I'll Be There Read online

  ‘We can do with the money, your father hardly gives me enough to manage on,’ Pamela said

  Her wages bought some pretty curtains for the cottage. Linda got a pink bedspread with a ballerina in it, and a pair of shiny patent shoes, chosen from the shopping catalogue Annie’s mother ran.

  Linda surprised them both when she said, ‘Thank you mother.’

  Pamela smiled. ‘I’m pleased you’re beginning to like me, Linda. I want us to be friends.’

  The following month Janey received a blue bedspread with rabbits springing all over it, and there was a red duffle coat with wooden toggles and a hood she could pull over her ears. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise, because Annie had chosen them both and kept dropping hints.

  Linda stared enviously at the coat. ‘Dad said Janey had to make do with my cast-offs.’

  ‘She needs something new of her own.’

  There was a row when Linda told their father, and for once, Pamela shouted back. ‘I bought them with money I earn, and I’ll spend it how I like.’

  Janey stared in shock when he back-handed Pamela. She fell on to the sofa. Face contorted with rage he stared down at her. ‘You’ll do as you’re told Pamela.’

  Blood seeped from the corner of Pamela’s mouth and Linda’s face turned the color of putty. Janey took her sister’s hand as Pamela’s dazed and bloody face imprinted itself on her mind. ‘Come outside, quick!’

  ‘You’re going nowhere.’ Her father turned and stared at her. ‘Go and get the coat.’

  Silently Janey did as she was told, the hate for her father a hot clutching fist in her chest.

  ‘Give the coat to Linda.’

  Linda was gulping, her eyes riveted on Pamela’s bloody face.

  ‘But she’d going to be si–

  ‘Shut up and do as you’re told, he said.’

  As Janey handed the red duffel coat over Linda vomited on it.

  Their father gazed at Linda with disgust. ‘Isn’t it about time you grew out of this stupidity.’

  Shocked as being the object of their father’s scorn for once, Linda gave a great, gulping sob. ‘It isn’t my fault. I can’t help it.’

  ‘See what you’ve done,’ he snarled at Pamela and turning, he headed for the door. ‘I might as well stay in London for all the respect I get.’

  A few seconds after the door slammed shut they heard the car drive away. Pamela was trembling as she rose to her feet. ‘Look after Linda, Janey. As soon as I’ve cleaned myself up I’ll come and see to her.’

  It took a while to calm Linda down. Pamela’s lip was swollen on one side, and she looked pale and sad.

  There were some snowdrops under the hedge and Janey picked a bunch to cheer her up. Pamela placed them in a tumbler on the windowsill, gave a tremulous little smile and kissed her. ‘Your father must have been working too hard,’ she said.

  With a cat and canary smile on her face Linda wore the red duffle coat, still smelling faintly of sick, to school on Monday.

  * * * *

  The onset of spring was a delight.

  Janey had been watching for it ... observing the brown buds on the trees as they swelled within their sticky casings. One morning a feather of green emerged and within a week the casings fell to the ground, revealing branches with bright green leaves.

  Bluebells appeared, spreading through the woods in a brilliant fragrant carpet. Creamy lilys grew along the brook, birds chased each other through the air and a pair of house martins took residence in the thatch above her window.

  Her wobbly front teeth fell out in April, when the wind played chase me with showers of rain and sent grey rags of clouds streaming across the sky. May brought her new ones. It coincided with the white hawthorn blossom, when the air was drugged with perfume and hummed with the sound of bees.

  Lady’s puppies arrived, plump, squirming creatures with squealing yaps.

  ‘They’re beautiful.’ Janey was filled with love for them as she and Linda cuddled them under the watchful eyes of Lady. She wished she could have one, but she knew her father wouldn’t let her. Besides, Mr. Wyman had said they all had good homes to go to.

  ‘How do you like school, ‘Mr. Wyman asked.

  She smiled. ‘I can nearly read, and Miss Robbins said I’m good at drawing, so I’m going to be an artist when I grow up.’ Remembering her manners, she asked, ‘How is Lord William?’

  Mr. Wyman’s smile disappeared. ‘He’s not well, Janey, but I’ll tell him you asked after him. He’ll be pleased you remembered him.’

  Her fingers went to the lead soldier, safe in the pocket of her skirt. It had been her favorite and she hadn’t been able to resist taking him home. Later, she took a posy of wildflowers to Brenda, to give to Lord William.

  He died the following month.

  ‘Snuffed out like a candle in a puff of wind,’ the cook said, wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron. ‘Eh, that will be some grand funeral on Saturday. Who knows, Queen Elizabeth might attend.’

  The queen didn’t attend and the funeral wasn’t as grand as Ada had predicted. Hidden behind a gravestone with Annie, Janey watched a black heass pull up at the church, followed by Mr. Wyman and Brenda, and some staff from the big house. Curious locals looked on from the boundary of the church wall.

  Ada wore a black coat and a hat with a feather in it, despite the warmth of the day.

  Phil Tyler stood at the back with Sam, the head gardener, their caps doffed as a coffin with shining brass candles was lowered into the hole.

  Prayers were said by a clergyman in a black robe and then everyone sang In England’s green and pleasant land. Ada’s determined voice rang out clear above the rest, and she kept dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief bordered in black lace.

  Afterwards, when the mourners had trooped off to the big house for tea and biscuits Janey and Annie gazed down into the grave.

  ‘It’s a long way down,’ Annie said in an awed voice.

  Janey’s hand closed around the lead soldier. ‘Lord William has gone to heaven to see his horse, Wellington.’

  ‘How can he be in heaven when he’s in a box in a hole?’ the practical Annie said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Cocking her head to one side she gazed at her friend, wishing she hadn’t asked. ‘I suppose he’s growing his angel wings, then he’ll open the box and will fly away.’

  ‘What if he gets out now and sees us?’

  The coffin made a clumping sound as a clod of dirt fell on it. ‘Scat, you kids, can’t you leave a body in peace,’ a voice rasped.

  Janey’s heart began to race and Annie gave a high-pitched scream and took flight. She caught Annie up at the gate, breathless. ‘Quick,’ she yelled, ‘the Lord is after us.’ Jumping on their bikes, their legs pumped furiously at the pedals as they sped away.

  * * * *

  Sam pushed his cap to the back of his head, laughing as he straightened up from his hiding place behind Betty Potter’s tombstone. Shovel against hip he watched them go, and then transferred his gaze to the coffin.

  ‘I have a favor to ask of you, My Lord,’ he whispered. I’d be obliged if you’d keep watch over that young-un you liked so much. If you asks me something’s wrong in her dad’s head, for she’s always got bruises on her after he visits Coombe Cottage – her and his misses as well.’

  ‘You know what they say about people who talk to themselves. ‘Phil screwed a finger in the side of his head as he sauntered towards him, shovel over his shoulder. ‘We’d better get this filled in pronto. Mr. Wyman wants us up at the big house for when the will’s read. I reckon the Viscount has left us a little something.’

  ‘He was a grand old man, he was.’ Sam stared at Phil as the younger men bent his back to the pile of earth. ‘He thought the world of that young Renfrew lass.’

  ‘He ain’t the only one from what I just heard.’ Phil’s smile was sly as he gazed at Sam. ‘They’ll be putting you in the funny farm if they catch you talking to dead folk too often.’

  ‘Y
ou can talk. Everyone knows you’re soft in the head when it comes to that youngster.’ Giving a sheepish grin Sam punched him on the shoulder, then took up a shovel of earth and threw it into the grave.

  * * * *

  Jack Bellamy stretched his legs towards the fire and reread the letter from Eddie Renfrew’s lawyer.

  ‘Damn him!’ he said, his scowl making the scar on his face pucker. ‘He can’t deny a man to see his own daughter, Mary.’

  His sister looked up from her darning for a moment. ‘The lawyer said it’s only your word against his. Leave it alone Jack, or he’ll take out a restraining order against you.’

  Jack lumbered to his feet. ‘Leave it alone be damned. I’m going out for a while to think things through.’

  ‘Put on your coat, it’s chilly out.’

  He stooped to kiss her cheeks. ‘Stop nagging. Go home to your husband, and stop darning my socks. I can buy new ones.

  Mary sighed as she watched him leave the room. She’d disapproved of his friendship with Margaret Renfrew. Not that she’d disliked her, but the young woman had been married and at least fifteen years younger than Jack. But men were fools for a pretty face, and to give Margaret her due she’d been genuinely fond of Jack.

  Staring at the sock Margaret tried to picture Janey. She’d only seen the child once, a fair-haired baby in a pushchair who looked like hundreds of other babies. Had she known that the child was Jack’s daughter she would have taken more notice of her.

  Jack had been devastated when Margaret died. He had blamed himself, and was now driven to see his daughter. It had almost become an obsession with him, and he hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

  * * * *

  Jack had no intention of doing anything stupid. He also had no intention of letting Eddie Renfrew have things his own way.

  A plan was formulating in his head; nothing radical, just an easy way of solving the problem. He would sell his house in town and buy a cottage in the same village Janey lived in. At least he’d be able to watch her grown up, and he’d be able to work on his painting.

  He had started painting during the war, when he’d been recuperating in hospital after he’d crashed his Hurricane. He’d been in a fever of impatience whilst he’d mended, and painting had become his therapy whilst the Battle of Britain continued without him in the skies above. It had become an absorbing hobby, one he’d continued to practice under his first names, John Gregory.

  His skill earned him a modest income that was infinitely more satisfying than the business profits.

  Without knowing it he’d walked along the quay to where his boat had once been moored. Scowling, he looked at the length of charred rope, still attached to the bollard. The boat had been his father’s and had crossed to Dunkirk for the evacuation of troops. She’d been called ‘The Maggie’ then, after his mother. A German fighter plane had strafed the boat in May 1940, when his father had lost his life.

  He toyed with the idea of building another just like her, but she hadn’t been insured and the materials were too expensive to justify it. Besides, he’d never be able to reproduce her brave history, nor the bullet holes in the teak decking he’d so carefully caulked.

  The fire had been deliberately lit. He still thought Eddie Renfrew had something to do with the fire, though the police had told him that the man’s alibi had checked out.

  He tossed whether to tell his sister about his decision to move nearer the village where Janey lived, then decided against it. She’d only worry.

  It was early dusk when he returned home. He cut through Poole Park. Mist breathed on the surface of the boating lake. Lovers were entwined of seats, and a pair of swans, neck’s gracefully arched, flapped their wings and hissed at him.

  A group of youths were larking about on the cricket oval, watched by a trio of girls sitting on the steps. All wore the latest fashion, circular skirts in a paisley design, tight ribbed sweaters and elastic waspie belts to nip in their slender waists. They were giggling, and one of them whistled at him.

  They were well dressed, well fed and carefree, enjoying their youth. Jack grinned. He’d been apprenticed to his father at their age, and just as carefree, not knowing that war had only been a few short years away.

  He fingered the scar of his face. It all seemed so long ago now. He’d got off lightly. He’d survived, become successful with his business. But for what? Money? He had nothing else of value. Margaret, the only woman he’d ever loved, was dead, and his daughter Janey was denied him.

  But not for long, he could watch her grow up and when she was old enough to know the truth ... His mood suddenly lightened and he quoted softly as he inserted the key in the lock, ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at their flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and misery.’

  The tide had brought him both fortune and misery. For once in his life he intended to swim against it. He gave a wry smile. ‘Everything changes, even me.’

  * * * *

  Three months later Jack met his daughter.

  In that time Canford Cottage had been rewired, the plumbing fixed, and he’d made a start on the internal repairs.

  Feeling happier than he had for some time, he hummed to himself as he spread a trowel load of plaster over a hole in the wall. No need to be too careful since the uneven walls were part of the cottage’s charm. It would look nice painted a buttery yellow to tone in with the new carpet he’d chosen.

  Next, he’d have to tackle the garden. He ducked his head to look at it through the tiny square-paned window. Flowers of every description and color grew amongst the lush green grass and hollyhocks climbed the outhouse wall. At the bottom of the garden was a small orchard of mossy-trunked apples, pears and plums. Around the garden a stone wall separated his cottage from a meadow. Set without mortar, it looked as though it had been there for ever.

  A flash of red caught his eye. A child ... no, two, their heads bobbing up and down as they walked behind the wall. One was a dark-haired curly-headed imp, the other had flaxen braids tied in red ribbons. One ribbon trailed like a blood red banner.

  ‘Go on Janey, I dare you to look through the window and see if he’s as ugly as everyone says.’

  Goosebumps prickled along his arms. Breath held, his eyes were riveted on the fair child as she scrambled over the wall and crept towards the house with the caution of a fox.

  Something must have alerted her for she came to an abrupt stop and gazed up at him. The hem of her blue checked dress was a darker color where it had been lengthened. Her white socks had slid into the heels of shabby brown sandals.

  Janey ... his daughter!

  Jack’s heart slowly turned in his chest. She’d inherited his coloring, but her mouth was petal soft, just like her mother’s had been.

  Her head slanted to one side in a little gesture of defiance. Bright blue eyes regarded him in wary contemplation.

  Dry mouthed, he managed to smile. ‘Hello Janey.’

  ‘Run!’ the other child yelled.

  Janey’s mouth turned up in a grin and she giggled. The she turned and sped away, scrambling over the wall liked a monkey. The pair of them went across the meadow, jumping from tuft to tuft and laughing.

  He watched until the distance swallowed them, his smile fixed in place. It wasn’t until his sight blurred that he realized he was crying.

  He closed his eyes, allowing his body to absorb his sense of loss. The grief he’d lived in over the past few years seemed to wash away with his tears, leaving him feeling vulnerable, yet somehow renewed.

  He whispered, ‘Thank you for this gift, Margaret. She’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen.’

  Chapter Three

  To Janey, winters were Christmas cards glittering with frost – spring was warm delicate pastels. She loved summer with its freedom and blossoming, but autumn was her favorite, a season of ripeness. Its flamboyant colors gave her a sense of achievement.

  There had been many seasons
since Pamela’s arrival, but the coming of autumn had something special to look forward to.

  Arms outstretched, she pressed her body against the warm earth, her sketching pad lying forgotten beside her. The baby would be born in a few short weeks when the earth was wearing red and gold. She hoped the coming child was a boy, because that’s what Pamela wanted.

  ‘Now you’re eleven you’ll be able to help me look after him,’ she’d said just that morning, and taking Janey’s hand had placed it against the swell of her stomach. It had been strange and exciting to feel the baby stir under her hand, and to know that Pamela would give birth to a new life.

  Closing her eyes she smiled. Once the grass beneath her cheek had been new. Now it had an old smell and had coarsened to the touch like old people’s skin, as if the juice had been sucked from it.

  She pressed her ear against the earth’s skin. Phil had told her the earth was a wise old woman who spoke to those who took the time to listen. She listened now, feeling it slowly revolve as she clung to its surface, as small as a speck of dust. It made her feel secure. As if they shared a secret. She told the earth everything, and knew the earth understood.

  ‘Miss Robbins said I have a good chance of going to grammar school next year,’ she whispered. ‘And John Gregory wants to enter a painting of mine in the council competition. If I win it I’ll be able to buy the baby a gift.’

  She liked John Gregory, even though the other children laughed at his scarred face behind his back. Janey didn’t mind it. It was shiny and smooth where he’d been burned, and had felt like silk under her fingers when he’d allowed her to touch it. He had kind eyes, and a kind face if you imagined it without the scar.

  Every Tuesday she went to art class in his cottage. Mr. James had organized the classes for the senior pupils.

  ‘Janey!’

  Tempted to ignore Linda’s shout she rolled over on her back to look at the sky. The blue was so intense that if she concentrated, it shimmered and glimmered into minute flashes of different colored particles that went on forever. It was a dizzying sensation, as though the world had speeded up.