Chocolate Girls (39 page)

What’re you reading? She might ask. A book. What’s it about? Sometimes he would tell her, but more often he would just sigh and say, oh, you wouldn’t really want to know. And the trouble was, he was right, she didn’t really want to know what was in his book, she just wanted him to look up and talk to her.

Edie shifted in her seat. In the distance she saw a man in a cap striding across a field with a dog. She had decided to have a talk to Davey this weekend. They had organized the trip, she and Frances, partly to enable this conversation to happen. Frances thought it might be better done at a distance from home. And with Janet and Ruby away they felt rather desolate and wanted cheering up.

‘We’ll treat ourselves to a weekend at the seaside,’ Frances said. ‘I used to go to Aber when I was a girl – and I went with Robert and Janet once or twice. It’d be nice to see it again.’

They hadn’t heard from Ruby, of course, but there had been several letters from Janet. She wrote to them both with her usual wry cheerfulness, though Edie sensed the homesickness that lay behind her excitement at settling in a new place. She described landing on the west coast of Africa at Matadi, the long train jouney to Leopoldville and then a steamer ride up the Congo River to Stanleyville. The rest of the journey was a boneshaking three hundred miles by truck to the mission station.

‘What an arrival!’ she wrote in her first letter. ‘They had all the schoolchildren out to greet us, playing all sorts of bugles and drums and singing, all dressed up to the nines. My hand was shaken so many times I’m surprised it’s still attached to my arm!’

She loved the place, the tall palm trees and red roads, but in the next letter there was news of constant rain, of suffering from bites and skin infections. And Martin was of course kept very busy.

‘What I need to do first,’ Janet wrote bravely, ‘is work on learning the language. Then I shall feel much more at home.’

Edie hoped so, for her sake, though in a private part of her mind she hoped the venture wouldn’t work and they would come home. She wondered if Frances felt the same.

Within another hour the train eased its way into Aberystwyth station and they climbed out into its long, echoing space. Edie and David carried the luggage out to a taxi and they drove to their guesthouse, one of the tall, pastel-painted terraces along the front facing the sea. As the blue water came into view Frances said, ‘That’s a sight which always lifts the spirits, isn’t it?’ and Edie nodded, truly feeling lighter and happy on seeing the sea stretching away, flecked with white. Even David was smiling.

When they went inside and the landlady took their names, Edie suddenly saw their little party through her eyes and wondered what the busy, grey-haired woman made of them. Frances, stooped yet elegant, with her well modulated voice, Edie, petite, auburn-haired and freckled, and David, lanky, with his dark curling locks. What a funny lot we are, all thrown together Edie thought. She’ll think Frances is my mom and I’m Davey’s – when we don’t share a drop of blood in common!

The guesthouse was terribly clean and neat. Edie and Frances shared a room, with David next door. Edie flung the window open and breathed in deeply. The sun had come out and its light reflected blindingly off the sea. The fresh air and distant cries from the beach filled her with expectation and she felt like jumping up and down like a child. They must go straight down to the beach and paddle! And it was only Friday – they had two whole days ahead of them.

Frances, rolling down her stockings at the edge of the bed, looked hot and tired.

‘Are you all right?’ Edie asked, suddenly concerned.

‘Oh yes – just a little weary. But it’s lovely to be here. I was just thinking – I should bide your time with David. Don’t say anything today. Give him time to unwind as well.’

‘I will,’ Edie was saying, when there was a tap on the door. David’s head appeared.

‘I thought I’d go out,’ he said.

‘I’ll come too!’ Then Edie hesitated. Why was she so nervous of her own son these days? ‘If you don’t mind.’

David shrugged. ‘No. Course not.’

‘I’ll rest for a while first,’ Frances said. ‘You two go along.’

‘Don’t unpack, will you?’ Edie said. ‘I’ll do it when I get back.’

They passed the next twenty-four hours very companion-ably. Edie and David strolled along the beach that first evening, gently dodging the frothy edges of the waves which, on that languid summer day, barely seemed to have the vigour to break on the sand. They looked back at the attractive curving seafront, its hodge-podge of pink, pale blue and yellow houses. At the far end, up the cliff, ran the electric railway. Later the three of them ate a meal of fish together and as the sun went down, strolled out along the front and through some of the winding streets of the town. David walked slightly ahead of them, in his own world, but seeming relaxed and as if he was enjoying the place. They slept in beds with thick, well-stuffed eiderdowns and Edie woke the next morning to the sound of gulls. She stretched her limbs contentedly under the soft covers. If only they could come and live by the sea for ever!

Saturday was almost miraculously hot and fine, though with more of a breeze, and the waves curled and broke more briskly. They picnicked on the beach, and even went sea bathing. David ventured in first.

‘Come on, Mom!’ he called, jumping about with his arms outstretched, water up to his waist.

Edie watched him from the edge, suddenly longing to go in herself. She was a good swimmer from her training at Cadbury’s, and after all the good times there and at the Rowheath Lido she associated swimming with happiness. Running up the beach she changed under a towel, with Frances’s help, into her old black costume. It looked rather old-fashioned compared with the bikinis some of the young girls on the beach were wearing, but she didn’t care, so long as she could plunge into the water.

‘I’m coming!’ She ran joyfully to the sea. She heard David laughing and saw in his face that he was surprised by her sudden girlishness. Not liking to get into cold water slowly, she kept running, legs slowed by the water, until it was deep enough to plunge in head first. The cold water raked through her hair and she emerged laughing and screaming.

‘Oh my word – it’s cold! But it’s lovely!’

They swam back and forth, playing and splashing, and when they decided to get out Edie felt that she and David were more at one, closer than they had been for a long time. Not wanting to lose it, she said, ‘We’ll get dry, then go and get an ice cream, shall we?’ Eyeing Frances, she added. ‘And maybe go for a little walk?’

They dressed quickly, Edie in a print frock with shells on and David in his short-sleeved shirt and shorts. Unlike Edie, with her mother’s pale Irish complexion, David tanned easily and his skin already had a healthy glow. They fetched ice cream cornets, bringing one back for Frances, who looked nicely settled midway up the beach, and Edie and David set off to walk along the prom.

‘We must go on the railway before we go,’ Edie said. ‘You’d like that. And they say the view’s marvellous.’

They strolled along, away from the Electric Cliff Railway, pointing out boats, the antics of a dog barking frantically and running in and out of the sea. All the time Edie could feel the nervous fluttering in her stomach growing worse until she felt sick, and she gave David the last of her ice to finish. They reached the end of the prom and leaned against the railings, looking out over the sea. Edie was glad to see that the only other person close by was an elderly man with a small dog. For a few moments they stood listening to the waves breaking gently against the wall below.

‘Look, love—’ Edie turned towards him and her blue eyes met his dark ones. He could hear from her tone that something was different. ‘I need to talk to you. To tell you something.’

A flash of unease passed across his thin face, then he looked away, down at the water, curls falling over his forehead. She saw his hands grip the rail very tightly, and he was moving restlessly from one foot to the other. ‘What?’ he said.

At that moment, for all her attempts to rehearse the situation, Edie suddenly had no idea how to work up to what she needed to tell him. She had to remind herself to breathe.

‘Davey . . .’ She risked using his baby name and for once he didn’t protest. ‘You’re going to be sixteen soon. You’re nearly grown up. And there are things you need to know.’

He gave a gruff laugh. ‘You mean about girls?’

‘No – well, yes, of course you need to know about all that. But that’s not what I’m talking about . . .’ She took his arm for a moment. ‘This is going to be a shock and there’s nothing I can say that can prevent that. I’ve put it off long enough, God knows, but I’ve got to tell you.’

She had his full attention now.

Awkwardly, she began, ‘I love you, David, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ His tone was surly. She knew he was repelled by this opening up of emotions.

‘Well – you know your birthday’s November the nineteenth?’

He frowned. ‘Yes.’

‘Well . . .’ Another deep, trembling breath. Say it . . . ‘Davey, I don’t know if that is your birthday. I don’t know for sure when you were born.’ He didn’t speak, just stood very still. ‘It was the day you were born for me because it was the day I first saw you. You were given to me, if you like. As it happens, the person who brought you to me was Martin Ferris. He was driving an ambulance that night.’ She explained briefly about the rest centre, about his escape from the bombed house. ‘They think you must have been blown out through one of the windows. It was a miracle you weren’t killed, like everyone else in the house . . .’

David was shaking his head, as if to throw off her words. He stepped back out of her reach.

‘I don’t understand—’ His face creased. He was her little boy again, on the point of tears. ‘You mean you’re not my mom? Is that what you’re saying? So who is? Why’re you telling me . . .? I don’t want to know!’

‘Sweetheart . . .’ Oh, this was terrible, worse than she’d feared. Her legs felt liquid, no bones to hold them straight. She forced them to move towards him but he retreated again. ‘Your mother was killed when the house was bombed that night. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. They told me she was a refugee . . . She must have loved you so very much because she came to England to save you and herself.’ She could tell him now: they knew for certain. Frances had talked to a friend of Serena Bowles. ‘The thing is, Davey – she was German. We think she was a German Jew. She came here to escape from Adolf Hitler and all the terrible things his people did to the Jews.’

He was turning, walking away from her. Not caring who heard now, Edie followed, calling after him.

‘But when they brought you to me I loved you so much that I wanted to be your mother. And there was no one else – no one ever came to find you . . . Oh Davey, tell me I’m your mother . . . I’ve been a mother to you, haven’t I? Don’t go! Please don’t . . .’

But he was already striding off into the distance. She watched his tall, thin figure striding upright and tense as a wire, through the crowds along the seafront until he vanished from view.

Alone, she turned away to face the sea. He knew now. The magic circle she had built so carefully containing herself and him, devoted mother and son, was broken open. Gone. There might be other people now, to be let in. Even if those people were dead, David belonged to them by the ties of blood. And they might not all be dead. Somewhere, there might be another family for him . . . Leaning on the railing, her body began to shake with deep, wrenching sobs.

David felt he was going to explode. He strode along the prom, weaving in a fury between the leisurely Saturday afternoon trippers, wanting them all to vanish out of his way. What did they know about anything, ambling along, licking their ice creams! He was smouldering, bubbling up under the surface, almost ready to hit out at people who got in his way. Not knowing where he was heading, he walked on and on, needing to expend the burning energy which seemed to roar in his veins. It did not take him long to reach the far end of the prom, near the entrance to the electric railway. He stopped for a moment, then headed for the path which twisted up the steep hill in front of him. He didn’t want to ride, he needed to climb! He almost threw himself at the incline, gaining some small satisfaction from the hard pull on his muscles and the pumping of his heart and lungs. Some walkers coming down the other way looked at him in surprise as he tore upwards, hitting out at the tough coastal grasses and plants when they brushed against his shins.

I’m not your mother . . . I’m not your mother
. . . The words battered round and round in his brain. He kept seeing her face, his mother –
no, not his mother
– Edie’s face, wounded and desperate as he pulled away from her, and he felt some satisfaction in giving her pain in those moments, feeling as he did, so hurt and bewildered himself. When no one could see, he beat his fists against his chest like King Kong, trying at once to release and hurt himself.

David often felt he was near to exploding these days. He couldn’t understand his own moods. Sometimes he was full of ecstatic happiness, laughing with his friends, seeing or reading about things which interested him, or even sometimes just staring for hours out of the window. But there was also the sudden feeling of anger as if he might burst open with it, the upset and cringing embarrassment he felt at times. It was worst when that stupid Marleen kept looking at him with her cow eyes. They’d played together as children of course, but now he could always sense her watching him when the families were together, or sidling up to him, and he would take refuge behind a book, or leave the room. But this now was something far more extreme. In a few words his mother –
no, not mother
– had turned the basic things he thought he knew about himself upside down. It was as if the world was spinning and, dizzy and sick, he couldn’t stop it.