The Pearl Locket (8 page)

What a sad story, thought Joan. Imagine growing up with no parents or siblings. ‘Do you ever hear from your father?’

‘We had Christmas cards each year before the war started. They would usually arrive in about February. I think he would only remember to send one when Christmas actually arrived, by which time it was too late to send it across the Atlantic in time. He was living in New York, the last we heard.’

‘Perhaps when this war is over you might want to go and find him?’ Although to Joan it didn’t sound as though Jack’s father cared very much about his son.

Jack shook his head. ‘When this war’s over I’d rather look forwards than backwards. I mean, I’d hope to find a girl and start a family of my own, then. I never had that kind of family life as a child. I hope to be able to experience it as a man.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ On a whim, Joan reached out across the table and touched his hand. He looked down at her fingers on his hand for a moment, then raised his eyes to hers, and entwined his fingers with hers.

The moment felt charged, as though electricity was running through her. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. The truth in his eyes told her he cared for her, that for that moment at least
she
was the girl he had hoped to find.

‘Your tea, and the cakes. We’re out of the ginger so I swapped it for the Victoria sponge.’ They released hands quickly as a waitress plonked her tray down on the table between them, and set about unloading it.

‘The Victoria sponge is perfect, thank you,’ Jack told the waitress.

Joan looked down at her lap, feeling herself blush once more. There had been something about Jack’s look, and the touch of his hand, that thrilled her. Before today she wouldn’t have considered him to be her type. He’d been nice to her after the terrible events with Freddie but she’d thought that was all she felt for him—a kind boy who’d helped her out of trouble and walked her home. But now—now she felt differently. His floppy fringe was endearing. His eyes behind his repaired glasses were dark and full of soul. His hand was warm and strong.

‘So you are going to work every day at the WVS now, running the playgroup?’

She was pulled back to the present by his words. A safe topic. ‘Yes, as long as my father doesn’t object. He can be, well, a bit difficult at times.’

‘You’ve finished school?’

‘Last summer. Since then I’ve just helped Mother in the home, apart from a few sessions at the WVS. What do you do?’

‘I’ve just left college. I had applied to study engineering but now I’m going to put that on hold for the duration. I’m going to join up.’

Joan remembered that he’d talked about wanting to play his part in the war, while they’d sat on the bench on the prom, looking out at the silvery moon reflecting off the sea. It was all right for boys in wartime. There was a definite and obvious role for them. Not so easy for girls. At least now with the playgroup job she felt she could be doing something useful. It might not be directly helping the war effort but even so, it was worth doing.

‘When will you join up?’

‘This week. Aunt Marion doesn’t want me to but I’m eighteen now and I’ve made my decision.’

Joan felt a pang of sorrow. This week! So soon. Just as she was beginning to really like him.

All too soon the tea was drunk, the cake eaten, and dusk was falling outside. Reluctantly, Joan pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I’ve had a lovely time, Jack, but my family will be expecting me home. I must help Mother prepare supper.’

‘Of course. Perhaps we can do this again?’ Jack helped her with her coat.

‘But you are joining up—won’t you be sent away?’

‘I suppose so. But I’ll be home on leave now and again, and if you would like it, perhaps every time I come home I’ll call on you?’

She smiled. ‘I would like that very much, Jack.’

She slipped her arm through his and they left the tea shop together.

‘I’ll walk you home,’ Jack said.

She leaned in close to him. She would have a few minutes more of his company as they walked, and perhaps he might not be sent away immediately and they’d have another chance to meet during the week.

‘Joan? What do you think you are doing?’

She spun around in horror. ‘Father! I was just walking home. I’ve been out to tea—ah, Father, this is Jack McBride. Jack, my father, Mr Perkins.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’ Jack stretched out his hand but Father ignored it, and stared at Joan.

‘Joan, you had hold of this fellow’s arm as you were walking along. Explain yourself.’

‘We were just walking home. Jack bought me tea and cake…’

‘Well, his services are no longer required. You can come with me, now. I have the motor car just around the corner.’ Father took her arm and pulled her away.

‘But Father, there’s no harm in it. Jack’s a good sort. Please may I walk with him?’

‘No, you may not. A daughter of mine, and one barely out of school, holding hands with a boy in public! And a boy from the working classes, to boot.’

‘Sir, I meant no harm. I wanted to ensure your daughter reached home safely. May I please call on her tomorrow?’

‘No. You may not. Come on, Joan. I want to know where and how you met this young man. You will tell me everything when we are in the car.’

Joan had no choice. She cast an agonised glance over her shoulder at Jack, who shrugged helplessly. Mouthing ‘WVS tomorrow’ at him, she stumbled along after her father who still had a firm grip on her arm.

Chapter Seven

October 2014

The doorbell rang. It was the postman, with a package for Kelly. Ali accepted it, and then called her daughter. Kelly took the stairs two at a time.

‘Oh my God, I’ve been desperate for this one to come!’ she squealed, as she took the package, ran through to the kitchen and tore it open.

‘What is it, love?’ Ali asked, following her.

‘Something I bought off eBay,’ she said, pulling a pale blue item out of the package. She held it up against her.

Ali forced herself to smile. ‘Very pretty,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned, though?’ It was a dress made of blue cotton with tiny sprigged flowers. There was a rounded Peter Pan collar in white, buttons up the front, and a narrow belt made from the same fabric as the collar.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Kelly said. ‘Forties stuff is really cool. I’m off to try it on. I can wear Joan’s locket with it.’ She stuffed the packaging into the recycling bin and ran upstairs with the dress.

Ali sat down with her morning cup of coffee to wait for the fashion show. Kelly had only recently opened an account on eBay. She’d sold her old Barbie dolls and some Disney DVDs, and was spending the proceeds, along with money from a babysitting job, on clothes or cheap jewellery. Kelly’s friend Leanne was coming later. The girls were heading out for a Saturday shopping trip. It would be interesting to see what Leanne thought of the dress.

‘Ta-dah!’ Kelly entered the kitchen and gave a twirl. Ali gasped. The dress fitted Kelly perfectly, and showed off her lovely figure. She was wearing the pearl locket, and she’d also tonged her hair into waves again. All in all she looked as though she’d stepped out of the pages of
Woman’s Weekly
circa 1942.

Pete came into the kitchen in search of coffee. He stopped and stared at Kelly. ‘Great outfit. You going to a fancy dress party or something?’

‘No! This look is cool—like Amelia Fay. Pretty, isn’t it? I think I’ll wear it this afternoon, out with Leanne.’

‘Well, I know nothing of fashion but if that’s what you young things are wearing these days then yes, I suppose it is pretty,’ Pete said. He poured himself a coffee from the jug, raised his eyebrows at Ali and left the room.

Kelly looked at Ali. ‘You do like it, don’t you, Mum? It was quite dear, but I really like this forties stuff and I loved this the moment I saw it.’

‘It does look nice on you, love,’ Ali said. ‘Good for you to have your own sense of style. I like that. How much was it?’

‘Thirty shillings.’ Kelly ran her hands over her skirt, smoothing wrinkles.

‘Shillings? What do you mean?’

‘Thirty pounds. Sorry, what did I say?’

‘You said thirty shillings.’

‘Did I? What am I like?’ Kelly shook her head. ‘Living in the past. Send Leanne upstairs when she comes, will you?’

Kelly was lying on her bed reading
Rebecca
, one of the books she had to read as part of her A level English Literature course, when Leanne arrived. She heard her come up the stairs and stood, ready to greet her. Leanne burst through the door in her usual exuberant manner.

‘Hey, Kells. How’s it going? Wow, what are you wearing?’ Leanne flopped down onto the bed, staring at Kelly’s dress.

‘Do you like it?’ said Kelly, twirling around. Leanne was wearing skinny-leg hipster jeans and a cropped T-shirt. A stud sparkled in her belly button.

‘Er, do you want the truth?’ said Leanne, wrinkling her forehead.

‘Go on.’ Suddenly Kelly felt less sure about the dress. Was it really
her
? And the hair, why had she curled it like that?

‘You look like you’re auditioning for a part in
Foyle’s War
,’ Leanne said. ‘Kind of works, but, why?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kelly, pulling the grips out of her hair. ‘Suppose I’ve been listening to too much Amelia Fay music lately.’ Wearing the dress and pinning her hair into curls suddenly made no sense to her. But it wasn’t the influence of Amelia Fay music—it was more likely she’d been thinking too much about Joan and Jack, especially after having read some of the letters. They were dated 1944, and written from Jack to Joan after he’d gone away to fight in the war. She’d found herself fascinated by their story, and was longing to find out more about them, as soon as she had the chance to talk to Great-gran. She wrenched open the buttons on the dress, and let it slip to the floor, then kicked it under the bed, out of sight.

‘Here,’ said Leanne, passing her a denim mini-skirt that had been draped over the back of a chair. ‘Wear this, and your
Girls R Us
T-shirt.’

‘Thanks.’ Kelly put the clothes on, brushed out her hair and applied some mascara. ‘Better?’

‘Much,’ said Leanne. ‘Ready to go? I want some new boots for the autumn. Ones I can wear with jeans. And they’ve got some fabulous jackets in Top Shop which I might ask Mum to get me for my birthday. What will you be looking for?’

‘Don’t know. I haven’t got much money.’

‘Thought you had loads from babysitting?’

‘Spent it on that dress,’ Kelly said, sighing.

‘You dolt. Send it back and say it doesn’t fit.’

‘I might. Come on, then, let’s go.’ Kelly grabbed her bag and rushed out of the room and down the stairs.

‘How’s the lovely Matt?’ asked Leanne later, as they browsed the rails of new season tops in River Island.

‘He’s good,’ Kelly replied.

‘What does he think of your new house?’

‘He likes it, I think.’

‘You don’t though, do you?’

Kelly turned and stared at Leanne. ‘Sort of. It’s good being near the beach. But sometimes I get a weird feeling when I’m at home. I can’t explain it, but there’s something there.’

‘Ooh er, like a…a
presence
, you mean?’

‘Yes, something like that. I can feel it. Like in
Rebecca
—you know how the second Mrs de Winter can somehow still feel Rebecca’s presence lingering in the house. Do you get what I mean?’ Kelly spoke urgently.

‘You think it’s haunted?’ Leanne’s eyes were wide.

‘Yeah, well no… I mean, maybe. I don’t, you know, believe in ghosts or anything, but there’s definitely something strange going on.’

‘Ooh!’ Leanne hummed spooky music. ‘Who’s the ghost? Some headless horseman?’

Kelly shook her head, and told Leanne about the writing on her wall, and the discoveries in the cellar.

‘Cool! No wonder you’ve started wearing forties clothes—that’s Joan’s ghost trying to influence you!’

‘Ugh, don’t say that—makes it sound like I’m going mad or something.’ Kelly turned and walked out of the shop, jostling past the Saturday crowds. Leanne’s comment felt far too close to the truth for comfort.

Leanne caught her up. ‘It was only a joke, Kells.’

Kelly spun round to face her friend. ‘Well, it wasn’t funny. Sometimes that house really spooks me. There’s this cold draught on the stairs. Gives me prickles down the back of my neck sometimes. Like when you know someone’s crept up behind you but you haven’t turned to look yet.’

‘Don’t turn to look while you’re on the stairs. You might fall down. Maybe that’s what the ghost wants? Do you think it’s an evil ghost?’

‘It’s not a blinking ghost, Leanne. A presence, maybe. Not an actual ghost. They don’t exist. You die; that’s the end.’ She started walking away from the shops, into the park, heading towards the pier.

‘So what’s a presence if not a ghost? Doesn’t matter what you call it, does it? I think it’s kind of cool. Living in a haunted house, being the only one who can feel the presence of someone from the past. You should try to communicate with it—especially if it is this Joan. You could be like some kind of medium.’ She put on a deep, wavering voice. ‘Is there anybody there? Answer me two knocks for yes, three for no.’

Kelly shook her head violently. ‘No! I don’t want to communicate with it. I wish I couldn’t feel it. I thought you’d be a bit more sympathetic. Leanne, you’re supposed to be my best friend, but all you can do is take the piss. Well, you can just piss off, now. I’ve had enough of it.’

‘Calm down! I’m only trying to lighten the tone.’ Leanne held out her hands and shrugged.

‘Yeah, well, don’t,’ said Kelly. ‘I’m going home.’

‘But we haven’t bought anything yet!’

‘I’m not in the mood. See you around, Leanne.’ Kelly headed off towards the bus stop. Was her house haunted? She felt she was mad even considering it, but ever since they’d found the box of stuff in the cellar she had definitely felt something there. And
something
was making her want to dress in forties clothes. Or was it just her imagination? What with the stuff they’d found in the cellar, reading
Rebecca
, and her history A level project about life during the war, perhaps she was just spending too much time thinking about the past. But it felt like more than that. More of a compulsion. She
had
to find out more about Joan and Jack. If she was to live comfortably in the house she had to know who they were and what happened to them. Lay them to rest.