Lily's Journey

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Come on, Lily!’ Kate cried at me. ‘Try and catch some!’

  She was jostling along the crowded pavement, trying to keep pace with Mr Cribbett’s lorry that had been cleaned of coal-dust for the occasion. The lady from Bolts and another woman I didn’t recognise were standing in the back and throwing sweets and packets of crisps to the spectators as the procession moved slowly through the village.

  ‘Oh, look at those little ones! Aren’t they cute?’ Sally chuckled beside me.

  ‘Oh, yes, and look at that little boy!’ I smiled back. ‘The one dressed as Robin Hood! Isn’t his costume good?’

  ‘I wonder where his mum got the material from.’

  ‘Dyed an old sheet green, I should think, and made it. She must be pretty clever with a needle. I wonder if she made Maid Marian’s as well.’

  ‘We’d better catch Kate up before she takes all the sweets and crisps,’ Sally laughed. ‘Collects them for her little brothers and sisters, she does.’

  I followed in her wake as she elbowed her way through the crowds that lined the streets. I lost her for a moment, and it was then that I almost collided with the tall figure skulking against the wall of the building behind as if wanting to witness the festivities and yet remain invisible at the same time. It was difficult, though, with him being so tall, a good six foot, I reckoned. He bore a severe crew-cut, and though his face was deeply tanned, it was cadaverous, almost like a living skeleton. His gaze shifted furtively as our eyes met briefly, as if he wanted to avoid any contact with those around him.

  I wondered if he was up to no good, and hastily moved on to find Kate and Sally. Spirits were high, and I soon forgot the forbidding stranger. People were waving those tiny Union Jacks on lollipop sticks, calling and laughing as the parade passed by. When it was over, we went back to the field where the crowning had taken place. There were various stalls, a coconut shy and a raffle. I treated my friends to a sausage roll and a glass of lemonade, and we sat down on the grass to consume them.

  ‘When do you go back to school?’ I asked through a mouthful of pastry.

  ‘Week after next, on the Tuesday,’ Kate groaned. ‘Not sure I want to, mind. I did all right with my O-levels – not as well as old clever clogs Sally here—’ She broke off as Sally dug her playfully in the ribs and she shoved her back with a grin before going on, ‘But I’m not really sure I want to do A-levels. Old Pete had to work so hard. Wonder how he’s getting on with his National Service? At least there’s no Korea for him to be sent to any more.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s still Malaya, and what about this trouble with the Mau Mau in Kenya? I wonder what will happen there. Sounds pretty frightening to me.’ I saw them exchange mystified glances but I didn’t want to spoil the day with a serious conversation about what was going on in the big wide world, so I went on instead, ‘But look, I’ve got a week off starting next Saturday. Perhaps we could do something on the days before you go back to school.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t involve traipsing across the moor!’ Sally grinned back.

  I was so pleased I had taken a day’s leave. That night I went to bed, flushed and elated. Even Sidney had not been able to disapprove of the innocent celebrations, and I had almost begun to think his abrasiveness might be softening. How wrong I was.

  Kate, Sally and I took a trip into Plymouth on the Saturday, but with no trains on Sundays, a walk on the moor was the only option! On the Monday, my two friends were busy getting everything ready for the new term, so I had the rest of the week to myself. I had wondered about buying a train ticket to London to stay with Jeannie for a few days. I dreamt about Battersea Park, of larking around and collapsing in hysterical laughter as we used to. But I knew I had changed. Grown up. Matured. I had the feeling I wouldn’t find Jeannie as funny any more. With the savage beauty of Dartmoor all around me, London had definitely lost its appeal. And if I went back to our street, it would only open up the wounds to see someone else living in the house I had shared with Ellen for as far back as I could remember, cradled in the belief that nothing would ever change.

  So I walked for miles on end, sometimes using the railway halts at the start or end of my day. Once Mr Gough stopped the train for me to get off along the route! I explored in every direction with the help of my trusty map and my compass, following rivers and streams, paths and bridleways. The weather, though not blessed with blue skies and sunshine, was at least dry and clear with good visibility and no threat of the disorientating, swirling mists that could descend in minutes. I had learnt to read the signs and only ever ventured where I believed it was safe. And I always told Sidney where I was going just in case some mishap might befall me.

  ‘I’m not sure where I’ll go today,’ I frowned as I stood by the range at breakfast towards the end of the week. ‘Should I go out to the stone row at Drizzlecombe, do you think? It’s got one of the largest menhirs on the moor. Or I could leave the track near Nun’s Cross and cut across to Down Tor stone row. Then I could go down to the reservoir and catch the train back from Burrator Halt.’

  ‘Huh! I don’t know what your fascination is with these places of heathen ritual.’ Sidney suddenly attacked me with such venom that I shrank back. ‘That grandmother of yours really did bring you up in an ungodly fashion. But then she wouldn’t have stood much chance against a little Satan like you!’

  I felt as though I had been doused in icy water that soaked through to my bones and numbed the very core of me. A little Satan! What had I ever done to deserve that? And Ellen had brought me up with good Christian values even if she hadn’t forced her religion on me. To hear her name reviled by Sidney for the hundredth time was just too much, and as the sense returned to my brain, the rage boiled up inside me and overflowed like lava erupting from a volcano in a spitting, unstoppable river.

  ‘I’m just about sick and tired of you running my grandmother down!’ I raged, restraint flung to the four winds and my eyes sparking with all the festering resentment of the last nine months. ‘You’re a real hypocrite, you know. You pretend to be holier than thou, but underneath you’re just a mean, bitter old man! It’s no wonder nobody likes you. If I’d known what you were like, I’d never have come here.’

  ‘Then go back to London. I won’t stop you.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I would if I had much choice in the matter and I didn’t love the moor so much! I don’t know why you agreed to have me in the first place, unless it was for some perverse pleasure in punishing me for something I’ve never done! I don’t know why you hate me so much!’

  I sucked the breath in hard through my bared teeth, fury blazing in my eyes. We glared at each other across the room, neither of us moving as the hatred froze solid. But I wasn’t expecting what came next.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you, you little bitch,’ Sidney snarled, his voice sizzling. ‘Despite what your birth certificate says, you’re not my daughter. Your mother was having an affair and you were the result.’

  My body, my entire being, turned to water. The blood drained from my head and I staggered, my hands blindly seeking the back of the chair for support. I was like a proud stalk of wheat that had been felled by the farmer’s scythe and was now lying, crushed and helpless, on the ground. It seemed that Sidney had been saving his trump card to slay me when I was getting above myself. He had certainly succeeded.

  ‘I…I…’ I stammered, my mouth wanting to retaliate but unable to formulate any words.

  ‘So you see, madam,’ Sidney gloated, his eyes glinting with malevolence, ‘that makes you a bastard and not the self-righteous prig you think you are.’

  The withering, deprecating way he was looking at me finally galvanised my tongue into action. I might be smarting under the degradation he had heaped on me, but I wasn’t going to take it lying down.

  ‘If what you say is true,’ I hissed through my clenched jaw, ‘it makes me no more or less of a person than I ever was. And quite frankly, if my mother was having an affair, I don’t think I could blame her. I expe
ct she rued the day she married you. Oh, that’s right, hit me,’ I leered as I saw him go to raise his hand. ‘It’s what I’d expect from you. But why you should have let me come to live with you, I’ll never know.’

  ‘Huh, I’m beginning to wonder myself! So if you pack your bags and are gone when I get back from work, it’ll suit me down to the ground. I can’t stand the sight of you.’ And with that, he got to his feet, grasping his jacket and his packed lunch – which I had prepared for him as usual – and marched out of the kitchen.

  The front door slammed behind him, reverberating through the house, then leaving a shattering silence in its wake. I lowered myself into the tatty armchair like a rag doll, my heart still hammering nervously. I couldn’t believe it and yet it made sense. I sat for half an hour, waiting for the fog of shock to clear and to untangle the twisted mesh of emotions that heaved in my breast. I felt choked. Stifled. I didn’t know who I was any more. I had always believed I was Lily Hayes, daughter of John and Ellen. Nine months ago, I had learnt that I was actually Lily Latham, third child of Sidney and Cynthia, and that the mother I couldn’t remember and my brothers were dead. I had come to terms with that. But now I was neither of these people. A lost soul, with a father about whom I would clearly never learn a solitary fact.

  Had Ellen known? She had gone to her grave unable to leave me in ignorance of my true parentage. She had never liked Sidney, she had said in her letter, so if she had known, why would she not have told me the whole truth? Perhaps to save me the shame of knowing I was illegitimate, or whatever the term would be for a married woman having a baby by another man. Love child, maybe. But Ellen would know that however I was conceived, I wouldn’t consider it my fault. She had brought me up to be more sensible than that. But why would she have led me to believe that a man like Sidney Latham was my father? Make of this what you want, she had written, as if she had predicted that I would want to contact him. No. The more I thought about it, I was convinced Ellen hadn’t known about her daughter’s affair. Perhaps it was better that way.

  I finally dragged myself from the chair and made a mug of coffee. I sipped at it, unnerved. Would I ever feel the same again? I looked at myself in the mirror. Who was I? Did my silvery blue eyes and my strawberry blond hair come from my father? What had he been like? He must have been special to make my mother sin, for Ellen would have brought her up as a good Christian. Or was she driven by Sidney’s puritanical ways to the first person who showed her some affection? I preferred to think that they were passionately, hopelessly, in love. In the same way that I hoped to be one day. But if that was how love could destroy people’s lives – my life – perhaps it would be best never to love at all.

  I was feeling calmer, my hands no longer shaking. But I was still too numbed to make any decisions about my future. Why should something that had happened to other people seventeen years ago change my destiny? I wouldn’t let it until I’d had time to think. And there was no better place to do so than out on the moor where the wind would drive the doubts out of my head and settle my heart.

  As I strode out along the ancient track towards Nun’s Cross, anger stealthily ousted my distress. Sidney hated me. Blamed me. The injustice of it flared inside me like a torch of flame. I could understand the jealousy gnawing away at him over the years, but he shouldn’t lay the fault at my door. It wasn’t fair. He expected me to leave, and it was my initial reaction to do so. But deep down, I really didn’t want to go. I loved my new life. I loved Dartmoor and the sense of freedom it evoked in me. Just now, its gentle balm was mending my aching heart and reviving my spirit, allowing me to think more clearly.

  What were my options? My recent promotion had brought with it a pay rise. Would it be enough for me to rent a little house or a flat in Tavistock if I didn’t have the fare from Princetown each day? It was doubtful, and anyway I wasn’t allowed to live alone, however ridiculous that seemed to me. The local welfare people had been contacted by the London authorities and were keeping an eye on me, as they put it. Fortunately, they hadn’t visited me at the cottage or I might have been taken into care there and then! But an official had inspected and approved of our new home in Albert Terrace and Sidney had greeted her with a degree of civility. So, to live alone was not a possibility. Not until I was eighteen, which seemed an awfully long way off. At least I had a room of my own in our house in Albert Terrace. My private territory where I could lose myself in a good book or play my growing record collection – very quietly, if Sidney was in the house. So perhaps, for the time being, I would stay and see what happened.

  I stopped at Nun’s Cross and, consulting my map, took a careful compass bearing towards the stone row. Once or twice before, I had explored the valley of the little stream from there and the intriguing evidence of former tin extraction, but now I needed to strike out across the moor where there was no path to follow. The ground was undulating so that I didn’t have a clear view ahead. I had to hold the compass in my hand, constantly checking my direction and watching the uneven, tussocky ground under my feet. It was tough going, my entire concentration needed so that all considerations as to my future were temporarily banished. But at last I reached a point where that part of the moor opened up before me, bleak and barren, and there, way in the distance, I spied the avenue of tall standing stones, possibly a quarter of a mile long, sweeping down a shallow dip and way up on the far side. They looked like dots from where I stood, but distinct enough for me to be able to abandon the compass and wend my way towards them unaided.

  Why had those ancient people chosen that particular spot, I mused as I trod forward over the wild, rough grass. Had they approached it from the same angle as I was now, in full daylight or by the pewter gleam from the moon, at certain times in nature’s mysterious cycle? Did they come to worship or to bury their dead, only interring their priests or other dignitaries, since the circle at the far end was believed to be a tomb? I had certainly come to bury my dead. Since Sidney had reawakened my grief over my grandmother, I had come to bury Ellen’s memory once more. But more than that, I had come to bury Lily Hayes. Lily Hayes, as she had always been, no longer existed. Now, it seemed, she was alone in the world, with no family and no identity. From now on, Lily Hayes’s life would be whatever she made of it.

  I halted as I reached the first of the upright stones, breathing in the silence, letting the mystery spin its web about me. A religious site, a burial ground of whatever creed, deserved respect. I bowed my head as I glided along the row, the sense of timelessness echoing in my heart. I was one small speck in the universe, insignificant. My own distress was immense to me, but in the scheme of things, it meant nothing.

  I was caught up in the thread of my own thoughts, confused and uncertain, so that when I reached the far end and the burial mound with its surrounding ring of stones, I didn’t spot it at once. My eyes and my mind were dulled to anything except my own emptiness. I turned my gaze skyward, spinning in a slow circle so that my pleas for some security in my life would spiral upwards to whatever deity would take pity on me. When I looked down and saw the dead sheep spread-eagled on the central stone at my feet and the dried pool of its blood, horror slashed at my throat. I was aware of the tiny, anguished squeal that escaped from my lips, and I staggered backwards in an explosion of rage and disgust, blundering and sickened, so that I tripped blindly over the stone behind me. I felt myself falling, but there was nothing I could do to save myself as I landed hard on the ground.

  I think I must have let out a short, high scream as a sharp pain shot through my ankle and seared up my leg. I lay for a moment, winded and shocked, a little faint even, which annoyed me. I was Lily Hayes and I could take care of myself. My vision had clouded with black spots, but as they faded away and I came properly to my senses, the agony in my ankle intensified. I drew in a deep breath, waiting for it to subside, but the moment I tried to move it again, I yelped in pain.

  Fear crackled down my spine. Oh, dear Lord, what was I to do? I hadn’t noticed any ramblers on
that part of the moor, and Sidney didn’t know where I had gone, and even if he did, would he care if I didn’t return? I exhaled sharply. Pull yourself together. Just wait ten minutes, half an hour, and I would probably be able to hobble homewards.

  The beautiful wilderness of the moor began to seem savage and hostile, my stomach tightening with nervousness. I kept my eyes averted from the horrible spectacle of the sacrificed sheep. Did such things still go on? Apparently they did. But it was vile and cruel, and I had to get away. I hauled myself upwards and tried to put my weight on my foot. At once, my ankle stung with pain and I thumped down again on my bottom, my eyes filling now with tears of desperation.

  ‘Hey! Are you all right?’

  The disembodied voice coming out of nowhere at first startled me, but then my heart spilt over with relief as a tall figure suddenly appeared from behind me. But I was filled with dismay as I recognised the suspicious stranger from the carnival. Here was I, in the middle of nowhere, with an ankle at best badly sprained, and the only person around was some furtive character who for all I knew might be driven by ill-intent! My brain numbed with terror, but I forced myself to think. I mustn’t let him know I was afraid.

  ‘I think so,’ I said coolly with a stubborn lift of my chin. ‘Just twisted my ankle a bit. I saw that,’ and I jabbed my head at the dead sheep, ‘and it gave me such a fright, I tripped over.’

  I saw the fellow look towards where I had indicated and he jerked back with a sharp intake of breath. He had stiffened, and I was curious as his tanned face seemed to drain of its colour. Jesus, I was sure he muttered under his breath, and then he turned to me, his eyes, an amazing violet-blue, narrowed accusingly.

  ‘You out here all on your own?’

  My heart beat even more furiously, but it was obvious there was no one else around, and it would have made my terror more evident if I had denied it. ‘Yes,’ I answered boldly. ‘But my father knows where I am.’