Page 32 of Kindred Spirits at Harling Hall (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #1)

32

Immi reported back to me on Saturday evening that the first lesson had gone very well. John and Robert had been quite excited to learn about a war, and Florrie had grudgingly said that she supposed it was okay, if a bit boring.

Immi had cannily pointed out to her that she’d have an unfair advantage over the boys, as she’d been alive during part of the war rather than observing it from a distance as the boys had done, and Florrie had smirked, as realisation no doubt dawned that she was more than halfway to winning her bet already.

I’d had to tell my daughter the truth about the wager I’d made with Florrie and what the girl had asked for if she won.

‘Brian?’ Immi cuddled the kitten to her chest and shook her head. ‘I’m not calling him Brian!’

‘Well,’ I pointed out, ‘you still haven’t got a name for him and if you’re not careful, he’s going to think he’s called Kitty. So why not Brian?’

‘But it’s not a cat’s name,’ she protested.

‘Neither is Kitty. No self-respecting adult male cat is going to want to answer to that,’ I said. ‘It would be like calling an adult human Baby or Bubba. Humiliating. You should think about his feelings in all this.’

She gave me one of her stares. ‘That’s emotional blackmail,’ she said. ‘Just because you made a bet about something you had no right to, don’t try to twist it now. I’m not calling him Brian and that’s that, so you’d better hope Florrie loses her bet or she’s going to explode.’

‘Even if she loses,’ I mused, ‘she’s agreed to have lessons until Christmas, so either way, she’s going to be in that schoolroom. And maybe, after a while, she’ll start to enjoy them for their own sake. Who knows?’

I’d arranged with the manager of the cinema for a private viewing of Mrs Miniver the following evening, something which had excited even Florrie. Agnes had been rather worried about her watching one of those “new-fangled cinefilms” and had demanded assurances that there were no scenes of gratuitous violence and no bad language.

‘In Mrs Miniver ?’ I’d laughed. ‘I promise.’

Although, there were scenes of air raids, and… Still, I reasoned, Florrie was from wartime London. I was pretty sure Mrs Miniver would seem tame to her after what she’d experienced.

Walter seemed as excited as the children as we settled ourselves in the front row of the cinema and waited expectantly for the film to begin. Immi and I had passed on the rather watery orange squash offered by an usherette. For one thing, it wouldn’t have been fair when the others couldn’t have any. For another, ugh!

I wondered if it would be worth mentioning to the manager that he’d probably get a lot more customers if he offered coffee, Coke, nachos, and popcorn but decided I wasn’t quite brave enough yet.

I soon forgot all about that when the film began and I was swept away by the story of the Miniver family and their friends and neighbours in a pretty, English village. I risked a glance at the others and saw Walter’s rapt expression. John’s and Robert’s eyes were like saucers when the escaped Nazi pilot made his appearance, and even Immi was clearly absorbed in the story.

Florrie was sitting with her feet up on the seat, her arms wrapped around her knees, and her chin tucked into her chest. I couldn’t see the expression on her face but the fact that she was so still was reassuring. She must be enjoying the film too.

It was during the flower-show scene that things changed. Lady Beldon had just announced that the winning rose was The Mrs Miniver, grown by Mr Ballard, when the air raid sirens began. As the villagers began to run for cover, Florrie leapt from her seat and ran out of the cinema.

John and Robert jumped up to follow her, but I told them to stay put.

‘Immi and I will go after her,’ I said. ‘Walter, will you stay with the boys please? Don’t worry,’ I reassured them, ‘she’ll be fine. We’ll look after her.’

Florrie, however, was nowhere to be seen when we left the cinema.

‘Where do you think she’ll be?’ Immi asked.

‘She can’t have got too far. Wait! Did you hear that?’

There was the unmistakable sound of a sniff and then what sounded suspiciously like someone crying. Immi and I looked at each other.

‘She’s crying?’ Immi mouthed, clearly shocked.

I felt sick. I should have considered that the traumatic scenes in the film would be too much for a little girl who might well have lived through them. Florrie could have PTSD for all I knew. What had I been thinking?

The truth was, I hadn’t been thinking, I thought grimly. I’d been an idiot, so focused on making a success of these lessons that I’d totally forgotten this little girl had feelings and memories. Agnes would never forgive me for this, and I didn’t blame her.

‘Mum,’ Immi whispered and motioned to me to follow her. We found Florrie curled up behind the gatepost of a nearby cottage. Immi pushed open the gate and crouched down beside her while I stayed where I was, leaning on the gate. I glanced around but, luckily, the area was deserted. Many of the tourists had gone home, or back to their holiday accommodation. With many of the attractions closed at this time of the evening, most people were over at the other side of the village in The Quicken Tree.

‘Florrie,’ I told her, ‘I’m so sorry. I never meant to frighten you.’

Florrie sniffed again and wiped her nose on her cardigan sleeve. ‘I ain’t frightened,’ she said gruffly.

‘If you’re not frightened,’ Immi said, ‘why did you run away?’

‘I was bored,’ Florrie said belligerently. ‘Never seen such a borin’ film, that’s all.’

‘Oh.’ Immi sat beside her and folded her arms. ‘I thought it was really good. I never expected to like it. When Mum suggested it, I thought it sounded a bit rubbish, but it wasn’t. Especially with me doing my projects on the war. Brought it all home to me. What it must have been like.’

Florrie snorted with laughter. ‘Are you kidding? It weren’t nuffink like that! All them posh people with their fancy ’ouses and boats and servants. Weren’t like that for us. We lived in a tiny little ’ouse with an outside lavvy and a tin bath. And my mum didn’t read us Alice in Wonderland when the air raids came. She was too busy trying to keep blooming Janet quiet and make the boys stay put. And Dad weren’t there either cos ’e was away fighting.’ She shrugged. ‘Till ’e wasn’t.’

‘Did your dad die in the war?’ Immi asked, wide-eyed.

‘Got taken prisoner just before Mum sent me away. He’d been fighting in Greece or sumfink and got sent to some camp in Australia.’

‘I think you might mean Austria,’ I suggested gently.

She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Mum said it was typical of ’im to get out of the fighting and she’d bet ’e was living the life of Riley while she was struggling to feed four kids on ’er own.’

I wondered if Florrie’s mother had tried to make light of the situation, reassuring the children that their father was fine. I hoped that was the case anyway.

‘It’s only natural the film brought back bad memories,’ I told her. ‘I’m so sorry, Florrie. I should have thought. You must have heard those sirens yourself so many times.’

‘It weren’t that.’ She rubbed her eyes and sighed. ‘It weren’t the bombs and that. It was—’ She broke off and tilted her head to look at me. ‘You’ll think I’m soft.’

‘I promise I won’t,’ I said. I pushed open the gate and sat down so she was between Immi and me. ‘You can tell us anything, Florrie.’

‘It was… the people,’ she said at last. ‘Being together like that. When they all gathered together and went into that cellar. I just thought, why couldn’t it ’ave been like that for us? Why did we ’ave to be split up like that?’

‘You had a little sister, didn’t you?’ Immi asked.

‘Yeah. Janet. She was just a baby. Always crying. Got on my nerves, to be honest,’ she said. ‘And of course, she took up all Mum’s time. It was all about Janet. She forgot all about me when she came along.’

‘Was it just you two girls and your mum then?’ I asked, realising that all these years later, Florrie was still clearly resentful of her sister.

‘No. When I was a kid,’ she said, as if she’d reached a great age by the time she passed, ‘there was me and Dad, Mum, Francis and ’Enry. They’re my brothers. It was all right then. We were ’appy. But then the war started, and Dad went away, and Janet came along not long after and it all started to go wrong. Mum wanted to send us away. She said London weren’t safe no more. She asked Uncle Vic if he’d take us. ’E had a farm, you see, in Essex, and she thought that would be best.’

‘So how come you ended up here?’ Immi asked.

‘Uncle Vic didn’t want me. Said girls were no use on a farm. He took ’Enry and Francis cos they were boys and older than me and could earn their keep. That’s when Mum agreed to send me to this place,’ she added bitterly. ‘All on my own. Well, there were other kids, like, but none I really knew or cared about. I just wanted to stay with Mum. I didn’t care about the bombs. I wasn’t scared,’ she added defiantly. ‘I’d have took care of ’er if she’d let me. But no. I was packed off to ’Arling ’All and then look what ’appened! Never saw any of them again.’

Immi’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It must have been awful for you.’

‘As a matter of fact, it were,’ Florrie agreed. ‘And now I’m stuck ’ere forever while my family are all together. Well, were all together.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose they’re long gone now. Bet they forgot all about me. Bet it was all about Janet. Bet when Dad and the lads came ’ome, she was all they bovvered wiv.’

I thought about Mia. Florrie was clearly under the impression that she’d been forgotten, but Janet hadn’t forgotten. Janet had been too young to remember her big sister, yet she’d spoken about her so much to her granddaughter that Mia had come to the Cotswolds in search of her story. Florrie’s family must have kept her memory alive for Janet. She’d not been forgotten at all.

Florrie needed to know that. Whatever Agnes thought. However much it upset her and Lawrie. Florrie had a right to know, and Mia had the right to tell her.

‘Come on,’ I said to Florrie, ‘let’s go home. I’m sure Agnes will be glad to see you.’

‘You won’t tell ’er, will you?’ Florrie said anxiously. ‘I don’t want ’er to think I’ve gone daft. She’ll only stop me going out again and I don’t want ’er to. She might even make me give up the lessons.’

‘Don’t you want to give them up?’ Immi asked, sounding surprised.

Florrie got to her feet and shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re all right. For now, anyway. At least it’s sumfink to do, right?’

‘Let’s see if the film’s finished,’ I said. ‘Then we can all walk home together.’

I’d carefully avoided promising her that I wouldn’t tell Agnes what had happened because the fact was, I’d have had to break that promise.

It was time to ruffle more feathers.