‘His name was Rudi?’ asked Gertie. ‘The guy in the Old Forge?’ she added,
when Maddie looked as if the words were in a foreign language.
Maddie was disoriented. She stared at her friend, searching the worried
face beside her for a clue, watched Gertie’s hands tighten on the car’s
steering wheel.
‘Look, I know you don’t want me to run you to the hospital, but at least
let me get Doctor Handy. You fainted,’ said Gertie.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine. What day is it?’
‘Day? I don’t know,’ said Maddie.
‘What year is it?’ asked Gertie.
‘It’s…’
‘It’s 1957. We’re in Cornwall. Your name’s Maddie Brady, mine’s
Gertie Adams. We’re best mates, have been for years, although I’m the
younger and better-looking one,’ said Gertie.
‘Oh? And who says so?’
‘My Arthur, that’s who. But it’s well-known that blokes go for us
redheads. Now, what the heck’s going on here, Madds? You look like
you’ve seen a ghost. And you fainted, that ain’t normal.’
‘Nothing’s going on. Just drive me home, will you? And I don’t know
why everybody’s making such a fuss. Or why they dragged you out.’
‘They dragged me out – made me walk away from a lovely warm fire
and a bloody good book – because, Maddie Brady, there was no way you
could drive yourself back home. Not looking white like that and with a gert
big lump on your head and muttering the name “Rudi” over and over
again.’
‘Rudi?’
‘Yes. That’s what they said in the Forge. Was that the name of the young
bloke who upset you in there?’ asked Gertie.
Maddie’s head throbbed and she fought hard to stop the bile in her
stomach from reaching her throat. Maybe she was hungry. Should have had
some breakfast that morning before dropping her brother off for his train.
That would be it. That would be why she fainted, like they’d said.
But that wasn’t it, of course. Her reluctant brain finally brought the
strange events into focus. And she remembered the young man. Saw his
eager face as he told her that he was her son. That she was his mother.
Bizarre.
Because of course she didn’t have a son. She would like to have had
children – and a son would have been good.
‘Rudi?’ said Maddie. ‘No – I don’t think his name was Rudi. The young
man… he didn’t tell me his name.’
‘He tried to help you when you fainted, then it seems he disappeared.’
‘He’s gone?’ asked Maddie.
‘So Rachel said,’ said Gertie. Then: ‘Right, we need to get you home.
You should be in bed.’
‘No bed,’ said Maddie. ‘I’ll just rest a bit and you can make me one of
your famous cheese sandwiches with lots of onion and that runner-bean
chutney of yours. Your cheese sandwiches are as good as any medicine
Doctor Handy doles out.’
‘Fair enough. But you’ll need to take it easy for a while. I’m staying on
a bit longer, and I don’t want no arguments from you, miss. You’ve been
doing far too much, lately. Nice as it is to do stuff for other folk, Madds,
comes a time when you got to be kind to yerself too. Got that?’
‘Got it,’ Maddie said, and smiled.
Maddie watched her friend start the car, letting out the sticky clutch.
She’d need to get that fixed soon, like so many other jobs piling up; things
that needed money to sort out. Money she didn’t have right then. She noted
the rigid set of her friend’s shoulders, the determined look on Gertie’s face
that meant there would be no arguments. And there wouldn’t, not from
Maddie. Truth be told, she was glad and maybe even a bit relieved that
someone else would be in charge for a while. It was good to do things for
other people and the centre gave her a feeling of satisfaction, a sense of
purpose – her life hadn’t been wasted – but it could be exhausting and
frustrating as well.
And in her quiet moments, when she allowed her own feelings to
surface, Maddie Brady had to own up to regrets. Her family were almost
strangers: her mother hadn’t bothered to make the trip to Cornwall for
Maddie’s fortieth birthday, and her brother was a reserved man who found it
hard to show emotion.
Gertie was like a sister to her, always had been. A younger sister, but
then Gertie had always been older than her years. Life had forced her to be.
But now Gertie had her own life. And, although the few remaining women
in the centre were a family of sorts, it wasn’t the same. She had no special
man to share her life with, and no children. It seemed such a simple thing to
ask, to long for. A real family to have Christmas with. To go to the beach
with. To make birthday cakes for.
She put her hand on top of Gertie’s, squeezed it gently. A gesture meant
to reassure her friend. Gertie was precious, a diamond in the rough; worth
more than a hundred real families. And she’d always been there in times of
trouble.
‘You know I love you, don’t you?’ said Maddie.
‘You goin’ all mushy on me? ’Cause if you are, you can forget the
cheese sandwich.’
‘No mush,’ promised Maddie.
‘And you’ll rest? Put your feet up for a bit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yeah!’ Gertie threw her a cynical look. ‘And those damn pigs of yours
might grow wings and fly up to visit the Queen in Buck House.’
49
Arriving at Pendurran Farm never failed to give Maddie a warm feeling of
pride, of truly coming home. Although she’d lived in many places, none of
them had evoked the feeling that this hotchpotch of buildings did.
But the centre was more than just an odd collection of buildings: a barn
that would soon need a new roof, a vegetable garden, a pig pen, a
ramshackle shed for the two crazy goats and a fancy chicken coup. It was
her life. Her happiness. Her security. Her reason to get out of bed each new
day, even though some of those days might seem difficult to others.
She sighed as Gertie pulled the car into the yard.
‘You okay?’ asked her friend.
‘Fine. Glad to be home. Been a strange day,’ said Maddie. She thought
again about the young man. What an odd thing for him to say. That he was
her son. Of course, he’d got that wrong, had mistaken her for someone else.
But it brought the sadness back to her, from that awful day. The cruel way
they’d told her of her loss. First, the midwife, then the nurse. There’d been
no kindness, only blame. Move on with your life, they’d said. Callous and
insensitive.
A voice broke through her melancholy thoughts.
‘Rusty’s still getting free rides, then.’ Gertie grinned and they both
watched the cheeky hen launch herself at one of the pigs and perch on its
back.
‘Identity crisis,’ said Maddie, and laughed.
‘Yeah? She’s come to the right place then,’ said Gertie.
‘Rusty’s one crazy, mixed-up kiddie,’ Maddie said. ‘She lays eggs with
the other hens, but she hops over the wire and steals the pigs’ food. Doesn’t
know whether she’s a pig or a hen. Can’t imagine why the pigs put up with
her.’
Maddie eyed the scene in front of her with satisfaction, like a proud
parent.
Pendurran Farmhouse had once been a sad, neglected place. At least
when she and Gertie had first arrived there, back in 1946. She’d had a
second-hand caravan towed there and had immediately started planning,
making drawings, excitement oozing from every pore. Excitement for a
future free from bombs and sadness and fear. A future inscribed with hope.
Hope that they could both find peace here. And maybe even do some good.
The refuge idea had been Maddie’s. Gertie had lent her practical skills,
apparently happy to be led, willing to go along with something that would
take her mind off her sadness. Both women had stuck together, guiding
each other through the residue of war. Making a new life. Offering a home
to women scarred by war. Women with nowhere else to go. But Gertie had
never truly been a country girl. Still, she’d given the project three years of
her life. Had worked hard to help it succeed. Maddie knew why she’d done
that; why she’d stayed so long – she’d done it for her. The mark of a true
friend.
Maddie climbed slowly and laboriously out of the car.
A small dog immediately jumped at her. Barking and yelping a high
pitched welcome. It was the sort of greeting she’d come to expect from
Wilma. Enthusiastic. Robust. Excited. Punching way above her weight. For
Wilma was a tiny dog, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, and a useful ally on the
busy smallholding. She was a natural herder, fast and agile, and had been
known to round up many an escapee chicken making a bid for freedom.
‘Good girl, Wilma!’ said Maddie.
The dog stopped barking, satisfied her welcome had been understood,
and cocked her head on one side in that smug, knowing way of hers.
Both women made their way up to the house, ignoring the shaggy
haired goats in the yard, eating the washing they’d ripped from the line.
Maddie felt a little better. A bit of fussing from a friend in her no-nonsense,
tough-love way. A tiny powerhouse of a friend like Gertie Adams, who
took the idea of loyalty seriously. Then there was the huge mug of tea,
strong enough to float a spoon in, huge doorsteps of homemade bread
lagged in creamy butter freshly churned at a neighbour’s farm, chunky
runner-bean chutney, and real cheese that crumbled into powerful little
flavour bombs when it hit her tongue.
Surprising what a difference a friend giving you lunch can make. And
sitting in a chair by an open fire, logs crackling away.
The strange noise in her ears – like a rushing waterfall – had retreated
and Maddie could breathe normally again; the weird, spongy feeling in her
legs had gone back to wherever it came from. Still, she didn’t move, just
carried on drinking her tea with her feet up. ‘Raise them above your heart,’
Gertie had ordered. ‘It’s good for you.’
Her friend came and sat down in the chair opposite. Gertie warmed her
hands by the fire. It was September, a cold day, and the farmhouse wasn’t
perfectly insulated against the cold; despite the cob walls, draughts found
their way in.
‘Right,’ said Gertie. ‘Forget about the rampant goats and the leaky roof
in the barn.’ Her face became serious. ‘You need to start thinking about
yerself. That episode this morning in the café, it was the universe giving
you a warning. You fainting like that. You got to start looking after number
one for a bit and stop worrying about this place. Take yerself off for a wee
holiday. Let them all get on with it for a change…’
‘I can’t do that,’ said Maddie, appalled. ‘People rely on me.’
‘People? You’ve only got four of them, right now. Four grown-up
people who could just as easily look out for themselves. Strays. You never
could resist them.’
‘I know, but…’
‘No bleedin’ buts. You collapsed this morning. You need to think about
that, give yerself a rest.’
‘I fainted this morning because…’ She paused.
‘Yeah – because?’
‘Not because I was tired or sick. Or overdoing things. I love it here. It’s
my reason for being, for living, for carrying on each day through all the
petty problems like paying bills, and goats that eat my laundry. It’s what I
do. It’s what I love. Don’t ask me to give that up.’
‘Yeah, but you fainted. And don’t tell me it’s because you were hungry.
I ain’t that daft. You been hungry before and you ain’t fainted.’
‘I passed out because I’d had a shock, Gert. That’s all. Nothing sinister,
like health stuff. I’m perfectly okay, or at least I will be once I’ve had this
little rest and the shock’s worn off.’
‘What shock? Look, I’m your best mate. Well, aren’t I?’
‘Of course.’
‘I tell you everything. And I mean everything, girl. Including my love
life. I reckon my Arthur would have a fit and lose even more of his hair if
he had an inkling of the sort of stuff I told you about him and me. So…’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Tell me something that ain’t.’ Gertie laughed.
‘It all happened a long time ago, during the war, before I even met you.
And I’ve never told anybody about it.’
‘So? Maybe it’s time, then,’ said Gertie.
‘Yes,’ said Maddie and sighed. ‘You’re right. Maybe it is time.’
‘Wait. I’m right?’
‘Sure. Haven’t I always said you’re a very wise woman, Gertrude
Adams? So, yes, you’re right. “The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk
of many things…’”
‘And one of those things? That would be this Rudi, would it?’
‘Yes,’ said Maddie. ‘Rudi.’ She whispered the name. A sad, plaintive
sound.
The fire was warm on her face as she stared into its depths, and Maddie
Brady was surprised at just how easy it was to slide back into the past. ‘It’s
all about Rudi,’ she said
