Coming Home

  Mr Baines smiled. ‘You sound like my daughter, playing houses.’

  ‘Only, this is for real.’

  Because it was such a warm afternoon, the tea-party took place on the sheltered veranda, and Mr Baines dragged forward various items of aged rattan furniture in which they disposed themselves. A few high, vaporous clouds had appeared in the sky, gathering and then disappearing like blown smoke. A breeze rustled the branches of a deep-pink prunus, and petals fell softly as pink snow to form a carpet on the green lawn. Somewhere a thrush sang. While they drank tea out of Aunt Lavinia's rose-entwined bone-china cups, Morag disappeared on a tour of exploration, quartering this new territory and making herself familiar with every interesting smell.

  Biddy became a little anxious. ‘She won't get lost, will she?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How far does the garden go?’

  ‘To the foot of the hill. In terraces. There's an orchard at the bottom. Later, I'll show you.’ The thrush was singing again. Biddy put aside her cup and saucer, lay back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  Presently, Mr Baines and Judith left her and did another tour of the house, this time with a beady eye for defects that needed instant attention. The damp patch in Isobel's attic; another in the bathroom. A dripping kitchen tap, the suspicion of dry rot in the scullery. ‘I'll need to get hold of a plumber,’ said Mr Baines, and then took himself out of doors to eye guttering and down-pipes, and note missing slates or rusted hinges. Judith, assured that her presence was not necessary, returned to Biddy. On her way through the kitchen, she took, from its hook, the key of the Hut. Because there was no time like the present. The only unhappy ghost of The Dower House had to be laid as soon as possible, so that there should be not one corner of her new domain unswept and scoured of memories.

  Biddy had stayed as they left her, but Morag had returned and was resting by her side. It was a long time since Judith had seen Biddy do nothing so peacefully. It seemed a shame to disturb her, but she was not asleep. Judith pulled up a wickerwork stool and sat facing her.

  ‘Do you want to see the garden?’

  Biddy turned her head. ‘What have you done with your friendly solicitor?’

  ‘He's inspecting the guttering.’

  ‘What a sweet man he is.’

  ‘Yes. Special.’

  ‘Mrs Boscawen must have been a very tranquil lady.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I don't remember ever having been in such a tranquil place. Not a sound. Just birds and gulls and a sunlit garden. And that little sight of the sea.’

  ‘When I first came here years ago, I thought it felt like being abroad. The Mediterranean, somewhere. Italy, perhaps.’

  ‘Exactly. Pure E. M. Forster. I'd forgotten about Cornwall. I haven't been for so long…that last summer at Riverview. It's like the past. Another country. Already Devon seems so far away.’

  ‘Is that a good thing?’

  ‘Yes. It's a good thing. Healing. Being somewhere…a house like this…that has no memories of Ned.’

  It was the first time, since Ned's death, that Judith had actually heard Biddy say his name. ‘Is that good too?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. It shouldn't be. I should savour memories, but Upper Bickley is too full of them. I wake in the night and think I hear his voice. I go into his bedroom and bury my face in his blanket, and weep with desolation. It's been such a terrible winter. Without you, I think I wouldn't have endured it.’

  Judith said, ‘It's over now.’

  ‘I still have to go back. Deal with my weaknesses, face up to reality. I know that.’

  ‘You don't have to go back. We can stay here. It's my house. We can move in tomorrow, if you want. You can stay for days, or weeks, or months. The whole summer. Why not?’

  ‘Oh, Judith! What a scheme. When did you think this up?’

  ‘Just now. While you were talking. There's nothing to stop us.’

  ‘But my poor little house in Devon! I can't just abandon it.’

  ‘You can let it, furnished, for the summer. Some naval family, stationed at Devonport, would jump at it, so handy and so close to Plymouth. Surely you can send the buzz round the dockyard; you'd let it in no time.’

  ‘But the Daggs…’

  ‘If you let to nice people, the Daggs will happily go on working there, keep an eye on the house and the garden for you. Staying here will be like a lovely holiday for you, and you can help me clear out all those boxes in the attic.’

  Suddenly Biddy laughed. ‘That won't be much of a holiday.’ But Judith could see the growing excitement in her expression.

  ‘There's nothing to stop us. Don't you see? There's nothing to stop you just staying here. Come on, Biddy, say yes. Give yourself a chance. You deserve it.’

  ‘But you…we've agreed that you can't stay with me for always, and I'm so useless on my own…’

  ‘I've told you. I'm going to ask Phyllis and her baby to come and live here, so you won't be alone. You always loved Phyllis, and Anna's sweet, and even if I do go off to be a Wren or something, the three of us can be here together. Company for each other. And I'll take you to Nancherrow, and once you've met Diana and all of them you won't feel a bit lonely. And you can go and be a Red Cross lady with her instead of with Hester Lang. Don't you see? It all works out so perfectly, it might have been meant.’

  But Biddy, despite herself, was still uncertain. ‘How about Bob?’

  ‘We'll ring him up and tell him our plan.’

  ‘But leaves, and things. I must be there if he has leave.’

  ‘It's only a little further than Devon. Or if you wanted, you could nip up to London in the train and meet him there. Please don't think of any more objections. Just agree. Anyway, till the end of the summer.’

  ‘I'll think about it,’ Biddy said feebly, but Judith disregarded this.

  ‘What we'll do is, we'll go back to the Mitre tonight, and spend one more night there, and then we'll buy a bit of food and come back here tomorrow. And we'll make up the beds and pick heaps of flowers. We'll stoke up the range tonight so that it doesn't go out, and then there'll be lots of hot water for baths and things, and that's absolutely all we've got to think about.’

  ‘And Morag?’

  ‘Oh, Biddy, Morag will love to live here. Won't you, darling creature? She's already perfectly at home. Please, don't think of one more damping thing to say. What's the use of my having a house if we can't all enjoy it?’

  Finally, Biddy succumbed. ‘All right. We'll give it a try. We'll give it a couple of weeks.’ And then she laughed. ‘For the life of me, I can't imagine where you get your persuasive powers from. Certainly neither your dear mother, nor your father.’

  ‘I'd like to think I get them from you. Now, quickly, before Mr Baines appears and says it's time to go back to Penzance, come with me and let me show you the garden.’

  So Biddy got to her feet, and together they stepped out into the sweet warmth of the late afternoon, and went across the grass and along the path that led through the rose garden and down into the orchard. Here, the gnarled old apple trees were misted in young green; they had shed their blossom and the tiny buds of new fruit had already formed. The grass was long, studded with wild poppies and marguerite daisies. Soon, all would have to be scythed down, and raked into little haystacks.

  Biddy breathed the scented air. ‘It's like a painting by Monet.’ Morag bounded ahead. ‘What's that little house?’

  ‘Oh. That's the Hut. I've got the key. Aunt Lavinia had it built for Athena and Edward Carey-Lewis. They used to camp out here in the summer-time.’

  ‘Do you want to show me?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do.’

  She went ahead of Biddy, ducking her head beneath the apple branches. She climbed the wooden steps and smelt the warm smell of creosote, and put the key in the door and pushed it open. Saw the bunk, with its scarlet blanket, where she had found and lost her love.

  This is just the beginning of lovi
ng.

  But it had been the end.

  It's pointless to give your love to the wrong person.

  She remembered the bee, droning around the roof. She looked up, and there were cobwebs there again, and her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Judith.’

  Biddy, behind her.

  She brushed the tears away, and turned. She said, ‘So stupid.’

  ‘You and Edward?’

  ‘I had to come. I haven't been here since; I had to come today.’

  ‘Grasping the nettle?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Does it still sting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Biddy said, ‘This is yours now. You can fill it with your own experiences, make your own memories. You were brave to come.’

  ‘Right now, I don't feel very brave.’

  ‘And failing all, you can always use it as an extra spare room. For, possibly, guests who snore?’

  And all at once the stupid tears receded, and they were both laughing. And Biddy gave Judith a hug and shooed her out through the door, and they locked it up again, and started back through the orchard. And as they went, they heard Mr Baines calling them from the house, and hurried back up through the garden to tell him immediately, losing no time, of the plans that they had laid.

  ‘Nancherrow.’

  ‘Diana, it's Judith.’

  ‘Darling! Where are you?’

  ‘At The Dower House. I moved in yesterday. I'm living here.’

  ‘Oh, what bliss. I didn't even know you'd come down.’

  ‘I brought Biddy with me. And her dog. We got the keys on Monday, and then yesterday we moved in.’

  ‘For good?’

  ‘Not sure about that. Anyway, for the time being. It's heaven. And I have to thank you so much for letting me have all the furniture. I feel I should pay you for it or something…’

  ‘Heavens, don't suggest such a thing or Edgar will be mortally offended. I'm afraid we left a few gaps, removing all those goodies, but I really wanted the children to have just one little remembrance of darling Aunt Lavinia.’

  ‘The gaps hardly show. One day I'll fill them up with bits of my own. How is everybody?’

  ‘In rude health. We've just had Edward down for a couple of days. Totally unexpected. But his commanding officer gave him a weekend leave, and it was utter bliss to see him again. I can't bear it that you just missed him.’

  ‘…how is he?’

  ‘Looking a bit tired and thin, and he slept a good deal of the time, but by the time he went back to darkest Kent or wherever he is, he was quite himself again. I told him about you buying The Dower House and he was delighted — as, of course, we all are. He said it felt like keeping it in the family, and to tell you that next time he comes down, he's going to descend on you and make sure you're not making any radical changes or improvements.’

  ‘What would he imagine I might do?’

  ‘Oh, I don't know. Fling out a ballroom wing or something. When are we going to see you? Come for lunch. Bring your aunt and the dog for lunch. What day? Tomorrow?’

  ‘We can't come tomorrow because we have to go out to St Just and talk to Phyllis Eddy. I want her to come and live here too, with her baby girl. I'm hoping that she's going to jump at the idea, but you never know, do you?’

  ‘Darling, anything's better than St Just. So, what about Friday? Lunch on Friday.’

  ‘That would be wonderful. And I want you to rope Biddy into the Red Cross.’

  ‘We could certainly do with a little fresh blood. Barbara Parker Brown's getting dreadfully bossy, and everybody but me's terrified of her. We keep being told that being at war brings out the best in people, but it's certainly brought out the worst in her. Darling, what about all your bits and pieces that are here? Do you want to remove them, or do you want me to keep them for you?’

  ‘I'll take them away, and then you can have your pink bedroom back.’

  ‘Too sad. The end of an era. I'll get Mary to pack them up, and we'll send them over with a tractor, or something.’

  ‘There's no immediate hurry. How's Athena?’

  ‘Getting more enormous every moment. I'm trimming the cot. White broderie anglaise, too pretty. I'll show you when you come. Friday lunch-time. I'll go and tell Mrs Nettlebed now, so that she can kill the fatted calf or wring the neck of one of Loveday's old hens. See you then, darling. Thank you for phoning. Heaven to know you're back with us again. Bye-eee!’

  The Dower House,

  Rosemullion,

  Cornwall.

  Saturday, 25th May.

  Dear Mummy and Dad,

  Once more, ages since I have written. I am so sorry, but so much is happening. Most important, don't you adore this writing paper? I found it in a drawer and couldn't resist using it. It was in a box from Harrods, all embossed and waiting for me.

  As you can see, we've moved in. Biddy and her dog and me. Biddy loves it, she's unravelled like a length of string, and looks better than she's looked forever. I think she finds this house very peaceful, and it has no memories of Ned. Besides, she's always loved Cornwall, and this afternoon we're going to go down to the sea and swim. I hope she will let Upper Bickley, and stay, at least for the summer, but it's an open-ended arrangement, and she must make up her own mind.

  Yesterday, we got into the car and drove to St Just to see Phyllis. She's living in her parents' house and there's scarcely room to turn around, but after we'd said hello and everything and had the inevitable cups of tea and slabs of saffron cake, Biddy and I managed to smuggle her out onto the washing-green, and we sat on the grass and invited her to bring Anna and come and live here. (Anna is adorable, toddling around and beginning to say a few words. Luckily, she looks like Phyllis and not like Cyril, whose only good feature seems to have been his lovely eyebrows.) Anyway, the proposal all took a moment or two to sink in, but when it did, Phyllis burst into tears, she was so overcome with delight and gratitude. The arrangement is (with Mr Baines' approval) that I pay her a sort of retainer for caretaking, so that she won't be strapped for cash, and she's got a bit of Navy pay as well, and won't have to pay rent, so she should be all right. I thought she might be a bit reluctant about leaving her mother and going so far away (it's not far really, in miles, but it certainly isn't next door), but she seemed quite philosophic about this, and when we broke the news to the mother, I think she was quite relieved as well, because honestly, the St Just house is quite unhygienically overcrowded.

  On Friday I took Biddy for lunch at Nancherrow. I was a bit anxious about whether she and Diana would get on, as they're rather alike in some ways, and sometimes if people are too alike, they don't make friends. But I needn't have worried because they were gassing away in no time, and shrieking with laughter at the same silly jokes, and Biddy is going to join Diana's Red Cross group, which will give her a bit of war-work to do. Meantime, she has settled down here like a cat with butter on its paws, and like I said, is becoming more relaxed, and her old funny self, with every day that passes. I hadn't realised the strain, for her, of getting through the days in a house so filled with memories of Ned.

  I can't wait to show you my lovely new home. Aren't I lucky, being a householder, with roots of my own, and I'm still not even nineteen?

  I shan't stay forever. I really want to go and join up with the Wrens, but I have to get everything and everybody settled first. Perhaps at the end of the summer.

  Now I must go and help Biddy. One of the attics was left piled with old trunks and bits of carpet, et cetera, and she's started clearing it out. At the moment we have only three bedrooms, and Phyllis and Anna are going to have to sleep in the attic, where Isobel used to sleep. But I think, at the rate we're going, we'll need another bedroom, so as soon as we've disposed of all the clobber, we'll give it a coat of paint and buy some furniture.

  The war news is ghastly. The Allies have fallen back to Dunkirk. Colonel Carey-Lewis is convinced that the entire British Expeditionary Force is going to be either anni
hilated, or captured. It has all happened with such terrible speed, and by the time you get this letter, heaven knows what the state of play will be. But Mr Baines is utterly certain that, at the end of the day, we're going to win the war, so I have decided to be certain, too.

  So you mustn't worry about us. I know it's difficult, when we are all so far away from each other; but I know too that whatever happens, we will be all right.

  Lots of love,

  Judith

  The Nine Days Wonder, the evacuation of the British troops trapped at Dunkirk, was over. The first men were brought home on the night of May 26, but Dunkirk was ablaze, after days and nights of constant attack, and the jetties and harbours destroyed. And so what was left of the British Expeditionary Force gathered on the beaches and the dunes, to wait for escape; patient and orderly, lined up in long, winding queues on the flat French sands.

  The troop ships and naval destroyers, under constant gunfire and air attacks, lay offshore, but without means of transport, there was no way that the beleaguered troops could reach them. Consequently, security was lifted, word went out, and the following night, from Dover, a fleet of small boats began to flow across the English Channel. Yachts and barges, pleasure boats, tugs, and tub-like dinghies; they came from anchorages and boatyards at Poole and the Hamble, from Hayling Island and Hastings, Canvey Island and Burnham on Crouch. And the men who skippered these small crafts were old men and young boys, and retired bank managers and fishermen and estate agents, and any person, sufficiently resolute, who had spent their peace-time summers innocently messing about in boats.

  Their brief was to get as close to the beaches as they possibly could, load up with troops and carry them to safety, shuttling to and fro, delivering their exhausted human cargo to the offshore ships which lay waiting. Unarmed, raked by enemy fire, they kept this up until fuel ran out and it was time to return to England for fresh supplies and a couple of hours' sleep. And then, off once more.