Journey's End

by Josephine Cox

  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 realis
e 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.’

  She paused. ‘But there was always Barney. Mother made sure I knew my father, she spoke of him all the time, until I could see him clearly in my mind’s eye; I felt as though I knew him as well as she did. There was never any other man for her. But Adam is special. He knew Barney like a brother. Then afterwards, when Mother was left alone, Adam was there; he has grown old with her, and with every year his love for her has become stronger. I know, because I saw it, every day of my life.’

  Ben was intrigued. ‘And now they’re together here, putting the past to rest.’

  Their story was amazing, he thought. And now, he too was a part of it, and proud to be so.

  Chapter 8

  THAT EVENING THEY paid a visit to Dr Raymond Lucas, their former local doctor of twenty years ago. He knew all of them – Barney and his family, Lucy and Adam. The old man was delighted to see them. ‘Still the same pretty girl that went away,’ he said, kissing Lucy on the cheek.

  She laughed. ‘You old flatterer, you. That girl is long gone. What you see before you is a woman past her prime, carrying a stick and aching from top to toe. I feel as if I’ve climbed mountains today,’ she groaned. ‘Oh, but it’s so good to see you.’ She thought he had not aged too well. His skin was creased and leathery, his hair almost all gone, and his shoulders had sagged, but his smile and friendly manner were the same.

  ‘You already know Adam Chives?’ She brought him forward. ‘My dearest friend and confidant.’

  The elderly physician shook hands with Adam. ‘It’s been a long time,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you brought her to see me … thank you.’

  Adam chuckled. ‘It’s more a case of Lucy bringing me,’ he declared. ‘What Lucy wants, Lucy gets. But I’m so glad we’re here. To my mind, this visit is long overdue.’

  Drawing Mary forward, Lucy was proud to tell him, ‘This is Mary … mine and Barney’s daughter.’

  The old man was visibly taken aback. ‘Good heavens above! She has a definite look of him.’ He held out his hand in friendship. ‘You were a beautiful child and you’ve grown into a lovely woman. Your father would have been proud of you.’

  Mary thanked him and linking her arm with Ben’s she explained, ‘This is Ben, my fiancé. We plan to wed very soon.’

  ‘Then we must celebrate!’ Tugging on the bell-rope by the fireplace, Dr Lucas summoned the housekeeper. ‘Lizzie, are you able to squeeze another four in for dinner?’

  Lizzie did not hesitate. ‘Of course,’ she replied indignantly. ‘Don’t I always make extra, and isn’t there always enough of this or that in the pantry to conjure up a fine meal?’ Large-boned and formidable, she gave the appearance of being an ogre, when in fact they discovered afterwards that she was a real gem, and that the doctor valued her above all else.

  Lucy was horrified at the doctor’s suggestion. ‘We can’t put you both to all that trouble, and besides, we’re not dressed for a social occasion.’

  Dr Lucas would hear none of it. ‘You look all right to me,’ he protested. ‘You’re here now and we’ve so much to talk about. There’s a great deal I want to ask, and besides, I need to make the acquaintance of your daughter and her good fellow.’

  And so it was settled.

  Brushing aside Lucy and Mary’s offer of help, Lizzie advised them firmly, ‘I was a master cook in my time. Worked in a top hotel, I did! At times we were lucky if we got half an hour’s notice to prepare food for upwards of sixty guests; hard work, but good training. Ever since then, I’ve always been prepared, never caught offguard, and if the spare food isn’t eaten, it’ll always warm up and do for another day.’ That understood, she marched out and set about preparing the meal.

  ‘I’ve never dared to argue with her,’ the doctor confided jokingly. ‘And I don’t mind telling you, she frightens the life out of me at times. But she’s worth her weight in gold. A real treasure, she is.’

  After making sure they were settled and comfortable in the drawing room, he poured them each a drink; a gin and tonic for Lucy, a glass of sherry for Mary, and a measure of whisky each for Ben and Adam.

  ‘That’ll warm the cockles of your hearts,’ he remarked jovially.

  For the next half hour they discussed anything and everything from the old days, content just to reminisce. At first the talk was light-hearted and there was much laughter. But then the talk grew serious, and the doctor recalled how, ‘I was devastated when it was discovered that Barney was so ill. Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone. Barney made me promise not to, but even so, I have an oath to my profession, so of course I couldn’t tell … not even when I saw him falling apart.’

  He sighed from his boots. ‘What happened to Barney was tragic,’ he muttered. ‘In all my years as a doctor, I have never seen a man so hellbent on hiding his condition from his family; especially when he desperately needed them, more than at any other time in his entire life.’

  He glanced at Lucy, who had been intently listening to him. ‘I found his actions so hard to comprehend. I could understand why he was reluctant to tell them how ill he was until the last possible moment, but to make them hate him! To deliberately make them believe he was a drunk and a womaniser; to alienate himself from the family he doted on, so they would embark on a new life without him. Dear God! I can only imagine what that must have done to a man like Barney … so in love with his wife, and doting on his children the way he did. Anyone could see how Barney’s family were his entire world.’

  He glanced at Mary. ‘Your father was a remarkable man.’

  ‘I’m beginning to realise that more and more.’ Mary answered him softly, her thoughts taking her back to the daddy she remembered, the kindly man who would sit her on his knee and enthral her with magical tales.

  An anger took hold of her. ‘He needed them so much! Why didn’t he tell them how ill he was? He should have told them. HE SHOULD HAVE TOLD THEM!’

  ‘No, Mary.’ Lucy calmed her. ‘You’re so wrong, my darling.’ Lucy herself had often wondered why Barney did not put himself first, especially when he was so desperately ill. Deep down though, she knew he had done the right thing – for his family if not for himself. ‘If he had told them how ill he was, they would have stayed. They would have seen him suffer the way I saw him suffer, day and night, hurting, fading away until he was like a helpless baby.’

  She paused and swallowed, then went on in hushed tones: ‘After they were gone, he was so lonely. He would have given anything for it not to have happened. He desperately needed Vicky and the children to be with him to the end, to support and help him, and lift his spirits when he was down.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he
tell them?’

  ‘Because he was a bigger man than that. He sent them away, out of love. He knew he was not able to go with them; that the opportunity had been cruelly snatched from him. But, by turning them against him, he gave them all their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a chance to go to America and build the kind of life they would never be able to find here.’

  Adam intervened. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how he must have suffered, to see his beloved family sail away without him. Barney Davidson loved his family like no other man I know. Yet he made them believe that he didn’t care for them any more – that he despised them. He wanted them to believe that he was rotten to the core, a drunkard who preferred the company of street-women to his own darling wife.’

  He took another swig of his whisky. ‘God only knows where a man could find the strength to do a thing like that.’

  The talk now focused on Barney’s family, with the doctor asking, ‘His daughter Susie will be what …’ He did a mental calculation, ‘… thirty-five, six?’

  ‘Older, I think,’ Lucy answered. ‘Ronnie would be about thirty-nine, and Thomas, a couple of years older.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘It seems incredible. In my mind’s eye I still see them as young people. I often wonder, if I saw them in the street, would I even recognise them?’

  She thought of Barney’s wife, that lovely, vivacious creature he adored, and her heart was sore. ‘As for Vicky, she was a few years older than me.’ Adding up the years, she was shocked. ‘Good Lord! She must be well into her sixties by now.’

  ‘Do you think they’ve made good, the way Barney hoped they would?’ That was Mary’s question.

  Lucy pondered for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘No doubt Susie will have gone on to be a designer of sorts. Thomas was always the shrewd businessman – there was a lot of Barney in Thomas. As for Ronnie, well, I wouldn’t like to say. He was headstrong and never seemed to have a particular direction in his life, and after what happened with Barney and everything, I don’t know. There was a lot of bitterness in the end. Who can tell how they all survived the trauma of what happened?’