‘He waited on her hand and foot. He’s such a gentle, kindly man.’
‘Yes, but this quarrel, she wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but she was very distressed that day. Said she’d “lost him”, she felt sure he wouldn’t ever talk to her again.’
‘I wonder what happened? Poor Gethyn, how awful to lose someone just after a bad quarrel without having the chance to put things right.’
‘She put on him, mind. Perhaps she went a bit too far, elderly people can, you know.’
‘Perhaps he’ll be able to talk about it soon, it’s nearly five months now. Time to have faced all the grief, the horrors and self-recriminations. ’
‘What about this Larry of yours then?’ Muriel asked with a sparkle in her dark brown eyes. She had the kind of cheerful and mischievous face that made a smile irresistible and Rosemary forgot the sadness of Gethyn’s bereavement and responded to the inquisitive wink that accompanied the question.
‘We met in London when I came back from America. It was an amazing coincidence really,’ Rosemary told her. ‘He wanted to find out all he could about his family roots and I came from here, the very area where they had once lived.’
‘It was a ploy, really,’ Larry said, as he came in with the luggage behind the large figure of Henry. ‘I’d never heard of the place but Rosemary’s legs are the sort to make you really confused when it comes to geography!’
‘Larry!’ Rosemary laughed.
As they were drinking their second cup of tea, Gethyn came to tell them that Rosemary’s parents had arrived and were knocking at the door for admittance, and complaining that their key wouldn’t fit.
‘Gethyn, love,’ Muriel said, getting up to hug him. ‘There’s sorry I am about your mam. You must come up later and tell me all about it. Why didn’t you write to tell us? We’d have wanted to come to the funeral and pay our respects. Been neighbours for years we had.’
‘It wasn’t easy to think straight for a while. It was sudden, and completely unprepared for,’ Gethyn said. ‘Quick for her and that’s the thing to remember. The doctor said it was sudden.’
‘I thought – didn’t you say that if she’d been found earlier—’ Rosemary began.
‘Went out like a light. Worst for me it was, not finding her for those hours, but no, it wouldn’t have helped her.’
‘So you not finding her for a while didn’t really matter?’ Rosemary asked.
‘No, she died quickly.’
‘Thank goodness for that. It would have been worse for you if you hadn’t done all you could, you being such a good son.’ Muriel patted his arm affectionately, but in her intelligent brown eyes were questions waiting to be asked.
Rosemary felt an undercurrent of dread. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Muriel wasn’t easy about Mrs Lewis’s death. It had been an accident. She had walked up on the mountain and fallen, there was no more to it than that. Surely the strange disasters and accidents connected with her house hadn’t begun earlier, and in Gethyn’s house?
She hurriedly offered to help Muriel if she were needed, and ran to where her parents stood leaning against the door in mock despair.
‘Rosemary, thank goodness,’ her father said. ‘Our key no longer fits and we were beginning to think we’d be sleeping on the banks of the stream!’
‘Muriel and Henry are back,’ Rosemary explained.
Larry was still helping the Hughes’s to empty the car, which seemed to contain enough clothes for a dozen people for a year, but he ran across, hugged and kissed her mother and shook hands with her father in his friendly yet polite way.
When he had finished trekking backwards and forwards from the car, her parents went to greet the Hughes’s and she and Larry were alone. At once she told him of Muriel’s comments about a quarrel between Gethyn and his mother.
‘They never quarrelled,’ she told him. ‘Not in all the years I’ve known them. Gethyn looked after her every moment of the day. He couldn’t have done more.’
‘Perhaps Muriel was right, she overdid the dependency. It happens, the worm turns and bingo, she gets a slap.’
‘Gethyn was never treated like a worm,’ she protested. ‘Neither did Mrs Lewis take advantage. Gethyn offered to do things, I don’t think I ever heard her ask for anything. He knew what she wanted and arranged it without waiting for her to ask. To me he seemed a highly sensitive son who hated his mother to feel she was in any way a nuisance. He forestalled her need to ask. She would never have been a whingeing, whining sort.
‘Besides, she wasn’t an invalid, far from it. She went to the shops, did a bit of weeding and even went for walks occasionally, up on the mountain, like she did on the day she died. Usually she had Muriel for company.’
She smiled. ‘Muriel is so overweight that she was breathless long before Mrs Lewis!’
‘It must be odd having a mother almost as old as the grandparents of his friends,’ Larry insisted. ‘I bet that rankled, at least when he was younger.’
‘I’ve never seen a sign of it,’ she said emphatically.
She began to prepare the meal for her parents and themselves when suddenly she threw up her hands in despair, scattering flour over the stone floor. She had never told her parents all that had happened in the house, determined not to worry them unduly. Now, she had forgotten to warn Muriel not to discuss it. They would most certainly have been told everything that Muriel had gleaned, and if her past record was a guide, that would be plenty.
‘What is it, love?’ Larry asked.
‘Mam and Dad, they’ll be told all that’s happened here. I forgot to warn Muriel.’
‘Too late to worry now. Besides, I guess it’s time they were put in the picture.’
‘I guess you’re right.’
* * *
After they had eaten, squashed together in the small kitchen, Larry told them he had a few surprises. From his travel bag he produced gifts for them all. A sweater for Rosemary’s father and a scarf for her mother, both bought from Macy’s, the famous New York store. To Rosemary he gave a watch. In platinum, it was small and delicately crafted and she gasped at the sight of it.
‘Larry, it’s lovely. I – oh, thank you!’ She hugged him and her parents looked politely away as they kissed. She slipped it on her wrist. She sparkled like a small child at Christmas, they told her.
Rosemary was particularly thrilled with the presents as it proved that both she and Gethyn had been mistaken; Larry had been in America when he said he was, and not driving around the country in his Citroen. They must have simply misread the licence plate number.
For that alone the gift was special. She took it off as she went to her lonely bed, thinking about Larry on the sofa downstairs and trying not to allow her thoughts to drift too far into the future. He loved her, she was certain of that and for the moment it was enough. If he went back to his family, then it wasn’t necessarily the end, she told herself. The world was small and shrinking all the time. She stared at the watch on the bedside table beside her until she slept.
The next day was chilly but the early mist was already clearing and giving them the prospect of a pleasant day.
They drove to Aberangell in Mr Roberts’ spacious Rover and walked up between the tall conifers until a valley opened out before them in the silent world where cars were neither seen nor heard, where the soft murmurings of a stream seemed deafeningly loud and the birds seemed to be subdued and in awe of the wide sky and the miles of rolling hills around them.
Holding Larry’s hand, Rosemary proudly showed him her favourite places. They stood and looked down at the blue pool and the waterfall, and teased Larry when he jokingly called it a rival to the Niagara Falls. They laughed stupidly as they watched children in the distance, playing roly-poly down a steep hill, almost wishing they could join in the fun. They watched as rabbits browsed, unafraid, in the soft green grass, marvelled at the narrow, green lane through Aberangell that had once been the main street.
They ate in their favourite pub in
Dinas Mawthwy. Everything was exciting and fun; Rosemary couldn’t ever remember being so happy.
It was late in the evening before Rosemary’s parents left. As she walked with them to their car, she could see that her mother wanted to say something. She hoped it was not disapproval of Larry. She had not kept it a secret that she and Larry lived together.
‘Thanks, love,’ her father said as he put the bag into the boot of the car. ‘I’m tired out mind, but very content. You and Larry have given us a day that’s as good as a week’s holiday.’
‘We’ve enjoyed it too, Dad,’ she smiled as she kissed him. Then she looked at her mother and asked, ‘You too, Mam? Did you enjoy it?’
‘Very much, love. Thank you. Both of you.’
‘But – ?’ Rosemary asked. ‘There is a ‘but’, isn’t there? I can always tell.’
‘But I’m worried about Gethyn.’
Rosemary was so surprised, she laughed.
‘I know he’s a grown man,’ her mother defended, ‘but his mother’s death was a terrible shock. He’d been so wrapped up in looking after her he’s a bit lost now she’s gone, and so suddenly too. Keep an eye on him will you, love? Don’t give up on the old friendships to make room for the new, you need them all. It seems that he quarrelled with her on the very day she died. That must make it terribly upsetting.’
‘I’ll make more of an effort,’ she promised. ‘I’ve been too wrapped up in my own life lately to remember how he must feel.’
‘Devastated he was, by his mother’s sudden death.’
‘He’s very fond of you, Rosemary,’ her father added as he fired the car into life. ‘Very fond, and that means you can help him more than most.’
‘I’ll give him more time, I promise,’ she said, hugging them and closing the car doors.
Behind them Mrs Priestley, and Muriel and Henry, stood at their doors waving goodbye. The students were busy working on Huw’s car, and they too called a farewell. At his window, they saw Gethyn watching. He had called earlier to say his goodbyes and would not come out with the others.
‘It’s such a friendly place, everyone knowing the rest and watching over each other,’ Rosemary’s mother smiled as she turned to wave yet again.
‘Lucky you are to live in a place like this,’ her father agreed. Rosemary wondered what they would say when she told them she had decided to sell. Once Larry had gone, she wouldn’t stay. The people who had approached her asking for a first chance to buy were still interested and she would give them the go-ahead the moment Larry said goodbye.
Larry stood beside her and waved until Mr and Mrs Roberts were out of sight.
‘I suppose I’m the reason you’ve neglected Gethyn,’ he said, putting an arm around them as they walked back to the cottage. ‘If that is the case, well, I’m not sorry. I can’t have you consoling bereaved young men, not when he’s under the impression you’re his property.’
‘He doesn’t think that,’ she laughed. ‘But we’ve been friends and constant companions from childhood.’
‘Until now, darling,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘Until now.’
‘Jealous?’ she asked.
‘You betyer sweet life I am! Gethyn might be a queer fellow but he’s quite handsome in his quiet way, and about the right age, and what’s worse, he lives right next door to my girl!’
* * *
On Monday morning, Rosemary dressed for work and went to pick up the new watch from the bedside table where she had put it the previous evening. Then she changed her mind. Perhaps, for a while she would treat it like something too exclusive for daily use. She would save it for evenings and special occasions. It was special, much more than a watch. It was proof that he hadn’t lied about being in New York.
Larry was there when she returned from work and she sensed he was upset about something. She didn’t ask, always preferring to leave it for him to decide when to open up and discuss what was on his mind. But he said nothing, and she was in such a state of euphoria after the wonderful weekend and the gifts Larry had brought for them, that she was almost unaware of his rather subdued mood.
They were going to eat out that evening, their first alone since Larry had returned, and as she dressed in a newly bought suit in Larry’s favourite yellow, she reached for the watch. It wasn’t there.
‘Larry?’ she called. ‘Have you seen my watch? I left it here, on the table beside the bed.’
‘I wondered when you’d miss it,’ he said softly. ‘Here it is.’ He held out his hand and on it was the watch, or what was left of it. It was completely ruined.
‘But—’ She looked stupidly at the table as if expecting it to materialise, whole and perfect. ‘Larry, I left it on the bedside table. How could it have been broken? Where did you find it? I don’t understand. If it’s a joke then it isn’t funny,’ she sobbed. She picked up the distorted bracelet and then the shattered watch. The glass was smashed, and the hands torn out of shape. ‘What happened? Please, tell me,’ she said as the vision of the broken face shimmered and disappeared behind her tears.
‘On the road where you carelessly dropped it,’ he said. ‘Rolled on by several tractors by the look of it. Rosemary, how could you be so casual with such an expensive and beautiful thing?’
She began to argue, to tell him she hadn’t been careless, that it had been safely left in its box beside her bed, but as the words came out of her mouth they seemed to disperse in the chilly atmosphere as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘What else have you done and then pretended it was done by some mysterious intruder?’
The look in his eyes made her blood turn to ice. There was no sign of the love that had been there the last time she had looked into their brown depths. She was looking at a stranger. Emanating from him was unutterable anger. It was as if he had no words left to describe how he felt, but the expression told it all. She felt a shudder of dismay run through her body and knew that whatever she said, Larry would not believe her. Larry thought she was the trickster, playing the tricks on herself.
14
Rosemary sat in her chair as a wall of unresolved anger grew around her. Larry went for a walk and he didn’t invite her to go with him. The meal they had planned was forgotten. She hadn’t moved when he returned and announced formally that he was going to bed. She didn’t move while he showered and undressed and stomped into the bedroom. She heard the sound of the light being switched off and the isolation that had been growing all evening closed around her, an aura of despair.
The silence of the house was complete, isolating her from everyone and everything as the last sounds from the bedroom above ceased.
The tapping began without her being aware of it for some time. The sound was so soft that it seemed no more than a part of the night. Then it grew louder. But for a while she was nothing more than mildly, sleepily curious.
She gradually realised it was two different sounds. Some taps were soft and slightly echoing, others harder; it was as if something was being knocked against two different surfaces. There was no distinct rhythm but somehow she sensed rather than understood, that there was a phrase being repeated. Her sleepy, half-conscious state prevented her thinking about where it came from for a few moments, then she felt the blood drain from her face as she realised that someone was knocking and it was in the house.
She stared around her, wondering where it was coming from, then at the clock, as if the hour of the night could somehow offer an explanation. She went to the door to run upstairs for Larry but stopped. What would she see if she dared to open the door?
But that was ridiculous. To run for help, with Larry here in the house? Besides, she daren’t leave the house. Although the threat was within the walls, there was a spurious security in being inside. Who knows what might await her out in the darkness? What if someone wanted her to leave the house? Was waiting outside for her to run out? The tapping continued.
She went once more to the door leading to the hallway and stairs but again she stopped. There was no
way she could open the door. Outside might be frightening, but whatever it was that was haunting her was here within the house, locked and bolted in with her.
And it might be standing on the other side of the door.
Wild thoughts filled her mind. The ghost, or whatever it was, wanted her, no one else. It was trying to tell her something, her alone. It had waited until she was by herself and now it was trying to communicate. Could it be Mrs Lewis who had died so tragically up on the mountain? Could her spirit be unable to rest?
The pattern of knocking was becoming so clear that she found herself silently following and anticipating the taps. Nervously she sidestepped to the settee and picked up a pen. She wrote down the soft sounds with a cross and the harsher sounds with a circle. The tapping was indeed repeated; she recognised as she saw that she had copied a pattern of sounds for the third time.
She stared uncomprehendingly at the lines of crosses and circles she had written, then took a deep rasping breath. Above her a door opened. Someone was coming down the stairs.
As the door opened, she pressed herself against the wall. The tapping had ceased.
‘Larry!’ She didn’t wait to see who it was, telling herself it was him and no apparition, no ghost of Mrs Lewis.
‘Rosemary,’ his tousled head appeared in the crack of the door. ‘I woke and you weren’t there. Darling, I’m sorry I disbelieved you. With all that’s been happening how could I have been so stupid? Come to bed. Of course you weren’t careless, I – What is it?’ He stared at her ashen face, realising belatedly that something was wrong. ‘Rosemary?’
‘Did you hear the tapping?’
‘Tapping?’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘I haven’t heard a thing. I woke, felt for you and woke up as I remembered our quarrel. What’s happened?’
Suddenly she didn’t want to tell him. The tapping had stopped as soon as he began to come down the stairs. It was him. It must have been him. He was trying to terrify her. The reasons she didn’t even try to work out. For some reason he wanted her to leave this house. Just as determinedly, she made up her mind to stay.
Search for a Shadow Page 18
