Philippa Carr: Song of the Siren

Her mother was ill, she said, and she could not leave her, but perhaps one day …

One thing I was determined on was that Jeanne was going to be taken out of that squalid room.

It was necessary to clean Clarissa and provide her with clothes, which I did most joyously. And how happy she was to be with me. Jeanne had been kind to her and never allowed her to go selling flowers alone, though she had been out with Jeanne once or twice. She chattered about her beautiful mother and her wonderful father as though they were a god and goddess, and since they had not been quite of this earth she did not seem surprised that they had departed for celestial regions.

Oh, they were happy days with Clarissa! The love which had sprung up between us on our first meeting was growing stronger every day. We were necessary to each other—she to me no less than I to her.

The journey over to England could not be delayed. On the day before we left, Jeremy told me that he had found a place for Jeanne with one of his friends and she could take her mother with her.

I said: “That’s wonderful. Life is good, is it not?”

“I am glad you find it so,” he said.

I was bold enough to touch his hand.

“I shall never forget what I owe you,” I told him.

He turned away.

Clarissa was delighted with everything that happened, though she was a little sad to leave Jeanne but I told her one day I intended Jeanne to come to England to be with us and that satisfied her.

She was full of questions as she had ever been, but her adventures had sobered her and brought her out of childhood in spite of her youth.

She asked why and how as often as ever but she asked thoughtfully now, and listened carefully to the answers.

How different it was going back! I was so joyous I sang a great deal to myself. Clarissa joined in when she knew the songs and so we rode along. She sat with me sometimes … sometimes with Jeremy. The journey was a great delight to her.

We reached the coast. Again we were lucky and blessed with a smooth sea.

I felt I had come a long way since I had set out on this journey, as though I had lived years in a few weeks. I no longer wished to shut I myself away from life. I was going to face it whatever it brought. That moment when I had hesitated outside the house in the alley had taught me that. If I was going to be happy I had to grasp happiness with both hands and not be afraid to for fear I might be hurt. I would no longer lie on my couch sheltering under my invalidism. I was no longer an invalid. I was a woman who had made a dangerous journey and achieved the impossible.

What a thrilling moment when we stepped on English soil.

Clarissa was laughing as Jeremy carried her over the shingle. I stood beside them inhaling the fresh sea air … looking towards the land and my home.

Clarissa said: “Are you going to be my mother now?”

My voice was choked with emotion as I said: “Yes, Clarissa, I’m going to be your mother.”

Then she looked up at Jeremy. “You are going to be my father?” She took his hand and held it against her cheek.

He stood there without response and she looked at him.

“Are you? Are you?”

A moment’s silence, with the gulls swooping over the water, screeching their mocking cries.

“Are you?” repeated Clarissa impatiently.

He said slowly: “It will depend on what Damaris says.”

“Then,” said Clarissa triumphantly, “it’s all right: I know.”

He put out his arms suddenly and held us. The three of us stood there.

Clarissa broke the silence. “It’s nice coming home,” she said.