Gull Island (15 page)

‘Luke? Richard? But – oh, what a lovely, lovely surprise.’

Luke thought shock was a word better suited to her reaction. She was alarmed. A nervous tic beat like a pulse in her cheek. This visit seemed less and less like a good idea.

‘Perhaps we should have written, but we didn’t know the address. And I only have a few days before …’

She invited them inside and took off several layers of what Luke now guessed were her working clothes protecting tidy garments underneath. She was wearing a simple homemade skirt and blouse, her figure now revealed to be much thinner than when they had last met.

‘Come in. Sit down. Oh, it’s good to see you. Is that your car, Luke? Come and tell me how you are. Richard, I’d hardly recognize you, so
handsome
you’ve grown. This is lovely – I’ve heard no news of anyone and it’s been so long.’ A smile of welcome revitalized her tired face and she hugged them both.

The room into which they were shown was neat and clean but bare of any comfort. The chairs and table were wooden and scrubbed so much that the wood stood up in ridges. She went to a cupboard and brought out a loaf and some butter but Luke stopped her, his hand on her thin arm.

‘A cup of tea would be nice, but as for food, we are going to eat later. Please, Barbara, just sit and talk to us, that’s what we came for, to hear how you are. And Rosita.’

‘She has two sisters now – Kate who is three and Hattie now two. They’re here somewhere. I’ll just call.’ She went to the door and called their names and the first to arrive was the five-year-old Rosita, bright-eyed, curious and with an air of tight-lipped defiance that Luke thought odd in one so young. She stood with her chin jutting out as if expecting an argument.

‘I didn’t smash them eggs and I’m not going to say I did!’ Her face lengthened with incipient sobs but her eyes were bright with determination. She went to run back out but Barbara caught hold of her and turned her to face the visitors.

‘Rosita, we have visitors, Richard and Luke. Please say hello. Politely, mind.’

‘Hello.’ She stared at them, wondering if there was the likelihood of a gift. The woman from the chapel sometimes brought them oranges or a slab of homemade toffee.

‘We haven’t seen you since you were a tiny baby,’ Luke said with a smile. ‘How old are you now?’

‘Five going on six but can I go now or he’ll be shouting at me again.’

‘Go and tell your father we have visitors, please, Kate,’ Barbara said to one of the younger children hovering around the doorway. The two younger girls ran off, leaving Rosita staring wide-eyed at Richard and Luke. She sidled across the room and stood between them. The beard was fascinating. She leaned against Richard and stared at Luke. Her fingers went out to touch the long, fine beard. ‘Are you my real father?’ she asked.

‘Unfortunately not,’ Luke replied. He looked across at Barbara to share a smile but she was looking anxiously towards the doorway and seemed not to have heard.

‘She didn’t go to school today,’ she said.

‘Remember how she used to cry all the time, Barbara?’ Richard said, flicking a thumb towards Rosita.

‘He says I’m still a noisy bugger,’ Rosita said, glaring at her mother, expecting a rebuke.

‘Rosita! That isn’t a word we use.’

‘He does.’ She gestured with her head to the doorway. ‘When he talks to me he does.’

Luke bent down and took Rosita onto his lap but as he took her weight she suddenly screamed and held her leg. Instinctively, Richard lifted her dress to see if there was a cut or graze, just as he would have done with his sister, and saw to his horror that the girl’s thigh was a mass of yellow and purple bruises.

‘It’s nothing,’ Barbara said hastily, looking again towards the doorway, hearing her husband coming across the yard. ‘She’s such a clumsy child, always falling. So adventurous, you’d never believe.’

A shadow in the doorway made them look up to see Graham, holding the hands of his daughters.

‘Ah,’ Barbara said with obvious relief at the interruption. ‘Kate and Hattie, Graham, love, come and meet my friends Luke and Richard.’

The three-year-old Kate and the two-year-old Hattie came forward and said ‘Hello’ politely then ran back to their father. They both had blue eyes like Barbara and Graham. Kate resembled her mother, but Hattie was heavily built like her father, with the same flat face and rounded cheeks and chin, giving a false air of humour. Rosita looked completely different from the others, with dark hair fastened tightly in a plait, and deep brown eyes that looked full of hurt and resentment.

They didn’t stay long. It was clear from the attitude of Barbara’s large, simmering, quiet husband that they were not welcome.

‘Please, write when you have time, Barbara,’ Luke pleaded when they were leaving. ‘I live in France but when I come home I can pick up letters from the Careys.’

They gave the usual assurances that they would keep in touch, and come again very soon, but on the journey home both Luke and Richard knew it was impossible.

‘He hits her!’ an outraged Richard said as soon as the car moved out of the farmyard.

Luke agreed but he said, ‘Perhaps Barbara is right and she’s just clumsy.’

‘Clumsy, my foot! I know what a smack with a stick looks like!’

Whatever they thought of the way Graham Prothero looked after his family, there was nothing they could do but leave them to the life Barbara had chosen. They were quiet as they drove home, all the excitement of the anticipated visit ruined.

Barbara cried a little when they left, hiding her unhappiness from Graham and the children. Why did Graham hate Rosita so much? It couldn’t be jealousy, not after so long. He was so good to her and the youngest girls; it was only Rosita he seemed unable to tolerate. If only she would behave better, things would improve, she was sure they would.

L
UKE AND
R
ICHARD
got out of the car at the beach in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

‘I’ll just say hello to your parents then I have to leave,’ Luke said. ‘If your mother won’t mind me popping in?’ He wondered how Mrs Carey would greet him. He had seen how shabby the area around the house was and thought she might be embarrassed by his unannounced arrival, but she seemed indifferent to the state of the place which, when he got closer, was even worse than he had first thought.

The porch he had repaired was still intact but the floor above it had not been replaced. The planks of wood Richard had bought for the purpose were still lying where the delivery man had left them, piled against the sea wall. The nails were a rusting heap.

All around the building rubbish was piled, old furniture mostly, items they had obtained second- third- or fourth-hand and which, when their condition worsened, they hadn’t bothered to remove. Good furniture always found a new home and when it had become too shabby for the second owner there was usually a third ready to take it. It was only when the stuff was past repair that it had to stay where it was; there was no one poorer than the Careys who would be glad to take what they had no further use for. In the poorest communities there was the most rubbish, abandoned and with nowhere more lowly to go.

Luke accepted the cup of tea he was offered although it was a jam jar and not a cup from which he drank. Without the others seeing him, he gave some money to Mrs Carey.

‘For shoes for Richard and the others,’ he whispered, as she was about to refuse. He stayed a while, discussing Barbara and Rosita, wanting to do something but knowing there was nothing to be done. Before he left he went to have a look at the cottage, padlocked and with that dusty air of abandonment that showed how long it had been since anyone had been inside. How stupid that the Careys lived in a hovel and this furnished place was unused.

The boat was still there but that wasn’t unused! He looked at Richard, who had followed him on his reminiscent wanderings.

‘You can use the boat whenever you want to,’ he said with an amused glance, the late sun glinting on his spectacles. ‘Just be careful and respect the sea.’

‘I should have asked.’ Richard had the grace to look guilty for a moment until defiance took over. ‘I didn’t know where you were and, well, there’s fish out there to be caught and hungry mouths here to be filled.’

Luke only smiled wider. ‘You know I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Richard, how old are you?’

‘Ten – more like eleven.’

‘You should still be in school.’

‘What? And leave this lot to starve? I do Dad’s paper round most
mornings
, him being a bit weak till the middle of the day. He often does the evening round, mind. What’s the use of schooling to someone like me? I know exactly how much money is owed to us – got the figures up here, I have.’ He patted his head, flattening the raggedly cut clump of dark hair.

‘You need more than working out what’s owed to you if you’re going to achieve anything, Richard.’

‘Miss Bell thinks I’m clever.’

‘So do I, Richard. You are amazing.’

‘You ought to meet her. She’ll help you if ever you’re stuck – she’s got plenty of patience if you’re a bit slow.’

Three children climbed into the car when Luke finally left, and rode with him to the end of the narrow lane. Then, while the other two ran back shrieking with excitement, Richard stayed for an extra word.

‘What can we do, Luke, about Rosita? She shouldn’t be there with that man, should she?’

‘There’s nothing we can do. If it’s what her mother wants, then Rosita has to stay. I wish we hadn’t gone, don’t you?’ he asked the serious-faced boy.

‘No. I wanted to see her and at least I’ve done that.’

Luke drove away slowly, waving at the solitary figure who watched until he was out of sight. He was saddened and wished he had not spoken to Richard on the previous afternoon. Some things are better not known.

Before he left for France the following day, he bought two bicycles and arranged for their delivery to Richard and his father. That was something he could do to ease their monotonous, comfortless lives. If only it were that simple to help Barbara and unhappy little Rosita.

After Luke and Richard had gone, Barbara thought again about the bruises on Rosita’s body. She had pretended long enough. Blood on the girl’s
underwear
from weals on her body, straight lines that could only have been caused by a stick. She had chosen to believe Graham’s insistence that she was simply careless.

She had to know, although the thought of what she would have to do once she was certain frightened her. Graham was a good, hard-working man, her inner voice insisted. Although he demanded long hours of work from her, he did much more. He did get angry sometimes and had more than once threatened her with a beating. She had calmed him, promised to do better and he had never actually hit her, but she knew the threat was there. His only real fault was his unreasonable dislike of Rosita. The bruises and cuts were from beatings. She had pretended otherwise for too long.

‘They gone then?’ Rosita poked her head around the door. ‘I liked that man, Luke. He’s funny, mind, but nice. Will that beard grow till he can clean his shoes with it?’ she asked with a rare smile.

‘He’s a very kind man. Richard is nice too. I’m glad you weren’t your usual cheeky self, love. I was dreading that you’d misbehave like you do when that lady from the chapel comes with a few presents. Now why can’t you learn to be that polite with your father? He loves you and would be so pleased if you would only behave a bit better towards him.’

‘He hates me because I’m not really his. He says that. When I can’t get anything right he says I’m stupid and a truder and shouldn’t be here,
bothering
him.’

‘A truder? Oh, you mean an intruder. But how can you be? You’re my daughter. Your real father died a long time ago. Your name is Jones, not Prothero like Kate and Hattie, but you were here first. Remember that and you’ll behave better, I know you will.’

Graham came in then and Rosita squirmed under the table out of sight.

‘They seem pleasant people,’ he said, ‘but I don’t like having visitors. It disrupts the day. Late fetching the cows to be milked, I am, and there’s the roots not even started to be pulled.’

‘Graham, love, it was only a couple of hours – it can hardly make that much difference.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘No, you’re right. Truth is, I’m always afraid you’ll go away. Seeing someone from your early days might tempt you to leave me.’

‘How could I? You and the three girls are my life. I belong here.’

‘I – I’d be lost without you, Babs. You know I love you, don’t you?’

A low chuckle emanated from under the table and, angrily, Graham pulled out a chair and demanded that Rosita came out. ‘Out of there! I
thought I told you to gather the eggs? I’ve been waiting for you to do that since this morning! Now go! If they’re hanging about the hens will start eating them and there’ll be no stopping them if they start that.’

‘I did that hours ago – they’re in the pantry!’ she said as she scuttled out of the door without turning her back on him, trying to avoid a slap.

‘No, you haven’t. I don’t believe you!’ Graham shouted. ‘A liar you are as well as useless!’

‘She doesn’t mean any harm,’ Barbara chuckled. ‘She has an irrepressible sense of humour.’

An hour later, she saw to her horror that the basket of eggs, which had been gathered that morning, was outside on the ground, tipped up, the eggs broken and, from the footsteps around it, trodden on. She looked anxiously around but there was no sign of Rosita or Graham. Then she heard the sound.

The cane swished through the air and landed on the already bruised body of Rosita. She screamed her fury as she ran to stop Graham’s hand.

‘Enough! I
won’t
have this! You promised me you wouldn’t hurt her any more!’

Graham looked surprised. There was no anger on his face, only dismay.

‘But she did this deliberately, Barbara. She tipped up the basket of eggs and laughed in my face. She has to be punished. Surely you can see that she has to be punished?’

‘You called her a liar and she did gather the eggs this morning as she does every day, even when it’s Hattie or Kate’s turn!’ She reached for Rosita, gathering her into her arms. Rosita was chewing her lip, trying to keep silent the sobbing that wracked her small frame.

Barbara carried her into the house as Graham stood watching, wondering if it was wiser to intervene and apologize for trying to train the girl into obedience or wait until Barbara had calmed down. He knew his wife had never been more furious; he could tell from the way her normally gentle eyes had looked at him. He’d seen reproach and something more. There was determination there and he wondered what she would do.

‘Please don’t let her leave me,’ he prayed aloud.

It was those people who came today, he decided. They had unsettled her, bringing back fanciful memories of the past. She must know chastisement was essential if Rosita was to grow up any use to anyone. She had to have the devil beaten out of her. What good would she be to a man if she was so defiant? She had to be taught to behave. Barbara would see that when she calmed down, for sure.

The next day was market day in the local town and early in the morning, Graham was up, loading the cart with surplus cockerels to be sold. They
would be bought to fatten for the Christmas trade and although he would make more during Christmas week, he had decided to sell now and buy a pony for Rosita. Perhaps having something of her own would make her less difficult. He couldn’t really afford it, but losing Barbara was something he couldn’t face, and her attitude towards him since finding him in the barn punishing Rosita filled him with dread.

‘Would you like to come with me to the market this morning?’ he asked Rosita when, smudge-eyed and subdued, she came down for breakfast. By the time they had eaten, the cows had been milked and the churn was on the stand ready to be picked up by the local dairyman. Kate and Hattie had already gone to a neighbour, who had promised to look after them until they returned.

‘I’ll come if you want me to,’ Rosita said in a small voice. Barbara said nothing. She hadn’t spoken to him since the previous day and during the night she had curled up in a tight unapproachable knot of anger.

Rosita was dressed in her newest clothes, a hat and coat made to match in thick navy cloth, a navy skirt gathered into fullness and reaching well below her knees, and a hand-knitted jumper, of which she was very proud, in a dark plum colour. She wore boots that although not new were in reasonable condition, having been tapped with leather and studded at the toes and heels by Graham a few weeks before.

They set off silently. Barbara tried to sing one of the songs they frequently sang while travelling on the cart, the horse clopping an
accompaniment
, but the others didn’t join in.

‘Stay with me, Rosita,’ Graham said as he tethered the horse and began unloading the wire-covered boxes from the cart. ‘I have a surprise for you and I think you’ll like it.’ He left the boxes of chickens for Barbara to see to and took the girl’s hand.

There were about twenty horses offered for sale. Graham looked at the teeth for an estimate of age, felt the legs and the feet, stood back to look at the overall shape and proportions, watching for the way they reacted to being examined. He didn’t want a bad-tempered one. Rosita was all the temper he needed in his life. He stood then, holding her hand, watching while the animals were walked and trotted as the owners showed their animals’ best qualities.

‘Would you like one of these for your own?’ he asked, smiling in
anticipation
of her delight. ‘You and I have to get on, see, and I thought that if you had a pet of your own to care for, and I taught you to ride, well, perhaps we could start off again and be friends. It’s what I really want, Rosita, for us to be friends.’

Her brown eyes brightened, the forlorn look washed from her face and
she stared at him. Her eyes were so sharp and intelligent, Graham thought. So different from her mother’s gentle, dreamy, blue ones. Her face was so unchildlike, and her expression was, yes, calculating. She looked as she always looked when she faced him: disapproving, building herself up for argument and hostility. Even with the offer of such a gift, she couldn’t smile at him. He wondered what was going on in that busy mind of hers; what words were locked away behind those tight lips.

‘You mean really mine?’ she said at last. ‘Not Kate’s or Hattie’s?’

‘Just yours. If they want to ride, they can only do so with your
permission
. There, what do you think?’

The brief look of animation faded. Would this be something else to complain about? Would having this huge creature to look after give him more excuses to beat her? ‘Where’s Mam?’ she asked. ‘I want to talk to Mam.’ She ran off and left him still looking at the horses and ponies.

‘Mam, he wants to buy me a pony.’ Rosita said the words dully, without a glimmer of the excitement she felt inside. She was already imagining riding wildly across the fields, thinking of the means to escape when she saw that look in Graham’s eyes that always meant a walloping for one thing or another. Perhaps she could ride so far he wouldn’t ever find her? The thought allowed a small smile to escape, which was swiftly subdued. ‘Mam, will he give me a proper hiding if I forget to brush it?’

Barbara hadn’t slept the previous night. She had lain awake making her decisions. For her own safety Rosita must go away. Tears fell every time she thought of parting from Kate and Hattie for a few days, but they would be all right. It was Rosita, Bernard’s daughter, who needed her help now.

Leaving Graham to bid for the pony he had chosen, Barbara took her daughter’s hand, led her away from the market and climbed aboard a bus just as it was leaving. Silently, Rosita sat beside her mother, seeing in the
closed-up
face the futility of asking questions. They changed buses in the next town and then caught a train. Where they were going, Rosita had no way of knowing, but she felt excitement growing with every mile they travelled. Wherever it was, it was away from Graham Prothero and the hated farm.