A Heartbeat Away (18 page)

“Well?” she exclaimed. “What do you think?”

What had once been a paddock beside the house was now a car park, and beyond it, in the garden where Daniel and I had spent so many happy hours, was a play area, with wooden climbing frames and swings and picnic tables.

“Have they taken our tree house down?” I asked urgently. Somehow it mattered very much to me that the remnant of our childhood still remained.

Aunt V smiled. “Edna wouldn't let anyone touch it,” she told me. “They had to fence it off so that no visiting children could try to climb up and break their necks in the process, but it's still there, just as it used to be. I even think that Harry might have done some work on it.”

I clambered awkwardly out of the car and stood for a moment, lost in memory. “Can I be alone?” I whispered. “Just for a little while.”

She nodded understandingly. “I'll be in the tearoom if you need me. And mind your leg.”

In the tearoom
—how strange that sounded. I picked up my crutches and began to make my way toward the alien familiarity of the garden.

The rambling bushes had been replaced by neat shrubs and well-tended flower beds, naked now but sure to blossom in the spring. I found myself shrinking from what had become such a public place, until suddenly I saw it—through a little wicket gate with the word Private painted on the front. A tiny piece of what was left. I closed the gate behind me and entered another world, a world from the past. Our world.

In the farthest corner was a clump of the wild untended bushes where we used to play, and there was the tree, with our wooden house perched among its branches. I could see where Mr. Brown had repaired it with bright new wood, and as if in a trance, I walked slowly toward it and began to try to climb the narrow ladder, dragging my plaster cast behind me, so desperate was I to look inside our secret place once again.

Mr. Brown may have mended the outside, but it was obvious that no one had been inside. The cushions we had sneaked from the house still lay on the floor, black now with mildew and rotting at the edges, and Daniel's box of colored pencils sat on the ledge where we used to store our most precious belongings. How many times had we sat here and whispered our deepest secrets to each other, sharing our dreams? But Daniel's dreams had never happened, had they? Grief welled inside me in an uncontrollable wave of emotion.

“Oh, Daniel,” I murmured. “Where are you? What about your promise?”

I don't know how long I sat in the tiny space of the tree house. No one came looking for me—or maybe they all knew where I was. I didn't notice the cold or the ache in my leg, because all the memories took me where they would…and because Daniel was there, just as he had promised.

I felt his presence as soon as I picked up the box of colored pencils. It was all around me, bringing waves of warmth and comfort, and as his love seeped into my soul, at last I felt a kind of peace…the beginnings of acceptance.

It was Mr. Brown who eventually arrived to fetch me. I saw him through the tiny window, walking toward the tree, his strides long and unhurried, his red hair shining in the pale afternoon sun.

“Come on, Lucy,” he yelled from the ground below me. “I don't know how you managed to get up there in the first place, but it's time to get down. It's going to freeze again tonight, you realize.”

I pulled my jacket tightly around me, suddenly noticing the bitter cold. “I think you'll have to help me,” I yelled back as my senses returned. My whole leg ached with a fiery pain, and that hammer was thumping inside my head.

To my relief, his smiling face unexpectedly appeared in the small entrance. “Let's go, then,” he said. “I don't think I can get any farther in than this.”

Bit by bit, he helped me down the rickety ladder, and when we finally reached the ground, he took hold of my shoulders and turned me toward him, gazing into my face. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

I nodded with tears behind my eyes, knowing that he understood. “As right as I can be.”

“None of us will ever really be right again, lass,” he sighed. “All we can do is to get on with our lives, and who knows what's around the corner?”

I echoed his words. “Who knows?” I agreed with a prickle of excitement. Somehow Daniel would keep his promise; I was sure of it. I just didn't yet know how.

Everything at Homewood itself was both different and the same. The main part of the rambling old house was just as it had been, but down one side of it, a large sitting room had been knocked into some outbuildings to create the tearoom. Edna and Aunt V glowed with pride when they showed me around their project, and I could see very well how
they
had coped with tragedy—they had found somewhere new to channel their energies. Perhaps that was what I should do, too.

The whole place was warm and bright, and I breathed in greedily as the aroma of homemade cakes and ground coffee filled my nostrils. Edna's mouthwatering creations lined the shelves in the small shop, along with arts and crafts created by local people, books about the surrounding areas and novelty gifts to tempt the tourists.

The decor was all soft creams and warm browns. Old wooden beams lined the ceiling, and neat, checked brown-and-cream tablecloths covered all the tables. I thought it looked perfect, and both my aunt and Edna purred with pleasure when I told them so.

“Keeps them busy,” grumbled Mr. Brown. “Too busy. No one remembers to cook for me anymore.”

But I could see the twinkle in his eye as he regarded his wife.

“Anyway,” he announced, pulling out a chair at a small round table near the window, “that doesn't really matter, as I can always come in here to eat.” He motioned me toward the chair. “Lucy McTavish, would you care to join me for a free tea?”

“I'd love to,” I told him, sitting.

“Waitress!” he called loudly, lifting his hand and precariously waving one finger in Edna's direction. “Some service if you please.”

Just across from us sat a smartly dressed elderly couple. They glanced uneasily at us, frowning with disapproval at Mr. Brown's highhanded manner. I felt a giggle gurgle up my throat.

“Pot of tea for two and a couple of your best scones with jam and cream,” he called again across the room in his best “posh voice.” “Oh, and hop to it, eh, my dear? We haven't got all day.”

Edna walked toward us with her head held high. There were two bright spots of color on her cheeks, and she glared at her husband as she jotted his order down on her notepad. But as she turned away, I saw her smile, and a warm glow flooded me. The warmth and happiness were still here at Homewood, despite everything.

T
hat night I awoke in the darkness, and for one long, terrifying moment, I thought I was back in Fletcher Park Lane. Waves of panic flooded my body, and my skin felt clammy. I reached across to place my hand on the other side of the bed…the cold, empty side. Relief immediately replaced my panic. I was home, here at Box Tree Cottage with dear Aunt V and all the memories I was trying to come to terms with.

Memories. They overwhelmed me as I tossed and turned through the endless night. Memories filled with pain. Memories of happy times. Memories of galloping side-by-side with Daniel over the wild freedom of the fell. A longing to go and see the horses gnawed at my stomach, consuming me. I imagined their gentle eyes and velvet muzzles. I remembered how much they had meant to Daniel, and I knew I had to see them soon.

I rolled over, abruptly aware of the cast on my leg. I couldn't walk to them, though, could I? Beside my bed, the tiny green numbers of the clock shone in the darkness: 5:45 a. m. Was that all it was? Gingerly I eased myself up and fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp. I could not wait any longer, for to wait was to wonder and to wonder was to change your mind. I was so afraid of changing my mind again.

I knew that I could do it. I would have to walk slowly, but it wasn't so far. Eagerly I struggled into jeans and a lazy-day sweater, allowing my mind to ponder momentarily city suits and high-heeled shoes. Who was that other me? I shuddered at the thought as I crept along the landing, pausing for a moment outside Aunt V's door. Her breathing was deep and regular and her alarm clocked ticked loudly in the silence. I would leave her a note, I decided, aware how horrified she would be when she realized that I had walked all the way to Homewood with a plaster cast on my leg.

Before going outside, I tied a plastic bag firmly around my foot over a thick woolen sock and secured it with tape. Was I stupid to try? This was just something that I had to do, and I had to do it now.

 

It was ten past six when I left. The sky was still dark, with just the hint of silver around a hidden moon, and the air was so sharp with an icy frost that I shivered, and quickly clutched my thick down jacket around my shoulders. Perhaps I should have waited. No, I reminded myself yet again. To wait was to wonder, and to wonder was to change your mind. I couldn't afford to wait or wonder.

My feet crunched on the frozen grass of the verge beside the road, and the silence all around me was so intense that every sound screamed in my ears. The rustle of a creature in the hedge; the irregular, awkward thudding of my feet; even my breath, drawing in and out relentlessly, on and on, until one day it would stop, too, just like Daniel's.

It took me longer than I'd expected to make the journey down the lane toward the distant lights of Homewood, but at last, with a blaze of satisfaction, I limped slowly through the side gate that led directly into the yard.

The house lights were already blazing, and as I paused to get my bearings, I could hear the distant hum of a radio and the clatter of pots from the kitchen—comforting sounds. I shrank into the shadows, not wanting to face anyone yet, only the horses. Cautiously I made my way toward the barn where they were stabled.

A beam of warm yellow light from the low barn across the way lit up the yard with a comforting glow. The milking machine thumped rhythmically and the cows lowed intolerantly, and nostalgia rushed in. I imagined Mr. Brown, humming to himself as he attached the clusters to the warm udders. Should I go and see him first? I wondered. No, I was here to see Timmy and Promise. The prospect of breathing in their distinctive aroma after all this time flooded me with excitement.

The stable was in still in darkness as I slipped through the door. I peered into the gloom, savoring the warmth after the biting cold outside, feeling the pain in the ends of my fingers as they steadily came back to life.

“Timmy!” I whispered. “Here, boy.”

I could make out two huge shapes in the light that filtered through from the yard—Promise, pale in the darkness, hanging back; Timmy, stamping impatiently, eager to greet me and unafraid of humans in any shape or form.

I held out a carrot, and when he leaned over the rail and took it with gentle lips, crunching ecstatically, I reached out my hand and ran it down his smooth, warm neck. His coat was thick with winter growth and mud clung to the roots of his mane.

“You need some TLC,” I told him, breathing his scent deep down into my lungs.

“And you are just the person to give it,” said Harry Brown from behind me. Promise snorted as I spun around to see Harry's tall figure outlined by the light.

“How did you know I was here?” I cried.

He tapped the side of his nose, and a knife twisted inside me.

“Instinct,” he said. “Just instinct. Now, why don't I go and get you some brushes and you can make yourself useful.”

There is no better therapy than to throw yourself into grooming a muddy horse. Shoulders aching with effort; lungs caked with dry dust; the feel of a totally innocent living creature beneath your hand, a trusting creature that doesn't question, doesn't judge and doesn't ask anything other than to be fed and cared for.

I could almost feel my head straightening out as I worked. Oh, why had I left returning so long?

Harry appeared in the doorway again half an hour later. “Why, they both look a picture!” he exclaimed with a glow of pride in his eyes.

“The grooming was long overdue,” I grumbled.

“Well, you're back now,” he declared, walking across to place an arm around my shoulders. “Let's go and get some breakfast. Your poor aunt will be tearing her hair out when she finds out that you've walked all the way here with that pot on your leg.”

Edna was waiting with a bright smile and huge plates of food. When she handed me mine, I thought I saw a tear in the corner of her eye, and I touched her arm tenderly.

“I'm sorry, Edna,” I murmured.

She gave a kind of snort. “Nothing to be sorry for,” she announced. “You're here now. That's all that matters.”

We ate at first in silence, each of us locked in our own memory. It was Mr. Brown who broke the moment.

“You'll be riding after breakfast, I take it,” he announced with a twinkle in his eyes.

I stared at him in horror. “With a pot on my leg?”

“I didn't think a little thing like that would bother you,” he remarked, looking at Edna.

She bristled, shoulders back and chest heaving. When he winked at me, I held in a giggle.

“I might give it a try,” I proclaimed in a serious tone. “I'll just use one stirrup and—”

“You will do no such thing!” Edna interrupted, leaping to her feet.

My withheld giggle burst into a ripple of laughter, while Harry banged his palm onto the table with a loud guffaw. Edna's face turned pink, and then suddenly she was laughing, too.

“Riding with a broken leg!” she snorted.

“I think I could,” I told her.

“Lucy McTavish,” she declared, glowering at me, “you are still just as madcap as you ever were.”

“Am I?” I asked quietly. “Is that how you have always seen me?”

“No more so than that son of mine,” she noted with a wistful smile on her face. And suddenly the whole mood changed. I felt a surge of guilt for being so merry, and the half-eaten meal on my plate made the bile rise in my throat.

“He wouldn't blame you for living, Lucy,” she told me quietly.

Harry pushed his plate aside and jumped up from his chair, muttering something as he disappeared out the back door about seeing to a cow.

Edna sighed and picked up his half-finished breakfast. “Life goes on, you know,” she said sadly.

“Around and around again, through time immemorial,” I finished.

“Wherever did you hear that?” She smiled.

“Oh, I don't know.”

Where had I heard it?

“In a dream, I think,” I said, with a vague recollection of glorious vibrant colors and a strange acute sense of perfect peace.

“Well, it's true enough,” she agreed, scraping the leftover food into Buster's dish. He bounded across the kitchen and began to gulp it down.

“Some things never change.” I grinned.

She nodded wisely. “Perhaps it's just as well.”

“Do you think he still misses Daniel?”

We eyed at the big golden dog, so like poor old Fudge, and Edna sighed.

“I think animals adapt a lot quicker than humans,” she said, glancing toward the door. “They don't dwell on things the way we do.”

“The way Harry does?”

She stared into her cup, swishing the tea around and around.

“Some days, like this morning, he's his old self and then something triggers a memory and everything floods back.”

“It must be the same for you as well, though—surely,” I declared.

She nodded. “Except perhaps that with me the memories are always there, so there is nothing to flood back, if you see what I mean. I'm always the same. If I'm laughing and joking, it's not because I've forgotten for a while. Daniel's memory is always with me.”

“And that's how I want to be,” I announced.

She poured us both another cup of tea then, taking solace in everyday actions, and we sat in silence for a while until I remembered the question that I was determined to ask.

“Do you recall the letters you sent me?”

I began tentatively, uneasy about my other life and unsure of bringing it up. But I needn't have worried.

“I hope they helped you.”

“They did…oh, they did. It was just….”

She held my eyes and a lump formed in my throat.

“That last letter—what did you mean about something that helped you?”

For a moment her expression brightened, and excitement bubbled up inside me.

“I have wondered whether to tell you or not,” she began. “It's a strange thing, really.”

The back door banged, an icy draft of air rushed into the comfortable warmth of the kitchen and the words died on her lips.

“Lucy!” cried Aunt V as she burst into the room. “Whatever do you think you are doing?”

“Having breakfast,” I told her with a smile.

“When I got up and saw your note, I…”

She stood in front of me, hands clutched, face bright pink with the icy air outside and her cap of gray hair uncharacteristically disheveled.

“I'm sorry,” I said with a pang of genuine remorse. “I should have woken you up.”

“Too right, you should have,” she exclaimed, frowning at me. Then a smile lit up her features and she shrugged. “Anyway, no matter. Edna put me in the picture. You certainly look a bit brighter. That's what counts.”

“Oh, I am,” I declared, suddenly aware that it was true. I did feel better.

“Cup of tea?” inquired Edna, reaching for the pot.

Aunt V sank onto a chair beside me and I sighed. It seemed that I would have to wait a bit longer to learn about the letter.

“Oh, and guess who called this morning,” she announced. “The phone went just as I was leaving.”

My pulse began to beat faster and apprehension squeezed the breath from my lungs. “Who?” I whispered. “Who called?”

“Ben,” she told me with a broad smile. “It was Ben.”

My pulse beat faster still when an image of his honey-brown eyes flashed into my mind and I realized that I had missed his easy company.

Edna paused, teapot held aloft. “Ben?” she asked sharply. “Ben who?”

Her eyes narrowed as she waited for one of us to answer, and I felt a prickle of guilt.

“Ben Carlisle,” explained Aunt V. “You know, the young man I told you about. He saved Lucy's life.”

For a moment I thought that Edna was going to faint. Her face paled and she reached out to support herself on the chair back.

“You never told me his name,” she said softly.

I stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder, and she covered it with shaking fingers. “Edna, are you all right?” I asked her.

She took a deep breath. “I'm fine,” she insisted. “Must be getting a touch of flu, I think. I just came over all shaky and cold.”

I ushered her into a chair and assumed her tea-making duties, leaving Aunt V to find out what was really wrong. Was it about Ben? I wondered. Was she afraid that I had found someone else?

“Ben's just a friend,” I told her as I placed a steaming mug in her hand.

She smiled at me vaguely.

“I know. It's not about that. It's just…Oh don't listen to me.”

“Then tell us what's wrong,” I pleaded.

“Nothing,” she persisted, sitting up tall in her chair. “We have to get on, that's all. It will be time to open the tearoom soon, and I have another batch of cakes to put in the oven.”