Coming Home (31 page)

Over lunch, which was chops and mint sauce and stewed apples, Aunt Louise showed some curious interest in the visit that Judith had paid to the Carey-Lewises. ‘I've never been there, but I hear the garden is fairly spectacular.’

‘Yes, it is, and full of lovely things. There are hydrangeas all the way up the drive. And camellias and things. And they've got their own little beach.’

‘What's the child like?’

‘Loveday? She's wicked, but nobody seems to mind much. She's got a terribly nice nanny called Mary who does all the ironing.’

‘You'll be getting ideas above your station.’

‘No, I won't. It was different, but it was nice.’

‘What did you think of Mrs Carey-Lewis? Is she really as flighty as her reputation?’

‘Has she got a reputation?’

‘Very much so. Always off to London, or little trips to the south of France. And rather raffish chums.’

Judith thought of Tommy Mortimer, and decided, once again, that it would be prudent not even to mention his name. She said instead, ‘There was a terribly nice man there called Jeremy Wells. He's a doctor, and Mummy and I met him on the train when we came back from Plymouth. We shared a compartment. He wasn't staying at Nancherrow. He was just there for the day.’

‘Jeremy Wells?’

‘Do you know him?’

‘No, but everybody knows about Jeremy because of his sporting prowess. He captains the Cornish Rugby team, and played for Cambridge. He scored three tries in his last Varsity match. I remember reading about it in the newspaper. The hero of the day.’

‘He plays cricket too. Colonel Carey-Lewis told me.’

‘Well, you have been hobnobbing with celebrities! I hope you won't find it too dull here.’

‘I'm really looking forward to buying the bicycle.’

‘We'll do that this afternoon. I've been told that Pitway's is the best shop in Porthkerris, so we'll go there. And Mr Pitway has a van, so we'll get him to deliver it here just as soon as he can. I don't think you should ride it home on the main road until you've got the hang of it. You can practise around the village, and learn to stick your hand out when you're turning a corner. I don't want to have to write to your mother and tell her that you've ended your days under the wheel of a lorry.’

She laughed as though this were a great joke, and Judith laughed too, although she didn't think it was particularly funny.

‘As for the rest of the weekend, let's hope it stops raining, so you can be out and about. On Sunday, I'm afraid I have to abandon you, as I'm playing golf all day. As well, Edna and Hilda are going home for some celebration, an old aunt's eightieth birthday, and they have to be there to help with the tea. So you'll be on your own, but I'm sure you'll be able to amuse yourself.’

The prospect of a day on her own was not unattractive, but it would be even more fun spending the empty Sunday with the Warren family. She said, ‘I thought I might telephone Heather, if you didn't mind. Perhaps I could go there on Sunday. Or Heather come to me.’

‘The little Warren girl? What a good idea. I'll leave it to you. It's good to keep up with old friends. Now, have some more apple? No? Well then, ring for Hilda to come and clear the table and then I'll have my cup of coffee and we'll leave for Porthkerris about two-thirty. You'll be ready?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She could hardly wait.

The rain, relentless, continued. Through it, they drove to Porthkerris, which looked its most gloomy, with gutters running with water, and the harbour filled with sullen grey sea. Pitway's Bicycle Shop stood at the bottom of the hill, and Aunt Louise parked the Rover up a neighbouring alley, and they went inside. The shop smelt of rubber and oil and new leather, and there were bicycles everywhere, ranging from toddlers' trundle toys to racing bikes with dashing drop handlebars, which Judith considered a bit of a swizz, because pedalling along with your head between your knees and with nothing to look at but the road surely destroyed the whole object of the exercise.

Mr Pitway appeared, in his khaki overall, and the great decision commenced. In the end, they all agreed on a Raleigh, dark green and with a black saddle. It had a chain-guard, and three speeds, and good fat rubber handgrips, and its own pump for blowing up the tyres, and a little bag at the back of the saddle with tools and a small can of oil. It cost exactly five pounds, and Aunt Louise gallantly took out her wallet and peeled out the notes.

‘Now, Mr Pitway, I want this delivered as soon as possible. How about this afternoon?’

‘Well, I'm alone in the shop just now…’

‘Rubbish. You can get your wife to hold the fort for half an hour. Just pop it in your van and bring it over. Windyridge, Penmarron.’

‘Yes, I know where you are, but—’

‘Splendid. That's all fixed. See you about four o'clock. We'll be looking out for you.’ She was already half-way out of the door. ‘And thank you for your help.’

‘Thank you,’ said the hapless Mr Pitway, ‘for your custom.’

He kept his word, clearly intimidated by Aunt Louise. The afternoon had improved slightly, and although the skies were still grey, and the world sodden and dripping, the rain, obligingly, had stopped, and when, at five to four, the blue van turned in at the gates of Windyridge, Judith, who had been watching for its arrival, was able to rush out and help Mr Pitway unload the precious cargo. Aunt Louise, who had also heard the car, followed hard on her heels, just to make sure that all was in order and the bicycle had not been marked or damaged in any way during its short journey. For once she could find no fault. She thanked Mr Pitway and gave him half a crown for his trouble and to pay for the petrol. He received his pourboire in an embarrassed but grateful fashion, waited until Judith had mounted the bike and done a couple of turns around the path which circled the lawn, and then touched his cap, got into his van and drove away.

‘Well,’ said Aunt Louise. ‘And how's that?’

‘It's absolutely perfect. Oh, thank you, Aunt Louise.’ Hanging onto the handlebars, she planted a kiss on Aunt Louise's unreceptive cheek. ‘It's the most lovely bike and the most lovely present. I'll really look after it, and it's the best thing I've
ever
had.’

‘Always remember to put it in the garage, and never leave it out in the rain.’

‘Oh, I won't. I never will. I'm going for a ride now. Round the village.’

‘You know how the brakes work?’

‘I know how everything works.’

‘Off you go then. Enjoy yourself.’

And with that, she went indoors to her knitting, her afternoon tea, her novel.

It was heaven, like flying. Spinning down the hill, and cycling through the village, seeing again all the small remembered shops and the familiar cottages of the main street. She sailed past the post office and the pub, passed the turning which led to the Vicarage, and then free-wheeled, at tremendous speed, down the wooded hill which led to the far boundaries of the estuary, where the causeway curved to the far side of the water. She took the lane that circled the violet farm and cycled on, splashing through puddles, along the bumpy track that ran parallel to the little railway line. It was always sheltered here, and the south-facing banks were starred with wild primroses. It didn't matter about the dismal grey skies. The air was sweet and smelt of damp earth, and the fat tyres of the bicycle skimmed over the bumps and puddles, and she was on her own and totally free, and filled with endless energy, as though, if asked, she could have travelled to the ends of the earth. She felt like singing, and there was nobody about to hear, so she sang.

The winds are blowing

The snows are snowing

But I can weather the storm…

The end of the lane and the first of the houses. The big important houses of Penmarron, with their shadowed secret gardens enclosed by high stone walls. Pine trees towered overhead, noisy with cawing rooks. The railway station. Riverview House.

She put on the brakes and stopped, steadying herself with a foot on the ground. She had not meant to come, but it was as though the bicycle had found its own way, like a trusty horse, and brought her to her old home, without any conscious volition on her own part. She stared up at the house, and it was all right. Poignant, but not unbearably so. The garden looked cared for and the early narcissi were flowering in the orchard. And somebody had hung a child's swing on one of the apple trees. It was good to know that children lived there.

After a bit, she rode on, under the trees and past the spring where fresh water flowed into a pool that had always been a good place to catch tadpoles and frogs. The track leaned upwards and came out on the main road by the church. For a moment she thought of going on down to the beach and calling on Mr Willis, but it was getting late, the afternoon was fading, and she had no lights on the bicycle. Next time she went to Porthkerris, she would buy a pair. A big headlight and a red tail-light. But right now it was time to head for home.

The road ran uphill with fields on one side and the golf links on the other. Pedalling furiously, she soon discovered that it was much steeper than she had ever imagined, and even with her three-speed gear, finally ran out of puff. Alongside the club house, she gave up and dismounted, resigning herself to walking the rest of the way and pushing the bicycle. It occurred to her that perhaps this was why they were called push-bikes…

‘Hello, there!’ Judith stopped and turned to see who had called. A man was coming through the club-house gate, and down the steps which led to the road. He was dressed for golf, in baggy plus-fours and a yellow pullover, and wore a tweed cap at a rakish angle, which gave him a faintly suspect appearance, like an untrustworthy bookmaker. ‘You must be Judith, or I'm muchly mistaken.’

‘Yes, I am,’ said Judith, without any idea who he could be.

‘Your aunt told me you'd be here for the weekend. Short leave from school.’ He had a florid complexion and a moustache and a pair of bright and knowing eyes. ‘You don't know me, because we've never met. Colonel Fawcett. Billy Fawcett. Old friend of Louise's from India.
Now,
I'm her next-door neighbour.’

Recognition dawned. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. She told Mummy and me about you. You were a friend of Uncle Jack's.’

‘That's right. Same regiment, up on the North-West Frontier.’ He eyed the bicycle. ‘What's this you've got?’

‘It's my new bike. Aunt Louise bought it for me today. It's got a three-speed, but I still can't get it up the hill, so I've got to push it.’

At the gateway of Windyridge she paused again, expecting him to say his goodbyes and carry on, but he did not appear anxious to end their encounter. It was now nearly dark, and from beyond Aunt Louise's drawn sitting-room curtains, light shone out into the dusk, and Colonel Fawcett was clearly tempted by this tacit invitation. Hesitating, he made great play of pushing back the cuff of his pullover and squinting at the face of his wristwatch.

‘Quarter past five. Well, I've a few moments to spare, so why don't I come in with you and pay my respects to Louise? Haven't seen her for a day or two…’

Judith could think up no objection to this, and anyway did not suppose that Aunt Louise would mind. And so, together, they went through the gate and up the gravelled path.

At the front door, ‘I have to put my bicycle in the garage,’ she told him.

‘Don't worry. I'll let myself in.’