The Roots of the Tree Page 8

  ‘Ready for a cup of tea now,’ she called, heading for the kitchen, where she found Annie pouring boiling water into the teapot.

  ‘You read the letters then?’ Annie’s question, more a statement of fact, was delivered in a flat tone.

  ‘Yes. Where did you find them?’ asked Suzie.

  Annie explained how she had searched the annex and broken into the jewellery box. ‘I don’t think I really expected to find anything at first,’ she confessed, ‘but I just felt, if Mum had been so in love and the letters so precious that she wouldn’t have just thrown them away. Most women are hoarders – in this family anyway – and with something as sentimental as letters from the man you thought you were going to marry and who was the father of your only child, I thought it likely she may have kept them somewhere. When I looked at the jewellery box, I could almost hear Mum’s voice telling me the lady would never dance again because she had lost the key to wind it up and I just knew they were in there.’ Annie reached into the pocket of her shirt and pulled out an old black and white photograph of a young man dressed in uniform with very short, very dark hair and a broad smile on his face. The photograph had the distinctive yellow tint of an old image that has faded further with time.

  ‘It was with the letters,’ Annie said as she handed it to Suzie.

  Suzie studied the photograph. ‘Do you think this is him?’ she asked.

  Annie shrugged. ‘I imagine so,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t look like Uncle Freddie or Uncle Joe, although I guess we can ask Aunt Emily, just to be sure. Anyway, you still haven’t told me why you are here or why it would appear you spent the night on my sofa.’

  ‘Well, that’s down to Aunt Emily as well,’ replied Suzie. ‘She had been trying to call you all day yesterday to make sure you were okay and you didn’t answer. She naturally got worried and rang me in the evening to ask if I’d seen you. I thought I’d better come round and check on you and I found you slightly the worse for drink – well, unconscious with it actually – in that armchair, with all those letters in your lap. I thought I’d better stay and yes, I had to read the letters for my own curiosity but also because I didn’t know what you had discovered and how it might make you feel. I know I had no right to read them. I found them terribly sad.’

  Annie simply nodded and turned her head away so Suzie couldn’t see how close to tears she was. Suzie didn’t know what to do. She was used to her mother being in control, always calm and level-headed and able to deal with whatever the situation demanded. She was not used to having to be the strong one. It was as though the normal roles of mother and daughter had been turned upside down.Although her first instinct was to go to Annie and hug her like she would Daniel if he fell and cut his knee or another child upset him in the playground, everything about Annie’s body language as she turned her head away and stared out of the window said, ‘Please leave me alone.’

  ‘I must go to work,’ said Suzie at last, reluctantly. ‘I think we need to talk about this – all of us – as a family, and everyone else needs to know what you’ve found. Let’s get together at my house tonight, say about seven thirty? I’ll call the others. Just come round and bring the letters. We’ll send out for pizza or something.’

  Annie wearily nodded agreement, and for the second day running, Suzie backed her car off Annie’s gravel drive and headed slowly to work.

  Annie watched Suzie leave from the kitchen window. Her head was throbbing from the after-effects of the whisky and her hands were shaky. What on earth had made her think drinking half a bottle of whisky would make her feel better? Drowning your sorrows in alcohol was not a philosophy she had ever found helpful. Usually, it just made matters worse, adding a lousy hangover to whatever problem had prompted the drinking binge in the first place. Today was no different.

  Angry with herself, she tipped the remains of her tea down the sink and refilled the kettle. Strong black coffee was what she needed. Whilst the kettle boiled she went upstairs to her bedroom and, using a stool to reach the top shelf of the Victorian oak wardrobe, pulled down two heavy cardboard boxes full of old photographs, which she carried downstairs and placed on the kitchen table. She made a cafetière of fresh coffee, which she also carried to the table with a clean mug and a new packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. She took the old photograph she had found with the letters out of her dressing gown pocket again and placed it on the edge of the table. Sipping her coffee and nibbling at a biscuit, she sat down and started to sift through the first box.

  The photographs roughly spanned a twenty-year period from her own childhood through to the young childhoods of Suzie and Marie. Photographs later than that had been more carefully stored in albums, mostly thanks to Jack’s endeavours. Annie remembered him compiling albums of his favourites with captions and dates when the girls were young whilst she was busy with household chores during long winter evenings when it was too cold for him to go out to his workshop in the garage.

  Annie had felt drawn to these old photographs since she had woken up that morning and found Suzie asleep on the sofa beside her. But as much as she loved her eldest daughter, she also knew she wanted to do this by herself, so she had resisted the urge to head straight for the boxes and waited for Suzie to leave. Now, in the quiet and comfort of her own kitchen, with the familiar sound of the clock recording the passing of every second, she felt compelled to face the emotions they were bound to unlock.

  She wasn’t sure what she was searching for; perhaps to re-establish her connection with what she was beginning to think of as her version of her past; perhaps for some hint that she had previously missed that there was a hidden truth that would one day turn her world upside down. She knew she risked feeling even worse as a consequence. She realised that bringing back those childhood memories that the photographs were sure to provoke, mixed with the raw emotion she now felt at having to face the simple fact that she knew nothing about herself or her parents, could prove to be a shattering experience, but she felt powerless to resist. She felt like Mowgli in The Jungle Book, one of her favourite Disney films, when he was in the thrall of the python, Kaa, his eyes spinning hypnotically as the big snake drew him slowly into his coils. Mowgli was saved by Bagheera, the panther, but Annie was not sure who was going to be able to save her. Maybe the truth, if she could ever discover it. Her parents had always impressed upon her how important it was to be truthful and now Annie laughed bitterly over her coffee as she thought of this – how bloody ironic it was when all they had ever done was lie to her.

  Angrily, she reached into the first box and pulled out a bundle of old photographs. Many of them were creased and dog-eared, faded with time. There were a few family group shots of Elsie with her brothers and sisters and their parents, presumably taken before or during the early years of the war. There were surprisingly few of Frank’s family – probably one of his sisters had kept those. There were variations on the familiar wedding day photograph of Frank and Elsie. Annie had seen these countless times and never questioned why there were no family groups, just Frank and Elsie together, both of them looking happy, Frank smiling proudly and Elsie pretty but nervous in a pale-coloured, ankle-length dress, which Annie had always assumed to be white, but maybe it wasn’t; it was difficult to tell on these old, faded pictures. Now it seemed logical that the wedding pictures were confined to the couple alone. Was she there, she wondered? Aunt Emily had said it was a small, quiet wedding, just immediate family and close friends. Had she herself been part of it? She closed her eyes and concentrated hard, trying to conjure up a long-buried memory but there was nothing.

  There were only a few photographs of her as a baby, usually with Elsie or one of her younger siblings. There was Aunt Emily, probably only about seven years old, holding her like a doll. It had never before struck her as odd that there were no photographs of her with Frank as a baby and yet, fast forward to her as a young girl, and she was nearly always with Frank: holding his hand, laughing at him, on her bicycle with him by her side, building sandcastles
on the beach. Why had she never noticed that? Fast forward again and there was her own wedding day, with Frank looking proud and oddly wistful on one side of her and Jack looking handsome and confident on the other. Annie ran her finger pensively over the photograph and not for the first time felt a pang of regret that she and Jack had somehow failed to fight hard enough to save their marriage. She shook it off and turned to the other box, which was packed with school photographs and more recent memories of the early years of her marriage and her daughters. A lot of these were of her and Jack, on holiday with friends, having fun. There were more pictures now, evidence of the onward march of technology, which made it more possible for ordinary people to own cameras. She looked fondly at the christening photographs of Suzie and Marie, both of whom to her biased eyes had been beautiful babies. It was the last one in the box that finally made her break down in tears. It was clearly Christmas-time because there was a tree in the background and there was wrapping paper strewn around the floor. Frank was sitting in an armchair with Marie, aged about two, on one knee, and Suzie, aged about four, leaning against his other knee. Both girls were laughing. Marie was clutching a partially unwrapped present in one hand and Suzie was waving at the camera. Frank was smiling. He had an arm around each of his granddaughters and the expression of a happy and content man on his face.

  ‘Why couldn’t you have told me the truth?’ Annie shouted. Through her tears she added, ‘I wouldn’t have loved you any less, but now I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Tom,’ Suzie called to her boss as she burst into the offices of the Barminster Chronicle.

  Tom raised his glasses and looked carefully at her, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes. Suzie was one of his most conscientious and reliable members of staff, so not only was being late remarkable in itself, but there was an air of distraction about her, as if her mind was elsewhere, that was most definitely out of character. ‘Is there anything wrong?’ he asked, remembering her earlier question about finding someone and realising his journalistic instincts were firmly aroused.

  ‘Tom,’ she said. ‘You’re good at history, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s what I did my degree in, as I believe you know,’ he replied. ‘Whether that makes me good at it or not is, perhaps, debatable.’

  ‘We’ve found something out in my family and I can’t go into details at the moment because it’s all buried in the past and so far I only know a fraction of the story. I promise I won’t let it affect my work.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ replied Tom. ‘Take some time off if you need to. We’ll manage. Now, why did you want to know if I’m good at history?’

  Suzie took a deep breath before replying. ‘What happened in Singapore in February 1942?’ she asked.

  ‘The youth of today,’ exclaimed Tom, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Did they teach you nothing in school? The British and her allies surrendered to the Japanese. The great stronghold of Singapore, known as the Gibraltar of the East, was handed on a plate to the Japanese by that great military commander, General Percival.’

  Suzie detected a degree of irony in this last sentence from her boss. ‘Oh,’ she said. So it was the worst case scenario after all. Although she was sure she already knew the answer, she couldn’t help herself. ‘And so what would have happened to all the survivors?’

  ‘They would have been rounded up and sent to one hellhole or another as prisoners of war,’ Tom stated, in a matter-of-fact tone, flicking through the pile of papers on the side of his desk to hide his intense curiosity. He was itching to ask her more, but his years of journalistic experience had taught him when to push for more information and when to hold back. Now was not the time to push. He couldn’t help noticing that Suzie had gone very pale, making the dark rings under her eyes even more prominent. ‘Look, why don’t you take the day off,’ he suggested. ‘It is Friday and nearly lunchtime anyway and we’re not exactly busy.’

  ‘Thanks, Tom. I think I will, if you really don’t mind.’

  ‘Off you go,’ he replied.

  Suzie picked up her bag and headed for the door. She paused. ‘Just one more question,’ she said, turning back towards Tom. ‘Is it okay if I come in and look at the archives over the weekend?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Tom.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Suzie.

  Leaving her office, Suzie crossed Barminster’s main town square. It was market day so she had to thread her way between the colourful market stalls selling everything from clothing to curtain fabrics, fruit and vegetables, pet food, wild bird seed, photograph and picture frames or souvenirs and gifts for tourists. On the other side of the square she entered the building of Ward, Price & Jefferson, the firm of solicitors that David worked for. It was one of the oldest solicitors in Barminster. David had joined the firm from law school and was working hard to become a partner. He specialised in inheritance law and spent most of his time helping clients to prepare wills and leave their financial affairs in such impeccable order that they minimised the tax liability for those left behind. Suzie crossed the marble-floored reception area and was greeted by the receptionist.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Henderson.’

  ‘Hello, Katie. Is my husband in?’ asked Suzie.

  ‘Yes, he is. I’ll buzz him to let him know you’re on your way up.’

  David’s office was on the second floor. He greeted her at the door with a kiss and drew her inside the office, which was sparsely but elegantly furnished. An oak bookcase held law books and volumes of case histories and two hard-backed chairs faced the large antique desk that David had bought at an auction several years ago. An antique lamp and a modern telephone handset sat next to each other on the top of the desk which was cluttered with papers, business cards, Post-it notes with scribbled phone numbers and memos, and photographs of her and Daniel. In a forlorn attempt to restore some sort of order, someone, probably Katie, who as well as manning the reception desk doubled as David’s secretary, had introduced a desk tidy set since Suzie was last here, which was designed to hold a stack of notelets for taking down messages, pens, marker pens, paper clips and other loose stationery items, but it seemed to have simply discharged its contents over the desk as its compartments were empty.

  ‘How can you work in this mess?’ asked Suzie, not for the first time.

  ‘I know exactly where everything is,’ replied David indignantly, sinking into his battered armchair. ‘How’s Annie this morning?’

  ‘Emotional, hurting. I’m not sure, but I think she’s in shock. David, I read the letters. It’s so sad. They’re so optimistic and happy that it’s just so dreadfully…sad.’ Suzie twisted her hair round her fingers whilst trying, unsuccessfully, to put her emotions into words. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later. I’ve suggested to Mum that we need to have a family evening tonight at ours so we can all talk about this situation and to save me having to tell the story several times. She’s going to bring the letters. There’s a photograph too that we think must be him, but we’re not sure. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said David.

  ‘Tom’s given me the day off, so I’ll just head home and call everyone and organise some food.’

  ‘Why don’t you try to get some sleep as well? You look as though you didn’t get much last night.’

  ‘I didn’t, but I don’t think I can sleep. My mind’s too full. I think he probably ended up as a Japanese prisoner of war and that is just too awful to imagine.’

  ‘Now I am curious,’ said David. ‘But you get yourself off home and I’ll see you later.’ He gave her a big hug and watched thoughtfully as she left his office.

  Later that evening, David, Suzie, Marie, Jack and Emily sat around the old oak refectory table in David and Suzie’s kitchen. Annie was curled up in an armchair in the corner. The table was littered with pizza boxes, garlic bread and fries.

  ‘Hmmm, prosciutto and mushroom, my favourite,’ Marie enthused as she grabbed two large slices. ‘Pass the fries please, Dad. M
um, what about you? Barbecue chicken is your favourite isn’t it?’ Marie put two slices on a plate and handed them to her mother. Annie held out her hand and accepted the plate without much enthusiasm.

  ‘You need to eat, Mum,’ said Suzie. ‘I bet you’ve had nothing all day have you?’

  Annie didn’t answer.

  ‘Why don’t you tell us all what this is about then?’ challenged Marie. ‘I mean, I’m sure we all know what it’s about, but why the meeting? What have you found?’

  Suzie glanced at Annie, who was turning the pizza around in one hand and nursing a glass of wine in the other. ‘Shall I explain?’ she asked.

  Annie nodded.

  Suzie went on to outline how Annie had searched the annex, convinced that if her mother had been so in love she would not have thrown away the letters that Emily had said she was receiving. She described how Annie had forced the catch of the jewellery box and discovered the letters. She loosely outlined the contents.

  ‘There are a lot of letters,’ Suzie said. ‘And they are all here. Everyone can read them for themselves. They are very personal and full of emotion. I sat up most of the night reading them and it feels eerie – like someone reaching out from beyond this world to talk to you – and not just him; it’s obvious that Grandma replied to him because he comments on things she has mentioned. It’s like spying on their lives. It doesn’t feel entirely comfortable, but at the same time it’s irresistible.’ Suzie paused. ‘I can’t paraphrase them all – if you want to read them, they’re all here.’ She held up the bundle of envelopes. ‘I will say, though, that it is clear that he loved her and that they were planning to get married.’ Suzie looked at Emily. ‘That was not just Grandma’s imagination,’ she said. ‘He berates himself for not being bold enough to urge that they marry before he went to war. He refers to their parents – both sets – not being happy about it and feels they should have been bold enough to go against them.’

  ‘But why would their parents have objected?’ asked Jack, as ever the voice of common sense.