Yet when she had paid her brief visit back to George Town en route to England from Australia, she had felt dispirited there too. The island had taken a hammering – not only from the Japanese when they invaded, but more significantly from the Allies in 1945. Evie had intended to visit the Temple of Harmony, but it had been badly damaged in the first round of bombing. Of the monk there was no sign. She’d stood outside the ruined remains of the colourful building and said a silent prayer that he hadn’t been harmed.
Penang with no Arthur, Douglas, Susan, and with a changed Mary, determined to cut herself off from everything while she regained her strength, made Evie feel sad. Just as Mary believed she had no place anywhere else, Evie wondered where she herself belonged. It wasn’t Penang, nor London. For her children’s sake she had to make some kind of life in England, but it felt like a chore, not a positive choice. Perhaps she belonged nowhere – one of the many people made rootless and displaced by war.
She told herself to buck up. Her role was to make things as right as possible for Jasmine and Hugh, to give them stability, security and love, and to support them in whatever choices they made as they grew up. She stretched out a hand and pushed a stray lock of hair away from her son’s forehead. He looked so like Douglas - the same thick brown hair and intense blue eyes. Sometimes there would be an echo of Doug in a small mannerism, an inclination of the head or an intonation of voice. But there was none of Doug’s dark brooding or abrupt mood changes in Hugh. The little boy had a sunny disposition and Evie was increasingly sure if it had not been for the loss of his mother and brother and the cruelty of his unloving father, Doug might have been a different man.
Jasmine was looking out of the window, still watching the passers-by.
Evie glanced at her wristwatch. They needed to think about heading for Waterloo soon. Reluctantly, she pushed her feet back into her shoes.
Jasmine gave a little cry. ‘Look Mummy! I’m sure that was him.’
Evie looked up. ‘What did you say?’
‘Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know… Hard to tell as he’s on the other side of the street.’ Jasmine peered through the window
‘Who? What are you talking about, darling?’
‘Uncle Arthur. He used to come to see us when Daddy was alive. You––’
Before Jasmine could finish speaking, Evie was on her feet. ‘Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be back.’ She rushed out of the café, bursting through the door and onto the crowded street.
Dodging behind a bus and weaving between taxicabs, she reached the other side of the street, looking about her, frantically. If Arthur had indeed been there, how could she possibly spot him among all these people? Which direction had he gone in? She ran one way, stopped, and ran back the other way, panic mounting inside her. Why hadn’t she been looking out of the windows herself? How could she have come so close, only to lose him in the crowds? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. Tears of frustration pressed at her eyes and she stood on the pavement, coatless but oblivious to the cold of the day. If Arthur had been here, he had gone now. And maybe Jasmine had been wrong. After all, it was five years since she’d seen Arthur Leighton. Evie moved towards the kerb to return to Lyons’. A bolt of recognition shot through her and she froze, then spun round.
He was bent over, tying a shoelace. As he stood up, he saw Evie and his face contorted in shock. His skin was pale, his features gaunt, his eyes haunted. But it was Arthur. They stood facing each other on the edge of the pavement as people moved past them.
‘Evie. Is it really you? I thought you’d died in the bombing. In Singapore.’
She stared at him, still trying to absorb this was actually Arthur. ‘I wasn’t in Singapore. I never got off the train. They wouldn’t let us. They took us straight to the port. I left Malaya the day after I said goodbye to you in Butterworth.’ The two feet of pavement between them felt like a widening chasm. ‘And you? Everyone said you must have been killed. I asked everywhere. The Colonial Office. I went back to Penang. But no matter what they said, I knew if you were dead I would have known. I’d have sensed it.’
He winced and she felt unsure of herself. The cold of the advancing January afternoon made her shiver, standing there in just a skirt and jumper.
‘You’ll freeze to death. Where’s your coat?’ He undid his own and draped it around her shoulders.
Evie was shocked at the thinness of him. Arthur had had an athletic figure, tall, muscular, strong, even if he was often a sloucher. But his shoulders were stooped and he had the same gnarled and bony hands she had seen in Mary. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze.
‘Where did you come from?’ he asked.
‘Over there.’ She gestured across the road. ‘Lyons Corner House. Jasmine saw you through the window. Come,’ she said. ‘Come and see the children.’
He guided her across the street. The noise of horns and the rattle of the trams preventing him from replying until they reached the other pavement.
‘I can’t stop, Evie. I have a meeting. Where are you staying?’ He was still avoiding her eyes.
‘I’ve rented a house. In Surrey. Near Reigate.’
There was a distance between them which Evie found inexplicable. As if they barely knew each other. Polite. Awkward. Strained.
‘Look. I can’t talk now. I have to go to the Colonial Office. I’ve given my notice and the Permanent Secretary wants to talk to me. I’m going to be late.’
‘You’re leaving the Foreign Service?’
‘I’ve accepted a position at Oxford. Teaching and research. Colonial History.’
‘I see.’ She didn’t at
