The Light Between Oceans(77)

Hannah was terrified by the moments when she lost patience with her daughter, who at first would eat and sleep and be bathed only after pitched battles, and later simply withdrew into herself. In none of her years of daydreams, or even her nightmares, had her imagination managed anything as awful as this.

In desperation, she took the child to Dr Sumpton.

‘Well,’ said the rotund doctor as he put his stethoscope back on his desk, ‘physically she’s perfectly healthy.’ He pushed the jar of jellybeans in Grace’s direction. ‘Help yourself, young lady.’

The girl, still terrified from her first encounter with him at the police station, stayed mute, and Hannah offered her the jar. ‘Go on. Any colour you like, darling.’ But her daughter turned her head away, and took up a strand of hair to curl around her finger.

‘And she’s been wetting the bed, you say?’

‘Often. At her age, surely you’d normally expect—’

‘You hardly need me to remind you that these aren’t normal circumstances.’ He rang a bell on his desk and, after a discreet knock, a white-haired woman entered.

‘Mrs Fripp, take little Grace out to sit with you while I have a word with her mother, would you?’

The woman smiled. ‘Come on, dear, let’s see if we can find a biscuit for you somewhere,’ she said, and led the listless child away.

Hannah began. ‘I don’t know what to do, what to say. She still keeps asking for …’ she stumbled, ‘for Isabel Sherbourne.’

‘What have you said about her?’

‘Nothing. I’ve told her that I’m her mother and I love her and—’

‘Well, you have to say something about Mrs Sherbourne.’

‘But what?’

‘My suggestion is that you just tell her she and her husband had to go away.’

‘Go away where, why?’

‘It doesn’t really matter at that age. Just as long as she has an answer to her question. She’ll forget eventually – if there’s nothing around to remind her of the Sherbournes. She’ll get used to her new home. I’ve seen it often enough with adopted orphans and so forth.’

‘But she gets into such a state. I just want to do the right thing for her.’

‘You don’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, I’m afraid, Mrs Roennfeldt. Fate’s dealt this little girl a pretty tough set of cards, and there’s nothing you can do about that. Eventually those two will fade from her mind, as long as she doesn’t keep in contact with them. And in the meantime, give her a drop of the sleeping draught if she’s too anxious or unsettled. Won’t do her any harm.’





CHAPTER 28



‘YOU STAY AWAY from that man, you hear me?’

‘I’ve got to go and see him, Ma. He’s been in the lock-up for ages! This is all my fault!’ lamented Bluey.

‘Don’t talk rubbish. You’ve reunited a baby with her mother, and you’re about to pocket three thousand guineas reward.’ Mrs Smart took the iron from the stove, and pressed the tablecloth harder with each sentence. ‘Use your loaf, boy. You’ve done your bit, now just keep out of it!’

‘He’s in more trouble than the early settlers, Ma. I don’t reckon this is gonna turn out good for him.’

‘That’s not your lookout, sonny. Now out the back and get on with weeding the rose bed.’

By reflex, Bluey took a step towards the back door, as his mother muttered, ‘Oh, to have been left with the halfwit son!’

He stopped, and to her astonishment, pulled himself up to his full height. ‘Yeah, well I may be a halfwit, but I’m not a dobber. And I’m not the sort of bloke that deserts his mates.’ He turned and headed for the front door.

‘Just where do you think you’re going, Jeremiah Smart?’

‘Out, Ma!’

‘Over my dead body!’ she snapped, blocking his way.

She was all of five feet tall. Bluey topped six foot. ‘Sorry,’ he said as he picked his mother up by the waist as easily as a piece of sandalwood, and put her down lightly to one side. He left her, jaw agape, eyes flaming, as he walked out of the door and down the front path.



Bluey took in the scene. The tiny space, the slop bucket in the corner, the tin mug on a table that was bolted to the floor. In all the years he had known Tom, he had never seen him unshaven; never seen his hair uncombed, his shirt creased. Now he had dark gulleys under his eyes, and his cheekbones rose like ridges above his square jaw.

‘Tom! Good to see you, mate,’ declared the visitor, in a phrase that brought them both back to days of jetty landings and long voyages, when they were, truly, glad to see one another.

Bluey tried to look at Tom’s face, but could not negotiate the space between the bars, so either the face or the bars were out of focus. He searched for a few moments before coming up with, ‘How are things?’

‘I’ve been better.’

Bluey fidgeted with the hat in his hands until he screwed up his courage. ‘I’m not going to take the reward, mate.’ The words tumbled out. ‘Wouldn’t be right.’

Tom looked off to his side for a moment. ‘Thought there must have been some reason you didn’t come out with the troopers.’ He sounded uninterested rather than angry.