Eva and the Hidden Diary (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

A
ll that night I had terrible dreams about Daisy. She was sitting on the end of my bed, combing her long, curly hair, and crying big, fat, wet tears. ‘Why won’t anyone help me?’ she kept saying. ‘Why doesn’t anyone care?’

Even in my dreams, where magic can happen, I didn’t know how to answer her.

But the next morning there was a present-day problem waiting to be solved.

Kate called over and sat in our kitchen with her head in her hands. When Mum and Dad spoke to her, she just gave the shortest answer
possible, and then looked away.

Luckily, Mum was used to this kind of behaviour. The year before, Kate had stayed with us while her social workers were trying to find her a foster family. Even though Kate is my friend, I have to admit that it was a very, very long few days.

Joey came in after a while, and I hoped that would make things easier. Kate and Joey have always got on really well.

‘Hey, Kate,’ he said.

‘Hey, Joey,’ she said, in a dead kind of voice.

‘Have you heard the joke about the blunt pencil?’ he asked. ‘Oh never mind – there’s no point!’

Kate didn’t even smile. That’s when I knew things were serious – Kate
always
laughs at Joey’s jokes, even when they are totally unfunny. Usually she laughs extra hard at the very bad ones, because she feels sorry for him.

Mum gave me a questioning look, but I just
shrugged. I had no idea what was going on either.

‘Poor Kate,’ said Mum. ‘You must be upset about Daisy. It’s terrible the way things turned out for that unfortunate girl.’

Kate looked up. ‘I
am
upset about Daisy, but that’s not what’s …’

‘That’s not what’s …?’ said Mum helping her along, but Kate had her most stubborn face on.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Come on, Kate,’ I said in the end. ‘You and I need to talk. Let’s go to Jeremy and you can tell me exactly what’s on your mind.’

‘Please,’ I said, as soon as we’d climbed up to our favourite branch on our favourite tree. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, Kate.’

She only hesitated for a second. ‘It’s Zoe,’ she said. ‘Her boss from London called last night and offered her her old job back.’

‘OMG!’ I said. ‘That’s awful. What did Zoe say?’

‘She said she’s going to think about it for a few weeks. And that’s really, really bad news. That means she’s seriously considering going back.’

‘Oh, you poor thing.’

I wriggled closer to her. It’s not easy to hug someone when you’re clinging to a branch, halfway up a huge tree, but I did my best.

After a minute Kate pulled away. I could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

‘What will I do?’ she asked. ‘What will I do if they all go away and leave me here?’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ I said. ‘I’ve got ages left before I have to go back home. We’ll work something out, I promise.’

‘Eva, you’re the best,’ she said, and I tried to smile as I wondered what on earth I was going to do to help her.

The next few days were really weird. The weather changed, and it was too cold for the beach. Most days Kate and I just put on our fleeces and wandered around Seacove, bored.

Kate was in a constant bad mood, and nothing I could say or do would make her give more than a small, sad smile. She was turning into the sullen girl I had first known, and, even though this drove me crazy, I couldn’t really blame her.

I was in kind of a bad mood myself. I like helping people, and in the past I’ve always managed to do that, but now everything seemed to be going wrong. I’d failed miserably in my efforts to help Daisy, and now that Kate needed me, I couldn’t do anything for her either.

I was a failure. A big useless failure.

I began to wish that the holidays were over, so I could get back to my real life in town.

One day Kate and I walked in to the village to
get some shopping for my mum.

‘It’s Simon’s second birthday soon,’ said Kate. ‘And Zoe’s going to make a special cake for him. She said you can come for tea that evening if you like.’

I was glad to have something to look forward to, but kind of sad that a two-year-old’s birthday was looking like it was going to be the highlight of my week. ‘That’ll be nice,’ I said.

‘I suppose,’ said Kate, not looking convinced.

Suddenly I got angry at her. ‘Come on, Kate,’ I said. ‘You have to snap out of it. Why do you always have to expect the worst?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe Zoe won’t want to go back to London. Maybe she’ll turn the job down and decide she wants to stay here.’

‘Maybe she will,’ said Kate. ‘But then again maybe she won’t. And then what will I do? I love having Dad and Zoe and Simon around. I’ve got used to having a proper family, Eva.
I’ve got used to being like everyone else. I don’t want to go back to being a loser.’

‘But that’s pathetic,’ I said. ‘You’ve never been a loser, and you’re not going to become one now – no matter what happens.’

She ignored me. ‘And how am I expected to enjoy Simon’s second birthday party, when there’s a real chance I won’t be around for his third or his fourth or his fifth? Oh, Eva, what if my little brother has to grow up without me there to teach him important stuff? What if he forgets me?’

And then she started to cry.

I stopped walking and hugged her for a long time. Then, while she was still sobbing loudly, I looked over her shoulder, and saw something terrible. It was Cathy and Andrea, walking towards us with big false smiles on their faces.

I pulled away from Kate, ‘Quick,’ I said. ‘Wipe your eyes. Don’t let them see that you’re crying – they’ll only use that to pick on you
even more than usual.’

As they got closer, I could see that Cathy and Andrea were both wearing shiny green lip-gloss. Knowing them, it was probably the latest fashion, but it looked totally weird.

Kate was still wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie by the time the girls were next to us.

‘Oh dear, Kate, you’re crying!’ said Cathy, in a sweet voice, almost like she cared. ‘Is it because the hairdresser ruined your hair?’

Then she tossed her perfect blonde curls. ‘Oh silly me,’ she said. ‘I forgot your hair always looks like that. You should try doing something different with it some time – like washing it.’

Then she and Andrea laughed, like that was the funniest  thing they’d heard in hundreds of years.

I tried to think of a smart reply, but looking at Kate’s sad face distracted me, and I couldn’t think of a single word to say.

Now Andrea stepped forward. She touched Kate’s shirt – a really cool one that Zoe had bought for her a few days earlier. ‘That’s lovely, Kate,’ she said. ‘It’s amazing what a granny can do with a sewing machine and an old duvet cover.’

Kate pulled her arm away, but she said nothing, and that made me even madder.

I wondered if I’d get sent to jail if I punched Cathy and Andrea. For a second I wondered if it might even be worth it, just for the sensation of my knuckles crunching onto their ugly green lips.

Unfortunately though, I don’t believe in violence, so I took Kate’s arm and dragged her away towards the shop. At the last second, I looked back. ‘Hey, girls,’ I called. ‘I like the green lips. Did you get them from snogging snails?’

But Cathy and Andrea were laughing at something else, and they didn’t even hear me.

When we got back home I stopped at the gate of our house.

‘I’ve got to bring the shopping in to Mum,’ I said. ‘Do you want to come in for a bit? Or we could go for a walk or something.’

Kate shook her head. ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see if Zoe wants me to mind Simon for a while. I want to spend lots of time with him – so he won’t forget me when he leaves,’

‘If,’ I said. ‘If he leaves.’

But Kate was already gone.

Chapter Thirteen

A
while later, Mum looked out the kitchen window towards the lane. ‘That car is there again,’ she said.

‘What car?’ I asked.

‘That fancy big blue one. That’s the third time I’ve seen it today. I’m beginning to think I should report it to Gerry the policeman. Whoever is lurking around can’t be up to any good.’

I didn’t look up from my book. Even in Seacove, a car in a lane isn’t much to get excited about.

‘Is there someone in the car?’ I asked, not really caring either way.

‘Yes,’ said Mum, ‘There’s a woman sitting in the driver’s seat. But I don’t recognise her. I wonder if I should …’

I knew she wasn’t going to let it go, so I put my book down and walked towards the window.

‘OMG,’ I said. ‘That’s ……’

‘That’s who?’ asked Mum, but I was too excited to answer her. I picked up my phone and texted Kate.

Come out – NOW!!!!

By the time I got outside, Kate was coming out of her front door. There was no time to talk. There was no time to plan what we were going to do.

We both walked towards the car. The driver, George Eades’ granddaughter, had climbed out, and was standing staring at my house. She gave a small, embarrassed smile when she saw Kate and me.

‘Oh, hello, girls,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ said Kate and I together. I hadn’t made
up my mind yet how friendly I was going to be, so I didn’t say anything else.

‘Is this the house where Daisy Lavelle used to live?’ asked the woman.

I nodded, not sure what exactly was going on. This woman had made it clear that she didn’t want to help us, so why had she suddenly shown up? Why was she poking around and asking questions about people she’d claimed to know nothing about?

It was like she could read my mind.

‘Since you two girls came to see me, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Lavelle family,’ she said. ‘I can’t manage to get them out of my mind.’

‘You and me both,’ I muttered.

The woman leaned against her car, almost like she needed all of her energy for what she was going to say next.

‘My grandfather wasn’t a bad man,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid he did a very bad thing.’

Now Mum came out to see what was going
on. She doesn’t like me talking to strangers – even ones with fancy clothes and big shiny cars.

‘Everything OK here?’ she asked.

‘Everything’s fine, Mum,’ I said. ‘This is …’

‘Georgina Eades,’ said the woman, holding her hand towards my mum. ‘I’ve come to talk to your daughter and her friend. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘I think that depends on what you’ve got to say to them,’ said Mum, stepping forward, ready to protect us if necessary.

‘They came to see me the other day and they said something that made me think deeply,’ said Georgina.

‘And what exactly did they say?’ asked Mum staring at me suspiciously, like she might not like the answer.

‘They said, “It’s never too late to right a wrong,”’ said Georgina. ‘And I have to agree with them. I think the time has come for me to tell them what I know.’

Kate looked at me with a huge smile on her face. Maybe the Daisy story wasn’t over just yet.

In the end, we all went in to my place. Mum made tea for herself and Georgina, and I got glasses of milk for Kate and me. Then we all sat around the kitchen table and Georgina told us her story.

‘I was brought up in England,’ she began. ‘And when I was young, I barely knew my grandfather – he was just a grouchy old man my parents took me to visit every now and again. But twenty years ago my grandfather became very ill and I came over here to live in his house and take care of him.’

‘That was kind of you,’ said Mum.

‘Especially since he was so grouchy,’ I added.

‘Perhaps,’ said Georgina. ‘My parents had died by then, and George didn’t have anyone
else who could help him. I couldn’t simply leave him to die alone.’

‘So you moved in and got to know him?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ said Georgina. ‘It was a difficult few months though. I’m afraid George was a bitter, troubled man. In the beginning, he would barely talk to me, but as the days went by and he became weaker, that changed. I think he knew that his time on earth was limited, and his conscience began to get the better of him.’

‘And what about the Lavelles? What did George tell you about Jean-Marc? Why did he say he saw him stealing the chalice?’ I asked impatiently, ignoring the cross looks my mum was shooting in my direction.

‘My grandfather took many weeks to tell me this story,’ said Georgina gently. ‘I don’t feel I can rush it all out to you in a few short minutes.’

‘Sorry,’ I whispered, feeling bad.

‘My grandfather had two sons,’ said Georgina.
‘There was my father, Albert, and his younger brother Henry. Henry was always his dad’s favourite. He was a handsome lad, and by all accounts, he was a real little charmer when he was a boy. Everybody loved him.’

I was wondering where this story was going, but one look at my mum’s face told me that rushing Georgina’s story was not a good idea.

‘When my father left school, he got a steady job in the bank,’ she continued. ‘But Henry didn’t want a settled life like that. He was an adventurer. Against his father’s wishes, he joined the British Army. He went off to war.’

‘The Second World War?’ asked Mum.

Georgina nodded. ‘Yes, and when he came back three years later, I’m afraid Henry was a different boy altogether.’

‘Had he been wounded?’ asked Kate.

‘Not physically,’ said Georgina. ‘Physically he was as good as new, but the mental scars went very deep.’

‘Did he have shell-shock?’ I asked. ‘We learned about that in history in school.’

‘I think they called it something else by then,’ said Georgina. ‘But it was pretty much the same thing. It wasn’t very well understood at the time, and, by all accounts, poor Henry suffered very badly. His hands shook all the time. He used to wake in the night screaming and roaring, and no one knew how to calm him.’

‘The poor man,’ said Kate. ‘That must have been awful for his dad to watch.’

‘I can only imagine,’ said Georgina. ‘His precious darling boy was changed beyond all recognition.’

‘Did he get better?’ I asked. Even though I had no idea how this story had anything to do with Jean-Marc Lavelle, I couldn’t help being interested.

‘I’m afraid he didn’t get better,’ said Georgina. ‘As the months passed, things got even worse. Henry began to wander the roads at night,
knocking on the doors of strange houses, and scaring people half to death.’

At last I began to get an inkling of where this story was going.

‘And then one night, Henry came home with a big cut on his hand,’ continued Georgina. ‘George asked where he’d been, but couldn’t get any sense out of him – Henry never remembered anything about his night-time rambles.’

‘How awful,’ said Mum.

‘And the next day George heard that the church in Newtown had been ransacked, and that the valuable chalice had been stolen,’ said Georgina.

‘Henry did it?’ I breathed. ‘It was Henry who stole the chalice?’

Georgina sighed. ‘The chalice has never been found, and we’ll never know who took it. All I know is that George believed his son was guilty, and that was enough to set the terrible series of events into motion. George was terrified that
his favourite child would be thrown into jail, and in his delicate emotional state, that would have been a tragedy.’

‘So George made up the whole story about seeing Jean-Marc Lavelle coming out of the church carrying the chalice?’ I said.

‘So the police would stop investigating, before the trail led to Henry?’ said Kate.

‘And because George was respected in the neighbourhood, he knew people would believe him,’ I said. ‘Poor Jean-Marc never stood a chance.’

Georgina nodded and for a minute no one said anything.

‘Don’t judge my grandfather too harshly,’ said Georgina in the end.  ‘Clearly, what he did was wrong, but you have to remember, he did it to save his own son. Parents will sometimes go to any lengths to protect their children.’

I looked at my mum, wondering how far she’d go to save me. She looked away, and I guessed
she was thinking the same thing.

‘I’ve got another question,’ said Kate. ‘Of all the people in the area, why did George pick on poor Daisy’s dad? What did Jean-Marc ever do to George or to his son?’

‘Was it just because Jean-Marc was French?’ I asked.

‘Well, yes and no,’ said Georgina. ‘My grandfather was a well-travelled man. He didn’t have the same bad feelings towards outsiders that many people had in those days. But you’re correct – he didn’t pick Jean-Marc at random. He thought very carefully about it. He told me that he had hoped that Jean-Marc would just get a slap on the wrist from the judge. He thought that Jean-Marc and his family would be sent off to France to live. France is a wonderful country, so that wouldn’t have been a tragedy.’

‘I’m not sure France was so wonderful in 1947,’ said Mum. ‘It must have been a mess after the war.’

‘And what about the life Jean-Marc had made for himself in Seacove?’ asked Kate. ‘Was he just supposed to walk away from that? Seacove is a wonderful place too, you know.’

‘That’s not the way things turned out anyway,’ I said. ‘Jean-Marc didn’t get a chance to walk away from anything.’

‘No,’ said Georgina. ‘George’s plan was completely misguided. He lived an isolated life in his big house. He didn’t understand how upset people were at the theft of the chalice. Unfortunately, by the time he realised that Jean-Marc was going to jail, things had gone too far, and George didn’t know how to fix them.’

‘He could have told the truth!’ I said angrily. ‘He could have made things right – it’s never too late to do that, remember? If George had come forward and told the truth, Jean-Marc would have been released from prison. Florrie would never have ended up in the psychiatric hospital, and Daisy would never have been packed off to
live in America.’

Georgina didn’t answer. I could see her eyes becoming moist, and a small tear slipped down her cheek.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. What my grandfather did was very, very wrong.’

Suddenly my anger faded away. None of this was Georgina’s fault, and it was brave of her to come here and tell her story.

Mum patted Georgina, like she was a little puppy. Georgina didn’t seem to mind.

‘So what happens next?’ I asked. ‘Are you going to tell your story to the police? And if you do, do you think they’ll believe you? It’s not like you have any evidence or anything. They might just think you’re a crazy attention-seeking old lady.’

Now Georgina smiled. ‘There’s one important thing I didn’t tell you yet. In his final days, my grandfather was even more agitated than before. The doctors said he should rest, but he couldn’t
lie still. He begged me to bring him paper and a pen. He wrote a statement, describing everything that I’ve just told you.’

‘He wanted to make the wrong right,’ breathed Kate.

‘That was twenty years ago,’ I said. ‘What happened to the statement?’

‘My grandfather gave it to me with very strict instructions,’ said  Georgina.

‘Which were?’ I asked.

‘He made me promise to wait until he and Henry were dead, and then I should hand the statement to the police.’

‘So why didn’t the police do anything?’ I asked. ‘They can’t just ignore stuff like that, can they?’

Georgina sighed. ‘Henry is still alive. He became too difficult for George to manage, so he went to live in a veterans’ hospital in England. His mind has gone now, but he is comfortable and well-cared for. He could live for many more
years yet.’

‘But that means …’ I began, but Georgina put up her hand to stop me.

‘For the past number of years, I’ve complied with my grandfather’s final wishes. I felt it was the correct thing to do. And I had made a promise of course, and no one likes to break a promise.’

‘But……’ said Kate, but Georgina kept talking.

‘My grandfather never mentioned the existence of a daughter, you see, and I knew that Jean-Marc and his wife had died. I didn’t see the sense in stirring up old ghosts. I didn’t see how breaking my promise would help anyone.’