Maker of Footprints

by Sheila Turner Johnston

  Puzzled and breathless she said, “You couldn’t have done anything I won’t forgive you for.”

  “I’ll be back by teatime.”

  He released her and in an instant was gone.

  Then the silence began.

  Back in the bedroom, the debris of the night before was still strewn across the room. But it was cold now, a shambles merely, not the accompaniment of loving passion. A yellow leg from the teddy bear poked out from under the quilt on the floor. She picked him up and shook him straight again. When she lifted the quilt, her slippers fell from a fold.

  With the borrowed quilt back on the spare bed, Jenna stood in the middle of her bedroom and felt the bitter tang of desertion in the air. There was not one sign that Paul had ever been here; not one. Trying to shake off the heaviness in the room, she lay down on her bed again as if Paul had just placed her there. She stretched, pointing her toes and arching her arms above her head. Little aftershocks still quivered within her as she ran her hands across her waist, down along her belly, and remembered. Also vivid was the memory of his anguish and anger when he told her of Dianne and the abortion. Jenna’s face creased into disgust. It was a dreadful thing to do to a man, to reject his child from the womb. And then to lie, to say it was a miscarriage! In irritation, she tossed onto her side and something caught her eye.

  Blood dried on the pillow.

  He had left something after all. She traced the edges of the stains, brownish now, and wished that, just once, he had told her that he loved her.

  In the bathroom, she raised her face to the water streaming over her. Part of her was basking in the glory of consummation. Part of her was trembling, nervous of the way things were, the obstacles to come. She wanted Paul here now and yet he would never be in anyone’s cage. How could she want that for him? She would rather fly free with him and take the chances that came, the storms that buffeted, the havens they found on the wing.

  There was so much yet to know of him. What did he mean by the things he said? Of one thing she was certain. They had broken the barriers and were now standing on common ground. He would not walk away again, and neither would she.

  She wound a towel round her hair, wiped the condensation from the mirror and smiled at her reflection. At this moment, the glory was all she would recognise.

  32

  CHARLES BUTLER’S LARGE walled garden was green and brown and yellow and red under a spring sun. Dianne tightened her grip on her father’s arm as Toby, walking with them, stopped speaking and let his words fall into the lush air, settle over them like clinging, crushing ivy. Charles covered his daughter’s hand with his own and spoke to Toby.

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  Toby dipped his head in a familiar mannerism. His neat grey beard brushed his silk tie. “There can be exceptions. Miracles even. But in Dianne’s case I doubt that there will be any reversal. I’m sorry.”

  A fan of sunshine unfurled over the garden as a cloud passed away from it. A magnificent magnolia tree was in full flower. When Paul had first seen that tree in its rich abundance, he had crouched on the grass for a long time, just looking. He had moved to another angle, crouched and studied it again. When he had completely circled it he lay under it, looking up, enchanted by the waxen chalices, cream with their blush of pink. Then, inevitably, he photographed it. She remembered standing just there, holding a branch down as he instructed her to keep it still while he focused on one flower. She’d got bored helping and he told her to go away.

  But the pictures were good. One appeared on the cover of a national gardening magazine. She told everyone it was the picture she had helped him to get. She suspected in fact that it wasn’t, but Paul never contradicted her.

  As Toby’s words finally grounded in her resisting brain, the rows of tulips and crocuses along the edge of the path dissolved into a grey mist, mixing crazily with magnolia blossom. Toby gripped her waist. There was a summerhouse close by and the edge of the ornate metal chair pressed the back of her knees as she was lowered into it.

  “Deep breaths,” Toby ordered in his clipped medical tones.

  The world steadied again. The irony of what she had just been told cut like the lash of a whip. Her haemorrhage had been followed by a severe infection. It seemed that she had inherited her mother’s fragility in reproduction. She had never wanted children and now she had been told that she could never have any by natural means. She had been rendered infertile.

  Charles felt her brow and spoke across her as if she wasn’t there. “Why would a miscarriage result in sterility? I know there were complications, but even so…”

  A robin hopped up onto the wooden step, cocked its head at them and flew away to a currant bush. A bluebottle buzzed and banged against the wooden roof.

  Toby spoke without hesitation. “You have to understand that each person is an individual, Charles. No-one can predict every outcome.”

  “But I can pay for the best…”

  Toby raised an impatient hand. “Your money will not buy this, Charles.”

  Charles’ heavy frame slumped forward onto his elbows on the wrought iron table. The wind carried the scent of new growth, freshly turned earth, an exuberant fecundity.

  “It’s just… after her mother…” He stopped on a shuddering, broken breath. With one hand he covered his face, pressed his fingers into his eyes. “I have lost my grandchild! My grandchild.”

  With wrenching, gulping, ugly sobs, Charles Butler began to cry.

  Toby crossed his legs, folded his hands on his lap and studied his knuckles.

  “Oh, stop it, Daddy,” Dianne snapped. Toby’s eyes swivelled to her, reproach in them that only she could see. “I want to go in. And I want Luther.”

  Toby had set his phone on the table when he sat down. It began to ring. Dianne glanced at it and her eyes widened. Toby lifted it, rose gracefully and adjusted his cuffs. “I must get to the hospital. I’ve a clinic. Call me any time.”

  As he walked across the grass, he raised the phone to his ear, glanced quickly back at Dianne and then walked further away before speaking.

  Luther was in casual clothes, his collar open and faded jeans just beginning to dig into spreading flesh at his waist. One exhibition had just finished at the gallery and Luther was completely redesigning it before the next one. It was Dianne’s idea and now she wasn’t there to help. Instead, she was lying on the chaise longue in the window of the library. Luther had come at a summons from Charles.

  Now, when Dianne finished speaking through dry lips, he sat forward in the leather armchair and dropped his head into his hands, fair hair feathering through his fingers.

  “My God!” he groaned. “How could that happen?” He looked up, his eyes glittering in the light reflected from the glass fronts of the bookcases opposite. “I’ll sue! I’ll destroy them.”

  “You can’t, remember? Nobody knows about it. And it would be bad publicity,” she added.

  He sprang to his feet and paced up and down in front of the fireplace. An embroidered fire screen stood on the fender, the vase of spills beside it. Finally he jabbed his fist downwards violently and spoke through gritted teeth.

  “None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for Paul Shepherd.” His fist jabbed again. “Curse him. Curse him!”

  “Luther, you told me to do it! Don’t blame him.”

  Luther swung round on her. “Why not? Nothing has gone right since the day you set eyes on him.” He thrust a finger at her. “You’re defending him! Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not defending him…”

  “Yes, you are!” He stood over her. “I suppose you want to go crying back to him now.”

  “No! I…”

  “You know what’s wrong with you, Dianne? You always got what you asked for, and when you got it you didn’t want it any more. You wanted him, you wanted me; you didn’t want a baby, now you’re upset because you can’t have one!”

  “Don’t shout at me, Luther! Don’t you dare! And
you were horrid to Paul and no one’s seen him in days. I’m not well yet and you’re supposed to be comforting me.”

  “So who comforts me, then? I’m rescuing the Chevalier family name by blood and sweat, and now I’m told there’ll be no family. As for that man, I hope he’s driven over a cliff.” He thumped a fist into his palm. “I hope he’s dead!”

  “You told me to do it!” There was only one thing to do when Luther was like this. It never worked with Paul, but it usually worked with Luther. She burst into tears.

  It did work. He squeezed onto the edge of the chaise longue and put his arms round her. She sobbed into his jumper.

  “I’m sorry, Di. I’m sorry. It’s just such a shock.”

  “Well, how do you think I feel?” she wailed. “I can never have children!”

  With a tone of exasperation, he said, “But you didn’t want any, Di. I did, but you didn’t.”

  “I do now.” She sniffed and he handed her a tissue from a box on the table.

  “I do love you, you know.”

  She blew her nose noisily and tossed her hair. “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  “You can be enormously trying sometimes.”

  She lay back. “Shouldn’t you get back to the gallery? Those workmen will make a dreadful hash of things if you’re not there.”

  “Yes, they will.” He bent over her and touched his mouth to her brow. “You must be nearly better now.” He put his hand on her waist and his pupils dilated. “I miss you.”

  His meaning was clear. She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Yes, well. We’ll see.”

  He took her chin and turned her face to look at him. “Don’t get upset when I let off steam. It’s just me. We need each other, and I’m keeping you now. Having children doesn’t matter as much as having you.”

  When he released her chin, his fingers left marks.

  Much later, Bella perched on the arm of the chair and ate a bowl of ice cream that she had somehow acquired on the way through the house. She looked elegantly casual in an expensive jacket and skinny jeans. At Dianne’s words, the spoon stopped momentarily between her lips and then she scooped the ice cream into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as it melted.

  “Paul phoned Toby?”

  “Right under my nose. Toby left pretty quickly.”

  “Well then, Paul’s about, isn’t he? He hasn’t vanished. Stop worrying.”

  “I even tried Jenna. You know – that student I told you about? The one that was ditched by Paul’s brother?”

  Bella mopped delicately at a drop of ice cream on the arm of the chair. “What would she know? Not exactly Paul’s type, I should think.”

  “God, no!” Dianne’s brow puckered with worry. “But why would he want to talk to Toby? And what will Toby say to him?”

  “What could he say that Paul doesn’t know already? Anyway, didn’t we think Toby fancied him?” When Dianne said nothing, Bella scraped the bowl clean and set it down on the fender. “Look on the bright side, Di. You’ll not have to go back on those blasted pills. Or no more thinking for the two of you just at the critical moment. Honestly, men lose their brains as soon as they lose their trousers.”

  Bella giggled her wonderful giggle and Dianne began to feel her self-control creeping back. There was a ruthless act of will to be performed. Babies were smelly, noisy, creatures who turned your mind to mulch and your house into a rubbish tip. People would sympathise and be nice to her. And then they would forget. So would Luther. She’d make sure he did.

  The image of a tiny face, the child she could have had, the child who might have been formed by the lines of a striking father, was receding at last, fading into the vault of unhappy memories, a foetus, a thing, not human, merely an embarrassment.

  She swung her legs to the floor. “I need to get back to the gallery. It’s a busy time. Fancy shopping tomorrow? I’ll need some new clothes.”

  Bella grinned. “Welcome back, Di.”

  The River Lagan was dimpled dark and light, the burnished gold from the lamps lifting and folding on the surface like rippled silk. The walls of the huge arena had absorbed the clubbers and only lovers and the lonely walked along the paved path by the river.

  Jenna leaned on the railings and looked down at the meandering water. They had both wanted to be outside tonight because no walls could contain the storm of feelings that buffeted them. Paul had not spoken for some time, a replica of herself in stance, arms on the railings, wrists crossed, but bigger, darker, less at ease.

  It didn’t matter. There was time to say everything. There would be years to say everything. She stole a glance at his still profile, the long feathers of his lashes, his lips closed and solemn. He had shaved and changed and was more like the man who had disturbed her dreams for so long. She was so happy. The fence was jumped, the cage door broken. She couldn’t imagine why she thought it was impossible, or why she feared to test it. No, that was wrong. She did know. It was because never before had she desired something so badly that everything that stood in the way became blurred, irrelevant, and finally invisible. It’s like birth, she thought. Birth is difficult, painful, traumatic, but the baby emerges into a new, infinitely bigger world of possibilities. The problems are still there but with new air comes new strength.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to tell Mum and Dad.”

  He just nodded once, slow and remote, not really hearing her.

  “Will you come with me to see Luke tomorrow? I think he might get home any day. He’s asked about you.” When he still didn’t reply, she sidled a little, touching her arm to his.

  The contact stirred him and he straightened, turned and focused on her. He put his arm round her shoulders and she leaned into him. Together they looked across, beyond an empty mooring, to the fragmented segments of light still burning randomly in the office blocks on the opposite bank. A small freighter rocked gently, the very faintest lapping of water audible from its hull. After a moment Jenna twisted to look up at his face. It was irresistible in the dusky shadows and she put a hand to his cheek. He kissed her palm as he had done so exquisitely the night before.

  “Paul, stop talking in riddles. Where were you and why do you say some of the things you say? What does ‘save me’ mean?”

  He drew a long breath and exhaled slowly, a long soft sound. He drew her to sit on the low wall behind them, between the lamps among the palm trees that bordered the arena. Wooden slats had been fitted to the top of the wall to make a seat. Further along, a teenage boy and girl were giggling together. Paul took Jenna’s hands and she turned to face him, her knees touching his.

  The reticence had gone. On his face was only determination and, strangely, sadness. Why? He should be feeling as happy as she was. Then she remembered Dianne and what she had done. There was no point in leaving things unsaid. There was much that would have to be faced without reticence or fear.

  “I’m sorry about what Dianne did.”

  “Even Dianne has no idea what she did.”

  Sudden irritation made her frown. She didn’t want to be dragging Dianne’s legacy round like a ball and chain. Impulsively she began, “I hope your divorce…”

  “Stop it, Jenna!” Her eyes widened in surprise at his sharp tone. He tightened his grip on her fingers. “I’m not divorced, remember.”

  She shrugged. “No, but you will…”

  He put a finger over her lips. “Stop.”

  She pushed her hands playfully between the open edges of his coat and placed her palms on each side of his body. “Stop what? This?” She kneaded gently. His ribs seemed to have protruded even more since yesterday. “You’ve been starving yourself. I’ll have to get you fattened up. By the time you’re forty, you’ll have a midriff!”

  He closed his eyes then for a long time and she fell quiet. When he opened them again, they seemed to be burning, to have all the pain of the world in them. It was those burning eyes that lit the first tiny flame of fear in her.

  “Paul?”

 
He dropped his brow to hers and slanted his eyes up to meet hers. “I want you to swear that you won’t leave me.”

  She pulled back in surprise. “Of course I won’t leave you.

  Don’t be silly. I’ve just got you!”

  He chuckled, short and low. “You got me a long time ago, Jenna.” A cool breeze blew off the river and he pulled her hood up, tucked her hair inside. Then he lifted her face and kissed her. Against her mouth he whispered, “Swear.”

  “I don’t need to. I mean what I say. How could I leave you now? Could you leave me?”

  He backed away a little, trailing her hands with him. He turned his cheek to press her joined fingers to his face. The flame of fear jumped again, blue and yellow and burning.

  “Jenna, I’m going to hurt you very much.”

  Her voice became small, almost lost in the dark. “You’re frightening me. Is this something to do with forgiving you? About riddles?” Desperately, she leaned towards him. “I’ll forgive you anything. Just stop frightening me.”

  The girl who had been giggling with her boyfriend further down the wall gave a squeal and jumped up, laughing. The pair ran past Paul and Jenna, the boy wearing a baseball cap, snatched playfully for the girl as she ran. Paul watched them scamper out of sight, then turned his burning eyes back to Jenna. There was no restlessness, no fidgeting, no flicking glances here and away again. He was going to tell her something, perhaps open the last door on the long corridor to the centre of his soul.

  “I had a car accident before I came back here. On my way home from covering a country wedding in Kent….”

  “I remember Dianne saying something….”

  He put his fingers to her lips again. “Don’t stop me. Just listen. If I stop, I mightn’t start again.”