Fern Britton - The Postcard

‘Good girl.’ He looked up towards the house. ‘All quiet on the Western Front?’

She nodded.

‘Want a cup of coffee?’

‘With sugar?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Of course.’

In the far corner of his greenhouse was hidden a little camping stove, a bottle of water, jars of coffee and sugar and a tin of Carnation milk. There was also, hidden in a large cardboard box, a bottle of Gordon’s gin: another delicious secret that no one else shared.

The smell of the methylated spirits and the match as it caught the flame for the camping stove was intoxicating.

‘Do take a seat, madam.’ Her father snapped open a rickety folding chair and placed an ancient chintz cushion on the seat. She sat, her bare feet, with sodden grass stalks sticking to them, barely touching the gravel floor.

‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked. ‘You must be cold in your nightie. Here, would you like my cardigan?’

She nodded and enjoyed the warmth of his body heat stored in the wool as he draped it over her shoulders. The kettle was boiling and he made them drinks. He had two spoons of coffee, no sugar and black. She had one teaspoon of coffee, two of sugar and a large dollop of the condensed milk. She didn’t really like coffee but she didn’t want to hurt him by saying so.

He sat on an old wooden crate and pulled a serious face.

‘So, young lady, what have you got on at school today? Latin? Quantum Physics? Or a little light dissection?’

She giggled. ‘Daddy, I’m only seven. I’ve got reading. Sums, I think. Music and playing.’

‘A full and busy day then.’

She nodded. ‘Yep. What about you?’

He lit another cigarette. Rothmans. Penny thought them terribly glamorous.

‘Well, I’ve got to show a lady and a man around a very nice house that I think they should buy.’

‘Why do you think they should buy it?’

‘Because it is pretty, has a sunny garden, and their little boy will be able to play cricket on the lawn.’

Penny drank her coffee. The sugar and the Carnation milk made it just about bearable. ‘Can I come andsee it?’

‘No. Sorry, madam.’

‘Is it as nice as our house?’

‘Gosh, no. Ours is much nicer. And do you know why it’s nicer?’

Penny shook her head.

‘Because you live in it.’

‘And Suzie. And Mummy,’ she said loyally.

Her father stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Of course. Them too. Now, are you going to help me open these roof lights? It’s going to be hot today.’

For twenty minutes or so she helped him with the windows and fed the little goldfish in the pond and put out some birdseed while he pottered in the veg patch checking on the peas and lettuces.

They heard the back door open. Her mother stood on the step. ‘Mike? Are you out there with Penny?’

‘Yes, my love.’ He smiled and waved to his wife. ‘We’ve just been doing the early jobs.’

‘Well, come in or she’ll be late for school.’

Penny couldn’t recall the next hour or so, although over the years she had tried. There must have been breakfast, getting ready for school, kissing her mother goodbye and hugging her baby sister. But try as she might there was a blank. Her memory jumped straight from her father holding her hand as they walked back across the lawn, to the interior of her father’s car. It was big and dark green and the leather seats were warm under her bare legs. When it was just the two of them her father let her sit in the front next to him. Sometimes he let her change gear, instructing her when and how to do it. This morning was one of those days.

‘And into third. Good girl. And up into fourth.’

It was a happy morning. Even the man on the radio reading the news sounded happy. When the news ended and some music came on, her father lit another cigarette and opened his window, leaning his right elbow out into the warm air and tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. She was looking out of her window at a little dog walking smartly on a lead with a pretty lady in a pink coat when they stopped at the traffic lights. The noise and impact of the car running into the back of them was like an earthquake.

There was silence and then she started to cry. Her father asked in a rasping voice, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes,’ she said through shocked tears.

‘Thank God.’ Her father, ashen, and with a sheen of sweat on his forehead, was finding it hard to speak, gasping for every word. Penny was scared. ‘Daddy? What’s the matter?’

Her father’s lips were going blue and his eyes were starey.

A man watching from the pavement ran towards them and spoke through the open window.

‘You OK, sir? I saw it happen. Wasn’t your fault, it was the bloke behind.’

Her father didn’t answer him. He was still struggling for breath but was now clutching at his left arm.

‘Daddy!’ Penny was frightened. ‘Daddy, what’s the matter?’

The man called the gathering crowd for help. ‘Quick, someone call an ambulance. This bloke’s having a heart attack.’

The police were very kind to Penny and a young police lady took her to school. Years later, when she was an adult, Penny wondered why she’d been taken to school at all. Let alone by a policewoman. Had they phoned her mother and she’d suggested it? That would make sense as it meant her mother could then go straight to the hospital. But who had looked after Suzie? Either way, Penny’s next memory was of being called out of her reading class and being taken to the headmistress’s study.

‘Ah, Penny,’ she’d said, ‘do sit down. You’ve had quite an adventure this morning.’

Penny didn’t know how to answer this so she just nodded.

‘Your daddy has been taken ill but the doctors are looking after him. Hopefully he’ll be OK but you may have to prepare yourself to be a very brave girl.’ Mrs Tyler looked directly into Penny’s eyes. ‘You understand?’

Penny didn’t understand, but said, ‘Yes.’

‘Good girl. Now, off you pop and be good for Mummy when you get home tonight.’

Penny spent the rest of the day in fear.

Somebody must have taken her home from school. It certainly wasn’t her mother because she was already home when Penny returned.

Penny ran to her and hugged her with relief. ‘How’s Daddy?’

Margot unwrapped herself from Penny. ‘He’s been very silly. He’s been smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much gin. I’m very cross with him and so are the doctors.’

‘I told him off this morning,’ Penny said without thinking.

‘Told him off? Why?’

Penny was afraid she’d got her father into trouble. ‘Because …’

‘Was he smoking in the garden?’

Penny said nothing.

Her mother strode in to the kitchen and wrenched the back door open. Penny ran after her but couldn’t stop her finding the two cigarette butts. ‘Was he smoking these?’ Margot held them up.

Penny nodded and moved instinctively to protect the large cardboard box containing the contraband gin. Margot reached past her and opened the box.

She pulled out the bottle. ‘Did you know this was here?’

Penny remained mute. Margot shouted. ‘ Did you know this was here?’

‘Yes,’ Penny said, feeling like a traitor.

Her mother looked at Penny with poison. ‘So you are responsible. It’s your fault he’s in the hospital. If you had stopped him, we wouldn’t be in this mess but if he dies now we won’t have anything. No Daddy, no money. If we are thrown out of this house it will be your fault. I hope you remember that.’ Penny lived in fear for several days, expecting to hear that her father had died and that it was all her fault. But he came back to her. That time.

*