I Remember You (40 page)

The baby kicked inside her. Leonora leaned against the door; the varnish was cool; her head was swimming.

‘Do you have anything else to say?’

She shook her head, miserably.

Sir Charles stepped out in front of the desk. ‘Do you accept what I have said?’

Leonora bowed her head. A tear dropped onto the floor; her hair hung in front of her face. Her father walked towards her.

‘So that we are clear, I shall say it for the final time. You are no longer my daughter,’ he said, and then he hit her. His open palm smacked hard onto her cheek; the force of it sent her head flying to one side, and the bones in her neck clicked loudly. She cried out, briefly, clutching her cheek, tasting blood. Her other hand covered her mouth, to muffle her sobs, and Leonora stared up at him, her eyes wild.

He did not look shocked, or upset, or even discomposed by what he had done. His eyes were utterly cold. He looked at her with faint disgust, as if she were a beggar on the street
obstructing his path, and then he stepped behind the desk and sat down, cracking his knuckles as he did.

‘You may go and pack now,’ he said, and he picked up his pen again. He waved it at her, dismissing her, and Leonora turned and opened the door, feeling the blood pool in her mouth and wondering if she was going to be sick. She did not look back, but closed the door behind her and ran towards the great staircase. She put her hand on the bannister, and looked up to see her mother framed in the doorway of the drawing room, watching her with a peculiar expression, her hair escaping from its bun. Alexandra Mortmain nodded, and simply turned away from her only child.

‘The motor car will arrive in an hour,’ she said, as she retreated into the drawing room, and the door shut behind her, leaving her young daughter standing in the darkness. From outside, she could hear her father’s dogs barking cruelly, their jaws snapping viciously, a violent and fearful sound. She shivered, tears running down her cheeks, and climbed slowly upstairs.

Leonora’s baby, a little girl, was born in a nursing home fifty miles from Langford, in deadliest secret. She came in early December, a month early. The day before, Leonora had received a letter from Primmie, Philip’s sister, telling her he had died in Greece in November 1943, one of thousands of men to die out in the Aegean as the British tried to recapture the Dodecanese Islands from the Italians.

Sweet, unsuspecting Primmie had written:

I knew you and he were particularly close. He was always extremely fond of you—I hope I may be so forward as to remind you of this?—and I know he cherished your friendship. I thought that, although this news is of the worst kind, you would wish to hear from me, while you are away completing your nursing training. He would have wanted you to hear before others, I am sure.

The baby came early. Leonora knew it was because of the shock of hearing about Philip. They both nearly died; Leonora lost a lot of blood. She never knew how much, she was never told, never asked. She cradled the letter numbly in her hand when she woke, two days later, to the mewling sound of her tiny daughter in the wooden cot by her bed. She called her Philippa, and when she gave her to be adopted by a family twenty miles away, that was the only thing she asked, that they keep her name.

Leonora went home a month later. Years afterwards, when she briefly allowed herself to think of that black, awful time again, she would wonder how she got through it. The answer was that she honestly didn’t care any more if she lived or died. She discovered that it was possible to live, to put one foot in front of the other and walk, to smile and say hello, to wash one’s face in the morning, brush one’s hair in the evening and everything else in between, and yet be totally dead inside. For whom was she living, anyway? Who cared about her? Philip was gone, her baby was gone, taken away from her, and she had been told flatly that she would never see her again. Who else mattered?

Her family never mentioned it again. Unless forced to, her father never spoke to her after that. She was rarely allowed out of the house. So many of the young men of her generation, one of whom she would have been expected to have married, died. And so Leonora inherited the ruined estate when her mother finally died, and moved out of the Hall as soon as she could. She stayed on in the house in Langford, sitting at the window, watching the world go by, ruminating inwardly on what might have been. She had waited for years for her parents to die, so that she might do as she pleased.

But by the time it happened, it was too late for Leonora, too late to save her. Perhaps it was a wind that blew through the town one day, like the old saying, and changed her for ever. Perhaps she was more her father’s daughter than she
realized. But something inside her had been poisoned, and the poison stayed within her, until not even her beloved Philip would have recognized her. She forced her own daughter to hate her, and her grandson too. It was a tragedy, and perhaps saddest of all is that, with time, the wind that changed Leonora made her forget the girl she had once been, the love she had once felt, the man she had once remembered and the baby she had held for two short weeks, crying over her tiny writhing form as if her heart was breaking—which, in fact, it was.

Dear Tess,

An early Christmas card for you from San Francisco. It is beautiful here, raining a lot, but when it’s not it’s crisp and sunny. There’s a great bar round the corner where we hang out after work, which shows the game, I am quite converted to the 49ers these days. I’ve been hiking a lot and hanging out with the guys from work, it’s all really cool. I think you’d like it here, too!

Thank you for the postcard of Langford, I can see where you get your quaint charm. It’s very British, isn’t it? Like something from a film set. Funny.

Thinking of you always, only a few weeks to go now till Christmas. I can’t wait.

Peter

x

The whole town would out to see the lights being switched on, though it was a bitterly cold night. Tess walked along the lane towards Leda House, where she was to pick Adam up on the way. The streets were strangely deserted, and she hugged herself, shivering in the sharp, cutting cold. It was a clear night and a nearly full moon was out, while hundreds
of stars studded the sky. It hurt to breathe in, though, and frost was already gathering on the car windows and the hedgerows.

She sang to herself:

‘
O little town of Bethlehem
,
How still we see thee lie, Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by…’

She slapped her palms against her arms, to warm herself up. Ahead of her walked a couple, each holding the hand of a child. Their progress was naturally slower than hers and she caught up with them. Only when it was too late to turn back did she realize with a sinking feeling that it was Jemima, her student, with her husband and two children.

‘Hello!’ Jemima called, as Tess unsuccessfully tried to walk briskly past her. ‘Tess, it’s me!’

‘Oh, hi there, Jemima.’

Jemima was beaming almost graciously. ‘Look! This is Gideon, and this is Maisie!’ She pushed the two small figures at either side of her forwards. They stood there, shyly, Maisie’s stubby plaits swinging from side to side as she furiously sucked her thumb.

‘Hi,’ said Tess awkwardly. She looked at Jemima’s husband. ‘You must be Jon,’ she said, congratulating herself heartily on remembering his name.

Jon smiled and shook her hand. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘You’re Jemima’s teacher, right? Sounds great, your course.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Tess. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m very envious of your trip to Langford Regis,’ Jon said. ‘I’m an architect, I’m really keen to go there sometime.’

‘Shall we carry on walking?’ said Jemima urgently. ‘Jon, I really don’t want to miss getting a good position, it’ll be so incredibly disappointing for the children if we do.’

‘Oh,’ said Jon. ‘Right.’ They all carried on walking; they were nearly at Leda House.

‘What are you working on at the moment?’ said Tess.

‘Actually,’ said Jon, ‘It’s nothing very flash, but I’m pretty excited about it. It’s a new community centre in Morely. It’s solar powered. They want it to be as green as possible.’

‘Jon! Tess doesn’t want to hear you droning on about your work,’ Jemima said, and Jon shrugged, sliding Tess a smile. ‘Tess, I was meaning to ask you, are there any programmes here you think the children would like?’

‘Er—’ Tess looked blank. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, just activities, organizations, that sort of thing. It’s
so
frustrating when you hear everyone else’s children have gone to the water park, and the water park was only open for two bloody weeks back in April!’ She laughed, almost frantically.

‘I don’t know,’ said Tess politely. ‘I’ll keep my eyes open.’

‘Would you, please? I do so want the children to get the most out of living in the country. Maisie! Don’t suck your thumb!’

They were at Leda House now, and ahead of them, where the high street gently curved to the right, one could just glimpse a few flashing lights. Jemima said, as she grabbed Gideon by the arm and practically shoved him back onto the pavement, ‘Just things like—I heard there were music appreciation lessons at the church hall once a week, and no one told me anything about them.’

‘This is going to be hilarious, I have a feeling,’ Jon said. ‘If my poor dad could see me now, he’d laugh.’

‘Why?’ said Tess.

‘I grew up in Brixton, right? My dad was from Jamaica, my mum’s from Clapham, when Clapham wasn’t a nice place to be from, you know.’ He nodded ruefully as the front door to the house opened. Adam was standing on the threshold, smiling at her. ‘Catch me, the architect living in the English
village with the daughter who’s not even four yet and she’s learning the flute.’

‘This is Jon,’ said Tess, as Adam held out his hand.

‘I know what you mean,’ said Adam. ‘We had a cat when I was little that had vet bills so big my mum always said she and her family could have lived for a month off what it cost to keep him alive for a couple of weeks.’

‘Oh, hi!’ Jemima said, coming forward, holding a wriggling Gideon under one arm. ‘I’m Jemima.’ She shook her hair, and actually slightly pouted a little. ‘So this is who you were looking for yesterday, Tess!’

‘What?’ said Adam.

‘Nothing,’ said Tess, embarrassed. ‘I thought I saw—the door was open, I came in and had a look. Nothing,’ she added again, wishing Jemima to hell.

‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Jon said, nodding. Jemima looked at him crossly.

‘We can walk together. It’s lovely to have a Mortmain back in the house again,’ she said, in a tone like one of the BBC commentators during the Remembrance Day parade. ‘And when did you get back?’

‘Yesterday,’ said Adam, with a note in his voice that Tess knew meant, Don’t go any further. ‘So, you’re an architect, Jon?’

‘Yes, I am,’ said Jon. ‘Mainly working on green stuff. I’m just finishing off a town hall in Morely, it’s been great.’ He looked at Adam. ‘You’re the guy with the water meadows, is that right?’

‘Yep,’ said Adam.

‘Ah,’ said Jon. ‘ ‘Cause I love it down there, man. It’s really nice. Right,’ he said, taking his wife’s hand. ‘See you later, guys. Nice to meet you both.’

He held up his other hand and they moved off.

‘He’s nice,’ said Adam.

‘His wife’s awful,’ said Tess grumpily. ‘I have to teach her.
One of those super-competitive women who thinks everything’s a race. I can’t stand her.’

‘Good teaching attitude there,’ said Adam. ‘Nice to know you’re completely impartial.’

‘You’d be bloody partial if you had to teach her too,’ said Tess. ‘Have you got everything?’ She looked behind her, at the dark house.

‘Yep,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve got everything, which is to say I’ve got nothing, really.’ He sighed. ‘I should bring my stuff over here, I just don’t want to.’

‘So you’re going to live here, then? Sell your mum’s place?’

‘I think I have to,’ said Adam, as they set off down the street at a slow walk. He pushed his hand over his forehead, through his short hair. ‘But—man, I don’t want to. God, it’s cold, isn’t it?’

Someone came out of the Feathers opposite. ‘Hello, Tess,’ she called. ‘Are you—’ It was Andrea Marsh. She stopped and looked at her, and then saw who she was with. ‘Oh. Hello, Adam. I heard you were back. Good trip?’

‘Yes, thanks, Andrea,’ Adam said politely. ‘How are you?’

‘Good, thanks,’ said Andrea. She sniffed. ‘Lot of people interested to know you’re back, Adam.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Adam, still polite. He nodded and smiled at her. ‘See you in a bit? We’re just heading down to the lights.’

‘Right you are,’ said Andrea. ‘Just waiting for—someone.’ She sniffed again, disapprovingly. Tess and Adam waved, and carried on walking.

‘Blimey,’ said Adam under his breath. ‘I really am
persona non grata
, aren’t I?’

Tess didn’t know what to say. ‘Um—well, you know,’ she began. ‘You know, a lot of people thought, when they found out about you—I guess the bridge being demolished was a bad sign. They thought it was all going to be cancelled.’ She felt awkward, being the person to say this, but he had to hear it. Adam looked quizzical. ‘The bridge? Oh.’

‘Go down there tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Have a look.’

Adam frowned. ‘I—’

‘Don’t you love it down there?’ Tess said curiously. ‘I still do.’

He stared at her. ‘I never thought about it.’

‘Well, you should.’

‘I will,’ he said, meeting her eyes. ‘I promise I will.’ He patted his pockets. ‘Right. Have I got the keys to the house? It’s confusing, having these two places.’

Tess wrinkled her brow. ‘It is. Could you—could you ever sell this place?’

‘I can, but it’s difficult. It’s Grade One listed, and the terms of the will mean I’m not allowed to for five years.’ He sighed. ‘She wanted me to stay on here.’

The sound of people in the street grew louder as they drew closer to the lights.

‘I’ve been thinking about Philip Edwards,’ Tess said. ‘You should talk to Joanna, see if there are any church records you could look at, find out a bit more about his family, all that.’

‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘Especially since his family is practically the only family I’ve got. Do you know what my only beef with my mum is?’ he said suddenly.

‘Er, no?’ said Tess.

‘I just wish I knew something about my dad. He was a lecturer like her, they had an affair, he was Irish—at least I think he was Irish, he could have been from Greece or Japan or Toxteth for all I know.’

‘I think you’d know if he was from Japan,’ Tess pointed out. ‘And I think it’s understandable, what she did, even if she might have wished it was otherwise. When you think how she’d grown up.’

‘Maybe.’

‘She wasn’t close to her parents, was she?’ said Tess. ‘I mean, her adoptive parents.’

‘No, luck of the draw, I think,’ said Adam. ‘I feel sorry for
them, I think she was foisted on them, poor thing. It was after the war, they couldn’t have kids of their own, I don’t think they had any choice. They moved to Australia when she was twenty, I don’t think she saw them much after that. I never met them, anyway.’ He looked up at the starry sky. ‘God, it’s so ridiculous, isn’t it. My only family—what?—some random great-aunt’s relatives and I don’t know the first thing about her or where she lives or anything.’

‘Primula Edwards,’ said Tess thoughtfully. ‘Awesome name. Straight out of Miss Marple.’

‘It’s cool, isn’t it,’ Adam said. He grinned at her.

‘I love that name,’ Tess said.

‘Go on, change it,’ he said seriously. ‘I can really see you as a Primula. Grow your eyebrows again and find that old cardigan. Then you can move in with someone called Lettice and breed cats together.’

‘Oh, you can just bog off,’ Tess said snappishly. ‘Liz is coming along later, by the way,’ she added meanly. ‘If anyone’s going to be my Lettice, it’s her.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Adam solemnly. ‘By the way—I keep forgetting to ask.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’

Tess said, ‘Well, Mum and Dad are going on a cruise, so—’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Adam. ‘Do you want to come round for Christmas? I was going to do a thing. Get Suggs, Mick, Diana and Richard, a few other people over, cook up a storm—’ He trailed off, watching her expression of dismay. ‘Don’t look so horrified, T.’

‘It’s not that,’ Tess said. ‘It’s just—oh, that’s a real shame. I’m going to—um, I’m supposed to be going to Rome for Christmas.’

‘Rome?’ he echoed blankly. ‘Why?’

The door next to Jen’s Deli banged loudly as someone came out, shutting it behind him. It was a young man, who glared when he saw Adam and carried on down the street.

‘Er—well,’ Tess said, feeling this ought to be obvious. ‘To see Peter. Because Mum and Dad are away, that’s why.’

‘You’re—wow.’ Adam nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. ‘You’re still with Peter?’

‘Well, I’m clearly not
with
him,’ Tess said, gesturing around her. ‘But—yeah.’

‘Well, that’s great!’ Adam stopped in the street. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘I see him all the time,’ Tess explained. ‘On Skype.’

‘On Skype,’ Adam echoed. ‘Right. But actually, in the flesh, instead of the two of you being like those weirdos who get together because their avatars meet on Second Life. Actually in the
flesh
, when was the last time you saw him?’

Adam was so annoying sometimes. ‘Well, when we were in Rome.’

‘So—you haven’t seen him since June.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Right,’ Adam said, barely controlling a smirk. ‘Wow. That’s a real trajectory you’ve got going on there, Tess.’

‘Shut up, Adam!’ she said touchily. ‘We have tried, it’s just things got in the way. Things like—well, your grandmother’s funeral.’

‘That was in August,’ Adam pointed out. ‘And?’

‘Well, he’s been away,’ Tess said. ‘Working in California.’

‘You couldn’t fly to see him?’

‘Not to California, no. He’s coming back for Christmas, I told you.’

‘So you Skype.’

‘Yep,’ Tess said airily. ‘It’s brilliant. We chat
all
the time.’

‘But you haven’t actually
seen
him since June.’

Tess ignored this. ‘Anyway, I’m going over for Christmas. Five days. And it’s going to be great. Rome at Christmas, how wonderful will it be?’ She tugged Adam’s arm. ‘Hot chocolate sitting in squares, all muffled up! Walking along the river! Going to see the Pope on Christmas Day,
urbi et orbi
and all of that.’

Adam looked as if he would say something, but didn’t. ‘That’s great, T.’

She looked gratefully up at him. ‘Thanks, bruv.’ She slid her arm through his and he squeezed it.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Time to face the music. And the lights.’

They walked towards the crowd, arm in arm, and as Tess grew accustomed to the noise and the sudden darkness—the street lights had all been switched off along that stretch of the road, in preparation for the Christmas lights being switched on—she looked around her, with a growing sense of amazement. She knew people, it was weird. She knew lots of people, that was weirder.

‘Hi, Tess,’ someone called out, and Tess turned to see it was Jen from the deli, holding a tray with little things with cocktail sticks attached. ‘How are you?’