3

No sooner had Kath begun to tell the stranger where to catch the number six bus than another man bustled up. He had a sly look, a bit like a weasel, she thought, with hair curled tight to his head like wire wool. ‘Are you Mr Mackensie? Have I got the right person?’

He ignored Kath, even though she was standing right beside him.

‘That’s right. I’m Vic Mackensie, pleased to meet you,’ the stranger said, offering his hand, which Weasel-face failed to reciprocate. What a rude man, she thought.

‘Frank Wilkinson. Sorry to be late. Bloody ferry had to wait for a bunch of sailing dinghies, of all things! Crazy place. I suppose we’ll get used to it, in time. Come with me.’

The stranger turned to Kath with an apologetic smile. ‘Looks as though they’ve sent someone to look after me. Goodbye, miss. And thank you all the same.’ He gave a funny little bow and followed Weasel-face, who was already striding out of the station.

At last Pa appeared, rucksack slung over his shoulder. ‘Hello, kid,’ he said with a weary smile. ‘No teacakes this afternoon, I’m afraid. I’m all done in. Let’s head home.’

‘Good day?’

‘Not so bad.’

They began the familiar walk home. ‘Did you see your friend today, Pa?’

‘Friend?’

‘The one who works at the Orwell?’

‘Ah yes, Joe. Thinks he can fix it.’

‘Fix it? Really and truly?’ Kath’s mind began to fizz, like sherbet when it hits your tongue. ‘Oh Pa, that’s ace! I’ll have to start making a guest list. How many can I invite? Oh, and I’ll have to get Ma to make me a new dress.’

She’d been planning to tell him about the stranger and what Charlie the ferryman had said about comings and goings at the Manor, but all other thoughts were forgotten. The Orwell Hotel was the most prestigious in the town, situated right on the corner of the main roads leading to the sea and the town centre. Although Kath had never been inside, she knew people who had, and they all said it was terribly grand. She couldn’t remember having been so excited about anything in months, not even when Billy Bishop had told her she was pretty.

Grand or not, she knew it was going to be a tall order to persuade Ma. Nothing in their household happened without her say-so – and this time she said no, which threw Kath into a two-day sulk. Even Joan couldn’t snap her out of it. She should have been revising how to solve quadratic equations, but how could she concentrate when her birthday was going to be a washout? And who needed wretched exams anyway?

In the end, the party at the village hall was a great success. Everyone said so afterwards. Kath had been nearly paralysed with nerves as the evening approached, and the first hour was a bit awkward. But after a while everyone began to dance – boys and girls together – and although some of the lads had hidden a few bottles of cider behind the stage curtains, and some of them were certainly a bit worse for wear, there were no fights.

Billy Bishop actually came – she’d feared he wouldn’t because he’d been so casual when she’d handed him the invitation – and danced with Kath on and off during the evening. No matter that he didn’t seem to have much conversation except about planes and cars; she’d never felt as proud as she did basking in the attentions of this tall, good-looking eighteen-year-old. She could hardly believe it when he asked her for the last dance. Someone turned down the lights and trained a single spot onto the glitter ball in the centre of the ceiling, transforming the dull little hall into a place of infinite possibilities.

Billy held her so close she could feel the heat of his body and afterwards, when everyone else was clearing up, he pulled her behind the stage curtains and kissed her properly on the lips. She wasn’t certain about the tongue thing at first, but after a while it became a bit of a game, like hide and seek, and it made her giggle. That was, until her brother Mark looked behind the curtain and bellowed at them so loudly anyone could hear that if Billy didn’t leave his sister alone, right now, he’d get beaten so hard he’d wish he’d never been born.

Kath didn’t care. It was her first kiss, and she was definitely in love. She had never felt happier in her life.

Her good humour was only slightly dented when the exam results came in two days later: while Joan passed them all, Kath only got Geography, Domestic Science and Religious Education. She failed four others, including the all-important English and Maths, which was a bit of a blow after all the help Mark and Pa had given her with revision. That evening, her parents suggested they had a ‘sit down’, which meant a serious chat.

‘Now, about these exams,’ Ma started.

‘Thank heavens they’re over and I can get out of that place.’

Pa frowned. ‘And what do you plan to do next, missy, with only three passes to your name?’

‘Find a rich man and live in luxury forever.’

‘This is serious, Kathleen.’

Ma chipped in: ‘Of course we hope you will meet the boy of your dreams and live happily ever after, but you’re only sixteen. I can’t have you hanging around the house all day like a wet blanket. You’d soon be bored out of your mind.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get a job.’

‘The problem is,’ Pa said, ‘you’re going to need Maths and English certs if you want to do anything more interesting than serving in a shop or washing up in a cafe. And you are perfectly bright enough to get good passes, if you’d only put your mind to it. We think –’ he glanced at Ma – ‘we think you should consider doing some resits so that you can go to college next year.’

‘Go back to school?’ she shouted. ‘With the form below? You can’t mean it?’

‘Just for one term, and you could have another go at the history too, perhaps? The school runs special classes for revision. You would resit the exams again in December.’

‘Special classes for dunces, you mean? Surely it’s not really that important? When am I going to need an equilateral triangle ever again?’

‘You’re no dunce and you know it.’ Pa’s patience was fraying, she could tell. ‘We just think you took your eye off the ball last term. Anyway, have a think about it, that’s all we’re asking.’

Think about it, she grumbled to herself later, throwing stones into the sea. The beach was always the best place if you were feeling a bit sorry for yourself: that great expanse of ocean, the wind and the waves going on forever. It seemed to even things out in your head a bit, just being there. They’ve thought about it, they mean, and that’s what they want me to do.

The trouble was, she knew they were right. She was no dunce. Yes, her teachers had warned that she was in danger of failing unless she pulled her socks up, but they were so easily charmed by a bright smile and her promises to knuckle down. Yes, her understanding of some subjects was a bit shaky, but she’d breezed through till now, confident of being able to pull it off somehow. She knew, inside, that Pa was right. She was perfectly capable of getting better grades. If only she’d concentrated harder in lessons, and done more revision instead of hanging around with Billy Bishop.

‘Oh Lord.’ She sat down on the shingle and rested her chin in her hands. ‘There’s nothing for it, Kathleen Motts. You’re going back to school.’

But there were still several weeks of the holidays to enjoy. The highlight of the summer was usually the regatta down at the ferry, where she and her mother ran a tea stall to raise funds for the lifeboat. They worked side by side for two days beforehand, baking and brewing home-made lemonade. Ma taught her how to make Victoria sponges, shortbread and carrot cake – this was the one Kath loved the most, transforming those simple vegetables into delicious moist mouthfuls.

The weather was perfect; the sun came out from time to time and there was a gentle breeze to please the sailors. Thank heavens it wasn’t raining like last year, when they’d had to take refuge under the porch of the Ferry Boat Inn. As the afternoon drew on the winds became increasingly gusty, and cries of ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ rose from the spectators as dinghies capsized in dozens, sails flattened against the waves like moths floundering in a rain shower.

Bert Stock’s Famous Funfair was in operation as usual. Kath loved to watch the little ones enjoying themselves on the rides, indulging in fond childhood memories of going round and round on the top deck of the miniature toy bus. Towards the end of the afternoon there would be a fancy dress parade with children dressed in various degrees of credibility as pirates, ballerinas, wizards or teddy bears. After failing to win a prize two years running, she’d refused to take part ever again.

Of course there was the usual official business, speeches and prize-giving, but perhaps best of all was the culmination of the day’s festivities, the pram race. Crowds gathered to enjoy the absurd spectacle of prams precariously overloaded with fully grown men dressed as babies, lining up to be pushed by other men masquerading as grotesque travesties of nannies.

Joan poked her in the ribs. ‘Look, there, in the pram. It’s Billy.’

‘Can’t be,’ Kath said. ‘He wouldn’t . . .’ The words died in her mouth. The boy she’d believed to be so sophisticated was sitting in a large pram, naked save for a frilly bonnet and huge towelling nappy, with a baby’s dummy in his mouth. His father, complete with skirt, starched cap and apron, stood behind, burly hands clasping the handle.

‘How could he?’ she whispered. ‘How humiliating.’ But neither man seemed the slightest bit embarrassed – in fact, they were larking about to amuse their friends, Billy whining like a baby and his father slapping him around the head with a rattle. It occurred to Kath that they and many of the other contestants had been in the pub for most of the afternoon.

It was at that moment she looked up and saw on the other side of the crowd a familiar face: the man she’d met at the station who’d asked directions to Bawdsey, with two others, including Weasel-face. They looked like schoolteachers or office workers, painfully out of place in their jackets and ties, and genuinely bemused by the spectacle before them.

The dark man caught her eye with what she thought was a smile of recognition, although it was hard to tell behind those thick glasses. But just at that moment the starting pistol cracked and a great roar came from the crowd. The course was uneven and it wasn’t long before many of the prams were struggling with broken wheels or springs. Some actually collapsed, tipping the ‘babies’ out onto the ground amid much hilarity. Billy and his father suffered no such mishaps and soon took a commanding lead. Just a few minutes later they passed the finishing post well ahead of the rest.

Kath ran to congratulate them, but found herself pushed aside by a bunch of Billy’s friends who hoisted him onto their shoulders, parading and crowing in triumph. He barely acknowledged her, and she headed back to the stall feeling confused and despondent.

Her mother was serving teas to the three men from the Manor.

‘Hello there,’ Kath said brightly. ‘Remember me? I was at the station?’

‘Ah yes, thank you. You were most kind. Miss . . .?’

‘Motts, Kathleen Motts.’

‘Do you live in Felixstowe, Miss Motts?’ That voice again: gentle, educated, rather posh. There were plenty of that sort at the tennis club every summer holiday, and she usually tried to avoid them. But there was something rather sweet and unsophisticated about this man, his hesitant manner rather endearing.

‘We do,’ she replied. ‘I take it you’re not from round here?’

‘No indeed. It is a great pleasure to be at the seaside.’

‘I suppose after that pram race you must think we’re all completely barmy?’

A tentative smile lightened his face. ‘You certainly have some curious customs.’

‘You found your way to the Manor okay, then?’ Kath cocked her head towards the mansion so clearly visible from here, high on its cliff at the other side of the river mouth. ‘I see someone’s trying to rival the Eiffel Tower. Is it a new tourist attraction?’

The man took the mug of tea, added a careful half teaspoonful of sugar and stirred it thoroughly. ‘May I take a piece of carrot cake too, please?’

Kath chose the largest slice and laid it onto a paper plate, along with a napkin. ‘That’ll be one and six please, sir.’

‘Thank you, it has been a pleasure, Miss Motts,’ he said, handing her the correct change. ‘But now I must join my colleagues. Good day to you both.’

‘Whatever were you doing, questioning the man like that?’ her mother hissed, when they were out of earshot. ‘You know quite well they’re not allowed to say anything.’

‘How do we know they’re not allowed?’ Kath countered.

‘You’ve seen the signs over there. Top secret, and the rest. And you asking if it was a tourist attraction, for goodness’ sake.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘It’s something they don’t want us to ask about and it’s best if you keep your mouth shut from now on, my girl, or you’ll be getting into trouble. Now help me get this lot packed up; I think we’re done for the day.’