CHAPTER 28
Singapore
Annabel yawned. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee cup then took a long, reviving sip.
Around her, the family morning routine was in full flow.
Tom was long gone, having left early for the office.
Above the hum of the radio, she could hear Emma in her daughter’s room, patiently explaining to Leila that she couldn’t wear her Moana costume because it was a school day and she had to wear her school uniform.
Daniel was finishing his homework sheet at the other end of the dining table, while around him Gloria tidied up the remnants of breakfast. It was busy and chaotic, but Annabel had enjoyed fitting into family life with the Nortons and she would miss it.
It was her last day in Singapore, the next morning she would be flying home.
To where and to whom, she wasn’t exactly sure yet and her stomach sank as she thought about her return to England.
She felt a pull to go straight to Cornwall, back to her grandmother’s home, but she knew she really should see Luke first. He had texted her on a daily basis, switching his tone between carefree nonchalance, to begging for reconciliation, to downright anger and accusations.
None of it had done anything to help his cause; it was well and truly over for Annabel.
She just had to make him understand and accept that.
Her mind drifted back to the previous afternoon on the sofa with James and she felt a twinge of guilt, coupled with a confusing stirring in her stomach.
It was ironic, she mused as she sipped her coffee, that after a week in Singapore her body was finally adjusting to the seven-hour time difference just as it was time to go home again.
But despite overcoming the jet lag, sleep had proven elusive last night.
Annabel’s dreams had been haunted by Dotty’s story, filled with images of war and prison camps, torture and bombing, starvation and desperation.
She was glad when the morning came and she could join the family at the breakfast table.
Emma had been such a good friend to her over the past week and Annabel would miss her.
Emma appeared, her battle over the costume apparently won as little Leila followed behind her mother, looking sulky in her uniform. Emma sat opposite Annabel and sighed dramatically, ‘Honestly, mornings in this household never get any easier!’
Gloria came over and put a fresh cup of coffee in front of Emma and she smiled up gratefully. ‘You are a godsend, Gloria, thank you!’
‘So how are you feeling this morning, Annie?’ Emma asked. ‘That was a hell of a lot to take in last night!’
Annabel nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think it will all take a while to process, that’s for sure!’
‘Have you told your family yet?’
‘No.’ Annabel’s brow furrowed. ‘I’ll call my brother later and let him know, I think. But it definitely needs to be a face-to-face conversation with my dad.’
‘How will he take it, do you think?’ Emma asked.
Annabel smiled. ‘Oh, dear old Dad is quite unflappable. It’ll be a shock, I’m sure, but deep down, I don’t think it will change anything for him. Dotty was his mum and they adored each other. And Grandpa was a wonderful father to him. His childhood on the farm really was idyllic.’
‘But he moved away years ago, you were saying? What made him leave if he loved it there so much?’
Annabel rolled her eyes. ‘Mum,’ she said with a shrug.
‘And work, I suppose. He was in the military and they moved around a lot. I think he would have liked to have gone back to Cornwall but Mum had her heart set on a sunny expat retirement with plenty of beaches and golf courses. And Portugal fitted the bill!’
Emma glanced at her watch and pulled a face.
‘Damn, we’d better make a move, sorry! Don’t forget we’ve got dinner tonight, our treat and we’re going to a classic Singapore landmark.
You’ll love it!’ She gulped down the last of her coffee then continued, ‘Tom invited James but he’s not sure if he’ll make it.
I think he’s had a tough few days on the family front. ’
Annabel winced and butterflies twisted and turned in her stomach. What was she feeling? Relief? Disappointment? Yearning?
Emma got up, called the children to gather their school bags and slipped her shoes on.
‘I do wish I could come with you today.’ She reached down and patted Annabel’s shoulder.
‘Changi Museum isn’t the most uplifting of places, I’m afraid, but I can see why you want to go.
I still can’t believe your granny was a prisoner of war there, it’s just incredible! ’
Annabel couldn’t believe it either. Try as she might, she could not reconcile her sweet, soft grandmother with the determined, resilient woman who had made it through internment in one of the most notorious camps with a tiny baby that was not her own. It was, as Emma had summed up, incredible.
A couple of hours later, Annabel found herself on the other side of the island, engrossed in the information boards in the Changi Museum.
As an historian, she found the exhibits fascinating, but as the granddaughter of a former internee, they were especially poignant.
There were artefacts, diaries, photographs and paintings, all of which documented the daily lives of the prisoners and the horrors they had faced.
Entering the recreated jail cell and listening to recordings of the internees sent a shiver down Annabel’s spine.
She imagined what life must have been like in these cramped confines and this brief glimpse was more than enough for her; how had her grandmother endured it for three and a half years?
What shone through most in the museum, however, was the immense fortitude and tenacity of the human spirit.
The internees had gone through hell, yet they had not given up.
Time after time, day after day, they had rallied themselves and supported each other in order to survive.
Annabel smiled as she read about the clubs and societies that had been organised in the camp and gasped in wonder when she saw the Changi Quilts.
The quilts had been the idea of one Mrs Mulvany in 1942, Annabel read, and were intended for the wounded in Changi Hospital.
Their real purpose, however, was to keep the women busy with a sense of purpose and to boost morale.
The women were asked to put something of themselves into their square of embroidery and their combined patchwork piece was a poignant collection of these remarkable individuals.
Annabel spotted a map of Australia, a love heart, a four-leaf clover and a patriotic British flag.
In one of the museum rooms there was a computer with records of the prisoners who had been kept at Changi.
Her pulse quickened as she typed ‘Dorothy Llewellyn’ into the search box.
The computer thought about it for a few moments, then loaded a page showing all her grandmother’s details.
Annabel gasped. Right before her were Dotty’s – or rather, Dorothy’s – nationality, year of birth, profession and cell room number.
The last field, year of death, was left blank.
Annabel’s eyes teared up as she realised that this needed to be updated.
She should probably inform someone of her grandmother’s passing.
It was suddenly all so official, so real.
After visiting the museum, Annabel made her way through to the chapel.
It was in the open air, with prison-high white walls but no roof.
Only the altar was undercover, with a simple A-frame roof structure made of wood.
She read that this was a 1988 replica of the original chapel, which had been made from any salvageable materials that the prisoners could get their hands on.
Annabel sat on the last bench, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She found herself drifting back in time and imagining her grandmother.
A devout Christian, Dotty was bound to have knelt here, praying for her family and for an end to her internment.
As a child, Annabel had especially loved visiting Dotty at Christmastime and singing carols together in the local church.
‘Silent Night’ had been her granny’s favourite, she remembered now.
Had she sung it here? For a moment, Annabel had the strangest sensation of her grandmother’s reassuring presence beside her and it made her smile.
Before she left, Annabel spoke to the receptionist and got the contact details of the museum curator.
The receptionist was interested to hear about Dotty’s story and Annabel promised that she would be in touch soon.
As an historian, she knew only too well the importance of sharing individual stories.
Annabel was sipping a cold glass of iced lemon tea in the café beside the museum when her phone started vibrating.
She winced, worried that it would be Luke pestering her again.
There had been four messages from him when she had woken that morning, asking her to call him.
She really couldn’t face speaking to him.
She tapped on the screen and was relieved to see that it wasn’t Luke calling, but James.
‘Annabel, it’s good news!’ he began. ‘I’ve found him! Ravi Chowdhury, your grandmother’s former houseboy. He’s in a nursing home in Queenstown and has agreed to see us. He’s ninety-two now, but still has all his marbles. Where are you now? Have you got time this afternoon?’
Annabel’s pulse quickened and she felt her heart begin to race.
She wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of meeting someone who had actually known her grandmother during her time in Singapore, or the thought of spending time with James.
She took a deep breath to calm herself and made a plan to meet him.