Maureen positioned the car in the inside lane and drove steadily at a conservative 60 mph. I tried to concentrate on the woods and fields that we passed but could only try to work out what it was Maureen was trying to tell me. She had loved the wrong people all her life, she thought I had too.
I glanced across at her and saw something in her face I had never seen before. There was a determination, a single-mindedness in her eyes. There was also a great sadness. Her voice was completely different when she spoke again, no longer passionate it was almost as if a switch had been turned. She spoke quietly, with resignation.
“It’s not a problem Annie darling. Being ‘in love with’ someone is very different from loving them. I have loved Ted for nearly 40 years. I have watched him be obsessed with your mother and then, with hardly a blink of his eye fall in love with you. He shouldn’t have done that. That wasn’t fair.”
It was all I could do not to take the wheel and steer towards the hard shoulder and stop the car.
“Don’t feel sorry for me Annie dear, I knew a long time ago that I would never have him. He had plenty of opportunities. He is fond of me but only as one is fond of an old sofa. I am comfortable, and undemanding.” There was resignation in her voice, but also anger. “He stayed with me many times when he was visiting your mother. But then he was so obsessed with her I felt sorry for him. I don’t think she ever thought of him romantically for a moment. He was simply another person to be used to make her life more comfortable. I longed to tell him that he was looking in the wrong direction, that I would make him happy if only he would let me. Then he whisked her away up north to die. We kept in touch while you were studying but we didn’t meet for years. Then at your graduation he fell in love with you.”
“Sorry?” I thought I hadn’t heard her correctly. I was trying to take in what she was saying , but she chose to interpret my word of enquiry as one of apology.
“Don’t be, my dear. What you have to understand is that when you love someone you want them to be happy. They must be happy. Ted must be happy. But if that happiness is with you …” She sounded sad and so defeated but at the same time defiant and proud. “He will be happy, but not…”
I thought I heard the last words “with Alicia’s daughter” but I will never be sure.
That was it.
The car was travelling too slowly. I only realised at the last moment that as she had talked she was driving more and more slowly and had strayed across to the outside lane. The lorries and the vans wanted to go faster.
Maureen had been distracted, she had been looking at me instead of the road ahead and behind. I’m not sure whether she ever noticed the vehicle that slammed into the back of the car, pushing us into the central reservation from where we rebounded into the impatient traffic.
I clutched at the steering wheel and I suppose I must have screamed as I waited for the impact I could not prevent and into which I intuitively relaxed.
I looked at the grass, uncomprehending. It was brown, individual stems stood up in front of my eyes. I was lying face down. I hurt. I couldn’t tell where I hurt, I just hurt. I tried to focus on the blades of grass in front of me but all I could feel was pain. Was this the pain my mother had felt, her back broken in the car crash that had changed her life? Was this how Bill had felt when he had been hit by the car? Was this complete absence of anything else in the world but pain what they, too, had felt?
I don’t know how long I lay there until the silence was broken by the sound of sirens.
‘My name is Jenny. I’m a paramedic. Can you hear me?’ I think I was shouting, I have no idea what I would have been saying. ‘My name is Jenny. I’m a paramedic. Can you hear me? My name is Jenny, I’m a paramedic, listen to me. What is your name?’ ‘My name?’ ‘Your name, darling, what is your name? Can you hear me?’ I managed to mouth my name though whether any sound came out I don’t know. ‘Annie.’ ‘Annie? Can you tell me where it hurts?’ She sounded relieved that I could at least try to speak. ‘Bloody everywhere.’ I tried to say. ‘Don’t move for a moment Annie, we just need to check you out.’ She didn’t need to tell me not to move I couldn’t have. ‘Maureen?’ I tried to ask. ‘Your friend? Don’t you worry about her, she’s being well looked after.’ But I knew she was dead. I had seen her, she was leaning on the steering wheel and her eyes were open, her arms held out in front of her. Jenny said nothing other than to repeat that Maureen was ‘being looked after’. ‘Here, I’m giving you something for the pain. Everything will be alright. Just stay still Annie. Annie?’ ‘She’s dead. Oh shit it hurts.’Jenny pulled the needle out and spoke into her radio. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, I wasn’t listening. Maureen was dead. I tried to move to look up at her, she deserved that. She deserved someone to look over her as she lay dead in that car and the noise of the traffic began to flow again. The edge of the pain began to soften as the injection began to take effect, the blades of grass slipped out of focus.
The image of Maureen blurred and was never seen again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘Cuts and bruises’ was the description of my injuries, nothing was broken, there would be no permanent damage. It didn’t seem fair when Maureen was dead but I knew that never again would I hear the words ‘only cuts and bruises’ and think that the victim had got off lightly.
Despite her death being sudden and so unexpected Ted had found an envelope in the top drawer of her desk marked ‘ To be opened upon my demise’. One sheet of paper listed all the people who would be important in the event of her death, her solicitor, particular friends and family members who should be contacted with details of her funeral. Another sheet described her wishes for her funeral, listing the music to be played and the poems to be read. I was surprised that there was a request for Ted to play my mother’s tape, the same tape of her singing and reciting poems that had been played at her own funeral. I hadn’t imagined it could still exist. I had listened to her re-recording that poem until it was, to her ears, perfect. There’s a breathless hush in the close tonight, Ten to make and the match to win” and singing, again and again Noël Coward’s words I’ll see you again, whenever Spring breaks through again, until she felt it was as good as it was ever going to be. Only Ted and I, the two who had also been at that funeral 16 years before, could possibly understand the significance as we sat together in the church.
I had looked for some clue as to when she had made these notes and sealed the envelope. There was no date but the address for Ted was Greensand Hill. I didn’t know exactly how long he had lived there but it was not long. There was no mention of me. Perhaps she had made the notes because it was the sensible thing for her to do, she was, after all, in her late 60s. I had never thought of her as being ‘an old woman’ but I supposed she must have thought herself one at times.
I really hoped Maureen had not done anything deliberately to hurt herself. Or me.
The church was not full but it was not embarrassingly empty. Most of the congregation were friends of Maureen’s from the village. Maureen had requested bright colours for her funeral, apparently she had talked of it to Ted when they had both been at my mother’s funeral. She didn’t want people to be sombre in blacks and greys, so there were many bright hats and ties in the late summer sunshine.
Carl didn’t attend the service though I know Ted had written to him with a copy of the notice he had put in the Telegraph. Charles and Linda were at the church, with Josie and little Andrew but they didn’t come back to the cottage afterwards. I think they had told Bill, Al and Jack to stay at home, wary of us all meeting for the first time on such an occasion. I couldn’t believe they would be so petty, the day was about Maureen and what she had meant to all of us, not about family differences, however long-standing and significant.
I threw the roses I had picked from her garden that morning onto Maureen’s coffin concentrating on the brass nameplate with the words Maureen Shelton 1918 – 1987 as they were lost forever under handfuls of soil.
It wa
sn’t long before everyone had made their excuses and left Ted and I alone to tidy up. We would be back in a few days to clear all her things, there was no one else to do it. In the meantime I would be staying with Ted and my daughter. I wasn’t ready to be on my own, especially in the emptiness of Maureen’s house.
“You’re quiet.” Ted said as I dried the dishes he was washing and put them away in the familiar cupboards.
“It’s been a long day.”
“And an emotional one.”
“Were you ever in love with her? Maureen I mean?” I had to ask.
“No.” He didn’t seem surprised at the question and weighed his answer carefully. “I can truthfully say that I never was in love with Maureen.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“No, never, not even a little bit.”
“But you knew she was in love with you.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it was difficult to ignore at times. It was never spoken about. I just knew and she knew I knew and because I didn’t say anything she knew the answer.”
“How sad.”
“I think she was sad for much of her life. She had many friends, just look how many turned out today, but none that were really close, that she could confide in. Alicia was too flighty and self-centred to be interested in anybody else, David had been her boss…”
“You knew?”
“Yes, of course, it wasn’t a secret. She worked for him at the Ministry during the war. I think they tried to find jobs for people whose husbands were missing or in P-o-W camps. She was his secretary.” As I listened to Ted talking about Maureen’s war work I realised that he had no idea of what David’s work had really been. “I think it was all pretty mundane stuff, supplies or some such.”
Or perhaps he knew and wasn’t letting on.
He lifted his soapy arms from the washing up bowl and pursed his lips, drew a breath and sighed deeply. “She had no one she could confide in, no real friends, so I think she was really quite lonely at times. Which is why,” his voice brightened up “that is why she loved having you to stay.”
“There was so much she could have told me if I had thought to ask, known to ask.”
“Maybe she has.” He said gently as he put his arm around my shoulders and held me gently to him and I cried tears of pain, frustration and tiredness. “Come on, you’re tired. You’ve done far too much today and you’re still not well. We’ll come back next week. There’ll be plenty of time to finish clearing up then.”
So I left the cottage to drive past the scene of the accident to Greensand Hill, where I would finally meet my daughter and try to make some sort of sense about everything.
It was mid October before I felt up to going back to the cottage but we were finally setting off, after a quick drink at the Fox to allow the rush hour on the M25 to clear.
Ted and I had soon got into the habit of spending an hour or so every evening in the pub a short walk from Greensand Hill, it gave Josie some private time with Andrew. We usually got home in time for the Archers but enjoyed the company of the varied group of farmers, professionals and self employed who congregated at six o’clock in the comfortable, old-fashioned bar.
“They say there’s going to be a bit of a blow tonight.”
“Someone’s said a hurricane’s on the way.”
“You don’t get hurricanes in this part of the world.”
“Well bloody strong winds then.”
“No way. It’ll all blow over….”
“Ho ho ho.”
“It’ll all be a storm in a teacup…”
“Ho ho ho.”
“Any more jokes about wind?”
“You’re having a laugh aren’t you?”
Half listening to the conversation going on around us Ted and I planned the evening. We had put off going back to Maureen’s cottage for too long, every time Ted had suggested it I had found a reason not to. ‘We’ve got to go together, I can’t do it on my own.’ he said patiently. ‘We’ll wait until you’re ready.’ And now I was ready.
Since the day of the accident I had watched Ted, trying to read what he was thinking, how he was looking at me. I never saw anything but friendly concern. Apart from the one time when he had taken my arm at the funeral as my mother’s voice rang out through the packed church he had done nothing that could be misunderstood. We had spent a lot of time together and had talked without tension or embarrassment about many things. He had never given any indication that he felt the way Maureen had told me he did.
“Quick, drink up, we’d better be on our way if we’re going to get there.”
“What do you think about the weather forecast?” I asked as we drove through the woods down to the main road. Ted turned on the news and we listened in silence. “Nothing about an impending storm. We’ll be fine.” He took his hand off the wheel and squeezed my knee in a familiar gesture of reassurance.
“Please…” I couldn’t keep the panic out of my voice and he replaced his hand on the steering wheel.
As we passed Greensand Hill I thought of Josie and Andrew, how good she had been about my coming to live with them, how understanding she had been of the interloper in the household that she had largely run. She had been absolutely wonderful. As long as you babysit whenever I ask I don’t mind one bit’ she had said. I was enjoying spending time with my grandson. He was beautiful and I realised what I had missed by being such a bad mother to my own children. Josie put me to shame. In the previous month I had renewed my acquaintance with Jack, Al and Bill, neither Charles nor Linda had wanted to see me. The boys often visited their sister and we had established a relationship that ignored the fact that I was their mother. They had offered to stay with Josie and Andrew while Ted and I were away. ‘You never know what might happen in a big empty house isolated in the dark woods.’ Al had teased their sister. ‘They may be bears’ Jack added ‘or wolves’ Bill completed the argument and Josie had laughingly agreed. She hadn’t had a night alone since Andrew was born.
It was still light when we pulled up outside the empty cottage after a trouble free journey. It was warm inside the house as we had left the Aga on, thinking we would be back much sooner, but there was a pile of post on the doormat and the house felt unlived in and unloved.
“We should have come sooner.” Ted spoke aloud what I had been thinking.
I put the jumble of envelopes on the kitchen table and went round the house switching on lights and closing curtains. I hesitated outside the room that had been Maureen’s bedroom but took a deep breath and opened the door, striding across the small room to the windows and pulled the curtains shut with two brisk movements.
I was going to hate the next two days.
“Come on, we’ll have a bite to eat at the pub and then come back to sort this lot.” Ted had read my mood and realised that sitting in the house without a little bit of Dutch courage would be impossible.
We missed the 9 o’clock news but we caught the end of the weather forecast which now was talking about ‘very high wind speeds expected along the south coast’.
“Force 9 or 10 is bad isn’t it?” I asked.
“It won’t get that bad inland, look they say it will go up the Straits of Dover. I wouldn’t want to be on a cross channel ferry but we’ll be fine here.”
“And the children?”
“They’ll be fine.”
“Can we listen to a later forecast? If you think about it every one we’ve heard has got worse and worse.”
“You know something Annie?”
“What?”
“For the first time in my life I’m listening to you being worried about your children.”
“What the hell was that?” I sat up in bed, aware I was shouting and rigid with fear at the noise outside. There had been a gigantic crash, as if a bomb had gone off or a lorry had driven into the front of the cottage. A number of alarms were sounding discordantly adding to the chaos. I got up out of the bed I had slept in over the years and put on my dressing gown and bumped into
Ted who was on the landing.
“What’s happening?” I screamed trying to make myself heard. “What’s going on?”
“I think it’s that hurricane that wasn’t going to happen.”
We went from room to room together, checking windows and seeing what damage had been done to the house. The noise of the wind and the alarms was horrendous.
“Can you see anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Can you hear the phone?”
At that moment the lights went out but Ted turned on the torch he had in his hand, it was a dim beam but at least there was some light as we felt our way down the narrow stairs.
I found the phone and picked up the receiver. I could hardly hear the voice at the other end of the line.
“Mum? Mum?” It was Josie.
I could never remember her calling me Mum. And she sounded very upset.
“Yes darling.” I don’t think I had ever called her that in her life. “What is it? Are you alright? Are you all alright?” I realised I was shouting to make myself heard. She shouted back “No. Oh Mum! Everything’s falling apart! There’s trees down everywhere! Jack went out to see what was happening and came back with his crash helmet on so many tiles were flying off the roof! And the big tree’s down! There’s branches in the…”
“Josie! Josie! Are you there? Oh Ted. The phones gone dead. There’s trees down, tiles off the roof. Oh Ted what can we do?”
“We’re not going anywhere in this, all we can do is listen to the radio.”
“What time is it?”
“Two thirty.”
Runaways Page 32