Birmingham Friends (58 page)

‘What’s gone?’ Elly peered through the windscreen.

‘There was a building there – on the hill.’ Anna pointed. Still hardly believing it, she went on, ‘And now it’s not there.’

‘Why?’ Elly frowned. ‘Did somebody steal it? A stranger?’

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘Several strangers, I should think. And some machines.’ She felt desolate. It had felt important to come back here. ‘Oh, well. Can’t show you now then, can I?’

‘Never mind,’ Jake said. ‘I’ll have to try and imagine.’

The stone arch at the entrance to Arden was, however, still standing, a large green and white sign next to it announcing the name of the demolition company. The arch was too narrow for the bulldozers and they had cleared a way in through the boundary fence, leaving a gash of crushed bushes and white, snapped twigs. Their tracks had mashed deep ruts along the drive, the surface churned aside and now frozen hard, still white with ice behind the broken shadows of the trees.

They left the van just inside the entrance and jumped down. Anna was disorientated. ‘I was here four months ago,’ she calculated as they reached into the back of the van for the picnic bags. ‘I suppose it was obvious they were going to do it soon, but I still can’t believe it’s just gone completely. I thought it would take them longer.’

‘Not once they get going,’ Jake said.

They picked their way along the rough path, Anna and Jake each carrying a bag and Jake with a rug draped over one shoulder. ‘Mind how you go,’ he called to Elly, who was skipping ahead in blue wellies. ‘Hold my hand or you could twist your ankle. It’s rough here.’

‘I want to hold Anna’s hand,’ she said. Anna felt the woolly fingers grasp hers and was flattered to be chosen. Elly looked up at her, eyes huge and grey like Jake’s. ‘You’re Daddy’s girlfriend, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Anna said solemnly. ‘Is that all right with you?’

‘Oh yes,’ Elly said. ‘I think that’s all right – so far.’

‘Thank you,’ Anna said. She and Jake laughed together, their breath misting the air.

‘You look like dragons,’ Elly said, puffing a breath out herself and laughing too. Jake came and put his free arm round Anna’s shoulders.

As they walked round the final bend of the drive Anna found herself feeling nervous, as she had the first time she was there. She had expected something to remain: bricks, plastic tape, skips: something of the paraphernalia of demolition. But there was nothing. The site had been cleared with great thoroughness, the rubble carted away, the ground bulldozed and flattened, so that the only thing now visible was the long area of earth frozen iron hard.

Anna walked on to it. There was almost no sound. She could feel the rays of the sun on her face. Elly loosed her hand and danced off over the inviting space.

‘It was very big.’ Anna pointed, swinging her arms to try and explain it. ‘All across here. That wing over there had been burnt, but there was a lot of the front left – here. And it was beautiful – the façade of it, anyway – like a Victorian stately home. And there was a water tower about here. Square thing, all black . . .’ She picked out as best she could the places where she thought there had been airing courts, wards, filling in the shape. They walked round in silence for a few minutes, turning, staring, trying to imagine.

As she did so Anna saw something incongruous trapped in the earth at her feet. Pale blue, icy, pressed down and half hidden. She fished a knife from her picnic bag and prised it out of the ground: a round, plastic bead, its hole for stringing blocked with a brown thread of soil. She turned it round in her fingers, cleaning the outside until it felt warm and smooth. Olivia’s voice came to her: ‘I wish I had something to hold on to: a bead, a stone, a strand of hair, anything to call mine.’ She slipped the bead into the pocket of her jeans.

She walked slowly over to Jake and saw him watching her, taking in the sight of her as she came to him.

‘After I’d seen this place I knew I couldn’t condemn her,’ she said.

Jake nodded, put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned, reaching up to kiss him.

But then Elly was pulling her arm, impatient. ‘Come on. Let’s do something.’

‘You’re right,’ Anna said. ‘Let’s get the picnic going.’

They found a spot on the grass not far away and put the rug down, laying on it French bread and cheeses, crisps and
samosas
, fruit and a Thermos of coffee. Wrapped in their coats and scarves, they sat looking across the countryside, at the gentle swell of the land and brown, scoured fields, oblong farmhouses like Lego pieces, dots of bushes. Elly was quiet, eating crisps with sudden concentration.

Anna sat back, feet stretched out, the wind ruffling her hair. She had bitten into a
samosa
, delicious spiced potato, plump peas.

Even up here there was very little for them to say about Kate and Olivia that they had not said many times already. There had had to be an inquest after Olivia’s death. At the funeral Anna had been startled by the intensity of her own grief for Olivia. And for Krish struggling with his guilt, his new sense of release. She thought of him now almost as a brother to whom she owed protection.

There came to her a feeling of peace, of standing outside time, as if she could walk along the ridge of Krish’s life from up here and see that he would live through this, would surface again.

‘He’s going to be OK,’ she said to Jake. ‘I think.’

‘Yes.’ He unscrewed the lid of the Thermos, steam billowing out. ‘Eventually.’

After their meal they shared the chocolate. Elly took her squares, relishing them slowly. She delighted in the huge flat area laid out there for her to run around on, and was soon skipping up and down in delight, her mouth ringed like a clown’s with chocolate.

‘Don’t choke!’ Jake warned her. ‘Here – the Frisbee!’

He spun the thin yellow disc towards her and it lifted and arced on the breeze, Elly following as it hit the ground and wheeled away down the incline.

‘Daddy, Mummy,’ she cried, ‘I’m flying!’

Anna laughed and turned to Jake, flinging her arms round him, feeling his tight round her. She settled, leaning against the padded shoulder of his jacket. ‘She’s lovely, Jake. A great kid.’

‘She’s coming on,’ he agreed. There was pleasure in his voice. ‘She’s really taken to you.’

‘I’m so glad.’ She twisted her head to look up at him. ‘In a strange way I’m glad about everything.’

He looked down into her eyes, his long face serious. ‘Are you?’

‘Very, very, very. Come here.’ She pecked his nose, teasing, then found his lips with hers, trying to show him with a kiss. After a moment he drew back and looked at her again.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t want to lose this, Anna. It’s just – we haven’t said anything, actually said what we feel.’

‘Didn’t I show you last night?’

‘Yes.’ He looked down. ‘You did. I know.’

She took his face in her hands, pulling him close to her so that her breath was warm on his ear. ‘I love you. Thank you for making me so happy.’

He laughed and they sat for a long time side by side, watching Elly flying after the Frisbee as it curved and bucked in the air. Her cheeks were winter-pink and she chatted to herself in a constant stream, calling out to them, happy so long as they were watching.

Anna’s eyes followed her, smiling. Her thoughts drifted from image to image, splinters of melancholy and joy all gathered in this place. She conjured up Arden as it had been: the handcarts, the long, sealed corridors, all the people whose lives had faded into shadows glimpsed on its walls. She watched the skipping rhythm of Elly’s feet, her child’s absorption and happiness. And brought before her two other children skipping there, one blond with heavy, black-rimmed glasses, the other fragile, waif-like, long hair curling, both laughing as they reached for each other’s sun-warm hands.

‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Elly’s voice floated across to them. ‘It’s lovely here. Can we stay? I want to stay here for ever!’

She ran and gave a leap of pure joy, her body rising, arms flung high, and the bright, gauzy hair lifting to catch the light.

A
NNIE
M
URRAY
was born in Berkshire and read English at St John’s College, Oxford. Her first Birmingham novel,
Birmingham Rose
, hit
The Times
bestseller list when it was published in 1995. She has subsequently written thirteen other successful novels, including, most recently,
A Hopscotch Summer
and
Soldier Girl
. Annie Murray has four children and lives in Reading.

A
LSO BY
A
NNIE
M
URRAY

Birmingham Rose

Birmingham Blitz

Orphan of Angel Street

Poppy Day

The Narrowboat Girl

Chocolate Girls

Water Gypsies

Miss Purdy’s Class

Family of Women

Where Earth Meets Sky

The Bells of Bournville Green

A Hopscotch Summer

Soldier Girl

For Peta, with thanks

I should like to express my warmest gratitude to the following:

For particular help with the research for this novel by generously giving their time and conversation: Mrs Iris Deathridge, Mr Terry Leek and Dr Marcellino Smythe.

My agent Darley Anderson for his galvanizing encouragement, faith and friendship.

My editor Peta Nightingale for her sharpness and dedication and for keeping going with it in testing circumstances.

All those at Macmillan involved in the various stages of production and promotion – in particular my copy editor Penny Rendall and illustrator Gordon Crabb.

Belatedly and long overdue to my former editor Jane Wood.

Birmingham’s Tindal Street Fiction Group: Gaynor Arnold, Alan Beard, Julia Bell, Mike Coverson, Stuart Crees, Godfrey Featherstone, Barbara Holland, Alan Mahar, and Penny Rendall for their ongoing support and expertise.

Finally, and above all, my family: to John – and to Sam, Rachel, Katie and Rose. Thank you.

First published 1996 by Pan Books

This edition published 2001 by Pan Books

This electronic edition published 2010 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
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www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-0-330-52814-6 PDF
ISBN 978-0-330-52813-9 EPUB

Copyright © Annie Murray 1996

The right of Annie Murray to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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