Full Circle

by Connie Monk

  ‘I’m not qualified to answer that,’ Louisa told him with a laugh. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever been on a farm of any sort. But I expect Mr Carter must have been glad to know he could go away now and leave you to look after things here.’

  ‘More than forty-one years I’ve been here – since just after him who’s guv’nor now got wed. Him and Miss Alice as I thought of her in those days were happy enough and no couple was more proud of their kids than they were when the boys were born. David, he came first, and eighteen months later there was young Leo. Never a sight or sound of David here at the farm these days; not since his mother passed away. She always spoke about him with such pride – the way he runs that factory place where they make the tools and implements.’ Then with a laugh that held more affection than humour, ‘Good thing the firm doesn’t rely on Leo. Full of fun, always was and, like they say, a leopard doesn’t change its spots. Anyway, when Leo said he wanted to take his dad with them I told him he could leave things just as they were here. Me and the boss get along well but, between you and me, his heart isn’t in farming. Funny, Leo is like him all over again – restless, flighty I might say; will-o’-the-wisp, that’s what Eva, my missus calls him. Says it with affection, mind you. I dare say she sizes him up right – she’s usually pretty cute about things, but to my mind he’s a chap who might settle down real happy here. Queer how it is with people, you know. A string of real red-lips girls he’s had over the years, none of them for more than a few months. Then he marries a sweet little soul like Bella. And I bet you another thing: it would be the same if he settled down to take his place as guv’nor here. I bet working on the land he’d find himself, if you get my meaning, ’cos I’m damned that he has in that factory place.’

  Nothing he’d said had needed an answer from Louisa, but she’d nodded occasionally to let him know she was listening. It seemed he might continue for the rest of the afternoon if she didn’t stop him, so she said, ‘I’ve not met Leo, but Bella told me he would rather be using the implements than designing them. I must go; I’ve a lot of sorting out to do. I’m sorry Mr Carter isn’t here, but when he’s had a break I expect he’ll be back. I’ve enjoyed our talk, Mr—?’

  ‘Mr Nothing. I’m Ted Johnson. Just Ted.’

  She held out her hand as she said, ‘And I’m Louisa Harding. Do you know, after working where everyone was mister or miss, I like the thought of Christian names.’

  Before he took the hand she offered him he wiped his own on his trousers, although it was doubtful if it was any the cleaner for it.

  ‘If there are any little jobs you’re stuck for or anything you want moved in the house, give me a shout. Either young Geoff – he’s taken the truck to collect a bit we wanted for the ’tato digger – yes, either Geoff or me’ll slip down and see to things for you.’

  Louisa realized as she walked back down the lane that she had come to find Harold because despite her eagerness for the future she had needed a friend to talk to. She felt she had found one in Ted Johnson, and imagined the rest of the village would be as welcoming.

  It didn’t take long for her to realize her mistake. But despite the way she knew she was being stared at with unsmiling interest, her bubble of optimism didn’t burst. Had she had more time to dwell on the villagers’ unfriendly curiosity she might have been cast down, but time was one thing she couldn’t afford. During her first week she changed the position of the furniture, ordered another wardrobe for one of the spare bedrooms and hung her clothes away in it, for those inherited from Violet filled the rails already there. When she walked to the grocer’s, wearing a dress which she might have chosen for herself but had been her aunt’s, purchased the previous summer, she was aware of the head-turning of three women who stood talking as she approached. As she passed, one of them said in a loud whisper obviously intended to be heard, ‘Thought it was a ghost,’ to which another replied in the same vein, ‘Her trouble was that she was frightened to let herself be her age, frightened of losing her fancy man.’

  Louisa gave no sign of hearing, let alone understanding the comments, as with her head high and shoulders straight she walked on along the road.

  I don’t care, she told herself. I wouldn’t have anything in common with a lot of village gossipers. Anyway, what business is it of theirs what Aunt Violet did? Just think of Harold Carter, he loved her – and he knew her, which is more than people like that ever did. Even so, the comments had made their mark and taken away some of her joy in the freedom of the summer morning.

  But the village was only one part of Louisa’s life through the next weeks. She typed out an article which she took to the offices of the Weekly Western Gazette announcing that she had moved into the area and intended to work on a freelance basis. She knew it was a forlorn hope that they would find the space but her idea was that if it could be printed on the same page as her advertisement saying where she could be contacted it might bring her first clients. Fate was with her. There may have been other female accountants in town, but none of them were setting up in business for themselves and the idea appealed to the editor. The upshot was that at the end of the week when the paper was published it carried her article and, at the editor’s suggestion, a photograph of her. Local businesses didn’t keep her telephone ringing, but by the week following the publication of the paper she was contacted by the owner of a pharmacy wanting her to audit his books; whether it was her photograph or her qualifications that had made him decide to entrust his work to a woman could only be guessed at. Her new life was evolving on the lines she intended.

  She had realized that transport would be essential and during her final three months in Reading she had taken driving lessons and had passed her test just before she moved. So one of the first things she had to do was have the ownership of Violet’s one-year-old car transferred to her name. With some pride she arranged insurance and then she was free to take the vehicle on the road alone. She was probably as nervous as any new driver would have been, but Louisa had learnt long ago not to show her feelings so, walking with confidence she was far from feeling, she opened the double gates leading on to the track to the farm, then, praying she would do everything right and thankful that the car started straight away, reversed out and set off to explore the surrounding country. A stop at a garage to have the tank filled, then two hours driving to nowhere in particular and she returned home with new confidence.

  That dingy office in Reading might have been on another planet. Miss Louisa Harding had the world at her fingertips.

  In the first month she had one or two enquiries from the advertisement in the weekly paper. She drove into Gloucester in answer to one, and to a nearby village to respond to another. In each case she was given the work and by the end of August the little room she had earmarked as an office had come into its own. Louisa realized it would be some time before she earned as much as she had when she’d been employed in a busy accountancy firm but, thanks to half-remembered Violet, she wasn’t worried.

  Letters continued to pass between Jess and her, Jess regaling her with descriptions of where she and Matt, her husband of some eighteen months, had been camping and the doings of her everyday life. In the past Louisa had always been aware of how dull her replies were. But all that had changed now, again thanks to Violet. She took photographs of each room in the house, one of the car, and even the garden, although what was intended to be lawn was no more than a rough patch of grass, dandelions and moss (which fortunately didn’t show up in the photo). For five years now Jess had been in Australia, but they still felt as close as they had through the years of their childhood.

  On an unusually hot day towards the end of August, Louisa was thinking about her friend as she knelt on her weedy would-be lawn digging out the dandelions. If the two of them had been doing the job together it would have turned a chore into fun. There was no logic in it, yet imagining the two of them together brought home to Louisa how alone she was. Jess was happily married; remembering all they had shared as they were
growing up wouldn’t give her the empty, lonely feeling that suddenly cast a cloud on Louisa’s afternoon. Sitting back on her heels she gazed at the house, unable to push away images of Violet and Harold. They had known real, consuming love, love that had lasted more than thirty years and would never fade from that poor man’s mind. What did it matter that the family had cast her out? What if the villagers had looked on her as a scarlet woman? Surely if you found someone who was a soul mate, someone who gave you love like theirs, what would anything or anyone else matter?

  She raised her face to the sun, then she unbuttoned her thin, sleeveless blouse. She was working behind the house and the field beyond the wire fence was empty so it felt natural to pull the garment off and return to her gardening, feeling the summer heat like a caress. But her thoughts were restless, from Jess and Matt in their marriage, to Harold and Violet in a love that defied the world, to the delicate and glamorous lingerie she had inherited. A few minutes teasing out the dandelions while her thoughts carried her into the lives of others, then again she put down her fork and turned to the sun. Hardly conscious of what she did, she let her hands move on the smooth satin of her bra. Her mood changed. Was this what her life would always be like, dreaming, imagining, thinking of people who had each other, who had the love she yearned for? Oh, God, make it happen for me too, she pleaded silently, let me find someone to love and someone to love me, a companion – more than that, someone who will make a proper woman of me. Look at me, thirty years old – women are married and have children years younger than I am and I’ve found no one. It must be so wonderful … Oh, God, what’s the matter with me? In the middle of the day is it natural to feel like this? Not enough to think about, that’s the trouble. But this is all I want to think about. All by myself; no one to see me … While her mind raced on she had forgotten her weeding and, carrying her blouse, gone back into the house, quite unnecessarily locking the back door behind her as she went in. Then like a thief in the night she went up the stairs into her bedroom, where the rays of the sun warmed the counterpane invitingly. With a feeling of relief she closed the door. No one could see her; nothing could stop her. She kicked off her sandals and with her eyes closed and her imagination running ahead of her, hurried towards what was leading her.

  She felt a sense of shame for what she was doing, yet stronger than shame was the need that drove her. Only afterwards, lying naked and alone while the sun streamed down on her, was she assailed by a feeling of emptiness followed by self-disgust. Three o’clock in the afternoon, an afternoon which had started with her happily working on the uncared-for plot, determined to transform it into a garden, and look at her! Getting off the bed she picked up the garments she had torn off so unceremoniously and left on the floor, and went to the bathroom. A tepid bath and then some repairs to the damage to her make-up and she would go back to the patch she was determined to transform into a lawn worthy of the name.

  Her mission completed, she was halfway down the stairs when there was knock on the front door. She knew no one except the tradespeople. Who would come calling? She felt that what she had been doing must be plain to the world. With her head held high it was no-nonsense Miss Harding, career woman as capable as any male, who opened the door to her visitor.

  ‘Good afternoon?’ Her tone questioned why this stranger was at her door.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me popping by like this, but I know you don’t grow veg and we’ve got so many runners. Oh, sorry, I ought to tell you who I am. My Ted has been in a couple of times, making sure you were OK.’

  ‘Mrs Johnson? Won’t you come in?’

  ‘Seems a shame to be inside on a day like this. Can’t we sit a minute on that old bench? Could do with a coat of paint, couldn’t it? I’ll give Ted a hint about it when I get home. And I’m Eva. I bundled up some runners for you. Grow like weeds, don’t they? When they start to get old and the seeds are big I’ll give you some to dry off to plant out next year if you like, Miss Harding. Your aunt, she wasn’t keen on the garden.’ Then, as if she realized it sounded like a criticism, ‘Well, we can’t all like the same things or it’d be a dull old world.’

  ‘I’d like to plant some next year, and perhaps some salad stuff. We used to have a vegetable garden when I was a child. Raw peas, they were my downfall. It really is kind of you to bring these for me. I love them and they never seem as good from the shop.’

  ‘Can’t be, can they? These were only picked half an hour ago. Cook them for your supper and have a knob of butter on them. You’re getting on OK here in the village, are you? You don’t find it dull after a town like Reading?’

  ‘Not a bit. I’ve been working and then there is plenty to sort out in the garden.’

  ‘I read about you in the Western. Fancy you doing work like that.’ She chuckled as she added, ‘I said to Ted, well I never. I always pictured men in black suits with pinstripe trousers and half-moon glasses doing work like that. And look at you, a pretty young lady smart as paint.’

  Louisa found Eva Johnson an easy companion, even though they were two such different personalities, and the minutes slipped by. It wasn’t until she was leaving that Louisa casually mentioned Harold.

  ‘When are they bringing Mr Carter home, have you heard?’

  ‘No,’ Eva answered with a worried frown. ‘I had a letter from Bella a week or so ago. She says they are glad to have him where they can keep an eye on him, so forgetful he’s been getting. It won’t be young Leo who keeps an eye on him, be sure of that, fond as he always has been of his dad. But little Bella, she’s a treasure if ever there was one. She’s as fond of the guv’nor as if he were her own father and we can all rest easy as long as she is taking care of him. Well, I must scoot – my Ted looks in for a cuppa and a slice of cake round about four o’clock. That keeps him going until supper. Now, mind you remember – anything you want you just come up and bang on my door; the middle one of the cottages, the one with the well. And I’ll have a word with Ted, see if he hasn’t got a bit of that green paint left from when he did our back door. He’ll soon spruce that bench up for you.’

  And spruce it up he did, arriving with his tin of paint two days after Eva’s visit. For Louisa it was a heart-warming experience to have people ‘watching that she was all right’ as Ted put it when she thanked him.

  ‘The guv’nor would like to know we were keeping an eye on you, you being Miss Harding’s niece. You know, I wouldn’t wonder if Leo keeps him till after the nipper is born. Can’t be more than a few weeks now and Bella needs to have someone at hand if the baby gives notice of coming while Leo’s at that factory. They haven’t been this last month or so. It wouldn’t be right to leave her on her own and she was never keen on car journeys. Still, one of these days they’ll turn up, all four of them I shouldn’t wonder; the proud parents will want us all to see the bairn.’

  After he’d left her Louisa shut herself in her office and spent the rest of the day on the accounts of a garden centre a few miles distant. She had the ability to shut everything else out of her mind when she was working and the hours slipped by until, when she finally closed the ledger and looked at her watch, she found she had missed tea. In fact, it was already nearly eight o’clock. Two poached eggs on toast and a cup of strong coffee, then a cigarette and a second cup and it was quarter to nine. She’d watch the nine o’clock news and then have a bath and go to bed with a book. As she made her plans she chuckled aloud: what had the solitude of this place done to her that she could look forward to an early night with a book? The news over, in her usual way she plumped up the cushions on the sofa and made sure she was leaving the room tidy (as she always did, nothing to do with her changed way of life), then she ran the water for her bath. Tonight would see the end of Violet’s delicately scented bath salts and such was the change wrought on Louisa that she made a mental note to buy more the next time she was in Gloucester.

  The bedroom window faced the empty field so, knowing she couldn’t be overlooked, she happily drew back the curtains a
nd opened the window before getting into bed and settling down to read. The warm bath had been relaxing but, despite the glowing reviews that had prompted her to buy the book, she found it disappointingly dull and before many minutes her eyelids were getting heavy and her concentration drifting. There was no conscious moment when she gave up the battle and turned off the light; the literary critics must know more about it than she did and she was determined to carry on until she discovered whatever it was that had impressed them so favourably. But by the time she reached page ten her eyes were closed, the book fallen from her hand and the light still on.