Page 56 of The Girl from the Tea Garden (The India Tea #3)

‘Then where? Let me at least go and speak to Lexy and see if she can help.’

‘Very well,’ Olive agreed. ‘But Lexy is the only one you’re to tell. And I’ll not have you sharing with my Jane any longer, so you better get summat sorted quick.’

Lexy was shocked by Adela’s news but soon recovered. ‘Of course I’ll help you, lass.’

‘Aunt Olive says I’m to move out of Lime Terrace and I’m not to come near the café either.’

‘She’s a coward,’ Lexy said crossly. ‘Always has been. To think of the times Clarrie helped her sister and looked after her bairns; the least she could do now would be to help you out. Is that how you got them marks on your cheek?’

Adela ignored the question. ‘There must be places I could go till the ba—, till my time comes.’ Adela thought of the grim stories she had heard of homes for fallen women, part of the workhouse system. She shuddered at the thought.

‘I’ll not have you put away in one of them places.’ Lexy was adamant. ‘We’ll sort summat. I’ve got half an idea already.’

Two days later Lexy sought out Adela at the cinema as she was coming off shift and told her the plan.

Olive made the announcement around the tea table later that week.

‘Going to Edinburgh?’ Jane asked in dismay. ‘That’s very sudden.’

‘Well, I’ve got the chance of some theatre work,’ Adela lied, ‘and a lift up the Great North Road from someone at the cinema. So it has to be tomorrow.’

‘That’s grand, lass,’ Jack said.

‘Congratulations!’ George cried. ‘Which theatre?’

‘The Playhouse,’ said Adela. She hoped there was such a place, or if not that her cousin’s knowledge of Edinburgh was as vague as hers.

‘Maybe I’ll come up and see you perform.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll be a star, I know it.’

‘I’m glad for you,’ Jane said without enthusiasm, ‘though I’m sorry to see you go.’

‘Thank you.’ Adela was surprised and touched by her cousin’s obvious disappointment.

Olive sat smiling tensely throughout the meal, hardly touching her food. Adela was relieved when it was over and she could retreat to the bedroom. Jane followed. She watched as Adela packed a few clothes into the smaller of the two suitcases.

‘How long will you be gone? Will you come back for Christmas?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll just see how it goes.’ She closed the suitcase. ‘If there’s anything of mine in the wardrobe you’d like, then please help yourself.’

‘But you’ll need them when you come back.’

Adela hesitated. ‘In the meantime you can wear them.’

‘You are coming back?’ Jane looked at her in alarm.

‘I’m sure I will be.’ Adela smiled. Her aunt’s anger she could shoulder, but her cousin’s unhappiness at her going made her suddenly teary. She turned quickly away and heaved the case from the bed.

‘Did you really get those marks on your face from falling on the ice?’ Jane asked. ‘They look like nail scratches to me.’

‘You’re right,’ Adela said. ‘It was a drunk at the cinema. But they don’t hurt any more.’

That night she hardly slept. She was sick at having to lie to her cousin and was impatient for the dawn.

In the early morning she rose and dressed in the cold bedroom while Jane cooked a breakfast of fried eggs and bread.

Adela was nauseated by the smell. Jack left swiftly, wishing her well.

Olive stayed in bed and didn’t appear when Adela was ready to leave.

‘Say goodbye to your mam for me, won’t you?’ she asked Jane. ‘And tell her thank you for having me to stay all this time.’ The cousins hugged.

George put her case in the van, and she climbed into the seat beside him. The last sight of Number 10 Lime Terrace was of Jane standing on the doorstep in the chilly purple dawn, waving.

George dropped her outside Central Station. ‘Shall I wait till your lift turns up?’ he asked.

‘No need,’ Adela said hastily. ‘They’ll be here any minute. You get off to work.’

His look was considering. She leant across and pecked him on the cheek before he started asking any awkward questions. ‘Thanks for making my stay here so much fun.’

He grinned at her. ‘No, the pleasure was mine. I can’t remember the last time we had so many laughs in our family. Jane will miss you. She’s really come out of her shell since you came.’

‘Really?’ Adela had felt a failure with Jane. Sticking up for her cousin had just seemed to make things worse for her.

‘Really,’ George assured. ‘The old Jane would have sat at the table and not said two words.’

‘Make sure you fight her corner,’ said Adela. ‘She thinks the world of you.’

George promised he would, kissed the top of her head and said, ‘Out you get then, or you’ll make me late for work.’

He hooted as he drove off. Adela watched till he was out of sight before turning away and walking into town.

Lexy was waiting at the bus station with their tickets bought. On the way towards the coast, she told Adela what to expect.

The icy sea air hit them sideways as they climbed down from the bus.

The North Sea was grey and churning, capped with white waves.

They walked south from Whitley Bay, passing closed-up hotels and respectable villas, Lexy insisting on carrying her case.

Adela shook with cold and nerves, her hands frozen in her pockets.

Eventually they stopped at a row of squat cottages overlooking a steep cliff.

On the beach below a fishing boat was being pulled ashore.

Two women sat on stools in nearby doorways mending a net, seemingly impervious to the cold. The air smelt fishy and salty.

At the end of the row stood a small house on its own, its windows opaque with sea spray.

From what Lexy had told her, Adela knew this had belonged to a coastguard, now dead.

His ancient widowed mother still lived here, looked after by one of Lexy’s friends.

These old women were to be Adela’s guardians and companions for the next three months.

The woman who came to the back door in a purple housecoat had a lined leathery face and untidy grey hair. She smelt strongly of stale cigarette smoke.

Her face broke into a piratical grin– half her teeth were missing– and she held out her hands.

‘Eeh, you’re just like your mam! Welcome to Cullercoats. Come away, hinny. Don’t let the cold in a minute longer.’

Lexy pushed Adela forward into the house.

The door led straight into a low-ceilinged kitchen with an old-fashioned black range.

Mingling with the aroma of potato soup was a smell of incontinence.

A tiny woman in a 1920s black dress sat by the range.

She looked very old, her hair sparse and her pale skin stretched over the bones of her nose and cheeks.

‘I’m Maggie,’ said the first woman, ‘and this is Ina. We’re old friends of your mam’s; Ina used to work at the tea rooms with Lexy.

We’d do owt for Clarrie.’ She raised her voice and bellowed at the old woman by the fireside.

‘Wouldn’t we, Ina? We’d do anything for our Clarrie. This is her lass, Adela.’

Ina peered myopically across the room. She beckoned Adela over with an arthritic hand.

‘Gan on,’ Lexy encouraged. ‘Don’t be frightened. Ina doesn’t bite. She can’t see you till you’re right up close.’

Adela went forward and put her hand into Ina’s. The woman’s confused expression changed into that of wonder. ‘Clarrie,’ she croaked, ‘you’ve come back to see me.’

Adela felt tears welling in her eyes. These complete strangers were showing her such kindness– and all because of their love and respect for her mother. Ina thought she was her mother. She gently squeezed the old woman’s hand and smiled. ‘Yes, I’ve come back to see you, Ina.’