Free The Postcard by Leah Fleming Page A

and all the sciences, with
an effortless ability to remember stuff. She soaked up knowledge like a sponge, whereas Callie had to listen and take notes and swot up, and still came near the bottom in everything but French and
German.
    Now Primmy wasn’t listening, engrossed in Aunt Phee’s special scrapbook, a big red leather album with pages full of theatre programmes, stage photos and postcards going right back to
her Gaiety Girl days. ‘Wasn’t she pretty?’ Primmy smiled. ‘I mean, she’s not old or anything, but she looks like a film star in these postcards, and those picture hats
. . .’
    ‘I think they’re hideous, especially the cartwheel ones. Can you imagine walking down the street in one of those now? They’re so fussy.’ Callie loved the sleek straight
skirts and cloche hats she saw on the London streets, but she still preferred her kilt and jumper to any of her other clothes.
    ‘I like the ones of her in uniform too.’ Primmy turned the page to point to one photo taken in a hospital ward. ‘She served in France.’
    ‘Only in some concert party, not like your mother in field hospital,’ Callie replied. Betty McAllister had been much braver, going across the Greek mountains to help the Serbian
army.
    ‘Mummy says cheering people up is as important as making them better,’ Primmy answered back, always wanting to put a good slant on things. She carried on turning the pages in her own
time. She was determined in that way, not letting Callie bully her into saying things she didn’t mean. At the back of the album there was a pile of loose bits that spilled out onto the table:
postcards and letters. Primmy lifted one up. ‘Who’s Mr Harry Boardman? She never sent this postcard; it’s still got a clean stamp on it . . .’
    ‘I think that’s her father . . . my grandfather,’ Callie replied. She peered at it more closely, having not bothered with the scrapbook for ages.
    ‘I didn’t know he lived in Leeds. Does he still live there?’
    ‘He died, like my mother and father. I never knew him.’ The Boardmans never featured in her life: no Christmas cards or presents or letters. She’d forgotten that he was
Phee’s own father. ‘Do you know Leeds?’ She was curious now.
    ‘A little bit. Hunslet is south, I think. We pass it on the train. Do you have other relatives there?’
    ‘I think there’s an uncle there.’
    ‘We could go and find him. It’s not that far from Harrogate.’
    ‘I’m not sure. I think my aunt fell out with her family. She’s never talked about him,’ Callie said.
    ‘But if he’s your real uncle there might be cousins there.’
    Callie glanced at the address. ‘I suppose it would do no harm to see.’
    Primmy pulled out the postcard from the rest. ‘This could be an adventure, finding your long-lost relatives. Then you can surprise your aunt with our findings like in the
Anne of Green
Gables
stories.’ Prim really liked those stories because of Anne Shirley suffering for her red hair.
    ‘I’ll see,’ Callie replied cautiously, but she did pocket some of Aunt Phee’s old postcards just so she could look at them in private.
    Two days later they took a train north together, their rucksacks and suitcases in tow. Callie loved staying with the McAllisters. There was always a bustle of brothers and dogs, and telephones
ringing in the hall. Prim’s brother Hamish was a keen Boy Scout but he was going to college to be a doctor, almost grown up but still fun. Dr Betty ran some welfare clinic for mothers and
babies, and Dr Jim had consulting rooms at the side of their house. The girls were left to amuse themselves but everyone met up for evening supper in the dining room where Callie found the chatter
deafening and raucous after the quiet of Phee’s apartments.
    It was Prim’s big idea that they could go on the train to Leeds in search of the uncle, who Callie recalled was named Ted.
    ‘You did bring the card with the address on?’ Prim