The Secret Orphan. Glynis PetersЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 12

      Autumn cooled down and drifted towards winter with no hesitation. Rose turned five and Elenor organised a small tea party. Two school friends were invited, and an excited Rose made the effort all worthwhile.

      At the end of the day Elenor handed her a gift; a simple ragdoll dressed in a blue dress. The doll had a wonky smile, neat pink nose and large blue eyes embroidered onto a cream face. With a whoop of excitement, the little girl snatched it from its wrapping into her arms.

      ‘Thank you. She’s beautiful. I’m going to call her Annie.’

      ‘Annie. It suits her,’ said Elenor.

      ‘Thank you for my tea. Mummy said you did it all.’

      ‘It was my pleasure and an extra present.’

      Elenor didn’t like to point out her parents showed no interest in her birthday, and she was thankful Annie made up for their lack of gift. Even Aunt Maude had knitted her a red cardigan.

      Christmas brought with it great excitement as Elenor chose gifts for her aunt and Victoria. She brought her aunt a new woollen blanket in shades of pink, and for Victoria a new recipe book. She’d also purchased George a sheet of piano music.

      Buying Rose’s gift gave her the most pleasure. It was a wicker doll’s pram, something Elenor had dreamed of owning as a young child. With due diligence, she’d paid into a Christmas club set up by Mrs Green.

      She asked to pay a visit to her brothers and made new neckties for them. She’d also bought chocolates, and two magazines related to motorbikes.

      Her aunt paid for a return ticket and the week before the festivities planned in her Coventry home, she made the journey to the farm.

      The bus pushed its way through the last of the sludge which laid around the village. Nothing had changed, only the season.

      Her bags weighed heavy as she walked to the end of the lane in her newly acquired wellington boots. There was a mild wind, nothing like the cold chill she’d expected, yet still she shivered. The farmhouse came into view. Fences lay in ruins around the boundary of the bottom field surrounding the house. In the two months she had been away, Elenor could see the brothers had neglected the family home. It saddened her greatly as she still loved her home, just not the residents. Maybe the old saying of absence makes the heart grow fonder would be proved today.

      She didn’t knock and pushed the door open.

      Stale, sour aromas hit her and wafted from pails by the sink – pig swill, which had sat for days rather than hours.

      ‘Who the hell are you lady, just walking in here?’

      The gruff voice of James spoke from a chair by the unlit fire. He lifted a bottle and took a swig of its contents. Walter lay sleeping in the opposite seat, snoring the sleep of a drunkard.

      ‘Lady? Why thank you, kind sir.’

      Elenor opted for a jovial manner as her reply. Her words registered with James and he jumped to his feet but found the need to steady himself against the fireplace.

      ‘About ruddy time you came home. This place needs a darn good clean. You can start when you’ve taken off that coat. Who the ruddy hell do you think you look like? Oi, Walt, see what the cat dragged in?’

      James kicked his brother’s foot, and the startled man swore back at him. Pointing his finger at Elenor, James spat into the fire.

      ‘It’s crawled back from Coventry.’

      With slow, deliberate movements, Walter also rose to his feet. He studied Elenor through slit eyes. It made a comical sight but Elenor knew better than to laugh.

      ‘Hello brother. I see you both have been busy,’ she said with a hint of sarcasm.

      ‘Don’t bring that snobby tone round here. Get to your room before I give you a slap. Unpack and come down to cook us something.’

      Not responding with words, Elenor handed them each a wrapped parcel. They stared at her, then at each other, then back at her.

      ‘Didn’t you hear me girl?’ Walter yelled at her.

      Elenor kept her nerve.

      ‘Christmas greetings to you both. This is a brief visit. Much briefer than I’d anticipated in fact, as neither of you care I have returned as your sister; I will not be staying as your skivvy. The neckties are from our mother’s clothes, not that you will appreciate the sentiment.’

      James threw his gift onto the chair.

      ‘Appreciate the sentiment? Who do you think you are, you la-di-da bitch? Do as you are told.’

      He tottered a few steps towards her and Elenor could smell the fumes of unwashed clothing and alcohol. When drunk her brothers could become nasty, handy with their fists.

      ‘As I said, I’ll not stay. Thank you for the offer of a room though. Nice of you.’

      She turned and opened the door.

      ‘Don’t wave me off. You’ll let out the heat.’

      Unable to resist another stab of sarcasm, she walked away. With only one bag to carry, her physical load was lighter. Her emotional one was much heavier. In her naivety, she’d hoped her brothers might have missed her and welcomed her back.

      The walk back into the village was a sad one. She turned to take one last look at Tre Lodhen and her heart broke. Her tears remained in full flow until she spotted the bus on a return trip. She ran without looking back and climbed on board and burst into tears.

      ‘What on earth is the matter gal? Come now. Where you headed?’ asked the driver.

      ‘Back to Coventry. I can’t stay here.’

      ‘I know your brothers. Pair of drunkards they’ve become. They owe money all over. Let’s get you to Plymouth, you are best out of their clutches.’ Elenor slumped into a seat and changed her boots for her city shoes.

      On the train she watched Cornwall fade away as if curtains closing on a stage.

      A young man in a uniform sat opposite and Elenor was reminded of more pleasant times. Her birthday tea with Jackson St John and his grandfather.

      She wondered if she would be blessed with a man who loved her at some point in her life. So far, she’d only had negative or undesirable communications from her father and brothers. Men who were supposed to love her. She wouldn’t want a man like George in her life. A man full of his own importance and no respect for women. She wanted someone who would smile when she entered a room, a man who would appreciate her gifts. Forcing back tears that seemed to threaten when least expected, she directed her thoughts on the pleasant image of Jackson in the hay field. She closed her eyes and imagined touching his muscular arms. Embarrassed by her new thoughts and the feelings they encouraged, she opened her eyes and looked out of the window just as they were pulling into Coventry station.

      On the platform she could see George.

      ‘George. How did you know I was on the train and returning home?’

      A scarlet-faced George stared at her in bewilderment.