by Dawson, H A
She flicked open the cover and looked at her son’s young face; his baby blue eyes, round and full of wonderment, his soft creamy-pink cheeks, his even white teeth and small tight lips. He was her baby, her pride and joy. He was the centre of her life.
She turned over the sheet, looking at image upon image of her boy, and her tightened chest rose and fell, her breathing squeezed. There were photos of his birthday, a school sports day, a swimming competition, and his first attempts on his bicycle. There were photographs of a camping trip and a zoo trip, and there were numerous images of Tyler with Phillip and Janet. She wanted to be there again, reverse time, and appreciate the moments in a way that she sensed she never had.
She had lost too much time to trivia, the stress of daily life once weighing her down so utterly. So often, Leanne had bundled Tyler to one side, keeping him occupied with computer games and the television. She had spent lazy days in bed, wasted hours having fractious exchanges with anyone within earshot, and she had moped over the most pointless of irregularities. Even after Phillip entered her life, she had not delighted in her son’s presence enough, and within the blink of an eye, Tyler had grown up.
Now he was gone and Leanne felt as though her life was not worth living. She could deal with life without Phillip and Janet, but not Tyler, not her son. He was her world; he was everything.
She shut her eyes and her face twisted in agony as she relived the torturous moment when Tyler told her he was not returning. He wanted to be away from her, preferring life with Darren. She had failed him completely.
Craving a soothing word, and unable to reach out to either Janet or Phillip, her frustration intensified. She could not release her agony with a soothing flood of tears, despite reliving each torturous moment of parting, and it stayed with her as a perpetual and persistent ache. Her previous heartaches, which had crippled her so intensely, now seemed insignificant, and she wondered if her suffering had been self-induced, a selfish need. In comparison, Tyler’s decision had resulted in a sense of absolute desolation, and her agony lay deep within her gut, irremovable.
Leanne had failed her duty as a mother and she had no other role. She was neither daughter, nor granddaughter, nor a wife. Not even someone’s colleague. Where was her future? Everything before her was bleak; there was no chink of light. She laid her head on the table and closed her eyes. She wanted to vanish.
Wallowing in self-pity was draining. Deciding it was time to do something constructive, Leanne thought back to her conversation with Steven and to his suggestion that she started her handmade jewellery business. Brushing aside a vision of his lopsided smile, which accompanied another flicker of regret, she reached into a drawer for a notepad and pencil and urged herself to design.
Her inspiration and motivation were lacking, and for a few moments, the pencil hovered millimetres above the sheet. Months previous, she had numerous designs within her head, bursting for release. Now, when she needed them the most, it was as though they had been erased or altered; her ideas seemed ugly and ridiculous and not the exquisite work of art intended. She battled with a small voice that doubted her abilities to create such pieces, and she questioned why anyone would want to purchase the unusual.
Phillip’s encouraging words became her focus. He would have suggested she calmed her mind, used meditation if necessary, and played some tranquil music. He would have told her of her talents, pointing to her earlier attempts. He would have talked through her design ideas.
Feigning enthusiasm, she lifted herself from the chair and headed across the hallway to the outer door. There was barely a breeze outside, and the loosening leaves on the trees hardly flickered. It was a beautiful autumnal day, warm and bright. Inhaling the fresh country air, pure and unpolluted, she strode towards the barn alongside a hedge.
The long strands of fading grass were wilting and damp and moistened her ankles, and the straggling branches invaded the trodden path. She stayed close to the hedge, the once distinct path vivid in her mind, aware that in her younger days, like Janet, she too had trotted to see the hens around the corner.
It would be good to resurrect the site and return it to the glorious place it once was, with livestock and vegetables, delicate and colourful floral displays, and the scent of homemade cookery wafting from the house. She imagined how her grandmother must have felt coming from London, leaving behind the smoky city, the overcrowded buildings, and the blitz. The peace and tranquillity must have been like entering another universe, another time, and she was beginning to see the attraction.
Her steps faltered as she approached the fire damaged barn. The brick walls were sound, but part of the roof had collapsed and the remaining charcoaled beams exposed. There was little left of the roof at the side with the hayloft; at the other side and scorched by flames was an old wooden chest. Stacked alongside were a couple of cardboard boxes.
She strode across, stepping on the concrete and into relative darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust. Then she pulled open a drawer and scanned the old rusty tools placed side by side across the bottom. There were chisels, hammers, and billhooks, but there was nothing small enough and suitable to use in a piece of jewellery.
The next drawer contained an assortment of bolts, washers, nails, and screws, and other small items. It was exactly what she was looking for, and so she rummaged through the disorder, searching for pieces with a good reflective surface. Feeling inspired, she gathered tiny brass keys, small metal plates, wire, and a sheet of copper, laying them on the top.
‘Leanne?’
Alerted by the faint cry of her name, she darted out of the barn and turned the corner to the house. It was Teresa. As she stepped through the grass and weaved around a straying branch, they shared greetings.
‘I’ve been gathering some odds and sods in the barn to make some jewellery,’ Leanne said. ‘Want to come and have a look?’
Hesitating, Teresa pulled each of her fingers in turn.
‘I’ve seen jewellery made out of junk, and it can be effective. Some is pretty awful too.’
‘How’s it done?’
‘I’ll show you.’
She took the lead, heading to the barn door, and then turned around to speak. Teresa was standing a few metres away, her arms wrapped around her middle, her expression fearful.
‘Everything okay?’ Leanne asked.
She nodded, anxious.
Ignoring Teresa’s qualms, Leanne stepped through the door and headed straight towards her assortment of items. Sensing Teresa’s absence, she turned around. Teresa was moving cautiously, and staring at the hayloft and the burnt beams.
‘Oh,’ Leanne said, looking to her burn scars, ‘I’m sorry.’
She gulped, voiceless.
‘It must have been terrifying.’
She returned her gaze. ‘Show me what you plan to do with this junk.’
Leanne was hesitant, and wondered if she should question Teresa further; instead, she bumbled along, explaining how she intended to clean and polish the objects and attach them to a chain. When she got no response, her confidence faded. She was about to give up on her explanation when Teresa made an encouraging remark.
She found the courage to continue. ‘You need objects that complement each other, say like these small keys and the washers and bolts. It might sound crummy, but I’ve seen it done, and when they are all cleaned up and coated in something to make them extra shiny they can look fantastic.’
‘I’d never have considered using old junk.’
‘Think of it as recycling.’ She leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of the chest. ‘Blimey, look at this, old piano keys. I’ve seen pieces done out of these. They were definitely my favourite.’
She fingered the small strips, her excitement rising, her ideas bouncing through her mind. When she looked up, Teresa was staring at something at the far side of the barn, near the hayloft.
‘What is it?’
Teresa walked across and then crouched to the floor. She was holding somethin
g in her hand. It was a chain with a pendant. She wiped away the dirt and a shimmering blue stone emerged.
‘I wonder who it belonged to,’ Leanne said.
She passed it across, her hand trembling.
‘It could be Gran’s . . . or Mum’s. It looks valuable. Did I tell you I’m trying to find her?’
Teresa nodded.
‘Fancy a drink, and I’ll tell you what I know?’
‘All right.’
‘Great,’ she said, clutching the necklace. ‘I could do with a bit of company. It gets a bit lonely out here.’
Proud to show off the house, Leanne fixed her gaze on Teresa as they entered the lobby. Whilst her companion didn’t give much away, Leanne knew she had to be impressed.
‘It’s not bad, is it?’ she said.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It’s a bit dated, but given how long it’s been since anyone has lived here, I was surprised to find it in such good condition.’
‘It’s not been lived in at all then?’
‘No, I don’t think so. There’s a tragic story connected to it. Mr and Mrs Coombs were shot dead, and as Janet was like a daughter to them, she inherited the lot.’
Teresa sat down.
‘From what I can gather, they were a lovely couple. I can’t see why anyone would have wanted them dead.’
Teresa's hands were shaking, and her face, damp with moisture, had turned a pasty white. ‘Sorry, I need the toilet.’
She jumped to her feet and fled out of the room clutching her stomach. Leanne followed her, and just as Teresa faded out of view at the top of the staircase, she shouted it was the first door on the left. She had already found her way.
After a few minutes, Teresa returned and joined Leanne at the table. ‘Sorry about that, I’ve a bit of a stomach bug.’
‘You didn’t look too good. Are you okay now?’
‘I think so.’
With both hands clinging to the mug, she sipped her coffee. ‘W-was Janet adopted?’
‘No, she was an evacuee. She was placed here with two other children, a brother and sister. It wasn’t her first stay. She’d been with someone else for a while, and arrived full of bruises.’
‘Her guardians abused her?’
She nodded. ‘She had made an agreement with her parents to return home if it didn’t go well, but they let her down and never collected her. I don’t know whether she ever forgave them.’
‘That sounds a bit harsh.’
She scowled. ‘I don’t see why. If I make a promise to Tyler, I would always do what I could to keep it. Janet’s parents fobbed her off . . . they never intended to keep their word.’
‘It wouldn’t have been that easy in those days, dropping everything and travelling half way across the country on demand.’
‘Then they should never have agreed to it in the first place.’
Teresa was staring into the mug, her eyes narrow and her expression tense.
‘Anyhow,’ she continued, ‘worse was to come. Janet had been writing home, and when she returned, she found her letters unopened. She was devastated and stopped writing. The next time she returned to London, they’d moved away.’
‘That’s awful,’ she said in a half-hearted tone.
‘They can’t have cared much to do something so horrible.’
‘That’s a big assumption.’
‘No, it’s not. How can you say that?’
‘There are always two sides to every argument Leanne. I wouldn’t judge too hastily if I were you.’
‘But she was their daughter. There’s no excuse for not telling her where they’d moved to.’
‘No, but maybe they had had their reasons. It . . . it could be complicated.’
‘What do you know?’
‘I don’t know anything. I just like to be open-minded.’
Leanne leaned back into the chair and studied Teresa. She was enjoying being disagreeable; it was reminiscent of their first meeting in the village hall. What was her motive?
‘Did Janet ever have contact with her parents again?’ Teresa asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m still trying to find that out.’
‘Then don’t be so quick to judge.’
‘It’s difficult when I’ve so little to go on. I don’t have any other relatives, at least no one who knows anything about this.’
‘Some things are better off remaining hidden.’
‘My mother too?’
‘Perhaps. She hasn’t contacted you, has she? Otherwise, she would be here.’
‘What if she didn’t know how to find me? I have to give this a go.’
She held a self-assured pose. ‘It seems to me that Janet didn’t value family ties very much, breaking two relationships.’
‘No, that’s not true.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘She was a good person . . . she would have had her reasons. She was warm, caring and intelligent.’
‘And good at keeping secrets.’
Hesitating, Leanne pressed together her lips. ‘Maybe she was. She was a bit stubborn too, and she knew her mind. I think some people found her quite fierce but she was always nice to me . . . well nearly always. She was quite the disciplinarian, an English teacher, and a good one from what I’ve heard.’
‘It sounds like she must have had good reasons for keeping your mother from you.’
‘I’m not sure that was her choice to make.’
‘She may have thought she was protecting you. It could be best to let it drop.’
‘No.’ Leanne was pensive. ‘If she kept quiet and sold this place, I would never have been any the wiser. She wanted me to know something. This was her way of allowing me to find out.
‘If that were true, she’d have told you years ago.’
She stared at her lap.
‘I can understand you feel hurt,’ Teresa said.
‘Do you? I have a feeling people around here know more about my family than I do, yet no one seems to be willing to say anything.’
‘Like who?’
She picked up her empty mug, hurried to the sink, and turned her back. ‘Geoff for one. It seemed to me like he was implying something.’
‘He was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying.’
‘So Steven said.’
‘And it’s true. He’s having a bad time at the moment . . . we both are. A few things have happened that have stirred up some issues. You shouldn’t take too much notice of him.’
Avoiding her gaze, she rinsed the mug in warm water, added a touch of washing up liquid, and swirled it around. Instinctively, she could sense Teresa’s lack of honesty and it was perturbing. She had visited, full of smiles and claiming to be a friend, yet she was sure she had her own agenda, her discomfort and Geoff’s threatening comments too strong to ignore.
Leanne spun around, unwilling, just yet, to alienate her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep the mark. Geoff’s your husband, I respect that.’
‘He can be a bit full on. He admitted it the next day and said he shouldn’t have taken his mood out on you. He isn’t keen on having parties . . . finds them stressful.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, I did. You seemed to be getting on well with Steven.’
‘He’s a nice man.’
‘Single too. Are you going to see him again?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You should. I think the two of you are well suited.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind?’
Embarrassed, she reached the two mugs, dried them, and placed them back into the cupboard. ‘Fancy moving to the next room?’
‘Sure.’
She led the way, switched on the light and looked around, scanning the room the way she imagined Teresa would be doing. There was a piano on one side, a large bookcase on the other, and comfortable seating in the middle. With the exception of the floral wallpaper and curtains, which were old-fashioned, it was a be
autiful room, spacious and with a stunning brick fireplace.
‘Do you play?’ Teresa asked, glancing at the piano.
‘No.’
‘I’ll teach you if you like. Can I have a tinkle?’
‘Of course.’
She did just that, and the sound caused her to pull a face. ‘It needs a retune. If you’re interested, I know someone in the area who can do it.’
‘It sounds okay to me.’
She chuckled. ‘Really? I can see I have a lot to teach you.’
Nevertheless, Teresa had a go, and the sound, or so it seemed to Leanne, was quite beautiful.
‘It’s ages since I’ve played.’
‘You are good.’
‘I’m out of practice. I used to have lessons years ago, but we could never afford a piano so I had to use the one at school. It was one of the few things that kept me out of trouble.’
‘You don’t seem the type to get into trouble.’
She lowered her head, her shame visible. ‘I got in with the wrong crowd and played truant from school, and I drank too much and did drugs. Geoff pulled me away.’
‘I would never have thought that.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s true. I didn’t have much sense of self-worth back then. I . . .’
Leanne tilted her head, urging her on.
‘. . . I have a lot to thank him for, Leanne. I could never repay him for what he did for me. It’s just a pity it never worked out the way we intended.’ She averted her gaze. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Teresa was pensive. ‘If I’d have had a son or daughter and I was still that person and doing crappy things, I don’t think I should have been given a second chance.’
‘Are you talking about my mother?’ she said stiffly.
