Goodnight Mister Tom (28 page)

‘Ent your fault. The milk runnin’ out.’

‘But I should have got out like. I waited. I shouldn’t have waited. I thought me Mum’d be back any minute, only…’ but he couldn’t get the words out.

‘Only she never did, that what yer sayin’?’

He nodded.

‘Baby needs milk. You couldn’t give her that. You was tied up.’

‘Zach said,’ and he blushed. ‘He said that a woman can’t have a baby without a man. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

‘So me Mum must have met with a man.’

‘Yes.’

‘She lied. Why did she lie? She said men and ladies goin’ with each other were a sin.’

Tom took out his pipe and began to stuff tobacco into it.

‘I has a feelin’ that your mother is very ill.’

‘She must have had Trudy growin’ inside her, like. Mebbe that’s what she meant when she said she were ill.’

‘There’s another kind of sickness that some people has. It’s a sort of sickness of the mind, usually an unhappy mind. Reckon yer mother is a bit like that.’

‘Mister Tom, I want to stay here. I don’t want to go back to her, even if she says she’s ill.’

‘You won’t go back to her. Authorities wouldn’t allow it.’

‘But why did you kidnap me then?’

‘They were goin’ to put you in a children’s home. I wanted you back here.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Well,’ and in an embarrassed manner he puffed out a billow of smoke from his pipe. ‘Because I’m fond of you, boy. That’s why. I missed you,’ and he stood up. ‘And now I’ll git out all the bits of paper I’ve bin savin’ up for yer drawrin’. Then you can come downstairs and scrawl away.’

Tom watched him slowly descend the ladder.

‘Mister Tom,’ he said.

He lifted his head back up through the hatchway.

‘Yes, boy.’

‘I love you,’ and instead of the cold feeling he imagined would happen if he uttered those words, he felt a wave of warmth flooding into his stomach and through to his chest, and he beamed. Mister Tom’s face became flushed. He cleared his throat.

‘I love you too, boy,’ he grunted. ‘And now I’ll git on with downstairs,’ and he disappeared quickly down the ladder.

As May flew into June Will steadily grew in strength. He remained indoors, happy just to draw and read. Zach, George and the twins and even Lucy came to visit him but he tended to fall asleep mid-conversation and would wake to find that they had gone leaving a little pile of fruit and comics beside him.

It was several weeks before he ventured as far as the tiny patch of front garden overlooking the graveyard. He and Tom would carry the large wooden table outside so that he could lay out his paints and brushes on it. The constant fresh air increased his appetite and as he ate, so his energy returned.

Meanwhile, in London, Neville Chamberlain had resigned as Prime Minister and a plump, bald man of sixty-five had taken his place. His name was Winston Churchill.

Soon afterwards the inhabitants of Little Weirwold were shaken by the news of Dunkirk.

The British Expeditionary Force had been driven back to the coast of France by the Germans, and thousands of troops, some very badly wounded, had to be evacuated by sea to Folkestone. Hundreds of ordinary people who had vessels risked their lives to help in the evacuation. Many were killed. ‘Sir’ from the Grange and his son Julian had taken a motor boat. The Grange was now no longer to be a maternity hospital but a convalescent home for wounded and shell-shocked soldiers.

One weekend, several truck loads of vacant-eyed, wounded young men in uniform rumbled their way through the village. The villagers cheered and threw garlands of flowers at them and handed them home-made cakes, bread and eggs as they passed. Some of the youths managed a numb smile, but most of them were too dazed to know what was happening.

On the last Saturday in June, Will made up his mind to do something that he had been putting off for some time. He had finished his cottage chores and was sitting outside reading. Tom had left a shopping list for him on the table. He was helping over at Hillbrook Farm as were George and Ginnie. Carrie was at the vicarage with the vicar, studying Latin.

He closed his book, picked up the list from the table and headed for the shop. On his way back he called in at the Littles’. If Zach wasn’t doing anything, maybe they could go off somewhere. Then he could postpone his venture again.

He found Zach covered in oil and surrounded by soiled rags and small tools. Propped upside down on its handlebars was an old bicycle.

‘I’ve nearly got it working, you know. This is the first mechanical thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. I’m determined to complete something once and for all.’

They chatted briefly and Will returned home. He left a short note saying where he had gone and headed in the direction of Annie Hartridge’s cottage. An hour later he was still staring intently at her front door.

After much deliberation he crossed the rough narrow lane, knocked three times and stood back nervously. It was a blisteringly hot day and his shirt clung to his body. He shook it to fan some cool air inside. No one answered the door. Perhaps she wasn’t in. He felt relieved. He could come back another day. He took hold of the smooth brass knocker and tapped it again. There was still no answer. He was about to leave when Mrs Hartridge’s head suddenly appeared around the corner. He jumped.

‘I thought I heard someone,’ she said. ‘I’m in the back garden. Come round. I heard you were back,’ she added gently. ‘This is a surprise.’

On the grass in the back garden was a large tartan rug. She told him to sit down and make himself comfortable while she made him a glass of home-made lemonade. He watched her go into the cottage and remained standing. He glanced furtively round the garden taking in the vegetable patch, the herb garden under the kitchen window, the tall trees that stood by the lane and then he gave a small gasp, for standing in the shadow of the trees was a pram.

He stared numbly at it not daring to breathe for fear he might disturb whatever lay there. Annie Hartridge stood at the sink looking out of the window. She was about to lean out and ask him whether he would like honey in his lemonade but when she saw the look on his face she kept silent. News always spread like wildfire round the village and she knew some of what he had been through.

Will, meanwhile, was making slow, steady progress towards the pram. It shuddered slightly and two small chubby legs rose into the air. He moved closer until he was standing beside it. There, lying under the protective shade of a hood, was the tiniest of babies. She had dark wispy hair and round brown marble eyes. She waved one of her hands absently and looked up startled as one of the fringes at the edge of the hood flickered.

Annie Hartridge let him stand quietly for some time before breaking the silence.

‘Lemonade and ginger cake coming up,’ she said brightly. Will turned round feeling self-conscious at being caught staring at the baby.

‘She’s rather beautiful, isn’t she?’ Annie remarked strolling towards the pram and lifting her out. She gazed into the baby’s eyes and kissed her cheeks.

‘I’ll let you have a little romp on the grass, my love,’ and she lay her face down onto the rug. ‘There you are, my precious.’

Will sat beside her with his lemonade and watched her, fascinated at the enormous power the tiny, helpless being held over him.

He stayed in the garden till dusk talking with Mrs Hartridge about books and ideas for obtaining paper and where you could buy the cheapest paint. He didn’t mention Mr Hartridge and she didn’t talk about his mother or Trudy. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation they would stop suddenly and look at each other with understanding.

In Will’s eyes she was more beautiful than ever. A little on the thin side now but her eyes were still as large and blue, her hair still as golden and her voice was just as melodious, if not more so. He watched her hold the baby in the air and bring her down to her face where she blew raspberries into her tummy. Sometimes she would just gaze at her and look happy and sad all in one moment.

They were in the middle of a conversation when Will heard a knock at the front door. Annie stood up with Peggy still in her arms. ‘Here,’ she said handing her over to Will. ‘Hold her while I answer the door.’

She walked briskly away not daring to glance back at him. She had no idea whether she was doing the right thing or not. Instinctively she wanted Will to know what it was like to hold a warm, live child.

Will sat stunned, clutching the tiny infant in his arms. He felt tense and awkward. The baby blew a bubble which burst and dissolved into a long dribble. It dangled down the side of her chin and headed towards her flimsy cotton dress. She felt soft and had an extraordinarily pleasant smell, thought Will. He began to relax a little and the baby puckered up her mouth and made a small gurgling sound, then for no reason at all she screwed her eyes up and began to cry.

Will glanced frantically round for Mrs Hartridge. He rocked her and held her close to him but she continued to cry. He stood up with her still in his arms, searching for a bottle.

Mrs Hartridge opened the back door and crossed the garden. She took Peggy in her arms and smiled.

‘I know what you want, my love,’ she murmured and, sitting down in a canvas chair, she unbuttoned the front of her floral blouse and placed one of her breasts into the baby’s mouth.

Will was too shocked to avert his gaze. He felt that he should shut his eyes or excuse himself but his feet remained rooted to the spot and soon he forgot his embarrassment and became mesmerized by the slow rhythmic sucking of the baby. He watched her small arms lying outstretched while her fingers curved inwards and outwards contentedly. A pinkish flush spread across her cheeks.

When the baby had taken her fill Mrs Hartridge buttoned up her blouse and looked at him.

‘Mister Tom’s waiting for you out front.’

He thanked her for the lemonade and ran to join Mr Tom. He was sitting on the grass with Sammy, staring at the long thin rows of pink-tipped clouds in the distance.

As they walked home Will felt suddenly lighter. Tom had been right. He couldn’t have given Trudy what she had needed. It wasn’t his fault that she had died. He was still saddened by her death but the awful responsibility that had weighed so heavily on him had now lifted. He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked with a brisker step.

When he and Tom arrived at the cottage they found Zach waiting for them in the front garden, with the old bicycle.

‘I’ve fixed it. I’ve actually fixed it,’ he announced proudly. ‘I say, Mister Tom,’ he added, giving a broad grin, ‘how far is it to the sea?’

19
The Sea, the Sea, the Sea!

Zach opened his mouth and began singing the same old rousing song again.

At Playarel in Brittany, down by the Breton Sea,

If a man would go a fishing,

Then let him come with me ee

For the fish lie out in the distance there

Deep in the Breton Sea ee ee

Deep in the Breton Sea.

He had sung it so many times that Tom and Will knew it almost by heart.

‘And green is the boat,’ they sang.

And red is the sail,

That leans to the sunlit breeze

And music sings at a rippling keel

What can a man more please.

It is sweet to go to the fishing grounds

In the soft green Breton Sea.

It was August. The sun shone in a clear uncluttered azure sky and Zach, Tom and Will sat on the rough plank seat of the cart while Tom held the reins. They were into the third day of their travels on the road. The coolness of the early morning had worn off and another blisteringly hot day had begun. Zach and Will peeled their shirts off and threw them together with their socks and sandals into the back of the cart. He and Zach sat barefooted, their braces dangling at their sides and their lean sunburnt legs swinging gently and rhythmically from side to side as the cart jogged onwards.

‘Shouldn’t be far now,’ murmured Tom as he shook the reins.

He left Dobbs and the cart at a farm. In exchange for her help in harvesting, the farmer would take care of her. They unloaded the cart where Sammy, two bicycles and several panniers lay heaped together. Tom and Zach wheeled the bicycles out on to the road while Will carried the panniers.

Zach had painted his machine. Its frame was now a pillar-box red and the mudguards were yellow. He hung two of the panniers on to a small frame which was attached to the back wheel. Tom’s bicycle was black in colour but it was just as conspicuous as Zach’s for it was a tandem. Will couldn’t ride a bicycle, so being a second rider was the next best thing.

A wicker basket was strapped to the front handlebars. Tom checked the tyres and, like Zach, tied the panniers securely on to the back wheel. He climbed on to the tandem and held it steady while Will planted Sammy in the basket and then hauled himself on to the back seat. Zach was already astride his bike, his foot resting on a pedal.

‘Let’s go!’ cried Tom, and he gave the tandem a sharp push forward.

‘Wizzo!’ yelled Zach.

They cycled steadily and rhythmically on, past fields of fresh swaying corn and lush green trees. Cream and amber butterflies flew intermittently from behind the hedgerows and strange, exotic smells hit their noses. They wheeled the bicycles up a very steep hill and stood at the top breathless at the climb. There at last, vast and calm below them, lay the sea.

Flinging their bicycles into the hedgerows they leapt and pranced about waving their arms in the air and yelling at the tops of their voices, and when suddenly Will and Zach realized that Tom was dancing too, they clutched their stomachs and laughed hysterically till the tears rolled down their cheeks.

After recovering, they gulped down some overheated lemonade and clambered back on to their bicycles and eased them gently down the hill, half mesmerized by the immense expanse of blue that sparkled below them. Sammy continued to lie slumped and boiling under an old piece of tarpaulin that was fixed over the basket. As soon as he felt a flicker of breeze he hung his head over the edge, his tongue dangling in anticipation of a cool and shady spot.