The Forgotten Promise, page 19
Although Polly had given her a cookery book, Ella struggled to get to grips with English food. The shopkeepers looked at her with suspicion or amusement as she tried to come to grips with English cuts of meat or the names of vegetables and how to cook them, like cabbages and turnips. The rations she got baffled her and trying to produce a meal when she had never had to cook before overwhelmed her. Her hands became chafed and callused from housework and hand-washing clothes; her fingers bore the scars of accidents with kitchen knives as she did her best to cook.
‘You’ve lost so much weight,’ Polly said one morning as they drank tea in the kitchen. ‘You were a bag of bones when you arrived, but I’d hoped we might have put some flesh on you by now.’
Ella shrugged. Between her anxiety and inability to cook, her appetite seemed to have disappeared.
‘And you’ve got the darkest rings under your eyes that I’ve seen on anyone.’
‘It’s so hard—’
‘I know.’ Polly touched her arm. ‘But you’ve got to think of Toby, apart from anything else.’
‘And I feel so guilty just for being here.’ Ella dropped her head in her hands and let out a deep sigh. ‘And I know you’re probably right, but how can I go on when every moment of my day I’m wondering where they are and how I can find them?’
‘No one’s telling you what you should do.’ Polly paused. ‘But you will find them. Meanwhile, you’ve got to get on with your life. I know it’s miserable, but you must grin and bear it. There’s nothing else you can do.’
Ella knew that Polly was right, but her words didn’t take away the pain and longing. Nothing seemed to lighten the heaviness of her heart and there wasn’t much that made her feel welcome in this strange and far-from-home land.
As the days became longer, she found herself spending more time with Polly and the evacuees. Jenny would curl up close on the sofa and ask to be read to. Ella was torn – she wanted to resist becoming fond of the girl, knowing that one day she’d return to her mother in London. Ella didn’t know if she could cope with another loss, but it was hard not to offer comfort to the motherless child. She hoped someone would be doing the same for Grace, even though the softness of Jenny’s breath on her cheek, the brush of her hair against Ella’s hand, pained her more than she could say.
Every moment of every day, Ella’s thoughts turned to Grace and Johnnie. When she pooled her rations with Polly, she wondered what Grace was eating for lunch. In the evenings when they cooked together, she pictured Grace at the villa eating her roti or drinking coconut milk flavoured with mango. When Toby fell asleep, she’d sit with Polly, listening to the wireless or reading, imagining that Grace was asleep upstairs and that all she had to do was go up and she’d find her underneath the woollen blankets, her black curls spilling over the pillow.
And every day the papers reported more air strikes against the Allied forces and how the Japanese seemed to be gaining political control in Indonesia, Burma and India. Ella absorbed the news, her breathing shallow, as the prospect of them all being reunited seemed to slip further and further away.
Then one day she received a letter from Melody:
Dear Ella,
I hope that you are well and have settled in England. I have at last found out that Edward didn’t make it out of Singapore – my understanding is that he’s in Changi. The Red Cross have tried to get notes to the prisoners, so if he’s there, he might learn that we made it out safely.
I know it must be difficult for you, for as I remember, you’d had no news of Johnnie and Grace when we last wrote. Whilst I can’t be certain that they are safe, I do hope that one day you, too, will receive some news. I know it doesn’t help, but if Johnnie is in Changi, I am certain that he and Edward will be together, and we should let that be a comfort.
Meanwhile, I have been called up. I’m in the Fire Service. Every night there seems to be something to attend to. There’s always another raid, people needing to be rescued from rubble and taken to hospital. I’m quite busy, but if you’re in London, I would love to see you. My flat is near Sloane Square and very handy.
With love and best regards,
Melody x
Ella wrote back:
Dear Melody,
I am so sad to hear about Edward, but it is good to know that he is at least alive. It is good also to hear that you are well, and I am sure you are being kept very busy. I can’t imagine what it must be like in London – I’ve seen the bombers going overhead, of course, and we’ve had our share of running to air-raid shelters in the middle of the night, but luckily we haven’t been hit here in Oxford. I’ve seen such terrible photographs in the newspapers and in newsreels at the pictures.
Unfortunately, I still have no news of Grace and Johnnie. I think about them all the time and can’t bear to picture what they must be experiencing in Malaya. I pray every day that I’ll hear from them soon – that they’re on a boat or a ship bound for England. Every knock at the door, I expect it to be them, and you can’t imagine the heartbreak when it isn’t. I’ve written repeatedly to the Red Cross and I’m permanently checking passenger listings, but nothing so far.
Meanwhile, James and Polly have kindly given me a small coach house to live in, which I have done up ready for when they do get here. It’s not a palace, but if you ever find yourself needing a weekend out of London, I would love to see you.
Ella x
Tips of blossom began to appear on trees and at last the early-morning frost and mists gave way to warmth in the air. Ella found the change unexpectedly beautiful; the dramatically changing seasons weren’t something she was familiar with after the constant climate of Malaya. She sat for hours looking out of the window, finding it hard not to imagine Grace playing amongst the apple trees with Johnnie and Toby, who was now coasting about but not yet walking.
‘I thought you might like to help me,’ said Polly, knocking on the coach-house door one morning. She was carrying a stack of small terracotta pots and wearing a pair of navy overalls that she called her siren suit. She made her way over to the kitchen table where she set down the pots. ‘I’ve always liked to garden and last year we managed to grow a lot of potatoes, carrots, parsnips and sprouts for ourselves. Herr Hitler might be trying his best to starve us, but I for one can dig very well for victory. I kept a lot of seeds from last year and you can grow potatoes in almost anything.’
‘I’ve never grown a thing.’ Ella had just finished feeding Toby a bowl of eggs and milk, which she had got used to making with hot water and powder from a tin. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Well, it’s a bit early but we can begin with these – you’ve got a sunny window ledge and now that the warmer weather is on its way, it won’t be long before you see the shoots appearing.’
Ella finished feeding Toby. Then, with Polly’s guidance, the three of them began to fill pots and trays with soil, pricking out spaces for seeds. She helped Toby drop seeds into the holes and watched while Polly wrote on labels.
‘You do know,’ she said, putting down her pen and pursing her lips for a moment before she continued, ‘that they might not come back?’ Still she didn’t look at Ella, but nevertheless was assessing her reaction.
‘They will,’ Ella said with force. ‘I’m certain of it.’
Their eyes met across the table. ‘Yes. But what if they don’t? What if they have to spend the rest of the war in a POW camp or some such place? It’s something you might have to face.’
‘No. They will get here. I really need to believe it.’
Polly sighed and took hold of her hand. ‘I’m not asking you to give up hope, but who knows when this damn war will end and how long you might have to wait? You can’t spend all your days gazing out of the window waiting for them to return.’ Ella felt Polly squeeze her hand. ‘I find it hard to see you looking so sorrowful all the time.’
Ella shrugged. She wanted to say that it was easy for her to say that, it wasn’t her daughter who was missing, but as soon as the thought formed, she knew it was wrong to think like that. Polly must be in knots too, wondering what had happened to Johnnie.
‘I don’t really know where to start. Everything I’ve tried has ended in failure, and –’ she felt awkward saying it ‘– everything in England is still so strange.’
‘I understand that, too. But you can help me in the garden. It might give you pleasure to see things grow.’
And so the days took on a new form. In the mornings, Ella helped Polly in the blooming garden while the evacuees and Toby played on the lawn. Sometimes they’d all walk by the river as the powder-blue light filtered through the leaves overhead or feed any crumbs of bread they could spare to the ducks.
Ella looked towards the water. Two swans were gliding a short distance away. They moved with such grace even though they had to paddle hard to keep moving. Life was like that, she realised, not just for her, but for everyone around her. The war affected everyone, and everyone was finding it hard to keep afloat.
‘Thank you,’ Ella said to Polly, watching the swans. ‘I don’t think I could have coped these past few weeks without you. Who’d have thought this time last year that all this would have happened?’
‘I know. But I’m a great believer in trying to find the good in whatever situation we can.’
‘And how do you see that working for me?’
‘Try not to look back on things, to dwell too much. And try to think about all the things you’ve achieved, however small they might seem. Toby is a happy little boy. And you are learning to manage by yourself in a place you don’t know or understand – I think Johnnie would be impressed by all that.’
Ella thought for a moment. It was difficult to express the sense of failure and guilt that followed her around like a shadow. But there was another layer now to her feelings, she realised. Instead of being someone who mattered, who could make a difference to others, she felt she had no purpose – essentially, she was no one. Would Polly understand this or view such thoughts as self-indulgence?
‘But every day,’ she sighed, focusing on what she thought Polly would sympathise with, ‘I feel terrible, so guilty, for being here, for being alive.’
‘Just because they’re missing doesn’t mean they can’t be in your thoughts every day or that you’re disloyal for finding pleasure in your own life. You’ll find a way to make sense of it all, I’m sure. But what that is will be for you to discover.’
High summer began to fade. Montbretia flamed in the garden while rosehips filled the hedgerows. There was more beauty in England than Ella had realised. Polly’s words of encouragement lingered with her like the warmth of the sun, and it was while she was enjoying a walk by the river, with a by now tottering Toby, that she decided to make some small sketches and drawings of moments she had enjoyed, to show Grace when they were finally reunited. These are blackberries, she wrote on the back of a watercolour sketch. Toby and I walked along the footpath to Oxford. We saw so many and picked a bowlful for our afternoon tea. And on another day, she captured a moorhen gliding on the water. There are lots of these birds on the riverbank, Gracie, I’m sure you’d like them, although Toby and I prefer feeding the ducks. They’re so enthusiastic when we throw breadcrumbs into the water. She added a small line drawing of Toby in his wellingtons scattering bread into the river and a duck dipping its head into the water to catch it.
One afternoon, eight months or so after arriving in England, Ella had just come back from a walk where she’d been picking hips and haws to display in jugs. For the first time in ages, she was feeling content after drinking in the mellow and comforting autumn colours. At last, after all the upheaval, her life was beginning to settle.
When she returned home, she found a letter for her postmarked from London. She ripped it open.
Dearest Ella,
I hope you don’t mind, but I have a few days’ holiday at the end of the month and I thought it would be lovely to visit you. I could get a train on Friday 16th if that suits you and stay for a few days. It would be so good to catch up again.
Melody x
CHAPTER TWENTY
On the morning of Melody’s arrival, Ella busied herself baking ginger cake and walnut bread from the recipe books that Polly had given to her. It took her a long time and was probably not up to Noor’s standard of cookery, but when she had finished, she was proud of what she had achieved. As she washed up, her thoughts turned to how much Melody’s life and her own had run in parallel. For a moment, her memories wandered back to the happier times they had shared: their voices ringing out in stifling hot school corridors; lying on beds as teenagers discussing makeup and boys; the day of Ella’s wedding; Melody as Maid of Honour catching the bouquet of apricot-coloured orchids tossed with the full intention that she should catch it. How far away that life seemed now.
The past continued to hang over Ella as she collected apples from the store where Polly had wrapped them in newspaper and laid them in sand, and memories of servants and parties followed her as she returned from the butcher with a few meagre slices of ham and a couple of ounces of cheese.
Finally, she placed a vase of marigolds on the kitchen table and dusted the living room, where Melody was to sleep on the sofa, then stood back and admired her work as sunlight blazed through the gleaming windows. She tried to picture her old friend sitting on the sofa, her laughter rippling through the air just as it always had, although this time it would be through cold English air rather than while sipping sundowners on a warm verandah to the chirping of crickets.
When everything was ready, Ella realised she was a little late and cycled in a hurry to Oxford station along the riverside with Toby perched in the rear child seat. There were servicemen crowding around the entrance, noisy with their bulging kit bags and hot in their khaki, as well as a scattering of uniformed doctors and nurses. She leant her bicycle against a lamppost and was about to ask the conductor if the train from Paddington had come in, when she saw Melody waiting by the entrance with a small cream suitcase at her feet. Her head was down and she was reading a copy of Woman’s Own.
‘Ella!’ Melody beamed. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ She stepped towards her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘And look at Toby! He’s walking!’
‘I know. And it’s wonderful to see you, too.’ Ella kissed her back, a glow of happiness radiating through her.
‘What a journey! The train was absolutely packed with servicemen, but luckily I got a seat.’
‘You’re here at last, I can hardly believe it,’ Ella said. ‘Are you all right walking?’ She looked at Melody’s feet. Burgundy court shoes, not suitable for the uneven path. ‘I should have said really – I cycled here with Toby, and thought we could catch up on the walk back. I can balance your case on the front of my bike.’
‘That would be lovely. After that journey, I could really do with some fresh air.’
Ella took the case – thankfully little heavier than an overnight bag – and led the way out of the station.
‘It’s glorious here.’ Melody paused and looked around her then at the college spires in the distance. ‘So peaceful and strangely undamaged after London – and the river is so pretty.’
‘Yes. Oxford has been lucky; we seem to have been spared the bombing. You can even cycle for miles in both directions without having to worry about sirens going off and needing to find an air-raid shelter if there’s a plane flying overhead.’
‘Can you really?’
‘We should take a ride out – what about a picnic? Polly would be happy to lend you her bike if you want.’
‘That sounds like a dream. What about you, Toby, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, he certainly will. He loves nature – especially the ducks.’
They walked a few steps further, then a grimace twisted Melody’s features and she slowed.
‘Stupid shoes. I knew they were impractical but I wanted to look nice. Do you mind if I sit down?’ She nodded towards a bench facing the river.
Ella propped her bike against a tree. Toby pottered on the path picking up stones as Melody and Ella settled on a nearby bench.
Ella stared ahead of her at a pair of swans floating by and asked her friend, ‘It’s been ages. How have you been?’
‘To be honest, it’s been hard. I think about Edward every day, holed up in that damn prison. I’m glad I’ve got the Fire Service to take my mind off it, but what’s happening in London is so dreadful.’ Melody dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, then took a packet of Pall Mall from her bag and lit a cigarette with her silver lighter. The flame sparked then settled down as the tobacco caught. ‘I suppose it was a shock to start with. All the bombing, the flattened buildings and injured people. Often children.’
Ella winced.
‘I’m sorry to talk about it, Ella, but it’s dreadful. You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s enough to drive anyone mad. Night after night of air raids, sleeping in the tube stations if you’re in the wrong place when the raids begin.’ Melody started to cry. ‘And all the time I keep thinking, why am I here? I should be with Edward. What if he’s no longer alive … if I never see him again? And sometimes I think I can’t live the rest of my life, hoping and waiting in limbo like this.’
Ella nodded. How well she understood. She wasn’t certain what to say but repeated the phrases Polly had used to soothe her. We can’t think like that. We can only look forward to better days – when all this is over, we’ll be reunited.
‘But what if we never are, Ella?’ There was fear and exasperation in Melody’s voice. ‘Isn’t that something we have to consider? Just think,’ Melody lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘we could be dead tomorrow – a bomb could drop on us and then we’d never have had the chance to say we were sorry for leaving them behind.’
