by Jess Foley
Evie finished relating some anecdote concerning herself and Jack, then looked at Lydia and said, ‘And what about you?’
‘Me? What about me?’
‘Are you happier now? It’s been well over a year since Alfred’s death.’
‘Over thirteen months.’
‘Yes, and I see now you’re out of mourning.’
‘That seems to be what everyone notices.’ Lydia smiled. ‘I must say it makes a refreshing change to be able to put on a nice dress again, and to add a colourful scarf once in a while.’
‘So – what are you going to do now?’
‘What can I do? Look after Davie and look after the shop.’
‘Is that it? Just that?’
‘Well – what else is there?’
‘But – what do you see for the future?’
‘The future. Oh, Evie, how can I think about the future?’ Lydia fell silent for a moment, then said, ‘I remember you saying to me – it’s possible to love more than once.’
Evie nodded. ‘Yes, I did say that, and it’s true. Look at Jack and me.’
‘Yes, and perhaps you’re right where you’re concerned.’
‘You don’t think it’s true for you?’
‘No, I don’t think I do.’
At this point Davie’s voice came to them from two or three yards away. ‘Look at me! Mammy, look at me!’ and Lydia turned to him where he hung half upside down from one of the branches. ‘Yes, darling. Very good. Very clever.’
‘Look, Mammy – I’m a monkey!’
‘Yes, you are a monkey. A very clever little monkey.’
She continued to watch him for a moment or two in silence, then turned back to Evie.
Evie said, ‘When you talk about loving someone – you’re not talking about – about Alfred, are you?’
‘No.’ Lydia shook her head again.
‘I thought not.’
‘I loved Alfred,’ Lydia said. ‘I truly did – but in a certain way. Not in the way that I have loved – and still do love.’ She put her hands to her face. She had never spoken like this before, and was amazed at her own daring, that she could voice such thoughts, such feelings.
A little silence between them was broken only by the sounds of Davie’s exertions as he clambered about. Then Evie said, ‘Have you heard any word from – from him? From Guy?’
‘No. But I wouldn’t have expected any word. After all, I’ve been in mourning. He wouldn’t be so – improper as to intrude at such a time.’
‘But it’s over a year now.’
‘I know that, but what does that change?’
‘Well – you might – hear from him. Now that a year’s gone by.’
‘I – I don’t think so.’
‘But you’re free.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘And he knows that.’
Lydia shrugged. After a moment she said, ‘I wrote to him. Right after he came to meet me in Pershall Dean that day, and it was just after my letter was posted that Alfred had his – his attack.’
‘Oh? And what did you say in your letter?’
‘I asked him never to contact me again.’ Lydia found it almost painful to voice the words. ‘I said that it was all over between us. I ended it. For ever. It was very final.’
Evie thought about this, then said, ‘Even so – events change things. You might still hear from him.’
Lydia frowned. ‘No. No.’ But even as she spoke she thought of the little picture in her bag – but no, that was some foolish thing, something that could have no meaning for her. ‘It’s over,’ she said.
‘Not necessarily,’ Evie replied. She gave a deep sigh and added, as if impatiently, ‘Oh, why is it always up to the man to make the first move? Why does the woman have to just sit by and wait for things to happen?’
Lydia said nothing.
‘Who knows,’ Evie said, ‘you might hear from him yet. He might write to you after a time.’
‘It would be a miracle.’
‘Yes, but miracles do happen. Though sometimes they need a little help.’
Lydia shook her head.
‘You could write to him,’ Evie said. ‘Have you thought of that?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t. Of course I couldn’t do that.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘I couldn’t be so forward, and in any case, he’ll be getting on with his life. I told him that that is what he must do – and a lot can happen in a year.’
‘Then what will you do?’
Lydia gave a little smile, without humour. ‘I don’t know,’ she said wearily. ‘Nothing. Nothing.’
‘I don’t know when I ever saw you quite like this before,’ Evie said. ‘Quite so lost like this.’
Guy had said something about being lost. Lydia could remember his words, spoken on that day when they had met. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s it. I suppose I am.’
Distantly, from across the village, came on the breeze the sound of the church clock. Lydia stirred. ‘I must go in a minute. Father will be getting home. I want to prepare his supper for this evening, and then Davie and I must start back to Merinville. I don’t like to rush.’ As she spoke she had been thinking again of the little picture that had come in the post, and she drew her bag towards her, dipped into it and drew out the envelope. In the same moment Evie looked up at the sky, and said, ‘You’ve had good weather for your little trip.’
‘Oh, it’s been beautiful.’ Lydia glanced around at the green trees, the crops growing in the fields. ‘I love the midsummer days.’ She drew out the picture from the envelope. At the same time she called to the boy, ‘Come on, Davie, we must think about starting back. I’ve got to prepare Grandpa’s supper.’
‘I love midsummer too,’ Evie said, a little dreamily, ‘and of course it’s the longest day today.’
Davie had left his perch on the tree branch and now came towards his mother, brushing the dust from his hands. ‘What’s that you’ve got there, Mammy?’ he said as he came to Lydia’s side and saw the little picture in her hand.
Curious, Davie took the paper from her fingers as she turned to Evie. ‘What did you say?’ Lydia said. ‘The longest day? Today is the longest day?’
‘Yes, it’s the twenty-first.’
‘The twenty-first,’ Lydia breathed. ‘The longest day. Of course.’
‘Oh, they’re lost, look.’
The words had come from Davie as he stood beside his mother’s knee, looking at the picture. Lydia turned to him at once. ‘What was that?’
‘The children in the picture . . .’ He pointed to them.
‘No – something else you said.’
‘I said they’re lost. It’s a picture of them when they’re lost. Like Hansel and Gretel.’
Lydia gave a slow nod. ‘Lost. Of course.’ She breathed the words as she took the piece of paper from him. ‘Of course.’ She turned the paper over and looked at the words scrawled there: We too?
It was so obvious, she thought. The answer was there all the time, and it took a child to find it.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Evie, watching as Lydia rose up from her seat on the tree trunk. ‘What’s up?’
Lydia looked distracted. ‘This picture – and something – something someone said. Something – he said.’
Evie got up beside her. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand.’
‘This little picture that came in the post this morning . . .’ She held it out and Evie took it from her hand. ‘It was a message. I see it now. You see –’ she gestured to the drawing, ‘they’re lost.’
‘Yes,’ Evie said, looking at the picture. ‘Yes, I see. Hansel and Gretel probably – or the Babes in the Wood.’
‘Yes.’ Lydia murmured the word. ‘It goes along with something he said to me – when we met – and it was the same as today: the longest day.’ She took a step away. ‘I’ve got to go. Now. Evie, I’ve got to go.’ She reached out her hand and took the drawing and pushed it bac
k into her bag. Then again she reached out, now to Davie. ‘Davie, come on, we’re going. We’ll get Grandpa his supper and then go and get the coach.’
The two women and the child started back along the lane, Lydia stepping out smartly and setting the pace. The swift exodus had taken Evie unprepared, and she laughed and exclaimed at their hurrying. ‘Why are we rushing like this, Lyddy?’ she said. ‘What’s the hurry?’
‘I told you,’ Lydia said, ‘we’ve got to get back.’ Suddenly she could feel her heart beating and she felt slightly breathless. ‘I’m sorry, Evie, but we’ve got to go.’
On returning to her father’s house, Lydia found that he had just returned, and was in the kitchen cutting bread and cheese. She left him to it and quickly peeled some potatoes and prepared some greens for when he returned for his evening meal. She had also left for him a chicken pie that she had brought with her from Merinville. It was already cooked, she said, and he could eat it cold. She did all the work conscious of almost every second that passed, and wishing she could leave.
Then, at last, she and Davie were ready, and they said their goodbyes to her father, himself anxious to get off on his errand. She kissed him briefly on the cheek, and he kissed and embraced Davie, and they were on their way.
When they got off the coach outside the railway station at Merinville, Lydia led Davie by the hand into the station itself. ‘Where are we going, Mammy?’ Davie asked. ‘Are we going on the train?’
‘Yes, we are, darling.’
‘Aren’t we going home yet?’
‘Not yet, dear. We’ll catch the train. We haven’t much time, though. It’s about to leave. We must hurry.’ Indeed, they had hurried all the way so far, whenever it was possible, and during the journey on the coach from Capinfell Lydia had sat impatiently, willing the horses to move faster.
They were too late, however. They arrived on the platform to see the end of the train as it steamed away into the distance.
‘We missed the train,’ Davie observed sadly.
‘Yes, we missed the train.’ Lydia felt she could have wept.
‘Where was the train going?’
‘What? To Redbury.’
‘And are we going to Redbury?’
‘That – that was my intention, but now . . .’ She did not know what to do. One thought that prodded at her mind was that she was a fool. She was a fool for thinking for a moment that he would remember, and yet . . . and yet he had sent the little picture . . . It must have been he who had sent it.
There was a guard nearby and taking Davie by the hand she went to him, and asked the time of the next train to Redbury. ‘There’s one in fifteen minutes, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘The twelve-forty-eight from Swindon.’
She thanked him. ‘We’ll wait,’ she said to the boy, and on a positive note she added, ‘and at least it’ll give me a chance to buy our tickets first, instead of waiting to pay on the train.’
She went back to the booking office then and bought the tickets for a return journey, after which they went back to the platform and took a seat on a bench.
The time dragged by.
‘Why are we going to Redbury, Mammy?’ Davie asked, and she could not give him an answer. He enquired a second time, and she said, holding back her impatience, ‘I have to, dear. That’s all there is to it.’
At last the train came in and they climbed aboard. Then a minute later and the train was moving again.
Stoke Halt was the next stop, followed by Stoke Carron. After that came the junction of Redbury, where so many of the passengers were bound. When the train had pulled in, Lydia alighted and lifted Davie after her. Then, firmly holding his hand, she quickly led the way along the platform and out of the station. She had not been to Redbury in several years, but she had no time to indulge in any nostalgic reunion with the place; she must get to the town centre and the square.
The only cabs in sight as they emerged onto the street were two that were already hired. She did not know what to do – to stay in the hope of one appearing or to make their way on foot.
‘Come,’ she said after a moment, ‘we must walk. It’s not far. We can’t wait around here.’
They set off, Davie’s hand stretched up to grasp her own. ‘Mammy,’ he said, ‘please, don’t walk so fast. I can’t keep up.’ They had come out onto the street now and she quickly came to a halt and crouched before the boy, her skirts in the dust. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m only thinking of myself. I’m being selfish. I’ll go a little slower.’ So saying, she straightened, took his hand again, and set off once more. Although she was able to force herself to slow her pace a little, it took all her concentration, for every cell of her being was urging her to run.
Then at the next corner a cab came into view and Lydia hailed it. It pulled to a halt and she gave the driver their destination. Moments later she and Davie were on board and they were starting off through the Redbury streets at a faster pace.
When they reached the square the cab driver stopped at the corner, and Lydia stepped down on to the pavement, lifted Davie down beside her and paid the fare. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, and the thought came again into her mind that she was a fool for she was merely playing in a charade.
‘Where are we going now, Mammy?’
‘Just across the square, dear.’
And across the square they went, and into the little garden that was set on the side, the little garden with the laburnum tree, the arch, the benches and the water fountain.
They sat down on the same bench that she had taken that summer day all those years ago, when she had come to the city for her interview and to meet Ryllis. ‘Sit here, dear, beside me.’ She lifted Davie up onto the seat, and put her bag next to her on the right. Looking out of the garden she saw the familiar view that she remembered from when she sat watching out for her sister when they had lost one another in the confusion. Perhaps you don’t have to be lost. She could hear his voice. But if you are lost, then it’s as well to have a special place to run to. And then, his words on the back of the picture of the lost children: We too?
She looked around her. There were people there; a couple was sitting on a bench, a youth had stopped to drink at the fountain, two young sweethearts stood facing one another, clasping each other’s hands and murmuring. Strangers all, like those that moved across her vision out in the square. The clock up in the tower said fifteen minutes to four. She was forty-five minutes late. Of course there was no sign of him – but had she truly expected that he would be there? How could she have been such a fool? Here she was, a grown woman with a child, and dragging that child on a wild goose chase over the city, in pursuit of some dream that she had harboured like the most senseless schoolgirl. What an idiot she was, to have thought for one moment that he would be there, that he would have remembered – but there was the picture, she reminded herself. There was the picture.
‘Are we there, Mammy?’
She turned at Davie’s voice and looked down into his anxious little face, shaded by the brim of his hat. He was affected by the concern in her own expression, by the anxiety that showed in every movement of her body. She must try to be calmer, for his sake if no one else’s. ‘Let’s take your hat off for a minute,’ she said absently. ‘You must be terribly warm.’
‘I am,’ he said. ‘Terribly warm.’
She took off his hat and ran her fingers through his hair. The perspiration was damp on his smooth brow. ‘There now.’
‘Are we?’ he said. He sounded concerned, a little worried.
‘Are we? Are we what, dear? What d’you mean?’
‘Are we there now? Have we got to where we’re going?’
His words came through to her in the heat of the summer’s day. She was damp with perspiration and saw the dust collected on her gloves and skirt. She felt the utter uselessness and pointlessness of it all. And suddenly it simply became more than she could bear and, although she closed her eyes, the tears welled up and burst between her eyelids a
nd ran down her cheeks. She pressed her hands to her face and bent forward.
‘Mammy! Oh, Mammy, no!’
Davie’s cry brought a sob breaking from her lips and, angry at herself, she brushed away the tears. She must not cry in front of the child. She turned to him and wrapped her arms around him and drew him close to her. ‘It’s all right, my darling. I’m all right.’
There were tears, and fear too, in his own voice as he said, ‘But you’re crying. Oh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’
‘There, there . . . I’m not really crying,’ she lied. ‘I’m just a little hot and bothered. All that walking in the sun, and waiting for the train. Don’t be upset, my darling. I’m all right now. We’ll have a little rest for a minute or two and then we’ll go on back home.’ She had forced the tears to stop, but she continued to sit with her arms around the boy, eyes closed, her chin resting on the top of his head, his small hand so warm in her own.
‘You were late.’
The voice, soft and without censure, came to her from somewhere to her right, and she opened her eyes and saw him standing there. He wore a soft felt hat and a light jacket with a blue cravat.
‘Oh,’ she said. And again, ‘Oh’ – a little sound escaping from her throat, a little breath of wonder. He was there. After all, he was there.
He came and stood before her. ‘I was here at three, just as I was all those years ago,’ he said with a faint smile, ‘and I waited a little while. Then I took a walk around the square, and I turned – and there you were.’ He paused. ‘You got the drawing. And you remembered.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I remembered.’ And then: ‘I could never forget.’ She picked up her bag and set it down on the flags at her feet, the boy’s hat on top of it, and Guy came and sat down beside her on the bench. He reached out after a moment and took her hand, then smiled at Davie who still sat held in the crook of her arm. ‘How are you, Davie?’ he said.
