Page 15 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘He was upset– you all were. He was just standing up for your mother. Come now, stop crying,’ he chided. ‘You’re lucky to have parents who love each other so much.’ Sam pulled out a crumpled handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed at her tears.
Suddenly he seemed so much older and wiser than she, his handsome face frowning in concern. He might look young, but he was a man of the world and, she imagined, with a lurch of the heart, that he was already experienced with women. She wondered how many grown-up women he had pulled into his comforting arms. She took the large cotton handkerchief and, blowing her nose, pulled away from his hold.
‘Why don’t we go for a walk in the garden?’ Sam suggested. ‘Let things take their course in there.’ He gestured in the direction of the bedroom, where the noises were getting more muted.
Adela nodded and scrambled to her feet, pulling Sam’s car blanket around her shoulders. The night air held the chill of autumn; a bright moon hung over the trees like a lamp illuminating the lawns and paths, making the dew glitter like silver drops.
‘Tell me about your parents, Sam,’ Adela asked. ‘Did they not love each other?’
Sam stopped and gazed up at the moonlit sky. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ he asked.
Adela smirked, pleased that he deferred to her like a grown-up, and shook her head. She watched him pull out a battered packet of bidis– small, pungent Indian cigarettes– and light one up. The tip glowed in the dark as he drew in smoke, and then he exhaled with a sigh, the scented smell tickling her nostrils.
‘I thought they loved each other,’ he said ruefully, ‘until the day my mother walked out and deserted us. I was seven years old. I felt like the sky had fallen in. I don’t even remember her saying goodbye.’
‘How cruel,’ Adela gasped. ‘Where did she go?’
‘Back to England. My father said she couldn’t cope with Assam– or having a husband who was away on the river so much. He said it was nothing to do with me but ...’
‘But what?’
‘Well, she never gave me the choice to go with her, did she?’ Sam could not keep the anger out of his voice.
‘Would you have gone with her?’ Adela pressed him.
Sam took a long draw on the thin cheroot and then ground it under his shoe. He shrugged.
‘The way I see it, she deserted us both. I wanted my father to change the name of our boat fromCullercoatsto something Indian so we wouldn’t be reminded of her all the time, but he wouldn’t.’
‘Cullercoats? Was that her maiden name or something?’
‘It’s the fishing village she came from.’ He plunged his hands in his pockets. ‘I think my father always hoped she’d come back one day, but she never did. And if she did now, I wouldn’t want to see her.’
Adela was shocked by his bitter tone; it seemed so unlike him. She felt suddenly selfish at her tears and complaints, when Sam had suffered far worse as a child. Her mother would never desert her in a million years.
She pulled his hand from his pocket and gave it a squeeze. ‘Your mother was a fool to run away from you. But I’m glad you had your dad. At least he cared about you, didn’t he?’
Sam swallowed and gave a brief smile. ‘Yes, he did.’ His voice sounded husky.
After a moment they disengaged hands and walked on down the path. Neither spoke. Adela breathed in the night smells of woodsmoke and damp foliage, her spirit soothed by the presence of Sam in her beloved Belgooree. They wandered as far as the factory before turning back.
As they retraced their steps up the garden path, Adela plucked up courage to ask, ‘What did Miss Black say when you rang the school? Was she very cross?’
‘Relieved more than cross. When I explained what was happening here and why your father couldn’t ring in person, she seemed a bit lost for words.’
‘I bet she was.’ Adela blushed to think of Sam having to talk of her mother in childbirth. ‘So she wasn’t hard on you for helping me escape?’
Sam gave a rueful look. ‘Well, I don’t think I’ll be invited back to give out the prizes at speech day.’
Adela couldn’t help a snort of laughter. ‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry.’
As they regained the bungalow steps, a door was flung open. Wesley came tearing out of the bedroom and across the veranda.
‘It’s happened!’ he bellowed. ‘Adela, where are you?’
Scout was barking and jumping around him in agitation.
Her stomach vaulted. ‘Daddy! What’s happened? Is Mother all right?’
