Coming Home by Fern Britton (21)

It was the cramp in Henry’s calf that woke him. His face was squashed up against the arm of Granny’s old sofa and he was dribbling on one of Ella’s hand-embroidered cushions. His unsquashed eye felt sore and he rubbed a hand over it. It was gritty with the dried salt of last night’s tears.

It all came back to him. His awful behaviour at the vicarage. Drowning his sorrows. He had cried. He was an idiot.

He tried to stand on his cramped leg and limped painfully to the kitchen. He needed some paracetamol.

He poured a glass of water, necked the painkillers and went back to the sofa.

How was he going to make amends to Ella after he said all those terrible things yesterday?

Ella woke up very chirpy. She had slept well, having made the decision to meet her mother without Henry. What was stopping her? She rolled over and spooned Kit, stroking his tummy to wake him up.

‘Morning, Kit,’ she whispered into his ear.

‘Morning,’ he said guardedly. He wasn’t certain where this was leading.

‘Sorry about last night.’ She nibbled his neck.

‘Okay …’ he replied slowly.

‘I’m going to forget about Henry and see Mum by myself.’

‘Riight.’

‘Would you come with me?’

‘I don’t know. Do you want me to?’

‘Of course. She’s going to be your mother-in-law.’ Ella shifted her weight and sat on top of him.

‘Oof,’ he said, ‘you’re heavy.’

‘Tell me you’ll come to see Mum or I won’t get off you.’

‘Get me a cup of tea and we’ll talk about it.’

She kissed him and jumped off the bed. ‘Thank you.’

‘I haven’t said I will yet.’

‘You will.’

Snuggled back in bed and drinking tea, Ella talked about her childhood. ‘It was good, really. Better than if Mum had been around, probably. She was so young. I can’t imagine what it was like for her. Seventeen and with two children. I sort of don’t blame her for running away.’

Kit, wisely, said nothing. He drank his tea and listened.

‘When Henry and I got chickenpox, he started crying for Mum. I think that’s when I realised I didn’t have one. Granny and Poppa were so good to us, though. They took in all these funny art students and taught them everything they knew about art and pottery. Those students really loved Granny and Poppa. Henry and I would get a bit jealous sometimes.’ She twisted her red curls round her fingers as she talked. Kit watched her.

‘You got your mum’s hair.’

‘I know. That was a shock. Having never seen even a photo of her, I had no idea. Do you think she’s attractive?’

‘Yeah. She’s all right.’

‘I wonder if I will look like her at her age,’ she mused.

‘How old is she?’

‘I’m not sure. About …’ She did some mental arithmetic. ‘I’d say about forty-one or two.’ She stopped. ‘I don’t even know when her birthday is. Or what sign she is.’

‘Weird.’

‘Yeah. She’s missed all my growing up. Henry’s growing up too. She won’t know how well he did at business school or how well he’s doing now. Or about the time he fell off his skateboard and broke my arm.’

‘Really?’ asked Kit.

‘Yeah. I just happened to be in the way. Poppa was so good. Whizzed me off to the cottage hospital in Bodmin and got me fixed. I milked it like anything. Henry had his pocket money stopped for a month.’

‘Poor Henry.’

‘Poor me, actually. It bloody hurt.’

‘Come here,’ said Kit, lifting his arm so that she could nestle against his shoulder. ‘It must have been very hard for your grandparents, but they did a fantastic job. I really like Henry.’

Ella looked up into his eyes. ‘What about me?’

‘You’re not so bad.’

Ella’s phone rang. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Ells, it’s me.’

Ella rolled her eyes and mouthed to Kit, Henry, then said aloud, ‘Hi.’

‘I’m really sorry about yesterday.’

‘You should be.’

‘I’d like to come back to Trevay?’

‘Why?’ Ella didn’t want to make this easy for him.

‘Because …’ She heard him sigh with frustration. ‘Because I want to apologise to Mum in person. And get to know her. Like a civilised man should do.’

‘Hmm,’ said Ella.

‘Don’t make this difficult. Ells, please.’

‘When are you thinking of coming?’

‘Tomorrow? Can I stay with you?’

‘I’ll have to ask Kit.’

‘Well, could you let me know? Then I’ll arrange it with work. I’m due a bit of extenuating circumstances.’

‘I was thinking I might see Mum on my own first,’ Ella said airily.

‘Oh. I see. Of course. I understand.’

‘I’m going to phone Deborah today and sort a meeting out.’

‘Will you let me know what’s decided? I really do want to make amends.’

‘Yeah, well. I’ll bell you later.’

Sennen still hadn’t heard from Kafir. She’d woken, very early, after a dream that he was on the next flight to Cornwall, bringing Aali and Sabu with him.

She checked the time on her phone – 5.45. The start of her day, but Kafir would be well into his. He would have given the children breakfast, taken Aali to school and Sabu to the nursery he loved. She imagined Kafir planning what he would cook them for dinner. Aali liked everything, but Sabu was picky. He liked rice and flatbreads and chicken, but most vegetables he shunned. Sennen smiled to herself, thinking how Kafir would get so cross after making a special cauliflower curry or vegetable bhaji. Sennen always had a supply of tarka dal in the freezer for Sabu. She hoped now that there was still some left. She had better put lentils on the list. She checked herself. What was she thinking? She was not there, in India, not able to feed her own children. The thought inevitably took her onto the hamster wheel of anxiety that turned towards Henry and Ella. She hadn’t been there to feed them, either. She had no idea of their likes and dislikes. The wheel turned another circle and took her to a place of self-flagellation. How could she have done what she’d done to all four of her children? Who was she? What was she? The emotional pain in her gut speared through her, made her restless.

Getting out of bed, she got up, got dressed and let herself out of the sleeping house as quietly as she could.

The harbour was as still as a millpond, the reflections of the fishing boats and pleasure boats shining in its glassiness.

A couple of gulls cackled above her and flew out over the water.

She stood against the harbour wall and listened. She heard another seagull, high among the slate roofs and chimney pots, skittering on the tiles, the gentle lapping of the sea against the hulls of the boats, the whistle of man walking his dog.

She closed her eyes and breathed in. Immediately, she was twelve. Poppa was looking over her shoulder and guiding her hand as she drew the line of a fishing boat in pencil, on her sketchpad.

‘Remember what you know about perspective. That boat is face on to you. Think how big it is in comparison to the back … That’s it.’ He stood back and watched her childish work, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated. ‘You’ll be giving your mum a run for her money,’ he had said.

She screwed her closed eyes up tightly and shook herself. It was too late for regrets.

She walked around the harbour and down the narrow lane that connected with a network of smaller lanes crouching behind the sea. The old butchers, that had had the greengrocers next door, now knocked into one big ‘holiday clothes’ shop. The windows displayed jolly blue and white striped T-shirts, shorts, summer dresses and warm jumpers. She saw her reflection in the glass and realised how odd and foreign she must look in her long Indian skirt and scarf. Perhaps she should treat herself to a little shopping? Become a person of Trevay again. Yes, after breakfast when the shops were open, that’s what she would do.

She crept back into the house and checked her phone. Nothing.

She switched on the radio, ran a bath and thought about what her new wardrobe of clothes should look like.

Breakfast was quick, just a coffee and cereal. Amy wanted to engage her in a discussion about sausages versus chipolatas for breakfast but Sennen made an excuse and escaped to the shops.

She needed some jeans. She went into the first shop that had clothes in the window and spoke to the young male assistant. ‘How do people wear jeans nowadays? I mean, of my age. I want to look as if I understand fashion without looking laughable.’

He was a nice-looking boy with a cheeky face and wispy beard. His hair was shaven around the sides with a long top bit caught in a ponytail. ‘What do you mean laughable? You look great. I love the Indian vibe you’ve got going on.’

‘I have lived in India for a long time. But I’d like to look a little more local. Less foreign.’

‘Cool. Whereabouts in India?’

‘Agra. Do you know it?’

‘Nah. I’ve been to Goa, though. Really cool place.’

‘Yes. I have been there too. Very hot.’

‘Yeah. It was. So what size are you?’

‘A medium I’d say.’

He gave her a funny, mocking look. ‘I mean jean size.’

‘I have no idea.’

He ran his eyes over her. ‘You look like a 28-29 waist and you’ve good long legs so …’ He riffled through a pile of jeans and pulled a pair out. ‘These are straight legs, but I’ll see if I’ve got some boyfriends or skinnies. Do you like high or low rise?’

‘I have no idea what you’re saying,’ she laughed.

‘Go in the changing room and try these first.’ He chucked her the jeans and obediently she took them to the changing room. She pulled up the zip, straightened the legs and gave herself a good hard stare. She was so used to seeing herself in the loose Indian trousers and tops that she loved, she was amazed to see that her stomach was, if not exactly taut, flatter than she had thought. She turned to the side and observed her profile. Her bottom looked smaller, her hips too.

She heard the assistant outside the curtain. ‘How are they?’ he asked.

Nervously, she drew the curtain back; her dress, that she hadn’t bothered to take off, was hoiked up around her waist.

‘What do you think?’

‘Too big. I’ll get the size down. Length’s good and I like the low rise on you.’ He handed her another two pairs. ‘Try these. One’s boyfriend, the other’s skinny.’

‘Okay.’ She pulled the curtain back, stared at herself again. She felt a change. Maybe there was a glimmer of the person she had been or could be?

The young man came back and slipped the new, smaller jeans through the curtain.

She tried the boyfriends first.

He didn’t like them. ‘No. Hand them back. With your figure, I think the skinnies are best for you.’

Obediently, and thrilled by his compliment, she wriggled into the skinnies.

‘Proper rock chick,’ he said when she revealed herself. ‘All you need is some flats or a pair of ankle boots – preferably with spiky heels – and you’re good to go. Now just try the smaller straight ones.’

In the end she had the skinny’s, the straights, a pair of Superga trainers, a couple of lovely soft cotton tops that fell, very fetchingly, off one shoulder, and a cream, cable-knitted sloppy joe pullover.

At the till, clutching her bag of goodies, she said, ‘Thank you so much. You have been very kind.’

He handed her the receipt. ‘Enjoy. You know where I am if you want anything else.’

She left the shop feeling ten feet tall. Her mind was on getting herself a pair of ankle boots when she heard her name being called. She looked in the direction of the voice and saw a woman, her own age, waving at her across the road. ‘Sennen? It’s Rosemary!’ the woman shouted.

Sennen stared, open-mouthed, ‘Rosemary!’

Rosemary crossed the road and hugged her. ‘My God, what are you doing back here? I was only thinking about you the other day. Have you time for a coffee?’

Sennen, completely taken aback by this sudden encounter, said, ‘Erm, well … I was …’

Rosemary cut her off. ‘Just half an hour. I’m buying.’

The coffee shop was busy and the two women took a little while to reach an empty table, in a far corner near the loos, stepping across pushchairs and toddlers.

‘You get settled and I’ll go and order. Latte? Cappu?’

‘Just a tea, please. Black, no sugar,’ said Sennen. She was still reeling from the second collision of her past hitting her present in two days.

‘So,’ said Rosemary, ‘what are you doing here? Visiting the children? I thought they had gone to London after your mum died?’

Sennen felt an anxiety headache creeping into the back of her eyes. ‘It’s all rather complicated, actually. Yes, I have come to see the children but the meeting didn’t go very well.’

Rosemary eye’s shone with compassion. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Sennen surprised herself with how much she wanted to tell Rosemary everything that had happened since putting her on the boat at Santander, and it all came out.

The telling of the story in the cramped Cornish coffee shop, transported her back to the moment, standing in her bright, Indian kitchen, pans and herbs hanging from the ceiling, when she had told Kafir her secret.

At first his face, his glorious beautiful face, was clouded with confusion, followed by heartbreak and then pure, white hot anger, that the woman she had told him she was had never existed. He was married to a liar and a cheat. Sennen relived the moment as she told Rosemary.

‘I had to tell you, Kafir,’ she had wept. ‘They have found me and I must go back.’

‘You wouldn’t have told me otherwise? You would have kept up the pretence forever?’ he had shouted.

‘It’s not like that. I have been shamed by my lies. You have no idea how much I have wanted to tell you.’

‘Then why didn’t you? Did you think so little of me that you couldn’t be honest with me?’

‘No, no.’ Her words came in sobs. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want me, that I was used goods, that you couldn’t marry me because I have two illegitimate children.’

‘You really think that I am that unsophisticated? You don’t know me at all, do you?’ He looked at her coldly. ‘And I surely don’t know you. What other lies have you told me?’

‘Nothing. Nothing else.’

‘Other than you told me that your kind and loving parents died long before they actually did die? You conveniently killed them off?’

‘Well, yes. And I am so ashamed. But, it seemed easier and …’

‘Sennen, I am sorry for you, but I am even sorrier that our marriage was based on your lies.’

She crumpled then, her shoulders hunched, her face in her hands.

Kafir watched her. ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I must go home. I must sort it out,’ she snivelled.

‘And if I told you that I won’t allow you to go?’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

‘Why not? You are my wife and it is your duty to stay with me and the children.’

‘Yes, but …’ She was confused; he had never been such a person. ‘I have to go. You understand why, don’t you?’

He folded his arms and looked at his feet.

‘Kafir? Come with me. We can take the children.’

Still he said nothing.

‘Please, come with me? I need you.’

‘No. I shall stay here. Someone has to look after Sabu and Aali. If they haven’t got their mother they will need their father. But I will get you a ticket to go home and you will face your first children and you will beg their forgiveness.’

‘What will you tell Sabu and Aali?’

‘The truth. It is better they know while they are young.’

‘And us? Our marriage?’

‘I can’t promise anything. You have turned my world and the world of our children upside down. We will need to pray and think. Now, I shall pick the children up from school and you must pack. Do not be here when I get back.’ He turned his back and walked out of the house.

Rosemary listened, occasionally offering a paper napkin in lieu of a tissue, and reaching over to rub Sennen’s hand.

‘You’ve been to hell and back,’ she told Sennen simply.

Sennen wiped her nose and sighed. ‘My own making.’

‘Surely Kafir will come around.’

‘I don’t know. He can’t understand how I could have lied to him. I am not the person he thought he’d married. I’ve hurt him.’

‘Yes, but your two little ones …’ Rosemary struggled to remember their names.

‘Aali and Sabu,’ said Sennen.

‘You’re are not turning your back on them, are you?’

Sennen pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and rubbed at them. ‘No. But I feel, oh, just … shit right now. I’ve let everyone down. My parents, my four children and my husband. And all because I made a huge mistake when I was so very young.’

Rosemary leaned in. ‘I’ve always wondered, who is Henry’s father? Did he hurt you? I mean were you …?’

‘It doesn’t matter who he was. He was even more selfish and stupid than I was, and no, he didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want.’

‘And Ella’s father?’

‘The same person.’

‘I see. Do they know who he is?’

‘No. I am the only person.’

‘Even he doesn’t know?’

Sennen shook her head, her mouth drawing a tight line.

Rosemary looked at her old friend with kindness. ‘I think we need another tea and coffee.’

When Rosemary came back, she brought biscuits and a round of cheese and pickle sandwiches. Sennen forced herself to cheer up. ‘So, I’ve bored myself and bored you too, so come on. Your turn. What has happened to you over the last twenty-five years?’

‘Well, I’m a quarter of a century older,’ laughed Rosemary.

‘What happened when you got back from Spain. Were your parents furious? Did they hate me?’ asked Sennen.

‘No. They were happy that I was okay. I felt guilty because they were so nice about it.’ Rosemary paused. ‘And I felt so sorry for your parents.’

Sennen’s throat tightened. ‘You saw them? Took the toys for Henry and Ella?’

‘Yes. I asked the police to take me to your house before they took me home. I gave them the toys but your father was very angry. He shut the door on me and I was too scared to see them again.’

‘Angry?’ Sennen felt tears pricking her eyes.

‘Yes. But polite. You know what I mean? I think he was angry because I was on his doorstep and not you.’

Sennen dropped her head to hide her tears. ‘And now my children are angry because I am on their doorstep, and not their granny or poppa.’

‘Two wrongs don’t make a right.’ Rosemary said quietly. ‘You can understand how they feel. You just have to show them, tell them what you feel about them and how much you’ve missed them.’

‘Maybe.’

Sennen’s phone rang. She snatched it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Tallon-Kaur, Deborah Palmer here. I have news. Your daughter wants to see you. Just the two of you.’

Sennen sat up and looked at Rosemary. ‘No Henry?’

‘No Henry.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow. Afternoon. I’ve suggested tea at the Starfish hotel. Three thirty.’

‘Oh, yes, yes. Thank you.’

‘Perfect. See you tomorrow.’

Sennen put the phone down. ‘Rosemary, you’ve brought me luck. Ella wants to see me tomorrow. For tea at the Starfish.’

‘I could come with you, moral support and all that, if you’d like?

‘Oh, Rosemary, would you?’

‘What are old friends for?’

The two women parted with a plan to meet in the Starfish reception the following afternoon and Sennen began shopping again. She needed to get ankle boots for tomorrow’s tea with Ella. What a difference a cup of tea and an hour with an old friend made. She determined to take Rosemary out for dinner in the next couple of days and find out how the last twenty-five years had treated her. Rosemary had shown her such kindness today, more kindness than Sennen had shown her when they were young.

Her spirits lifted. Maybe she wasn’t such a bad person after all. She had made mistakes, huge ones, but now fate was offering her a chance to atone.

With a fresh bounce in her step, she put her shoulders back and forged on. On the corner, where the pet shop used to be, was a hairdresser’s. She hadn’t had her hair cut for years. If it got too much she would simply lop at it herself. In the window there were model shots of young women wearing the latest styles. She compared them, unfavourably, to herself. She put her hand to the glass and screwed her eyes up to ascertain how busy the salon was.

She could make out six chairs with six mirrors, a short row of backwash sinks and a reception desk. Only two of the chairs were occupied by clients. One, an older man, was being given a trim by a young woman, the other was occupied by a woman with red curly hair like her own. A man in his thirties was combing it through and bending to hear what she had to say.

Sennen gasped and pulled herself around the corner and out of sight. Ella. Had she seen her? Would she think she was stalking her? Sennen held her hands to her burning cheeks and told herself to calm down. The worst thing to do would be to run away, up the street, in case Ella was even now leaving her chair to catch her. She held her position and painted an unnatural smile on her face while pretending to find the parking permit sign fascinating. After a few moments she knew Ella would not appear. Phew. Sennen headed for the lane that would take her back to White Water, where she sat on the edge of her bed and thought about Ella. Bless her, she was obviously getting her hair done to look her best for meeting her mum tomorrow.

Sennen quickly dismissed the idea. ‘Don’t make it all about you,’ she told herself.

She lay on the bed and tried to sleep but the welcoming arms of oblivion were not playing her game. She got up, did some yoga poses to relax herself, then hopelessly tried to meditate. Finally, she gave up. Her mother had always suggested a good walk to get tired. ‘Ozone in the lungs. Always done the trick for me.’

Sennen smiled at the memory. She picked up her scarf and phone and tucked a twenty-pound note in her pocket in case of emergency and went for a walk.

She intended to walk down to the harbour, turn left past the Golden Hind and follow the path up over the cliffs towards Sundown Beach, which would take her to Tide Cove and on to Shellsand Bay. But intention and action are very different things. Once out of the front door she didn’t turn right to the harbour. She turned left up towards the back of Trevay and its church, St Peter’s.

The doors were locked. She rattled them in annoyance. She was hot and could have done with having a quiet moment of reflection in the cool of the building.

She reprimanded herself again. ‘You’re a very selfish woman today. Stop it.’

She found some shade and a bench under an ancient yew and sat down gratefully.

‘What the hell am I doing here?’ she asked herself. ‘I want the beach and the wild ocean, not this mournful garden.’ She looked around at the ancient, lichened gravestones. But still she did not move.

She knew why she had come.

She began searching for her parents’ graves. She was methodical, walking up and down the lines, wonky though they were, searching for the Tallon name. She didn’t even know if they had been buried. It would be like Poppa to want to be cremated and scattered in the ground to feed the crops and trees. And Mum would have done whatever Poppa thought was right. And if they were buried, would they even be in this churchyard?

She stopped and caught her breath. An emotion, she couldn’t identify, possibly shame, certainly fear, was sending a tremor through her. She felt them. They could see her, she was certain.

Looking around to make certain she was on her own, she said quietly, ‘Mum? Poppa? Where are you?’

A blackbird fluttered from a nearby bush and startled her. He flew to the top of a gravestone some twenty paces from her and cocked his head. She challenged his beady eye. ‘You’re tricking me Mr Blackbird. And I’m not falling for it.’

He flew to another stone and another. Reluctantly, she followed him, glancing at the names on the memorials he had landed on. All strangers.

Ignoring the bird, she began her methodical search again. Some headstones were so interesting she stopped and read them, enjoying the history and mystery of each.

Eventually she reached the furthest corner and the boundary of the garden. The drystone wall had a seat set into it and she sat, feeling the warmth of the slate seeping through her skirt. It was peaceful up here and, beyond the roofs of the town and its harbour, she could just make out the sea.

Would she be buried here? Would she be welcomed as a child of Trevay? Or had she lost the right to be thought of as a local? Closing her eyes and tilting her face to the sun she pictured the mourners who would have sat here over the centuries, wiping their eyes, glad to rest their grieving limbs, imagined the gravediggers sharing a Thermos of tea as they took a break from their sweaty work.

Something light landed on her shoulder, making her start. It was the blackbird.

‘You again?’

He hopped off her shoulder and on to the wall, then flew to two gravestones a row ahead of where she was sitting.

Curiosity hooked her. ‘This is your last chance, Cheeky.’

She got up and read the inscription.

Then she read the one next to it.

The blackbird had gone.

She was alone.

She fell to her knees between the graves and spread her arms over both of them, weeping.