Journey's End Read online

  A few moments later, after a thorough examination, the doctor put away his instruments and closed the bag. ‘It seems you’re no better and no worse, so you must be following my instructions after all.’

  Lucy smiled triumphantly. ‘Isn’t that what I told you, Doctor?’

  ‘So it is,’ he replied. ‘So it is – but you need to remember you’re not the young woman you once were and your joints aren’t quite so flexible. I’m not saying you can’t do certain things – of course you can – but you must take care not to aggravate your condition. And that includes getting all hot and bothered about things.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Good.’ He wrote out a prescription. ‘Your blood pressure is slightly up. Take one of these each morning, and an hour’s rest in the afternoon. Right?’

  ‘Whatever you say. You’re the doctor.’

  ‘I’ll call again in a few days to check your blood pressure, just to be sure.’

  Glad that the examination was over, Lucy relaxed. ‘Are you ready for tea and biscuits?’

  ‘Need you ask?’ It had become a ritual; a bit of a banter, then the examination, before tea and biscuits. He had come to look forward to it. ‘That’s the main reason I come to visit,’ the young man teased. He picked up his black bag. ‘A few quiet moments in that delightful kitchen of yours sets me up for the day.’

  Inching herself off the bed, Lucy slipped her shoes on. ‘You haven’t forgotten how I like mine, have you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Strong, with a little milk and two sugars.’

  ‘That’s it.’ She waved him away with a gesture. ‘Off you go then. You make your way down, and I’ll follow on.’

  By the time Lucy arrived in the kitchen, the doctor was pouring out two cups of tea and had got out a plate of Elsie’s home-baked shortbread. ‘I can’t stay long,’ he told Lucy. ‘I must check on Maggie Craig; she’s not too far away from giving birth.’

  Lucy tut-tutted. ‘That’s her eighth in as many years. If you ask me, it’s not Maggie as wants checking on, it’s her old man. Quickest way to help Maggie and cut your work down into the bargain, is to chop it off for him. That’ll give everyone a rest, won’t it?’

  The doctor laughed. ‘It’s a bit drastic, don’t you think?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘He’s a selfish bugger, though. If it was him having the babies, he wouldn’t be so quick to make them.’

  She thought of her dead son, little Jamie, drowned these past twenty years or more, and her heart was sore. ‘Mind you,’ she went on in a softer voice, ‘there is nothing more magical than holding a child in your arms.’

  The doctor looked up to see the sadness in her eyes; he had seen it before and had been curious. Not for the first time, he sensed there was something in Lucy’s past that she was unable to let go. He might have asked, but the young man’s instinct told him Lucy would not thank him for it. So he waited until the sadness had passed, and she was smiling at him, as though everything was all right in her world.

  ‘I expect you have a busy day ahead of you, Doctor?’

  ‘I have, yes.’ Finishing his tea, he munched the last of his biscuit, and when he thought Lucy wasn’t looking, he tucked one into his jacket pocket. ‘I really must get on now,’ he excused himself. ‘Remember what I said, won’t you?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I will, yes. Thank you, Doctor, and mind you don’t crush that biscuit to crumbs in your pocket. Here.’ Taking a napkin from the drawer she gave it to him with a knowing little smile. ‘Best wrap it up in that, eh?’

  Looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the sweetie jar, Dr Nolan did as he was told, and went sheepishly on his way.

  Through the window Lucy watched him leave and when he was gone her gaze fell on Mary, who was walking with Ben towards the house.

  ‘We’re away now, Mother.’ Mary arrived to kiss Lucy cheerio. ‘Ben’s just washing the oil from his hands, then we’re off to organise the tractor.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘And what do you know about tractors?’

  Mary made a face. ‘Nothing,’ she admitted. ‘I know about cutting grass, about fertilising the soil, growing flowers and vegetables, plants from seed and collecting eggs from the chickens to sell at market, but that’s as far as my knowledge stretches.’ She gave her mother a curious glance. ‘What are you smiling at?’

  Lucy’s memories had never jaded. She could remember Overhill Farm in the little Wirral village of Comberton by Weir as if it was yesterday, with Barney and his sons ploughing and seeding, and harvest-time, when the world was aglow with sunshine and the fields yielded their bounty. Somehow, without even knowing it, she had come to learn quite a bit about tractors and the way they worked. ‘I was just thinking,’ she said vaguely.

  ‘From the look on your face, they must be pleasant thoughts.’ Mary had often seen that look on her mother’s face, a look of yesteryear, sometimes sad, sometimes warm with joy, and not once had she ever felt a part of it. ‘What were you thinking about?’

  ‘Oh, things that happened before you were born.’

  ‘What things?’

  Lucy was wary now. Even though Mary knew something about the secrets of the past, Lucy found it hard to discuss every little detail. ‘I was just remembering how much I seem to have learned about tractors, that’s all.’

  Mary was intrigued. ‘You loved helping Daddy on the farm, didn’t you?’ How she wished she had been a part of it all. But not the heartache, not that.

  Lucy didn’t get a chance to answer because now Ben was in the room, unrolling his sleeves and preparing to leave. ‘If you’re ready, we’d best be off now,’ he told Mary, and to Lucy he suggested, ‘Would you like to come with us?’

  Lucy was tempted. ‘That’s very kind,’ she said, ‘but you don’t want me limping along, acting the wallflower. Besides, I’ve got things to do. You two get off and enjoy yourselves. You can tell me all about it when you get back.’

  All too soon the two of them were climbing into Ben’s car, laughing and talking, and Lucy was thrilled to see them so happy and content. ‘See that, Barney?’ she murmured aloud. ‘That was you and me, in the short time we had together.’

  Ravaged by emotions and memories she found difficult to cope with, Lucy went back to her room, slipped out of her shoes and lay down on the bed. Her gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes closed, bittersweet tears trickled down her face. ‘I want you back,’ she whispered. ‘Oh Barney, even now, after twenty years, I still miss you so much. I want you back – and I know it will never happen.’

  For a time her heart was unbearably heavy. When she was quiet at last, she went to the bathroom and washed her face. Afterwards, feeling fresher and more able to face another day, she went downstairs, where Elsie was covering a large pie with pastry. ‘Steak and kidney pie and mash for dinner tonight,’ she advised Lucy. ‘I’ll cover it with greaseproof paper and set it on the shelf in the pantry. Oh, and there’s apple crumble for afterwards. Won’t take a second for Mary to heat up the spuds with a knob of butter, and to boil up some custard.’

  Lucy was astonished. ‘Good grief!’ She stared at the pie and then at Elsie. ‘You’ve got your skates on this morning, haven’t you?’ She glanced about the kitchen, which by now was spick and span. ‘Are you in a hurry or what?’

  For a minute it seemed as though Elsie had not heard Lucy’s question, because she continued cutting the edge of the pastry to a pattern, then carried the pie to the pantry. Now she was at the sink, slapping her hands together to rid them of the flour before washing them under the tap.

  Lucy spoke again. ‘Elsie! Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘I did, yes, and there’s no need to shout.’

  ‘Well then, have the manners to answer.’

  The woman turned. ‘All right – then yes, I am in a hurry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Things to do.’ Elsie never used many words when a few would do.

  ‘What things?’

  Elsie carried on wiping the table. After
replacing the tablecloth she looked Lucy in the eye. ‘Very well, if you must know, I’m taking Charlie to have his eyes tested.’

  Lucy was open-mouthed. ‘Can’t he take himself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? He’s a grown man with a tongue in his head, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s the trouble.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The tongue in his head. Gift o’ the gab – that’s his problem! If I’m not there to explain what’s been going on, he’ll convince the optician that he’s fine. Then there’ll be no spectacles and he’ll carry on the same as before.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? Charlie is a fine blacksmith. Surely he doesn’t need spectacles for shoeing horses?’

  ‘Hmh! Shows how much you know.’ Hands on hips, Elsie seemed ready for another fight. ‘Last week, Ted Willis brought his old mare into the yard for re-shoeing and Charlie put the shoe on upside down; the poor animal went away limping worse than when Ted fetched her in. If Ted hadn’t brought her back, she’d have gone lame for sure.’

  Lucy thought the woman was being a bit harsh. ‘Charlie doesn’t often make a mistake like that. Does it really mean he wants marching off to the optician’s?’

  Elsie bristled. ‘I think I’m the best judge of that, if yer please. And it weren’t the only time he got it wrong neither.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve always had a tendency to exaggerate,’ Lucy scoffed.

  Elsie was indignant. ‘What about this then?’ she demanded haughtily. ‘A few days ago, Larry Barker brought his cart in for a new wheel to be put on, and when he came back to collect it, Charlie had only ruddy well changed the wrong wheel! Then the week afore that, I asked if he’d come into Bedford with me as I had a lot to carry home. We went round the shops and when we got back to the bus-stop there was a queue. When the bus arrived, blow me down if he didn’t follow Maggie Craig on, grab her shopping-bags and sit himself beside her … The silly article thought he were sitting next to me. I wouldn’t mind if she hadn’t got a backside the size of the gasworks and a gob to match!’

  At first, Lucy thought she ought not to laugh. Then she began to titter and suddenly the pair of them were laughing hysterically. ‘Now you know why he needs the spectacles,’ Elsie spluttered.

  And Lucy had to agree.

  ‘I’ve done all the chores for now,’ Elsie said finally, wiping her eyes. ‘See you same time tomorrow.’

  As the little woman put on her coat, Lucy told her: ‘Be gentle with him, won’t you? I know what a bully you can be when the mood takes you.’

  ‘Huh!’ Elsie gave her a scornful glance. ‘Look who’s talking!’ Off she went, shoulders high and head up, muttering to herself: ‘Do this, do that … never satisfied unless she’s interfering! Besides, what does she know about my Charlie?’

  ‘Have you two been arguing again?’ Adam stuck his head round the back door.

  Lucy swung round. ‘That woman’s getting more difficult by the day,’ she said. ‘Does as she likes and won’t listen to a word anyone says.’

  Adam smiled. ‘Like someone else we know then, eh?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘You’re right. I do have too much to say at times.’ Whenever she was in Adam’s company she felt content. ‘Is the car all right?’

  ‘Running like silk.’

  ‘So, you’ll be away on your errands now, will you?’

  ‘That was the plan,’ he answered quietly. ‘Go into Bedford and collect the curtains you ordered, then visit the Post Office and the baker’s on the way back. Then I’ve the rest of the day to put the new shelves up in the outhouse.’

  ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘I can’t say for certain. Sometimes the road gets busy, sometimes it isn’t.’ Sensing her loneliness, he asked, ‘D’you want to come with me?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘No.’

  Adam knew Lucy’s every mood, and at this moment he knew he should not leave her alone with her memories. ‘There’s nothing so urgent that it can’t wait till later,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll keep you company for a while – if you want me to, that is?’

  The tears still moist in her eyes, Lucy looked up. ‘Thank you, Adam, I’d like that,’ she whispered. No one alive knew her better than Adam, she thought fondly.

  Relief flooded through him. When Lucy was sad, he was sad. And he was always content to be with her even if only as a friend; though one day, God willing, she might come to see him through more loving eyes.

  He went over and settled himself in the chair opposite. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘And don’t say nothing, because I know you too well.’

  ‘What makes you think something’s wrong?’

  He smiled knowingly. ‘You’re thinking of Barney, aren’t you?’ His voice was kind.

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘And you’ve been crying, haven’t you?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘D’you want to talk about it?’

  Drawing a deep sigh, Lucy confessed: ‘I can’t stop wondering about Barney’s other family … Vicky and the children. Lately I can’t seem to get them out of my mind, wondering where they are, and if they’re safe.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘I won’t always be here, Adam. I’m getting old. How could I go to my Maker, with such a weight of secrets in my heart?’

  Adam gave a slow, knowing nod. ‘I understand how you feel, because I, too, often think about the others. To be honest, Lucy, I’m not sure if it would be kinder for them to know how it all came about. Or would the truth ruin what small contentment they might have found?’

  Adam’s concerns echoed in Lucy’s mind. ‘If they are to be told, it’s me who should do the telling. And like I say, I’m getting on now, and time is rushing by. I must soon decide one way or the other.’

  The very thought of not having her around filled him with dread. ‘Don’t talk as though you’re old and decrepit because you’re not,’ he urged. ‘God willing, you and I have many more years to enjoy, before our time comes.’

  For a moment Lucy reflected on his words, and as always Adam had brought a kind of quietness to her heart. ‘I hope so,’ she murmured. ‘But I can’t shut out the past, and I can’t see a way forward.’

  Adam felt the same, but his first instinct had always been to protect Lucy. ‘All I’m saying is, don’t torment yourself. For all our sakes, try and let it rest. For now at least.’

  Driven by doubts and guilt, Lucy reminded him, ‘Some time ago, you insisted that Mary was entitled to know the truth, and you were right. So, don’t you think they should know it, too? You say we risk ruining any contentment they may have found, but what if all these years they’ve never known peace of mind? What if the children have grown into adulthood, still carrying all the pain and anger that drove them away. And what of young Susie? Dear God, she loved her father with all of her young heart.’

  Lucy recalled the powerful bond between Barney and his daughter. ‘I can’t get her out of my mind. I see the two of them sitting on the swing in the orchard, talking and laughing … happy and content in each other’s company. She was so young, Adam. She knew only what she saw and heard, and that was a shocking thing. She never knew how Barney was suffering … how much he adored her. Susie was his darling little girl, and she went away hating him …’

  Her voice breaking with emotion, Lucy bowed her head. For a moment neither she nor Adam spoke, but when he reached out to lay his hand over hers, she grasped it tight, drew it to her face and held it there for a moment.

  To Lucy the moment was immensely comforting. Adam was right. He knew her as no one else could. He had travelled the years with her and Barney, and when Barney was gone, he was her beacon of light through days of darkness.

  Though he could never be Barney, Adam was a very special man.

  When the moment was gone, she released his hand and raised her eyes to his. ‘I try, but I can’t stop thinking about them – Susie, the two boys and Vicky, that lovely gentle woman who did all she could for me and Jamie – treated us lik
e her own family. You know how devoted she and Barney were to each other, how they lived their whole life around each other. What happened to them, to the children, was so cruel, Adam … so terrible!’

  So many sunsets had come and gone since those days over twenty years ago, she thought. In her mind she cast her memory back to the time when she could run like the wind and her life was filled with sunshine and the joy of youth. But there had been pain too; such pain she had thought never to recover from it. But somehow life goes on and takes you with it, whether you want it to or not.

  Later, when everything else was lost, she and Barney had known their own joy together, and though it was for such a short time, Lucy had thanked the Good Lord many times over.

  After Barney had died from the heart disease that had destroyed his last few years on this earth, her life seemed desolate. But then Barney had left her with a new life: Mary, their daughter, had been her salvation. Along with her dear friend, Adam, that patient, endearing man to whom she owed so much.

  ‘Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest woman in the world.’ Speaking her thoughts in a whisper, she hardly even noticed that Adam was beside her.

  ‘Lucy?’ Adam’s quiet voice invaded her thoughts. ‘What are you thinking?’

  She looked up at him, her quiet eyes bathing his face. ‘I was just thinking how Barney and I had so little time together. The days went all too swiftly, and even when we were making love and Mary was conceived, I always knew it was Vicky he needed, and not me.’ Her smile was bittersweet. ‘I didn’t mind, not really. I would rather have had that small part of him, than live all of my life without him.’

  Adam had never heard Lucy talk of her relationship with Barney in that particular, intimate way. He felt embarrassed and humbled, yet proud that she felt able to impart such a confidence to him.

  Suddenly she had his face cradled in her hands, her warm blue eyes hinting a smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Relaxed in her gaze, he asked, ‘Why should you be sorry?’

  ‘I’ve been insensitive … talking of private moments with Barney, when I know how you feel towards me.’