by MARY HOCKING
She said to Claire, Terence had plenty to say for himself.’
Terence is a teacher. He does know what he is talking about.’
‘Ben had a much harder childhood, with no father to provide for him. His mother had to scrimp and save to make sure he had a good education. You know how proud he is of what she did for him.’
Terence feels passionately about that sort of thing! He thinks it is wicked that some people should have to sacrifice so much to give their children what should be theirs by right. If only Ben would let him speak, Terence could explain that to him.’
‘Ben admired his mother as she was. He doesn’t want Terence to explain her labours away!’
A scratching at the door interrupted them. Claire opened it to admit the cat. She scooped up the animal and sat with it on her lap, ‘Don’t let’s argue. It’s so lovely to be together. I do wish Lou could have come. We haven’t had a day out – the three of us – for so long.’
‘Why didn’t she come?’
‘Apparently Guy had planned some expedition for them all that he had forgotten to mention. Terence would never do that. We talk everything over together.’
While they were drinking tea they talked over the seating arrangements in the car. Judith was not coming and Austin would be driving; the Rover would seat two in the front and three in the back. It took them quite a time to reach a solution which had been obvious to everyone else from the start: Claire, in view of her condition, must sit in front where there would be more room.
They made a later start than intended because Claire insisted that she must inspect the herb garden; but at last they were on their way and could see trees, fields, hills climbing up into the sky like a Cézanne landscape. At some point along the Eastbourne road Terence suddenly announced that he had seen the path leading to the place where he had camped on the Downs.
‘You mentioned the Bo Peep farm,’ Austin said. ‘That turning is further on.’
But Terence was insistent, and, since this was their day, Austin obligingly turned the Rover on to the narrow lane. There were houses ahead in between trees. It was possible. He was always telling visitors with enthusiasm that there was no end to the discoveries to be made in this area. In spite of his apparent sophistication he was a romantic at heart.
‘I hope you are sure?’ Claire was aware that the air of quiet certainty adopted by Terence was a sign that he wanted something to be true and should not be mistaken for knowledge.
By this time they had gone some way down the lane and Austin could not, in any case, have turned the car. The lane was narrow with high hedgerows on either side, so the only course was to go on. This delighted Alice who did not like journeys to proceed in a well-ordered fashion from departure to destination. She sat back between Terence and Ben, happy to renounce the pleasures of Firle Beacon in favour of the possibility of getting lost in the darker regions of upland Sussex. Ben, who was already feeling cramped and short of breath, wished they had made for Firle Beacon.
Through gaps in hedgerows they had glimpses of cottages which Alice invariably greeted with ‘How remote!’ and ‘I wonder how they manage in winter.’ She invested so much wonder into these remarks one might well have supposed her to be speaking of Tibet. They passed a gateway with empty milks churns awaiting collection. ‘At least the milk van makes this path!’ Ben said.
Twigs scraped the side of the car, which annoyed Austin; but when he drove to the right the bonnet was smacked by the broken branch of an ash tree. They came to two cottages close to the path and debated whether to ask if there was a way through – each interpreting ‘through’ in his own fashion, but Terence said he was sure the path went ‘on and over’ so on they went.
This is the place where the boundary doesn’t run, Alice thought, where beyond is now and out of time. She had been there once and had forgotten about it; but since she returned from the war she had begun to search for it again.
The path twisted along the side of the valley, the hills rising steadily in front. There were sheep and cattle grazing. ‘A good herd,’ Terence told them, although his vision was so limited he would have been hard-pressed to tell a sheep from a calf at this distance.
Austin considered stopping at a long, timbered house, its russet chimney glowing in the sunlight, and then, seeing broken windows and nettles high in the porch, realised it was empty. ‘I hope that’s not going to be allowed to rot,’ he said, and fell to wondering which of his authors might be entrusted with its restoration. In an unguarded moment, it came to him how much his son would have enjoyed doing this. Further on they passed a telephone box and Claire said, ‘Hooray for civilisation!’ and laughed nervously. A mud-streaked dog erupted from the back of a farm cottage and dared them to descend from their vehicle and stand paw to paw. The lane, which had widened a little, now became narrower and began to climb.
‘I thought it would take us over the top,’ Terence said, with the slightest hint of relief in his voice. Ben gripped the edge of the seat.
Some three long bends later, Claire said, ‘Anyway, it’s been a beautiful drive. And a bit of an adventure.’ Her tone made it plain that as far as she and the baby were concerned, this was adventure enough.
Terence had stopped saying much by this time. There was a large farm ahead, separated from the lane by outhouses. The overhanging hill was now so high it had assumed the proportions of a mountain. A path that might have been scored by a thumbnail twisted up it. Alice said, ‘I don’t think that can be our way, do you?’
‘A jeep might do it,’ Austin said. ‘Certainly not the Rover.’
He was contemplating backing the car all the way to the Eastbourne road when he realised that the lane ended here in a wide, rough area of mud and rubble, a rudimentary turning space. They all laughed with relief, and Austin said it had been worth doing anyway. He had begun to turn the car when Ben asked him to stop for a moment. He got out and walked to the side of one of the outhouses where he leant against the wall, steadying himself by taking long deep breaths. When he came back, he said to Austin, ‘I’ll guide you round.’ It was not necessary, but Austin did not argue.
As they set off again, Terence said he could not think how he came to make such a mistake.
‘It is a very long time since you were here,’ Claire said. ‘And you’re not a country person.’
Terence, wounded by this reminder of a childhood spent in Isleworth, took off his glasses and began to punish them vigorously with a handkerchief.
Alice said, ‘It is nice to know these places still exist, so remote . . .’
Ben said, ‘What is all this about places being remote? You make it sound like a virtue instead of an inconvenience.’
‘It’s good to know some places are still unspoilt . . .’
‘Unspoilt by what?’ He jerked his head in the direction of the farm. ‘For all you know, the farmer beats his wife and children regularly every morning before breakfast.’
‘Should we have asked the way at the farm?’ Claire said anxiously.
It was some distance away now, hidden behind outhouses.
Austin said, ‘They could only tell us to go back.’
The sun was dipping behind the hills and the lane was in shadow. After they had been travelling for a few minutes in uneasy silence, Alice said, ‘You get a better view this way. The hedges don’t seem so high.’
‘It’s the tilt of the land,’ Terence told her.
‘I wouldn’t have thought that would have made any difference.’ She had been bruised by Ben and now asserted herself. ‘And anyway, it didn’t tilt when we came.’
‘You may not have thought that it did, but it did,’ he said angrily. ‘There was a distinct tilt.’
They bumped on in silence until Claire said, ‘We haven’t come to that telephone box yet, have we?’
‘That was miles back,’ Terence snapped.
‘I didn’t see it. And I don’t remember the path being so rough, either.’ She laid her hand on her stomach.
> They went a few hundred yards further, then Austin said quietly, ‘This isn’t the same path.’
Ben said, ‘It must be,’ but he was not arguing, only puzzled. They all knew that they had not passed the telephone box.
‘You couldn’t have guided Austin down the wrong path,’ Alice said to him. ‘You are so practical.’ She had forgotten about stepping out of time and was beginning to realise they were going to be late back for tea.
Austin said, ‘Well, we shall have to go on, we can’t turn here.’ The path began to rise steeply. Soon, they could see the roof of the farmhouse some distance below.
‘This is the path over the top,’ Terence said triumphantly. ‘I knew there was one.’
‘We’re going in the wrong direction,’ Alice said.
‘As long as we get over the top, it doesn’t matter which direction we go in . . .’
‘And what do you imagine there will be over the top?’ Ben demanded. ‘Apart from more of this.’
‘We can’t go up there, can we?’ Claire looked up apprehensively.
‘It’s not Everest,’ Terence snapped. ‘It’s not even snowdon, In fact, the highest hill in this area is only about 400 feet.’ He had looked that I up on the ordnance survey map before setting out.
The path twisted and climbed. The air was sharp. They stopped talking. When they were two-thirds of the way up the hill, the path came to an abrupt end. There was a low stone wall ahead of them and hedges on either side. It was quite impossible to go on, or to turn the car.
Austin wound down the window, letting in the fresh evening air. They all sat staring ahead, reluctant to believe in the wall.
Terence said, ‘There must be a gate.’
Ben opened the door and got out. He walked to the wall and leant his elbows on it. Although the wall continued in a low semicircle as far as he could see, no broken stones indicated habitation, however ancient. Whatever had been here, the earth had long since covered it, so that there was only green turf clipped close by sheep. In Siam, where nature worked faster, the jungle cemetery where Geoffrey was buried would be a tangle of bright green vine leaves and young trees with long tasselled blossoms.
In the car, Terence said, ‘Perhaps someone meant to build up here and then decided not to.’ Practical explanations were important to him.
Claire said, ‘I think we’ll go back now.’
Austin switched on the engine and looked at the petrol guage. ‘I’m afraid we’re very low on petrol.’
‘But we have enough to get us home,’ Claire assured him tightly.
‘And even if we haven’t, the people at the farm will be sure to have some,’ Terence supplemented firmly.
Alice, feeling the tension mounting with each utterance, said, ‘Ben and I will walk down there.’ She opened the door and stumbled in her haste to get out. ‘It won’t take us long. You just sit here and enjoy the peace.’
Austin called after her, ‘There’s a can in the boot. I’ll get it for you.’
Claire looked out of the window, eyes wide with alarm. ‘Alice, don’t go!’
‘I’m not going anywhere – only down to the farm.’
‘You can come and sit in the back with me,’ Terence said sharply to Claire.
But she continued to look at Alice, her eyes pleading for comforts long past.
Austin came from the back of the car and handed the petrol can to Alice. She said, feeling suddenly conspiratorial, ‘It will be a long time before you take all of us out for a trip again!’
‘It will be a long time before I’m trusted to,’ he said wryly, thinking of Judith waiting at home.
Alice walked away, betrayal sitting like a hump on her shoulders. It was the same feeling she had had on the morning when they first went through the gates of the Winifred Clough Day School for Girls, and she had said to Claire, ‘You’ll have to look after yourself now, and it’s no use crying because I shan’t take any notice.’ At the little school in Sussex, Alice had been held responsible for her sister. But in this large school for over six hundred pupils, where Claire would be in the kindergarten, far removed from the classrooms inhabited by the juniors, Alice had imagined herself free of her sister’s dependence. Now Claire was married and shortly to become a mother, but her eyes still spoke their need of her dearest companion.
‘We’re going down to the farm for petrol,’ Alice told Ben defiantly.
‘Why do we want petrol?’ He had become like a child lost in a maze, refusing all advice, wilfully determined to find his own way out. In this instance, finding his own way meant making his own assessment of the petrol situation. Alice, aware that he must not be hustled even though she did not understand why, waited patiently while he went back to the car.
A bird glided overhead, its wings making big, slow-moving shadows on the grass. She began to draw together the threads of a story about a chance-found place in the hills where strange gods had once been worshipped – or, perhaps, a god which was her god seen through other eyes. The unknown god, long forgotten, but still present . . .
Ben was coming towards her. ‘Are you happy now?’ she asked.
He stood, meditating this, while she waited, legs apart, at ease with herself. She was wearing a honeyed tweed skirt with a sweater in the same pale colour, and her face was lightly ambered by the sun. The sandy hair, drawn back, disappeared into shadow behind her ears. He saw her as carved all in one piece – an impression she strove for but seldom imagined herself to achieve. It was the eyes which held the whole together, serious, considering, and – perhaps an effect of the level light – seeming to reflect, as unwavering water reflects the changing cloud patterns of the sky without itself becoming ruffled. It came to him as he stood looking at her, that this was the person in whose embrace he would both find and lose himself. Hereafter, she would thrust up, rooted as a tree from the soil of his imagination. He would always retain this image of her wholeness, even when it bore little resemblance to the fragmented person he encountered every day. His Alice was like the woman painted by a great artist, standing with upraised arms in an orchard, forever held in dappled light, or half-turned in welcome from a gate, the swing of the shoulders, the wind-combed hair, fixed for all time – or, at least, for all the time he had. Whether she could ever fulfil the promise that he saw of peace and refreshment, of mystery and fruition, it would have been hard to say, and perhaps irrelevant, since it represented his truth and that was what mattered.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down to the farm for petrol.’
He was stunned by the revelation he had had, and could scarcely reply intelligently to anything she said. And Alice, who dreamt of finding someone who would put all the bits and pieces of her together and present the finished work to her, sharp and clear as crystal, walked beside him, unaware, as she would always be, of his vision of her.
‘This is beautiful, isn’t it? I’m glad we came.’ She swung the petrol can unconcernedly in the direction of the hills. ‘I wish I could paint it.’
‘Do you paint?’
‘No. But I’m going to classes on art appreciation.’ The lecturer had opened up a new vision of the world, and in her gratitude she had fallen in love with him along with the shifts of light and shade to which he drew her attention. ‘The classes are held at the City Lit.,’ she said. ‘They get people who really know their subjects – Nicholas Medd and people like that.’ Her heart gave a little flutter as she spoke his name.
To the west, the sun enflamed a huge cornucopia of cumulus, but to the east the thinning blue of the sky was hazed, composing fields and woods in the calm of evening. A solitary cow, dejected, rubbed its flank against a tree. ‘I expect it has something wrong with it, poor thing – so it’s in the isolation wing,’ Alice said. The cow looked mournfully to the next field where its companions munched contentedly.
Now, the woods came close to the path; they had hardly noticed how close on their way up because their eyes had been drawn to the hills. The trees were pricked with green bu
t underfoot there was a russet carpet of last years’ leaves. A beaten track twisted towards a glimmer of slate-grey water. ‘I suppose we haven’t got time to explore,’ Alice said regretfully.
‘No.’
They walked on, leaving the hidden pool undisturbed.
Near the farm, Ben stopped, ‘They probably won’t give us petrol. Why should they?’ The thought of approaching strangers was bad enough, without having to ask a favour.
‘I’ll go,’ Alice said. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Certainly not.’ He was offended. ‘You wait here.’ He took the can from her and strode across the yard. A collie rushed out and circled him, barking hysterically. Ben disappeared round the side of an outhouse and the collie came back to vent its considerable spleen on Alice, its yellow eyes calculating how far it might go. She stood her S ground, suspecting that any move would be regarded as licence to bite. After what seemed a very long time, Ben reappeared accompanied by a lumbering, brick-faced man who called off the dog and shut it in one of the sheds.
It was apparent that the farmer and Ben were not on the best of terms, but Alice could tell from the way Ben held the can that it was now heavier.
‘We are very grateful to you,’ she said, in case Ben had failed to make this apparent.
‘You’ve got to get down before you’ll have any call to be grateful.’ He was not appeased. ‘And how you’re going to manage that, I don’t know. I’ve heard of some fool things in my time, but . . .’ His voice rumbled into incoherence. His dog, snarling from the window of the shed, assured them that were he free he would have their guts for garters.
‘Good for you!’ Alice said to Ben as they made their way up the lane.
When they had moved out of sight of the farm, Ben said, ‘I’ll have to sit down for a moment.’
‘Yes, all right.’
He sat with his legs drawn up, his head resting on his knees, his body clenched tight as a sheathed knife.
‘I’ll take the can up to Austin while you wait here,’ she said, thinking that Claire would be getting in a state by now.
