Journey's End (11 page)

The next day started badly for Lucy. She had not slept
well. She saw the dawn light the skies and she heard the first birdsong, and for a time, she sat gazing out the window, her mind shot with all manner of mayhem.

This morning she would see the little cottage given to her by Leonard Maitland, her employer up at The Manse in the village of Comberton by Weir. This was the cottage where she and Barney had lived for a while before moving down to Salford,
the cottage where Mary had been conceived, in love, in anguish. The same cottage where she had spent several idyllic months with her young son, enjoying the countryside and the company of their friends, the Davidsons. The cottage where she had shed so many tears, mourning the loss of his bright presence. Bittersweet memories that would never leave her.

Oh, why ever had she come here to this place
which she had deliberately shut out of her life for so long? How would she cope? How could she force herself to go through with it all? Had she made a terrible mistake?

All the yearning in the world could never bring back what she craved; her firstborn son, her youth, Barney’s love – albeit a love that could never be as powerful and absorbing as hers was for him. It was all gone now. Time had
rolled it away, out of sight but not out of mind. And some day, time would roll her away too, and Adam, and everything else she cherished.

It was a sobering thought, which made her even more appreciative and protective of the family she still had – Mary and Adam, and now Ben – and she still had her friends – friends she did not deserve, for hadn’t she deliberately distanced herself from them
all this time?

After washing and dressing, and feeling more settled in her mind, Lucy went downstairs, where Adam was already waiting. ‘Sleep well, did you?’ His wide smile was all-enveloping.

‘Not too badly,’ she lied. ‘What I need more than anything right now, is a refreshing cup of tea and a plate of scrambled eggs on toast. That should set me up for the day.’

‘Then you shall have it.’ Holding
out his arm he escorted her to the dining room, where they were led to a small round table by the window.

In no time at all, Lucy had her eggs and a handsome pot of tea, with the daintiest cup and saucer, and a jug of milk filled right to the top. ‘Just what the doctor ordered,’ she said, and Adam agreed, while eagerly tucking into a full and generous breakfast.

‘Talking about doctors,’ he remarked,
‘when do you intend seeing old Doctor Lucas?’

Lucy had been thinking about that. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘First of all, I’d like to show Mary the cottage where she was born, and the fields where her daddy and the rest of us broke our backs to bring in the harvest, but oh, Adam, they were such wonderful times, weren’t they?’

‘They certainly were.’ His eyes dimmed with emotion. The memories were powerful,
painful in their beauty. Reaching out, he laid his hand over hers. ‘Wonderful times, yes,’ he agreed. ‘Sadly, long gone.’

He smiled encouragingly. ‘But we’re still here, you and me, and Mary, and soon, God willing, once she and Ben are wed, you might be a grandmother, and how would you like that, eh?’

Lucy smiled wistfully. ‘Grandma Lucy. Who would ever have thought it, eh? That young wild creature
running barefoot across the fields … a grandmother.’

Just then Mary and Ben showed at the door. Catching Mary’s attention, Lucy gave a wave and the two of them came across.

‘I slept like a log,’ Mary said. ‘I think the long drive must have tired me.’

Ben told her jokingly how he was the one who should be tired, because he had done all the driving.

The waiter came across and they ordered bacon
and eggs for Ben, and toast for Mary.

Through breakfast they discussed plans for the day, and while Adam explained how Lucy wanted to take them to see the cottage and the fields, Lucy’s courage began to falter; until Adam sensed her dilemma and winked at her in his usual cheeky manner.

The intimate gesture seemed to harden Lucy’s determination. ‘We’ll go out to the cottage,’ she declared. ‘Then
we’ll visit the churchyard, and after that it’s on to see Doctor Lucas.’

Lucy and Adam finished their breakfast and left Ben and Mary to finish theirs. ‘We’ll see you in the foyer in half an hour,’ Lucy said. With that she took her leave, and Adam went with her up the staircase. When they reached Lucy’s room, he excused himself. ‘I’ll see you downstairs in half an hour then.’

With that he hurried
away, thinking how he would have preferred to be going into the room with her. But maybe that was for another day, when he had persuaded her into being his wife.

Some short time later, the four of them climbed into Ben’s car; they drove away from the city of Liverpool and on, towards the outskirts and the open fields of Comberton. Lucy was apprehensive, but knew that she must not shirk from doing
what she came here to do. Just once, that was all, and afterwards she would never visit the old places again.

Sitting in the back of the car with Adam beside her and her daughter and Ben in front, she felt strangely isolated, and so incredibly lonely, it was almost unbearable. Then Adam reached out and, tucking her hand into his, he shifted closer to her. His nearness, the touch of his hand and
the way he looked at her, as if to say, ‘You’re not alone, we’re all here with you,’ gave Lucy a warm feeling.

In all her life, she had learned never to lean on anyone. But now here she was, leaning on this dear man. And somehow it felt so natural.

Following Lucy and Adam’s directions, Ben headed the car away from the main road. As they trailed the curve of the lanes, she was taken back to those
far-off days when she worked in those same fields with Barney and his family.

‘In here, Ben.’ Excitement trembled her voice. ‘Pull in here.’ On the way over, Lucy had known every twist and turn, and now as they neared the cottage, her heart lurched as she recognised the meandering avenue of oak trees, and the orchard where little Jamie had so often played.

When the car was stationary, she climbed
out; for a moment she stood by the gate, her hungry gaze taking it all in. Instinctively now, she went through the gate and following the very same path she had so often followed before, she climbed to the peak of the hill, her every step a trial.

Behind her, Mary prepared to get out of the car. ‘Not yet.’ Adam felt for Lucy and he knew she would need to be alone. ‘Let’s give your mother a few
minutes, eh?’

Mary nodded, and so they stayed. They watched the small figure climbing and saw how her steps occasionally faltered.

At the top of the rise, Lucy stood tall and proud, her face turned towards the cottage and her gaze marking the spot for all time.

In her mind’s eye she saw herself outside the cottage, laughing and playing with Jamie, swinging on the branch of the tree, and gathering
fruit from the orchard. She saw Barney and Vicky, sitting on the swing-seat that Barney had created out of old rope and fallen trees, and then there was the party; the barn was still there, its roof sagging and the door hanging lopsided on its hinges. She could even hear the music and the dancing.

It was all there, caught in time forever. And she was content to have been a part of it all.

‘It’s
still here, Barney,’ she whispered. ‘This wonderful place, that gave us all such happy times.’ Rolling down her face and wetting her lips, the tears burned her skin. ‘I came back, Barney,’ she murmured. ‘I came back.’ Suddenly she was sobbing, unable to speak for the emotion raking her soul. With her hands over her face, she took the moment to feel his presence and when she looked up again, she
was calmer. ‘I came back to see if it all really happened,’ she whispered, ‘but I can never come back again, Barney. It’s too much … too painful. I’ll take it with me, but I know now, it’s time to say goodbye.’

She gave a small, choking sob. ‘I’ll always love you, Barney, you know that, don’t you?’

After a restful interlude, she looked up to find the others beside her. ‘It’s beautiful here.’
Sliding her hand into Lucy’s Mary admitted, ‘The descriptions you gave were so lovely, I thought you might have exaggerated. But you didn’t, because it’s everything you said.’ In her distant memory she felt a part of it, too, yet not in any detail. It was more a deep-down feeling of belonging.

And so they stayed awhile. Drenching her mind with images she had never forgotten, Lucy told them stories
of how it was. Adam also had a few comical tales to tell.

‘I remember when me and Barney were painting the outside walls of the big barn. We ended up with more paint on us than on the walls … and another time he hosed out the pig-pen and didn’t see me in the corner. Talk about a drowned rat!’ Everyone roared, and then he added, ‘It’s a wonder I didn’t go down with pneumonia!’

So many memories,
alive as though they had happened only yesterday. ‘Another time, he nearly killed me when he felled a big old tree that was rotting from the roots up. If Vicky hadn’t called out, I’d have been flattened like a pancake on the ground.’

They talked and smiled and laughed out loud, and Lucy felt the anguish draining away. People often said that anticipating an event could sometimes be worse than
the doing, and so far it seemed they were right, she thought. Instead of pain, the visit had brought a measure of joy.

After a while they walked on down to the river.

On the night they lost little Jamie, the river had been a raging torrent, but now it was unusually quiet, with the shimmering waters gently rolling over the boulders before leaping and dancing on their way down to the valley below.

In her mind, Lucy relived that awful night for the ten-thousandth time, right up to the sight of Barney walking towards her through the water, the tiny lifeless body in his arms and his desolate face preparing her for the worst. Dear God Almighty, how had she lived with it since? How could she go on living with it?

‘Come away, my dear.’ Lucy was startled by the touch of Adam’s fingers as they
closed gently round her arm. ‘You’ve lingered enough,’ he told her. ‘Please, Lucy … come away now.’

Turning away from the waters, Lucy assured him she was fine, though at that moment, she wished she could be anywhere but here, in this particular place. It was not over yet, she thought. The next stage of her journey would be the worst.

The flowers that Bridget had taken to Jamie on Saturday morning
were still fresh and colourful. Even from a distance, the yellow and white spring blooms brightened the little boy’s grave.

As she walked through the churchyard, Lucy kept a steely determination not to break down.

In truth, it was Mary who broke down.

Having learned only a year or so ago about her baby brother, she was very emotional. ‘You did wrong,’ she said, rounding on Lucy, her voice shaking.
‘You should have told me long ago. I had a right to know,’ she sobbed. Though this trip had been an ordeal for her mother, it had proven difficult for her, too.

Before she could run away, Lucy took hold of her. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘You’re right, I should have told you about him – our little Jamie. But it was so hard. I couldn’t bring myself to speak of it. I thought if I shut
it all out it wouldn’t hurt, but it did, and now
you’re
hurting, and I won’t forgive myself for that.’

For what seemed an age, Lucy held her daughter, as the scent of narcissi rose in the air and surrounded them like a prayer. She let her cry and cried with her, and afterwards, Ben came and took Mary away, while Lucy stayed with Jamie for a while longer. ‘I’ll always love you,’ she murmured.
‘As long as I live, I will never forget you. I had to come back, to see you one last time.’ Wiping away a solitary tear, she then stroked her fingers tenderly over the name on the granite stone. ‘My darling little boy, thank you for the joy you brought me.’

After a while she walked away; leaving the car and the others far behind she went to the edge of the churchyard, where she leaned on the
fence and let her mind wander over the fields, as though drawing every memory to her, so that when she left this place it would come with her.

She didn’t hear his footsteps as he came to stand beside her, nor at first did she realise he was there, until he spoke softly. ‘I can’t help you, Lucy, my darling. I want to help you … but I don’t know how.’

His words touched her deeply. Turning to him,
she smiled with all her heart. ‘You
have
helped me, Adam,’ she said. ‘All these years you’ve been there for me.’

He was leaning on the fence, with his hands clasped before him, when suddenly she reached out and slid her hand into his. ‘You’re a remarkable man, Adam; kind and caring, always backing me up, always there for me.’ She paused, searching for the right words, wanting to convey her feelings.
‘The truth is, you mean far more to me than you could ever know.’

When it seemed he might speak, she put her finger over his lips. ‘No, Adam, I need to tell you how I feel.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Coming here, seeing everything again, things I tried so hard to shut out for so long, has made me realise what a fortunate woman I’ve been, and still am. There have been two men in my life – Barney
and you. Both good, unselfish men.’

After faltering a moment, she regained her composure. ‘You know I could never love you in the same way I loved Barney, but lately I’ve come to realise just how much I do love you.’ Her eyes told him all he needed to hear. ‘Dear Adam, I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.’

‘You’ll never lose me,’ he promised. ‘Because wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.’ He
saw the tears shining in her eyes and he felt the honesty of her words, and he was the happiest man on God’s earth. He ached for her to be his wife; he needed to know that she loved him that much. But his instincts told him that this was not the time nor the place. And so he kept his silence, slid a protective arm round her shoulders, and together they made their way back to the car.

Mary and
Ben saw them coming. ‘Look at the pair of them, like two sweethearts,’ Ben remarked. ‘Who knows? We might be having a double wedding, eh?’

Calmer now, Mary was thrilled to see how easy they were, talking and smiling and so comfortable in each other’s company. ‘Coming here must have made them realise how quickly time flies away and that we must take whatever chances life brings us. Those two were
always meant for each other. At one time when I was small, I even thought Adam was my father. He was always around, always looking out for us.’