The Postcard (36 page)

‘But to bring him all this way, far from his roots, and to pass yourself off as a relative, that was dishonest,’ Callie argued.

‘Better that than leave him in some boarding school with strangers,’ Jess snapped back. ‘Your mother is in no fit state to have a child in the house. I stand by what I did. You
left him in my care, and taken care of him is what I’ve done. He doesn’t know you now.’

When the Boyds returned, the atmosphere changed. ‘We’ve decided that you must stay here,’ Mrs Boyd suggested. ‘Let Louie get used to you. You’ve been a long time
apart. We don’t know what else to advise. You can’t force a child of his age to comply like a toddler. Time has no meaning for them.’

Where had Callie heard that before? It was what Primrose had warned. Once he realized they were flesh and blood, there would be some recognition of the tie, surely?

‘Thank you,’ she replied, feeling so weary and sick. ‘There’s so much I have to show him and so much he needs to know. He just needs time. It’s not too late for us
to change things, is it?’

Nobody spoke; no one smiled or gave her any encouragement. She was on her own against them now; a mother fighting for her son.

Desmond didn’t feel like eating very much as they sat round the dining table. He kept staring at the lady across from him. She was pretty, but not like Jessie. She had
blue eyes and straight teeth and smelled of flowers. Jess never wore perfume. She kept looking at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Then they were left alone and she brought out a
parcel from her shopping bag. ‘I went to Ruby Creek Post Office and they gave me back my Christmas parcel. I’m sorry it never arrived on time.’

‘That’s OK,’ he said, peering at the parcel with interest. Inside was a big red car to play with and some pictures of a house and faces he didn’t recognized. There was a
book about Orlando the Marmalade Cat and some sweets in wrappers. ‘Thank you,’ he said, remembering his manners.

‘Don’t you remember this? Here’s you with me having a piggy back . . . in the garden at Dalradnor. It was Granny Phee who took this snap.’ She shoved the picture in his
hand. There was a little boy with curly hair astride a laughing lady. He didn’t know them. ‘I’m too old for piggy backs now. I’m going to play cricket and Uncle Jim’s
got me stumps.’

She pushed another picture across to him of a fancy lady with feathers in her hair. ‘This is your Granny Phoebe. She was a famous actress on the stage. Isn’t she pretty? She was
poorly and that’s why Jess took you from us and brought you here.’

‘She didn’t take me, I asked her.’

‘So you do remember then?’

‘No. I remember the big ship and Uncle Jim and Ruby Creek.’

‘I’m sorry it’s been such a long time, but now we’ve got time to start all over again, Desmond.’

‘I’m Louie,’ he corrected her. He didn’t like the name Desmond.

‘Yes, your father was Louis-Ferrand, a very brave man. I have his medal for you to keep. He died in the war,’

‘That’s OK. I have Uncle Jim to look after us.’

‘Big Jim is not your family. I am your family now.’ Why did she keep saying this?

‘What’s family?’ he asked. He didn’t want her family. He had Jim and Jessie.

‘We are the people God gives to cherish you and bring you up.’

‘God’s given me Jim and Jess now.’

‘Yes, for the moment, but I am your real family now . . . Louie.’ She leaned forward as if she wanted to hug him.

‘No you’re not . . . I don’t know you. Go away!’

Callie sobbed all night at Desmond’s rejection of her. He didn’t seemed bothered with her gift of the precious medal, just handing it over to Jess to hold with the
pictures. He was polite and begged to be excused from the table, rushing out into the garden far from sight. She was angry with him but daren’t show it. Jess was hovering around, making
excuses, and the Boyds were silent but missed nothing.

She stayed for four days and decided to move back to the Queen’s Head to prepare her campaign. Living with the Boyds was too much. There were too many of them, chatting, laughing, watching
her, ignoring her. She needed to be alone and think through her strategy. First, she bought tickets for a cricket match and the pictures. She took Desmond around the parks after school but he
wouldn’t go without Jess. Waiting at the school gate had always been her dream, watching him run smiling into her arms, but it was a silly fantasy. A boy of eight didn’t do such things.
He ignored her. It was as if he didn’t want to be bothered with her. Their visits were an endurance test, not a pleasure to be savoured. She persevered for another week, trying to seduce him
by taking an interest in everything he did, with promises of trips to London on an aeroplane. The more she tried the less he seemed to bother. It was a stubborn defiance she didn’t
understand.

It was Jim who broke the stalemate one afternoon when they were alone. ‘I know it’s not been long but from where I’m sitting, this has gone on long enough. Poor Jess is
suffering, you are suffering, and the child doesn’t know who he is. You can’t force a boy to do what he doesn’t want to do. He’s been through hell with Bob Kane, enough to
last a lifetime. Jess is suing for a divorce on the grounds of cruelty. Heaven knows what all this is doing to him now. I think it’s time to let the boy have his say.’

Callie stared at him, horrified. ‘You mean let him choose his future? Surely not?’

‘Why not? Louie is no ordinary boy; he’s old for his age. He’s had to be. He blocks out what he doesn’t want to think about and he’s blocked you out too. I’m
sorry but he has. As far as he’s concerned Jess is his mom.’

Callie shot out of her seat. ‘But I’m his mother. I gave birth to him, fed him at my breast. I want my son back,’ she protested.

‘But does he want to go with you? That is the real issue here. What is best for Louie is all that matters now. Being a mother is more than just giving birth, as it is for any father in
sowing the seed. It’s about being there, about sharing trust. You have to let him choose his destiny.’

‘That’s not fair. He’s far too young to know what’s best for him,’ Callie argued. ‘I couldn’t help what happened in the war.’

‘You don’t have to explain to me. I was there too . . . all that death and destruction and separation. I’m sorry, but Louie is a loser too in all this. He was deprived of you
because of the war.’

‘Are you asking me to let him go?’ She paced around the room, staring out of the window in agony.

‘I suggest we ask Louie to decide for himself.’

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know. We take it from there.’

‘But he’s my child. He must do as I wish. I’m his mother. I have a right to my own flesh and blood,’ she argued. ‘How can a child know what’s best for him? I
think you’ve said enough.’ How dare he suggest such a solution? Time to beat a retreat back to her hotel and buy a bottle of wine to help her sleep.

She awoke in a sweat in the early hours of the morning, exhausted by her dream. She was chasing Desmond through a maze of shrubs, trying to catch him, but every corner she turned, he
wasn’t there. She could hear him laughing, shouting, but the more she searched the tighter the bushes closed in on her until they formed a great jungle wall, barring her way to the
laughter.

Since the lady came to visit everything was different. People kept disappearing into the drawing room with the door shut, whispering when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Jess kept crying into her hanky at night and looking worried. He’d been naughty, fighting in the playground and sent for punishment. He kicked and lashed out at boys who teased him about his
pommy accent when he was trying so hard to talk like them.

Why did that lady have to come to the school gate in her pretty frocks that made the other mothers stare at them both? Why did she call him her son? Desmond was her son, the boy in the snapshot,
not him. Yet he sort of recognized the sound of the name and the picture of the house with the stone steps. She kept talking about Scotland and him wearing a kilt. That was a skirt and only girls
wore skirts. He wanted to shut his ears. She was kind and bought him sweets and toys and played ludo and snakes and ladders, but when she tried to reach out to touch him, he backed off and ran into
the garden.

One Sunday after church, the minister came for lunch. The table was squashed with people chattering and eating, and the lady didn’t look at him once. Then they crossed the hall into the
drawing room and sat down, all except the minister.

‘Thank you once again for your wonderful hospitality, but I am aware that I must sing for my supper, as it were,’ he coughed. ‘You Boyds have been in the congregation for
years, in good times and in bad, but this is the most unusual gathering. I’ve been asked to bear witness to a very strange situation indeed. I’ve spoken with both parties in private and
heard some sad tales. I’ve seen the birth certificate that makes Louie Mrs Lloyd-Jones’s her son. I’m also aware of the terrible privations she suffered as a result of her war
service. I’ve spoken to Mrs Kane and heard why she had to flee her marriage vows. In normal circumstances, there should be only one outcome, but Jim and you all feel that the boy should have
his say.’

‘He’s too young to know his own mind,’ the lady butted in.

‘I understand your concern, Mrs Lloyd-Jones, but nevertheless, I’m going to ask young Louie some questions in private, if you don’t mind.’

Then the minister took him out of the door into the garden, to sit on a bench next to the bush roses. He asked him all about Ruby Creek and why they left. Louie showed him the scars on his legs.
The minister shook his head. ‘Shocking!’ He asked him what he remembered about Scotland and what he wanted to do next. Didn’t everyone know what he wanted?

‘I want her to go away,’ he said.

‘Why’s that? What has she done wrong?’

‘She wants me to go back and I won’t . . .’ He turned away from the old man as he spoke.

‘But she is your real mother. She brought you into this world.’

Louie ignored him. ‘Aunt Jess is my mom now. I want to stay with Jess and Jim.’

‘You do realize that you will upset Caroline Jones very much if you say no. She’s come a long way to find you. She loves you very much.’

‘I don’t care, make her go away.’ He sat on the bench, shaking his head, watching the old man walk back into the room where they were all waiting.

As soon as the Reverend Mitchell came back into the room, the atmosphere was charged with tension and the others left quickly, leaving just Callie and Jess sitting in silence.
He stood with his back to the fireplace, looking to each of them in turn. ‘Whatever I say now will disappoint one of you. Perhaps we ought to bring a lawyer in to verify the legal situation
before we go any further . . . before Louie has his say. He’s a solid little chap and knows his mind.’

‘What did he say?’ Callie couldn’t wait a moment longer.

‘He’d prefer to stay where he is, I’m afraid. He was most adamant.’

‘That’s ridiculous. He’s my son. He has to come with me. It was the thought of him that kept me sane and helped me survive in the camp. I can’t just let him go just
because he thinks his place is with her.’ She could hardly bear to look at Jessie.

‘With respect, Mrs Jones, whose need is being met here, yours or his?’ His words lashed her like a whip. ‘Do you want him for your own gratification or can you listen to the
needs of a little boy who has been from pillar to post with only one fixture in his life, Mrs Kane here?’

‘We can share him then . . . I’ll come and live here and he can spend time with each of us,’ she offered in desperation and renewed hope. ‘That’s been done before,
I’m sure.’

‘In the long run, it wouldn’t work and you’d still want to take him back to Scotland,’ Jess argued.

‘It has to work. I’m not letting you have him. You’ve had him long enough. It’s my turn now.’ Callie fought her corner, trying not to panic.

‘It doesn’t work like that . . . an “either her or me” solution,’ the minister intervened. ‘You both love the child so he comes first and what he wants comes
first . . .’

‘Are you asking us to choose between ourselves who will let him go?’ Jess asked. ‘I never set out to take him or love him as my own. He was in my charge. It was my job, but as
his nursemaid, I grew to love him and he, me.’ She turned to Callie with a look of sadness. ‘You know how that feels . . . I’m sorry you couldn’t be there so I took over. I
didn’t mean to steal your child,’ she cried.

‘But you did. You stole his heart and I’m a stranger to him and always will be now.’

‘Not necessarily. I’m sure there are ways for you to be involved in his future. Be his aunt,’ the minister suggested.

He said the wrong thing there. Callie felt her hackles rising. ‘Like my mother had to hide that fact by calling herself my aunt? Never! If I go, I go for ever. I won’t confuse the
issue. Desmond needs stability and I can offer nothing but my love. Even I can see it’s not going to be enough for him, but I won’t leave without asking him myself, please.’ No
one spoke. No one called her back. Callie made for the garden door, straightening her crumpled dress. ‘Where is he now?’

The minister pointed out into the garden. Slowly, she walked down the veranda steps. The minister’s words had wounded her beyond repair. She had come, yes, out of love but also guilt,
desperately needing to have Desmond to herself so normality could begin again. His return put all the sacrifices to rights. It would be a healing moment when he said ‘Mummy’ to her
again.

The man was right in pointing out how she needed him more than he wanted her. In his child’s mind, there was a mother and father waiting in the wings in this brash and beautiful young
country.

Must his wish to stay here be sacrificed so I can have the life I always dreamed of living with him? Do I sacrifice my own happiness so he can have the life he deserves and knows here? How
can anyone ask me to do this? Is letting go the price I must pay for leaving him? How can I live if he turns me away again?

‘Louie,’ she called. He was kicking a ball around the grass, ignoring her, pretending he couldn’t see her.