The Pearl Locket. Kathleen McGurl
younger than Margaret or Betty. She was giggling, and there was a mischievous look in her eye.
Some masonry dust fell on Ali’s head, and she coughed. ‘Let’s go back up. I think we’ll need to wear masks when we clean out this place. Bring up that box, will you please?’
Pete nodded, and handed her the torch. He lifted the box and carried it up, followed by Ali. She was glad to be out of that dusty, musty place. It was a bit creepy down there, knowing no one could have touched those items for decades. Maybe they would just throw away the rubbish and board it back up again. It wasn’t as if they needed the space anyway.
‘Spread some newspaper on the kitchen table,’ Pete said, ‘and I’ll put the box on there.’
Ali did as he suggested. How wonderful if there were old family documents in the box! She’d always felt she should ask Gran to tell her more of her childhood memories. Once Gran had gone there would be no one left from that generation who could remember the war years and before. Maybe this box would be a good starting point.
There was a thundering of feet on the stairs, and Kelly and Ryan burst into the kitchen.
‘Mum, Kelly won’t lend me her laptop. I need it for homework.’
‘He’s been really annoying me, Mum. I’m trying to do my own homework and he just stands by my door telling me I have to lend him it. He should buy his own. Took me years to save up for this, didn’t it?’
They were like toddlers, Ali thought. Soon they would have to get a computer for Ryan. They’d resisted it so far, as he was only thirteen and they wanted to be able to control how much time he spent online. But increasingly it seemed he needed to do his homework on a computer. ‘You can use mine for today, Ryan. Let Kelly get on with her own work.’
‘Cheers, Mum. What’s that old box?’ Ryan peered into it.
‘We found a door to a cellar in the under-stairs cupboard. That box was down there,’ Pete explained.
‘Cool! Can I go down and have a look?’
‘Sure. Come on.’ Pete left the kitchen followed by an excited Ryan.
‘I knew this house would have a cellar. I just knew it,’ said Kelly.
‘Seems you were right. Want to help me sort through this stuff?’
‘Yeah! More exciting than homework.’ Kelly sat down and began pulling things out of the box. There were some old school exercise books, a moth-eaten teddy with a loose arm and one eye missing, a handful of hair ribbons, a small bundle of letters rolled and tied with a piece of string, and another framed photo. This one was of a young man in army uniform.
‘I wonder who he was?’ said Ali.
‘Jack, I expect.’
Ali glanced at her daughter.
‘Who’s Jack?’
Kelly shook her head as if to bring herself back to the present. ‘You know, on my bedroom wall it says Joan loves Jack. I bet this is Jack.’
‘And who was Joan, I wonder?’
Kelly picked up the photo of the three girls and considered it. She pointed to the youngest. ‘That’ll be Joan, I reckon. That’s Great-gran, isn’t it? And your great-aunt Betty was older, so that must be her. The youngest one must be Joan.’
‘But who was she? My great-grandparents only had two daughters. Elizabeth—that’s Betty, and Margaret—that is, my gran. There wasn’t a third daughter. I think this third girl in the photo must be a friend of theirs. A close friend—that will be why they had their photo taken together. Or maybe a cousin. I must take it and show Gran, the next time I visit. I’ll ask her about it.’
Kelly was staring at the photo of the young man. Ali watched as she ran her fingers over the image, tracing the outline of his face. ‘Can I keep this, Mum?’ she asked.
‘Of course. I’ll want to borrow it to ask Gran about him, but if you want to keep it in your room till then that’s fine by me.’
‘Thanks.’ Kelly picked up the old teddy and stroked its head, fondly. ‘This old thing looks well loved. He deserves to be cleaned up and looked after in his old age, rather than left to rot in a cellar, poor darling. I wonder if this belonged to Joan?’
Ali continued pulling items out of the box. Right at the bottom was a small leather box, its surface covered in a fine layer of mould. Inside was a gold locket on a chain. The front was inlaid with mother-of-pearl in an intricate design of flowers and leaves. ‘Look at this, Kelly. I wonder why it was put in this box along with all the other stuff.’
Kelly gasped as she saw the locket. ‘It’s gorgeous. Really pretty. May I try it on?’ Without waiting for an answer she took it from Ali and fastened it around her neck. ‘I’d like to keep this, too.’
‘Well, I suppose so, though again I’d like to ask Gran if she knows who it belonged to.’
‘Joan, I expect,’ said Kelly, as she went upstairs with the teddy and photo.
Ali watched her leave, then looked again at the photo of the three girls. The little one must be a cousin. She’d never heard Gran mention any cousins but that wasn’t surprising. You tend to lose touch with more distant relatives as you get older. Not that she knew. Ali had no cousins, neither had her father. They were both only children. Her mother had a brother but he’d never married. It must be nice to have siblings and cousins.
The three girls looked so happy. At least, the youngest one and Gran did—Betty looked as though she was disapproving of whatever the other two were giggling at. Gran always did say Betty had been the serious one, who took after her father. It was sad to think that just a year or so after this photo was taken, Britain was plunged into war. It had changed everything. All three girls would have spent the rest of their childhood and teenage years in a war-torn country. They’d have had to grow up fast. It was so sad. The current generation of teenagers was so much more lucky, Ali thought. They had so many more opportunities, and freedom to do whatever they wanted. It was a shame they didn’t always realise it.
Kelly came downstairs again an hour or so later, while Ali was peeling potatoes for the Sunday roast. She was still wearing the locket, and had tonged her hair into waves, held at the sides with Kirby grips.
‘I like your hair,’ Ali said. ‘Very retro.’
‘Thanks. I was kind of copying Amelia Fay.’
‘Who?’
‘The singer. She does forties and fifties stuff, only updated. She’s cool.’
‘Ah, OK. Get me a roasting tin out of that cupboard, could you?’
Kelly handed her the tin. ‘I was thinking, Mum, we should definitely ask Great-gran about those photos, and find out who the third girl really is. I mean, I’m sure it’s the Joan who wrote her name on my bedroom wall, but I guess only Great-gran would know for certain. But more than that—I’d like to research the whole family tree. Ask her about her parents and grandparents. She’d probably remember her grandparents, and wow, just think about it—they’d be my great-great-great-grandparents. That’s way back! So, like, can we go and see her, and ask her stuff?’
It was an interesting idea. Ali had often wondered about researching the family tree. So many people did it these days, and there was lots of information online, but nothing beat starting with your own elderly relatives and capturing their memories before they were gone for good. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea, Kelly. But your great-gran’s not been too well lately. She’s had a chest infection, which has laid her low. We’ll need to wait a bit, until she’s stronger, before we go bothering her too much. I won’t be able to help you with it—I’ve not enough time as it is, what with having to work full time since your dad was made redundant.’ She tipped the peeled potatoes into the tray, drizzled olive oil over them and popped them into the oven. ‘There. Right then, what other veg shall we have?’