The Fleethaven Trilogy (135 page)

She saw Rob grin, push his way through the hedge and
walk towards the waiting woman. Closer to each other,
their voices not so audible, Ella could not hear the interchange
of conversation. They talked for a few moments
and then slowly he turned and walked back towards the
hedge. He was going and without even coming to find her
to say goodbye. He had come to make his peace with her
grandmother, but still, he was avoiding Ella. Disappointment,
hurt and anger flooded through her. She felt herself
clenching her jaw. All right, if that was the way he wanted
it, that was the way he could have it! But the lump in her
throat threatened to choke her.

The last thing she saw before she turned abruptly away
from the window was her grandmother putting her arms
around Rob and giving him a swift, affectionate hug;
something she had never done to Ella.

An early-morning September mist, with the hint of autumnal
sharpness in it, shrouded the farm as Ella let herself
quietly out of the back door and tiptoed across the yard.
From the direction of the barn, Tibby came towards her,
his tail straight up and crooked in a question. She bent and
stroked his head. ‘Bye, Tibby, old darling,’ she whispered.
‘I wish I could take you with me, but you wouldn’t like it
in the city.’

She stood up again and he rubbed himself against her
legs, purring loudly. She hitched the bundle to a more
comfortable position on her shoulder and continued her
way across the yard, the cat following. At the gate, she
paused and looked back once at the house, still and silent,
awaiting the start of a new day. As dawn crept over the
sand-dunes, suddenly, from the chicken house, the cock
crowed, a startling shriek in the quiet. ‘Stupid bird!’ she
muttered, and began to hurry along the lane before her
grandmother should rise and find her gone.

At the fork in the road, Ella hesitated again, looking
towards the white walls of Rookery Farm just glimmering
with the first rays of light. She sighed and made a silent
apology to those who lived there for going without even
saying goodbye. Rob . . . Her mind shied away; she
couldn’t let herself even think about him.

Tibby gave a miaow and jumped up on to a broad-topped
gatepost where he balanced himself and then sat
down facing the direction in which she was heading; the
only one to watch her leave.

‘Ella! Whatever are you doing here?’

Peggy’s eyes were wide with delighted surprise, but in
the next moment filled with concern. ‘Why, my dear girl,
whatever’s wrong? Come in, come in.’

The resolve, the bitter, desperate loneliness that had
driven her from Brumbys’ Farm, had carried her along the
road to town and on to the early morning bus and had
sustained her throughout the two-hour journey, finally
broke. Ella dissolved into racking sobs, the tears pouring
down her face as she put up her arms. ‘Oh, Aunty Peg,
Aunty Peg.’

The older woman drew her into the house, pushed her
gently into a chair in her living room and went through to
the small kitchen and plugged in the kettle.

‘Now, dear,’ she said coming back and sitting down in
front of Ella. ‘Dry those tears and tell me what this is all
about.’ There was deep anxiety in her own eyes but she
knew she would get no sense out of the girl until she had
calmed down.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ella sniffled, pitifully. ‘This isn’t like me, is
it?’

Peggy shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t.’

It seemed as if the floodgates of six and a half years’
unhappiness were opened at last. She cried for her mother;
the loving, gentle mother she had lost. She wept at having
been obliged to live in an alien place of wide open spaces
and glowering skies and she railed against the woman who
had grudgingly taken her in out of a sense of duty. And
she cried for Rob.

She told Peggy everything, not sparing herself, right up
to the moment when she knew she could take no more.

‘I know I’ve always been difficult, wilful, but – but it’s
always been as if no one loves me any more . . .’

‘Oh, Ella, how can you say that? You know how much
I love you.’

‘But you weren’t there, Aunty Peggy,’ she wailed. ‘She
wouldn’t even let me come to see you. Not for six years.’

Peggy sighed. ‘But Jonathan loves you.’

Fresh tears welled and flooded down the swollen,
blotchy cheeks. ‘I know. But – he – he’s not my real
grandfather, is he?’ she whispered.

‘Oh.’ Peggy blinked. ‘So you’ve been finding out all
about the past, have you?’ And when Ella nodded, Peggy
murmured, ‘Your grannie wouldn’t like that.’

‘She didn’t,’ the girl said bitterly. ‘But Uncle Danny told
me, after she was so mad at me and Rob. He took me to
Suddaby and then back to Fleethaven. Even Grandpa
agreed I ought to be told, but . . .’ her face clouded, the
feeling of guilt washing over her ‘. . . he’s not very well
now. He doesn’t seem to have the strength to cope with
the rows between me and Gran. I just thought, well, if I
left, things might be easier for him too. I mean, she’ll look
after him. At least, I think she will. He’s her whole life –
him and the farm.’ And the unspoken words hung in the
air; that she believed she had no part in her grandmother’s
life. All she had ever been was a hindrance, an intruder in
the couple’s life.

Peggy bent forward a little and searched her face, asking
perceptively, ‘You’re not sure, though, are you? I think
you’re worried about him.’

Ella nodded. ‘I – I just wonder if he’ll cope with all the
work when I’m not there to help. Gran’s so strong, she
doesn’t tolerate weakness in anyone.’

‘Not even her beloved Jonathan?’ Peggy asked in
surprise.

Ella shrugged. ‘Oh, I think if anything happened to him,
she’d be frantic. It’s just . . .’ She hesitated, struggling to
put into words something that was merely a feeling. ‘He
never grumbles, you see, never complains that he’s tired.’

‘And she never notices?’

‘Well, sometimes. You know, it was always, “Ella do
this, your grandpa’s tired,” or, “Ella, your grandpa needs
help.” But if I’m not there . . .’

She left the words hanging in the air, but her unhappy
face showed she could not entirely bury her worry for the
kind and gentle man she still thought of as her grandfather,
never mind the absence of blood ties.

‘Do they know you’ve come here?’

Ella shook her head. ‘I – just walked out in the night.
Like they say
she
did when she was sixteen. That’s how
she came to Brumbys’ Farm.’

‘And you’ve run away from it,’ Peggy murmured and
sighed, then added, ‘We must let them know you’re here,
that you’re safe.’

‘She won’t care!’

‘Yes, she will,’ Peggy said firmly, ‘and Jonathan certainly
will. You don’t want to cause him more worry, now
do you?’

Ella pursed her lips against the tears and shook her
head.

‘Right, then. You drink your tea and I’ll just nip up to
the phone box at the top of the next street and ring the
Elands. Danny will go and tell them. What’s his number?’

When Ella had written it on a scrap of paper, Peggy
hurried off to telephone leaving Ella sitting hunched near
the fire, her hands cupped around the mug of tea.

It seemed ages before Peggy came back. Sitting down in
front of her again, before she even took off her coat, Peggy
said, ‘I spoke to Danny. He thinks it’s perhaps for the best
that you’ve come here for a while. He says there’s been
nothing but rows for weeks now. But . . .’ She paused and
stressed her next words. ‘He said, “Tell her not to stay
away for ever. We all love her.”’

Tears filled Ella’s eyes but did not fall. She pressed her
lips together and shook her head. ‘Maybe
they
do, but not
Gran. Gran’s never loved me – and – and I don’t think she
ever will.’ She raised her tearstained face. ‘I’m never going
back, Aunty Peg. Never!’

Peggy sighed, but all she said was, ‘Never’s a long time,
love.’

‘Aunty Peg, do you know who my real father is?’

‘D’you know, I’ve been waiting for that question ever
since you got here.’ Peggy smiled.

Ella had been living with Peggy for two weeks.

That first night she had lain awake in the tiny bedroom,
listening to the drone of the traffic on the main road
passing the top of the street, drifting into sleep and then
disturbed by the sudden bang of a door in the adjoining
terraced house, the sound of raised voices from the neighbours.
She had scrambled out of bed once to peer out of
the window to see a drunk weaving his way down the
middle of the road, his tuneless singing echoing down the
wet street.

She snuggled back into bed but sleep would not come
now; the room seemed stifling, the walls so close, the
confined space so airless. She got out of bed again and
tugged and heaved at the sash window until she could feel
a draught of air coming into the room, suddenly with an
irrational longing for wide open spaces and freedom. It
was so totally unlike the large bedroom at home . . .

Home? Why ever was she calling Brumbys’ Farm
‘home’? she demanded of herself irritably.
This
was home.
Lincoln was home. It always had been, she reminded
herself sharply. Never mind what Peggy said, she was not
going back to Fleethaven Point. Not ever!

But as sleep had claimed her at last in the early hours of
a chill city morning, she imagined she felt the weight of
Tibby on her feet and heard the creaking of the timbers in
the roof above her head.

She had enrolled for a secretarial course at the Lincoln
Technical College and although the term had already
started, there was a place because two people had dropped
out after the first week. She was interviewed and accepted
immediately and hurried along the road each morning to
learn shorthand, typing, and book-keeping.

‘The teacher makes us type in the dark,’ she giggled to
Peggy, ‘so that we learn to touch-type properly and don’t
look at the keyboard.’

‘How do you know what you’re typing?’

‘There’s a projector and screen and she shows a film of
the keyboard and someone’s fingers typing and we just
watch that and try to do the same.’

‘Sounds difficult.’

‘Actually, it’s fun!’ Ella said. ‘We type to music too, to
learn to keep an even rhythm.’

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it, dear.’

‘Oh I am, but . . .’ It was then that Ella’s face clouded
and she asked about her father.

Peggy clasped her hands together, her eyes shining. ‘It’s
been on my conscience for years.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Let’s make a cup of tea,’ it seemed as if Peggy always
turned to the teapot in times of crisis or with a problem to
face, ‘and I’ll tell you everything.’

‘You get the biscuits out and I’ll make the tea.’ Ella
smiled, switched on the kettle and reached for the tea caddy,
though her fingers were trembling. Did Peggy know
something that would help her find her father?

‘I don’t know how much you know or remember,’
Peggy began.

Ella shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t know anything,
except,’ her mouth tightened, ‘that my mother was never
married and that’s what caused my gran to be so bitter.’
She returned Peggy’s gaze steadily. ‘I only found out
recently exactly why. You see, Gran was a bastard – like
me.’

Peggy flinched. ‘Then you’d think she’d be a bit more
understanding.’

Ella nodded. ‘That’s what Grandpa’s often said. Even
when I was young and didn’t understand what they were
on about, I overheard him say it.’

Peggy took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember at your
mother’s funeral, you saw a man standing under the trees,
in the shadows?’

Ella twisted her mouth, struggling to recall that dreadful
day. ‘I – think so.’

‘When we all moved away, he – he went to stand by the
grave. None of us took much notice of him at the time. It
was only natural, we were all so dreadfully upset. But
when we got back to Rookery Farm you asked us, in the
kitchen, who he was.’ Peggy smiled gently at the memory.
‘Gave us quite a shock and threw poor Mavis into a right
old dither.’

‘Why?’

‘They, Mavis and Isobel, guessed it could have been him
– your father. And then . . .’ Peggy paused, warming to her
story, seeming suddenly to be enjoying the drama of the
moment. ‘He came to see me.’

Ella gasped, ‘When? After the funeral? Oh, why didn’t
you tell me?’

‘No, no, it wasn’t after the funeral. It was at the time
your photograph appeared in a daily paper.’

Ella looked puzzled.

‘You remember when you found that bomb on the
beach?’

Ella’s expression cleared. ‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, he saw it. It was all in there – your name, your
age, even about your mother having driven the Commanding
Officer at Suddaby in the war. He came here to ask
about you.’

‘Didn’t he know about me then?’

‘He told me that just after New Year in 1953,’ Peggy
went on, trying to bring all the strands of the events
together, ‘he’d written to your mum asking her to meet
him again. Evidently, until then, his life had been very
difficult and he hadn’t been able to contact her. He sent
the letter to Fleethaven Point because he knew that was
her home.’

Ella nodded excitedly. ‘That must have been the letter
she received when we got there, to go to the old man’s
funeral. And,’ she paused for effect, ‘there was a letter
found in her handbag, but it was drenched and the writing
absolutely unreadable. So was that why Mum went out in
Uncle Danny’s car that Saturday?’

Peggy nodded. ‘Yes, it was. Your mum went up the
coast to meet him. They talked, but she didn’t tell him
about you. I don’t know why. Maybe – if you find him –
he can tell you what happened between them.’

Ella whispered, ‘So why didn’t he come to find me when
you told him about me? Why . . .’ there was bitterness in
her tone now, ‘why did he leave me with her?’