Gull Island (8 page)

A group of young sailors strolled along the promenade and children ran to jump up and touch their collars for luck. The sailors good-naturedly laughed and even bent down for the smallest to reach. They were laughing as though they hadn’t a care in the world as they went towards the
amusement
park. Yet they too must have known grief.

The figure-eight was by far the tallest and largest of the rides and it looked precarious, not unlike a half-built building awaiting the bricks and cement that would complete it and give it strength. But as always it was in great demand and Barbara watched as the sailors joined the queue and quickly got into conversation with some girls standing near the ticket office. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret for having Rosita. Girls of her age were having such fun; screaming in exaggerated fright to the amusement of those watching and waiting their turn, as the cars climbed to the highest point then swooped down at terrifying speed, their hair flying in the wind, pretty hats held on tightly, clasped in white-knuckled fists.

She could ill afford it, soon having to face the cost of a room for herself and probably pay for someone to look after Rosita, but she went into the refreshment rooms and ordered tea and a scone. Her eyes became dreamy as she imagined sitting there with Bernard, taking tea with all the time in the world.

Before she had finished her tea, Rosita woke and began crying again, a
tight-fisted, red-faced, angry complaint. Barbara looked around
apologetically
, patting the child’s back, and when that did nothing to ease the child’s distress she left and walked back through the crowd, pushing the pram and carrying Rosita.

She walked back along the promenade, putting the struggling child back in the pram and jiggling the battered old thing in an effort to quieten her screams. She looked down at the sand where a Punch and Judy show had attracted an audience large enough to block the way to those trying to buy at the stalls set up just below the sea wall. A fight seemed likely between the Punch and Judy men and a couple trying to serve customers with ice cream that was rapidly melting. She paused a moment, expecting and half hoping that the runny ice cream would be thrown at the puppeteers.

There were stalls selling everything from kites, singing birds, balloons, flags and buckets and spades and in one instance, bathing costumes. ‘Don’t be shy,
fach
, try it on behind the stall, no one will look.’

Barbara looked at passers-by, wondering how different their lives were from her own. Most of the elderly men looked smart but rather warm in their best suits and stiff-collared shirts. Prosperous-looking women with haughty expressions strolled in large ornate hats and thick coats and skirts. She smiled and tried to lift her spirits and share the fun, to forget for a moment or two the predicament she was facing. Perhaps life was a matter of pretence for most people? Like those young sailors, acting as though they hadn’t a care in the world. But as she turned away from the thinning crowd and began the long trek home, her forced high spirits plummeted. What could she do to earn money and keep Rosita safe?

Walking back through the quiet streets, an occasional cheery group passed her carrying balloons, small toys and even goldfish in round bowls, prizes they had won in the amusement park. The sound of their laughter gave her a pang of loneliness. She stopped to allow one family to pass her rickety old pram and glanced at the advertisements in a tobacconist’s window. One notice caught her eyes and she wrote down the name and address of the shop on the back of a piece of paper torn from a hoarding. ‘Housekeeper wanted for farm.’ it said. Her experience was hardly great, but she had worked for a few weeks for farmer Graham Prothero, and at least knew what to expect. If she exaggerated her knowledge a little, she might be lucky.

She would write a reply and the next day hand it into the shop to post to the advertiser. It was a solution she hadn’t thought of but it was a
solution
, and the idea of country living for them both was strongly appealing. It would be so good for Rosita. Why hadn’t she thought of it? It was the
perfect answer. A job where she could keep her baby with her. She continued home with a more buoyant step.

The reply to her letter came by post less than a week later and she opened it with fingers trembling with hope. What a relief it would be for Auntie Molly Carey. Then she glanced at the note and gave a groan of disappointment, recognizing the address of the farm. It was Graham Prothero, from whom she had run away. Or who had thrown her out, as if it mattered which!

How fortunate she hadn’t mentioned it to the Careys. At least the
disappointment
was only her own. Angrily remembering her previous experience and not wanting to repeat it, she threw the letter in the fire and tried to forget she had ever written. But when she returned to the Careys’ two rooms after work a few days later, she knew she might have to change her mind.

‘Got to go we have,’ Mrs Carey said, as, sobbing, she opened the door to Barbara and handed her the baby Meriel. ‘Given notice to leave the rooms on Saturday week.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’ Barbara almost fell over the bogie in her haste to get inside and comfort the woman. ‘What reason can they have to throw you out?’

‘Since when did they need a reason?’ Bending over the fire, fiercely
stirring
the soup simmering in the black, soot-encrusted pot, Mrs Carey took a deep breath to control her sobs and added, ‘We’ll all have to go on the parish. The children will go into a home for waifs and strays. Separated we’ll be, after all me and Henry have done to keep us together.’

‘Is it Rosita, crying all the time? Is that why they’ve asked you to go? If it is, then I’ve got a surprise for you. I’ve got a place to go. I can leave and that will settle it.’ She patted the distressed woman’s shoulder and said brightly, ‘I was offered a job in that letter that came last week. It was from a farmer offering me a job. What d’you think of that, then? Talk about coincidence. It was meant to be. I’ll go and talk to the landlady now, this minute. We’ll change her mind for sure when she knows I’m taking my lovely, noisy daughter from the house.’

‘It’s no use, Barbara. The rooms are let and the new people – paying more than us, mind – are coming on Saturday week at twelve.’

Richard was sitting on the stairs and when Barbara opened the back door to go down to the
ty bach
he pulled at her skirt. ‘Barbara, remember that old house on the beach, the one with the porch all broken and falling about? Why can’t we all go there? No one owns it. Gone away they have, the family who used to live there. Luke and me, we started to mend it.’

‘You’ve seen Luke?’

‘Not this ages. His cottage is always locked up now. There’s a padlock on the door so even if he came back he couldn’t get in. I saw the other man come and he had it fixed. I think it was Luke’s father, even though Luke always said he hasn’t got a family.’

Throughout the winter months Barbara had often thought about Luke but lack of time as well as lack of energy prevented her from walking the two miles to the lonely beach in the hope of seeing him. ‘Shall we go on Sunday? See if he’s there? If the boat is still on the beach he might have left a note.’

Richard shook his solemn head. ‘Looked everywhere I have.’

‘We’ll go anyway.’ Barbara had a strong need to talk to Luke about her half-made decision to go back to the farm. Being outside the limited circle of people who made up Barbara’s life, his opinion mattered. She knew he was more worldly and his comments would be honest and helpful. Although they knew each other so slightly, she trusted him to have her interests at heart. Perhaps, she thought with a faint glimmer of hope, he might even think of a better solution than returning to the farm. She
shuddered
at the prospect of sleeping again under the same roof as Graham Prothero. His persistence would hardly have lessened. He knew who the letter had come from.

‘We can look at the house, can’t we?’ Richard said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘We can take the bogie and bring back firewood.’

‘Yes, we’ll take food and have a picnic – even if it’s raining.’ A necessary proviso to avoid disappointment.

Five of them set off for the picnic a few days later. With the solemn-faced Blodwen in her undisputed place on the bogie, propped up with blankets and an ancient cushion, they walked through the lanes, singing and laughing with excitement.

Luke was there when they reached the narrow beach near Gull Island. The sound of oars made them turn their heads to see the small rowing boat making its way towards them. The oars lay still for a moment and his hand came up in an excited wave. Breathless, Barbara waited for him to touch the rocky shore and climb out to greet them.

There seemed to be so much to say, both herself and Richard talking at the smiling man in unison, each trying to grab his attention and share their news. Eventually he covered his ears with his hands and laughingly told Richard and the others to go and find some driftwood for a fire. ‘I’ve caught a few small fish,’ he told them. ‘And we’ll cook them on the beach.’ He turned towards Barbara, his thin face lined and sad, but lighting up as he smilingly took the sleeping child from her.

‘If I’d had a boy I’d have called him Luke,’ she said shyly.

‘No, and another girl next, too. When you marry,’ he said, looking at her for the first time.

Barbara laughed. ‘Bernard is dead. There won’t be any more.’

‘You’re young. You’ll marry.’

‘If there are any young men left to marry after this terrible war.’

Luke’s lips tightened at the reminder of the young man for whom he still grieved.

While Luke sat and nursed the baby, Barbara helped the others to gather wood for the bonfire, then when Luke reluctantly handed her back, she watched as he showed them how to cook fish in the large pan he kept hidden. After scouring it clean, he collected more water from the pump and placed the fish in to gently poach. He made no attempt to go into the cottage and, curious, Barbara walked to the door to see if what Richard had told her was true.

Luke saw her and while the fish cooked, watched over by Richard, he told her quietly what had happened when his father had called.

‘He’d always disliked Roy and did everything he could to discourage my friendship with him and his extrovert family,’ he said. ‘A mention of his name brought on furious anger. When I told him I loved Roy, he went berserk, hitting me. Making it sound sordid. But I did love him, and his family, who always made me feel good about myself, and happy to be with them.

‘When Roy died I had to grieve alone as I was forbidden to go and seek comfort from Roy’s family. His last letter came from a place called Ypres. “Wipers”, the soldiers nicknamed it. I’ll go and find it one day when the war is finally over. My father can’t understand how I found something with Roy and his family that I couldn’t find at home.’ He frowned for a moment. ‘It was there that I was allowed to be myself, I suppose.’

Moments passed and he was unaware that he was holding his breath, wanting her to understand, afraid of her reacting as his father had done, with disgust. Then Barbara turned and hugged him. ‘There are lots of ways of loving, Luke. Many kinds of love. All are beautiful. Your father hasn’t learnt that. Pity for him, isn’t it?’

Arm in arm they walked back to the others. For Luke it was as if a band of steel had been removed from around his chest. He could breathe freely for the first time in many months. What did it matter if his father despised him? If only one person could believe that his love for Roy hadn’t been sordid, then the world was not empty. Lighthearted, he helped share out the food and the atmosphere became a celebratory party.

The children whooped and shouted and sang and danced, all except
Blodwen who retained her slightly haughty manner throughout. Luke studied her curiously. She rarely spoke yet she seemed to be watching, taking in everything that was said and done. Was she observing the
stupidities
of the human race? And would it all come out one day in a great gale of laughter?

While the younger children built houses and castles with the smooth pebbles, Luke and Barbara followed Richard to examine the house. The porch, repaired by Luke, had remained standing and was firm and strong. It was no longer as clean as Luke had made it. Inside there was sand and stones and the dry debris of many years, blown back to its place soon after Luke had brushed it out. The walls and roof appeared to be dry and sound and there was nothing to discourage the idea of the Careys using it for a home.

‘I’ll sleep there myself for a night or two – better than trying to keep warm under the upturned boat! Next weekend we can work together, fix the windows and make it weatherproof. There’s all the summer in front of us, remember, and by next winter it will be as snug a home as anyone can wish for.’

Richard’s face was fixed in a tight grin that nothing would move. He watched Luke survey the floorboards and, like a miniature adult, discussed with him the most necessary needs. Smilingly, Luke nodded at the six-
year-old
’s recommendations and made notes on an old envelope.

‘You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that,’ he said frequently. Or, ‘That’s an excellent suggestion, Richard.’ And he would scribble furiously on his paper with his scratchy pencil, licking its indelible lead to strengthen the letters.

‘He really does have a good idea of what’s needed, you know,’ Luke said to Barbara when they were preparing to leave. ‘He’s only six, yet he
understands
some things so well. And understands things so fast. If he’d been able to have a good education, there’s nothing he couldn’t achieve.’

It wasn’t until the bogie was packed, with the driftwood tucked tightly around little Blodwen, and they were setting off home, that Barbara had a chance to talk to Luke about the possibility of returning to farmer Graham Prothero.

‘I’ll walk you home and you can tell me how you feel about it,’ Luke said. He had intended to anyway, as always, reluctant to say goodbye to this happy, fascinating family. Reaching into his boat he pulled out a thick coat and from its pocket produced two woolly hats, one for himself and the other he handed to Richard, who proudly pulled it on.