The Girl by the River

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘You just don’t understand, Mummy,’ Tessa said, holding on to her fury so tightly that it felt like a fever burning inside her. ‘Why won’t you LISTEN to me?’

  ‘I will if you say something worth listening to.’

  It stung, like a small hard pebble aimed at the heart. Tessa searched her mother’s eyes. The love was in there somewhere, but she felt Kate had shut it away behind a door marked NO ACCESS. ‘I’m going out,’ she said, and looked away from her mother’s eyes to the window where green and silver foliage rippled in the wind.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘For a walk with Jonti.’

  ‘Don’t be long then.’

  Counting to ten didn’t work for Tessa. She needed to count to a hundred. A hundred angry footsteps before she felt calmer, and then she could see the world clearly again. With Jonti trotting ahead, she walked up the road under the towering elm trees, their young leaves rich and hopeful in the afternoon sun, the grass verge covered with mats of violets in every shade of pink and purple.

  The church clock struck four, and she heard the whistle of a train in the hills. She watched the express train burst out of the cutting and tear over the viaduct with a ribbon of white steam flying over the roofs of the carriages. Freddie had often told her about that train. It was The Cornishman, and it never stopped at Monterose. She could see tiny faces looking out from carriage windows. Those people were going to Cornwall, she thought, and something tugged at her memory. Something Art had said about the magnificence of the Atlantic Ocean, the jewel green colours of it, the mighty rolling waves, waves so strong you could ride the foam on a surfboard and feel part of the wild sea.

  When she thought about it, in that moment it felt as if the sea rushed through her heart, washing away the anger and sadness, filling her with light and sparkle.

  Kate stood at the window and watched Tessa walking away under the elm trees, with the wind blowing her wavy hair and the blue and white skirt. The way she walked reminded Kate of Ethie. It wasn’t a lady-like walk, it began as an angry stride, then became an aimless, dreamy wandering. She was glad to see Jonti escorting her at a business-like trot.

  The look in her daughter’s pale blue eyes stayed in Kate’s mind. Such misery and hatred from a girl who had so much: why? Kate wanted to understand. Why had Tessa tried to kill herself? To Kate it had felt like a kick in the gut, an insult that shattered her maternal love. Love wasn’t working. It wasn’t enough.

  Before Tessa, Kate’s confidence had been a shining asset that others had envied. Her confidence had built a marriage, it had taught Freddie to laugh and smile; it had pacified Annie, and raised Lucy. They were so proud of Lucy, now doing her A levels at grammar school. Lucy was popular and successful. Kate passionately wanted Lucy and Tessa to have a career, and to marry Mr Right who would be tall, successful, and from a good family. She was sure that Lucy would do exactly that, and have a fairy-tale wedding in Monterose Church. But Tessa? What kind of future was there for a girl so gifted and yet so emotionally enigmatic? After the suicide attempt, Kate felt the gulf between them widening. Despite help from Doctor Jarvis, and a week off school, Tessa still hadn’t told them why.

  Kate felt one of her headaches coming on. She put the tarts into the oven and cleared the table, her head full of sharp pain. She took two of the soluble Disprin Doctor Jarvis had given her, and sat at the table with a sudden overwhelming feeling of wanting to give up. The pain in her head was excruciating, and it seemed to have something to do with wanting to cry. The uncried tears felt like a hot bar of pain, a bolt through her head from ear to ear.

  The side door to The Pines was never locked. Kate liked to keep an open house. She didn’t feel like seeing anyone right now, but the door opened and Susan came in, carrying an enormous willow basket. ‘Hello Kate! I just popped in to give you these.’

  ‘Lovely to see you!’ Kate held out her arms and beamed at Susan. ‘Cup of tea? Oh my goodness – look at those!’ She stared at the glistening red strawberries that filled the basket. ‘What a lot!’

  ‘I thought you’d like them, Kate – we’ve got far too many – there must be about ten pounds in there. Can you use them?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ll make jam.’ Kate took down the huge preserving pan that hung on the wall. ‘Pop them in here.’ They tipped the basket and the strawberries thundered into the pan, leaving a red stained piece of newspaper at the bottom of the basket. ‘That’s so kind of you, Sue – thank you.’

  Susan’s quiet eyes stared at Kate, looking suddenly serious. ‘You don’t look well, Kate. Is something wrong?’

  Tessa and Jonti crossed the brown and cream footbridge over the station platform. She wanted to ask Charlie, the stationmaster, about The Cornishman, but he was busy helping a farmer load his cows into the cattle train wagons that stood in the siding. There was much mooing and shouting and the rumble of hooves as terrified animals found themselves trapped in unfamiliar, swaying wagons. Tessa could see the whites of their eyes gleaming in the cracks, desperate for a last glimpse of green fields. ‘Poor things,’ she said to Jonti, and he whined in agreement.

  She walked on up the street to the other side of Monterose, to where the cottages ended and a narrow tarmac lane led towards the wooded hills. There were two horses up there in one of the fields, and Tessa wanted to lean over the gate and see if she could get them to come close and let her stroke them.

  They raised their heads and stared at her, then lowered them again to continue eating. So Tessa climbed over the gate in her flowery skirt, and tied Jonti to the bars with his lead. ‘You stay there,’ she said to his disappointed little face. ‘I won’t be long.’ The lush grass brushed her ankles, and clumps of dandelions, moon daisies and clover grew thickly from the red clay soil.

  Tessa had a special voice for talking to animals, a low-pitched, soothing tone. It was something she enjoyed doing, a time when she felt free to be loving and kind without risk of ridicule or judgement. She was thrilled when one of the horses came to her and lowered his graceful head to let her stroke him. She ran her hands along the crest of the mane, down the sleek shoulders and broad chest. She rubbed the hard, suede ears and rested her own cheek against the warm silk of his big bony cheek.

  She spent a long time talking to him, then turned her attention to the other horse who was hanging back. ‘Are you afraid of me?’ Tessa asked. ‘I’m not going to catch you, or ride you.’ The mare raised her head and stared with dark, liquid eyes. As soon as Tessa moved towards her, she laid her ears back, curled her lips and tossed her head, looking distinctly unwelcoming. The breeze ruffled her long mane which was creamy white against the dappled grey of her coat. Her head was delicately shaped, with a fairy-tale kink in the nose, and small curved ears. Her legs were slim and deep grey. A seahorse, Tessa thought, longingly. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she said in her animal voice. ‘I love you.’

  She inched her way nearer, but the mare turned her rump towards her, the tail swishing angrily. ‘You’re like me,’ Tessa said. ‘You pretend to be angry and fierce when actually you’re scared, aren’t you?’ The mare swung round again, pricked her ears and looked at Tessa in a new way. ‘You’ve been hurt,’ Tessa said, ‘I can tell.’ She sat down in the grass. ‘There, you see, I’m sitting down, so I’m not going to hurt you, or use you.’

  The mare walked towards her in hesitant steps, her head lowered, her nostrils flared. Tessa began to tingle with excitement. The mare was blowing softly at her, so she blew back, in horse language. She kept her hands still and let the beautiful creature come close and blow in her hair. She was aware of tension in the mare’s muscles, and sensed that one wrong move would send her spinning away in alarm. To her intense joy, the mare lowered her elegant head, pressed it into Tessa’s shoulder, and stayed there in a magic moment of understanding, a moment of building a bridge between two lost souls. Tessa kept still, but her body turned to velvet. I’ve fallen in love, she thought, with a horse!

  She didn’t see the person
who stood in the lane, behind the hedge, watching her.

  Kate was surprised to see Tessa come back with colour in her cheeks and light in her eyes. She had a mysterious smile that made Kate think she had been up to something. Best not to ask, she thought, as Tessa sat down at the table. It was set for high tea, with Freddie, Lucy and Annie already tucking in to slices of ham and cheese. Lucy was explaining her French homework to Freddie, laughing as he tried to pronounce some of the phrases she was teaching him.

  ‘You’re such a clever girl,’ Annie said, and her face changed when she saw Tessa. ‘Late again?’ she said disapprovingly.

  ‘Leave her be, Mother,’ Freddie said, looking at Kate’s pale, strained expression. ‘Let’s have tea in peace.’

  ‘Did you have a nice walk, dear?’ Kate asked Tessa.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, not “yep”,’ Annie said, glaring at Freddie.

  ‘Did you see any interesting birds?’ Freddie asked.

  Tessa hesitated. ‘Not many – no – but this morning I found a dead song thrush. I’ve buried him under the lilacs.’

  ‘I can’t think where all the birds have gone,’ said Freddie seriously. ‘There used to be big flocks of yellowhammers, and linnets, goldfinches – where are they all?’

  ‘It’s the spraying,’ Kate said. ‘All the farmers are doing it now – it must be killing hundreds of birds. I know it’s progress – but it’s sad. Who knows what else those chemicals are killing.’

  Tessa was listening with round eyes.

  ‘The earth is sick,’ she said, and everyone stared at her. Lucy rolled her eyes.

  ‘Don’t talk such rubbish,’ Annie said.

  ‘It’s not rubbish, Granny,’ Tessa glared at her.

  ‘It’s a prophecy coming true. ‘When the earth is sick, and the animals begin to disappear, then the Warriors of the Rainbow will come and save her.’

  ‘Save who?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Gaia.’

  ‘And who’s Gaia when she’s out?’

  ‘The earth. It’s her name.’

  ‘Don’t talk so silly. The earth isn’t a person.’

  ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’ Kate asked, trying to divert Annie’s attention. Her head was pounding and she didn’t feel she could sit there through yet another confrontation between Tessa and Annie. ‘It’s Dixon of Dock Green tonight on television,’ she added brightly.

  ‘Don’t change the subject, Mummy,’ Tessa said angrily. ‘This is important.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s gloom and doom, isn’t it, Mummy? And we don’t want to talk about it at teatime.’

  ‘You would say that, Lucy.’ Tessa’s eyes blazed at her sister. ‘You undermine everything I choose to believe in.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Lucy said. ‘If you chose to believe in SENSIBLE things – things that matter – I wouldn’t argue. It’s for your own good. You can’t go around talking about hippie stuff.’

  ‘Quite right, Lucy,’ Annie said triumphantly.

  ‘It’s not hippie stuff. Anyway, the hippies are trying to save the earth, which is more than you’re doing.’

  ‘Will you STOP!’ Kate cried out suddenly. She put down the slice of bread and butter she’d been trying to eat, and clasped her hands to her temples. Her behaviour was so out of character that silence fell over the tea table.

  Freddie reached out and patted Kate on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you upset yourself, Kate. What is it? A headache?’

  ‘It’s right on top of my head,’ Kate said, almost crying with the pain.

  Terribly concerned, Freddie turned to the two girls with a rare spark of anger in his blue yes. ‘Stop your bickering, the pair of you – and you, Mother. Look what it’s doing to my lovely Kate. What’s the matter with you all?’ Unexpected tears of passion poured over his red cheeks.

  Tessa and Lucy froze into shocked silence. To see their invincible father cry was major.

  ‘Come on, you lie on the sofa, Kate.’ Freddie guided Kate to the sofa and put a cushion under her head. ‘You lie quiet,’ he said, and turned to the three shocked faces watching him. ‘And you lot – finish your tea in silence and clear the table.’

  Jonti got out of his box and crept across the floor to be with Kate. He jumped up and cuddled against her, whining and looking up at her. ‘Dear little dog,’ muttered Kate. She looked at Freddie and tried to smile. ‘Goodness – I don’t need to lie on the sofa like an invalid.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You stay there.’

  Tessa went to the airing cupboard and found a flannel. She soaked it in cold water, squeezed it and took it over to her mother. ‘Poor Mummy, put this on your forehead.’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ Kate glanced at Tessa’s pale blue eyes and the anger had gone. In its place was real love and caring – and fear and guilt. She let Tessa press the flannel over her eyes and felt her slim fingers cooling her throbbing temples. She could smell the heavy fabric plastic on Tessa’s wrist and it reminded her that only a week ago her beautiful daughter had taken a razorblade and tried to end her life. Her beating heart was loud and frightened as she leaned over her mother. It had the desperate fragility of a bird fluttering against glass. Tessa needs me, Kate thought. Even when she hates me, she needs me.

  ‘I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming,’ Freddie said as he leaned on his car, watching reflections of the sunset in the well-polished roof, coppery clouds with the ragged shapes of crows and jackdaws passing through.

  Doctor Jarvis looked over the top of his glasses. ‘It’s not your fault, Freddie. You’re a working man with a lot on your plate.’

  ‘Ah – but I shouldn’t have let Kate suffer like that,’ Freddie said and each word hurt like a hot stone in his throat. ‘All these years. She’s too good. Never complains.’

  ‘Joan is the same,’ Doctor Jarvis said. ‘She’d kill herself for the family. Wartime women they are. Salt of the earth. Now she’s killing herself for the grandchildren.’

  Freddie felt too angry with himself to speak. The anger drove him into silence, and somewhere on the fringe of it, the doctor’s perceptive eyes were observing him.

  ‘I’ve given Kate a strong painkiller and a sedative,’ Doctor Jarvis said. ‘It’ll knock her out and she’ll sleep heavily. Let her sleep on in the morning, Freddie. It’s years of exhaustion and worry over young Tessa – and your mother – she’s not easy, is she? But, knowing Kate, she’ll bounce back – let me know immediately if that headache gets worse or if she gets a fever.’

  When he had gone, Freddie stood looking at the thundery sky. He went to the washing line and unpegged the eight white linen sheets and the sixteen pillowcases. They were heavy, still damp, and flecked with soot from the railway. Shocked at the weight of them, he hung them over both arms and took them inside. Kate had spent the day handwashing them in the boiler, wringing them through the squeaking mangle, then hanging them out. Endless bending and lifting, he thought. When he’d held her hand, he’d noticed how sore and red the skin was and how her finger was swollen around her wedding ring.

  He’d never meant it to be like this.

  He dumped the sheets on the kitchen table and stood looking at them. Annie had gone home and he could hear the girls’ voices from the living room, above the television.

  ‘That’s not true!’ Tessa shouted at Lucy.

  ‘Yes it is. It’s time you grew up.’

  ‘I don’t want to grow up and end up boring like you.’

  ‘I’m not boring. And at least I’m not an evil witch like you. And stop shouting. You’ll wake Mummy and make her worse, and then we won’t go on holiday.’

  ‘I don’t care. I don’t want to go anyway.’

  Freddie felt rage towering inside him like a wave about to break into a thousand stinging pellets of spray. He crossed the room in slow, deliberate strides, and turned off the black knob on the television. The monochrome image of Dixon of Dock Green vanished into a small hard white dot.

  ‘
Daddy! I was . . .’ The protest died on Lucy’s lips as she saw her father’s face. It was dark and swollen, and his eyes looked frightened of the fury that glittered in them. And when he spoke, his voice was ominously quiet.

  ‘Now I don’t care what you’re doing, you two girls are going to listen to me. I got something to say to you – so you sit there, and you remember this – for the rest of your life.’ Freddie bit back the words that burned on his tongue. He’d say them to Herbie in the morning. He was aware that Tessa was particularly fragile right now. She was already crying, silently, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand, and he knew she sensed the depth of his anger.

  He went to the oak dresser, and took down a small ceramic owl. The memory it evoked was painful. ‘When I were a boy,’ he began, ‘younger than you – seven, I was, I saw my old father lose his temper. Your granny had some lovely china – she was proud of it – loved it, she did. Some of it belonged to her family. And she kept it beautiful, all arranged along this dresser.’ He paused, and let the memory wash over him like a cold merciless wave. ‘Now my father was so angry about something I did at school that he flew into a blind rage, and he smashed every plate, cup and jug – even the teapot from the dresser. Cleared the shelves he did, chucked it onto the stone floor with such force. It was broken all to hell. Terrible it was. Upset me, and your granny. That’s what she had to put up with, all her life.’

  ‘Poor Granny,’ whispered Tessa, and her pale blue eyes watched him with compassion and alarm. Lucy was dry-eyed and her pretty mouth was pursed defensively.

  ‘And when he’d done it,’ Freddie continued, ‘he was so sorry and ashamed, he sat there and cried. Sobbed his heart out. Wished he’d never done it – a grown man – a giant of a man he was, sat there crying like a child. And d’you know what your granny did?’

  ‘What?’ Lucy asked, her eyes wide.

  ‘She just put her arms round him and calmed him down, and told me to get the dustpan and sweep up the broken china. Told me to put it in the rubbish bin. But I couldn’t. I hid it, and then I dug clay from the stream, and I made this owl from the broken china.’ He smoothed the owl’s winking eyes with his roughened index finger. ‘These were cup handles, and the feet were made from the curly handle of a jug. It’s got some of my blood in it too, ’cause I cut me hands doing it. And d’you know what my father said to me?’