This fact had brought her spirits lower than they might otherwise have been following the spectacular success of the concert, and she was sitting quietly finishing her second serving of blancmange, turning over the ‘Little Miss Threadgood’ award she had been given for ‘Services to Stitching’ (printed prior to the costuming disaster, one assumed), while the other girls chatted happily about the upcoming summer break, when the daily postal delivery arrived.
Ada was so used to being overlooked at mail time that she had to be nudged twice by the girl beside her when her name was called. Up beside the teacher’s table, the senior girl on roster was holding a large box.
Ada jumped to her feet, eager to claim it, almost tripping over in her hurry.
She began untying the twine as soon as she reached her table, slipping out her small silver thread scissors to snip loose the final knots.
Inside was a beautiful découpage box, which Ada identified at once as the perfect new home for Bilī; within the box was a thick envelope promising a letter from Mamma, a new sun hat, two dresses, and a smaller package that made Ada’s heart leap. She recognised Shashi’s handwriting on the gift card at once. ‘Pilla,’ she had written, continuing in Punjabi: ‘A little something to remind you of home while you’re living amongst the monkey bottoms.’
Ada tore open the package to find a small black leather book inside. Between its covers were no words, but instead page after page of pressed flowers: orange hibiscus, mauve queen’s crepe myrtle, purple passion flower, white spider lilies, red powder puffs. All of them, Ada knew, had come from her very own garden, and in an instant she was back in Bombay. She could feel the sultry air on her face, smell the heady fragrance of summer, hear the songs of prayer as the sun set over the ocean.
So transported was Ada that she was not aware that Charlotte Rogers had made an approach until the older girl was casting a shadow across Ada’s table setting.
Ada looked up, taking in Charlotte’s serious expression. As usual, May Hawkins was serving as aide-de-camp, and the arrival of the two girls at Ada’s table had caused a hush to descend. From instinct, Ada closed Shashi’s flower book and slipped it beneath the wrapping paper.
‘I suppose you saw what happened during the performance,’ said Charlotte.
‘Terrible,’ said Ada. ‘A spot of very bad luck.’
Charlotte smiled grimly. ‘I’ve always believed that a person makes her own luck.’
There was little for Ada to say in reply. Agreement seemed impolitic.
‘I am hoping to have better luck in future.’ She held out a hand. ‘Truce?’
Ada eyed the outstretched hand before meeting it finally with her own. ‘Truce.’
They shook solemnly, and when Charlotte gave a small smile, after a moment’s consideration Ada allowed herself to match it.
And so, although Ada had not expected to be anticipating the end of summer term picnic with enthusiasm, in light of her recent reconciliation with Charlotte Rogers she found herself rather looking forward to the day. There were to be games like battledore and shuttlecock, quoits and skipping, and some of the older girls had even managed to convince Miss Radcliffe to allow them to carry down the small wooden rowing boat that was usually kept stored within the field barn behind the house. The groundsman had looked it over the previous week and, after making a few small repairs, declared the vessel river-worthy.
The day, when it dawned, was warm and clear. An early summer’s haze burned off so that by midday the sky was deep blue and the garden glittered. Down by the river, a series of tablecloths were arranged along a stretch of grassy bank that fell beneath two willows, and the teachers were already lounging on them, enjoying the day. Some had brought large white parasols, while others wore sun hats, and a number of woven hampers containing the lunchtime spread were arranged in the shade around the edges of the group. On Miss Radcliffe’s instructions, the groundsman had carried a single wooden table over from the house, and it now wore a lace cloth, topped with a vase of delicate pink and yellow roses, jugs of cold lemonade and a porcelain teapot with assorted glasses, cups and saucers.
Shashi had always teased Ada for being a greedy little snout, and it was true, she loved and looked forward to meal times. Happily, the picnic did not disappoint. She sat on a square of fabric near Miss Radcliffe, who ate a number of hearty cheese sandwiches whilst pointing out the copse of trees and telling Ada about the first time she had seen Birchwood Manor – when her brother, Edward, had made them walk from the railway station in Swindon – and they had traipsed all the way through the woods before emerging, finally, to discover the house, like a vision, before them.
Ada listened intently. She hungered for stories and Miss Radcliffe was not usually so expansive. Only once before had she spoken in such a way. They had been returning from one of their Natural History Society walks when Birchwood appeared suddenly like a great ship against the dusk-darkening sky. One of the top windows had caught the last of the day’s sun, glowing orange, and from nowhere a story had unravelled, of magical children and a Fairy Queen. Delighted, Ada had begged her to tell another, but Miss Radcliffe had refused. She’d said that it was the only story she knew.
A game of blind man’s buff was just starting up on the sun-warmed grass beyond the picnic. Indigo Harding was ‘It’ and had a white scarf tied over her eyes; a group of six or seven girls were spinning her around, counting each full turn. As they reached the number ten, they all scattered backwards to form a loose circle and Indigo, dizzy, teetering and laughing, started to reach for them, arms outstretched. Ada had not exactly meant to join in, but she had walked that way, and before she knew it was amongst the group, dodging Indigo’s arms and shouting out her own fun taunts.
Everyone had a turn at being ‘It,’ and eventually the scarf was held out to Ada. Her pleasure evaporated, to be replaced at once with apprehension. The game relied on trust and she hardly knew these girls; there was a river not far away and she was frightened of water. These fractured thoughts, and others, flitted through her mind in the space of an instant, and then she caught May Hawkins’s eyes and the other girl nodded in a way that made it seem that she understood. ‘Truce,’ they had agreed the night before; now, Ada realised, it was time to put that promise to the test.
She stood still while the scarf was tied around her eyes and then allowed the others to spin her, chanting slowly from one to ten. Ada’s head spun and she could not help laughing to herself as she tried to keep her balance whilst walking towards the others. She waved her hands, listening to their voices; the air felt warm and dense between her fingers; she could hear crickets burring defiantly in the dry grasses, and somewhere behind her a fish leapt from the water, landing with a satisfying plonk. Finally, her fingertips brushed someone’s face and laughter ensued. Ada pulled the blindfold from her eyes. There was a line of perspiration on her upper lip. Her neck was stiff with tension. Blinking into the sudden brightness, she felt a strange surge of relief-tinged triumph.
‘Come on,’ said May, suddenly beside her. ‘I’ve thought of something fun to do.’
Charlotte was already sitting in the boat when May and Ada reached the river. Her face lit up with a smile when she saw them and she gestured that they should join her. ‘I’ve been waiting for ages.’
‘Sorry,’ called back May, ‘we were playing blind man’s buff.’
‘Never mind that, let’s go!’
Ada stopped where she was and shook her head. ‘I can’t swim.’
‘Neither can I,’ said May, squinting into the sun. ‘Who said anything about swimming?’
‘It’s shallow here, anyway,’ said Charlotte. ‘We’re just going to take her upstream a little way and then drift back down. It’s such a lovely day.’
Ada could see that what Charlotte said was true: reeds were swaying not too far beneath the surface; the water didn’t run deep.
Charlotte held up a small paper bag. ‘I have boiled sweets.’