War Cry. Wilbur Smith
Saffron thought as she turned and made her way to the spot where Mummy had been sitting. Her chair was empty, but her handbag was still there, on the table beside the chair, and the book she had brought with her to read, The Green Hat.
Saffron remembered the first time she’d seen it, a few days earlier. ‘Who wants to read a book about a hat?’ she’d asked.
Mummy had laughed and said, ‘It’s not just about a hat. It’s more about the woman who wears it. She’s called Iris Storm and she’s very daring and rather wicked.’
‘Is she the baddie, then?’
‘No, she’s more like a tragic heroine – someone beautiful and rather wonderful, but doomed.’
‘Oh …’ Saffron had not been entirely sure what Mummy had meant by that, but then she’d perked up when Mummy leaned over, with a cheeky smile on her face and a wicked glint in her eye, and whispered, ‘Would you like to hear a secret about this book?’
‘Ooh, yes please!’ cried Saffron, who loved secrets and could tell from Mummy’s expression that this was going to be a really good one.
‘Well, Iris Storm is a pretend character, but she’s based on a real person.’
‘Is that the secret?’ asked Saffron, disappointedly.
‘It’s part of the secret,’ Eva said. ‘The other part is that the real woman is someone you know.’
Now that was interesting. Saffron’s eyes widened. ‘Who?’ she gasped.
‘I can’t tell you, because it’s a secret … but …’ Mummy let the word hang tantalizingly in the air, ‘In the book, Iris Storm drives a great big yellow Hispano–Suiza car with a silver stork on the bonnet. What do you think about that?’
Saffron frowned in concentration. And then it struck her. She had seen a great big yellow car with a stork. ‘I know, I know!’ she squealed excitedly. ‘It’s …’
‘Ssshhh …’ Mummy had put a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say a word. It’s a secret.’
Moments like that, when she and Mummy were sharing things and it felt as though they lived in their own little world – although Daddy and Kippy were allowed into it too, of course – were one of the things Saffron loved about her mother. So now she smiled to herself as she picked up the book and put it into Mummy’s bag, taking care not to let the bookmark fall out, so that Mummy didn’t lose her place.
‘Hey you … Missy!’ someone called out. ‘What do you think you’re doing with that bag?’
Saffron turned and saw a cross-looking man she didn’t recognise.
‘It’s my mummy’s bag,’ she said. ‘I’m going to take it to her.’ Then she stopped and, suddenly feeling very frightened, said, ‘I don’t know where she is.’
The man’s face fell. He looked around as if looking for an escape route.
‘My mummy is Eva Courtney,’ Saffron said. ‘Do you know where she’s gone?’
‘Ah … I … that’s to say … must dash,’ the man said and disappeared into the crowd.
Saffron was surrounded by people yet utterly alone. More alone than she’d ever been in her life. She wished she’d let Manyoro look after her. She always felt completely safe when she was with him.
A waitress came up to her and got down on her haunches in front of her. ‘I will take you to your mother,’ she said, and held out her hand.
Saffron took it. The feel of the waitress’s smooth warm skin calmed and comforted her a little. She walked with her into the main body of the clubhouse, still clutching her mother’s handbag tight to her body with her spare hand. There was a bar inside where children weren’t supposed to go, filled with men talking about the race, settling up their own side bets and loudly calling for more beer. No one paid Saffron any attention as the waitress led her across the bar and opened a door with a wooden sign on it that said ‘Committee Room’.
‘You go in there, Miss,’ said the waitress, softly, opening the door and gently ushering Saffron into the room.
Saffron crept in, knowing she was not supposed to be there and not wanting to disturb anyone.
She saw three people grouped around the table that stood in the middle of the room. A woman was standing at the far end with her back towards her. Saffron recognized her as Mrs Thompson, the doctor’s wife. Daddy was next to her, also with his back towards the door. Between them Saffron could just see the snowy-white top of Doctor Thompson’s head on the other side of the table. He seemed to be looking down at something in front of him. There was someone next to him and as she crabbed her neck to see better Saffron realized that it was the runner, Dr Birchinall, still in his shorts and a white cricket jumper, but with a white bandage wrapped around his injured thigh.
Only then did Saffron see her mother’s legs and shoeless feet on the table, lying between her father and Birchinall.
Mummy’s feet were jerking up and down, as if she were shaking or kicking them, but the way they were moving was really strange, not like anything anyone would normally do.
Saffron crept around the side of the room, until she was almost opposite the end of the table. She hadn’t looked up at all, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye. But finally she turned and looked down the table.
Mummy was lying on her back with her arms to her side. The Thompsons were up by her head with their arms pressing down on her shoulders. Daddy had his arms on Mummy’s legs. And the reason they were all pushing down was that she was throwing herself from side to side, her body shaking and her limbs twitching.
Saffron didn’t understand what was happening or why her mother was moving the way she was, or why her eyes were open but she didn’t seem to be seeing anything. The beautiful face that had always looked at her with such love in its eyes was twisted into something ugly and unrecognizable. Mummy’s dress had ridden up and there was a wet, dark stain between her legs and on the surface of the table. And then she groaned and it was a ghastly sound that was nothing like her mother’s normal voice but more the howl of a wounded animal and Saffron could not control herself a second longer. She screamed out, ‘Mummy!’ dropped the bag and dashed towards the table.
‘Who let that girl in here?’ Doctor Thompson shouted. ‘Get her out at once!’
Saffron saw her father let go of Mummy’s thrashing legs. He stepped towards her with such an angry desperate look on his face that she burst out crying and this time when he picked her up there was no happiness, not even any affection, just his angry face and his hands holding her so tightly that it hurt.
‘Mummy!’ Saffron screamed again and then a third time, ‘Mummy! I’ve got to see Mummy!’
But it was no use. Her father was carrying her out of the room and across the bar and no matter how hard she punched or kicked him or how loudly she shouted, ‘Let me go! Let me go!’ he would not loosen his grip on her.
He pushed his way through the crowd on the veranda, and walked down the steps to where Manyoro was waiting.
Then, and only then, did Leon Courtney drop his daughter to the ground, though he still held her arms so that she could not get away. He glared at Manyoro with fury in his eyes and there was not the slightest trace of brotherly affection in his voice as he snarled, ‘I thought I told you to look after her.’
Manyoro said nothing. He just took Saffron’s hand, a little more gently than her father had done, but still holding her just as tightly. Leon Courtney waited for a moment to see that his daughter was finally secured. Then he turned on his heels and ran back up the clubhouse steps.
As Saffron watched him go she felt abandoned, desolate and completely unable to understand what was happening. Her whole world that had seemed so secure and so happy just a few minutes earlier was falling apart around her. Her mother was desperately ill. Her father hated her.