The River Folk (35 page)

He pulled the door wider, inviting her in. ‘I presume you’ve come to see Aunt Edwina?’

‘Well, yes,’ she conceded, but, greeting his smile with impish mischief, she added, ‘But, of course, if I’d known you were going to be here . . .’

They laughed together.

‘You’ve grown,’ he said, as he led the way upstairs.

‘So have you,’ she countered and teased. ‘However tall are you?’

‘Six two in my stockinged feet.’

Tolly was tall, too, she thought, taller than she was, but Lawrence dwarfed even him.

He was opening the door into his aunt’s study and ushering her in. ‘You have a visitor, Aunt Edwina.’

Edwina rose from behind her desk and took off her spectacles. She came round the desk and held out her hands. ‘Lizzie. My dear girl. How lovely to see you. I hear about you, of course, from Bessie. But it’s ages since I saw you. Let me look at you.’ Still holding her hands, she stood back and looked Lizzie up and down. For a moment there was a strange look in her eyes as if the sight of the pretty, dark-haired girl, with the sparkling brown eyes and cheeks that dimpled so easily with her ready smile, reminded her so poignantly of someone else.

Lizzie held her breath. She knew, without being told, that she reminded Edwina of her mother, Mary Ann. She remembered the closeness that had once existed between them, though the memories themselves were hazy now, mere fleeting childhood images that had left an impression rather than solid knowledge.

‘I was just telling her that she’s grown since I last saw her.’

Edwina looked startled as she glanced at her nephew and then back to Lizzie again. ‘You – you know each other?’

Now it was the young ones who looked embarrassed. They glanced at each other and then swiftly away again. Lawrence cleared his throat. ‘We met once or twice as children.’ His voice dropped to a murmur. ‘A long time ago now.’

Edwina let go of Lizzie’s hands and turned away. ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said absently and then, gathering her wits, said briskly, ‘Now, my dear. You’ve come to collect some wool for your gran, have you?’

She led the way across the room to a pile of boxes in one corner. Picking one up she handed it to Lizzie. ‘There are two more. Bessie said that Mrs Eccleshall and Mrs Merryweather have offered to help too.’

‘And Mrs Hamilton,’ Lizzie said. ‘She was the first to knock on Gran’s door and offer.’

‘Was she indeed?’ For a moment, Edwina was lost in her own memories of the last war that gave her an empathy with the woman in Waterman’s Yard. ‘Well, every little helps,’ she murmured.

‘Lizzie can’t carry all that lot on her own. Look, I’ll walk home with her.’

‘Oh Lawrence, I don’t know . . .’ Edwina began, but already he was picking up the other two boxes, resting his chin on the topmost one and smiling over the top of them at Lizzie, refusing to take no for an answer.

They walked the length of River Road laughing and talking just as if the intervening years since they had chased each other in the woods had never happened.

‘Remember the den we built in the woods?’ he asked. ‘I wonder if it’s still there?’

Lizzie laughed. ‘We might need it, if we get invaded.’

‘Oh, that’ll not happen.’ Lawrence was full of confidence. ‘At least, not once we’ve got ourselves organized. I just wish I was a bit older and could do my bit too.’

‘Here we are,’ Lizzie said and led the way down the narrow alleyway between the houses and into Waterman’s Yard, calling out as she pushed open the door of Bessie’s home, ‘I’m back, Gran.’ She turned to Lawrence. ‘I’ll just put this down and come back for those two,’ but Lawrence shook his head and followed her into the house.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring them in for you.’

Placing the boxes on the table in the kitchen, Lizzie watched as he went towards Bessie sitting in her chair by the range.

‘Good day, Mrs Ruddick. I’m pleased to meet you.’

Bessie gaped up at him and then made as if to heave herself to her swollen feet.

‘Please – don’t get up. I don’t wish to disturb you. I’ve only walked along with Lizzie to carry the boxes.’ He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. ‘It looks as if they’ve set you a lot of work.’

Bessie, recovering her senses, said, ‘Oh, I can still manage a bit of knitting, young man. It’s just a pity I can’t get about like I could.’

Without invitation, Lawrence sat down opposite her and leant forwards to talk to her, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his fingers. ‘It must be very difficult for you.’

Lizzie watched in amazement as he sat there in her grandfather’s chair, talking so easily and so naturally to her grandmother.

‘Make this young feller a cup of tea, love,’ Bessie said, her knitting needles never faltering.

As Lizzie busied herself, she listened to their conversation.

‘It’s sad that Holland and Belgium have surrendered, isn’t it?’ Lawrence began.

‘Aye, and the papers are now saying that our lads are being driven back in France.’

‘Right to the coast. They say the enemy has almost got them surrounded.’

At least, Lizzie thought, as she carried in the tea tray, there’s no one belonging to us trapped on the French beaches and facing German guns and war planes. Uncle Duggie won’t be there. For once, he was better off being out at sea.

‘What a nice young man,’ Bessie said, when Lawrence had taken his leave. ‘Such nice manners and genuinely charming. Who is he, Lizzie?’

Lizzie gaped at her in surprise. ‘Don’t you know, Gran? He’s Miss Edwina’s nephew. Lawrence Marsh.’

Now Bessie did drop her knitting and struggled to her feet. She stood in front of Lizzie and, panting from the effort, wagged her finger in her face. ‘And if I’d known that, girl, he wouldn’t have been allowed across me doorstep. You’re to have nowt more to do with him. Do you hear me, Mary Ann?’

Lizzie stared at her grandmother, but seeing how agitated the old lady had become, she said quietly, ‘I hear you, Gran. I hear you.’

Bessie sank back into her chair with a sigh of relief, though whether from being able to rest her huge body once more or because her granddaughter had, as she believed, given her word, Lizzie couldn’t tell.

She stared down at the grey head now bending over the box on her knee as she sorted through the wool.

Mary Ann
, Lizzie was thinking.
She called me Mary Ann
.

They were walking through the woods together. He had found her that morning at the wash-house just beyond Eastlands’ Ferry, almost two weeks after he had met her again.

‘I didn’t know if you still came here.’ Lawrence said, standing uncertainly in the doorway.

Lizzie straightened up from bending over the rinsing tub and pushed the damp hair from her face, shiny with sweat.

‘Hello.’ She smiled at him and then laughed. ‘Yes. Modern inventions like washing machines haven’t reached us aboard ship yet.’

He stepped into the steamy atmosphere. ‘Have you time for a little walk? I thought we might take a trip down memory lane.’

‘How have you got here? On horseback?’

‘No. Bicycle.’

‘A steed of sorts,’ she teased, then added, ‘I’ll be finished in a couple of minutes when I’ve mangled these sheets.’

‘Can I help?’

‘You could turn the handle if you like.’

He stepped over the puddles on the brick floor and grasped the handle of the mangle. ‘Tell me when.’

Lizzie fed in the folded wet sheets as he turned, the water flooding back into the rinsing tub.

‘Thanks.’ She laid the sheets on top of the other wet washing in the basket that Tolly had made for her in Mr Bryce’s workshop and then she stepped outside into the sunshine. Although it was a warm day, Lizzie still shivered coming out from the steamy heat of the wash-house.

At once Lawrence removed his own jacket and slipped it around her shoulders.

‘I heard about your father. I’m glad he got back safely.’

Lizzie beamed with pride. ‘Yes, wasn’t it a wonderful thing to do? All those little boats going across the Channel to rescue all those men off the Dunkirk beaches. And to think my father was there.’ She shuddered again, but this time not from the cold. ‘And there I was thinking he was perfectly safe somewhere on the Humber or on one of the rivers.’

Dan and his ship had taken part in the humiliating, and yet at the same time, glorious evacuation of Dunkirk. The British troops and their allies had taken their retreat badly, their pride wounded. Yet the way in which the country had rallied to bring thousands home had been a triumph of grit and determination. When the call had gone out for Operation Dynamo, Mr Sudbury, along with many boat owners, had responded with every seaworthy vessel he owned.

‘However did he get down to Sheerness?’ Lawrence asked. ‘I didn’t think keels went out to sea.’

‘He was towed down there, I think.’ She wrinkled her brow and added slowly, ‘From what I can make out – though he won’t say much about it – not many ships went from as far north as this, but Mr Sudbury and my dad were determined not to be left out.’

‘Well, I can sympathize with that. I know how they feel,’ Lawrence agreed. ‘You must be very proud of your father.’

‘Oh, I am.’ Then she added jokingly, ‘But I’m never going to trust him again when he says he’s just going away for a couple of days without me.’

They walked on in silence for a while and when they came to the edge of the wood, she asked him, ‘You know when we were younger and used to play here?’

‘Mm,’ Lawrence said. ‘What about it?’

‘Well . . .’ She hesitated, knowing she might be treading on dangerous ground. Dangerous not only for him, but for her too. ‘What were our parents doing?’

He glanced at her and for a moment he looked much older than his fifteen years, much older than she was, even though they were almost the same age. Whilst she did not think herself stupid or ignorant, she could see that he understood the ways of the world far better than she did.

He took hold of her hand and, instead of answering her question at once, he said, ‘Let’s sit down against this log, shall we? It’ll be cooler still in the woods, but it’s nice and warm here in the sun.’

As they sat down, side by side, still he did not let go of her hand. His touch was warm and dry and gentle.

‘I expect they just sat and talked,’ he began hesitantly, but now he was not meeting her eyes.

‘Why?’ Lizzie was every bit as direct as her grandmother. ‘Why would a man like your father – a man in his position – want to spend his time with someone like my mother?’

Now Lawrence smiled. ‘Same reason I came to find you today. Because I like you. Because I enjoy being with you and I want to get to know you better.’

‘But – but they were both married.’

‘That’s never troubled my father,’ Lawrence said wryly. ‘My parents are barely civil to each other now. He’s hardly ever at home and when he is, they quarrel. Oh, it’s terribly civilized. No raised voices, no shouting. Just icy politeness, sitting at either end of the dinner table with me in between them. Sometimes, the only way they will communicate with each other is through me. You know, “Lawrence, will you ask your father to pass the salt,” and “Tell your mother I shall be away on business for the coming week.” That sort of thing.’ He paused and then, his tone gentle and concerned now, asked, ‘What about yours? Do they get on?’

Lizzie stared at him. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘Know? Know what?’

‘My mother . . .’ She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. If her father had had something to do with her mother’s sudden disappearance, Lizzie could unwittingly get him into serious trouble. So she repeated what the family had told her. ‘She . . . she went away. Six years ago.’ She found she was gripping Lawrence’s hand tightly as she went on, haltingly, ‘It was my fault. We were at my gran’s. All the family was there and one of them, Uncle Duggie I think, was talking about your father’s motor car. I didn’t think what I was saying and I let it out that we’d had a ride in it. When we got back to the ship my father sent me below to the cabin. And on deck, they had a huge quarrel.’ She shuddered as she brought back the dreadful memories of that night and Lawrence put his arm around her shoulders. ‘I’d never heard them quarrel like that. Never.’ Her voice broke as she finished, ‘And then she . . . she went away.’

She had never been able to speak to anyone about that night, not even to Tolly, and yet now she found herself telling this comparative stranger all about it.

With gentle intuition, he said, ‘You’ve kept all that locked inside you all this time, haven’t you?’

She nodded.

‘And you’ve no idea what happened to her?’

Pressing her lips together, Lizzie shook her head.

He pulled her to him in a swift, understanding hug. ‘Poor you.’

It was nice sitting here in the sunshine with him; the only sound was of birds flying in and out of the trees. It was hot and she felt suddenly sleepy. Everything seemed so quiet and she couldn’t remember having felt so at peace for a very long time. Even the war with its blackout and air-raid warnings seemed very far away at this moment.

‘I must go,’ she said, but with no real conviction.

‘Must you?’

‘Well . . .’ Her eyelids felt heavy. It was so warm and comfortable sitting here in the quiet warmth of the day, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘Just a few more minutes then . . .’

Something was tickling her cheek. Sleepily she brushed it away, but then was startled awake by a voice that said, close to her ear, ‘Lizzie. I think you should wake up now. You’ve been asleep an hour.’

Lizzie sat up suddenly and then scrambled to her feet. ‘An hour? Oh no! Dad will be miles upriver.’

Lawrence, getting up, said, ‘Come on. I’ll help you.’

She put out her hand, palm outwards as she said swiftly, ‘No. I’ll be fine.’ Then realizing she had sounded abrupt, added, ‘Thanks all the same. It’s . . . it’s been lovely to see you again. But I must go.’

Even before he had time to say another word, she had whipped his jacket from around her shoulders and flung it at him. Then before he could try to stop her, she was running across the field towards the wash-house. His voice drifted across the growing distance between them. ‘I’ll see you again, Lizzie.’