Free Camellia by Lesley Pearse Page B

Bonny the way she really was, a glamorous show-off, and she hoped the plain older woman would understand.
    'She hardly looks old enough to be your mother.' Miss Peet smiled in commiseration. It was difficult to imagine how such a beautiful woman could produce such a plain, big girl. 'A hard act to follow eh?'
    'I don't want to be like her.' The words came out before Camellia could stop herself. 'She was cruel and selfish.'
    She hadn't been able to admit this to Mrs Rowlands or even to Bert Simmonds, but now she found herself pouring everything out to this elderly and intuitive stranger.
    Camellia had no choice but to leave Rye for good. Once the funeral was over, people treated her like a stray dog. They pitied her, offered her titbits, but no one really wanted her, or understood her feelings. Even weeks after Bonny was laid to rest they were all still gossiping about the expensive, anonymous bouquets of flowers which had arrived for the funeral. Not one of these mysterious admirers had the courage or the compassion to send a few comforting words to Camellia, or even a few pounds in an envelope to help her rebuild her life. The only letters which arrived were more unpaid bills.
    Mr and Mrs Rowlands were kind, but in the weeks Camellia was with them the debt of gratitude was mounting up so high she felt smothered by it. She had been working like a slave in the bakery to try to repay them. Getting a job in Peter Robinson's in Oxford Street and living in a hostel wasn't that much better than what she had in Rye, but at least she could start with a clean slate.
    Miss Peet did not seem at all surprised by Camellia's outburst. 'Shall I tell you something?' she said as she reached out across the narrow coffee table and took Camellia's hand. 'I adored my mother. She too was widowed when I was young. We were so close I didn't want or need any friends. But it wasn't until she grew old and frail that I realised just how unhealthy that is too. I could have travelled, made something of my life, but she held me too tightly. I'm not sure which is worse, the mother who loves too much or the one that doesn't love enough.'
    Camellia was a little thrown by this admission, yet it reminded her of the things her mother had said when Granny died. Camellia was only ten then and she'd gone to London with her mother for the funeral. Afterwards they'd gone to Granny's house in Dagenham to sort things out. Bonny broke down and cried when she saw the pictures of herself as a child, almost filling the tiny living room. Upstairs her old bedroom was just as it had been when she was little – her dolls on shelves, her nightdresses, socks and knickers still tucked away in the drawers, almost as if Granny thought her small child was just away visiting friends.
    On the way home Bonny had tried to explain her feelings. She said as a child she'd felt smothered by love and blind adoration, that it was too big a burden knowing her mother's sole reason for living was for her. She went on to explain how the war and evacuation had liberated her, that while other eleven-year-olds pined for their mothers, she had hoped she would never have to return home again.
    'So what did you feel when your mother died?' Camellia asked. Her own feelings fluctuated between anger, disgust and loathing, but every now and then a wave of pure grief would hit her and that was worse than hating.
    'Mostly relief.' Miss Peet sighed deeply, as if this admission was painful. 'I knew I'd never have to get up in the night to give her medicine again. I could travel and live my life without having her to worry about.'
    Camellia just stared at the older woman. She wasn't used to adults being so open about their feelings.
    'I'm only telling you this to illustrate my point,' Miss Peet said gently. 'Both of us have had our lives spoilt by our mothers, though in entirely different ways. You're luckier than me in some respects because you have your whole life ahead of you. I was in my mid-forties before