The Lost Child (6 page)
Rosemary Tyler looked up from her washing up and peered out of the window. She could see Derry bouncing about at the end of the garden like an overexcited puppy. He was with someone. Ire rising, she strained up to see who was goading her brother now. She saw a woman talking to him. A young woman, who Rosemary didn’t recognise. At first.
Grabbing up a tea towel she strode to the door and marched down the overgrown path, grinding her wet hands into the fabric as she went. ‘Oi, Derry. Inside, now!’
Derry straightened at the sound of his sister’s voice and like a well trained dog he immediately scuttled inside the house. He shied away from Rosemary as he passed, as if expecting a vicious flick from the wet fabric that she held in her hands.
Rosemary saw, with a glimmer of satisfaction, that the stranger was wrong-footed by this. She planted herself behind the gate, folded her arms and said, ‘Can I help you?’ in a tone that conveyed that she had no intention of doing any such thing.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, I’m looking for the house where Ruby Tyler used to live. The lady in the post office told me it was along here, but I can’t seem to find it.’
Rosemary appraised the woman before her. She seemed the timid type, the type that apologised for breathing. ‘This is it, I’m Ruby’s daughter. What’s your business here?’
The woman swallowed, ‘I’m Elaine Ellis, Joan’s daughter?’
‘Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?’ Rosemary was already impatient with this wilting violet, she had made up her mind to be the minute she had clapped eyes on her.
‘Ruby was my mother’s aunt.’ Elaine explained feebly. She took a step back.
Rosemary wrinkled her brow, the gears of her memory engaging and grinding back the years – she needed to play this cautiously, you never knew what people might be after. ‘Do you mean Jean Burroughs? Jean that moved away?’
‘Yes, sorry, Burroughs was her maiden name.’ Elaine nodded with relief.
‘Bloody hell, I haven’t seen Jean in thirty odd years. No great loss, we weren’t close.’ Rosemary delivered the words with the addition of a dismissive flick of her tea towel. ‘Anyway, what brings you here? If she’s hoping my mum left her any money she’s barking up the wrong tree, all we got was this shit hole and a pile of debts,’ she laughed and indicated the ramshackle building that stood behind her.
‘Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just that she died not long ago, and she sometimes talked about Ruby and here and I was hoping to scatter her ashes in Ruby’s garden…’ Elaine trailed off as both women surveyed the scrubby land that had been used for years as a laissez faire scrapyard. The rusted hulk of an old car nestled among the weeds whilst scrawny chickens pecked and scratched in the dirt. A pair of ageing German Shepherds eyed them lazily from where they lay chained to a post.
Rosemary raised an eyebrow and stared at Elaine with amused scorn. Then she laughed, so much that she had to bend down and brace her hands on her knees in order to catch her next wheezing breath. Rising, she flapped the tea towel at Elaine, ‘Sorry love, but you really do have to see the funny side.’
Elaine looked down at the plastic wrapped urn she carried in her hands then back up at the wasteland of the garden. It certainly wasn’t the bluebell and foxglove paradise she had envisioned. The thought of those grizzled bantams pecking at her mother’s grainy remains and pooping them out amongst the weeds struck a chord within her too, and much to her shame she found it hilarious.
The sudden outburst of shared laughter softened Rosemary’s judgement and she found herself extending a hand, ‘Rosemary Tyler, come on in and have a cuppa. You can leave your mother on the doorstep,’ she added with a wink.
Elaine took the warm, work-hardened hand and shook it, basking in the relief that Rosemary had seemed to cease hostilities. Following her into the cottage she spied Derry peering at her from the gloom of the sitting room. She smiled at him, which had the effect of sending him scurrying into the shadows.
‘That’s our Derry, you mustn’t mind him, he’s a bit simple but he’s harmless – despite what you might have been told.’ Rosemary explained with a sour note.
‘I can’t say anyone’s mentioned him’ Elaine said.
Rosemary shook the kettle and, satisfied that it was full enough, switched it on. ‘You surprise me, round here you’d think Derry was responsible for bloody global warming. Anything goes wrong and they point the finger. Poor sod, wouldn’t harm a fly. You know that kid that went missing? They blamed him, as if a bloke like him would hurt a kid! All these years later and there’s still some that think it. I know, I see the way they look at him,’ she plonked tea bags into mugs with bristling high dudgeon. ‘Oi, Derry, come in here and say hello to Elaine – she’s your cousin.’
Elaine waited patiently as the coy giant of a man lumbered to the kitchen doorway and gave her a cautious smile.
‘Look at the size of him, you wouldn’t think he was starved of oxygen as a baby would you?’ Rosemary quipped. ‘Fetch me the milk out of the fridge, you great lump.’ She belied her words with a fond smile.
‘Nice to meet you properly, Derry’ Elaine said, noting the blush that saturated the big man’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t know I had family here, so you’re a nice surprise,’ she added. The compliment caused him to giggle and turn away from her.
‘You didn’t? Well, I must say it’s news to me that we have too. I never knew Jean had kids. Like I said she moved away when we were young. I know she came back to see Mum from time to time, but I didn’t see much of her, she was a bit up herself to be honest.’ Rosemary said, checking for Elaine’s reaction ‘Sorry, but I always call a spade a spade,’ she added by way of explanation for her blunt judgement.
Elaine was inclined to agree, but didn’t really feel able to say so.
‘So, are there more of you, brothers, sisters? Are you all going to turn up on the doorstep?’ Rosemary asked.
‘No, just me. My father died not long after I was born, so I was the only one.’ Elaine accepted a chipped and grubby mug of tea from Rosemary.
‘Hmmm, I remember him. Funny little bloke, bit like you, a bit too milky and weak for my liking. No match for Jean anyway.’
Elaine wasn’t sure how to take that, so sipped at the hot tea, which was a bit too milky and weak for her liking. ‘I never knew him, I don’t know what he was like. She didn’t talk about him much.’
‘No love lost there then eh? So what did she die of?’
Elaine placed the mug down, hoping she would have a chance to surreptitiously dump it if Rosemary left the room. ‘Cancer. She had breast cancer. But she hid it for a long time. She didn’t like doctors, or hospitals, so by the time we found out it was too late.’ Elaine tried not to recall the image of her mother’s suppurating, stinking breast – so rotten by the time she had admitted something was wrong that there wasn’t a doctor in the world who could have intervened. It had been appalling. ‘She was a great believer that all ills could be treated at home with a bit of Germolene and a stiff upper lip.’ Elaine explained, her hand going to her neck and hovering over the lumpy scar. Though she couldn’t remember how she’d got the injury, she still remembered the abject terror she had felt every time the antiseptic cream came out. Even now the thought made the scar tingle with remembered pain.
Rosemary snorted. ‘Sounds like Jean, once she was set on something that was it. Wild horses couldn’t shift her from a stupid idea. God knows why Mum had such a soft spot for her, couldn’t stand her myself. Still, I’m sorry she’s gone, for your sake.’ There was a nonchalant resignation in her choice of words. ‘Anyway, as for the ashes, you might want to find somewhere else, I can’t see Jean resting in peace around here,’ she waved her arm at the garden, which could be glimpsed through the dingy kitchen window. ‘Mum kept it nice, but I don’t have the time or the inclination. Takes me half my time to run around after that daft bugger,’ she said, pointing at Derry with her mug. ‘It would help if I could keep him off the estate, if I get one more phone call from that old bitch up there I will swing for someone! Apparently he frightens the guests.’
Elaine was reminded of her experience the day before at the ruined chapel, and Brodie’s assertion that someone was lurking in the trees. Now that she had met Derry she could see that there was no harm in him, but having recently experienced the shock of her life it was hard not to see both sides. ‘I haven’t met them yet.’
Rosemary scoffed, ‘Well there’s a bonus for you. If you think your mother was a snob just wait until you meet Miss high-and-mighty Gardiner-Hallow. Put it this way, she thinks hers smells of roses if you get my drift,’ she added with a knowing nod.
Elaine allowed herself a small smile to acknowledge the comparison. ‘I kind of feel sorry for people like that.’
Rosemary gave a derisive snort, ‘I bloody don’t! Rich as Croesus and still they’re not happy, carping about this that and the other like they’re still the lords and we’re the riff raff. Bitch-face Gardner would have us all back in serfdom if she could, grubbing about in the soil to feed her table. Look at the way she treats that Miriam, that woman must be seventy if she’s a day and she’s still at their beck and call. Still, Esther hung on madam’s coat tails like a bad smell, and what did she get? A crummy cottage and a few quid. You know she started work in that house when she was fourteen, never married, never had a life. Madness if you ask me.’
‘I thought she’d had a stroke.’ Elaine was surprised at the vehemence of Rosemary’s observations.
‘She did, couple of years back.’ Rosemary said as a sly grin stole over her face. ‘That shut her up all right, never one for holding back was Esther. Cor, I’d hate to be a fly on the wall in that woman’s head, the things she must be bottling up! If you think I’m blunt, Esther would have wiped the floor with you.’
Elaine was inclined to think that she was glad that she hadn’t met Esther. Someone more abrasive than Rosemary would be hard to contemplate.
‘Did you know they’ve got that kid there now, her and Miriam? As if either of them know how to look after a kid, especially one with troubles. I was told that the mother went loopy and is in the funny farm. Still, not surprising after what happened I suppose – though you’d think she would have got past it by now wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s been a long time. Still people don’t forget do they, they still think Derry took her. Found her cardigan in his den. Mind you, I think the police took one look at him and knew they couldn’t make it stick, but they were still bastards. Do you know they kept him locked up for weeks? Not sure he ever got over it really. And who was left to pick up the pieces, eh? Muggins of course. Anyway, like I was saying – they’ve got that kid there, staying with them bold as brass. I wonder what she makes of it all eh? Being dumped off here after everything that happened. That mother should be ashamed of herself, ought to have pulled herself together and got over it by now. If she’d been looking after the kid properly it would never have happened. Anyway, it’s ancient history now, leave it dead and buried, that’s what I say.’
Elaine patiently withstood this tirade, buoyed by the irony of Rosemary’s convictions. However, she felt a need to defend Brodie. ‘I’ve met the girl, she’s a nice kid. I feel for her. After all, the past isn’t her fault and it’s a shame some people can’t see that.’ Her words were pointed, but missed their target by a mile.
‘Well, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Those who are innocent carry the burden, don’t they?’ Rosemary stated sagely.
Elaine felt defeated, Rosemary was a wearing woman. It seemed as if the trait had run in the family, a thought that reminded her of Jean languishing on the doorstep. ‘True enough. Anyway, I ought to get going, it’s been lovely to meet you both. I’ll um, think of somewhere else for Mum.’
Rosemary gave her a look that said she doubted it had been lovely at all. She followed Elaine down the hallway to the door, ‘Well, nice to meet you I suppose, but don’t be expecting a Christmas card or anything, I’m not the type,’ she said as she leaned in the doorway, arms folded across her chest – looking like the archetype of a battle-axe landlady.
Elaine looked around for Derry, eager to say goodbye to the shy giant, but he was nowhere to be seen.
It was only when she got back to the cottage that she realised that she had left Jean on the Tylers’ doorstep as if she was as unimportant as an umbrella on a sunny day. Her intention to go back immediately and retrieve the urn was interrupted by Miriam, who arrived at the cottage bearing fresh sheets and towels. ‘Just popping in to do your change.’ she said, bustling past breathlessly.
‘That’s OK Miriam, leave it there, I can do it. You’ve got enough to do already.’ Elaine erroneously thought that she would be doing the woman a favour.
Miriam bristled, ‘Certainly not, you are a paying guest and will have the same service as everyone else. Besides, you’ve been very good to Brodie and I don’t want you to think we don’t appreciate it.’
Elaine conceded and made room for Miriam to move past her towards the stairs, ‘It’s not a problem, I’m very fond of Brodie.’
Miriam paused, ‘Well, you’re a brave one I must say, she’s such a prickly little thing usually, but she certainly likes you. All I hear is “Elaine this, Elaine that”.’
Elaine felt uncommonly pleased by this and rewarded the compliment with one of her rare smiles.
‘She tells me you’re an artist.’ Miriam said as she trundled up the stairs on heavy, swollen feet. Elaine suspected that she was a martyr to those feet.
In order to answer she was forced to follow. Trailing in Miriam’s wake awkwardly, as people do when they’re not used to being waited on. ‘Well, yes. I’m an illustrator – books, posters that kind of thing.’
‘Oh, how lovely.’ Miriam was clearly none the wiser. ‘Can’t draw a pair of legs with a ruler myself, still, God finds a use for all of us I suppose,’ she added, hauling the quilt off the bed and fighting with the cover. It was a laborious thing to watch, the quilt was twice the size of the woman and Elaine had no choice but to wade in and help. As they wrestled with the quilt Elaine pondered what God’s plan was for her, if her only purpose was to concoct twee pictures for children’s books. Not that that was the only thing she did, but it was her bread-and-butter work.
