Chapter 31 #3
Stella tucked herself into the back of Alfie’s – Edwin’s – car.
It was strange being in it again. It smelled the same, of damp canvas and oil and leather, and brought the memories flooding back of him whisking her away to Somerset that weekend to stay on the boat.
She remembered swishing out of London in it, feeling like royalty.
She could never have predicted that she would be sitting in it again, this time on a rescue mission to get their son, the son he never knew existed.
Why had Ted run away? He’d been perfectly chirpy at breakfast. Saturday was bacon and egg, his absolute favourite, and he’d devoured his helping and had three slices of toast. There had been nothing to suggest that anything was amiss.
But Dr Boxer had warned there might be some kind of belated reaction to the fire.
‘It’s a big shock, to lose your home, so keep an eye on him. Of course he might take it all in his stride, but if there’s anything you’re worried about, just let me know.’
She racked her brains for any clue. Ted was settled at school, quite happy to head off there every morning, although he did hate leaving Paddy.
But he knew the puppy would be looked after, and would be there when he got home.
He’d been thrilled with his new bedroom.
And there was lots to look forward to. He was excited about the Snow Ball, and was going to be allowed to stay up for the first couple of hours, handing around hors d’oeuvres.
And of course straight after the ball was Christmas. Their first Foxwood Christmas.
She huddled into the corner of the back seat and pulled the blanket more tightly around her.
There was hardly any room, and the seat was rock hard, and it was freezing cold.
She slept fitfully on the journey up, only waking as they made their way down the A4 into Hammersmith.
London was such a different place now, the street lamps glowing and lights on in all the houses, not like during the war, when it kept itself as dark as it could.
She remembered coming home from a shift at the station, blundering around streets that were familiar in daylight but hostile at night, not giving away any clues.
You had to be so careful, not to trip and fall over a kerb or a loose paving stone, feeling your way in the pitch-black, hoping against hope that this wasn’t going to be the night it was your turn in the deadly game of cat and mouse.
You couldn’t do anything but keep quiet and pray, for the enemy delighted in lack of warning.
When the war ended, it took years to get used to the idea that a bomb wasn’t going to drop any minute.
Even now, as they entered the city, she found herself looking up at the sky, eternally watchful. She never did that in Somerset.
They pulled up at the shop on Lamb’s Conduit Street just before midnight.
Stella rushed to the door to find it locked, so rang the bell to Monsieur Corbières’ flat.
She was startled when a stranger opened the door.
He was tall and slender, with laughing eyes set in a thin face, heavy glasses, wild dark hair and a full mouth which gave her a welcoming smile.
‘You must be Stella.’
‘You must be Ben.’
Clementine had told her she’d sent her half-brother over, but Stella had been expecting someone rather more conventional, not this rather intriguing creature, part scarecrow, part dandy.
‘Come in, all of you,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid Ted’s fallen asleep, but he’ll be so glad to see you.’
Stella needed no second telling. She rushed through the shop, breathing in the scent of pencil lead and paint, straight through the door behind the counter and up the stairs.
She burst in through the door to find Monsieur Corbières sitting with Paddy on his lap, and Ted curled up in an armchair.
She took in the familiar chaos, the bookshelves groaning, the walls crammed with paintings, the empty bottles and glasses and the smell of coffee and cigarette smoke and dust. She’d spent so many hours in here, being tutored by him, looking at artwork in his extensive collection of books, dissecting why a painting worked and why it didn’t.
Monsieur Corbières put his finger to his lips, and she crept in quietly, heading straight to her son, kneeling beside him, feeling the tears rush into her eyes as she touched his shoulder as if to make sure he was real and not a mirage.
Ted’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up. ‘Mum?’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ She put her arms round him and pulled him in until she could feel his very heartbeat, his breath, his warmth. ‘What on earth have you been up to? What happened?’
Ted ruffled his hair and looked over her shoulder. ‘Oh, hello, Alfie. Hello, Clementine. What’s everyone doing here?’
The others had followed in behind her, all of them crammed into the tiny flat.
‘We’ve come to fetch you. You had us worried sick.’
‘We had a little chat about that,’ said Ben, who was bringing up the rear.
‘Oui,’ agreed Monsieur Corbières. ‘He promises he will not run away again.’
‘But how did you get here?’ asked Stella.
‘On the train,’ said Ted. ‘It was easy. I sneaked on at Breverton. And told the guard that Paddy had eaten my ticket. He laughed and gave me another one.’
‘What? The brass neck of you!’ Despite herself, Stella was impressed.
‘I did the same on the Underground. I remembered the way from last time we came. When you left me with Mr C.’
The day she’d been to meet Harriet. She couldn’t help but look at him in admiration. ‘I’m going to have to watch you. You’re like the Artful Dodger.’
‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when he walked into the shop.’ Monsieur Corbières shook his head in amazement. ‘I tell him, it’s not good to give an old man a shock.’ He patted his heart.
Stella put her hand on his shoulder.
‘Clementine. Alfie. This is Monsieur Corbières. He introduced me and Edwin.’
‘Forgive me. I am being held prisoner.’ Monsieur Corbières nodded down to the puppy on his lap.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ said Clementine, bending down to stroke Paddy. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘My brother often spoke about your shop. He loved it here,’ added Alfie.
Monsieur Corbières nodded. ‘He was a good friend. He always took the time to stop and talk to me. So many artists are in a world of their own, in a hurry, only interested in their work. But he was interested in people. I think that’s why his paintings were so wonderful.’
Alfie nodded his gratitude for the man’s kind words, and was obviously moved by what he had said.
‘I have Chartreuse or wine or coffee,’ Monsieur Corbières offered. ‘But no tea. I know you English like your tea in a crisis.’
‘We brought a flask,’ said Clementine, producing it with a flourish.
‘Good old Clem. Always prepared,’ said Ben. ‘I stopped off at Federico’s and they gave me a dish of macaroni cheese, so we’ve had a good supper.’
‘But Ted,’ Stella knelt down and took his hand so he wouldn’t feel frightened, ‘we need to know what happened. Why did you run away?’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben and Monsieur Corbières look at each other. Ted scratched his head, obviously reluctant to divulge the truth.
‘Go on, mate,’ said Ben. ‘It’ll be all right. You’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘It’s everyone at school.’ Ted looked bewildered as he told his story.
‘They’ve been teasing me. Calling me Lord Muck.
They don’t want to play with me anymore.
’ He shrugged, confused. ‘They laughed at my new clothes. Haw haw haw …’ He gave an imitation of them imitating someone posh. ‘I don’t want to go back, Mum.’
Stella felt sick. How could anyone be so cruel to a little boy?
A little boy whose home had just gone up in flames?
She knew exactly why, of course. They were jealous.
Or their parents were – they would have heard the speculation, the assumptions, and being children, they would have fed on it.
Gossip would have been flying around Breverton ever since the night of the fire, and no doubt there would be malice from certain quarters.
It was dispiriting, but that was small-town life.
She’d already felt a change in how people perceived her.
They looked at her with new eyes, unsure how to speak to her, even though she was still the same person and treated them no differently.
Margaret in the shop had been flustered and pink-cheeked when she came in, and the headmistress had been curiously officious.
‘Oh, Ted,’ Clementine was saying. ‘Give them a week and they’ll have forgotten. They’ll get bored with teasing. I promise you.’
Stella looked at her gratefully. ‘Clementine’s right, darling. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean because they don’t understand.’
She put her arms round Ted and let her head drop onto his shoulder, feeling hot tears fall onto her cheeks.
Why was it so hard to keep her boy safe?
She seemed to be lurching from one awful crisis to another.
Maybe they shouldn’t go back? Maybe they should stay here, in London, where people were too busy with their own business to worry about who and what you were.
You could be anonymous here, without any fear of judgement.
She could go back to her old boarding house, perhaps?
They’d often had rooms available. They could squirrel away in there and start again.
Then she thought of Elizabeth, and her joy at seeing Ted for the first time, and how quickly they had become close.
She thought of Michael, and his quiet kindness to his grandson.
She thought of Edwin’s bedroom, and how it had been the first time Ted had space of his own.
Alfie and Clementine, too, had been so welcoming and thoughtful and were always such fun.
And Daisy, who always went out of her way to make Ted special things and slip him a chocolate biscuit when she thought no one was looking.
She thought how happy she was at Foxwood too.
Hours at the typewriter while Ted was at school, walking in the woods, the fire in the little sitting room in the evening, making cocoa in the kitchen.
And then there was the ball. The excitement of the ball, and all the things she’d promised to do.
Make dresses and decorations and help Daisy with the cooking.
For now, it was where they belonged while they adjusted to their new life. Things would settle; people would get used to the new status quo, and she could take her time working out what was best for her and Ted without worrying about how to keep a roof over their head.
‘Come on,’ she said to Ted. ‘Go and get your coat. Let’s go home.’