The Long Walk Home

by Will North

  “How was that lemon, then?”

  Alec spread his arms wide. “Splendid, madam; redolent with the tang of the Iberian Peninsula the moment the knife pierced its golden rind.”

  “Oh, go on, you,” she replied with a blush. “What’ll it be today?”

  “How about some new potatoes, a fennel bulb, and ... hmm ... a bagful of these lovely fava beans.”

  “Would that be a metric bagful, or just the regular kind?” the woman countered.

  “Regular will be fine.” Alec loved the fact that in Britain shops still specialized: the “family butcher,” the fishmonger, the greengrocer, the baker, the cheesemonger. He knew their time was probably running out, that the supermarkets would soon squeeze them out, but he was glad to support the shops to the extent he could.

  He moved on to the Wine Rack and picked out three bottles of an inexpensive French white burgundy, some of which he would use to poach the fish. On his way back to the car, a pear tart in the bakery window caught his eye, and he stopped in to buy that, too.

  As he started up Cadair Road toward the farm, Alec thought about how the making of food always seemed to bring peace to moments of crisis. People had to eat, no matter how unhappy they were, and the simple communal act of sharing food seemed to reestablish the pattern and balance that had been disrupted by strife or tragedy.

  fifteen

  OWEN LEWIS WAS UNDER HIS ANCIENT LAND ROVER in the barn. He had just drained the oil from the crankcase when he heard voices.

  “Christ, woman, use your imagination! You’re supposed to be creative.”

  Owen recognized the voice.

  “Right, then; I’ll spell it out for you,” Gerald said with patronizing slowness. “From those fields you can see all the way to the Irish Sea, yeah? Plus you’ve got this bloody big mountain right behind. Now, in your mind, make those old stone walls on the slopes below the mountain disappear. And imagine instead a series of terraces—properly built, mind you. And on each of them, stepping down the hillside, there’d be rows of custom-made holiday caravans, or maybe wooden chalets on elevated platforms. Dozens of them. You’d be able to hire them out at least six months of the year, maybe more. Just think of the income that would generate! Plus, I’m thinking there needs to be a kiddie park, just beyond that garden in front of the house. A real attraction that would be from the parents’ point of view, know what I mean? Come to think of it, lose the bloody flower garden; nothing but a maintenance cost is what that is. We could have a petting zoo there; you know, sheep and goats and whatever. Maybe a cow. And a pony. Must have a pony.”

  “We could never do that, Gerald. My family’s been farming here for generations. I couldn’t imagine these fields filled with caravans. It’s just too ... too ...”

  “What, too low class? You don’t think factory workers in the Midlands deserve a nice holiday in the mountains? You think this place is too good for them? Or maybe you’re too good for them? Look, I’m guessing the only reason your father hasn’t gone belly-up is your mum’s business; this farm’s a relic.”

  “It is not; Daddy’s made a profit most years!”

  “Yeah, sure he has, thanks to the government subsidies. How long you think they’ll last?”

  “I don’t know. But you’d never get planning permission from the council for something like that.”

  “Don’t be daft, girl; a little money in the right place will buy off any county council in the country.”

  Meaghan was stunned by his cynicism. “Besides, Mum and Daddy would never allow it; I’m sure they wouldn’t.”

  “That’s a laugh, that is,” Gerald sneered. “First of all, your old man’s a goner. How long d’you think he’s got?”

  “How can you say that?” Meaghan shouted, but he kept on.

  “And who’s he going to pass the farm to, besides you? Nobody, that’s who. When we get married, they’ll have no choice; we can do whatever we like.”

  “Married? Are you asking me to marry you?” Now there was confusion in Meagan’s voice, a mix of surprise and, suddenly, fear. She stared at Gerald; it was like a door had been flung open to a sinister interior landscape she’d never sensed in him before. She’d talked about the farm constantly and had thought her affection for it was part of what he loved about her. But now a different reality was setting in. He’d been scheming all along; she was a means to an end, a gold mine for him. No wonder he’d offered to come home with her when her mother called. She’d thought it sweet and caring of him; instead, he was only surveying the territory.

  “Mum would never leave,” she said, struggling for a coherent thought.

  Gerald snorted. “Your mother? That’s a laugh, that is. As soon as the old man croaks, she’ll be off to America with that new lover of hers!”

  “What are you talking about?!” There was panic in her voice now.

  Owen eased himself out from under the Land Rover.

  Gerald laughed at her. “You don’t mean to tell me you don’t see the way she looks at him? You blind as well as dim?”

  “You certainly have a way with the ladies, don’t you, Gerald?” a calm voice said from the door of the barn.

  “Owen!” Meaghan cried.

  Gerald spun around but Owen was already upon him. With both hands, Owen grasped the lapels of Gerald’s suit jacket, lifted him off the ground, and slammed him against the stone wall of the barn. Quietly, but with unmistakable fury, he said, “A gentleman does not insult his lady. A gentleman does not dishonor his lady’s mother, or the reputation of another gentleman. But you wouldn’t know any of that, would you, you miserable lowlife!”

  Gerald dangled like a marionette but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  “Now, unless I miss my guess, I think your little visit here has come to an end,” Owen said, glancing at Meaghan for confirmation.

  Meaghan nodded.

  Owen dropped Gerald back to the ground but did not release him. “Let’s fetch your things, shall we? I’m sure there’s a train soon.” He marched the boy back to the house just as Alec drove into the farmyard. Meaghan was standing beside the barn like a statue, her arms clutched across her breasts as if she were naked. Alec stopped the car in the middle of the yard, took in the scene, and went to her.

  “What is it, Meaghan? What’s happened?”

  Meaghan said nothing. Instead, soundlessly, she pressed her face into his chest. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her a little away from himself. He looked toward the door to the house and then back at Meaghan.

  “Has he hurt you?”

  Meaghan shook her head, her eyes blank.

  “Well then, it looks to me like a fine afternoon for a walk. Shall we?” He took her elbow and they set off for the front garden and, from there, the fields beyond. Holding open a gate for her, Alec said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Meaghan shook her head again, but this time she smiled at Alec with what seemed to him to be the most genuine wordless “thank you” he had ever experienced.

  They walked in silence for a while.

  “Mr. Hudson ...”

  He stopped. Her eyes were dry but she looked shattered.

  “Please, it’s Alec.”

  “Alec. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. I am so very sorry I was rude to you yesterday. So much has changed, hasn’t it?”

  “Has it really, Meaghan? I wonder. Let’s set Gerald to one side for a moment. Before this, your father was an invalid. Today, he’s still an invalid. He may require just a little more active care than before. But my guess is he’d want you to stay on at university, do well, and make him proud—as I suspect he already is.”

  Meaghan stared at him. “How did you know I was thinking of quitting?”

  “Because your mother has told me how devoted you are to your father. I think that’s wonderful. But caring for him isn’t your job, if you’ll permit me to say so; it’s your mother’s. Your job is to keep becoming who you were meant to be. It’s what your father would wan
t.”

  Tears formed in the corners of her deep brown eyes and she smiled. She knew almost nothing about the man before her, except that she found it easy to trust him.

  “Thank you, Alec.”

  When they returned to the house half an hour later the red Golf was gone. Fiona was at the door. The two women looked at each other. Fiona’s eyes were soft and full of love.

  “Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry ...”

  “Shush, darling; Owen told me. You have nothing to apologize for or be ashamed of. He was a mistake, that’s all. We all make them. I daresay there will be more. It’s called ‘experience.’ Some experiences are just a little harder than others.”

  Meaghan stood for a moment, first fighting back tears, then almost visibly gathering strength from the safety and familiarity of her surroundings.

  “I’m going to go take a bath,” she announced with a thin smile. Then she was gone.

  “Tea?” Fiona asked Alec as they entered the house.

  “The hell with the tea; what in God’s name is going on?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, let’s just say the brilliant Gerald is a thing of the past and leave it there.”

  “Did he hurt her?”

  “No, not physically.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Not now, no. Perhaps later. It’s not important.”

  Alec knew this wasn’t true, but he didn’t press. He heard the car roar into the farmyard and met Owen as he was wrestling the groceries from the backseat.

  “Sorry about hijacking these; I’d just drained the oil from the Rover.”

  “Sounds like it was for a good cause. When’s the next train?”

  “Not for hours,” Owen said, beaming, and they both laughed.

  “Will you have dinner with us tonight, Owen?”

  Owen hesitated, looking toward the house. “I don’t know. Depends on how Meaghan’s faring, I reckon.”

  Alec nodded. “How about you look in later?”

  “Sure. I’ll be under the Land Rover for a while, then up with the sheep.”

  “Owen?”

  The young man looked at him.

  “Whatever you did this afternoon, thanks.”

  Owen bowed slightly and grinned. “My pleasure.”

  ***

  FIONA WALKED THROUGH the house and into her suite of rooms. She knew Meaghan loved the big claw-foot tub in her mother’s bathroom and that she’d find her there. She knocked gently at the door.

  “Yes?” Meaghan called, an edge to her voice.

  “It’s just me, darling; may I come in?”

  “Of course, Mum.”

  Fiona found Meaghan encased in bubbles, looking much more like her little girl than the grown woman she’d become. She leaned over the tub and kissed her daughter’s damp forehead, then sat on a terry-cloth-covered stool she used when she was drying off.

  “I thought perhaps you’d like some company, but if you’d rather be alone ...”

  “No, Mummy, stay.” Meaghan rested her head on the back of the tub. “The company helps.”

  “I’m sorry things turned out badly for you and Gerald.”

  “I just feel so stupid. He seemed so much older and smarter than the other boys. Stronger, you know? He criticized me a lot, but I thought, well, he just knew more. I didn’t see the other stuff; I didn’t know him at all.”

  “Darling, you aren’t the first woman to mistake arrogance for power, or sex for passion. Unfortunately, you won’t be the last, either. It’s so awfully common.”

  “You mean he was so awfully common.”

  “No, Meaghan, I don’t. And commonness is not a failing; this has nothing to do with class. There are good and kind and solid ‘common’ men. Your father, for one. Until he took sick, I don’t think your father ever said an unkind word to me in all our years together. It’s only since then he’s become difficult. But I suspect abusiveness of one kind or another is a way of life for Gerald. You would have discovered that sooner or later. I’m glad it was sooner.”

  “Me, too.”

  “There will be other men and I’m sure you’ll choose a bit more carefully next time. There are many charming, thoughtful, and caring men out there in the world.”

  “You mean like Alec.”

  Fiona looked at her daughter for a moment. “Yes, like Mr. Hudson.”

  “But Gerald said—”

  Fiona cut her off. “Gerald Wilson, my love, was a nasty piece of work, despite the flashy suit. Alec Hudson is the reason I’m not wearing black today. And since your father’s ... accident, I don’t know what I would have done without him. That man, that stranger sent to us from God only knows where, has been the calm in the center of this whole terrible, tragic week. I am beyond grateful to him; I am forever in his debt. And you should be, too.”

  “I am, Mother, truly. I didn’t mean to ...”

  “I know you didn’t. Now it’s my turn to apologize; that came out a bit harsher than I meant it to.”

  Fiona sighed. “Look, after all that’s happened in the last day or two, I want you to know I love you more than ever. I suspect we’re going to need each other’s support in the coming weeks and months. I won’t be able to give Daddy the kind of extra attention he will need now and still keep the bed-and-breakfast going. I’m going to arrange for someone to come in and look after him. I’ve also asked Owen to take over the farm; he’s an exceptional young man and he’ll do brilliantly—he practically runs the farm already. What I hope you’ll do ...”

  “I know, Mum. You’d like me to go back to school. And I will. As soon as we’ve got Daddy sorted. But I’ll be here if you need me.”

  Fiona smiled. “I’d better let you get on with your bath. Besides, Alec will be starting dinner soon, and I’d like to freshen up, too.”

  “Mum?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I love you, and I think you’ve been very brave.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. I love you, too, always.”

  She closed the door. I wonder, she thought as she walked through her bedroom, how brave am I?

  ***

  WHEN ALEC RETURNED with the groceries, Fiona was gone and he guessed she was with her daughter. He put the fish and wine in the refrigerator and sat for a while sipping the tea she’d left him and staring vacantly out the window. When he and Fiona were together, he was overcome by two emotions he’d always thought were polar opposites—excitement and peace. The thrill of her presence came wrapped in a cloak of comfort. It was as if the two of them had been fashioned to be perfectly interlinked parts but a careless inventor had misplaced them. Somehow, they’d been found again, and they had slipped together seamlessly—not just in lovemaking, but in the smallest of exchanges. He had never known such love, even with Gwynne. And now he did not know what to do or where to go with it. Ever since her meeting with the doctor, he had felt her slipping away. He was struggling to balance his own needs with hers, his own dreams with the awful reality of her life at this moment.

  “A penny for your thoughts.” Fiona’s voice.

  He turned toward the dining room door where she stood, but didn’t answer. He didn’t think he could and still keep his composure. She came to him and they held each other, breathing slowly and deeply, as if each was gathering strength from the other.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” she finally said. “I’m thinking it’s been a long time since lunch and I’m ravenous.”

  He started laughing from deep in his belly, a wonderful, liberating laughter. There it was again, the excitement and the peace ... and the fun. He straightened up.

  “And I’m also thinking,” she continued, “that you probably bought wine and I would dearly like to have a glass.”

  “And so you shall,” Alec said, his heart joyous again.

  He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of the Mâcon Blanc, and set about opening it.

  Fiona watched him a
nd then said, “And what, Chef Alec, have you in mind for us tonight?”

  “Le plat du jour, madame,” he answered, adopting a patently phony French chef’s accent, “is fee-lay de sal-moan poach-ed in whaht wine, wis a cream and sautéed fennel sauce, accompanied by ... um”—and here the accent failed him—“... something to do with fava beans.”

  Fiona started giggling. She had never know Alec to be at a loss for words when it came to food.

  He poured her a glass of wine and they sat down facing each other at the kitchen table, the bond between them so intimate they might have been in bed.

  Then Alec asked the question that had troubled him all afternoon: “What is David like now?”

  Instead of looking away, as she often did when considering an answer, Fiona looked at Alec directly.

  “Different.”

  She paused for a moment, as if trying to pinpoint the difference, then continued: “He knows who he is and who we are and where he is. He thinks he knows how he got there, but of course he doesn’t. He can converse fairly normally, though sometimes he seems to struggle to find a word. As Dr. Pryce said, he seems to have lost the ability to find his way from one place to the next. He knows where he wants to go, but he goes the wrong way. It’s very odd.

  “And there’s something else ... ,” she said, looking even more intently into Alec’s eyes. “He smiles too much. Do you know what I mean? It’s a sweet smile, but blank. It takes over his face the moment he’s not thinking or saying or doing anything else.”

  “Like a child?”

  “Like a child with brain damage, maybe.”

  Alec said nothing. He reached across the table and took Fiona’s hand in his. Far away, he could hear the ewes calling their lambs.