Across the Sands of Time (7 page)

‘Dreams?' Mae frowned, mystified. ‘Are you having nightmares, love?'

‘No, it's not like that! I keep getting these strange images of the past. Remember those house deeds I came across at the history group meeting? That's when it started. Geoff shrugged it off as me being over-sensitive.'

‘Well, there could be something in that. You're very like Gran Dene. She gets affected by places too. Was Geoff not sympathetic?'

‘Oh, Geoff's too distracted these days to be bothered with anything,' she said morosely.

Mae stroked her daughter's hair.

‘His father taking ill again can't have helped, love … I don't think it's looking too good for Mike.'

Thea looked up sharply.

‘Mum, it's more than that. Yesterday I came across Geoff in town when he'd told me specifically he had to be at the farm. He was with Bryony! They were holding hands.'

Mae was justly shocked. Without another word she put her arm
around her daughter's shoulders and led her indoors, easing her gently down into a chair.

‘I got up to do the show. But I just couldn't,' Thea said, having spilled out what had happened the previous evening between herself and Geoff. ‘The last show of the season, too. What a waste!'

‘There'll be other shows,' Mae soothed, offering tea. She'd never seen Thea in such a state. That Bryony! Wait till she got her hands on her. All Chas's fault of course. He'd spoilt her rotten!

By the time Bryony came in from work Mae had worked herself up, rounding on the girl the moment she walked through the door.

‘Well, Bryony, what's this about you and Geoff?'

‘What?' Her daughter had the grace to blush. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘You were seen at the Vine together. Bryony, what were you thinking off? Thea's so upset, she's broken off the engagement.'

Bryony snorted.

‘She's pathetic! Yes, I was at the Vine with Geoff but there was nothing in it. Not that anyone will believe me, nobody here ever takes any notice of what I say. Oh, I'm sick of being treated like the airhead of the family, fluffy little Bryony! Liz and I have been thinking about sharing a flat. Maybe now's the time to go for it!'

Mae looked startled and put a hand on her daughter's arm.

‘No, Mum! Don't try to talk me out of it. I'm going as soon as I've packed my things!'

Soon afterwards she stormed out of the house, slamming the door with a force that made Mae wince. Hearing Bryony's car go speeding down the track, Mae flopped down weakly into a chair. How had all this happened? Thea's life in tatters, their only son apparently lost to them … and now Bryony had upped and left.

Chas would be in shortly for his meal. What on earth would she tell him?

‘W
hat do you mean, you don't know how to drive the combine?' Chas snapped at Jem, the new farm hand. ‘Didn't they teach you anything at agricultural college?'

‘It's a contractors' job,' the lad muttered, aggrieved, as Chas stomped off.

Mae, who was organizing her market bakes in the kitchen, closed the window on the disgruntled voices with a sigh. As if they hadn't enough on their plates without problems with the harvesting. The contractors had turned up as arranged, only to have a machine break down with the job three-quarters done. They'd called out a mechanic to fix the redundant vehicle then moved on to the next job, leaving Chas to finish off himself.

Mae knew her husband to be perfectly capable of the task, and that his ill-temper stemmed not so much from the unfortunate mechanical hitch but from a deeper source.

Chas was taking Bryony's departure from home very hard indeed. Mae had tried to reason with him, pointing out that they hadn't lost their youngest for good and this unprecedented bid for freedom was merely part of the growing up process – phrases he'd used himself many times before. But her words fell on deaf ears.

Her pleasant face troubled, Mae began packing her pies, cakes and bread into containers, hands working automatically, her mind mulling over the traumas of the past weeks.

When Richard had gone off to Ireland with the band, the girls had stood up for their brother. Then, Mae had sided with Chas. Now, with the passing of time, she could see her children's point of
view. Woodhey Farm didn't come into it. Richard was his own man and Chas had to realize that sooner or later.

Aware that Thea had kept in touch with Richard, Mae had been eager for snippets of news. The band appeared to be doing well and in his latest text her son had sent his love. Unbeknown to Chas she had responded at once with a text of her own, hating the deception, but knowing the move to be the right one for Richard.

Thinking of her son's tall figure, his good-looking face with the grey-blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled, Mae's heart contracted. How she missed him, missed the music that rippled magically from behind the closed door of his room tucked strategically away at the back of the house, the sound carrying through the house nonetheless.

The old farmhouse had been painfully quiet after he had left.

It was the same with Bryony. Mae never thought she would yearn for the fierce, feral throb of the heavy metal sound Bryony liked, but she did. She missed it achingly and would have given anything to have Thea berating her sister to ‘turn that racket down!'

Thea. Slipping the last crusty granary loaf into the container, Mae shook her head wordlessly. Who would have thought that far-thinking, sensible Thea would have given up a promising future with a steady chap like Geoff? It didn't make sense. None of it made any sense.

And now her eldest was seeing a lot of the young Irish vet. Oh, Dominic Shane was likeable enough. He knew his subject and as far as the local farmers and horse folk went, there were no complaints. And yet there was something about the handsome, lean-faced Irishman that niggled. Something … well, guarded.

Carrying the containers out to her van, Mae sent a worshipful wish that she wouldn't bump into Geoff's mother at the Heswell Farmers' Market. Helen Sanders was a nice enough woman once you got to know her, but she might be taking the broken engagement hard. A chance meeting could prove awkward for them both.

A chilly autumnal wind blew in from the estuary, reminding Mae that winter was approaching. Noting that Chas had taken
himself off to the fields without a word – nothing new these days – Mae jumped into her van and set off for the market.

As always on a Friday, Heswell seethed with shoppers looking for tasty treats for the weekend. And, as always, Mae's stall was the first to empty. She was delving into her bag for her flask of coffee and biscuits, when she heard a brisk voice.

‘Hello, Mae. How are you?'

Straightening, Mae looked into the expertly made-up face of the very person she had hoped to avoid, and felt her heart sink.

‘Oh, hello, Helen.' She managed a smile. ‘I'm fine thanks. What about you? And Mike – how is he keeping?'

‘I'm very well, thank you. Mike could be better, I think, though he doesn't complain. But there it is. We have to keep going, don't we? Geoff's been marvellous, taking on the brunt of the work. He's out all hours.'

Helps to keep his mind off things.
The words dropped unspoken between them, followed by a strained silence, into which intruded the chatter of shoppers and the throb of the traffic that streamed past.

‘Was the lad Mike sent any good?' Helen went on. ‘He did some supply milking for us earlier in the year, and when he turned up looking for a permanent job, Mike thought he'd be ideal. He's not afraid of hard work.'

‘He's absolutely fine,' Mae replied, closing her mind to the grumbling and complaints from her husband that she knew were unjustified. ‘I just hope he stays. You know how it is. You get them trained up and then they move on.'

Helen glanced around the stall.

‘Well, I see I'm too late for your delicious home bakes, so I'd better have a look round the other stalls. ‘Bye Mae. My regards to Chas.'

Conscious of a huge sense of relief, since the encounter had not been too awkward, Mae watched the smart figure in trim trousers and jacket walk off into the throng. There had been no mention of Thea, though that wasn't surprising. Frustration at her daughter for being the cause of restraint between the two families rose within her and was immediately quashed.

You couldn't live your children's lives for them, Mae realized. If Thea had doubts over a future with Geoff, then she had been right to act as she had.

Fortified by hot coffee and a snack, Mae started stacking her empty trays and returning them to the van which was parked behind the row of roadside stalls. She had completed her journeying to and fro and was checking her now-cleared stall for litter, when the woman next to her who traded preserves and honey, approached her.

‘Have you heard the news, Mae?'

‘What news? You don't look too pleased, Frances. What's up?'

‘Well, remember back in the summer how there were complaints about the market blocking the road to traffic? They've started up again. It looks as if we could lose the venue.'

‘But that's ridiculous!' Mae retorted. ‘The market does well here. You've only got see how quickly the stalls empty to know how popular it is. People would miss us if we closed down.'

‘Try telling the complaints committee that,' the other woman said drily. ‘One short morning a week, and they want us gone! It's crazy. When I think of all the preparation that goes into coming here, I begin to wonder if it's all worth it.'

‘Well, my line definitely is. I could bake double quantities and still sell the lot.'

Mae bit her lip. Money wasn't quite as tight as it had been at Woodhey but they still depended on her earnings. How would she break this to Chas?

‘Are you sure it's not all hot air?' she queried hopefully.

‘No, it seems definite. We've got till the contract runs out at the end of the year, after which we have either to find a new venue here in Heswell or finish altogether.'

By now the entire row buzzed with the news. People had begun to pack up their wares for the morning but all stopped to discuss the new developments. Mae, needing to get back to get the men's lunch, bid her fellow traders goodbye and, filled with trepidation, set off for home. She wouldn't let on to Chas until she knew something more positive, she decided.

Chas, however, had already heard from a different source. Having put the lunchtime soup to heat, Mae was filling the kettle for a much-needed cup of tea when her husband entered the kitchen with a scowl fit to crack the plates on the dresser.

‘Never rains but what it pours, eh?' he muttered. ‘What's this about a handful of troublemaking busybodies wanting to close down the farmers' market?'

‘You've heard, then,' Mae replied woodenly.

‘Aye. The lad mentioned something.' Chas always referred to the new hand this way even though Mae made a point of calling him by name. ‘Apparently his girlfriend helps out on one of the stalls. She'd heard last week but hadn't thought it could be true.'

‘Oh, it's true, all right! Nothing specific yet but just our luck, eh? When things were starting to look up, too.'

She went and put her arms round him.

‘It'll be all right, love. We'll find another venue and everything will go on as before. And there's still the Neston market on Wednesdays, remember. That will never close down.'

‘That's as may be, but I'm surprised you never thought to mention it. Imagine hearing something like this from the farm hand.'

Mae's arms dropped limply to her sides.

‘Chas, I didn't say anything because I didn't know about it. The first I heard was an hour ago when Frances broke the news. Be fair, Chas. I'm fed up with bearing the brunt of your ill-humour.'

Chas looked faintly ashamed.

‘Sorry, love. It's not your fault.'

‘Apologies accepted.'

She almost mentioned having seen Helen, but bit it back. She didn't want to give him an excuse to start on about the recent split between Thea and Geoff. Not today.

‘Cup of tea, Chas? I kept back a current loaf for after lunch. I'll butter a few slices. Is Jem around? Will I give him a shout? Oh look, the sun's broken through all that cloud at last. Could be a good omen.'

‘Chance'd be a fine thing.'

Her husband parked his stocky frame at the kitchen table, accepting the steaming mug she handed him.

 

Thea drove slowly into the quiet cul-de-sac where Dominic lived and pulled up outside his gate. All looked quiet. Clearly he wasn't home yet from the Saturday surgery.

Gathering up the newly released local Historical Society booklet she was delivering, Thea scrambled out of the car and let herself into the garden, walking round the side of the house to the back, where Dominic had placed a rustic seat by the rose bed.

The day was cool but here it was sheltered and pleasant. Sitting, Thea lifted her face to the thin November sun and let herself relax.

It had been a long week, ending in a Hallowe'en party organized by the school's PTA. Not exactly an event to relish, since the professional requirement to promote good parent-teacher relationships vied understandably with the altogether human need for a change of scene after a day with lively youngsters. This year's was more trying than usual.

Last year Geoff had been at her side, genial, smiling, supportive. If the talk had turned to classroom issues – and what parent didn't seize an opportunity to query their child's progress – he was there to counter it, neatly steering the conversation to more neutral grounds.

This time there had been no such help, and Thea had found herself battling through a barrage of questions more suited to an official parents' night than the social gathering the occasion purported to be. She was left at the end of the evening with a thumping headache and a vague notion of changing her profession.

And since every other member of staff had other halves in tow, she had felt painfully the odd one out.

Breathing in the sweet scent of late flowering tea roses, her mind turned to the scenes that had haunted her dreams these past few weeks. The latest one had been so detailed, so … involving.

It had begun with a visit to the inn by that sparky but likeable individual, Jessica Platt. Fashionably dressed in rustling mulberry
silk, fringed shawl and high-crowned bonnet, she carried in her basket some tempting treats for her sick sister….

‘Marion, my pet, how are you?' Jessica fluttered a kiss on her sister's pale cheek and subsided on to the chair at her bedside, her basket at her feet and her gaze scrutinizing the frail figure in the bed.

‘I came as soon as I received Polly's message. Tell me, has Wallace called the doctor?'

‘Doctor Gordon came this very morning. He couldn't have been more kind and considerate but, Jessica, I'm afraid the news wasn't good,' Marion said weakly. ‘Oh, it came as no surprise to me. This lump.' She fluttered a hand vaguely in the direction of her chest. ‘Poor dear Mama had the same affliction.'

For a brief moment Jessica's iron composure slipped, a complex mix of anger, irritation and compassion battling within her. Foolish and impulsive Marion might be, but this was undeserved. What sort of a life had she had? Barely out of the schoolroom and rushing headlong into a totally unsuitable marriage.

For love, she had said when probed. Love! All it had done was to condemn her to a lifetime of drudgery and unhappiness! Jessica recalled the miscarriages, the two tiny graves in the churchyard, the silent sorrow and suffering. And through it all Marion had smiled courageously and carried on. And now this …

‘You're sure there is no mistake?' Jessica queried in a gentler tone.

‘Quite sure. Oh, my dear sister, don't look like that! I've no complaints with my lot. I know you're no respecter of Wallace but he's been a good husband in his way. And my two children have been a great solace to me.' She halted, biting her lip. ‘Jessica, there is something that bothers me. Something I must ask you.'

‘It's Polly, isn't it? You want her away from here.'

‘How clever you always were at reading other's thoughts! Jessica, you'll probably be aware of Wallace's little … dealings … in certain goods. And I'm sure Polly will have told you that her father has arranged a match for her.'

‘With George Rawlinson. Yes. What of it?'

‘I have reason to believe that he also is also involved in the
contraband trade. Oh, I'm not as green as you think! I know what goes on. Always has and probably always will as long as the ships are able to get into port. I also know my girl. Jessica, Polly's as honest as the day. She'll not turn a blind eye the way I've done. The smuggling will bother her and wear her down. She'll know no peace of mind.'