Father Unknown (15 page)

Ellen looked at him and opened her mouth to blurt out that she’d met someone, but the suspicious expression in his eyes stopped her. It was too soon to tell him, he might very well fly off the handle and refuse to let her go out again. She would wait for a few weeks.

‘I was thinking about the potatoes,’ she lied. ‘I’ve got to work tomorrow, will you be able to pick them on your own?’

‘I picked all the ones I’d dug up,’ he said. ‘It won’t hurt the rest to stay in the ground another few days. I think this rain will be gone by tonight anyway.’

Ellen had never minded the quietness of the farm before, but that Sunday afternoon it seemed unbearable. Once her father had dozed off in his chair she went up to her room and sat on the windowsill staring out at the driving rain. Normally the view cheered her, whatever the weather or the season. The woods to either side of the farmhouse were so many different shades of green, the pasture land was usually a mass of wild flowers, and she loved to look at the progress of the crops and welcomed the rain that made them grow more vigorously, But today it just looked miserable. The grazing cows and sheep and the low rainfall had turned the pasture into brown stubble, the section of the potato field which had been turned over by the tractor looked messy. The cove down at the bottom of their land made a sort of V-shape, but today the rocks, sea and sky were all a sullen dark grey.

She turned her back on the view but looking into her room did nothing to cheer her either, for it looked as forlorn as she felt. The window was low down and quite small so except in bright sunshine the room was always a bit gloomy The furniture was sparse, just the two beds, each covered with a faded pale blue bedspread, a battered old chest of drawers and a few hooks on the wall where she hung her clothes. The bare boards had been painted many years ago, but the paint was peeling off now, the whitewashed walls were dingy, and the posters of the Beatles and Elvis Presley which Josie had pinned up some time ago were crooked.

When Josie was here, Ellen had never given a thought to how shabby and comfortless the room was, but then she hadn’t ever felt lonely either when she had Josie for company. All at once the thought of living alone with her father for two more years of school filled her with absolute dread. If she had a record-player, or if there’d been a television downstairs, it might not be quite so bad, but even the radio in the kitchen didn’t work very well. In her heart she knew Dad wasn’t going to approve of anything about Pierre, not his name, his profession or his age. What on earth was she going to do?

The rain had gone by the following morning and Ellen set off for work in the kiosk feeling optimistic. But although the sun was shining again, it was much cooler than of late, and there weren’t anywhere near so many people on the beach. As there weren’t many customers Ellen busied herself cleaning all the shelves in the kiosk, but her mind was still on Pierre.

She relived each wonderful moment of their date on Saturday, reminding herself how he’d said he’d never felt this way about any other girl. It would work out, she knew it. Maybe for the time being she would have to keep him secret and just go to see him when he was in another town nearby, but she could live with that.

On the other hand Pierre had said he often spent the winter working in London, so maybe she could go there and get a job. A couple of girls from school had found places in a girls’ hostel there; she could go and ask their parents for their address in London. She didn’t think her father would object to that, not if she had somewhere safe to move to.

At four-thirty the kiosk owners came to cash up and close down for the day, and still Pierre hadn’t come. She was just about to leave, intending to walk over to the circus ground and find Pierre, when her father turned up in his old truck.

‘I had to order some seed,’ he called out as he walked towards her. ‘So I thought I’d time it to give you a lift home. Want an ice-cream?’

Ellen knew by her father’s warm smile that this was his idea of a treat for her, and she couldn’t hurt his feelings by looking less than delighted. He bought two cornets and he suggested that instead of getting back into the truck they sat on the wall in the sunshine to eat them.

There were more people around now than there had been all day, many couples with young children. Some were laying a picnic on the sand.

‘I met your mother here,’ Albert said suddenly. ‘The beach was fenced off with barbed wire then because it was wartime, but she was sitting on a stool, painting. I stopped to look and we got talking.’

It was very ironic that he should choose today of all days to start telling her things she’d always wanted to know, right here. Yet instead of being pleased, she was frightened Pierre might come along and see them together. She had never before been embarrassed or ashamed of her father, but she was prickling with it now, for in his rough working clothes he didn’t look much better than a tramp.

‘I never told you before, but she came from a wealthy family,’ he went on. ‘Her house was up that way’ He pointed to the houses up on the hill beside the lake on the other side of the road. ‘I could take you up there now and show it to you.’

‘No. Not now. I want to go home,’ Ellen said, and she got up and walked towards the truck.

Later that same evening Ellen stood down by the little cove, watching the sun go down, bitterly regretting the way she’d behaved with her father. He didn’t say a word all the way home and went straight back to work picking potatoes, but she knew he was very hurt.

Why had she been embarrassed to be seen with her own father? That was so horrible, she’d never been ashamed of him before.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. She felt so mixed up inside, where once everything had been orderly and safe. Was this what love did to people? Made them turn against their own family? Was that what happened to her mother when she married someone her parents didn’t approve of?

The saddest thing was that she knew she’d never get the whole story now. Her father had come specially to meet her. It was his way of showing his affection and appreciation. Now he’d been rebuffed she knew he’d stay silent and brooding for weeks. Even an apology wouldn’t make any difference. For what reason could she offer for being so rude?

The following morning Ellen didn’t have to go to the café, but she got up when her father did and went out to help him with the milking. He merely nodded at her, nothing more, and as she sat on the milking stool, her forehead leaning against the cow’s flank while she milked, she shed a few more tears.

After a silent breakfast, Ellen washed up, then went straight to the potato field. Albert was driving the tractor, churning up the remaining rows of potatoes, so she picked up a sack from the pile and began filling it. Two hours later, her back was aching from bending over and she stood up to watch her father. He was working his way down the furrow next to the one she was on, from the opposite end, picking so fast he looked like a machine. Yet for some reason her former pity for him turned to resentment. She had witnessed him shutting Violet out like this many a time, Josie too, and if he wanted to do it to her then she was going to ignore it.

‘I think I’ll go into town to the library,’ she shouted out. ‘Would you like some tea before I go?’

‘Okay,’ he shouted back. ‘How many sacks have you filled?’

‘Five, and I can’t do any more, my back’s hurting.’

There was no reply to this, no praise for filling so many, no concern for her back. He could get his own tea, and she wasn’t going to feel guilty at leaving him to finish the job while she rode off on her bike to see Pierre.

Ellen didn’t have any choice about what to wear to ride to the circus ground. It was a case of her shorts or a very shabby pair of slacks – a dress or skirt would ride up on the bike. The shorts won, they were old too, but they fitted well and her legs were nice and brown. With a sleeveless blouse, plimsolls and her hair tied up in a pony-tail, she didn’t look sophisticated as she had in the cream dress, but then she didn’t want to look as if she was chasing Pierre.

She forgot about her father on the ride into town. All her thoughts were of seeing Pierre again. She had her swim-suit and a towel in the basket on her bike, along with a library book. She hoped he’d want to go swimming with her.

But as she rode up the hill from Falmouth town, even from a distance she could see the Big Top had been taken down. Trees hid the caravans and trucks, and the hill was too steep to ride all the way up, so she had to get off and push and all the time her heart was fluttering with panic. Surely he wasn’t thinking of leaving without seeing her first?

Finally she reached the crest of the hill, the big field spread out in front of her. But there were no trucks, no caravans or sideshows. It was all gone, the ground where the Big Top had stood bald and brown.

In horror she crossed the road and slung her bike down. There was nothing. The paddock fences where the horses had been kept were gone and the site where the caravans and trucks had stood was a patchwork of yellow, squashed grass. There were deep tracks from truck tyres, chewed-up areas of mud from the recent heavy rain, a pile of animal dung and rubbish, empty cans and bottles, sweet wrappers, sticks from candy floss, cigarette packets and even a few discarded programmes, birds picking eagerly at crumbs, and a lone dog sniffing around an overflowing litter-bin.

Ellen stood there, rooted to the spot, her eyes filling with tears as she saw a red balloon bowling along the grass in the light breeze. It seemed to represent her abandonment and soon it would impale itself on something sharp and burst.

Why hadn’t he said they would be leaving today? Was it all pretence that he loved her?

On the far side of the field she saw a small pick-up truck and a man raking up rubbish. She ran over to him, thinking he belonged to the circus, but as she got nearer she saw his overalls were those of the Town Corporation.

‘When did they leave?’ she asked the man. He was small and stout with a weatherbeaten face.

‘Yesterday,’ he said. ‘Bloody mess they’ve left, and only me to clear it.’

He had a strong Cornish accent, and a slight speech impediment too. Ellen guessed he was a little simple. ‘Do you know where they’ve gone next?’ she asked.

‘Dunno, they’s like gypsies, in urn?’

‘But someone must know.’ She couldn’t hold back her tears now. ‘Who owns this field?’

‘Dunno,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Sent me up to clear it, that all I know.’

Ellen walked back to her bike sobbing. She was trembling all over, her mind in a fog, yet even through that she knew she had told Pierre she would be at the kiosk all day Monday. The only possible reason for him not coming to let her know he was leaving was that he didn’t care about her.

Chapter Seven

On the second Sunday in September, shortly after one, Ellen was out in the garden picking some mint to go with the lamb for dinner, when she heard a car coming down the track.

Her heart leapt as it had been doing for the whole past month every time she heard such a sound. Could it be Pierre coming looking for her?

Sadly she knew it was unlikely. He wouldn’t have left the way he did if he cared. Even if something had happened that day which prevented him from coming down to the kiosk at Swanpool, he could have sent a letter there afterwards. Yet still she continued to hope.

Since the day she found out he’d left town it was as if a black cloud had engulfed her. She didn’t want to eat, couldn’t sleep, and had no interest in anything. It did no good telling herself that she’d only known Pierre for a short time and that it wouldn’t take long to forget him. Her feelings were as raw now as they had been a month ago. What she couldn’t understand was why he’d pretended she was special to him. That made no sense to her at all.

It was another warm, sunny day, and she was wearing a new dress she’d made herself. It was just a sleeveless shift style, but a pretty green and white printed cotton. Mrs Peters had prompted this. About three weeks ago she’d stopped Ellen in the village to speak to her and seemed to sense something was wrong, for she took her into her house for a cup of tea. Ellen gave the impression she was just desperately lonely without Josie, so Mrs Peters suggested she took up dressmaking as a distraction and offered to give her a hand if she got stuck.

Since that day Ellen had been a regular visitor at the Peters’ cottage. She used the excuse that she needed advice with her sewing, but in reality she felt comforted by Mavis Peters’ motherly ways, and it helped take her mind off Pierre. This morning at church Mrs Peters had told her she had a length of navy-blue wool she didn’t need, which would make a nice winter dress. She suggested that if Ellen came round the following evening, they could cut it out together. So Ellen had come home from church feeling a little more cheerful than of late, and the shoulder of lamb she’d left cooking slowly in the oven smelled wonderful. Now they had a visitor, and maybe that would turn out to be another nice surprise. Albert came out into the garden then; he too had heard the car. As it came into view, they both gasped in shock. It was a taxi. Violet was sitting in the front seat with the driver and Josie was in the back.

‘Well I never!’ Albert exclaimed, for he had heard nothing from Violet since the day she took Josie away.

Ellen ran to the car on winged feet and yanked the door open. ‘Josie!’ she yelled. ‘It’s so good to see you. You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you!’

But it was immediately obvious that something was badly wrong. Josie didn’t return Ellen’s joyful greeting, she slunk out of the car like a whipped dog, and Violet had a face like a bag of hammers. The driver took the bags out of the boot, put them on the ground, and was back in the driving seat and turning the car round so fast that it was clear that he sensed trouble.

‘How’s yer mother?’ Albert said with icy politeness.

‘She died ten days ago,’ Violet said curtly. ‘So we came back.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Albert said, perhaps thinking sorrow was the only reason for Violet’s grim expression. ‘You should have let me know.’