Lovers and Liars Read online

  ‘What made you leave her?’

  Here, John grew cautious. ‘Oh, this and that.’

  The conductor guessed. ‘Family problems, I expect,’ he remarked knowingly. ‘We all have ’em.’

  John neither denied nor confirmed it. Instead he answered lightly, ‘Getting wed is an expensive business.’

  ‘So, you went away to make your fortune, is that it?’

  ‘Summat like that.’ He patted his coat pocket. ‘I’ve enough here to make us a good life. It took over two years of being without her, but it’ll all be worthwhile now. We can make a fresh start. We’ll get wed and have a family, and the time spent apart will soon fade.’ His heart soared with joy. ‘By! I can’t wait to see her.’

  The conductor was realistic. ‘Ah, but will she still feel the same way?’

  Taken aback, John asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you said yourself, you’ve been two year and more apart. Folks change in that length o’ time. How can you be sure she hasn’t found herself another fella while you’ve been gone?’

  John’s heart sank. ‘Because she wouldn’t, that’s all. We love each other. We’ve always loved each other.’

  ‘Oh, aye! I’m sure.’ Then, regretting his thoughtless remark, the conductor now tried to soften it. ‘Tek no notice o’ me,’ he said. ‘I wish you both all the happiness in the world.’

  Pointing out of the window, he said, ‘We’ve another couple of passengers coming on board.’ And as the tram slowed to accept them, he was glad to move away. You and your big mouth! he chided himself. Trust you to put a damper on that young fella’s homecoming.

  Some folks had a talent of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Unfortunately, he was one of ’em.

  Some short time later, having got off the tram in Salmesbury, John slung his kitbag across his back and set off across the fields towards the spinney and Potts End Farm.

  The nearer he got, the harder his heart pounded. He couldn’t believe that now, after their long separation, he was so close to her. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. For too long now he had been stumbling through every minute of every day, longing to be with his darling Emily.

  Memories flashed through his mind – of himself going away, of Emily’s pleas for him to stay and his persuading her it had to be done if they were to spend the rest of their lives together in contentment. Then that last embrace, and the awful feeling of loneliness at leaving her. Afterwards, when she was gone from his sight, the long, empty time between, when he had waited only for the day he would be back.

  His heart lifted. That day was here now, and it was the most important day of his life. He thought briefly of Clem Jackson, and his lip curled. He’d learned a lot about self-defence in the Navy, and he was more than ready to take that fat bastard on and teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

  As he got to the top of the hill, he could see the curl of smoke rising from the Ramsdens’ chimney. ‘I’m here, my darling,’ he murmured, his heart bouncing inside him. ‘I’m home.’

  He could barely wait to throw his arms round her and hold her tight. Thinking about it, he quickened his steps. He was so close. So tantalisingly close.

  It was when he got to the spinney that he heard the laughter. Curious, he slowed his step. Some instinct kept him back, partly hidden by the overhanging branches, yet able to see down to the farm.

  And what he saw was like ice-cold spray, flung in his face by an angry sea.

  Not knowing what to think or how to deal with it, he stayed there, out of sight; watching the scene unfold below him, and with every minute his dream slipping away.

  At first his gaze fell on Emily, and his love for her was all-consuming. With the chill March daylight glinting in her golden-brown hair and that familiar, lovely face, she was everything he remembered. And yet she was different somehow, though for the moment he could not tell why.

  Curious, he followed her proud gaze. He saw the child run towards her; he saw how she opened her arms and caught that tiny bundle to her heart, her eyes alight with love – and when in that moment she shared the laughter with the child, she seemed to John to be the most beautiful, fulfilled woman on God’s earth.

  Slowly, when the truth began to dawn, the revelation was crippling.

  For a moment, he could not think straight, though his every nerve-ending was telling him that this little girl was Emily’s child. But how could that be? The conductor’s words ran through his mind. ‘How can you be sure she hasn’t found another fella?’

  Torn by what he was seeing, he could not move away.

  From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the stranger as he walked towards Emily and the child. He saw him smile and open his arms to take her from Emily; she released the child without a moment’s hesitation. The man swung the child round, while Emily laughed out loud at the little one’s delight.

  After a while, Emily approached the man and collected the child into her arms. As she did so, the child uplifted her face for a kiss from the man. Obligingly, he cupped her tiny face in his hands to gently kiss her on the forehead. But then before he drew away, he quickly turned his head to Emily and kissed her full on the mouth.

  Unable to look any longer, John turned away, his heart breaking. ‘No, it can’t be!’ he muttered. ‘It can’t be!’ The images of Emily, the child and the man, burned in his mind.

  Summoning all the courage he had, he forced himself to look again. The couple had gone inside to the kitchen and closed the door on the chilly day. John strained to see inside. The table was set with food, and in the centre, a cake with two bright candles told him it was the child’s birthday.

  There were six people seated at the table: the child, Emily and her mother Aggie, the old grandad whom he knew and loved; and the two men, the younger one who had kissed both Emily and the child, and last of all an older man who looked vaguely familiar. There was no sign of Clem.

  As he watched, still hidden in the spinney, the child leaned forward to blow out the candles, her small arms wrapped round Emily on one side, and the man on the other. Emily glanced at the man, and he smiled back. It was a warm, intimate smile, and it cut through John’s heart like a knife through butter.

  Devastated, he turned away for the last time. ‘Oh, dear God.’ His voice broke with emotion. The reality of what he had seen was too much to take in. Without further ado, he cut a path to Lizzie’s cottage. His aunt would put him straight, he thought. She would tell him the truth.

  When she saw him approaching over the hill, Lizzie could hardly believe her eyes. ‘John? Oh my goodness, is it really you?’ Peering from the bench where she had been resting after finishing her work in the yard, she recognised that familiar long stride and that mop of dark hair, and in a minute was on her feet and hurrying towards him.

  When he took her in his arms she laughed and cried, and held him for what seemed an age. ‘Oh lad – I thought I’d never see you again.’ Wiping away the tears, she looked up at him, and her love was bright in her expressive green eyes.

  ‘Come in!’ she laughed. ‘Come away on in. You’re at home now, son.’ With her arm entwined in his and her heart full of joy, she went inside with him. In the midst of her own happiness, she did not notice how sad and subdued he seemed.

  Inside the cosy parlour, Lizzie bustled about. ‘Eee, you’re a sight for sore eyes, my lad. Let me cut you some fresh-baked bread and a hunk o’ cheese – how does that sound? Oh, and a pint mug o’ tea.’

  John shook his head. ‘Not just yet,’ he answered gently. ‘There’s things I need to ask you first.’ Even now after what he had seen down there in the valley, he still nurtured the smallest gleam of hope.

  ‘We’ll talk while you eat,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘You must be famished.’

  ‘Sit down, Auntie,’ he begged her. ‘I need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’ Suddenly, Lizzie saw how he was, and thoughts of Emily crept into her mind.

  ‘Please.’ Taking her by the hand, Jo
hn sat her down. ‘I need to know about Emily.’

  A ripple of fear shivered through her. ‘What is it you need to know?’ she asked apprehensively.

  For a moment he dropped his gaze, not wanting to ask, but needing to. ‘Just now, I went down towards the farm.’ He looked up, his eyes full of pain. ‘There was a child …’

  Lizzie groaned. This was the moment she had been dreading.

  John looked her in the eye. ‘Is it Emily’s child?’

  ‘Oh, lad!’ She had not wanted to be the one to tell him.

  John persisted, ‘Is it her child, Lizzie?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m sorry, son. Yes, the child is Emily’s.’

  Anger flooded her heart. This was not the homecoming she had wanted for her beloved nephew. Emily had betrayed him, and she for one could not forgive that.

  John had another question. ‘Who’s the father?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘You’ll have to ask Emily that.’

  ‘No, Lizzie. I’m asking you.’

  The woman took a moment to consider her answer. ‘His name’s Danny Williams. You may not remember him. He’s the milkman round here these days. Some time ago, his ma died, then his father fell ill and had to retire. Danny came home from soldiering agin the Boers to take the business on.’

  John recalled the two men at the cottage; the young one and an older man, probably his father. Quickly describing the two men, he asked, ‘Would it be them?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘Aye, son. It would.’

  ‘Are they wed – him and Emily?’ The words choked in his throat as he waited anxiously for the answer. ‘Have I lost her altogether?’

  Lizzie fought with her conscience. She knew he loved Emily enough to take on the child Emily had conceived by another man. She did not want that for him. It wouldn’t be fair, and besides, what kind of woman was Emily, if at the drop of a hat she could turn to some other man while John was away working for their future? Emily had done a bad thing. Who was to say she wouldn’t do it again, even after she and John were wed?

  She thought of how when she herself took John on as a little lad of five, she had vowed to always do the best for him. Up to now, she had not really been tested. But this was her trial, and she would deal with it the way she thought fit. She saw herself as his mother, just as much as if she had given birth to him herself. She loved him, more than she had ever loved anyone in her whole life.

  Her mind was made up. There was no way on earth she would stand by and see him used by a woman who had already shown herself to be wanton. There could be no worthwhile future ahead with a wife like that.

  His voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘Auntie! I want the truth. Is Emily wed to him?’

  She looked up, tears hovering but not falling. She had to do this for his sake. ‘Yes, son,’ she lied. ‘Emily is wed to the child’s father. That’s how it is.’

  Now, as she saw the torment in his face, she silently prayed that the Good Lord would forgive her. Yet, driven by motherly love and a need to protect him, she truly believed she had done the right thing for John. If at some time in the future, she was called on to pay for her sins, then so be it.

  In that cosy little parlour, the silence thickened until the soft ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to echo the sound of their own hearts.

  Each was torn by what had been said; Lizzie because she had lied against her nature, and John, because he had heard the one thing that he had never expected to hear … that Emily had grown tired of waiting and had wed someone else. Moreover, they had a child. That had been his dream, to have her as his wife and to raise a family. Emily had been his life. And now she had given herself to someone else. No wonder she had not replied to his letters. Dear God! How quickly she had forgotten him.

  But he would never forget her, nor would he stop loving her. She was his first and last love, and that would never change, however long he might live.

  Quietly, Lizzie got out of her chair, and going into the tiny scullery, she put on the kettle and proceeded to make them a pot of tea. Whenever she was tired or troubled, she always made tea: it had always soothed and comforted before. Yet this was not like before. This was John and Emily, and the end of their future – and, God help her, she was partly responsible for that.

  A few minutes later she returned to find him stood by the window, his dark blue eyes staring out across the landscape, his mind deep in thought. ‘Drink this, son.’ She pressed the mug of hot liquid into his hands, then when he took it, she asked hopefully, ‘Will you not have a bite to eat?’

  He turned to look down on her. ‘This can’t have been easy for you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She gave a bitter laugh. Sorry! If only he knew, she thought. If only he knew how she had deliberately lied. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Sorry it had to turn out this way.’

  He nodded, took a gulp of his tea, and when the liquid choked in his throat, he placed the mug on the windowsill.

  ‘Will you stay?’ Lizzie was behind him.

  Continuing to stare out of the window, he replied, ‘Just for tonight. Then I’ll be gone … back to the sea.’ He had waited and prayed for the day to come when he would return to these parts, and Emily. But in just a few short minutes, everything he had ever wanted was snatched away. How could he stay now? It would be torture, to be so close to her, and yet so far away.

  Lizzie understood. ‘I had an idea you’d be going back.’ Part of her wanted to plead with him to stay. Part of her knew he couldn’t. And all she could think of was how she had deceived him. ‘I’ll need to get your bed aired,’ she said. ‘Meantime, son, you should try and eat. There’s cheese and ham in the larder. Oh, and a deep apple pie I made first thing this morning.’ How odd it seemed, to be talking about such things as ham and apple pie, when their whole world had been turned upside down.

  ‘Maybe later,’ he told her. ‘Just now I think I’ll go for a walk alongside the brook.’ That same brook where he and Emily had walked so many times in the past. That same brook where they had confessed their love for each other.

  ‘Aye, lad. Mebbe your appetite will be sharper by the time you get back.’

  Upstairs, Lizzie threw open the bedroom window, and hanging the blankets out over the sill, she let the breeze lift and play with them. She then took the sheets and gave them a sound shaking out the window, her quiet gaze following John as he went away towards the far fields and the brook beyond.

  Struck with guilt at what she had done to the young lovers, she paused in her task, eyes welling up with emotion and heart full. She stood there until he was out of sight. Then she stood a moment longer, before returning to the bed. Taking hold of the two handles on the mattress, she hoisted it up and then heaved it over, after which her back ached and her arms felt as though they had been wrenched out of their sockets.

  Waiting a minute to recover her breath, she went back to the window, where she collected the bedding and threw it over the iron bedframe at the foot of the bed.

  That done, she set about making a fire in the tiny grate. The kindling and coal were always kept in a bucket by the pretty tiled hearth.

  When the fire was flaring she sat beside it for what seemed an age. Then she made up the bed, tucking in the sheets and tweaking the counterpane until all was smooth and tidy. She laid the big bolster across the top, and placed a sprig of dried lavender on it, to make the linen smell sweet.

  Closing the window, she scoured the countryside for a sight of John. But he was nowhere to be seen. Don’t go back there, she willed him silently. Stay away from her, son. She’ll only bring you heartache.

  John avoided Potts End. Instead he kept on walking, across the fields and on towards the canal, where for a time he sat with his back to a tree, watching the barges chug up and down the waterway. His emotions were in turmoil, and yet there was a strange calm about him. Images dipped in and out of his mind. Images of the child, and the man, and the joy on Emily’s face.

  She seemed so
happy, he thought. And wasn’t that what he had always wanted – for his Emily to be happy?

  A kind of rage came over him. Clenching his fist he slammed it into the tree-trunk. He didn’t feel the splinters driving through his flesh. Yet he felt a pain of another kind. The kind of deep-down pain that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

  After a time, when the darkness thickened, he made his way back.

  Walking along by the brook, he lingered there awhile, listening to the tumble of water over the boulders and thinking of Emily. He remembered how it had been. How young and excited they were, and how deeply in love. But it was different now. Emily was a married woman, with a child, and because of it, he had no part in her life any more.

  It was a shocking and agonising thing, but he could not change that kind of situation. Nor would he want to, not after seeing her so happy. Even now her laughter echoed in his mind. Emily’s laughter, his pain. Danny Williams’s gain, his loss. Life was a cruel master, he thought.

  It was almost pitch dark when he got back to the cottage. ‘You had me worried.’ Lizzie was waiting anxiously for him. ‘Are you all right, son?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, ‘but I shouldn’t have worried you like that. I’m sorry. I just lost track of time.’

  When she saw his fist, bloodied and torn, she insisted on tending it, and while he sat she talked, about everything but Emily. ‘When me old bones let me, I intend digging over that hard area at the bottom of the garden,’ she declared. ‘Y’see, I’ve a mind to extend the vegetable patch.’

  John didn’t comment. It was just small talk. What good was small talk, when his whole life had just fallen apart around him? But he smiled and nodded, and Lizzie seemed content enough at that.

  After a while, when the hand was washed and treated and she had out-talked herself, Lizzie gave a sigh. ‘I’m off to my bed now,’ she said. ‘I reckon you should do the same, son.’

  He looked so tired, she thought. ‘In the morning, I’ll wake you to the smell of crispy bacon curling in the pan, and some of my fresh-laid eggs – oh, and did you know I bought another two chickens? O’ course, I can’t eat all the eggs meself, but I earn an extra bob or two selling them at market.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ve a good life here, in Salmesbury,’ she said. ‘To tell you the truth, son, there’s nowhere else in the world I want to be.’