Beyond the Arch

by David Evered

  ‘Somewhere around twenty to twenty-five pages, perhaps an eighth or a tenth of a novel of average length.’

  ‘What does your journalist friend say about it?’

  ‘I haven’t shown her anything that I’ve written so far. I’ve been trying to maintain the flow and I shall then go back and revise.’

  ‘And are you happy living in France?’

  ‘Yes, it’s very different, but in one sense I’m not really living there since I don’t speak much French. I feel somewhat isolated at times. I’m planning to take some French lessons when I get back.’

  ‘But you have O level French.’

  ‘Frankly it’s not much use for day-to-day living in rural France and even less so for social conversation. The pen of my aunt might be in the gardener’s pocket but I’ve not yet come across an occasion where the phrases in my school books have been of any practical value! So I’ll be going to a teacher in Sarlat.’

  ‘What’s it about – the book I mean?’

  ‘It is based on a custody battle between separated parents, one living in France and one in England.’

  Peter excused himself from his mother’s forensic examination to have a shower and put his feet up before they reconvened for an evening meal. Molly returned re-invigorated to catechise him further as they seated themselves for dinner.

  ‘I do hope that you’ll join us for Christmas again and what will your friend be doing?’

  ‘I really haven’t made any plans for Christmas. It is, after all, only August and I have absolutely no idea what Sally might be doing or even what she normally does for Christmases. I shall certainly make sure that I do see you all over the holiday period. Do you know if Matt and family will be over?’

  ‘I don’t think they’ve made plans yet.’

  ‘It would be good to see them if they are here – or, if not, I might travel to Germany to see them.’

  ‘And what are you doing over this holiday weekend?’

  ‘Tomorrow I’m going to Newcastle with Jenny to see her Mum, coming back on Monday or Tuesday.’

  ‘But why ever are you doing that?’

  ‘Jenny asked me to go with her and I’m fond of Peggy Robson. I regret that I never got to know her earlier. As you know, Ann had rather detached herself from her family.’

  ‘Will she be there?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Have you heard from her?’

  ‘No, but I did bump into Jenny back in June. She had seen her and said that she was well. I sense that neither she nor her mother are too enthusiastic about her new partner. I suspect that much of the burden of keeping family contact with Peggy has fallen onto Jenny’s shoulders.’

  ‘Will we see you again before you go back to France?’

  ‘I’ll call you. I’ll try and get down during the day on Wednesday, the day before I go back.’ The discussion drifted into more general family matters and issues of local interest. Peter left after breakfast the following day and went directly to King’s Cross to meet Jenny.

  20

  Jenny and Peter sat facing each other across a table in the train, looking out at the rain descending steadily on an already damp countryside. For a long time they sat in silence. Finally Peter said, ‘I have a sense of déjà vu. It was an even wetter Saturday last year when I sat with your sister on a train to the north-east, the day after your telephone call to say that Graham was seriously ill. So much has changed for you, for Ann, your Mum and me over the last twelve months.’

  ‘Most of it for me has been for the better. I miss Dad a lot, he was a good guy. I’m sorry that you never really knew him but I’m very appreciative of you making this trip with me. You were under no obligation to do so.’

  ‘No, I wanted to do it. I’m just so sorry that I didn’t know your parents earlier and that I didn’t get to know Newcastle, but I’ve got to know you better. The only times I ever really got to talk to you were during that week when you stayed, I think during the first year of our marriage, and then again when you were in London for your interviews. I have a feeling that we got up Ann’s nostrils a bit the first time with our joking!’

  Jenny giggled. ‘Yes, she often put on the wiser and older sister act. She felt that I was not sufficiently serious or focused. And, yes, my life has changed, no longer a student. I’m earning money and footloose and fancy-free in London. I’m enjoying the job and making friends – not just Cass and Stefan but others as well. Cass and Stefan may be a bit wacky but they are intelligent, know their way around London and are very caring. You’ve already discovered that. I must talk to you about our planned motor home holiday in France next month. Could we hook up while we are there?’

  ‘For sure. We can work out a plan over the weekend and it doesn’t matter if you decide to change it. I‘ll give you the telephone number and you can always call.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Let me ask you before we get to your Mum’s. How is Ann – have you seen her?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen her once since we last met. She seemed fine, but you know Ann as well as I do. She always has her emotions well under control. I’m really not at all keen on Francis, as I said before you went to France. He’s definitely a bit flash and to me he doesn’t seem to be wholly sincere or genuine. I’m pretty sure Mum thinks as I do, although she probably wouldn’t say so. I’m a little unhappy that Ann sees her only very rarely although she does ring regularly.’

  ‘Well, thank you. I genuinely hope she’s happy. I think in view of the weather that we should take a taxi when we get to Newcastle. I saw a year ago that there was a small hotel on the road out to Cowgate and I’ve booked myself in there.’ He smiled. ‘It’s more in keeping with my current unsalaried state than the Station Hotel. I can quickly check in on the way out and then we can go on to your Mum – unless you would like me to hang back so that you have some time with her on your own.’

  ‘No, you come on with me. She wants to see you.’

  They were greeted very warmly by Peggy Robson as she hugged her daughter and then Peter. ‘I was so pleased when Jenny said that she’d persuaded you to come with her this weekend. I’d hoped that I might still see you sometimes, even though Ann has left you. Jenny has been so good at keeping in touch although she’s so busy in London.’

  ‘Not only busy,’ she laughed ‘but also enjoying London.’

  ‘Well, you’re only young once. I’m sorry I never saw more of London when I was younger, but the time there last Christmas with you and your family was wonderful. I was so grateful.’

  ‘Well, you and Jenny could show me the sights of Newcastle.’

  ‘There are more than you might think and Jenny can do that. They are best seen on foot.’

  ‘We could do that tomorrow,’ said Jenny, ‘and we could also wander through the Sunday market on the Quayside.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  They spent a quiet evening together in the flat. Peter sorted out one or two minor domestic items of paperwork although it was quite clear that Peg was managing well. She reassured Jenny that she was getting out and met with friends at the nearby social club for a pensioners’ lunch once a week. ‘I’m not that old,’ she insisted, ‘I’m only 66 and feeling good.’

  The Sunday was still showery but Jenny and Peter set off for the city centre on the bus and wandered through the streets of classical Dobson and Grainger Georgian buildings. They walked from the Grey Monument, erected to mark the work of the architect of the Great Reform Bill, along the elegant curve of Grey Street and then made their way down the sharp incline of Dean Street to the quayside, dominated by the Tyne Bridge high overhead. They wandered through the market stalls towards the swing bridge and the Stephenson double-decked High Level Bridge beyond, with the trains passing over the upper level to and from the central station. They then turned and climbed up past the Castle Keep and the cathedra
l before finally catching a bus back to the flat.

  ‘That was fascinating,’ said Peter. ‘I’ve seen so little of this city. It’s sad that some of those beautiful buildings are not as well cared for as they might be.’

  ‘There’s a big debate in the city at the moment between those who want to demolish many and those who are campaigning to have them preserved. There’s been a furious argument about an area called Eldon Square, not far from the monument, and part is to be torn down.’

  ‘My vote, if I had one, would be for restoration.’

  ‘Mine too.’

  ‘By the way, I heard the forecast in my hotel room before I joined you this morning. The weather should be better tomorrow although we may have to dodge some showers. Do you think your mother would like a day out? I could arrange to hire a car and we could drive up the coast.’

  ‘That sounds like a great idea.’ They put it to Peggy and she agreed enthusiastically.

  * * *

  They left Newcastle on the Bank Holiday Monday and drove northwards, heading out to the coast by Druridge Bay, driving past Warkworth Castle and then inland to Alnwick. ‘We might drive on up to Beadnell,’ suggested Jenny. ‘We rented a small house there for several summer holidays.’ They continued up the coast and finally turned into Beadnell village. ‘We rented one of those small bungalows over there – do you remember, Mum?’

  ‘Of course, I remember,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m not gaga yet.’

  They cruised up the lane and identified the bungalow by the huge pampas dominating the miniscule front garden. ‘It was so small,’ said Jenny, ‘really more like a brick built caravan than a house. Mum and Dad would sleep on let-down beds in the lounge and Ann and I would be on bunk beds in the tiny bedroom. We used to fight over who should be on the top level. She nearly always won because she would play the big sister card. Those days were fun. Let’s go on down to the beach.’

  They parked near the lime kilns which overlooked the sheltered small harbour. ‘They say that this is the only west facing harbour on the east coast of England and just look at that beach!’ said Jenny excitedly. She pointed southwards to the open expanse of golden sand backed by dunes with the upraised craggy fingers of the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle in the distance. They stopped to take in the view. A number of sailing dinghies were criss-crossing the bay in the intermittent sunshine. Many more had been beached on the sand, together with small rowing boats, tenders for the yachts moored out in the bay, and bilge-keel sailing boats standing erect on their twin keels. Children of all ages were playing beach games or running gleefully in and out of the water. Others were running up and down the sand dunes or hiding behind them.

  ‘Come on, Peter,’ Jenny grabbed his hand. ‘I’ll show you where we used to play. There were always people we knew here, either on days out from Newcastle or renting small houses for their summer holidays like us. We used to persuade Mum and Dad to give us our sandwiches and drinks and then we’d go into the dunes. Look, there are the rows of dunes. It’s like the surface of the moon with humps and hollows. We could always find places to hide. Sometimes Ann would tell me to go and play with other kids of my own age and then she’d disappear into a hollow with one of the boys. We would spend whole days here and only come out when we heard the chimes of the ice-cream van.’

  Peter stood on top of one of the dunes and looked south again to Dunstanburgh. It had been the starting point for his odyssey.

  Jenny came up to him. ‘A penny for your thoughts. You appeared to be lost in contemplation with an expression on your face that I cannot read. Come back to me, Peter.’

  He turned and smiled gently. ‘I should like to walk up to the castle.’

  ‘Alone or with me?’

  ‘It would be good to walk with you.’

  ‘We should get back to Mum but I have a suggestion. It’s quite a long walk from here to the castle and it’s getting on for lunchtime. We could have a sandwich and a drink in the pub at Embleton. That’s not so far from the castle and if Mum’s happy to sit in the pub for a while, or outside if it’s warm enough, we could then walk up there and back again. We could leave her the key of the car if she preferred to sit under cover.’

  They walked back to where Peggy was sitting by the harbour wall. She looked up as they approached. ‘I have enjoyed sitting here. It has brought back so many memories of when you and Ann were young. They were good days.’

  ‘Yes, this was Peter’s idea to come up the coast. It’s made me quite nostalgic too. We had good times here. There were always friends from Newcastle to muck about with. We have a suggestion to make. How about going to Greys Inn at Embleton and having a sandwich there? Peter has said that he would like to walk to Dunstanburgh. It wouldn’t take too long from there. Would you mind if we left you in the pub? We can give you the key to the car as well if you would prefer to sit there?’

  ‘That would be fine.’

  The sun came out again after lunch and they left Peggy sitting outside the pub as they headed off for the castle. They walked mainly in silence, partly on the track and partly along the sands of Embleton Bay. The shoreline was teeming with coastal birds: oystercatchers, sanderling, shovellers and little grebes with a variety of gulls out over the sea, wheeling with their characteristic strident shriek.

  ‘Dad was a keen birdwatcher and there are colonies of terns just the other side of Newton going back towards Beadnell. They breed around a burn called the Long Nanny. God knows why it’s called that. Dad would often walk us along from Beadnell, making sure we could identify the birds we saw. It’s a magical part of the coastline.’

  It took them a little over twenty minutes to reach the castle. They walked up to the vantage point near the old gatehouse and then down to the promontory where they looked over the sea. Peter stopped, memories of the previous visit invading his brain. He looked round to his left half-expecting Sally to materialise. The sense of place assailed him with overwhelming force.

  Jenny was standing a pace or two away from him. After a few minutes, she said very quietly, ‘You have that unfathomable look on your face again. Does this place have some special meaning for you?’

  He said nothing for some seconds. ‘Yes, it has a number of special meanings for me.’

  ‘Are you prepared to share them?’

  ‘Yes, I am but what I’m going to say may not be very coherent.’

  ‘I should like to hear nevertheless.’

  ‘Perhaps we should talk as we walk back. We mustn’t keep your Mum waiting too long.’

  They set off to retrace their steps. Peter stated tentatively, ‘I’m not quite sure how to begin but I think I should start here. It was, after all, my idea that we should come up here but I was not prepared for the extent to which the sights, sounds and smells would arouse such a mixture of interwoven thoughts and emotions in me.’ Jenny took his arm but said nothing and waited for him to continue. ‘You’ve not asked me much about my recent time in France. The best place, perhaps the only place, to start is here at Dunstanburgh. It was just a year ago and that year has had a fantastical and unreal quality to it. All life is continuous but there are events and interactions which either at the time or seen in retrospect could be regarded as tipping points,’ he paused, ‘and, looking back, I know that this is where the present chapter of my story really started.’

  ‘I should love it if you’d go on but if you would prefer not to then that’s fine also. I’m in listening mode and am happy that anything you say should be subject to the observances of the confessional.’

  ‘It’s alright. I want to talk. There is a prologue to this chapter. Ann and I had had a discussion three days earlier with friends at home about ambitions and aspirations. It went nowhere very much and we all finally concluded that our various fantasies had as much substance as dreams of castles in Spain, although I did mention subsequently to Ann that I had an ambition to write. It all would have
amounted to nothing if it hadn’t been for subsequent events. It was that same evening just before the bank holiday that you telephoned to tell us that your Dad was so ill. You may remember, when we then came north, that Ann wanted to spend a day alone with your Mum and Graham. I decided to make myself scarce and explore the coast which I had visited once before. I walked out to the castle and then rested on the grass near the cliff edge where we were a few moments ago. There was a woman standing very close to the edge and I had an instinct, quite mistakenly, that she might be contemplating suicide. We got talking and I discovered that she was, is, a journalist. I also discovered that she had published a novel although it had not been a great success. We then had lunch together in the Craster Arms and I questioned her about her career and the challenges facing a writer. We spent the afternoon talking and exploring the coast and then parted company. That was my first meeting with Sally. It was what followed which put that afternoon into perspective.

  ‘The next event was that evening with Andrew with its tragic coda. I had never expected to see Sally again but quite by chance I did. It was on the day that Andrew died. Ann and I had gone to see him in the hospital earlier that evening and as we were leaving I bumped into Sally, quite literally, in the doorway as she was visiting another patient. Seeing her triggered memories of the bank holiday last year and again, almost certainly, nothing further might have occurred, but the ambition to write continued to haunt the recesses of my mind and you were with me when we talked with Michael that evening. A few weeks after Ann had left me, I was feeling very low and I sought Sally out. There was something about her that had intrigued me. She is coolly self-possessed, highly independent, dispassionate, humorous, challenging and highly intelligent but she also has depths which seem to me to be quite inaccessible. There is a hidden Sally that I just don’t know. I saw her again at around the time I spent that evening with you, Cass and Stefan when I told you I was bailing out from the office for a year to write but I was going to start that year by taking a week’s holiday. I decided I would spend that week well away from my familiar surroundings and go to France. Sally has a house in France which she uses as her base for working through the summer months. She is very disciplined in her approach to her writing. I wrote asking if I might call and she invited me to stay for that week. At the end of it, she said I could stay on if I liked and use the house as a base to write, first laying down some very clear ground rules, and I have only just come back. She has been very encouraging and gently guided me without giving me any direct advice, so that I am now starting to write. She’s in England at the moment but will soon be travelling all round Germany and France, preparing a major series of articles on attitudes to Britain in the light of the probability that we shall join the European Community. I shall be house-sitting and writing while she’s away.’