The Swallow and the Hummingbird(21)

‘Pa’s over there,’ said George, pointing to his father, towering at least a head above everyone else. When she moved regally on, Rita rolled her eyes.

‘Why did I get her going? I was simply humouring her.’

‘You need never humour a witch. They humour themselves. It must be a hoot to live like she does, with cats and cards and crystal balls.’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps she gets lonely,’ Rita said. ‘Even with all those cats.’

‘Not with Max and Ruth. They must be saints to live with her.’

‘They have no choice, poor lambs,’ said Rita with a smile.

‘But she’s never dull. The world has enough dull people in it. She’s a spark of colour in a grey world.’ For a moment his face clouded and he looked sad. She touched his arm and remembered her grandmother’s advice.

‘I’d like a glass of cider,’ she said. ‘I want to toast your homecoming more than anyone.’

‘Right, follow me,’ he said, smiling once again, and they weaved their way to where the drinks were set out at the far end of the barn.

Max and Ruth had arrived with Mrs Megalith but had got left behind in her wake and swept to one end of the barn where the barbecue was cooking. After a moment of hesitation, Ruth was dragged off by Eddie and her friends, leaving Max alone with a glass of cider. He watched his sister and felt heartened by her happy face. He was aware that, although Mrs Megalith was like a mother to them, they were very much alone in the world and he felt desperately protective of her. She was still a child and he was now seventeen. He ran a hand through his hair and surveyed the room. His eyes settled on Rita who was nuzzled up against George, and he suffered a pang of jealousy. He was ashamed that he had hoped George might not come back from the war. Shocked that he was capable of such a thought. He took in her long wild hair and pale face scattered with freckles like a thrush’s egg and wished that she would look at him with the same devotion she reserved for George. He wrenched his eyes away for the sight only caused him pain and observed with amusement the rapacious eyes of the Elvestree witch.

Mrs Megalith had the rare ability of being able to concentrate on many things at the same time. While she listened to Trees telling her about the French walnut trees he hoped to import to Devon, she noticed Maddie in the midst of a group of young men at the other end of the barn. She was sitting in a very unladylike fashion on the knee of one of George’s friends. She had her arms around his neck and her legs slightly apart, roaring with laughter with her mouth wide open. Hannah was too busy talking to Reverend Hammond’s wife, Vera, to notice, and Humphrey was discussing the continuing war in Japan with Mike Purdie, his neighbour. Eddie had found Ruth and a few other young people to entertain and was running through the barn like the pied piper of Hamelin, making a frightful din. She looked back at Maddie. Suddenly in her mind’s eye she had the vision of her granddaughter in the arms of a GI in the back of a jeep. She blinked the image away; it was most distasteful, not to mention intrusive, but it certainly made sense of Maddie’s lack of motivation. ‘She has discovered the forbidden pleasures of the flesh, God bless her,’ thought Mrs Megalith to herself, remembering her own first taste of it many moons ago. She hoped the girl’s desire wouldn’t get the better of her.

The party was jolly, a veritable celebration of George’s homecoming and victory. The atmosphere was carefree and vibrating with excitement. Years of conflict had united everyone in fear and purpose and now liberation united them again in festivity. Yet they didn’t forget those who had given their lives in service and held a moment of silence to honour them. During that moment Max thought of his parents and suppressed the dull ache that came on the occasions that he allowed himself to remember them. Reverend Hammond took his wife’s hand and silently prayed for the soul of their son Rupert, killed at Dunkirk. Then Trees toasted George, too overcome to say more. Rita looked up and noticed that Max was staring at her, his eyes glazed and sad. She smiled at him but he seemed not to see her. Then the dancing began and the sound of feet tapping caused the whole barn to shudder and the record on Faye’s gramophone to skip.

Faye watched her son as he swung Rita off the dance floor and out into the night.

It was raining now, a light drizzle on a strong wind. The air was fresh and smelt heavily of damp earth and foliage. George took her by the hand and they ran through the farm to an old shed that stood low and squat beside a large chestnut tree. He pulled the bolt and opened the door. They crept inside to where it was pleasantly warm and dry and full of newborn calves. When George closed the door behind him, the soft shuffling of hooves on straw and low mooing rose out of the silence as the animals strained their senses to observe them. The place was illuminated by a dim light and Rita was enchanted by the shiny-eyed calves who pushed their faces through the bars of their pens to look at her. Without saying a word she crouched down and stroked their silky faces and wet noses. The mooing grew louder as they all demanded to be petted. George took her hand and raised her to her feet. She followed him up a ladder to the hayloft, where it was cosy and sweet smelling.