by Alan Millard
Matthew closed his eyes in exasperation. ‘So you do think I’m mad. What sort of help might I need - a shrink or maybe the men in white to take me away?’
‘No, of course I don’t think you’re mad but you must admit what happened wasn’t exactly normal.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I just thought you might like to talk about it.’
‘Meaning you’d like to talk about it?’
‘Only if it helps - I don’t want it to get worse and affect your work.’
‘It hasn’t affected my work this week has it?’
Matthew gave up. ‘Okay. You know best. You’re probably right. Let’s hope so.’
The following weeks passed without incident. As December approached Simon brought up the subject of Christmas and asked Matthew if he had any plans.
‘Plans?’ Matthew looked mystified. To him Christmas was a time to get through as painlessly as possible while others did whatever they enjoyed doing. Christmas needed no planning. ‘Drink, I suppose,’ he said, ‘or if things are still going as well as they have been I might work through it. I was called into Dyer’s office last week. There’s a new commission he wants me to look at, a shopping complex with a virtually free hand to plan it from scratch. Why? Have you arranged something?’
‘I usually spend Christmas at home. My parents wondered if you’d like to join us this year.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes really.’ Simon omitted to say that he’d been the one to ask his parents if Matthew could come and not them who’d invited him. But their response was to welcome anyone he cared to bring. ‘My sister will be there. She’s dying to meet you.’
Matthew was pleased to be wanted and agreed to go.
***
I’d long since finished my coffee and the flask was almost empty. ‘So had Matthew finally exorcised his past or would the coming Christmas prove to be a disaster?’ I asked.
Howard cleared away the percolator and produced a bottle of Courvoisier with a couple of brandy glasses. He poured two generous portions.
‘I shouldn’t drink any more,’ I protested. ‘I have to drive home.’
‘You can stay the night,’ Howard said, ‘there are enough spare rooms.’
‘Are you sure?’ I’d nothing planned for the following day.
‘Quite sure. Shall I carry on?’
‘Go ahead,’ I replied. I was ready to drink whatever he gave me and itching to know what would happen at Christmas. In spite of Matthew’s apparent change and growing self-confidence, knowing by now how unstable he was I imagined the worst.
‘Drink up!’ said Howard. ‘It’s time for a change of scenery. Have you ever been to Cheddar?’
‘I can’t say I have though I suspect we’re going there now.’
‘Indeed we are,’ he said.
***
‘Are you sure this’ll get us there?’ Matthew seemed doubtful.
‘As long as you don’t mind pushing it up the hills.’ Rejecting his father’s offer to come and fetch them Simon had purchased a second-hand Ford Fiesta two days before they were due to leave.
‘Does it have a guarantee?’
‘Three months and it’s a good runner or so I was told.’
‘When did you learn to drive?’
‘When I was toddler. I was brought up on a farm remember. The only way to get around was to drive a tractor.’
‘Is it that muddy?’
‘Knee-deep but you’ll survive. My sister will pull you out of the mire if you get stuck. Claire’s tough, has to be, working on the farm.’ Simon caught Matthew’s smile and began to believe he had changed for the better.
The weather was bitterly cold but calm when they set off for the farm. After half an hour Simon pulled into a pub he’d known from his teenage days. He bought a pint for Matthew and a half for himself then led the way to a seat set into the inglenook fireplace where a log fire was already burning. ‘Look up the chimney,’ he said, ‘and you’ll see the sky.’
Matthew leaned forwards and looking up through the smoke caught a glimpse of the blue. ‘Wow! Quite a feature,’ he said. ‘They certainly knew how to build in the old days. I might steal the idea and incorporate it into a modern design.’
‘No doubt you will and as well as impressing the boss you’ll probably end up winning a Nobel Prize for reviving the Prince Charles’ dream of re-inventing the past for a brighter future.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Matthew lifted his glass beginning to wonder if the faultless Simon was succumbing to the sin envy but before he could gloat Simon changed the subject.
‘We’ll soon be climbing over the Poldens,’ he said, ‘and when we reach the top you’ll see a sign on a house marked “Marshal’s Elm”. I’m not sure what the place is used for now but it was once an inn made famous by Thomas Hardy.’
‘Wasn’t he an architect?’
‘He was but he’s better known as an author and poet.’
‘And Marshal’s Elm meant something to him?’
‘It did. He wrote a long poem about it. The tale begins with four people: a pregnant woman, her lover, Mother Lee and Jeering John. They were walking cross-country from Wynyard’s Gap on the Dorset Heights and along the way the pregnant woman taunted her lover by flirting with Jeering John. They stopped at Marshal’s Elm inn where it all went horribly wrong. Taking things too far the pregnant woman sat on Jeering John’s lap and her lover began to wonder if the baby he thought was his might be Jeering John’s.’
‘And was it?’
‘No, but when her lover took her aside to ask if the child was his she teased him by pretending it was Jeering John’s.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The lover went berserk and stabbed Jeering John to death. He was later hanged at Ilchester jail. Mother Lee died and the pregnant woman gave birth to her dead lover’s stillborn baby.’
‘Was that the end of the tale?’
‘Not quite. They say that her lover’s ghost still haunts these parts on moonlit nights still wanting to know if he or Jeering John was the father.’ Having finished the story Simon wondered how wise it had been to mention a ghost.
They finished their drinks and drove on. To Simon’s relief Matthew seemed unperturbed when they passed Marshal’s Elm. Soon after Wells they passed a sign to Wookey Hole. ‘I’ve heard of this place,’ said Matthew, ‘something to do with a witch, wasn’t it?’
Having raised one ghost Simon glossed over the subject . ‘The Witch of Wookey. No one you’d need worry about. Like Lot’s wife she was turned into stone by a monk and finally silenced.’
‘Is anyone ever finally silenced? ’
Simon ignored the question supposing Matthew might be referring to his father. ‘Not far now,’ he said. ‘Soon we’ll be driving up through the Gorge.’
Matthew had never been to Cheddar and was more than impressed by the stunning scenery. Looking up through the top of the windscreen he peered in awe at the towering cliffs but the grandeur proved to be short-lived. As the narrow road snaked its way up through the Gorge the cliffs gradually shrank to low banks covered with scrubland, stunted trees and randomly scattered rocks until the countryside levelled out.
‘Hold tight, we’re here,’ said Simon turning into a potholed track.
As soon as Simon pulled up his mother appeared in the doorway and rushed towards him. She was shorter than Simon but had the same fair hair and bright blue eyes. She hugged him as soon as he stepped from the car and to Matthew’s embarrassment hugged him as well. ‘So you must be Matthew,’ she beamed. ‘Simon told us all about you. Anyway leave your luggage for now. Come in and warm yourselves by the fire. I’ll put the kettle on. Your dad and Claire are about somewhere. They shouldn’t be long.’
Unlike its grey exterior the inside of the house was welcoming and cosy. In one corner a decorated Christmas tree sparkled reflecting the firelight. There were Christmas cards on display in every available space, greenery on the window sills, mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, balloons pinned to the oak beams and warm carpets covering the flagstone floor. It was all that a Somerset farmhouse should be. Matthew looked in amazement comparing it with his own childhood memories of Christmas in a bare room bleak as the Bethlehem manger. As he was taking it all in Simon’s father and sister came bursting into the room. They rushed up to them welcoming both as if they were brothers.
It was almost midnight when Simon and Matthew, amply wined and dined, retired to the renovated cottage which had recently been converted from a barn into holiday accommodation as an additional source of income. ‘So what exactly does your dad do?’ asked Matthew though he’d rather have talked about Claire whose eyes had been on him all night.
‘Lots of things on the side but mainly calves. He takes them when they’re separated from the cows. He weans them and packs them off to the beef farmers to be fattened up. You’re lucky there aren’t any here tonight! In another month’s time you wouldn’t be able to sleep for their constant wailing.’
Dreams of wailing calves, Claire’s eyes, cow’s eyes, his mother’s eyes gazing at Toby Carter and his father’s eyes pleading from down on a railway line haunted Matthew for most of the night till Simon roused him with ‘Happy Christmas! It’s almost nine o’clock.’
Like most Christmas days the hours were filled with drinking and snacking well before noon, unwrapping presents, Christmas lunch, an afternoon stroll around the farm, teatime with everyone too full to eat, party games, board games and, finally, lounging in front of the tele. Just as Simon and Matthew were ready for bed Simon’s father broached the subject of holidays.
‘We were thinking,’ he said, ‘me and your mum that come summer you’ll be wanting a break so we wondered if you’d fancy using the Lynmouth place free of charge of course. There’s no bookings for the beginning of June so you’re welcome to have it if you want. It’s nothing special and there’s no knowing what the weather will do but it’s a nice enough place. Anyway have a think about it and let me know.’
‘What does he mean - the Lynmouth cottage?’ Matthew asked as soon as they were back on their own.
‘It’s only another house. They saw it on holiday in Lynmouth going cheap so they bought it, did it up and turned it into another holiday let.’
‘And how do we get there - by train?’
The question worried Simon. ‘What made you think of that?’
‘I thought it might be too far for the car.’
‘Well you needn’t worry about any trains. It’s down on the coast under Exmoor. Even Brunel wouldn’t have known how to tunnel a track through there. We’ll be driving provided the car keeps going.’
‘So you’re set on us going are you? Shouldn’t we talk about it first?’
‘What’s there to talk about? Somewhere to stay for nothing. You’ll love the place. What is it with you? Relax! Let’s sleep on it, please. I’m tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
On Boxing Day the weather had changed for the worse. The sky was covered in low grey cloud blown in overnight. They sat at the breakfast table wondering how to spend the day. The original plan for a brisk walk by the Chew Valley Lake seemed pointless now. Claire was keen to do anything rather than sit around doing nothing. ‘Is there somewhere you’d like to go Matthew?’ she asked.
Matthew’s reply was brusque. ‘How should I know? I’ve never been here before.’
Claire with everyone else was taken aback. On Christmas Day he’d been the life and soul of the party, sociable, talkative, quick with quips, joining in everything and full of suggestions for what to do next when things fell flat. And now after saying nothing over breakfast he was snapping at Claire like a sulky child. Simon’s father stepped in. ‘I know mother,’ he said as if she were the only one in the room. ‘Why don’t we go to Wells and take a look around the Cathedral? Simon and Matthew can tell us all about the architecture. I’m sure they’d do a better job of it than the guides. What do you think?’
‘Suits me,’ she said, ‘so long as everyone else is happy. What do you think - Simon, Claire?’ No mention of Matthew.
Simon gladly agreed and so did Claire though not as readily as her brother.
‘That’s settled then. We’ll clear up the breakfast things and be off.’ His father seemed more than pleased with himself for saving a difficult situation. Matthew said nothing.
The rain was falling steadily when they reached the Cathedral. ‘Here we are,’ said Simon’s father parking the Jeep close to the cathedral. ‘Let’s take a look!’
Simon did his best to point out to Matthew every feature he’d known and loved from his previous visits: the grand West Front with its sculpted façade, the scissor arch, the four fruit thief sculptures carved around one of the pillars, the worn steps leading up to the Chapter House and the Chapter House itself with its fan-vaulted ceiling. Matthew mooched along at the rear saying nothing and showing no sign of being at all impressed or interested.
Outside they wandered along by the moat surrounding the Bishop’s palace. Claire walked ahead with her parents giving Simon a chance to try and find out what was troubling Matthew but Matthew was giving nothing away. Retracing their steps they strolled back to the market square and stopped as they always did to look at the brass strip set into the pavement recording the distance of Mary Rand’s winning Olympic jump. Whenever he’d come to Wells as a child Simon had jumped along the strip attempting to beat his own past records. If Matthew had been in a better mood he’d have challenged him to a jump. From the market square they walked into the town which resembled a ghost street with everywhere closed and only a few people braving the rain.
The atmosphere in the car on the return journey was as heavy and dark as the weather outside. Matthew’s mood had affected everyone. Back at the farm no one was sorry when he asked if they’d mind if he went for a walk. It was only Simon’s father who showed any concern and wanted to know where he’d be going.
‘Down to the bottom of the Gorge and back,’ said Matthew.’ You don’t see much from a car, do you?’
‘Well you be careful. There’s falling rocks and it’s twisty. You need to watch out for the cars. They come round them corners like nobody’s business. Best take Simon along.’
‘No I’d rather be on my own.’
‘Well you take care like I said.’
‘I will. I’ve been up and down enough times now so I won’t get lost.’
It was dark when Matthew returned. The family was sitting in front of the fire where Matthew assumed they’d all been talking about him, not that he cared. He would like to have gone straight to bed but Simon’s father wanted to know all about the walk. ‘How did it go? It’s a fair old trek down and back, two or three miles I should think.’
‘It was fine.’
‘Did you get to the bottom in daylight?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you think of the Gorge?’
‘Fine.’
‘It certainly is. They reckon it’s nigh on 450 feet at its deepest - carved out when the ice melted.’
‘Really.’
‘So I’ve heard. Isn’t that right mother?’
Simon’s mother nodded. ‘So you keep telling me.’
Claire broke in. ‘Will you be leaving tomorrow?’ she said, looking at Simon.
‘As soon as we’ve packed.’
‘When do you go back to work?’
‘Not till the New Year but there’s lots to sort out before then.’ Matthew couldn’t think what needed sorting out, but let it pass.
‘You’ll stop and have some breakfast before you go won’
t you?’ Simon’s mother spent most of her time thinking about food. ‘I’ll do you a few sandwiches to take with you.’
No one had much to say for the rest of the evening least of all Matthew. They switched on the television though no one was watching nor was anyone sorry when Simon decided to call it a day.
As planned they left after breakfast. Matthew was already in the car when Simon’s mother took Simon aside and asked if they’d somehow offended Matthew. Simon assured her they hadn’t and tried to explain that Matthew’s moods were volatile. It was nothing to do with them. His mother hugged him. ‘Take care of yourself, and Matthew,’ she said.
‘I will.’
They were home by mid-morning. Simon drove as fast as he could. Matthew said nothing and glued his eyes to the road. Once home they avoided each other for most of the following week. It was Simon more than Matthew who was glad to be back at work when the time came. Winter dragged slowly by but in March the weather changed for the better and with it Matthew’s mood. They’d hardly spoken all morning one Sunday when Matthew said out of the blue, ‘Do you fancy going for a walk?’
Simon looked up from his paper surprised but willing to do whatever Matthew wanted. ‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked.
‘I fancy Ninesprings.’
Simon’s face fell. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Don’t worry. Nothing will happen. Come on, let’s go!’
They followed the same route as before but now without incident. Matthew stepped over the spot on the path where the railway line had been without a second thought and ran up the slope into Ninesprings as though he were in a race he must win. Simon lagged behind as Matthew charged up the criss-crossing paths to the highest point.
‘Can we take a break?’ Simon was gasping for breath but Matthew wasn’t in the mood for hanging around. ‘Come on!’ he said. ‘Let’s go down to the grotto and make a wish!’ Without waiting for Simon he charged down the zigzag path to the grotto and made his wish.
