Coming Home (147 page)

‘We can't go into the house. Riverview, I mean, because other people live there now.’ Uninterrupted, and with all of them listening with kindly interest, Jess's sudden attack of shyness died a natural death. ‘But we thought we could look at it. And go and see…’ But she had forgotten the name. Once more, she turned to Judith.

‘Mrs Berry,’ Judith reminded her. ‘In the village shop. She used to give you fruit gums. And maybe Mr Willis, down at the ferry. Only he was
my
friend. I don't think he ever knew Jess.’

The Colonel said, ‘You'll like Porthkerris, Jess. Full of boats and artists and funny little streets.’

‘And the Warrens,’ Loveday chimed in. ‘You must take Jess to see the Warrens, Judith. Mrs Warren would be frightfully hurt if you went to Porthkerris and didn't go and eat an enormous tea with her.’

‘What's happened to Heather? I haven't heard from her in years. Is she still in that horrible spy place?’

‘No, she's gone to America, on some mission with her boss at the Foreign Office. Last we heard of her, she was in Washington.’

‘Heavens above. She might have let me know.’

Loveday was cutting the cake. ‘Who wants a bit of fruit-cake?’

Jess, having finished her sandwich, took an enormous slice. She said, ‘I don't know who Heather is.’

‘She was a friend of ours, in the old days,’ Loveday told her. ‘Judith and I used to go and stay with her and her family. The summer before the war, and the sun never stopped shining, and we spent all the time on the beach. Judith had just got her car, and we felt
frightfully
grown up.’

‘Was she at school with you?’ Jess asked.

‘No. She was at another school. We were at St Ursula's.’

Jess said, ‘Judith thinks I should go there.’

‘Another little novice for the nunnery.’

‘Oh,
Loveday.
’ Sitting at the end of the table, behind her huge teapot, Mary sounded quite cross. ‘You really vex me when you say silly things like that. And to Jess, too. St Ursula's is a lovely school. You were very happy there. Made enough fuss to be allowed to go there, you did.’

‘Oh, but Mary, the uniforms! And all those potty rules.’

Jess was beginning to look a bit worried. Observing this, the Colonel laid his hand upon her own. He said, ‘Don't take any notice of that silly daughter of mine. It's an excellent school, and Miss Catto is a splendid lady. She needed to be to cope with Loveday.’

‘Thanks you, Pops,
very
much.’

‘Anyway’ — Diana held out her cup for Mary to refill — ‘they don't wear uniforms any more. The war put an end to that. And there was another girls' school, from Kent, evacuated onto them, so the uniforms were different anyway. And they had to build Nissen huts all over the garden, because there weren't enough classrooms for all the girls.’

‘Don't they wear any sort of uniform now?’ Judith asked.

‘Just school-ties.’

‘What a relief. I shall never forget that endless clothes list poor Mummy had to go and shop with.’

‘In Medways, darling. That was the first time we ever saw you. All of us, buying horrible school uniforms. Doesn't that seem an age ago?’

‘It is an age ago,’ said Loveday abruptly. And then, ‘All right, Nat. All right. You can have your chocolate biscuit now.’

By the time tea was finished, the dank October afternoon had faded into darkness. It was overcast now, and the rain falling steadily, yet nobody stood to go and draw the heavy curtains.

‘Such bliss,’ said Diana. ‘No black-out. I still haven't got used to the freedom of it. Being able to sit indoors and watch the twilight, and not to have to shut it all away. It took us so long to make all the black-out curtains and hang them up, and it only took us about three days to tear them all down again. Mary, don't start clattering about with the teacups, we'll wash them up. Take Nat up to the nursery and give Loveday a few moments to herself.’ She turned to Jess. ‘Perhaps Jess would like to go too. Not because we want to get rid of you, darling, but because there are lots of goodies up there you might like to look at. Books and such, and jigsaw puzzles and rather precious doll's-house furniture. But don't let Nat get his hands on that.’ Jess hesitated. Diana smiled. ‘Only if you want,’ she finished.

‘Yes, I'd like to go.’

Mary wiped Nat's face with a napkin. ‘Nat doesn't like doll's-house furniture. He likes the bricks, and the little tractors, don't you, my duck?’

She got to her feet and heaved him up into her arms. ‘Come on, Jess, we'll see what we can find for you.’

When they had gone, it was all rather peaceful. Diana emptied the last trickle of the teapot into her cup, and then lit a cigarette. ‘What a sweet girl, Judith. You should be proud of her.’

‘I am.’

‘So confident.’

‘It's deceptive. She's still feeling her way.’

The Colonel had stood, to fetch from the sideboard an ashtray for his wife. He set it down on the table beside her, and she looked up at him and smiled her thanks. ‘No tears? No nightmares? No ill effects?’

‘I don't think so.’

‘Perhaps a tiny check-over by a doctor might be a good idea. Though I must say, she looks healthy enough to me. Talking of which, old Dr Wells popped in the other day to have a look at Nat who was coughing and snivelling, and Mary and Loveday were a bit worried about him. Nothing wrong, just a chesty cold. But he did say that Jeremy's hoping to get some leave soon, and come home for a bit. He hasn't had any leave for about two years. He's been stuck in the Med. all that time. Now, where…?’

‘Malta,’ said the Colonel.

‘I couldn't remember if it was Malta or Gibraltar. I knew it was
somewhere
.’

Judith said, ‘I should think he'd be demobbed pretty soon,’ and was delighted with the casualness of her voice. ‘Considering the fact that he was one of the very first to join up.’

Loveday absently helped herself to another slice of cake. ‘I can't see him settling down in Truro after all that jolly bobbing about on the high seas.’

‘I can,’ said Diana. ‘The perfect country GP with a dog in the back of his car. You never ran into him, Judith?’

‘No. I always thought he might come out East with the Fleet. Everybody one knew turned up in Trincomalee sooner or later. But he never did.’

‘
I
always thought he'd get married. Perhaps Malta doesn't have much local talent.’ She yawned, and sat back in her chair, and surveyed the crumby shambles of the tea-table. ‘I suppose we'd better get rid of this, and go and wash it up.’

‘Don't worry, Mummy,’ Loveday told her, through cake crumbs. ‘Judith and I will do it together. We'll be two little schoolfriends, earning Brownie points.’

‘What happened to Hetty?’ Judith asked.

‘Oh, she finally escaped Mrs Nettlebed's clutches and went off to do her war-work. Ward maid in a hospital in Plymouth. Poor Hetty. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. Will you really deal with all this, my pets? It's actually past six, and we always ring Athena on Sunday evenings…’

‘Send her my love.’

‘We'll do that.’

The kitchen, large and old-fashioned as ever, and a bit warmer than the rest of the house, felt strangely empty without the Nettlebeds, and Hetty clashing about in the scullery.

‘Who scours the saucepans now?’ Judith asked, tying an apron around her waist, and filling the old clay sink with scalding water from the brass tap.

‘Mrs Nettlebed, I suppose. Or Mary. Certainly not my mother.’

‘Does Nettlebed still grow the vegetables?’

‘He and Mr Mudge together. We all eat masses of vegetables, because there's not much else. And although the house is empty this weekend, there seem to be just as many guests as ever; Mummy adopted endless service people who happened to be stationed around and about, and they still trickle in and out. I'm afraid when they all shut up shop and leave, she's really going to miss all the buzz and company.’

‘How about Tommy Mortimer?’

‘Oh, he still pops down from London from time to time. With various other old chums. Keeps Mummy amused. When Athena and Clementina left, it was awful for her.’

Judith squirted some washing-up liquid into the water, and stirred it up into bubbles, and then put in the first pile of plates.

She said, ‘How's Walter?’

‘He's all right.’

‘How's the farm going?’

‘Fine.’

‘And Mr Mudge?’

‘He's still working, but he's getting a bit beyond it now.’

‘What happens when he retires?’

‘I dunno. I suppose Walter and I move into the farmhouse. We'll swap houses or something. I don't know.’

Her answers were all so laconic, so disinterested that Judith's heart chilled. She said, ‘What do you do when he's
not
working? I mean, do you go to the cinema ever, or picnics, or down to the pub?’

‘I used to go to the pub sometimes, but I can't now I've got Nat. I can always leave him with Mrs Mudge but, to be truthful, I'm not all that keen on going to pubs. So Walter goes alone.’

‘Oh,
Loveday
.’

‘What's that gloomy voice for?’

‘It doesn't sound much fun.’

‘It's OK. Sometimes we have friends in for supper, or something. Except that I'm not much of a cook.’

‘What about the horses? Do you still ride together?’

‘Not much. I sold Fleet, and I never got around to getting another horse. And there isn't a Hunt now, because all the hounds were put down at the beginning of the war.’

‘Now it's over, perhaps they'll start it up again.’

‘Yes. Perhaps.’

She had found a tea-towel and was drying the plates and cups, very slowly, one at a time, and then setting them down in piles on the scullery table.

‘Are you happy, Loveday?’

Loveday took another plate out of the rack. ‘Who was it who said that marriage was a summer birdcage, set out in a garden? And all the birds of the air wanted to get in, and all the caged birds wanted to get out?’

‘I don't know.’

‘You're a bird of the air. Free. You can fly anywhere.’

‘I can't. I've got Jess.’

‘Not wanting to get into the summer birdcage?’

‘No.’

‘No lovelorn sailor? I can't believe it. Don't tell me you're still in love with Edward?’

‘Edward's been dead for years.’

‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.’

‘I don't mind you saying it. He was your brother.’

Loveday wiped another couple of plates. ‘I always thought that Jeremy was in love with you.’

Judith scraped at a stubborn crumb of sticky fruit-cake. ‘I think you were probably wrong.’

‘Did you keep in touch? Did you write letters to each other?’

‘No. The last time I saw him was in London at the beginning of 1942. Just before Singapore. I haven't seen him, nor heard from him since.’

‘Did you have a row?’

‘No. We didn't have a row. I suppose we just tacitly decided to go our separate ways.’

‘I wonder why he never got married. He's frightfully old now. He must be thirty-seven. I suppose when he gets back, his father will retire, and then Jeremy will be responsible for all the neighbourhood boils and bunions.’

‘That's what he always wanted.’

The last plate, and then the teapot. Judith pulled out the plug and watched the suds seep away.

‘That's the lot.’ She unknotted the ties of the apron and hung it back on its hook, and then turned, and stood leaning against the edge of the sink.

‘I'm sorry.’ Loveday took the plate from the rack and dried it.

Judith frowned. ‘What about?’

‘Saying that about Edward. I say such horrid things to people these days, and I don't mean to.’ She put the plate on the top of the stack. ‘You
will
come and see me, won't you? At Lidgey. You never saw my funny little house when it was finished. And I love the farm and the animals. And I love Nat too, even though he's such a holy terror.’ She pushed back the ragged cuff of her sweater and looked at her watch. ‘God Almighty, I must go. My kitchen's a mess, and I've got to get Walter's tea, and get Nat to bed…’