The Wraiths of War (36 page)

One thing Clover
had
done, which I discovered when I pushed open the door to Hope’s old room with my foot, was fulfil her promise to make Kate’s homecoming a pleasurable one. I was touched by how much care she’d taken to make the room look both beautiful and familiar. Not only had she fetched Kate’s toys and books from our old flat, but she’d also transferred Kate’s
Scooby Doo
bedding from her old bed (having, I noted from its fresh smell, washed and ironed it first) and had even taken the time and effort to bring – and hang – Kate’s old curtains, which were pink with a big yellow and red flower print on them. And okay, so the curtains were a little short for the new window, and would have to be either replaced or lengthened, but it was a lovely gesture all the same.

That wasn’t the
piece de resistance
, though. That particular accolade went to the objects sitting on the chair beside the bed. Beneath a jumbo set of felt-tip pens –
50 Colours!
– was a
Toy Story
colouring book. It was identical to the one Clover and I had found shredded the night the flat had been trashed.

As I gently laid Kate down and pulled her duvet over her, I’m not ashamed to admit that tears were not only pricking my eyes, but brimming over my bottom lids. What can I say? I’m a big softie and it had been a particularly emotional day. As I closed Kate’s door behind me, I wiped the tears away with my sleeve, before heading along the landing to Clover’s bedroom. I listened for a moment outside her door, then tapped lightly. No reply.

‘Clover?’ I said softly.

Silence.

I opened the door a crack and peeped in. Her bed was unoccupied and neatly made, the curtains open. I went downstairs, into the front room, which was empty. I was feeling not exactly uneasy, but a little disquieted, remembering how odd and guarded Clover had seemed that morning. At least everything seemed to be in order, and there was nothing to suggest that anything sinister had taken place. I checked in a couple of the other rooms, then walked along the corridor to the left of the staircase, which led to the kitchen at the back of the house. Although this place was my home, my sanctuary, and Kate was asleep upstairs, I couldn’t help but think that it suddenly seemed hollow and empty. I pushed open the kitchen door and snapped on the light.

I saw the note immediately.

It had been written on a sheet of decent notepaper from the study. It had been folded in half and propped against the salt cellar, right in the middle of the table where I’d be bound to see it. My name was written on the front in swirly capitals, with an extra little x after the X of my name. I walked across, picked it up and opened it out. In Clover’s scrawly handwriting, which gave the impression she was always in a hurry, it said:

Hey Alex

Please don’t think I’m being weird, or that I feel put out by Kate coming home, because I’m not and I don’t. I honestly, genuinely couldn’t be happier that you’ve found your little girl and that the two of you are back together. I know how much it means to you, and it’s a lovely, lovely thing after all you’ve been through.

Whatever you may believe, though, I honestly do think that you guys need some time to get back into the routine of living a ‘normal’ life (ha! Whatever that is!) without a third person (i.e. me) around. I’ve therefore gone away for a bit (not for ever – don’t think you can get rid of me that easily!) to give you some much-needed space.

Don’t feel bad, it’s not your fault. And don’t get annoyed with me, because… well, because anger is a negative emotion and it’s not good for the soul. And don’t think for a moment this is forever, because it’s not. I’ll be there whenever you need me. In fact, I’ll probably pop up like a bad penny when you least expect it.

For now, though, just enjoy having your girl home with you again, where she’s supposed to be. Give her lots of love and hugs and try not to worry about the future (though knowing you as I do, it’s almost certainly pointless me saying that!).

See you soon!

Your forever friend

Clover xxx

P.S. Hope Kate liked her pressie!

Despite what Clover had written, my first response was resentment, mixed with disappointment. I felt that by her actions she’d soured what had ended up being a pretty perfect day. I felt annoyed with her too for putting me in a position where I’d now have to explain to Kate why Clover
wasn’t
here, when I’d told her earlier that she would be.

But no sooner had my bitterness started to bubble inside me than I started to see things from Clover’s point of view. I guess if our positions had been reversed I’d have felt like a gooseberry too. Or maybe not a gooseberry, but certainly I’d have felt an urge to stay on the periphery, to give my friend and his daughter some space and time to get properly reacquainted. And with that I realised that Clover wasn’t being selfish – that on the contrary, she was being
thoughtful
. Still, I felt bad for her. I felt as though I’d driven her out. I took out my mobile and called her, but got only her voicemail.

‘Hey, it’s me,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got back, and I’ve just got your note. I just wanted to say… um… that I understand where you’re coming from, and… well, that you’re welcome to come back any time – and I mean
any
time. Um… I also wanted to check that you were okay, so give me a call or send me a text to let me know where you’re staying.’ I hesitated. I wanted to tell her that if she was staying in a hotel, I’d happily pay for it, but it sounded mercenary; I didn’t want her to feel she was dependent on me. So in the end I said lamely, ‘So… yeah. Just let me know, okay. I’ll see you soon.’

I was about to say goodbye when I remembered something. ‘Oh, by the way, Jackie’s coming by tomorrow with Hope. I arranged it before I left this morning. I wanted Hope to meet Kate. To be honest, I can’t wait to see them together. It was something I used to wonder about back in 1895… whether they’d ever meet and become friends. Um… anyway, they’re coming at 1 p.m., for lunch. It would be great if you could be here too. Anyway… I’ll see you soon. Call me.’

She didn’t call me. She didn’t text me either. And she wasn’t at the house at 1 p.m. when I answered a knock on the door to find a tentatively smiling Jackie and a grinning Hope on the doorstep.

It was okay, though. I was disappointed she hadn’t been in touch, but I was focused mainly on Kate, and she’d been nothing but a delight. She’d woken early – earlier than me – and although I’d been worried she might come to in the morning disorientated and distressed to find herself in a strange bed, she’d instead woken up full of verve and energy. I’d been woken by a scream, which had caused me to leap out of bed and go haring down the corridor to her room, my heart thumping madly in my chest. When I threw the door open, though, I realised that the scream had been a squeal of delight. I found her sitting cross-legged on her bed, busily working away with her new felt tips at her
Toy Story
colouring book.

Even my dramatic entrance didn’t faze her. As I burst into her room she looked up, still grinning, and raised the colouring book above her head, scattering pens everywhere.

‘Look what I’ve got, Daddy!’

My heart was still hammering, but I tried to give the impression I hadn’t just raced up the corridor in panic. ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. ‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it!’ she cried. ‘I love it a million! It’s new, Daddy! There’s no colouring in it. It’s all empty.’

‘And what do you think of your new room?’ I asked. ‘Do you like that too?’

She glanced around, as if it had only just occurred to her to do so. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said, though she was clearly more interested in the book. ‘It’s awesome.’

And that was pretty much how the day continued to go. My concerns that Kate might be unsettled by her new surroundings turned out to be completely unfounded. She took everything in her stride. And like most five-year-olds it wasn’t the bigger picture that impressed her, it was the smaller details. She laughed uproariously at the waste disposal in the kitchen and took great delight in putting tea bags down it; she loved the colours of the Tiffany lamp in the front room, and the piano in the corner, which she plonked away tunelessly on for several gleeful minutes; she marvelled at a squirrel sitting on the branch of a tree outside the window of Clover’s room.

She didn’t ask about Clover at all, and I guessed she’d forgotten until Hope asked where she was during lunch, whereupon Kate, who’d become uncharacteristically shy since Jackie and Hope’s arrival, piped up, ‘She’s got purple hair, and she’s very pretty, but she’s not Daddy’s girlfriend, because my mummy is.’

It wasn’t only Kate who’d been shy since Jackie and Hope had entered the house. Both girls had been circling each other warily, occasionally casting one another bashful glances, as though
wanting
to make the first move, but uncertain how to do so. Now, though, Hope, who’d been nibbling a slice of pepperoni pizza (Kate and I had taken a trip to the local deli earlier that morning to buy provisions), slid a glance at Kate and asked, ‘Does your mummy live here?’

‘No,’ Kate replied. ‘She lives in hospital. She’s sick.’

‘But she’s getting better,’ I added.

Hope nodded, though barely acknowledged me. Her attention was now all on Kate. ‘I don’t have a mummy,’ she confided. ‘Not a real one. But Jackie’s going to be my new mummy.’

‘Do you have a daddy?’ asked Kate.

Hope shook her head. ‘Jackie’s husband, whose name is Steve, will be my new daddy. He’s nice. He’s got an earring, and he does funny card tricks. And Ed will be my new brother.’

‘I don’t have a brother. But I’ve got a sister called Candice. Not a real one, though. She’s a…’ She squinted at me.

‘Half-sister,’ I said.

‘Yeah, half-sister. That means she’s half my sister and half somebody else’s. But she lets me wear her lip gloss sometimes. It tastes like strawberries.’

And that was it. The beginning of what I hoped would become a long-lasting friendship. Not that I’d force it, of course. With Kate in London and Hope living in Hampshire with Jackie and her family, it was more likely the girls would remain only casual acquaintances; and it was perhaps even more likely that they’d lose touch completely in later years. But all the time I’d been in Victorian London, I’d harboured a desire that one day, in a happier future, the girls would meet and become friends. It was a hope that had comforted me, kept me going, through some of the darker days when Kate had been missing and Hope dangerously ill.

Seeing them together now, chatting away, becoming more relaxed in one another’s company, was a wish fulfilled. And not only that, but a wish that had once seemed so far away as to be virtually unattainable. I caught Jackie’s eye, and it was only when she gave me a big smile that I realised she must have been mirroring the joyful grin on my own face.

‘Did you know, Kate,’ I said, ‘that Hope used to live in this house too?’

Kate blinked at me, then looked at Hope in surprise. ‘Did you?’

Hope nodded. ‘When my arm was making me poorly. Before I went to the hospital.’

‘And did you know,’ I continued, ‘that Hope’s old room is
your
room now?’

‘Wowee,’ said Kate. ‘Wowee zowee.’

Hope giggled, which set Kate off too.

When the giggling had run its course, Kate asked, ‘Can I show Hope my room, Daddy?’

‘Course you can – when you’ve had your lunch. Now, who wants chocolate cake and ice cream?’

‘Me!’ both girls cried.

After lunch, when the kitchen had been cleared and the girls were playing upstairs, Jackie and I took our coffees into the front room and started talking about the mechanics of the adoption process. For me the conversation was something of a minefield. I’d already lied to Jackie about my profession, and about Hope’s origins, and now I had to not only sustain the lie, but bullshit madly about a process of which I had only a vague understanding.

I think I just about carried it off. I managed to be – in my mind, at least – authoritative without actually saying anything specific. I told Jackie that she and Steve would have various forms to fill in, and that they’d have to be ‘assessed’, but that as Hope’s origins were unknown that shouldn’t be a difficult process, and that I’d do all in my power to make things as quick and painless as possible.

I was confident I could use the heart to ease proceedings along, to retroactively fix whatever paperwork might be required to give Hope an identity, and prevent her from being an enigma that the authorities might ask questions about in future years.

‘Will we have to be interviewed?’ Jackie asked. ‘I’ve been reading up about it and it sounds as though prospective parents need to be interviewed and to attend various counselling sessions before—’

I held up my hand. ‘Ordinarily, yes, that
would
be the case. But as I say, because of Hope’s extraordinary circumstances I’m confident we can circumnavigate all that, especially if Clover and I deal with the paperwork from our end and provide you with references, which we’re more than happy to do. Look, don’t trouble yourself with it at all, Jackie. Just leave it up to us and we’ll—’

At which point the welcoming chimes of the front-door buzzer rang through the house.

I excused myself and hurried into the hall, wondering if this was Clover, turning up late. If it was, there’d be no time to ask how she was feeling, or where she’d been. I’d simply have to fill her in quickly on what Jackie and I had been talking about so that she didn’t contradict what I’d said. To be honest, I’d been on tenterhooks all through lunch, wondering whether Hope or Kate might say something that would tear apart the web of lies I’d spun for Jackie, and prompt her to raise some awkward questions. Both Clover and I had broached the subject with Hope in the past and impressed upon her how important it was that she not talk about her previous life. Although Hope seemed to understand the need for secrecy, I’d been afraid that in the heat of the moment she’d let something slip. Luckily, though, neither of the girls had said anything I couldn’t have explained away.