Lily's Journey

by Tania Crosse

  I watched him leave, furious at myself for being unable to think of any way to return his ridicule. I groaned in frustrated anger as, a few seconds later, I saw the jeep, canvas sides down this time, turn up the narrow road onto the lonely moor.

  ‘Rotten devil,’ the shopkeeper sighed as I came up to the counter. ‘Now what can I do for you?’

  For a few seconds, I was still so incensed that I couldn’t recall what it was I had come to buy. ‘Oh, er, I’ll have a large split tin, please. Who was that, then?’ I enquired, jerking my head towards the door. I don’t really know why I asked. I didn’t care who he was, as long as I didn’t bump into him again.

  ‘Used to be our best player. Lives up on the moor. Disappeared for a few years, and now he’s come back a proper temperamental customer. Now, anything else you’d like?’

  I hoped my meeting with the loathsome stranger would be a chance encounter, but he was bound to shop quite regularly at Bolts which was almost opposite Albert Terrace. As time went by, on the odd occasion I did spy him, I always crossed over the road to avoid him. And if I spotted the jeep, I would wait indoors until it had gone. Its driver was never long. He appeared to be as much of a recluse as Sidney had been when I had first arrived. Sidney and I were beginning to make something of our relationship, and I certainly didn’t want another battle on my hands!

  ‘Have a lovely Christmas, Wendy!’

  ‘Yes, you, too, Lily! I’ll miss not seeing you, though. And it’s going to be a bit quiet without Joanna and Edwin. He simply couldn’t get any time off. But Uncle Artie’s coming to stay, and so are my grandparents. And Auntie Mary and Uncle Michael are coming on Christmas Day, so I suppose it won’t be so bad!’

  ‘It’ll be a bit livelier than my Christmas will be!’ I assured her with a mock grimace. ‘You should think yourself lucky!’

  ‘Oh, I do! Actually, I might call in to see you and brighten up your day! It’ll be Boxing Day, mind. Edwin has a friend living up on the moor your way, and as he can’t get back to see him, Mum and Dad said they might pop up, so I could cadge a lift. Wouldn’t want to go myself. Right old kill-joy is Daniel.’

  I’d heard her mention the name before and I was going to ask where he lived, purely out of politeness rather than any real interest, when the train lurched and began to move forward. I was leaning out of the window, breathing in the smell of coal smoke in the frosty evening air, as Wendy hurried alongside on the platform.

  ‘Bye, then! Love to all! And Merry Christmas!’ I called as the engine gathered speed and Wendy became a small, wildly waving figure in the distance.

  I settled down in the carriage, relaxing after the hectic time I’d had at work and thinking how much better Christmas was likely to be this year. Indeed, the following morning, I beamed across at Sidney as I served out the Christmas Day breakfast I had cooked for us both. As usual, we were up at the crack of dawn, but I didn’t mind. Sidney had mellowed so much recently that I was actually growing quite fond of him. I even went to chapel with him sometimes. As it was virtually next door, it was hardly inconvenient! I took an interest in the garden which was his other love. In the autumn, I’d presented him with a huge bag of mixed spring bulbs that I bought at work, and had spent some hours burying them deep in the borders. Sidney, too, seemed much happier for our improved relationship. I had even persuaded him to listen to some classical music which he had begun to enjoy. The gramophone now lived downstairs with us, and sometimes we would listen to a record or two of an evening as we sipped cocoa before bedtime.

  We had a little artificial tree decorated with lametta and garish glass baubles, all obtained from Woolworths. We’d had nothing at all the previous year, so it was all a step in the right direction. Sidney had cast a deprecating eye at it, but had indulged me, and the previous evening, a couple of packages had miraculously appeared beneath the green paper pines. I eyed them excitedly as I finished washing up the breakfast things and preparing the chicken the Colemans had kindly given us. Meat was still on ration, so I considered ourselves fortunate to live somewhere that managed to bypass the rules somewhat.

  ‘Have we got time to open our presents before we go to chapel?’ I asked eagerly.

  Sidney’s brow furrowed and then he actually chuckled. I think it was the first time I had ever seen him being guilty of merriment.

  ‘Go on, then. I can tell you can’t wait.’

  ‘Thank you!’ I cried, and rummaging under the tree, produced the packages I had hidden there myself. ‘And these are for you.’

  He looked at them, and his frown deepened as he took them from me. ‘You first,’ he insisted, and then I noticed the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

  I returned his tentative smile and nodded. The last time I had been given a present had been eighteen months ago for my fifteenth birthday. Ellen had bestowed on me her double row of pearls, which I treasured. Looking back, I expect she had done so because she knew her days were numbered. Now, I opened the packets carefully to preserve the paper for next year. Wrapping had been like gold dust during the war, and old habits die hard.

  The telltale shape hardly disguised the two seventy-eights. One was Richard Addinsell’s ‘Warsaw Concerto’ from the war film, Dangerous Moonlight, and the other was Hubert Bath’s ‘Cornish Rhapsody’ from Love Story. They were both old films, but both had been shown again recently at Princetown’s Town Hall. I had actually enticed Sidney to come with me once or twice if the subject matter wasn’t too frivolous, and he had admitted to having enjoyed himself. Now he was smiling broadly at me, taking me totally by surprise.

  ‘I thought you’d like those. At least, I asked other people, what with your love of films and classical music.’

  ‘Oh, yes! Thank you so much!’

  ‘And the book’s Rebecca,’ he added, using his head to indicate the remaining present. ‘I know you liked the film, but I didn’t know if you’d read the book.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Oh, you couldn’t have chosen better!’

  I felt a gentle contentment swell up inside me. Yes, I was delighted with Sidney’s choice, but more than that it was an indication that we could live peaceably, even happily, together. The future no longer stared bleakly at me, and a bud of hope unfurled in my breast, driving me to place a swift kiss on his cheek. I stood back, coloured with embarrassment.

  ‘Go on, open yours,’ I urged him in order to conceal it.

  I’d bought him a tie, not too colourful but less austere than the grey one he sported perpetually, and two books, one the memories of a missionary in Africa, and the other one Thor Heyerdahl’s Kontiki Expedition. My heart was in my mouth as he turned them over.

  ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled at last, and then I believe I noticed his eyes glisten as he whispered, ‘It’s a long time since anyone gave me a present. Before the war.’

  His lips pressed together, and I drew in an elated breath and held it as I grinned at him. ‘Come on, we’d better go or we will be late.’

  The service was bright and happy, as it had been the previous year. But this time, a deep pleasure lulled my heart. So much had happened in the last twelve months. No longer at loggerheads, Sidney and I had become friends. Of an odd sort, perhaps, and I thanked God I had found the courage to stand up to him. We had brought the truth out into the open, and Sidney had begun to divulge snippets of information. But then I have always believed that problems should not be left to fester in the shadows. They should be brought out of the darkness and into the sunlight where they will shrivel and die.

  I couldn’t wait to listen to the records and played them while I put the finishing touches to our dinner. We pulled crackers, laughed over the silly jokes and wore the paper hats. Afterwards, we went for a walk until a miserable drizzle drove us home. A couple of rounds of that new game, Scrabble, then, both of which Sidney won, but I was eager to listen to my new records again. Sidney offered to light the fire in the parlour, a huge concession for him, but we were so cosy in the kitchen, we decided to stay put. We both
read our new books, and later I made some chicken sandwiches. I devoured Jeannie’s Christmas letter yet again, only two pages but long for her. Full of amusement. She had a boyfriend now, and intimated at what they got up to in the back row of the cinema.

  ‘You’re right, Lily,’ Sidney said as I bade him goodnight. ‘You are a good girl.’ And then he stunned me by adding, ‘Your mother was, too. Lively, bright and caring. Until… She broke my heart, you know, and I could never forgive her. And when she was killed, I wished I had. And I blamed your grandmother as well, because she never liked me. But she was just as innocent as you were. I’m really sorry for the way I treated you, Lily. You didn’t deserve it.’

  Not a muscle in my body moved for a full thirty seconds as a warm serenity rippled out from the very core of me. I knew what the words had cost him, and I said with conviction quavering in my voice, ‘That’s all in the past. Let’s forget about it and just be friends, now, eh?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Lily.’ And he got to his feet and hugged me.

  Five minutes later, I snuggled down in bed, feeling happier than I had done since my peaceful life in London had been so cruelly shattered. It made me think of Jeannie, and I tried to imagine this boyfriend of hers. He didn’t sound my cup of tea, unlike my sensitive, caring Edwin who I prayed would still be unattached when I met him again and fulfil my heady, glorious dream.

  But when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of Manderley, just like the nameless heroine of Rebecca. Except that the iron gates weren’t chained and padlocked. They were lodged wide open and had been for years, and I crunched between them as I limped up the sweeping gravel drive towards the great house with the pillared portico and the stone-mullioned windows.

  ‘Hello! Happy Boxing Day!’

  Wendy stood on the doorstep, muffled up to her ears against the cold, even though she had only just got out of the car. Above her brightly coloured scarf, though, I could see her eyes were shining and I hugged her tightly.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ I cried euphorically. ‘Did you have a lovely time yesterday?’

  I stood back to let her in and waved to her parents as William turned the car round and, to my surprise, turned up Tor Royal Lane which of course led up onto one of the most isolated parts of the moor. I frowned, as there were few houses along the way.

  ‘Yes, super, thank you! Edwin rang which was great.’ She unwound the scarf and threw it over the end of the banisters. ‘Mum and Dad are just going to visit Daniel. His parents couldn’t come down from London because his mum’s got the flu, so he’s been on his own. Don’t suppose they’ll be long, though, so we’d best make the most of it.’

  ‘Where does this Daniel live, then?’ I asked, my curiosity roused.

  ‘Oh, it’s a great big house,’ she gestured theatrically. ‘You can’t see it that well from the road ’cause it’s behind a high brick wall and some tall pine trees. It’s way out on the moor the other side of Peat Cott.’

  I shivered as a coldness crept through my flesh. It had to be. There certainly weren’t two such houses along the lonely road. This Daniel, who was a close friend of Edwin’s and who the family obviously cared deeply about, could be none other than the surly ogre who had rescued me when I had injured my ankle!

  ‘Oh,’ I said, wishing my dismay hadn’t been so audible. ‘I think I’ve met him. Drives an old Army jeep?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Small world, isn’t it?’ Wendy grinned. ‘But he’s a moody old so-and-so, and I don’t want to waste time talking about him!’

  No, nor did I! ‘Come and meet my dad!’ I said instead.

  Chapter Ten

  February became known as the Big Freeze. January had been cold enough, with ice causing problems on the roads and, yet again, I was thankful that I journeyed to work on the train. The rails might be frozen but, with a little sand, the wheels always gripped and delays were minimal. It was far more difficult for Sidney to get to the quarry although it was so much nearer. Mr Mead’s old army Humber staff car, one of thousands sold off cheaply after the war like the jeeps, slithered along the moorland road and ended up in a ditch. It had to be ignominiously dragged out by a tractor, its wing and Mr Mead’s dignity slightly dented. No one was hurt, but after that, he and Sidney and the other man he gave a lift to made the long walk to work each day. Water froze in pipes and even the milk left for collection at the dairy farms down in the valleys towards Cornwall became solid with pearly white ice crystals. A convict was mad enough to escape, but was recaptured nine miles away. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t given himself up because of the weather. It truly was like Siberia, with the howling wind racing uninterrupted across the moor and wailing like some mythical hound from hell.

  I got out of the warm railway carriage at Princetown Station and the night air at once trapped me in a freezing vice. It blew up inside the sensible serge skirt I wore to work, seeking out the bare skin between the tops of my stockings and my knickers. I shivered, pulling up the hood of the duffel coat I’d bought in the sales at the end of the previous winter, and crossing my arms tightly over my waist. I tried to hurry but it was too slippery underfoot and I had to pick my way carefully. I thought of how lovely and warm the kitchen would be since Sidney would have got a good fire going in the range as he got home from work so much earlier than I did, and I couldn’t wait to hurry into the centre of Princetown and our snug little house in Albert Terrace. Sidney and his workmates must have been frozen at the quarry, and I pitied them and anyone else who had to be out on the exposed, windswept moor in this weather.

  I always prepared the dinner the night before so that we didn’t eat too late. We were having a rich, nourishing stew made of scrag end of lamb and vegetables from the garden which Sidney admitted was far more productive than his plot at Foggintor had been. The warmth as I put my key in the door and came into the hall made my skin tingle and I sniffed for the enticing aroma of the meal which I expected Sidney to have heated through as he would with something like this that wouldn’t spoil. But the distinctive smell of lamb wasn’t there and my lips pouted. I was starving, and the hot, steaming meal that could so easily have been waiting for me obviously wasn’t. Oh, damn you, Sidney, I cursed in my head. Probably had his nose stuck in his Bible and forgot the time.

  It was as I came to the kitchen door that I noticed the strange odour. It was like burning, as if someone had overdone some pork chops. But we weren’t having chops. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my stomach started to churn with apprehension. I knew instinctively that something was wrong and, as I threw open the door, my heart leapt into my throat.

  Why is it that, at moments of sheer horror, time seems to stand still? There’s an instant when your brain absorbs what it has seen or heard, followed by calm acceptance, a voice that says this has happened so you must get on and deal with it. You feel strange, unreal, as if you’re not actually there but are watching someone else. Like a film. It’s only very slowly that feeling dribbles back into your soul. You move as if in a dream, waiting to wake up, and it isn’t until hours, days, have passed that you realise you’re not going to. Because you already are awake, and this is really happening.

  Sidney was stretched out on the floor, straddling the space between the table and the range. He was lying on his front, one leg bent beneath him but the other foot still trapped under the edge of the rug he had evidently tripped on. One arm was outstretched as if he had tried to break his fall. His neck was twisted unnaturally, his head almost turned backwards as if he was looking over his shoulder. A dark red liquid had seeped out from beneath his temple and dried into a sticky puddle on the stone hearth.

  I stood rigid as the shock pulsed through me. I knew before I sank on my knees beside him that he was dead. Stone, cold dead. Apart from his face. The range firebox was open and Sidney must have built up a roaring blaze just before he fell. And as he lay unconscious or instantly dead, the heat had scorched the skin of his face so that it had puckered into raw, oozing blisters, and i
t smelt of burnt flesh. One eye was open and staring, the other, which had been far more exposed to the heat, a horrible, viscid, unrecognisable pulp. The fire had died down to nothing, a layer of flaky grey ash over vacillating, glowing embers.

  Oh, no. The sigh spiralled up from deep inside me, soundless, a whisper. Emptiness. Silence. Stillness. There was no need to hurry. I knew there was nothing that could be done. I should call someone, but my muscles refused to move, and my mind somehow couldn’t make them.

  I don’t know how long it was before I was able to stagger to my feet and totter on wobbling legs to Gloria’s door. When she opened it a few moments later, I peered at her through a veil of shock and made a small, squealing sound at the back of my throat. ‘My…my father.’ I wrung the words from somewhere in my chest. ‘He’s had an accident. He’s…he’s dead.’

  I saw the shock register on her face and then, very slowly, she nodded. And then time seemed to accelerate. Gloria sat me down by her blazing fire and gave me some of that amber liquid again. I was shivering so violently that it hurt and she wrapped a blanket around me before she disappeared for a few minutes. I had left our front door ajar and I guessed she must have gone in to make sure. Then I heard her voice on the telephone, and she was back in the room, crooning to me. Making me feel safe.

  It was all a blur, but soon afterwards there were voices and movement, and Gloria left me again briefly. I had hoped they might send William, but because of the dangerous travelling conditions, the MO from the prison came instead and had the body taken away to the morgue. He confirmed that Sidney had been dead for at least a couple of hours, and that the fatal blow to his head had been from the fall onto the stone hearth which had also probably broken his neck. Then the doctor gave me a sleeping draft and said Gloria should put me to bed before I dropped off in the chair.