Coming Home

  ‘I never thought of you being domesticated.’

  ‘I'm not.’

  The Dower House,

  Rosemullion.

  Saturday 3rd November.

  Dear Uncle Bob,

  I am sorry I have not written before, but I have been busy seeing people with Judith and cleaning the hut in the garden where I am going to sleep when it is warm enough.

  Thank you very much for having me to stay in Colombo. I enjoyed it, specially the alligators.

  I am starting school on Tuesday. I didn't think I would want to be a boarder, but I am going to be because Miss Catto says they do lots of special things at weekends, like acting and having reading aloud and going on expeditions. And I am going to be allowed to telephone Judith whenever I want. But in the evenings, not during the day.

  Miss Catto is very nice and quite funny.

  Morag is very well.

  I hope you are well too.

  Please give my love to Mr Beatty and Thomas.

  With love from

  Jess

  PS Biddy sends her love.

  ‘I don't want you to come in, Judith. I want to say goodbye to you on the front door step. If you come in, it will just make it all go on for longer.’

  ‘Is that what you really want?’

  ‘Yes. That nice girl, Elizabeth, said she'd be there to meet us and show me my dormitory and everything. She said she'd be waiting at the door.’

  ‘That was kind of her.’

  ‘And she said that for the rest of the term she would be my special prefect, and if I got lost or anything, I was to go and find her and she'd help.’

  ‘That sounds a good arrangement.’

  They were very nearly there. Judith turned the car off the main road and up the hill, through the estate of small houses, to where stood the school gates. It was half past two in the afternoon, and raining, a steady mizzle of a sea-mist, gently drenching the wintry gardens and the bare trees. The windscreen wipers had been going ever since they left Rose-mullion.

  ‘So funny,’ said Judith.

  ‘What's funny?’

  ‘History repeating itself. When Mummy brought me to St Ursula's for the very first time, I said exactly the same thing to her. “Don't come in. Say goodbye on the doorstep.” And that's what she did.’

  ‘But this is different, isn't it?’

  ‘Yes. Thank goodness, this is different. I said goodbye, and I thought it was for four years. It seemed forever. It was forever, but luckily I didn't know that at the time. You and I don't really have to say goodbye. Just au revoir. Because Phyllis and Biddy and I will never be far away. Even when Biddy moves, and gets a new house, we're all going to be quite near each other. And the next thing we know, it'll be Christmas.’

  ‘Will it be a proper one?’

  ‘The best.’

  ‘Will we have a Christmas tree, like Biddy did at Keyham?’

  ‘White and silver. Reaching half-way up the stairs.’

  Jess said, ‘It'll be funny without you.’

  ‘I'll miss you too.’

  ‘But I won't be homesick.’

  ‘No, Jess. Knowing you, I don't think you will.’

  Their parting did not take very long. As she had promised, the senior girl, Elizabeth, was there, at the big main door, waiting for them. Seeing the car, she shrugged herself into a mackintosh and came out to greet them.

  ‘Hello. Here you are. What a horrible day. Did you have a very foggy drive…?’

  Her self-possession and friendly manner entirely diffused any possible awkwardness or tension. ‘I'll take your suitcase and your hockey stick. Can you manage the rest? And then we'll go straight upstairs and I'll show you where you're sleeping…’

  Everything was duly carted indoors. Elizabeth, tactfully, busied herself out of earshot. On the front-door step, in the drizzling rain, Judith and Jess faced each other.

  Judith smiled. ‘This is it, then. This is where I leave you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jess was composed, but quite adamant. ‘Right here. I'll be all right now.’ And so cool, and so in charge of the situation was she, that Judith felt ashamed of her own misgivings, and the knowledge that, given the smallest encouragement, she might behave like the most sentimental of mothers and start brimming at the eyes. ‘Thank you for driving me.’

  ‘”Bye, Jess.”

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Love you.’

  They kissed. Jess gave her a funny little grin, turned away, and was gone.

  Judith wept a bit in the car going home, but only because Jess had been so great, and because The Dower House was going to feel empty without her, and because they had been allowed so little time together. And then she found a handkerchief and blew her nose and stopped crying, and told herself briskly not to be such a fool. Jess, at St Ursula's, was going to flourish, like a little plant; mentally stimulated, perpetually occupied, and enjoying the company of girls of her own age. She had lived too long with grown-ups. Had lived too long with hunger and deprivation and bereavement, and all the horrors of a cruel and adult world. Now, at last, she would have time and space in which to rediscover the joys and the challenges of a normal childhood. It was what she needed. It had been, at the end of the day, the only sensible thing to do.

  So, all for the best. But it was hard not to feel a bit empty and bereft. Trundling back across the mist-driven moor, Judith decided that what she needed was a bit of contemporary company, and so would go and see Loveday. She hadn't been to Lidgey yet, simply because all her time lately had been taken up with Jess. Making the promised expedition to Penmarron; taking the train to Porthkerris, exploring the fascinating little town, calling on the Warrens and being given one of Mrs Warren's classic teas. As well, Jess had to be kitted out for St Ursula's. The clothes list was nothing like as long and complicated as it had been in Judith's day, and thanks to Whiteaway and Laidlaw in Colombo, Jess was well supplied with all the necessary clothes. But there were a great many other, ill-assorted items that she didn't have, and these all had to be tracked down in Penzance's denuded shops. A hockey stick, hockey boots, writing-paper, a paint-box. A science overall, a fountain-pen, sewing scissors, and a geometry set. And, last but not least, a Bible and a ‘Prayer-Book with Hymns Ancient and Modern’, both mandatory for any self-respecting High Anglican establishment.

  And then, it all had to be packed.

  So Loveday had been somewhat neglected. But now, this afternoon, the opportunity presented itself; she would keep her promise, go and visit, and spend an hour or two with Loveday and Nat. She wished she had thought of it before, so that she could have bought flowers in Penzance for Loveday and perhaps a toy or some sweets for Nat. But too late now. Presents would have to wait until later.

  She drove past Rosemullion and up the hill, past the gates of Nancherrow, and so on for about a mile, until she reached the turning that led down to the farm. The lane dipped, narrow and rutted as a stream-bed, sunken between granite hedges and thickets of gorse. At its head stood a wooden signpost, LIDGEY, and the stone platform where Walter left the churns each day to be picked up by the Milk-Marketing lorry.

  It was a bumpy, jolting, winding mile to the main farmhouse, but half-way down, on the left-hand side, stood the low stone cottage that the Colonel had had renovated when Loveday and Walter were married. It hugged the curve of the hill, its slate roof gleaming in the rain, and was instantly recognisable by the line of washing which slapped and billowed in the wet wind. She came to the gate, which stood open, propped by a boulder, beyond which led a grassy track, melding into what should have been a garden, but wasn't. Just the washing-line, and a few more gorse bushes, and some toys lying around. A rusted tricycle and a tin spade and bucket. She stopped the car and turned off the ignition, and heard the wind. Somewhere, a dog barked. She got out of the car, walked up the granite flagged path, and opened a paint-scarred door.

  ‘Loveday!’

  She was in a tiny lobby hung with old coats, waterproofs, and with mud-caked boot
s awry upon the floor.

  ‘Loveday!’

  She opened a second door. ‘It's me.’

  Kitchen, living-room, all in one. Almost a replica of Mrs Mudge's. A simmering Cornish range, clothes strung on a pulley high overhead, flagged floors, a few rugs; the table, the clay sink, the dogs' bowls, the pig-bucket, the piles of old newspapers, the dresser laden with odds and ends, the sagging sofa.

  Nat lay on the sofa, his thumb plugged into his mouth. He was fast asleep. He wore grubby overalls, soaking wet where he had peed into them. The wireless, perched on one of the shelves of the dresser, burbled away to itself. Well meet again, don't know where, don't know when. Loveday was ironing.

  As the door opened she looked up. Judith said, unnecessarily, ‘It's me.’

  ‘Well.’ Loveday set down the iron with a thump. ‘Where have you turned up from?’

  ‘St Ursula's. Just left Jess there.’

  ‘Oh God, is she all right?’

  ‘She was amazing. Matter-of-fact. No tears. I was the one who nearly blubbed.’

  ‘Do you think she'll like it?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. She's got permission to ring me up if she's feeling blue. The one who's feeling really blue is me, so I've come for a bit of cheering.’

  ‘I'm not sure if you've come to the right place.’

  ‘Looks fine to me. I'd die for a cup of tea.’

  ‘I'll put the kettle on. Take your coat off. Sling it down somewhere.’

  Which Judith did, but found nowhere to sling it, because there was a pile of washing on one chair, a huge sleeping tabby-cat on another, and Nat, out for the count, on the sofa. So she went back to the little lobby and draped her waterproof on a peg, over a pair of mud-stained black oilskin trousers.

  ‘I'm really sorry I haven't been before, Loveday, but I haven't had a moment, there's been so much to do for Jess…’ Judith went over to the sofa and gazed down at the sleeping Nat. His cheeks were brightly red, one more so than the other, and he clutched in his fat fist an old rag of a blanket, with the remains of a ribboned hem. ‘Does he always sleep in the afternoon?’

  ‘Not usually. But he didn't get to sleep till two this morning. I had a terrible time with him. I think he might be teething.’ Loveday filled the kettle at the sink, and went to put it on the range. ‘To be truthful, I never know when he's going to sleep and when he's awake. He's always been a terror about sleeping. And when he does, I leave him because it's the only bit of peace I get. That's why I was trying to get the ironing done.’

  ‘Perhaps if we wake him now, he'll be more likely to go to sleep tonight.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps.’ But Loveday did not sound too keen on the idea. ‘Once he's up, he's up, and that's it. And it's too wet to put him outside to play.’

  But I know well meet again some sunny day, mooned the wireless. She went over to the dresser and switched it off. ‘Soppy tune. Just listening for a bit of company. I'll clear all this away and make a bit of space for you…’

  She began bundling up the unironed washing, but Judith stopped her. ‘I'll do it. Let me finish it while you make the tea. I like ironing. And you wake Nat, and then we can all have tea together…’

  ‘Are you sure? Seems a bit hard…’

  ‘What are friends for, dear?’ Judith asked in Mary Millyway's voice, and she picked a crumpled shirt off the top of the pile and spread it out on the board. ‘Is this meant to look immaculate when it's finished? Because if so, I'll have to damp it down a bit.’

  ‘No. Doesn't matter. Just folded, so that I can get it into Walter's shirt drawer.’ Loveday dumped herself down on the sofa beside her sleeping son. ‘He's wet himself, the little villain.’ But her voice was indulgent. ‘Hey, Nat. Wake up. We're going to have tea.’ She laid a hand on his round stomach, and bent to kiss him. Occupied with Loveday's ironing, Judith thought she looked terrible. She seemed tired out, with dark rings under her eyes. Judith found herself wondering if there ever came a day when the little house was neat, or even moderately clean and tidy, and decided that probably it never did.

  Nat's eyes opened. Loveday lifted him and set him on her knee and cuddled him for a bit, talking to him until he was properly awake. Staring about him, he spied Judith. ‘Who that lady?’

  ‘That's Judith. You met her the other day. At Granny's.’

  Nat's dark eyes were like two juicy raisins. ‘I don't amember her.’

  ‘Well, she remembers you, and she's come to see you.’ She stood, lifting Nat up into her arms. ‘Come along, I'll get your trousers changed.’

  ‘Can I come too and see the rest of the house?’ Judith asked.

  ‘No, you can't,’ she was told firmly. ‘It's much too untidy. If you'd told me you were coming I'd have kicked all the clutter under the bed. I need notice before I give guided tours. A bit like a Stately Home. Next time, I'll show you.’

  There was a door at the far end of the kitchen, and she disappeared through this, leaving it ajar behind her, so that Judith had a glimpse of the huge brass bedstead. Doing her best to smooth out the wrinkles of the bone-dry, crumpled shirt, she listened to Loveday's voice chatting to Nat. Heard her opening and shutting drawers, running taps, flushing the lavatory. Presently, they returned. Nat, in clean overalls and with his hair brushed, looked as though butter would not melt in his mouth. Loveday set him down on the floor, found a little truck for him to play with, and left him to his own devices.

  The kettle was boiling. She reached for the teapot.

  ‘I've done one shirt.’

  ‘Oh, don't do any more. Switch off the iron. If you want to help, you can lay the table…The cups are in that cupboard. And plates, too. There's a bit of saffron cake in the bread bin, and butter in that dish on the top of the fridge…’

  Between them, they assembled a makeshift tea-table, pushing a few papers and The Farmer's Weekly to one side in order to make space. Nat was invited to join them but declined, preferring the floor and his truck, which he pushed around the floor making meh-meh-meh noises to make it real. Loveday let him be.

  She said, ‘I'm sorry about the mess and not letting you look.’

  ‘Don't be silly.’

  ‘I'll give it a spring clean and then send you a formal invitation. It's actually very sweet and the new bathroom's lovely. Tiled and hot pipes for the towels and everything. Darling Pops was really generous. Only thing is, we've only got the one bedroom. I know Nat would sleep better if he was on his own, but there's not much we can do about it.’ She poured Judith's tea. ‘Your house always looks so tidy, not a thing out of place.’

  ‘That's Phyllis, and we haven't got a lively three-year-old knocking about.’

  ‘It's never so bad on a good day. He plays out of doors most of the time. But when it's wet, it's impossible, nothing but mud being tracked in and out.’

  ‘Where's Walter?’

  ‘Oh, somewhere. Up the top field, I think. He'll be back soon, for the milking.’

  ‘Do you still help with that?’

  ‘Sometimes. If Mrs Mudge isn't around.’

  ‘How about today?’

  ‘No, not today, thank God.’

  ‘You're looking tired, Loveday.’

  ‘So would you if you hadn't got to sleep until three in the morning.’

  She fell silent, sitting there with her bony elbows propped on the table-top, her hands wrapped around the mug of hot tea, her eyes downcast. The long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks, and Judith looked, and saw to her dismay that they shone with seeping tears.

  ‘Oh, Loveday.’

  Loveday, in a sort of angry denial, shook her head. ‘I'm just tired.’

  ‘If there's something wrong, you know you can tell me.’

  Loveday shook her head again. A tear escaped, dribbled down her cheek. She put up a hand and roughly brushed it away.

  ‘It's no good keeping things to yourself. It doesn't do any good.’

  Loveday said nothing.

  ‘Is it you and Walter?’ It took some courage to say
, because Judith knew she was quite liable to have her head bitten off, but she said it. And it was said. And Loveday hadn't flown at her. ‘Is there something wrong between you?’

  Loveday muttered something.

  ‘I'm sorry?’

  ‘I said, there's another woman. He's got another woman.’

  Judith felt herself go quite weak.

  Carefully, she laid her mug on the table. ‘Are you sure?’

  Loveday nodded.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know. He's been seeing her. Evenings, at the pub. Sometimes he doesn't get home till all hours.’

  ‘But how do you know?’

  ‘Mrs Mudge told me.’

  ‘Mrs Mudge?’

  ‘Yes. The word got through to her from the village. She told me because she said I ought to know. Have it out with Walter. Tell him to lay off.’

  ‘Is she on your side, or his?’

  ‘My side. Up to a point. I think she reckons that if a man goes off chasing a fancy piece, then there's something wrong with his wife.’

  ‘Why doesn't she give him hell? He's her son.’

  ‘She says it's not her business to interfere. And I must say, she never has. I'll give her that.’

  ‘Who is this woman?’

  ‘She's a mess. She came down to Porthkerris during the summer sometime. Turned up with some phony painter or other. From London. She lived with him for a bit, and then they either had a row, or he found someone else, so she moved out on him.’

  ‘Where's she living now?’

  ‘In a caravan, up at the back of Veglos Hill.’

  ‘Where did Walter meet up with her?’

  ‘Some pub or other.’

  ‘What's her name?’

  ‘You're not going to believe this.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Arabella Lumb.’

  ‘It can't be true.’

  And suddenly, incredibly, they were both laughing, just for a moment, and Loveday still with tears on her cheeks.