Dragon Land (7 page)

‘Margaret said it would make the holiday seem longer if we left on the Saturday evening. That way we can have the whole day on Sunday instead of travelling and arriving in the afternoon.’

The excitement was contagious, and I was almost bursting with anticipation about the holiday. There had been one little incident earlier in the week when Margaret had tried to persuade Granny to come with us. I was looking at Mum when she said this and I was sure she was holding her breath.

Granny thanked Margaret and said, ‘I would have loved to come, but I have an important meeting at the church on Sunday.’

I was worried when Mum visibly looked relieved again; in fact, she gave a huge sigh before covering her relief with a small cough.

Granny glanced over at her with a shrewd look. ‘I hope you’re not getting a cold, Beth, as it would be awful if you missed out on this holiday.’

Mum assured her it was just a slight tickle in her throat and nothing that a drink of water wouldn’t cure.

Margaret looked nonplussed by this small exchange, but she replied brightly, ‘Well, Mary, you know you’re welcome to come later in the week if you want to.’

Later, as we lay in bed, Mum said, ‘I would love your granny to come and spend some time with us, Lizzie, but I do want it to be the three of us too. I hope I didn’t give the impression I didn’t want her to be with us.’

Mum had our suitcases packed by the Friday night. They sat in the hall and by the way Mum glanced at them with a smile every time she passed them, anyone would have thought they were icons of pleasure.

Thankfully the weather turned sunny and warm by the time we were ready to leave. Granny was standing on the landing as we hurried down the stairs on Saturday and on impulse I turned around and gave her a big hug.

‘I wish you were coming with us,’ I whispered.

She held me close and smiled. ‘I’ll maybe come with you another time. Now, away you go and have a great time on the beach.’ She smoothed down my summer frock as if it was creased. ‘Now you’ve got your shilling in your purse, so treat yourself to some ice cream.’

I held up my little purse that hung from a cord around my neck. ‘Yes, I’ve got it here, Granny, and I’ll see you next week.’

For some reason, I felt sad at leaving her behind, but as soon as we reached the East Station, where the train was due to depart for our destination, the feeling passed and once again anticipation took over. The platform was quiet, as most of the daily passengers or day trippers had long departed for home and we had a carriage all to ourselves. Mum let me sit by the window and I was engrossed by all the passing scenery. The sun was setting and long shadows began to appear as we swept past houses and fields until I finally got my first glimpse of the river.

White Sands Hotel was just as the brochure had described: a white-painted two-storey building set in a large garden that overlooked the sea. As we entered the reception area, a large grandfather clock chimed eight o’clock and a young woman smiled at us from behind a miniscule desk. Aunt Margaret signed the register, and then a young lad took our suitcases up to the two rooms that had been booked. Mum and I were to share one while Margaret had the small single room next to us. I had never been in a hotel before and I gazed out of the window with pleasure at the view of the sea.

Aunt Margaret had booked a meal for us, and after a quick wash in the bathroom along the corridor, we set off down the carpeted stairs to the dining room, which also had a sea view. The room was quiet, as most of the guests had already dined, and I felt so important as a large cardboard menu was placed in my hands by the waitress, who wore a simple black dress with a white frilly apron.

We all settled for fish in a white sauce, which was called sole mornay, with tomato soup to start and ice cream with peaches as a pudding. Mum and Margaret had coffee in the lounge while I had an orange squash. A three-piece band was playing a selection of popular tunes as the lady pianist sang in a lovely soprano voice. I felt so grown up and smart in this new setting. I was pleased to see Mum looking so relaxed, her foot tapping out the rhythm. At one point she even began to sing quietly along with the soprano and Aunt Margaret smiled.

At ten thirty we made our way upstairs, and I was soon tucked up in bed with the sound of the sea coming through the open window. Mum moved around the room, getting ready for bed, and I was pleased that she was still humming one of the songs that had been played earlier.

The next morning, after a breakfast served by the same waitress, we set off for the beach. I was wearing my swimsuit under my new dress and although the sun was warm, the water was very cold when I ventured in for a swim. I let the cold waves wash over me and after a few minutes I began to enjoy myself. There was a rock out at sea, maybe a hundred yards or so from the beach, and I considered swimming out to it, but Mum suddenly called out, ‘Don’t go too far out, Lizzie. Stay near the shore.’

I waved and lay on my back, looking up at the sky, which was like a blue arc above my head.

I knew Mum hated the water and she could never understand why my father had enjoyed his swimming so much. Obviously I had inherited his love of being suspended between the earth and the air with just water keeping me afloat.

Half an hour later I was ready to come ashore and I quickly made my way to where Mum and Margaret had placed their deckchairs in a sheltered spot.

Margaret was telling Mum about her search for a house. ‘Gerald has given me an idea of the kind of place he wants and I have an appointment with a local solicitor this afternoon to see what’s on offer.’

Mum was curious. ‘Why is Gerald so keen to have a house by the sea, Margaret?’

‘His grandmother had a house in Berwick and he spent a lot of his childhood there, but he’s always fancied living in this area.’

Mum looked a bit dubious. ‘Will you both be happy when he retires? You have to admit you’ve had an adventurous life living in exotic places and you might find it dull living in a small town.’

Margaret laughed. ‘Oh, it’s not all that glamorous, Beth. Yes, we’ve seen a bit of the world, but do you remember what your father always said? “East, west, hame’s best.”’

Mum nodded and she looked sad. ‘Yes, I remember him saying it. He was always full of those pithy sayings.’ She handed me a large towel. ‘Hurry up and get that wet swimsuit off, Lizzie, because your arms and legs are turning blue.’

This was an exaggeration, but I wasn’t happy having to strip off my wet suit in front of Margaret and another two people who were walking along the beach. I picked up the towel and my clothes.

‘I’ll change in the hotel if that’s all right,’ I said, looking at my aunt.

‘That’s a good idea, Lizzie,’ she replied.

As I hurried up the beach, I heard Mum say that I was becoming more modest as I got older. Then she called out, ‘Put your wet swimsuit in the wash hand basin.’

Margaret said this was a natural feeling. ‘It took me months before I could get undressed in front of Gerald after we were married. He used to laugh at me.’

It was Mum’s turn to laugh. ‘Margaret, I don’t believe a word of it.’

‘You may well scoff, Beth, but it’s true.’

I tried to visualise Margaret struggling to get undressed for bed, but couldn’t.

Our room in the hotel was cosy from the sun shining through the window, and I was grateful for its warmth. I dressed quickly, combed my wet hair and hurried back to the beach, as I didn’t want to miss a moment of this holiday.

The couple who had been walking on the sand had disappeared as I made my way back to the deckchairs. As I approached, I heard Mum’s voice. It wasn’t her usual tone but more like a loud whisper.

‘Can I tell you a secret, Margaret?’

I saw my aunt turn slightly in her seat and look at Mum. ‘Of course you can, Beth. Do you remember when you were young how you always told me about things that worried you?’

‘Yes, I do remember, and that’s why I have to ask you about something.’ Mum hesitated, but she didn’t look round to see if anyone was about.

There were clumps of rough grass growing on the sand, and I sat quietly down behind one clump, feeling so guilty at eavesdropping but unable to move away. It was the strangest feeling, like I was powerless to do anything but sit. It seemed ages until Mum spoke again: I thought she had decided to abandon any more conversation and that they had both fallen asleep in the warm sun. I was almost on my feet when she said, ‘Do you know anything about spiritualism, Margaret?’

Margaret seemed to be confused. ‘Do you mean seances or fortune telling, Beth?’

‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a spiritualist medium who comes to a hall and gives messages from the dead.’

Margaret said she knew about things like that. ‘In South America there are lots of people who believe in messages from beyond the grave, but I’ve never had any experience of it myself.’

‘Milly, my friend at work, and her mother go to this hall in Lochee where they have these spiritualist meetings and I’ve been going with them. Milly’s fiancé and her brother were both in the Black Watch and were killed at Loos. They hope to get a message from them, as they are grief-stricken over the deaths, especially Milly’s mother, who has never recovered from the shock of her son’s death. They asked me to go with them in case Peter wanted to contact me. I’ve told them he isn’t dead but being held as a prisoner or he’s been badly injured and he’s in some hospital, but they say that can’t be true as he would have been home by now.’

As I sat in the shelter of the dunes, I was saddened by Mum’s revelations. I had overheard Granny tell Mrs Mulholland one day that Mum was tearing herself apart with all this false hope, but I also wanted to believe that Dad was still alive yet unable to come home.

Margaret had remained quiet throughout Mum’s story, but she leaned towards her and said, ‘I know there are lots of different cultures in the world that do believe that they can communicate with lost loved ones, but it’s never been proved, Beth. One thing, however, is that the rituals of remembering the dead often bring peace and understanding.’

To my horror, Mum began to cry. ‘I find these meetings very traumatic, Margaret. The hall is full of grieving women, for it’s mostly women who go there and some get messages from beyond the grave. I’ve told Milly that because I’ve never had a message then that proves Peter isn’t dead, because I know he would want to get in touch with me for a final goodbye. In fact, the last meeting I was at I felt so glad that there was nothing from him that I came home in a good mood.’

I remembered that night when Mum had a look of triumph on her face, and I was suddenly saddened by all this grief and longing and the thought that we would never see Dad again.

Margaret picked up her handbag, which was lying on the sand, and took out her handkerchief. ‘Can I give you some advice, Beth?’ Mum must have nodded because she went on. ‘I think you should stop going to these meetings because they are upsetting you. I’m not saying the organisers are frauds, but I do think they are playing with people’s emotions. These poor women who are clutching at straws to find some sort of answer to this dreadful and futile war; mothers, fathers, family and sweethearts who waved their menfolk away with banners and flags only to find that that was the last time they would see them. It must be an emotional nightmare, as it is with you and Lizzie. Have you discussed this with Mary?’

Mum sounded horrified. ‘No, Margaret, I haven’t, and promise me you won’t say anything to her, as she will be mortified by my behaviour.’

Margaret said she would say nothing. She turned. ‘I wonder where Lizzie is.’

On hearing my name I felt I had to stand up and not listen any longer. I scampered back along the sand and finally stood up and called out, ‘I’m back’

There was silence from the women, but as I approached Mum smiled brightly while Margaret looked at her watch and said, ‘I have to go and see the solicitor soon. Do you both want to come with me?’

‘Oh yes, I do,’ I said, but Mum didn’t look too sure. I was hopping about, eager to go, so she finally agreed.

‘We won’t be in the way, will we, Margaret?’

My aunt smiled. ‘You’re never in my way, both of you. Of course I want you with me.’

We went back to the hotel, where we had our midday meal, then it was off to the solicitor, who had his office on the main street. We had to climb a flight of stairs, but the office was quite large and airy and overlooked the street. Mr Anderson was sitting behind a large desk, but he stood up when we entered. I think he was a bit surprised when he saw the three of us, but Margaret introduced us and we were shown to some comfy-looking chairs.

Mr Anderson had a thin file in front of him and he passed it over to my aunt. ‘I have three houses that are suitable for renting or buying and you can go and view them anytime.’

Margaret said she could go right away and look at them. Mr Anderson left the room and quickly came back with three sets of keys. ‘The file has all the relevant information, along with the addresses, and I can arrange for a car to take you to view them.’

‘Are they all within walking distance, Mr Anderson?’

‘Yes, they are, but please take your time and just let me have the keys back when you’ve seen them all.’

We emerged onto the street and Margaret turned to Mum. ‘Do you feel like going to look at these houses, Beth?’

Mum said she didn’t mind, so we set off to view the first one on the list. It was called Dene House, but when we eventually found its location, Margaret didn’t like the look of it. It was tucked away down a narrow lane and surrounded by trees. The garden had a mossy, damp look, as if the sun didn’t linger long. My aunt didn’t even venture inside; she scored it off the list and we trudged on.

The next cottage, Willowbank, looked more promising, but it didn’t have a sea view, although Mum and Margaret did say it had character. I loved it. It had low beamed ceilings and small windows that overlooked a well-kept garden, but, like Dene House, Willowbank was also scratched off the list.

The final house was a well-built stone house with a flight of stairs leading up to the front door. We all stood and looked out the window at the so-called sea view, but it was mostly hidden behind the roofs of the houses at the back. Oh, it had a tiny view of the sea, but Margaret wasn’t pleased.