Cry to Dream Again Page 4

  When, nevertheless, on that one occasion she had asked why he did not come to France, her innocent question did not produce the same beguiling hesitation or smile. Quite the contrary, he put his hands to his head, clutched fistfuls of his sandy hair and all but screamed, “Don’t ever ask me that again! I’ve seen enough of France to last me a lifetime, and I’m never going back there!” Maman came quickly to the rescue and shepherded the two small children away. Then she went back into the living room, closing the door behind her.

  With their ears to the door, they could hear her cooing soft words – at first in French and then changing to English. “Calme-toi, Reggie, mon petit chou, calme-toi! Don’t worry, there’s no reason for you to come, if you don’t want to. You can stay here if you like or go to Birmingham and spend a few days with Winnie while we’re away.” Some time later the door opened again, and she ushered the children back into the room. Reggie, their father and her petit chou, her little cabbage, had collapsed into an armchair as sweat poured from his brow and his hands trembled. “There, children,” Maman said calmly, “go and give your father a hug.” Rushing to his side, Shirley scrambled onto his knee and flung her arms around his neck. The memory of that outburst, though long ago, was still so vivid and so frightening that she never repeated the question; indeed she knew the answer to it. For all that, not once did Pa complain at being left in London while his family abandoned him. Strangely too, he never minded when his wife spoke to him or to the children in French, and he was always eager to hear every detail of their visit on their return home.

  4

  A gale blew from the south-west, whipping up white horses on the heaving waves out at sea as the queue of passengers began to board the ferry for Dover. “Why did it always have to be like this at the end of the summer holidays?” Shirley asked herself, dreading the next three hours on board. The journey out from Dover to Calais earlier in the summer was usually calm and relaxing, preparing the family for the frequently sun-soaked days ahead in the French countryside, far from the pressures of life in the London suburbs, but whenever they returned to England the sea was choppy, the skies grey and, with a few exceptions, everyone was sick. Trying hard to hide her discomfort from her children, Maman would sit in the passenger lounge with her eyes firmly shut for the whole crossing. Edward, on the other hand, who was fortunate to be one of the exceptions, would join a handful of the male passengers pacing up and down the deck, braving the wind, the sea spray and the rain and hanging on to the railings when the ship lurched. He admitted to feeling a little queasy, but usually that wore off when the ship was approaching Dover.

  The return Channel crossing invariably made Shirley feel wretchedly sick, a sensation that stayed with her for most of the subsequent train journey to London. Last year, determined not to be overcome by it, she had experimented with a new approach, which, born of desperation, had a ring of foolhardiness about it. Her mother certainly thought so when she announced, “I’m going out on deck; it’s too stuffy for me in here.”

  “You’ll be blown overboard!” Maman exclaimed, anxiously surveying her daughter’s slight frame.

  “No, no, don’t worry: I’m not going to walk up and down. I’m just going to get a breath of air, that’s all.” Maman gave her a headscarf and let her go, too feeble herself to protest further. This method had worked reasonably well last year, so Shirley was inclined to try it again.

  While the ship laboriously turned round in Calais harbour before heading out to sea, she did a quick mental survey: the wind was coming up the Channel, so, to be well out of it, she would need to find somewhere to sit on the starboard side of the vessel. She grabbed a handrail and hovered briefly in an entrance where the door was permanently open, flung wide by the boat’s heavy list to port. The effort of pulling herself up through the opening was like climbing a steep, slippery rock. Although they were by now out in the open sea, away from the protection of the harbour, it was definitely pleasanter to be on deck, where the angle of the ship pinned her safely to the wall, than in the hot, airless lounge. At least on this side of the listing boat she was not in danger of sliding overboard. Hoping that her brother was safe on the same side, she edged her way along the deck until she came to a slatted wooden bench in a sheltered recess, and here she sat down. The only disadvantage was that she had exchanged the wind for the dirty smoke wafting over her from the ship’s funnel, but that was better than exposure to the full force of the storm.

  There were no other women on deck, although there were several men, struggling to stand upright as they tried to walk up and down. Among them, she was reassured to see the recognizable shape of her brother, a year younger than her, though much taller, and solidly built like Pa; but there the similarity ended, since Ted had inherited Maman’s colouring, while she was fair like her father. Reassured that he was safe, she closed her eyes, thinking to while away the time by creating some sort of dance scenario out of this stormy seascape.

  At the ballet school, Miss Patience had for so long encouraged her pupils to make up little dances from everyday scenes that such a pastime had become second nature for Shirley in idle moments everywhere she went. “Now girls,” Miss Patience would say, “I don’t want to be told what you did on your holidays, I want to see you dance it!” The farm, the markets, the seaside ports, Louise’s épicerie, all had provided perfect dance scenarios that were beginning to evolve quite naturally into more sophisticated ballets than her early childish attempts, and now she had Paris to add to her repertoire.

  The rough sea might also lend itself to some sort of interpretation in dance, if only she could find a storyline for it, but she decided against introducing mermaids for fear of lessening the impact of the storm, though other less fanciful sea creatures, whales and dolphins for example, might be more appropriate. She was just beginning to make some sort of choreographic order out of the chaos of the elements when a well-known voice interrupted her drowsiness. “I say, sis, you do look green!” She opened her eyes to see her brother standing in front of her.

  “Oh, thanks, that really does cheer me up!” she laughed. “I’m all right. How about you?”

  “Oh, not too bad,” he nodded, “not so far to go now.”

  It was no surprise to see him there, but it was unexpected to hear him speaking English again after three solid weeks of French. “Why have you started speaking English?” she asked.

  “Well, why not?” he replied. “We’ll soon be in Dover.”

  “Couldn’t we carry on speaking French a bit longer?” she pleaded. “Just till we get to London? Then nobody else will be able to eavesdrop on what we are saying, and we can poke fun at the other passengers! It helps pass the time.”

  He nodded, remembering that this was a game they often played when on public transport in England. “Yes, I suppose so, if you want to, and I expect Maman will be pleased. It’s always hard for her when we leave France, and it’ll be a whole year before we come back! You’ll be eighteen and I’ll be seventeen. We’ll be so old! Roll on next year, then I’ll be leaving school and can come back here to work on the farm! So let’s speak French now if you want to, shall we?”

  He was right. She never exactly said so, but Maman would pine for days for her native country and her parents: during that time she would say little and her behaviour would become untypically absent-minded, as if she had retreated into a protective shell where she could continue secret conversations with Mémé and occasionally with Pépé in her own language. Her children had discovered that, at these times, the best way to winkle a response out of her to their questions was to phrase them in French.

  The sad truth was that dear Maman had few friends among her English neighbours, even though, with her French manners, she was unfailingly polite and courteous to them whenever she saw them in the street: she was a foreigner and they were suspicious of her. It had been the same at the school gate when she went to collect her children. Other mothers talked among themse
lves, but they always gave her the cold shoulder, just as their children had tended to ignore Shirley and Edward, calling them names, the favourites being “frog” or “snail” in their early days at primary school.

  Shirley’s strength of personality quickly overcame this unpleasantness. She shrugged off the name-calling and was blessed with the power to attract other children to her, enchanting them with her bubbly nature and her endless stream of ideas for games and little plays, many of which contained a degree of naughtiness directed against the strait-laced staff, who would feature in the said dramas as trolls and goblins. At first Edward pretended in school that he did not know any French, did not speak the language at all and had never been to France, which was bad for his school reports, but succeeded in making him friends. Eventually he was able to discard this deception because he was well liked for his practical abilities and his lackadaisical attitude to schoolwork, so that no one cared any more. There were no problems in the private schools that they attended later; quite the contrary, their French background was a cause of fascination and admiration.

  For Maman, however, it was only at the French Embassy that she met people whom she could talk to easily and comfortably. There, where she was employed as a secretary and translator, she found friends of her own nationality, so naturally she gladly accepted whatever work was offered her and her part-time job was imperceptibly becoming a full-time post. Now that Shirley and Edward were older and could let themselves into the house after school, she often came home just in time to cook supper before Pa’s return. She would be cheerful, her cheeks would be flushed and she would simply explain that she and her friends had stayed behind to have a coffee or a glass of wine after work, or that the Ambassador had arranged a brief reception for the staff in honour of one or other of the many saint’s days commemorated in France.

  In an exhilarated frame of mind after these functions, she would sometimes expansively remark how lucky she was to be living and working in London despite the grime and the fogs. From time to time, she could be heard to wish that her parents would come and stay in her comfortable home. It was only a small semi-detached house, but it was in a pleasant area and had three bedrooms, a garden and a garage. In addition, it was reasonably warm in winter and had a proper bathroom, which could not be said of the farm. Mémé and Pépé never did come, although that was not at all surprising considering how rarely they travelled from home. At most they went once or twice a year to Beauport, which lay south of Boulogne, for the day to visit Pépé’s sister Suzanne and her husband, and they relied on Pépé’s brother Baptiste to call on them, which he did from time to time. He had fought in Champagne, where he had stayed after the war when he married a girl from Reims.

  Ted appeared to be talking to himself in the wind and the rain on deck; in fact he was saying something about wishing that they, or at least he, could go back to France before next summer, because, at last, Pépé was contemplating buying a tractor. “Think how much easier ploughing will be!” he exclaimed. “I can‘t wait to drive it!” But Shirley was not listening. Her attention was distracted by the approach of two men coming along the deck. One, tall and lean, was middle-aged and rather distinguished in appearance. The other looked to be about her own age, or perhaps a little older, and of similar height to his companion, who was probably his father. Even in such blustery conditions, the younger man was extremely handsome. His hair was wind-blown, but he looked healthy and fresh-faced, not green or sickly.

  As they approached, she ostensibly gave Ted her full attention, afraid that if she watched the passers-by she might seem to be staring at them; even so, out of the corner of her eye, she had the distinct impression that the younger man had smiled on passing her. She hoped that once they reached the end of the deck they would turn round and retrace their steps. Maybe if she dropped something, her handkerchief perhaps, the younger man would bend down to pick it up for her and then she would be able to talk to him, if only to thank him and pass the time of day, doubtless remarking what an awful crossing it was. She would go on to say that it was often like that at the end of the holidays and he might ask where she had been. Perhaps a proper conversation might start up between them and they would exchange names and addresses. That was what she hoped would happen, but she couldn’t find her handkerchief in her bag and in any case the wind would probably blow it away.

  Although her brother was still talking, she had absolutely no inkling of what he was saying until he tapped her on the shoulder to attract her attention: he was commenting that the sea was not so rough now and was asking if she wanted to go inside. “No, I’ll stay out here: the air is fresher,” she said when she caught his gist.

  “Whatever you like, but I think I’ll go back to Maman and see how she is,” Ted said, and made his way to the door. She watched him go, keeping her eye on the other two men at the same time.

  They had come to the end of the deck, where they did indeed turn round, apparently to walk back in her direction, but they reached the door at exactly the same time as Ted and followed him inside. Although Shirley wished that she had gone with her brother, the passing encounter with the young man had given her a brilliant idea for her ballet: the prima ballerina, who would be struggling to survive when the ship she was travelling on rolled onto the rocks in a rough sea, would be rescued by a handsome man who appeared from nowhere, lifted her high and carried her away, whether to dry land or to his distant kingdom, she was not yet sure.

  Five minutes later, she decided to join her mother and brother and found the crush in the lounge suffocating. There was no sign of her mother or Ted, and even if they were only half a dozen paces away she would not be able to see them, because she wasn’t tall enough to look over the heads of the crowds, pushing and shoving all around her. She stood for a moment debating what to do and where to go, not that there was anywhere to go, because she was hemmed in on all sides. If she allowed herself to be pushed along by the flow, eventually she would most probably meet up with her family in the customs shed, but the big problem was that her passport was in Maman’s handbag. She spared a thought too for poor Ted, who would be struggling with her luggage as well as his own and Maman’s, and that prompted her to take the initiative. She tapped the man standing in front of her on the arm. “Excuse me, please, I’m sorry to bother you, but could you tell me if you can see a small dark-haired lady wearing a red coat with a tall, dark-haired boy? She is my mother and he is my brother, but I’m not tall enough to see them.” The words came out in a rush, in English but with a strong French accent. Only when she had finished speaking did she discover with a beating heart that the person she was addressing was the older of the two men who had walked past her out on deck.

  The man turned towards her with a delightful smile. “Of course I’ll look for them,” he said in the kindliest of manners. “It is a terrible crush in here, isn’t it? And I’ll ask my son to have a look too.” He took a step aside, and Shirley was able to see that the younger man was standing immediately ahead of his father. “Alan,” said the father, prodding his son, “this young lady can’t find her mother and brother. Can you see a small lady in a red coat with a dark-haired boy?”

  When Alan turned round, Shirley saw only the deep pools of his eyes, which made direct contact with her own. She stared into those eyes, and all movement, all thought, all awareness of her surroundings, even of her request, came to a halt as time stood still for an eternity. The ship, the crossing, the wind and rain, the heat and stuffiness, the multitudes, all were forgotten in that meeting of souls. But what seemed to be an eternity could not have been very long in real time because distantly she heard the young man say, “Hold on, let me have a look.” He turned away and scanned the throng while she collected herself. “Yes,” he said with his back to his father and Shirley, “I think I can see two people answering that description over there.”

  He turned to his father and Shirley again; in the interval his face had reddened. “What’s your n
ame?” he asked shyly. She hesitated between Chérie and Shirley, but opted for the latter. “If you come with me, Shirley,” he said, “I’ll clear a path through to your family. Here, take my arm so that I don’t lose you on the way!” Shirley breathed in deeply. Her legs, usually so strong, were weak beneath her, and she feared she that she was going to faint. She clutched his arm as he steered her through the jostling crowds to where Ted and Maman were standing.

  “Ah, merci, Monsieur!” Maman exclaimed in relief when she saw them approaching.

  “De rien, Madame, c’est un plaisir!” the young man replied graciously; he smiled down at Shirley who was still holding on to his arm. She let go in some embarrassment and nodded her thanks. He looked at her and held out his hand.

  “Au revoir, Shirley,” he said. She shook his hand, trying to respond, but the words would not come. She could only gaze into his eyes, longing to ask him whether they might meet again. But of course she did not. He turned on his heel and went back to join his father. Shirley stood spellbound.

  “Oh! Mon Dieu! Qu’il est charmant!” Maman remarked, her eyes on her daughter who blushed deeply.

  The crowds were beginning to drift slowly towards the passenger gangway and dry land. Too self-conscious to permit herself to look back to see whether she could pick out Alan with his father in the queue, Shirley’s one and only desperate wish was to see him again. She allowed herself to turn round as they stepped out onto the gangway, but there was no one she recognized in the mass of people behind her. Hoping for a better look at the disembarking passengers, she trailed after Maman and Ted as they marched down onto the quay. Then, as the family walked towards the customs shed beyond the end of the boat, she was overjoyed to see Alan and his father coming down a different gangway, although she was surprised to see them wheeling bicycles. Evidently they had been on a cycling holiday! She could not bring herself to wave and they did not notice her. She wondered where they had been, but trusted that there might be a chance of meeting them again after all. “Come on, Shirley, we’ll miss the boat train!” Ted called from some ten yards ahead of her. She quickened her pace to catch up with her mother and brother.