The Runaway Read online

  ‘I was one year old when I saw her last, what good will it do for me to see her? I can hardly expect to recognize her, can I? Besides, I’ve been there before, and I’ll be shown the door immediately.’

  ‘Go in there and make a fuss. Don’t whisper, shout a bit. That’s what I did and it brought the mother out of the office. Get that far and you’re likely to learn something, even if it isn’t what you want to hear.’

  Faith wanted to grab a few things and go to London at once but practicalities calmed her. She had a job and she couldn’t leave without making arrangements with Mrs Palmer. If she did what Olive suggested and dressed smartly, to look as little as possible as she had on her previous visit, she would need some money and she didn’t have much savings.

  Mrs Gretorex had just bought a suit for a wedding and she offered to lend it to her. It was blue silk in an extravagant full-skirted design and fitted her perfectly. After buying a cheeky little hat and some high-heeled shoes with matching handbag that cost a frightening amount, she felt capable of walking into the place as a prospective customer. With luck she might not be recognized immediately. Having time to look around might give her the confidence to do as Olive had suggested and make a very loud fuss.

  She discussed it with Ian, who seemed amused by the escapade, and also with Vivienne, who treated her to some expensive stockings and lent her a beautiful rhinestone necklace to complete the outfit. Taking Mrs Palmer into her confidence she asked for a few days to go to London and set her mind at rest. ‘I honestly don’t think the people can be connected with me. If they were they wouldn’t have ushered Olive away, they’d have wanted to find out more. Their longing to find me must be as strong as mine.’

  ‘So you want to go so you can put it out of your mind, not with any hope of a happy outcome?’ Mrs Palmer asked.

  ‘I could be back the same day. I’ll work in the bakery to make up the hours if you wish.’

  ‘No need for that. Go on Tuesday, we aren’t so busy as Monday. Get the truth, and if you do meet up with members of your family. I’ll expect an invitation to the celebration party.’

  Faith hugged her. ‘Thank you. You’re so kind.’ Laughingly, she told her employer about the eclectic outfit she would wear. To which Mrs Palmer responded by offering her the loan of an umbrella!

  The train journey to London seemed endless. She went into a hotel for coffee and to freshen up before making her way to Beautiful Homes again. Her footsteps slowed as she neared the imposing façade and she had a strong desire to forget the whole thing and go back to Paddington and the train back to South Wales. Instead she pulled her shoulders back and down, held her head high, arranged what she hoped was a haughty expression on her face and walked through the door.

  ‘How may I help you, madam?’ the assistant asked politely.

  ‘I wish to see the owner,’ Faith said, but her voice wasn’t loud and the assistant looked doubtful. More loudly this time, remembering Olive’s advice. Faith threw everything into one big effort and, very loudly, demanded to talk to Joy.

  Wearing a startled expression, white-faced under the carefully applied make-up, the woman she had spoken to on her previous visit stepped out of the office. Behind her was an older woman, who Faith presumed was the woman’s mother.

  ‘You are Joy Pryor,’ Faith said. Not a question but a statement. The older woman pushed forward and stared. ‘I’m Faith. I believe we are sisters,’ Faith went on, still in a very loud voice.

  ‘Go and take your break now, Miss Taylor,’ the young woman instructed sharply and glancing at her watch the assistant walked through the office and disappeared.

  ‘What nonsense is it this time?’ she asked, having recognized her visitor. ‘There is no one here called Joy. I don’t know what your idea is but I won’t have my mother upset.’

  Disappointment and disbelief stunned Faith. ‘You must be Joy,’ she said stupidly.

  ‘Please leave at once.’ As the young woman tried to guide her towards the door, Faith pushed her aside and in one final attempt stepped toward the older woman. ‘My name is Pryor, Faith Mary Pryor. I was born in 1938.’ She glared at the woman, who stared back wordlessly, then collapsed. Faith caught her before she fell to the floor.

  Together, Faith and the woman she still believed must be her sister, helped the woman into the office. When the recovering woman spoke it was to Faith.

  ‘I searched everywhere for my daughter. She was evacuated, you see, and after we were bombed I was ill for a very long time.’

  ‘Don’t say anything more,’ her daughter warned. ‘If she is who she says, she’ll have a lot of questions to answer before we believe her.’

  Faith was conscious of utter weariness. It was as though she had run for miles and had used up all her strength. ‘Could I have a cup of tea, d’you think?’ she asked. The daughter called through to someone beyond the office and asked for a tray of tea for three people.

  A customer entered. Calmly, the daughter went to attend to her. When the girl brought the tea she handed the customer over to the young assistant, saying she would be available if there were any queries. Then she came back in and glared at Faith.

  ‘What makes you believe you’re my sister?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve come here twice and upset my mother, so come on. Let’s have your story, shall we?’

  Determined not to be made to look small, remembering Olive’s advice to speak loudly, she told them briefly about her childhood. About the various homes she’d had, a little about the misery of having no one to care about her, although she made light of the actual deprivation of some of her lonely years. ‘I was given no information about my family, only that I had a sister Joy and that my family were from London,’ she said in conclusion. ‘You are Joy, you must be.’

  The young woman shook her head. ‘My name isn’t Joy, it’s Verity. Verity Green.’

  ‘Then why all this? Why did you react so vehemently when I asked about Joy Pryor?’

  The older woman struggled up to reach for a cup of tea. She stared at Faith for a long time, then smiled. ‘I searched for you. I tried everywhere, travelled miles, followed the slightest clue, but no one knew where you’d gone. I later learned that you were registered – for a while at least – in the name of the people who fostered you and that meant the trail was lost,’ She named a couple of the families who had cared for Faith but knew nothing about the children’s homes or the later names and addresses.

  Faith reached out and touched the woman’s hand. ‘I have searched for you, but everywhere I tried ended with disappointment. Why are you called Green? Did you remarry? Do I have a stepfather?’

  ‘Not so fast,’ Verity said sharply. ‘We have no proof you are anything to do with us.’

  ‘Yes. Your father was killed just days after you and Joy were sent away.’

  ‘I was told that – when I was much older, of course. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. I remarried but Roger died a year ago.’

  ‘Stop this, you’re upsetting my mother.’

  ‘It’s all right, Verity dear.’

  ‘I only know I have a sister, Joy. I can’t believe I’ll be meeting her after all the years of waiting and hoping. I didn’t know about Verity.’

  ‘It does seem as though a miracle has happened,’ the older woman said, ‘and we’ve found each other after all these years.’

  ‘Don’t be taken in, Mother,’ the daughter warned. ‘This might be a dishonest ploy to get a share of the business.’

  Faith was shocked. Of all the imagined greetings she had imagined, to be accused of dishonesty was not one of them. She stood and pulled her jacket around her. ‘I’ll leave you to think about that,’ she said sharply. ‘You can make enquiries about me and although there are some things I’ve done which I regret, you won’t find anything to uphold such a suspicion!’ Her hands were trembling as she fished in her handbag and brought out a piece of paper, which she handed to the woman who might be her mother. ‘Here is my address and the na
me of the shop where I work. Incidentally I’m a qualified teacher but at present I sell bread and cakes in a local shop.’

  When Verity tried to take the paper Faith snatched it away. ‘No! While we’re considering dishonesty, let’s make sure this gets to the right person this time, shall we?’ She put it into the older woman’s hand, holding it in both of her own, staring into the woman’s eyes, searching for some recognition.

  On the journey home she was glad to have a carriage to herself. Tears were near the surface as she went through all that had happened. Who was Verity? How did she fit into the story? A stepdaughter? She wasn’t sure of very much but she did know her sister was called Joy. So if the woman was her mother, where was Joy?

  If the family called Green owned the business she could understand a little suspicion on the part of Verity, but could the business be why the younger woman had been so adamant that the story was untrue? Did she really think I’ve made up this involved story to be able to claim a share in their business? she asked herself. All I want is to know I belong somewhere, that I’m a part of a family. I don’t plan to walk away from all my friends and integrate into a group of strangers. Running away is the past. Staying with people who are important to me, that’s the present and future.

  She went first to talk to Winnie. ‘I’ll have to go to London again. Until we’ve discussed everything that’s happened neither of us can be sure, but, Winnie, I do feel sure. I really believe I’ve found my mother and maybe a sister; or even two. I’ll have to take a few days off and spend a weekend visiting them.’

  ‘Perhaps I can take your place in the baker’s shop while you go. It’s really important for you to sort this out, I have worked in shops before and if Mrs Palmer agrees. I could do a few days to see whether I suit. I’d be glad to get out of the house for a few hours and this would be a start.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re well enough?’

  ‘I’m feeling fine.’

  Mrs Gretorex and her husband were out when she got in, and it was Kitty and Gareth who were the next to listen to her story. Repeating it for Mrs Gretorex and yet again to a very excited Olive made her less confident. Then at the shop the next day Mrs Palmer was curious and asked a lot of questions. When the story was told, she said it sounded hopeful. ‘Who is Verity?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t quite understand. She’s either a stepsister, whose father was Roger Green, or a child born soon after I was evacuated.’

  ‘I can understand your sister’s suspicion, mind. It sounds like a successful business and if you’re the lost daughter you’d probably be entitled to a share of it. Perhaps, though, she’s anxious because your mother has been disappointed more than once and even after so long, another disappointment would be distressing. Your sister – if that’s who she is – is not afraid of losing part of the business but is protecting her.’

  ‘I was so shocked. I expected her to be as hopeful as I’d have been if she’d approached me, not treat me like a villain.’

  ‘Write to her, give any information you can remember, and your mother – if that’s who she is – will be able to see if it fits with anything she’s learned.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me go. I’m very grateful, Mrs Palmer.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I want a favour in return,’ was the reply. ‘I’ve decided to visit my son and daughter-in-law in Bath for a few days. Can you manage if we find a part time assistant for you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be glad to help. When d’you plan to go?’

  ‘As soon as we can find someone suitable.’

  They went through a list of possibles but none was available and it wasn’t until much later that Faith remembered Winnie. ‘It’s just in the mornings I’ll need help, things are quieter during the afternoon. If she could come between nine and three, or even one, I’ll manage perfectly.’ Negotiations took place and, with Paul working mornings and the three children at school, it was arranged.

  Mrs Palmer left on Thursday evening and planned to stay until the following Wednesday. Faith started an hour earlier in the mornings and she and Winnie worked together until three, when Winnie left to meet the children. To Faith’s surprise, Paul then arrived and helped clean the shop while she checked the till and delivered the money to the bank. He then walked her back to No 3.

  She would have managed; the tasks weren’t difficult but she was glad of his help, and surprised at the ease with which they all worked together: herself, Winnie and Paul fitting into the routine without a hitch. On Saturday there were a few cakes left, and she gave them to Paul to take home for Jack, Bill and Polly. He kissed her cheek, insisting the salute was from the children.

  After discussing her possible family with Ian and Vivienne, Faith wrote to Mrs Green telling her in detail everything she remembered about her childhood. Names of foster-parents and of the homes where she had stayed were all written down, although dates were understandably vague. She waited a long, never-ending week and she still hadn’t received a reply. Then at last, at the end of June, a letter came. Faith stared at it, afraid to open it and have a dream shattered. She decided to wait until Ian called that evening. But he was away from home when she phoned, so she went to see Winnie.

  Paul answered the door and he looked relieved to see her. ‘It’s Winnie, she’s been taken ill. I’ve been trying to find someone to come and let you know. Can you stay while I go with her to the hospital?’

  Faith removed her coat, thrust the still unopened letter into her bag. ‘Where are the children? I’ll see Winnie first so she can tell me what I need to know, then I’ll look after them. That’s the best way I can help. Isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re an angel,’ Paul said, sighing with relief. He kissed her lightly adding, ‘That’s from the children.’

  Once the children were fed and settled for the night she pulled out the letter, staring at the envelope, afraid to read what was inside. She was still staring at it when Paul came home.

  ‘Winnie’s all right but they want to keep her in for a few days to make sure,’ he said.

  They discussed the sudden chest pains that Winnie had been suffering for a while, each reassuring the other, then Paul asked about the envelope. He watched as she opened it.

  ‘It’s from the woman who might be my mother,’ she told him. Then, after reading it twice, she said. ‘The sister I remember, called Joy, lives in Newport and has a daughter.’

  ‘Joy? Then it must be true. Against all the odds you’ve found your family. Your mother, your sister Joy and Verity, a sister you didn’t know existed.’

  She looked up at Paul and said, ‘Joy would like to visit. All three of them, and also my mother and Verity.’

  ‘How d’you feel about that? Seeing them on your home ground would be better than visiting that classy shop again, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Not a shop, Beautiful Homes is an upmarket design centre,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Even worse. See them in your home.’

  ‘I don’t have room for them to stay.’

  ‘They can afford a decent hotel if the family own “Beautiful Homes”,’ he joked, miming quotes with his fingers.

  When she reached home she wrote a reply. Two days later there was confirmation. Verity and her mother would call at No 3 the following Sunday. Joy and her husband and daughter would be with them. Not three but five relatives to face. It was a frightening prospect. Would they like her? Would she like them? Visions of the pompous Verity shattered most of her hope of a happy occasion.

  Trying to put the proposed reunion out of her mind, the next day she went to see Winnie and found her friend happily ensconced in her home once more. ‘Just a scare, indigestion most likely,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Thanks for helping Paul with the children.’

  ‘That was a pleasure,’ she said truthfully. ‘Now, while I’m here can I do something?’ A pile of ironing sat on a kitchen chair and without saying more, she put up the ironing board and prepared to tackle it. Winnie didn’t argue. ‘I do find it a bit ti
ring to stand too long,’ she admitted. Faith looked at her and wondered if Winnie had told her the truth, and there really wasn’t anything to worry about.

  On reaching home she looked at her small table. There was no possibility of getting an extra five people around that in comfort and manage to eat. Specially as Verity was one of the five! Christmas had been different, they had been friends who thought it added to the fun. It would have to be a hotel. A pity, though; Paul had been right and home ground would have helped her to cope.

  Kitty solved the problem for her. She and Gareth were going out. A picnic, they insisted, would be perfect for them, and if it rained they’d find a bus stop in which to shelter.

  ‘Mr Gretorex will be away this weekend, visiting his family,’ Mrs Gretorex told her, ‘and I can eat at a hotel.’

  ‘But I can’t send you away!’

  ‘No arguments’ Kitty said firmly. ‘You mustn’t upset me, I’m soon to be a mother!’

  Faith wondered why Mrs Gretorex wasn’t going with her husband, but Mrs Gretorex wasn’t the sort to explain.

  The shopping was done and the meal planned. Ian and Vivienne promised to call at three o’clock in case things weren’t going well and Faith needed rescuing. The house was made as neat and welcoming as she could make it. She had done all she could, the rest was up to the fates.

  At 12.30 on that Sunday everything was ready, the roasting joint and the potatoes around it looked perfect. She’d had no doubt what to cook, everyone liked a roast. She turned everything down, added coal to the fire, dusted the furniture unnecessarily, then went outside and watched at the gate for their arrival.

  A large car arrived and the people she longed to see, yet dreaded to face, walked up the path. The woman who might be her mother, and Verity. She opened the door and faced the first problem. How should she greet them? A handshake, a polite hug? Or should she just stand and allow them to file past like customers booked for Sunday lunch at a small café?