Page 129 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘She certainly does,’ Josey agreed, ‘and not always with George.’
They all stared at her.
‘What do you mean?’ Adela asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Josey said. ‘Don’t listen to me.’
Adela tried to shake off her upset feeling. ‘Bet George is pleased to be a dad.’ She forced a smile.
‘He hasn’t seen the baby yet,’ Lexy replied. ‘His ship sailed for Ceylon the week before the birth.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible,’ Adela cried. ‘Poor George.’
‘Aye,’ Lexy said and sighed, ‘and poor bairn. Not likely to set eyes on her dadda till this war’s over.’
A silence fell over them. How uncertain life was for all of them, Adela thought. There might be signs of the war turning in their favour in North Africa and southern Italy– and the Russians had held off the Nazis in Eastern Europe– but most of the Continent was still in enemy hands.
‘Come on.’ Josey roused her from jittery thoughts. ‘Let’s go and see Tilly. We can leave baby worship and the Brewises till later.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ Adela smiled gratefully. She was far closer to Tilly than she would ever be to her own flesh-and-blood aunt, and Josey knew that.
Both Adela and Josey stayed at Tilly’s house for the week; Josey found Tilly’s easy-going household refreshing, and Tilly mothered her as much as she did Adela. They had a carefree few days, dropping into the café daily and visiting Derek and their friends at the theatre, who were gearing up for a production of Oscar Wilde’s satireThe Importance of Being Earnest.
‘It’s the nearest I’ll ever get to putting on a panto,’ Derek said with a lugubrious smile.
Libby, on hearing that her cousin and friend were briefly in Newcastle, hitched a ride in a milk delivery lorry to come and see them.
As she bounded in and greeted them with robust hugs, Adela was amazed how Libby had suddenly grown into a woman. She had lost her childhood plumpness, and her body was toned and fit from outdoor work. Even her face seemed to have changed shape from round to oval, accentuating her plump mouth and her deep blue eyes, which still flashed with a familiar bold look. There was a sprinkling of freckles across her small nose that added to her prettiness and air of good health. Her unruly waves of dark red hair shone like fire in the wintry sun.
‘Libby, you look wonderful!’ Adela cried. ‘Your mother never told me how pretty you’ve grown.’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Libby, giving a deep-throated laugh.
‘She’s always been pretty,’ Tilly said without really sounding like she meant it.
They spent a happy winter’s afternoon by Tilly’s kitchen fire, toasting stale bread and drinking tea from a special hoard that James had managed to send from the Oxford. Libby stayed the night and left before dawn.
‘I’ll catch a lift going up the Great North Road,’ she told her fretting mother. ‘Be back for breakfast. They won’t have missed me.’ She turned to a sleepy Adela, who was wrapped in a blanket, yawning.
‘I’m so jealous that you’re going to India,’ she said. ‘You’ll see Daddy before I will.’
‘I hope to get to Assam,’ said Adela, ‘but who knows where we’ll be sent?’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘Any messages for him if I do?’
Alarmingly she saw tears well up in the girl’s eyes; Libby hardly ever cried.
‘Tell him I send my love,’ she said, her voice cracking, ‘and that we’ll all come back as soon as we can. Tell him that.’
Libby planted a swift kiss on Adela’s warm cheek and then bolted into the dark.
With two days left of leave, Adela realised she couldn’t put off going to visit Aunt Olive any longer. She was baffled by her own reluctance to do so. Perhaps it was just the effort of being cheerful in the face of her aunt’s habitual complaining.
‘Will you come with me?’ she asked Josey.
‘Reinforcements at the ready,’ Josey agreed.
To Adela’s delight she found her aunt in better spirits than she’d ever seen her. Olive greeted them at the door in a bright blue dress instead of her usual drab black or grey, and her hair was neatly permed.
‘Come in, come in! I heard you were back. Thought you would have been round before now.’
