The Swallow and the Hummingbird(4)

Hannah Fairweather was a deeply sentimental woman. She had a wide, generous face, eyes that wept easily, especially where her children were concerned, and a large, spongey bosom that had nursed each of her three daughters for well beyond their first year. She was one of nature’s earth mothers whose sole purpose in life is to raise and love children, which she did with enormous pride. Like a magpie she kept everything: Rita’s first pair of shoes, Maddie’s first drawing, a lock of Eddie’s hair. The mantelpieces and walls were cluttered with memories that would mean nothing to a visitor but which meant everything to Hannah; a veritable museum of her past.

The Fairweathers’ rambling cottage was situated in the small seaside village of Frognal Point, hidden behind tall yew hedges and lime trees, surrounded by a manicured garden filled with birds. Hannah’s youngest child was now fourteen and spent all day at school, so the birds that she tamed and cared for were like children to her. The nightingale who made her home in the tangled hedgerow, the dainty titmice who arrived in the autumn and ate crusts out of her hand, and the swallows, her favourite, who returned each spring to build their nests in the top corner of the porch. As mild and modest as the little hedge sparrows, Hannah had a good heart and a soft one – as is often the case with children raised by overbearing mothers.

‘I wonder why our Rita is glowing this morning?’ said Humphrey as he entered the kitchen, drawn by the aroma of porridge and toast. Short and stocky in grey trousers with scarlet braces over a neatly pressed white shirt, he was almost bald except for the thick white curls about his ears. He bent down, planted a kiss on his daughter’s temple and patted her back with a warm hand.

‘She’s been down on the beach,’ Hannah replied. Humphrey took his seat at the head of the table and poured himself a cup of tea.

‘Nothing to do with the fact that George is coming home then?’ He chuckled and opened the paper, the Southern Gazette, which he edited. He grunted his approval of the front page, emblazoned with a large picture of a young woman kissing a soldier on his return from the war. If George had any remarkable stories of bravery and adventure Humphrey would be only too pleased to put them in his paper. That’s what people wanted now, tales of heroism and victory.

‘I’m so excited, Daddy, and yet I’m frightened too.’

Humphrey peered at his daughter over the paper. ‘There’s no reason to be frightened, Rita. He’ll be delivered home safely.’

‘No, that’s not why.’ She paused and nibbled at a piece of toast. ‘You don’t think he will have changed, do you?’

Hannah spooned porridge into a bowl for her husband. ‘Of course he will have changed,’ she said. ‘He’ll be a man now.’

Rita smiled and blushed. ‘I hope he won’t be disappointed in me.’

‘Who could be disappointed in you, my dear?’ Humphrey laughed and disappeared behind the paper again. ‘You’re home to George, like your mother was home to me. Don’t underestimate that.’

‘I remember when your father came back from the Dardanelles. He was so brown I barely recognized him, and thin too. I had to feed him up like one of Mother’s chickens. But we soon got to know each other again. George will take a while to adjust, but he’ll be home and reunited with his beloved. War teaches you that nothing matters but the people you love. You’ve been his lifeline for all these years, Rita.’ Hannah’s voice faltered and she coughed to disguise it, recalling the horrors of the Great War and the broken spirits who lived to return. ‘Where’s Eddie? She’ll be late for school.’ She bustled out of the room to wake her youngest daughter.

When Eddie wandered into the kitchen, clearly still half asleep, she mumbled a brief ‘good morning’ before remembering that today was the day of George’s return. ‘You must be excited, Rita,’ she said, waking up. ‘Are you going to let him make love to you now?’

Humphrey’s startled face popped up over the paper and Hannah swivelled around and stared in horror at her fourteen-year-old daughter.

‘Eddie!’ she gasped. ‘Humphrey, say something!’

Humphrey pulled an exaggerated frown. ‘What do you know about making love, Eddie?’ he asked, wondering who had polluted her mind.

‘Elsa Shelby’s fiancé got back a week ago and they made love that very day. I know because Amy told me.’ Elsa Shelby’s little sister was as indiscreet as Eddie.

‘What does little Amy know?’ said Hannah, hands on hips, nearly shaking the curlers out of her hair.