The Journey

by Josephine Cox

  “It’s no wonder we didn’t hear you at the door,” Mary remarked good-naturedly. “Mother was too busy having a go at me, laying down the law and trying to fit me up with a man who was kind enough to return her handbag.”

  “Dear, dear!” With an aside wink, Arthur tutted loudly. “Interfering again, is she? Mind you, I can’t say I blame her.”

  With her sound and wary experience of men, Lucy could tell the wheat from the chaff. Mary, on the other hand, was more trusting and less worldly-wise. The lass was not what you might call beautiful, but she was a good-looking young woman all the same, with a heart of gold and a great deal to offer. Arthur had no doubt but that she would make some man a loving and loyal wife one of these days.

  With Mary gone, Lucy bade Arthur sit in the chair opposite her. “Have you done what I asked?” she said in a low voice.

  He nodded. “I have. I drove straight up to Liverpool early yesterday and went to see him at his house.”

  Lucy gave a long, deep sigh. “Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.” Her eyes clouded with tears, she asked next, “What did he say?”

  Arthur was reluctant to disappoint her. “He was surprised to hear from me. I mean, it’s been a good few years, hasn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Nigh on twenty, plus there’s been the war and all. And is he well?”

  “None too bad, yes.”

  “What was his answer?”

  The man had no choice but to relay the truth. “Sorry, Lucy. Much as he would love to see you again, he can’t visit. At least not yet.”

  Lucy was dismayed at the news. “Oh Arthur, why not?” Disappointment shook her voice. “Why can’t he come down here?”

  Arthur explained: “He’s been ill for some time, see—bronchitis and some sort of complication, like pleurisy. He’s only now beginning to come through it. He’s not as young as he used to be, think on. None of us are.”

  Lucy nodded her understanding. “He can’t help being ill, I suppose,” she said.

  “But he sends his regards and says you’re to take care of yourself, and he promises to come and visit at the first opportunity.” Fishing in his pocket, Arthur handed her an envelope. “He asked me to give you this.”

  Taking the envelope, Lucy tore it open and took out the letter, which she read aloud:

  My dearest Lucy,

  How wonderful to hear from you, after all these long years. I hope you are well, and that you’re being your usual self … living life to the full, the brave young woman I remember from my days as a doctor.

  I don’t need to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Barney’s death in 1933. Like you, I will never forget him, or what he did. When he begged me to keep his secret, I wrestled with my conscience but God help me, I could not refuse him.

  Over the years, I have often thought of Barney, and his impossible situation, but I have never regretted doing what I did; nor I imagine did he.

  Take care of yourself, Lucy my dear, and when I’m well enough, promise I will come and visit. It will be just the tonic I need, I’m sure.

  May I say, I was most pleased and surprised to see Arthur Chives; your dear friend who, as I understand it, is never far from your side … as ever.

  Best wishes. May God bless you both,

  Raymond Lucas

  Lying back in the chair, Lucy closed her eyes. For a long moment she remained silent.

  “Lucy!” Arthur knew she was bitterly disappointed. “He will visit—he said so, and as I recall, he was always a man of his word.”

  “I know.” She opened her eyes, which were bright with tears. “Poor Raymond. I don’t doubt he’s had his own fair share of problems, but oh, it would have been so good to see him.” She paused, suddenly exhausted. “Jamie …” she whispered.

  Concerned, Arthur touched her on the hand. “Are you all right, lass?”

  “It’s brought everything back, that’s all.” Needing to reassure him, she gave her brightest smile, and for the briefest moment he saw her as she had been all those years ago—young and vibrant; hardworking and so generous of heart.

  “So tell me, Lucy, what was the real reason behind your need to see him?”

  “What d’you mean?” Lucy demanded.

  Arthur knew she could be wily. “What I mean is this: are you ill and not telling?”

  “If I was ill, you’d soon know about it,” she lied. Carefully choosing her words, she went on, “You remember how it was all those years ago, don’t you?”

  “Of course I remember.” Looking away, he saw it all in his mind’s eye. He had often wondered whether, if he had been put through the same test as Barney, he could have been as strong. “I remember it all,” he whispered. “How could I forget?”

  “And you recall what a valued friend Dr. Lucas was?” Her voice shook. Oh, the memories! She swallowed hard and went on: “I just thought it might be nice to renew an old friendship.”

  The truth was, Lucy had other reasons for wanting him here, but she didn’t want to worry anyone. Not yet. Although the doctors hereabouts were fine, experienced men, she could not bring herself to trust them for something this serious. If there was one man who would tell her the truth, it was Raymond Lucas.

  “I’m getting older, Arthur. As each day passes, the memories become more vivid.” She drew herself up. “I need to thank Dr. Lucas for what he did. I want to see him, that’s all … before it’s too late.”

  Alarmed, the little man looked her in the eye. “Are you sure there’s something you’re not telling me?”

  “Such as what?”

  Dismissing her question he asked, “What exactly did Dr. Nolan say to you when he saw you at the surgery last week?”

  She tutted. “I’ve already told you. He said I needed to slow down. That I was exhausted.”

  “And that’s all? Nothing else?”

  Tutting again, Lucy snapped, “Stop fretting! I’ve already told you, I’m fit as a fiddle—for an ’un anyway.” She chuckled, “If they want rid of me, they’ll have to shoot me first.”

  There was a lengthy silence, charged with things unsaid. The bond between them was deep.

  Even though the passage of their lives was already well run, there was nothing Arthur Chives wanted more than to make Lucy Solomons his wife. He longed to take care of her, spoil her, hold her tight when she was sad and laugh with her when she was happy. To be there when she went to sleep and waiting beside her when she awoke; to share every precious moment of her life. That was all he had wanted for a long, long time.

  Lucy knew it had been on the tip of his tongue to propose to her. She recognized the signs, the twinkle in his eye and the ache in his voice, and she had to disappoint him yet again. “I don’t want you worrying about me, old friend. You just need to remember, I’m no longer a spring chicken—and the same goes for you.” Sometimes her bones ached until she thought they would seize up altogether, and on occasions, when she had walked with her stick too far, her fingers curled round the handle and would not let go.

  Reaching out, she took hold of his hand. “I’m a lucky woman to have such a friend—the very best friend any woman could ever have.” Except for Barney, she thought. But then he had been more than a friend. He had been everything to her: friend, hero, lover, soulmate and confidant. All the men in the world rolled into one could never replace her beloved Barney.

  Yet she owed this dear man so much. “I could never have got through these past years without you.” She squeezed his hand fondly, “You have to believe that.”

  Gazing at her, his heart flooding with all kinds of emotions, he said gruffly, “You know I’ll always be here for you, whenever you need me.”

  His heartfelt promise touched her deeply. “Oh, Arthur! So many secrets,” she murmured regretfully, “so much pain. Whatever I do, I can’t bring him back. I can’t make it all better. Sometimes, when I’m in my bed with the sleep lying heavy on me, the awful memories come flooding back, and I think about Barney’s loved ones.” She lowered her gaze. “I
should tell them, shouldn’t I?”

  Arthur sighed deeply. “You must follow your heart on that one, Lucy, my lass. I can’t advise. No one can.”

  “If only I knew whether it would make matters better or worse.” Her voice broke. “God help me, old friend, I don’t know what to do.”

  “You should ask yourself: if you were to tell them, would it be to ease their burden … or your own?”

  Lucy had already asked herself that same question many times. “I don’t think anything could ease my burden,” she answered thoughtfully, “but it pains me badly, to think they may never know what sort of man he really was.”

  Sometimes the weight of it all was unbearable. “For the rest of their lives, they’ll remember what happened; they’ll think of it and the bitterness will rise. They can never see the truth. They’ll see it the way Barney wanted them to see it.” She gulped back the threatening tears. “That’s a terrible thing, you know, Arthur. It isn’t fair to them, and it isn’t fair to Barney.”

  Weighing it up in his mind, Arthur slowly nodded his head. “You must do what your heart tells you, my darling,” he reiterated kindly. “Like I say, no one can advise you on that, though once the truth is out, there’ll be no going back. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “Only too well.” The words sailed out on a long, quiet sigh. “What would it do to them? Would they blame themselves? Would they blame me … or Barney? And could they ever find it in their heart to forgive?”

  With both her hands she grabbed him by the arm, as though clinging to him for support. “God help me, Arthur, if I make the wrong decision, they could be hurt beyond belief. And that wouldn’t be right, because none of it was their doing.”

  “What about Mary?” Having seen her grow up, he had great affection for Lucy’s daughter. “Will you tell her?”

  “She will have to know at some stage.” Lucy had been giving it some thought for a long time now. “I’ve agonized about what it would do to her if she learned the real truth about her daddy, but I’ve always known there would come a day when I would have to tell her the whole story.”

  A look of pride flashed in her eyes. “Mary is strong. What she learns will come as a shock to her, yes, but I truly believe that in the end, she might just be the one to hold it all together.”

  For a moment, the two of them sat and held hands, united. Then, breaking the moment, Lucy let go and looked mischievously at Arthur.

  “Before I let you go, will you do me another favor?”

  “Of course!”

  “Knock on Elsie Langton’s door and ask her if she wouldn’t mind coming back to prepare a meal for three.”

  He chuckled. “You old fox! You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you?”

  “Well, the two of them will never get together with him in the garden freezing half to death and her in the kitchen getting all hot and bothered. It’s up to us old ones to show them the way.” She gave him a little push. “Go on then! Fetch yon Elsie back and tell her she’ll be paid double time for the pleasure.”

  Standing up, he looked down on her with admiration. “Consider it done,” he said.

  She waved her hand impatiently. “Get a move on, then! Don’t stand there until Mary’s up to her neck in potato peelings and cabbage. A whiff of that and our Prince Charming will be gone for good!”

  Arthur laughed out loud. “Mary’s right. You really are all kinds of a bully.” With that he went away at a smart pace, chuckling and jingling the keys to the big car.

  Then he wondered once more about the real reason she had wanted to see Dr. Lucas, and his heart sank. God forbid that anything should happen to her, for the world would be a darker place without his Lucy.

  Reaching the smithy, Arthur parked the big black car and walked up the footpath to the front door. Knowing how Charlie Langton was a bit deaf, he made a fist and knocked soundly on the door.

  “Gawd Almighty!” Having rushed to see who was at his door, Elsie Langton’s husband was none too pleased to learn the reason for this late visit.

  “Can’t you buggers look after yerselves for five minutes!” An old Lancastrian who had moved down south many years back, Charlie had lost none of his accent, and even less of his attitude. But he was harmless enough and there had never been such a dedicated blacksmith; besides which he always gave sweets to the children and was straightforward to deal with. You always knew where you were with Charlie, and after a while, folks had come to respect and like him.

  Calling him inside he told Arthur, “The poor lass never stops! She’s rushed in from the big ’ouse, got the dinner on the table, gulped hers down, and now she’s upstairs changing the bedclothes.”

  An ordinary man with ordinary needs, Charlie suffered from a nervous twitch in his left eye whenever things got too much for him. The more agitated he grew, the more his eye twitched, and it was twitching now like never before. “Bloody folks wi’ money … think yer can do what yer like wi’ such as us!”

  Being used to his ways, Arthur took no offense. “I haven’t got any money,” he said loudly, “and you know as well as I do that the Solomons always do their best by this village.”

  Charlie snorted and turning round, he informed Arthur, “Aye well, that’s as mebbe, but I might like to ’ave the wife to mesel’ now an’ then. You buggers up at the ’ouse want to think o’ that.” He gave the smaller man a shrivelling glance. “Besides, I might be a bit deaf, but I’ve still got one good ear, so there’s no need to shout like a damned fishwife.”

  To Arthur’s amusement, Charlie grumbled all the way down the passage. “She’ll not want to come back, and I wouldn’t blame ’er neither! If it were up to me, she’d be in the chair warming her feet by the fireside, but she’ll not listen to me, so I’ll not waste me time.”

  Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, he raised his voice. “ELSIE! It’s the man from the big ’ouse to see yer!” Giving Arthur a scathing glance with the steady eye, he bawled again, “WANT BLOOD, THEY DO! YOU’D BEST COME AN’ SEE TO ’IM, ’CAUSE I’VE OTHER THINGS TO BE DOING.”

  Within minutes there was a flurry of activity from the upper level, swiftly followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. “What’s to do?” Round and homely, and looking flummoxed, it was Elsie. “Oh, Arthur!” Her first thought was for Lucy. “She’s not fallen over again, has she?”

  “No,” he reassured her, “it’s nothing like that. She just wondered if you might be able to come back with me and help cook a meal and clear it up afterwards.” Raising his eyebrows in intimate fashion, he explained, “She’s got a visitor—yon chappie from Far Crest Farm—and he seems to have taken a real shine to Mary, and—”

  Before he could finish, she gave a knowing wink. “I see. And she wants me in the kitchen, so’s the two of them can spend some time together, is that it?”

  He smiled with relief. “You know her almost as well as I do, Elsie, and yes, that’s the general idea.”

  “And does Mary know what her mother’s up to?”

  “Well, she doesn’t know I’ve been to fetch you, if that’s what you mean. She’s in the kitchen as we speak, preparing the evening meal. I tell you what though, Elsie, she does seem to get on very well with the fellow in question.”

  Elsie was delighted. “In that case, how can I say no? Mary is a lovely young woman and deserves a good man to take care of her. Is this man a decent sort? Only I’ve not met him to speak to. We exchanged pleasantries as we passed in the lane once, but he didn’t linger, ’cause he was off on one of his long walks. Every morning come rain or shine, he’s away across the fields with that dog of his.”

  From his chair by the fireside, Charlie had seen their lips moving but heard not a single word. “What’s he saying?” he asked irritably. “What’s going on now?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” his wife told him sharply. “I’m off to do an extra shift for Mrs. Solomons, that’s all.”

  “Oh aye, I gathered that much. An’ how long will yer
be?”

  “A couple of hours at the most, I reckon.”

  He sat bolt upright in the chair. “Don’t forget to tell the buggers yer want double time!”

  “Lucy will give me that without asking,” Elsie replied. “She’s a good woman.”

  “An’ what am I supposed to do while yer gone?” The old smith looked like a sulky child.

  Elsie chuckled at that. “You can do what you always do, whether I’m here or not.”

  “Oh aye, an’ what’s that?”

  “Hmh! As if you need telling. You can lie back and snore, or listen to the news on the wireless and swear at the bits you don’t care for. An’ if that fails, there’s always your precious crossword.”

  He gave her a fond smile. “Cheeky bugger! Come ’ere an’ give us a kiss afore yer go.”

  Arthur thought this was all wonderful. The Langtons didn’t have much in the way of luxuries, but they were content, and obviously still in love after all their years together. It was what he wanted for him and Lucy. But it wouldn’t happen, and deep down he had always known that.

  With the kiss deposited and her coat on ready to go, Elsie was almost at the front door when Charlie came after her. “I’ll get yer bike for yer, lass.”

  “No need, thank you, pet. I’m sure Arthur will run me there, and fetch me back when I’m finished.”

  “Oh no, he won’t! I’m not ’aving that,” her husband retorted. “I’m not letting every Tom, Dick nor Harry run yer about. For all I know he might be a shocking driver. Like as not he’ll get yer killed. Then where would I be?”

  “Hey! I’m a good driver! I take Mrs. Solomons and her daughter all over the place, as well you know.”

  Charlie was having none of it. “I don’t give a bugger what yer get up to wi’ other folks. Yer not driving my Elsie, an’ that’s an end to it.”

  Climbing down the steps, he hurried to where Elsie had leaned her bike against the wall on her return home earlier. Taking it by the handlebars, he walked it back to Elsie and thrust it at her. “For me, lass,” he pleaded. “Do it for me, ’cause it would mek me feel content, to know yer were safe, on yer bike,” he sneered at the black car, “’stead o’ being rattled about in that there ve’ickle.”