But without Juniper, Meredith knew, it wouldn’t be so much fun. Just dark and damp and rather smelly. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Juniper had said, the first time they’d explored together. Meredith had been uncertain. The log they were sitting on was cool and damp and her plimsolls wet from where she’d slid off a rock. There was another pool on the estate, teeming with butterflies and birds, and a rope swing that lazed back and forth in the dappled sunlight, and she’d wished, wished, wished, they’d decided to spend the day there instead. She didn’t say as much though; the force of Juniper’s conviction was such that Meredith knew the fault was her own, that her tastes were too juvenile, that she just wasn’t trying hard enough. Screwing her determination to the sticking place, she’d smiled and said, ‘Yes.’ And again, with feeling, ‘Yes. It is. Wonderful.’
In a single, fluid motion, Juniper had stood, arms extended to the sides, and tiptoed across a fallen log. ‘It’s the shadows,’ she’d said, ‘the way the reeds slip down the banks, almost slyly; the smell of mud and moisture and rot.’ She smiled sideways at Meredith. ‘Why, it’s almost prehistoric. If I told you we’d crossed an invisible threshold into the past, you’d believe me, wouldn’t you?’
Meredith had shivered then, just as she did now, and a small, smooth magnet within her child’s body had thrummed with inexplicable urgency, and she’d felt the pull of longing, though for what she did not know.
‘Close your eyes and listen,’ Juniper had whispered, finger to her lips. ‘You can hear the spiders spinning . . .’
Meredith closed her eyes now. Listened to the chorus of crickets, the occasional splashing of trout, the distant drone of a tractor somewhere . . . There was another sound, too. One that seemed distinctly out of place. It was an engine, she realized, close by and coming nearer.
She opened her eyes and saw it. A black motorcar, winding down the gravelled driveway from the castle. Meredith couldn’t help but stare. Visitors were rare at Milderhurst, motorcars even rarer. Few people had the petrol for making social calls and, from what Meredith could tell, those who did were hoarding it so they could flee north when the Germans invaded. Even the priest who called on the old man in the tower arrived on foot these days. This visitor must be someone official, Meredith decided; someone on special war business.
The motorcar passed and the driver, a man she did not recognize, touched his black hat, nodding sternly at Meredith. She squinted after him, watching the car as it continued warily along the gravel. It disappeared behind a wooded bend only to reappear some time later at the foot of the driveway, a black speck turning onto the Tenterden Road.
Meredith yawned and promptly forgot all about it. There was a patch of violets growing wild near the bridge and she couldn’t resist picking some. When her posy was lovely and thick, she climbed up to sit on the railing of the bridge and divided her time between daydreaming and dropping the flowers, one by one, into the stream, watching as they turned purple somersaults in the gentle current.
‘Morning.’
She looked up to see Percy Blythe pushing her bicycle up the driveway, an unflattering hat on her head, requisite cigarette in hand. The stern twin, as Meredith usually thought of her, though today there was something else in her face, something beyond stern and a little more like sad. It might just have been the hat. Meredith said, ‘Hello,’ and clutched the railing to save herself from falling.
‘Or is it afternoon already?’ Percy slowed to a stop and flicked her wrist, reading the small watch-face that sat against the inside. ‘Just gone half past. You won’t forget we have a tea engagement, will you?’ She glanced over the end of her cigarette as she drew long and hard, then exhaled slowly. ‘Your parents would be rather disappointed, I imagine: to travel all this way only to miss you.’
It was a joke, Meredith suspected, but there was nothing jovial about Percy’s expression or her manner so she couldn’t be sure. She hedged her bets, smiling politely; at the very least, she figured, Percy might assume she hadn’t heard.
Percy gave no indication that she’d noticed Meredith’s response, let alone given it further thought. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘things to do.’ And she nodded bluntly, continuing on towards the castle.
FOUR
When Meredith finally caught sight of her parents, walking together up the driveway, her stomach flip-flopped. For a split second she felt as if she was watching the approach of two dream people, familiar yet entirely out of place here, in the real world. The sensation lasted only a moment before something inside her, some disc of perception, turned over and she saw properly it was Mum and Dad and they were here at last and she had so much to tell them. She ran forwards, arms wide, and Dad knelt, mirroring her posture, so she could leap into his big, wide, warm embrace. Mum planted a kiss on her cheek, which was unusual but not unpleasant, and although she knew herself to be far too old for it neither Rita nor Ed were there to tease her, so Meredith let her dad hold hands with her all the rest of the way, as she talked without pause about the castle and its library and the fields and the brook and the woods.
Percy was already waiting by the table, smoking another cigarette, which she extinguished when she saw them. She smoothed the sides of her skirt, held out a hand, and with a bit of fussing the greeting was effected. ‘And how was your train trip? Not too unpleasant I hope?’ The question was perfectly ordinary, polite even, but Meredith heard the toffy clip of Percy’s voice through her parent’s ears and wished it were Saffy’s soft welcome instead.
Sure enough, Mum’s voice was thin and guarded: ‘It was long. Stopping and starting all the way, letting the troop trains pass. We spent more time in the sidings than we did on the track.’
‘Still,’ said Dad, ‘our boys have gotta get themselves to war somehow. Show Hitler Britain can take it.’
‘Just so, Mr Baker. Sit down, won’t you, please?’ said Percy, indicating the prettily laid table. ‘You must be famished.’
Percy poured tea and offered slices of Saffy’s cake, and they spoke, somewhat stiltedly, about the crowding on the trains, the state of the war (Denmark had toppled, would Norway be next?), predictions for its progress. Meredith nibbled a piece of cake and watched. She’d been convinced that Mum and Dad would take one look at the castle, then another at Percy Blythe, with her plummy accent and broomstick spine, and adopt defensive manoeuvres, but so far things were going smoothly enough.
Meredith’s mum was very quiet, it was true. She kept one hand holding tightly onto the handbag on her lap in a nervous, stiff sort of way, which was a little disquieting given that Meredith couldn’t think that she’d ever seen her mother nervous before: not of rats, or spiders, or even Mr Lane from across the road when he’d spent too long in the pub. Dad seemed to be a bit more at ease, nodding as Percy described the Spitfire drive and the care packages for soldiers in France, and sipping tea from a hand-painted porcelain teacup as if he did so every day. Well, almost. He did manage to make it look rather like a doll’s-house tea set. Meredith didn’t think she’d ever realized quite how enormous his fingers were and an unexpected wave of affection washed over her. She reached out beneath the table to lay her palm on his other hand. They weren’t a family who expressed themselves physically and he glanced up, surprised, before squeezing hers in return.
‘How’s your schoolwork going, my girl?’ He leaned his shoulder a little closer and looked up to wink at Percy: ‘Our Rita might have got the looks, but young Merry here took all the brains.’
Meredith warmed with pride. ‘I’m doing lessons here, Dad, at the castle, with Saffy. You should see the library, there are more books even than at the circulating library. Every wall covered with shelves. And I’m learning Latin . . .’ Oh, how she loved Latin. Sounds from the past, imbued with meaning. Ancient voices on the wind. Meredith pushed her spectacles higher up the bridge of her nose; they often slipped with excitement. ‘And I’m learning the piano, too.’
‘My sister Seraphina is very pleased with your daughter’s progress,’ said P
ercy. ‘She’s come along rather well, considering she’d never seen a piano before.’
‘Is that right?’ said Dad, hands jiggling in his pockets so that his elbows moved most peculiarly above the table top. ‘My girl can play tunes?’
Meredith smiled proudly and wondered if her ears were glowing. ‘Some.’
Percy topped up everybody’s tea. ‘Perhaps you’ll take your parents inside later, Meredith; into the music room, where you might play one of your pieces for them?’
‘You hear that, Mum?’ Dad nodded his chin. ‘Our Meredith is playing real music.’
‘I heard.’ Something seemed to set then in Mum’s face, though Meredith wasn’t sure exactly what it was. It was the same look she got when she and Dad were fighting over something, and he made a small but fatal error ensuring that victory would be hers. Her voice tight, she spoke to Meredith as if Percy wasn’t there. ‘We missed you at Christmas.’
‘I missed you too, Mum. I did really want to come and visit. Only there were no trains. They needed them all for the soldiers.’
‘Rita’s coming home with us today.’ Mum set her teacup on its saucer, straightened the teaspoon decisively and pushed it away. ‘Found her a position with a hairdressing salon, we have, down on the Old Kent Road. Starts on Monday. Cleaning at first, but they’ll teach her how to do sets and cuts, too.’ Gratification brought a glimmer to Mum’s eyes. ‘There’s opportunities at the moment, Merry, what with so many of the older girls joining the Wrens or going to the factories. Good opportunities for a young girl without other prospects.’
It made sense. Rita was always fussing with her hair and her prized collection of beauty aids. ‘Sounds good, Mum. Nice to have someone in the family who can set your hair for you.’ That didn’t seem to please her mum.
Percy Blythe took a cigarette from the silver case Saffy insisted she use in company and felt about in her pocket for matches.
Dad cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, Merry,’ he said, and his awkwardness was no consolation to Meredith for the terrible thing he said next ‘your Mum and me – we thought it might be time for you, too.’
And then Meredith understood. They wanted her to go home, to become a hairdresser, to leave Milderhurst. Deep inside her stomach panic formed a ball and started rolling back and forth. She blinked a couple of times, straightened her specs, then stammered, ‘But, but, I don’t want to be a hairdresser. Saffy says it’s important I finish my education. That I might even get a place at grammar school when the war is over.’
‘Your mum was just thinking of your future with the hairdressing; we can talk about something else if you like. An office girl maybe. One of the ministries?’
‘But it’s not safe in London,’ said Meredith suddenly. It was a stroke of genius: she wasn’t really remotely frightened of Hitler or his bombs, but perhaps this was a way to convince them.
Dad smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, my girl. We’re all doing our bit to ruin Hitler’s party: Mum’s just started in a munitions factory and I’m working nights. There’s no bombs been dropped, no poison gas, the old neighbourhood looks just the same as always.’
Just the same as always. Meredith pictured the grimy old streets and her grim place in them, and with a bolt of sickening clarity admitted then how desperate she was to stay on at Milderhurst. She turned towards the castle, knotting her fingers, wishing she could summon Juniper with nothing more than the intensity of her need; wishing that Saffy might appear and say the perfect thing, make Mum and Dad see that taking her home was the wrong thing to do, that they must let her stay.
Perhaps by some strange twin communication, Percy chose that moment to wade in. ‘Mr and Mrs Baker,’ she said, tapping the end of her cigarette on the silver case and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, ‘I can understand that you’d very much like to have Meredith home with you, but if the invasion should—’
‘You’re coming with us this afternoon, young miss, and that’s final.’ Mum’s hackles had risen like a set of quills. She didn’t so much as glance at Percy, fixing Meredith with a look that promised fierce punishment later.
Meredith’s eyes watered behind her spectacles. ‘I’m not.’
Dad growled, ‘Don’t you talk back to your mother—’
‘Well,’ said Percy abruptly. She’d lifted the lid on the teapot and was scrutinizing its contents. ‘The pot’s empty; excuse me while I refill it, won’t you? We’re rather short on help at the moment. Wartime economies.’
They all three watched her retreat, then Mum hissed at Dad, ‘Rather short on help. You hear that?’
‘Come on, Annie.’ Confrontation was not something Dad enjoyed. He was the sort of man whose impressive bulk was enough of a deterrent that he rarely needed to come to blows. Mum, on the other hand . . .
‘That woman’s been looking down her nose at us since we arrived. Wartime economies indeed – in a place like this.’ She tossed her hand in the direction of the castle. ‘Probably thinks we ought to be in there fetching after her.’
‘She does not!’ said Meredith. ‘They’re not like that.’
‘Meredith.’ Dad was still staring at a fixed point on the ground, but his voice rose, almost pleading, and he shot a glance at her from beneath his knotted brow. Ordinarily, she knew, he relied on her to stand silently beside him when Mum and Rita started screaming. But not today, she couldn’t just stand by today.
‘But, Dad, look at the lovely tea they put on specially—’
‘That’s enough lip from you, Miss.’ Mum was on her feet now and she jerked Meredith up by the sleeve of her new dress, harder than she might otherwise have. ‘You get on inside and fetch your things. Your real clothes. The train’s leaving soon and we’re all going to be on it.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ said Meredith, turning urgently to her father. ‘Let me stay, Dad. Please don’t make me go. I’m learning—’
‘Pah!’ Mum swiped her hand dismissively. ‘I can see well enough what you’ve been learning here with your Lady Muck; learning to cheek your parents. I can see what you’re forgetting too: who you are and where you come from.’ She shook her finger at Dad. ‘I told you we were wrong to send them away. If we’d only kept them home like I wanted—’
‘Enough!’ Dad’s top had finally blown. ‘That’s enough, Annie. Sit down. There’s no need for all this; she’s coming home now.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Oh yes you are,’ said Mum, pulling back her flattened hand. ‘And there’s a good clip round the ear waiting for you when you get there.’
‘That’s enough!’ Dad was on his feet now, too; he grabbed hold of Mum’s wrist. ‘For Christ’s sake, that’s enough, Annie.’ His eyes searched hers and something passed between them; Meredith saw her mother’s wrist go limp. Dad nodded at her. ‘We’ve all become a bit hot and bothered, that’s all.’
‘Talk to your daughter . . . I can’t stand to look at her. I only hope she never knows what it is to lose a child.’ And she walked away, arms folded stubbornly across her body.
Dad looked tired suddenly, old. He ran a hand over his hair. It was thinning on top so that Meredith could see the marks that the comb had made that morning. ‘You mustn’t mind her. She’s fiery, you know how she gets. She’s been worried about you, we both have.’ He glanced again at the castle, looming above them. ‘Only we’ve heard stories. From Rita’s letters and from some of the kids who’ve come home, terrible stories about how they were treated.’
Was that all? Meredith felt the bubbling delirium of relief; she knew there had been evacuees less fortunate than her, but if that was all they were worried about, then surely all she had to do was reassure her dad. ‘But there’s nothing to worry about, Dad. I told you in my letters: I’m happy here. Didn’t you read my letters?’
‘Course I did. We both did. Brightest spot in our day, your mum and me, getting a letter from you.’
The way he said it, Meredith knew that it was true a
nd something inside her panged, imagining them at the table, poring over the things she’d written. ‘Well then,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes, ‘you know that everything’s all right. Better than all right.’
‘I know that’s what you said.’ He looked towards Mum, checking she was still a fair distance away. ‘That was part of the problem. Your letters were so . . . cheerful. And your mother heard from one of her friends that there were foster families changing the letters that the boys and girls were writing home. Stopping them from saying anything that might reflect badly. Making things seem better than they really were.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘That’s not how it is, though, is it, Merry? Not for you.’
‘No, Dad.’
‘You’re happy here; as happy your letters make out?’
‘Yes.’ Meredith could see that he was wavering. Possibility shot like fireworks through her limbs, and she spoke quickly. ‘Percy’s a bit stiff, but Saffy’s wonderful. You could meet her if you come inside; I could play you a song on the piano.’
He looked up at the tower, sunlight sweeping across his cheeks. Meredith watched as his pupils shrank; she waited, trying to read his wide, blank face. His lips moved as if he were taking measurements, memorizing figures, but it was impossible for her to see which way the sums might lead him. He glanced, then, at his wife, fuming by the fountain, and Meredith knew that it was now or never. ‘Please, Dad.’ She grabbed the fabric of his shirtsleeve. ‘Please don’t make me go back. I’m learning so much here, far more than I could learn in London. Please make Mum see that I’m better off here.’
A light sigh and he frowned at Mum’s back. As Meredith watched his face changed, fell along lines of tenderness so that Meredith’s heart turned a somersault. But he didn’t look down at her and he didn’t speak. Finally, she followed his sightline and noticed that Mum had twisted a bit, was standing now with one hand on her hip, the other fidgeting lightly by her side. The sun had crept up behind her and found glints of red in her brown hair, and she looked pretty and lost and unusually young. Her eyes were locked with Dad’s, and in a dull thudding moment, Meredith saw that the tenderness in his face was for Mum, and not for her at all.