The Throwaway Children (59 page)

Delia had often noticed that when Rita and Daisy got together, Rita slipped back into her childhood vernacular. It made Delia smile to hear them talking, but she was glad that Rita had learned to speak better English as she’d gone through school, and had picked up on Delia’s own, precise, use of language. Most of the time Rita spoke good, colloquial, English, her childhood accent replaced by an Australian one, but when she wrote, her language was fluent, flowing from her pen in a style both descriptive and well expressed. When Rita wrote there was little trace of her earliest years.

‘She might borrow some, or steal some,’ suggested Daisy cheerfully.

‘Not likely. Who’d lend it her? She won’t come, Dais!’

‘Then why write to her? Forget the silly cow, and get on with your life here. Ain’t it good enough for you?’

‘Course it is,’ cried Rita.

‘There you are, then. Hey, Reet, did I tell you?’ Daisy went on, determined to change the subject.

‘Did you tell me what?’

‘That I met this bloke…’

‘Oh Dais, you haven’t…’

‘No,’ laughed Daisy, ‘nothing like that. Honestly, Reet, you got a one-track mind!’

‘No, I ain’t,’ retorted Rita. ‘What is it like, then, if it ain’t “like that”?’

‘He’s called Pete and he come in the store,’ explained Daisy, ‘and we got talking…’

Daisy’s diversion had worked. For the rest of the afternoon they talked about Daisy and how Pete had got her into the athletics club ‘for peanuts, ’cos I’m so good, see?’, and chatted in the easy way they always had. Rita’s mother wasn’t mentioned again, and when they parted, Daisy to return to her bedsit in Kings Cross, Rita to walk home to David, it seemed that Mavis was forgotten.

Carrie Maunder came out of her house and looked down the road. Maggie had promised to look in today after she finished work, but she was so much later than usual, Carrie was beginning to wonder where she was. As she looked along Ship Street once again, she saw her neighbour. Madge Holt had moved into number 9 about six months ago, and been avid to learn more of its gruesome history.

When Mavis had been murdered there was talk of the council pulling the house down, but there was such a housing shortage after the war, with so many streets having been flattened, that the house had been reprieved and contract cleaners sent in. Following the big clean-up there had been several tenants, but none of them had stayed more than a couple of years.

Gradually most people forgot that number 9 was the scene of a murder, the horror of that dreadful day becoming a distant memory, slipping back into the recesses of even Carrie’s mind. Until, that was, Madge Holt moved in.

‘I’m not afraid of ghosts,’ Madge asserted roundly. ‘The dead’s dead, and that’s an end to it.’ But gradually, over the following weeks, she returned to the subject of Mavis’s death, asking Carrie, as Mavis’s closest friend, exactly what had happened.

Eventually Carrie started avoiding Madge, ducking back into the house if she saw her. Now as she spotted her bearing down on her, overall flapping like a ship in full sail, she turned back to her own front door.

‘Mrs Maunder! Mrs Maunder!’ Madge cried. ‘Wait!’

Carrie sighed and waited. ‘Mrs Holt,’ she said with thinly veiled impatience, ‘whatever is the matter?’

‘I need a word, just a quick word.’

‘Have to be quick,’ Carrie told her, ‘Maggie’ll be here in a mo.’

‘Just need a word,’ repeated Madge. ‘Don’t know what to do, you see.’

‘Do?’ echoed Carrie. ‘Do about what?’

‘I’m trying to tell you,’ puffed Madge. ‘I got a letter.’

‘Yeah, so? Who from?’

‘Don’t know, but it’s addressed to Mrs Mavis Randall, you know the woman—’

‘I know who Mavis Randall was,’ interrupted Carrie, so sharply that Madge flinched.

‘Yeah, well, all right,’ she said. ‘Anyhow, the letter’s addressed to her, but at my address. Which was her address, of course, all them years ago.’

‘A letter? For Mavis?’ Carrie was incredulous.

Having finally managed to capture Carrie’s attention, Madge beamed at her. ‘It’s got Australian stamps on it, and an Australian postmark.’

‘Then I suspect,’ observed Carrie, ‘that it’s come from Australia.’ The irony in Carrie’s voice passed over Madge’s head entirely.

‘Yes,’ Madge said, nodding vigorously, ‘yes, I think you’re right. But who would be writing to her now, d’you think?’ She drew a blue airmail envelope out from the pocket of her overall.

Carrie took it and turning it over, saw the sender’s name on the back.
Mrs R Harris
, and an address in Sydney. ‘R’? Could it possibly be Rita, or Rosie? Surely not. Surely someone would have told them of their mother’s tragic death.

‘It’s got a name and address on the back,’ said Madge, ‘so I’d better send it back, don’t you think? Put, “not known at this address”… or,’ she suggested with a gleam of intense curiosity in her eyes, ‘perhaps we should open it, and write back explaining.’ She held out her hand for the letter, but Carrie stuffed it quickly into her trouser pocket.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No, it’s not for us to open. I’ll take it round to Mrs Sharples.’

Madge flushed with annoyance, angry that she’d lost the initiative. ‘And who’s she, when she’s at home?’

‘Mavis’s mother.’

‘Her mother!’ Madge was incredulous. ‘Is she still alive?’

‘Very much so.’

‘Gawd, she must be ancient.’

‘Not at all,’ said Carrie. ‘She’s about sixty-five and alive and well. I’ll take it round hers. Up to her to open it.’

‘But—’ began Madge.

‘Thank you for bringing it over, Mrs Holt,’ Carrie said, ignoring the interruption, ‘that was very kind.’ And Madge Holt was left standing in the street, wishing she’d opened the letter herself before showing it to anyone else.

‘Mrs Maunder’s here, Gran,’ Rick called, as he stood aside to let Carrie in. ‘Go on through. Gran’s in the kitchen.’

‘Carrie!’ cried Lily, getting to her feet, ‘What a lovely surprise. What brings you here?’

‘Don’t get up, Mrs Sharples,’ Carrie said, and Lily subsided gratefully onto her chair. She had some arthritis in her hips now, and getting up from a chair was becoming more difficult.

‘Lovely to see you, Carrie,’ she said. ‘It’s been too long. How are you, dear? How’re John and the children? Well, not children of course now. Did I hear that Maggie got married last year?’

Carrie let Lily run on about the children, her own answers automatic as the aerogramme seemed to be burning a hole in her pocket. She’d wanted to rush round and give Lily the letter, but now she was here, Carrie wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. Perhaps she should have opened it first, after all. What if it
was
from Rita or Rosie? What if Lily had such a shock she had a heart attack? You never knew with older people, did you? She was suddenly aware of a silence and looked across at Lily and found her regarding her quizzically.

‘Well, Carrie,’ she said, ‘you didn’t just come round to talk about our children, did you? What’s up?’

‘It’s difficult,’ began Carrie.

‘Then spit it out,’ said Lily. ‘Difficult things should always be said straight out. Makes them less difficult, I always find.’

Carrie drew a deep breath and said, ‘OK. A letter came today. My neighbour brought it round. It’s addressed to Mavis….’

Lily stared at her, unable to speak.

‘It’s from someone in Sydney, in Australia…’ said Carrie, and when Lily still said nothing, she went on, ‘someone called R Harris. So I’ve brought it round to you.’

She pulled the letter from her pocket and passed it across to Lily. For a long moment, Lily held it, looking at the name and address on the front, then she turned it over and read the name and address on the back. Then she handed it back to Carrie.

‘You open it,’ she said. ‘You open it and see who it’s from.’

Carrie slit the aerogramme along its sides, and flipped it open. She glanced at the opening and then at the bottom. She saw the words
Dear Mum
and then that it was signed,
your daughter, Rita Harris.

‘It’s from Rita,’ she said softly. ‘And she don’t know Mavis is dead.’

Lily stared at her for a moment, tears flooding her eyes. ‘Read it me,’ she whispered.

Carrie began to read.

Dear Mum,

I expect you’ll be surprised to hear from me after all these years. You didn’t want me and Rosie, well, not enough anyway, and maybe you don’t want to hear from me now. I expect you’ve got lots of other kids now, but I only know about Richard. Gran did write to me once, before she died, but though I wrote back to her I never heard from her again. I’m not really sure why I’m writing to you now, except that I’m going to have a baby in June, and I thought about you and thought you might like to know you are going to be a grandmother. Perhaps you are one already, but anyway, I thought you’d like to know.

My husband, David, wasn’t very keen on me writing to you, but I felt I had to do it, just this once. If you don’t answer you’ll never hear from me again, but if you do, then I will write to you occasionally and tell you how your grandchild is doing.

I also have to tell you poor Rosie is dead. She was adopted by some awful people when we first got here and they made her life hell. She ran away and when they were coming to find her she took sleeping pills rather than go back. She died because she came to Australia, because you didn’t want her.

I’ll say this to you only once. I don’t know how you could possibly have given us away like you did. Thrown us away, more like. I haven’t even had this baby yet, but I know I could never, ever, part with him or her. Still, I suppose it’s all water under the bridge now and it’s no good going on hating you. David says hatred twists your soul. I think he’s right. So, I don’t hate you any more.

From your daughter,

Rita Harris

Carrie looked up from reading and saw the tears streaming down Lily’s cheeks. She was at her side immediately, her arms round her, holding her tightly until her sobs began to subside.

‘Carrie,’ she whispered, ‘oh Carrie, we got our Rita back.’ And her tears began to flow again. ‘But Rosie, poor darling little Rosie…’

At that moment the door opened and Rick came back in carrying a book. ‘Gran,’ he began and then stopped short when he saw her in tears. He looked at Carrie. ‘Mrs Maunder? What’s going on?’

‘Your gran has had some good news.’

‘
Good
news?’ queried Rick. ‘Don’t look like good news to me!’

‘I’ve brought her a letter that came today. It’s from Rita.’

‘Rita!’ gasped Rick, his eyes flying to the photo of the two little girls in rose-patterned frocks on the mantelpiece. ‘My sister, Rita?’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Carrie. ‘And you can see your gran’s a bit overcome.’

Rick dropped into a chair and Carrie handed him the letter. He read it through and then read it again.

‘She don’t know our ma’s dead,’ he said, ‘and she thinks Gran
is
.’

‘Nobody told her about her mother,’ Lily said through her tears. ‘Nobody bothered to tell her. It’s that bloody Vanstone woman again.’ Lily’s voice shook with rage. ‘But she must have told her
I
was. How could she? How could she have done such a wicked thing? Rita’s thought I was dead, all these years. What an evil, evil woman!’

‘Well, she’s dead an’ all,’ said Rick.

‘And I hope she burns in hell!’ Lily said viciously.

‘Forget her, Gran,’ Rick said. ‘She’s long gone.’

‘She killed our Rosie,’ said Lily bitterly. ‘She killed our Rosie as surely as if she’d stuck a knife into her. Our Rosie killed herself ’cos she was sent to Australia, ’cos some family what took her and was supposed to look after made her life hell. That’s what Rita said. An’ that woman sent her there instead of letting me look after her.’

‘Yeah, I know, Gran.’ Richard sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘But at least you’ve found Rita. Cry for poor Rosie, Gran, of course, but smile for Rita. Now you know where Rita is we can write to her and tell her you ain’t dead. We could go and see her. We could go to Australia.’

Lily did manage a smile, then, through her tears. ‘Steady on, lad,’ she said with a shaky laugh. ‘We ain’t made of money.’

‘No, all right,’ Rick agreed, ‘not go, not straight away, but we can write and send photos and stuff, and she can do the same for us. And I’ve got my paper round, I’ll start saving!’

‘You do that, love,’ Lily said. She looked across at Carrie who had been watching the two of them, while trying to come to terms, herself, with what she’d read in the letter; the dreadful news about Rosie, the wonderful news about Rita.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Lily murmured. ‘I can’t believe that there’s a letter from Rita after all these years.’

‘It’s wonderful to hear from her,’ Carrie said. ‘
And
you’re going to be a great-gran!’

Lily smiled. ‘Yes, I s’pose I am.’ Then her smile faded. ‘But Rosie? Our lovely Rosie. And how am I going to tell Rita about her mother? About what happened to her?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Carrie. ‘That’s a hard thing. Just write and tell her, I s’pose. No way of breaking it gently, is there?’ She reached over and took the old lady’s hand. ‘But just think how thrilled she’s going to be to find that you’re still here! That’ll make it easier for her.’

‘Will it?’ wondered Lily. ‘Whatever she did, Mavis was still her mother, and hearing that she was murdered, well, it ain’t going to be easy for her, is it?’ Silence lapsed round them as they all reflected on Mavis’s horrifying end.

When Carrie left, Lily and Rick went over and over the letter from Rita.

‘I just can’t believe it,’ Lily said, ‘Rita, married and having a baby. Just fancy that.’

‘When’re you going to write back?’ asked Rick. ‘Can I put a letter in too?’

‘Course you can, love,’ said Lily. ‘I’ll get one of them airmail letter things tomorrow and we’ll write it together in the evening. Now, finish your homework. You’ve got exams coming up.’

Rick retired to his bedroom to try to finish his history essay, and Lily slowly cleared away the tea things. Rita’s married, she thought as she stacked the dishes in the sink. And to a nice man by the sound of it, a man with sensible ideas, anyway. And going to have a baby; little Rita who’d only been nine years old when Lily had last seen her. But Rosie, her bright, sunny, trusting little granddaughter, was dead; literally frightened to death. Alone in the kitchen Lily buried her head in her hands and wept.