The Girl by the River

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘Love and peace. You know where we are, Tessa.’ Lou and Clare walked away, their skirts flowing, and the rest of the group followed, leaving Tessa alone on the wide beach, the coffee mug still in her hand.

  Wrapped in Lou’s blanket from Peru, she sat against the wall at the top of the beach, thinking, and watching Paul on his orange surfboard twisting and swooping on the wild Atlantic surf.

  Kate had taken to waiting for the postman, busying herself near the window or in the garden. He came at 8.45, each morning, and to Kate it felt like eternity as she watched him lean his bike on the wall, rummage through the letters in his basket and stroll up the path. There was a mini-flame of hope, then a rush of disappointment when Kate saw the letters on the mat and knew there was nothing from her girls. On the days when the postman cycled past she felt bleak and forgotten.

  At night she lay awake with the curtain back, staring out at the summer stars and worrying. Letters from Lucy were rare, usually defiant diatribes about her life in a tiny bedsit in Taunton. The friends she had. The fun she had. Her wonderful boyfriend and his open-minded family who had ‘moved with the times’. On occasions Lucy’s letter had been so hurtful that Kate hadn’t shown it to Freddie. She kept the deep hurt to herself, and told no one. But at least they knew where Lucy was.

  She worried obsessively about Tessa. The idea of her daughter out there, sleeping rough, shattered the bedrock of Kate’s maternal, sheltering love. She felt disempowered and helpless. Freddie loved her for her radiance and her shining optimism. Maintaining it was a struggle, creating a damaging inner conflict in Kate. A sense of failure. A sense that her life had been wasted.

  A week after Tessa had gone to Cornwall, Kate caught a glimpse of a brightly coloured card in the postman’s hand. She waited by the door, her heart thudding. Then, huge relief and joy as Tessa’s postcard shot through the letterbox and landed on the mat like a gold brick.

  Kate took it to the kitchen table and sat down. Even touching the postcard, touching Tessa’s handwriting, the stamp she’d licked and stuck on, was somehow like touching Tessa. ‘A little bit of treasure,’ Kate mused. ‘Is this all I have left of my daughter?’ She hardly dared to read it, but she did, and it brought a smile to her eyes. She read it again, and scrutinised the picture of a quaint harbour town with an impossibly blue sea. Then she took it out to show Freddie.

  ‘Look what I’ve got!’ she beamed. ‘A postcard from Tessa.’

  Freddie turned round from his workbench and put down the hammer he’d been using to nail the larch wood roof slats onto a Japanese bird box. His eyes sparkled when he saw Kate’s smile. ‘You read it to me,’ he said. ‘It’s such tiny writing.’

  ‘Dear Mum and Dad,’ Kate read, ‘I’m having a groovy time. I’ve been swimming, and I love the wild surf. St Ives is the most beautiful place, and it’s full of art galleries. The streets are so narrow that people hang their washing across them. I’ve made friends – Lou and Clare – and they’re looking out for me. I’m very happy here, and okay, so please don’t worry at all. By the way, I’ve met a really nice man, Paul. With love, Tessa xxx PS Put a moon daisy on Jonti’s grave for me.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Freddie. ‘Will you stop worrying now? You’ve got shadows under your eyes, love.’

  ‘I can’t promise not to worry,’ Kate said, and her eyes brightened. ‘And how about that? – She’s met a man! At last, Freddie.’ Kate visualised Paul – a ‘really nice man’. He’d be tall and wearing a good tailored suit. ‘I hope he’s got a sports car,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ Freddie said. ‘But – well at least we know where she is, don’t we?’

  ‘I can enjoy the day now,’ Kate said. ‘And look at these beautiful bird boxes. I can’t wait to get out there and sell them, Freddie. So many different ones! Ooh, I do like that one with the little bird on it – so cute.’

  Freddie basked in her encouragement. Making bird boxes wasn’t what he’d dreamed of doing, but it was easy and pleasant, and maybe it would make them some money.

  ‘I haven’t seen Mother this morning,’ he said. ‘Will you go and show her Tessa’s card?’

  Suddenly the colour drained from Freddie’s face. A shadow filled his eyes. Kate stared at him in concern. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s Mother,’ he said quietly. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Together they walked through Annie’s garden where bees were busy on the lavender flowers, and the wistful faces of pansies lined the garden path.

  ‘Her curtains are closed.’

  ‘And she’s locked the door.’ Freddie knocked on it gently. ‘Mother?’

  ‘I’ll get our key.’ Kate ran into the house, still clutching the postcard, and took Annie’s key from its hook. Inside Annie’s apartment it was silent except for a few flies buzzing at the window. ‘Hello! Annie?’ she called. The kitchen was empty, and the sitting room. Annie’s knitting trailed colours from Levi’s chair, and a bunch of sweet peas drooped from a vase on the table. ‘She can’t still be in bed.’

  They looked at the bedroom door, and each other. ‘You go in,’ Freddie said.

  Kate found Annie in bed, in her flowery nightie, the sun spilling a beam of light on her silver hair. Her eyes were open, and frightened. ‘I thought you were never coming,’ she said in a weak voice. ‘I can’t move, Kate. ’Tis my heart.’

  ‘Oh Annie!’ Kate held her hand and saw that the nails were blue. She felt the pulse in her wrist. It was fluttery and erratic. ‘Don’t try to talk,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve – got to . . .’ Annie whispered. ‘Got – things I want – to say.’

  ‘You need the doctor, Annie. He might send you to hospital,’ Kate said.

  ‘No – no – don’t you call him. I don’t want it. Let me go, Kate. It’s my – time.’ She stretched out a shaking hand to Freddie, and her voice faded away.

  ‘She won’t go to hospital,’ Freddie said quietly to Kate. ‘But you ring the doctor anyway. He might give her something.’

  ‘No – no!’ Annie cried, when Kate tried to leave. ‘I want to tell you something.’

  Kate went back to the bed. She listened caringly as Annie tried to speak.

  ‘Where’s Tessa?’ she said. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘I – want – to say – sorry. Sorry I’ve been down on her. Will you tell her? I – only – meant to help her.’

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ Kate said. ‘She’ll understand, don’t worry Annie.’

  ‘And you,’ Annie clutched her hand, ‘I’ve criticised you – I’m sorry, Kate. You’re – you’re an – angel.’ Tears ran down her old cheeks.

  ‘Don’t upset yourself. We know,’ Freddie said, taking her other hand. ‘And Tessa’s all right. We’ve got a postcard from her here.’

  Kate held up Tessa’s card, but Annie couldn’t seem to focus on it.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ Annie begged, and Freddie pulled up the basket chair and sat close to the bed.

  Annie was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching his. ‘She’s going to get hurt,’ she muttered.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tessa.’

  In the days that followed her rescue, Tessa was increasingly drawn to the hippie commune out on the low cliffs at Clodgy. She still went back to her grassy hollow at night, and spent the nights alone there, gathering stores of joy from the moon and stars, and the dawn over the sea, exulting in her aloneness. After her ‘brunch’ pastie by the harbour, she headed out towards Clodgy, and walked the coastal path towards Zennor. The granite boulders got bigger and more thickly bearded with lichens in incredible colours, sage green and hot golden orange, then the burn of intensely pink heather growing in the cracks. Between the rocks were intimate bright green fairy gardens where there were ladybirds and tiny spiders, and mosses with red-gold stamens. Tessa loved it. She spent time studying it all, and did some drawings in her sketch pad. She sat for hours watching enormous waves surging into rocky
coves, the beads of spray pausing high in the air before spattering down on the rocks. Later in the afternoon the rising waves glittered as the sun came round to the west. Tessa was sure there were secret angels in the sunlit waves. She felt she could manipulate the sparkles and make a magical picture happen.

  She wanted nothing else.

  Paul sought her out a few times, and they sat on the beach talking about poetry. When he wasn’t on a surfboard, he had a book in his hand. He did a lot of energetic talking, about politics and war, about his home in London. Tessa half listened and watched his eyes. She felt the words he was using so lavishly were pelting down like a rainstorm, hiding the real Paul. She wished he would shut up.

  ‘Aren’t you lonely?’ he asked her, in one of the pauses.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m the opposite of lonely. I avoid people mostly.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  Tessa shrugged. ‘I’ve always been like that.’

  ‘So – who do you talk to?’

  Tessa wanted to tell him she talked to spirits, but whenever she tried to say something like that, a crowd of frowning faces popped up before her; Miss O’Grady, the Reverend Reminsy, Lucy, her grandmother, and mostly her mother.

  ‘You can talk to me,’ Paul said eagerly, his hand on his chest. When Tessa just stared at him, he said, ‘I can’t figure you out, Tessa. I need to know where you’re at.’

  Tessa looked away. She let some of the shell sand trickle through her fingers. ‘I’m an art student,’ she said. ‘But I’m on the brink of dropping out.’

  ‘What’s stopping you?’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt my parents.’

  ‘Shit! You can’t live your life like that,’ Paul said. ‘It’s your life, not theirs. My parents want me to work in a bank in the city. ME! That’s why I’m down here, roughing it, finding myself – who I am – they locked me away for years.’

  ‘Locked you away? Literally?’

  ‘No – metaphor. But they kidnapped my mind and used it as an ego trip. My son is a genius. My son is this. My son is that. And, at the end of the day, if I just wanted to fall in a heap and listen to music, they dragged me out to extra coaching and chess clubs and stuff like that.’

  ‘My lot kidnapped my SOUL,’ Tessa said, ignoring the sadness of being disloyal, ‘and they didn’t use it as an ego trip. They dumped it, like rubbish.’

  ‘That’s criminal,’ Paul said, looking at her intently, his hands hovering as if he wanted to touch her.

  ‘Well – my dad didn’t,’ Tessa added. ‘Dad is really cool.’

  Paul reached out and slipped his hand round the back of her neck, under her hair. Something came alive deep down in her body. His hand felt rough and strong on her skin. His eyes lost the steady gaze that had attracted her to him, and became hard and needy. He pulled her closer. She twisted away and glared at him. ‘Oh no you don’t.’

  He jumped back. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you want to be touched?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tessa said, feeling the old defences clamping around her. She drew wild patterns in the sand with her finger, spirals and sunrays.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ Paul said, ‘’cause I really fancy you. But – no hassle – if you don’t want me. There’s plenty more fish in the sea.’

  Tessa studied his eyes. She liked him, as a person, but now she saw a glint of rejection, screening a wild wolf within him. She felt afraid of him. She stood up and brushed the sand from her thighs. ‘Surf’s up,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah – I’m going in.’ Paul looked disappointed. ‘See ya later, eh?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Tessa walked off on her own. She swung her rucksack onto her back and headed along Porthmeor Beach to The Island. A strange, disturbing feeling drove her to walk faster than usual as she left the beach and climbed up between the rocks to the grassy summit where St Nicholas Chapel guarded the bay. She sat down on a wooden bench, facing the sea, watching the cormorants on the rocks, their sepia wings spread out against the light. Her father would love them. She had a sudden longing for him, an ache of homesickness. In that moment, she was home again, at The Pines, and some great event was imminent. She was standing in her granny’s garden, breathing the heady fragrance of pinks and pansies. She saw Annie, vividly, standing on the path, looking at her. The troubled frown she’d so often had was gone. Annie’s brow was smooth, and a radiant smile lit her face. She held out her arms to Tessa, something she’d never done, and her aura swirled with pastel colours, like pearl.

  Tessa watched the brilliance of her vision. Annie looked so peaceful, and she’d never been peaceful. Her cheeks were rosy and tiny flowers shimmered around her as if drawn into her aura. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said, ‘on my way home.’

  The vision faded and vanished. Tessa ran down the path from The Island, dodging people who were walking up there, her rucksack swinging on her back. She ran to the telephone box by the harbour and dialled 100.

  ‘Operator. Can I help you?’

  ‘I want to make a reverse charge call, please,’ Tessa said and waited, wondering if the operator could hear the pounding of her heart. She gave her home number, and the number of the phone box. She heard her mother answer, and the operator say, ‘Will you accept a reverse charge call from a pay phone in St Ives?’ and her mother’s voice saying, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hello Mum. It’s Tessa.’

  ‘Hello dear! Are you all right, my love?’

  Tessa struggled with the need to cry. It was the kindness in Kate’s voice that triggered it.

  ‘Tessa?’

  ‘Mum – it’s Granny – isn’t it?’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘I saw her,’ Tessa said. ‘She looked – beautiful, Mum – like an angel. She – she’s gone over, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Oh Tessa!’ Kate burst into tears, and Tessa just hung on and waited. Finally, Kate managed to speak. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, dear. Your granny died about an hour ago. Peacefully in her own bed.’

  It was mid-afternoon, but Tessa headed back to her grassy hollow at the top of Porthminster Beach. She needed solitude, time to think about whether she should go home or not. Kate had begged her to go, for the funeral. ‘You must be there. Lucy’s coming, and Uncle George – all the family must be there.’ Tessa wasn’t interested in a funeral. She wanted to stay in St Ives, maybe forever. It was hard, but she decided to stand firm and not go home. Kate pleaded for an address where she could send letters, and of course there wasn’t one. She’d made Tessa promise to ring her every day on a reversed charge call, but in her heart Tessa didn’t even want to do that. Getting sucked into what she saw as ‘old family stuff’ would chip away at her precious newfound freedom. Living in the now, as Paul said. Not getting dragged to and fro by the past and the future.

  She spent the rest of the day swimming in the tranquil waters of Porthminster, and wandering along the wooded cliff path which followed the railway. But part of her longed to be out at Clodgy watching the sunset.

  As twilight glazed the sky with violet, Tessa retraced her steps along the wooded path to her sleeping place, planning her supper which was to be a bread roll, a triangle of Dairylea cheese and an orange.

  But as she approached her grassy hollow, she was shocked to see someone else in there. Two hippies, a couple, settling down for the night, spreading their blankets and camping clutter all over the place. Tessa’s first reaction was territorial fury. It was HER place. HER home. HER bed. And a bed was sacred – wasn’t it?

  She stopped some distance away, reasoning with herself. If she stomped in there and asked them to leave, they wouldn’t care about her feelings. Rights to sleeping places didn’t exist. She didn’t want a confrontation, especially today when she was feeling vulnerable and tired. Now she felt violated. Angry. Lost. The list could go on and on.

  It was getting dark. She saw the last train pull in to the station, and people d
isembarking, talking and laughing, carrying luggage. ‘There’s our hotel, darling!’ she heard a man say, and for a moment a burning jealousy clawed at Tessa’s heart. She wanted a man to call HER darling. She wanted a soft, clean bed, and a bathrobe and a hot chocolate.

  She considered waking over to Clodgy and sleeping with the commune. It was a long way in the dark, and she still wanted to be on her own. In the end, she trudged miserably up the cliff path again and found a little alcove in some rocks. Too exhausted to inflate the airbed, she flung her duffle coat down and lay on it, using her rucksack as a pillow, and covering herself with Lou’s ethnic blanket. The ground was rocky and uncomfortable. Only then did she allow the tears to flow. She cried herself to sleep and woke up at midnight with the sobs still in her body, and a hollow feeling in her stomach that was almost a pain.

  The sky was cloudy and it was pitch dark except for the light flashing from Godrevy Lighthouse. She lay listening nervously. There were footsteps, tiny footsteps – paws! – some kind of animal hunting through the woods. A shadow darker than the dark. It crept towards her, its feet moving faster, pattering on the dry earth. The shadow came right up to her – and kissed her face – she smelled fishy breath and felt its whiskers brush her cheek.

  And then it purred.

  A cat! A cat had found her. A warm, silky cat who was purring and making her smile. A cat who cuddled up to her, right under her chin, stretched his velvet paws over Lou’s blanket and settled down, his eyes luminous as he stared at Tessa in the dark. She touched his gloriously thick fur in utter joy. ‘Darling!’ she said. ‘You darling.’ She switched on her torch for a quick look at him, and he was all black, his fur glistening in the torchlight. ‘I LOVE you,’ she said, smoothing him.

  She couldn’t have been happier when the cat crept under Lou’s blanket and made it clear he intended to stay with her. And then she remembered she’d been dreaming about her granny, and Annie had had a black cat in her arms.

  A gift of love – from spirit.