THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

It is April 21^st 1941 and Emily is nine today. It is a beautiful day, the clouds scud along the bright blue sky, and Edward and Emily are allowed outside without their coats. The garden table is covered by a white tablecloth, with flowers embroidered on the corners. Cook has set out plates and cake forks, and there is a platter of egg and cress sandwiches covered in netting.

‘Come and sit at the table, children,’ calls Mrs Clemens. She is wearing a straw hat. There is another lady, Mrs van der Laan, sitting at the table with her little daughter Sophie on her lap. She has recently moved into the house, joining her husband who is a Dutch Naval officer. The lady is wearing a scarf around her neck with a knot tied in the front. Emily feels her throat constrict. Her mum wears her scarf like that. She bites the inside of her cheek and swallows the sadness.

Emily looks up at Sophie. The child is staring at her with serious grey-blue eyes whilst sucking intently on her thumb. Her mother gently eases the thumb from the child’s mouth. ‘Would you like a sandwich darling? It will taste much nicer than that thumb of yours.’ Sophie flushes dark red and starts to wail.

‘She seems a little over tired, Mrs van der Laan,’ observes Mrs Clemens. Edward pulls out a chair and sits eyeing the sandwiches. ‘Have you washed your hands, Edward?’ says his mother. He nods and holds out his hands for inspection, palms upwards. She scrutinises them and they pass muster because she nods to him to pass the plate of sandwiches to Emily.

Emily notices that Mrs van der Laan’s cheeks are now as pink as her daughter’s.

‘I believe she is tired Mrs Clemens. She has had bad dreams ever since we left Holland…’

‘Careless talk Mrs van der Laan…’ Mrs Clemens places a finger on her own lips.

Emily shoots up her hand, ‘costs lives.’

‘That’s quite right dear, you are as bright as a button.’

Mrs van der Laan is biting her lip.

Cook emerges from the house with a broad smile. She carries a glass cake stand on which sits an iced sponge decorated with nine candles. She places the cake on the table right in front of Emily and produces a box of matches from her apron pocket. After several attempts, she lights the candles.

Mrs Clemens, Mrs van der Laan, Cook and Edward sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Beneath the table Emily’s right foot is tightly twisted around her left ankle in an attempt to distract her from her embarrassment. She is not accustomed to being the centre of attention.

‘Now you’ve got to blow out the candles,’ says Edward.

‘I know.’ Emily, half standing, grasps the edge of the table, inflates her skinny chest and fills her cheeks with air which she aims towards the candles. Luckily a gust of wind comes to her assistance.

‘Now you’ve got to make a wish.’

Emily frowns at Edward before closing her eyes tightly to focus her thoughts. She doesn’t believe that wishes come true. If they did she’d be back home with Mum and Dad.

Mrs Clemens reaches into a basket and passes Emily a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Emily recognises her mum’s handwriting: To Miss Emily Ferguson, c/o Tregethlan, Trevow, Cornwall.

Emily has a tingling feeling in her tummy as she weighs the parcel in her hands. Whatever can it be?

‘Open it,’ urges Edward.

Emily turns the parcel over, working out how to open it. She can feel Edward’s hot breath on the back of her neck, leaning in to see as she meticulously peels open the stiff brown paper and unknots the string. The gift is wrapped in tissue paper which she carefully unfolds, revealing an oblong box made from pale wood. A sliding lid with an oval end runs across the top.

‘A pencil box,’ says Edward, losing interest and leaning back in his chair. Sophie is gazing at the box, her thumb placed firmly back in her mouth.

Emily slides back the lid. Inside there is a roll of paper wrapped in a thin ribbon – a letter from home. She pushes the lid shut. She’ll read it in her bedroom later.

‘Edward, give Emily your gift.’ Mrs Clemens passes him another parcel from the basket. He takes it from his mother and pushes it towards Emily.

‘It’s pencils and a writing book.’

‘Edward, you’ve spoiled Emily’s surprise,’ laughs Mrs van der Laan. Mrs Clemens, slicing the cake, gives Mrs van der Laan a sharp look.

‘Thank you very much Edward and Mrs Clemens. I’d like to write my new words in this book,’ says Emily opening up the front cover and smoothing her palm across the cool, pristine front page. ‘How do you spell ‘van der Laan’ please?’

‘That’s not a word, it’s a name, silly,’ says Edward.

‘It is spelt v-a-n d-e-r L-a-a-n, dear. We come from Holland – though I am from Devon originally,’ she adds turning to Mrs Clemens.

‘Sophie gets to see her daddy,’ says Emily nibbling at her slice of cake.

‘Yes, Sophie is a very lucky little girl,’ says Mrs van der Laan, kissing the head of the toddler who is now fast asleep against her mother’s chest.

‘Why did you come to England?’ asks Edward.

‘Because the Germans invaded the Netherlands, and Sophie and I had to leave in a great hurry.’ Mrs van der Laan looks defiantly at Mrs Clemens. [online link to the escape from Holland]

‘How do you spell ‘Netherlands’?’ asks Emily, her pencil poised over the page.

‘Were there bombs?’ says Edward swallowing the last of his sponge.

‘That’s enough questions for now,’ says Mrs Clemens. ‘Emily, let’s take a photograph to send to your mother.’

Mrs Clemens walks over to the metal garden seat and indicates that Emily should sit beside her. Edward stands behind them. Emily pales as she sees Mrs van der Laan approach with the wriggling Sophie whom she places on Emily’s lap. The toddler’s plump legs are hot and sticky against her knees. She is heavy and Emily has to hold on tight to the sleeves of the child’s woollen cardigan to keep her from sliding onto the lawn. Mrs van der Laan calls ‘say cheese,’ and takes the picture. Emily slides the child from her lap with relief.

‘Thank you for the party and my present Mrs Clemens.’

‘You are very welcome my dear. Children, why don’t you run along and play.’

Edward produces The Observer’s Book of British Birds from his pocket. ‘Shall we go up to the field and see what the swallows are up to?’

‘I’m going to the library first. I want to see if I can find the Netherlands on the globe.’ Emily loves the quietude of the library, the high shine of the herringbone parquet oak floor and the aroma of beeswax. She finds peace amongst the rows of books resting behind the glass doors of the mahogany bookcases, which cover the walls and reach to the ceiling. She aims to read a new book every week, much to Edward’s bemusement. She wants to make her daddy proud when she sees him again.

Chapter 23