the gate and began to walk, unable to see clearly through the tears. She stopped. The girl hadn’t moved. Lydia held out her arms.

‘Fleur, it’s Mummy. Don’t you recognise me?’

Lydia brushed away her tears. A tall blonde woman, wearing a grey suit, stood at the other side of the car. She came round, whispered something in Fleur’s ear, patted her on the shoulder, and gave her a little push towards Lydia. Fleur took a few steps forward, like a clockwork doll. Lydia moved too. They stared at each other, Fleur silent and white-faced. By the time Lydia knelt in front of her daughter, her throat was choked. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.

She smelt Fleur’s soft soapy hair, raised a hand, almost touched it.

Fleur turned back to the blonde woman for confirmation. The woman nodded, but Fleur didn’t move. Confused, Lydia looked over at the woman too. She nodded again.

Lydia and her daughter remained a foot apart, not touching. Then Fleur leant very slightly towards her mother. Taking her cue, Lydia gently stroked her daughter’s hair.

‘Look at you. Your hair’s so long. So lovely.’

She wrapped her arms around her daughter. She’d imagined this moment so many times, hugged her phantom daughters in her dreams, searched for the light in their eyes. But this was real. Her daughter, more precious than life itself, had been given back.

‘Well, we can’t stand out here in the cold. You’d better come in,’ Alec interrupted.

Lydia stayed where she was.

‘Lydia?’ he said.

She held on to Fleur’s hand, stood up, and looked him straight in the face. ‘Where have your parents gone?’

‘They haven’t gone anywhere.’

‘The neighbour said they’d gone.’

‘I’m so sorry. Eric’s dead, Alec’s mother is in a nursing home,’ the blonde woman said. She stepped forward and held out her hand. ‘I’m Veronica.’

Lydia shook her hand, but it was her daughters that dominated her mind, and she scanned the street.

‘Where’s Emma?’

Alec nodded at a spot fifty yards beyond them. A tall girl was climbing down from the back of a motorbike. Lydia watched her remove a helmet and shake her hair, then stand on tiptoes to kiss a boy on the cheek.

‘He parks down there so we don’t see,’ Veronica said. ‘Though, of course, we know.’

The girl turned round. Lydia saw her stand completely still. A tall girl in modern clothes. Three-quarter-length trousers, despite the cold, ankle boots and a short haircut. Lydia kissed Fleur on the forehead, Veronica put a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, and then Lydia ran towards the tall girl. She slipped on the grass. Stopped. The girl hadn’t moved. Was this grown-up girl her daughter? The girl who dressed in a clown’s costume, and came racing out of school screeching,
Mummy
?

Emma appeared to sway.

Lydia went to her and held her by the shoulders.

Emma’s chin trembled. ‘Mummy?’

She examined Emma’s grown-up face, saw the turquoise eyes fill with tears.

‘Oh, my darling girl, I was so scared I wouldn’t find you.’

‘I left you a letter, Mummy. I told you where we were going.’

With a sharp intake of breath, Lydia twisted her head to glance at Alec, but continued holding Emma’s shoulders. Alec looked at his feet.

‘When I came home, the house was empty and you were gone. I didn’t find a letter.’ She paused, gulped back tears, saw the depth of pain in her daughter’s eyes.

She felt everyone watching. Not just Alec, Fleur and Veronica but the eyes of the entire world seemed to watch.

‘Oh, Mummy,’ Emma whispered.

Lydia wrapped her daughter in her arms, felt Em’s heart thump against her chest. Never in a lifetime could she have imagined anything as precious as this. Em began to sob, and she wiped her daughter’s tears with her fingers.

When they separated they stared, looked for tiny changes, a line here, a change of contour, a filling out, a thinning down.

Emma stepped back. ‘You have more silver threads in your hair. You look different.’

‘You too.’

Emma blushed, and tried to speak between another bout of sobs. Lydia patted her back, watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. Fleur joined them, and her two daughters stood side by side. Lydia stared at them, so proud she thought her heart might burst.

‘You are both so beautiful.’

Fleur smiled sweetly and Em turned red.

Alec and Veronica stood a little way off.

‘She’s nice,’ Fleur said softly in Lydia’s ear. ‘She forgave him, even though Dad wanted to make a bigamist of her.’

Did he indeed, Lydia thought. She took a few steps towards Alec, holding on to her daughters’ hands.

‘I think we’d better go inside,’ he said again.

‘Yes, please do come in,’ Veronica added. ‘I’ll make some tea and you can talk in private.’

For a moment nobody moved, then the teenage boy began to back away. ‘This is family stuff. I’ll see you later, Em.’

‘Billy can come in too, can’t he?’ Emma said.

‘Perhaps not. There are things we need to talk about,’ Lydia said. ‘Why not go in with Veronica and Fleur, while I speak with your father for a moment.’

Fleur shot a questioning look at Veronica who smiled her approval.

While Fleur and Veronica went through the gate, and Emma kissed the boy goodbye, Lydia and Alec locked eyes.

Away from the others, his face twisted. ‘I loved you, Lydia. All that nonsense about a sick friend. You ruddy well left me.’

‘I chose you.’

He stared at her. ‘You stopped choosing me a long time ago. It was the girls you chose.’

She examined his face, noticed a razor cut on his chin, a worn edge to the collar of his shirt. Not so immaculate now. But when she looked in his eyes, it was in the hope of finding a trace of the man she once loved.

In the uncertain silence, Alec folded his arms across his chest.

Emma, having left her young man, headed over towards Fleur and Veronica, who were now at the front door. Lydia heard footsteps and a small voice calling from the direction of the taxi.

‘Mrs Lydia. Mem?’

She spun round to see Maz run towards her.

‘Oh my lord, I’d forgotten. She took hold of the little boy’s hand, squeezed it, then turned to her daughters. ‘Girls, please come over here before we go in.’

Fleur went across to join Emma.

Lydia patted Maznan on the back. ‘Maz,’ she said. ‘It’s time to say hello to your half sisters.’

Lydia saw Emma turn white. She shook her head. ‘No, darling, he’s not my son.’ She looked at Alec who was staring at Maz.

There was a long silence.

Lydia noticed the wind get up again, heard the rustle in the grass. The last few years flashed through her mind. The grief. The heartache he’d caused. Nothing he could do would put that right. Except maybe this one thing.

Alec held her eyes for a moment, then, hearing Veronica’s sharp intake of breath, twisted round and attempted a smile. She shook her head, stepped back against the front door. He looked at the waiting girls, and finally returned to Maznan Chang.

The little boy grinned in recognition.