It Was Always You
Miranda Barnes
© Miranda Barnes 2010
Miranda Barnes has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 2010 by D C Thomson.
This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter One
She had never seen the shop looking so good. Anna gave a last look round and sighed with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. Then she began switching off the lights. She had done everything she could. It was up to Mr. Wilson now, and who knew what he would say. She really wasn’t looking forward to seeing him tomorrow. She anticipated another difficult conversation.
It was still daylight when she got outside. How nice! she thought. Then she smiled and shook her head. I really will have to stop being surprised every year when March comes round and it’s like this again, she told herself. The change is predictable!
All the same, it was so good to come to work and go home again in daylight. When you could do that, even if it wasn’t very warm, you knew spring was here at last.
As she was locking the door a voice called, ‘I’m too late again, am I?’
‘Oh, Matthew!’ she said, turning to see a familiar face. ‘Nearly every day you arrive just as I’m leaving.’
A stocky young man with a fresh open face and wayward hair stood smiling at her. ‘I’ll just have to finish the job early,’ he said with a broad grin. ‘If I want to eat, that is.’
Anna unlocked and re-opened the door. ‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘Hurry up! Or the whole village will want late-night shopping.’
‘It won’t take me long,’ he assured her. ‘The first tin I see with meat in it, I’m having it. I’m starving.’
‘You could do better than that. Some of the frozen meals are pretty good these days, if you’re in a hurry. But if time’s not a problem, you could always buy some potatoes to peel and put in a pan to go with whatever you’ve bought. Has anybody ever shown you how to do that? You just put some water in a bowl, pick up a knife and…’
‘I’ve peeled potatoes before,’ he said, laughing. ‘Cooked ‘em, as well. Any amount! There’s nothing you can tell me about potatoes.’
‘Oh, really? I am impressed.’
‘We did it at scout camp.’
‘Goodness! Well, if you can do potatoes, the next thing you might consider is grilling a lamb chop, and perhaps warming up a few peas. Something like that. It would be better for you than tinned food.’
‘You sound like my mam. Healthy eating, eh?’
‘Healthier eating – definitely.’
‘I’m all for that.’ Matthew smiled. Then he yawned and stretched. ‘Another day, maybe. I’m too tired just now. It’s been a long one.’
‘Where have you been working?’
‘Up on the Border Ridge, near Windy Ghyll.’
‘Cold up there?’
He nodded. ‘Just a bit. On the hands. The snow didn’t help either.’
‘Snow?’
‘For an hour or two. The visibility was so bad I kept hitting my thumb with the hammer.’
Anna laughed. But she felt for him. Matthew was a self-employed fencer. He was out in all weathers, sinking posts, stringing wire, hammering nails. It wouldn’t have been much fun on his own today in the high hills.
‘Here,’ she said, reaching into one of the freezers for a ready-made meal. ‘Try this one. It’s not bad, and you’ll be able to get it ready in no time.’
Matthew took the packet and read the description. ‘Italian, eh?’
She nodded. ‘Lasagne. It’s good. I’ve tried it myself.’
Matthew nodded judiciously. ‘Well, Italian food didn’t do them Romans any harm, when they were here, did it?’
‘When they were building Hadrian’s Wall, you mean?’
‘Day and night, they must have worked. Mind you, they had to do something to keep the Scots out. You know what they’re like. They’d have pinched all the wine the Emperor brought from Italy.’
‘That’s character assassination!’ Anna laughed and shook her head. ‘It’s a good thing I’m used to you. Anyway, the Scots in my family only drink whisky.’
Matthew grinned and said he’d take the lasagne.
‘Another night,’ Anna told him, still chuckling, ‘I’ll have to come round and teach you how to cook for yourself.’
‘I’d like that, Anna,’ he said, looking at her very seriously now, solemnly even. ‘Very much,’ he added.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘Anna!’ He looked pained. ‘It would be nice. You could do some cooking while I’m watching the football on the telly.’
Anna laughed again and gave him a push. ‘Matthew Greig – get out of here!’
Matthew walked home with her. It wasn’t far. Anna lived with her parents in a stone-built house on the main street, at the far end of the village.
‘One of these days,’ she said, ‘I’m going to do what you’ve done, Matthew, and find myself a nice little flat. It must be lovely, having your own place.’
‘You haven’t seen my flat,’ Matthew responded with a chuckle. ‘You couldn’t exactly call it lovely. More like a dump.’
‘It is your own place, though.’
‘There is that,’ he agreed. ‘And I wouldn’t want to be living out on the farm still. It’s too remote. I have enough of that during the day.’
‘It’ll be nice out there at this time of year, mind, with all the new lambs skipping about.’
‘Aye, it is. It’s a very busy time, as well. I’ll have to go and help the old man at the weekend. He’ll be run off his feet again with the lambing. So will Mother.’
He sighed and added, ‘Really, I should have stopped my work for a couple of weeks and gone and helped them full time. But I’ve got an urgent contract I couldn’t put on hold. You do that once, and they don’t come back the next time they want something done in a hurry.’
Anna nodded. She understood. Working for yourself, you couldn’t pick and choose what work you did, or when you did it. Especially if you were a one-man band, like Matthew.
She also knew full well how busy Matthew’s parents would be at this time of year. They had a farm a few miles away, up in the hills, and they would be working day and night until the lambing was done. Frost, rain, snow didn’t matter. The lambs didn’t hang about.
‘It’s a pity, though,’ Matthew added. ‘I’d have liked to go to the ceilidh in the Memorial Hall on Saturday.’
The dance was one of those occasional events that were much anticipated in the local community. They brought people together, often from conside
rable distance.
‘Perhaps you’ll be able to get away for the evening?’ Anna suggested.
‘Maybe.’ Matthew’s tone made it seem doubtful. ‘Are you going, Anna?’
‘Me?’ Anna smiled and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not my sort of thing.’
‘Oh, you should go! There’ll be plenty going on. People will be coming from miles around. Just like the old days. Besides, the hall needs a new roof.’
‘That’s true.’
This time the ceilidh was a fund-raiser for a new roof for the village hall.
‘What do you think?’ he pressed.
‘Maybe. I’ll see what I feel like.’
‘Good!’ Matthew smiled and added, ‘If I make it, I’ll have you up for The Light Fantastic.’
‘Oh, that’s far too modern for Callerton.’
They reached Physic House, and separated. Matthew continued on his way, with a farewell wave. Belatedly, she wondered where he was going. If he was going back to his flat, he was going a long way round. She shrugged and opened the front door.
‘I’m home!’
She paused and listened. No reply, but plenty of noise. She smiled. The sounds from the kitchen told her there was nothing to worry about. She hung up her coat and made her way through to see what was cooking.
‘Hello, dear!’ Her mother turned and smiled. ‘You’re just in time.’
‘Late as usual, you mean,’ Dad grumbled. ‘I’m starving.’
Anna grinned. ‘You don’t look it, Dad. You really don’t. Have you ever thought of getting some of those trousers with the elasticated waist – for comfort? Mr. Wilson wears them all the time.’
Dad scowled with mock ferocity. ‘If I have to wait much longer for my tea, I’ll be eating this chair leg.’
Anna laughed and turned away. ‘Anything I can do, Mum?’
‘No. Sit down, love. Everything’s ready now.’
A casserole dish arrived on the table. Everyone sat down. The campaign began.
‘Actually, you are a bit late,’ Mum said as she spooned food on to Anna’s plate. ‘Did you get held up at the shop?’
‘Just for a few minutes. Matthew Greig arrived as I was locking up.’
‘He seems to make a habit of that.’
‘It’s his work. He can’t get away any earlier.’
‘Tell him to do his shopping on a Saturday,’ Dad said. ‘Do it once a week, all in one go.’
‘But it’s much better to have fresh food every day,’ Mum pointed out.
‘Well, you’re right there.’
Anna smiled to herself and kept quiet. She didn’t think that was it at all. Fresh food? Matthew was someone who rarely thought of food until he was already hungry, and by then it was too late to do anything but warm up a tin.
‘I think Matthew usually works Saturdays,’ she said.
‘Probably.’ Dad paused and thought for a moment. ‘Is he still with Eddie Cummings?’
‘No. He works for himself now.’
‘Good for him! Well, he always was a worker, Matthew. Like his father. Still building fences, is he?’
‘Yes, as far as I know.’
‘Matthew’s a nice boy,’ Mum said, shifting the focus. ‘He always was. I’m surprised he’s not married yet.’
‘Not everyone wants to marry these days, Mum,’ Anna decided to point out. ‘Not soon anyway.’
‘He’s getting on, Matthew.’
‘Mum! He’s no older than me. We were in the same class at school.’
‘I do know that, dear. All I’m saying is...’ Mum paused and looked meaningfully at her.
‘He wants to keep out of it as long as he can,’ Dad intervened. ‘If I knew then what I know now...’
Anna giggled. Mum looked cross.
‘All I mean,’ Dad qualified, ‘is that getting wed is a fool’s business, these days. The government’s seen to that.’
‘Which government, Dad?’
‘All governments! All we’ve ever had. Since… since I don’t know when. There’s no tax advantage at all now, whereas...’
‘Honestly, you two!’ Anna protested, torn between irritation, indignation and laughter. Perhaps despair, as well. ‘Just for once, it would be so nice if we could complete a meal without one of you going on about marriage, and making me feel guilty because I’m not married yet.’
‘Anna!’ Mum said. ‘That’s the last thing I would ever want to do.’
‘But it is what you think, isn’t it?’
‘Well...’
Anna watched her struggle with her feelings. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said gently. ‘It’s been a difficult day.’
Mum nodded and gave her a wan smile. ‘I just want you to be happy,’ she said.
‘I am happy!’
‘What about your job?’ Dad asked, anxious to change the subject.
Anna grimaced. ‘I don’t know. Mr. Wilson’s coming in tomorrow morning. I’ll have to see what he says.’
‘It’s a damned shame! All the work you’ve put in.’
‘And the village needs the shop,’ Mum added. ‘What will we do if it closes?’
‘People should think of that every time they go off to shop at Tesco or Asda,’ Anna said, ‘or order a home delivery. I feel very sorry for Mr. Wilson. He’s done his best.
‘We all have,’ she added sadly.
Chapter Two
Anna got to work a little earlier than usual the next morning. There wasn’t a lot to do but she wanted to be there, just in case.
As the clock moved on towards nine, her eyes strayed constantly to the window, and the street beyond. She was nervous. She sensed this might be a big day.
The village was busy. No tourists, of course, at this time of year, but there were plenty of visitors from outlying areas. Some were headed for the doctor’s surgery. Others were still bringing children to school. Vans and trucks were collecting men and moving them out for a day’s work in the woods or on the roads, in the fields or on the moors. Callerton was busy.
The ways people had found to make a living in this little village had always amazed her. There were commuters, mostly with jobs in Alnwick, or even as far away as Tyneside, but most people of working age worked locally. Most men, at least. It was more difficult for women than for men to find local employment.
Her own father travelled round the district doing things for sheep and cattle. For their owners, rather. Selling feed supplements, and such like, Anna vaguely understood. For a moment she toyed with the question of how he could possibly persuade sheep and cattle that there were better things to eat than grass. It wouldn’t be easy. Dad earned every penny, she thought with a smile.
Matthew Greig had an even tougher job. He was outdoors in all weathers, unless he was sheltering in that old truck of his. It couldn’t be much fun out on the hills in driving sleet or gale-force winds, knee-deep in February mud or working in the gloom of November. There were days in summer that were nice enough, of course, but there weren’t enough of them. She didn’t envy Matthew at all. She respected him, though. As Dad had pointed out, he’d always been a worker.
He was fun, too. She smiled as she thought of him. Even if he was a regularly late customer, she was always glad to see him. He had a good sense of humour and a ready smile. Nice-looking, too. As Mum had said, it was a wonder some girl hadn’t snapped him up by now. It wasn’t as if Callerton was awash with eligible young men who worked hard, lived decently and were good company. She sighed and thought with a smile what a pity it was he didn’t seem interested in her.
She was distracted by the squeal of brakes and the sight of an enormous 4-by-4 vehicle being manoeuvred clumsily to a halt on the empty road outside the shop. She winced as it bounced over the kerb and she forgot all about Matthew. Someone more important to her right now was here.
‘Morning, Anna!’
‘Good morning, Mr. Wilson. I see you’re getting used to the new car.’
‘Don’t start me on that!’ Mr. Wilson scowled in response to her grin. ‘I wish I’d never bought the stupid thing. There was nothing wrong with my old Land Rover. Nothing at all. I can’t think why I did it.’
Anna could. Mrs. Wilson had tired of seeing "that old thing", as she invariably put it, parked outside their modern bungalow. Mrs. Wilson had wanted to see something newer and shinier – and more expensive, as her husband had put it. Mrs. Wilson had prevailed, as she usually did.
‘Busy this morning, Anna?’
‘Not really.’
Not at all, in fact.
Mr. Wilson nodded, clearly unsurprised.
‘It is a bit early,’ Anna offered.
‘Early or late, it doesn’t make much difference, does it?’
‘Not in the first part of the week. Friday and Saturday are our best days.’
Mr Wilson didn’t respond. He glanced around the shop and began to wander, eyeing the display cases and the promotion stands, peering closely at the tinned vegetables, picking up a jar of peppercorns.
‘Sell many of these?’ he asked, waving the jar at her.
‘Not a lot, no.’
‘We should have dropped it. Dropped all them spices and herbs. They never did sell.’
‘They’re good to have, for when people run out.’
Mr. Wilson shook his head. ‘No point stocking stuff people don’t buy. We should concentrate on what they do buy.’
Anna kept quiet. She couldn’t imagine what he had in mind. Nothing sold well. Absolutely nothing! If they went down that road, they would stock nothing at all.
‘The shop looks nice, though,’ Mr. Wilson added, nodding approval. ‘Very tidy and clean. You’ve done well, Anna.’
She felt a faint stirring of hope.
‘The trouble is,’ he added, immediately quashing that hope, ‘the shop’s not making any money, is it?’
‘Some weeks...’
‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say,’ Mr. Wilson said hurriedly, holding up his hand. ‘And it’s not your fault. Not at all. You’ve done far, far better than I ever expected. Better than anyone could have expected.’
There was a double-edged compliment, Anna thought wryly.
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