`No. It`s really disappointing. Something went wrong at the works, and he`s had to stay on to sort it,` For the moment the excuse sufficed, but the episode had been a warning. As a matter of urgency, she must either find another site or a better reason for remaining alone.
For the moment, other matters diverted her. As she ate a leisurely lunch, another caravan pulled on to the site, housing a couple with three very young children whose excited voices made a pleasant change from the everlasting quietness. How can anybody get sick of silence? Sylvia asked herself - I must be more of a townie than ever I thought.
Jolly as the additional company was, it had drawbacks. The father rallying his children for a game reminded her of Tom. The mother calling her brood to come and eat, to go for a walk, or to get into the car, was herself in days gone by when her own family had still needed her,. The smoke of their barbecues brought back poignant memories of Edgar burning sausages and crisping bacon-rolls to the point where they splintered with loud cracking noises when bitten into, showering greasy crumbs everywhere. As the song should perhaps have said, "Sausage blazing by an open fire..."
Would she ever overcome her feelings of useless regret?
SIX
`Your man`s not got here yet, then?` For the benefit of the site-owners she made up another excuse about him being sent abroad unexpectedly. They almost certainly did not believe her, but she had given them no trouble, and so near to the end of the season they were not disposed to forgo the rent for her pitch without some compelling reason.
But at the end of September, the farmer called on her unexpectedly. `I`m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Brandon, but I`m forced to ask you a question, and it`s a bit embarrassing.`
`What?` she asked, sure she already knew.
`It`s about . . . well . . . your man`s not coming, is he?`
Lying was pointless. `No. I`m on my own.`
His suspicions confirmed, the farmer was obliged to state openly the reason for his visit. `I got to ask you when you`re planning to move on. Folks`s not allowed to live-permanent on the site. If the Council comes and inspects the booking-register I could lose my licence for the site.`
`Why would they do that?` Sylvia asked, aware that her tone had become belligerent. `I`ve never known that happen on any other site we`ve stayed on.`
The farmer looked uneasy. `The fact of the matter is, Missus, somebody`s reported you. I don`t know who,` he added hastily. `Perhaps it`s jealousy. Some of the local folks`s got young`uns that can`t get housing hereabouts.`
`What`s me being here got to do with that? Even when I`ve gone, they won`t be allowed to take my place on the site permanently, will they? And how would anybody know how long I`ve been here?`
`I dunno. Maybe seeing you at the shop as often.` The man shrugged. `Whoever it is, they`ve told the Council you`re living here permanent.`
With hedging no longer an option, Sylvia tried another tack. `The fact is, I`m a widow, and I didn`t think you`d let me pitch here as a woman on my own. Most sites won`t.`
He nodded briefly. `I would`ve had to think about it, right enough, but you`ve been no trouble, I`ll say that for you.`
`All I wanted was a bit of peace and quiet, to get myself pulled-together. Everybody seemed to be making themselves busy, organising my life, and I got sick of it. Would I be able to stay on if I bought a year-round pitch?` She had no idea why she had suggested a solution she could not possibly afford.
`There`s none left just now.` The farmer sounded regretful. `And under the terms of our licence, even the all-year-round folks can`t occupy for more than ten months. I`m sorry, but I`ll have to ask you to move on tomorrow morning.`
`Tomorrow? That`s not much notice.` But, having worked himself up to challenging her, he was not inclined to back down, and in one way she was not sorry – the rest of her stay would have been uncomfortable.
She had been feeding a thrush while on site. Each morning and evening it came to receive her offerings of breadcrumbs and crushed biscuit, rewarding her with cheerful song from the nearby hedgerow. Tonight he came for his crumbs again, not knowing it would be the last time. What would he think tomorrow, bereft of his treat?
With the small amount still left in the bank, she could stay on proper sites, but it would not last indefinitely. If only I knew why Tom made that stupid Will, she thought – surely he couldn`t have meant to leave me practically penniless? In a few weeks` time the last of the money left from Tom`s bank-account would run out, leaving her with only widow`s benefit, plus twenty-three-pounds-sixty-seven from Tom`s pension-provider. Then what would she do?
At that point it occurred to her that there might be a way of making her funds last longer. All the larger caravan-sites had late-arrival areas where vans turning up after the Reception Office had closed for the night could stand until next morning, when the site-staff would be there to accept payment and allow them to be sited properly within the gates. If she came late to some of those parking-grounds, it wouldn`t cost anything – she could set her alarm-clock in time to nip off before the staff came on duty. Her plan was both fraudulent and illegal, but she could see no alternative. Her money wouldn`t last out if she paid her way. The only other alternative was fly-parking wherever she could – easy enough with car-only, but too conspicuous with a caravan.
In the morning, Sylvia left, heading South, with no idea where she was going. In spite of uncertainty, a sense of adventure thrilled through her -- I`ll follow the road ahead and see where it takes me – Wind me up and watch me go - I bet you never thought I could do this, Tom.
As soon as the giant dam at the end of Kielder Reservoir came into view, she saw the first possibility, the car-park at Hawkhope across the causeway. If she could get over there, nobody would be able to see her among all the trees. But more than likely, before the causeway gates were locked for the night, the area would be checked – by the Lone Ranger again, maybe? -- to ensure no vehicles remained on the northern shore of the lake. Anyway, the whole area across the causeway was completely surrounded by trees, and too fly-ridden for comfort. Where else could she go? In the water-sports park at WaterMeadows, the resident warden of the official camping-site would be on the lookout for any attempt at parking in unauthorised parts of the forest
Bull Crag, then? She ruled out that option at once -- that car park`s not big enough for me to turn round in one swing to get out. She had never liked reversing the van by using the car -- all that steer-right-to-turn-left business felt baffling and dangerous, and never seemed to work for her. Tom had always done what was necessary. She recalled the words of a one-time pop-song. "Don`t you know it seems to go, you don`t know what you got till it`s gone . . " How very true, in her present circumstances. The danger of overturning the van by going back too far towards some unseen drop-over was too frightening to contemplate. Over the bridge beyond Kielder Village, the road led only via the bleak climb up Deadwater Fell into Scotland, where such forestry as existed was farmed as a business and strictly fenced-off. No hidey-holes to be found there.
Turning right into WaterMeadows Water Park, she drove round the circle to rejoin the road and retrace the miles towards the dam, leaving the Border hills behind. What the hell am I going to do? she wondered - there`s nowhere I can put the van where it can`t be seen - I`m going to have to use late-arrival pitches at licensed parks, and risk being caught out in the morning, before I`ve got time to get away without paying.
Though she shrank from the thought of that nomadic future, for the moment she felt too defeated to battle on. What`s the matter with me? -- at one time I could do any mortal-thing I set my mind to, but now, the least little obstacle and I`m ready to give up before I`ve hardly started -- I just can`t get myself pulled-together -- if I`ve got to use a licensed site, it might just as well be WaterMeadows. A few days of being stationary, would at least reduce her usage of petrol.
By the time she found somewhere to turn safely, she felt close to exhaustion, and glad that the morning`s journey was almost at an end. What`s the
matter with me? -- I`ve only been driving for an hour – I`ve seen the time I could do three or four and never turn a hair -- surely this can`t all be happening to me just through losing Tom?
Back at WaterMeadows, she pulled far enough forward of the office to ensure that the warden would be unable to see there was nobody else in the car. She walked up to Reception, turned the door handle and marched in. `Good morning. Have you any pitches for tonight?`
The warden nodded briefly. `You`re in luck, there`s still one or two. Do you want a hook-up?`
`Yes, please. I`d be lost without my microwave oven.`
`Just the two of you?` he asked glancing out of the window towards the van, then away again on finding it impossible to see into the car.
`That`s right.` It was surprising to find out how easy subterfuge had become in such a short time. It`s a bit like being a spy, memorising a cover-story, she thought in amusement.
`How many nights would you be wanting?`
`Two, to start with. We`ll see how we go.` In a spirit of recklessness she settled the bill by credit-card, with no idea of how she would pay the money back -- they`ll have to find me first – perhaps they`ll never find me if I keep moving.
Fortunately the pitch she had been offered was not visible from the cabin, so the warden would not be aware she was alone. Hiding the fact from the couple parked in the van next to hers would be rather more difficult.
`By! Your man must get up with the larks!` the husband quipped the following morning, when Sylvia came out to shake the mats.
Surprised, she hedged nervously, a hint of sharpness in her voice. `Er . . . why?`
The man looked sheepish. `Just . . . I don`t see him around.`
Sylvia said the first thing that came into her head. `He`s gone jogging. He does every morning.` That should prevent the same question coming up again.
`Before breakfast? He must be a glutton for punishment.` Those inconveniently sharp eyes must have noticed that Sylvia had breakfasted alone.
`He`s had breakfast. He only ever eats toast and fruit in the mornings.`
`How far does he run?`
Would the damned man never stop asking questions? The notion of reinventing Tom in a more upbeat image became suddenly amusing to her. `As far as he feels like. Sometimes eight miles or more.`
`Just for a morning jog?` her neighbour demanded incredulously. `He must be pretty serious about running.`
`He is. He goes in for marathons.` Warming to her task, Sylvia embroidered the truth even more shamelessly. `He won one in Cheshire only last week.`
`Did he? Really?` Her inquisitor`s wife, appearing in the doorway of their van, appeared to be impressed by the exploits of Tom-the-Sporting-Super-Hero. `How do you get him to do it?` She gestured towards her husband. `I cannot get Him off his bum to save my life.`
`Oh, it`s never been a problem with Tom. He loves exercise. When I`ve finished tidying-up, I`m going to set out after him in the car and catch him up. Then we`ll be going out for the day.` That should prevent their hanging about, trying to catch a glimpse of the miracle-man.
`Won`t he want to come back for a shower?` the woman asked.
Sylvia was not sure whether to be exhilarated by such a splendid opportunity for perfecting her lying technique, or annoyed by their sheer persistence. `No need. I`m going swimming at Hexham. He can get a shower at the leisure-centre while I`m in the pool.`
`What a sporty lot you are!` You`ll need another holiday to get over this one.` But it seemed the conversation must be coming to an end. The husband unlocked the door of his car, and held it open for his wife. `If we see your-man on the road, we`ll give him a wave.`
`You do that.` Long after they had gone, Sylvia struggled against laughter as she imagined them spotting some unsuspecting jogger along the way and waving wildly at him as if he were an old friend.
Sylvia`s own day was spent well away from the caravan-site, so that the warden would not become suspicious. Driving towards Otterburn, she turned down a byway, travelling aimlessly until the sight of a river sparkling in sunlight impelled her to park alongside the drystone wall separating field from road. The river must be on private land, then. Once that would have been enough to warn her off but, obeying a reckless impulse, she scrambled over the wall and made her way down to the water`s edge.
The warm sunshine tempted her to another indiscretion. Taking off her shoes and dipping her bare feet in the cool stream, Sylvia watched the limpid water clattering over her sweating skin and between her toes. In the peaceful solitude of the river-bank she let the world drift away, watching life happening around her – flower-stems bobbing up and down beneath the weight of bees, ants scurrying over stones and vanishing beneath them, a thrush prospecting for insects in the soft earth. As she watched, it found a plump worm, struggled to drag it out of the ground, and soared away into the sky with its prize. Even in a place like this, there`s death, she realised – where can I go to get away from it?
That depressing thought spoiled her enjoyment of the river-bank. Eager now to leave it behind, she slipped her shoes on and walked quickly up the rise towards the car. These quiet places are making me morbid, she decided -- if I was around other folks more, I wouldn`t have time to brood like this. But everywhere in rural Northumberland was just as quiet, the stillness so profound that, standing in the valley bottom, it was possible to hear the song of curlews high above the fell-tops.
Where could she go to find people? There would be crowds in the bigger seaside-resorts but she shrank from the overcrowded jollity of Whitley Bay, Tynemouth or Cullercoats. There were quieter places on the county`s more northerly shores, where tourists would be enjoying themselves in smaller numbers. She started up the car, and turned it purposefully towards Alnwick, and a choice of coastal villages such as she had begun to long for -- Why? - I don`t even like the sea all that much. But just to be going somewhere with a purpose was enough.
At Seahouses, she parked the car and wandered past the lifeboat station to the harbour where gulls swooped and screeched monotonously. When she was little, there used to be so many boats crowded together that it was possible to walk right across to the other side of the harbour on them – where had they all gone? she wondered, surveying the few remaining vessels with their poignantly traditional names: Star of the Sea, Bright Hope, Our Lads. Like everything else, Seahouses had changed, leaving her feeling like a refugee from the bygone-age that was her own past.
To break that sombre train of thought, she retraced her steps to the main road and, despite the expense, went into the first cafe she found. Seated by the window with a cup of tea and a jam-and-cream scone, she watched the cars swishing by on their way North, envying the drivers their sense of purpose.
`Penny for`em!` Startled, she looked up to find an elderly woman smiling at her from the next table. `You looked miles-away there, hinny.`
`I was. My brain seems to be full of fluff these days.`
Turning her chair so as to face Sylvia, the woman took a sip from the cup of coffee on her table. `I hope you don`t mind me asking, pet, but is summick the matter? You look like you got the cares of the world on your shoulders.`
`Maybe not all the cares, but I am a bit down in the dumps today. That`s what I`m doing here – trying to snap myself out of it.`
Belatedly her companion appeared to wonder if her conviviality was welcome. `Me and my big mouth, blathering on! Just say if you`d sooner be quiet.`
`No, it`s all right.` Sylvia laid down the half-eaten scone as another car flashed past. `Having somebody to talk to might do me good. That`s what I miss. I always thought my husband and I didn`t talk much, but we must`ve done, more than I realised.`
The woman misunderstood. `Is he working away?`
`No.` Controlling her words carefully for fear of starting off the tears again, Sylvia stared down into her teacup. `He died, about three months ago.`
Her companion looked enlightened. `Ah! You`re in the same boat as me, then. You don`t-half miss them, whatever they`ve been li
ke. Him and me had our ups-and-downs, but it`s somebody to talk to at the end of the day, isn`t it?`
Sylvia poured another cup of tea from the little aluminium pot. `Things happen, and I think I must tell Tom about this, then it dawns on me I can`t. I thought getting away might snap me out of it, but I still keep expecting him to come in any minute.` Perhaps there was something she might learn from the experiences of this stranger. `Was it like that when you were first on your own?`
The woman smiled briefly. `Was it not! It lasted months. I would see summick in the paper and look up to read it out to him. Or think about changing the room round, then wonder whether I should, in case he didn`t like it.`
It was a relief to know that other people felt the same sense of unreality. `How long does it take to get over that? I feel as if I`ve lost a great chunk out of myself. I don`t think I can stick much more of it.` Suddenly tears were spilling down her face. Feeling a complete fool, Sylvia struggled ineptly to fish a handkerchief out of her pocket.
Offering a handful of tissues, the old woman shook her head warningly. `You take a bit advice from me, pet. I`ve been a widow eleven-years now, and I know what I`m talking about. Grieving`s a trap, you know. The Dead can take you over, if you let them.` In response to Sylvia`s startled expression, she continued, `Oh aye, they can. You find yourself still doing things the way they wanted, and keeping everything exactly how they liked it. They hang about in your mind and you cannot think about naught-else. You got to fight them, or they`ll pull you down into their graves with them, so make a start straight-away. Both of yous got a new life now. He`s building his in Heaven, and you got to build yours down here on earth.`
Can I? Sylvia wondered. After nearly thirty-five years, breaking the established habit of couple-conformity would be hard, but perhaps not totally impossible -- I made a life for myself once before, after the kids grew up and went away, and I had that life till Tom killed himself and took it away from me again -- it`s like this woman says, he will pull all the best out of me down into his grave if I let him.
A Long Road Through The Night Page 7
