We went out today, Sharon, Thomas and me. It was her idea, this little expedition and I confess that at first, I was very reluctant. It’s been weeks since I left the house and to be honest, I had resigned myself to the fact that my days of going out were gone for ever. It’s no fun being old and sick and trapped within four walls, specially when you have been active like me. Up until a couple of years ago I was still driving my car, not far, mind, towards the end, into town and to see friends locally. But since my illness, I’ve stayed pretty much around the house and garden. And now my legs are gone. They’re like rubber and barely keep me upright. Even walking the short distance from my room to the bathroom or kitchen, I need help. It’s shaming.
But Sharon has organised a wheelchair. She brought it into my room the other afternoon after the nurse had left. I hated to look at it and made a bit of a fool of myself, railing against it, being the stupid old beggar that I am.
“I’m not going in that,” I said to her. “I do have some pride left.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she grumbled. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”
I ignored her anger and blustered back. “Nice? What’s nice about a wheelchair? For God’s sake, woman, you can’t imagine that I would be seen dead in that.”
“No,” she said evenly, “you’ll be seen dead in your coffin and good riddance when you’re in a mood like this, but before then, give me a break and allow me to take you out.” She turned the chair around and marched out of the room. Her rare displays of temper are most unsettling and I don’t like it. Despite that red hair, she’s generally calm and not at all ready to take offence.
I realised how ridiculous I was being. What does it matter if I have to sit in a wheelchair? Have I become such a vain and silly old man, that my precious dignity can be so easily offended? I called her back and apologised.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “that was wrong of me. I find it hard to think of myself as, well, as old, I suppose.”
She was still simmering, I think, but accepted my apology nicely. These last few days she seems to be quieter than usual. It’s as though she has something on her mind that needs sorting out and keeps popping up, unbidden, to confront her. I heard her snapping at Thomas yesterday, when he came in from the field, covered in mud, and ran through into the hall without taking off his boots. “For goodness sake,” she yelled at him, yanking off his boots and throwing them into the scullery, “how many times do you have to be told the same thing?”
So, I was somewhat concerned about her and recognised that I should have been more conciliatory when she suggested a day out. Perhaps she needed time away from the house to get things into perspective.
We decided to go to the coast. The weather is clear at the moment, quite cold but not raining and we thought that the views would be wonderful.
“Don’t bother with a picnic,” I said when I saw Sharon, at breakfast time, looking under the sink for the flask, “I’m going to buy us lunch out at a hotel.”
“Lovely!” she smiled, “but I haven’t told you yet, I’ve invited Jason to come with us. Do you mind? I’ll pay for his lunch.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I said firmly. “It’s my treat.”
So we set out, not in Sharon’s car but in Jason’s big four-wheel drive and very comfortable it is too. Thomas and I sat in the back with the blessed wheelchair folded up behind us, while Sharon sat beside young Hyde in the front. I looked at the back of his head and chuckled. He is like his grandfather, the same thick fair hair and broad shoulders. Eddie hated farming, although he worked well for us, upward of ten years. The pit paid better, but that’s not the only reason he left. He didn’t get on with my brother and I remember several occasions of bitter arguments and clenched fists.
He was much happier down the mine where he loved the camaraderie of the other colliers. It did him little good though in the end because he died of the chest disease that many of them suffered. I didn’t know the son, Harold well, only to nod to, but this young man is at our house almost daily. I detect more than a spark between him and Sharon.
We were right about the views. Even from the big windows of the hotel dining room where we ate our lunch, we could see far out onto Cardigan Bay. It was calm and blue and the headlands to the north and south were clear and sharp against a cloudless sky. I remembered bringing Elizabeth here once when we were a lot older. She liked this hotel enormously and sitting today with the young people, I had to smile at the memory of Elizabeth and me drinking whisky, sunk deep into chintz arm chairs and looking out onto this very same view. I loved that memory and wanted to keep it in my head so I bought another bottle of wine and Sharon and I helped ourselves. I gave a sip of mine to Thomas, but he wasn’t keen, preferring his cola and Jason refused, because of driving.
After lunch, we walked along the promenade, me in the wheelchair, well wrapped up against the keen wind, breathing in the fresh cold air. I took so many gulps that I found myself getting quite giddy and was glad when Sharon spotted a sheltered bench.
“I’m going to sit for a bit,” she said. “Jason will wheel you for a while.”
“I’d rather stay here,” I said, “and look at the view.” She nodded and pulled my chair close to where she had settled.
“I’ll take Thomas on the beach,” said Jason. He is a generous man and I think he could see that Sharon wanted a moment or two away from him. He put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “Come on, lad,” he said, “let’s see what we can find down there.”
The boy needed no urging and ran down the steps to the sand with a squawk of delight, followed no less eagerly by young Jason who leapt athletically over the barrier and ran laughing, towards the sea.
“He’s nothing but a big kid himself,” said Sharon smiling indulgently.
I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You like him, I think,” I said.
She nodded and then turned to look at me with a troubled look on her face. “He’s asked me to marry him,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”
This was a facer, but in a way I should have been expecting it. My Sharon has a coterie of followers and is bound to get tied up with one of them sooner or later. But selfishly, at that moment, I felt nothing but the old familiar dismay. Wasn’t it ever thus? The girl I loved had to belong to someone else.
She waited for me to say something, but I was quiet. A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind and foremost among them was the one which frightened me most. If she married Jason, she would have to leave me.
“What d’you think?” she asked, “tell me, please.”
I sunk in my chair, feeling cold and miserable. “I don’t know,” I said. “Do you love him?”
“I think so.”
“But what about your other suitors? Andrew Jones seems very keen and the doctor only comes to see me in the hope of catching a glance of you.”
She laughed at that and moved further towards me so that our shoulders were touching and her long hair fell over the front of my coat. “I’m not really interested in them,” she said. “At least, I don’t think so.”
I swallowed. “I’ll miss you and Thomas, if you do marry Jason. I’m used to you about the house and the boy…” Here I had to stop because those tears with which I have always had trouble, threatened to overwhelm me. But I pulled myself together and finished my sentence. “The boy is very close to my heart,” I said and didn’t care that my voice wobbled. It was cowardly of me to speak of my fears but I couldn’t stop myself. This girl and her son have become so dear to me.
She sat up abruptly and when she spoke her voice was fierce. “Listen to me, Richard. We won’t leave you. Nothing will change and you must know that you are equally as dear to us.” She stopped and gazed out to sea where the tide was coming in and the late autumn light beginning to fade. “We shall be heartbroken when you leave us,” she added in a small voice.
It was kind of her to say that and, comforted, I was able to enjoy the rest of the day. When the boys came back, happy and smelling sharply of brine and seaweed we walked back to the hotel and sat beside a big log fire to have our tea.
I dozed on the drive home but woke up close to the village, confused and disoriented, looking at the back view of Jason in his tweed jacket. I thought of our Billy in his tweeds, worn smartly to the Horse Show with a soft brown hat pulled low on his head and Father’s watch and chain hanging across a mustard yellow waistcoat.
That’s how he looked on that May day when he set off to the Three Counties with Diamond. I had helped him load the big horse into the box and listened patiently while he had run through the latest list of instructions. They were no different really to the ones he’d given me the night before and he’d been in the milking parlour telling the men since before seven. But he was most keen to go and wouldn’t let the fact that I’d been away for over eight years and was no farmer, put him off.
Mother had left on the Monday with Marian, still pretending reluctance, but patently excited.
Elizabeth had said, “Off you do go,” when Mother had tried yet again to find reasons for delaying the departure. She would brook no further nonsense. “I can manage, and you know it.”
So Mother and Marian had driven away and Billy, after giving them a brief wave, had returned to the stable where he was gathering all the implements necessary for showing Diamond to his best advantage. My brother had become an important man at the Horse Shows and according to Mother, really loved the attention. This year he had been appointed to judge the colt class and been bursting with pride ever since the invitation had arrived.
“My God,” he’d said when I’d asked him about the standard of entries, “I’ll make sure I sort out the quality and conformation. The whole breeding will go downhill, else.”
Elizabeth had gone about her usual duties in the dairy and the chicken houses The cheeses she produced equalled Mother’s and she had a fine name at the market. When I went to market with them, I was proud of my name, so many people came to ask for Manor Farm cheeses and butter. “I’ll only take Wilde’s cheese,” said one of the shoppers. “Are you sure it’s straight from the farm?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth smiled, “I made it myself.”
I watched her dealing with the customers at our stall. She was charming and friendly and I’m sure everyone who met her, came away with a good impression. She looked so attractive, standing behind the trestle table in her blue striped apron and a white band holding her hair away from her face. I saw people shake their heads in admiration at the way she wrapped the wedges of cheese into greaseproof paper parcels and cleverly cut slabs of butter into accurate pounds. There was no doubt, she was the star of the beast market.
But that was her away from home. Within the four walls of our house she was a different creature, quiet, distant and keeping herself to herself. We had barely talked alone in all the three weeks that I’d been home. To tell the truth, I was a bit frightened of her. Of all the family, she was the one who had changed the most and was almost a stranger. Oh, I would have known her anywhere, her face was painted onto my memory and will never leave me, but her personality had disappeared.
So when Billy drove out of the yard with the big box rattling behind him, I felt nervous. All those hopes and dreams I’d harboured on many lonely nights, of being alone with Elizabeth, had come to pass and I was petrified.
We had a chicken pie the first night, one that Mother had made and put in the pantry ready. It was delicious and we sat at the table, only the two of us, and ate in virtual silence.
“Very nice,” I said finally, wiping round my plate with a chunk of homemade bread.
“Mother made it,” Elizabeth said, gathering the plates. “You’ll have to put up with my cooking tomorrow.”
“That should be all right. I seem to remember that you could cook just as well as her.”
She nodded, but didn’t enter into the spirit of the conversation and even later when the chores were done and we sat together with a cup of tea and a round of toast, she barely spoke. It was almost as if she had forgotten how normal chatter was done. I went to bed, still confused and sad for her, that she had become a shadow of herself.
It was late on the next afternoon when we finally got round to talking. She was taking her dog for a walk and I asked if I could go with her.
“If you like,” she said and set off along the edge of the top field, mindful that Billy had planted barley crop in there. I followed, Indian fashion, for the space left between the hedge and the growing crop was small. Our Billy didn’t believe in waste.
“Where are we going?” I asked as she turned away from the hill where we used to play and headed for the lower slopes where the rowan and gorse grew.
“I prefer to take her here,” she said indicating the dog who had run on ahead and was sniffing eagerly at the warren of rabbit holes in the next field. “She tries to go in the caves on the hillside.” Her face clouded. “I don’t like her doing that.”
I said nothing. It was a reasonable answer, I supposed, although the dog seemed pretty amenable and I didn’t think she would wander far. She was no terrier and presumably Elizabeth hadn’t brought her up to go rabitting; she was only a big soppy hound, who adored her mistress.
We walked together across the damp grass towards the trees, ducking now and then beneath the low branches of the rowans and stepping carefully through the bramble traps that had infiltrated the little wood. We weren’t on our land here, but it didn’t matter. No-one would object. These few acres were part of a parcel Father had sold to the mining company when there was talk of putting a railway line through here to take the coal directly from the pit head to the station. They’d never gone ahead with the plan and the land had been left to go wild. Even in the days since I’d been home on leave, Billy had grumbled about it.
“Criminal waste of useful land,” he’d said, his voice withering in its contempt. “But what else would you expect from townies?”
“I like it wild,” Elizabeth had said, unexpectedly, surprising me with her offered opinion. It was so strange to hear her speak at the table. I looked nervously towards Billy to see how he would respond to her arguing against him. Please don’t let there be a row, I silently prayed. I needn’t have worried. My brother merely shook his head and carried on eating. He couldn’t bring himself to debate with her.
Now, as we walked amongst the brushwood and small trees, coming across patches of wild pansies and ladies slipper, I could see what she meant. Sometimes wild areas are better than cultivated fields. I had loved my time in the stark mountains of the Frontier, even though when walking or riding through them, I had been anxious that the bare rocks would be good hiding places for rebels. It was a grandeur, made by an Almighty and better than man could do.
The dog, who had been springing happily ahead of us, startled a nesting bird, so that it flew suddenly out of a young tree straight towards us.
“Oh!” gasped Elizabeth and stepped aside, bumping into me so that in order to keep my feet I had to grab hold of her. This was the first time I had touched her since the hug on my arrival and I should have seized the opportunity that I had so longed for. But I couldn’t. Even as my arms folded round her thin shoulders and her head sought the shelter of my neck, my shyness and ever present cowardice took over. I dropped my arms and stepped away. My hands felt almost burnt from the contact with her body.
We carried on walking, me singing a stupid little ditty about ‘the birdies in the sycamore tree,’ quite idiotic but I was nervous and would have been grateful if she had joined in, but she was quiet. It occurred to me then that she may not be listening to me, but away in her own thoughts as she so often seemed to be around the house and farm. But when I snatched a quick look at her, I was startled by the hurt expression that had spread across her face. Had she had wanted me to hold her?
We had reached the end of the little wood where the path opened out and the roofs of the village houses could be seen in the distance. “Where now?” I asked.
“I usually walk into the village and back home along the lane,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. “But you can go back the same way, if you want.”
“No.” I suddenly felt angry. I’d done nothing wrong and she was sulking in a way that was ridiculously childish. Indeed, her behaviour was constantly awkward and could be described as spoilt. Maybe she was entirely the cause of her own misery, no matter what Mother said. “No,” I repeated, determined not to be fobbed off, “I’ll come with you.”
The village was quiet. Most of the men were at work, either on farms or down the pit and the women had done their shopping and were in their houses, getting the evening meal ready. A few people were about and greeted us politely. Fred waved from the garden of the Police House where he was watering a bed of flowers and holding his small daughter by the hand. He had two children then, both girls.
It was nearly five o’clock when we walked past the Gate House and as ever, memories drew me to the place, so that I paused in our walk and looked carefully at the door and windows.
“It looks as if someone has been trying to get in,” I said. One of the boards Billy had put across the small drawing room window had been prized away and was hanging loosely on the one remaining nail. “I’m just going to have a reccy.”
I didn’t know if she understood the military language but it didn’t matter. She waited with the dog while I walked into the overgrown garden and peered through the exposed window. The glass was intact but because of the gathering gloom and the dirt on the window, I couldn’t see through the diamond panes. I struggled through the weeds to the front door and tried the handle. To my dismay, it turned easily and the door swung open as it had all those years ago.
For a moment I paused, unwilling to confront the ghosts that always assailed me when I passed this house, but squaring my shoulders, I pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
I can’t tell you how strange I felt inside that house. First I was a child again, sitting in front of a man who wanted to give me glass of whisky and then a lad trying to stop his mother climbing the narrow stairs to tend a man she so obviously cared for. But all that had to be put aside. Now I was a man. An empty house should hold no fears, but you don’t choose your fears, they come upon you and you deal with them as best you can. When I stepped further into that hall I was able to put aside what I’d previously felt. After all, it was only a house.
“Has anyone been in?”
Elizabeth was in the doorway behind me, holding the dog on a lead now and sounding quite concerned.
“I’m not sure,” I said and walked into the drawing room, where the furniture was still in place and apart from the huge bookshelves now empty of books, nothing had changed. There were the rugs which I’d thought about when I was in Peshawar, their bright colours dull with a thick coating of dust as was the ornate sideboard and the ironwork flower stand. The Major’s armchair stood next to a cold and dirty fireplace and I smiled when I noticed the little table beside it still held a tray with a decanter and glass. The decanter was empty and when I looked closer, I saw a little pool of liquid spilt onto the table and down one of the legs. That must have happened recently because the rest of the room was crackling in dust and cobwebs and any old liquid would have dried up years ago.
“Someone’s been in here,” I said, pointing to the table. “Had a bit of a drink.”
“That window board was in place yesterday,” said Elizabeth. “I came along the lane. I would have noticed if it had been hanging down like that.”
I nodded. “Lads from the village, is my bet,” I said. “Probably broke in for a lark and drank what was left of the Major’s brandy” I looked round. “Nothing else seems to be disturbed.”
Elizabeth walked into the hall and gazed up the narrow staircase. “What about up there?”
Our shoulders touched as I brushed past her to climb up the creaking stairs. A waft of her soap, or talcum or whatever it was that she used to give her that sweet rose and lavender scent came to my nose and I breathed it in. It was still in my head as I looked round the door of the gloomy bedroom.
The room was as bleak as I remembered it. Bare floor and the little cot bed, now with its mattress rolled up, and the few pieces of furniture. Nobody had been in here for years, I could see that. When I turned round, I could see my own footprints in the dust.
“It’s fine,” I called. “Nothing here,” and I turned to go out of the room. To my surprise, Elizabeth was on the tiny landing, having come up the stairs without my hearing. She had left Tess by the front door and was standing at the top of the narrow stairs.
“What’s in there?” she asked.
“The bedroom.”
She moved forward and looked over my shoulder into the little room where I had watched my mother cradle the Major in her arms.
“It’s very Spartan,” she said after a moment, “compared to the room downstairs.”
I nodded. “He was on his own; no wife to make it comfortable.” I looked again at the narrow cot. Was this where I was conceived? Did Mother come up here with that mad old man and allow him to have his way with her? I shuddered, suddenly hating the thought that she had joined in willingly, wanted to be made love to by the Major. How could she possibly have preferred him to Father?
“Let’s get out of here,” I said and turned swiftly, brushing clumsily against Elizabeth again so that she put up her hands to my chest to stop herself being knocked over. Her face was close to mine, eyes wide in sudden surprise and that lovely mouth open in a silent ‘O.’ Before I realised what I was doing, I had bent my head and closed my own mouth over hers.
She made no resistance, only a gasping sigh as she slowly put her arms around my back and pushed her thin body into mine. I held her closer and closer, wrapping my arms about her so that it seemed that she became almost a part of me. Once she groaned, but I couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or regret. I didn’t care, all I knew was that I felt as though I was sucking in renewed life and it was wonderful.
I think we broke away at the same time and the realisation of what I’d done broke through the ecstatic feeling that had washed over me.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, “so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It came over both of us,” she said quietly and lifted up her hand to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. A pink flush suffused her cheeks and when she looked directly into my eyes I could see that hers had softened and become a more intense blue. She looked almost as young as that girl I had left eight years before.
The desire to take her in my arms again was overwhelming and it took all my poor reserve of moral correctness to stop myself.
“We’d better go,” I grunted, not looking at her but forcing myself to slide past her and go down the stairs. “I’ll come back later and nail up that board again.”
“Yes,” she said and followed me down and out of the cottage.