The Girl by the River

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘It’s not too bad, melting a little on the roads now.’

  Annie battled with herself. She still had a terror of going out, especially in the snow. She imagined slipping over and breaking her hip the way Gladys had done. ‘Thank you, but ’tis best if I stay here,’ she said. ‘I can keep the fire burning and look after the house.’

  ‘Did you know how seriously ill Freddie is?’

  ‘Kate rang me. She said not to worry.’

  ‘Well – she’s asked me to come and – and give him a blessing.’

  ‘A blessing? I hope you don’t mean the last rites, Vicar.’

  The Reverend Reminsy hesitated. ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’

  ‘I won’t come, thank you.’

  Annie watched him drive away. Surely Freddie wasn’t that bad? Kate hadn’t been honest with her. Pulling the wool over her eyes as usual! She thought back to Freddie’s childhood. He’d been ill with bronchitis every winter. The cold weather made him worse, and Annie had spent countless nights sitting with him as he struggled to breathe. With no money to pay the doctor, she’d used her own remedies. Hot mullein tea. Friars Balsam. Ipecac. Hot flannels and eucalyptus. But, beyond the remedies, Annie had a gift she had almost forgotten.

  She went to her special drawer in the rosewood sideboard and opened it. She reached into the back and took out a brown paper bag. Inside was her favourite photograph of Freddie at seven years old, white-blonde hair, intense, knowing eyes. He wasn’t smiling. Freddie hadn’t smiled a lot, until he met Kate. Annie took out a tiny matinee coat, hand-knitted in pale blue wool. Freddie had lived in it as a baby for the first year of his life, and Annie could still feel him when she held it.

  She sat down by the fire, in Levi’s old chair, and put the photo of Freddie on her lap. She held the little matinee coat close to her heart, and remembered her way of healing. With her eyes closed, she asked for healing love to flow through the palms of her hands. It came, instantly, glowing with warmth. Her hands felt hot. She imagined how the healing love would look, and it was a beam of coral-coloured light, coming across the universe from the source of all joy. It was limitless and powerful. She let it flow, the way she used to, and visualised it reaching Freddie as he lay in hospital. ‘My son is not going to die,’ she affirmed. ‘He’s going to get well.’

  Flames flickered white gold and orange, and then a deep crimson as the fire died down. Annie sat for a long time, focused on her prayer. She opened her eyes and gazed at the eastern sky where the tight pearl of a storm was melting away into patches of blue. She thought suddenly of Tessa, alone in London.

  Melting snow gushed down the streets of Yeovil, carving winding torrents through piles of slush. The late afternoon sun was a corn-gold reflection blazing from windows and dusting the bare elm trees with light. Tessa hurried up the hill towards the hospital, her wet socks squelching in her shoes, the ends of her jeans heavy with water. Her duffle coat was again sodden wet and so was the coloured braid in her hair.

  Not knowing what to expect, she braced herself and walked into the hospital foyer. A tall Christmas tree stood there, with pink and green fairy lights, baubles and toys hanging on it, and a pile of wrapped presents underneath.

  The receptionist didn’t look friendly.

  ‘You shouldn’t come in here in such wet clothes,’ she said.

  ‘I just hitchhiked from London.’

  ‘Hitchhiked?’ The receptionist tutted and looked her up and down. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I want to see my father – Mr Barcussy – where is he?’

  ‘I’m afraid visiting hour is over. Come back at seven o’clock.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Tessa said desperately. ‘I’ll have nowhere to sleep.’

  ‘Nowhere to sleep! Oh, you’re homeless are you?’

  ‘No. I’m an art student. The banks are closed and I haven’t got enough money to phone my family or catch a bus back to Monterose. I hitched from London, I’ve had no lunch, and I want to see my father – please.’

  The receptionist tutted again and rolled her eyes.

  ‘You must let me,’ Tessa was close to tears and angry. ‘If you don’t, I shall walk through every ward until I find him and you can’t stop me. You’ve no right to treat me like this when my dad is dying.’

  The receptionist sighed and lifted the wooden counter lid to let herself out. ‘Follow me, and I’ll see what I can do.’

  She set off huffily in her dry, clean uniform, and Tessa squelched after her with grief and anxiety knotted together in her stomach. Along the corridor were little signs of Christmas, holly and tinsel and snowmen made of cotton wool. A cardboard Santa pointed the way to the Children’s Ward. They walked on, through smells and sounds, until they reached the Men’s Ward.

  ‘Wait there.’ The receptionist went into the office marked Ward Sister and Tessa could hear her indignant voice. She heard the word ‘hippie’.

  ‘Leave it with me.’ The ward sister came out in her navy blue uniform. She didn’t look at Tessa’s clothes. She looked at her eyes, kindly, with searching love, and Tessa felt the anger draining away like the drips on the end of her jeans.

  ‘I need to see my father. I’ve hitchhiked from London.’

  ‘You poor girl! Tessa is it?’

  ‘Yes – how did you know?’

  ‘He’s been waiting for you, dear. He’s so proud of you! Come with me. We’ll draw the curtains round his bed and you can spend a bit of time with him. He’s very weak and can’t talk much – so you must do the talking.’

  ‘Mum said he was fighting for his life,’ Tessa said.

  ‘He was indeed. But round about midmorning, he started to respond to the treatment. He’s sitting up now and he’s had a bowl of soup. Now take off that wet coat – then you can hug him – I’ll hang it over the radiator for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Under her coat, Tessa had a turquoise sweater from C&A, and a string of ethnic beads she’d found in a junk shop in Bath.

  ‘Dad!’ She ran to the bed, and Freddie held out his arms to welcome her, as he’d always done. ‘Oh Dad – I’ve missed you so much.’

  Freddie just held her, patting her hair, and whispering, ‘That’s my girl,’ and when they finally pulled away from each other, he said, ‘You look beautiful – like a beautiful angel.’

  ‘Dad!’ Tessa was moved, and surprised to see tears on Freddie’s rough red cheeks, running into the stubble around his chin. His eyes looked at her with a raw spiritual hunger. ‘What happened, Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘They – cut – my lime trees down.’ Freddie hunched forward, gripping her hand, the effort of talking, and the need to cry seemed to be paralysing him. Tessa was alarmed. She put her arms around his tense shoulders, and held him. It felt weird to be doing what he had done for her so many times. She sensed the hot pain inside him, and remembered how she had healed Selwyn, how the horse had trusted her and come to her with the burning need to be understood, to be heard, to be given love. So she talked to Freddie in the same way, in the same special voice. The words didn’t matter. It was the resonance and the love that reached the spirit, like the light in the forest. Those eight haunting notes, still in her mind. She let them sing, and visualised the light. She saw that years and years of ‘men don’t cry’ had become the dark forest in Freddie’s mind.

  ‘NO!’ said Kate and Annie together.

  The consultant looked at them over his glasses, tapping his Parker pen on the arm of his chair. ‘Why such a wall of resistance?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely no,’ Kate said passionately. ‘I will never, never let Freddie go to one of those places – and I was a State Registered Nurse. I know a bit about Hospitals for the Mentally Ill. My husband is not, and never has been mentally ill.’

  ‘I agree,’ Annie said. ‘Freddie had a tough childhood – tougher than you would understand – Doctor. And he’s always been strong.’

  ‘That’
s precisely the problem,’ said the consultant, pouncing on the opportunity to elucidate his case. ‘Strength is denial, especially in men. It can lead to depression later in life, and that is what Mr Barcussy is suffering from now.’

  ‘What rubbish.’ Annie drew herself up very straight in the hospital chair. ‘My son has always been taught to pull himself together. He’s ill from bronchial asthma, not this fancy, new-fangled depression. I don’t believe in it. No. We’ll have him home and he’ll soon get better, won’t he, Kate?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s rubbish,’ Kate said carefully, ‘but we’ve got a lovely home and a nice garden, and Freddie will soon get over this. He needs to get back to doing his stone carving and gardening, then he’ll be happy.’

  The consultant frowned over his notes. ‘Yes – but – that’s another issue. The stone dust is lethal. With his chest condition, your husband must never do stone carving again. He must find another hobby.’

  Annie and Kate looked at each other. ‘It’s not just a hobby,’ Annie said. ‘It was his passion – and he earned a lot of money from it.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it will kill him. The stone dust, and the cigarettes, and the fumes he’s getting from working with engines. All that has to stop.’

  Annie’s face went crimson. She struggled to get up. ‘I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this!’ She brandished her ebony walking stick at the consultant. ‘I’ve never heard such a load of codswallop – especially from an educated man like you. Good day.’

  After Christmas, Tessa borrowed Kate’s bike and rode into town. She called at the bank and drew a precious ten pounds out of her student grant money. Then she rode up through the woods to Tarbuts Timber.

  It was a crisp blue day in January, the air still and expectant, and there were song thrushes singing in what was left of the woods. Tessa was due back at Art College the next day. Despite her resolve to drop out, she’d decided to stay there. She’d made the decision with a heavy heart, and she’d done it to please her parents. Freddie was home now, in the chair by the fire, mostly staring out at the sky, miserable because he couldn’t smoke, and anxious about how he was going to earn money and keep the family. He wanted Tessa to go back to college. And so did Faye. She’d spoken to her on the phone, and Faye had said, ‘Don’t be daft, Tessa. It’s only six months and we’ll have done our first year – and we’ve got the long summer break. Then you can do your own thing.’

  Tessa had found some flower pots and planted the lime tree seeds with Freddie. They’d stood them outside, along the garden wall. ‘Water them, Dad, when I’m not here,’ she’d said. Those little pots were a symbol of hope, and so was her plan for today. It meant parting with some of her money. She’d needed to buy a better camera for her coursework, but that would have to wait.

  She pushed the bike up the steep muddy track to the timber yard with the ten pounds safely in the back pocket of her jeans. She swept into the yard, her hair and college scarf bright in the winter sun. A few annoying wolf-whistles came from the workmen who were loading piles of bare-rooted young Christmas trees into wheelbarrows. A man who looked like the foreman came to greet her.

  ‘What are you doing here, young lady?’

  ‘I’ve come to buy some lime logs.’

  ‘Lime logs?’

  ‘For my Dad. He’s a sculptor, and he’s been told he can’t do stone work any more because of his health. So I want to get him into woodcarving, and I’ve been told that lime is the best wood to start with. So I’ve drawn ten pounds out of my student grant, to buy him some.’

  ‘Oh, you have, have you? And how are you going to get them home? Not on your bike, surely?’

  ‘No. I’d like them delivered, please. Today,’ Tessa said, looking him in the eye. ‘Please?’

  She saw an answering twinkle in his eyes. ‘Who is your father? Do I know him?’

  ‘Freddie Barcussy.’

  ‘Ah – Freddie. I know Freddie. Been very ill, I heard.’

  ‘Yes – and doing some woodcarving will help him get well,’ Tessa said. ‘It’s therapeutic, don’t you think? Poor Dad, he’s got to give up smoking too. I’m sure you can spare a few of those lovely logs.’

  The man grinned. ‘You’re just like your mother,’ he said, ‘and you keep your money. I’ll sort out a few nice logs for Freddie and bring ’em down.’

  When the logs arrived later, Freddie’s reaction was not what Tessa had hoped it would be.

  ‘Whatever did you do that for?’ he grumbled.

  But Kate was enthusiastic. She dragged Freddie out of his chair. ‘Now you come and look at these beautiful logs,’ she said, ‘and get those chisels out. I’d LOVE a woodcarving of an owl. Or a squirrel.’

  ‘’Tis different from stone,’ Freddie said. He smoothed his hands over the pale new wood. ‘I suppose I could have a go. Gotta start somewhere.’

  Kate and Tessa retreated and left him looking at the lime logs. ‘That was a good idea,’ Kate said, smiling at Tessa. ‘We’re so proud of you. You’ve changed so much, haven’t you?’

  ‘Maybe I have,’ Tessa said. She longed to tell her mother about London, and Starlinda, but she didn’t want to stir the waters.

  ‘Is it Art College that’s changed you? Kate asked.

  ‘Selwyn changed me,’ Tessa said, ‘and Hilbegut. But I’ve got friends now, Mum. Real friends. We’re all in the same boat at college.’

  ‘And have you met any men?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Men?’ Tessa bristled. ‘Sure – there are men students – and I like most of them, as friends, Mum, not as potential husbands!’

  Kate looked disappointed. ‘Well, I did so hope you’d meet someone nice,’ she said. ‘A nice boy from a nice family who would look after you.’

  ‘I don’t need looking after, Mum. Especially by a MAN!’

  ‘But surely you want to get married and have a family?’

  ‘No,’ Tessa said. ‘That’s the last thing I want.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll change,’ Kate said confidently, ‘when Mr Right comes along. I dream of a beautiful white wedding for you, and a nice home of your own – and children. Won’t it be lovely?’

  Tessa opened her mouth and shut it again. If only you knew what I really want! she thought.

  ‘Signal left,’ Freddie said, his hands braced against the dashboard as Kate hit the brakes. The Rover 90 stalled and lurched to a halt. Tessa was thrown forward, banging her chin on the back of the seat.

  ‘Oops – sorry!’ Kate said, laughing it off. ‘Should have changed down, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Start her up again,’ Freddie said calmly. ‘Wind the window down and give the hand signal for turning left.’

  ‘There’s so much to do at once,’ Kate protested, but she managed to stick her arm out and rotate it to signal left. Shakily she turned the heavy car into the gates of Bath Academy of Art and drove it briskly down the drive, the L plates fluttering from the back bumper. She wanted to look confident and in control. It had been hard to persuade Freddie, and Tessa, that she was capable of driving after only a few lessons. ‘I’m not going to let you do that long journey when you’ve been so ill, Freddie,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll drive up there – then I can sit back and let you drive me home. It’ll be lovely. And Lucy will have something hot in the oven for us when we get back.’

  Kate knew that Freddie was still more debilitated than he liked to admit. Christmas and New Year had been difficult. Despite her determined efforts to create seasonal joy, there had been disruptive cross-currents in the family. She’d hoped that Lucy would be reconciled with her father after the harrowing time when he’d almost died. Lucy had held his hand in hospital, and cried with the rest of them. But once Freddie was home again, she’d reverted to being hard-faced and full of resentment. Kate put all her energy into trying to make everyone happy.

  ‘Thank goodness Tessa is settling down,’ she said, as Freddie set off on the long drive home through the winter sunlight. ‘I enjoyed seeing her little room, and meeting her fr
iends. Such interesting girls! Faye is a bit – well – sullen – but Tessa seems to like her.’

  ‘Ah – she does,’ Freddie said, happy to be driving again with Kate in the passenger seat beside him. ‘It’s Lucy we’ve gotta worry about now.’

  ‘I asked her to cook tea for us today,’ Kate said brightly. ‘She’ll soon get tired of that silly Tim.’

  Freddie was silent. She looked at his profile, and saw the tension in his jaw. She wondered why a man with such wisdom found it so impossible to forgive.

  It was getting dark as they drove into Monterose and up the lane to The Pines. The house looked oddly unwelcoming, with only a light on in Lucy’s bedroom, and no smoke coming out of the chimney. A blue van was parked in the road, and two men were carrying Lucy’s dressing table down the path.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Kate got out of the car and picked up Jonti who squirmed and licked her face in excitement.

  ‘That’s Lucy’s dressing table! Where are you taking that?’ she asked, frowning at the two men. ‘Oh – it’s you . . .’ Kate was shocked at the precarious arrogance on Tim’s face as he shuffled past her and loaded the dressing table into the back of the van. She tried to confront him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Ask ’er!’ he mumbled, and jerked his head at Lucy who was coming through the front door with a pile of clothes draped over her arm.

  ‘Mum!’ Lucy looked guilty. ‘I thought you’d be gone all day.’

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Kate went to her daughter, her eyes puzzled. ‘We’re tired out, and cold. But I drove all the way to Bath, and we took Tessa in and saw her bedroom. It’s a lovely place, and Tessa introduced some of her friends to us.’

  ‘Good for her,’ said Lucy. Her tone was sarcastic, her eyes rebellious. She looked cold, bundled in a baggy brown sweater, a chunky knit that was obviously Tim’s, a red scarf wound around her neck. Her legs were covered in thick black tights, her hands in woolly black gloves.

  ‘Did you manage to make the casserole?’ Kate asked. ‘We’re hungry – haven’t eaten all day. And Freddie’s really tired. He’s still not well, you know, and he’s going to miss Tessa.’