Blue Moon (22 page)

‘It’s not true!’ she shouted. ‘You’ve made it all up. Pa
will
come back. He will come for Christmas. I know he will. He promised me a yellow bicycle. He’s not dead, I tell you, he’s not, he’s not!’

There was a sound by the door and Bea came into the room. Ruby stood up and looked helplessly at her mother. ‘She doesn’t believe Father is dead,’ she said.

‘He’s not dead,’ May shrieked. ‘Tell her, Mummy. Tell her!’ Ruby opened her mouth to say something, but May wasn’t finished yet. ‘Go away,’ she yelled. ‘Go away. I hate you. I hate you!’

Their mother took May into her arms and the little girl began to sob uncontrollably. Profoundly shocked and upset, Ruby left the room and went downstairs. Thankfully there was no one in the kitchen. Mr Coffey, as everyone called him, had already retired to his room. Ruby sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. Although she couldn’t make out what was being said, she could still hear May’s shrill voice and sobs, and her mother’s soothing tone of voice. Listening to them through the walls, Ruby suddenly felt a mixture of grief, pity and self-pity. A lot of self-pity … ‘He promised me a yellow bicycle,’ that’s what May had said. Why had Father been so different with May? She thought back to her own childhood and couldn’t remember getting one single present from her father. Oh yes, she had had presents for Christmas and birthdays, labelled ‘with love from Mummy and Daddy’, but she couldn’t remember one thing he’d given her himself. Why had he never loved her? She wasn’t imagining it and she wasn’t being
paranoid, but she’d finally found the courage to put the way she felt into words, even if it was only inside her own head … Her own father had never loved her. She knew he wasn’t a very nice man, but the difference between his relationship with her and Percy and his relationship with May was poles apart. He’d been just as horrible to Percy.

Ruby blew her nose and put her saturated handkerchief into the copper boiler, ready for washing. Getting a clean one from the drawer, she blew her nose again and sat down in the chair by the fire. Oh, Percy … she thought miserably. Where was he, and why didn’t he get in contact? When she and Edith had gone to the Sussex and Hants area HQ of the BUF that day, she had high hopes that they’d be able to track down Percy quite easily. She’d given as much detail as she could to the woman at the desk, a rather severe-looking person dressed all in black. At one point the woman stood to get something from a filing cabinet, and Ruby had been mildly surprised to see that she was wearing black slacks as well. Her close-cropped hair was held away from her face by a hair grip, and the only relief in her sober outfit was a raised pattern, knitted in dark green, on her black jumper and the bright-red lipstick she wore. Hardly the sort of outfit for a secretary, Ruby thought, although the woman had copied down meticulously everything she had said and promised to get in touch.

It was understandable that Percy had wanted to leave home, but why hadn’t he written to Mother? Ruby thought back to the time when Percy had met her from
work and told her he was leaving. She remembered he’d said that he had found out something about their father and wished he hadn’t. What could be so awful that Percy couldn’t bear to be under the same roof as him any more? And that he should lose contact with the rest of the family?

It was quieter upstairs now. She could still hear her mother’s muffled voice, but May was silent now.

In some respects, life without her father was a lot easier. Mr Coffey’s rent, when it came, would give them a reasonable income and, so far, they hadn’t struggled. The sale of Pa’s best clothes – the items she didn’t put into the suitcase – had brought in a few pennies, and people did what they could to help. She’d received some good tips at Warnes, and there was still Nelson’s boat and locker to clear out, if Percy didn’t come back. Some of the fishermen slipped them a fish or two from their catch. A couple of days ago someone had left some whiting on the doorstep, wrapped in newspaper; and last week they’d dined on fresh lobster.

Her mother’s sudden grief a few days after the inquest opening had surprised Ruby, but she guessed that Bea’s feelings for her father had run deeper than she’d thought. After all, they’d been together for eighteen years. Ruby wasn’t sure she could love someone who treated her the way her father had treated her mother. Of course, she hadn’t grieved for her father herself. If she were to cry, it would be for little May having to come to terms with the harsh things of life; or for Percy, driven away by her father’s unkindness. She might be tempted to cry
for herself, and an already wasted life; how different things might have been, had she been able to go abroad with Miss Russell. She glanced up at the two postcards on the mantelpiece. The second one had come a couple of days ago. The picture on the front was of a sun-kissed beach called Saint-Tropez. She had pronounced it ‘Saint Tropezz’ until Mr Coffey pointed out it actually sounded like ‘San Tropay’. It looked wonderful, with its little fishing boats and the white sand beyond, in front of ancient-looking creamy-coloured buildings. The message on the back was short and sweet:
As promised, dear Ruby. Best wishes, Imogen R
.

Ruby sighed. How fabulous it must be to just pick up a case and travel the world, but that pipe dream was dead and buried, alongside her father. She heard her mother’s footfall at the top of the stairs and pulled herself together again. Wiping her wet face, Ruby blew her nose heartily. It was no use moaning and groaning about things that could never be. She had to get on with it and do the best she could. Life wasn’t that bad. She had a job and some good pals. She had a nice home, and she still had her mother. Best of all, she had Jim. What more could a girl want?

As her mother came into the kitchen, Ruby jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, Mum. Fancy a cup of tea?’

Percy could hardly believe what he had just been told. Up until now his life had changed beyond all recognition. He had done his basic training and completed his
driving lessons. He was confident that, even if he had to take this newfangled driving test, he would pass with flying colours. He no longer felt like an outsider. The movement held to the belief that all men were equal and, for the first time in his life, Percy found that his opinion mattered. He loved the camaraderie, the friendships and the feeling that he was part of something much greater than himself. There were a few things that disturbed him, but they were tiny in comparison to the things he enjoyed.

The movement was growing all the time. They had started earlier in the year with a few thousand, but now the BUF numbered some 10,000 members and was still growing. Percy himself was seen as a trusted and fervent enthusiast. Although he had never been personally introduced to Mosley, he had been to dozens of rallies held in honour of the great man and had already travelled all over the country with his entourage. Right now he was in York, some 260 miles from Worthing. After hearing Mosley’s speeches it was easy to be filled with a passion for the country and to be willing to die for the cause, if necessary, so he wasn’t surprised by the adjutant’s call to the office.

‘We are pleased with your progress, Bateman,’ he began, ‘and would like to offer you promotion.’

Percy couldn’t help but let his chest swell with pride. ‘Pleased’, ‘progress’ and ‘promotion’ were unfamiliar words to Percy, in the normal course of events. What would his father say now?

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said smartly.

‘The major is thinking of sending you back down south,’ the adjutant went on. ‘Maybe to London or the Home Counties.’

‘I understand, sir,’ said Percy.

‘The major has mooted that you should receive a small stipend, and of course you will get your board and lodging. Shall I tell the major you have no other commitments, Bateman?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘No family?’

‘I have a father, mother and two younger sisters,’ said Percy. ‘They don’t know I’m here. I wanted to prove myself before I went back home, sir.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly done that, Bateman,’ said the adjutant. ‘Your father should be proud of you. You’ve done quite well, for one of the lower classes.’

His remark jarred and Percy felt a stab of anger. The pompous ass. He resisted the temptation to answer back, knowing that he and his mates called the adjutant a ‘chinless wonder’ behind his back.

The adjutant’s secretary sitting at another desk cleared her throat noisily.

‘What is it, Muriel?’ he asked.

‘There’s a communication from the Sussex and Hants area HQ concerning Mr Bateman,’ she said. ‘I have it here.’ She held up a piece of paper. ‘It seems that Mr Bateman’s family have been trying to contact him.’

‘I was aware that my father has been calling at HQ for me,’ said Percy, ‘but I felt it right to delay contact until after my training period, sir.’

The adjutant took the sheet of paper from her and looked at it. He held it at arm’s length, struggling to see without his glasses. Percy waited while the adjutant opened drawer after drawer in his desk, until he finally found his spectacles in the breast pocket of the jacket hanging on the back of the chair.

For the first time it occurred to Percy that it might be more than annoyance that had made his father so persistent. Had something happened? Why were the family so anxious to find him? Perhaps he should have kept in touch after all. It had been two months since he’d left home. He had supposed his mother would worry, but Ruby knew he wasn’t going to the ends of the earth; she knew he’d come back. Perhaps he should have posted that letter he’d written when he was living in the Black House, but somehow or other he’d never got round to it.

The adjutant put on his glasses. ‘Oh,’ he said brightly. ‘It seems your father is dead.’

Percy was appalled by the savagery of the words. He stared at the man, unable to speak.

The adjutant held the paper between the forefinger and thumb of both hands. ‘It appears he drowned at sea.’ His tone of voice was unfeeling, and more than a little bored.

‘Here, give me that!’ Percy snapped. He snatched the paper away.

‘Bateman,’ shouted the adjutant, ‘how dare you! That paper is an official communication.’

Percy read it quickly:

‘This letter is dated October 12th,’ he said angrily. ‘That’s more than two months ago. Why wasn’t I informed sooner?’

‘You’ve just said yourself,’ the adjutant said casually. ‘You said you didn’t want any contact with your family.’

‘But my father had just died,’ Percy spat out. ‘Surely anyone with a ha’p’orth of common sense would know that would be an exception.’

‘This movement is dedicated to the overthrow of an antiquated governmental system and useless institutions,’ the adjutant said haughtily. ‘We have better things to do that run after every Tom, Dick and Harry and their petty family affairs.’

‘Petty family affairs!’ Percy was beside himself with rage. ‘I should have been informed immediately.’ Behind him the secretary began typing furiously. ‘I am the head of the household now. My mother and sisters have been left to fend for themselves. I should have been there, damn you.’ Letting go of the paper, it fluttered to the floor. Percy turned on his heel and marched out of the room. As the door closed behind him, the adjutant turned to the secretary with a wounded look.

‘Well, really!’ he exclaimed. ‘They’ll all be wanting a bloody nursemaid next.’

*

It was almost time to go back to Warnes. As she roused herself from her afternoon nap, she heard his voice quite clearly. It came, as it always did, in that twilight moment between being sound asleep and waking. Her heart soared. She hadn’t heard from him for at least a fortnight and was beginning to feel that he’d left her again; she had even toyed with the idea of going back to Mrs Knight’s seances. It was only the thought of that hot, stuffy room and the strangers gathered around the table knowing her business that stopped her making an appointment.

When he came, she had learned the hard way that, if she tried to see him, he would leave. It was always a struggle to stay in the same position; she had to remain absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe, and yet be alert enough to hear him. If she opened her eyes, he would go as quickly as the night-time shadows flee when the dawn appears. She strained her ears, waiting for him to say her name – the pet name that only she and he knew. If he said that, she would know it was him. Then the voice came. It was only in her head, and yet it was clearer than ever before. She could scarcely take it in, but there was no mistaking that it was him.

‘Freddie, there is something else I want you to do.’

CHAPTER 17

It took May several days to stop being angry with Ruby. She would glare at her big sister or refuse to speak to her. Ruby found it very hurtful. It was as if May blamed her for their father’s death.

On the Saturday before Christmas, Ruby took May to Hubbard’s to see Father Christmas. He was in a pretty grotto on the second floor. They were met by an elf who, after taking Ruby’s one and sixpence, asked her how old May was. As Ruby told him, a second elf standing fairly close by took a present marked ‘6+’ from a pink tub, and May went inside.

They found themselves going down a little tented walkway flanked with pictures of characters from children’s picture books, such as Cinderella, Pip, Squeek and Wilfred, The Mad Hatter and Blackbeard, the famous pirate mentioned in
Moonfleet
. Eventually they were ushered into a room by a woman dressed as a fairy. Father Christmas was sitting on a red-and-gold throne surrounded by presents. As she approached, he leaned forward and took May onto his knee. ‘And what would you like for Christmas, my dear?’ he said kindly.

May gazed up at him in wonderment. ‘A yellow bicycle,’ she said, ‘like Pa promised me.’

Father Christmas glanced up at Ruby, who shook her head.

‘Well, my dear,’ said Father Christmas. ‘I’m afraid the elves forgot to make enough yellow bicycles this year. I’m terribly sorry, but if you could wait until next year, I’ll see what I can do.’