Page 94 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Sorry, didn’t think. Where shall I put the empty suitcases?’
‘Put them out on the landing. George can store them in the loft later. You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll take the pull-out.’
‘Certainly not,’ insisted Adela. ‘I’m not going to turf you out of your own bed. It’s very kind of you to share your room with me.’
Jane gave a cautious smile. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay here. I’ve been really looking forward to you coming– so has Mam. She wants to show you off.’
‘Why would she want to do that?’
‘She’s always telling people how successful Aunt Clarrie is and boasting about being related to the Robson tea planters. You would think they owned half of India the way she talks.’
Adela laughed. ‘Well, Robsons can be a bit full of themselves, that’s true.’
‘Oh, that’s not a criticism of you,’ Jane said hastily. ‘It’s just Mam trying to put herself above the folk round here.’
Adela eyed her cousin. She sounded resentful. Perhaps Jane wasn’t as indifferent to Olive’s carping as she appeared.
‘Well, I’ll try and put on a good show of being the memsahib.’ Adela winked. ‘Anyway, I brought this for you. It’s not much, but you sounded so interested in India that I thought you’d like something to read.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’ Jane eagerly took the proffered gift, carefully unknotted the string and unwrapped the brown paper. She smoothed a slim hand over the cover. ‘Simla, Past and Present, by Edward J.Buck,’ she read aloud. ‘Thank you. This looks really interesting.’
‘It’s got photos too.’ Adela sat down on the bed beside Jane and turned the pages. ‘That’s just round the corner from Aunt Fluffy’s cottage. The black and white doesn’t do justice to the landscape or the sunrise.’
‘I’m sorry about Mam and your letters,’ Jane said quietly. ‘I didn’t show them to her; she came in here and went through my drawers. She used to make me read them out to her when you and I were younger, but I stopped doing that– you know, when you started writing about lads and feelings and that.’
Adela went hot at the thought of her aunt knowing so much about her. She tried to remember what she had written about Sam and Jay. It dismayed her that her twenty-three-year-old cousin couldn’t stand up to Aunt Olive more.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Adela said. ‘We’ll just have to make up our own code in future. I did that with my school friends. Our code word for any action with boys was “Jubbulpore”.’
‘It won’t get much use around here I’m afraid,’ Jane said with a rueful smile.
‘Well, I’m going to make sure it does while I’m here,’ said Adela. ‘I’m going to make it my mission to find you some Jubbulpore this summer.’
For the first time she heard Jane laugh, a deep, throaty gurgle quite at odds with her shy, humourless appearance.
CHAPTER 17
The household came alive when George burst back through the front door and shouted up the stairs.
‘Come on, ladies, where are you hiding? Want a spin in the car, Adela? Thought I’d take you for a sightseeing trip. Mam says you want to visit Herbert’s Café.’
Adela and Jane clattered out of the bedroom, where they’d been lounging on the bed absorbed in Jane’s two copies of the new photographic magazine,Picture Post. Jane, it turned out, was a keen photographer, but couldn’t afford to buy or develop much film. Adela was fascinated by the pictures of ordinary British life: miners walking to work in the mist; women wearing flowery aprons hanging out washing in cramped backstreets; a child riding to school on a bicycle.
‘Yes to all of those,’ Adela said and grinned as she jumped down the stairs.
Olive was already dressed for an outing in a green coat and matching hat.
It turned out that George had swapped the van for his father’s car so he could ferry their visitor about. They all climbed into the small Austin, Olive up front with George, while the girls sat in the back.
‘Don’t drive too fast,’ Olive said, tensing as George revved the accelerator and pulled on to the main road into town.
‘This area is called Arthur’s Hill, and we’re joining Westgate Road,’ George said, pointing out landmarks as they went. He drove them back past the railway station and the impressive Palladian buildings of central Newcastle, with their massive soot-blackened pillars and grand windows. They dipped steeply downhill towards the quayside.
‘We don’t want to see the mucky Tyne,’ cried Olive. ‘Adela will want to see the shops.’
‘All in good time,’ said George. He began to whistle ‘The Lambeth Walk’ and Adela immediately joined in singing.
‘You know the showMe and My Girl?’
