Page 112 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Adela helped with costumes and painting the scenery, prompted at rehearsals and learnt the part of Louka by heart. Determined to impress the lugubrious Derek, she helped sell tickets around the town, advertising the play at Herbert’s Café and mentioning it to regular cinemagoers at the Essoldo. The rest of the cast were friendly and helpful – thirty-year-old Josey in particular was easy to like. She was well-spoken– her voice gravelly from constant smoking– yet dressed like a tramp, in old corduroy trousers and misfit jackets. She lived in cheap digs off Westgate Road run by a retired Co-operative bookkeeper, with an assortment of bohemian spinsters.
‘I’ve lived with them for a dozen years now. They’re my family,’ explained Josey to a curious Adela after one rehearsal. ‘Much better than the real thing.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Adela asked as they walked back into town together.
‘Mine were ghastly. My father went to prison for fraud; no idea where he is now. Mother couldn’t cope without servants and money so threw herself at the mercy of my rich uncle Clive. Ten years ago they sold up and emigrated to Argentina. My brother went with them, but I refused point-blank. I’d already joined the People’s, and it was just as we were expanding the theatre and moving into the old chapel. So I stayed. That’s why Derek likes me; even though I grew up posh, I turned my back on all that. Even changed my surname.’ She gave a chuckle of amusement. ‘Picked Lyons after my favourite restaurant.’
‘You were very brave to do it all on your own,’ said Adela. ‘I couldn’t have left home and come all this way without having family here to stay with.’
‘You’re very mysterious about your background.’ Josey smiled. ‘Don’t be cowed by Derek. Was it Burma you said you came from? Are you the daughter of some famous governor general or commander-in-chief?’
‘India,’ said Adela. ‘Assam– tea-growing country– though I went to school in the hills at Simla. And no, I’m not the daughter of anyone high up. My father’s a tea planter ...’ Adela faltered, winded by her own words. ‘Was a tea planter. He died last year very suddenly.’ Her eyes filled up with tears as the familiar pain of grief gripped her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Josey said, quickly steering her towards a low brick wall in front of someone’s house and sitting her down. Adela found herself weeping into Josey’s comfy shoulder and telling her some of the details of Wesley’s gruesome death and her overwhelming feeling of guilt.
When she drew away and blew her nose, Josey was giving her a strange look.
‘You must think I’m awful,’ Adela sniffed.
‘Robson did you say your name was?’ Josey’s tone was sharp. ‘Your mother isn’t called Clarrie, is she?’
‘Yes,’ Adela said. ‘How did you know?’
Josey let out a low whistle and reached for her cigarettes. She lit up before answering. ‘So Clarrie and Wesley Robson are your parents. Who would have thought it?’ She turned and eyed Adela. ‘Yes, I can see the resemblance now.’
‘How do you know my mother?’ She felt a fresh pang of longing.
Josey gave a wistful smile. ‘Clarrie was my step-grandmother.’
‘Grandmother?’ Adela was astonished. ‘How can that possibly be?’
‘She was married to my grandfather, Herbert Stock. I adored Clarrie as a child. Once a week my twin brother and I were taken to spend the day with Clarrie and Grandfather Herbert. I spent all week longing for those visits. After we started school, we saw her less often. Then Grandfather died. There was some sort of falling-out with my parents– they blamed your mother for their financial difficulties– but no doubt it was my father’s fault. He was hopeless with money.’
Adela gazed in amazement at Josey. To think she had known her mother since she was a small child! ‘Tell me more about my mother,’ she urged, ‘please.’
Josey blew out smoke, her look reflective. ‘Clarrie was more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was. Verity’s a cold fish– can’t abide children. She hated me always asking to go and see Clarrie. When your mother married Wesley– he was some sort of relation of my mother’s– my brother and I got a wedding invitation. My parents were furious and threw it on the fire.’ Josey gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I sneaked out of school and went anyway. Trouble was I’d remembered the time wrongly, and the whole thing was over by the time I got to Herbert’s Tea Rooms, and everyone had left.’
‘Did my mother ever know that?’ Adela asked, feeling a wave of pity for the young Josey.
‘No, I just went away and never said anything. Didn’t like to approach Clarrie’s family again, ’cause I was aware how bad relations were with my parents. But over the years I’ve popped into Herbert’s for a bite to eat and earwigged on the gossip. Knew from that nice Lexy that Clarrie had gone abroad years ago.’
Adela put a hand on Josey’s arm. She felt a flood of affection. ‘I’ll write and tell Mother. I bet she’ll be over the moon to hear about you.’
‘Do you think so?’ Josey looked unsure. She ground out her cigarette.
‘Yes, I am.’ Adela gave a reassuring squeeze. She felt suddenly close, delighted that they now shared a bond with her mother.
‘I did wonder,’ Josey said.
‘Wonder what?’
‘About a small gift of money I was given when I turned twenty-one.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was just at the time I was defying my mother and uncle about going abroad,’ said Josey. ‘The money was a godsend and helped me stay on at my digs while starting to act. Mother said it must be from my father, but I never believed that. I think it might have been from Clarrie and Wesley. My brother blew his amount on a brand-new Austin Windsor, which he drove into a lamp post and wrecked.’
‘I’m glad you stayed and made a go of things here.’ Adela gave a trembling smile. ‘Do you realise something?’
