Another Life

by Sara MacDonald

  Gabby was feverishly going over every moment she had had with Mark. She was desperate for the feel of his body holding her, his long arm thrown over her hips. For the feel of his breath on the back of her neck as they lay like spoons in sleep.

  Nothing was real. Nothing touched her but this loss. This life she had while he was dead was her living, breathing nightmare. His laugh, his enthusiasm, the small habits of every day, the sheer vitality of him existing, of being alive, had been her reality.

  She wanted to walk back into that life with Mark. Make time go backwards so that it would never erase the sound of his voice, his face. Mark Hannah. That piece of him that was part of her, that piece of her that died with him. She was smothered and blinded by the suddenness of his absence, rendered incapable by having to go on.

  One morning Nell saw her from a distance as she walked Shadow. The dog whined and Nell hastily put her on the lead. She saw the flesh had fallen from Gabby, saw by the way she paced the small beach near Elan’s cottage, that she was hunched and haunted by sorrow.

  Would Charlie ever understand his own part in this? Gabby had been loved by a man who was, according to Elan, going to leave a long marriage, five daughters and numerous grandchildren for her. That was some love, some regard. The same woman Charlie had so casually and carelessly disregarded for so long.

  Nell realized that she had been afraid of unleashing something in Charlie; the blind and immovable intransigence of Ted. An inability to imagine any emotion which is not felt by oneself.

  Catching sight of Gabby grief-stricken and rudderless was like going back twenty years. Like revisiting an old wound that never entirely healed.

  Peter had let her love him for so long. At university they had gone about together for the whole of those years before he suddenly said out of the blue, ‘Nell, I think I’m gay.’

  They had slept together. They had been inseparable and he had said so casually she had gasped at the pain of it, ‘I think I’m gay. I’ve just fallen in love for the first time.’

  So rapt had he been in this love, in this realization, he had been unthinkingly cruel. He had made casual something that had been fundamental to her. He had not even looked into her face.

  Her parents had packed her off to an aunt in Cornwall and she had roamed, like Gabby, walking in all weathers, bent huddled with her wound, so gaping, so lonely she thought she might break in two. For she had lost her lover and her best friend in one bitter, burning, astounding sentence.

  I’m in love for the very first time.

  My God, where did that leave her? It left her with nothing sweet to look back on. She had met Ted and he couldn’t have been more different and, at the time, it seemed refreshingly normal and honest.

  Nell realized as she trudged home across the fields that she could not feel angry or deceived or hurt by Gabby. I could not love her more if she was my own daughter and that is how it is.

  I have to look at my own cowardice too. I could not face what I knew to be true. What I knew in my heart was happening. That Gabby had moved on to another place and left Charlie and me behind. Perhaps, perhaps, if I am truthful, I believed in some subconscious way she deserved the blossoming that I saw when she returned each time from London. The coming alive that flared outwards and warmed us all. We all stood in the reflected rays of her happiness and chose not to question it.

  The following afternoon, after ringing Elan, she walked over to his cottage with Shadow, and a bag containing the dog’s lead and bowl, some dog food and a comb. Gabby needed an anchor, a small reminder of reality, and who better than her dog. Shadow seemed to sense that Gabby was at Elan’s long before they reached the cottage. Elan had said he would be out and Gabby was not inside the house, but Shadow, crying softly, held her nose up towards Elan’s summerhouse.

  Nell shut her in Elan’s kitchen, walked across the garden in the late afternoon sun and peered through the half-open door. Gabby was lying curled up with her back to the door on the hard horsehair bed. She was rocking and keening in a low eerie monotone. On her small cassette player Barber was playing Adagio for Strings. Back and forth, back and forth Gabby rocked, while outside the sun slid behind the headland and birds skittered and called in the undergrowth.

  The day lost its warmth suddenly like a shadow descending, and with it a damp earthy smell rose and filled the summerhouse. Gabby seemed unaware of Nell in the doorway. She was somewhere a long way away, although she must hear the birds and feel the damp for she shivered again as she stared blankly out of the window. Her breath came in little pants. The movement seemed painful as if something was caught under her ribs.

  Nell saw that Gabby was groping round like a sleepwalker with no idea how to get through the next, unreal, lonely minute. She turned away without speaking. This was a private grief that had to run. She could not help or get near Gabby. Not at the moment. But Shadow might.

  She went back to the cottage and let the dog out and she bounded with her ears up towards the summerhouse, making little moans of pleasure, and Nell turned and walked home before it got dark.

  Chapter 68

  In the dark they ran and fear caught and snapped at their heels. Tom kept a tight hold of her hand and Isabella could feel the tension in him. They stopped to get their breath before they descended the coast path down to the harbour.

  They walked along to the quay. Tom pulled Isabella closer and peered into the darkness. He could not see the boat, but he guided her onto the small beach where someone whistled softly.

  They hurried over the pebbles to the sound. Someone coughed a little way behind Isabella and she jumped and gave a small cry.

  ‘Ssh!’ Tom whispered, amused. ‘It is only a cow in the field beyond.’

  Tom’s brother, Harry, waited for them by his small fishing boat.

  ‘Come, let us be off,’ he said, ‘or we will miss the tide and be here till morning.’

  Tom lifted Isabella into the boat and told her to sit as the boat swayed. Both men pushed the boat afloat and jumped quickly in and Tom showed Isabella down into the cabin.

  ‘You will be safer in here for we must get the sails up, Isabella, to catch every bit of wind. If you feel unwell, come up on deck immediately, but it is very calm tonight. Look, I have made a bed for you … rest.’

  He smiled and was gone. Isabella looked out of the hatch; it was a dark and cloudy night and she could not see the stars. It felt strange to be here on the sea in a small boat at night when her household thought she was safe in her room.

  She thought of Lisette going upstairs in the morning and finding her note. She knew how afraid and distressed she would be and she wished it could have been otherwise. She had written to Charlotte asking that she take Lisette into her household for Isabella knew that Richard would not keep her and Lisette would not want to stay.

  She lay on the bunk that Tom had made and felt warm and suddenly safe. No footsteps or voices could reach them here. It was but a short sail to Truro and Isabella felt her eyes grow heavy with weariness. The motion of the boat was soothing and she knew in a moment she would sleep …

  When Isabella woke it was to the morning sky. Someone had covered her in warm rugs and they were still sailing. She struggled up on her elbow, still half-asleep, and the sky was blocked by Tom coming down to the cabin. He perched on the opposite bunk and smiled down upon her.

  ‘You are like a little cat. I believe you could sleep anywhere.’

  His eyes were lazy and loving and she smiled and closed hers against them, felt the colour and the rush of love.

  Tom bent and kissed her on the lips. ‘How beautiful you are, even when you sleep.’

  ‘How is it that we are still sailing, Tom?’ she asked.

  ‘The wind grew perfect in the night. We are headed for Plymouth. It will save us time. Luck is with us, Isabella, my love.’

  She looked upon his face. She had a wonderful sense of adventure as if her world had slid suddenly into place.

  Isabella went on deck and Harry h
anded her cold tea which she sipped and did not like. Both men ate a pasty which they wanted to share with her. The sight of them made her queasy and she turned to look at Plymouth appearing pink-washed ahead like a rosy Jerusalem.

  They sailed into the harbour on the tide. Harry jumped out as they came to, tied the small boat up to the wooden quay and went to look for the harbourmaster. Tom and Isabella sat watching the comings and goings. Tom seemed uncomfortable.

  ‘I will find a room to rent, Isabella, so that you can wash … You must tell me what you need … I know this is not what you are used to and I swear that as soon as we are settled I will make sure you are looked after …’

  ‘Tom,’ she took his hand. ‘It is true that a room to wash would be welcome, but please do not worry about me. I hope I am not so spoilt that I cannot adapt to a little hardship. I am with you and that is all that matters.’

  Tom held her fingers to his lips and she thought how lucky she was to be loved by him. They saw Harry returning from the harbourmaster’s office and he had found somewhere for Isabella to wash and change.

  While Isabella was in the guest house, Tom and Harry went to see what ships were there in Plymouth and whether it was possible to obtain a passage across the channel where they could relax a little without looking over their shoulders.

  When Tom returned for Isabella they walked along the colourful streets. There were wares of all sorts, and near the docks there were jugglers and an organ grinder with a poor monkey who was tethered and woebegone. There was much noise and cheerfulness about these streets full of sailors.

  It was warm but Isabella kept her hood up for Tom could not relax, he was afraid someone in the crowd might glimpse and recognize her. It was a strange and liberating experience for Isabella to cover her head for she could walk anywhere and no one stared at her.

  Here she walked in a busy seaport, her hand in Tom’s, in the middle of a crowd so varied and dazzling it took her breath away. And she was part of that crowd. She did not have to worry about the colour of her hat or propriety. She could just be. She could just be part of all this and absorb it into her – the noise, the colour and bustle – as she did the sunlight.

  ‘You are very quiet. What are you thinking about, Isabella?’ Tom asked her.

  ‘I am thinking how lucky I am to be here with you on a hot autumn day. How good it feels to be invisible.’

  Tom smiled. He said, ‘You can not see that people turn after you have passed. Even hidden in a cloak you walk like a beautiful woman. No amount of wrapping will make you ordinary, Isabella, and it is this that worries me. It is impossible for you ever to be invisible.’

  ‘Tom?’ she asked, suddenly overcome by nausea. ‘Please could we find somewhere to sit so that I might have some bread and tea?’

  Tom looked at her alarmed and quickly found a café. He sat her on a bench outside and ordered tea and bread to be brought out to them, as she could not bear the smell of cooking. Harry joined them. He told them there were passages to be had for Calais that night and St Malo the next morning.

  Tom made up his mind. ‘It is tempting to take a passage out of here tonight, Isabella, but I think it safer we take a train to London.’

  That night Tom and Isabella lay side by side on the narrow bed, husband and wife. Mr and Mrs Jarrard. Isabella did not like this deceit. It made her feel instantly unrespectable. But in the dark, her flesh against Tom’s once more, all was forgotten in their joy of one another, heightened by the tension in them, for neither of them could quite relax.

  Isabella woke in the night and felt unaccountably afraid in the narrow bed, in the clean but ugly room. She missed Lisette like an ache in her side. When she woke again Tom had gone but he had left a note for her.

  It was another clear blue day, but the freedom and happiness of yesterday had deserted her and she could not banish the nebulous anxiety which lay heavy on her heart. She longed for Tom to return. She wanted to be away from there on their journey to a new life.

  She turned to walk back to the guest house and a man walked past her. He doffed his cap and wished her good morning and she nodded but did not speak. When he had passed her she thought that there was something vaguely familiar about him. She started to make her way back to the house, her heart hammering at her wild imagination. Tom was still not back and she knew now something was wrong.

  She went upstairs and began to pack her things into her small valise, to be ready to leave quickly. She folded the bed back neatly and went downstairs to wait in the shabby little downstairs room where the window faced the sea. She took more tea and tried to calm herself. Where was Tom? What could have happened? What would she do if no one returned for her?

  Just as she decided she must go out again to look for him, she saw Tom’s figure making his way towards the house with another man who was too small to be Harry.

  She rushed out of the door and lifted her skirt and began to run to him. She saw suddenly who the other man was and stopped. It was Ben Welland. Tom’s face was pale. As he reached her he took her hands without smiling.

  ‘Isabella, my father is come. Your husband has closed the shipyard in St Piran. Every man is laid off and denied work in any other shipyard …’

  Isabella turned to Ben. ‘My father could not prevent him?’

  Ben doffed his cap and replaced it carefully on his head. ‘No, Miss Isabella, thy father could not prevent it, although he tried. Villagers are still employed in the big house but it is not enough to keep any family alive for long. Miss Isabella, I am come to ask thee and Tom to return before thee both become public knowledge … I do not just ask for mysen, there are near three hundred workers laid off and winter is coming. Doest thou and Tom know what thou art doing to gain happiness for thysen? Hast either of thee stopped to think of what trouble and misery thou wilt leave behind?’

  Isabella felt dizzy with shock and Tom led her back into the empty little front room.

  ‘How can it make any difference now?’ she asked Ben dully. ‘Sir Richard will not take me back as his wife. The damage is done. People know.’

  But as she said the words she saw that if Richard could not prevent it being common knowledge he could prevent her being with Tom. He could taste revenge.

  Ben said quietly, ‘Only I know the real reason he has shut the yard. He has made it common knowledge that there is a business rift between him and thy father. There is rumour in the village but not outside it as yet. Sir Richard gave me his word that if I could find thee and if thou return with me he will reopen the shipyard.’

  ‘But Tom is to stay away?’

  ‘Aye, lass.’ Ben looked down on her face and Isabella saw pity there. She felt as if a light was going out and all hope of another life fading.

  ‘I will leave thee to talk. I cannot force thee; I can only hope that thou both will do what is right and proper.’

  When Ben had gone they returned to their room. They could not speak or look upon the other’s face, but they held each other tight, rocking, rocking together in a terrible defeat.

  They lay upon the bed, still without speaking, for there was nothing to say. There was no place to go. And Isabella believed they loved each other all the more for knowing they could not turn their backs on their own community.

  Tom said, with his face in her hair, ‘We will have this night together, Isabella. One last night.’

  Tom went out to reassure Ben and then they had the dark to hide in, and they lay and talked and talked as close as two people could be, and Isabella’s heart broke for Tom’s banishment from his home, his family and his work, because of her.

  I am almost relieved for the dark, for Isabella’s face is so young and wretched and when I think of what she has to return to I have to draw back for the anger will spoil this night if I do not take care. How weak a man Sir Richard is to harm those who have done him no harm, to punish those he cannot control. How vicious to demand love where it is not given.

  ‘It is perverse,’ Isabella cries. ‘I would not
want anyone near me who did not love me, who loved another. I cannot believe Richard does not feel the same. His aim is to prevent us being together, Tom …’

  ‘Isabella, listen. We will let your husband think it is over between us. I will go and find work and earn as much as I can for our future together. When I am on the other side of the world your husband will relax and your life will be easier. When we are sure that all danger has passed to others and Sir Richard believes all links between us are severed, I will send for you. You will just disappear, with no connection to me. Then your husband will not have an excuse to punish the whole village.’

  ‘Tom, I have some money left in trust to me by my mama. I am not yet twenty-one but I shall ask my father if I might have it early in order to buy a small house somewhere for myself and my baby …’

  ‘It is a good plan,’ I say gently. ‘I would like that, knowing you were somewhere safe with our child.’

  But I believe it unlikely that Sir Richard will allow Isabella her freedom.

  ‘When our child is old enough for a journey by sea, you will join me, with Lisette.’

  Isabella sits up holding on to me. ‘Tom, Tom, I must know that you mean this. I am sorry to doubt you, but I must know that you are not just saying this to give me comfort.’

  ‘Isabella,’ I take those small hands in mine, ‘you are the woman I love and you always will be. You carry my child and I believe we will be together one day. I am sure of this.’

  ‘Then I can wait for you to send for me, Tom.’

  And then I love her gently because of the child, and Isabella weeps, ‘Tom, when I am not with you I feel a terrible loneliness.’

  ‘Soon,’ I say, ‘you will have my baby, a part of us both, and you will never be lonely again. I will find a place where we can live together and I will build a small house for us, by the sea. We are young and we have our lives before us. We can be strong, even apart we can be strong, can we not, my love?’