Coming Home (142 page)

‘Jess.’

‘Judith?’ She had to ask, because she couldn't be sure.

‘Yes. Judith.’

‘I thought I wouldn't know you.’

‘I knew I'd know you.’

She held out her arms. Jess hesitated for an instant longer, and then flung herself forward and into Judith's waiting embrace. She was so tall now that the top of her head reached Judith's chin, and holding her felt like grasping something very brittle, like a starved bird, or a twig. She buried her face into Jess's rough hair, and it smelt of disinfectant, and she felt Jess's skinny arms latch tight around her waist, and they were kissing each other, only this time there were no tears.

They were allowed their little time together, and, when they joined the three patient men who waited, were met with great kindness and tact. Jess was greeted in the most casual of tones, as though she made the momentous journey from Jakarta every day of her life. Bob did not even attempt to kiss her, simply rumpled her hair with a gentle hand. She didn't say much, and she didn't smile. But she was all right.

The group captain walked back with them to where the car waited in the shade of a palm-thatch awning. There, Bob turned to him.

‘I can't thank you enough.’

‘A pleasure, sir. A day I won't forget.’

And he didn't immediately go, but waited, seeing them off, saluting smartly as the car moved away, and standing waving until they passed through the guarded gates, and out onto the road, and could see him no longer.

‘Now —’ Bob settled himself comfortably and smiled down at his small niece — ‘Jess. You're
really
on your way.’

She sat between them, in the back of the huge car. Judith couldn't stop looking at her, wanting to touch her, smooth her hair. She seemed all right. There were three hideous purple scars on her right leg, each about the size of a half-crown, and you could see the bumps of her ribs beneath the thin cotton of the threadbare shirt. But she was all right. And her teeth were too big for her face, and her hair looked as though it had been chopped off with a carving knife. But she was all right. She was beautiful.

‘When you saw Uncle Bob, did you recognise him?’ Judith asked.

Jess shook her head. ‘No.’

Bob laughed. ‘How could she? How could you, Jess? You were only four. And we were together for such a little while. In Plymouth. And it was Christmas.’

‘I remember Christmas, but I don't remember
you.
I remember the silver tree, and someone called Hobbs. He used to make me dripping toast.’

‘You know something, Jess? You talk like a little Australian. I like it. It reminds me of some good cobbers of mine who were shipmates in the old days.’

‘Ruth was Australian.’ She pronounced it ‘Austrylian’.

‘Was she the girl who looked after you?’ Judith asked.

‘Yeah. She was great. In my bag I've got a letter for you from her. She wrote it yesterday. Do you want it now?’

‘No. Wait till we get back. I'll read it then.’

By now, they had left Ratmalana behind them, and were bowling back, north, along the wide road that led to the city. Jess gazed, with some interest, from the windows.

‘It's a bit like Singapore used to be.’

‘I wouldn't know. I was never there.’

‘Where exactly are we going?’

‘To my house,’ Bob told her. ‘Judith's been staying with me.’

‘Is it a big house?’

‘Big enough.’

‘Will I stay there?’

‘Of course.’

‘Will I have a room by myself?’

‘If that's what you'd like.’

Jess didn't reply to this. Judith said, ‘I've got two beds in my room. You could sleep with me if you'd rather.’

But Jess did not want to commit herself. ‘I'll think about it.’ And then, ‘Could I change places with you, so I can see out of the window?’

After that, she didn't say anything more, simply sat with her back to Bob and Judith, intent on all that passed them by. Countryside at first, little farms and bullock-carts and wells, and then the first of the houses, wayside shops and ramshackle filling stations. Finally, they entered the wide length of the Galle Road, and it was only when the car slowed and swung in through the gate that she spoke again.

‘There's a guard on the gate.’ She sounded a bit alarmed.

‘Yes. A sentry,’ Bob told her. ‘He's not there to stop us getting out, just to make certain no unwelcome guests come in.’

‘Is he your own sentry?’

‘Yes, my very own. And I have a gardener too, and a cook, and a butler. They're all my very own. The gardener has filled the house with flowers for you, and the cook has made a special lemon pudding for your dinner, and the butler, who is called Thomas, cannot wait to meet you…’ The car drew up, and stopped. ‘In fact, he is there, already, come to greet you.’

It was a great welcome. Thomas was already down the steps and opening the door of the car, hair freshly oiled, hibiscus blossom tucked behind his ear; beaming with joy and delight, gold teeth flashing, he helped Jess out, stroking her head with his huge dark hand. He gathered up her rucksack and led her indoors, with an arm about her thin shoulders, and generally carried on as though she were his own lost child, and he her loving father.

‘…you have had a good journey? On the aeroplane? You are hungry, yes? Thirsty? You would like refreshment…?’

But Jess, looking a bit overwhelmed, said that what she really wanted was to go to the lavatory, so Judith stepped in, retrieved the rucksack and led her down the passage to the quiet sanctuary of her own cool bedroom.

‘You mustn't mind Thomas.’

‘I didn't.’

‘He's been so excited, ever since we knew you were coming. The bathroom's in here…’

Jess stood in the open door, and simply looked at the shining marble, the polished taps, the gleaming white porcelain.

‘Is this all for you?’ she asked.

‘You and me.’

‘There were only two lavs in the whole of the camp at Asulu. They stank. Ruth used to clean them.’

‘That can't have been very nice.’ Which was painfully inadequate but the only comment she could think of.

‘No, it wasn't.’

‘Why don't you go and spend that penny, and then you'll feel better.’

Which Jess did, without bothering to close the door.

Presently, Judith heard the tap running and the splashing sounds of hands and face being washed.

‘I don't know which towel to use.’

‘Any towel. It doesn't matter.’

She sat at her dressing-table, and for want of anything else to do, began to comb her hair. Then Jess returned, and perched herself on the end of one of the beds. Through the mirror, their eyes met.

‘Better now?’

‘Yeah. I was really wanting to go.’

‘It's agony, isn't it? Have you made up your mind? Do you want to sleep in here with me?’

‘OK.’

‘I'll tell Thomas.’

‘I thought you'd look like Mummy, but you don't.’

‘I'm sorry.’

‘No. Just different. You're prettier. She never wore lipstick. When I got out of the aeroplane, I thought you mightn't be there to meet me. Ruth told me, if you weren't there, I was just to stay at the RAF station until you came.’

Judith laid down her comb, and turned to face Jess.

‘You know something? I was just the same. I kept telling myself that you weren't going to be on the plane. And then seeing you…it was such a relief.’

‘Yeah.’ Jess yawned. ‘Do you live here with Uncle Bob?’

‘No. Just staying. My job's in Trincomalee. That's the big Royal Naval harbour over on the east side of Ceylon.’

‘The rehabilitation officers at Asulu couldn't find anybody for me. We had to stay in the camp until they'd found out where you were.’

‘I can't imagine how they even begin to deal with such problems. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. What happened was that I was finally told that both Mummy and Dad had died. You too, for that matter. And I was given a bit of a holiday, it's called compassionate leave, and Bob asked me to come here.’

‘I've always known that Mummy was dead. Ever since the ship went down. But I only just got told about Dad. They'd had a message from the Red Cross in Singapore. He died in prison. He died in Changi.’

‘Yes, I know. I haven't really come to terms with it yet. I try not to think about it too much.’

‘Women died in Asulu, but they always had friends.’

‘I think Dad would have had friends too.’

‘Yeah.’ She looked at Judith. ‘Will we stay together? You and me?’

‘Yes. Together. No more being apart.’

‘Where shall we go? Where shall we live?’

‘Cornwall. To my house.’

‘When?’

‘I don't know, Jess. I don't know yet. But we'll fix something. Uncle Bob will help. Now —’ she looked at her watch. ‘It's half past six. This is when we usually shower and change, and then we sit out on the veranda for a bit. Have a drink. And then dinner. It's early tonight because of you. We thought you might be a bit tired, need your sleep.’

‘Is dinner just you and me and Uncle Bob?’

‘No. David Beatty will be there as well. He shares the house with Bob. He's a very nice man.’

‘In Singapore, Mummy always put on a special dress for dinner.’

‘We usually change, too. Not to be smart but to be cool and comfortable.’

‘I only have these clothes.’

‘I'll lend you something of mine. It should fit, you're almost as tall as I am now. Another pair of shorts, and perhaps a pretty shirt. And I've got a pair of red-and-gold thong sandals you can have.’

Jess stuck out her legs and looked with distaste at her feet. ‘These are horrible. I haven't worn shoes since forever. It was all they could find.’

‘Tomorrow we'll borrow Bob's car and go shopping. We'll buy a whole new wardrobe for you, and warm clothes too, for getting back to England. A thick pullover. And a raincoat. And proper shoes and warm socks.’

‘Can you buy those sort of clothes in Colombo? In Singapore nobody ever wore anything warm.’

‘Up in the mountains, it gets quite damp and chilly. That's where they grow the tea. Now, what do you want to do? Take a shower?’

‘I'd like to go and look at the garden.’

‘Why not take a shower first, and get changed, and then you'll feel a new girl? There's everything you need in the bathroom, and when you've finished, you can choose something to put on, and then go and find Bob, or explore the garden before it gets dark.’

‘I've got a toothbrush.’ Jess reached for her rucksack. She undid the straps, and from its depths produced the toothbrush, and a small bar of soap and a comb. Then something bundled in a washed-out rag, which, on being carefully unwrapped, was seen to be a little pipe, like a recorder, fashioned from a bamboo stalk.

‘What's that?’

‘One of the boys in the camp gave it to me. He made it himself. It plays proper tunes. Once, we had a concert. Ruth and one of the Dutch ladies organised it.’ She laid the pipe on the bed beside her and began to grope in her rucksack once more.

‘What happened to Golly?’

‘He was blown up on the ship,’ Jess told her in dispassionate tones. From the rucksack she withdrew a folded wad of paper, lined sheets torn from a yellow scratch-pad. She held it out. ‘This is for you. From Ruth.’

Judith took it. ‘It looks a very long letter. I'll keep it for later.’ And she put it on her dressing-table, weighted down with the heavy cut-glass bottle of L'Heure Bleu.

She showed Jess how to work the shower and then left her to it. When, after some time, she emerged again, she was naked, except for the smallest face towel which she had wrapped around her waist. Her wet hair stood up in spikes, and she was so thin that it was possible to count every rib. But her childish breasts had already started to swell, like little buds, and she no longer smelt of disinfectant, but Rose Geranium soap.

They spent some time choosing clothes, and finally decided on a pair of white tennis shorts and a blue Chinese silk shirt. When this had been buttoned, and the sleeves rolled up over Jess's spiky elbows, she took up her comb and flattened her damp hair.

‘You look perfect. Feel comfortable?’

‘Yeah. I'd forgotten about silk. Mummy used to wear silk dresses. Where will Uncle Bob be?’

‘On the veranda, I expect.’

‘I'm going to go and find him.’

‘You do that.’

It was good, for a moment, just to be alone, exhausted by emotion and suffused with gratitude, but still cool-headed. It was important to maintain this coolness, because that way she could rebuild her relationship with Jess, from the ground floor as it were. On Jess's side, the reunion at Ratmalana, the spontaneous display of physical affection had been triggered, not by remembered love but sheer relief that she had not been forgotten nor abandoned. Ten years was too long for love to survive and, in that time, too much had happened to Jess. But it would be all right if Judith was patient, took her time, did not intrude and carried on treating Jess as though she were already grown up. A contemporary. She was back. A beginning. Apparently normal, composed, and untraumatised. Go on from here.