`I don`t dislike it,` she responded, framing her reply carefully. `It`s just unusual.` Her own family would have recognized the word and smiled – it was her unfailing reaction to meeting babies with names that should by-rights be actionable at law. `But you do know, don`t you, they won`t let you take her in there with you, and they won`t let you leave her in your van overnight either. So what are you going to do about her?`
His expression of panic was almost comical. `God! Dunno.`
`She can stop in my caravan, and sleep-over if you`re not back before her bedtime,` Sylvia offered, wondering what on earth had prompted her to make such an offer.
His effusive appreciation shamed her for that lack of charity. `Thanks, Missus. All the best of luck to you. You`re a Christian, you are.` He looked back along the line of vehicles, whistling loudly for the little girl. `Rip! Come here!` He sounds as if he was calling one of the dogs, Sylvia thought, struggling not to laugh out loud.
`Now listen,` Indian told his daughter when she came in answer to his call. `Like I told you, Mammy`s not well, and I got to take her to see the doctor. You gonna stay with this nice lady till we come back here. So you be a good little lass for her, and don`t give her no cheek, eh? And we`ll bring a nice surprise for you when we get back.`
`Are you going to be away long, Dada?`
`Maybe till tomorrow. No longer than I can help, darling. Stay here with . . .` He cast an enquiring glance at Sylvia
`Sylvia.`
`With Mrs. Sylvia while I get your stuff from the van – clean clothes and things.`
He brought Ripple`s sleep-over necessities to the caravan in a carrier-bag – nightdress, a moth-eaten teddy-bear, hairbrush and comb and clean clothes for the next day. `Give Dada a kiss now, and mind what I said. Anything you need, just ask Mrs. Sylvia. You`ll be all right with her.`
Ripple waved him goodbye, then turned towards Sylvia with a confident smile, apparently unfazed by the casually-made arrangements for her care. Inside the caravan, she looked round eagerly, caught sight of Thomas, and stared open-mouthed. `That`s a big teddy!`
`He is, isn`t he?` Sylvia hoped Ripple would not try to scrounge him.
`What have you got him for? Big ladies don`t have teddy-bears.`
`I do,` Sylvia retorted firmly. `He`s my very best friend in all the world.`
`Is he?` Rippled looked impressed. `My teddy`s only little.`
`Then my big teddy can look after your little one.`
They ate supermarket-meatballs Indian had left as his daughter`s contribution to dinner, sang nursery-rhymes, and spent the afternoon playing ball with each other and a small scrawny terrier called Towser. `He`s not ours,` Ripple explained, `but I like him, and he got nobody to play-nice with, `cos all the big dogs boss him.` The afternoon spent caring for the young girl reminded Sylvia poignantly of her own grand-children who must be wondering what on earth had become of her.
Pushing such thoughts aside, she turned her attention to making an evening-meal for Ripple, after Towser`s owners eventually turned-up to reclaim him. Nobody on the camp-site ever seemed in a hurry to do anything, but the relaxed atmosphere was exactly what Sylvia needed. The few days of not having to drive endless miles for no particular reason, or to sleep in dangerously isolated places, had gone a long way towards restoring her nerves.
`Daddy always tells me a bedtime-story,` Ripple said. `Can you tell stories?` Sylvia fell back on some of the tales she invented to amuse Patty`s children – one about a puppy that went to sleep inside a holdall and accidentally got taken to the seaside with his family; and another in which he gate-crashed their friend`s sixth-birthday party and wagged his tail extra-hard to help blow out the candles on the cake.
`I wish I had that puppy, `Ripple said, stifling a yawn. `He does silly things, and he`s funny.`
`Are you getting sleepy? Maybe it should be bedtime now.`
`Mammy always gives me a wash first.` Thus admonished, Sylvia boiled water and bathed her, pleasantly surprised to find that in spite of apparel filthy from the day`s outdoor play, the child herself was spotlessly clean. As Ripple slept at Thomas`s feet, Sylvia washed the cast-off garments, ready for pegging-out next day, a task that set her thinking once more of jammy faces and giggles. How long before I can go back and see Patty`s kids? -- if only I could get a place near them. But on her present level of income, that was impossible.
Next morning the camp-site buzzed with good news. Sunflower had had a baby boy, weighing in at nine pounds and five ounces, apparently with a voice to match his size. Indian had stayed at the hospital overnight – where would he have parked his van, Sylvia wondered -- but returned shortly before dinner-time, his news prompting an immediate outburst of drunken celebration.
`Thanks for having Ripple last night,` he said to Sylvia, presenting her with a bunch of badly-wrapped flowers that left her wondering where he had purloined them from - some public-park, in all probability – hopefully not the crematorium .
`I`m only glad I could help.` She had surprised herself. At one time, nothing would have made her offer such assistance to total strangers. Perhaps her own recent nomadic lifestyle had made her aware that not all unconventional people were to be feared.
As they toasted baby Cliff, the man covered in tattoos brought less-welcome news. `Seeing you`ve been as kind to my brother and his family, I think it`s only fair to tell you you`d be best-off getting out of here as quick as ever you can.`
`Why?` A flicker of the old fear returned.
`We`ve just got word the Law`s on its way to try and shift us. Once they start, they`re not too gentle, and there`s often damage done to the vans and cars. If you don`t want to be caught in it, you better scarper.`
`Thanks for the warning.` Cowardly or not, Sylvia did not want to become involved with the police, particularly if the encounter might result in expensive repairs to car or caravan. Indian came with her to assist with hitching-up, then guided her out of the site and on to the main road to resume her wanderings.
Where to, this time? Luckily it was a fine morning, birds in the hedgerows raising shrill voices, like delegates at some argumentative conference. For want of any better inspiration, she drifted aimlessly on to the M6, heading towards Southwaite purely because it was the first sign she had seen.
But as she rolled happily along, the radio dispensing muzak to fill the spaces in her brain, her inattentively-relaxed mood was shattered by the sound of horn-blowing somewhere close at hand. A glance in her mirror revealed a huge lorry racing up behind her, and she braced herself to fight the slipstream that would occur when the driver overtook her. However, he did not do so, holding his position behind the caravan and sounding another blast with the mighty twin-horns that made her jump and swerve slightly. What on earth`s the matter with that clown? -- I`m not hogging the middle-lane -- why doesn`t he pass me, if he`s in such a hurry?
The horns sounded again repeatedly, their effect disturbing and frightening. Once more she was conscious of being a woman vulnerably alone in a world of men. Some -- like Tom and the helpful Jehovah`s Witness -- were considerate and kindly. Others were hostile and intimidatory, and it seemed that this particular driver belonged to the latter group. His horns blaring over and over again, he thundered along in her wake. Whatever had she done to infuriate him so? She found herself speeding up almost without thinking, intent on putting distance between herself and the loud bullying horn still sounding repeatedly.
Providentially, at the moment of the most extreme fear, an escape-route opened up – the service-area at Southwaite. Tom had once remarked that there was a police-office in it. If she left the motorway here, surely her pursuer would not follow. Waiting until the very last second, she shot down the slip-road without signalling, apparently catching the lorry-driver by surprise.
Unfortunately he proved equal to the occasion. Dangerously but inexorably he cut across the chevrons dividing motorway from slip-road, still sounding that damned horn. Unable to remember exactly where the police-office was, Sylvia took
fright and steered towards the exit that would put her back on the M6 once more.
Her momentary hesitation gave the driver the chance to begin an overtaking-run alongside her. Frightened by the nearness of the huge vehicle, she panicked and braked. The caravan wheels juddered dangerously before regaining traction, allowing him the chance to pull ahead of her, effectively blocking her exit, and everyone else`s.
Still shaking, she looked up at the side of the lorry looming formidably in front of her. Blue lettering on a white background. GARFIELD & STEPHENS. Contract and General Haulage to London, the South-West and Scotland, with an address and phone number in Newcastle. Dear God, what a fool I am!-- I see dozens of lorries every day, so why on earth didn`t I realise that sooner or later I was bound to come across Edgar?
Flinging open the door of the lorry, her son-in-law sprang to the ground in a single leap and came racing over to bang on the car-window. `Sylvia! It is you! What the devil d`you think you`re playing at?` Around them, other cars baulked of their exit-route began sounding their horns, one driver even getting out of his vehicles to shout at Edgar.
`Hey, you! What are you doing? Leave her alone!`
`Mind your own sodding business!` snapped Edgar, his words drowned out by the wailing of a police-siren. The car swept past Sylvia, to come to a stand alongside her son-in-law.
`What`s going on here?` The first policeman out of the patrol-car strode towards them. `Is that your lorry?`
`Yeah.`
`Get it shifted, NOW, or you`re nicked!`
Edgar looked desperately from Sylvia, to police-car, to lorry, and back again. `By the time I`ve done that, she`ll have legged-it.`
The police officer knocked on Sylvia`s closed window until she wound it down. `Is this man causing you trouble?`
`No. It`s not his fault. I`m the one that`s caused trouble, and he`s just trying to put it right.`
`Are you sure? If he`s threatened you, don`t be frightened to say.`
`I`m not threatening her, man!` Edgar insisted. `She`s my wife`s mother. She ran away from home three-month-ago, and we`ve turned the place upside-down looking for her. I only want to talk to her, and if I turn my back, she`ll bugger-off again.`
`No, she won`t.` That much was certain, with the policeman now standing in front of her car and a second officer behind the caravan. `You, driver! Get this exit cleared NOW, park your lorry up in the HGV area, then come back here. We`re getting this lot sorted, before either of you goes back on the road. You`re a pair of accidents waiting to happen.`
Making for his lorry, Edgar looked back anxiously. `Don`t let her gan-away, will you?`
`You get on with your barrow!` one of the police-officers shouted. `And make it snappy – we haven`t got all day.` As Edgar climbed into his cab and slammed the door, the policeman leaned down to Sylvia`s open window. `I`m going to walk forward. Follow slowly behind me, pull in front of the patrol-car, then switch off your engine and get out of your vehicle, please.` Clearly they meant to ensure she did not drive off without warning.
Taking up position as ordered, Sylvia climbed out of the car, weak with reaction and shivering in the unexpected chill. Around them the traffic flowed towards the exit, just as if nothing had happened. Normal life going on all around me, just like it has done ever since Tom died, she thought. `Where did you come from?` she asked, for there had been no sign of their vehicle as she entered the service-area.
`We`re Motorway Patrol.` She recognized now the bright jam-sandwich lines along the side of his vehicle. `We came after that lorry when it crossed the chevrons. It`s him we`re after, not you.`
Tears of remorse streamed down her cheeks. `Oh, no! Please don`t charge him. He doesn`t generally drive like that. He really is my son-in-law and – like he said – I ran away from home without telling anybody where I was going, and they`ve been trying to find me ever since.` Only now did she realise the anxiety her impulsive decision must have caused. `My husband had just committed suicide, and they must`ve been worried-sick in case I did the same. When Edgar saw the caravan, and realised it was me driving, I suppose he just lost his head. Please – if you`ve got to charge anybody, throw the book at me, but don`t get him sacked. They`ve got a big family to keep.`
She watched the other policeman questioning Edgar, her mind racing with terror, What if they reported him and he lost his job? With lorry-drivers ten-a-penny in the present recession, how would he find another employer to take him on, with a driving-conviction against his name? And how would Patty and the children cope if he failed to find work? Being bereaved makes you self-centred, she realised -- you think everybody should put up with your moods because of your loss -- when I took-off like that, I was obsessed with how I felt, but I was too selfish to realise it.
When eventually Edgar returned to speak to her, she apologised in abject shame. `Is it all right? Are they going to prosecute you?`
Edgar shook his head. `No. I got off with a smacked-wrist and a never-darken-our-doors-again lecture from the fat one with the flat head.`
Through his jokey manner, she could sense the tension in him. `I`m sorry I got you into all this bother.`
`The worst part was having to give then my details.` Noticing her blank expression, he grinned. `You`ve forgot, haven`t you? What my name is?` In memory, she found herself at Patty`s wedding, listening to the vows. `I, Hubert Ignatius Edgar, take thee . . ` Workmates, to whom he was more casually known as Ginger Eddie, had lapsed into muffled hysterics at the back of the church. They persecuted him for a week or more about his incredible name, until the focus of depot humour switched to a colleague who had somehow managed to park one rear-wheel of his trailer on the foot of a policeman lying down to look underneath a damaged vehicle.
Serious again, Edgar took her hands between his, squeezing her fingers gently. `I know it was rough for you, Sylv, what happened, but can you not put it behind you now and come back home?`
`I haven`t got a home to come back to,` she reminded him. `Paul certainly doesn`t want me at their house. And anyway, I feel as though there might be more I need to find before I go back.`
Edgar did not seem to understand. `Find? What are you looking for?`
`Myself, maybe.` Aware of his blank expression, she tried to put into words the concept she herself could hardly grasp. `When I lived with Tom, I was hardly any more than his shadow. When I did try and branch-out, he was so terribly long-suffering about it that it made me feel guilty. Why should I have to feel guilty about being myself? Do you?`
Still apparently confused, Edgar backtracked to his previous remark. `Well, even if you won`t come back home, you`ll need to ring Paul. He`s got some news about Tom`s money.`
That was interesting enough to make her overlook the Prying that had clearly continued in her absence. `What sort of news?`
`He`s found out what that Harland-thing is. He tried explaining it to me, but most of it went over my head. Tom`s founded some sort of a Trust to give money to young folks, or summick.`
That sounded totally unlike the Tom she remembered. `Are you sure?`
`That`s what they told Paul.`
All Tom`s paperwork had been with her in the caravan, so there had been nothing for Paul to read through. `How did he find out?`
`Advertised in the papers, or summick.` Edgar looked as confused as Sylvia felt. `You better let him tell you himself. I`m bound to get the wrong end of the stick.`
In parting, he showed himself determined to have one matter sorted out. `Now promise me – word of honour – you`ll ring Patty. She`s been under the doctor for her nerves the last month or more. The tablets he`s put her on make her go about like a zombie, and it`s not fair to the bairns.` Sylvia realised that he was fighting against overt anger, something she`d never seen in him before.
She nodded acquiescence, but he plainly did not trust her. `Well, do I dare tell her you`ll ring? Because before I pull off this area, I`m phoning home to let her know I`ve seen you. If you don`t get in touch, she`ll be down in the dumps again, and she doesn`t de
serve that.`
`I`ll ring,` Sylvia said, and meant it.
Patty`s voice left no room for doubt about how eagerly Sylvia`s phone-call had been awaited.
`Mam! I`ve never left the phone for a minute since Edgar told me he`d seen you. Whereabouts are you now?`
`In a phone-box on the A66. I`m on my way back.` This was not the time for Finding Herself. Assuming that to be necessary at all, it must wait until Patty had recovered.
`Praise God!` Sylvia could tell that her daughter was crying.
`Praise Edgar. He made me see sense. I can hardly believe what a selfish thing I did, going off like that, without a word.`
`It was all Paul`s fault – him and his business-entertaining!` Patty sounded angrier than Sylvia had ever known her to be, and must be calmed-down for fear of precipitating another family row.
`Don`t blame him, pet. He never really wanted me there in the first place, so why should I have expected any different?`
`When will you get here, Mam?` The longing in Patty`s voice struck Sylvia to the heart.
`As soon as I can tomorrow. It`s starting to fall-dark now, and I don`t want to drive much further tonight.`
On the last morning, she walked again in woodland by the roadside. September was not yet over, but wherever the sun had not reached, blades of grass were interlinked by an intricate filigree of frosted cobwebs more delicate than the finest lace. Perhaps it`s just as well I`m going back, she concluded - the cold mornings are starting already.
But the miles unwinding before her led inexorably towards questions shelved during her flight from reality. Why did Tom leave me with nothing, and what did Edgar mean about him giving money to young folks? -- Tom was never interested in good-works before, so why pick now to start?
At Delia`s house, she found her daughters and their spouses awaiting her arrival. Greeting her with unexpected warmth, Paul had the grace to look ashamed. `I`m sorry, Sylvia. The deal I was trying to pull off was important, but not more important than the family. I don`t know what got into me.`
A Long Road Through The Night Page 11
