Well, better to start as she meant to go on. She looked next to her at her sublimely unconscious mother and levelled her voice to be slightly louder than necessary.
‘Mama, why are these people staring at me?’
Her mother looked startled – an increasingly familiar expression. ‘Why on earth would anyone stare, Henrietta? That would be dreadfully rude.’
‘Perhaps,’ Etta declared, staring one particularly impudent-looking woman dead in the eye, ‘they do not like my new bonnet.’
Lady Bainbridge tutted disapprovingly. ‘Oh no, Henrietta. Impossible. That bonnet is delightful. It matches your complexion perfectly.’
Charlie, who had been dragging his heels behind her, caught the tail of the conversation. ‘Smart as anything, that hat, Hetty. The first stare.’
‘You what?’
‘Fashionable. All the ladies will be asking you about it, you wait.’
They reached their pew and Etta slid in next to her mother, settling just in time for the vicar to amble in. She had taken the precaution of slipping the red notebook Hetty had left her into her reticule and settled in for another attempt at her elegant notes. Hopefully there’d finally be some useful tips about how to deal with life outside of the Bainbridges’ country estate.
However, she was yet again in for a disappointing read. She’d just about got to grips with Hetty’s handwriting style now, and the more she read, the more she found there wasn’treally much of use beyond Hetty’s initial letter. This time she deciphered a list of family members and descriptions of their various personalities. Nothing new here, really – she’d already got the measure of her mother and brother, and it was somewhat unsurprising to read that Bessie really had been Hetty’s only friend – if you could even call her that.
Suddenly, a voice was in her ear. ‘Hetty, old girl, drop the book. The vicar is watching.’
She looked up to see that Charlie was right and glared at the indignant vicar equally indignantly. Etta hadn’t got a particularly firm stance on Christianity, but she definitely had a view on being judged by men with comb-overs.
‘Rude,’ she muttered.
Charlie’s shoulders began to shake next to her and after one last vicious glare at the vicar, which made him cough and continue his boring sermon, she shot him a glance. Her brother was creasing up with contained laughter, and Etta couldn’t help but smile at him. He looked at her, tears welling, and she caught the giggles.
An elderly woman in front of them with a fantastically ugly hat turned and shushed them, which compounded matters. Charlie bit his hand and Etta looked away, trying in vain to Think Serious Thoughts.
Unfortunately, the vicar had taken a detour from his sermon. ‘… And blessed be those whopay attention to the Lord, for only they shall reach heaven …’
Charlie snorted, the situation quickly devolving. At this point, Etta was fairly sure neither of them had any idea what they were laughing about. She prodded him, trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be angry with him but failing. She felt a flash of joy at the absurdity of it all. Who’dhave thought she’d ever enjoy church? Sunday morning lie-ins might be a thing of the past, but this wasn’t too bad.
Everyone stood up, and she realised it was time for a hymn. Good stuff. Tucking Hetty’s book away, she joined them. As one, the congregation sang. ‘We plough the fields and scatter,’ they belted out, but Etta’s mind was more in ‘All Things Bright And Beautiful’ territory. She couldn’t stretch to the idea of a God joining all things, not quite. But her and Hetty? Perhaps.
Chapter 17
2023
Hetty sat on a bench. It was airy and the space around her was vast, but in place of the sky was … white. So much white. And light – so much light.
This morning, a letter had arrived for her. Inside it had been a shiny, bendy plastic – she was very much still getting used to plastic – ‘card’. Aggie had helped her ‘activate’ it (although it still looked no different to the moment it had arrived) and had sent her off with Jemima for a day out.
At first Hetty had hated the noise and busyness of it all, but she was starting to appreciate it a little more now.
Suddenly, delighted screams ricocheted against the concrete pillars and marble floors of the vast shopping centre. A group of women around her own age gathered by a nearby shop. A young man arrived to join them and the friends crowded around him, pulling down his hood and ruffling his hair until he grinned reluctantly. They turned to leave and caught Hetty staring, but before she could feel even an iota of shame for being caught spying, they all, as one, smiled and nodded at her in friendly acknowledgement.Hetty felt awash with gladness as the group melted into the crowds. She had no idea where they might be going but felt a tug – an unexpected impulse to run and join them, to introduce herself.
She was shaken awake from a dream which had barely begun when Jemima, back from doing some ‘errands’, plonked herself down on the bench and immediately expanded to fit the remaining space. Hetty almost laughed at her aunt’s ability to produce endless cardigans, scarves, tissues and anything one could want at any time. Now that Hetty could grasp how the screens worked, they had been watching films and Jemima’s bag was eerily similar to that of Mary Poppins.
‘Had enough yet, dearie?’
Hetty considered this question carefully. She looked at her heavy bag of books, then back at her kindly aunt. ‘Yes, I think so. I think one could spend all day in such a place, however. What is it called, again?’
‘Westfield, lovely. A shopping centre.’
‘And can we get the Tube home?’
Jemima twinkled at her. ‘Changed your tune, haven’t you?’
