The Long Walk Home

by Will North

“No, I don’t think so. He’s out of immediate danger.”

  Fiona took a deep breath. “Thank you, Dr. Pryce.”

  The doctor smiled and Meudwen followed him to the door.

  “As soon as there is the slightest change in his condition, we’ll call you, Mrs. Edwards,” the nurse said.

  Fiona stood at the foot of her husband’s bed, gazed at his inert form behind the clear plastic, then turned and left the room.

  ***

  IT WASN’T UNTIL she got outside that Fiona realized she must have been asleep for several hours. Beyond the Cambrian Mountains to the east, the sky was turning a pale primrose yellow. It would be a clear morning. There was a public phone in the lobby and she decided to try Meaghan again. Better now, before she left for classes.

  The phone rang several times and finally a sleepy voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, darling, it’s me.”

  “Mother! What are you doing calling at ...”—there was a pause as Meaghan obviously looked at her clock—“... this hour? Is something wrong? It’s Daddy, isn’t it? He’s had another attack!”

  “Meaghan, calm down. It’s not another heart attack. Your father’s had an accident on the mountain and got too cold while he was up there. He’s in hospital in Aberystwyth. He’s unconscious, but out of danger.”

  Fiona heard another voice, male. Meaghan’s hand covered the mouthpiece and there was some kind of muffled exchange. Then she came back on the line.

  “I’m on my way; I’ll be there this evening, Mum. I’ll call when I know the arrival time at Barmouth. Or should I go to Aberystwyth?”

  “Meaghan, you don’t need to come home. There’s nothing any of us can do until he regains consciousness.”

  “Barmouth or Aberystwyth, Mother?”

  Fiona closed her eyes and sighed. “Barmouth, dear.”

  “Right. I’ll call later with the train information,” Meaghan said. Then, in what seemed to Fiona like an afterthought, she said, “Mum? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, dear, I’m fine.”

  Fiona put the phone down. Suddenly, she ached.

  She drove north. Just after she crossed the river Dyfi bridge at Machynlleth, she turned left, onto the A493 toward Aberdovey and the coast. She loved the sea and needed its vast and comforting certainty. The surface of the Dyfi estuary was smooth and silvery, reflecting the gathering morning light. There were ducks in the water and cormorants skimming the surface on long black wings.

  She followed the A493 north to the seacoast town of Tywyn. The road turned inland here for a few miles to circumvent the meanders of the river Dysynni and then swung out to the coast again. At the seaside village of Fairbourne, at the mouth of the Mawddach, she found a café that was open, ordered a coffee, and took it out to the deserted beach. It was a cool morning and a slight onshore breeze fretted the ocean surface. Herring gulls wheeled and complained overhead. Just beyond the shore break, terns plunged from the sky to scoop up tiny fish swimming near the surface. Legions of plovers, probing the wet sand with their lance-like beaks, skittered away as one when she approached them. The air was tangy with salt and tingled in her nostrils. She wandered along the beach, following the line of sea wrack left by the last tide.

  There were, she realized, three forces doing battle in her heart: habit, duty, and passion. She thought about David and the two decades of their marriage and realized the odds for a life with Alec were two against one. It was habit and duty against passion.

  She felt trapped. Exhausted and trapped.

  When she got home, the house was still in the shadow of the mountain. In the front hall, she noticed that the Llewellyns had left a check by the telephone. She went into her own rooms and found Alec asleep in the chair where she’d left him, the fire long dead. She woke him with kisses.

  He blinked and looked around.

  “Oops,” he said.

  “I can’t believe you’re still in this chair.”

  “How’s David?”

  “Still unconscious, but the doctor says he’s out of danger.”

  “I’m glad, Fi.”

  She knew he was telling the truth.

  “Come with me, you,” she said, taking his hand.

  In her bedroom, she began to undress.

  “Fi, don’t you think we need to talk about ...”

  “No.” She put her slender hand over his mouth and pulled him onto the old bed. She climbed atop him, pressing her naked body against his.

  “Whatever happens, know this,” she whispered into his ear. “I love you with every ounce of my being.”

  Alec drew her closer. Fiona planted a trail of kisses, featherlight, down Alec’s breastbone, through the delta of hair on his belly, to the thicker hair between his legs. She took him in her mouth, nibbling the skin on the underside, until he was fully erect. Then she lowered herself gently upon him.

  That was all she did. It was all she needed: to be joined with him. Alec understood and did not move in her. She pulled him onto his side, still inside her, and held him tight. Never had she felt so complete. Alec buried his face in her hair, mumbling endearments.

  They were both asleep in moments.

  When the phone chirped at her bedside, Fiona lurched for it, instantly awake.

  “Hello?” She heard the panicky edge in her own voice. “Oh, thank goodness, it’s you; I thought it was the hospital again.”

  She mouthed “Meaghan” to Alec, who had sat up, propped on an elbow.

  “No, nothing’s changed. He’s unconscious, but stable. Right. Five-fifty. Someone will meet you, sweetie. Yes. Bye.”

  “What time is it?” Alec asked.

  “Amazingly, well after noon. She called from the station in Birmingham, where she changes trains.”

  Fiona dropped back onto her pillow and sighed.

  “How do you feel?”

  She turned to him. “Frightened.”

  “About David?”

  “About everything. Meaghan will be here in a few hours and I don’t know what to say about you. Which means I don’t know what to do about us.”

  “I know. Neither do I.” He stared at the ceiling. “We’re changing, Fi. No, that’s not it; we’re being changed. I used to believe that if I just worked hard enough at things, stayed vigilant and thought fast enough, I could make sure everything turned out all right. I believed it fervently. It’s taken me years to accept that I can’t. I don’t have that power; no one does. I don’t believe much in either faith or fate, but I think all the two of us can do from now on is keep faith with each other and wait to see what fate delivers.”

  She pulled him close. “I thought you were more of a romantic.”

  “My heart is; this is my head talking.”

  “I like your heart better.”

  She rolled away from him and stood. He thought her the most beautiful creature on earth. He climbed out of bed and instantly wished he hadn’t. Everything hurt.

  “I’m either too old for running up mountains or for sleeping in chairs.” He laughed. “Possibly both.”

  She came around and stroked his cheek.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. She came up on tiptoes and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’d better get moving.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  ***

  THEY WERE ONLY in the kitchen a few moments before they heard Owen’s Land Rover coming from one of the pastures. Automatically, Fiona filled the electric kettle and switched it on.

  Owen knocked at the back door, and Fiona called, “Come in!”

  The door opened and Owen came through the boot room and peeked into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Edwards, it’s just ...”

  “Yes, I know,” Fiona interrupted, “it’s how you were raised. Look, you’ve been with us for more than a year, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped calling me ‘Mrs. Edwards’? Makes me feel like an old lady. The name’s Fiona—prefe
rably, Fi. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And stop ‘ma’am-ing’ me!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fiona burst out laughing and Owen understood that David had survived.

  “How is he, then?”

  “He’s still with us. They’ll call when he regains consciousness. Tea?”

  “Tea would be lovely, Fiona ... ma’am,” Owen stumbled.

  Not for the first time, Alec wondered what the English would have done if tea hadn’t arrived from the Far East in the seventeenth century. It was as if this modest beverage was the lubricant that eased the passage from one event to the next in the course of a day. No matter how mundane or portentous those events might be, tea was the constant.

  Owen sat at the table and Fiona told him what little she’d learned from the doctor. He nodded, taking it all in.

  She brought the tea and sat opposite him.

  “Owen?”

  “Ma’am?”

  She smiled. “You’re in charge of the farm from now on. Even if David recovers, I don’t know what he will be able to do or even what he will comprehend. Do you understand? I’d like you to take control. You can do it, Owen, I know you can, and I can’t think of anybody I’d rather have running things around here.”

  Owen was momentarily speechless. Then the young man pulled himself upright in his chair.

  “I’ll do my best ... Fiona,” he said, still trying to get used to using her first name.

  “I know you will, Owen Lewis.”

  She held up her teacup and they toasted each other.

  “One more thing. I’ve called Meaghan. She’ll be here on the afternoon train. Do you think you might be able to collect her at the station at Barmouth?”

  “Reckon I can.”

  “Good. That’ll be a big help. Now, be off and make sure we don’t lose too many lambs. It’s on your head now, young man!”

  Owen drained his cup, rose, patted Alec’s shoulder companionably, and walked out the back door.

  Fiona watched him go.

  “I love that boy,” she said, mostly to herself.

  “Fiona. What sort of plan are you hatching here?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Right.”

  They sat quietly at the kitchen table for a while. Alec scanned the room, each nook and cranny so familiar to him now.

  “I love this room, Fi.”

  She looked up. “And I love you in it.” And though she smiled, it seemed to him the smile was pained.

  “Well, I guess I’d better put something together for supper. I wonder if you’d do something for me?”

  “Anything, Fi.”

  “Would you pop into town and get a couple of bottles of wine? We’re out, and I think I’m going to need it tonight.”

  Alec took the hint. She needed time alone.

  “Sure. Red or white?”

  “Red.”

  “I’m on it. Where are the keys?”

  “In the ignition, city boy,” she teased.

  ***

  HE DROVE ALONG Cadair Road slowly. The ancient stone walls and old trees cast long shadows in the late afternoon sun. The window was down and the air was warm and fragrant. Spring was well advanced. The pale greens of early spring were deepening, and the buds on the hawthorn trees were about to burst. He turned into the square in Dolgellau and parked. He wandered through the streets, greeted John Lewis, the butcher, who was standing in the doorway of his shop, and stepped into the wine store, where he bought two bottles of Australian shiraz. Back at the car, he looked around the square. There was no reason for it, rationally, but he felt completely at home here. He never wanted to leave.

  ***

  “WHAT SMELLS SO good?” Alec asked as he entered the kitchen and set down the wine.

  “Oh, it’s just bits and bobs,” Fiona said, smiling. “I’ve boiled some potatoes and green beans and browned some bacon, sausage, and onions. I topped it all with grated cheese and it’s in the oven.”

  “Sounds and smells savory and good; I’m starving. What can I do to help?”

  “Set the table? For four, I should think. I have a feeling Owen will want to stay. He’s at the station, collecting Meaghan.”

  A few minutes later they heard Owen’s Land Rover laboring up the lane. It turned into the farmyard and stopped, engine running. A door slammed and then the engine gunned as Owen put the car in the barn. The back door opened and a young woman strode into the kitchen. Her face was fine-boned and delicately sculpted, her skin pale, almost translucent. Her hair, black as a crow’s wing, was pulled to one side and fell in an inky cascade nearly to her chest. Except for the hair and her bottomless brown eyes, she was the image of Fiona, slender and petite. Alec had been expecting a college student’s uniform—shapeless sweater over faded jeans. Instead, Meaghan wore a charcoal two-piece suit with a fitted skirt, opaque stockings, and sober black heels.

  Behind her slouched an angular young man only slightly taller than the girl. His dark hair was short, spiky, and tipped with dyed blond highlights. He wore a black suit with faint lavender pinstripes, a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a loosely knotted purple tie. In the lobe of one ear was a small gold hoop, as if he were a pirate in training. From their clothes, it looked like they were prepared for the worst. “Meaghan, love,” Fiona said, taking her daughter in her arms.

  “How’s Daddy?”

  “Stable. Still unconscious as far as we know. We haven’t heard anything more this evening.”

  There was an awkward silence when they separated. Fiona waited.

  “Oh! Mother, this is Gerald. Gerald Wilson.”

  Alec wondered whether Meaghan always called Fiona “Mother” or whether the formality was for her friend’s benefit.

  The young man nodded his head in Fiona’s direction, but said nothing.

  Perhaps it was the cheap, double-breasted black suit, or his peculiar silence, or the situation in which they all found themselves, but Gerald Wilson put Alec in mind of an undertaker, and for some reason he sensed the boy was no more sincere.

  Owen came through the doorway.

  “Any news then, Mrs. Edwards?”

  “No change, I’m afraid, Owen. You’re staying for supper, I hope?”

  But the young man’s face answered before his voice did. Owen was clearly disappointed by the arrival of a boyfriend. “Thanks, but no; got to look in on my mam.”

  Fiona cocked her head and pursed her lips together in a sad smile, signaling that she understood. “Give her my love then, Owen.”

  “Will do. ’Night, Meaghan,” he said. He looked at Alec, nodded, and withdrew. Meagan turned, but Owen was already gone.

  “And you would be ... ?” Meaghan said, turning back and addressing Alec more sharply than he thought was strictly polite. He was standing by the kitchen window, watching the taillights of Owen’s car disappear down the lane.

  “Oh my goodness,” Fiona said, “I’m so sorry. This is Alec, Alec Hudson. He found your father on the mountain. Alec was ... is ... staying here; Alec, my daughter, Meaghan.”

  “I’m grateful to you, Mr. Hudson,” the girl said stiffly. She did not offer him her hand.

  Alec inclined his head slightly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Meaghan.”

  “Well,” Fiona said, “I’ll bet you two are ravenous. Shall we eat? I’m afraid it’s rather simple, something my grandmother used to make. I haven’t been able to get to the market, what with everything else.” Fiona wondered why she felt a need to apologize, under the circumstances.

  Alec pulled out a chair for Fiona and then one for himself.

  “You’re eating with us?” Meaghan said to Alec.

  “Meaghan!” Fiona snapped. “Alec Hudson saved your father’s life; of course he’s eating with us.”

  They took their seats. Fiona took a deep breath to calm herself while Alec poured wine. As he did, she told her daughter what had happene
d on the mountain and what Alec and Owen had done. When she finished, Meaghan turned to Alec.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Hudson; you must think me very rude.”

  “I think you’re upset by what’s happened,” he replied, giving her a warm smile, “and I think it’s perfectly normal. The name is Alec, by the way.”

  Meaghan softened. “Thank you, Alec. You’re from the States?”

  “Yes, Seattle.”

  “Now, Gerald,” Fiona interrupted as she served each of them, “tell us about yourself. Are you at the university, too?”

  “Yeah. Part-time, like. Doing finance, but I already have a position at Colliers, the commercial estate agents.”

  Meaghan took over. “Gerald thinks the real-estate boom in London is about to leapfrog to the countryside, don’t you, Gerald?”

  “Yeah.”

  Alec looked at him. “What do you think about the land use implications of greenfield development versus, say, creative reuse of older, abandoned industrial structures?”

  The boy looked at him blankly.

  “I don’t get into none o’ that,” Gerald said, and Alec wondered if Gerald was anything more than a mail boy at Colliers.

  Meaghan came to her boyfriend’s rescue. “And what do you do, Alec, when you’re not saving people on mountaintops?”

  “I’m a writer.”

  “Really? Should I know you?”

  Alec saw her mother shoot Meaghan a look, but he was used to this question; it was one everyone asked.

  “Probably not, unless you read a lot of economics and public policy.”

  “Alec was a speechwriter for Jimmy Carter,” Fiona volunteered.

  “Who?” Gerald asked.

  Alec laughed. “Former U.S. president. Almost before your time.”

  Turning back to Meaghan, he continued: “I do a lot of ghostwriting for other folks, too, so my name often doesn’t appear on the cover of the books I write.”

  “Gerald,” Fiona interjected, “you’re not eating. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Um... .”

  “Gerald’s a vegetarian, Mum,” Meaghan announced proudly, as if the boy had been awarded a knighthood for his gastronomic restraint. “He believes it’s cruel to eat other sentient beings.”

  Fiona was only momentarily taken aback. “Well then,” she chirped, “you just push the animal bits aside, dear, and have the vegetables. Meaghan, you have warned Gerald here that he’s on a sheep farm, haven’t you? Gerald, would you like some bread? How about butter; is that okay?”