Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Novels

"ONE POTATO, TWO"

by Colin M. Johnson

CHAPTER 11


      "Come on," said Dr. Latham.   "Wakey-wakey!   Action stations!"

      Wendy woke with a start and smiled lovingly at the tall figure who stood beside her bed.   She looked around and recognised the pink bedroom which the Lathams had redecorated especially for their young guest.

      "Barbara and I are taking a week's holiday," he announced.   "You're included too, if you can be persuaded to get up."

      "What time is it?"

      "Seven forty on a Sunday morning, and as soon as you're ready we're off to conduct a week of intensive research into the Wendy Bradmore story."

      Wendy found it much easier to dress now.   Two weeks earlier, the doctor had taken her to his consulting room where a colleague had removed her splint.   Under Wendy's watchful eye he'd slowly unwound the bandages from her right leg to reveal soft, natural skin that hadn't seen daylight for five months.

      At first it looked almost white, but after two weeks of sunshine in the Lathams' back garden, it soon returned to a more healthy shade.   Wendy had expected soon to be running about normally, but her leg muscles still felt very tender and she was under strict orders to move with extreme caution for the next few months.

      For a surprise treat, Barbara had taken her into the shopping centre where they'd visited an exclusive children's outfitters.

      "We'd like a pair of jeans, please, for this young lady."

      The assistant found a suitable pair and Barbara helped Wendy put them on.   Wendy felt immensely pleased with what she saw in the full-length mirror.   Without that cumbersome apparatus to wear, she looked like her old self again - and in jeans it no longer mattered if her legs didn't quite match.   Barbara also bought her a matching denim jacket and a blouse, and couldn't resist completing the ensemble with a jaunty hat.

      Now, within ten minutes of being woken, Wendy was smartly attired in her new clothes, consuming a hasty breakfast of toast and Marmite, and eagerly anticipating the doctor's first glimpse of her new image.

      "Why this sudden fascination for Marmite?" Barbara asked curiously.   Wendy had chosen no other breakfast for days.

      "Just felt I wanted some," she explained, to her own satisfaction.   "Maybe Sarah's into Marmite too these days, you never know."

      "My goodness!" said Dr. Latham, almost blushing as he emerged from his study to see Wendy awaiting his inspection.   "What have you done to my patient?   Are you trying to make me fall in love with her?"

      His wife eyed him ruefully.   "I was under the impression you already had."

      He grinned.   "It's what keeps the world going round.   You'd better help your Auntie Barbara load the car, Wendy, but don't run.   Remember to take it gently, there's a good girl.   And don't spoil that stunning new outfit."

      The ladies were ready and waiting, long before the doctor finally came out and locked the front door.

      "Had a few phone calls to make," he said casually as he climbed into the car.   "Just wanted to check on a name I noticed in the Exeter phone book.   Dogwood country," he added for his wife's benefit.   "If he was giving our little one a lift home, I doubt if she comes from East Anglia."

      Cyril headed straight for the M3 motorway, leaving it near Andover to join the A303.   As they drove past Stonehenge, Wendy took a lively interest.

      "I've seen that before," she revealed with great conviction, "only they wouldn't let us go right up and touch it, in case it fell over."

      As they journeyed west, Wendy made few comments, and by the time they reached the Devon border, the Lathams realised why.   Their passenger on the back seat had fallen fast asleep.   Barbara prodded her gently.

      "Try to stay awake, sweetheart.   We're hunting for your home town, remember.   We may have passed right through it while you had your eyes shut."

      Wendy assured them they hadn't, and put a comforting thumb into her mouth.   She remained fully alert as they drove around Exeter, but gave no sign that they were on familiar territory.   Cyril then took the Exmouth road, having arranged to call briefly on the elderly Mrs. Dogwood - a diversion prompted solely by humanitarian motives.

      On arrival they were greeted by a frail old lady leaning on a walking frame.   A heavy, musty smell lingered inside the flat, evidence that Mrs. Dogwood cooked meals in her tiny kitchen but seldom opened a window.

      "So you know my son Bill?" she croaked eagerly.   "He's a good lad, you know, but I don't hear much from him these days.   I always tell him, he should come and visit me more often, but there it is - he has his own life to lead.   I'm sure he's very busy with all his travels."

      "And how have you been keeping?" Dr. Latham enquired, tactfully changing the subject.   "You've got a nice place here."

      Mrs. Dogwood gave an uncertain smile and turned up her hearing aid.

      "We're just passing through," he went on, "but we thought we'd pop in and see how you were.   We've brought this young lady to meet you.   She's Wendy Bradmore, an unforgettable name."   Ignoring Wendy's look of reproach, he added: "My wife and I never knew your son, but Wendy's met him."

      "Bill?   Yes, I don't know where he's off to this time.   He travels all over the world, you know.   I expect he'll phone one day, though I can't hear so well what people say, not now."

      Mrs. Dogwood offered coffee and orange juice to her guests, but the doctor made it clear they had to be on their way.

      "We only meant to stop for a couple of minutes, just so Wendy could come and say hallo."

      Mrs. Dogwood nodded towards Wendy and they exchanged a smile.   "Is this your daughter?"

      "No," the doctor explained carefully.   "She's one of the Bradmore twins.   You remember the Bradmore family?   Have you met Wendy before?"

      "I don't think so," she replied, "but I can't be sure about anything these days.   My memory's getting worse and worse.   I'll be forgetting my own name next."

      "You wouldn't be the first to do that," he said kindly, conscious of two blue eyes that were staring at him.

      "Nor the youngest!" added a small voice.

      Dr. Latham edged towards to the door.   "We have to be going, Mrs. Dogwood.   Look after yourself, won't you, and don't worry too much about that son of yours."

      "Bill?" she said.   "No, I don't hear a lot from him these days."

      "Oh, it's so sad," reflected Barbara, as they stepped outside.   "Why do people have to get old?"

      "I'd say it's preferable to an early death.   The police said they had a job making her understand - they clearly didn't succeed, but perhaps it's for the best.   A perpetual Tomorrow holds more comfort than Never."

      "Well, I think she was a nice old lady," Wendy gave her verdict.   "Where are we off to next?"

      As they walked back to the car, Wendy took her place between them and tugged heavily on the adults' arms until she was lifted off the ground.

      "Whee!" she cried.   "This is how our other parents used to lift us up when we were little."

      "You mean your real mother and father?" asked Barbara.

      "No.   The other ones we stayed with, Auntie Dottie and Uncle - something.   Auntie Dottie and Uncle Jim!   That's it!   Lift me up again, please.   Auntie Dottie and Uncle Jim!   We used call this moon-walking, and we sang Auntie Dottie and Uncle Jim, Auntie Dottie and Uncle Jim.   They're Mummy and Daddy's brother and sister.   Is that where we're going next?"

      "Why not?   Any idea where we might find them?"

      But Wendy shook her head sadly, and climbed into the back seat.   With no firm plans other than driving around in the hope that something might trigger Wendy's memory, Dr. Latham headed back towards Exeter.

      "There's a place I've definitely heard of," Wendy announced suddenly as they were about to take the bypass.   "Taunton, where the cider comes from."

      "Now, Wendy!" Barbara exclaimed with more than a hint of disapproval.   "You're far too young to know about cider."

      "Nevertheless, our Wendy has heard of Taunton Cider, my dear, and every clue helps - you know that."

      Intending to work his way north, the doctor was on the Barnstaple road when another sign caught his eye.

      "Tiverton!" he murmured to himself.   "Now why should the name Tiverton ring a bell?"   Before his wife could answer, he snapped his fingers.   "I know, it's in that book on canals - the Grand Western!"

      Cyril Latham had always been interested in old canals and railways, and he wasn't going to miss the opportunity of seeing what this part of the world had to offer.   They found their way to Tiverton and followed brown signs towards the canal terminus.

      It was Sunday, and there was a lot of activity on the water.   The doctor become so absorbed in the scene that Wendy had to tug the sleeve of his jacket to gain his attention.

      "Excuse me.   Yoo-hoo!   Excuse me, but I've been here before," she said excitedly.   "We had cream tea with scones and jam, just over there."

      "Come now, Wendy," Barbara challenged her, "you saw a sign saying that when we drove in."   As a teacher, she instinctively felt the need to discourage some of Wendy's wilder notions.   If her husband were to pursue every comment the child made, they'd end up wallowing in Taunton Cider, Devonshire cream and heaven knows what else.

      But Wendy wasn't easily put down.   "All right," she retaliated.   "Find me a sign that says there's a row of teapots on the wall, just around the corner."

      Intrigued, they walked on towards the teahouse, and as they turned the corner Wendy's exuberant smile suddenly vanished.   High on a shelf along the side of the house, there should have been a collection of large ornamental teapots, she knew that.   Only they weren't there.   The teahouse was closed.

      The disappointment was more than she could take, and Wendy burst into tears.   Barbara bent down to comfort her, but the doctor strolled on, seemingly more interested in the canal than his patient's distress.   When he returned a minute later, his face was alive with excitement.

      "From now on, Bubble, you'd better have faith in this child," he declared, lifting the sobbing Wendy into his arms and giving her a fatherly hug.   "I've just been chatting to someone who works on the boats, and he tells me this teahouse doesn't open till the summer.   And that, young lady, is when your teapots go on display."

      Now that Wendy had shown undeniable knowledge of Tiverton, Cyril suggested staying overnight in a hotel.   In ten years of married life, Barbara had never experienced sharing their sleeping quarters with a third pair of eyes and ears, but she conceded that Wendy might be distressed in a strange bed all on her own.   So they booked into a large family room.

      After a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, they were back on the road just after nine.   Cyril hadn't a clue where to go next, but as it seemed pointless returning to Exeter, he made an arbitrary choice and headed north towards Exmoor, hoping at least to see something of the old Lynton and Barnstaple Railway.

      "Where are we aiming for?" Wendy asked suddenly.   "I think this is the wrong way,"

      The doctor brought the car to a smooth halt and gazed in the mirror at his back-seat navigator.   "It's your choice, little one."

      "I definitely know that place," she said, pointing to a Taunton signpost across the road.   "And I've remembered another of Daddy's jokes about finding an aunt in Taunton.   Only our aunt doesn't live in Taunton."

      "You see?" Barbara sighed.   "Another red herring."

      Cyril's pleading look begged his wife to be patient.

      "You think the road to Taunton looks promising?" he asked Wendy.

      "Yes, please."   She sounded so definite, he turned the car round at once and headed east, taking the A38 as there was more chance of Wendy's memory being stimulated by features on the old road than by long stretches of motorway.

      For twenty minutes there was silence from the rear seat.   Then as they approached the outskirts of Taunton, Wendy let out an ecstatic yell.

      "I know this place," she exclaimed.   "I know it!   I know it!   We've got a friend who lives just along here."

      "Can you remember her name?" asked Barbara.

      "Same as yours," Wendy replied smugly.

      "You mean Barbara?"

      "No, the other one."

      "Hilary?   Yes, I remember now."   Barbara turned to her husband.   "The first time I met Wendy I told her my full name, and she said she knew someone called Hilary.   What's the surname, Wendy, can you remember?"

      "Not sure," Wendy admitted ruefully.   "We always call her Hillbilly.   If you stop the car, I'll go and ask.   It's just over there."

      Cyril pulled into the kerb.   It was a busy main road, but Wendy seemed certain of what she was doing and where she wanted to go.   As soon as the car came to a halt, she opened her door and wriggled out.

      "Mind the traffic!" Barbara warned.   "We don't want any more accidents.   Shouldn't one of us go with her?"

      But Cyril laid a cautioning hand on his wife's knee.

      Wendy waited till it was safe to cross the road, then walked on past several houses, and up to her friend's front door.   There was still a notable limp in Wendy's walk, but the doctor knew it would improve with time, provided she was careful.

      The two Lathams watched apprehensively from the car, but saw no sign of any reunion between long-lost friends.   Wendy stood at the door and waited, glancing back with a confident smile.   But the smiles were gone when the dejected figure came limping back to the car, very disillusioned.

      "Cheer up, Potato," said the doctor.   "You're doing fine.   It's Monday and they've probably gone shopping.   Let me go and see what's to do."

      As soon as he got out, Wendy climbed eagerly into the driving seat and allowed Barbara to comfort her while Dr. Latham strode across to a neighbouring house.   The door was answered by a man in a casual pullover and carpet slippers.

      "Good morning," the doctor began, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but we're trying to renew contact with the people next door.   It seems there's no reply and we've come a long way.   Have you any idea when they're likely to be home?"

      "I don't know, really," said the man, doubting the doctor's integrity.   "What's their name?"

      "I honestly don't know," the doctor smiled.   "It's just that we have a young friend of theirs in the car, and she suddenly asked if we could call and see Hilary."

      "Hilary?"   The man shook his head.   "No.   No, you've got the wrong house.   They've got two boys next door.   Neither of them's called Hilary!"

      Dr. Latham felt embarrassed and perplexed.   Wendy seemed so certain she'd found the right house, he knew he couldn't leave without checking a few more facts.

      "This family living next door," he said.   "Have they been there long?"

      "Moved in just before Christmas, a month or so after us."

      "Then our friend must have known the family who lived there before."

      "Could be.   They went to Canada - somewhere like that.   Hang on a minute!   Gwen?" he suddenly bellowed to his wife.   "Gwen, love, where was it the Billings family went to from next door?"

      "California," came a reply from within.   "Hollywood, I think."

      "Oh dear!   That's a little out of our way," the doctor remarked lightly.   "But thanks for your help."

      He went back to the car where Wendy was still at the steering wheel.   Despite being aware that his rear end could be at risk from passing traffic, the doctor was in sufficiently high spirits to lean through the window and address Wendy in a deep and humourless voice.

      "May I see your licence, madam?"

      Wendy's face lit up.

      "Yippee!   That means he's got good news!" she decreed.

      "I have good news, and I have bad news," he said, "but you don't get to hear either until you're out of my seat and back where you belong, you little rascal."

      Barbara looked enquiringly as her husband reclaimed his seat, and they both turned to face the eager figure now sitting demurely with her arms folded.

      "Ever heard the name Billings?"

      Wendy's eyes lifted.   She thumped her wrist on her temple like a self-reproaching circus clown, and nodded grimly: "Hill-billy Billings!"

      "That was the good news.   Unfortunately, my love, the family's moved, so even if someone had answered the door, she'd have had the wrong face."

      "Did you find out where they've gone?"

      "Yes, but I doubt if we could make it by lunch time.   Apparently the Billings family now live on the other side of the Atlantic."

      "America?   What's she gone back there for?" asked Wendy.

      "Her neighbour didn't elaborate, but we'll pursue that later.   Meanwhile we have more important jobs to tackle first.   I'd like Wendy to give us a guided tour of Taunton.   We know she's on home ground, so I think we'll start by finding the town centre."

      They continued cautiously into Taunton, and came to a railway bridge proclaiming "TAUNTON STATION" in exceedingly large letters.

      "So far, so good!   Wendy once told me she lived near a railway."

      "If you're trying to find where she lives," said Barbara, "why don't you simply look up Bradmore in the phone book?"

      "You think I hadn't thought of that?   There aren't any.   And try to remember, the erstwhile family are no longer subscribers.   Okay?"

      "Okey-dokey!" came a voice from behind.

      As they circled around in the vicinity of the railway line, cruising to and fro along residential streets waiting for some response, Cyril could sense his wife becoming increasingly restless.   Barbara would have preferred a more conventional holiday than a sight-seeing tour of council houses.   He was on the point of placating her with the suggestion of a quiet pub lunch, when Wendy emitted a sudden piercing shriek.

      "There!" she pointed wildly.   "There's our school path!"

      "That's my girl!"

      With a sigh of relief Cyril pulled into the kerb, and realised only then how tense they'd all become.   He turned to his wife and patted her arm.   "Okay, my love?   Glad you came?"

      Barbara admitted that the day had its moments.   Wendy was now climbing all over her, waving a finger at the footpath.

      "There!" she fidgeted.

      "We can't drive up there, Wendy."

      "Then walk," she said.   "It's not far."

      "Okay!   You're the boss."

      There was nowhere to park except on double yellow lines, so Barbara agreed to remain in the car.

      "Shouldn't be a problem," he advised her.   "The doctor's badge will keep us out of serious trouble, though today I'll gladly pay anybody's fine.   We shan't be long."

      He took his excited patient down the narrow path which led to the closed end of a cul-de-sac.   Wendy guided him along for about fifty yards, then stopped by a gateway leading to a preparatory school.

      Though it was deserted for the Easter holidays, Wendy was clearly on familiar ground, striding proudly onto the premises with a firm grip on her idol's hand.   She pointed out classrooms she knew well, and made several uncomplimentary remarks about Miss Gibson, accompanied by a commendable imitation of a gibbon.

      "So this is where you learned to be such a monkey.   I expect you were usually late for school."

      "Not if we used the short cut," she explained easily.   "If you drive to the next corner, I can show you the house where we used to live."

      Back in the car they set off, Wendy standing with her face on the driver's shoulder as they coasted down the road at walking pace.   On her command Dr. Latham brought the car to a standstill, right beside an elderly man in a front garden who looked up, wondering who'd come to call.

      "Why, hallo, Sarah!" he waved.   "Back again?"

      "It's Wendy!" she yelled back at him.   "I'm not Sarah, I'm Wendy."

      The man smiled and shook his head despairingly.   "Blow me, I don't know!   You two - you've caught me yet again."

      Cyril Latham leapt out at once, intending to speak to the man, but speech didn't come as easily as he'd expected.   On the verge of sobbing for sheer joy, he cleared his throat and swallowed hard.

      "My dear sir, you don't know how happy I am to find you.   You're the first person who's recognised that child since October.   I'm Cyril Latham.   I'm a doctor and I've been nursing young Wendy back to health.   I assume you know about the Bradmores' tragic accident?"

      "Yes," he said.   "Nice folks they were too.   Glad the little one's all right.   Pity about her losing her poor sister, though."

      For an instant, Cyril's heart sank to depths he didn't believe possible.

      "But wait," he said.   "Just now, you called her Sarah.   You said something about her being back again.   When did you last see either of the Bradmore twins?"

      "I could never tell them apart," said the man, "so it's no good asking which one I saw, then or now.   But one or the other was back here several weeks ago with her aunt and uncle."

      Cyril Latham finally lost control of his emotions as embarrassing tears welled into his eyes.

      "Oh, this is wonderful," he cried.   "Absolutely wonderful.   My dear sir, I'm so sorry, but you have just given me such wonderful news.   You must think I'm a complete idiot, but no.   I'm a doctor.   A deliriously happy one, yes, and not a wailing lunatic, I assure you.   You see what this means?   Wendy hasn't set foot in this part of England since before her accident.   The girl you saw a few weeks ago must have been her sister, and that means they're both still around somewhere.   We're trying to trace Sarah, you see, and her aunt and uncle.   We've been trying for so long.   It's so good to know we haven't been wasting our time."

      "Ah, well, they live up London way, somewhere," the neighbour revealed, "but don't ask me where.   What's the poor lass done to her leg?"

      The doctor looked up and saw Wendy striding stiffly towards a certain house with a badly neglected garden.   She stood at the gate in stunned disbelief, reading a sign that said FOR SALE.

      Dr. Latham quickly made excuses to the neighbour and ran, coming up behind Wendy and placing firm hands on her shoulders.

      "Needs a lick of paint," he whispered quietly, and she nodded, biting hard on her lip.

      Barbara joined them as Wendy stood transfixed, her dream turned into a horrid nightmare.   The deserted house looked so forlorn, the unwelcoming front garden a mass of weeds and long grass.

      "Who were your nicest neighbours?" asked Barbara.   Still silent, Wendy pointed.   Barbara went off to ring the bell next door while her husband stood by, comforting his patient.

      "This time you got the bad news first, sweetheart.   But the good news is on its way, Wendy darling, because guess what I've just heard.   You know why that man thought you were Sarah?   It's because he was talking to your sister a couple of weeks ago.   He hasn't a clue which twin it was, but we both know her name, don't we?   It certainly wasn't you, my love, not unless you've been leading a double life."

      Wendy quickly recovered, and looked up at him.

      "Go and ask him for yourself," Cyril suggested.

      But she had other plans.   Wendy knew the rules, and what was expected of her.

      "I need to go round the back," she said.

      "Are you sure?" he asked anxiously.   The discovery of the FOR SALE board had clearly given her a tremendous jolt, and the doctor felt a duty to be extra-protective.

      "The rest is easy," she said with a disarming smile.   "If Sarah was here, then I should find something hidden in a special place."

      The doctor nodded.   "Do you want me to come with you?"

      "If you want to," she said, heading for the side gate.   But before Dr. Latham could follow, Barbara summoned him over to meet the people next door.

      Wendy made her way through long grass that had once been a neat back lawn.   She went on down the concrete path to the old elm tree, and stood gazing upwards, wondering if her legs had the strength to take her where she needed to go.

      She took firm hold of the first iron rung and began to climb, just as she'd done hundreds of times before.   But Wendy soon discovered that tree-climbing was a lot harder than it used to be.   With her left leg doing most of the work, and testing her right leg carefully with every step before putting any weight on it, she managed to get her nose level with the hollow, and peered inside.   It was full of twigs and leaves, as though some creature had selected it for a nesting site.   She thrust her arm deep in, and felt something smooth and slippery.

      Fearing it might be something nasty, she quickly withdrew it again and climbed to gain a little more height.   Now she could see a transparent plastic sandwich bag lying there, and something white inside it.   She pulled it out and saw at once it was a note from her sister.

      In her haste to rip it open, her left foot slipped on a patch of wet moss.   Normally her right leg would have supported her, but now it wasn't strong enough, and she felt herself falling, falling....

      In the garden next door, Dr. Latham was too horrified to stop and think.   Seeing what Wendy was up to, he vaulted over the fence and ran like a greyhound to the foot of the tree, reaching the elm just in time to catch the falling child in his arms.

      She let out a scream, not because of any injury, but fearful of being reprimanded by a man she idolised.

      "You stupid little mutt!" he yelled.   "You silly, precious little fool!   You've got precious little brains, too.   Tree-climbing is not on our list of prescribed activities, young lady, and now you see why.   What must I do to keep you out of trouble?   Keep you in an isolation ward?   What have you got there?"

      He stood her on the ground.   With a glance of embarrassed gratitude, Wendy carefully opened the package, unfolded a single sheet of writing paper and handed it to the doctor.

      "To W.," it read, "when you find this, and I know one day you will, I'm living with Uncle Jim and Aunt Dottie in St. Albans.   Longing to see you again.   I know you're still somewhere - just wish I knew where!   Miss you tons and tons!   Love S."

      As he handed back the note, the doctor assumed Wendy was reading it quietly to herself till he heard the sobs.   He gently lifted her into his arms again.

      "Oh, Wendy, my love, what a day we're having!   Come on, let's see if I've done any damage to that good lady's fence."

      They made their way back to where Barbara and the neighbour stood in concerned silence.

      "She's okay," he called.   "Wendy won't be trying that trick again for a while, I think the point has finally sunk in.   Don't look so glum, folks.   We have some exciting news!"

      Wendy smiled bravely through her tears.   "Here's a note from Sarah!"

      "Hallo, Wendy," the neighbour greeted her.   "How are you, my pet?   You can't have forgotten me, surely?"

      Wendy certainly remembered the face, and knew there was a name to go with it.   But what?   Desperate to impress her doctor, she recalled a memory aid he'd once taught her.   What did she use to think of, every time she heard the lady's name?   Something to do with the old elm tree.   Timber?   Carpenter?   Then Wendy smiled triumphantly.

      "Hallo, Mrs. Wood.   Did you see Sarah when she came back?"

      "No," Mrs. Wood replied, "but someone said your sister and aunt were here not long ago, clearing out rubbish from the house.   We must have been out that day.   I was just telling your friends how puzzled we all were."

      "I've found a note my sister left," Wendy repeated.   "I don't know how old it is - she didn't put a date - but she says she's staying with Auntie Dottie and Uncle Jim.   Now all I've got to do is try and remember the way to St. Albans."

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